Gospel Story Finder

This story begins in 1842, in a Norwegian settlement near Fox River, Illinois.
Sarah Ann handed a bowl of soup to their guest.
“Thank you,” Mr. James said. “I can never repay you and your mother for letting me stay here to wait out this storm.”
Sarah Ann smiled. Many travelers had enjoyed the warmth of their home. Mother could never ignore a person in need, and Sarah Ann loved her for it.
“We’re glad you could stay with us tonight. This is the coldest night I can remember in Illinois,” Sarah Ann said, taking a seat at the table across from Mr. James. “Our family moved here from New York after Father died. He and Mother left Norway to escape those who wanted to punish them for being Quakers. When they arrived in America, Father worked hard to build a house.”
As Sarah Ann told the story, she could almost smell the fresh-cut maple wood again.
“One day, our home caught fire, and everything was destroyed. When Father returned from work and saw us standing in the street, he asked Mother if we were safe. She answered yes, and Father knelt down right there in the middle of the street and thanked God for protecting us.”
“Your father must have had a lot of faith in God,” Mr. James said.
Sarah Ann nodded, wishing her father were still with them.
Soon their visitor said good night and went to bed. Mother reached for his worn socks, which had been drying by the fire, so she could mend the many holes. This was a scene Sarah Ann had witnessed a hundred times. She kissed Mother on the cheek and went to bed.
When Sarah Ann awoke the next morning, Mr. James was gone. But the house was not quiet. There was a large crowd gathered in the road outside, and Sarah Ann leaned out the window to hear what was happening.
Two men were standing in the middle of the crowd. Sarah Ann recognized them as the Mormon missionaries who had arrived in the village last week. It was obvious that whatever they were talking about was important to them.
One of the men held up a book and said, “We testify that the Book of Mormon is true. We also testify that there is a living prophet once again on the earth.”
Sarah Ann suddenly felt a warm feeling fill her heart. It surprised her. She knew in that moment that what the missionaries were teaching was true.
Sarah Ann rushed to tell Mother about the experience and her desire to be baptized. Some of Mother’s friends were members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and even though they were good people, Sarah Ann could tell that Mother didn’t want her to be baptized.
“Sarah Ann, this is a big decision. If you still feel the same way when you are older, then you may be baptized,” Mother said.
Sarah Ann agreed. Over the next three years, she learned all she could about the Church. As she did, her faith in Jesus Christ and His restored gospel grew. No amount of time could take away what Sarah Ann felt about the gospel.
Finally, Sarah Ann was baptized. On her baptism day, Sarah Ann made a promise in her heart that she would always do whatever Heavenly Father asked her to do. She was about to find out what that would be.
(To be continued.)

Laney was ready for the beach! She had her sandals on. She had her bucket to make sandcastles.
Laney’s whole family was going. But Aunt Amy was still on the couch. She wasn’t feeling well.
“I’ll stay home with you!” Laney said.
Aunt Amy smiled. “Thank you, Laney. But I want you to have fun.”
At the beach, Laney built a sandcastle and jumped in the waves. But she kept thinking about Aunt Amy. What could she do to help her feel better?
Laney had an idea. She could surprise Aunt Amy with the prettiest rock on the beach!
Laney looked and looked. Then she saw a sparkle. She picked up the rock. It had lines of blue and green and gold in it. It was perfect!
At home Laney ran inside. “Aunt Amy, look what I found for you!”
“Wow!” Aunt Amy said. She gave Laney a big hug. “What a beautiful present! Thank you.”
Laney was glad she could make Aunt Amy smile.

One school year I began to feel weighed down from the stress of life. During one of these stressful days, I prayed and read the Book of Mormon for 10 minutes. As I read, I felt an incredible warmth fill my heart. I felt loved, uplifted, and happy despite my trials. I felt an incredible peace I had never felt before. From this experience I finally understood what the Savior meant when He said, “Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you” (John 14:27). The next few weeks, I had this experience multiple times, and it propelled me to move forward through my struggles.
Chloe K., age 18, Wisconsin, USA

Elder Trent Yeow is following in his grandma’s footsteps. Christina Yeow was a constant example of service and tirelessly served everyone, raising money for the homeless, cancer research and many other charities. Elder Yeow speaks fondly of her. “I just want to serve and make Grandma proud.”

One way he serves is by developing friendships with the residents of Regis Nursing Home, playing chess, conversing with them and just being a listening friend. All he wants to do is to serve people as the Saviour did.

Bennette, who works as a reporter for a local television station, said that her family helps her cope with the pressures of her employment.

“I go around with a cameraman and shoot the important and significant things in the community,” she said. She has interviewed the mayor and other local officials. “But I often see things like fires, holdups, or robberies, and you see a lot of people who aren’t happy with what they’re doing.

“When you can come home and find as nice an atmosphere as this family has,” she continued, “it makes you very thankful to the Lord. I know that if there are problems or difficulties, I can come home and talk with my family about them. My parents and my brothers and sisters help me solve the problems. I also get a lot of support from them in other ways. We do many things together as a family, such as going to church on Sunday or going to other Church-sponsored activities during the week.”

She said she gets questions at work about being LDS, usually because she is offered coffee by those she is interviewing and they want to know why she turns it down. “That often leads to discussions about the Word of Wisdom,” she said. She also noted that “in broadcasting some people have an especially hard time with ‘colorful language,’ like the director who shouts at you in not-so-nice language. Aside from being a correspondent, I also direct some of the shows, and usually when I’m directing, someone will say, ‘Why don’t you get mad and swear like the others?’ But I can get mad without saying nasty things. I can be just as forceful in a nice sort of way.”

Make scripture study a part of your life—not only by reading regularly but also by relying on the scriptures to help you make important decisions. When I was a mission president in northern Germany, I had a very difficult problem. I had searched in vain for an answer for many weeks. One morning I was reading in the Book of Mormon where Nephi was commanded to build a ship: “And I, Nephi, did go into the mount oft, and I did pray oft unto the Lord; wherefore the Lord showed unto me great things” (1 Nephi 18:3). As I read that small passage, the impression came to me, “That is what I need to do.” I pondered and prayed, and finally the answer came, and I knew what I needed to do. I am grateful for that little window of inspiration that came—as I was searching the scriptures. As I received my answer, I felt that I was “standing in a holy place.” I know that you too can have similar experiences as you search, ponder, and pray about the scriptures.

In the heart of England, a town with cobblestone streets, streetlamps, and centuries-old churches, was ready for the 2019 Christmas season. Warwick resembled the perfect Christmas card with wreaths, lights, and a larger-than-life Christmas tree in the centre of town. While it is best known for its castle, where in years past it was frequented by queens, princes, dukes, duchesses and other notables, most locals are not aware of a quiet miracle that took place at Christmastime not so long ago.
In an unassuming chapel near Town Square, a faithful group of Christians from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints gather each Sunday to worship together and partake of the holy sacrament. These followers of Christ pattern their lives after His teachings and strive to give of themselves and serve others.
At Christmastime, tradition requires a choir to sing, and all members of the small congregation were welcome to join and prepare to sing at this special time of year. Singing experience wasn’t required—just a willing heart and voice. Even the full-time missionaries were recruited to increase numbers and achieve a proper balance between men and women. The choir director chose a simple two-part melody with a piano accompaniment, which shared a thoughtful message of the first Christmas night.
Many members of the choir had not performed before and each was placed next to a more experienced member, to better hear how their part was sung. The choir members rehearsed together for weeks before Christmas.
On the Sunday that the choir was to sing, a young man named Tom Brannan was visiting the sacrament service with his father and happened to arrive early, when choir members were holding a final run through before singing in Church that day. Tom was invited to sing with them, and he willingly joined in. He had a nice voice, picked up the men’s part quickly and added a measure of support to the men’s section.
While waiting for the pianist to arrive, the men and women of the choir sang through their parts, together and separately. With just a few minutes to go before the service was to begin, word came that the choir accompanist was unexpectedly delayed; she was not likely to make it in time for the performance. It would be impossible for this humble group to sing without a piano. Disappointment filled the room as the choir members soon realised that they may not be singing in church that day; something they had looked forward to for some time.
As thoughts were aired, Tom came forward and said, “I don’t read music, but I play by ear, and I could try to play a few chords.” He then sat down at the piano, composed an accompaniment and a miracle was born. Tom played beautifully, the piano framing the melody. The choir director brought in the women first, and next the men—all while the piano carried the song forward.
Tears flowed freely as the words of the song filled the hearts and souls of those present. Tom’s unexpected offering brought a spirit of unity and strength. Imperfection was made perfect in that moment as the story of the first Christmas unfolded through music.
The experience sunk deep. It was a reminder that when we give of ourselves, miracles can happen. That is the true gift from God, offering our best, and being made whole through His Son, Jesus Christ.

Gift of health. In October we heard the shocking news that our beloved stake president had suffered a heart attack and was in a coma. As the weeks passed, members of our stake prayed earnestly for him. The doctors were very concerned, but then he came out of his coma and drastically improved. He lives in my ward, and one Sunday before Christmas I walked into the chapel and was surprised to see him sitting on the stand. After the speakers gave their talks, the stake president came to the pulpit and told us that he could feel the strength of our prayers. As I looked at him, tears streaming down my cheeks, I realized his return to health was a great Christmas present for all of us.Katie B., Washington, USA

“Manya,” invited her mother, “go into the garden and play. Your sisters and your brother have been outdoors since daybreak and here you are with your nose still buried in that book.”
With a deep sigh, Manya Sklodowska obediently put down the book and went out to join her sisters and her brother. Soon tiring of playing in the garden, they went into the nearby forest to pick the berries that had just started to ripen. Of course, they ate more than they picked because none of them could resist the delicious sweetness of the fruit.
Although Manya, the youngest of the family, had been christened Marja, she immediately became Manya to her family and friends.
Manya’s childhood was a happy one. The Sklodowska family was poor in material things but they were wealthy with the richness that comes from love of God and their country Poland. Manya’s father had the post of Professor of Physics at the university in Warsaw and encouraged his children to read the books in his library.
Next to the bookshelves was a glass case containing what Professor Sklodowska called his specimens, which he had collected during his physics classes. It was here that Manya spent a great deal of her time. “Some day,” she told herself, “I will learn what each of these is.”
Although Manya was not old enough to attend regular school, her older sisters involved her when they studied. Because of this, Manya was soon able to read and write, even before she entered school.
One privilege she did not have was a place at the big desk where her sisters did their homework. But as soon as she became a student, she, too, was allowed to join them, and these occasions became some of the happiest moments of her life. Manya had the kind of memory that retained everything she read, a gift that lasted throughout her life.
Manya’s teachers found her to be an exceptional student, and her grades were always among the highest in her classes. Nothing seemed too difficult for her, and soon she found herself two years ahead of the rest of the students in her starting class. But often she thought of the glass shelf in her father’s study containing his specimens. She repeatedly told herself that one day they would no longer be a mystery to her.
After graduating from the Russian Lycee (high school), Manya was selected as a gold-medal winner. Although this was not the first time a member of her family had achieved that honor, this was a tremendous event in her life.
“I think I will take a holiday now,” she told her family and friends. “I need to relax.” And off she went to the countryside, far from the bustling city of Warsaw.
How she loved the country! All was peaceful and happy there with picnics, balls, and dances that lasted far into the night. Many handsome young Polish men came from the neighboring villages to join in the festivities.
Too soon the good times came to an end. Manya’s father had invested his money unwisely, and so the Sklodowska sisters had to find a way to earn a living for themselves. In those days there was little opportunity for well-brought up women to earn a livelihood. Manya decided that her way would be to become a teacher. This was the kind of work she loved. She was no longer called Manya but Mademoiselle Marja (Marie) instead, because she had become a young lady with the responsibility of teaching others.
For six years Marja did what she thought would be her life’s work—teaching others. However, all of this changed when, on a visit to her father, she immediately saw the changes that had taken place in her absence. He had been able to add a laboratory to his workroom. Although to many it seemed a strange place for a young lady to spend her time, Marja soon found herself very much at home among the test tubes and beakers. For the first time in her life, Marja knew what she was meant to do. First of all, though, she would have to continue with her studies.
All of her life Marja’s father had told her that there were many ways to solve a problem. Her funds were insufficient for her to spend additional time in school without help. She wrote to her married sister Bronia in Paris to see whether she could repay part of the money Marja had once loaned her to go to medical school. Bronia responded, and with that and what other money Marja managed to get together, she was able to return to school.
In Paris, Marja became completely involved with the study of physics. When she married a young scientist by the name of Pierre Curie, they worked as a team to discover two new elements, polonium and radium, now so important to the medical world.
The rest is history. Manya, Marja, or Marie (as the French people called her), together with her husband Pierre, made some of the most important discoveries in the annals of medicine. Countless lives have benefited because a young girl once told herself that one day she would know all about the minerals in her father’s workshop. Her dedicated research led her to find out things that even her father never dreamed of discovering.
In 1903, Marie and Pierre Curie shared the coveted Nobel Prize for Physics with Henri Becquerel. In 1911, five years after the untimely death of Pierre, Marie Curie was awarded the Nobel Prize for Chemistry.

His first months in the Scottish conference, where he was assigned, were not easy, as they are not for many missionaries. He describes this discouraging time and its resultant renewal of his commitment to the Lord in these words:
“I was homesick and a little discouraged on this day. A Scottish woman had said, when I gave her a tract, ‘Better gae to your home, ya canna have any o’oor lassies!’
“I did not want any of their lassies. I had left a sweet one at home. But it made me discouraged to think of the ill will which they had towards the Mormons. What misconceived notions they had of our purpose among them!
“I had just left school. I loved school and I loved young people. I loved youth. And then to go over there and feel that antipathy and prejudice gave me the blues.
“I was with Peter G. Johnston, one of the truest friends in all the world. He was from Idaho, an experienced, wealthy man, a lover of all things beautiful. I was fortunate to have his companionship. …
“As we were coming back into town, I saw on my right an unfinished dwelling, over the front door of which was a stone on which there was a carving. That was most unusual, so I said to Elder Johnston, ‘I’m going to see what that is.’ I was half way up the graveled walk when there came to my eyesight a striking motto as follows, carved in stone: ‘Whate’er Thou Art, Act Well Thy Part.’
“I repeated it to Elder Johnston as we walked in to town to find a place for our lodgings before we began our work. We walked quietly, but I said to myself, or the Spirit within me, ‘You are a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. More than that, you are here as a representative of the Lord Jesus Christ. You accepted the responsibility as a representative of the Church.’
“Then I thought what we had done that forenoon. We had been sightseeing; we had gained historical instruction and information, it is true, and I was thrilled with it, for we had just finished studying the ‘Lady of the Lake’ at the university. However, that was not missionary work.
“That afternoon, by the time we found our lodgings, I accepted the message given to me on that stone, and from that moment we tried to do our part as missionaries in Scotland.”

Near my family’s home in St. George, Utah, was a big hill where I loved to play. One day as I was playing there with my older brother, Dennis, I slipped and tumbled onto a huge, prickly cactus plant. I had cactus spines everywhere—in my shoes, my trousers, my shirt. Frightened and in pain, and scarcely able to move because of all those sharp spines, I started to wail at the top of my voice. Dennis tried to help by pulling out the spines, but that seemed to hurt even worse and caused my skin to bleed. Finally, to my surprise, Dennis turned without a word and ran down the hill. I thought, Oh boy, that’s great. Right when I need him, he runs away. I was afraid that I was going to be left alone with that cactus in me forever.
Soon, however, I looked up, sniffling, to see him struggling up the hill with his small red wagon. He had run home to get it, and he pulled it all the way up the hill, tugging and pulling and huffing and puffing, so that he could take me home in it.

One evening my mom read “The Secret Giver” from the December 2008 Friend to us. We liked the story a lot and thought it was a great idea. So, we made a plan with our mom and decided who we would give gifts to for Christmas and when we would do it. We even did some detective work to discover what some of our recipients would like. We dressed in dark clothes and planned to drop the presents and run. We thought that we were just having fun, but we got more than fun out of this service mission. We felt really good inside after delivering the presents, and we were excited about doing something nice for others. We are already thinking about next year’s “secret giver” mission.

A few weeks ago my husband and I attended a temple session. As we entered, we were greeted by a temple worker, a dear friend from our ward. That greeting began a remarkable experience for us. We were met and served, more than any time I remember, by many people we knew: friends from previous wards, friends from the community, men and women we had served with in various callings. The last person I encountered was a young woman I didn’t recognize. She was lovely, and when she began to speak, I immediately remembered: Robin, one of the young women in my Laurel class when I was first a Young Women president. As we visited and exchanged memories and life updates, she told me how much that time had meant to her. I felt the same way.
I left the temple feeling moved by so much kindness, aware how important friends have been to me throughout my life. The Lord has touched my spirit time and again, and more often than not, His touch has reached me through the hand of a friend.

Maybe this is more of what he had in mind. An acquaintance of mine became seriously ill not long ago. I hurried up to the Veterans Hospital in Salt Lake City to see if I could attend to some of his needs. He’s got some problems. He’s not the most active soul in the world, and you can kind of get the picture. There’s one around you somewhere.

He was surprised when I walked into the room. “Well, how did you know I was here?”

“Oh, the Lord has ways of sharing this kind of information.”

He had a blood condition that had caused his body great distress. It was very serious because of his age. He had tremendous pain in his ankles. He was eating dinner at the time I entered the hospital, so I sat on the edge of his bed and said, “Would it help if I massaged your legs for a minute?” So I massaged him. And I said, “Can I ask you a personal question? Did this sudden illness scare you a little? Does the bishop know you’re up here? Would you be offended if I told him? Would you like a special blessing?” He nodded yes. “Do you have faith?”

“No,” he responded.

“Do you have faith in me?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know what faith is?”

“No.”

So I sat on the bed and taught him.

You know, I find that most people don’t know these things because they haven’t been taught; they don’t understand. I gave him a little 2 1/2-minute talk on faith. The first principles of the gospel are what? Faith, repentance, baptism, and the gift of the Holy Ghost. Now, if you back up and look at faith, it says what? In the Lord Jesus Christ. Sometimes we leave that out. So I taught him the principles. He hadn’t ever heard that before, and he was 62 and had been born and raised in the Church.

I had noticed, of course, when I first went in that there were four other men in the room. It was a ward shared by several men without any privacy. I noticed while I was teaching (although I didn’t make it a pronounced sermon as such; it was just between the two of us) that others were straining to hear. So as I stood up in preparation for going around to place my hands upon my friend’s head, I turned, as the Spirit prompted me to do so, and I said to the other men lying in their beds, “Gentlemen, may I have your attention please?” They all sat up in bed. I said, “Perhaps you have noticed I am here to visit my friend, who is ill like you. I’m his home teacher. We’re members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints—Mormons. I haven’t had a chance to get acquainted with you; I don’t know what your particular faith is, but we believe in assisting each other spiritually. I am here to attempt to do that tonight. I’m going to give this man a special blessing.” Then I taught briefly just what that was. I said, “I wouldn’t expect you to endorse it or reject it particularly, but would you mind being reverent for a moment as I perform this ordinance for my friend?” And they all just sat there. So I placed my hands upon his head, and blessed him. The Spirit touched both of us, and the tears came without shame from a man who, I guess, hadn’t been in church in 22 years. When I got all through, we embraced each other, and I said, “Now, can I ask you a personal question? Did I offend you?”

“Oh no, Brother Dunn,” he said, “this is one of the most sacred moments in my life. Thank you.” Then I turned to go out, and four other men wanted blessings, two of whom weren’t even members of the Church. Now, Latter-day Saints, you don’t have to be embarrassed at who you are or what you are. There’s a teaching moment awaiting every one of us as we share this most priceless gift which is ours. I pray God that we might catch something of that great vision and the importance of it.

Isabelle loved to pray! In the morning she said a “good morning” prayer. She thanked Heavenly Father for the sunshine and a new day.
At lunchtime Isabelle told Heavenly Father about her day so far. She prayed for help to be nice to her sisters when they got home from school.
At bedtime Isabelle’s family prayed together. They always started by talking about people who might need extra blessings.
Tonight Daddy said, “Please pray for Uncle Dan. He lost his job.”
Isabelle felt sad. She didn’t know a lot about grown-up work, but she knew that losing a job was bad. She loved her uncle. He made yummy popcorn. And last time he came over, he showed her how to do a cartwheel!
“I’ll pray for him to find a job,” Maria said. She was one of Isabelle’s older sisters. It was her turn to pray out loud for the family.
The next day, Isabelle asked Daddy if Uncle Dan found a job yet.
“Not yet,” Daddy said. “Sometimes prayers aren’t answered right away.”
“So should we keep praying for him?” Isabelle asked.
Daddy nodded. “That would mean a lot to Uncle Dan.”
Every day, Isabelle and her sisters prayed for Uncle Dan. They prayed for him to find a job. They prayed for him to have enough money. They prayed for him to feel loved.
Isabelle was glad she could help Uncle Dan with her prayers. Praying for him made her happy.
Her family helped Uncle Dan in other ways too. One day they helped Uncle Dan clean his house. Another day, Isabelle and Mommy stopped by to watch a movie with Uncle Dan.
Weeks went by. Finally Daddy had good news.
“Uncle Dan has two job interviews this week!” Daddy said.
Isabelle felt happy. She was glad she could pray for the people she loved.
What did Isabelle do to help Uncle Dan?
See Come, Follow Me for Enos–Words of Mormon.

I have never before read such a profitable and edifying publication as the Liahona (Spanish). I’m a young person who has never really cared to read. And when I started to read the magazine, I didn’t think I would find anything that would motivate me to search the scriptures and help me understand the message of the Lord Jesus Christ. But as I read the January 2000 issue, the talk “The Faith of a Sparrow: Faith and Trust in the Lord Jesus Christ” by Elder H. Bruce Stucki of the Seventy had a real impact on my life—so much so that I have continued to study the scriptures.
Thanks to our Heavenly Father and His missionaries, I have found the truth, and I am going to be baptized. Thank you for preparing missionaries to teach people like me.
Alexi Antonio López López,Oriental Ward, San Miguel El Salvador Stake
Note: Brother López was baptized on 18 March 2000, shortly after this letter was written.

This story happened in Kenya.
How was Primary?
It was good. And I got my Friend magazine!
That’s great! Ready to go home?
Yep!
Hello!
Hello!
Reading the Friend makes me happy. Maybe it will make her happy too.
This is for you! It’s a magazine about Jesus Christ.
Thank you!
That was nice of you.
Thanks. I just wanted her to feel the happiness I feel when I learn about Jesus!
“Share the gospel. Be you and hold up the light.”
Elder Marcus B. Nash of the Seventy, “Hold Up Your Light,” Liahona, Nov. 2021, 72.
Thanks to Sasha O. for sharing her story!
How can you share the gospel with others?
Illustrations by Kelly Light

Elder Richards had grown up with a piano. In fact, he could never remember his home without one. It had been as permanent a fixture as the kitchen sink; and yet, the piano had always been Terry Richards’s curse. Even though the rest of the family had musical inclinations, he had rebelled against everything musical—especially the piano. However, his mother had insisted and he had been forced to practice the piano one hour each day. Until that daily payment was made, he was in his mother’s debt. There was no football, no movies, no TV, nothing until the piano received its due. His heart was seldom in the practices, but he put in his required time, banging out his version of music, which was often nothing more than a cacophony of reckless pounding.
When he turned 16, even his tenacious mother relented and relinquished her dream of making him a great pianist. The lessons were abandoned, and with some money he had saved, Terry celebrated his freedom by buying a portable stereo, declaring that any music he made from then on would come from the stereo and not the piano.
Now in Guaymas, lonely and somewhat dejected, he gently ran his fingers along the chipped and broken keyboard. A wan smile touched his lips. “It would take more than a pianist to get music out of you,” he whispered. He began to walk his fingers across the keys, listening to the sharp ping of the falling notes.
A worn hymnbook lay on one of the folding chairs. He reached for it and turned to “Ere You Left Your Room This Morning.” It was the first hymn he had ever learned to play. He studied the notes for a moment. When he was convinced he could, he sat down and began to play. His fingers were terribly awkward. The piano needed tuning, and several keys were broken. At times it was difficult to determine whether he or the piano was making the mistakes. But he labored through the hymn, once, twice. He played until the music, if not entirely melodious, was at least recognizable.
It was late when Elder Becket, Elder Richards’s new companion, and Elder Cole found him upstairs lying on their cot asleep.
The next morning as Elder Cole was preparing the sacrament and Elder Becket filled out a mission report, Elder Richards strolled to the old piano. “Who plays this old box?” he asked with a grin.
Elder Becket looked up and laughed. “That, Elder, isn’t just an old box. To the members here, it’s the most precious thing in Guaymas.”
“This?” Elder Richards asked with surprise. Elder Becket nodded. “Why? Did Cortez bring it over from Spain or something?”
“It’s a piano. There are a few of them in town, but you certainly don’t find them in every house for the kids to climb on and kick around. Some of the newer members haven’t even heard this one played, and none of the members have heard it played very well. An Elder Fisher, who could play a few hymns with one hand, was here about a year ago, a few months after they bought it. The members almost made him a saint. They made him play his hymns every Sunday. Finally he jokingly told the mission president he was going home if he had to play those hymns another time.”
“It’s seen better days,” Elder Richards commented. “It could sure use a tuning job.”
“You play?” Elder Becket asked.
Elder Richards laughed and shook his head. “I can make noise, pretty bad noise at that, but I don’t play. My mother thought I had musical talents, but after five years of lessons and no noticeable improvement, even she gave up.”
“If you had lessons for five years …”
“I didn’t learn anything.”
“If you played that long, you can play as well as Elder Fisher.”
Just then President Perales and his family arrived and the piano was temporarily forgotten, but just before sacrament meeting, President Perales approached Elder Richards with a hymnbook and spoke, pointing to the piano. Grinning and shaking his head, Elder Richards said shyly, “No, no puedo … tocar.”
President Perales motioned for Elder Becket to come over. “Hermano Marcos said he heard you playing yesterday,” Elder Becket said.
“Yesterday?” he gasped. “I was just fooling around. I can’t play.”
“You sure impressed Hermano Marcos.”
“Elder, I haven’t played for over three years. Yesterday was the first time—I mean the very first time—I’ve even sat down to a piano for over three years. I was just …”
“Play what you were playing yesterday.”
“I can’t,” he insisted, but the protest was to no avail. With his face burning with embarrassment, Elder Richards retreated to the piano. Never had he played in front of a group. At home when the bishop had asked him to play in priesthood, he had adamantly refused.
When it came time for the first hymn, he huddled morosely on the piano chair and braced himself for the shame. Even had the piano been a good one, he would have battled to coax music from it. With his fingers trembling and his eyes frantically searching the keyboard, he began to grope through “Ere You Left Your Room This Morning.” He managed to get through all three verses, but it was torture for him. Later he played the sacrament hymn, and at the conclusion of the meeting he played “I Know That My Redeemer Lives.”
Sensing that all eyes were on him, he couldn’t bring himself to raise his head. He wanted to race from the building and hide himself, and the thing that was so utterly frustrating was that he was forced to endure his shame in silence. There was absolutely no way he could explain in Spanish that it had been years since he had last played, that he had never learned properly in the first place, that this whole thing was a terrible mistake.
As soon as the benediction was said, he stood, planning to sneak from the room and hide from the members’ questioning stares, but before he took three steps a sister had him by the arm and was speaking to him, tears glistening in her eyes. The only words that had any meaning for him were her often repeated, “Muchisimas gracias!” Two more sisters approached and then a brother. Soon it seemed as though the entire branch crowded around him, many with tears in their eyes, each trying to shake his hand.
He saw Elder Becket and searched his face for an explanation. Elder Becket smiled and called, “They loved it. If the Church sainted people, you would be the first Mormon saint in Guaymas.”
“For what?” he asked, completely bewildered.
“For playing their piano.”
“That wasn’t playing. That wasn’t music.”
“You’ll have a hard time convincing them. They want you to play again.”
“Now?”
“But I can’t. It’s been …”
“That might have worked back home, but not here. Look at them, Elder. They’re all but begging.”
Elder Richards was touched. He felt a twinge of shame, a gnawing guilt. Suddenly he wished he could play like his mother had always dreamed of him playing. He offered a silent prayer, pleading for help, not to shelter him from shame and embarrassment but to be an instrument in the Lord’s hands so that through his neglected talent he might give these special people the joy and satisfaction they sought.
It was almost an hour later before the last of the members left the building and Elder Richards made his way with his companions up to their room. “I can’t believe they could even listen to that, let alone enjoy it,” Elder Richards commented.
For a long while Elder Becket didn’t reply; then he shook his head and asked, “Where are you from, Elder?”
“Logan, Utah.”
“Have you ever been to a chapel that didn’t have a piano?” Elder Richards shook his head. “Well, most of these people have never heard the hymns played on a piano. The elders have taught them the melodies. Before today, when they sang “Ere You Left Your Room This Morning,” it was the way the elders had taught it. Not more than a handful of them have ever sung that hymn accompanied by a piano. “I Know That My Redeemer Lives” is a hymn that many of them have wanted to sing accompanied by a piano, but they’ve hardly dared hope that it was really possible.”
“I’m no musician,” Elder Richards said, “but I can hear the difference between noise and music.”
“Maybe two years ago I would have felt the same, but this morning that sounded pretty good, even to me.”
“Where did they get the old box anyway?”
“In Logan,” Elder Becket chided, “that’s an old box. Here it’s a treasure. They bought it from the Baptists. They had a special dinner to raise the money. Everybody donated food and then paid outlandish prices to eat it. All the money went for the piano. Someday, when the chapel’s built, they’ll have a new one, but right now they have to make do with that. The members are proud of their piano. Even though no one can play it and even though it might be out of tune, that’s one of the most important things in this whole building.”
“If it’s so important to them, why don’t they tune it?”
“No money. Right now they’re trying to raise money so they can start building their chapel. Every extra peso goes for that.”
The rest of the day, as Elder Richards followed his two companions, he couldn’t forget the old piano. When they returned to the building that night, it was late and Elder Richards was tired, but before going to bed he went down to the old piano and played “I Know That My Redeemer Lives.” The timing was off, and the notes didn’t come through as smoothly as they did when his sisters or mother played, but for the first time in his life he really tried to make music and not merely put in time.
The next day he wrote a short note to his mother: “Mom, I would appreciate it if you would sell my stereo and send me the money. Ted Roberts said he’d buy it if I ever wanted to sell. There’s this piano here that needs tuning, and the members don’t have the money to get the job done. I’d like to help them out. I figure I owe them something after wasting all those piano lessons. And, mom, thanks for making me practice the piano.”
When the letter was addressed and sealed, Elder Richards stood and started down the stairs to the chapel below. “Where are you going?” Elder Becket asked.
“Oh, I think I’ll go down and beat on that old box. I mean, I figure that as long as I’m going to be the new branch pianist, I should give the members something they can be proud of, not just a lot of noise.”

Just Not the Same Cleo, Gertrude, and Mirabelle always had to have exactly the same thing, whether it was the front seat of the car, the top bed bunk, the biggest piece of apple, or the same number of sprinkles on their bowls of ice cream. When they wanted a puppy, Mama tells them that they can have three identical stuffed-animal dogs, or they can share one puppy. Guess what they decided!Addie Lacoe3–7 years

When President Conley returned from Salt Lake City, I told him I wanted to be baptized. As we drove to Gilmer, Texas, for my baptism on 19 October 1970, I asked him, “Do I understand correctly from what I have read in the scriptures that just because I’m being baptized, I’m not saved, but that I have to endure to the end?”
He said, “That’s exactly right.”
I cried all the way to my baptism. I felt very strongly that the Church was true. After baptism, I felt it ten times more strongly.