Gospel Story Finder

In 1931 Amelia married George Palmer Putnam, a publisher who had interviewed her before her flight across the Atlantic. And in April of 1932 Amelia was eager to try another major flight. She had flown over one thousand hours in the preceding two years, but she wanted a new challenge. She decided to fly the Atlantic Ocean alone, in spite of the warnings of her friends and family.
On May 20, 1932, she climbed into her Lockheed Vega and took off from Harbor Grace, Newfoundland. The flight was torture. Heavy rain and fog enveloped the plane. Then ice began to form on the wings. Raw gasoline, leaking from a broken gauge, flooded the floor and made sickening fumes. Amelia began to fear that fire might break out at any time. Suddenly, the plane began to dive. The ice had weighted the wings too heavily. Amelia tried everything she’d learned from her past flying experience, and, finally, one hundred feet above the Atlantic, she pulled the plane up.
Hour after hour the plane droned on. Then a patch of green appeared. Ireland! Amelia had made the flight in fourteen hours and fifty-six minutes, becoming the first woman to fly solo across the Atlantic.
Before returning to America, she was entertained by European royalty. King George V and Queen Mary of England, Belgium’s King Albert, and dignitaries from several other nations decorated her.
America welcomed her home with more honors. She received the Distinguished Flying Cross from Congress and the National Geographic’s premier gold medal. Cheering crowds greeted her everywhere she went.

Boys were mean. By the time I was in fifth grade, I knew that for sure. One time some boys stole my favorite umbrella and smashed the handle. Another time they chased me across the playground with spiders. They even made fun of the way I kicked and threw a ball. I did not like boys.
One rainy day, my class had to stay inside for recess. So I found a board game for my friends and me to play. As we set up the game, a boy named David walked over to us.
“Can I play too?” he asked.
I narrowed my eyes. My friends stared at him. I didn’t remember David being mean to me before, but that didn’t matter. He was still a boy.
“Don’t talk to us,” I said. I glanced at my friends. They nodded. So I called David a mean name.
My friends laughed. “This is a girls-only game,” one of them said.
“OK,” David mumbled. He frowned and walked away.
My friends finished setting up the game, still laughing. I looked over my shoulder and saw David sitting alone, reading a book. He looked like he might cry.
I felt awful. I’d made David feel bad. For no reason. Just like those boys had made me feel with the umbrella and the spiders. Maybe boys weren’t the only ones who could be mean. And girls weren’t the only ones who got hurt.
“I don’t feel like playing anymore,” I told my friends.
I went back to my desk and put my head down. Why had I been so mean? Maybe I’d been afraid David would be like those boys who’d been mean to me before. But he wasn’t. And now I felt terrible. It would’ve been much better to be kind, like Jesus.
I closed my eyes and prayed. Heavenly Father, please forgive me. I don’t want to be mean like that again.
Over the next few days, I tried to remember that not all boys were mean. In fact, some of them were really nice. One boy in P.E. class even made sure the girls got as many turns with the soccer ball as the boys.
It took me a couple of days to get the courage to talk to David. I still felt so bad about everything! It wasn’t easy, but I finally talked to him during art time. I took a deep breath. “Nice drawing, David. I really like that horse.”
“Uh, thanks.” David barely looked up from his drawing. He probably thought I’d say something mean again.
So I smiled my nicest smile and kept talking as we worked. I hoped my friendliness showed I wasn’t really mean and that I was sorry for what I’d said before. By the end of art time, David was talking too. He even told some great jokes.
When I accidentally spilled paint on our table, he helped me clean it up. He didn’t get mad, even though some of it got on his paper.
When we mess up, we can repent. Go to “Family Fun Time” for an activity to learn more.
David could have gotten mad or said something mean, like I’d done. But he didn’t. Being nice really was better.

My quorum means a lot to me, but I don’t tell people this very often. I like doing things for the quorum, like the time we went camping at Three Mile Lake and I was in charge of the food. Everything went okay except the corn bread. I thought if chocolate was good and corn bread was good, they’d be terrific together. They weren’t. The quorum hasn’t quite forgotten that little episode, and I’ve been banned for some time from all cooking. Oh, well. Then about two weeks ago the quorum president called to ask me to visit the deacon who’d moved into our ward. “Sure,” I said, “what’s his name?”
“Jerry Snook.”
“The Jerry Snook at Chief Joseph? The Jerry Snook who is the terror of the classroom?”
“You got it.”
“But I’m sure he’s not a member.”
“Sorry. He’s just moved in from the Third Ward. He’s been inactive most of his life, I guess.”
I wasn’t surprised. Jerry wasn’t the kind of kid you’d expect to meet at church. “Do I have to do this alone?”
“Nope, we’ve asked Paul David to help you.”
“Thanks, he’ll be a big help.” I mean Paul’s a nice kid, but he’s a little different. Most of his classes at school are for students who don’t learn very fast. Still, he’s a deacon, passes the sacrament with us, and participates in the lessons. And he likes to tease me about the chocolate corn bread. But for Jerry Snook I wanted somebody strong.
“And don’t worry,” said the quorum president. “He’s already agreed to work with you.”
“Wonderful,” I said. And then I spoke very rapidly. “I can’t go see Jerry. He hates me. It’s true. Once when I said in English that I’d like to race a stock car, Jerry said real loud, ‘Dwayne, you could be the stock car.’ Even my teacher, Mr. Robertson, laughed.”
“You’ll do great. Just try to see him soon. Invite him to church.”
“You’re sure he’s a member?”
“Yeah, I’m sure. Good luck.”

I hung up the phone. At first I planned to call and see when Paul would want to go out. But I decided to wait until that evening because I wanted to be sure to catch him. I told my dad about the phone call, and he said he’d be glad to help in any way. That night he helped by asking if I’d been able to reach Paul. It was a little after nine, and I didn’t want to wake him. He might have been asleep. So I decided to wait until Monday. Jerry wasn’t in my English class, which was a relief. And I didn’t see Paul. I didn’t call him that night either because I didn’t want to interrupt his family home evening. My dad must have asked about ten times if I’d set up a time with Paul. Each time I promised I’d try real soon.

Tuesday I concluded it was time to give Paul a ring, but when I wasn’t sure which David family to call, I thought I’d wait a day or so. When my dad found out I didn’t know the correct phone number, he looked it up. “Paul’s father is named Emory,” he said, “and the number is 754–3961.”

The next day in English I found out why I hadn’t seen Jerry for a few days. Evidently, he had broken his leg playing touch football. I didn’t feel very bad about it, but at least I kept my feelings to myself. I also figured I’d wait a week before visiting him so he’d have time to recuperate.

That night I was surprised when Paul called me on the phone. “Dwayne,” he said slowly.
“Yes?”
“We need to see Jerry.”
“I know. I’ve been trying to call, but your phone is always busy.”
“Oh.”
“Listen, he’s got a broken leg, and I think we ought to let him get up and about before we go see him. Don’t you agree?”
“I think we ought to go see him tomorrow.”
“Well, Paul,” I explained, “we can’t do that because we’ve got to let him know we’re coming, and it’s too late to do that now.”
“I know.”
“Great. Well, I’ll call him tomorrow or so and set up a day.”
“I already talked to him.”
“You what?”
“I called him, and he said to come on over.”
“Did you say I was coming?”
“I just said that a friend and I would be over tomorrow.”
“Hmm, tomorrow. You know, I’m pretty busy most days, and I’ve got things to do tomorrow.”
“I told him tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow after school?”
“Yeah.”
“All right, all right. We’ll go tomorrow.” I paused for a second. “Hey, Paul, we don’t know where he lives.”
“I do. You come here, and we’ll walk over together.”
“Fine, fine.” I told my dad that we had an appointment with Jerry, and he seemed happy.

I met Paul the next day at his house, kind of a small place with two big trees in the front. “It’s not far,” Paul said. “We can walk.” It wasn’t that close either, and I was puffing a bit when we stopped in front of a brand-new house in a recently developed area.

“This is Jerry’s address,” Paul said. My hands felt clammy, and my stomach twisted as it always does before I have to climb a rope in PE or give a talk at church or tell my folks I failed a test. We walked up the steps, and Paul knocked on the door.

A thin, tall woman with blond hair opened the door. “Yes?” she said, looking at Paul and me as if she had caught us trying to steal the cement steps we were standing on. “Can I help you?” she added.

“We came to see Jerry,” I said, “that is if he’s not asleep or busy or eating or anything, because we can always come back.” The woman leaned forward a bit, raised her eyebrows, and slightly pursed her lips.

Paul cleared his throat a little and said, “We’re friends of his. I called yesterday.”

“Oh yes, from the Church.” She continued to look at me. “You know, we don’t go to church very often. In fact I can’t remember the last time.” She looked at Paul. “Well, come in, come in.” She ushered us into the living room, where we sat on some hard, wooden chairs. “Jerry, oh Jerry,” she called down the hall, “the boys that called yesterday are here.”

“Okay,” he said, sounding bored. After a moment I could hear a thump, thump, thump that grew louder.

“He’s not used to the crutches yet,” his mother said. “His accident has got him down, I think.”

At that moment a cast-covered leg poked through the hallway door, followed by a very redfaced Jerry who struggled with his crutches. He stared at me a moment. “What are you doing here?” he said.

“Oh,” said his mother, “you really do know each other.”

“A little,” I said.

“Yeah, yeah. At school,” Jerry added with a hint of a smirk.

“Well, I’ll leave you boys for now,” said his mother as she went into the kitchen.

Jerry backed up to a chair and flopped down. “So you’re a Mormon,” he said.

“Yes,” I answered, my voice cracking a little. “Both of us are.” I looked quickly at Paul.

“Yeah, we’re Mormons, and we came by to invite you to come to church,” he said.

Slow down, I thought. Now he’ll really lay into us.

“To church?” Jerry said.

“Yes, to church. It’s a good place to go, and we have a good time.”

Jerry shifted his crutches to the side of his chair. “You guys want me to come to church, huh?” He glanced at me. “You want me to come even if I call you fatso and chubby?” He was smiling.

“Well,” I said, my eyes a little out of focus, “sure, we both do.”

“That’s kind of funny, you know,” Jerry said. “You guys want me to come to church. I haven’t been to church for a long, long time.”

“There’s always a first time,” Paul said.

“Yeah, there’s always a first time,” Jerry laughed for a second.

We were all quiet a moment.

“How’d you hurt your leg?” I asked.

“I was playing football and tripped.” He looked a little embarrassed. “I feel like a jerk.”

“I know what you mean,” I said, and he looked at me sharply. “That is, I’m clumsy all the time.”

“You mean like when you dropped your tray in the cafeteria?”

“Yeah, and it had everything on it.” Even I could laugh about that incident.

“Well, that wasn’t so bad. You should have seen me when I tripped. What a klutz.”

“When are you coming back to school?” Paul asked.

“I don’t know. Probably in a few more days. The doctor said it was a pretty bad break and that I ought to take it easy.”

“That’s too bad. We’re working on predicate nominatives in English. Believe me, they aren’t any fun. And Mr. Robertson is as hard to understand as ever.”

“I’ll probably have to work hard to catch up.”

We all started talking about our different classes, the ones we liked and didn’t like, the easy and hard ones. Jerry’s mom brought out some punch. When we finished, Paul and I said that we had to go. We thanked Sister Snook for giving us something to drink. Jerry came with us to the door, not an easy feat when you’re not used to crutches. “You know,” he said, “nobody ever asked me to go to church. I mean just me.”

“You should come.”

“Maybe. Maybe I will.” Jerry looked out into the street. “Is the church far?”

“No,” answered Paul, “just down the street a couple of blocks. We could come by and get you.”

“Give me a call, okay?”

Paul and I stepped outside. “Maybe we’ll come by one of these days,” Paul said.

“Sure,” said Jerry. “Why don’t both of you come?”

It was getting dark, so we waved good-bye and headed home.

After a moment or two Paul said, “Well, we made a start.”

I left Paul at his house and walked home. When I got there, I told my dad how things had gone. He seemed pretty pleased. I felt pretty good myself. And then I had to settle down and study my predicate nominatives. They still weren’t any fun.

Many missionaries open their mission call surrounded by family and friends. I opened mine all alone in a potato field. I was a student at Ricks College (which later became Brigham Young University–Idaho). We didn’t have social media or the internet back then, and I was away from my family. So I went into the field, offered a prayer, and opened the letter.
“You are called to labor in the Ohio Cleveland Mission,” it said. I thought it was especially sweet that Kirtland, Ohio, was part of the mission, though I didn’t understand its significance at that time.
My first assignment was the Ashtabula Ward, part of the Kirtland stake. On our way to my first area, my companion, Elder Shawn Patrick Murphy, and I stopped at the Newel K. Whitney store in Kirtland. Today there is a large visitors’ center there, but at the time it was a small place. I remember walking up the stairs to the room above the store where Joseph Smith held the School of the Prophets. I knew little of the history of the place, but I still felt something distinct as we entered that plain room with its simple wooden benches.
The director of the center was a former mission president, President Brewer. As he spoke about this place where the Brethren studied and learned together, I felt the Spirit deeply. I began to see the role Kirtland played as a hinge point in the history of the Church.
In the early 1830s, Independence, Missouri, was identified as the site of the New Jerusalem. The Saints had begun to settle there. But they were then forced out because of differences with other Missouri residents and opposition to the Saints’ beliefs. In 1834, Joseph organized a group of about 230 men, women, and children, later known as Zion’s Camp. They were to travel 900 miles (1,450 km) from Ohio to Missouri to help the Saints regain land they had legally purchased. The journey was not successful in getting the land back, but it created a setting that helped prepare many future leaders of the Church, including Church Presidents Brigham Young and Wilford Woodruff.
It wasn’t just the preparation of leaders that was important. The sanctifying effect of Zion’s Camp prepared a people who were willing to sacrifice to build a temple.
In Kirtland, the Prophet received revelation after revelation about the organization of the Church, all in preparation for what would be the crowning achievement—the building of the temple.1 And sacrifice literally brought forth the blessings of heaven.2 The Saints were so poor they could hardly afford the necessities of life. Yet they consecrated their time, talents, and possessions—the very covenant we make in the temple today—to build the house of the Lord.
Today the Kirtland Temple is owned and maintained by another church—the Community of Christ. When a guide from that church took us through the building, I felt the Spirit as he quoted from journals of those who witnessed marvelous events at the temple’s dedication. These events included seeing angels and the temple seeming to be ablaze with light.3 The Spirit confirmed to me that this had indeed been a house of God.
I served in the Ashtabula Ward for seven months. Almost every preparation day, we took those we were teaching to visit the Newel K. Whitney store and talk about the Kirtland Temple. Many times we recited the inspiring account of Christ’s appearance at the temple:
The Lord Appears in the Kirtland Temple, by Del Parson
“His eyes were as a flame of fire; the hair of his head was white like the pure snow; his countenance shone above the brightness of the sun; and his voice was as the sound of the rushing of great waters, even the voice of Jehovah, saying:
“I am the first and the last; I am he who liveth, I am he who was slain; I am your advocate with the Father” (Doctrine and Covenants 110:3–4).
In addition to the Savior, others also visited the temple—Moses, Elias, and Elijah. They committed to Joseph keys for the gathering of Israel, the dispensation of the gospel of Abraham, and temple and family history work. (See Doctrine and Covenants 110:10–16.)
Because these visitations are so significant, I think we sometimes overlook the significance of other things that also occurred. In the dedicatory prayer, Joseph Smith addressed the Lord God of Israel, “who keepest covenant and showest mercy,” and pleaded with the Lord to “accept the dedication of this house unto thee, the work of our hands, which we have built unto thy name” (Doctrine and Covenants 109:1, 78).
By appearing in answer to that prayer, Jesus Christ, as the mouthpiece of God the Father, showed that He accepted His house, the ordinances that would be performed there, and the covenants that would be made there. That acceptance has been granted to every temple that has been dedicated since then, as well as to the covenants made and ordinances performed in those temples.
In the dedicatory prayer, Joseph also specifically asked the Lord to bless those who served in presidencies, as well as their families. Today, those blessings are extended to Relief Society presidents, quorum presidents, Young Women presidents, stake presidents, mission presidents, and so on. (See Doctrine and Covenants 109:71.) Then Joseph asked the Lord to “remember all thy church, O Lord, with all their families … that thy church may come forth out of the wilderness of darkness, and shine forth” (Doctrine and Covenants 109:72–73).
Joseph sought specific blessings for presidencies and their families, for members and their families, and for the Church as a whole. We regularly witness the fulfillment of those blessings as the Church shines forth as a light in the darkness.
The dedication of the Kirtland Temple exemplifies for me three basic truths:
We are blessed when we prepare for the temple. The Saints had to prepare for the Kirtland Temple to be built. They had to sacrifice, purify themselves, and develop willing hearts. We need to do the same to become more ready to receive blessings the Lord has for us.
We can receive revelation in the house of the Lord. The visions given to Joseph Smith and Oliver Cowdery in the Kirtland Temple provided guidance, direction, and understanding. On a personal level, we can also find inspiration when we go to the temple seeking answers.
We can find refuge in the temple. In a time of persecution and poverty, the Saints in Kirtland found that the house of the Lord was a sanctuary from the worries surrounding them. The same is true for us today.
Over the years, I have found that the things I learned about the temple as a young missionary in Ohio have blessed my family and me. For example, in the temple a year after we were married, my wife, Amy, and I received an impression that it was time to have a child. We were students, and because of tight finances I was tempted to cast the prompting aside. But the Lord was preparing us.
We had three miscarriages over the next two years, and I wondered, “Why the prompting to have children if we’re not able to have them?” Then we moved to California, worked with a fertility specialist, and finally had our first child, Mackenzie.
By following the inspiration we received in the temple, we began a process that took three years. If we had not followed the prompting when we did, it would probably have been at least another three years before we had our first child. We count that experience as a blessing of preparation and revelation.
We had a second child, Emma, but then we had another miscarriage and the loss of our son, Stewart. In subsequent months and years, as we sought peace, we learned that most of the symbols in the temple point us to the Savior and the healing balm only His Atonement can give.
I am grateful for the blessings of the temple. I testify to you that it is a place of preparation, revelation, and peace.

One of our sons struggled with fitting in and self-esteem during his teenage years. My wife and I prayed to know how to help him, and we were willing to do whatever the Lord would have us do. One day I felt prompted to ask my elders quorum president if he knew of anyone in need who I could visit together with my son. After some thought, he asked us to visit a woman with significant health challenges and, with permission from the branch president, to bring the sacrament to her each week. I was elated but also concerned about how my son would react to this weekly commitment.
On our first visit, our hearts ached for this dear woman, as she was in constant pain. She was very grateful for the sacrament, and we enjoyed visiting with her and her husband. After a few visits, one Sunday I was away and could not accompany my son, but I reminded him of our assignment. When I got home, I couldn’t wait to hear how the visit went. My son replied that he didn’t think his classmates got to do cool things like this. And he elaborated by saying that he brought his brother with him to help and that the sacrament went smoothly, but this dear sister had been sad during the week because she had invited friends to her home to watch movies, but her video player would not work. My son said he searched online, found the problem, and fixed it for her on the spot. He felt useful, happy, and trusted to do something that brightened her day. He felt God’s love for him.

Not many things intimidate Kristine. When her stake planned a pioneer trek, she signed up even though everyone was worried about her and whether she could make it. “But I was fine,” says Kristine.
When Kristine was born, one of her legs was shorter than the other. The femur was simply not there. So Kristine wears a special prosthetic leg. She wears it so well, in fact, that she says, “A lot of people don’t notice or at most ask me if I’m limping. They don’t really know.”
As the stake youth set out on a three-day trek, Kristine was making friends with her trek family and doing her part setting up and packing their handcart. After walking 10 miles the first day, Kristine, along with many others, developed some blisters. But she refused to ride to catch up and kept walking, just like the pioneers.
When it came time for the women in the family to pull the handcart up the steepest part of the trail, Kristine was right there in front. “I thought about the women who had to pull their sick husbands and children up places worse than this,” says Kristine. “I did not know how they could do that.”
But many others were wondering the same thing about Kristine. She had such a good excuse not to go or not to participate, but that isn’t how Kristine is. There are very few things that stop her, and her attitude will carry her far in everything she tries.

One of the best ways to make friends is to invite them over, right? That’s what the Montreal Ward of the Montreal Mount Royal Quebec Stake did. Their new chapel created so much interest in the surrounding neighborhood of La Salle that ward leaders decided to open it up for tours.
And when they did, the youth of this English-speaking ward played a major role. The Latter-day Saint teens were ushers, served refreshments, directed parking, and greeted guests at the door.
“It was a good experience because it gave other people in the community an opportunity to know more about us, what we believe, and what we do,” explains Melissa Poirier, 15. More than 300 non–Latter-day Saints toured the building.

Kiyoko awoke with a start. It’s Hinamatsuri (Girl’s Day)! she thought. She felt like jumping up but decided that it would be more polite to wait. Her whole family slept in the same room, so she had to be very quiet.
Rolling over on her futon (a thick mat placed on the floor), the young Japanese girl gazed dreamily at the red cloth-covered shelves, with their special contents, set up in the corner. Her father had put the shelves up the day before especially for Hinamatsuri.
Special guests were coming that day—aunts, uncles, and friends. She would get to be their hostess and would show them the beautiful dolls. She and her mother had even planned special refreshments together.
At last Kiyoko’s brothers, grandmother, and parents began to wake up. Kiyoko jumped up and carefully rolled up her futon and put it away. Then she put on her very best kimono (traditional Japanese long dress), which she had set out the night before.
She glanced again at the red shelves. This year, for the first time, Kiyoko had been allowed to unwrap the very special dolls and display them on the shelves. The dolls were stored all year and were only taken out for this holiday. Some of the dolls had been her mother’s, some were her grandmother’s, and some were even older.
No one ever played with these dolls, and since Kiyoko saw them only once a year, she’d nearly forgotten what they looked like. It had been exciting to unwrap each one.
The first one she had unwrapped was the empress doll. She was the loveliest of them all. She was also the oldest. The empress had smooth black hair, a porcelain face and hands, and a bright kimono with fancy trim. The empress always went on the top shelf. Kiyoko had put the emperor up there, too—these two dolls ruled over all the others.
Next she had unwrapped servant dolls, guard dolls, musician dolls, and courtier dolls. She also unwrapped miniature furniture and musical instruments. These went on the bottom shelves.
Now, as she looked lovingly at the beautiful dolls, she longed to touch the smooth black hair of the empress. Carefully she reached up to the top shelf and patted it.
As she pulled her arms back and lowered her heels to the floor, one sleeve of her kimono caught on the empress doll. It tumbled to the floor. Kiyoko felt very sick. She bent over to pick up the empress, hoping that since the doll had landed on the tatami (straw mats that cover the floors) it would not be broken. Carefully she turned the empress over in her hands. It was still all in one piece, but there was a crack on the side of its face.
Kiyoko quickly glanced over her shoulder to see if anyone else had seen it happen. Most of the family were in the village, visiting other girls’ displays. Her mother was in the kitchen, beginning preparations for that night’s holiday food.
Tears welled up in Kiyoko’s eyes. She felt ashamed. She decided to put one of the servant doll’s hats on the empress’s head and hope that no one would notice.
That evening guests began to arrive. Kiyoko served them diamond-shaped rice cakes, and candies shaped like fruits. She was no longer excited, though. Every time someone asked to see her display, she felt awful. However, no one seemed to remember that the empress had not worn that hat before.
Soon all the guests sat on floor cushions around the table, and Kiyoko helped her mother serve the food. They had miso soup (made with soybeans), and hisimochi (a special type of rice). Kiyoko particularly liked hisimochi, which was served only on Hinamatsuri, but that night she didn’t feel like eating anything. When her mother asked her if she was feeling well, Kiyoko couldn’t look at her mother when she mumbled that she was fine.
She felt relieved when the guests began to leave. They bowed and thanked her and her family for the special evening.
While the final guests were still changing from house slippers to their shoes, Kiyoko slipped back into the main room. She thought that if she put the dolls away right then, no one would notice the damaged doll. To further avoid mishaps—though she dearly wanted to start with the empress—she carefully started to wrap the miniature furniture first.
When her family came back into the room, her mother looked surprised to see Kiyoko was packing the dolls so soon, but said nothing. Then her father called the family together for prayer. As soon as they were all kneeling in a circle, he asked Kiyoko if she would say the prayer, since it was her special day.
Kiyoko folded her arms and bowed her head. But the words just wouldn’t come. All she could think of was the empress doll and the crack she was trying to hide. Tears came again to her eyes, and she looked up at her family. All of them had their heads bowed and were waiting for her to pray.
She knew what she should do. Her family had taught her to be honest. She stood up and went to the red shelves to get the empress doll. By then the rest of her family were looking at her. It was almost more than she could bear. She nearly decided to put the doll back and tell a lie to hide her actions.
But she didn’t. She lifted the hat off the empress’s head, then blurted out the whole story. With tears streaming down her face, she said that she was sorry. She also offered to use the money she had saved to have a craftsman repair the doll.
Kiyoko’s parents and grandmother went to her side, and each gave her a hug. They assured her that telling the truth was always the honorable thing to do.
As her family again knelt on the tatami, Kiyoko felt ready to pray. And this time the words did come.

Luke looked forward to Christmas all year. He liked singing Christmas carols at church, going to the ward Christmas party, and decorating cookies to give to neighbors.
But this year Luke was having a hard time feeling merry. His dad had lost his job, so his parents couldn’t afford some of their usual family traditions. Dad didn’t put out all their decorations. Mom didn’t bake as many holiday treats. And the Christmas tree was really small this year.
During family home evening, Luke’s parents told him and his younger brothers, Cory and Ethan, that they had enough saved to buy them one Christmas present each. Luke knew he should be grateful, but mostly he was disappointed. This Christmas just wouldn’t feel the same.
Luke couldn’t figure out why, but Cory and Ethan were actually excited. They started guessing what their gifts might be.
“A baseball!”
“A video game!”
“A dog!”
Luke didn’t make any guesses. And when Ethan said, “An elephant!” Luke was the only one who didn’t laugh.
Mom noticed Luke’s frown. “Why don’t we play a game to help us get into the Christmas spirit?” she said.
His brothers cheered. Luke sighed. He was too old for silly games.
Mom took the baby Jesus from their nativity set. “Close your eyes,” she said.
Ethan and Cory covered their eyes and giggled. Luke put his face in a pillow.
A moment later Mom said they could open their eyes. “I hid the baby Jesus somewhere in the room,” she said. “Dad and I will help you find Him by saying you’re warm when you’re close to Him or cold when you’re far away.”
Cory and Ethan jumped up and began searching.
“Cory, you’re cold,” Mom said. “Ethan, you’re colder. Ice cold. Brrr, you’re freezing! Luke, your brothers need your help!”
Luke slowly stood up to help search.
“Luke’s cold, but he’s getting warmer,” Dad said. “Warmer. Hot. Hotter. He’s on fire!”
Luke found the baby Jesus figure tucked behind a book on the shelf. Cory and Ethan ran over to look. “Me next! Me next!” they shouted.
“OK,” Dad said. “But first, let’s talk about what we learned.”
“What do you mean?” Luke asked.
“Well,” Mom said, “the more we look for Jesus in our lives and do things to get nearer to Him, the warmer we feel inside and the happier we are.”
Dad nodded. “The things we do to grow closer to Jesus make us happy forever. That’s the real Christmas spirit.”
Warmth spread through Luke’s chest. He looked down at the little baby Jesus figure in his hand. Christmas wasn’t about presents or decorations or cookies. It was about celebrating the birth of the Savior of the world. As Luke thought about Jesus, the warmth inside him seemed to get bigger and bigger. And the smile on Luke’s face got bigger too.
“Let’s play again!” Cory said.
“Mom, can I hide baby Jesus this time?” Luke asked. “I’m in the Christmas spirit now.”

One tragedy of love has already occurred this year. A beardless youth became so enamored of a young miss (although she did not encourage him) that each day for 47 consecutive days he wrote her a special delivery letter, until finally, on the 48th day, she eloped with the mailman.
The lad was probably blessed, since he had nothing to offer the lady except a mission yet unserved, a college education one quarter complete, and no funds. (He had spent all of his money on stamps.)

I was converted to the gospel when I was very young. Throughout my youth, I held different Church callings, and it is impossible to describe the joy I received from them. But one of the most remarkable experiences I had as a young person came the week before my mission.

I turned in my mission papers in January 1976. After some time, which seemed very long to me, I received a letter calling me to serve in the México Monterrey Mission.

Because my stake president was about to be released, he set me apart a week before I was to leave for my mission. He cautioned me about how I would need to live now that I had been set apart, but we agreed that I would continue at my job for one more week—as I had planned. I wanted to continue working as long as possible to earn more money for my mission and to help my family. As I left the stake president’s home on the Sunday evening I was set apart, I felt a beautiful warmth fill my entire body.

The next morning I got up to go to work as usual. As I entered the office building where I worked, I greeted the elevator operator and told him which floor I wanted. The operator did not answer but just stared at me. Then the owners of my company got on the elevator, and we greeted each other. After the elevator doors closed, I noticed my bosses were staring at me too. They asked me what had happened. I answered that nothing had happened.

When I walked into the department where I worked, my coworkers stopped talking and looked at me. I still could not understand why.

Later that day my bosses called me into their office. They asked me to recommend someone responsible to take my place. Then they asked why I seemed so different. I told them about my religion and my mission. They congratulated me and refused to accept my resignation. They said they would instead allow me to take leave for a year and a half so I wouldn’t lose my job benefits. And they asked me to return to work as soon as I finished my mission.

As I looked at my coworkers on my last day of work, I realized how much I loved them, even though their standards were very different from mine. María, who worked near me, asked, “What is happening to you? Why are you so different?” She said she could see a light in my countenance. “Why is that?” she asked.

Finally I began to understand the importance of missionary work from a new perspective. I had been called as a servant of the Lord, and the influence of the Holy Ghost was shining through me.

I am grateful to our Heavenly Father for that week of preparation before my mission. I am also grateful for my coworkers. They strengthened my testimony of the gospel by letting me see the importance of my calling through their eyes.

1. Kourtney’s parents told her that their family was going to a temple open house. She was so excited. She liked to sing “I Love to See the Temple,” and she couldn’t wait for the chance to go inside someday.
2. When the day for the open house arrived, Kourtney and her sisters combed their hair neatly and put on Sunday dresses.
3. As they drove, Kourtney and her family talked about how families are sealed together forever in temples. When the temple came into view, Kourtney couldn’t wait to go inside.
4. When Kourtney walked into the temple, she felt a warm, peaceful feeling.
5. Kourtney walked reverently by the temple baptismal font, the sealing rooms, and other beautiful rooms of the temple.
6. Finally, she walked into the celestial room. Everything was clean and beautiful. She felt calm.
7. When Kourtney and her family finished walking through the temple, she felt so happy. She loved the temple more than ever.
8. As her family began to drive away from the temple, Kourtney turned around and pointed. “Look, Daddy! I went there someday!”

Just for a moment, suppose that it’s your turn; you’ve received the large white envelope from 47 East South Temple Street with the title “Elder” before your name. It’s signed by President Harold B. Lee and you are “hereby called to be a missionary of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints to labor in the Samoa Mission.” (It could be any mission in the world, but since Samoa is the only one with which I am intimately familiar, let’s use it.) “Samoa!” You look it up and find that it’s about 2700 miles south of Hawaii and 13 degrees below the equator in the South Pacific. “Wow, the South Pacific! How lucky can a guy get!”

The Language Training Mission for the South Pacific and the Orient is at the Church College of Hawaii. Your assignment there is to get a good grasp of the foreign language and memorize most or all of the missionary discussions in that language. This is to be done in eight weeks, studying a minimum of ten hours a day. Meanwhile you are being weaned from family, girl friend, and dragging Main Street.

It’s a terrific challenge, a task that seems too tremendous for you to handle by yourself. In fact, you try your hardest to learn the sounds, structure, and sequences—and fail. It’s discouraging; you wonder if perhaps a mistake has been made, if you have been sent to the wrong mission. Then part of the magic starts to unfold as you become humble and teachable and go to the Lord for help. He’s ready to help you, and you are now prepared to receive his help. A few things begin to fall into place. Once in a while you recognize a verb. A few of the nouns become familiar, and the sounds begin to have meaning, and progress is being made.

Finally the day comes when you arrive in your field of labor. It is a land of beautiful beaches, breathtaking sunsets, pinnacled volcanic mountains, crystal clear rivers, swaying palms, and green, perpetual green, everywhere. All is there in majestic splendor, but for many months you hardly notice because you are preoccupied.

The food takes some getting used to. You had visions of exotic dishes, fresh fruits, South Sea delicacies. Instead your main diet consists of breadfruit, baked taro, boiled green bananas, canned mackerel, and a dozen other things whose names you can’t even pronounce.

You thought your language was pretty good, but now you find that the people talk too fast, and you can hardly understand a word they are saying. When they laugh, you think they are laughing at you because you said a word wrong. You probably did and they probably are.

You thought it would be fun to sleep on a mat in a fale (native house)—until you find that there is nothing under that mat but rocks, and your mosquito net does a better job of keeping the varmints in than out.

The heat and humidity are stifling. It’s so humid that rain or shine you’re soaked at the end of the day.

You discover that your legs weren’t designed for sitting crosslegged on the floor for hours on end. But your companion tells you that it’s improper in the Samoan custom for you to stretch your legs out while sitting. And don’t stand while drinking. Don’t ever whistle, don’t sing while walking, and never, never run in a village. And a thousand other don’ts, just because “it looks bad for a missionary,” and “it’s not proper custom.”

Then there’s your companion. He’s a little different (so are you, but that realization hasn’t sunk in yet). Besides, any odd little habits he may have are magnified out of proportion because of your closeness. He might visit a family two or three times before presenting a discussion. Anyone knows that these are the last days, and we don’t have time to waste on people. We’ve got to get in there, give our message, call them to repentance, give them their chance, and then move on to the next house.

Occasionally you wish you were home. Home—Mom’s cooking, security, hot water, electricity, mattresses and box springs, four seasons, an occasional drought, and indoor showers.

Again you are faced with a challenge. It’s a challenge of a different nature, but the solution is much the same. Humble yourself; become teachable; turn to the Lord; commit to do your part. The scriptures take on new meaning to you as you read of great missionaries: the apostle Paul, Alma the Younger, the Sons of Mosiah, and many others. You think to yourself, “Wow, they really had it rough. Come on, Elder, toughen up!”

Once again you begin to make real progress. Not overnight, mind you, but step by step, day by day, one obstacle at a time. One day you give your first discussion to a contact. You get nervous halfway through and your companion has to bail you out. The next time you make it all the way, and you feel great.

After several months of improvement, the moment you’ve been striving for arrives. The mission assistants pull up to your fale one morning and say, “Pack your box, Elder, you’re transferred.” You are now in a new area, and your new companion has been in the mission field for three days. That means you’re in the driver’s seat, the senior companion, charged with directing the work of the Lord in your area.

This is your big opportunity to do things your way. A wave of fear sweeps over you as you realize that you really are in charge, and your new companion looks at you like, “Well, what do we do now?” You fight off your fear, “gird up your loins,” and go out to preach repentance to the people.

A month passes, maybe two. You’re putting in the hours, working the area, giving discussions, making out the reports. All the physical essentials of proselyting are there, but something is missing. People are polite. They let you into their homes and let you give a lesson if you wish. But they seldom ask you back, and you can tell that they aren’t really interested. Their custom prescribes that they receive you cordially, and they honor their custom.

You begin to do some real soul-searching and pray earnestly to understand how to get through to the people. And then the words of counsel that your father gave you before you left focus sharply in your memory: “Son, unless you really love those people, nothing else you do matters.” The words ring true. You ask yourself: “Do I? Do I really love these people?” And your own conscience gives you the answer.

The next time you go out to proselyte, your methods are changed. Instead of just preaching, you begin to listen—not only to what people are saying, but you fine-tune your spirit to the feelings behind the words. It’s a revelation to you as you begin to understand that these people have real problems, joys, hopes, and fears just like everyone else.

One Sunday one of the sisters in the branch approaches you and asks you and your companion to bless her baby who is critically ill. Your faith wavers, but hers doesn’t. The blessing is given, and a life is saved by a mother’s faith. You are left with a deep respect for the faith of a people who, when one of theirs is sick, go to the elders even before they seek medical help.

You visit a nonmember family. As is often the case, they prepare a meal for you before you leave. This is common, and you had not taken much note of it before. This time you pay particular attention. The little red rooster that had been crowing when you arrived is now boiling in the pot. The last bunch of bananas is plucked. Enough money is found to buy a can of corned beef. You look around. The house is small, the roof needs patching, there are many children in the family, and they have little clothing. Yet they give you the best they have, and the only reward they hope for from you is your blessing, as a servant of the Lord, upon their family. As you leave there is a lump in your throat and mist in your eyes. You are humbled with the realization that you are charged with teaching the perfect gospel to a people who know and live the principles of true Christianity. You find there is much to be learned from them as you teach them the restored gospel.

A change in your sources of motivation now begins to take place. Language and language study become tools to better communicate the feelings of the Spirit, not just to impress your fellow missionaries or to send tapes home in a foreign language to impress Mom and Dad. Your fasting and prayers change from an emphasis upon your own needs to those of your contacts. Gospel study changes from a mere accumulation of theological facts to a sincere application of those truths in your own life. A whole new realm opens up to you now. Experiences that seem natural in themselves become revelations of truth.

You find that the Spirit of the Lord can be as powerfully present in a grass hut as in the nicest chapel; that the greatest gift with which a missionary can be blessed is to teach effectively and with the Spirit, to be sensitive and perceptive of the feelings of others, to discern their needs and wants; that the most productive and rewarding hours of your proselyting day are the “overtime” or “extra-mile” hours given in service when the body says, “I’m tired; let’s go home,” but the greater desire within you says, “One more house—maybe, just maybe, we’ll find a receptive spirit”; that the true fruits of your labors consist not in how many but in what kind of baptisms result—be it one or one hundred—and the feeling of grateful joy you receive when the Lord permits you to be a partner in the miracle of conversion.

The end of your mission nears. You are now an old timer among your fellow missionaries. On one of those last days, 9:00 A.M. finds you and your companion, as usual, walking to your first appointment of the day. Buried in your own thoughts you think of how the sun made a golden highway across a glassy sea as it rose that morning; how the storm of the day before made the rivers and waterfalls swell and the green foliage seem so much deeper and brighter after the clouds receded a little and the sun broke through; how the sunset over the tops of the mountains was reflected from one cloud to another until the whole sky was filled with shades of purple, yellow, pink, and blue; of the night breeze that cleared away the clouds and caused the palm leaves to clatter and the roar of the breakers to be carried clearly across the beach and village green long seconds after appearing as silver crests of reflected moonlight, tumbling one on the other against the coral reef hundreds of yards from the shore, to become mere lappings upon reaching the sand. All of this is but a fitting stage on which some of God’s choicest children have been placed.

As you continue up the trail, the now familiar lump again rises in your throat and the mist comes to your eyes, accompanied by a prayer in your heart that in some way you have given as much as you have received.

So, future missionary, be it the South Pacific, the Orient, South or Central America, Europe, Scandinavia, or the USA, the conditions and challenges may differ, but the key to success is love, the love you feel for your Father in heaven and the love you have for his children.

My seminary teacher used the article “Extra Strength” (Jan. 2002) in one of her lessons. That very day, a friend from school was asking me questions about the Church while we were in the weight room. I tried to answer him the best I could but didn’t feel my words were very influential. But I felt impressed to do as the young woman in the article did. The following day I gave my friend the new For the Strength of Youth and told him it contained the guidelines written for teenagers to follow. It felt good to have done this small missionary effort.Marek de SavignyDunrobin, Ontario, Canada

Suluya Racule, three weeks older than Vani, faces her own challenges. Suluya didn’t grow up in the Church, although it seemed like she did. She began attending Primary when she was nine because her aunt, a Church member, was a Primary teacher. And Suluya kept going to church even when her aunt and uncle moved to Tonga. But she was not able to be baptized until December 1995, when she was 15.
Even now, Suluya is still the only member of the Church in her immediate family.
“My parents were against my getting baptized. They thought I was too young to know the truth, and they thought I should go to other churches and see what they were like before I decided,” she remembers. “But I had this strong feeling inside that this was the true Church. I couldn’t think of any other church to go to.”

“During my recent meeting with some young members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, a young woman asked for advice about dealing with emotional challenges while being engaged in the Lord’s work.
“I am grateful to my new friend Carol, who shared how her understanding of the Atonement of Jesus Christ has given her comfort through her anxiety.”
Video:
Carol: “I’ve experienced a lot of anxiety throughout my life. And so I feel like this has been a question that I’ve had on my mind a lot and I’ve struggled with a lot too. But these last few weeks in seminary, we’ve really been focusing on learning about the Atonement. And as I learned about Jesus Christ, and that he suffered every single thing I’ve felt, I felt so much comfort, knowing that any mental instability I may feel, for whatever reason, he’s felt that too. And I was able to find great comfort in that and just knowing that I’m not alone.”
President Oaks: “That’s a wonderful description of a part of the Atonement that many people overlook. He didn’t just suffer for our sins. He suffered for our pains, our inadequacies, including our depressions and anxieties. He’s felt it all.”

About five months into serving my mission in Scottsdale, Arizona, USA, I began to experience panic attacks and anxiety that controlled my every thought. After many conversations with my mission president, my parents, and a counselor, I made the hard decision to return home.
I was devastated.
I had been so excited to serve on the front lines of the greatest army. Why was this happening to me? I couldn’t understand what the Lord was trying to teach me.
It wasn’t until a sacrament meeting months later that I really started to understand. For the closing hymn, we sang “I’ll Go Where You Want Me to Go” (Hymns, no. 270). The second line reads, “It may not be at the battle’s front my Lord will have need of me.” I imagined my missionary self on the battlefront and realized that Heavenly Father did not need me in Arizona. He needed me here.
I know that the Lord has a plan for me. That knowledge brings me enough peace and strength to endure. I’m not sure I will ever fully know why I needed to come home early, but I am now able to carry on with these words ingrained in my heart: “I’ll go where you want me to go, dear Lord … ; I’ll be what you want me to be.”
Kate B., Utah, USA

My parents exemplified this love in so many ways. They had a large family, with many grandchildren, some of whom chose to step away from the Church or follow paths that diverged from its teachings. Yet, to my knowledge, my parents never criticized, coerced, or tried to change their grandchildren in an effort to “save” them. They left judging and saving to the Savior and simply loved them. Their home was a place where everyone felt welcomed and safe, regardless of their religious beliefs, sexual orientation, or political or world views.
Grandchildren could tell them about anything and be themselves around them without fear of rejection. My parents spent time with them, listened to them, and built relationships with them.
In the days leading up to my mother’s passing, I witnessed her grandchildren—most now in their 20s and 30s—weeping as they gathered around the bed of their cherished grandmother. This small white-haired woman, along with my father, had ministered to them, valued them, welcomed them, and loved them without conditions. My parents were faithful Latter-day Saints who understood that loving others, even when their beliefs or choices differ from our own, doesn’t diminish our faith or change our beliefs. We lose nothing by loving all of God’s children.

In September 1845, the John Williams, a ship carrying two missionaries from the London Missionary Society, visited Tubuai to speak with Elder Pratt. While Elder Pratt carried on a lively debate with one of the missionaries, the other sought out those who had accepted Elder Pratt’s message. He “upbraided them for being baptized,” Elder Pratt reported. The missionary attempted to prove with scripture that they had been deceived, but Telii stood up to him and “maintained the point from scripture so well,” Elder Pratt said, “that he could not confute [disprove] her from it.”10

Elder Graham W. Doxey, who once served in the Second Quorum of the Seventy, told me of an experience. His mother, who was later a counselor in the Primary general presidency, also told me of this experience.
During World War II, he was in the navy posted to China. He and several others went by train to the city of Tientsin to look around.
Later they boarded a train to return to their base, but after more than an hour, the train turned north. They were on the wrong train! They spoke no Chinese. They pulled the emergency cord and stopped the train. They were put off somewhere in the countryside with nothing to do but walk back to the city.
After walking for some time, they found a small pump-handle car, the kind that the railroad workers use. They set it in the rails and began to pump their way along the tracks. It would coast downhill, but it had to be pushed uphill.
As they came to one steep downhill slope, they scrambled aboard the car and began to coast. Graham was the last to get aboard. The only place left for him was in the front of the car. He ran alongside and finally climbed aboard. As he did so, he slipped and fell. He was bouncing on his back with his feet against the car to keep from being run over. As the car quickly gained speed, he heard his mother’s voice say, “Bud, you be careful!”
He wore heavy military boots. His foot slipped, and the thick sole of his boot caught in a gear of a wheel and stopped the car just one foot (30 cm) from his hand.
His parents, who were presiding over the East Central States Mission at the time, were sleeping in a hotel room. His mother sat up at about 2:00 in the morning and awakened her husband: “Bud’s in trouble!” They knelt by the bed and prayed for the safety of their boy.
The next letter he received said, “Bud, what’s wrong? What happened to you?”
He then wrote to tell them what had happened. When they compared times, at the very time he was bouncing along that track, his parents were on their knees in the hotel room half a world away, praying for his safety.