Gospel Story Finder

Illustrations by Scott Jarrard
We had just finished reading a novel in my high school English class, and my teacher decided to show a movie adaptation of it that I didn’t feel was appropriate. She sent us all home with permission slips for our parents to approve the material.
I struggled to decide what to do. If I missed this movie and we were given a quiz over it, I could lose a serious grade. But if I watched it, I would be compromising my standards.
The next day our teacher asked us all to turn in our permission slips. I handed her my blank slip and told her that I didn’t want to watch the movie because it had content that was against my standards.
My teacher didn’t seem very happy with my decision, but she sent me into the hallway and gave me several extra assignments to make up for the quiz.
As I sat in the hall working on the assignments, I thought to myself, “This isn’t fair. Why should I get punished for doing the right thing?”
The next day, as the class was ready to finish the movie, I went up to my teacher for the extra work. Surprisingly, she didn’t have any for me and simply told me to wait in the hall. I found out that after the previous class my friends had talked to my teacher about the extra homework that I was assigned and had said they didn’t think it was fair.
I felt grateful for a teacher who respected my standards and for friends who stood up for what I believed in.

“This assignment will be due two weeks from Friday,” said Mr. Perkins. “I’m distributing a reading list to aid you in your research.”

Hastily, John Salinger jotted down the details of the assignment on the back of the reading list: three-page paper, due on the fifth, world hunger, population explosion, use reading list.

The bell rang, and John made his way down the hall toward the cafeteria. Near the library he passed the locker informally shared by most of the LDS girls at Royal High. As usual, John found most of the LDS boys there, too. By the time they reached the cafeteria, other LDS students and nonmember friends had joined them.

When the “Mormonism-for-lunch-bunch” were seated in their usual places in the cafeteria, John asked Julie Marshall a question:

“Did Mr. Perkins give your class an assignment on population and hunger today?”

“Yes, he did,” replied Julie. “I hope I can find my research notes for the paper I did on this same subject for him last year.”

Soon it was established that not only had Julie’s history class received the assignment, but also Kamio Kamura’s economics class, as well as John’s government class.

“It’s not just Mr. Perkins,” added Lisa Ballard. “It seems as though I’ve received a similar assignment at least once each semester from one teacher or another ever since I started here as a sophomore three years ago. If it isn’t overpopulation, it’s abortion, or capital punishment, or world hunger.”

“I think some of the teachers at this school have a one-track mind,” said Julie. “And the stuff in the reading list makes it pretty clear what your conclusions are supposed to be: ‘The world is overcrowded. No one should have a large family. Abortions are needed to control population growth. We’re running out of food.’ I don’t believe all that stuff.”

“Maybe we’re being unfair to the teachers,” said John. “It seems to me that Mr. Perkins is a genuine idealist. He gives lots of assignments on these subjects because he’s really concerned about them. I think the same is true of the other teachers, too. And many of them agree with what the Church teaches.”

“Maybe so, John,” answered Lisa, “but how do we do the assignment when the teacher’s opinions don’t seem to square with what the Church teaches?”

“Right!” agreed Rick Baker, a recent transfer student from Utah. “I know what the Church teaches, and I believe it.* But how do you disagree with a teacher? Can you just put what you believe in a term paper? How do you go against everything on the reading list? Will Mr. Perkins take a quote from the scriptures?”

These young people have raised some interesting questions. Frequently, the opinions of teachers will differ from Church policies, the statements of Church leaders, and the scriptures.

Teachers are seen as authority figures, persons whose positions are based upon their having considerable knowledge of their subject field and persons who are the judge and jury at report-card time.

In the case of Royal High School, the LDS students found some good guidance close at hand.

“Well, it’s quite a riddle,” said John, “and I don’t have the answer. But I do know where to find the answer. Let’s go talk to Mr. Morgan. He’s taught at this school for a hundred years, and he’s been a bishop and a seminary teacher longer than that.”

Bishop Morgan was in his room in the science wing when the “Mormonism-for-lunch-bunch” arrived. John quickly related the group’s questions.

“I can see that you do have a problem,” said Bishop Morgan, “but it’s not the problem you mentioned. You are assuming that you may use only the sources on Mr. Perkins’ reading list and that you must reach the same conclusions as the authors on that list.

“I have no doubt,” continued the bishop, “that you are welcome to use other sources, and to state other points of view, and to reach different conclusions if that is what your research leads you to.”

“But are there books and articles that support what the Church teaches?” asked Lisa.

“Certainly,” replied Bishop Morgan. “There are few fields of study without controversy. Honest, sincere researchers, working with the same data, may come to widely different conclusions and then publish documented articles and books in support of their conclusions.

“Some scientists are sure that the world is overcrowded with four billion people. Others feel that the earth is capable of providing well for 40 or 50 or even 100 billion people.

“And among social scientists the differences of opinion are probably even greater because they work with the most complex subject of all: people. That’s why you get strong, conflicting opinions on subjects like abortion, capital punishment, mercy killing, and the like. There are no easy answers.

“As Latter-day Saints, we are fortunate to have revealed truth to guide us in these controversial subjects, and we should be grateful for that. And there are also many researchers, both LDS and otherwise, whose writings agree with what the Lord has revealed. Your problem is simply to find these writings and then decide which of them will be useful in your assignments.”

As the bishop concluded, the students were quiet for a moment. Then Kamio asked one last question:

“But what about Mr. Perkins? Are you sure we won’t be penalized if we turn in reports that disagree with his point of view?”

“I know Carl Perkins,” said the bishop. “Yes, he has strong opinions, but he’s a good teacher and a fair man. He won’t grade you down for differing with him. He’d be pleased if you went beyond his reading list. Just be sure that what you do is well written and researched, and don’t automatically assume that everything on that reading list is wrong. Read it with an open mind.”

In the next three weeks John, Julie, and Kamio did a lot of hard work. Working together, they carefully read everything on Mr. Perkins’ reading list and then began digging into both the school and the public libraries.

They contacted Church Social Services in their area and their bishop and obtained some useful materials and references. Both the U.S. Government and United Nations agencies were found to have prepared good statistical summaries. An LDS anti-abortion filmstrip, “Very Much Alive” (available in both an LDS and a worldwide edition), was borrowed from the meetinghouse library and used. Other teachers were consulted.

John and Julie and Kamio received top grades for their work in presenting the Church’s stand. They were invited to present their findings to their respective classes and to answer questions from other students. They were well prepared to defend their positions. They had found facts to back up their beliefs.

Best of all, they learned that there really are good and valid reasons for the Church’s stand on tough moral issues. They discovered that some teachers with strong opinions respect students who do a good job of disagreeing with them. And they learned that the gospel of Jesus Christ is always in harmony with truth from whatever source.

We must not forget that the concern for construction of a temple anchored both ends of the Mormon westward movement. In Nauvoo Brigham Young worked hard to encourage his people to finish the temple, and one of the first things he did upon entering the Salt Lake Valley was to select a site for another temple. Early members like Sarah Rich understood the deeper meaning of all this. She recalled her experiences in Iowa in 1846:

But many were the blessings we had received in the House of the Lord which has caused us joy and comfort in the midst of all our sorrows and enabled us to have faith in God knowing he would guide us and sustain us in the unknown journey that lay before us, for if it had not been for the faith and knowledge that was bestowed upon us in that temple by the influence and help of the Spirit of the Lord our journey would have been like one taking a leap in the dark. To start out on such a journey in the winter as it were, and in our state of poverty it would seem like walking into the jaws of death but we had faith in our heavenly father and we put our trust in him feeling that we were his chosen people and had embraced his gospel and instead of sorrow we felt to rejoice that the day of our deliverance had come.

After 15 months, I was reassigned to the American Embassy in Pretoria, South Africa. I was selected as the first black Marine security guard ever to serve in South Africa. In each place I was assigned, I was handpicked because of my standards. Interestingly, President Bill Clinton phoned to ask me to accept the South Africa assignment. Those were some of the reasons that I received many recognitions and awards.
It was in South Africa that I met the Cleverlys, who were members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The mother of the family invited me to their home at various times. She always told me about young single adult activities, but I could never attend due to my job schedule. Then she invited me to attend church, and I accepted. But before Sunday came, I had three nights of night-shift duty. I went downstairs to the library of the embassy where there was a computer with a huge search capacity. I just typed in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. All this information came up, so I just read it for eight hours the first night, eight hours the second night, and eight hours the third night. What I looked at most of all was what Latter-day Saints believed and how they applied it in their lives. Did they live according to what they had established as laws or standards of the Church?
The week preceding my visit to church, I had a dream. I was sitting at a table, and there were two young men with white short-sleeved shirts and black tags. They were sitting on the sides of a table, and I was seated at the head. I woke up, but I didn’t think much about the dream.
The first time I walked into an LDS ward, I knew there was something different about this church. Also, it happened to be the first Sunday of the month, which meant that the members had an opportunity to stand and bear testimony. Now this is the true order of church, I thought.
I was introduced to two missionaries who began to teach me. One of the young men was one of those in my dream, the exact person. Sister Cleverly invited the missionaries and me to her home for dinner. She placed us at the table exactly as my dream had predicted.
Later, when we got to the principle about baptism for the dead, I thought it was so amazing that one could go to a sacred place and do these things for people who had passed away. I just thought that was incredible, and I thought about my two grandfathers and my grandmother who had passed away. That’s when I started to feel the Holy Ghost. The teachings sounded right to me.
We got to the next principle, which is about families, and I just always knew that was true. When I heard about eternal families, I told the missionaries, “I knew this existed.”
Then the missionaries taught me about the Word of Wisdom, and it was then that I had a discovery. I don’t want to call it a paradigm shift, but it felt like my soul unfolded, and I just shed this shell and a new person came out. I felt like I was three feet off the ground. I had always lived the Word of Wisdom, and I wanted to know why I was the way that I was. No one ever had the answer to that for me, but the Lord did through the missionaries and the discussions. I knew that everything they had taught me previously was true, and everything that they would teach me would be true. I never felt the Spirit so strongly reading scriptures before, and when I read Doctrine and Covenants 89:18–21, I knew it was true. I always knew that my body was important, and I knew that it was never to be defiled.
From this point forward, I began to experience mixed emotions about becoming a member of the Church. I was concerned about my father’s opinion and his reaction to my decision. The night of the sixth discussion was a very eventful night.
During the sixth discussion, I received the message that I had an incoming call from my father. The phone rang. I picked it up, and it was indeed my dad.
He said, “Your mother informed me that you’ve made a decision to join the Latter-day Saints.”
I said yes.
He said, “I’m here to prevent that from happening.”
And I said, “You know what, Dad? I love you, and you’ll always be my dad. You’ve done a great job with me. But I’m 22. I’m a man now, and these decisions are for my family and my future. I want to thank you for everything you’ve done for me and that you will continue to do for me, but this is my decision. I’m going to do it, and I know that the Lord wants me to do this.”
My dad wasn’t too happy when he hung up the phone. Immediately I got on my knees in the kitchen and asked the Lord to help me see and understand that what I was going to do was correct. I was thousands of miles away from home. I was all alone, and nothing was going right. Only when I was with the missionaries did I feel good. At that moment the Spirit testified to me that it was the Lord’s will and that the Lord wanted me to be baptized. It was a very clear voice that just said, “You’re to do the Lord’s will. You are to follow His example.” Then I knew. I never looked back after that. I was baptized on October 12, 1995.
It was a year to the day of my baptism, October 12, 1996, that I entered the Washington D.C. Temple to be endowed in preparation for serving a full-time mission to the Spain Madrid Mission.
During the first year of my mission, my parents were not supportive about my missionary service. The Lord revealed to me while I was on my mission that my family was fine, and they would be taken care of. Then things changed all of a sudden. The last six to eight months of my mission my family was very supportive. They said they were receiving blessings, and they knew it was because of my serving a mission.
After I returned from my mission, I stayed with my family for three weeks before I had to leave to enter Brigham Young University. Before school started, my father visited me, meeting my friends and seeing Salt Lake City. When I took him to the airport, he embraced me and told me, “Out of all 46 years of my life, never ever have I felt more love or the Spirit of God in my home than when you were home the last few weeks. I know that we owe it to the service that you gave in Spain for two years.”

From 1846 until 1869, when the railroad came to Utah, many members of the Church traveled across the plains to the Salt Lake Valley. They came by wagons and on foot. From 1856 to 1860, many pushed or pulled small handcarts with their worldly possessions packed inside. The trip was hard and long, and the Saints who made it to the valley arrived tired, sick, and hungry. Some turned back, and, unfortunately, many died along the way.
In the general conference of October 1856, word came to Salt Lake City of the plight of the Willie and Martin handcart companies. They had started out late and had been struck by an early winter storm in the plains of Wyoming. President Brigham Young adjourned the conference and called able-bodied men to quickly gather supplies and organize a rescue party. Among the many valiant men who rode out of Salt Lake City to help the stranded Saints were young men by the names of C. Allen Huntington, George W. Grant, David P. Kimball, and Stephen W. Taylor. When they left, they could not have known what would be required of them or what contribution they would make to the building of the kingdom.
Arriving at the banks of the ice-filled Sweetwater River, the rescuers found the handcart companies bogged down in snow 46 centimeters deep. Men, women, and children among the group were too weak to cross the river. Their energy was spent; their strength was gone; and no doubt they felt the effects of frostbite, hypothermia, and extreme fatigue.
It was then that these strong young men made a sacrifice that few are ever called upon to make. They waded into the stream time and time again, carrying members of the company across the icy stream. Back and forth they crossed until every member was safe on the other side and on their way to shelter and finally into the Salt Lake Valley. These young men, by then cold, wet, and suffering themselves, joined the ranks of the heroes that day. They were not perfect—they were probably regular young men with faults and shortcomings, with their own problems, fears, and weaknesses. But they answered the call of the prophet—they were where the Lord could find them when they were needed to bless the lives of others.

Once again the girl with the short curly hair tried to stand up on the snow-covered slope and regain control of her skis—but more slowly this time. Every muscle seemed to rebel and force her to admit defeat. Her mind had not counted the many times she had fallen down, but her body knew and it reminded her.
The people in the town called her Heidi, even though that was not her name. And she did not really belong to that part of the world either. The Swiss Red Cross had placed her for a few months in the home of a Swiss family. Thousands of undernourished children from war-torn countries of Europe found a similar haven in Switzerland where they could regain their physical, emotional, and mental health.
Later in life Heidi would try to find out who had put this worthy program into effect. But at the moment her overriding concern was her frustration.
Through tearfilled eyes she could dimly see the outline of the house she called home. Home—that was what it had become to her. At first she had tried very hard to resist its beauty, but the urge lasted only a short time. The scent of wood paneling, the aroma of freshly baked bread and homemade soup, the crackling of logs in the fireplace enveloped her like a warm blanket every time she stepped into the foyer. She felt secure there.
Slowly, like a flower unfolding to the sun, she had opened her heart and soul to her surroundings. Heidi knew there would be pain in leaving at the end of her stay, yet she was willing to take the risk. Whatever heartache lay ahead would have to be met when it came. These glorious memories might have to carry her for a long time.
Heidi’s own country was in ruins. Food was scarce, and her father was a prisoner of war. Her mother was so blind with grief at the death of her only son that she was unaware of the needs and emotions of those around her.
For the first few nights after her arrival in Switzerland, Heidi lay awake trying to become accustomed to the sounds of the house. It was hard for her to believe that she could really go to sleep and that there would be no siren to make her heart race with the fear of yet another air raid.
Heidi had looked around the room. There was so much to see and explore. There was a soft white sheepskin rug on the floor by her bed and a huge, billowy feather tick that almost seemed to drown her. She often found a piece of chocolate on her pillow. Even the light bulbs were white, not blue like the ones she had been used to.
More than anything she loved the mountains. They seemed to her like people—some very gentle, others a little less smooth and polished. She remembered a man high on the Alps who spent his summers taking care of the cows and making cheese. He was not really anybody to be afraid of, but Heidi had never seen him smile. Once, without saying a word, he had given her a small handcarved goat.
Heidi had found a lot to be happy about in her new world, yet some things still grieved her. If only the other children wouldaccept me, she pined. Sometimes she felt trapped behind a wall of indifference. None of the children had ever invited her to join their games. At first she had not minded too much, because the games were not familiar to her anyway. Her childhood had been spent just trying to stay alive. However, standing at the window watching, Heidi learned fast. Now she longed to be included, but it seemed that that would never happen.
With the sensitivity and cruelty that only children are capable of at the same time, she was not left to guess at their feelings. Because Germany, her homeland, had started the war, she knew there was no way these children would make it easy for her.
All these pent-up feelings made Heidi determined to excel. She decided she had to win the ski race and made her plans in secret. The boots, skis, and poles she borrowed were much too big for her, but they’d have to do. Early every morning she would leave her warm bed to practice on the slopes. And long after the other children had gone home, Heidi still practiced in the early dusk.
Each waking minute was filled with the vision of winning the race. Heidi could picture herself flashing through the gate as the loudspeaker announced the fastest run of the day. It will be mine! It has to be mine! Heidi daydreamed. She was determined to be the one who would be given the cup filled with delicious chocolates. She was the one who would walk past the line of competitors as the winner. I’ll show them, she dreamed. They’ll be sorry then for all their insults. In Heidi’s mind much more than a place in the winner’s circle was at stake—she would have her revenge.
The day of the race came. There was no time for nervousness now, just a steely determination that had honed her ability to near perfection. Heidi skied as though she had nothing to lose and everything to gain, and it happened exactly as she had envisioned it so many times. Slowly her steps led her to the winners’ stand. She accepted the cup and turned to make the traditional walk past the other participants.
Eyes seemed to look through her, and nobody smiled or applauded. If this is victory, she thought, why am I so unhappy? Yet, could I really expect the others to understand and rejoice with me? It would be asking too much.
Heidi straightened her shoulders and took a few returning steps to the beginning of the line. What she was doing required courage. If she were not able to make amends today, she was afraid her resolve would falter.
Arm extended with the visible sign of her victory, Heidi invited her longed-for-friends to share in her triumph and her prize. For a small moment in time it was as though the very air around her held its breath. Nobody spoke or moved. Finally one of the girls took a chocolate and smiled her thanks. And then almost at once it seemed to Heidi that everybody was laughing and crying at the same time.
Acceptance had come at last.

Roger Randrianarison knew something was missing from his family’s life.
“I prayed to God to help me find something to lead my family,” he said. “I had a desire to lead my family in something good, something that would lead to the right path.”
He was concerned about how to raise his three children—sons, Randrianandry and Sedinirina, and daughter, Nirina. He was unhappy that his short temper had led to challenges in the family. He wanted to be a kinder parent.
“I decided I was the one who had to change because I saw who I had become,” he said.
Roger had lost his construction business a few years earlier and was working as a taxi driver in Antananarivo, Madagascar. One day he picked up two sister missionaries.
“Once they were in the car, they asked me my name and if I had a family,” he said. “They asked if I knew who God was and if I prayed to Him.”
The missionaries sang songs with Roger during the ride and invited him to church. He tried to go a few times but never could work the meetings into his schedule, and he lost contact with the missionaries.
About five months later Roger was working at home one day when he heard two missionaries talking to someone outside his fence. Roger knew they would come talk to him. He felt like he should answer yes to whatever questions they would ask him.
After introducing themselves, the missionaries asked him if he knew about God. Yes. Did he want to pray to God? Yes. Did he want to talk to the missionaries? Yes. When? Now. The missionaries said they would return in 20 minutes. When they came back, they had a member with them who lived nearby.
The missionaries taught Roger many times for a month in his home. Because of what they had heard about the Church, the rest of his family didn’t want to study with the missionaries. After a month of learning about the gospel, Roger went to church with the missionaries. The kind reception he experienced left an impression on him. “The members received me like they had already known me for a very long time,” he said.
Roger went home from church and told his family that he was going to be baptized in a month and that they were free to choose to join the Church or not. They asked him to wait so that they could join him. They started attending meetings and were also pleasantly surprised.
The first time he attended Church meetings left a lasting impression on Roger’s oldest son, Randrianandry. “The first time I came to church I was so surprised because the people were so humble,” he said. “First, they were properly dressed for church. After that I realized they were really there for a purpose, not just to show off for other people.”
The Randrianarisons were baptized as a family on February 20, 2003. At the time Nirina was 8, Sedinirina was 17, and Randrianandry was 19. The family stopped working on Sundays and made living the gospel a priority.
“After I got baptized, I saw a lot of changes in our home,” said Arelina, Roger’s wife. “It became a spiritual home, and so many blessings, both temporal and spiritual, came from living the gospel.”
From a temporal perspective, Roger credits Heavenly Father with helping him rebuild his business. After two years of driving a taxi and doing whatever he could to provide for his family, he started receiving construction contracts. “I believe that God always blesses me when I decide to follow Him,” he said.
But his sons say the biggest change they have seen is in their father’s temperament. They describe him now as an example of humility and kindness. Roger said the gospel convinced him that he had to change. Since he began studying it, Roger has tried to fill his life with good things.
“Because of the teachings of the gospel, I never lose my temper,” he said. “Sometimes there are provocations, but the gospel is in my heart, in my head, and in my spirit. It helps me stay calm.”
When upsetting situations arise, Roger is the one who calms down family members and reminds them to act as the Savior would.
“My father became humble and now cares for our family with love,” Sedinirina said. “When I look at the change in him, I’m so grateful for Heavenly Father, for the gospel, and for being members of the Church.”
In 2006, with the help of the General Temple Patron Assistance Fund, Roger and Arelina went to Johannesburg, South Africa, to be sealed in the temple.
From 2009 to 2011, Sedinirina and Randrianandry served missions to South Africa—Sedinirina in Cape Town and Randrianandry in Johannesburg. Part of their motivation to serve was to help other families change, just as their family had.
“A miracle like this can happen, and it happened because missionaries came to our house,” Randrianandry said. “So I had the desire to do the very same thing for a family somewhere.”
That decision brought another blessing to the Randrianarison family. There was a nine-day period when both Sedinirina and Randrianandry would be in the Johannesburg Missionary Training Center. Roger arranged to fly to South Africa with Arelina and their daughter, Nirina, so the entire family could be sealed in the temple. Nirina, who was 14 at the time, said it’s difficult to describe the experience and what she felt.
“It strengthened my faith and helped me feel closer to God,” she said.
Today the family members work to build and strengthen those around them. Roger serves as the bishop of his ward. Arelina works in the Primary with the Faith in God program. Sedinirina is an assistant stake clerk. Randrianandry is an assistant ward clerk. Nirina is the ward music director.
The gospel has been an answer to prayers in the Randrianarison home. It has healed old hurts, brought them closer, and given them the opportunity to be together forever. It has taught Roger to love. “Family life,” he said, “is a life full of love.”

Karen pulled the twine off the bale of hay and hung it on a fence post.
“You do that pretty well for a shorty,” said Josh as he dropped the last bale by the manger.
“I could do the whole job by myself if I wanted to,” Karen snapped. “And if everyone weren’t in such a hurry to read scriptures before breakfast, I would too.”
“Oh, don’t get your feathers all fluffed up,” Josh said with a grin. “What’s the matter, don’t you like stories about the Nephites and Lamanites?”
“I just don’t see why I have to work so hard at studying scriptures. I’ll never be struck down by an angel for preaching against the Church like Alma the Younger. And I sure hope I’ll never be burned at the stake like Abinadi.”
Josh sat down on a hay bale, took off his gloves, and shook out the leaves and chaff.
“You’ve got to apply the scriptures to your own life,” he said. “Take the story of Abinadi: the Lord is just showing us how important it is to speak up for the truth, even if we get into trouble for it.”
“I suppose you’re right as usual, big brother,” sighed Karen.
“Of course I am,” agreed Josh good-naturedly. “You can understand your own problems a lot better if you see how people in the scriptures acted.”
“Well, we’ll never make it back in time if you sit there holding down that bale all morning,” said Karen, pitching a forkful of hay to the waiting cows. “I bet I can feed these cows and be in the house before you can get the calves fed.”
“All right, Shorty, you’re on,” Josh said, pulling on his gloves. “See you later.”
“Don’t call me Shorty!” shouted Karen. But Josh was already over the stackyard fence and gone.
Karen worked so quickly that she was soon feeling warm in spite of the cold wind. She was tempted to stop and take off her coat, but she didn’t want to waste any time.
The sun eased over the hill and shot spears of light into the ragged clouds. A flock of blackbirds sailed into an elm tree, where they flapped and chattered to each other.
Karen tossed the remaining hay into the manger. Most of it landed on the cows’ heads since they were too hungry to move out of the way.
The shortest path to the house was through the barnyard. But the melting snow and the thawing ground had left knee-deep manure that was soupy and smelly.
Karen thought about taking the long way around the barn, but finally decided to walk the pole fence that divided the barnyard from the holding corral. Last summer she had walked along the top of the fence until she could almost run without tripping. But during the winter the snow and ice had made the fence so slippery that she had not tried for several months. But this is an emergency, she thought. Besides, the ice is gone so I won’t slip.
The going wasn’t easy. She was not very nimble in her heavy boots, and her winter coat made it difficult to maneuver around the fence posts. She spread out her arms to balance herself and watched each step—left, right, left, right. It’s too late to turn back now, she decided.
Suddenly the treaded sole of her boot caught on a knot in the wood. Karen grabbed wildly at the air and then landed on her back in the oozing barnyard.
“Eeeyuck!” she groaned, staggering to her feet and flipping some of the soggy manure from her hands. “Talk about stinking to high heaven,” she grumbled.
The barn steps were only a few yards away so she waded through the muck and went inside. No one was there. Gary, her younger brother, must have finished setting up the milkers and gone to the house.
Karen turned on the hose that was used to clean the barn after milking. The water was cold, but at least she could wash off most of the guck before she had to go to the house.
I wish a big hole would just open up right here and swallow me, thought Karen as she hosed off her jeans. I won’t even be able to get on the porch like this. Everyone’d smell me coming. They can probably smell me right now!
But no one except Josh was on the porch when Karen opened the door. “Don’t laugh or I’ll clobber you,” she hissed.
Josh was almost too amazed to laugh—almost. “You fell into the manure,” he chuckled. “What are you going to do now?”
“Just once would you be a little sympathetic and give me some help?” Karen pleaded.
“All right,” said Josh, taking off his coat. “Lay your dirty clothes inside the doorway and I’ll put them in the washer.”
Karen pulled off her boots and stepped behind a screen. She put her clothes on a chair and wrapped herself in one of Dad’s big coats.
“One more thing, Josh. Check and see if there is anyone in the bathroom. I’ll watch through the door. If by some miracle it’s empty, then give me a wave.”
Josh gingerly picked up the clothes and walked down the hall to the laundry room. As he passed the bathroom, he glanced in. A miracle must have happened because he signaled that it was empty.
Karen hurried through a shower and shampoo. She wondered what her brother would tell the family about her being late.
Josh met Karen as she came out of her bedroom. “You’re in luck,” he said. “Dad had a flat tire coming up from the lower field. He’s late, too, so no one will ask any questions.”
Soon the family gathered in the living room to read from the Book of Mormon.
“Let’s see,” said Dad. “We were reading Alma, chapter seven, where Alma is speaking to the people of Gideon. Mother, I think it’s your turn to read. Start with verse twenty-one, please.”
“And he doth not dwell in unholy temples; neither can filthiness or anything which is unclean be received into the kingdom of God; therefore I say unto you the time shall come, yea, and it shall be at the last day, that he who is filthy shall remain in his filthiness.”
Karen looked up from her book and saw Josh watching her. He nodded his head and gave her a wink.
“… And may the Lord bless you, and keep your garments spotless, that ye may at last be brought to sit down with Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, and the holy prophets who have been ever since the world began, having your garments spotless even as their garments are spotless, in the kingdom of heaven to go no more out.”
Mother finished the chapter and Dad explained: “Jesus has shown us the way to live while we are here on earth. If we follow His path, it will lead us back to our Father in heaven. But if we make a mistake, we are not forced to stay out of the kingdom and away from our families. We have been given the promise that if we do all we can to correct the wrong, our elder Brother, Jesus Christ, will forgive us and help us to return.”
Karen felt a peace come into her heart and a new understanding as she knelt by the couch for family prayer.

Henry Drummond, in his classic writing on the subject of Christ’s love, tells of a man who went to see a dying boy. He put his hand on the boy’s head to comfort him and said, “‘My boy, God loves you.’” The boy soon arose “from his bed, and called out to the people in the house, ‘God loves me! God loves me!’ One word! It changed that boy. The sense that God loved him overpowered him, melted him down, and began the creating of a new heart in him. And that is how the love of God melts down the unlovely heart in man, and begets in him the new creature, who is patient and humble and gentle and unselfish. And there is no other way to get it. There is no mystery about it. We love others, we love everybody, we love our enemies, because He first loved us.” (The Greatest Thing in the World, Old Tappon, N.J.: Fleming H. Revell Co., n.d., pp. 47–48.)

A big decision following my mission was a career. What should I do? A new position opened with the Union Pacific Railroad Company as a passenger representative. After two months, other choices confronted me. An opportunity came to return to ZCMI in its finance division, plus part-time work as an early morning seminary teacher serving Salt Lake East High School; or to work as a mathematics teacher in Tucson, Arizona, High School, or as director of music at the Box Elder High School in Brigham City. I made it a matter of study and prayer. On an eventful afternoon I walked over to Temple Square during my lunch hour for a special, quiet prayer. The decision followed. The formula—prayer, study, work, consultation with parents and trusted friends—produced results.

Even though I’m 12, I still love reading the Friend. If I am worried or feel unsafe, the Friend is always there. Not long after the December 2004 tsunami, my family and I were watching the news on television. There were pictures of children who lost their parents or who were lost themselves. I began to feel sick and shaky. I asked my brother to read the Friend to me. The Friend helped me stop shaking that night, and it has also helped me with other things. THANKS!Jessica C., age 12, Washington

One summer morning in 1856, 16-year-old Janetta McBride started walking from Iowa to the Salt Lake Valley.
Her journey had begun months earlier when she left England with her family and sailed across the Atlantic Ocean. Once in the United States, they continued by rail to Iowa City, Iowa, where a westbound railroad line ended.
In Iowa City Janetta’s family joined the Latter-day Saints as they gathered their strength and supplies for the final part of the journey—a 1,300-mile (2,090-km) walk with handcarts. Janetta McBride was assigned to the Martin handcart company, one of seven companies that left Iowa City between 1856 and 1857.
Most handcart companies made the exhausting journey safely to the Salt Lake Valley, but it was more difficult for Janetta McBride’s group, the Martin company, and the Willie company. Both companies were caught in early snowstorms, and more than 200 people died. Their journeys required a great sacrifice, which was possible to endure only through faith in Heavenly Father and in His plan. This same faith motivated all the handcart companies that pushed and pulled their way to Zion.

Tommy jumped out of bed and ran over to his hat tree. He did this each morning as soon as he woke up. What shall I be today? he wondered. A fireman? No, I was that yesterday. A baseball player? No, I was that Monday. Maybe a cowboy? Yes! That’s what I’ll be today. He reached up, took his cowboy hat off its peg, and put it on as he started down the hall to see what his mom was fixing for breakfast.
“Well, Tommy, I see that you’re a cowboy this morning,” said his mom as Tommy hurried into the kitchen and sat down in his chair.
“I’m not Tommy. I’m Cowboy Billy, and I’ve come to see what kind of grub you have for a hungry cowpoke.”
“Well, pardner, I’ve rustled you up some eggs and bacon and a glass of milk,” Mom said as she set his food down on the table.
“Well, Ma’am, that sounds pretty good,” said Tommy before blessing his breakfast and starting to eat. As soon as he was finished, he hurried off to get dressed.
Back in his room Tommy started looking for his chaps and his furry vest. He knew that before the day was over he would probably have to chase some rustlers and maybe a bank robber or two, so he opened his closet and pulled out his stick horse, Sam. Once he was dressed, he hopped onto his horse, galloped down the hall, and went outside. Tommy spent all morning playing in the backyard, and by lunchtime he was a pretty tired little cowboy. He rode Sam into the kitchen and put him by the door.
“Ma’am, do you have some oats for my horse?” asked Tommy. “He’s had a long morning chasing rustlers, and he’s pretty hungry.”
“Well, pardner, let’s see what I have,” Mom said. She held a bag up to Sam’s mouth.
Tommy could barely keep his eyes open as he ate his lunch.
“Well, pardner, don’t you think you should mosey on down to the bunkhouse and rest for a while?” suggested his mom. “I’ll wake you if you’re needed to chase any rustlers or bank robbers.”
Tommy slowly got up and headed down the hall to take a nap. Later, when he woke up, he jumped up and ran down the hall to the kitchen, shouting, “Got to go, Ma’am. There’s a bunch of robbers at the bank!” He jumped onto his horse and headed for the backyard again.
That night when Tommy got ready for bed, he put Sam to rest on his pillow, put his chaps and vest back in the closet, and put his hat back on his hat tree. Then he hopped into bed.
As Mom kissed Tommy good night and turned out the light, he was wondering which hat he’d choose the next day. Maybe I’ll be a fireman or a spaceman. Or maybe I’ll just be Tommy.

I remember teaching an extremely intelligent woman who had a hard time accepting anything until she had nailed down every intellectual loose end. However, at long last we heard her say, “I cannot deny this feeling any longer.”
She joined the Church and was very happy for the next few years, but she gradually let her intellectual doubts creep back in and ultimately left the Church.
Fifteen years went by, and she came to visit our family. We took her to Temple Square. As we started up the circular ramp leading to the statue of the Savior, she paused and tearfully said, “Here comes that feeling again. My heart still yearns for what my mind won’t accept!”

Carissa Thorne is from Orem, Utah. When she attended a national convention for student council leaders last summer, she thought she and a few of her friends were the only Mormons at the conference. So imagine her surprise when two girls walked up and said:
“Hi, we’re Charlene and Jennifer. We’re from Hawaii, and we’re Mormons. Are you?”
Charlene Ignacio and Jennifer Kajiyama were able to locate a total of 25 LDS students at the conference using this method. The group had a testimony meeting and invited anyone who was interested to attend. They placed seven copies of the Book of Mormon and answered lots of questions about their beliefs.
“We found that this conference was a testimony building experience,” says Carissa. “Not only were we touched by our experiences, but many others were also touched by our testimonies of Jesus Christ.”

“I don’t know who my secret granddaughter is, but I just love her.” Sister Joseph, her eyes sparkling with light, says fervently.
Each Beehive, Mia Maid, and Laurel in the Parowan Utah Second Ward picks from an envelope a slip of paper. This reveals the name of her own “secret grandmother” from among the ward’s widowed sisters. The young woman then acts anonymously in giving to that grandmother throughout the year.
During the 1989 calendar year these southern Utah girls enthusiastically made a variety of gifts for their secret grandmothers, including decorated cakes, stenciled minirugs, birthday surprises, and handwritten cards.
At Christmas time the Young Women teamed up with the Young Men to fill fruit baskets for older ward members. At certain houses a shout rang out: “My secret Grandmother lives here. Some of you guys come so she won’t figure out it’s me!” One white-haired sister reached out to accept her laden basket saying, “You girls keep me going, doing all these nice things.”
During the holidays several secret grandmothers sought out Young Women leaders, exclaiming, “Please tell my secret granddaughter she has made my Christmas delightful.” Others brought a gift to be taken to their young, unknown friend.
Climaxing a year-long adventure, the Young Women worked together in providing and preparing a colorful salad bar for these special sisters. Leaders supplied warm bread sticks and apple crisp for the January event. With kitchen duties completed, the guests of honor were eagerly waiting for their “granddaughters” to identify themselves. As each young woman came forward, spontaneous embraces linked these friends, old and young.
Following the meal, Sister Bentley, who is 89 years old, spoke on behalf of all the secret grandmothers. Raising her hand to her ear, she commented about her anonymous Beehive:
“I’d hear a knock at the front door and I’d go to answer it. Nobody was there, but down on the step would be another gift.” Pausing, she peered around at her listeners rather mysteriously. “I’d always call out, ‘Thank you,’ but nobody ever answered.”
After the laughter subsided, she expressed gratitude to all the girls. “Your smiles are what we all love to see. Please keep smiling at us. This evening has been just lovely.”
The youth shared a final offering singing one of their Young Women songs. “I have never been more impressed with our Young Women,” stated their leader, “or loved them more than when they stood before these sisters and sang beautifully, ‘I am of worth, of infinite worth.’ I could see that their secret grandmothers had no doubt as to the truth of those words.”

One of my favorite hobbies is Irish dance. I try hard to practice my choreography at home so I am ready to perform. I practice very thoroughly, but when I am backstage about to perform, I commonly get the backstage jitters. At every competition, my mom and I find a quiet place to say a prayer. Sometimes it’s behind a curtain or in a room off to the side. I know that it doesn’t matter to Heavenly Father where we are, just that we have faith in Him.
At my last performance, my mom wasn’t with me to say a prayer. She was waiting in the audience. I got really nervous but decided that it didn’t matter if she was with me or not. I stepped away from my friends and said a prayer. I asked for safety as I danced and that I could do my best. I did very well that day, and I remember the feeling of peace that I felt as I walked on stage.

Though we lived in Pocatello, Idaho, one of the best piano teachers around taught at Utah State University in Logan, Utah. A series of unusual happenings landed me a tryout with him, and he agreed to take me on as a student. So every other Friday for the next two years, one of my parents would pick me up after school, we would drive 90 miles to my lesson, spend one hour in my lesson, grab a bite to eat, and drive the 90 miles back (usually in time to get me to the high school dance).
Throughout the trip we would talk and listen to either rock or classical music. My parents were understanding enough of my teenage interests to tolerate a good share of my tunes. It was usually my mom who suggested equal time for classical music. When classical time arrived, I automatically reached for the light classic “Rhapsody in Blue.” It became a tradition to listen to it at least once during the trip.
I can’t really say what made the difference that February day, but Gershwin’s “Rhapsody” captivated me as it never had before. Driving down that familiar two-lane highway with Mom, listening to Gershwin for the umpteenth time, I became totally absorbed in the music. My faculties became heightened, and my senses became more acute. I breathed deeply, immersed in the exhilarating thrill of the music. That day I realized that good music would always be a source of peace and enjoyment, even ecstasy, to me.
I glanced over at my mom, and things began to get blurry. I realized one day I would be a parent, trying to instill in my children similar feelings about music, hoping they would respond as I was responding. But more than that I hoped my children would love me like I loved my mom.
The tape ended as we pulled into the parking lot. I gave my mom a quick kiss, jumped out of the car, and walked toward the building. I looked back at her one more time before I went through the double doors.
I’ve looked back many times since.

Blessed to be the mother of five children, eight grandchildren and 3 great-grandchildren, 77-year-old Carol Dunkley once enjoyed a life of physically active service and was a keen gardener. Nowadays, Carol, a member of the Townsville First Branch, which is part of the Townsville District in North Queensland, Australia, does what she can to be of service to the Lord because her body has developed some restrictions.
She remembers well the day in 2010 when a neurologist announced her ailment: “You have Parkinson’s.” Having had a hip replacement three years prior, Carol had suspected something was amiss with her hip because she couldn’t walk properly and went to her GP, who referred her to a specialist—so this diagnosis came as a shock.
The disease doesn’t yet have a cure. Initially, Carol had trouble walking; unfortunately, it progressed to instability and mobility uncertainty.
“Thankfully there are medications and surgical procedures that greatly help,” said Carol. She began a course of medications and felt much better. But frustrations became part of her life as she had to rely on others to do for her what she could no longer do herself—like gardening.
“I know that it is not curable. No surgery can fix it. One of the greatest lessons I have learnt is to take each day as it comes. If it is a good day, my prayer of thanks is given. If it has been a bad day – well tomorrow should be better. If things get too bad, I read. It takes me away from my problems and into another world; I know my faith is a great advantage. I am not alone. His help and comfort are always there. There is a lot to be thankful for, even though at times I have to look a bit harder for the blessings,” said Carol.
With physical service at a limit, Carol looked for a way she might still serve the Lord in a meaningful way—she found indexing—and for the past nine years has experienced great joy in helping to gather Israel in this important effort.

Lisa’s family had moved to town two years ago. She was so outgoing and friendly that she soon had become accepted as one of the group, both in high school and in the Church.

But she hadn’t always been the way she was now. In ninth grade, in another town, there had been some problems. She doubted if her parents were even aware of what they were. One night at a party some things had happened that never should have.

For the longest time, she had kept it covered up. Months drifted by. On the surface Lisa was the same as always, but on the inside, she worried that God had not forgiven her. She prayed every day for forgiveness.

But then one day the bishop gave her a birthday interview. She’d been in interviews before and had always managed to avoid talking about the thing which still troubled her. But in this interview, for some reason, her bishop made her aware of a scripture. Maybe she’d heard it before, but for some reason, this time it seemed to be just for her.

“Lisa, would you read this out loud?” the bishop had asked.

She read from the 58th section of the Doctrine and Covenants, verses 42–43 [D&C 58:42–43]: “Behold, he who has repented of his sins, the same is forgiven, and I, the Lord, remember them no more. By this ye may know if a man repenteth of his sins—behold, he will confess them and forsake them.”

The scripture gave her the courage she needed to tell the bishop about what had happened, and with his counsel, she was eventually able to complete the steps of repentance.

And now she knew for certain that the Lord had forgiven her, and she wasn’t weighed down with guilt any longer. She would never forget how wonderful it was to feel all the guilt and shame being lifted off her shoulders, to feel that Father in Heaven had accepted her repentance, and that the atonement of the Savior made it possible for her to be forgiven of the mistake she had made.

After that experience, lessons about the Savior became very important to her, for she knew that she herself owed so much to him for what he had done for her.

Lisa stood up. Nobody in the ward knew about her past. And she would never tell them either because it would serve no purpose. But there was one thing she wanted them to know about.

“I’m grateful that Jesus loved us enough to take upon him our sins and make it possible for us to repent …”