Gospel Story Finder

I learned early in life that some things are just out of your control. Take my feet, for example. By the time I was 14 years old, they had become a whopping size 12—that’s in inches. Each foot was literally a foot long! For some reason, probably because I was insecure, I was terribly embarrassed about them.
Try as I might, there wasn’t a single thing I could do to change the matter. There were plenty of diet and exercise programs to help people lose inches off their waists but none designed to take inches off their feet. So I was stuck with large feet. I felt my only option was to wait, watch, and hope they didn’t keep growing.
What’s so bad about big feet? Well, for boys, I think they’re normal and pretty much expected. For girls, it’s a little different. Most girls I know borrow shoes from their mom or their sisters. All I could do was borrow my dad’s, and they never did match any of my outfits.
Also, the world wasn’t designed for big-footed women. I felt awkward when I went bowling or skating with my friends because I had to get men’s shoes or skates. I didn’t want my friends to notice, so I would usually wait until they were putting their shoes or skates on before I got my own.
I sometimes wondered why I was destined to have such large feet. Then one day when I was having shoes “specially” ordered for my high school musical, a costume designer told me that my foot wasn’t really all that long; I just had really long, slender toes. I played the piano with my long, slender fingers. Maybe having long, slender toes wasn’t such a bad thing.
That comment was my big turnaround. I decided to take the designer’s observation as a compliment. I stopped seeing my feet as a huge, gargantuan, never-fitting-into-anything embarrassment. I began to see my feet in a whole new light—as something unique to me.
My grandma told me I inherited my feet from my tall ancestors. That made sense to me because I was pretty tall. Maybe my feet had to be longer to give me balance. The size of my feet was imbedded in my own personal genetic code, along with other traits like my skin, hair, and eye color.
As I began to move past embarrassment, I learned to love my feet. I figured I might as well because they would be mine for the rest of my life. They were my wonderful feet. Once I took ownership of that fact, things started to change. I no longer whispered my size when asking for rental shoes but boldly stated, “I need a size 10 in men’s, please”—even when I was on a date! If I received a questioning glance, I would simply add, “Oh, I have big feet.”
I can hardly call this a huge trial, for it pales in comparison to many other struggles in life. But I have learned a bit of a lesson from my feet. Everything in life is not in my control. Oh, I can plan and work hard to reach worthy goals and achieve personal dreams, but some things are pretty much out of my control. But there are two things I have complete and total control over in my life: my attitude and my behavior.
Now I try not to focus on all the things I can’t control. When something happens I can’t control, I instead focus on how I’m going to think and act. I’m not alone, either, because the Savior is always there. He knows me; He loves me; and He wants to help me!
So, when life takes a different road, remember you have control over what you’re going to do about it, even if it’s a little thing—or big thing—like feet.

In the early days of the Church, other disciples in addition to Joseph Smith and Hyrum Smith also laid down their lives for the gospel of Jesus Christ. The faithfulness of Edward Partridge, the first bishop of the Church, is noted in the Doctrine and Covenants. On July 20, 1833, Edward was sitting at home with his frail wife, who had just given birth. Three mobsters burst in and dragged him into the bedlam of the street and then into the square, where they had already taken Charles Allen. A mob of about 300 demanded through their spokesman that Edward and Charles either renounce their faith in the Book of Mormon or leave the county. Edward Partridge responded: “If I must suffer for my religion, it is no more than others have done before me. I am not conscious of having injured anyone in the county and therefore will not consent to leave. I have done nothing to offend anyone. If you abuse me, you are injuring an innocent man.” The mob then daubed Edward and Charles from head to foot with hot tar containing pearl ash, a flesh-eating acid, and then they threw feathers that stuck to the burning tar.

The Prophet Joseph Smith characterized Edward’s death a few years later at age 46 in these words: “He lost his life in consequence of the Missouri persecutions, and he is one of that number whose blood will be required at their hands.” Edward Partridge left a legacy that lives on in a large and righteous posterity.

I would like to explain to you exactly what took place following the unexpected death of President Harold B. Lee on 26 December 1973. I was in Phoenix, Arizona, to spend Christmas with my daughter and her family, when a call came to me from Arthur Haycock, secretary to President Lee. He said that President Lee was seriously ill, and he thought that I should plan to return home as soon as possible. A half-hour later he called and said: “The Lord has spoken. President Lee has been called home.”
President Romney, Second Counselor, in my absence was directing the affairs of the Church, and was at the hospital with Spencer W. Kimball, President of the Council of the Twelve. Immediately upon the death of President Lee, President Romney turned to President Kimball and said, “You are in charge.” Remember, the Prophet Joseph Smith had said that without the President there was no First Presidency over the Twelve.
Not one minute passed between the time President Lee died and the Twelve took over as the presiding authority of the Church.
Following President Lee’s funeral, President Kimball called a meeting of all of the Apostles for Sunday, December 30, at 3 p.m. in the Salt Lake Temple Council Room. President Romney and I had taken our respective places of seniority in the council, so there were fourteen of us present.
Following a song, and prayer by President Romney, President Kimball, in deep humility, expressed his feelings to us. He said that he had spent Friday in the temple talking to the Lord, and had shed many tears as he prayed for guidance in assuming his new responsibilities and in choosing his counselors.
Dressed in the robes of the holy priesthood, we held a prayer circle; President Kimball asked me to conduct it and Elder Thomas S. Monson to offer the prayer. Following this, President Kimball explained the purpose of the meeting and called on each member of the quorum in order of seniority, starting with Elder Ezra Taft Benson, to express his feelings as to whether the First Presidency should be organized that day or whether we should carry on as the Council of the Twelve. Each said, “We should organize now,” and many complimentary things were spoken about President Kimball and his work with the Twelve.
Then Elder Ezra Taft Benson nominated Spencer W. Kimball to be the President of the Church. This was seconded by Elder Mark E. Petersen and unanimously approved. President Kimball then nominated N. Eldon Tanner as First Counselor and Marion G. Romney as Second Counselor, each of whom expressed a willingness to accept the position and devote his whole time and energy in serving in that capacity.
They were unanimously approved. Then Elder Mark E. Petersen, second in seniority in the Twelve, nominated Ezra Taft Benson, the senior member of the Twelve, as President of the Quorum of the Twelve. This was unanimously approved.
At this point all the members present laid their hands upon the head of Spencer W. Kimball, and President Ezra Taft Benson was voice in blessing, ordaining, and setting apart Spencer W. Kimball as the twelfth President of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Then, with President Kimball as voice, N. Eldon Tanner was set apart as First Counselor and Marion G. Romney as Second Counselor in the First Presidency of the Church. Following the same procedure, he pronounced the blessing and setting apart of Ezra Taft Benson as President of the Quorum of the Twelve.
There were then eleven members of the Twelve, and this would necessitate calling a new man to fill the vacancy in the quorum.

But as I thought about how much God had helped me, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I wanted to do more to share His gospel with others. I considered serving a mission—but what if I lost everything I had worked so hard to build?
One Sunday, I prayed and fasted about serving a mission. God had helped me know which path to take in my life before, and I trusted He could help me again.
I attended church with my cousin in a ward far away from where I lived. I was surprised to see a sister missionary there who I had befriended a year before. I knew it wasn’t a coincidence that I had run into her while I was fasting.
After church, I shared with her my fears about losing all the things that were going well in my life. My friend said, “I was in a similar situation before my mission. Everything felt too perfect to leave. But I knew the Lord wanted me to serve.”
After our conversation, the impression to serve grew stronger. I felt that Heavenly Father was helping me know once again which path to take—I just needed to act and trust Him. So, the next day, I started to work on my mission application.

Several years ago while attending a priesthood leadership session of the Zurich-Munich Region, I witnessed the application of the very counsel Elder Groberg was directing to his children in the letter he sent to them. Regional representative, now temple president, Johann Wondra arose and spoke to the audience. He invited Brother Kuno Müeller, who was seated near the front of the building, to stand. Brother Wondra then told the congregation: “Here is the missionary who brought the gospel and all that it means to my wife and me. Without him, where would I be?” He then turned to Brother Müeller as though he were the only one present, and said: “Brother Müeller, I love you. My family and I think of you every day.” Both Brother Wondra and Brother Müeller were weeping. In fact, we all had moist eyes that reflected touched hearts and tender souls.

I’ll never be able to last the whole two years, thought Suzanne, as she rested her head against the old seawall. She often came here when homesickness overwhelmed her, to dream of home and to look out over the blue water of the Gulf of Aegina.
Suddenly she heard a sound coming from the other side of the wall. Someone was crying. She stood up, and there on the other side of the wall was Katia, her arms hugging her knees. Suzanne had seen her every day in their class at the American school in Athens, Greece, but had never spoken to her.
“What’s the matter?” she asked.
Startled, the girl stood up and then recognized Suzanne. “I’m sorry you’ve seen me this way. I do not often cry,” she said, brushing away her tears.
“Please,” said Suzanne, “tell me what’s wrong. I won’t say anything about it if you don’t want me to.”
“It was the test today. I saw everyone writing and writing. My mind would not work. I am very stupid.” Katia began to cry again.
“Someone who speaks English as well as you is not stupid,” said Suzanne.
As the girls talked, Suzanne learned that Katia was from the island of Hydra and had never been away from home before. All the city girls seemed to be smarter and wealthier than the island people she had always known.
“My people are only fishermen,” Katia explained. “It was a sacrifice for them to send me here. I thought I could win the big scholarship and go to study in America, but now I know I never will.”
“Well, don’t give up so easily. You have lots more time to study,” Suzanne comforted.
“It will not help,” insisted Katia. “I have made a big mistake to come here.”
“I feel the same way,” said Suzanne. “I am lonely for my old home, and I think that the years my father will be working at the embassy in Greece will be very long.”
Before the girls parted, they agreed to help each other and Suzanne suggested that they study together. “Perhaps,” she said, “you will win the scholarship to America after all.”
The next afternoon the girls took their books and met again at the seawall that they laughingly named their crying wall. Before they left, Suzanne assured Katia, “You are every bit as smart as the rest of the class. No one is better than anyone else, and no one is worse. You just have to have more confidence in yourself and know that you can do it.”
“But I don’t know,” said Katia sadly.
“You will.”
Almost every day the girls studied together and one was seldom seen without the other. Katia soon was passing tests with high marks.
The day the tests for the scholarship were given, Suzanne waited for Katia outside the classroom. “How did you do?” she asked.
“I think I’ve done well,” Katia answered. The girls hugged each other in excitement. “But we must wait for the results until the Friday before the weekend you have promised to visit my family on Hydra.”
“How could I forget that!” Suzanne replied.
The day that the results of the tests came back was gray and cold. Suzanne looked all over for Katia and finally hurried to their crying wall. Sure enough, Katia was there, crying bitterly.
“Oh, Suzanne, I came in second, and second gets nothing. It was all for nothing!”
Suzanne tried to comfort her, but her own thoughts were as gray as the clouds above and the sea below. Maybe I was wrong to build up Katia’s hopes, she thought as she packed for her weekend with Katia’s family. The trip on the boat to Hydra was fun, and Katia became excited, telling Suzanne about what they were going to do.
On Hydra they went quickly to Katia’s house. It was a small, whitewashed building with a lemon tree in the courtyard. Although Katia’s mother and father spoke only Greek, they were able to let Suzanne know how welcome she was.
It didn’t take long to see the entire village and to visit the shops and cafes. Katia seemed to know everyone and they all nodded and smiled in greeting. Although Katia seemed happy to see her old friends, Suzanne could tell that she was still sad and worried about the scholarship. Late in the afternoon as Suzanne rested, she could hear Katia downstairs talking long and earnestly with her mother.
That evening the girls went for a walk. The stars, big and bright, were just beginning to dot the sky, and Suzanne had the feeling that Katia was as distant and silent as the heavens were. “Is something wrong?” she asked at last. “What are you thinking? Can I help?”
“I was just thinking that my mother is right,” Katia answered. “My place is here. I am needed to teach right here on my island when I graduate from the school in Athens. It is not necessary that I go away to school. And also I am thinking that the studying we did was not for nothing. I learned very much. But most of all I am thinking how glad I am to have you for a friend.”
“And I’m thinking,” said Suzanne, “that since the day I met you at the crying wall, time has just flown. I will be sorry to leave Greece. Maybe we need a new name for that wall.”
“I think we do,” answered Katia.
The girls were both silent for a few minutes. Then at almost the same time they said, “How about calling it the laughing wall?”

A young woman named Thricia felt feelings of guilt, shame, and unworthiness after doing something wrong. She began to listen to Church music, watch Church videos, and study gospel talks more intently, but the feelings didn’t go away. Eventually she decided to talk to her branch president. As she met with him, she felt the love of Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ for her. Now she feels grateful that through the Savior’s Atonement, she can be forgiven of her sins and receive help to rise above her weaknesses. “What I hold on to right now is that He is always with me in this journey,” she says.

Krista loved Stanley Park. She loved the beaches. The playgrounds. The petting zoo. The train ride.
But most of all, she loved the aquarium! It had all kinds of sea animals. She watched a brown seal swim around and around.
But then she heard something. A girl was crying! No one stopped to help her.
Krista tugged on Mom’s sleeve. “Look. That girl is crying!”
Mom looked. She held Krista’s hand and walked over to the girl.
“Hi,” Mom said. “Can we help you?”
“I can’t find my mom.” The girl sniffled.
“Come sit with us,” Mom said. “We’ll wait with you.”
Krista and Mom sat with the girl. Her name was Sarah.
“When you’re lost, the best thing to do is stay where you are,” Mom said. “Then your mom will know where to find you.”
Sarah looked so sad and scared. Krista wished she could help. She said a little prayer in her mind. Heavenly Father, please bless that Sarah’s mom will come back.
Krista tried to make Sarah feel better. She asked her questions. She told her cool facts about seals. She even gave her a pretty seashell she had found at the beach.
After a while, a woman ran up to them. It was Sarah’s mom! She gave Sarah a big hug. They both said thank you to Krista and Mom.
Krista was glad she could help someone!

Years ago our family had a little black dog, a toy poodle named Lady. Lady was smart, energetic, and great at fetching a ball. She was willing to retrieve a ball anytime, anyplace, and for as long as anyone was willing to throw one.
One day, after repeatedly throwing a ball for her to fetch, I decided to throw two balls at the same time, one blue and one yellow. Lady chased after the blue ball, picked it up, began running back to me, and then saw the yellow ball. She dropped the blue ball, dashed to the yellow ball, picked it up, and started back to me. Then she seemed to think of the blue ball, dropped the yellow ball, turned around, ran back to the blue ball, picked it up, and began returning. As she was passing the yellow ball, she stopped, dropped the blue ball, picked up the yellow ball, and resumed running back. Then she dropped the yellow ball, turned around, scampered back to the blue ball, picked it up, and began running to me. As Lady passed the yellow ball again, she came to a screeching halt. She dropped the blue ball, looked back and forth from the blue ball to the yellow ball. Then she gave up, walked to her basket, and lay down. For Lady, two balls were too many. She became confused, overwhelmed, and discouraged.

Some time ago I spoke with a priesthood leader who was prompted to memorize the names of all of the youth ages 13 to 21 in his stake. Using snapshots of the young men and women, he created flash cards that he reviewed while traveling on business and at other times. This priesthood leader quickly learned all of the names of the youth.

One night the priesthood leader had a dream about one of the young men whom he knew only from a picture. In the dream he saw the young man dressed in a white shirt and wearing a missionary name tag. With a companion seated at his side, the young man was teaching a family. The young man held the Book of Mormon in his hand, and he looked as if he were testifying of the truthfulness of the book. The priesthood leader then awoke from his dream.

At an ensuing priesthood gathering, the leader approached the young man he had seen in his dream and asked to talk with him for a few minutes. After a brief introduction, the leader called the young man by name and said: “I am not a dreamer. I have never had a dream about a single member of this stake, except for you. I am going to tell you about my dream, and then I would like you to help me understand what it means.”

The priesthood leader recounted the dream and asked the young man about its meaning. Choking with emotion, the young man simply replied, “It means God knows who I am.” The remainder of the conversation between this young man and his priesthood leader was most meaningful, and they agreed to meet and counsel together from time to time during the following months.

That young man received the Lord’s tender mercies through an inspired priesthood leader. I repeat again, the Lord’s tender mercies do not occur randomly or merely by coincidence. Faithfulness and obedience enable us to receive these important gifts and, frequently, the Lord’s timing helps us to recognize them.

Consider Bill, a nineteen-year-old student who had a difficult time deciding whether to go on a mission or continue his studies. Bill’s parents were pressuring him to go, he said, but his best friend, a nonmember, was testily pulling for him to stay and continue to room with him at school. “Look,” said Bill’s Sunday School teacher, “do you know exactly what your role as a missionary would be and what the result of either your going or not going might be?”
After closer examination it became clear that Bill’s perception of missionary life was largely inaccurate. He thought that the drudgery of tracting and the door-slamming he might encounter would far outweigh the genuine experiences he would have, the joy he would see, and the friends he would make. And Bill’s decision to go or not to go would have eternal consequences. (See “D.”) Rewards or punishment result from any decision, regardless of how small it may seem. That is, the hypothesis that we “become what we do” is true. But in a sense, we also unbecome what we don’t do.
Bill had never thought of his mission call this way. Furthermore, he was asked if the motivation of his parents was selfish. He answered, “No, probably not.” Then Bill saw that the motivation of his roommate was selfish. The roommate simply didn’t understand what this could mean for Bill, let alone what Bill could do for others.
Asking Bill these specific questions—what is the role you are assuming, who wants you to do it, and, furthermore, what are the consequences if you comply or don’t comply—made the cobwebs disappear. He was then in a position to decide what he wanted to do.
Thus, Bill became a self-motivator, because he understood his own attitudes about what he should or should not do. He also knew which choice would help him to fulfill his responsibilities and accomplish his objectives.
Bill acquired a new set of values and expectations about his own behavior and abilities, about the nature of the Church, and about the prerequisites for an enlarging role in it. He began to develop a self identity that included the acceptance of legitimate authority and compliance with it. For others this could easily appear to be unreasonable, even silly or naive. Bill’s roommate did not understand.

When I was learning about the Church, I read Jacob 5:74. It stuck with me from the moment I read it. I was a very active member of my previous church for my whole life and had always had a desire to serve God. I even hoped to one day study philosophy and theology in order to serve Him. I had already passed my entrance exams to study philosophy.
But I will never forget when I first read that scripture. I remember that it was the night after I had first attended an LDS Church service. During one of the breaks between classes, I saw on the bulletin board the revelation received by President Thomas S. Monson concerning the lowering of the missionary age.
When I read Jacob 5:74 that night, I knew that I had to serve God. And somehow, looking at the missionaries—those two young men who were the same age as me—giving their lives for Him, I knew that this was how I could do so. The night before that Church service, I had decided to get baptized. The night after the service, I decided to go on a mission. Now I have returned home honorably after serving the beautiful people of the Philippines Cebu East Mission.
Josef Gutierrez, Batangas, Philippines

When Carl Hendricks, who’d been home from the California Fresno Mission for two days, realized the problems people were having with cleanup, he called a local radio station and offered his services. Soon after, he got so many phone calls that it kept him busy cleaning up from early morning till late at night for over a week. He recruited his brother Gary, 16 (and newly elected student-body president of his high school), and another friend, Skip Behar, to help.
“It was dirty, but I really enjoyed it,” said Carl. “We were having a good time.”
The trio came to be known as “The Mormon Boys” in a trailer court of retired people where they spent much of the week cleaning up. And while they cleaned roofs, patios, and walkways, they talked to people about the Church.
“We were just out to help people,” said Gary Hendricks, “but we got a good chance to talk to people about the gospel. Our main goal, however, was to help get the ash off the roofs. People were worried about their roofs caving in from the weight if it rained.”
One of the elderly people they helped, Charles Royce, said those three changed his attitude about young people today. “I don’t know what we would have done without their help. These young people are tops and really know how to work. They don’t fool around any. They gave me a good impression of the younger generation, that they’re not all bums. You Mormons do a nice job.”

While I was serving as an Area Seventy, one of the stakes in my coordinating council participated in a large temple excursion. The temple the members attended is small, and unfortunately there were several members who, despite making the long 12-hour journey, were not able to enter the temple because it had exceeded the daily capacity.

A few days after this trip, I visited this stake and asked the president if I could talk with some of the members who were unable to attend the temple that day. One of the brothers I visited told me: “Elder, do not worry. I was at the house of the Lord. I sat on a bench in the garden and pondered in my mind the ordinances. Then I was given the opportunity to enter, but instead I allowed another brother, who had come to the temple for the first time to be sealed to his wife, to take my place. They then had the opportunity to attend two sessions that day. The Lord knows me, and He has blessed me, and we are fine.”

Sarah: It’s time for an Official Children’s Conference. Let’s decide what to do while Mom is running errands.
Laura: We should play pioneers! We can pretend our pillows are bags of flour and drive “wagons” to Utah.
Chris: Let’s make cookies instead!
Alicia: I think we should go outside and ride our bikes.
Robert: I want to look for insects.
Sarah: Those are all great ideas, and I think we should try them. But what if we did something nice for Mom? She looked like she could use some cheering up.
Laura: Well, Mom likes it when we play pioneers.
Chris: She likes cookies.
Robert: And looking at bugs.
Alicia: She loves it when we go outside.
Sarah: Hmm … Maybe we could find something extra special to do, though. Something to help her out.
[Everyone taps their chins while they think.]
Laura: [Laura jumps up and down.] I know! We could clean up The Desk. It’s covered in all sorts of stuff, like crayons, pencils, schoolwork, toys, and mail.
Chris: That would be a really big job.
Alicia: How will we do it?
Robert: It will take forever!
Laura: But we can try.
Sarah: Let’s do it! Everyone pick just one thing to do.
Chris: I’ll stack up the mail.
Alicia: I can put the toys away!
Robert: I’ll organize everyone’s schoolwork.
Laura: I’ll line up the crayons and pencils by color!
Sarah: There are a few things I don’t know what to do with. I’ll put them in a box.
[Everyone steps back to admire how clean The Desk is.]
Chris: Wow!
Robert: That went by really fast.
Alicia: And Mom will love it.
Sarah: Now let’s do something fun!
Laura: That was fun. Maybe even better than playing pioneers!

“Aw, Mom, do I have to?” Freddie stood scowling by the back door, hands on hips and holding his baseball glove. “I promised Brad we’d play ball this morning, and he’s waiting for me.”
Mom stood in the kitchen with a bucket of paint in one hand and a paintbrush in the other. She was wearing one of Dad’s old shirts and a bandanna over her hair. “I really could use your help, Freddie. I’d like to surprise Dad and get the hallway painted before he gets home this afternoon.”
Tossing his glove disgustedly on the table, Freddie grumbled, “Oh, all right, I’ll help. But let me call Brad first and tell him I’m going to be late.”
After the phone call, Freddie dragged himself back to the hall, where Mom had already covered the floor with a drop cloth. Fingering a hole in his shirt, he glumly watched her pry open a can of paint.
Mom glanced up at Freddie as she poured some into the paint tray. “Which would you rather work with, the brush or the roller?”
“The roller, I guess. Maybe that’ll go faster.” Freddie took a good look at the wall. It was a mess, covered with dark marks and smudges. With a sigh, he dipped the roller into the paint tray. Holding the roller firmly in his right hand, he made a large sweep with it across the dirty wall. A swath of bright, clean color adhered to the wall with a soft, sticky sound.
Freddie worked his way up and down the wall. Mom preceded him, using the brush to do the trim work along the molding and ceiling and in the corners. One especially dark smudge on the wall caught Freddie’s attention. “This is a really bad mark, Mom,” said Freddie. “How did it get on the wall?”
Mom squinted, trying to remember. “I think you made that one. Remember how angry you and Brad got at each other last month?”
“I sure do. I called him a poor sport at the ball game, and he called me a baby. I came home so mad that I wanted to kick him.” Freddie frowned. “I kicked the wall, instead. I knew I shouldn’t have done it, and I felt bad about what I’d done.”
“And as I recall,” Mom added, “Brad came over later, and you two made up.”
“Well, we both said we were sorry. Besides, we couldn’t stay mad forever. That’s why Brad and I are best friends.” With one quick stroke, Freddie’s roller covered the ugly mark with wet paint.
“There’s a bad one you’ll have to do with the brush, Mom,” said Freddie, pointing to a long smudge near the floor.
Mom raised her eyebrows. “I’m the one who made that. It was the time I had a really bad day at work. I came home so upset that I got careless and banged the wall with the vacuum cleaner while I was cleaning.”
“You were still upset after dinner, so Dad and I gave you a sandwich hug that night. Dad and I were the slices of bread and you were the peanut butter in the middle, remember?”
Mom nodded, and her eyes sparkled. “I sure do! It was the best thing that happened to me all that day.” With a few brush strokes, Mom covered the ugly mark.
The smell of new paint filled the hallway. Much to Freddie’s surprise, he had come to the end of the long hall. Standing on tiptoes, he made the final stroke of the roller with a flourish. He and Mom looked proudly at their work. The once dingy wall was now gleaming with clean, fresh paint.
“We do good work, Mom. It almost doesn’t seem fair that the wall will get dirty again.”
“Yes, it does seem a shame,” said Mom. “But at least you’ll never kick the wall again, and I’ll be more careful when I clean. And if we need to, we can always paint the wall again.”
Freddie looked at it thoughtfully. “That reminds me of last week’s lesson at Primary—we can repent when we make mistakes and forgive each other too. Right, Mom?”
Mom ruffled Freddie’s brown hair and hugged him hard. “Right, honey, especially with sandwich hugs. Now I’ll clean up, and if you hurry, you still have time for a ball game with Brad before lunch.”
“Thanks, Mom.” Freddie headed out the back door with his baseball glove. There was a big spot of paint on Freddie’s neck, but there was an even bigger smile on his face.

The first Church services held in Barcelona, Spain, took place in a beauty parlor owned by Josefa Lacuay and her nonmember husband. Josefa had joined the Church in Uruguay in 1963 and had come to Barcelona with her family. When she arrived, she discovered that the Church was not yet established there. When missionaries from the French Mission came to her suburb in the late 1960s, she could help them find an apartment but not a place for a chapel. So for seven months every Sunday morning, the hair dryers, rollers, and hair sprays in the Lacuays’ shop gave way to a church service attended by the few Latter-day Saint pioneers in the Barcelona area.

“We’ve also had many foster children in our home,” Celese says. “I’ve learned a lot from being around them, especially patience. It gets really crowded, but it helps us learn how to get along without killing each other. We’ve taught those children what it means to have a family and be safe and warm. One foster child, who is my age, came back for a visit. He was upstairs while my mother and his aunt talked. He came running down and said to the aunt, ‘Can’t you just feel the love here?’ It was an eye-opening experience for me to realize how blessed I am to have a family and parents such as mine.”

Hi, I’m Mei.
I found this picture in an old box. On the back, I saw the name Fumiko.
My mom said it was a picture of my great-great-grandma Fumiko. I wanted to find out more about her.
We looked back in the box and found an old letter Fumiko wrote and more pictures. It was fun to learn about her.
We went to FamilySearch.org and added Fumiko to our family tree. We put in her birthday and the date when she and her husband, Hiroshi, got married.
We also added Fumiko’s pictures. Now if the photos get lost or ruined, my family can always find a copy online.
Fumiko was never baptized when she was alive. but now I’m old enough to go to the temple to be baptized for her.
We made a copy of Fumiko’s name and information. Then we went to the temple and I got baptized for her!
When I got home, I wrote about it in my journal. Someday I hope to meet Great-Grandma Fumiko. I want to keep learning about her and about my whole family!

Recently three generations of a family were grieving at the death of a five-year-old boy. He died accidentally while with his family on a vacation. I was granted the opportunity to watch once again how the Lord blesses the faithful with relief and the strength to endure.
I watched the way the Lord made their great burden lighter. I was with them as the Lord’s covenant servant—as you will be often in your life—“to mourn with those that mourn … and comfort those that stand in need of comfort.”5
Because I knew that was true, I was pleased and at peace when the grandparents invited me to meet with them and the parents of the little boy before the funeral.
I prayed to know how I could help the Lord comfort them. They sat down with me in our living room. I had warmed the room on a cold night with a small fire in the fireplace.
I had felt to tell them that I loved them. I told them that I had felt the Lord’s love for them. In just a few words I tried to tell them that I mourned for them but that only the Lord knew and could experience perfectly their pain and grief.
After saying those few words, I felt impressed to listen with love while they talked about their feelings.
In the hour we sat together, they spoke far more than I did. I could feel in their voices and see in their eyes that the Holy Ghost was touching them. In words of simple testimony, they spoke of what happened and how they felt. The Holy Ghost had already given them the peace that comes with the hope of eternal life, when their son, who died without sin, could be theirs forever.
When I gave them each a priesthood blessing, I gave thanks for the influence of the Holy Ghost that was there. The Comforter had come, bringing hope, courage, and increased strength for all of us.
The father and the mother of the little boy bore witness of the Savior that evening in my living room. The Holy Ghost came, and all were comforted. The parents were strengthened. The burden of grief did not disappear, but they were made able to bear the sorrow. Their faith increased. And their strength will continue to grow as they ask for it and live for it.