Gospel Story Finder

Originally from Fiji, Reena Naidu’s family moved to Sydney, Australia, when she was young.
She discovered her gift for art in high school when an assignment required her to submit a self-portrait. “At about the same time, I read a Church talk about developing our talents and I felt inspired to develop my artistic skills,” Reena says.
She followed that inspiration to the National Art School in Dalinghurst, Sydney, where she earned a master’s in fine arts. Today she is a manager for an art supplies company where she helps others select the right materials for their art projects.

Sometimes familiarity and routine have the tendency to rob otherwise sacred moments of their full meaning. For me, I had let the sacrament lose some of its intended meaning. Each week, I listened to the sacred sacramental prayers while seated in nearly the same pew in the same chapel, surrounded by a familiar congregation.
But the COVID-19 pandemic disrupted this routine and reset my perspective.
Unable to join others in the chapel, I found myself receiving the sacrament in a new setting—gathered around my dining room table with my small family. Doing something familiar and routine in this new setting brought a fresh perspective and, with that new perspective, renewed meaning.
Although I had participated in the sacrament ordinance hundreds of times in my lifetime, doing it where I ordinarily joined my family for a meal and conversation highlighted the familial undertones of the sacrament in ways I hadn’t appreciated before.
One Sunday in particular, as I knelt and uttered the words, “We ask thee in the name of thy Son, Jesus Christ” (Moroni 4:3), my attention went to my precious four-year-old son sitting close to me. There he sat with his arms folded, listening to the prayer, radiating innocence and goodness.
With this brilliant sight in my mind, I continued to offer the prayer. As I spoke the words, “the body of thy Son,” a question entered my mind. What would it be like to willingly sacrifice this innocent son of mine and submit him to incomprehensible pain and suffering?
In a word, unimaginable.
Pondering this impossible question, I continued with the prayer. The words “take upon them the name of thy Son” brought another question to my mind. God is also a Father. How could He sacrifice His Son? As I looked at my other family members, who, like me, desperately needed the sacrament, the simple but profound answer came: divine love (see John 3:16).
It seemed as if the windows of heaven briefly opened to reveal a portion of our Heavenly Father’s pure love—so great a love that He sacrificed His truly innocent, perfect Son for us, His other children.
In view of this sacrifice, no matter the difficulties and inequities of life—including a deadly pandemic, disrupted economies, civil unrest, an unbelieving world, and general uncertainty—how could we seriously doubt His love for us?
Lest we forget, the sacrament serves as a weekly reminder of this deep and enduring love. In routinely considering the unparalleled gift of His Son, we can find comfort and overcome the temptation to doubt the Father’s love or concern for us during challenging times.
Without properly considering the eternal fatherhood of God and His role in Jesus Christ’s Atonement, the sacrament ordinance feels incomplete to me now. It stands as a constant reminder to me of the sacrifice of Jesus Christ and expression of Heavenly Father’s love for me.
And it is because of this lesson in love that I will always treasure our at-home sacrament experience.

When I was 11 years old, my bishop called me in for an interview in his office. He said, “Ulisses, it’s time to start your preparation to go on a mission.” I was astonished because I was only 11 years old! But he said, “We have to start that process now.”
My bishop said, “I’ll interview you once in a while to see how your progress is.” Then he gave me some direction. He taught me about the commandments, the priesthood, worthiness, and honesty. I was so impressed because he looked in my eyes and said, “You will serve a mission if you follow the directions I am giving you.”
I always remembered his words, especially when I faced a challenge. For example, one time my mother gave me money to go to a store to buy some fruit. For some reason the cashier gave me back more money than I gave her to pay for the fruit. I started walking home, and when I opened my hand, I saw that I had more money than I had started with.
Satan tried to convince me that I could keep the money for myself. I thought, “I have some money to do whatever I want, and then I will give back the correct change to my mother.” But then I thought, “No, that’s not what the bishop told me. To be a missionary, I have to be honest.” I felt the Spirit at that time and went back to the store to give back the money. I felt good in my heart. I thought, “I was honest, I obeyed the commandments, and I am preparing for my mission. I will be a missionary, and I need to be honest.”
When I was going to high school, I worked to save money for my mission. My parents were poor and couldn’t afford to pay for everything. I didn’t earn a lot of money, but after paying tithing, I decided to buy one piece of clothing per month for my mission. One month I bought a shirt, another month a tie, another month another shirt. During those three years, I saved enough to buy everything I needed. I saved enough to pay for my mission. I learned the principle of saving. I learned the principle of being obedient to the law of tithing and how many blessings we receive when we pay tithing.
My mission was a great experience because it helped me understand the principles of life and how to apply the gospel in my daily activities.
Boys and girls, prepare for a good mission and a good life. The Lord is waiting to give us all the blessings we need.

My family had an amazing mystery adventure in a cemetery. We felt like explorers—or detectives! We followed a map, looked for clues, and made it through lots of obstacles.
The mystery started when Grandma found a list of family members who were buried in a family cemetery. She wondered why her own grandpa wasn’t on the list.
Grandma knew he was buried there, but she had never visited the cemetery before because she lived far away.
“I wish we could help Grandma,” I said during dinner. I felt sad that Grandma couldn’t find out about her grandpa.
“I do too,” Dad said. “Maybe we can take a trip to the cemetery and find her grandpa’s headstone.”
I was excited to solve the mystery. My little brothers, Joseph, Hyrum, and Daniel were excited too!
First we had to drive a long way and do some detective work before we even found the cemetery. We stopped to ask a man if he knew where it was. Guess what! It was hidden down a road on his farm!
The cemetery was in the middle of a muddy field. It was surrounded by a cinder-block wall and covered with overgrown plants. We had to cut through vines just to open the gate.
It was like a jungle inside! Big trees filled the cemetery, and thorny vines wrapped around the headstones. We had to clear them off to read the names.
“Who is Marenda Ann Thomas Humphrey?” I asked, pulling plants off a headstone.
Dad ran over. “She’s your great-great-great grandmother!” he said. “Hopefully your great-great grandpa’s headstone is nearby.”
We looked and looked for his headstone but couldn’t find it anywhere. Mom and Dad cut and cleared vines. My brothers and I cleaned off dirt, bugs, and spider webs. It was gross! Some headstones had tipped over because tree roots grew under them. They were heavy, but we worked together to lift them up again.
We worked hard all day. When the sun was going down, Dad said it was time to go.
“I don’t think we’re going to find it today,” he said. He sounded pretty disappointed.
I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to find the headstone for Grandma.
“Let’s say a prayer,” I said.
“That’s a great idea. Heavenly Father can help us find it,” said Mom.
We said a prayer and looked one last time. Dad found a long wire and used it to poke the ground. Suddenly the wire hit something solid. Maybe a headstone?
“I think Dad found something!” I said.
We knelt down and cleared away vines and weeds. Under a thin layer of dirt, we found a headstone. The name on it was Rodolph Jackson Humphrey.
“Dad, do you know who this is?” I asked.
When I looked at Dad, he had tears in his eyes. “This is exactly what we were searching for! It’s your great-great grandpa’s headstone,” he said.
“Yay!” we all shouted.
I gave my brothers high fives. “I knew we’d find it! We just needed a little help,” I said.
Mom smiled. “That’s what prayer is for.”
It was tricky and fun searching through the cemetery. We had to overcome walls, mud, thorns, and vines. But it was all worth it to get to know more about my great-great grandpa.
I know that the Holy Ghost helped us and that Heavenly Father answered our prayer. And the best feeling of all was hearing Grandma cheer when we told her all about it.

It is not difficult to apply these principles in a family setting, especially to our children. Parenting is good training to become good Christians; occasionally children think of their parents in that context. Years ago, Jack Smith told of a poignant story of two young boys at Christmastime.
“I didn’t question Timmy, age nine, or his seven-year-old brother, Billy, about the brown wrapping paper they passed back and forth between them as we visited each store.
“Every year at Christmastime, our Service Club takes the children from poor families in our town on a personally conducted shopping tour. I was assigned Timmy and Billy, whose father was out of work. After giving them the allotted [U.S.] $4.00 each, we began our trip. At different stores I made suggestions, but always their answer was a solemn shake of the head, no. Finally, I asked, ‘Where would you suggest we look?’
“‘Could we go to a shoe store, Sir?’ answered Timmy. ‘We’d like a pair of shoes for our Daddy so he can go to work.’
“In the shoe store the clerk asked what the boys wanted. Out came the brown paper. ‘We want a pair of work shoes to fit this foot,’ they said. Billy explained that it was a pattern of their Daddy’s foot. They had drawn it while he was asleep in a chair.
“The clerk held the paper against a measuring stick, then walked away. Soon, he came with an open box. ‘Will these do?’ he asked. Timmy and Billy handled the shoes with great eagerness. ‘How much do they cost?’ asked Billy. Then Timmy saw the price on the box. ‘They’re $16.95,’ he said in dismay. ‘We only have $8.00.’
“I looked at the clerk and he cleared his throat. ‘That’s the regular price,’ he said, ‘but they’re on sale; $3.98, today only.’ Then, with shoes happily in hand the boys bought gifts for their mother and two little sisters. Not once did they think of themselves.
“The day after Christmas the boys’ father stopped me on the street. The new shoes were on his feet, gratitude was in his eyes. ‘I just thank Jesus for people who care,’ he said. ‘And I thank Jesus for your two sons,’ I replied. ‘They really taught me more about Christmas in one evening than I had learned in a lifetime.’”1

Colonel Thomas Kane, a special representative of James Polk, president of the United States, visited the Latter-day Saint pioneers in 1846 while they camped in Iowa, preparing to cross the Missouri River. He had read newspaper articles about the Saints, describing how they had frequently been persecuted and driven from their homes. As he walked through the woods near the outskirts of the camp, he came upon a lone pioneer who was secretly praying. Thomas stood quietly listening to the man humbly express thanks for the restored gospel and petition for the Saints’ protection during their travels.
Thomas was very moved by this experience, and he became a lifelong friend of the Saints, although he never joined the Church.

Several readers suggested that a good way to make friends is to become involved in activities, such as seminary or institute, where you can be with other young people who share your goals and standards. By attending seminary or institute classes and activities, you put yourself in a situation where you can meet new people. But don’t just attend. Get involved. Volunteer to help with activities—especially those that focus on service. Friendships will usually develop quite naturally.

Finally, don’t give up. If someone doesn’t want to be your friend, forgive any unkindness, keep smiling, and try again. There are plenty of others—at school, at church, at seminary or institute, in your neighborhood—who would be delighted to have a friend like you.

Readers’ Answers
Pray to Heavenly Father and ask Him to help you. Participate in your ward or branch activities. As you interact with others, soon you will see that you have left shyness behind.
Irene Marinho Mendes,Arsenal Branch, Rio de Janeiro Brazil Niterói Stake
Being timid is not a defect. You need only to be yourself and to be honest. Only in this way are others able to become aware of you and of your good example.
Francesco Pezzoli,Bergamo First Ward, Milan Italy Stake
Pray that you’ll be a better friend to others and ask Heavenly Father to help your weakness turn into a strength (see Ether 12:27). Involve yourself in Church activities. Be true to your friends; respect them for who they are, not what they have. Treat people with kindness and learn about them and their interests.
Cristina G. Dungan,Agoo Third Ward, Agoo Philippines Stake
When I joined the Church, I didn’t know anyone, and everything was new. In seminary, I was able to make true, sincere friends who helped me prepare for my mission.
Elder Eduardo Moreira,Brazil Goiânia Mission
Before going anywhere where there are lots of people, we need to offer a prayer. The Spirit can help us overcome our shyness and make it easier for other people to approach us. We’re never alone when we have the Spirit with us.
Sofía Beatriz Rioja Pantoja,Sarco Ward, Cochabamba Bolivia Cobija Stake
When we try to live the principles of the gospel, it becomes easier to talk to others. After accepting the gospel, I overcame my shyness and made good friendships through reading the scriptures and attending institute. Reading good books, magazines, and especially the scriptures and the words of the living prophets makes us feel good. Attending institute gives us the opportunity to meet other wonderful people.
Darmeli Soares Rech,Fátima Ward, Joinville Brazil Stake
At first I was a bit uncomfortable and felt out of place at Church activities. But as I met other people, I started feeling more a part of things. I realized I wasn’t as shy as I thought. When I showed I was sincerely interested in others, they were interested in me, and we had lots of fun together.
Mauro Germán Soldán,Lanús Second Ward, Buenos Aires Argentina Avellaneda Stake
Shyness may spring from the fear of not being accepted or from a low sense of self-worth. We need to remember that we are children of God and that He loves us—even with all our flaws. We need to pray and seek guidance in overcoming our weaknesses.
Take the first step and show a genuine interest in someone by starting a conversation. And don’t forget to learn people’s names. Help them feel important.
Rosibel Valle de Ochoa,Tegucigalpa Ward, Tegucigalpa Honduras Stake
If you are shy and need good friendships, the first thing you should do is pray and fast and let God know your needs so you can be comforted. Pray that bashfulness and shyness be removed from you. Remember, Luke 1:37 says, “With God nothing shall be impossible.”
Periah Sefulu Sauvao,Lemoli First Ward, Upolu Samoa Faleasiu Stake
It was always difficult for me to interact with others. But when I returned from my mission, I was inspired by the knowledge that I am a child of God and thus can become like Him. I set the following goals: (1) I will always look people in the eye and greet them with a firm handshake, and (2) anytime I feel insecure about interacting with someone, I will stop, pray, approach that person, and strike up a conversation. I know I can overcome my shyness, because the Lord has promised He will “go before [my] face. [He] will be on [my] right hand and on [my] left” and will bear me up (D&C 84:88).
Aguinaldo Alves,Alvorada Ward, Maringá Brazil Stake
The Savior is our best example. Thinking about what He would do has really helped me make friends and has given me unforgettable memories. He was sensitive to the feelings of others and showed His love abundantly.
Carla Sofía Leal Saravia,Arturo Prat Ward, Santiago Chile Lo Prado Stake
I used to be shy, so I know how it feels when nobody talks to you. Since I’ve been a member of the Church, I’ve developed a desire to make everybody at church—member or not—feel welcome. I try to talk to anyone I see at church for the first time and help him or her feel at ease. Because of this habit, I have overcome my shyness and made a lot of friends, both young and old.
Haydee B. Sebastian,Santiago Second Ward, Santiago Philippines Stake

In two weeks, we will celebrate Easter. Our thoughts and feelings will, hopefully, focus on Jesus Christ. For many people, this will be another Easter that will casually come and casually go. For some, this Easter will be a season of meditation, reflection, and appreciation.
There is one special Easter that I vividly recall, experienced twenty-seven years ago as a missionary serving in the North Argentine Mission. Our mission had sent missionaries into southern Bolivia. That Easter Sunday 1968 I spent in Quiriza, Bolivia, a small village nestled in the foothills of the Altiplano of southern Bolivia. I remember the preparations made by the villagers for that Easter. The mood, the music, the feel of that moment still linger with me to this day.
Early on Easter Sunday morning, Elder Arce asked me if I would accompany him to visit an investigator family. Shortly thereafter, we walked down the dirt streets of that small village with adobe homes lining the way. We visited the family, reviewing important questions such as, Where do we come from? Why are we here? and Where are we going? We drew pictures with our fingers in the dirt floor. The Spirit was present. A baptismal invitation was extended and accepted. A beautiful baptismal service was held that afternoon. We baptized in the nearby muddy waters of the San Juan de Oro River. Seasons are reversed in South America. When it is springtime here, it is fall there.
Those being baptized disappeared behind large, freshly cut stacks of cornstalks, only to reappear dressed in beautiful white baptismal clothing. Their brown skin, black hair, and radiant smiles still linger to this day in my mind’s eye. The power of that Easter Sunday still moistens my eyes as I reflect on the universality of Christ’s invitation to all to come unto Him.
For me, to have administered in His name as a missionary among those people prompted thoughts of Jesus talking to His disciples during His earthly ministry. He said, “And other sheep I have, which are not of this fold: them also I must bring, and they shall hear my voice; and there shall be one fold, and one shepherd” (John 10:16).
Before we left Quiriza, Bolivia, for Argentina, a special prayer was offered. Accompanied by a dear missionary companion, kneeling on a dirt soccer field under the stars, the two of us took turns pouring out our hearts to our Heavenly Father. There were expressions of love and gratitude for the people, for our mission president, and for the privilege of being missionaries. Promises were made to help the people.
The years since my mission have provided opportunities for the fulfillment of those missionary promises. I returned home to marry my high school sweetheart, Christine Swensen. She is a wonderful companion, and I love her dearly. As a registered nurse, she worked helping us to get through dental school. As school was drawing to a close and our sixth wedding anniversary was upon us, we were still without children. Then a door opened and an opportunity presented itself, and Ashley came into our lives. Our dear, precious Ashley.
A year later we traveled to Bolivia to bring Joshua home from an orphanage. He was two years old. I can still see that beautiful little boy walking to me with outstretched arms, saying, “Papa, Papa.”
Megan then joined us, not even twenty-four hours old when we brought her home. Then back to Bolivia for Daniel, five months old when we held him for the first time.
Several years later, while I was presiding over the Mexico Merida Mission, Jennifer joined our family—a beautiful two-week-old Guatemalan baby girl born in Mexico. She opened the hearts of our missionaries and members in southern Mexico. Natalie Joy came into our family three weeks before our mission ended. Her middle name, Joy, is an eternal reminder of the witness we received that she should be included in our family.
After sixteen years of marriage and six adoptions, Anne and Andrew naturally joined our family, to the joy and happiness of their brothers and sisters. As a family, we are forever grateful for the binding and sealing effect the temple provides for the members of Jesus Christ’s church.
With special promises made to the Lord under the stars in Bolivia at Easter time 1968, there is not a day goes by but that Chris and I embrace our children and feel of God’s love for all of His children. And now, as with Easter 1968, for me Easter season 1995 will be one never to be forgotten.
Six months ago, as members of the Church, we sustained President Howard W. Hunter as the fourteenth President of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I was sustained in that conference as a new Seventy. In early March, President Hunter passed away. My mind is fresh with remembrances of him. We will never forget President Hunter telling our children at the time I was set apart: “We love you. We want you to feel comfortable around us. We want you to feel like we are family.” Following our setting apart, President Hunter and his counselors, President Hinckley and President Monson, shook hands with each of our children. A treasured moment. Six months following that setting apart, I now stand before you for the first time to speak as a General Authority in the Tabernacle.
And President Gordon B. Hinckley has been sustained as the fifteenth President of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
During a visit twenty-seven years ago to South America, Elder Gordon B. Hinckley spoke to missionaries. He was younger then. He had served but seven years as an Apostle. He shared a scripture and extended an invitation. He taught from 2 Timothy: “For God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind. Be not thou therefore ashamed of the testimony of our Lord” (2 Tim. 1:7–8).
Elder Hinckley invited missionaries to not fear and not be ashamed of their testimonies of Jesus Christ. His invitation penetrated my heart as a missionary then and is equally important to me and to you this day. The Lord has raised up a new prophet—one who has no fear, one who is full of power and love and of a sound mind, and one who by example reminds us never to be ashamed of our testimony of the Lord.
May this be an Easter season of meditation, reflection, and appreciation. May we resolve to be obedient to prophetic invitations from those who hold the keys of the kingdom. A favorite hymn says:
There is sunshine in my soul today,
More glorious and bright
Than glows in any earthly sky,
For Jesus is my light.
[“There Is Sunshine in My Soul Today,” Hymns, 1985, no. 227]
Jesus is my light. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

While touring the New England Mission in May 1960 accompanied by his wife Camilla, Elder Spencer W. Kimball taught much to many. One day is particularly memorable.
Elder Kimball had requested and been permitted to take time to do some genealogical research on the actual location of the birthplace of his grandfather, Heber C. Kimball. While it had generally been concluded that Heber C. Kimball was born in Sheldon, Vermont, Elder Kimball wanted conclusive proof. He also wanted to check for other genealogical information.
Searching stores on the main street of St. Albans for helpful maps and checking records in the city halls of St. Albans and Sheldon, he received mainly general information that confirmed what he already knew. And so, early the next morning, he visited the cemetery. The dew was heavy, but presented no obstacle to his moving about among the headstones looking for Kimball names. When finding any, he would sparkle with joy and record the information in his notebook.
Imagine his influence on me as I watched him and Sister Kimball poring over record books and relating any information they found to that which they already had. I sensed a feeling of fulfillment in the Kimballs in their being able to spend this time in the area from which Elder Kimball’s illustrious grandfather had come.
In order not to lose the chance to teach and train, Elder and Sister Kimball ended this most unusual day in meeting with the Saints in Barre, not far from Sharon. Sister Kimball instructed ninety sisters and Elder Kimball provided over forty brethren with priesthood leadership training. Concluding the visit with a district meeting of the Saints from all parts of Vermont, Elder Kimball issued the Saints the challenge to double their membership by the end of the year.
Teaching. Always teaching!

During World War II, on my first Sunday as a Marine, I ran into a very special missionary companion of mine at a Church service. Both of us had volunteered for the Marine Corps! When we completed boot camp, we were both assigned to the Second Marine Division.
After the battle was over on the island to which our division was assigned, we were able to obtain a tent for Church services. We made benches, a pulpit, and a sacrament table out of any pieces of lumber we could find. Under the sacrament table we placed a special green footlocker. We carried that footlocker with us from island to island as our division completed its orders. The contents of the green footlocker represented all we held dear: a wooden plate, a wooden sacrament tray, a card containing the sacrament prayers, and several boxes of small paper cups.
As President David O. McKay has reminded us, partaking of the sacrament is a renewal of the covenants we made at the time of baptism, which are that “We are willing to take upon ourselves the name of the Son. In so doing we choose him as our leader and our ideal. … We will always remember him. Not just on Sunday, but on Monday [and the other days of the week]. … We promise to ‘… keep his commandments. …’—tithing, fast offerings, the Word of Wisdom, kindness, forgiveness, love.” (Gospel Ideals, page 146.)
As we gathered each week on the Lord’s day, we opened our footlocker and used the contents to prepare, bless, and pass the sacrament. It was a spiritual and uplifting experience that renewed our faith and gave us hope for the days ahead.
Eventually our tent chapel was filled with many holes caused by shrapnel tearing through it. When frequent tropical rains made it uncomfortable to sit in a tent with so many holes in it, we determined that our meetings deserved better quarters. We finally obtained enough material to construct a chapel. Now the green footlocker was placed beneath the table in a dedicated house of worship.
When our duties on the island were completed, we boarded a ship and moved out. Our footlocker remained in the chapel for others to use. I don’t know its final destination, but that old green footlocker will always have a special place in my heart because even in one of the most trying periods of my life, I was able to receive spiritual renewal for the days ahead as I partook of the sacrament of the Lord’s Supper.

When I was growing up, every year or so my stake would hold a “roadshow”—a night of laughter and fun as each ward performed an unashamedly amateur melodrama before the rest of the stake in the crowded cultural hall. For weeks before the event, leaders in the wards would concoct unlikely plots, create ridiculous songs and dances, and coerce reluctant youth into wearing outlandish costumes. Our roadshows could hardly be termed theater, but they were a lot of fun.
Of all the stake roadshows I took part in, one in particular stands out in my memory. The year I was 16, the stake presidency, of which my father was a member, decided the wards would not be allowed to use glitter in their costumes or makeup. Although the shimmering flecks looked wonderful on stage under the spotlight, they invariably found their way into the carpets and furniture of the rooms the wards used for preparation. Because the roadshow was to be held on Saturday night, the stake presidency hoped this measure would help keep the building clean for the Sabbath.
But in the enthusiasm and good-natured competition of that year’s roadshow, the stake presidency’s counsel went largely unheeded. After the performances concluded, I looked for my dad among the members slowly trickling from the building. They all seemed to have had a night of friendship and amusement. When I finally found my father in one of the rooms used for preparation, I could see that he was not amused. He was walking slowly around the room, gravely surveying the sparkles scattered about the floor.
“Most of the wards used glitter,” I said, stating the obvious.
“It’s like this in almost all the rooms,” he said and sighed. “Weren’t we clear about not using glitter?” he asked in frustration.
“I think you were,” I said, hoping to ease some of the tension.
By the time we found the rest of the family and went home, it was already late. But after seeing the younger kids to bed, my father took his car keys and went to the door.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
“Back to the stake center,” he said quietly. “I’m going to see what I can do to get it ready for Sunday. Do you want to come?”
I didn’t have any special desire to spend what remained of my Saturday evening cleaning, but when I thought about my dad doing all that work alone, I agreed to go.
By the time we reached the stake center, my dad’s attitude had changed. As we cleaned, he seemed less discouraged and even somewhat enthusiastic about the challenge before us. He spent the time asking me about school and my friends.
Although the cleaning took several hours, we both felt a certain pleasure in our work and tried to be as thorough as possible. It wasn’t until after midnight that we felt the building was ready for church in the morning.
The next day, I felt special satisfaction as I looked through the clean rooms and remembered how they had appeared the night before. I considered telling my friends about my one-night stint at janitorial work, but that didn’t seem appropriate. Apparently, my father felt the same—to this day I can’t remember him mentioning that night to anyone.
Today when I think back to that roadshow, I can’t remember any of the humor or costumes or music. What comes to mind are images of my father vacuuming and sweeping and picking glitter from the floor of the church—doing behind-the-scenes work in preparation for the Sabbath.

Sister Craig described what happened when she asked herself the following questions:
“What am I doing that I should stop doing?” and “What am I not doing that I should start doing?”
Months ago, during the sacrament, I asked myself these questions and was surprised by the impression that came. “Stop looking at your phone when you are waiting in lines.” Looking at my phone in lines had become almost automatic; I found it a good time to multitask, catch up on email, look at headlines, or scroll through a social media feed.
The next morning, I found myself waiting in a long line at the store. I pulled out my phone and then remembered the impression I had received. I put my phone away and looked around. I saw an elderly gentleman in line ahead of me. His cart was empty except for a few cans of cat food. I felt a little awkward but said something really clever like, “I can see you have a cat.” He said that a storm was coming, and he did not want to be caught without cat food. We visited briefly, and then he turned to me and said, “You know, I haven’t told anyone this, but today is my birthday.” My heart melted. I wished him a happy birthday and offered a silent prayer of thanks that I had not been on my phone and missed an opportunity to truly see and connect with another person who needed it.
With all of my heart I do not want to be like the priest or the Levite on the road to Jericho—one who looks and passes by. But too often I think I am.

One night when it was time for home evening, Steve suggested, “Let’s do something exciting tonight—like kickball or something.”
So Becky and Julie went outside to set up bases while the older girls stayed to clean up the dinner dishes. It wasn’t long before eight-year-old Becky flew through the door, her face ashen and her voice trembling in fright. “There’s a bear out there! There’s a bear out there!”
Suddenly everyone was bumping shoulders on the porch trying to catch a good view of the bear. There he was, foraging through the bushes, pausing for a moment to watch the commotion on the Crandalls’ porch. Suddenly, a neighbor pointed his rifle out the side window and fired at the bear several times. The injured bear began to lumber away. Quickly Dad and Steve grabbed their guns to help out. “You don’t leave a wounded bear up here. They can get vicious,” Dad explained.
They never caught the bear that night. But when Mom asked, “Was that enough excitement for you, Steve?” laughter filled the tiny house.

One of my colleagues tells of a student coming to his office for help with a problem. The student had been trying for several hours to resolve the problem and had been sent from one office on campus to another. The student was also from another country and was not only bewildered by the new culture but felt very helpless. The last office that sent him away told him to come to our department, and by the time he entered my colleague’s office, he was nearly in tears. After listening to the student describe the problem, my colleague made one or two phone calls and, within a few minutes, solved the problem. The grateful student thanked him over and over again for being his savior.

4. Allow opportunities for personal growth and encourage your children to do things for themselves. One role of parents is to help their children be confident, capable, and self-sufficient. This training process is a natural and gradual one; it begins when the child is very young. When he learns a new task, he wants to perform it over and over again. If he is restrained, he may vent his frustrations loudly. For example, Mrs. Anderson was puzzled at first when Kathleen, age one, suddenly went into a screaming tantrum when she was being undressed for bed. Then she realized she had pulled off Kathleen’s socks rather than waiting for her to do it herself. Only after she put the socks on her again and let her remove them was Kathleen happy again. Who would imagine that the need to feel capable could be apparent at such an early age!

My commitment to evening prayers has always been there but I struggled to gain the habit of consistently saying my morning prayers. During my mission and college days, I always said morning prayers, but during my thirties with so many pressures and responsibilities, I often forgot to say morning prayers. We always had morning and evening family prayers but so often I would get up quickly, get ready for work, have family scripture reading and family prayer and forget my morning prayers. But a mighty change came in 1981 through an experience in a Stake Presidency meeting as our President told us of an interview he had had with a good brother and how he had asked him if he was faithful in saying his evening and morning prayers. As he related that story it came with great force into my heart. I needed to repent. So in mighty prayer I made a covenant with God that I would from that time forward say my morning prayers. I have kept that covenant. I cannot tell you all the blessings that have come from consistent morning prayers.

I would like to thank you very much for the article “Bowl ’em Over” in the September 1984 New Era. The eager anticipation shown in the photos of the youth brought back many fond and exciting memories from over a year ago when I was in my last year of seminary.
I remembered how our little seminary group studied for long hours almost every time we met (once each week) to be the best scripture chasers in our district (the Dubois District in the Pennsylvania Pittsburg Mission).
At the end of the year, Kelly, Amy, and Debbie Starner, Jody Johnson, my sister Dona, and I fulfilled our promise that we had made to our wonderful teacher, Sister Betty Adams. We won the championship blue ribbons as the best team. Amy and I were the top male-female chasers in the district.
The great love we shared at each Super Saturday, the competition, and the other activities brought us all a little bit closer to each other and the Lord. I’m very grateful for those special occasions that touched my spirit, helping me in a time when I was struggling for a real testimony of my own.

Our angels have trials and challenges, too. My grandmother was a survivor. As a small child her family was called by President Lorenzo Snow to colonize in Canada. They left their comfortable home in Cache Valley, Utah. During the first winter they lived in a tent with blocks of snow surrounding it for insulation and protection.

At night my grandmother would listen to the wolves howl in the darkness. Her early life was filled with hardships. My grandmother married out of the church. The poverty and hardships of Canada were too much for most of her family, and they slowly moved back to the United States, settling in Montana. My grandmother, however, remained in Canada with her husband and young family of four children. My grandfather died when my grandmother was twenty-eight years old, leaving her alone on six hundred and forty acres of land.

For eight years my grandmother ran the farm with the help of neighbors to put in the crops and harvest them. Then one winter day, she sent the children to school on the horse. Shortly after they left a blizzard came up and raged all day. She did not know about the safety of her children and could not go to find them. As night fell, she feared that they were lost and knelt to plead for their safety. She promised the Lord that if He would watch over the children, she would find a way to leave when spring came. The children made it to the small town and were taken in by neighbors, but Esther would not know this for three days when finally her oldest son rode the horse home and told his mother that they were all safe.

My grandmother had little education and worked as a maid to support herself and her children. She buried five husbands and three of her four children, and at the age of sixty-three took my younger sister and me into her home.

How she provided for us, I do not know. She had a small social security check and continued to work for a family in our ward during these years. My grandmother lived through her trials and challenges making a monument of service and example. She accepted what life had given her and made the best of that life. She could create a meal from almost nothing. I often watched her do ironing for others. She ironed the white shirts of the patriarch of our stake; they were a work of art. She was independent and self-sufficient. She found joy in a world in which others found sorrow.

Tita was born 1 April 1958 to Milton Henriques da Paixao and Walstir Queiroz da Paixao. His father was Catholic and, before her marriage, his mother was active in the Methodist church. It was through one of his mother’s brothers, Walter Guedes de Quieroz (former Brazil Porto Alegre Mission president) that the family was introduced to the Church. Eleven-year-old Tita was baptized in 1969 together with his mother and two brothers.

His interest in sports found its outlet in soccer and he participated in Church and school tournaments. His activity with a soccer little league brought him to the attention of the “Flamengo” club and he signed with the Rio de Janeiro-based team. He was drafted to play for the national team in 1979.

A favorite of the fans, Tita’s ability on and off the field has earned him favorable press coverage. But Tita has used his fame not to promote himself but his religion. For example, he used the publicity surrounding his recent marriage in the Sao Paulo Temple to explain that he and his wife-to-be had to live specific standards to be worthy to be married in the temple and enter into an eternal covenant. Among the standards, he told the press, were the principles of the Word of Wisdom.

Tita, a member of the Tijunca Ward, Rio de Janeiro Andarai Stake, said that he and his wife want to be worthy of the eternal covenants they have made. His other goals include living the commandments and being a good example to those with whom he comes in contact, taking advantage of missionary opportunities, and harmonizing his professional life with the standards of the Church.

Black clouds piled up in the west as I fastened my seat belt and Mom started the car. My mood was as dark as those clouds. Why did Mom always tell people I would play a musical number on the piano whenever anyone asked me? I was only 12, but I was often asked to play for church programs and in other wards. Bishop Bowen had asked me to play a musical number in his ward’s sacrament meeting this evening. We used to live in his ward.
“Why do I have to play?” I asked Mom. “I like to practice at home, but I don’t like to play in public. Some of my friends will be there and they’ll make fun of me. They all know I play the piano and they tease me about it.”
“You have a special gift for music, Kent,” Mom said. “You need to share your talent.”
I dug my hands deeper into my pockets and didn’t say anything else.
When we got to the church, Mom parked the car. The wind was blowing hard as we hurried into the building.
Sitting in the chapel, I flattened my hands over my shaky knees to quiet them. Mom patted my shoulder and smiled at me. I pulled away and swallowed hard.
After the sacrament, Bishop Bowen announced the rest of the meeting. He said who would be the first speaker, and then he said, “We’re so happy to have Kent back with us this evening. He will play a musical number for us.”
A lady sitting behind us leaned forward and patted my shoulder and smiled. “Why do my friends tease me so much, but the adults always like to hear me play?” I wondered.
I heard the wind howling outside. My throat was dry. Too bad I couldn’t get a drink of water. My fingers were stiff so I rubbed them.
The first speaker finished his talk. Ready or not, it was my turn. My stomach churned as I stared at the keys. I felt like striking them with all my strength. Too bad I wasn’t playing my favorite song, “The Storm.” A storm raged inside me as well as outside.
A minute passed as I sat there trying to compose myself, but it felt like an eternity. Finally, I raised my hands and let them fall gently on the keys. The soft chords dropped from my fingertips and quieted the storm inside me. I pictured a bright moon in the sky making a stream of light on ripples across a lake. My fingers rippled over the keys like the moonlight over the water. I felt like I was playing at home. I loved every minute of it.
When I finished, I slipped into the pew beside Mom. She put her arm around my shoulders, and I heard rain spattering against the windows. A sudden flash of lightning jarred the quiet congregation.
The second speaker stood up to give his talk, but I could only hear the rumbling thunder and the pounding rain outside. A sudden blinding flash seemed to almost come right into the building, followed by a loud crash. All the lights went out in the chapel! The speaker continued his talk even though it was hard to hear him without the microphone. Babies cried. Kids wiggled. Everybody was whispering.
When the speaker finished, Bishop Bowen stood up and spoke loudly. “Our meeting is finished except for the closing prayer. But we surely can’t go out into this storm. Kent, will you please play your musical number again?”
I was shocked. How could I quiet all that confusion and fear? I felt my way to the piano bench in the darkness and found middle C. Then I knew I would be all right. I had never felt such peace as the memorized notes blended into each other. The nervous confusion in the chapel stopped and everyone seemed to be concentrating on the music.
The congregation was silent as the last tones died away. The storm outside had calmed down. Someone offered the closing prayer, and then everyone began to leave, finding their way carefully in the dark. Some of my friends were waiting for me in the foyer.
“Hey, Kent, how did you do that? Your music took away the scare,” one said.
“I wish I could play like that,” said another.
No one made fun of me. What a relief! A woman touched my elbow and said, “Tonight you used music for a great purpose. You gave us calmness over panic. I’ve never felt more uplifted and I couldn’t hold back the tears. Please don’t ever stop playing.”