Gospel Story Finder

“Put your foot inside this shoe,” seminary teacher Tatyana Mutilina said, holding out a boot nearly large enough for Goliath. Her student, Anzhelika Kovalova, placed her foot timidly inside.
“Now,” the teacher said, “put it here on the table where everyone can see.”
That got the class’s attention.
“Don’t go on a journey wearing shoes that don’t fit,” Sister Mutilina said. Then she taught the Kharkovsky Branch youth a powerful lesson from the seminary manual, reading scriptures, discussing questions, and bearing her testimony about how important it is to be prepared when the Lord calls upon you. The point?
“That the future of the Church in Ukraine will require youth like us to step forward,” Anzhelika says. “We need to be ready for the challenge.” She is not the only young LDS woman here with such an understanding. Others share similar views.

Thanks for the idea of sharing a subscription to the New Era. My friends were all delighted to have the subscription. One of my friends is even taking the missionary lessons now and is thinking of joining the Church. I can still remember when he received his first issue, which had a lot about the temples in it. After he had finished reading it, he came running over to my house, with his face glowing, and said “That’s where I want to be married—in the temple!” I’m not a member yet myself. It’s been a two-year wait for me, and I still have to wait another six months. Thanks for this wonderful missionary tool and especially for the article “Every Nonmember a Missionary.” I still remember my next door neighbor saying to me, “Here you are going around telling everybody about the Church, and you’re not even a member yet!” He is now planning to go on a mission when he’s 19. I have been fortunate to have been able to set a good example to many of my friends. As a matter of fact, I now have the opportunity to give a report in my California history class on the Mormon influence in California. It’s not going to be easy to limit myself to historical facts and not try to convert the whole class.
Adriana Lillian BrownMenlo Park, California

True disciples of Jesus Christ are willing to stand out, speak up, and be different from the people of the world. They are undaunted, devoted, and courageous. I learned of such disciples during a recent assignment in Mexico, where I met with government officials as well as leaders of other religious denominations. Each thanked me for our members’ heroic and successful efforts to protect and preserve strong marriages and families in their country.

There is nothing easy or automatic about becoming such powerful disciples. Our focus must be riveted on the Savior and His gospel. It is mentally rigorous to strive to look unto Him in every thought. But when we do, our doubts and fears flee.

Recently I learned of a fearless young Laurel. She was invited to participate in a statewide competition for her high school on the same evening she had committed to participate in a stake Relief Society meeting. When she realized the conflict and explained to competition officials that she would need to leave the competition early to attend an important meeting, she was told she would be disqualified if she did so.

What did this latter-day Laurel do? She kept her commitment to participate in the Relief Society meeting. As promised, she was disqualified from the statewide competition. When asked about her decision, she replied simply, “Well, the Church is more important, isn’t it?”

Faith in Jesus Christ propels us to do things we otherwise would not do. Faith that motivates us to action gives us more access to His power.

It was on an overcast day years ago that my friend called and asked me to attend the Jordan River Utah Temple with her. I wasn’t sure I wanted to go out, as that day the things of the world were weighing heavily upon my soul. I felt I had little self-worth, and among other things, I didn’t feel needed in my ward.
But after some hesitation, I accepted my friend’s invitation with a prayer in my heart that if I would go and do the Lord’s work, He would help me find peace of mind and an answer to my prayers.
At the temple I enjoyed the session but felt no particular answer to my plea for help. After I had prepared to leave and was waiting for my friend, a woman in a wheelchair bumped into me. As I bent down to rub the pain in my leg, I heard her say in a sweet voice, “Oh, I am so sorry. Please forgive me.” She gently touched my head. “Are you OK, dear sister?”
I looked up into an angelic face of pure love. She then looked me in the eye and, with a squeeze of the hand, said, “This Church needs you, and there are so many that need your love. Reach out to others, and they will reach out to you. You are needed, wanted, and loved in the Lord’s kingdom.”
Tears filled my eyes, and I cried for a few minutes as she held my head against her. When I regained control, I wiped away tears of joy and replied, “You have answered my prayer.”
I realized I was speaking to Camilla Eyring Kimball, whose husband, President Spencer W. Kimball (1895–1985), had said: “God does notice us, and he watches over us. But it is usually through another person that he meets our needs” (“The Abundant Life,” Tambuli, June 1979, 3; Ensign, July 1978, 4).
I then found the strength to go home with joy and to give love from that day forward. I shall never forget how I was given peace and an answer to my prayer in an unexpected way on that glorious day in the house of the Lord.

The home teachers had scarcely sat down and exchanged greetings with the family when their teenage son blurted out, “How can you say we’re the only true church when some of the best kids in school aren’t Mormons and they believe in their church just as much as we do?”
A quick glance at the young man’s father was met with a tired shrug, as much as if to say, “We’ve tried; now see what you can do with him.”
The older of the home teachers paused a moment, then said, “Well, Chris, that’s a fair question. It reminds me of something that happened when I was just a couple of years older than you are. When I first went away to college back east, I took certain notions along with me—prejudices, I guess. I thought I would be going from the shelter of simple farm life to a decadent city where my principles would be challenged every minute. But that didn’t really happen. I was surprised to find that most of my classmates were fine people. Some of them belonged to other churches, and some didn’t belong to any church at all. And as I observed their behavior, I sometimes wondered if I would have been as honest as many of them were if I hadn’t been raised in a Latter-day Saint family. Have you ever thought about that?”
Chris nodded, and the home teacher continued: “So when we say that ours is the only true church, we’re not saying that we’re superior to other people or that we’re the only people on earth who are concerned about doing good, but that this is the one church that the Lord has authorized through priesthood power to preach his gospel and perform the ordinances necessary for salvation. We want all people to have these good things. …”
The discussion continued calmly. After looking up “One Lord, one faith, one baptism” (Eph. 4:5) and a few other scriptures, Chris soon had a satisfactory answer to his question.

Every member a missionary.
“Sure, I want to, but I’m embarrassed.”
“It’s hard to do.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“I don’t want to force the gospel on others.”
So, what would you think of a simple, no-strain-or-pain approach that allowed you to introduce scores of friends and acquaintances to the Church or gospel principles—while you are doing your lessons?
Karen and Susan Jacobs of Walnut Creek, California, found it fun and rewarding. It started when Karen was in the fifth grade at the American School in Copenhagen, Denmark. She was looking for a subject for a rather ambitious American history report. The teacher called for footnotes, bibliography, note cards, and oral reports—you know, the works. Her biggest hurdle was to choose a subject. Her parents suggested that she do her report on the Mormon trek westward.
“Why not?” she said.
Once started it was an easier topic to write on than most, with all that help at home, her interest, and her background on the subject from Primary and Sunday School.
Few in the class knew much about the Mormons, and the oral report, laced with interest-raising points, created a lively discussion for months afterwards. She got an A grade too!
Once they discovered the approach, the Jacobs sisters used it, with variations, on numerous occasions. For example, eighth-grader Susan spiced up a science lecture on the effects of smoking by dissecting a calf’s heart in class (she had been prepped on where to cut and how the heart worked by George Washington University medical student Milo Andrus, who also supplied surgical gloves and scalpel). Such a graphic presentation by a petite girl made quite an impression on the class—and they got a strong Word-of-Wisdom explanation simultaneously. The grade was A!
The heart lesson went over so well that Karen used a calf’s brain in her science fair presentation on the effects of narcotic drugs and won a prize. Again, she included an easy-to-give, easy-to-take explanation on one phase of the Lord’s law of health.
As a junior at Washington-Lee High School in Arlington, Virginia, Karen was quite put out (furious is more accurate) to find a snide portrayal of the Prophet Joseph and the Church in her history book. It described Joseph Smith as a transient farmer digging for buried treasure. She pointed out the inaccuracies to her teacher who turned the tables by asking if she would like to give a class presentation on early Church history. Karen gulped and accepted. Out came the fifth-grade report. Spruced up with the addition of the Joseph Smith story and a few other gems, it was just the thing. It ended up taking the whole class period. The teacher promptly asked Karen for a repeat performance in his afternoon class. There were dozens of thoughtful questions which led to the missionaries being invited to explain more.
Although there were only three LDS seniors in her graduating class of 800, Karen’s senior government class was treated to four oral presentations on Church subjects. Karen spoke on the United Order, Mike Miller on the nutritional aspects of the Word of Wisdom, and Mark Forsyth on Church government. The bonus came when a nonmember friend, impressed by her prededication visit to the Washington Temple, and with help from her LDS friends, reported on the Mormons as temple builders.
The willingness of Karen, Susan, and their friends to try this approach had wide-reaching effects. Virtually everyone in the school knew them as the Mormons. Located in a major suburb of Washington, D.C., the school was largely composed of children of foreign diplomats, Congressmen, and other military and government officials; yet, the school was replete with drug users, crude language, immorality, nonexistent dress standards, and hundreds of students without fixed standards or ideals. But the tiny LDS group was recognized and respected by teachers and students alike for what they believed in. None was subjected to derision or hassle. In fact, it was most helpful in avoiding unwholesome activities to be able to say, “Remember, that’s a no-no for Mormons.”
Perhaps it was due in part to this early willingness to dig into gospel subjects and share LDS teachings that today Karen is taking time out from her studies in the Brigham Young University honors program to serve a mission to Spain and Susan has only a few months to wait for her mission call.
A great prophet of the Lord called on every member to be a missionary. Can you imagine the impact on teachers and students if every LDS student were to write or give just one report each year on the Church? Even in areas of heavy Church membership, many nonmembers have never been given real, firsthand exposure to our teachings. What easier way to lengthen your stride and please President Kimball? Go on, try it. Or to quote that motto in our beloved prophet’s office, “Do it!”

A few years ago, my wife and I had the sacred privilege of meeting with some faithful members of the Church in Mexico City. Many of them, either personally or through their loved ones, had endured indescribable trials, including kidnappings, homicides, and other heartbreaking tragedies.
As we looked into the faces of those Saints, we did not see anger, resentment, or a desire for revenge. Instead, we saw a quiet humility. Their countenances, though marked by sorrow, radiated a sincere longing for healing and comfort. Even though their hearts were broken by suffering, these Saints pressed forward with faith in Jesus Christ, choosing not to let their afflictions become gaps in their faith or cause instability in their testimony of the gospel.
At the conclusion of that sacred gathering, we greeted each one of them. Every handshake, every embrace became a quiet testimony that with the help of the Lord, we can choose to respond with temperance to the frustrations and challenges of life. Their quiet and unassuming example served as a tender invitation to walk the Savior’s path with temperance in all things. We felt as if we were in the presence of angels.

William eased onto the floor and carefully laid his gun at his side. “Good-night, Brother Joseph.”
“Sleep well,” the Prophet replied.
William doubted he’d be able to sleep at all. Even when he did rest here on the Smiths’ floor, he often slept fitfully, awakening in starts to watch and listen.
Lying on his back, he stared at the dark ceiling and strained to hear anything suspicious outside—footsteps approaching, horse hooves plodding closer, muffled voices. But the only sounds were chirping crickets and water lapping against the nearby riverbank. William only wished life in Nauvoo could be as peaceful as it seemed tonight.
Lately persecution against the Saints, especially Joseph Smith, had become so great that William now slept in the Nauvoo House as the Prophet’s bodyguard. He lay with his feet braced against the bedroom door, which swung inward. That way an intruder would have to awaken William before being able to reach Joseph.
Eventually William’s eyes drooped closed and he fell into an uneasy sleep, but not for long.
“William, are you awake?” Joseph whispered.
William’s eyes flew open to see the Prophet crouched next to him. He reached for his weapon, but Joseph placed a calming hand on his shoulder. “Why don’t you go home and get some rest in your own bed tonight?”
William blinked in disbelief. “Will you be safe?”
Joseph smiled. “I should think so. The Lord has revealed to me that little children have been praying for my welfare, and He will honor their faith by protecting me. Your guard service will not be needed tonight.”
As William walked down the quiet Nauvoo streets toward home, he glanced up at the stars and grinned. He was grateful to know that he was not the only one helping to protect the Prophet.

In my early childhood, I lost both my parents. Aunt Gu Ma, an unmarried sister of my father, brought up my brother and me in the little Chinese farming village where she grew vegetables for a living. She was a wonderful person. Although she had no formal education, she instilled in us correct principles, including self-reliance and the value of hard work. We are grateful for her love and sacrifice for us.

During the autumn of our freshman year in high school, one of my close friends lost her youngest sister to leukemia. The day I heard the news, I saw my friend from a distance, standing apart from the others at the bus stop. I could see her grief stamped clearly across the features of her face, and I yearned to do something to comfort her, but the situation made me suddenly shy. Although I had known the girl for years, I did not know what to say or do. So I avoided her. Some time later, after the shock of her sister’s death had subsided, my friend said to me, “I always thought it strange that neither you nor any of my other friends said anything to me when Katy died.”

When our Heavenly Father made provisions for us to become mortal, he knew, of course, that we would all one day travel through a “valley of shadow and tears.” Painful changes, illness, death—we cannot avoid them. Yet if there is anything more difficult than dealing with these things ourselves, perhaps it is watching a good friend attempting to cope with them. Witnessing a friend wrestle with the effects of any personal tragedy can often leave us feeling helpless. “What can I say? What can I do?” we may ask ourselves at such times. This sense of helplessness, unfortunately, causes many of us to do what I did: turn our backs on the problem.

That we should do otherwise is made clear by the scriptures. Through word and deed the Savior indicated that we must not neglect those who are suffering. Recall, for example, his response to the news of Lazarus’ death. John tells us that “Jesus wept.” Although Christ surely knew that he could raise Lazarus from the dead, he still grieved for his friends Mary and Martha to the point where he was actually moved to tears. His concern for them then caused him to take specific action to alleviate their sorrow and glorify his Father by commanding that Lazarus return to the realm of the living.

Perhaps we cannot work miracles in the manner of Christ, but as with all things, we can follow his example of caring. What can we do, then, when a friend is suffering? Perhaps one of the most important yet difficult things to do is to verbally and frankly acknowledge the problem a friend is facing. My friend remarked, “If any of you had even approached me and said, ‘I’m sorry,’ we would have both been more comfortable, more at ease with each other and the situation.” It is crucially important that we do not allow tragedy to become a barrier to communication. Verbalizing sympathy may be exactly what a sorrowing friend needs.

A word of caution may be in order here, however. A friend of mine named Doug lost his father in an automobile accident when he was in junior high school. Though he knew they meant well, it was difficult for him to hear peers whose parents were still living say, “I know exactly how you feel.” The fact is they probably didn’t, and consequently their well-intentioned remarks sounded callous. A simple “I’m sorry” would have been more appropriate. Furthermore, Doug felt oppressed by those people who felt it was their duty to get him to “talk about it” every time they associated with him. Once he felt the concern and sympathy of his friends by their simple expressions of sympathy, he preferred to bring up the subject himself.

As important as acknowledging a situation is, it would be wrong to assume that words alone are enough. Though we may truly mean it when we say, “Let me know if there is anything I can do to help,” most people might hesitate to call on us, fearing that they would be imposing on our time by doing so. How much better it is to take the initiative and actually do something for a friend without being asked.

I know of one Laurel-aged girl named Diana who will always appreciate what a good friend did for her without being asked during a critical period of her life. When she was 17, Diana became extremely and chronically depressed. Her depression was so severe that she eventually required medical attention. When her friend Rachel learned of this, she made quietly sure that she was available whenever Diana needed her. To this day Diana maintains that the phone calls, long walks, tennis matches, and lengthy conversations on a variety of subjects, including her illness, were instrumental in helping her return to full health and activity.

Finally, it is important to remind ourselves that the effects of many personal tragedies can be long lasting. Painful feelings are not always resolved quickly, and it often takes a great deal of time for a person to work through his or her grief. We must be careful not to assume that just because an individual has resumed his normal activities, he no longer requires special attention.

A boy named Stan related the following experience to me. One summer afternoon his younger brother was involved in an accident that left him paralyzed from the waist down. Immediately after the accident, friends of both boys, as well as ward members, were very supportive and attentive. Within a few weeks, however, the visits and offers to help became fewer and fewer. Before long Stan, his brother, and other members of the family felt isolated because of the tragedy. A few short weeks were simply not enough time for them to come to terms with the new and difficult realities that confronted them individually and as a family. Continued support from caring friends would have been truly appreciated.

As much as we would like to, we cannot often change the circumstances causing a good friend pain. We can, however, help him to deal with that pain by caring, the kind of caring that translates itself into words and deeds of genuine compassion. Expressing sympathy, demonstrating concern through specific action, and making a long-term commitment to the person in need are all important steps we can take in helping a person we love come to grips with the circumstances of his or her life.

Lucy saw the dress in the window of Carlstrum’s General Store. It was the color of lilacs with sprigs of lace at the neck and sleeves. Lucy hadn’t seen lilacs since her family moved from Salt Lake City. Mother had planted a lilac start, but so far it hadn’t developed enough to produce any blossoms.
She tugged at her mother’s arm. “Oh, Mama, look at that dress.”
Mama checked the list she held for what she would need in the general store. They had already been to the feed and seed store, and Lucy’s brother Thomas was still in the blacksmith’s shop. Her mother always went to the general store last, because it was the most enjoyable.
She glanced up at the dress. “It’s very pretty, dear.”
Lucy liked pretty things, but had to control her desires because her family was struggling with the new farm. Since President Brigham Young had sent her family and several others to settle in the New Harmony area, life had been difficult. It was dry and hot in the rugged, red-soiled desert country. The families were trying to raise cotton to sell to people in Salt Lake City, who often referred to Southern Utah as “Dixie.”
But Dixie was not yet producing abundant cotton as had been hoped. Water was precious and had to be used sparingly even for irrigation. Lucy’s father was the bishop of the town, and he was raising cattle as well as cotton to supply meat for the townspeople. It was the sale of beef that kept his family going.
Lucy gazed longingly at the dress. How it would set off her shiny brown hair and make her gray eyes glow! She could imagine herself wearing the dress to church, where all the other girls would see and envy her.
She flushed a little, feeling guilty, since Mama often told her that church was a place to worship, not to show off. All her dresses were plain gray flannel ones that had been remodeled from hand-me-downs. But this dress was beautiful!
Mama went into the general store to look at some bolts of cloth. “Look at this, Lucy,” she called. “We could make a pretty dress for you with this material.”
With a touch of excitement Lucy hurried to her mother’s side, but the material was just a plain yellow, brown, and black calico print. She had already seen several dresses around town made of it. “Oh, Mama, I need a special dress, not just an old faded calico,” she exclaimed, holding up the limp skirt she had on. “And just like everything else in Dixie—it’s the dusty colors of earth. Isn’t there any pretty material? Some blue or pink or lovely lilac?”
Her mother looked down at Lucy with an understanding smile. Her daughter really did need a new dress.
Lucy’s mother asked the storekeeper, who was standing behind the counter, “Have you any poplin, Mr. Carlstrum? Anything besides this calico here?”
“I had some rust-colored poplin, but Mrs. Newbitt bought it all to make curtains,” he replied.
Lucy was not consoled with Mr. Carlstrum’s offer of a peppermint stick. Her mother walked out of the store carrying the purchases she had made, a thoughtful look on her face. Lucy followed with her arms full of bundles. Silently she helped load the wagon. Thomas came from the blacksmith’s with the newly shod horse, hitched it to the wagon, and they started for home.
At the dinner table that night Lucy’s father announced that he would be taking a wagonful of men to Salt Lake for conference. “Thomas, you’ll be in charge while I’m gone.” Thomas sat up proudly in his seat as Bishop Peterson went on. “All of you children do what Thomas tells you. I hope everything will be green and growing when I come back.”
Thomas, Lucy, George, Charles, and little Carrie nodded their heads in assent.
Then their father turned to Mama and asked, “Emily, do you have a written list for me?”
“Yes,” she replied and added, “Lucy needs a new dress and there isn’t any material she likes in town. See if you can get some lavender lilac poplin or even sky blue or rose pink.”
“Lavender lilac, sky blue, or rose pink,” Lucy’s father repeated, considering the possibilities. “That’s a tall order, but I’ll try.”
Lucy jumped up, hugged her father, and smiled gratefully at her mother.
Lucy anxiously watched for the wagon’s return. She often climbed up into the barn loft to gaze off into the distance, until Thomas called to her to stop wasting time and come down and help with the chores.
“Papa’s wagon will come before you know it, if you spend your time working,” he told her. But even as she worked Lucy dreamed about a new dress.
When Papa finally came, it was George who caught sight of the wagon first, from the field where he was digging a ditch. Clouds of dust billowed above the road as George put his shovel over his shoulder and ran to meet the wagon. He jumped onto the tailgate, shouting across the fields to his brothers and sisters that their father was home.
Lucy was waiting at the house, breathless after running from the calf shed. “Papa! Papa! Where’s my dress yardage?” she cried as he swung her off the ground in a tight squeeze.
“You haven’t seen me for days and all you think about is yardage!” he teased. “It’s at the bottom of the pile, wrapped in brown paper. You’ll have to help me unload before you find it.”
The family greeted their father and quickly unloaded the wagon. Lucy happened to be alone when she came to the brown paper package. With trembling fingers she untied the string. She could imagine the smooth feel of poplin, the wonderful smell of new fabric, the color of lilacs or the sky or a rose …
Tears came to Lucy’s eyes when she saw that the material she had waited for was the color of muddy green ditchwater. It was poplin all right, and it smelled nice and new, but, oh, the color! She buried her head in the brown paper and tried to keep from crying out loud.
Mama came out of the house where she had been sorting supplies. She saw Lucy’s face buried in the material. “What is it, Lucy?” she asked gently.
“Oh, Mama!” Lucy turned to her mother and held her tightly. “The material is … oh, Mama, it looks terrible! We might as well have bought that calico, or made a dress out of a flour sack!”
Mama smiled and said, “I used to wear flour-sack dresses all the time, Lucy, and you did, too, when you were little. But don’t cry now. Papa will be back in a moment, and we can’t let him see tears.”
“All right, Mama,” Lucy promised, so when Papa came back to the wagon, she smiled as she held up the yardage. “Thank you.” Her throat choked. “It’s … it’s … thank you for the material, Papa.”
Her father looked at Mama and then at his daughter. “I know it’s not lavender lilac, Lucy, but it’s the best I could find. I think it will make you a fine dress.”
“I’m sure it will,” Mama said. “We’ll borrow a pattern. There are only three patterns in town, and I think Mrs. Taylor down the road has one near your size.”
Lucy tried to think of the muddy green poplin transformed into a dress. “The color’s not really so bad, Papa, if we put a little ribbon on it or maybe some lace.” She looked up to see her father smiling down at her.
Lucy wanted to sew the whole dress herself. Mama showed her how to alter the pattern and to save all the scraps of material. Then Lucy hand stitched the pieces with small even seams. When she tried on the half-made dress in front of Mama’s mirror, she cried out, “Mama, come look! The waist is way down below my middle! What shall I do?”
Mama tried to keep from laughing, because the dress did look a little strange. “Perhaps we could take up the shoulders. Mrs. Taylor is taller than I thought.”
Lucy made some alterations and tried the dress on again. This time the waist was too high, and the hem was just below her knees. “Mama! Look at it now!” she wailed.
“We’ll put in a wide waistband,” Mama suggested. “That’s the fashion this year.”
Shortly after the dress was finished, Papa invited a photographer to his home to take a picture of the entire family. Lucy, of course, wanted to wear her new dress. “I wish I had some pantalets to wear,” she told her mother. “A little bit of lace showing below the hem would look so fashionable.”
Again Mama had the answer. One beautiful thing she had brought from Salt Lake was a short jacket with ruffles all along the sleeves. “Put your feet through the sleeves, dear,” she instructed, “and nobody will be the wiser.”
In that picture, handed down as one of the precious heirlooms of her family, a smiling Lucy is wearing a beautiful dress with a fashionable wide waistband and with stylish ruffles showing just beneath its hem!

I am reminded of a story about a missionary call which you may find of interest and which shows how the inspiration of the Lord directs his work. I could give you a dozen. But on one occasion, after the letters of call had been sent to a group of missionaries, the executive secretary of the Missionary Department received a telephone call from the mother of a boy who had received an assignment to a mission in the eastern part of the United States. The mother said that she and the father of the boy were extremely disappointed because the boy’s father and grandfather had served missions in Germany, and they had expressed their desires that the boy also be called to a German mission.

The secretary asked the mother how the boy felt about it, and she replied that he was at school and that she had opened the letter in his absence. He did not yet know where he was to be called. The secretary expressed his surprise that the mother would open the only letter the boy might ever receive from the President of the Church and suggested that she call him back after the boy had read the letter.

The following day the mother called back most apologetically and said that the boy’s reaction was one of complete satisfaction with the call. He had secretly been praying that he would not be called to a foreign mission.

Rachel ran through the living room and rushed up the stairs to her bedroom. She and her best friend, Becca, were going to the park to try out Becca’s new rollerblades.
As Rachel was pulling her own rollerblades out from under her bed, Mom came into the room. “I’m going over to Sister Heaton’s for a few hours, and I need you to stay with David.”
“But Becca and I are going to the park right now!”
“I’m sorry to ruin your plans, Rachel, but Sister Heaton still isn’t feeling well after her operation, and I promised to help take care of her today. David will be up from his nap in about half an hour, and then you two can play for a while until Dad gets home.”
“But I don’t want to play with David—I want to go to the park!”
“I know you do, but today you need to stay home and take care of your little brother. You can go to the park tomorrow. I’m sorry, but Sister Heaton needs me, and I need you to help me.”
As Rachel watched Mom going down the street, she was so angry that she almost cried. Why did she have to take care of David? It wasn’t fair that she had to give up a trip to the park just so her mom could take care of somebody.
She called Becca to tell her the bad news, and as she hung up the phone, the doorbell rang. It was Aunt Pearl, her mom’s younger sister.
“Hi, Aunt Pearl. Mom’s not here.”
“That’s OK—I can’t stay. I just came to return your mom’s sewing machine. Mine is fixed now, so I don’t need hers anymore. And I thought that maybe I’d spend a few minutes with my favorite niece!”
Rachel gave her a weak smile and tried to seem happy, but Aunt Pearl noticed Rachel wasn’t really feeling happy.
“What’s wrong?”
“Oh, I was going to go to the park with Becca, but Mom told me I had to stay and take care of David so she could help a woman in our ward.”
“That’s too bad. If it were any other day but today, I’d stay so you could be with your friend. But I have a doctor’s appointment, and I can’t reschedule it.”
“I guess I’ll be OK. It’s just that I really wanted to go to the park today.”
“You know, there might be something I could do.”
“What?”
“Sit down with me, and I’ll tell you a story.”
Rachel wasn’t sure a story would fix things—a story couldn’t baby-sit for her. But Aunt Pearl usually knew what she was talking about, so Rachel followed her to the couch.
Aunt Pearl began: “When your great-great-grandmother Emily Burk left Nauvoo to come west, she had an old hen she wanted to bring with her. It had been doing something rather unusual—sitting on a nest of duck eggs—and Emily just couldn’t leave her behind. So she set up a box in the wagon for the nest. Soon the ducklings hatched, and every night when the wagon train stopped, Emily filled a washtub with water and let the little ducks swim. Everyone in camp came to watch them.
“You see, Rachel, part of being a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is helping others. There’s even a scripture in the Book of Mormon that tells us how important it is to ‘bear one another’s burdens’ [Mosiah 18:8]. Heavenly Father wants us to take care of those who can’t take care of themselves.”
“You mean just like Emily took care of the chicken and like the chicken took care of the ducks?”
“And just like the Lord took care of the pioneers and how He still takes care of all of us. He wants us to be happy, so He watches over us.”
“Why doesn’t He take care of Sister Heaton instead of having Mom do it?”
“That’s how He is taking care of Sister Heaton—through your mother. Most of the time Heavenly Father answers our prayers through someone else.”
“So Mom is Heavenly Father’s answer to Sister Heaton’s prayers?”
“Probably. Your mother is helping Sister Heaton rest and get her mind off her troubles, sort of like those ducklings helping the tired pioneers find a little bit of enjoyment at the end of their long days.”
“But why do I have to baby-sit?”
“So your mom can help Sister Heaton. The ducks wouldn’t have been able to bring some enjoyment to the pioneers if the chicken hadn’t cared for them. Your mom wouldn’t be able to help Sister Heaton if she didn’t know you would take good care of your brother while she’s gone.”
“So, in a way, I’m helping Sister Heaton too?”
“In a very big way.”
“Then I guess I don’t feel so bad about waiting until tomorrow to go to the park.”
“I’m glad you think so.”
As Aunt Pearl left, Rachel heard David waking up. On her way upstairs to get him, she thought more about what Aunt Pearl had said. Rachel was still a bit disappointed to miss out on the trip to the park, but it helped to know that taking care of David helped Heavenly Father take care of Sister Heaton.

This story about the Aaronic Priesthood begins with a young woman, 16-year-old Lauren DellAquila of the Cary Second Ward, Apex North Carolina Stake. Lauren hadn’t come to Church for years. She had never been baptized and confirmed, “but I just knew in my heart that the Church was true.”
She also knew David Christison, 16, and Andrew Hill, 15, who attend the same school, are Latter-day Saints. “I’m in marching band with David and had a couple of classes with Andrew last year,” she says. And she knew they stood by their beliefs. “It meant a lot to see their example, because most teens at our school don’t have values like they do,” Lauren explains.
Then one day after band, some other classmates were making unkind comments about the Church. Lauren told them if they really wanted to know the truth, they shouldn’t repeat rumors; they should find out for themselves. Afterward, David thanked her and asked how she knew so much about the Church. “She said that when she was really young she went to Church, but then her parents divorced and she stopped coming,” David says. “So I invited her to come again.”
“People had tried to get me to come back before, but for one reason or another it had never happened,” Lauren explains. “But when I told David and Andrew that I did want to try again, they were excited. I started coming to meetings, and they introduced me to the bishop, the missionaries, and the young women in the ward. They helped me feel at home.”
Soon Lauren was baptized and confirmed, and today she’s a happy, confident Laurel who recently gave a sacrament meeting talk about the importance of the priesthood. “If the gospel had not been restored,” she says, “I wouldn’t have seen two young men honoring their priesthood. And I wouldn’t have had the opportunities I have had to make covenants and to draw close to the Savior.”

Like some of you, I know what it is to face disappointment and youthful humiliation. As a boy, I played team softball in elementary and junior high school. Two captains were chosen, and then they, in turn, selected the players they desired on their respective teams. Of course, the best players were chosen first, then second, and third. To be selected fourth or fifth was not too bad, but to be chosen last and relegated to a remote position in the outfield was downright awful. I know; I was there.
How I hoped the ball would never be hit in my direction, for surely I would drop it, runners would score, and teammates would laugh.
As though it were just yesterday, I remember the very moment when all that changed in my life. The game started out as I have described: I was chosen last. I made my sorrowful way to the deep pocket of right field and watched as the other team filled the bases with runners. Two batters then went down on strikes. Suddenly, the next batter hit a mighty drive. I even heard him say, “This will be a home run.” That was humiliating, since the ball was coming in my direction. Was it beyond my reach? I raced for the spot where I thought the ball would drop, uttered a prayer while running, and stretched forth my cupped hands. I surprised myself. I caught the ball! My team won the game.
This one experience bolstered my confidence, inspired my desire to practice, and led me from that last-to-be-chosen place to become a real contributor to the team.
We can experience that burst of confidence. We can feel that pride of performance. A three-word formula will help us: Never give up.

We went to Utah on vacation to visit our cousins. On the way back home to California, our pickup truck broke down in the middle of Nevada. There weren’t any towns close by, and we didn’t have a cell phone. We pulled over, and my dad tried to figure out what was wrong with the truck. But everything looked fine. We said a prayer. We asked that someone we could trust would stop and help us and that we would be able to get the truck fixed. Within five minutes, a woman named Lori stopped and asked if we needed help. She had a cell phone, so she called the highway patrol and a tow truck. Then she took Mom and us children to the next town, where we waited at a restaurant. After four hours, Dad drove up in the pickup. It was fixed! We immediately said a prayer of thanks for answered prayers and all the help we received. We continued our journey and arrived home safely. We still remember the Spirit we felt in our hearts. We know we have a Heavenly Father who loves us and watches over us.Lashele and Sabrina Davis, ages 11 and 6Suisun, California

Elder Rod Badger writes from Brazil that the miracle the gospel works in the lives of people has been his greatest eye-opener since arriving in the field. “Add that to the real love you feel for people a lot older than you, and you have the essence of missionary joy. We’ve come to love Victor Colletti who is eighty-two and was the third person baptized in his village. Since then he’s learned to read and write and has been instrumental in bringing twenty-seven people into the Church. He still spends two or three days a week doing tracting. He’s a real help to us missionaries”

Keith slammed his books onto the kitchen table and sat down heavily with a sigh. His mother looked up from the letter she was writing. “Tell me about it, Keith.”
“Some boys dumped over Mrs. Peters’s trash can.”
“That’s terrible!”
“I didn’t do it. I was a block away when it happened. But by the time she came outside, the boys who did it had run away, and she yelled at me!”
“Did you tell her what happened?”
“She didn’t give me a chance. She said, ‘Aren’t you that Johnson boy? I certainly expected more of you!’ And then she slammed the door! She’s so mean—no wonder nobody likes her.”
“Jason likes her,” Mother reminded him. “I bet she really misses him now that he’s on his mission. He did so much for her.”
Keith looked sad. “I miss him too. I think about him all the time. Couldn’t he come back just for my baptism?”
“No, Keith. But do you know what helps me feel closer to him?”
“What?”
“Doing something that I know would make Jason happy, something that he might do if he were here. What do you think that he’d do for Mrs. Peters right now?”
Keith spoke quickly. “Clean up her trash.”
“What are we waiting for? Let’s go!”
They found Mrs. Peters in her front yard. She was very happy when they offered their help.
“Thank you so much. I just can’t do as much as I used to since I broke my hip. And I didn’t really think Keith would have done it, since he’s a Johnson boy.”
Keith exchanged glances with Mother. “Mrs. Peters,” he said, “I could bring in your trash can when it’s empty and put it out again next Friday. In fact, I could do it for you every week.”
Mrs. Peters hesitated, “But, Jason—”
“I’m Keith.”
“I’m sorry—you remind me so much of your brother. Keith, I’m afraid I can’t afford to pay you.”
“That’s OK, Mrs. Peters. You can pay me the same way you paid Jason.”
Mrs. Peters was smiling now. “Don’t tell me that you like oatmeal cookies too!”
“Of course! I’m a Johnson boy!”

Let me tell you something I learned when I was about your age. I think I was about six or seven years old. My brother and I (we were about the same age) walked to the stake conference together. I can still go in that building in Brigham City and go back just under the balcony, and say, “I was sitting about there when it happened.”

What was it that happened? There was a man speaking at the pulpit, Elder George Albert Smith. He was a member of the Council of the Twelve at that time. I do not remember what he said, whether he was talking about the Word of Wisdom, or about repentance, or about baptism. But somehow while he was speaking it was fixed in my little-boy mind that there stood a servant of the Lord. I have never lost that testimony or that feeling. In my mind I came to know that he was an apostle of the Lord Jesus Christ.

My little friends, although I sit now in the Council of the Twelve, I have never lost that feeling about these men. Often when we meet in the Council, I look around the circle and know again that these are the apostles of the Lord Jesus Christ upon the earth. They are special witnesses of him.

Two days after my mother’s funeral, I looked in the mirror. I didn’t like what I saw: dark circles under my eyes, pale skin, bad posture, and 10 to 15 excess pounds. The last three years of caring for my parents had taken a toll on me. With the stress of having both of my parents fall ill and pass away within two years of each other, it was no wonder that I looked like I hadn’t slept well or eaten a balanced meal in weeks.
At 26 years of age I was at a crossroads. I could carry on as I was and risk succumbing to diabetes, heart disease, or cancer, which ran in my family, or I could take control and make my health a priority. This was a commitment I needed to make for life—not just for a few weeks. As I stared at my unhealthy reflection, I made myself a promise. I was going to live the Word of Wisdom in a way I never had before.
My husband and I started working out two to three times a week. I became more aware of how many calories I ate. I added more fruits and vegetables to my meals. It took effort, but I learned how to read nutrition labels and make healthier food choices.
The real key to my success was setting realistic goals. I wanted to lose some weight, increase my energy level, and look healthier. With the help of Heavenly Father and a wonderfully supportive husband, I accomplished all three.
Six years later I’m still exercising regularly and watching what I eat. I continue to set fitness and dietary goals and work to reach them day-by-day. If someone had told me back then that one day I’d be this passionate about exercising, I honestly wouldn’t have believed it. I’m living proof that you can change your lifestyle if you really want to. If you will put your faith in Heavenly Father, He will support you in your efforts.
I feel good about myself as I strive to reach my optimum health. Since I made this commitment, my mind is clearer and quicker, and my body is stronger and more energized. Because of this, I’m able to enjoy the wonderful blessings Heavenly Father has promised to those who follow the Word of Wisdom. He says that all obedient Saints will “receive health in their navel and marrow to their bones; and shall find wisdom and great treasures of knowledge, even hidden treasures” (D&C 89:18–19).
Meagan Sandor, Ontario, Canada