Gospel Story Finder

Kasey was a good student. She knew this because her kindergarten teacher had moved her from the red reading group to the blue one, the top reading group in the class.
But now Kasey would be starting first grade. What if the work was too hard? What if she wasn’t one of the best students in her class anymore? If there were reading groups in the first grade, Kasey wanted to stay in the top group.
On the first day of school, Miss Nelson handed out a spelling worksheet. “When you’re finished, put your paper in the basket on the counter,” she instructed.
Kasey worked hard. When she stood to hand in her assignment, she beamed. The basket was empty. She was the first student finished! Maybe first grade wouldn’t be so hard after all.
Kasey soon discovered that Miss Nelson’s class did spelling assignments every morning. And for several weeks, Kasey was the first to finish. “I must be the best speller in class,” she told herself.
One day, she noticed her friend Shantelle march over to the counter and plunk her worksheet in the basket. Kasey’s jaw dropped. She wasn’t even half finished with hers! She filled in the rest of the answers quickly and sauntered over to the basket, sliding her assignment under Shantelle’s. Maybe Miss Nelson wouldn’t notice who had finished first.
On Monday it rained. Thunder crashed outside as raindrops drummed on the window. “After we do our spelling, we’ll have morning recess inside,” Miss Nelson announced. “When you finish your assignment, you may go pick out a puzzle or a game from that shelf. Please copy our spelling list for the week.” Miss Nelson pointed to the board. “Then write each word four times.”
Kasey’s wrist ached as she scribbled down the words. Her pencil tip snapped, but she kept writing with the dull end. Her heart thudded. She wrote faster. Finally she blew out a little puff of air as she triumphantly placed her paper in the empty basket. Kasey scurried to the shelf and chose a puzzle of a kitten snoozing in a flowerbed.
Kasey had just found all the corner pieces when she felt someone standing next to her. “Can I help?” Shantelle asked.
Kasey gulped. “Sure.”
Shantelle pulled up a chair and started sorting out the pieces with straight edges. She and Shantelle had spent recess together lots of times, but for some reason today Kasey felt nervous. She had been so busy trying to beat Shantelle lately that she hadn’t taken the time to be very nice to her.
“I saw your spelling assignment,” Shantelle said. “It was kind of messy.” Shantelle seemed surprised—it wasn’t like her friend to be so sloppy.
Kasey’s cheeks burned. She stared down at the puzzle pieces, finishing the puzzle in silence. All day, Kasey worried about what Shantelle had said.
At the end of class, Miss Nelson returned the spelling lists. “Use these to study for the quiz on Friday,” she said. She raised her eyebrows as she handed Kasey her paper. “Please write more neatly next time,” she said. She had circled all the words that were difficult to read. Suddenly Kasey didn’t feel so smart.
Before the bell rang, Kasey pulled out a new sheet of paper and began copying the words from the board again, this time writing as neatly as she could. That way she would know the right way to spell them when she studied the list later. The best student would try to spell the words correctly, she decided, not just copy them quickly.
The next day Kasey didn’t watch the basket while she worked. She looked straight down at her spelling worksheet and thought hard about the questions. She wrote the answers neatly in the blanks. When she finally turned in the assignment, she decided to be honest. She placed it on top of a small stack of papers already waiting there. Miss Nelson smiled at her. Kasey smiled back. She knew in her heart that now she was becoming the best student she could be.

A true story from Costa Rica.
“Whoa!” Ethan said. “Did you see that one?”
“Yeah, look at its cute little tail!” said Lily.
Boston looked up, but he only saw shadows.
“We’ve already seen three monkeys today!” Ethan said.
But Boston hadn’t seen any! His family was visiting a rainforest to see wild monkeys. But the monkeys were too far away for Boston to see.
Boston was blind. He could only see things very close to him. Usually, he didn’t mind being blind. He could still do lots of cool things. He could read Braille with his fingers and walk with his cane in the dark. And he could find people by listening to their voices.
But sometimes, Boston didn’t like being blind. Like today.
Boston sat on the ground and sighed. It’s not fair! he thought.
A few minutes later he had an idea. Heavenly Father, please help a monkey come close enough for me to see, Boston prayed in his mind.
Boston couldn’t see any monkeys yet. Then he heard a noise from far away.
“Did you hear that?” Boston asked. “I think it was a monkey!”
“I didn’t hear anything,” Ethan said.
“Neither did I,” said Dad. “You have good ears!”
Boston heard a monkey run through the bushes by the trail. He pointed toward the sound. “Over there!”
Then he heard another one, and another. Sometimes his family could see the monkeys once he pointed them out. But none of the monkeys got close enough for him to see.
Soon it was time to go home.
“I’m sorry you didn’t see any monkeys,” Mom said as they walked to the car.
Boston shrugged. “It’s OK. I wanted to see one, but I got to hear lots of them instead.” Then he thought about his prayer. “It kind of reminds me of the Holy Ghost.”
“What do you mean?” Mom asked.
“When I stopped to listen, I realized they were all around me. I could hear them even though I couldn’t see them. It’s just like how I can hear the Holy Ghost when I listen.”
“That’s a great lesson,” Mom said.
Boston heard something in the bushes next to him. Then something ran out onto the trail—right in front of him! It had reddish hair and a long tail. It stopped and looked right at him. Then it ran into the trees again.
A monkey! He got to see one after all!
Boston smiled. Being blind was hard sometimes. But today, it helped him learn about the Holy Ghost. And that was pretty cool.

My mother is from Burma, but because of political unrest, she fled to India with her parents and three sisters. They left everything behind. Unfortunately, after they arrived in India, Mom’s parents passed away. Being the oldest, Mom had to take care of her three siblings.
The children ended up in an orphanage. When my mom turned 18, she decided to go to New Delhi in search of better opportunities for herself and her sisters. There, she was introduced to Ashima Chaudhuri, the principal of a college that helps young women. Ashima took my mom under her wing and became my mom’s mentor. After my mom graduated from college, she became Ashima’s assistant. They became very close.
Ashima had 10 siblings, the youngest of whom, Reza, no one talked about. He was considered a black sheep. Reza had joined the restored Church after meeting the full-time missionaries while attending college in England. At the time, he was a Muslim scholar, so when he left Islam to join the Church, it was a big deal.
While Reza was living in Toronto, Canada, he dreamed that he needed to return to India and contact his sister Ashima. Before his trip, he also dreamed about a woman he had never met. Because he kept seeing her face in his dreams, he felt an added urgency to return to India.
Reza was worried, however, because his family had shunned him. But when he reached out to Ashima in New Delhi, she said, “I miss you. You should come.”
My mom wasn’t in New Delhi at the time, so Ashima called one of my aunts, Assiya. “Can you come over?” she asked. “It will be better if other people are here so that we don’t fight.”
So, my Aunt Assiya went. When she arrived, Reza immediately recognized her as the woman in his dreams. They quickly fell in love and got married. When they moved to Toronto, my Aunt Assiya started asking Reza about the Church, why he had left India, and why he was willing to be shunned by his family.
Reza answered her questions and shared his testimony of the restored gospel. My aunt soon joined the Church.

I sat and stared in disbelief as Brother Jarman, a member of the branch presidency, waited for my answer.
Maybe he had meant to say teacher or counselor. But he hadn’t. What I heard was correct; he had called me as the Relief Society president in our small branch.
I sat still for some time reflecting on my situation. I was just 27 years old and had never been married. I had recently moved to the area and was beginning a new job as a journalist. My leadership experience was limited. I had served in several callings over the years but never one like this.
Silently I asked myself if I was old enough or experienced enough or if I even had the ability to serve. What could I possibly offer the women of the branch?
I went home that night, knelt in prayer, and asked Heavenly Father for direction. After I finished my prayer, I was instantly drawn to look at my patriarchal blessing. I read this sentence: “You are to be about that work which you were assigned to do now, even while you are young.”
As I read those words, I realized that this was not about my marital status, my age, or what I could do. It was about what the Lord needed me to do. I accepted the calling.

International students from Weber State College in Ogden, Utah, spent an evening with the Young Men and Young Women of the North Ogden Third Ward fixing dishes from their native countries using everything from dried mushrooms to seaweed.
The students came from Japan, Kuwait, Lebanon, Mexico, and Nigeria. It was an opportunity for the ward’s youth to get a firsthand look into some of the world’s cultures. And the international students, in turn, had the opportunity to rub shoulders with some typically American kids.
The language barrier caused some amusing moments at first, but by the end of the evening friendship overcame any language inadequacy. The fact that there was very little food left over was proof of the success of the event, and both groups left feeling like they knew the other a little better.

“Invite Mr. Wood* to seminary.” The thought popped into my mind as soon as I heard the announcement, and I immediately thought it was crazy. Why would I invite my music teacher to come to seminary at 5:30 in the morning?
The seminary president had just told our class that we would be having a teacher appreciation day. We were challenged to invite some of our schoolteachers to join us for a morning of seminary where we would thank them for their service. The entire week after hearing this announcement, I thought about inviting Mr. Wood. Every time I went to seminary or saw him in music class, the thought came back: “Invite Mr. Wood to seminary.” After several days of this, I couldn’t ignore the thought any longer.
One morning as all the students in music class were getting out their instruments, I put my trombone aside and approached Mr. Wood. My heart was pounding and my hands were shaking, but when I opened my mouth to extend the invitation, I felt comfort.
To my surprise, Mr. Wood said that he would come! He was curious about why I went to seminary every morning before school and wanted to learn more. After giving him all the details, I walked away full of joy.
During this experience, I didn’t feel a burning in the bosom (see D&C 9:8). But I did feel the Holy Ghost. The recurring thought to invite Mr. Wood (see D&C 128:1), the comfort I felt when I invited him (see John 14:26), and the joy I felt after I invited him (see Galatians 5:22) all came from the Spirit. But if I had been looking only for a burning in the bosom, I might not have recognized when the Holy Ghost was prompting me.

Many years ago, I got a phone call from a good friend who had been hired to play Santa Claus at a local mall. He wasn’t the real Santa Claus but was just one of his helpers. He explained that he needed someone to take his shift. He asked if I would substitute for him for just one night. I have to admit that this job was perfect for me. I always enjoy making children smile, so I gladly agreed.
The evening arrived, and I soon found myself in a small back room at the Eastview Mall. I changed into that familiar red suit, those polished black boots, and that white beard. I needed quite a bit of extra padding to make everything fit. But with a little effort, the Santa makeover was complete.
As I walked through the mall to get to my place, I was delighted to see how excited the young children were to see Santa. Even adults couldn’t help but smile and wave.
Once I sat down, the gate to the workshop opened. A long line of parents and children kept coming in. All but the very shyest children climbed up on my knee, and I listened patiently while they told me their Christmas wishes.
I was having a terrific time. It was great to interact with all the young children who looked at Santa with such wide-eyed wonder. I am proud to say that I really played up the role. I perfected my “Ho, ho, ho!” and even managed a laugh or two that made my belly shake like a bowl full of jelly.
A woman brought a small boy to me. “Excuse me,” she said. “He just wanted to come and say hello.”
I invited him to sit on my lap, but she declined, explaining that he didn’t speak English.
“He’s from Belgium,” she said. “He speaks French.”
My first reaction was, “Oh, this is going to be fun!” Nine years earlier, I had served a French-speaking mission in Quebec, Canada. Although I was no longer fluent in French, I could still have a conversation with a four-year-old. So I turned to the boy and, in French, invited him to come sit with me. The woman’s eyes grew wide and her jaw dropped, but the boy beamed and jumped onto my lap!
After several delightful minutes, it was time to say goodbye because the line had steadily grown while we were talking. Still, I congratulated myself on what felt like a real Christmas miracle—just like the one in Miracle on 34th Street.
But then I did something out of character for Santa. I felt impressed to tell the boy, “Always remember that Santa loves you.” I recall instantly thinking, “What a strange thing for Santa to say!” But the boy hugged me. And then he smiled and waved and ran back to the woman.
She led him a few steps away and then stopped. She asked him to wait there and turned back to me. “I don’t know what just happened,” she told me with tears in her eyes. “But I need to tell you something.”
She explained that she was the little boy’s aunt. She had returned with him from Belgium only a few days earlier. “His mother and father were killed in a car crash,” she said. “I’m his only living relative. I have just brought him to the United States to live with me.”
Her tears began to fall more freely. “But it’s Christmas, and I simply had no idea how we were going to make it through this season. It’s supposed to be joyful and magical, but all I could feel was sorrow. I kept praying, ‘God, help us both get through this.’”
She decided to bring him to the mall. “I know it seems silly,” she continued, “but I thought that if we walked around and just looked at the stores and the holiday decorations, it would at least give us a little distraction.”
“But my nephew saw you and said that he had to come see you. I told him, ‘No, honey, Santa won’t be able to understand you.’ But he said, ‘Yes, he will. I need to talk to him.’ And he literally pulled me to you.”
She looked at me again and said, “I don’t know how this happened, but thank you.”
I had been enjoying playing the coolest Santa ever. But in that instant, I knew that my being at the mall that evening was not about me at all. Instead, it was about one child who needed his own Christmas miracle.
I have no idea how many children climbed onto Santa’s lap for the rest of that night. But I’m sure their loved ones were wondering why Santa seemed to be crying!
Every Christmas, I still think about that boy. I wonder if he even remembers that night he met me and brought tears to my eyes. I’ll never forget how God led me to be just where He needed me to be one winter’s night to bless one of His precious children.
That experience continues to be a strong reminder to me that God knows and loves each of us. He knows our desires—even those expressed through the pure faith of a small child who simply wanted to talk with Santa.

When he was released, we again felt prompted to move. We decided on Beverley in East Yorkshire to be near my widowed mother, then in her nineties. Her passing early in our planning did not change our minds, but three house purchases fell through in quick succession. I asked Paul, ‘Do you think the Lord is trying to tell us something?’
We widened our search to the next branch area, Bridlington. We found a house quickly, but the owners soon decided not to sell. I was almost in despair. Then, quite unexpectedly, the Lord blessed us with a better home—larger, cheaper and full of the historical details I love. We have been happy here ever since, serving in the Church as we can.

“Brady and I didn’t have a bad relationship. The problem was, we didn’t have a relationship at all. Involvement in school and my friends meant everything. I never took the time. When I heard about the experiment, I immediately thought of Brady, and after praying about it I was sure he was the one. At first it was a chore; then it became a little easier; then I realized he is fun! I just had to make the first move. Now he comes to invite me to do things with him.”—Brittany Brammer

Anna Kate scuffed the toes of her sneakers into the dirt and watched a cloud of dust puff up around her ankles. Her wonderful week with Grandpa and Grandma was almost over. It had been great fun, especially the part here at Aunt Pru’s cabin. Just yesterday Grandpa had taken Anna Kate to his favorite fishing spot on the Provo River, and she had caught her very first fish!
But this morning had been a disaster. First, she had slept late, and Grandpa had gone fishing without her. Then Grandma and Aunt Pru just wanted to visit in the kitchen about dull, grown-up things. Anna Kate ended up sitting on the front porch by herself, feeling bored and lonely. Worse yet, tomorrow Mommy and Daddy were coming to take her home.
Suddenly she jumped to her feet. “I’m not going to spend my last day sitting around!” she thought. “I’ll find Grandpa by myself. I know the way.” She skipped across the front yard and walked down the lane to the canyon road, looking carefully both ways before crossing. Soon she came to a small bridge over the river and hurried across to the railroad tracks that ran between Heber City and Provo, Utah. This was the secret to finding Grandpa. Cross the river and turn left, then follow the railroad tracks to a huge rock. On the other side of the rock was the fishing spot.
Anna Kate walked a long time. Where was the rock? It hadn’t seemed so far with Grandpa, and somehow the railroad tracks seemed even lonelier than the front porch. Looking for a happier thought, she remembered her baptism day. How proud she had been when her parents told her she was old enough to make wise decisions and could spend a week away from home. Plodding along, she began to wonder if running off without asking Grandma had been a wise decision.
To cheer herself up, she started singing her favorite Primary songs. She was halfway through the first verse of “Give, Said the Little Stream” when she heard a noise in a bush by the side of the tracks. It sounded a bit like a loud cricket, and Anna Kate stopped singing to listen. She decided to look for the cricket, but before she could take a single step, a voice in her head said, “RUN!” She didn’t know who was talking to her, but she didn’t have to be told twice. She ran.
She was out of breath when she finally found Grandpa fishing by the river. He looked up in surprise. “Does Grandma know you’re here?”
Anna Kate shook her head. “I’m sorry. I should have asked her.”
Grandpa smiled kindly and started putting away his fishing tackle. “Let’s hustle back to the cabin before she has a chance to worry.”
They hadn’t walked far when they saw Anna Kate’s older cousin William standing by the tracks. “There you are,” he said. “Grandma sent me to find you, and it’s a good thing.” He pointed to a bush a ways off. When Anna Kate and Grandpa got closer, they saw a huge rattlesnake with a diamond pattern down its back hiding there. “I didn’t dare let it out of my sight with you out here alone,” William said.
After that, Anna Kate always told someone where she was going. It was a long time, though, before she told anyone about the loud cricket or the voice that had saved her life. She would realize later that it had been the Holy Ghost. She already knew that it was a voice to be obeyed.

“One day in my early teens a remarkable boy gave me a copy of English poems with pages torn, worn, and soiled, but it changed my life. One verse was marked: ‘Ah, but a man’s reach should exceed his grasp, or what’s a heaven for?’

“So wrote English poet Robert Browning decades before I read it that day and I took it personally, appropriate to my self-discovery, of hopeful idealism and firming philosophy.

“Worn leather volumes containing William Shakespeare, William Wordsworth, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, and Geoffrey Chaucer were passed into my hands by this boy who understood the grasp-and-reach theory. The public library provided me with ugly, stiff, practical new bindings of Charles Dickens and Robert Louis Stevenson and Ralph Waldo Emerson’s essay ‘Friendship.’

“I loved all these books unabashedly.

“This boy and I couldn’t understand everything we read, but it was so exhilarating trying to understand that it was like coming in with the tide. Stretching our minds in the reading and then struggling to say it back in our own words to each other kept our relationship going one swift summer and was the basis for a lifelong friendship.”

As Alvin was dying, he asked that each of the Smith children come to his bedside for his parting counsel and final expression of love. According to Mother Smith’s account in her History of Joseph Smith, “When he came to Joseph, he said, ‘I am now going to die, the distress which I suffer, and the feelings that I have, tell me my time is very short. I want you to be a good boy, and do everything that lies in your power to obtain the Record. [Joseph had been visited by Moroni less than three months before this time.] Be faithful in receiving instruction, and in keeping every commandment that is given you.’”
Alvin died on 19 November 1823. Lucy Mack Smith writes of the pall of grief surrounding his passing: “Alvin was a youth of singular goodness of disposition—kind and amiable, so that lamentation and mourning filled the whole neighborhood in which he resided.”

When I was 14, I went camping with some friends. As we sat in a circle talking, one of the guys reached into his pack and pulled out a can of beer. Everyone went silent as he popped the lid and held it high above his head. “If any of you are men,” he bellowed, “you’ll have a drink with me.” Tilting the can to his lips, he took a large swallow.
All the eyes were on the can as the boy next to him received it in his waiting hand. He didn’t hesitate. He took a swig with great bravado in front of us all. The can moved to the next boy in the circle.
As it moved in my direction, my mind searched for a quick solution, a cool response that would rescue me. I knew what was right and wrong. I knew what the Word of Wisdom said. I knew how seven-year-old Joseph Smith refused any liquor to dull the pain of the operation on his leg.
These things raced through my mind as the can found its way to the third boy. He had not come to be tempted. He thought he was just going camping. As he held the can, I could sense the frantic debate going on in his mind. All eyes were upon him, staring, seeming to demand that he drink as the others had. I could almost hear his cries pleading for his mother to come save him, but she was nowhere to be found. Try as he did, he could not handle the pressure. He took a drink and hurriedly passed the can to my friend—my example—Rick.
My heart was pounding as I realized that I was the next one in the circle to receive the can. I didn’t know how I was going to get out of this one. I imagined that if I didn’t take a drink, they would bury me up to my neck in the hills somewhere and let the ants crawl through my nose and ears. “Rick,” I thought to myself, “if you take one sip of that, I’m going to slug you.”
Rick held the can. He looked at me, and I looked at him. We then both looked at the can he was holding and up at the dozen other faces waiting anxiously.
For a moment, Rick just stared at the can. Then he casually put it down, reached into his pack, and fished around until he found what he was looking for. He raised a purple can into the air for all to see.
“If any of you are men,” Rick yelled, “you’ll have a drink of grape soda with me!” Rick popped the lid, brought the can to his lips, and tilted his head back dramatically as he drank from it. Then he passed it back in the direction from which the beer had come.
The kid next to Rick found himself holding the soda now. Everyone was staring at him. He gladly drank some and passed it on. As they were enjoying the grape soda, Rick grabbed the beer can and threw it as far as he could. The can, frothing at one end as it twirled in the air, dropped into the gully below.

Almost 11 years ago when President Spencer W. Kimball, President N. Eldon Tanner, and President Marion G. Romney held different Church positions than they do today, they played an important role in the establishment of the Unified Social Service system. This agency was created to place under one program and leader all of the related social services departments. Included were the Indian student placement program, adoptions, detained youth, prisoners, drug addicts, unwed mothers, and foster-care children, alcoholics, the emotionally distressed, and others. These areas of concern and interest are presently an important part of the Church’s total Welfare Services program.
When I was called at the outset to direct this department, I found it to be most challenging and stimulating. To work full time with those with social and emotional problems was a new era of personal service for me.
Besides his continuing extreme interest in the Indian student placement service, President Kimball, then a member of the Council of the Twelve, continually expressed his concern in our relationships with prisoners. He was anxious for us to do more in assisting them in their rehabilitation processes both while they were still confined in prison and also after their release. It was under his encouragement that the present, very successful family home evening program at the Utah State Prison was started. Regular Sunday worship services and week-time activities of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints continue beneficially in the institution today, thanks to his total endorsement and assistance. Similar programs have been made available to LDS and other inmates in prisons in the United States and in the world. Great amounts of good have been and continue to be accomplished in improved lives and conduct.
It seems to me that during the time I directed the prison program for the Church and later when I was called to the Quorum of the Twelve, which necessitated giving up my direct relationship with the department, President Kimball continually wanted to go to the prison with me to visit. Because some inmates at the prison are unpredictable, I always discouraged President Kimball from going there to visit. I was grateful that he always respected my judgment in regard to his safety and well-being and did not insist he go to the prison over my protest.
Early in March of this year, with the prison’s interdenominational chapel well under construction, the thought came to me that that was the right time to take President Kimball to the prison for his long-awaited visit. He could visit on the outside without undue concern over dangers within the prison walls. I asked him if he would like to go the morning of March 10 to see the new chapel, the wardens, and some inmates. He was delighted with the invitation and cleared his heavy schedule to make the 20-mile trip from the Church Administration Building. As we rode together in the car, President Kimball’s questions about prison facilities, the chapel, the guards, the wardens, and the general atmosphere at the institution were rapid and pointed.
After a short visit with the prison administrators, at President Kimball’s encouragement two prisoners were brought in for interview. They were moved by President Kimball’s warmth and friendliness. “Where is your home?” “What are your special jobs here?” “Are you working on the construction of the new chapel?” These were some of his questions—all of which were free of criticism or embarrassment. He let them and others know immediately he was there because he cares.
With this short visit over, we were to make our way to the chapel. When asked if he wanted to ride or walk the two-block distance, President Kimball responded with “I would like to walk.” With the wardens, the two prisoners, and a few others of us, we walked in the 10:00 A.M., 40-degree temperature into the minimum security facilities where the new chapel was being constructed. For security reasons, only the wardens knew of our visit plans, so when we arrived in the visiting area adjoining the chapel, the presence of President Kimball surprised not only the media, but Utah’s Governor Scott M. Matheson and Salt Lake City Mayor Ted Wilson as well as other committee members who had been invited there for a review of chapel construction progress.
The highlight of the inspection tour came after brief remarks by President Kimball which included, “This facility will help prisoners find their way back.” Two inmates were invited to stand at the side of the prophet for pictures. As he shook their hands warmly and later put his arms around them, he said, “It is an honor for me to have my picture taken with you.” They were obviously touched by the comment. Others of us again saw the greatness and stature of the one we loved so much. Respect and human dignity were witnessed. He is the foe of sin, but the friend of the sinner. The scripture found in Doctrine and Covenants 50:26 came forcefully to my mind: “He that is ordained of God and sent forth, the same is appointed to be the greatest, notwithstanding he is the least and the servant of all.” [D&C 50:26]
Impressive also was President Kimball’s public statement regarding the interdenominational chapel, which included, “The Church is happy to be a participant in any and all community projects that are worthy.”
One inmate rushed up to me as we were leaving and said, “I didn’t get a chance to shake President Kimball’s hand, but would you please tell him we love him?”
As we walked back to the car to return to Salt Lake City, this choice experience with the prophet brought to mind the writing of Parley P. Pratt when he and the Prophet Joseph Smith were in a prison together in Richmond, Missouri. The situation was much different, but the same witness of true dignity and majesty was enjoyed. I, too, saw true majesty when a prison visitor performed and spoke under God’s authority.
During the tour of the new chapel and the walk between the buildings, Warden Morris and Deputy Warden Shulsen were always nearby to assist and respond to President Kimball’s questions. After hearing President Kimball refer to me a number of times as “Marv,” Warden Shulsen was impressed to say, “Isn’t it kind of neat to have President Kimball call you ‘Marv?’” I responded with, “Yes, it is, and it is especially neat to know President Spencer W. Kimball is a prophet of God.” I had again seen him in action.
I am glad the time and conditions were right for President Kimball to visit two of his friends in prison, one a member and one a nonmember. As they stood with him for their picture to be taken, President Kimball had on one side a prisoner serving time for theft and burglary and on the other a man in prison for manslaughter. His greeting during the handshake, “It is an honor for me to have my picture taken with you,” rings in my ears. “I was in prison and ye came unto me.”

One Sunday when leaving for church, our car would not start. We lived in Germany, far from our chapel and other members. My wife and I each offered a prayer for help, but still the car wouldn’t start. I suggested that perhaps we should rely on the faith of a child. We asked our three-year old son, David, if he would say a prayer.
“Heavenly Father, please bless the car to start,” he said simply but firmly.
We turned the key, and the engine started right up! We were grateful that day for David’s faith. It was pure, simple, and true.

When my parents first told us that we would be moving from Utah to Georgia, I was very nervous. I didn’t want to leave my home, my extended family, or my friends. We knelt down as a family and asked Heavenly Father to bless us with comfort during our move and to help us find friends. I felt the Spirit, and I knew everything would be OK.
Moving across the country took four long days! We drove from Utah through Colorado, Kansas, Missouri, Illinois, Kentucky, Tennessee, and finally into Georgia. Georgia is completely different from Utah. Utah has beautiful mountains and deserts, cold winters and hot, dry summers. Georgia is very green with tall trees and plants that cover everything. Birds sing in the forest, and frogs croak in the creek behind our new house. My two homes couldn’t be more different. But do you know what is not different? The gospel!
The day after we moved in, we went to our new ward. It was fast Sunday. I was feeling a little shy when we walked into sacrament meeting for the very first time. But everyone was so nice and made us feel so welcome, just like my ward back in Utah. They bore testimonies of Heavenly Father and Jesus and the Book of Mormon. I even got up and bore my testimony that Heavenly Father helps us through our trials. I know He blessed me to find peace in our new home. Before too long I felt like I had always been a part of our new ward. I made many new friends.
I still miss my friends in Utah, but I love my new home in Georgia. I am thankful that Heavenly Father blessed me with such a beautiful place to live and with my new ward family and friends!

I remember a young couple just out of college. One parent gave them a home; the other parent gave them furnishings and a new car. They had everything in the world given to them. Within three years they were divorced. They hadn’t worked and sacrificed. They had leaned on each other and on their parents as a crutch, had crippled themselves, and hadn’t grown. They hadn’t learned the hard part. They hadn’t worried about making their marriage work. Make sure you sacrifice, share, and grow together.

Some time ago, I met with a husband and wife having severe marital problems. When they came in for counseling, the wife described their problems in detail, but the husband said nothing. I tried to get him to talk, but he was sullen and answered every question with only one or two words. His wife always jumped in to give more complete answers.
Finally, I invited her to leave the room, then spoke with him alone. At first, he said very little. But when he found that I gave him time to formulate his answers and that I didn’t interrupt, criticize, or judge him, he began to speak freely.
From that point on, I said little. As the interview came to an end, he seemed relieved. With real feeling he said, “Thanks for listening to me. I have wanted to tell my wife these things for years, but she never wants to hear what I have to say.”
The man had a difficult time formulating and expressing his thoughts, but he showed deep feeling. And he was clearly relieved to finally be able to put those feelings into words. Fortunately, this couple was able to rediscover that they loved each other dearly. Both wanted to build a strong, supportive marriage, and both wanted to do their part.
The husband in our opening example clearly needed someone to listen to him, not someone with whom to discuss his problem. When a person is frustrated by not being heard, the remedy is for someone to listen, not to talk.

The president of the Cardston Temple told me this incident. He said, “A group of young people came to go through the temple for the first time to do baptisms for the dead. After they had gone through two or three baptismal sessions and were about ready to go back home, I suggested that they could come down to my office and I would attempt to answer any questions they might have. I talked to them about their own baptisms. I said, ‘After your own baptism, you were told to receive the Holy Ghost, which means that the Holy Ghost will guide and bless you if you are worthy. If anyone should oppose you, or bring harm to you, you can overcome that opposition by the influence of the Holy Ghost.’
“I looked around and saw a pleasant young girl sobbing. She said, ‘When I was baptized, my mother cursed me. Every time I would go out she was vile and called me wicked names. When I told her I was going to the temple, she profaned and said I was no daughter of hers. I have been fasting ever since I left home that here in the temple I would be given a guide and the power to overcome the opposition of my mother. I was going away disappointed. But now, at the last moment, you have given me the key.’ A smile lit up on her face as she said, ‘I am going to bring Mother within the influence of the power of the Holy Ghost which I have a right to enjoy.’”
Then the president said, “Weeks went by, and a letter came from this girl. The letter said, ‘When I returned home and entered the house, mother greeted me similarly to the way she had when I left, by profaning. On other occasions I had fought back, but this time I walked over and put my arm around her shoulder and said, “Mother, I am not going to quarrel with you today. I want you to come over on the couch and sit down beside me. I want to tell you something.” This surprised Mother. As we sat down, we touched cheeks so that in actuality the Spirit would emanate from me to her, and I bore my testimony. I told her what a wonderful experience I had had in the temple. And to my amazement, Mother burst into tears and begged my forgiveness.’
“The girl closed her letter by saying, ‘We are now preparing Mother to be baptized a member of the Church.’”

Linda Buysse-Vergauwen, who teaches elementary school in Belgium, was on a study trip with a colleague and gave her a copy of the March issue along with a special note and an invitation to come to hear her speak in church on Easter Sunday. The friend went and had a positive experience. “The special issue of the Liahona gave me the opportunity to put a little seed in the heart of a friend,” Sister Buysse-Vergauwen said.