Gospel Story Finder

Illustrations by Julissa Mora
Do we really have to go on a hike with the young women?
Yep. I’m going because of my calling. And I need you to come with me.
But it’s raining! And the rain here isn’t warm like where I used to live.
I bet something good will happen. After all, obeying our parents brings us blessings.
Why should I obey her? She’s not even my birth mom.
The trail will be too slippery.
What if we hike around the neighborhood instead?
Good idea.
Ugh!
Hey, Marcel!
Noah? You’re going on the hike?
Yeah! I’m here with my mom too. Are you going?
Yeah!
Watch me jump in this puddle!
That was awesome! What about this?
Pretty good. I give you an 8 out of 10.
OK! Your turn.
That splash was tiny! 2 out of 10.
It looked like you had fun on our walk. How was it?
You were right about obeying, Mom. Something good did happen!

Emily Richards stepped up to the narrow pulpit at the National Woman Suffrage Association meeting in the U.S. capital, Washington, D.C. She knew this was one of the most critical experiences of her life. The year was 1889, and the topics of women’s suffrage in Utah and plural marriage were being fiercely debated. Although Emily was nervous, she felt prepared to speak on behalf of her home, gender, and religion.
One source related, “It was feared that the lady from Utah would not be able to make herself heard throughout the hall—other speakers having failed in that regard—but to the general surprise and delight, her clear tones penetrated to the remotest recesses of the building, and her speech was a veritable triumph.”1
Although there is not a record of what Emily said that day, one journalist reported that she spoke for about half an hour. She gave “an orderly, scholarly presentation” that presented facts and ideas that “disarm[ed] prejudice.” The reporter went on to say that Emily’s words had a “gentle spirit” that softened many hearts that day towards the territory of Utah.2

It was an unusual day for Southern California, USA, with thunder, lightning, pouring rain, and oppressive heat. I looked forward to relaxing and watching a movie in my air-conditioned home. But just as I sat down, I felt that I should call my friend Sherrill.
When I called, I learned that she had been without power since that morning. She was concerned that her frozen food would thaw and her milk would spoil, so we moved her food to my refrigerator.
The next evening Sherrill and I stood in front of her home. Every house on her side of the road was in total darkness, while those across the street had power. One house in particular caught my attention. Directly across the street, the home blazed with light as people sat on the porch talking, laughing, and enjoying themselves.
In the days that followed, I could not get that scene out of my mind. The contrast was striking: total darkness on one side of the street and bright lights on the other; people sitting in darkness while their neighbors were enjoying light.
The image made me wonder how often I was like those people across the street—enjoying the light of the gospel while others sat in darkness. I imagined myself sitting on my porch with a few friends from church, enjoying the light of the gospel without sharing it with others.
As members of the Church, we have the responsibility to let our testimonies of Christ shine for all to see—especially for those in spiritual darkness. After this experience, I determined to be the kind of person Heavenly Father can trust to come away from the comfort of my porch and carry the light of the gospel to my neighbors who are in darkness.

Alan rested his arms wearily on the edge of the pool and gulped deep breaths of air. He’d lost to Chris again—by a tenth of a second. Alan wished he could beat his teammate in the 50-yard freestyle race just once!
As Alan hoisted himself from the water, Chris clapped him on the back. “Good race,” he said. “The two of us ought to take first and second this Saturday against Brookston. If we do, the team could get the district trophy.”
Alan wished he felt as confident about winning as Chris did. Instead, he groaned inwardly at the thought of letting the team down. He’d have to do well in both the 50-freestyle race and the 400-freestyle relay for the team to win, and he was afraid he couldn’t do it.
That evening when Alan sat down to supper, he tried not to think about swimming. But his brother Pete’s trophies kept staring down at him from the trophy shelf. Then Pete came into the kitchen, plopped into his chair, and immediately launched into his swim report. “What a workout we had at the pool today! But the coach clocked me at one minute thirteen in the 100-yard breaststroke. At that rate I could break the district record on Saturday.”
Pete turned to Alan. “How about you guys? Think you’ll bring home a trophy?”
“Chris thinks we will, but I’m not sure,” Alan answered. “They’re counting on me to take second in the 50-yard freestyle.”
“Why not a first?” Pete asked.
“You know I can’t beat Chris. Every time I take off a tenth of a second, he does too.”
“If you keep thinking like that you’ll never win a race,” Pete chided. “When you’re competing in a swimming meet, you have to think of yourself as a winner.”
“Sure, sure,” Alan muttered, pushing back his chair with an “Excuse me.”
Alan hurried down the basement steps and went over to the exercise mat where Pete kept his weights. Maybe I should try using them, he thought. Alan had watched Pete work out, so he knew what to do.
Just as Alan was about to lift one of his brother’s weights, Pete came down the stairs. “What are you doing?” he asked.
“I’m going to lift some weights,” Alan replied as he got into position.
“You don’t start lifting weights three days before a meet. If you do, your muscles might tighten up, and you won’t have a chance of winning.”
Alan put down the weights and went upstairs to his bedroom. I might as well face it, he thought. I’ll never be as good as Pete or Chris. If only Saturday were over …
The day of the meet, as Pete walked to the locker room with Alan, Pete delivered his familiar pep talk: “Remember now, don’t start thinking you’re going to lose. I’ve been watching you, and you can swim just as fast as Chris. You can start adding your own trophies to the family collection.”
Pete clapped Alan on the back, and the younger boy hurried off to change into his suit. It’s easy for Pete to talk about beating Chris, he thought, but I’m the one who has to swim the race!
When the time came to swim the 50-freestyle, Brookston was slightly ahead of Lakewood in team points. Chris slapped Alan on the shoulder good-naturedly and said, “Don’t forget—we’re going for first and second.”
When the starter’s gun sounded, Alan made a good, long, entering dive and came up to the turn even with Chris. Alan knew Chris would pull ahead now—he always did on the second length. Alan sucked in air and choked on some water. For an instant his rhythm broke, and he felt Chris touch the wall before him. What was even worse, the swimmer from Brookston had edged out both of them. That meant Lakewood had to win both the backstroke and the freestyle relay to win.
Alan helped Chris stretch out for the backstroke race, working his arm muscles and drawing out his legs. Chris didn’t disappoint the team. He pulled ahead even before he reached the first turn. And when he smacked his hand against the wall for the finish, the timer flashed a record-breaking 28.6 seconds.
But Chris got out of the pool white-faced, clutching his wrist. “I hit too hard. Something’s wrong!”
Quickly the coach led Chris to the locker room, while the team murmured anxiously. When the coach came out of the locker room, he was alone and he headed straight for Alan.
“The trainer’s taking Chris for an X-ray, Alan. We’ll put Tony Ramos in as third swimmer, and you’ll swim anchor.” The coach gave him an encouraging smile. “You can do it, Alan. You’re as good as Chris is—maybe even better. I’ve been watching your progress. Now, get out there and get that win for us!”
Alan swallowed hard. He wasn’t “as good as Chris.” And he’d have to be even better if he was to beat the swimmer from Brookston! Alan’s eyes moved up into the stands. He saw Pete pointing his thumb up in the air in a sign that meant, “Get in there and win!”
As they lined up for the start, Alan looked over the Brookston team. Sure enough, the power swimmer who had beaten Chris and him earlier would be Brookston’s anchorman. What chance did Lakewood have!
But the Lakewood team put up a battle. Alan watched his teammates churn up and down, splashing water as far as two lanes away. Lakewood fell behind on the third leg, though, and Brookston’s anchor swimmer got off the block before Alan did. Not wanting to let his team down, Alan resolved to do his best. He poured all his strength into each kick, each stroke. Then, at the turn, Alan saw that he was almost even with the Brookston swimmer! Somewhere, deep down inside, Alan felt a new confidence.
I’m not going to let him beat me! he decided. His legs ached, his arms hurt, but he pulled and kicked harder than he’d ever done before. He began a rhythmic chant to himself: Pull and win. Pull and win. With a final surging stroke he hit the touch pad. The electronic timer flashed the results, and a great shout broke from the Lakewood team. They’d won!
Alan’s teammates pounded him on the back, and he heard the coach exclaim, “You did it!”
Now Pete was beside him, his eyes dancing. “Hey, Brother, what got into you?” he asked.
“Oh, I just got to thinking,” Alan answered.
“That’ll do it!”
Alan nodded happily as he went to get the trophy that just might be the start of his own collection at home.

I had joined with a few other brothers in my ward to help a sister move. But as we arrived at her apartment, a van that had been parked improperly prevented us from accessing her place with our van.
I called the phone number on the side of the van to ask that someone come and move the van. A man answered and promised he would come soon.
After 15 minutes, I called again, but he didn’t answer. Finally, after one more call, he appeared with two children. He was angry and said something that got under my skin. I tried to forget about it as we proceeded with the move.
That evening I thought about the experience. I prayed that Heavenly Father would help me forget my feelings and forgive the man. He answered my prayer.
A little while later, however, I was reading a local newspaper and noticed an article about this man. It included his picture. My negative feelings toward him returned. So, I again went through the same process. I asked the Lord that this insignificant matter not bother me any longer and that He help me forgive the man. A good feeling came.
It wasn’t long before I happened to meet this same man in a store. My bad feelings returned yet again. I was amazed. I asked the Lord why I wasn’t able to get over this experience. A few days later, He taught me a lesson.
I was pulling away from the grounds of the Helsinki Finland Temple when I noticed this same man working in the temple gardens. I couldn’t believe my eyes. My mind opened and I understood that he, like me, was serving the Lord and that he, like me, has frustrating days when things don’t work out. I was then able to see this man as my brother. With new eyes, I felt respect and love toward him. After that, all the earlier feelings left, never to return.
When we see others as the Lord sees us, we can follow His commandment to forgive completely (see Matthew 6:14–15; Doctrine and Covenants 64:9–10). This experience was a memorable, tender mercy of the Lord, which I still ponder in my heart.

1. Let thy love be for them as for thyself. Bill had always been an avid sports fan and sportsman. Fishing, golfing, bowling, hunting, going to ball games, and watching sports on television had been a regular feature of his life. To the extent she could, Susan also enjoyed many of his hobbies. But as the children began to arrive, it became more and more difficult to spend much time with him in such activities. This became a sustained source of irritation with her as she felt his lack of support with the children.

As Bill was reading the Doctrine and Covenants one day, a scripture struck him with thunderbolt force: “Let thy love for them be as for thyself; and let thy love abound unto all men, and unto all who love my name.” (D&C 112:11.) He cross-referenced this scripture with one even more familiar to him: “He that findeth his life shall lose it: and he that loseth his life for my sake shall find it.” (Matt. 10:39.) He was ashamed with his own past behavior as he recalled King Benjamin’s observation that “when ye are in the service of your fellow beings ye are only in the service of your God.” (Mosiah 2:17.)

Bill had a few mental pains of regret as he gradually disengaged from many of the activities with his friends and began to spend more time in family-centered activities. Often he would take the children for a walk in the countryside or a drive in the car and leave Susan some needed time alone to go shopping or just to relax at home without the demands of the children pressing upon her. He also resolved to go out alone each week with Susan, and to take frequent walks with her after the children had gone to bed. He was determined to lose his life in making his wife and children happy. And then an amazing thing happened: he began to enjoy the association with his family more than with his friends.

“Where are we going?” Mark asked flatly, uncomfortably perplexed. Transfers had just occurred that day, bringing the reluctant Elder Macklind to a new area with which he was wholly unfamiliar, and pairing his antiathletic body with jog-happy Elder Hilversum. Mark felt very unsettled, and yet Elder Hilversum didn’t seem to notice. He just serenely breezed through the day as if nothing was new, which Mark found somewhat depressing; it’s tough to be gloomy without company, and this cheerful Hilversum guy just wasn’t cooperating. Mark frowned at the ground. His mind was still in Cedar Court, on the Caufields.
Mr. Caufield had grinned so widely, too, after accepting the baptismal challenge. His wife had cried and hugged Mark tightly as he left; he told her she would look so pretty in white. And she would have, too, if they had only tried harder. Mark winced at the memory. All the plans, filling the font, so much excitement, smiling all day, and then finding their note instead of them: “We just do not want to be baptized after all.” Mark shut his eyes tight.
Sometimes Mark wondered why he had come on a mission at all. Just like this stupid run, it often seemed like a lot of effort for no good purpose. He just got sore legs and an aching heart that beat too hard as if it were going to explode out of his chest. And he went back three times, but he never saw the Caufields again before the transfer. Maybe never again, period. Mark contorted his eyebrows into a knot, and tiny trickles of water fell down his face. He gritted his teeth. Why does he keep running?
The jog had become rudely taxing. Mark began to punctuate each plop of his heels with a gutterul groan, partly out of exhaustion and partly in an effort to complain: “Ugh!”—step—“Ugh!”—step—“Ugh!” His seeping energy was beginning to upset him. He could feel anger well up deep inside and churn up toward his head, as if his feet were pumping it farther with every plod. What’s the point in trying anyway? There was so much to be angry about. Mark wanted to give in to it.
They came to a crosswalk, and Elder Hilversum was jogging in place waiting for the light to change when Mark caught up to him. “Is anyone watching us?” Mark huffed to his companion, the pogo stick.
Elder Hilversum grinned again, glancing from side to side, “Nope.”
“Good!” Mark blurted, and promptly fell to the ground in a lifeless sprawl, moaning, “All over. All over. Any time now.”
Anxiously, Elder Hilversum reached for his land-grabbing companion. “Get up, Elder Macklind, get up! Are you all right?”
“Dying. Dying,” Mark lamented from among the grass blades and dirt.
“No, you’re not dying,” Elder Hilversum retorted impatiently, pulling at Mark’s arm. “But you’ll cramp up if you lie there much longer.”
Mark slowly stood again, leaning on Elder Hilversum with dedicated weariness. “Aren’t we done yet?” he wailed.
“Press forward, Elder Macklind,” Elder Hilversum advised, his patience returning with his place-running. “Have a perfect brightness of hope.”
“I’m beyond hope,” Mark murmured. “I’m well into despair.”
The pair jaunted on, Elder Hilversum slowing his pace to stay beside Elder Macklind. Mark wanted to cry. So hard. Thud, lift, thud, lift, thud.
Elder Hilversum began to gasp out a hymn, managing five words at a breath: “Let us all press on … in the work of the … Lord that when life is … o’er we may gain a …”
Mark couldn’t join in, because he wanted to scream. How could he act happy under these conditions? Another thud, lift, thud, lift, thud, lift … every day like this? And Elder Hilversum plowing ahead in breathy song with his permanent smile, like a marathon minstrel harboring a secret pleasure. Mark stared at him with aching eyes, torn between sincere anguish and raging rebellion.
“Elder Hilversum,” Mark called, turning the warbler’s sweaty head in mid-chorus, seeing the grin melt to concern, “how can you go like this every day, running on?”
Two hard plods. “This is silly,” Mark panted, unfinished. “I’m killing myself on this road; I really am. But you just keep going. Why, elder? Why?” And then, after a thud, “How?”
Elder Hilversum furrowed his wet, hot brow. “I don’t know, Elder Macklind,” he said, still tramping on. “I just keep reminding myself that the feeling of accomplishment will always be worth the temporary pain of effort.”
They stepped up to a curb, in lock-jog.
“You make it sound like spiritual persecution,” Mark muttered.
The senior companion grinned. “Do I?” he asked and laughed. Then he stretched the stride.
That grin was ingratiating. But the memory of the Caufields demanded his depression, and so Mark moaned. “I can’t imagine anything being worth this pain!”
“Don’t dwell on how much it hurts, Elder Macklind.”
“Everything hurts.”
“Just keep moving. Don’t worry about how fast you’re going, just keep going, and give it all you’ve got. I’ll run with you.”
Mark nodded, swallowing. “I know.”
“Elder Macklind, do your best. Push yourself, and don’t stop at less. You’ve been doing your best. Don’t quit now because it’s getting more difficult. Give it all you’ve got, and that’s all you need to give. Elder Macklind, all you can do is all you can do.”
Mark watched the sidewalk disappear under his feet. “Yeah, okay,” he said, but wanted to say something better. Elder Hilversum ran beside him, and so Mark pushed a little harder. Elder Hilversum grinned. He was always doing that. And the house wasn’t too far now, anyway.
Mark wiped his face with his hand and threw the sweat behind him. He was beginning to understand a little better, and the day didn’t look so bad now. Running on, he reflected, “All we can do is all we can do,” and smiled a little. That made sense, he decided, and brought his head up to see the sun, thinking, “Maybe I’ll run again tomorrow.”

On one occasion I met with a couple who had been referred to me by a bishop. As the couple started telling me about all the complaints against each other, I attempted to guide their conversation toward the affirmative aspects of their relationship—qualities they had first admired in each other, the deep pleasures they had shared, the mutual goals they had set many years before.
They began to talk about their family, friends, and other important people in their lives; it was apparent that they really did enjoy this aspect of their relationship. This led to a review of their goal for financial security, which they had successfully met. As we talked further, the antagonism gradually drained away. After a few additional meetings, the couple agreed to give their marriage a second chance.

One day years ago, as young missionaries laboring in a tiny branch on the small island of Amami Oshima, Japan, my companion and I were ecstatic to learn that President Spencer W. Kimball would be visiting Asia and that all members and missionaries in Japan were invited to Tokyo to hear the prophet at an area conference. With branch members, my companion and I excitedly began making plans for the conference, which would require a 12-hour boat ride across the East China Sea to mainland Japan, followed by a 15-hour train ride to Tokyo. Sadly, however, it was not to be. We received word from our mission president that because of distance and time, my companion and I would not be able to attend the conference in Tokyo.
While members of our little branch embarked for Tokyo, we stayed behind. The following days seemed quiet and empty. We held sacrament meeting alone in the small chapel, while the Latter-day Saints and missionaries of Japan attended the conference.
My sense of personal disappointment intensified even as I joyfully listened to branch members return from the conference days later to report that President Kimball had announced a temple in Tokyo. They gushed with excitement as they shared the fulfillment of their dream. They described how, upon hearing the temple announcement, members and missionaries were unable to contain their joy and spontaneously erupted into clapping their hands.
Years have passed, but I can still remember the disappointment I felt from missing that historic meeting.

My great-great-aunt Laura Clark Phelps was the first member of the Clark family who joined the Church. She was a woman who uniquely demonstrated a faith in the Lord that stands fast, nothing wavering.
Laura’s legacy teaches much about the doctrine of faith as “the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.” She received her patriarchal blessing from Joseph Smith Sr. In it she was counseled to be faithful and she would have an inheritance in Zion. She was further told to “call upon God in faith, and if thou wilt thou shall have all of the desires of thine heart.”
Laura and her husband knew the Prophet Joseph Smith. On one occasion, the Prophet and his brother Hyrum came running to their farm outside Far West, Missouri, where Laura hid them behind the clothes curtain. She calmly faced the mob leaders who rushed in shortly afterwards in search of the Prophet.
Laura experienced the joys and privations of the early Church members in this dispensation. Her faith deepened as she was driven from her homes and separated from her husband on various occasions. As an efficient midwife, she worked and traveled day and night in all kinds of weather to help provide for her family. This overexertion and exposure took their toll. She died at the young age of 34, leaving behind her husband and five children. She did not live to see her children, her grandchildren, or her great-grandchildren following her in faith. She did not experience the blessings of receiving her own temple endowment in this earth life, blessings I believe she would have cherished.
Laura’s faithful life bears witness of this verse from Hebrews: “These all died in faith, not having received the promises, but having seen them afar off, and were persuaded of them, and embraced them, and confessed that they were strangers and pilgrims on the earth.” Faith lived in Laura, and Laura lived her faith.

Last spring, I was asked to model for the prom fashion show on a local television station in Los Angeles. I was so excited to be one of the five girls chosen to be on TV. After weeks of rehearsal and preparation, we finally had the dress fitting. I quickly learned that the director of the show had already picked out all of the dresses to be modeled. I had been chosen to wear the most revealing dresses.
When I saw the dresses I was expected to wear, a line from the Young Women theme came to me: “We will ‘stand as witnesses of God at all times and in all things, and in all places’ (Mosiah 18:9).”
I felt extremely uncomfortable with the dresses that had been chosen for me, and I knew that I would not be standing “as a witness of God” if I wore them. I requested a dress change but was told that the director wanted me to wear those specific dresses and not any others. My only other option was to exclude myself from the show.
The decision was difficult to make, but I knew I was doing the right thing when I chose not to be part of the show. I wanted to keep the commandments under all circumstances, not just when I had nothing to lose.
[illustration] Photograph © PhotoSpin

My husband is profoundly deaf and deeply devoted to the gospel. However, years of struggling to understand weekly Church meetings left him reluctant to attend additional priesthood meetings and broadcasts. While members of our ward were friendly and encouraging, their lack of understanding of the technical assistance he needed in order to participate in meetings often left my husband feeling lonely and frustrated.
We were new to our ward, and it was time for general conference. My husband grudgingly prepared to go to general priesthood meeting, wondering what problems he would encounter as he tried to watch the broadcast. He arrived to find that no one knew how to put closed captions on the large overhead projector, so a television was rolled in and set up in the corner. There was, however, a minor problem. The cord needed to connect the television had inadvertently been used to set up the projector, rendering the television useless. My husband, who is accustomed to these situations, went to the library and started looking for the projector cord. After searching through several boxes and cabinets, he recovered the short cord intended for the projector.
Because the broadcast was about to begin, everyone was apprehensive about disconnecting and adjusting anything. The cord my husband found was too short to reach the television on the rolling cart, so the TV had to be moved to a lower table. He rolled the cart out of the chapel and into a nearby room. He then began to unstrap the television and wondered if anyone would come to help him lift it. At that moment, he felt someone enter the room. It was the bishop. My husband’s heart was lightened as the two of them placed the TV on the table. My husband got the TV working while the bishop grabbed a chair and placed it facing the screen.
My husband thanked him for his help and shook his hand, and the bishop turned and headed for the door. Much to my husband’s surprise, the bishop passed the door and proceeded to where chairs were leaning against a wall. He grabbed one and sat down next to my husband. The two of them sat side by side throughout the session.
Today my husband eagerly attends his meetings. The bishop’s simple act of kindness lifted my husband’s spirits and allowed gratitude to enter his heart. While some problems still arise, he no longer feels alone or unwelcome. My husband’s perspective was changed forever through the inspired actions of one of Christ’s shepherds.

Katy skipped along the sidewalk toward the big oak tree at the corner of her street. The old tree made Nana’s house easy to find.
As usual, Nana was sitting in her living room, quietly braiding and sewing strips of bright cloth. The polished wooden floors of Nana’s house were decorated with beautiful rugs that Nana made herself.
“Hello, honey,” Nana said as Katy came in. Soon they were talking about what Nana called the “old days.” They looked at black-and-white photos together. Katy especially liked seeing the clothes and hairstyles her relatives wore when they were younger.
“Things were very different then,” Nana said with a sigh. “You know, we didn’t have cars or TV or cell phones.”
Katy couldn’t even imagine having to walk everywhere. “What did you do for fun, Nana?” Katy asked.
“We loved to sing together. We would gather around the piano in the evening and sing our favorite songs. Sometimes we’d sing ourselves hoarse! It was such a fun time.”
Nana looked off into the yard as if she could rewind the years and watch them over again.
Katy sat next to the coiled rug that spilled off of Nana’s lap. She traced the careful stitches with her fingers.
“I’ve been thinking,” Nana said slowly. “How would you like to make your very own braided rug?”
Katy jumped up and clapped her hands.
“I would love to, Nana! Can we start today?”
Nana chuckled. “Well, there’s something you need to do first. Go home and gather up old clothes that we can cut into strips.”
Her eyes twinkled as she leaned toward Katy, her voice quiet as if she were sharing a secret.
“That’s what makes the rug special. Because it’s made of clothes, the rug can tell the story of your life. Each braid is like a chapter in a book about you. Looking at the fabric of an old dress can help you remember the places you wore it and what you did when you had it on.”
Katy’s eyes widened. She pointed to the rug Nana was braiding.
“Do you remember all about the cloth in this rug?”
Nana smiled. “You bet I do! This red piece is from the dress I wore when you were born. I remember pressing my nose to the glass window in the nursery to get a closer look at you. You were still all pink and wrinkly.”
Katy and Nana laughed together as Nana continued to tell Katy stories from the rug. As soon as Katy got home that night, she and Mama set aside old clothes that Katy could use for her rug.
The next day, Katy took the cloth to Nana’s house. Nana showed Katy how to cut the fabric into long strips, braid them, and sew the braids together.
Every day after school Katy went to work on the rug at Nana’s house.
Little by little, the rug grew. As the days went by Katy learned many of Nana’s stories by heart. Some days she was the one who told stories to Nana.
One day, after adding a blue strip of cloth that used to be a favorite pair of jeans, Katy rubbed the palm of her hand against the colorful braids.
“Don’t you think that rug is about done?” Nana asked, looking up from her work.
“Not yet,” Katy said with a smile. She never wanted this time with Nana to end.

Leniel Gava was called to serve in the Mozambique Maputo Mission, but he began serving in his native Zimbabwe while awaiting the visa that would allow him to train and learn Portuguese at the Brazil Missionary Training Centre. After a four-month wait, Elder Gava finally made it to Brazil, and a few weeks later, he arrived in Maputo.
Elder Gava loved Mozambique and his opportunity to share the gospel. He had settled into the work and was starting to feel comfortable with Portuguese when the COVID-19 pandemic began in March 2020. Most missionaries in Africa were suddenly returned to their native countries. Back he went to Zimbabwe.
Elder Gava says that the missionaries felt constantly confused during the repatriation process. Where would they be sent? For how long? In what way would they serve while they were waiting for the pandemic to die down? It wasn’t until he finally met with his mission president, Tasara Makasi, that he was calmed. President Makasi told him, “The Lord’s work doesn’t stop, just adjust and continue to do His work.” So, Elder Gava did, even in lockdown conditions.
Missionaries, who were confined to their homes like everyone else, soon received smartphones and access to social media platforms that allowed them to connect with people responding to a Facebook ad published on the Africa South Area Facebook pages titled “Where Can I Turn for Peace?”
Very soon after the ad ran, Elder Gava and his companion were given a stack of names and phone numbers from people who had responded to the advert, indicating that they were interested in meeting with the missionaries and finding out more about the Church. They were asked to contact each person. As they looked through the names and numbers, both missionaries were impressed to call a particular woman. She answered in a very low voice, but after they had introduced themselves, she almost screamed with happiness. “Thank you so much for reaching out to me!” she said. “Thank you for calling at the right time.”
As the conversation progressed, the elders learned that this woman was then lying in a hospital bed having just suffered a stillbirth. “She was saying she was so hurt . . . like there was a deep hole in her heart,” he said. “At the time we called her, she needed someone to be there with her, but, unfortunately, she was alone. That sister became one of our good friends and we started teaching her online.”
President Henry B. Eyring, Second Counsellor in the First Presidency, taught that the gift of the Holy Ghost helps us to lift others when they need it the most. “You are a covenant member of the Church of Jesus Christ. . . .
“That is why you have a feeling to want to help a person struggling to move forward under a load of grief and difficulty. You promised that you would help the Lord make their burdens light and be comforted. You were given the power to help lighten those loads when you received the gift of the Holy Ghost.”1
Elder Gava says this experience taught him how the Spirit works in our lives and how it can move us to talk to people who need us, at the time they need us. He also learnt another lesson: the importance of the proper use of technology in missionary work. He realised that technology can be used to reach out to our Heavenly Father’s children.
On Elder Gava’s mission he saw these two channels working together: the Holy Ghost was the heavenly channel, bringing a message from heaven to the missionaries; and technology was the earthly channel, bringing that message from the missionaries to their brothers and sisters.

The Smith family needed a home to live in, so Charles began making adobe bricks so that he could build a house. Charles also worked at his trade and was the first watchmaker in Salt Lake City.
Not long after the Smiths were settled in their new home, Charles Edward, who was two years old, fell into a pot of boiling water and was scalded to death. Of the nine children born to Sarah and Charles, only five lived to adulthood.

The story of the Willie and Martin handcart companies has become symbolic of the faith and hope of the early pioneers. It is a miracle that only about 200 of approximately 1,000 company members died.8 The faith-filled and hope-filled effort of their rescuers, accompanied by divine assistance, saved the handcart companies.9
After leaving the Salt Lake Valley, the rescuers were hit by the same early, severe, and unrelenting winter storms that engulfed the handcart companies. In the face of nature’s ferocity, some of the rescuers faltered in their faith, lost hope, and turned back.
In contrast, Reddick Allred steadfastly manned a rescue station for three weeks in hazardous winter weather. When another rescuer tried to persuade Brother Allred to join him in turning back, Reddick refused:
“I declined his proposition, and … advised him to stay, for the lives of the company depended up[on] us,” he wrote in his journal. “He then … moved that as I was president of the station, they center their faith in me, that I should get the word of the Lord to know what we must do. To this I objected as [the Lord] already said what he would [have us] do.”10
Such unwavering faith in times of trial creates steadfast men and women and gives sure, steady direction when potentially disorienting storms rage. One of the fruits of such faith is that those who possess it will be in a position to nurture, rescue, and bless others. Imagine the warmth Reddick Allred felt as he saw the handcart company come into his station. Imagine the joy the company felt when they saw him!

I recently had an experience that changed my idea of service. It started when a professor of mine gave everyone in the class a one dollar bill. Our assignment was to find someone who really needed help and find a way to serve them using just the dollar we were given.
I did not think much about the assignment. In fact, I gave my dollar to a little boy so he could get a snack while he waited for his parents.
The day the assignment was due, a girl got up to talk about her experience. She said that everyone in the class got together to do their service project because if they combined their dollars they would have more to help someone.
I felt completely out of place because I had no idea what they were talking about.
The girl walked over and put a cardboard box on my desk and then she said, “Ryanne, this class loves you for your strength. We each started out with just a dollar, but we were able to put our dollars together and collect some from other people to give to you to help you pay for your arthritis medicine.”
Each member of the class took turns going up to the front and telling me why they loved me. Then they took the money they had raised and placed it in the box.
There were only 10 people in my class, but all together they had raised a few hundred dollars because they cared about me. I was so touched. And I was so impressed and grateful for the thought they had put into the assignment and the caring they showed to me. I was very appreciative of the money because it would help me get medicines that I needed.
The point my professor was trying to make was that everyone is blessed with gifts and talents. It is up to each of us to come up with ways to share our gifts and talents to serve those around us (see Matthew 25:14–30). I learned how wonderful, sincere, and thoughtful service can be.
In my case, my classmates were able to find a way to use their dollars to impact my life. It was more than just the money; it was friendship.

Chris sighed. “Do I have to go to school today?”
Mom looked up from tying Alicia’s shoes. “What’s the matter, Chris? You love school.”
“I used to,” Chris said. He took his little sister’s hand and started the walk to school.
“Today we’re going to make applesauce!” Alicia said as they walked down the hill. She loved her first-grade class. She reminded Chris of how he used to feel about school. Before they moved, he ran to school every morning because he was so excited to do math, work in his writing group, and do science experiments with his friends. Sometimes he played four square with Michael and Ryan at recess. Other times he stayed inside with Janet and Caleb so they could help their teacher organize the class’s books.
But now his family had moved to a new state, and even though he still got to learn about math and writing and science, it just wasn’t the same. Chris didn’t have a single friend at school. He walked into his classroom by himself, stared at his desk while his teacher talked, and sat alone at lunch. At recess he wandered around looking for shiny rocks, but he didn’t really want to keep them.
He tried to smile and be a good example for Alicia as he dropped her off at her classroom, but he just didn’t feel very excited about another lonely day.
“How did school go, Chris?” Mom asked when he got home.
“It was OK, I guess. I don’t really have any friends, though.”
“Do you remember what we talked about in family home evening yesterday?” Mom asked.
Chris tried to remember. Alicia had planned a game of musical chairs, Mom had picked out Primary songs to sing, and Chris had helped Mom make the treat. Then he remembered the lesson. “Dad told us about praying for help,” he said.
“That’s right,” Mom said. “I know you’ve been reading your scriptures about how much God loves us. Heavenly Father wants you to be happy, so if you have a problem, you can ask Him for help.”
“Do you think I could pray to Him to help me find friends?”
“Let’s try it,” Mom said.
As Chris said his prayers, he felt like Heavenly Father was right there, listening to him. The next day, as Chris walked to school with Alicia, he still felt a little lonely, so he said a prayer in his mind: “Please help me to find some friends at school today.”
School started just like every other day: he walked into his classroom by himself, stared at his desk while his teacher talked, and sat alone at lunch. But during afternoon recess Carlos from Chris’s class ran up to him. “Hi, Chris! I’m having a birthday party on Friday night.” Carlos handed Chris an orange invitation.
Chris was excited to get home and tell Mom about his new friend. He burst in the front door, but before he could say anything, Mom said, “Chris, I just got a phone call from Jared’s mom in our ward. She invited you to Jared’s birthday party at the zoo on Saturday morning.”
Chris was amazed. He told Mom all about Carlos’s birthday party. When he was finished, Mom handed him a letter. “This came in the mail,” she said.
Chris looked at the blue envelope. He never got any mail except from Grandma. He tore it open and inside was an invitation that read: “Dear Chris, you’re invited to my birthday party on Saturday night.” It was from another classmate.
Chris looked up at Mom. “Three birthday parties in one weekend?”
Mom smiled. “Heavenly Father answered your prayer.”
“That’s right,” Chris said. “I’m going to go thank Him right now.”

Many years ago I had the privilege of meeting a young man by the name of Jay. Jay was in a Sunday School class I had been invited to teach. When the bishop called me to this position, he said I was the fourth teacher in six weeks. He said the class had driven out the other three and that he would not let them drive me out. I told him I would take the class for as long as he wanted me. He referred me then to one of the officers in the ward who relayed the same message about the number of teachers. The officer then said:
“There is a young man in the class named Jay. He is an obnoxious kid and the real ringleader. If he gets out of line, you let me know; I will jerk him out of your class so fast his head will swim.”
I said, “Don’t worry about it. I’ll get along fine.”
“Well, you just let me know if there is any problem. We won’t have him drive you out of the class, too.”
I’ve always believed that if there is a discipline problem, it is the teacher’s fault and not the student’s. So I prepared well, and when I went to class Sunday morning, I was ready.
Jay was sitting on the end of one of the rows. He had a small radio in his pocket with one wire that went up and plugged in his ear and another wire that went over to the radiator. He sat through the entire lesson, tapped his foot on the floor, and seemed very interested in what was going on on the radio. He did not disturb me, and I felt I got through to the rest of the class that morning.
Each week I would prepare well and then go to the class. Each week something different came up, but Jay wasn’t offensive to me, and he didn’t disturb the rest of the class. So we got along fine.
About six weeks after I had been called to teach the class, the bishop met me as I went downstairs and said, “Would you please ask all of your class to be here 15 minutes early tonight for sacrament meeting as we are presenting individual awards.”
I told him yes. I went downstairs and told the class what the bishop had said, mentioned the fact that individual awards would be given and that all of my class would receive one, and would they please be there 15 minutes early.
Jay jumped up and said, “Do you know what I’m going to do with my individual award when I get it? I’m going to stand up right in front of the congregation and tear it in two.”
The class members gasped. I said, “Jay, why would you do that?”
He said, “Because I don’t need a piece of paper or an individual award or a certificate that tells me that I’m a good guy or a Christian. I come to church because I want to come. The piece of paper doesn’t make me different from what I really am inside.”
Well, I didn’t have an answer for Jay, and so I suggested that we might discuss this the last five minutes of the Sunday School period. I was stalling for time.
Five minutes before the class ended I said, “I believe now we are ready to attend to Jay’s question. Do you know, Jay is right. We should not have to have a piece of paper, a certificate, an individual award to get us to come to Church. An individual award is a crutch if that is the reason we come.
“Jay, individual awards aren’t for guys like you. They’re for guys like Vaughn Featherstone. When I was a deacon growing up, my mother wasn’t a member of the Church. My father was an alcoholic, and the first individual award I got I took home and put above my bed. I’ll never forget it. It made me someone. It seemed like for the first time in my life I really could be someone. I counted because here was a piece of paper that proved it. Now I know it was only a crutch. But tonight when they present individual awards and they pass you yours, would you just simply take it and go back to your seat and say, ‘Individual awards aren’t for guys like me. I don’t need them. They’re for guys like Vaughn Featherstone when he was growing up. He needed the crutch, and if it worked there, it’s all right.’”
Well, that afternoon came, and we all arrived about 15 minutes before sacrament meeting. I sat right behind the class, and they were called up to receive their individual awards one by one. Finally, Jay’s turn came. I believe the whole Sunday School class stopped breathing. He took the individual award, walked across the stand, and then back to his seat. I thought in my heart, “I’m getting through to this kid.”
The next week I found out he had tried out for the sophomore football team, and so I went over to his high school and watched the sophomores practice.
No one watches sophomores. They all go down and watch the varsity. So I stood there all alone watching the sophomores.
Jay went out for a pass; and as he came back in, he saw me and made a wide circle and came over. He said, “What are you doing here?”
I said, “I came to watch you play football, to practice, to find out if you are any good. I played football when I was in high school, and I think I can recognize if you are any good. I came to watch you.”
“Oh, you didn’t come to watch me. What are you here for?”
“No, Jay, I did come to watch you. I don’t know one other guy on the team.”
He went over to the huddle, and several times during the next 45 minutes I saw him look over to see if I was still there. I wanted to see him do something that I could talk about at Sunday School where I could talk about just him. So I went back a couple nights later and watched them practice again, and I had the information I needed.
When Sunday morning came, I stood before the class and said: “I went over to watch the sophomore team practice the other night, and I watched Jay. He’s terrific! He has great hands. If he gets within touching distance of a ball, he catches it. He has some great moves, and he’s fast as a deer. I’m sure if he continues with the talent he has as a sophomore, one day he’ll be all-state.”
Well, I don’t know if anyone else listened, but I want you to know that Jay was sitting on the edge of his chair, listening to every word I said.
I followed him the next year as he tried out for the track team. He hadn’t tried out as a sophomore but was doing so as a junior. When he went to the coach, the coach said, “I’m sorry, Jay. We have some good half-milers. We don’t need any more.” He mentioned one young man who had taken second place in the state the previous year and others who were very good, as well as some sophomores who had come up as juniors now, and he didn’t need Jay.
Jay said, “I guess you don’t own the track, do you?”
“No, but what do you mean by that?”
“Well, I guess I can come and run if I want.”
“I guess you can, but don’t get in our way.”
So Jay came down night after night, sometimes during the track practices, sometimes before, sometimes after—always running, running, and running. One night shortly after, they had a dual track meet, and I guess the track coach, softened by this kid’s terrible drive to be somebody, to accomplish something, came over and said to him:
“Jay, if you would like to run in this half-mile event, you can. If you can place, I’ll put you on the track team.”
Well, there wasn’t much of a chance. They had many good half-milers from both teams, but Jay got in the event.
The gun sounded to start them off; and when the tape had been broken, Jay had taken first place. I want you to know they had a new sweatsuit for him, and he was on the track team. He had a nice locker, and he became a permanent member of the track team. I don’t believe I missed one track meet during that season. I saw every one. I watched the papers and saw the times of other half-milers in other meets. Jay’s time was pretty good but was not as good as many other times across the state.
Finally came the BYU Invitational Tournament. I remember Saturday morning getting my wife up early, telling her that we were going down to BYU to watch the track meet. She said, “Well, it’s raining. They don’t hold track meets when it rains, do they?” “Yes, they hold the BYU Invitational.”
“What time does Jay run, and we’ll just go down and watch part of it.”
Well, I had deliberately not found out so that we could watch the whole track meet. So we bundled our three little boys up, and we got two or three blankets and drove down to BYU in our old ’37 Plymouth. I remember laying one blanket out across a bench about ten rows above Jay’s team. Then I put another blanket across our shoulders, and we sat there in the rain, knowing that eventually Jay would come over and check in with his track coach, and we would be able to talk to him.
In a few moments Jay came bouncing up and stood there in front of his coach. His coach threw him an orange, and as he peeled the orange, he happened to look up across the stands, and he saw me. Something happened when my eyes met his eyes. I can’t tell you what it was. I just know that something happened. He turned away, and in a few moments he came bouncing up the stairs, and he said, “What are you doing up here?”
“Jay, we came to see one of the greatest kids I know win the half-mile today.”
“Well, I’ll do my best.”
“Yes, and your best is winning. You don’t know anything else. You’re a great guy. You have an unconquerable heart, and you’ll win.”
He got just a little teary-eyed and then went back downstairs. Pretty soon it was first call for the half-milers, and second call, and third call. As they started to get ready, to take off their sweatsuits to prepare to run, I remember thinking about the other half-milers. There was one from Pocatello who was an excellent runner. I thought of another half-miler from Weber who had been running right around two minutes, and in those days that was a good time. So I just offered a little prayer: “Heavenly Father, put Jay in one heat, and put the boy from Pocatello and the boy from Weber in another heat. And then Jay can win. I can talk about him and build him up.”
Well, I watched Jay take off his suit. He was in the first heat. I looked around, and there was the boy from Pocatello taking off his sweatsuit. He was in the first heat. I looked a little farther and spotted the kid from Weber. He was taking off his sweatsuit. He was in the first heat. That’s the way the Lord answers my prayers sometimes.
Pretty soon they lined up, sprinted back and forth. Then I saw Jay look up once more, and he saw me. I was looking, watching. Something passed between us again, and then they were called to their marks.
The gun went off, and they took off around the corner. The boy from Pocatello and the boy from Weber stayed side by side way out ahead of everyone else as they rounded the first corner, and on around to the second corner, and down the straightaway to the 220. They were way out ahead of several—20 or 30 yards ahead of one, then two more, and another one, and then finally about 40 yards back was Jay. As they came around the 220, Jay was still way back there. They came around the far end of the 330 and around the first 440, and again Jay was way back, sixth or seventh in the race. I don’t know how far back.
Then as these two passed me, I was cheering for Jay at the top of my lungs.
“Get up there, Jay! Get up in there!” He couldn’t hear me. There were 10,000 people, it seemed, all around me, cheering and yelling for their runners.
As the boy from Pocatello and the boy from Weber got past the first 440, they were far ahead. Then the others came across the 440, and then Jay.
Then Jay did something I had never seen done before in a half mile. As he crossed the 440, he burst into a full sprint. He sprinted around one, around two more, and around another one, and another one; and then as they finished the 660, he had pulled up right in behind this boy from Pocatello and the boy from Weber. Then he started to slacken his pace; and as he did so, they picked up theirs. I thought, “Well, what a great run this kid has made today! What a great heart he has! He can’t stay in there now.”
But as they started to pick up the pace, he stayed with them; and as they came around the 330 on the second lap around the far end, I remember watching him with tears in my eyes as I thought of the great effort he was making. Then they came around the far corner, and both of these two men burst into a full sprint, straight down the last 100 yards. And as they burst down the straightaway, I thought, “Well, that’s it. Jay can’t possibly win now, but he’ll take third and what a great race.”
I saw them coming down the straightaway, and I thought my heart would stop. Jay began to move up in between these two fellows. The fellow on the right looked over his shoulder and could see Jay coming. With about 10 yards to go he dove for the finish line and slid across the finish line on his chest in the cinders. The fellow on the left looked over his shoulder and could see Jay about a half a stride behind. He threw his chest out and stumbled toward the tape with his chest out as far as he could push it to try to reach the tape before Jay got there. Jay burst between them and took first place. I stood up in the stands and tears streamed down my cheeks. I thought, “What a great kid he is—what a giant heart!”
Well, I had the privilege of graduating each year with that Sunday School class, 14 to 15, 15 to 16, 16 to 17, and then we moved out of the ward. A short time later Jay asked me if I would speak at his missionary farewell. After he was out in the mission field just a little under a year, he sent a letter to me and said:
“Dear Brother Featherstone, I thought I would like to let you be one of the first ones to know. I’ve been called to be an assistant to the president here in France.”
And I thought, “And someone once told me, ‘You let me know, and I’ll put him out of your class so fast his head will swim.’”
Something happened the other day in the temple that I’ll never forget. As I went through the temple with my three sons, I met Jay coming out of one of the rooms. As I talked with him, he said:
“I’ve been back to medical school on the east coast, and I’ve made contact with Russell Nelson. He has given me the privilege of being one of his assistants.”
And I thought, “Who is this Jay? We don’t know who he is yet. Russell Nelson has operated on our prophet and worked a miracle for the Lord, and Jay is going to work with him. Who is Jay?”

It’s easy to survive the loss of some things—pencils, telephone numbers, even umbrellas—but when a name is accidentally left off a guest list, there’s only one thing to do—hurry over and make amends.
That’s why Lee Ann and Gloria were standing in front of Brother and Sister Facer’s doorway, knocking on the door. When the Facers answered, the two young women eagerly explained why they had come. “Our stake Mutual is having a Thanksgiving dinner for all the senior citizens in our stake, and we hope you will be able to come!”
“We’d love to!” exclaimed the older couple. “We haven’t had our children with us during the holidays in such a long time. What a special treat to be remembered by you young people. We’ll be there!”
As the two girls from the Taylorsville Utah First Ward, Taylorsville Utah Stake, walked back toward their homes, they breathed sighs of relief, knowing that at last all details were being taken care of.