Gospel Story Finder

Tammy walked slowly down the sidewalk. She pushed her hands deep into her pockets and looked up and down the street. There was not a sign of anyone to play with. Her foot kicked a stone, and it skittered and rolled along the walk. “Sarah has gone to visit her grandmother, Jennifer has a dental appointment, and Tim went somewhere with his dad,” she grumbled.
Tammy kicked the stone again, then ran after it as it rolled. There was a heavy chalk arrow on the sidewalk pointing straight ahead. She followed the direction and then saw other chalk arrows pointing the way to go. One reminded her of a snake. It pointed to a chalk circle around a hole in the sidewalk. Inside was a pretty blue marble. Tammy smiled. She picked the marble up and put it in her pocket.
Then she saw more arrows in a wiggly line and followed them. One pointed to a fire hydrant, on top of which was balanced a bright yellow marble. She looked at it closely, rolling it back and forth between her thumb and first finger. This will make a good shooter, she thought, and put it in her pocket.
Tammy looked around and found another arrow leading to a paper cup. She looked down into the paper cup and saw a cool green marble to put into her pocket. Ahead were more arrows and more marbles—a milky white one and a “cleary.” May be the next one will be a steelie or a cat’s eye or an aggie, she thought. The next marble was nested in the corner of the sidewalk where it turned and led to a house. “A sparkly red one!” she shouted, picking it up.
Tammy heard a laugh and looked up. A freckle-faced boy just her size was standing by a tree. He held a bag of marbles in one hand and a piece of chalk in the other. “Hi,” he greeted her. “I’m lonesome and would like a game of marbles.”
“I’m lonesome too,” said Tammy. “Let’s play!”

Ask about teenagers in the Brooklyn First Ward, and inevitably you’ll meet the Petrus family. It’s not that they’re the only teenagers in the ward—far from it. They just seem to be the ones involved in everything.

“Whatever the youth of the ward are doing, the Petrus kids are there,” says Blake Ricks, the ward Young Men president. “They set a great example.”

On any given Sunday, you might find Michael, 15, in a teachers quorum presidency meeting, or see Sarah, 16, sharing her scriptures with an investigator. Raquel, 17, is checking to make sure all the Young Women know which subway to ride to a youth fireside. And Gregory, 11, … well, Greg is usually telling someone a joke. But don’t misunderstand. Humor is a Haitian custom, a way of putting people at ease. And Greg loves to make people feel at home.

The Petrus teens are examples of dedication to the gospel and involvement in the Church. But a lot of the reason they’re good examples is that someone has been a good example to them: their mother.

Mireille Petrus returned to school after her husband left. Faced with raising her children on her own, she knew she needed better skills. As a nurse’s aide, she now spends her days helping elderly people in their homes.

“She works hard,” Sarah says. “But she loves the people she serves. She’s taught us all to work and get along with people. She’s good at that.”

She’s also taught her children a lot about being a family.

“She’s a very independent woman,” Raquel explains, “but she needs us as much as we need her. We help with the little things, like cleaning up the house. That’s a way to show her we care.”

“She’s taught us how to talk through things, too,” Michael says. “Around here, we’re always talking.” Sometimes conversations last long into the night, but they always end on a positive note.

“She’ll say, ‘Just come give me a hug,’ and everything’s all right again,” Sarah says. “Of course, we still have to work things out.”

Sister Petrus is more than willing to share her philosophy: “My children know I will always be here for them. But they also know that my most important role is to help them return to their Father in Heaven. I will do everything in my power to help them choose the path back to him. Everything else comes after that.”

There are lots of other good influences in the Petrus teens’ lives. Their grandparents live on the first floor of their home, a step-aunt lives with her children on the second floor, and the Petruses live on floor three. “Grandpa is always checking up on us,” Sarah says. And relatives are always dropping in. Home teachers and visiting teachers and friends from the ward are also like part of a great big family.

But it’s their mom the Petrus children honor the most. It’s a Haitian custom. “In American houses you’re more casual,” Michael explains. “You’ll say, ‘Hi, Mom.’ But in Haitian houses, if you don’t kiss your mother in greeting, you’re being extremely disrespectful. You always kiss your mother when you walk in the door.”

Aaron’s mother came through the door, a bag of groceries in her arms.
“Mom!” Aaron jumped up and gave her a hug. He took the groceries and set them on the kitchen counter.
Aaron was home alone in their apartment after school while his mother worked. It was only for a couple of hours, but it was the loneliest time of the day.
“Hey, Buddy,” she said, “got your homework done?”
“Yep. What’s for supper?” he asked as he showed her his notebook.
Aaron’s mother sighed. “Oh, I don’t know. If you don’t mind, I think I’ll just sit down for a few minutes before I get us something to eat.” She sat down in her “resting chair.”
Aaron’s mom was usually tired after work. His dad didn’t live there anymore, so it was just the two of them.
Aaron hid a small disappointed sigh. His mom put her head back on the chair and closed her eyes.
A few minutes later the phone rang. “Hello,” Aaron answered politely, “Jackson residence.”
“Hi, sugar. How’s my boy?” a familiar voice asked.
“Grandma! I’m just fine. What’s up?”
“I just called to wish your mom a happy birthday. Is she home yet?”
“Yes,” he answered, “but she’s asleep. I didn’t know it was Mom’s birthday. I’ll go wake her up.”
“No, child,” his grandma said quickly. “Don’t bother her while she’s resting. I’ll call back later tonight. Take care, sweetie!” And she hung up.
Aaron put the receiver back down. Hmmm, Mom’s birthday. …
He remembered his own birthday a few months ago. The cake and ice cream were great, and so was his present—a blue remote-control race car! Oh, how he had wanted one! His mom had said that it was too expensive, but somehow she’d managed to get one for him.
“I’ll have a party for Mom!” he said out loud. Oops! I’ll have to be quiet—and hurry! But what can I do? I don’t have any money, and I can’t go out alone, anyway. I’ll have to make something, instead—I know!
He went to his mother’s jewelry box. She had broken her favorite necklace a few weeks ago. It was made of beads from Africa and had belonged to Aaron’s great-grandmother. Aaron had helped his mom pick up all the beads when it broke, but she hadn’t had time to string them back together. He found some new string and carefully threaded it through the beads one by one. He couldn’t remember the exact pattern but came as close to it as he could.
The new string was a little shorter than the first one, but it would still fit over her head. There were a few beads left over, so he put them back into the jewelry box.
He tiptoed past his mother into the kitchen, wrapped the necklace in a blue paper napkin from the table, and found a piece of yarn for a bow. It made a nice present. But it looked kind of small all alone on the table.
I need a cake, he thought. He looked through the kitchen cabinets and spotted the peanut butter.
I know—I’ll make a peanut-butter-and-jelly cake! I hope we have some jelly.
Aaron got out bread, peanut butter, and jelly, put a slice of bread on a plate, and covered the top with peanut butter, then jelly. He put a second slice of bread on top of that and spread it with peanut butter and jelly too. A third piece of bread went on top of that. For the frosting he just spread a third layer of peanut butter. Carefully he wrote Happy Birthday in the peanut butter with a knife. It looked a little plain, so he put dots of jelly here and there for decoration. Perfect! He found two of the candles from his own birthday cake and put them on top. He wasn’t allowed to use matches, so his mom would have to light them.
Aaron heard her stirring in the next room. Please don’t wake up now—I’m not ready! he thought.
Finding a large yellow envelope in the trash, he cut off all the writing until he had a small piece of plain yellow paper. With a colored pen he wrote, “You’re the best, Mom!” After folding the card and putting it next to the present and cake, he hurried to put away the groceries that she had brought home. Then he even swept the kitchen floor.
Everything looked great! Aaron felt good about his hard work. Now he could hardly wait for his mother to wake up. He crouched down behind the table and fidgeted.
Finally he heard Mom get up and say, “Goodness! I’d better get supper on. I wonder what Aaron’s doing.” She walked into the kitchen. “Well, what’s all this?”
Aaron jumped up. “Surprise! Happy Birthday, Mom!” he shouted.
“Why, Aaron, did you do all this?”
“I sure did!”
Aaron couldn’t remember seeing his mom smile so much. She grabbed him up for a big hug. “This is the best kind of birthday!” she exclaimed happily. They laughed and danced around the kitchen.
“Here,” Aaron said. “Open your present!”
She opened the blue paper napkin. “Oh, honey, you fixed Grandmother’s necklace for me. It’s so beautiful. Strong too. And a card!”
She read the card. She looked at everything for a long time. “Buddy,” she said with tears in her eyes, “you’ve made today the most special day for me.” She held Aaron close. “I love you so much.”
“Aw, Mom,” he said, pulling away. But he did feel pretty special.
After a supper of soup and salad, they cut into Aaron’s cake and ate every bite!
Later, as Aaron’s mom was tucking him into bed, the phone rang. “That’s Grandma,” he said. “She called while you were asleep.”
Mom kissed him on the forehead. “Thanks for a wonderful birthday, Aaron. Sweet dreams.”
Aaron listened as Mom told Grandma all about the special birthday. She laughed as she talked, and sounded happy.
Aaron felt happy too. Yes, this was the best kind of birthday.

When my bishop told me, “The Lord is calling you on a mission,” his words seemed to have a different meaning than they had two years before, when he made the call for the first time.
I was 18 then, a newly ordained elder and busy preparing myself to enter medical school. Besides that, my parents had been inactive for a long time and had never properly trained me to accept such a call if it ever came. I felt these were sufficient reasons for me to say no but decided to ask for some time to think about it. I approached my father and, as I expected, he emphatically refused to let me accept the mission call.
I thought I had been smart enough to fool everybody, but in fact I was the only one being fooled. About a year later, just before I was to take the long-awaited entrance test to medical school, the Lord called me again. This time I resolved to pray about it. I told the Lord that the result of the test would be the answer to my doubts. If I passed, I would understand that my mission would be medical school; if I failed, a proselyting mission would be what he wanted from me.
I passed the entrance exam. Blessings were poured upon me in an avalanche. My father changed to a better-paying job, which he needed to pay for my expensive studies. The lessons in medical school entered my mind with incredible ease, and I became an outstanding student. I became engaged to a wonderful LDS girl, even though she lived 360 miles away and we met just a few times a year. Good health, so seldom enjoyed before, became steady in my family. I was called to be a counselor in the Campinas Stake Sunday School presidency. Through the efforts of the home teachers, my younger sister became active again in seminary. The Lord was blessing us abundantly.
But two years later, I was sitting right there before my bishop once again, being reminded of my obligation to the Lord’s work on the earth. I felt different about it this time, but I was still reluctant to accept. I wanted the Lord himself to tell me what to do. Scriptures that promised marvelous blessings, shown to me by returned missionaries and the bishopric, did not seem to help.
Praying was not enough either. I fasted also, asking the Lord to give me an unmistakable answer so that I would not be left in doubt. It seemed like a fierce battle inside me, my spirit contending against my mortal reasoning. I was nearly exhausted from it when I felt the “burning in my bosom” and knew the Lord had revealed that accepting a mission call was what he wanted from me.
The first round had been won. Now the scriptures would give me strength to support an unshakable faith in God. I knew that other trials would come but not so soon.
When I phoned my fiancée to wish her a happy birthday, she asked about my decision. I told her I had decided to go on a mission, but that I would like to talk with her when she came to see me in a few weeks. She insisted that we talk about it right then. Her sweet voice became choked as if something bitter were being swallowed against her will. We said good-bye.
I went to my room to pray to my Heavenly Father so she could understand and accept my decision. A little later the phone rang and that same sweet voice said with firmness, “Thank you for the birthday gift.” At first I thought she was being ironic, but then I realized she was sincere.
Little by little the Lord was showing that he had prepared the way for me. However, I felt that I would need his help a lot more when I talked to my father. My father is a good man, but his hard life had made him tough and materialistic. Such an outlook would prevent him from accepting my decision.
On a Sunday afternoon, when we were alone in our backyard, I decided to tell my father. He listened until I finished and then asked very dryly, “Is this your will?” I nodded. “Very well, now listen! When you took this course you destroyed the love that existed within me for you. I am not going to drive you out of the house but from my heart. Those medical school stickers that I proudly exhibit on the windshield of my car will be removed, and you will have to do much to put them back on. You tore down a great dream of my life, and as far as I am concerned you fell down with it.”
I tried to answer him and express my great love for him, but my words stopped in my throat. I wished that the whole world would fall upon me for bringing such great suffering to my father, whom I loved so much.
Time went by. My father went to stake leaders to try to stop me. In a last and desperate attempt he went to the stake president. When he returned home that night, he had only harsh words for me.
While I prayed to the Lord to give my father understanding, the Spirit dictated to me that I should listen to him without saying a word. The night before he was to talk to the stake president again, he was sitting alone in the backyard. He said the moonlight made the night clear. He took the opportunity to pray to the Lord in the way he knows and said, “Father, I know that you have given me everything, but do you need to collect all at once? You know I cannot bear it.” In that very moment the backyard became filled with shadows that started to move towards him. My father became stricken with fear and ran to his room like a frightened child. He spent the whole night talking to my strong and sweet mother. That long talk with my mother and his interview with the stake president, when both cried, were enough to change his thinking.
And then came the night that I will never forget. I was in the kitchen peeling a pineapple for our dessert when my father came home. He stopped behind me, placed his briefcase on the floor, and said, “May I talk to you?”
I was already getting used to his aggressive talking. I answered yes and continued to peel the pineapple. “Listen, young man, when I talk to someone I like him to look into my eyes.” I stopped, turned to him, and heard him say with a calm and tender voice, “My son, go and do what you have decided to do because the Lord has told me that it is right. You can count on me for help because I love you very much.” We embraced each other, and the Lord bound the heart of the father to the son and of the son to the father. Tears of joy rolled down our cheeks.
And now my longing for my fiancée and my parents, my desire to attend medical school, and even my disappointment at having to turn down a long-awaited job—all of this is overshadowed by the joy of having received a letter from President Kimball saying, “Dear Elder Areas. You are being called by the Lord to work in the Brazil, Rio de Janeiro Mission. …”

I can still remember my mother speaking softly to me one Saturday afternoon when, as a little boy, I asked her for permission to do something I thought was perfectly reasonable and which she knew was dangerous. I still am amazed at the power she was granted—I believe from the Lord—to turn me around with so few words. As I remember them, they were, “Oh, I suppose you could do that. But the choice is yours.” The only warning was in the emphasis she put on the words could and choice. Yet that was enough for me.

Her power to warn with so few words sprang from three things I knew about her. First, I knew she loved me. Second, I knew she had already done what she wanted me to do and been blessed by it. And third, she had conveyed to me her sure testimony that the choice I had to make was so important that the Lord would tell me what to do if I asked Him. Love, example, and testimony: those were keys that day, and they have been whenever I have been blessed to hear and then heed the warning of a servant of the Lord.

I recall an incident from early Church history, from the days of persecutions and difficulties. Heber C. Kimball, then a member of the Council of the Twelve, found himself in circumstances where he sought hospitality from a member of the Church, a widow woman. She offered him what she had—bread and milk—and provided a room with a bed for him. He went to retire. She thought: “Here’s my opportunity. I would like to find out (and this is, in effect, the same old question: Are General Authorities human), I would like to find out what an apostle says when he prays to the Lord.” So after the door was closed, she crept quietly up to it to listen. She heard Brother Kimball sit down on the bed. She heard each of his shoes fall to the floor. She heard him lean back on the bed and then utter these words: “Oh Lord, bless Heber; he is so tired.”

That was when the first miracle happened. It started with one young man who had a strong desire to be closer to Jesus Christ and be baptized, and he shared it with a friend, and they shared it with another friend. These three young men were the start of the new growth in this area of the Lord’s vineyard. But the elders knew they needed families to lay a solid foundation and establish the Church in Guaymate, so they fasted and prayed to be led to a family ready to learn about the gospel.
One day they felt impressed to go to the farthest part of the town, out along the edges of the sugarcane fields. As they walked down the street, they saw two men sitting on their porch, and they stopped to talk with them. This was the first time they met Julian and his son, Victor. Julian immediately invited them in to have some yuca with butter and listened to the message they had to share. He was interested and asked them to come back and teach him more.
The following day the elders were in the town center doing street contacting when they met Carmen, Julian’s partner. As they started talking with her, they learned that Julian had told her all about what he had learned the day before. The elders returned that afternoon and taught Julian and Carmen how families were part of God’s plan. They learned that the couple had been together for over 30 years, with children and grandchildren, but had never gotten married. The elders asked what they thought about getting married. At first, Carmen was eager, and Julian was hesitant. Two weeks later, when they were married, he was emotional about finally being married to the woman of his dreams.
We met Julian and Carmen a few months after they were baptized when we visited their home with President Chaverri and the same missionaries who had taught and baptized them. We sat on their front porch, listening to their amazing conversion story as the rain sprinkled around us.
The Spirit was strong as Julian retold his story. Shortly before their baptism, Julian told the elders about a dream he had the night before that first day they met. In his dream, two young men in white shirts walked down his street. When they passed his house, he went out to invite them in and fed them yuca. He thought the dream strange but forgot about it until he saw these young men in their white shirts walking down his street just as they had in his dream. As he learned about the gospel of Jesus Christ, he knew the dream was a significant sign from God, and he felt grateful he had followed the prompting to invite them in for yuca.
Today, Julian, Carmen, and their family are part of the new Guaymate group that is meeting in an apartment below where the elders live. This little group is evidence that the Lord is involved in the details of all our lives. He loves us and wants us to make eternal covenants with Him.

Some time ago a father of six children who had the sole responsibility for raising the family, beginning when the youngest was in diapers, told of the struggles of doing so alone. One night he came home from work faced with the problems of being both father and mother and felt unusually burdened with his responsibilities. One of his appreciative daughters, age 12, approached him eagerly after having laid on his dresser a rock that she had painted at school. On the flat portion of the rock, she had written, “Happiness is having a dad who cares.” This painted rock and its sublime message instantly and permanently lightened the burden of this father.

Something happened to me that I found of great help to me, and it may be of help to you. A memory was replayed in my mind. It was of a hotel ballroom in New Brunswick, New Jersey. We were in the New Jersey District, a single district that covered the whole state.
There was no building, no gym, no stake center, and so we traveled to a hotel ballroom for what must have been a district conference. I was sitting on a folding chair somewhere near the back, next to my mother. I must have been very young because I can remember putting my legs through the back of the chair and sitting aft instead of forward. But then I remember hearing something—a man’s voice from the pulpit. I turned around and looked. I still remember that the speaker was at a rostrum set on wooden risers. There was a tall window behind him. He was the priesthood visitor. I don’t know who he was, but he was tall and bald, and he seemed very old to me.
He must have been talking about the Savior or the Prophet Joseph, or both, because that was all that I remember much of hearing in those days. But as he spoke, I knew that what he said came from God and that it was true, and it burned in my heart. That was before scholars told me how hard it was to know. I just knew of certainty—I knew it was true.
You can have that same confidence, not of yourself, but from God. He lives, and He communicates with His children. This is the Church of Jesus Christ, and He leads it. No assignment in it need ever overwhelm you if you know that and listen for the Master’s voice.
Now I can hear the young deacons saying, “Well, now, that may be fine for you, but surely you don’t think that’s going to help me in my assignment down here in this deacons quorum.” Oh yes, I do. I was a deacons quorum adviser. A boy, the president, presided in the meetings, and I taught the lessons out of the scriptures and out of the manual.
Illustrations by Ben Sowards
I remember one boy in the quorum had to miss a few meetings, and so he sent his brother to the class with a tape recorder. His brother recorded our meeting and took it home. It happened more than once. When the deacon came back, I asked him why. I don’t remember his words, but I remember that it was clear he knew what I knew. God was trying to speak to that deacons quorum. The boy wasn’t anxious to have a tape recording to hear me; he was trying to hear God. He knew where to listen and how to hear.
He’d read the scriptures for us in class, and I knew he knew them and loved them. And so, even when I wasn’t teaching very well, by the power of the Holy Ghost and from knowing the Master’s voice in the scriptures, he could hear what he needed to hear. The memory of that black recorder with its tape turning will always remind me of the scripture which says, “He that hath ears to hear, let him hear” (Matthew 11:15).
I spoke at his funeral just a few years later. He lived about as many years as the Prophet Joseph had lived when he saw God the Father and Jesus Christ in the grove. My deacon hadn’t seen a vision, but he had heard the voice of God through His servants in a deacons quorum. He wanted to hear, he knew how, and he had the faith he could. Like the boy prophet Joseph, he knew the heavens were open.
You and I can take confidence in that assurance. If you and I will study the scriptures and pray and tune our hearts and ears, we will hear the voice of God in the voice of the people that He has sent to teach and guide us and direct us. You and I can take confidence in that assurance for the Church itself. However large the kingdom will grow (and it will fill the earth), you will not ever feel lost or forgotten, and you need never feel overwhelmed. God will call people to care about you and to teach you. And if you will listen and hear the voice of God, the kingdom will roll forth to its appointed place, ready for the coming of the Master.
None of us can see now all the wonders of technology and organization and buildings that God may give us; but you, just you, hearing the voice of God through your teacher and leader, will always be at its heart.
I testify that God loves His children and can tell us what is true. I pray that we all may have ears to hear, that He may guide us.

When I was a baby, I was baptized into the Orthodox Church of Ukraine. Growing up, the fact that I never made the choice to be baptized unsettled me. I started to think that religion didn’t allow me the freedom to choose for myself.
So I eventually stopped believing in God or anything spiritual.
One day, I was talking to my friend who was in Czechia doing a study program affiliated with The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. She invited me to do the program too. I wasn’t interested originally, but after a while, I decided to check it out.
I liked the school’s overall message of positivity, so I gave in and applied.
But I had no interest in the program’s focus on Jesus Christ.
Or so I thought.
This academy made me live differently than I was used to. First, I learned that I wasn’t allowed to drink coffee on campus!
My freedom was already slipping through my fingers.
Along with that, every morning started with a mandatory devotional. I would mostly sleep through them because I wasn’t interested. I was just there to learn and then live my life the way I wanted to.
But after a while, I noticed the people around me who were taking Jesus Christ’s teachings seriously. In Ukraine, many people only went to church a few times a year, but here, everyone was always talking about Christ. They were kind, good, and positive about life.
I started to wonder what my life would be like if I believed in Him too. Sometimes I even caught myself thinking, “What would Jesus’s perspective be?”
I felt confused. I told one of my friends at the academy about how I was feeling torn. He invited me to try praying about my feelings.
On one foggy morning, I decided to find a quiet place to meditate outside. I don’t know what came over me, but instead of meditating, I gave God the benefit of the doubt. I said, “OK, let’s talk.”
And I said the longest prayer of my life.
I just wanted to know if God and Jesus Christ were real.
As I was praying, the sun pierced through the fog. I felt its warmth on my skin and warmth in my heart. I felt like someone’s hand was on my shoulder, telling me They were right there with me.
The message was clear: They were real. They were aware of me.
I also realized something else.
Looking at those who were living the gospel of Jesus Christ, I didn’t see anybody being forced to do things they didn’t want to do or feeling restricted by their faith. I saw them choosing to live like Jesus Christ because they wanted to.
In the Book of Mormon, the prophet Moroni extends his promise through an invitation, not a command: “If ye shall ask with a sincere heart, with real intent, having faith in Christ, he will manifest the truth of it unto you, by the power of the Holy Ghost” (Moroni 10:4).
I realized I wanted to choose Him too.
From then on, I took learning about Jesus Christ seriously. I accepted missionary lessons. I studied the Book of Mormon. I prayed every day. I even got baptized! (My choice this time!) This was all so new to me, but I felt my heart changing.
I still have a lot to learn, and I am so imperfect, but I always say to myself, “Let’s just try to be like Christ today. Just keep trying.”
Elder Joaquin E. Costa of the Seventy beautifully taught: “At times, having faith in Jesus Christ may seem like something impossible, almost unattainable. We may think that coming unto Christ requires a strength, power, and perfection we don’t have, and we just can’t find the energy to do it all. But … faith in Jesus Christ is what gives us the energy to begin the journey.”
Jesus Christ can change us if we give Him the chance and keep trying. He doesn’t limit our freedom. Instead, He offers us even more through His Atonement: joy, healing, and hope.
We have the freedom to choose Him every day, and I’m grateful for the miracles my choice to follow Him brings into my life.
The author is from Kyiv, Ukraine.

They’ll tell you about the many years when the Saints met in a dilapidated old building high on a hillside. It was held to the mountain by a metal cable running right through the chapel. The members called it their iron rod. Once the roof caved in during Mutual, narrowly missing several people. Snakes sometimes found their way into one of the classrooms, and were gently carried out, giving rise to neighborhood rumors about strange LDS forms of worship. In the wintertime the members sat huddled in blankets listening to blanket-wrapped speakers and teachers. Each gospel truth came out in a puff of white mist. When it came time to move to a nicer building, the youth of the ward did their part with several fund-raising hot dog sales.

“So, Christopher, what did you do in Primary today?” Dad asked after church.
“We talked about being honest,” Christopher answered. “And we worked on the Articles of Faith. I have all but the thirteenth memorized.”
“Good for you!” Dad said. “Mom and I are really pleased that you’re learning them.” He looked at Sarah. “What did you do today, honey?”
“We ate crackers, and we sang songs, and I colored this picture for you.”
“It’s beautiful, Sarah. Thank you.” Dad pulled his keys out of his pocket, unlocked the car, and opened the door. “Get yourselves strapped in. Mom will be here soon.”
“Why do I have to wear a seat belt?” Christopher asked as he and Sarah buckled up.
Before Dad could answer, Sarah added, “Why do I have to sit in a car seat? I’m not a baby.”
Dad smiled. “There are two reasons. First, we use seat belts and car seats because they will protect us if we are in an accident. Second, we do it because it’s the law and we obey the law.”
“I know lots of people who don’t wear seat belts,” Christopher protested.
“Whether to wear a seat belt or not is each person’s own choice, but they have to live with the consequences,” Dad explained. “That’s part of Heavenly Father’s plan.”
“Oh, Dad,” Christopher laughed. “Heavenly Father doesn’t care about seat belts.”
“Or car seats,” Sarah chimed in.
“You don’t think so?” Dad asked. “Christopher, let me hear you say the twelfth article of faith.”
“‘We believe in being subject to kings, presidents, rulers, and magistrates, in obeying, honoring, and sustaining the law.’”
“Very good. Now, what does it mean?”
“It means that we believe it’s OK to have a president or a king or something like that—right?”
“That’s part of it,” Dad said, “but it also means that we believe in obeying the laws set by the president or king or whoever is in the government. And I believe that that applies to laws about seat belts and car seats.”
Just then Mom came. “Sorry to keep you waiting,” she said. “We can go now.”
“Not until you fasten your seat belt,” Sarah told her.
“It’s the law, you know,” Christopher added, “and we believe in obeying the law.”

Saúl T., age 11, Mexico
Once my brother and I traveled on a bus with our aunt to her home for a week’s holiday. My father gave us a blessing before we left. After a while, a man who was also on the bus asked to get off. While the driver’s assistant was helping him with his luggage, a whisper told me softly, “Your luggage has been stolen.” I looked out, and our luggage had indeed been taken off the bus and hidden in the grass. I cried out that it was our luggage and not the man’s. I know it was the Holy Ghost who spoke to me, and I was so grateful.

That is why things like visiting teaching are so important. Just before Mallory left for college, her mom asked her if she wanted to go visiting teaching. Mallory brushed off the offer by rolling her eyes and asking, “How hard could it be?” She admits that she didn’t take it very seriously, but now she understands what a wonderful support system it is. “It is so important for women to check up on each other and to support each other,” she says.

When Elder LeGrand Richards was getting along in years, he generally gave extemporaneous conference talks. As you know, we have some time restraints. There was concern as to how to notify him when his time was up. A little flashing light was put on the podium, and during one of his talks he said, “There’s a light here that keeps flashing.” The next conference they made the light red, but he just put his hand over it. So I might resort to some of that today. As we age, we get to the point where the teleprompter doesn’t work for us anymore; then the printers seem to be doing a poor job in printing the text; and then the ink doesn’t seem to be as good as it used to be either! But I am honored and grateful to be here with you.

Some people also stumble over statements made by Church leaders that have turned out to be incorrect, not about doctrine but in their personal opinions. For example, President Joseph Fielding Smith (1876–1972) wrote in the first edition of his book Answers to Gospel Questions, “It is doubtful that man will ever be permitted to make any instrument or ship to travel through space and visit the moon or any distant planet.”4

Later, following the Apollo moon landings and the death of President David O. McKay, Joseph Fielding Smith became President of the Church. At a press conference, a reporter asked him about this statement. President Smith replied, “Well, I was wrong, wasn’t I?”5

Although the hurricane was frightening when they were in the middle of it, most of the youth of Charleston learned something unique about themselves. They discovered that material possessions didn’t mean as much as they thought. Christina said, “When my dad went out to see if our house was still there, I thought, ‘It doesn’t matter because I know my whole family is all right.’ We would be glad if the house was okay, but if it wasn’t, we were still okay.”

We were looking forward to our fast and testimony meeting, but very bad chest pains at 4 am intervened. Having had heart problems, I recognised the problem I had. My wife also quickly recognised it by the look on my face and my constant wriggling in bed to find a comfortable position to ease the pain.
Like all wonderful wives, mothers, and sisters in the gospel, she paused, picked up her iPad, and said, “I am sending you a YouTube link. Please look at it.”
The YouTube link was “Slow Down” sung by Sissel Kyrkjebe at the 2019 Pioneer Day Concert with the Tabernacle Choir at Temple Square.1
It was a sweet and lovely piece of music with beautiful singing. At the end all 20,000 people in the Church’s Conference Center stood and applauded for a long time.
I have learned from my wife the calming effect of music. Although I have not been blessed with a singing voice and I am going a bit deaf, the sweet sounds touched me and said, “Slow down.”

In 1837, when the Church was struggling in Kirtland, Ohio, the Prophet Joseph Smith called Heber C. Kimball to go to England to open the work there. Brother Kimball exclaimed in self-humiliation: “O, Lord, I am a man of stammering tongue, and altogether unfit for such a work; how can I go to preach in that land, which is so famed throughout Christendom for learning, knowledge and piety … and to a people whose intelligence is proverbial!”
But then on reflection he added: “However, all these considerations did not deter me from the path of duty; the moment I understood the will of my Heavenly Father, I felt a determination to go at all hazards, believing that he would support me by his almighty power, and endow me with every qualification that I needed; and although my family was dear to me, and I should have to leave them almost destitute, I felt that the cause of truth, the Gospel of Christ, outweighed every other consideration.” (Orson F. Whitney, Life of Heber C. Kimball [Bookcraft, 1967], p. 104.)
He traveled over the sea and commenced the work in Preston, Lancashire, with the very devils of hell opposing him and his companions. And thus began a work in that part of the world that has blessed for good the lives of hundreds of thousands. The great conference recently held in Manchester was but the lengthened shadow of that fearful but faithful beginning.

While my wife served as our ward Young Women president, each summer she invited me to Young Women camp to help with outdoor activities. During a recent camp, I helped with a ropes course the young women walked while blindfolded.
Those walking the course had to hold on to a thin rope that stretched from one tree to another. After they reached each tree, they would feel around the tree’s trunk for the section of rope that led to the next tree. The course featured a few difficult areas, including a dead end. I helped participants if they stumbled or had trouble with one particularly tricky spot halfway through the course.
At that spot, the rope tied into a tree as usual. But the rope leading to the next tree was located a few feet above the rope coming into the tree. By that point in the course, the young women were used to merely reaching around each tree trunk to locate the next rope. When they struggled to find the higher rope, I told them, “Reach higher.”
Like others before her, a young woman named Emily soon became frustrated trying to find the higher rope. After about 20 seconds, I whispered, “Reach higher.” Emily soon found the rope, but then she paused.
Instead of proceeding, Emily turned and reached out for the young woman behind her, Gwen. Then Emily gently lifted Gwen’s hand to the higher rope so she would know where to find it. Emily then went on her way, and Gwen followed.
Emily’s helpful gesture was small, but it reminded me of our weighty responsibility as disciples of Jesus Christ to assist others along the covenant path, help God’s children reach higher, and “lift up the hands which hang down” (Doctrine and Covenants 81:5).