Gospel Story Finder

1. It was two days before Christmas in Sharon, Vermont. The sharp features of houses, trees, and fences were softened and rounded by a heavy blanket of snow.
2. Near midnight the scattered farm homes were dark—except for the Smith’s, where a single lamp shining through a bedroom window made a checkered pattern on the snow outside. Although it was Christmastime, a light that late at night was unusual.
3. Something wonderful had happened on that twenty-third night of December 1805; a baby who would become a prophet had been born.
4. The next morning when Alvin and Hyrum, oldest of the children, saw a neighbor coming to visit, they plowed through the drifts to meet him and shouted …
5. “We have a new baby!”
“It’s a boy!”
6. Trudging back to the house, the trio waved at little sister Sophronia who was watching them.
7. Father Smith came to the door and let them in …
8. Inside, the baby was sleeping peacefully in his mother’s arms.
9. “Well what do you know … a baby boy!”
“We’re so pleased! He’ll be named Joseph after his father.”
10. There were no telephones, just neighbors to pass the word along.
“Another boy for the Smiths.”
“They can always use another hand on the farm.”
11. Mother Lucy stroked the soft baby hair and even though he looked now like any other baby, she dreamed that someday he would be a leader, a mighty man.
12. But she could not have guessed that this tiny Joseph would restore the Church of Jesus Christ and that millions would follow his teachings.

Richy Judd, who recently returned from serving in the Ohio Cleveland Mission, says one of his most memorable experiences in the temple happened when he was the one baptizing and confirming.
“I went to the temple with the youth one more time before my mission, when I had already received my endowment,” he explains. “I actually got to do the baptizing and confirming, and it just really got me excited to go out there and baptize and confirm people. I wanted to find the families I was supposed to teach and bring into the Church.” And every time he baptized someone on his mission, “I’d remember being at the temple as a teenager,” he adds.
Richy says going to the temple reminded him how important it was to stay worthy. It motivated him to make right choices. When his bishop and stake president interviewed him before ordaining him an elder, Richy could confidently say that he was living all of the standards. “It made the transition a lot easier,” he says.

John Martin is one who had to wait until he was 18 to get baptized. Unlike most of these recent converts, however, some of John’s family—his dad, grandmother, and some cousins—are members of the Church. With their support and the help of two friends in the Danville Second Ward, Adam Broderick and Matt Peterson, John started going to church a couple years before he was baptized.
John ran on the cross-country team with Adam, who encouraged him to read the Book of Mormon. At school, John occasionally talked to Matt about the Church. One summer, they invited John to attend youth conference.
After the conference, John’s friends invited him to church. He went and kept going because “it was a good atmosphere, and I learned a lot,” John says. “They also talked about values I believed in, like not drinking or swearing.”
That summer John was working at a grocery store until 10 p.m. each night. Before and after work, he’d read the Book of Mormon for an hour or two. He thought, “There’s something to this book, because it gives me a good feeling.” During that summer, he and Matt would talk about verses they liked.
The day before school started, John began taking the discussions, with Matt there to support him. At the first discussion, the missionaries invited John to be baptized. Though he wanted to say yes, his mom objected. But he was allowed to attend church and seminary, where they studied the Book of Mormon that year.
The Book of Mormon is the foundation of John’s testimony. He says, “The missionaries told me that if I have a testimony of the Book of Mormon, everything else falls into place.” John has a strong testimony of the Book of Mormon, so he believes the Church is true and that Joseph Smith was a prophet.
A month after he turned 18, John was baptized. About 100 people were there, including his friends in the ward and relatives from as far away as Michigan.
In addition to the gift of the Holy Ghost, John has noticed some other blessings: “Since I’ve been interested in the Church, things have gone well, like school and family and deciding everyday things. Most things have improved.”

When the phone rang, Michael had no idea that the call would turn a good deed into a bad one.
Dad got up from the dinner table and answered the phone. When he returned a few minutes later, he looked excited. “Great news!” he shouted. “The company has called me back to work. I start next month.”
It was great news. Dad had been laid off from the steel mill nearly two years ago. They had lost their house and now lived in a small apartment. It had been a difficult adjustment.
“Congratulations, Dad,” Michael said.
Crystal jumped up from the table, threw her arms around Dad’s neck, and squealed, “Oh, Daddy!”
Michael hadn’t seen her do that for a long time.
Mom sat quietly, smiling.
“Donna,” Dad told her, “this spring we hunt for a new house.”
A tear slid down over Mom’s smile. She got up from the table and gave Dad a long, tender hug. “Sit down and finish your supper, Fred.” She put on a coat and took the storage shed key from the key rack. “Wait here,” she said, heading for the door. “I have a surprise for you.”
That’s when Michael realized that he might have a problem. He knew that Mom had gone after Dad’s company coat. Dad had been proud of the coat, an award for ten years’ service at the steel mill. But he had refused to wear it after the layoff. Mom had stored it for safe keeping, though—just in case.
Several weeks ago, while Michael and Crystal were doing the dishes, he had overheard his mom and dad talking. She had suggested that Dad wear his company coat since the weather was getting very cold.
“No,” Dad had said sternly. “I’ll freeze before I give the mill free advertising. Just get rid of it.”
The next day Michael had gone to the park as usual. He enjoyed seeing the pigeons and squirrels there on his way to school. He had paid little attention to the old man collecting empty bottles and cans from the garbage cans. But that particular morning he noticed the old man sniffing and sampling food scraps, stuffing what he liked into his pockets.
From then on, whenever he could, Michael smuggled biscuits or waffles or jam-covered toast from his own breakfast plate and left it in a neatly wrapped package for the man. Normally the man smiled gratefully when he found the food. It made Michael feel good inside.
But one morning the man reacted differently. He searched about the park with angry glances. When he saw Michael, he marched over, shook the wrapped breakfast in Michael’s face and yelled, “What is this! I don’t need charity from any young do-gooder like you.”
Mortified, Michael had run.
He hadn’t left anything for the man again until yesterday. The weather had turned extremely cold, and on his way to school, he saw the man again—wearing a thin, ripped jacket and huddling under the viaduct near the park. Michael ran home, scavenged two leftover chicken legs from the refrigerator, wrapped them in a napkin, then stuffed them into a pocket of Dad’s coat and hurried back to the park. He jammed the coat into the garbage can, trying to make it look discarded, then fled—it was almost time for the man to get there on his daily round.
Michael’s recollections were interrupted when his mother came back. “Fred, your company coat is gone! Did you throw it away?”
“No,” Dad said. “Didn’t you get rid of it?”
“No,” Mom said. “Just last week I had it out, thinking that maybe I could talk you into wearing it while it’s so very cold. But it had a big grease stain on it, so I put it back until I had a chance to take it to the cleaners.”
Michael looked worriedly at Crystal. She had seen him with the coat. But she just looked at the ceiling and didn’t say anything. He knew that he should tell what happened, but he was afraid to. I’ll wait to tell them tomorrow and not spoil Dad’s good news today, he rationalized.
The next day, when the family was returning home from church, Mom gasped and said, “Fred, that man is wearing your coat!”
Michael spun around to look.
Dad stared at the old man. “Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure,” Mom said. “See that grease stain?”
Michael blurted, “I think I’d better ex—”
“No need to concern yourself with this, son,” Dad interrupted. “Donna, go ahead with the kids up to the apartment. I’ll take care of this.”
“But, Dad, I want to—”
“It’s all right, Michael,” Dad cut him off again. “Go upstairs now.”
While Michael paced the floor, Mom sat watching out the window. Crystal’s gaze went back and forth from Michael to Mom as if she were watching a tennis match.
When Dad came in, he stared at Michael for a long moment. He didn’t hear Mom’s questions till she tugged at his sleeve and asked again, “Where’s your coat? Wouldn’t he give it back to you?”
“We were mistaken,” Dad said. “It’s not my coat.”
“Fred, I’d know that coat anywhere,” Mom said, astonished. “It’s your coat.”
“It’s his coat, Donna,” Dad said. “He said that his boy gave it to him.”
“Highly unlikely,” Mom said indignantly. “If he had a son, he wouldn’t let his father live on the streets and eat out of garbage cans.”
“It’s not really his son,” Dad replied. “The old man said that ‘his boy’ is like an angel, showing up just when he is most in need. When he’s starving, this boy shows up with food. When he was freezing, the boy brought the coat. Who could ask for more than that?” Dad said, gazing intently at Michael. “In my book, he’s a wonderful son.”
The next morning after breakfast, while Michael got ready for school, Mom said, “Michael, while you’re going by the park, would you care to dump those scraps for me? I’ve cleaned out the refrigerator, and the garbage man won’t come until Thursday.”
“OK, Mom,” Michael said. On the counter he found a nearly wrapped paper plate, piled with leftover food, sitting on Dad’s old work boots. “The boots, too?”
“The boots, too,” Mom said. “Your dad is getting a new pair.”
Now both Dad and Mom knew! And better still, they cared, too. Michael smiled to himself as he gathered up the plate full of “scraps.” Who had ever heard of warm scraps from the refrigerator?

Thirty-eight years ago my husband and I were married in the Salt Lake Temple by President Gordon B. Hinckley. The counsel and direction he gave us that day have become a beacon for our lives. When we left the temple as husband and wife, we went to a park near the temple grounds and recorded in a journal the words of wisdom we had received. He counseled us to always remember our prayers night and morning, to pray as a couple and as a family. He counseled us to always pay a full and honest tithing. He counseled us to read the scriptures daily and to apply the principles in our lives. And he counseled us to remain worthy. He said, “Always live in such a way that when you need the Lord’s blessings, you can call upon Him and receive them because you are worthy.” He said: “There will come times in your life when you will need immediate blessings. You will need to live in such a way that they will be granted—not out of mercy but because you are worthy.” I didn’t comprehend then what that meant, but in the 38 years that have followed, we have called upon our Father in Heaven for many “immediate blessings.” Daily, these holy habits and righteous routines have helped steady us on the path that leads back into our Father’s presence. And today I say, “We thank thee, O God, for a prophet to guide us in these latter days.”

My dear brothers and sisters, I desire more than anything this hour to bear witness, a personal witness, of the love of God for me, for you, and for all mankind. What man is sufficiently adequate to be able to express the depth of his gratitude in recognition of the love of God? How blessed I have been for so many years to be with you and to have found the pure love of Christ emanating from you. I am deeply indebted to you and to God.
The Lord said that charity is “the pure love of Christ,” that which is “most joyous to the soul,” “the greatest of all the gifts of God,” “perfect” and “everlasting.”
As difficult as charity is to describe, it is rather easily recognized in the lives of those who possess it.
An aged, crippled grandmother who subscribes to an afternoon newspaper, knowing it will bring her delivery-boy grandson to her home every day where, at her knee, she teaches him to pray.
A mother who, in hard economic times and scarcity of meat, seems to savor only chicken wings, to the puzzlement of all.
A man who suffers an undeserved public chastisement, but humbly receives it anyway.
Is not the common thread in these examples charity, a selflessness, a not seeking for anything in return? All of our divine attributes seem to flow from and be encompassed by this one. All men may have the gift of love, but charity is bestowed only upon those who are true followers of Christ.
The very power of God is found in His attributes of godliness. The power of the priesthood is maintained by these attributes. We seek these attributes, especially charity, the pure love of Christ.
Yet there stands the devil, the destroyer of this love, replacing it with anger and hostility. My friend William felt that way: hostile. It seemed that whatever happened, it was the Lord’s fault—an illness, a death, a wayward child, a personal weakness, an “unanswered” prayer—all of which hardened his heart. His inner anger, which could flare up in but a moment, was directed toward God, his fellowman, and himself. From his heart emanated unbelief, stubbornness, pride, contention, and a loss of hope, love, and direction. He was miserable!
These destroyers of peace blinded William to God’s feelings for him. He could neither discover nor feel God’s love. He did not see, especially in those dark moments, that God was richly blessing him even still. Instead, he returned anger for love. Have we not all felt that at times? Even when we have merited love the least, He has loved us the most. Truly, He loves us first.

A friend shared an experience she had as a small child in a branch of the Church where she was the only child of Primary age. Week after week, her mother held home Primary on the same day and at the same time. She eagerly anticipated sitting on the sofa with her mother and learning the gospel of Jesus Christ and how to live it. Minutes carefully recorded by her mother in a notebook revealed the home Primary meetings always included prayers, songs, and a lesson.

The desire of this mother’s heart was for her little daughter to develop a testimony of Jesus Christ and to feel the joy of the gospel. She provided her daughter with what had been so important to her as a child. This little girl, now a woman of faith and covenant, looks back on her childhood with deep appreciation for her mother’s enthusiasm and commitment to teach her of the Savior. This mother’s diligence became her daughter’s delight—with an exclamation mark.

Prayer, by Walter Rane
I never prayed so much as when one of my sons reached the age of 17. He started having some doubts about the gospel, and at times he was rebellious and didn’t want to listen. My husband and I always tried to insist that he attend church, but many times he refused. We held our family home evenings, read the scriptures, and prayed as a family, but he often chose not to participate. I can’t remember how many times I knelt down to ask our Heavenly Father to touch his heart and help him continue along the right path.
Over the next two years, he had many ups and downs. Church leaders supported me and they spoke with him, but nothing seemed to be of use. Eventually he left home.
All that time I never stopped praying for him. At times my husband, tired of it, said to me, “Leave him. He has his moral agency.” But my reply was always the same: “No. I will not lose hope.”
After a time, our son came to our home. He asked my forgiveness and told me, “Mama, I want to come home.” My husband and I were wary, but after discussing it, we yielded. After he returned home, we saw his firm determination to change. He became active in the Church and participated in activities. He was later called to serve as a Primary teacher, an experience that was quite special for him.
One day I hung up a Poster from the Liahona that said, “Don’t let worries or doubts keep you from serving a full-time mission.”1 It hung in his bedroom for a couple of months, when suddenly one day he said to me, “Mama, I want to go on a mission at the end of the year.” It was marvelous. My husband and I cried and cried, and of course we supported him as he prepared to go to the temple and serve a mission. I continued praying all the time, now thanking Heavenly Father for having touched the heart of my son.
After some time on his mission, in one of his letters he said to me, “Mama, I have a great testimony of prayer, thanks to you. I know that you were praying the whole time for me, and now I am on a mission because the Lord touched my heart, not because I am all that good. Thanks, Mama. Share with the sisters this principle that changed my life.”
Now my son has served a faithful mission and participated in a marvelous work. I am very thankful to Heavenly Father for listening to my prayers all these years and for touching the heart of my son, which caused him to return to the right path.

Just Not the Same Cleo, Gertrude, and Mirabelle always had to have exactly the same thing, whether it was the front seat of the car, the top bed bunk, the biggest piece of apple, or the same number of sprinkles on their bowls of ice cream. When they wanted a puppy, Mama tells them that they can have three identical stuffed-animal dogs, or they can share one puppy. Guess what they decided!Addie Lacoe3–7 years

Two missionaries teaching an older couple in their home in Peru were interrupted by the arrival of the couple’s son, his wife, and three children. The elders explained who they were and what they were doing. The son was suspicious of the missionaries, resulting in an awkward moment. The junior companion prayed silently, “Heavenly Father, what do we do?” The impression came to sing. They sang “I Am a Child of God.” The Spirit touched the hearts of this family of five. Instead of two converts, all seven became members, influenced initially by a hymn.

When I was a senior in high school, I was on the varsity cheerleading team. Every day at practice, the girls on my cheerleading team talked about what was going on in a daytime soap opera on television. I had never watched it and knew that it was a show with low morals. However, I felt left out every day at practice as the girls excitedly talked about the show. The Spirit whispered to me not to watch it, but I desperately wanted to be included in their conversations, so I started watching.

It didn’t seem so bad to me. I rationalized that it wouldn’t affect me. I knew that I wasn’t going to do the bad things that I saw the characters do. I got hooked and watched the show every day. When I went to Brigham Young University, I arranged my class schedule so I could watch it every day. I never missed an episode.

I got married and had my first baby. I put him down for a nap every day during the show so I could watch it.

As the years passed, the Spirit whispered to me many times that I should stop watching that show. But I refused. I was so involved with the characters and their lives. It was my way to relax, so I continued watching. I was convinced that it was not hurting me.

Nineteen years after high school, I was still watching the show every day. At general conference, Sister Sheri L. Dew, then Second Counselor in the Relief Society General Presidency, was speaking about walking away from the world and things that are unholy. She then said, “I invite each of us to identify at least one thing we can do to come out of the world and come closer to Christ.”2

When she extended that invitation, I felt a tremendous outpouring of the Spirit, and I heard the words in my mind, “You have to stop watching that show now!” It was so powerful; it was like a smack to my face. I knew in that instant that I could not ignore this prompting any longer. I felt an urgency to never watch the show again. I realized that not one character was doing anything virtuous or honorable. I was inviting trash into my life every day. I committed to the Lord, right then and there, that I would never watch it again.

It was not easy! Nineteen years of habit and addiction was hard to break. Monday came and it was time for the show to start. I walked over to the TV remote. I wanted so badly to turn it on. I remembered my commitment to the Lord that I wouldn’t watch it ever again. I walked away.

Then I thought about my favorite character and wondered what might happen to her and walked back to the remote. I knew I needed God’s help, so I got down on my knees and prayed for strength to be able not to watch it. I thought of my promise to Heavenly Father, and I walked out of the room. I chose to follow the promptings I had received from the Holy Ghost and to honor my commitment.

That scenario repeated itself every day that week and into the next. Every day, I knelt and prayed and pleaded for strength to not watch, and every day I chose Jesus Christ and walked away from a television show that was immoral. I received strength to overcome from the power the Savior offers through His Atonement.

After some time of doing this, a miracle occurred. I completely lost all desire to watch the show, after watching it daily for 19 years. It was amazing! I also lost the desire to watch all the questionable shows I had been watching, so I stopped completely.

My conscience became sharpened, and I recognized evil for what it was. I honestly wanted to avoid any appearance of evil (see 1 Thessalonians 5:22). I was not desensitized to it anymore.

But the most amazing thing that happened was that I felt the influence of the Holy Ghost magnified in my life beyond anything I had experienced before. My spiritual progress accelerated tremendously! All those years I had thought I enjoyed the companionship of the Holy Ghost, but I had been experiencing only a sliver of what I might have. I realized that watching those shows all that time did affect me. I had missed so many years of having a stronger companionship with God. When I used my agency to give up unholy, worldly things, the Spirit was free to come to me in much greater measure, and what an incredible difference that has made in my life to strengthen, comfort, and guide me.

We tend to hold on so tightly to things of no worth—things that actually hold the door closed to the blessings that God wants to bring into our lives. Why do we trade the powerful, enabling influence of the Spirit for the fun or the popular? Maybe watching a television show is not a big deal or a huge sin, but it kept me from having the Holy Ghost in great abundance in my life and slowed down my spiritual progression.

I am so thankful that the Lord didn’t give up on me but patiently kept asking me to give up something unholy so He could fill my life to overflowing with His influence.

Another example of the hand of the Lord in this work occurred before Thanksgiving in 2018. Diann Ross felt prompted to go to the grocery store. While there, she noticed an African family struggling with the ATM machine. The Rusimuka and Lwakihugo families had recently immigrated from a refugee camp in Burundi. Sister Ross helped the families with their groceries and invited them to Thanksgiving dinner. The Rosses, the Lwakihugos, and the Rusimukas soon became close friends.

A good example of compassion and service making a difference is the example of Don and Marian Summers. While serving in England, they were asked to serve the last six months of their mission in the Swindon Branch to teach and assist in activating members. For 80 years Swindon had been a branch with a faithful few and with many good members becoming less active.
Don and Marian wrote: “Our first visit to Swindon Branch was a bit disheartening as we met with the Saints in a cold, rented hall. The congregation numbered 17, including President and Sister Hales and 4 missionaries. Still wearing our winter coats, we all huddled around a small, inadequate heater while we listened to a Sunday School lesson.”
The letter continued: “A branch member approached me one day: ‘Elder Summers, can I give you a bit of advice? Never mention the word tithing to the Swindon members; they really don’t believe in it, and all you will do is upset them.’”
Brother Summers said: “We did teach tithing and all the other gospel principles. With example and the encouragement of a branch president, there was a change of heart, and faith and activity started to increase. The membership records were completely updated as we visited every member’s home. When the leaders started caring, the members began to respond, and a whole new spirit pervaded the branch. The members became excited again about the gospel and helping one another. …
“One young couple had a difficult adjustment to make as their customs, manners, and dress were different. They became offended at suggestions for changes. The couple twice wrote to the bishop [since by then it was a ward] and asked to have their names removed from the Church records. In the last letter they forbade any of the members to visit them, so [we] went to the florist and purchased a beautiful plant of chrysanthemums and had it delivered to the young couple. It was a simple note: ‘We love you; we miss you; we need you. Please come back.’ Signed, Swindon Ward.
“The next Sunday was fast and testimony meeting and our last Sunday in Swindon. There were 103 members in attendance, compared to 17 six months before. The young couple was there, and in bearing his testimony, the husband thanked the Swindon Ward for not giving up on them.”

One day when I was in the first grade, I started to feel sick. I remember limping as I walked home from Primary. Before long, my head began to ache terribly and my throat hurt, as well.
At first, the doctor thought that I had strep throat, but even though I took medicine, I continued to get worse. Finally my parents took me to another doctor. He told them that I needed to go to the hospital in Salt Lake City right away.
I was frightened. I thought that I might have polio. Everyone knew about polio in those days. Many people died from it. Other people were crippled for life. Every parent and child feared it.
We arrived at the hospital in the middle of the night. A nurse met us at the door and whisked me away from my parents. She took me into a room where they did a lot of medical procedures; some of them were very painful. Finally they put me into a large crib in an isolation ward. I did have polio, and nobody, not even my parents, was allowed to see me. I was all alone and very frightened.
The only thing I had to rely on was my faith in Heavenly Father. I remember kneeling in that crib and praying to Him, asking for healing and comfort. My parents had taught me at a young age to pray, and I knew that He would hear me. I also thought often of the priesthood blessing my father and my grandfather had given me before leaving home. I knew that my family would be praying for me every morning and every night, and that gave me comfort and peace as well.
I was in the hospital for two very long weeks and had months of therapy, but I was healed. To this day, I think back on that time and feel strong gratitude and love for Heavenly Father, who I know blessed me.

Herman lives next door to me. Sometimes he’s a pest, but most of the time we’re buddies. Right now he’s learning to ride a two-wheeler, and I’m helping him. He’s not very good yet, though.
Tonight Herman’s going to sleep over at my house. He’s never done that before. All day he’s been asking, “Is it time yet?”
“Not yet,” I say. “Not till suppertime.”
Herman stands on his head by a tree, and his glasses fall off. “What’s your mother making for supper?”
“Spinach soufflé.”
Down come Herman’s feet. “Spinach what? I’m not coming!”
“Only kidding,” I tell Herman while he sits up and puts his glasses back on. Quickly I stand on my head and put my feet against the tree. Upside down I say, “We’re having macaroni and cheese and hot dogs.”
“OK!” He pushes his bike to the driveway and tries to get on. I hold it for him and give him a little push. The bike falls over. Herman gets up, rubbing his hands together, and says, “Ouch!”
I take the bike and buzz down the driveway and up the sidewalk. On the way back I fold my arms and yell, “Look, Hermie, no hands!”
After a while Herman goes into his house and comes out with a bowl of goldfish. “They’re coming over, too,” he says. “They’re used to being with me.”
We take the fish up to my room and find a place for them on the bookshelf.
Later Herman brings over the velvet snake he likes to sleep with. Any other kid would have a teddy bear, but not Herman. The snake is green and has a thin spot in the middle where Herman bends it around his neck. He takes the snake up to my room and hangs it on the back of a chair.
Then he brings three books. One is about creatures from outer space, one is about farm animals, and the other is about spiders. I know I’ll have to read them to him before he goes to sleep.
He also brings a jar with a caterpillar in it.
My mother sees the jar. “Hermie,” she says, “wouldn’t your caterpillar be happier at home?”
“No,” answers Herman, “he likes to be by the fish.”
My mother raises her eyebrows and shrugs her shoulders. “Be sure that lid’s on tight,” she says to me.
I move some of my stuff off the shelf to make room for the jar.
Just before supper Herman comes over carrying his pajamas and toothbrush. His face is shiny from a good scrubbing, and his hair is still wet. He stands in the doorway and asks, “Please, Mrs. Ashton, can Moses come too?” Moses is Herman’s dog.
My mother looks first at my father, then at me, then back at Herman. “Why not?” she says. “After supper, OK?”
“Oh, boy!” says Herman. “Thanks, Mrs. Ashton.”
Finally it’s time to go to bed. Moses is curled up by the bed. Herman says good night to him. Then he says good night to the fish and to the caterpillar. He climbs into bed with the snake around his neck. The first book he chooses is the space one.
I start to read, but Herman doesn’t listen. He squirms. “I need my own pillow,” he explains. “I’ll be back in just a minute.” Herman’s pillow looks like a giant cheeseburger.
While I wait for him, I finish reading the space book and pick up the spider one. There’s lots of stuff in there I don’t know. When Herman’s not back by the time I finish the farm animal book, I go to check on him.
His mother is surprised to see me. She hadn’t heard Herman come in. We go up to his room, and there’s Hermie, sound asleep on his giant cheese-burger!
“Maybe another time,” his mother says, covering Herman with a blanket.
“Sure,” I say. I’m disappointed. Hermie’s a neat kid. Tomorrow I’ll really help him with his bike, and I won’t even show off.

One day at the public pool, Arlene* brought one of her cousins, who was slightly disabled. The cousin came up to me and asked, “Do you want to play?” I played with her and then asked her if she wanted to go to the deep end. She said, “I can’t go past four feet because I can’t swim.” So I taught her to swim. I went home that day, knowing that I had done something nice for Arlene’s cousin and that she also went home feeling good because she had learned to swim.

The first time I experienced the power of the Book of Mormon in the life of a convert, I was serving as a missionary in France. My British companion and I spent much of our time knocking on doors—with few results. One afternoon a distinguished, middle-aged lady opened her door. She had little time for us that day, but we left a Book of Mormon and made an appointment to return two days later. When we returned to her apartment and the door opened, I felt a powerful spiritual feeling. She was eager to see us. She had been reading the book and had experienced the powerful feelings of the Holy Ghost. She spoke of her joy and peace. She was prepared for whatever course we as the Lord’s servants would invite her to take.
It was in the cold of February. Our city had no chapel, so we installed a portable baptismal font in an old wooden barn. The steam from the warm water filled the air. The humble members of the branch surrounded the portable font as this sister climbed up the stairs and then down into the water to be baptized a member of the Church.
The peace expressed by this wonderful sister echoed the words of Parley P. Pratt (1807–57) as he spoke about his first encounter with the Book of Mormon: “As I read, the spirit of the Lord was upon me, and I knew and comprehended that the book was true, as plainly and manifestly as a man comprehends and knows that he exists.”

In November 1999, my brother David and I were practicing our volleyball serves on a hill in our front yard. My six-year-old brother, Luc (Luke), was leaning on the screen in the window above the garage. He fell through it 13? (4 m) to the driveway. I ran in and told my mom and dad, and they came out and picked him up. No one knew he had landed on his head.
My mom took him to the hospital and called my dad half an hour later, saying that Luc’s skull was practically shattered. He was life-flighted to Primary Children’s Hospital in Salt Lake City, Utah. He was in a coma for three days. The doctors said that he had a huge blood clot behind his right eye. He couldn’t see for a couple of days. The doctors also said that he’d be in the hospital for two months.
While Luc was in the coma, our ward fasted and prayed for him. We fasted after sacrament meeting on Sunday until Monday night. People we knew in India and France did, too, even though most of them weren’t members of the Church. Luc woke up from his coma and got better and so did some other kids in the hospital. Luc was known as the “Miracle Boy.” He was in the hospital for only a week!
He’s OK now but has to go for a couple of checkups. I’m so glad that he survived his accident, and I know that fasting and prayer really work.

Choosing to be modest has always been easy for me. I grew up in a house where standards were high, and when I married in the temple, my garments reminded me to dress modestly.
Swimsuit shopping, however, turned out to be a struggle for me. Without the guideline of garments, I found myself wanting to wear swimsuits that I would be ashamed for anyone I knew to see me in.
My husband and I were planning a cruise for just the two of us. I thought the cruise would be the perfect time to wear such a swimsuit. I wouldn’t see anyone I knew, and therefore I wouldn’t feel guilty. No one would know I was a Latter-day Saint, and all the other women on the ship would most likely be dressed like me.
Because I was already married, there was no real reason for me to have a modest swimsuit, or so I thought. Modesty guidelines were just for teenagers, right? But I had a nagging feeling in the back of my mind. I had been married in the temple. I had accomplished my goal to stay worthy and find a worthy husband. And I wanted to continue choosing the right.
I decided to look up “Dress and Appearance” in For the Strength of Youth. It had been a while since I had reviewed the booklet, so the words jumped out at me: “Through your dress and appearance, you can show that you know how precious your body is. You can show that you are a disciple of Jesus Christ and that you love Him” ([2011], 6).
Those words echoed in my head. Was I a disciple of Jesus Christ? Was I willing to be true at all times and in all places (see Mosiah 18:9)?
Since then I have decided that even in my late 20s, I must maintain the principles I learned in my youth. Those principles definitely still apply to me. I want to be a good example to my children. I want them to know that I am a disciple of Jesus Christ.

Salmon, Idaho, may have the friendliest fireplugs of any town in the U.S. As a community service project the Aaronic Priesthood youths and Young Women of the Salmon Idaho Stake volunteered to paint city fireplugs a shiny yellow with red caps. Once they got started the young people decided to add a little zest to the project, and several fireplugs wound up with “Have a Happy Day,” “Smile,” or “Howdy Do” painted on them.
Wayne Van Hoose, president of the Salmon First Ward youth committee, said the young volunteers, ages 12 to 17, divided into groups for the project, with the city furnishing the paint and the young people the brushes and the elbow grease.