Gospel Story Finder

Carter walked into the kitchen with his friend Devin and opened the fridge. He pulled out two sodas and looked around. Where was Mom? Normally she was home when he got back from school. But her car wasn’t in the garage.
He handed a soda to Devin.
“Thanks,” Devin said. “I’m so mad about the science project. Only one week to finish the whole thing!”
Carter took a sip. “I know! It’s not fair!” The project their teacher had assigned that afternoon was going to take forever.
Devin said, “Now we probably can’t go on our bike ride on Saturday.”
Suddenly a swear word jumped out of Carter’s mouth. He hadn’t even thought to say it.
Devin looked surprised, but not upset. They’d both started swearing at school during recess a few weeks ago. But they’d never used bad words in their homes before.
“My thoughts exactly,” Devin said. Then he added a swear word of his own. They laughed.
Carter glanced around the empty kitchen. Mom wasn’t home, and Dad was still at work. It felt … kind of exciting to say that word in his own kitchen. But he also felt uneasy for some reason.
“It’s messed up,” Devin said. “He should’ve given us a month.”
“Totally,” Carter said. He took another drink of his soda. He drank too quickly and the carbonation burned down his throat. “And you know what else?”
This time Carter strung together a sentence with three swear words in it that made Devin laugh so hard he almost spilled his soda. Carter laughed with him.
“What!?”
Carter felt like a bolt of lightning cut through him as he heard Mom’s voice. He turned and saw her standing in the doorway to the garage. He hadn’t heard the door open.
Mom’s face showed how much his words had hurt her. Carter felt awful inside. He wanted to crawl inside a deep, deep hole.
“Uh, I gotta go.” Devin grabbed his backpack and hurried out the front door.
“Carter,” Mom finally said. She wasn’t yelling. He almost wished she were—that would be better than the disappointment in her voice. “We’ll talk about this later.”
She set her bags on the table and walked upstairs. Carter cringed. She was too upset to talk.
Carter finished his soda quickly and went out to the backyard. He plopped down on a lawn chair.
A few weeks ago he had decided it wasn’t that big a deal to use bad words once in a while—as long as he didn’t say them at home or at church. But only a few minutes ago that swear word had popped out before he’d even thought about it.
Carter already knew what he wanted to say to Mom. He wanted to tell her he was sorry and ask for her forgiveness.
Swearing wasn’t worth it, Carter decided. Not at home, and not at school. Not if it made him feel like this. Not if it upset Mom that way.
He prayed to Heavenly Father and asked for forgiveness. Carter promised right then and there. He was done swearing. Not ever again.
He felt a little tug of peace in his heart as soon as he made that choice. That was the Holy Ghost, he realized, telling him he was making the right decision.

Years ago, I served as a local Church leader. One of our young men, Danny, was outstanding in every way. He was obedient, kind, good, and had a great heart. However, when he graduated from high school, he started to associate with a rough crowd. He got involved in drugs, specifically methamphetamine, and traveled down the slippery slope of addiction and destruction. Before long, his appearance completely changed. He was hardly recognizable. The most significant change was in his eyes—the light in his eyes had dimmed. Several times I reached out to him, but to no avail. He wasn’t interested.
It was difficult to see this incredible young man suffer and live a life that was not him! He was capable of so much more.
Then one day, his miracle began.
He attended a sacrament meeting where his younger brother shared his testimony prior to departing for a mission. During the meeting, Danny felt something he had not felt for a long time. He felt the love of the Lord. He finally had hope.
Although he had a desire to change, it was difficult for Danny. His addictions and the accompanying guilt were almost more than he could bear.
One particular afternoon, when I was out mowing our lawn, Danny pulled up in his car unannounced. He was struggling terribly. I turned off the mower, and we sat down together in the shade of the front porch. It was then that he shared the feelings of his heart. He truly wanted to come back. However, turning away from his addictions and lifestyle was extremely difficult. Adding to this, he felt so guilty, so ashamed for falling so far. He asked, “Can I really be forgiven? Is there really a way back?”
After he poured out his heart with these concerns, we read Alma chapter 36 together:
“Yea, I did remember all my sins and iniquities. …
“Yea, … the very thought of coming into the presence of my God did rack my soul with inexpressible horror” (verses 13–14).
After those verses, Danny said, “This is exactly how I feel!”
We continued:
“While I was harrowed up by the memory of my many sins, behold, I remembered also to have heard my father prophesy unto the people concerning the coming of one Jesus Christ, a Son of God, to atone for the sins of the world. …
“And oh, what joy, and what marvelous light I did behold” (verses 17, 20).
As we read these passages, tears began to flow. Alma’s joy was the joy he had been searching for!
We discussed that Alma had been exceptionally wicked. However, once he repented, he never looked back. He became a devoted disciple of Jesus Christ. He became a prophet! Danny’s eyes widened. “A prophet?” he said.
I simply responded, “Yes, a prophet. No pressure on you!”
We discussed that while his sins did not rise to the level of Alma’s, the same promise of complete and perfect forgiveness is made to everyone—in and through the infinite Atonement of Jesus Christ.
Danny now understood. He knew what he needed to do: he needed to begin his journey by trusting in the Lord and forgiving himself!
Danny’s mighty change of heart was nothing short of a miracle. Over time, his countenance changed, and the brightness in his eyes returned. He became temple worthy! He was finally back!
After several months, I asked Danny if he would like to submit an application to serve a full-time mission. His response was one of shock and awe.
He said, “I would love to serve a mission, but you know where I have been and the things I have done! I thought I was disqualified.”
I responded, “You may be right. However, there is nothing precluding us from making a request. If you are excused, at least you will know that you expressed a sincere desire to serve the Lord.” His eyes lit up. He was thrilled with this idea. To him this was a long shot, but it was a chance he was willing to take.
A few weeks later, and to his amazement, another miracle occurred. Danny received a call to serve a full-time mission.
A few months after Danny arrived in the mission field, I received a telephone call. His president simply said, “What is it with this young man? He is the most incredible missionary I have ever seen!” You see, this president had received a modern-day Alma the Younger.
Two years later, Danny returned home with honor, having served the Lord with all his heart, might, mind, and strength.
Following his missionary report in sacrament meeting, I returned home, only to hear a knock at the front door. There stood Danny with tears welling in his eyes. He said, “Can we talk for a minute?” We went outside to the same porch step.
He said, “President, do you think I have truly been forgiven?”
Now my tears accompanied his. Before me stood a devoted disciple of Jesus Christ who had given his all to teaching and testifying about the Savior. He was the embodiment of the healing and strengthening power of the Savior’s Atonement.
I said, “Danny! Have you looked in the mirror? Have you seen your eyes? They are filled with light, and you are beaming with the Spirit of the Lord. Of course you have been forgiven! You are amazing! Now what you need to do is move forward with your life. Don’t look back! Look forward with faith to the next ordinance.”
Danny’s miracle continues today. He married in the temple and returned to school, where he received a master’s degree. He continues to serve the Lord with honor and dignity in his callings. More important, he has become an incredible husband and a faithful father. He is a devoted disciple of Jesus Christ.

Another homemaking art that was apparent was Becky’s ability to save and use money wisely.
Beginning in her early teens she began working at such part-time jobs as teaching piano lessons, tutoring second graders in reading, and selling chicken at a drive-in restaurant. Through her savings she was able to purchase a sewing machine, cookware set, typewriter, silverware service for eight, and a set of fine dishes.
“I never bought anything that wasn’t on sale and that I wasn’t sure I really wanted. I was in no hurry, so I could take my time and find the best buy. When I became engaged, I realized that if I had waited to buy these things until I was ready to set up housekeeping, I would probably have had to pay whatever price was asked.”

While in South America, I was touched by the sacrifices made by many of our Saints to have their families sealed to them for eternity. I shed tears of gratitude as I heard some of the experiences recounted.
One of our stake presidents brought his family to the Sao Paulo Temple from Lima, Peru, normally a nine-day bus ride, but, because of bus strikes and other problems, the journey took them fourteen days of travel.
Upon their arrival at Sao Paulo, the family went to the first session they could, and the sealing ceremony was performed. Then they immediately prepared to leave. The temple president asked them if they were staying the night. The father replied that the family had to leave immediately since they did not have sufficient money for lodging and food. He said they would have to travel several days without food as it was. The family was then persuaded to stay the night and have breakfast before their departure. That represents the spirit of sacrifice of many of our Saints worldwide.

Jason Smyth, a member of the Londonderry Branch, Belfast Northern Ireland Stake, never dreamed of becoming a star athlete. In fact, the Northern Ireland teen always considered himself an average sportsman, perhaps even more so because he suffers from Stargardt’s disease, a hereditary condition that has destroyed all but his peripheral vision.
However, at 16, Jason’s hidden talent emerged and a PE teacher encouraged him to attend a sprinting training day. Eighteen months later Jason qualified for the Junior Commonwealth Games in Australia. The competition would be a turning point in his life.
“It was there I began to understand and realize what this was all about. For training so little and to qualify already, I just kind of thought I would like to make a career out of this,” says Jason.
Now, three years later, Jason has made quite the career. He has won the 100m and 200m races at both the 2006 Paralympic Games in Holland and the 2005 European Paralympic Championships in Finland, setting record times for both races in each competition. He also holds the Junior Irish record times for the 60m (6.91 seconds) and the 100m (10.61 seconds) races.
Despite such success, as a 19-year-old, Jason heeded the prophet’s counsel and applied to serve a mission. But, because of his visual impairment, his application was denied. Jason graciously accepted the decision and also accepted a new challenge: to find other ways to serve.
Jason’s success as a sprinter has opened less conventional forms of missionary work.
“I now have an opportunity to be a missionary in a different way—through sprinting,” says Jason.
He has found that rather than knocking on doors, he can bring the Church out of obscurity by sprinting past finish lines and setting new records, all the while setting a good example.
Already, Jason’s success has created a buzz as others find out about the Mormon sprinter who doesn’t train on Sundays and also abstains from tea, coffee, alcohol, and drugs.
His success has made him the subject of several media-related publications—including Ireland’s biggest newspaper. Many mention his Mormon lifestyle.
“When they get to know me, they know the way I live my life is different,” Jason says.
Jason competes in both outdoor and indoor competitions, so he trains virtually all year. His practices usually last up to two hours and are twice a day.
Then there’s the travel. In the last three years, Jason has visited countries such as China, Finland, Portugal, Sweden, Holland, and Hungary. Last spring he spent time training at Brigham Young University in Provo, Utah.
With increased success, doors continue to open for Jason. Last year he received an Irish Sport Grant, which enabled him to employ a full-time coach and secure sponsorships.
With each success, Jason has to give more time and energy. He understands what is expected of him. “It is my career,” he says.
Though training and racing keep him busy, Jason makes sure that his free time is reserved for his family, which Jason says is the root of his success.
“My family had a big part to play in the start. They encouraged me to keep up sprinting and see how I do. They take me to training and watch me race,” he says.
In addition, Jason also finds strength in the Church.
Although the Church is relatively small in Northern Ireland, Jason has inherited Irish pioneer heritage. His grandparents were baptized in Ireland in 1957, and his parents have remained strong in their membership.
Jason continues to build on this heritage. Even though he was the only member in his school, he graduated from seminary through independent study. He also finds time to serve as a branch missionary.
He credits his strong testimony of the gospel to his family, especially his parents.
“My parents taught us by example the way to live our lives,” he says.
Jason also mentioned that attending Church activities and socializing with friends who lived the same principles are another source of strength for him. “People at my branch are very supportive of me,” Jason says. “They like seeing me do well.”
As for his future, Jason’s long-term goal is to qualify for the London Olympics in 2012. But for now, Jason just wants to secure a second consecutive championship at the 2008 Paralympics in Beijing and to qualify for the Under-23 Championships in Hungary this July.
Jason says that one of his greatest achievements so far is making a life out of something he enjoys. He has learned to be self-sufficient and feels he has matured through his experiences.
“Being able to travel the world and getting paid to run—for me, nothing is better,” he says.
For Jason, the experience has been a powerful lesson that with a lot of hard work and dedication, anyone can achieve their dreams. “You just have to work hard if you really want it—and enjoy it as well,” he says.
For more on serving despite challenges, read “Determined to Serve,” New Era, Mar. 2007, p. 48.

I have felt this same kind of fear many times. I felt it when I knocked on the door of a sullen and resentful woman who didn’t want visiting teachers, but whose unhappy life cried out for the healing power of the gospel. I felt it with a neighbor who had had such a bad experience in his family life that the joy of the gospel was hidden from him. I felt it when a member of my own family suffered prolonged physical pain.
I began to have the same kinds of experiences with other people. The lady to whom I was assigned to be a visiting teacher became comfortable enough to go with me to church. My neighbor who had had a bad family life enjoyed being with me and my friends so much that he began resisting the negative influences of his family.
My efforts to love others as the Savior loved have not always been successful. I am not strong enough alone to withstand the pressures and frustrations of my own and others’ imperfections. We cannot bless others if we rely solely on our own strength, or even if we ask God to help us use our own strength. We must allow the love of Christ to fill our souls. Then we become instruments of a power stronger and higher than anything we can become on our own.
“Abide in me,” the Savior taught, “and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit of itself, except it abide in the vine, no more can ye, except ye abide in me.
“I am the vine, ye are the branches: he that abideth in me, and I in him, the same bringeth forth much fruit; for without me ye can do nothing.” (John 15:4–5.)
When I read this passage, I like to imagine a branch being broken off of a grapevine. The branch quickly withers and dies. It is no more able to bear fruit, for it cannot live without the life-sustaining vine. In the same way, if we do not draw our life from Christ, even though we may not see anything happen immediately, we are dying spiritually as surely as the branch died physically. We are not able to bring forth the fruit of service, “for without me ye can do nothing.” But if we do abide in Christ and allow his life-giving love and strength to fill our souls, we have a great promise. Christ continued:
“If ye abide in me, and my words abide in you, ye shall ask what ye will, and it shall be done unto you.
“Herein is my Father glorified, that ye bear much fruit; so shall ye be my disciples.
“As the Father hath loved me, so have I loved you: continue ye in my love.
“If ye keep my commandments, ye shall abide in my love.” (John 15:7–10.)
I have found that if I come humbly and faithfully before God each morning and ask him to fill my soul with his love, I am blessed abundantly. I can care more for others, serve them with less fear of my inadequacy, and bless them in ways that would be impossible without his help. In a small way, I have learned to “abide in his love.”
The realization that the best way to help others is to love them unconditionally has brought new joy and energy to my efforts to serve. As I rely more completely upon the Savior for the love that can bless others, I feel more a part of his great work of salvation. And I rejoice in the goodness I now see more clearly in all of his children.

I’m happy to be a Latter-day Saint here in the Philippines. I like to tell my friends that. My religion has taught me many things that my friends do not know, and one of those things is honesty. Honesty is one simple way to teach my friends to respect me and my religion. An experience that happened recently proved that.
I’d gone to school without eating any breakfast, and during class my stomach kept making this funny sound, telling me I was hungry. So during class recess, I hurried to a nearby street barbecue stall. I took two sticks of the barbecued meat, ate them, then went back to class.
When our teacher asked us to copy something into our notebooks, I reached into my pocket for a pencil and found that my money for the barbecue snacks was still in my pocket! Without hesitation, I ran from the classroom back to the store and paid for my snack. The vendor was so happy he gave me another barbecue stick free.
I went back o the classroom smiling but found a very angry teacher there. I’d forgotten to ask permission to leave, and she wanted to know what I’d been doing.
I told her everything, and to my surprise she put her arm on my shoulder and, facing the class, she said, “Class, I want you to be honest like Julius.”
Then she asked me why I returned the money when I easily could have kept it. I answered, “Because I am a deacon, and my bishop won’t let me pass the sacrament if I’m not worthy.” She didn’t quite understand what I was talking about and asked again why I hadn’t kept the money.
I answered, “Because we believe in being honest.”
“Why? What’s your religion?” she wanted to know.
Without hesitation I said, “I’m a Mormon.”
“Oh,” she responded. “That’s why you were honest.”
My teacher made me feel like a giant that day. I’m glad I followed the thirteenth article of faith, which starts, “We believe in being honest, true. …” Honesty really is the best policy.

I am a young adult now, but an experience I had when I was a little girl has helped me all my life. I’m from Renaico, a small town in Chile. I remember with some emotion when my mother, Ruby, was the president of the Primary. We had a small branch then; I was the only child who attended. She would teach the class. When we got to church on Sunday morning, she would say, “Good morning, Jenny. I’m your Primary teacher.” This phrase was repeated every week. We would have an opening prayer and sing a song, and then she would proceed with the lesson.
She regularly visited children who were less-active, whom she lovingly called “my little darlings.” Often we would find these children playing in the street, and Mama would stop the car and say in a cheerful voice, “Hey, see you at church on Sunday.” Most of them said OK. But on Sunday it would be just Mama and me.
Sometimes I got frustrated when those children didn’t come to church. I would say, “That’s enough, Mama. They don’t want to come.” But she, in her loving way, would reply, “I need to be responsible in my calling and persevere.”
One day the unbelievable happened. A boy named Carlos came to church and said, “See, Sister Ruby, I told you I would come.” Well, at least now there were two of us. This made my mother’s face shine with joy, and every time Carlos came to class, she would say to me, “See, sweetheart, we need to be persistent, and God will do the rest.”
One day Carlos started coming with a boy named Alexis. The three of us loved playing together, and we are still friends today. From that day, more and more children started coming.
My mother was released from her calling after two years. When she left the Primary, 35 children were attending every week. How wonderful it was to see that my mother’s love for the children was returned. More than 10 years have passed since she was released, and the Church is larger here now, but nobody has ever surpassed her achievement of getting 35 children to attend!
I am the Primary president now. I love these little children, who have taught me so much. I’m so grateful for this wonderful calling and for my mother’s example of perseverance. I know that Heavenly Father lives and that it is true what my mother says: “I do my part, and He does the rest.”

Last month I had the opportunity to attend the temple wedding of a young woman I have known since she was born. As I sat in the sealing room, looking at the beautiful chandelier sparkling in the light of the temple, I remembered that day when I first held her. Her mother had her dressed in a little white dress, and I thought she was one of the most beautiful babies I had ever seen. Then this young woman walked through the door, once again dressed in white. She was radiant and happy. As she entered the room, I wished with all my heart that every young woman could envision that moment and strive to always be worthy to make and keep sacred covenants and receive the ordinances of the temple in preparation to enjoy the blessings of exaltation.
As this couple knelt at the sacred altar, they received promises beyond mortal comprehension that will bless, strengthen, and assist them on their mortal journey. It was one of those moments when the world stood still and all of heaven rejoiced. As the newly married couple looked into the large mirrors in the room, the groom was asked what he saw. He said, “All those who have gone before me.” Then the couple looked into the large mirror on the opposite wall, and the bride said with tears in her eyes, “I see all those who will follow after us.” She saw her future family—her posterity. I know that she understood again in that moment how important it is to believe in being chaste and virtuous. There is no more beautiful sight than a couple, properly prepared, kneeling together at the altar of the temple.

Near my home in the north woods of upper Michigan, there once stood an old turn-of-the-century home. For years it had been abandoned, its black, weather-beaten frame cracking with age and crawling with snaky tendrils of ancient vines that wrapped and coiled themselves across the windows and around the doors. Various out-buildings were scattered here and there, but they were barely distinguishable beneath the creeping tangle of brush and brier. The house towered three stories high and cast a forbidding shadow on the bleached and withered ground. This shadow had spread throughout the community and entered the fearful heart of every child around.

When I entered the ninth grade, however, I decided it was time to get over being frightened of the old place. I wondered if perhaps I couldn’t use it for a party. Now, being the only Latter-day Saint in my high school, I had heard and tolerated some pretty cruel things. I figured I could stand up to jokes and criticism for not smoking and drinking, but what I couldn’t take was hearing over and over again about how Mormons just didn’t know how to really have fun at parties. Because of that, my bishop (who was also my dad and a biology professor at the nearby university) came up with an idea to prove my friends wrong. On Halloween night he would temporarily move into the local neighborhood haunted house. But by then—thanks to the efforts of my dad, brother, and missionaries—it would be transformed into a terrifying realm of horror and fright. According to plan I invited about 20 of my closest nonmember friends. Since all of them lived in town, about six miles away, I assumed none of them had ever heard of the old Sutinen home. I assumed correctly.

At 7:00 the party began at my house; and after about an hour of games, pizza, and root beer, I suggested we visit a poor old man named Toivo. I explained he lived alone but always had treats ready for any trick-or-treater who dared venture down the lonely, overgrown trail that led to his home. My suggestion was enthusiastically received until they saw Mr. Sutinen’s home. Even I, who knew my dad waited within, felt a shiver of fear creep along my spine, like a spider on a web of nerves. We approached cautiously toward where the house loomed up, outlined starkly against the moonlit sky. To add to the eerie effect, a single light flickered from behind the drawn curtains. Ghostly wisps of fog clawed at our legs, and branches whipped wickedly against our faces. We were considering bravely marching on, when shrill laughter split the tomblike quiet. Some of the group turned, running wildly for home, while the rest huddled near and bombarded me with questions. “Are you sure this is the right house?” “How long have you known this man?” “Are you positive he’s harmless?” and finally, “If this is a joke, you’re gonna be sorry!”

Reassuring them that everything was fine, I boldly knocked upon the blistered door. Like something out of a horror movie, the door slowly creaked open, and I gazed into the red-rimmed eyes of a madman. With a start I realized this white-haired maniac was my father!

“Trick-or-treat,” my friends whispered as Toivo Sutinen ushered us into his parlor. This room was dimly lit by two flickering candles perched on large polished skulls. Nice touch, Dad, I thought as I gazed at the skulls, the cobwebs, and the coffin set back in a corner.

“Wall now, ain’t dis a surprise. Ten purdy gerls cum ta visit ol’ me,” muttered Mr. Sutinen in a slurred drawl. “Ah was jist gunna eat ma supper. Join me, hey?”

Carol, the Good Samaritan of our group, slapped “old” Toivo on the shoulder and heartily agreed. The rest warily glanced around. And Mary, still hovering near the door, asked the question on everyone’s mind. “Uh, Mr. Sutinen, what were you planning to eat?”

“Why, ma favorite,” happily responded Mr. Sutinen, “barbecued bat wings!”

Too late we noticed the dozens of murky specimen bottles crowding the counters and shelves of the kitchen.

“Unless, of course,” finished Mr. Sutinen, whacking something near him, “you want ta wait until Mabel here thaws out.”

Looking up, we saw a row of frozen cats hanging stiffly from the rafters!

This, of course, made sense when one remembered my dad was a professor of biology and used such things in his labs. But to my friends it was a ghastly spectacle and required a hasty exit by the nearest door—which was locked! Mary promptly began to cry, and several others looked like they wanted to. I begged my friends to stay and humor this crazy old man a little while longer, and they agreed.

“Wall, ah kin see yer not hungry,” cheerfully said the old man, picking up one of the candle skulls. “Why don’t ah take you on a tour of ma home?”

Happily accepting any excuse to leave the kitchen and its occupants, we followed Toivo Sutinen up the rickety, wooden steps and into a narrow hall.

“First room on the left here was ma dear Mildred’s” explained Toivo opening the door wide and allowing us to enter.

Except for a dusty end table on which lay a bloodstained knife, everything in this room was covered with enormous sheets. Avoiding eye contact with the knife, we halfheartedly listened to Mr. Sutinen reminisce about his dear departed wife. Uncomfortably we began to realize he was talking about Mildred as if she were still alive.

“Yep, ma heart was near broke, couldn’t stand it no more. So went out late one night and brought ma Mildred back home.”

With a flourish, Mr. Sutinen pulled back the bed sheet. And there, in all her skeletal beauty, lay the former “Mrs. Sutinen”!

That was too much; my dad had gone too far! Screaming frantically we ran from the bedroom and down the stairs. We must have triggered something because as we ran ghosts in Victorian dress swooped past, bats squeaked, and howls echoed through the empty corridors. The door was now wide open, but as we bounded down the steep steps, something huge and hairy jumped out from behind a nearby tree.

I don’t remember much after that except a lot of screaming and running. Within minutes we were safely back in the security of my home, breathlessly reliving each terrifying moment. My mother insisted I tell my friends the truth, but it took some doing to convince them crazy Toivo was not only my father but the “minister” of my church.

Later, when my dad, brother, and the missionaries returned, everyone wanted to ask them questions. I’m not sure that much gospel doctrine got discussed that night, but all in all the experience had a positive effect on my friends. Two of them later joined the Church and four others seriously considered it. The greatest result, however, was that from then on there wasn’t a single Church activity that wasn’t attended by as many nonmembers as members.

The ward Primary sacrament meeting program was next week. Mandy didn’t have a speaking part in the program this year. She was playing a piano solo instead. She had played prelude music for Primary before, but she had never played in front of the whole ward.
Mandy had been taking piano lessons since she’d turned eight last year. She loved her lessons. She especially liked learning to play the Primary songs. Right now, she played from a book of simplified arrangements. Someday, her teacher said, she’d play from the Children’s Songbook.
“I don’t know if I can play in the program,” Mandy said to her mother one night as they finished doing the dinner dishes. “I get all nervous just thinking about it.”
After Mother dried her hands on a dish towel, she said, “Did you know that Sister Hatch gets nervous, too?”
Sister Hatch was Mandy’s piano teacher, and she was also the Primary pianist. “Why would Sister Hatch be nervous? She plays great.”
“She still gets nervous. Just like you.”
At her next piano lesson, Mandy asked Sister Hatch, “Do you get nervous when you have to play in front of a whole bunch of people?”
Sister Hatch made a face. “All the time.”
“What do you do?” Mandy asked.
“First, I practice a lot. I try to do everything that I can to make sure I do a good job. Then I say a prayer.”
Mandy frowned. “What if you want to say a prayer right before you start to play?”
“I say the prayer in my head,” Sister Hatch said, “and in my heart. Heavenly Father knows what’s there even if I don’t say the words out loud.”
Mandy thought about that. “What if I make a mistake anyway?”
Sister Hatch grinned. “I make at least a couple of mistakes every Sunday when I’m playing for Primary.”
Mandy stared at her teacher in surprise. “You do? I’ve never noticed.”
“And no one will notice if you make a mistake. The important thing is to keep going. You know the song. Let your fingers do what they’ve been practicing.” Sister Hatch put her arm around Mandy’s shoulder. “I’ll be sitting right next to you during the program. If you start feeling afraid, reach over and squeeze my hand. And I’ll do the same if I feel scared.”
The morning of the program, Mandy felt sick to her stomach. She walked into her sister’s room. Sara was putting on her makeup.
“My stomach feels funny,” Mandy said.
“It’s just butterflies,” Sara said.
“It doesn’t feel like butterflies,” Mandy said. “It feels more like big, scary bats!”
“Don’t worry,” Sara said. “You’ll do fine.”
Mandy went to the piano and practiced her song. She had played it so much that she had memorized it. Still, she planned to take her book with her.
At church, Mandy sat with the other Primary children in the first three rows of the chapel. When the children went up to the stand following the sacrament, Mandy took her place beside Sister Hatch. Julie, who was also playing a solo, sat on the other side. As the Primary president introduced the Primary theme for the year, Mandy started to reach for Sister Hatch’s hand. Then she noticed that her teacher was reaching for hers at the same time. They looked at each other and smiled.
They squeezed hands, then Sister Hatch stood to go to the piano. The Primary children sang the first verse of “Follow the Prophet.”
As the time grew nearer for her to play her song, Mandy’s stomach started to feel funny again. Then she remembered what Sister Hatch had said about saying a prayer in her head and heart.
When it was Mandy’s turn to play, she placed her book on the piano, even though she didn’t need it. Her fingers did what they were supposed to do. When she played the last note, she let out a long breath and returned to her seat.
Sister Hatch gave Mandy a quick hug. “You did great,” she whispered.
Mandy felt great. The butterflies in her stomach had been replaced with a prayer in her heart.

While Angie brushed her teeth, she stared in the mirror at the front teeth that seemed too big for her thin face, and she thought that they made her look like a monster. She shuddered and took a long time to rinse her toothbrush. Slowly she turned off the tap.
How she wished it was morning, with a sunny kitchen full of light and with breakfast waiting for her, instead of bedtime. Soft lamplight flooded her bedroom, but Angie thought only of the shadows in the corners and under her bed.
She whispered good night to Albert, her hamster, who lived in the cage on the table near the window in Angie’s room. Albert wasn’t afraid of the dark. She often heard him running on the wheel in his cage after the lights went out. She was glad he was there. Next to Mommy and Daddy, Angie loved Albert best, and knowing he was there made her feel less afraid. Angie’s friends teased her when she said that Albert was the bravest hamster in the whole world, but she didn’t care, because she knew that it was true.
Angie padded down the hallway to Mommy’s bedroom to say good night. Her father was away on business for a few days. Mommy smiled at her over her book and patted the bed. Angie crawled in beside her and settled into the crook of Mommy’s arm.
“May I sleep in here with you tonight?”
Mommy smiled. “It’s lonesome without Daddy, isn’t it? But I think you’d best sleep in your own room, or Albert might get lonely. Go brush your teeth, and I’ll come tuck you in.”
“I already did. But …” Suddenly Angie was crying. “I don’t want to sleep in my bed anymore. Not ever again! I want to sleep in here with you and Daddy, like when I was little.”
“What’s the matter, pumpkin?” Mommy’s strong arms held Angie tight. “Why don’t you want to sleep in your bed?”
“Because they’ll pull off my toes.”
“Who? What are you talking about?”
“The monsters!” Angie took a deep breath through the tears that streamed down her face. “The little monsters that live under my bed!” There, she’d finally admitted it out loud.
“But, Angie, there are no monsters under your bed. You’re a big girl now, and you know that.”
“I hear them at night,” whispered Angie. “And I dream that they wait under the bed, and when I get in it, they pinch and pull my toes. That’s why I jump onto my bed from the middle of my room.”
“Well, I think we’d better go to your room and take a look together,” said Mommy with a smile.
Angie hopped down and ran ahead to tell Albert that Mommy was coming to scare away the monsters. But when she got to her room, the cage door was open, and the cage was empty. “Mommy,” cried Angie, “Albert’s gone!”
“What?” Mommy picked up the small cage. “Angie, Albert needs our help. We have to find him before he hurts himself.”
Angie surprised herself by not crying. “That’s right. I have to help Albert,” she said stoutly.
While Mommy went to get a flashlight, Angie stood in the middle of her room and looked around. Albert wasn’t anywhere that she could see. She didn’t want to look anywhere she couldn’t see from the middle of the room, for fear that the monsters would get her. It was dark in the corner by the bookcase and behind the rocking chair and under the bed. They were good hiding places for Albert or monsters.
But Albert wouldn’t go where monsters were, Angie reasoned, so she looked in places she thought a hamster would like. The shoe bag that hung on her closet door had twelve pockets for shoes, and Angie searched each one carefully. Albert wasn’t there.
She looked in every room of her dollhouse and inside the pencil box on her bookcase. The flowered bedspread was smooth; it showed no small lump the size of a hamster. Albert wasn’t anywhere. My room is too neat, thought Angie. If this were my friend Susie’s room, there would be lots more places to look.
When Mommy came back with the flashlight, they searched together without talking. Angie thought it very brave of Mommy to shine her light into all the corners and behind the bookcase. She held her breath, expecting to see the monsters she just knew were hiding there, but there was only dust and a pencil Angie had lost.
Finally, Mommy said, “See if he’s under the bed, will you, dear?” She handed the flashlight to Angie.
Angie peeked under the bed. “Albert isn’t there,” she reported quickly.
“Angela Mallory, you barely looked,” said her mommy in surprise. “Now take this flashlight and look under that bed and really make sure that he’s not there. I’ll go look in the linen closet.”
Mommy left, and Angie made herself walk over to the bed again. She got down on her knees and laid the flashlight on the carpet. Slowly she put her head and shoulders under the bed and turned on the flashlight. Her heart thumped very loudly. She knew what she would see: wrinkled monster faces with mean eyes and nasty smiles, and long bumpy fingers waiting to pull her toes.
In the moment it took her to think all these things, Angie had another thought: Albert! If I’m so scared, how must Albert feel? He’s so little! She just had to find Albert before the monsters hurt him.
Trembling, she moved the flashlight beam back and forth under the bed. She saw eyes. “Monsters,” she gulped.
She forced herself to shine the light straight at the bright yellow eyes that stared at her. Angie held her breath as the flashlight caught and held the tiny figure in its glare.
It was Albert, and he was all alone!
“Mommy, Mommy, come here!” she called.
Quickly Angie got up and moved the bed away from the wall. She picked Albert up very carefully and smoothed his fur, talking to him quietly as she carried him back to his cage. Albert chittered and squeaked, scolding her the whole time. Gently she put him into the cage on a pile of wood shavings and shut the little door tight. This time he wouldn’t get out!
“Did you find him?” Mommy hurried back into Angie’s room.
“Albert was under my bed. And you know what? There weren’t any monsters there. I guess there never were, or Albert wouldn’t have hidden there.”
Angie sighed happily as Mommy gave her a hug and they watched Albert play on his wheel. “Good night, Albert,” Angie said softly. “Thank you for showing me that I really don’t have monsters under my bed.”

Illustration by Allen Garns
Eighteen weeks into my fourth pregnancy, I woke up to some minor bleeding. I felt anxious when the bleeding didn’t stop, so I decided to go to the emergency room.
During the long drive to the hospital, I hoped and prayed that everything would be OK. At the worst, I thought the doctor would prescribe several days of bed rest.
When I was admitted to the hospital, the staff performed several tests. They found that the baby didn’t have a heartbeat. The diagnosis was “fetal demise.” The doctor couldn’t do anything further at that point, so he released me from the hospital.
I went home feeling sad and frightened. I was unable to sleep that night. When I got out of bed the next morning, I was prompted to go to an early-morning endowment session at the temple.
Near the end of the session, my eyes focused on the wedding and engagement rings on my ring finger. They had belonged to the great-grandmother I was named after. She passed away when I was five, and I had recently been reading her life story. I remembered that she had experienced many miscarriages when she was in her 20s.
All morning I had been fighting tears of sadness and fear, but in that moment, I felt a wave of peace. I felt comforted. Great-grandma had passed through similar trials in her life, and the Savior had helped her. I felt the assurance that He would help me too.
“He will take upon him their infirmities, that his bowels may be filled with mercy, according to the flesh, that he may know according to the flesh how to succor his people according to their infirmities” (Alma 7:12).
I am deeply grateful for the peace that comes from attending the temple, for a legacy of faithful ancestors, and most of all, for the atoning sacrifice of the Savior Jesus Christ.

Jared walked home from church in the hot sunshine with Mom and Dad. He thought about his Primary lesson. Since he couldn’t hear very well, Jared had to pay close attention to the pictures his teacher showed and the words she wrote on the board.
That day they had learned that Jesus asked the disciples to be missionaries. Jared wondered what he could do to share the gospel, like Jesus asked. He knew he couldn’t serve a mission yet. Then he had a great idea. Maybe he could start saving money for it!
When he got home, Jared ran right past Umber, his pet goat, and into the house. He got a big plastic jar and carefully cut a hole in the top. He wrote “Mission Fund” on the side. Then he went to his room and got his money from under his bed. One by one he dropped in each coin. But all his coins barely covered the bottom of the jar. How could he earn more money?
Jared thought and thought. He looked out the window at the bright sun. It was so hot in the Philippines. Jared and his friends ate coconut ice candy almost every afternoon after school. “That’s it!” he thought. Maybe he could make ice candy and sell it to other people who wanted to cool down.
Jared ran to find Mom. “Can you show me how to make ice candy?” Jared signed. They used sign language, a language where you talk with your hands. Mom smiled and nodded.
The next day, Jared and Mom walked to the big outdoor market and bought all the supplies. When they got home, Jared took out a big bowl and mixed coconut milk, condensed milk, vanilla, and shredded coconut. Mom and Jared used a funnel to pour the mix into small bags. They put all the bags in the freezer. “Great job!” Mom signed.
The ice candy took a long time to freeze. But the next day after school, it was finally ready! Jared climbed on a chair and got the white cooler off the top of the fridge. He put some towels in the bottom of the cooler and layered the ice candy on top. He couldn’t wait to sell it.
Jared ran outside into the dusty street. His friends were playing with homemade kites and throwing their flip-flops at a tin can to knock it over.
At the side of the road, he set up a table with a big sign that said, “Ice Candy, 5 pesos.” His friend Jhonell ran over and pointed at the cooler. He gave Jared a five-peso coin, and Jared gave him some ice candy. They high-fived.
Soon more of Jared’s friends came to buy ice candy too. A few hours later when Mom called Jared for dinner, there were only a few ice candies left.
Jared picked up the almost-empty cooler and the coins. In one of his pockets, he put some of the coins for his tithing. He put the rest of the coins into his other pocket. He couldn’t wait to see his mission-fund bank fill up.
At home he dropped his mission-fund coins onto the pile at the bottom of the jar. There was still so much more space! But Jared felt warm inside as he thought about serving a mission someday. He decided that he would sell ice candy every day until his jar was full. It felt so good to earn money so he could be a missionary as Jesus asked him to do.

When Farid was 14 years old, he thought he knew what he wanted in life, and religion wasn’t a part of it. He told his family he didn’t want to attend any church.
He had a full life in the beautiful city of San Pedro Sula, Honduras. His favorite activities were music, dancing, soccer, volleyball, swimming, and hiking. He spent most of his time reading philosophy books and hanging out with his friends. Farid was working toward a career in medicine, and he just wanted to enjoy life.
Farid said he was a selfish 14-year-old—he only thought about himself. “I didn’t care about my family or their needs,” he says. “I would fight with my cousin a lot.”
Then one Sunday, Farid’s life took an unexpected turn. While he was bored at home, his friend Isaías texted him and asked if he wanted to go to his church with him. That was the first time Farid visited The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Then Isaías invited him to attend seminary, and he loved it so much.
“I felt something in my soul that told me that I was in the right place, with the right people, and the right church,” says Farid.
Soon after he attended seminary for the first time, he joined the Church. And soon after that, he started noticing some unexpected changes in himself.
Farid says, “I went from an immature 14-year-old who only wanted to be rebellious, to a young man with eternal perspectives. My family noticed, too.”
Farid stopped fighting with his cousin. Instead, he now tries to find ways to serve him such as making him lunch, cleaning his room, or asking him if he needs help. But in spite of the positive changes in Farid’s life, some of his family members were upset when he first joined the Church.
“I never let their comments change my opinion about the Church,” says Farid. “I am very grateful that my faith never stopped. Instead, it grew more and more. My family now accepts my beliefs because they’ve seen my example and how I’ve changed.”
There have been other big changes in Farid’s family as well. His mom is now taking lessons from the missionaries, and she wants to be baptized!
“Heavenly Father promises us that when we put in the effort, we will receive blessings,” says Farid. “But He has His timing. It has taken almost four years for one member of my family to want to get baptized. It hasn’t been easy for me. I’ve been tempted to think that the Church is false. But when I’ve asked Heavenly Father about the truthfulness of the Church, I’ve received my testimony, which keeps me strong.”

One morning during a windy snowstorm, we were riding in the car. Two sister missionaries were walking in the storm, and we offered them a ride. One was from Samoa. We asked them if they needed anything. The other missionary said her companion’s gloves weren’t warm enough. We had an extra pair of gloves in the car, and they fit the sister from Samoa. It warmed our hearts that we were able to do something for the missionaries who are serving the Lord.
Garrison and Kempton M., ages 10 and 8, Idaho

The account of Heber C. Kimball and Brigham Young leaving their homes for England certainly shows the sacrifice they were willing to make for the callings they had received. The account reads:
“September 14th, [1839], President Brigham Young left his home at Montrose to start on the mission to England. He was so sick that he was unable to go to the Mississippi [River], a distance of thirty rods, without assistance. After he had crossed the river he rode behind Israel Barlow on his horse to my house, where he continued sick until the 18th. He left his wife sick with a babe only three weeks old, and all his other children were sick and unable to wait upon each other. Not one soul of them was able to go to the well for a pail of water, and they were without a second suit to their backs, for the mob in Missouri had taken nearly all he had. On the 17th, Sister Mary Ann Young got a boy to carry her up in his wagon to my house, that she might nurse and comfort Brother Brigham” (quoted in Life of Heber C. Kimball, 265).
Heber C. Kimball’s family were also ill. Charles Hubbard sent his boy with a team and wagon to help them on their way. Elder Kimball records: “It appeared to me as though my very inmost parts would melt within me at leaving my family in such a condition, as it were almost in the arms of death. I felt as though I could not endure it. I asked the teamster to stop, and said to Brother Brigham, ‘This is pretty tough, isn’t it; let’s rise up and give them a cheer.’ We arose, and swinging our hats three times over our heads, shouted: ‘Hurrah, hurrah for Israel.’” Sister Young and Sister Kimball came to the door and waved a farewell which gave Brother Brigham and Brother Heber much comfort as they continued “without purse or scrip” toward England. (See Life of Heber C. Kimball, 265–66.)

Many people were angry with Joseph Smith and the Church. They didn’t like what Joseph was teaching. Some even wanted to kill him.
Joseph had to go to the city of Carthage so a judge could decide if he had broken the law. Joseph blessed Emma and his children, kissed them goodbye, and left for Carthage
Joseph’s brother Hyrum and other friends went with him. As they left, Joseph looked back at Nauvoo. “This is the loveliest place and the best people under the heavens,” he said.
In Carthage the men were put in jail. Hyrum read to them from the Book of Mormon. Joseph told the guards that the Book of Mormon is true.
Later that day, angry men with guns rushed into the jail. They started shooting into the room where Joseph and his friends were. Hyrum and Joseph were killed.
The Saints were very sad when they found out that Joseph and Hyrum had died. But they knew that the Church would keep growing and blessing God’s children all over the world.

Another motivation came when the ward sponsored a program called “Something Great in ’78,” and Allan decided to make a stained glass window as his “Something Great” project. (Each ward member was to choose a personal project to be accomplished during the year.) “We had a big dinner and everyone displayed their projects. My window was one of the displays,” he says. Now the window hangs in his room, filtering the sunlight as it enters.

Rita Jeppeson and her visiting teacher have become good friends as they meet and share gospel conversations. But their visits also include playing word games together, which helps Rita’s aging mind stay sharp. Because her visiting teacher has learned what Rita needs and enjoys, they both look forward to each visit. Rita knows that they are friends and that the visit is not just an obligation. There are so many things sisters can do during a visit, such as taking a walk together or helping a sister with her chores.