Gospel Story Finder

You visit a nonmember family. As is often the case, they prepare a meal for you before you leave. This is common, and you had not taken much note of it before. This time you pay particular attention. The little red rooster that had been crowing when you arrived is now boiling in the pot. The last bunch of bananas is plucked. Enough money is found to buy a can of corned beef. You look around. The house is small, the roof needs patching, there are many children in the family, and they have little clothing. Yet they give you the best they have, and the only reward they hope for from you is your blessing, as a servant of the Lord, upon their family. As you leave there is a lump in your throat and mist in your eyes. You are humbled with the realization that you are charged with teaching the perfect gospel to a people who know and live the principles of true Christianity. You find there is much to be learned from them as you teach them the restored gospel.

I recently learned another significant lesson from my father about his love for me. A few weeks ago the state 3-A basketball championship was being played on a Saturday night in Ogden. I was on Provo High’s team, which was to play Mountain View High School for the championship. After the first quarter the team met for a huddle. As I got up off the nice soft chair I had become accustomed to, my eye caught sight of my mom and dad sitting on the front row. This might seem insignificant to you, but I was thrilled because in Provo that same night was one of the most important events of the year. It wasn’t my father’s inauguration or the annual commencement exercises. It was the BYU-University of Utah basketball game. But Dad left that game, as well as several General Authorities and other dignitaries he was hosting, to come to my game. That demonstration of love meant so much to me, not because my game was more important, but because I was more important. Is it any wonder I want to show that love in return? We do have a bond, not just as father to son—but friend to friend as well.

Brother Khanakam served in the Thailand Bangkok Mission, where he had “many good experiences.” One of these experiences involved his mother and his sister. They were visiting in Bangkok, and Brother Khanakam invited them to a fireside where Elder Jacob de Jager of the Seventy was speaking.
“I was asked to be his interpreter. I knelt with him and prayed for my family. In his talk, Elder de Jager made some complimentary comments about my family. I looked at my mother, and she was crying. Even my sister, who had been so opposed to my joining the Church that she almost shot me, was crying, too. After the fireside my mother said if there was anything she could do to support me on my mission I was to let her know. I know that she was touched that day by the Spirit.
“My relationship with my family is good now. They love me, and they love my wife and children. My mother lives in a house close to us.”

MELBOURNE—
Just a short time ago, I was really struggling to keep attending all my Church meetings. I’m sure almost everyone experiences the same sort of doubts I was having—about the gospel, about myself, about school. It was the time for year-12 students to start submitting the VTAC forms, our application to university. I was so confused! How, at the age of 16, was I supposed to decide what direction my entire life should take?
Of course, the questions I had about where I was going began to spread to other areas—like the gospel. A close friend of mine, a recent convert, was having a great deal of trouble with her own testimony, and I was finding that I was unable to answer some of her questions. I began asking questions of my own. Some of them could be answered by seminary and Young Women teachers, but the answer to perhaps the most important question I would ever ask had to come from the Lord. I needed to know that the Church is true.
All I could do was ask. I knew I was doing all the right things: I attended seminary every day, I read my scriptures and wrote in my journal each night, I hadn’t missed a Church meeting for years. So on a freezing June night, I closed my Book of Mormon and knelt to pray.
“Please, Father,” I whispered. “I need to know that I’m doing the right thing, that all of this effort isn’t just in vain.”
I had heard all the descriptions of the wonderful feelings that people experience when they ask in faith about the truthfulness of the gospel. I’d often thought them somewhat trite, almost predictable. But the warmth and the certainty that washed over me as my Father in Heaven answered my prayers was nothing that words could ever do justice to. I felt surrounded by a glow of love and peace, and within my soul I knew the perfect truth of the gospel principles I had taken for granted all my life. Now I know the Church is true.

Our family were the only Latter-day Saints in our town of 60,000 people. We did our best to live the gospel. I felt the Spirit often, and I never really doubted that the Church was true. But while serving in the military, I felt a strong desire to know for myself that the Book of Mormon is true. So I went to a private place and did just as the Book of Mormon counsels (see Moroni 10:4–5). I asked God. And I received a witness—a spiritual feeling of warmth, comfort, peace, and great happiness that I shall never forget.

When DeNeece came home from college this summer, we shared a free, unpressured week, our strengths and talents working together. I played the piano while we sang duets, we created unusual gifts for our family, and we walked and talked again. We spent many nights until dawn sitting on her thick shag rug sharing memorable experiences of the past years. We also talked about qualities such as being thoughtful, fellowshipping, and understanding others. Then we prayed together that our love for each other might grow continually. We talked about serving the Lord, but each in her own individual way. Finally, we were able to begin unifying our growing snowballs to create one strong snowman.

The wagon lumbered along at a steady pace. Just two days before, the members of the Clawson family had left their comfortable home in Greenwood, New York. They were headed to Kirtland, Ohio, and then on to Missouri to be with the Saints who had gathered there. Twelve-year-old Ebenezer was driving the team of oxen at the front of the wagon, enjoying the lovely spring day. On such a day, it was more a privilege than a chore to be driving the wagon, his parents and six brothers and sisters walking alongside.
Ebenezer reflected on the events that led up to his family’s journey. His family had joined with the Latter-day Saints a year ago. Since then, they had experienced many troubles. Finally they had sold their home and land and bought supplies for the westward trek. It seemed as if all their problems were behind them now—they were going to Zion!
After traveling a considerable distance, the Clawson family arrived at the Genesee River.
“Eben, pull up here so that we can load the wagon onto the ferry,” Brother Moses Clawson directed his son.
“Yes, sir!” Ebenezer obediently eased the team toward the muddy bank of the river. The river was swollen with cold, brown water from the spring rains, and debris from recent flooding littered the whole area.
The oxen slogged through the mud steadily. All of a sudden, one of the oxen lost its footing and fearfully struggled to regain it. This startled the other ox, causing pandemonium. With the team confused and stumbling, the wagon started to slip. It turned sharply, throwing Ebenezer from the wagon. The oxen kept moving and bellowing, and with no one there to stop them, they pulled the heavy wagon over the boy’s head and body.
Sister Clawson handed the baby to fourteen-year-old Eunice and hurried to the side of her injured son.
“Whoa there! Whoa!” Brother Clawson rushed to gain control of the team and lead them to safety away from the river and away from Ebenezer. Accidents such as this were far too common, and they were almost always fatal.
Sister Clawson cleaned Ebenezer’s head wound and carefully bound it up. She offered a quick prayer, pleading for her son’s life. “Oh, Father, if thou wilt only spare my son …”
Soon Ebenezer regained consciousness. “Oh, my back!” he moaned.
“Quiet, my son. Your father is going to take you to find help.”
Brother Clawson carefully took Ebenezer in his arms and headed downriver. A half mile away, he found lodging for them in a hotel. “Please, sir, could you find us a doctor? My son is hurt very badly. He will surely die if nothing is done for him.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” the hotel clerk replied.
While the clerk searched for the doctor, news spread that a “Mormon” boy lay near death at the hotel. People crowded in, as curious to see Mormons as they were to see Ebenezer.
After a time, the clerk returned. His face was grim. “I cannot locate the doctor,” he said. “Some say that he has gone to get new supplies in the next town and that he won’t be back until sundown.”
Brother Clawson knew Ebenezer didn’t have that much time.
People crowded around, murmuring and offering suggestions. “I say someone should bleed him,” an old man in the room shouted. “He’ll die for sure,” a woman whispered loudly to her neighbor. “I’ve seen enough wagon accidents like this, to be certain.”
Suddenly four well-dressed men entered the room.
“Brother Clawson, I am Elder Rufus Fischer. This is my companion Elder Moon, and these are two of our associates.”
Missionaries!
“We would like to administer to this boy and give him a blessing.”
“Certainly!” Brother Clawson let the elders take charge.
“Any of you who wishes may stay as we administer to this child,” said Elder Moon.
A few people left, but many curious onlookers stayed. Elder Fisher closed the door.
The missionaries anointed Ebenezer’s head with oil and laid their hands on his head. “Ebenezer Clawson, by the power of the Holy Melchizedek Priesthood which we bear, we anoint your head with oil that has been consecrated and set apart for the healing of the sick in the household of faith …”
After the blessing was finished, Elder Fisher said, “Brother Clawson, your son should be ready to travel in a few hours.” Then the missionaries left as quickly as they had come.
Ebenezer slept soundly for several hours, then awoke, his strength having returned. “Father, let us go on,” he said.
Brother Clawson and Ebenezer went back upriver to where the family was waiting. They all crossed the river without further trouble and traveled six more miles. Ebenezer drove the team part of the way. His head healed without ever swelling, and the only visible reminder of his ordeal was a scar.
Ebenezer’s faith in Jesus Christ, and that of his family and the missionaries who administered to him, brought forth a miracle that day. The Clawson family had obeyed Heavenly Father by traveling to Zion to be with the Saints, and He blessed them for their faithfulness.

Illustration by Mark Robison
Before Christmas my parents bought a box full of copies of the Book of Mormon to give to people. That was when I had the idea to take some to school and give them as presents to three of my teachers.
When I got to the music classroom, I saw my music teacher and thought, “Go ahead, Sophia. Give one to her!” I walked slowly up to my teacher. But I didn’t have the courage to give her the book.
I went to a corner of the room and prayed very quietly. “Heavenly Father, I ask Thee to help me give this book to my teacher.” When I finished my prayer, I felt very strongly that I should give the book to her. Suddenly I had courage.
I went up to her. She looked at me, and I gave her the Book of Mormon and said, “Teacher, I love you from the bottom of my heart, and I want to give you this Book of Mormon!”
She took it and looked at the cover. “Look inside!” I said. She saw that I had written a few words.
She hugged me and said, “Oh, Sophia, thank you for giving this to me!”
After I sat down, she said to the class, “Look what Sophia gave me. I am going to read it during the holidays!”
When I got home, I ran to my mother and said, “Guess what! I gave my teacher a Book of Mormon.”
She smiled and said, “That’s wonderful! You’re a great example to me, Sophia.”
We decided to pray to thank Heavenly Father for giving me the courage to give my teacher the Book of Mormon.

“Oh, Paige, that’s not what it means at all.” The timer above the stove started beeping. “Just a minute, honey. I need to punch down the bread dough.” Mom lifted the towel covering the bowl of dough. “Oh, no!”
“What happened, Mom?”
“The dough didn’t rise. I can’t make bread out of it now.” Mom drummed her fingers on the countertop, then smiled. “The dough should work for scones.” Paige’s mother placed a pan on the stove, filled it with oil, and began heating it.
Paige smiled for the first time since coming home. “I’m glad the dough didn’t rise. Scones taste better than bread.”
“You know, I worked hard on that bread dough,” Mom said as she flattened small balls of dough into circles and gently placed them in the hot oil. “I followed the recipe, and I tried to make the best bread dough I could. I had faith that it would rise. But it didn’t. Does that mean that I just didn’t have enough faith?”
“I don’t think so,” Paige said. “And something better came from it.”
“Sometimes Heavenly Father has plans for us that are different from what we think we want. Even if we work hard and have faith, He doesn’t always bless us in the way we think that we want Him to.”
“But being a munchkin isn’t better than being Dorothy.”
“You need to try faith again, Paige.”
“What do you mean?”
“You need to have faith that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ know things that you don’t, that They know what will be best for you in the long run. Do you think that you can have that kind of faith?”
“I’ll try.”
“Good.” Mom set a piping hot scone onto a plate, dropped a glob of butter and dribbled honey onto it, and set it before Paige. “Would you like the first scone?”
“Yes!”

I have had the privilege of knowing many such individuals—people whose backgrounds are full of incredible pain and humiliation. I think of a young woman who was repeatedly abused sexually by her father. When at last she gained the courage to tell her mother, she was angrily beaten and rejected by her.

These experiences made her bitter and self-doubting. Yet, despite all obstacles, she has made peace with God and found a trustworthy husband with whom she is raising a righteous family. Moreover, she has dedicated her energies to helping other women with similar backgrounds eliminate the poison from their own lineages.

Henry, now 16, returned with his mother and younger sister, Mary Jane, 4, to Nauvoo. An older sister, Maria, stayed behind to work for the Bettses.
Henry, weak himself from the summer sickness, returned to St. Louis for his sister. He earned his passage downriver and back on riverboats. On the trip down he was an assistant fireman, carrying firewood and loading and unloading freight.
On the boat trip back to Nauvoo, Henry was third cook and “had the cabin dishes to wash, they being brought down to me by the cabin boys.” He liked the job because he could eat the leftover food, which was better than he usually ate. Some plates of food came to him “untouched,” so instead of dumping the food overboard as ordered, he let other cabin boys eat it.
Henry, big for his age, joined the Nauvoo Legion. He “enrolled in a Captain Black’s Company” when unfriendly neighbors began harrassing the Mormons in and around Nauvoo. Officers gave this teenager “something of a gun” and he “sometimes was scouting all night and took delight therein, even at times when the mob was expected every hour.”
Early in 1846, when Henry was 17, the Saints had to leave Nauvoo. For the wagon trek across Iowa, Jonathan C. Wright hired Henry to be a chore boy and drive an ox team. Henry liked this job, except for Brother Wright’s restriction that Henry walk his horses but never run or race them.
While Henry was camped with the Wrights at Council Bluffs, Iowa, a United States army recruiter arrived. “I had told my comrades that he would not get a man,” Henry said. But President Brigham Young called a meeting in a brush-covered bowery and asked that 500 men enlist for the Mexican War. Henry felt impressed to answer the call, so he joined the army. Mr. Wright, upset at losing his hired hand, “was wrathy and said that I could not go.” But Henry went. He was not yet 18 as required by the government, “but as I had nearly got my growth in height I passed without difficulty.” Besides, nobody asked him his age.
The next summer, when he was 18, he entered the Great Salt Lake Valley just behind the 1847 pioneers. Wanting to rejoin his family, he returned east with Brigham Young’s company late that same year to the Winter Quarters area.
Henry and his family came west three years later, in 1850, and became Utah pioneers. He married and lived at Union Fort, Fillmore, and Fairview, Utah. During his adult years he was a farmer, teacher, and shoemaker.

We think we know the difference between “friendly” competition and life. But sharp words and cutting remarks inflict wounds that leave ugly scars. The response is usually as vicious. I saw the absurdity of this attitude in a community league game I officiated several years ago. Two players on opposing teams were aggressively playing each other. Each time, as they went up and down the court, they intensified their verbal and physical exchanges. Finally, after several fouls were assessed, both players let all of their frustration out, and a fight ensued. I had found it interesting that the two players referred to each other by their first names, and after they had left the floor I remarked to a teammate that they seemed to be acquainted with each other. He replied, “They are. One is a bishop and the other is his ward clerk.” In the heat of competition we forget about our common brotherhood.

The final Saturday, having put the bikes on the train the day before, the weary travelers boarded to return home. There was plenty of room to stretch out and relax, and soon they were snoozers, not bikers.
Somehow, though, when the train finally halted in San Jose and they had to remount their cycles for another seven-mile jaunt to the chapel, they seemed almost eager to be riding once again. Soon they would be home recuperating, sharing a slice of their saga with their families.

One incident in particular made a great impression on me. In 2000 I had the opportunity to attend the groundbreaking ceremony of the first Latter-day Saint meetinghouse that would be built from the ground up in India. The location for this chapel was in Rajahmundry, a city near the eastern coast of the country. It is a relatively small city for India, even though about three million people live there.
I traveled to Rajahmundry with my wife; the mission president, Ebenezer Solomon; and his wife. As we arrived at the crowded train station in Rajahmundry, my heart went out to the many people I saw living in extreme poverty. There were many people sleeping on the hard floor wherever there was an empty space. When we arrived at the location of the groundbreaking, I noticed a great contrast between the misery I had just witnessed and the joy I saw in the faces of the members gathered to greet us. They were beaming and waving as we approached. They were so happy and excited. While they too lived in poor conditions by some standards, there was no sign of despair or emptiness.
I immediately began to understand why this location had been chosen for a chapel. I admit I had been somewhat unsure why the Church’s resources were being focused in this out-of-the-way location. But after I met briefly with the Saints in Rajahmundry, all of my questions were answered. These Latter-day Saints were so faithful and so excited to have their own meetinghouse.
After the groundbreaking ceremony, President Solomon introduced me to four widows who had been baptized several years before. They were all in their 70s. President Solomon informed me that these women had all been full-tithe payers since their baptisms. I was impressed that in an area with so much need, these faithful sisters had never missed an opportunity to pay their tithing, though I’m sure it had been a sacrifice for them.
I asked President Solomon about how much each sister would pay in tithing every month. He gave me a figure in rupees, the currency used in India. I did not understand the amount, so I asked him how much they would pay in U.S. dollars. I will never forget his answer: “They would pay between one-and-a-half and two pennies.” I was reminded again that paying tithing isn’t a matter of money, but it requires faith! It was humbling to realize that the blessing of a chapel had come to these Saints because of their willingness to sacrifice by paying tithing—even though it was only pennies. I’m sure the Lord must turn those pennies into millions of dollars.
Tithing is not a monetary commandment—it is a principle of faith. The Lord asks 10 percent of our income and waits to see if we will exercise faith in Him to make that sacrifice. The Saints in Rajahmundry had that faith.
I was impressed when we arrived at the building site to find a red carpet rolled out from the road to the canopy where the Saints were gathered. It was about 30 meters long. Under the canopy were red velvet chairs. They were large and impressive. The carpet and the chairs were worn, but it was the very best these Saints had to offer. They would not give less than their best. It was a humbling experience for me. These Saints in Rajahmundry set the example of faithfully giving to the Lord, whether it was in paying their tithing or providing their best accommodations for the visiting Church leaders.

I clenched my fists, bit my lip, and kicked the ball that was rolling toward me. Then I frowned as I watched it soar out of bounds instead of going into the goal.
A girl named Nan had been standing by the fence watching our game. She ran to pick up the ball, tripping in her excitement. Everyone laughed. No one thanked her as she threw the ball back to us.
I felt guilty. I knew Nan wanted to play, but I didn’t want to be the one to invite her.
Nan was quiet, with messy brown hair, thick glasses, and a squeaky voice. She didn’t have one friend in our whole class. It wasn’t that I didn’t like her. I had just never talked to her.
That afternoon our teacher announced that she was going to move our desks around. She would make a new seating chart.
The room buzzed with excitement. My best friend, LeAnna, and I smiled at each other.
Just then Caroline leaned toward me. “I heard Nan tell Mrs. Martin she wants to sit by you. Gross!”
I sat in shock. “Why me?” I wondered. I had never been mean to Nan, but I had never been nice to her either.
“Tell the teacher you don’t want to sit by her,” Caroline whispered. “Otherwise no one will want to sit by you.”
I looked at Nan. Her head was lowered. She must have known what everyone in the room was thinking.
Mrs. Martin called me up to her desk. I knew Nan was a child of God and that Jesus said to love everyone. But if I became friends with Nan, everyone would think I was weird.
“Who do you want to sit by?” Mrs. Martin asked me.
“LeAnna,” I said. That was easy.
Mrs. Martin smiled. “Would you be willing to sit by Nan too?”
I looked down at the floor and whispered, “I’d rather not.”
Mrs. Martin looked surprised. “Are you sure, Angie?”
“Yes,” I muttered.
The next day our desks were rearranged. I sat by LeAnna. Nan was across the room. The two girls sitting by her pushed their desks away from hers so it looked like she was sitting alone. She looked like she was going to cry.
A few weeks later Nan changed schools. A girl in my ward went to that school, and I asked her if she had met a new girl named Nan.
“I think so. What does she look like?” she asked.
“Well, she’s really quiet. Her hair is messy, and she wears thick glasses. No one in my class liked her.”
“Really? It must not be the same girl,” she said. “The new girl I know is really fun. Everyone likes her. She’s a great football player.”
I thought about the day Nan had watched us playing football. She only needed a chance and a friend. And I could have given her both.
That day I made a promise to myself to always be nice to everyone and never let a girl like Nan slip by me without trying to be her friend.

Scottie’s Everything Box was special! Inside were many exciting things—useful things, pretty things, things Scottie found all around the neighborhood.
One morning as Scottie skipped down the sidewalk, he saw something sparkle by the edge of the road. He stooped over and picked up a bottle opener! Scottie didn’t have a bottle opener in his Everything Box. This one was only a little bit rusty, so he put it in his pocket.
Just as Scottie started skipping down the sidewalk again, a gust of wind blew some dry leaves across his path.
What’s that tumbling in the leaves, he wondered. It’s not red and yellow like the other leaves.
He bent down to catch whatever it was in his cupped hands. It was a blue feather. Scottie stroked his cheek with the feather. It felt soft and even tickled a little!
Scottie didn’t have a feather in his Everything Box, so he carefully put it in his pocket.
As Scottie skipped on down the sidewalk, he smiled as he thought of the bottle opener and feather he could add to his Everything Box.
The wind blew a pine cone off a tree. Scottie picked up the cone and smelled it. It reminded him of Christmas. He liked the prickly way the cone felt against his upper lip.
Scottie didn’t have a pine cone in his Everything Box, so he carefully put it in his pocket.
Scottie began to skip a little faster down the walk, wondering what he’d find next.
Soon he saw Mr. Anderson walking toward him. Just then the wind blew Mr. Anderson’s hat right off his head. It rolled along on its rim like a wheel. Scottie hurried to catch it.
“Here’s your hat, Mr. Anderson,” he said.
“Thank you, Scottie. And where are you going on this windy day?” Mr. Anderson asked.
“I’m looking for things to put in my Everything Box,” Scottie answered.
“I’ve never heard of an Everything Box before. Tell me about it,” said Mr. Anderson.
“Well, it’s a box of things I collect,” Scottie answered. “My dad collects stamps and I collect things.”
Mr. Anderson smiled. He reached in his pocket and took out a ballpoint pen.
“How would you like this pen?” he asked. “Let me show you how it works.”
Mr. Anderson turned the screw at the bottom of the pen and a black tip came out. He turned the screw again. The black tip disappeared and a green tip came out. When he turned it a third time, a red tip appeared.
“Wow!” Scottie exclaimed. “Three colors in one pen. Thanks a lot.”
Scottie had never seen a pen like that before. He slipped it into his pocket and started home.
The wind was getting colder and it was beginning to snow. The flakes quickly disappeared as they touched his tongue.
Scottie laughed. Here was something he couldn’t put in his pocket and take home for his Everything Box.
“Hi, Mom,” he called as he ran in the house. “Guess what I found today—a bottle opener, a feather, and a pine cone. And Mr. Anderson gave me a very special ball-point pen.”
Scottie stopped to catch his breath. He had been lucky to find so many new treasures for his Everything Box.
Scottie thought about the fun he’d had collecting things for his own very special Everything Box, but it was even more exciting to think about snowflakes and all the other things the world had in its Everything Box—wonderful things just waiting for Scottie to discover.

Carlitos wiped the tears from his eyes. His mamá had been sick for many months. At last Papá had convinced her to go to the city, many kilometers from their small village in Chile, and see a doctor. After many tests, the doctor said that Carlitos’s mamá had cancer.
Mamá refused to feel sorry for herself. “I still have much to do,” she said.
One day, two young norteamericanos (North Americans) appeared at the door of their small home. “We are from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints,” one said in halting Spanish.
Mamá listened intently and occasionally asked questions. She accepted the young men’s message immediately. “It is the truth,” she said.
Despite the disease that caused her much pain, Mamá was determined to be baptized and confirmed.
On Saturday morning the family traveled to the small meetinghouse where Elder Metzer baptized her. She shivered as she stepped from the baptismal font.
“Mamá, you are cold,” Carlitos said and wrapped his arms around her waist. “You must go home and get warm.”
Mamá shook her head. “It is not enough. I will stay until I am confirmed. How can I be cold when the gospel warms me?” She was confirmed a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Mamá was not content with just that. She was determined that Papá and Carlitos learn of the restored gospel as she had. “If you will pray, you will know the truth of which the missionaries speak,” she told them.
The elders taught them the gospel of Jesus Christ. Papá would have to give up his cigarettes. Carlitos listened to the elders’ teachings and felt peace wrap around his heart. He began to understand the warmth that Mamá had described.
Within a month Papá had stopped smoking. Shortly afterward both Papá and Carlitos were baptized and confirmed. A few weeks later Papá received the Aaronic Priesthood. Carlitos would have to wait three more years before he could receive the priesthood.
Mamá was very weak, but she always managed to go to church and visit those in the village who were sick.
“We are members of God’s Church, but it is not enough,” Mamá told Papá and Carlitos one night.
“What must we do now?” Carlitos asked. He loved learning about the gospel and wanted to live it in every way.
“We must be sealed in the temple,” Mamá said.
The temple in Santiago was the closest one to their home. But they did not have enough money to travel there. Any extra money Papá earned went to buy medicine for Mamá.
So Mamá started a temple jar. She placed it by the door. The coins she collected grew until the family had enough money to make the trip. In the temple their family was sealed for time and all eternity.
Mamá glowed with happiness. “It is enough,” she said.

Jackie:
Being a newlywed has been a change. Honestly speaking, God is super important within our relationship. Without God, we might have broken up!

Jason:
In the beginning of our marriage, I used to be on my phone using social media or checking emails. It was easy for me to get stuck in the phone or computer.

We realized that we needed to spend more time together. So now we do housework together. This helps us get it done, and we are able to be with each other.

Jackie:
We try to squeeze some time in the mornings to be together, but mornings can get busy.

We also try to take time in the evenings to talk about our day; then we pray and read the scriptures before we sleep. Living the gospel has blessed our marriage.

Jason and Jackie know it’s important to stay connected as spouses. They also know it’s essential to stay connected to God. Regular prayer has strengthened and blessed their marriage.

Despite their busy schedules, Jason and Jackie make sure they take time in the evenings to read the scriptures together.

“I’m home!” Daddy called. He was home early for Wyatt’s birthday. Wyatt turned five today!
Wyatt ran to him. Daddy gave him a big hug. “After lunch, you and I will go to the park,” Daddy said.
“Just us?” Wyatt asked. He loved his mom and his little sister, Maria, but sometimes he wanted to do things with just Daddy.
“Just us,” Daddy said.
Mommy made a lunch with all of Wyatt’s favorites. She also made a crown out of gold paper and glitter.
“Is that for me?” Wyatt asked, eyes wide.
“It is,” Mommy said.
It was a special birthday!
Wyatt wore the crown to the park. It kept slipping off his head, but he didn’t mind. “Daddy, does my birthday crown make me special?” he asked.
Daddy smiled. “A birthday crown is fun, but it’s not what makes you special. You are special because you are a child of God! And so is everyone else. That means everyone is special too.”
Daddy and Wyatt played on the playground. Wyatt went down the slide.
“Do you think I can go down the slide too?” Daddy asked.
Wyatt giggled. “You’re too big.”
Wyatt climbed up the ladder to go down the slide again. A girl was in front of him. She was afraid to go down. Wyatt thought about how everyone was special to Heavenly Father.
“You can do it!” he said.
She slid down the slide. So did Wyatt.
“Good job!” Wyatt said. She smiled at him, and he smiled back.
Being kind made Wyatt happy! He knew everyone was special, whether they had a birthday crown or not.

When Loni Frandsen was born in 1985, she was a giant compared to other “preemies” at the University of Utah Newborn Intensive Care Center. She weighed three pounds, ten ounces, but, still, her mother, Sharon, couldn’t find any clothes small enough to fit Loni properly. “We had a friend come in and bring a little Cabbage Patch doll dress, and she wore that her first Sunday. It was supposed to hit her at her knees, but it hit her ankles,” Sharon says. It took months for Loni to grow into the “preemie” clothes sold in stores.
Today, 12-year-old Loni, of the Jordan (Utah) Oaks Fifth Ward, can’t remember all of that trouble, but she’s heard enough about it to want to change things somehow. So on January 1, Loni set a goal to sew clothes small enough for babies as tiny as one or two pounds and donate them to the hospital.
“If she sets a goal, she does it,” says Sharon. “There is no stopping her.” Loni says she is always working on one goal or another. And it doesn’t matter whether it’s service oriented or meant for self-improvement; Loni is up to the challenge.
One year Loni decided to go without candy and sugary foods for a month. Another time she enlisted the help of her mother to clean all of the chairs in the Primary room. “That was a biggie,” Sharon says. “We washed every chair, and it took about three hours even with two of us.” The list could go on and on because Loni is a natural at setting goals and following through.
Her idea to sew “preemie” clothes has definitely been one of the larger goals on that list. But for Loni it was easy. She has been sewing since age eight and had no problem finding doll patterns to shrink down and follow. Within a week Loni had sewn eight outfits and delivered them to the newborns at the University of Utah Hospital.
A local television station got wind of what she was doing and picked up her story when Loni delivered the clothes to the hospital. A local viewer was impressed and donated several bolts of material to Loni for more clothes.
Loni quickly took up the challenge and sewed 18 more outfits. This time she made tiny jogging suits, dresses, and night clothes for the infants. On March 1 she returned to the hospital with another batch of clothes.
There she met Kimberly and Mark Graham, whose son Colton had been in the hospital for six weeks. Colton was born 13 weeks early and had only been dressed twice when Loni delivered the clothes. Kimberly was touched by Loni’s ability and desire to do this for her son and the other infants at the hospital. “It means a lot to the parents,” she says. “It’s especially nice because some of these people could really use this. Dressing their babies up lets them feel that they’re going to be okay and helps them realize that there are other [premature] babies out there.”
Many of the clothes Loni delivered will remain at the hospital for other infants to wear during their stay or until they grow into store-bought clothes. And, most likely, Loni Frandsen will show up again at the Newborn Intensive Care Center with an armful of clothes. For Loni service is an everyday act. She says that goals like this allow her to be an example. “[They] help me because I can do things for other people, just like Jesus would.” Loni couldn’t have said that any better.