Gospel Story Finder

As an example of this I would like to tell you about a wonderful mission president and his darling wife I met while I was on was on a church assignment in Argentina. I had occasion to ask him how he came to join the church. He told me that as a teenager, one day he was with some friends looking for something to do. They invited him to come to a church dance with them that night. So he did. He said, “I loved the way everyone treated me. I loved the music they played. I loved the way I felt while I was there.” So he asked his friends if he could come to church with them the next day and they happily agreed to take him. He had those same kinds of feelings when he was at church. By the way, that teaches the principle that the spirit can be felt when we are participating in good, wholesome recreation as well as in the reverence of a church meeting. Remember the thought “when I do good, I feel good.” Well, one thing led to another and he was taught the gospel, joined the church and soon went on a mission. When he returned from his mission he began going to institute and young adult activities where he met the lovely young woman who became his wife. They were married in the temple and in due time had their first baby. With reverence in his voice he said “When it was time for that baby to receive a name and a blessing, I could do it because I held the Priesthood. That day I was so thankful for the great blessing of the Priesthood. When it was time for the child to be baptized he, of course was able to baptize and confirm the child because, and he said it with awe, I held the priesthood.

The years passed and he continued to faithfully serve where called in the church, always thankful for the blessings his membership brought. Then he told me, “When my child was ready to receive a patriarchal blessing, I was serving as the Stake Patriarch and I was able to give the blessing to my own child. Time went on and so did his service in the church and then the day came when his child was ready to be married in the Temple of the Lord. At that time he was serving as a sealer in the temple and had the humbling privilege of performing the eternal marriage ordinance for his own child.”

He was overwhelmed with the blessings that had come into his life because he had gone to a church activity to have fun, where he felt the spirit of the Lord.

Well, one day when we’d piled into Uncle Chadwick’s office, he wasn’t there. What was there was his big Colt dragoon revolver, lying on his desk in a patch of windowlight. It was a handsome piece, full of mystery. Uncle Chadwick had used that very gun to shoot a huge bush pig that had come snorting into Horse Creek one day. The pig was foaming at the mouth and chasing Cylus Thombson’s girl who’d been playing marbles in the street. All it had taken was one shot from the Colt dragoon, and that prairie hog was laid out flatter than the road through town!

I gained my testimony of the power of prayer when I was about 12 years old. I had worked hard to earn some money and had managed to save five dollars. This was during the Great Depression, when five dollars was a substantial sum of money—especially for a boy of 12. I gave all my coins, which totaled five dollars, to my father, and he gave me in return a five-dollar bill. I know there was something specific I planned to purchase with the five dollars, although all these years later I can’t recall what it was. I just remember how important that money was to me.
At the time, we did not own a washing machine, so my mother would send to the laundry each week our clothes which needed to be washed. After a couple of days, a load of what we called “wet wash” would be returned to us, and Mother would hang the items on our clothesline out back to dry.
I had tucked my five-dollar bill in the pocket of my jeans. As you can probably guess, my jeans were sent to the laundry with the money still in the pocket. When I realized what had happened, I was sick with worry. I knew that pockets were routinely checked at the laundry prior to washing. If my money was not discovered and taken during that process, I knew it was almost certain the money would be dislodged during washing and would be claimed by a laundry worker who would have no idea to whom the money should be returned, even if he had the inclination to do so. The chances of getting back my five dollars were extremely remote—a fact which my dear mother confirmed when I told her I had left the money in my pocket.
I wanted that money; I needed that money; I had worked very hard to earn that money. I realized there was only one thing I could do. In my extremity I turned to my Father in Heaven and pleaded with Him to keep my money safe in that pocket somehow until our wet wash came back.
Two very long days later, when I knew it was about time for the delivery truck to bring our wash, I sat by the window, waiting. As the truck pulled up to the curb, my heart was pounding. As soon as the wet clothes were in the house, I grabbed my jeans and ran to my bedroom. I reached into the pocket with trembling hands. When I didn’t find anything immediately, I thought all was lost. And then my fingers touched that wet five-dollar bill. As I pulled it from the pocket, relief flooded over me. I offered a heartfelt prayer of gratitude to my Father in Heaven, for I knew that He had answered my prayer.

When the Lord took me to Australia, I thought my heart would break because of the extremes in my experience. And, gratefully, it did break! It broke open when I started reaching to feel what my head knew was true. Before I left home, I knew the Church was true and understood the gospel well enough to live by it and teach it to others, but the pain of the separation from my family and friends made me want to feel the comfort of His love like I had never wanted it before. Even though I was with my best friend, my husband, I still needed to know and to feel that the Savior was with me--always, just like He promises. Facing little that was familiar to me, I needed to know that He would guide me no matter where I went. I understood that such a blessing of the Spirit's constant companionship depends upon my faithful living. Now my living took on new purpose and meaning. I wanted to be better at "always remembering Him." My heart broke open with the desire to reflect His light the way I could see His light reflected in others. My actions became expressions of my longings to belong to Him, and to be like Him.

I have always very much liked the painting of the Savior in the wine-colored robe. For a long time that picture was how I thought of Him--as a picture. But then, in my thirst, I dug through the scriptures, I scraped away the false illusions as I prayed, and I stretched myself further to live what I was learning. Then, as the poem says, "after many days," He became real to me--He became a living, breathing being that I could feel. It is not that I have seen Him with my eyes. But my feelings for him run deeper than ever before. I feel so tender for Him. And I know how He feels about me; that He wants to be with me, too. This testimony is real, as real as the knowledge that I will be with Him someday--at Home. That was the jewel that I dug for and now live for. It was waiting for me to unearth it, with the Savior's help, from the landscape of my heart. And now, because I am always in this process, as my heart's opals are soaking in the Light of the Son, God's Son, I rejoice in what I feel for Him.

When I turned to him, He ran to me. If you will turn to Him, He will run to you.

Like many of you, when I was growing up I tended to devote my time to things that I naturally excelled at. But I learned something valuable when I chose to devote some time to something that I'm not naturally good at. A few years ago, I decided to train for a marathon. I have never been a regular runner...in fact, I was pretty vocal about the fact that running was torture to me. In spite of these feelings, I decided to overcome my fears and train for a marathon.

While I never ran fast, and definitely didn't break any records (you know the people at the very, very end of a race? Well, I was just ahead of them). I learned that running a marathon is all about time and patience and just putting one foot in front of the other. That's the essential decision that I had to make...keep going, one step at a time.

Changing things about ourselves is basically the same. One foot in front of the other, day after day. This takes a lot of patience.

“Do you see how they fly, Stephen?” Dad thrusts his arm upward, pointing a finger to the V shape rippling through the sky high overhead. The chill October wind whips at my face as I try to understand the excitement in his voice. It’s late afternoon. We are standing alongside our minivan. We’ve pulled off the side of the road somewhere between St. George and Cedar City, Utah, on our way to the Missionary Training Center in Provo. My call has come and I’m going to Baltimore, Maryland.
“Watch,” he says. “You’ll see it in a moment. It happens quickly. It’s a wonder.”
I resist the urge to look at him. He’s the real wonder here. His enthusiasm makes you think he’s the one leaving on a mission.
“Now!” Dad’s voice shouts above the wind. The lead goose slips out of formation and slides to the back of one leg of the V. The flock speeds on toward its destination. Shortly the geese are black specks in the sky, arrowing into the dusk.
“Did you see what they did?” he asks, as we climb back into the van. We buckle our seat belts and he continues: “They work together. Singly they would perish on the long flight, but they take turns leading the way. One leads for a while, slashing the air for the others. Then he quietly moves to the back and another takes over.” We pull out onto the road.
“How do they know what to do?” I ask.
“They’ve learned to trust the order God put in things.”
He’s trying to tell me something. This is his way. As Provo gets closer with each passing mile post, though, my thoughts fly to my mission, to my future.
“What you say is true. This will change your life forever,” I tell Brother and Sister Frost in response to her statement. And it will. I’ve been teaching the gospel of Jesus Christ as a missionary for nearly two years now. Soon I’ll be going home. I’ve learned that whenever people accept the gospel, it changes their lives. Of course there are those who, after searching a lifetime, find in the gospel nothing but great relief from life’s most difficult questions. Usually though, it’s the other way, the refiner’s fire, a test and building of faith. But always, always, the gospel brings change.
Elder Jepson and I have been teaching the Frosts for three weeks now. With their permission, we started calling them Brother and Sister. He’s an accountant, and she worked as a legal secretary before their children were born. I’m not sure where we are with them. We’ll need to move forward carefully with our teaching.
I wait for one of them to speak. It’s an important moment. I hope Elder Jepson recognizes it and doesn’t suddenly lose his shyness. The Frosts are a handsome couple, she blond and he dark. Not Hollywood-like at all, but vibrant, a handsomeness born of hope for their lives. I like them both.
Sister Frost speaks, “I think it also means leaving our family, our friends.”
“You might bring some of them with you. Lead the way,” I say. I wait again for someone to fill the silence. They have told me several times how their families feel about Mormons. “We personally have nothing against you Mormons,” they said to us the evening we first knocked on their door. It was to convince themselves of their open-mindedness, I suspect, that they invited us in. In three weeks now we have become close friends.
Sister Frost glances at her husband, but he continues to stare into the carpet. He seems to be deep in thought. She’s not saying what she wants to do. She just keeps pointing out the practical problems—the difficulties of the choice. I think she’s waiting for him to do something, but I’m not sure.
Two days ago, we asked them to be baptized. He is treating us with the distance that we felt the first visit. I recognize the signs. He is on the edge. We must wait now, no matter how loud the silence screams at us to fill it. I want to step in. I want to persuade. I’ve learned though that seconds on a clock wing their way with their own voice.
I look over at Elder Jepson. Two months in the mission field, six feet tall, two-hundred pounds. He has a lot to learn. Elder Jepson is shy, and it may be weeks before he can give the lessons. I know this family is important to him, though. It will really hurt him if they veer away from the Church.
Elder Jepson looks like he’s studying the carpet, too. His coarse red hair dangles from the top of his forehead.
Brother Frost clears his throat.
“Your church asks a great deal—too much I’m afraid. My wife and I have talked a lot. We’re impressed—truly impressed—with your church programs. But all of our friends, all of our family, they believe differently. We’d have to offend them by not drinking with them. We’d have to go to church every Sunday. We’d be … like you say, changing everything.” He talks again about the many fine programs in the Church. But in the end, using accountant’s language, he says, “The ledger page doesn’t balance.”
It’s clear he’s slipped off the edge now. It’s 8:40 P.M. and I’ve been up since 5:30 this morning. I’m tired and I want to go home. I know we’re not supposed to weary in well-doing, but I think we have done all the good we can. I can’t expect Elder Jepson to help here. I must try to hold on to everyone’s dignity. It’s up to me to exit us gracefully and hope the Spirit will work on them after we have gone.
Brother Frost thanks us and wishes us well, but thinks we should look for others who might be more willing followers.
I feel the emptiness I’ve felt a hundred times before. I feel alone. Awkward. We’ve given so much time and effort these last three weeks. I look over at Elder Jepson to see if he’s ready to go. He is staring at Sister Frost and she at him. A tear moves from Elder Jepson’s left eye, down his freckly face. This surprises me. I look at Brother Frost. He’s looking at me and doesn’t notice. I look at Sister Frost. Her eyes brim with tears.
“May I speak?” Elder Jepson’s voice, husky now, breaks the uneasiness. He brushes the tear away, then turns slowly to face Brother Frost. His large farm-toughened hands grab at his knees. He slides forward on the couch, locks his eyes onto Brother Frost’s, and begins.
“I came 2,500 miles to find you. I feel we were guided to you.” Elder Jepson looks down like he’s trying to find what to say next.
“I love your wife, Brother Frost. I love her because she sees. She has told you all of the problems; she has given you all of the pictures a man could want so he could understand and solve them, and you’re running from them. Why?”
I’m stunned. I look at Brother Frost. The room, sedate only a moment before, is intense now. Brother Frost, I think, is puzzled, trying to figure out what Elder Jepson is doing. I want to interrupt, but something says to move aside—for the moment.
Before anyone else speaks, Elder Jepson continues. “And I love you, Brother Frost. I know about your job and your accounting degree. About your dreams, your courtship and marriage, and your three children. I know about your child that died two years ago. I know about your despair. And I know that you’re all wrong about what it means to be a member of the Church.”
Brother Frost rises on his seat. I squeeze the scriptures I have in my hand. Brother Frost has let us know he believes he and his family are good. He has told us how the family goes to a church from time to time, how he is honest, how he has always read a little from the Bible and how, when he was 12, he made up his mind he would never use certain words, and he never has. I’m afraid that Elder Jepson has offended him. I better salvage what I can, quickly. I start to say something. Brother Frost raises his hand—a sign for me to be quiet—and continues staring at Elder Jepson. Then he says, “We’re not perfect, Elder Jepson, but we are decent people. I believe I know all that I need to know about your church and your God. We could easily join you, but we don’t want to.” Brother Frost speaks kindly but firmly. The discussion is over.
But Elder Jepson softly begins again: “You say that, but you never talk about the Savior. Oh, you can talk about God but you have never understood. You tell us you like the Primary because it teaches children to speak in public at an early age and sing in a group. You think sacrament meeting is good because you feel fellowship there. You think the Book of Mormon has some interesting stories in it. You think we’re introducing you to a club. You take out your accounting pads and start adding and subtracting. When you total the benefits of the club against the costs, the club comes up short.”
Elder Jepson has kept his voice even and soft. Brother Frost keeps the emotion out of his face, except for a hint of a smile. Sister Frost looks at her husband now, worried. I decide to stay on the wing of this, for a moment longer, not sure why.
Calmly, Brother Frost says, “You have a lot to learn, Elder Jepson. Life always involves totaling columns of benefits and burdens. But you’re right. Your club, if you will, doesn’t do as much for us as our present club. I’m sorry. That’s how we see it. I’m glad your church works for you. But the programs, as nice as they are, don’t offset the difficulties joining your church would bring us.”
Brother Frost is being gracious. I’ll talk to Elder Jepson later about leaving people with a positive feeling, even if they don’t join. At least some of his shyness is leaving. There’s hope.
Elder Jepson leans forward again. “Brother Frost, you’ve misunderstood. Those programs—Primary, Sunday School, youth activities—those aren’t what this church is about. And it’s not about not smoking or not drinking or paying tithing and fast offerings either. It’s not even about friendship and fellowship. Not only have you added the wrong columns, you’re in the wrong ledger.” I remember now that Elder Jepson took an accounting class the semester before he came on his mission.
Brother Frost responds, “Then why do you try to convince people that your church is so wonderful because of those things?”
“I didn’t come here to tell you you need those things. I came to invite you to know the Savior. If Elder Simpson and I leave tonight, and we leave you believing that you can put this church on a ledger sheet, then we have failed.
“Brother Frost, this is the Savior’s church. Next week the programs might change or disappear, but the Savior won’t. He’s waiting for us to ask for help in our lives. We didn’t come to change your life; we came to teach you that your life will change from the choices you make and that you can choose with heavenly guidance. We came to tell you that Heavenly Father listens to every cry for help from a sincere heart. This church is about Him and His love for you and for me. This church is where the fullness of His gospel and its saving ordinances are found. The rules we live by and the programs are only helps so we may return to Him. We didn’t come here to ask you to join us; we came to ask you to join Him.”
I am moved. I am amazed. I’m not prepared for this from my shy, red-haired companion. I didn’t dream he had that in him. I feel a burning within me. I sense a fire in the room and imagine the hint of a distant melody. Elder Jepson’s speech is eloquent, powerful. I should have been the one to do this. I am the senior companion. I have the experience. I am the leader here. I see the Frosts are touched and I want to be the one that has done it.
I hear the voice in my mind say “I” again, with pity and selfishness in its tone. This time, with effort, I stop it with a memory of a chill wind, wild geese, and my father pointing skyward at dusk.
The Frosts look at one another. Brother Frost says, “Dear, what do you think?”
Eloquently, she tells us all what she sees. She speaks about a new feeling, new courage, a desire to move forward. Brother Frost keeps nodding his head, smiling, agreeing. The music hints around us, again.
I know I will soon move beyond the feeling and the sounds of tonight, but not the memory of it. It will sustain me. I will beat against many head winds as I journey back to my Maker, but I will not fly without the music of this night playing somewhere in my heart. I understand it is time for me to move over, and I make room for Elder Jepson.

Now, to conclude, there is a lesson from the life of President Gordon B. Hinckley that we have perhaps overlooked because it occurred at the end of his life. President Hinckley was a bold leader filled with faith, but there were two things he feared: the first was getting cancer, and the second was losing his wife. His mother, brother, and sister had died of cancer. He feared cancer. And Sister Hinckley was the joy of his life, and he couldn’t imagine life without her.

But then, in April 2004, Sister Hinckley missed General Conference. In his concluding remarks, President Hinckley acknowledged that she was not well.

“It is a somber time for me,” he said. “We have been married for 67 years this month. … We’ve walked together side by side through all of these years, coequals and companions through storm and sunshine.”21

Two days later, Sister Hinckley slipped through the veil. President Hinckley was heartbroken and still recovering from the loss when, just nine months later, he was diagnosed with cancer. He underwent surgery, but the cancer had spread. Most assumed that, at the age of 95, he would not submit to treatment, but when he asked his doctors if they could administer chemotherapy to someone his age, they agreed to try.

One might wonder why he didn’t see his cancer at that age as evidence that it was time to reunite with his wife, but he explained, in words to this effect, “I feel I should do all I can to live as long as I can. Then when death comes, I will know it is the Lord’s will and that I did all I could do.” President Hinckley lived two more years–likely 12 to 18 months longer than he would have otherwise. In January 2008, he passed away.

In this final act of devotion, President Hinckley set a pattern for all of us. He demonstrated that, above all, he was determined to do all the Lord had sent him here to do. He modeled the admonition he had given the Church when he said, “We are all in this together. ... Within your sphere of responsibility you have as serious an obligation as do I within my sphere of responsibility. Each of us should be determined to build the kingdom of God on earth and to further the work of righteousness.”22

President Hinckley was a disciple of Jesus Christ who did as much as he could for as long as he could. Decades earlier, he had begun planting seeds of faith and devotion to the Lord that he harvested in his final days and years.

A true story from the USA.
Emma gripped her pencil tightly as her teacher handed out the papers.
“It’s time for our Cheetah Chase,” said Ms. Malcolm. “You have five minutes to do 93 math problems. Everyone who finishes on time can add a cheetah sticker to their chart.”
Emma really wanted a cheetah sticker. If you got five stickers, you won a prize! But the Cheetah Chase math problems were so hard.
“Everyone ready?” Ms. Malcolm said. “Go!”
Emma flipped over her paper and started answering the questions. She had to think carefully about each one. It was hard!
BZZZZZZZ! The timer went off, making Emma jump.
“Pencils down!” Ms. Malcolm called.
Emma hid her paper with her hand and kept writing answers. It wasn’t a big deal if she kept going, right? She’d done it before, and nobody noticed.
“Pass your paper to the person next to you for grading,” Ms. Malcolm said.
Emma finished the last answer before passing her paper.
When Emma got her paper back, she saw the red 100% at the top. But she didn’t feel very good inside.
“Everyone come show me your papers to get your stickers,” Ms. Malcolm said.
Emma walked to Ms. Malcolm’s desk with her paper.
“Emma, can you stay up here for a minute, please?” Ms. Malcolm asked.
While everyone else was talking, Ms. Malcolm turned to Emma. “Did you keep answering questions even after the timer went off?”
Emma’s face got really hot. She nodded and looked down. “Yes.”
“Have you done that before?”
Emma shook her head. “No.” But she felt her face get even hotter. She had cheated before. And now she had lied.
“I can’t give you a cheetah sticker unless you follow the rules. Do you understand?”
Emma nodded. Then she walked to her seat with her eyes down.
For the rest of the school day, Emma felt an awful knot twisting and turning in her stomach. She felt bad for cheating. She felt bad for lying. She didn’t like this feeling!
After school, Emma talked to Mom. “I don’t feel very good,” she said.
“What’s wrong?” Mom asked.
Emma suddenly got nervous. Should she tell Mom what she had done?
She took a deep breath. “I cheated today at school.” It was the first time she said it out loud. It felt like the knot in her stomach was untwisting. “And I’ve done it before. I feel bad.”
Mom gave Emma a hug. “Thanks for telling me. You know cheating is wrong. Why did you do it?”
“Because I really wanted a cheetah sticker, but I didn’t finish the math problems in time.”
Mom nodded. “What do you think you should do now?”
Emma thought about it. “I should say a prayer to Heavenly Father to say sorry for not being honest. Then tell my teacher.”
“That sounds great.” Mom smiled. “And I can help you practice math more so you’re ready for the next Cheetah Chase.”
“Thanks, Mom,” Emma said. Then she and Mom knelt down to say a prayer. Emma felt warm. She was glad she had decided to repent.
After she prayed, Emma wrote an email to her teacher. She told the truth and said sorry for cheating. She promised she wouldn’t do it again.
After clicking send, Emma felt so much better. She knew Ms. Malcolm would probably cross her cheetah stickers off her chart. But that was OK. From now on she would earn them the honest way.
“Because of Jesus Christ, we can repent and be forgiven of our sins.”
President Russell M. Nelson, “The Answer Is Always Jesus Christ,” Liahona, May 2023, 127.
Illustrations by Anny Chen

I would like to thank you for printing “Name Them One by One” in the January 1986 issue. It made me think about all of my blessings. I am blessed a lot, just as Kim is. Last summer I was in a competition in which I did my best, but I still placed third out of three competitors at the state level. What I learned from the loss was that I, like Kim, needed to keep things in perspective. Now I am trying to get back to state level to try again. Thanks again for printing the story. You’ve made my day.

As much joy a new birth in the family can bring; the loss of a loved one can be equally devastating. When I lost my husband in 2015, learning about the Plan of Salvation for the first time brought consequential amount of comfort to me personally. Although it was a new doctrine to me, but somehow, it just seemed so familiar to me. Not only had it given me hope at a very challenging period of my life, but also, I was made cognizant of the true love that our Heavenly Father has for me and all His children.

Philadelphia, 1850
Members of the Philadelphia Historical Society hushed as Thomas L. Kane rose to address them. Colonel Kane, son of a prominent judge and member of a highly respected Pennsylvania family, read to them a formal paper about his experiences in the West among the Mormon refugees from Nauvoo. Eloquently, he described the exodus from Nauvoo, the poverty and hard circumstances of the refugees, their willing response to the government’s call for a Mormon Battalion, and then told of their beginning efforts in Utah.
The address was so well received that Colonel Kane, at the prodding of a Mormon elder, published it as a very nice book of 84 pages titled The Mormons. The Kanes paid for the printing of two editions of 1,000 copies each, then mailed a volume to every United States senator, most of the congressmen, the President, government department heads, and other influential people.
Why was he concerned for the Saints? Colonel Kane became interested in Mormons four years earlier when he attended a Mormon conference in Philadelphia. Afterwards he talked for hours with Elder Jesse C. Little about Mormonism. He then wrote letters to aid Elder Little among the people in Washington, D.C., and later rode west with the elder to visit the Mormon refugee camps. Near one, he happened to overhear a Saint in earnest private prayer. While listening, the Colonel shed tears. “I am satisfied your people are solemnly and terribly in earnest,” he told Elder Little.
In the camps Colonel Kane became deathly ill. Carefully nursed by Saints, he recovered, but not before witnessing much of the everyday life of Mormons. On his return to the eastern U.S. he stopped to see the nearly deserted City of Nauvoo. At Albany, New York, illness nearly killed him. Fearing death, he instructed his father, a judge, to never suffer any evil to come upon the Saints from the federal government, if he had the power to do so. The Colonel survived, and then drew on his firsthand knowledge for his address to the historical society.
Colonel Kane’s published address, some critics said, seemed too sympathetic about the Mormons. With critics in mind he inserted a preface in The Mormons’ second edition to reinforce his conclusions:
“I have been annoyed by comments that this hastily written discourse has elicited. Well meaning friends have even invited me to soften its remarks in favor of the Mormons, so the Mormons would be more easily accepted. I can only make them more express. The Truth must take care of itself. I not only meant to deny that the Mormons in any way fall below our standard of morals, but I want it distinctly understood that I ascribe to those of their number with whom I associated in the West, a general correctness of deportment, and purity of character above the average of ordinary communities.”
During his lifetime Colonel Kane became the Church’s “Sentinel in the East.” He advised Church leaders on political matters in Washington, D.C. Once, on his own initiative, he traveled to Utah via Panama to serve as a mediator between the Mormons and the federal army sent against them by President James Buchanan. In 1873 he visited Utah again, this time with his wife. While they accompanied President Young on a long trip south through dozens of Mormon villages, Mrs. Kane wrote down her honest reactions in letters home and in her journal. In 1874 her father published a book based on her Utah writings, Twelve Mormon Homes. “with the intent of getting sympathy for Mormons, who are at this time threatened with hostile legislation by Congress.”3

The best-known of Brittany’s creative service may be a sock monkey project she started—a project one of her friends has now dubbed “The Secret Ninja Monkey Operation.” Why sock monkeys, you might ask?
Well, the project started as just a fun activity to do with a pair of knee socks. As Brittany worked on the first sock monkey, however, she thought of friends who were going through surgeries. She decided to make sock monkeys for those experiencing hard times, including patients who are frequently in the hospital. “Really, my sock monkeys are for anyone who needs a pick-me-up,” she says.
She even customizes some of the sock monkeys with medical equipment so that patients uncomfortable about getting new tubes or surgeries will have “a buddy with them who has the same thing.” She and her friends have sent over 400 sock monkey “buddies” to patients all over the world.

I read with great pleasure the excellent article “Attack!” by Kathleen Lubeck in the October New Era. It was very timely and well done. One expression in the last paragraph of the first column reminded me of an incident I would like to relate to you. One day I was telling my former bishop how lucky I had been in some circumstance that I cannot now remember. I will never forget what happened next. He looked me straight in the eye and said very soberly, “No, Sister Knecht, you have been blessed.” Just a few simple words, but they had such an effect upon me that I have never since felt any way but blessed when good things have happened to me or when I have been spared some ill fortune that might have befallen me.
It has made a drastic change in my attitude toward my Father in Heaven It has made me much more aware of the good things that come from him and which cause my heart to swell with gratitude. When I am with other people, a silent prayer goes heavenward. I have told this experience to many people. Whenever I hear anyone say “I am lucky,” I just quietly say, “You are blessed.” The response has been universally the same as mine was. And many of these people have thanked me since for the “lesson I taught them,” as if they needed reminding who really taught them the lesson.
I am grateful to my bishop for these inspired words and to my Heavenly Father for my many blessings. I am a great-grandmother, but I thoroughly enjoy reading the New Era and find many inspiring articles therein.
Ora Lee KnechtLogan, Utah

I can share with you a simple example from my own life of what parents can do. When I was about five or six years old, I lived across the street from a small grocery store. One day two other boys invited me to go with them to the store. As we stood coveting the candy for sale there, the older boy grabbed a candy bar and slipped it into his pocket. He urged the other boy and me to do the same, and after some hesitation we did. Then we quickly left the store and ran off in separate directions. I found a hiding place at home and tore off the candy wrapper. My mother discovered me with the chocolate evidence smeared on my face and escorted me back to the grocery store. As we crossed the street, I was sure I was facing life imprisonment. With sobs and tears, I apologized to the owner and paid him for the candy bar with a dime that my mother had loaned me (which I had to earn later). My mother’s love and discipline put an abrupt and early end to my life of crime.

I was still sitting on the porch thinking when Katie and Shauna came running around the house. “Come and play catch with us,” they called.
We threw the ball back and forth to each other, and then Katie threw one that was too high for me. Running backward to catch it, I slipped and fell on my backside in a clump of Mom’s blue irises. Mom came out of the shed just then with a pair of clippers to cut a bouquet. I looked at the smashed flowers and was just starting to speak, when something inside of me seemed to say, “No, Janna Lynn, you’re not going to say Katie made you do it.”
“I’m sorry, Mom,” I said. “I ran backward and fell.”
“Yes, I know. I saw you,” she replied.
“And you’re not mad at me?”
“Of course not.”
The way she laughed, I almost felt good about sitting on her flowers.
“Just look at all those irises that you didn’t sit on,” she said. “A daughter who tells the truth is more important than a whole yard full of flowers!”
Goodness! That must have been the Holy Ghost prompting me to the the truth, I thought. And He’s helping me to learn what a great feeling you have when you know you’ve done the right thing. I could hardly wait to tell Cindy.

Let me share with you the experience of Julie, a young woman who was able to face a challenge by following the promptings of the Holy Ghost. She was studying the Old Testament one day, and the thought came to her mind, "Read Matthew 5. Read Matthew 5." She thought, "Why would the thought come to me to read the New Testament?" She acted on that prompting and read in Matthew, "Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you" (Matthew 5:44).
The next day she had some difficulties with her friends who were unkind and betrayed her. At first she was very upset, and then she thought, "I’ve been prepared for this. The Spirit prompted me to read Matthew, and I must love and pray for my friends." The small step of reading the scriptures prepared her to respond in a Christlike way. From that experience, she was assured that the Lord knew her, and through the promptings of the Holy Ghost, she knew what she was to do.

When I was a young mother with my first baby, my husband was still in college. We both worked part time to make ends meet.
Looking forward to a day off work, I had planned to watch an old movie on television. This was before DVDs or streaming services.
The movie would begin at the perfect time—10:00 a.m.—when our son would be napping. It starred Cary Grant, one of my favorite American movie stars.
The night before my anticipated day off, the ward Relief Society president called. A sister in our ward had suffered a mild stroke and needed care the next day until her son returned from work.
“I would do this myself, but I have company,” the Relief Society president said. She explained that she had no one else to ask and offered to watch our son while I cared for the sister. I reluctantly agreed.
The next morning, I dropped off our son and went to visit the sister. Her name was Louise, and I felt a sudden rush of affection for her. She was old enough to be my grandmother, who had recently died.
I helped Louise dress and then prepared her breakfast. She eased into a chair and turned on the television. Soon it was 10:00 a.m. As she flipped through the channels with the remote, she said, “This television has nothing to offer.”
I hesitated and then said, “There’s a Cary Grant movie on channel 11.”
“Really?” she asked. “I love Cary Grant!”
We watched the movie and thoroughly enjoyed it. Afterward, she shared things about her life when she was my age. She told me about her son, and I told her about mine. She talked about the Church and how she missed it.
When her son returned, I promised to return. I told the Relief Society president to call me first if Louise ever needed anyone.
Sometime during the next two weeks, Louise suffered another stroke and passed away before I had a chance to see her again. We had shared only nine hours and a movie, but she became a dear friend. I think of her often.
I am thankful I didn’t lose the chance to help a sister who needed me—and whom I needed, though I didn’t realize it.

Natalie liked to watch her mom put on makeup. “Can I wear lipstick, too?” she asked one morning.
Mom smiled. “Not yet. Makeup isn’t for children.”
Natalie tried not to frown, but Mom looked so pretty. Natalie wanted to see how she would look wearing lipstick, too. “I won’t make a mess,” she promised. “I won’t even touch it! You can put it on for me.” She puckered her lips and stared at her mother’s reflection in the mirror. “Please?”
“No, Natalie. You’re too young.”
Natalie stormed out of the bathroom and flopped onto her bed. She had been old enough to make a very important decision last month—the decision to be baptized. If she was old enough to do something that important, why was she still too young to do so many other things? She sighed. It didn’t seem fair.
On Sunday, Grandma and Grandpa came over for dinner. After the meal, while the family sat around the table talking, Natalie excused herself to go to the bathroom. Something on the bathroom counter caught her eye: Mom’s makeup bag.
“Mom won’t know if I try on her lipstick,” Natalie thought, “as long as I wipe it off afterward.” She peered down the hall and saw the adults still talking and laughing. Now was her chance! She closed the door and poked through the bag until she found Mom’s red lipstick. Smearing it on her lips, she gave the mirror a glamorous smile. “See, I do look pretty with it on,” she thought.
When the doorknob rattled, she realized she hadn’t locked the door. It opened a crack. Quickly, she slammed it shut again.
“Hey,” Dad called. “What’s going on in there?”
“Nothing,” Natalie called back. “I need to use the bathroom, but I forgot to lock the door.”
“Sorry,” Dad said. She heard his footsteps disappear back down the hall. Breathing a sigh of relief, she wiped the lipstick off.
At first Natalie didn’t think much about the incident. She had tried on Mom’s makeup. It was only for a few seconds. She hadn’t made a mess or ruined anything. No one had seen her.
But a few weeks later, during the sacrament, Natalie remembered slamming the door on Dad. “What’s going on in there?” he had called. “Nothing,” she had said. Not only had she disobeyed her mom, she had lied to her dad, too.
“Why am I thinking about this?” she asked herself crossly, trying to shrug away the uncomfortable feeling. “It’s no big deal.” As the sacrament tray came down her row, she silently said a quick prayer asking for forgiveness and tried to think about something else.
All week, she couldn’t shake the bad feeling. It only got worse. Every time she forgot about her little white lie, something reminded her again. When her third-grade teacher smiled, Natalie noticed her shiny red lipstick. When a classmate came in late, slamming the door behind him, Natalie remembered slamming the door on Dad. “This is silly,” she chided herself. “Forget about it!” But she couldn’t.
By the end of the week, Natalie was so worried she felt almost sick. “All this guilt over lipstick?” she thought. Why was her conscience hounding her over something so small?
“Heavenly Father,” she prayed that night, “please help me to feel better without having to tell Mom what I did. It’s not that important, and I don’t want her to know. But I’m really, really sorry. Please forgive me. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
She sat at her bedside waiting for the Holy Ghost to tell her that everything was OK, but she felt only sadness.
The next morning, Natalie knew she had to confess. She sat on the edge of her bed and took a deep breath. Even though she was determined, she was also scared. Slowly, she stood and padded barefoot down the hall to the bathroom, where her mom was getting ready for the day.
“Mom, your lipstick is pretty,” she murmured.
Mom smiled. “Thank you, sweetie.”
Natalie gulped. “I tried it on a few weeks ago.”
Mom raised her eyebrows. “After I told you not to?”
“When Grandma and Grandpa came for dinner, I came in here and tried it on. Dad almost caught me, but I told him I was using the bathroom. I’m sorry.”
Mom didn’t say anything.
“Are you mad?” Natalie whimpered.
Mom squeezed Natalie’s shoulder. “I’m disappointed because you know better. But I’m happy that you told me the truth.”
At once, Natalie’s prayer to feel OK again was answered. The worried feeling went away. The knot in her stomach relaxed. Even though Mom was sure to punish her, Natalie felt like smiling. Nothing could be worse than the guilt she had carried. She never wanted to feel like that again.
Even though she wasn’t old enough to wear makeup, she was old enough for more important things—like honoring the gift of the Holy Ghost and following its promptings.

A couple of years ago my grandson Christian was turning eight and planning his baptismal service with great anticipation. He asked his mother if I could be one of the speakers and share my conversion story. When I asked him why he wanted me to do that, he replied, “Grandma, that is so important. Do you realize that if you hadn’t accepted the gospel, I wouldn’t be getting baptized? I wouldn’t even be who I am.”

I don’t know if missionaries realize the far-reaching impact of their work. In my own family, the blessings of the gospel have now touched four generations. Didn’t President Gordon B. Hinckley say that “when we save a girl, we save generations”? I got married in the temple and have eight children. They are all faithful members of the Church, endowed in the temple. Six of them are now married and have their own children. At present there are 34 of us. And that is not all. Both my husband and I served missions, and our two sons and three of our six daughters have also served missions. Collectively we have helped hundreds embrace the gospel in many countries. Some of those converts and their children have also served missions.

I had an interesting experience a few years ago. I came down to general conference from Idaho. I went to purchase some merchandise at ZCMI and to cash a check. They didn’t know me, and so they sent me up to the cashier. She asked for some identification. I reached into my wallet and took out some credit cards. Inadvertently, my temple recommend fell out. The cashier said, “I’ll accept that.”
I said, “You’ll accept what?”
She said, “Your temple recommend. It’s current, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” I said, “it’s current.”
“That’s fine,” she said.
Well, I thought about that. You know how you get an idea, and then pretty soon the idea gets you. I thought about it all the way home. I thought, “Wouldn’t it be great if we had a Mormon credit card, and a card-carrying Mormon could be depended on to keep his word and pay his bills—a card carrying Mormon, who, as a teacher, would teach until there was understanding (that may be a tall order); a mechanic who would honestly repair automobiles; a tradesman who would be a craftsman; one who would practice integrity in every way?” Wouldn’t it be great to be a peculiar people on the basis of our honesty and not our Word of Wisdom or a former marriage practice? I think that is a stimulating challenge. I don’t know how you’d like to be known as peculiar, but that’s a peculiarity I’d like to see all over the world—that Mormons and integrity are synonymous.