Gospel Story Finder

Katelyn B., 16, from Missouri, USA, was working on her Personal Progress when she noticed some of the projects she had set felt a little too easy to accomplish. So she decided she needed to challenge herself to do something greater and perhaps a little more meaningful. Little did she know she would also have to face one of her fears: speaking in public. Maybe not such a scary thing for some people, but for Katelyn it certainly was.

As Katelyn thought about setting a Personal Progress project goal for divine nature, she thought a lot about creating a project that could take her out of her comfort zone and really push her. She asked her leaders for ideas and one suggested visiting little girls in hospitals. Katelyn initially wanted to forget the idea. What would she even say to them?

But as Katelyn tried to think of a different project, her mind kept going back to those little girls. They are daughters of God like me, she thought. Maybe I could help some of them. She still felt the fear, but realizing she couldn’t push the feeling off any further, she got to work planning. Just a couple months later she began dressing up like a princess on her way to uplift and inspire the girls she visits in the hospital.

“Going to the hospital for the first time was one of the hardest things I have done,” Katelyn says. “It’s hard for me to talk to people I don’t know. But after the little girls saw me and began smiling, I felt peace. I knew it was what I needed to be doing.”

The glitter from Katelyn’s dress caught the little girls’ attention as she walked into the hospital rooms. This unexpected visit from a princess brightened their day. “They need to know they are important too,” she recounts.

Her goal was to help them smile as they engaged in fun activities and to encourage them to keep going.

“You really are a princess, whether you think you look like a princess or not,” says Katelyn. With a new perspective on divine nature, Katelyn learned to see these girls as daughters of God with great potential.

Katelyn is no superhero flying across the sky. She hasn’t done anything to break world records. But visiting her little princesses in hospitals has helped her overcome her fear and realize her true worth as a daughter of God.

Like any self-respecting teenager in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, I attended seminary for four consecutive years. This meant long hours of gospel learning in addition to Sunday and family study hours. It was sometimes a difficult and trying experience.
I began seminary in 2017 in our Pare Ward of the Arue Tahiti Stake. I was in 9th grade in school at the time, and I was eager to be part of this youth group.
During my first year, I woke up before 5 a.m. every weekday to get to seminary on time. I did my readings, and I was very attentive in class. I realized seminary contributed to deepening my relationship with God. Without Him, I would not have been able to successfully pass my school’s National Certificate Exam at the end of year 9.
Over the next two years, I gradually became lax in my duties, missing seminary or arriving late more often. I lost my desire to attend seminary, so I was less consistent in my efforts.
Accordingly, my 10th year in school was difficult, but I was unaware at the time of how this was related to my performance in seminary.
In year 11, I started going out with classmates who dabbled in things our Church doesn’t recommend, like alcohol and cigarettes. I even felt a little ashamed of not being like these friends and not hanging out more with them.
Consequently, my annual grades were low and if I had to take the bachelor exam that year, I doubt I would have passed.
Then, the COVID pandemic changed our daily lives, which I thank God for. When seminary classes started up on our smartphones, it was as if to counteract the evil that is also rampant on there.
Although I still had moments of weakness, I decided to hang in there and tried to sincerely follow the lessons of seminary, to benefit from God’s help in my studies.
I am grateful for my parents. Without them, I would have dropped out of seminary and followed the same path as my nonmember friends. As my favorite seminary teachers, they watched over me, making sure I stayed connected to God.
Then, healthy social relationships with the youth of the ward became my lifeline. Our activities together renewed me each time I was not in the mood. Among these friends was Corail Sommers, who never judged but always listened and encouraged and raised me up by her example.
In their own ways, they each contributed to my personal balance.
The discipline of daily immersion in the scriptures paid off in my last year of seminary, which was also my 12th and final year of school.
My seminary study habits allowed me to be better organized. While I’m not a fan of reading, I strove to read daily. It allowed me to maintain my relationship—even a fragile one—with Heavenly Father.
That year, I passed my bachelor diploma with honors. I got my driver’s license on my first try. I received my call to serve a mission in Paris. All in all, the hand of God was in my life the whole time I was in seminary and at school.
Looking back, I testify that God will always help because He loves us.
Seminary is exactly what we need as young people to help us to trust God and to let him prevail in our lives. He always trusted me.

Maintaining your standards qualifies you for marriage in the temple. Incidentally, this is the 173rd Annual General Conference of the Church, and for just a bit of trivia, my wife and I have been married 73 years. So the year we were married, the Church would have been holding the 100th annual conference. I can remember that as I was holding Ruby’s hand across the altar of the temple—listening to the words of the sealing ceremony—I had a special feeling in my heart, not only of the sacredness of it but of the responsibility I had to live as I should live, to take care of her and our children, and then our grandchildren, and then the other generations that would come along. I was determined to set an example of living the way a person can live in honoring the priesthood and our marriage covenant.

Now that we all have the right attitude, I should like to introduce the theme of what I have to say by relating an experience I had in Japan some time ago. Approximately six years ago I was in Osaka, Japan. I received a telephone call from one of the Japanese officers of the Church requesting an appointment. He indicated he had a personal problem to review with me. I invited him to my hotel room and there listened to one of the most intelligent and articulating young men I had ever met. He was a college graduate. He had majored in a special field of science and was employed by a stable, conservative corporation. It happened that one of his classmates who was at the top of his graduating class in the same field of science had become employed by a relatively new, progressive firm in Tokyo. Several times in recent months this classmate had tried to entice his friend, a member of the Church, to come and work for his company. Little interest was shown until one day a vice-president of the firm made contact and indicated he would like to have this young Mormon come to work for him. He could set his own salary, and it could be three or four times what he was then making. His response was, “I have a position in my Church. If there is the slightest question in the minds of the officers of my Church about my leaving Osaka, which will require my being released from my Church position, it doesn’t matter how much money you offer me. I will have no interest in your proposal.”

The vice-president answered, “I’m not a Christian. I know nothing about religion, but you are the kind of man I want in my organization.”

This was his dilemma: should he move from Osaka to Tokyo, which would require his being released from his Church assignment? Of course, I assured him he could serve the Lord in Tokyo as well as in Osaka. So he moved to Tokyo.

I happened to be in Tokyo last October, and I received another call from this same young man asking for a conference. We visited for quite some time. Now, this fine, intelligent young man had become extremely successful in his field. He had broadened his experience and was now a consultant teaching top managers in major corporations how to operate their companies. He had become a specialist in human dynamics—in other words, teaching people how to behave as they thought they were behaving or as they knew they should be behaving. His time was in great demand. He was making a very handsome income. He was neglecting his Church work, and he was neglecting his family responsibilities. Now his dilemma was “What should I do?” I told him I wouldn’t tell him what to do, but did tell him that there was a scripture that would tell him what to do—if he was truly converted. Then I quoted the scriptures: “But seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you” (Matthew 6:33). I sensed that this scripture might have caused a few little ripples, because he had tasted the fruits of success in the business world. However, we parted as good friends.

A few weeks after I returned home I received a letter from him. He said that now he had his priorities straightened out. He had resigned from the company. His first priority would be his family; second, his Church; and then employment.

I was 13 years old, and Dad had just bought a new lawn mower. This wasn’t your typical push-from-behind lawn mower. It was one of those riding, three-forward-gears-and-two-backward-gears kind. It had electronic ignition and cut a swath about three feet wide. And it had headlights.
That was the problem. I wasn’t used to cutting our four-and-a-half-acre Pennsylvania lawn with a fancy riding mower. I’d been using an old, beat-up rider that Dad bought from one of our neighbors when we moved into our new house. It had only one forward speed and one backward speed. And no headlights. The headlights on our new mower jutted out a bit on either side. And that spelled trouble.
After I’d cut the lawn a couple of times, I was feeling quite confident with the new mower. I was amazed at how I could finish the job in only four hours. But as I was cutting around a group of pine trees that lined part of our driveway, I tried to get a little too close. I didn’t notice a branch that was in the way of the mower. As I went around a certain tree in second gear, I ran right into the branch. It bent the frame around the headlight, knocking the glass cover to the ground, where it lay broken in two.
Panicked, I turned the mower off and jumped down to inspect the damage. It was bad. It was ugly. But it was nothing compared to the tongue-lashing I imagined I’d get from Dad.
I tried and tried to fix the dent near the headlight. With the help of a hammer, I was finally able to pound the dent out and get it close to its original position. Although the metal was dented and the paint was cracked, it would do. But I still had a problem—the glass. The good thing, though, was that a clean break left two pieces that fit nicely together.
I ran into the house and found some tape. I put the pieces of glass together and held them to the headlight. Then I wrapped and wrapped the tape around the light. It wasn’t pretty, but from a distance—like about a hundred yards—you couldn’t tell the difference.
By this time it was getting dark outside, so I went into the house and tried my best to act like nothing had happened.
Weeks passed. And each week as I saw the broken headlight, guilt rode me like I rode the lawn mower. I tried to put the incident out of my mind, but I couldn’t. And because I didn’t dare tell my dad what had happened, the accident left an ugly scar on both the mower and my soul.
Near the end of the summer, the mower had to be serviced. Dad backed up the pickup and put some planks in place for a ramp. He asked me to drive the mower into the back of the pickup. I knew I had to confess. If I didn’t tell Dad what happened soon, he would see it for himself. But I couldn’t get up the nerve. Dad watched me drive the mower up. He said nothing.
All the way to the service center my stomach felt like twisted knots. We dropped off the mower and went home. I thought then that Dad hadn’t noticed the headlight. But I know now that he had.
A week later we went to pick up the mower. I had literally made myself sick over this headlight. The man at the service center drove the lawn mower onto the bed of Dad’s pickup. Dad still didn’t say a thing about the headlight. On the way home, I thought I was going to get sick right then and there. My face felt hot. My palms were sweaty. My mouth was dry. I had to confess.
But all I could get out was “Dad.” Then the tears came. Boy, did they come. I think Dad must have thought I was having an appendicitis attack. It sure felt like I was. He quickly pulled over as he exclaimed, “What’s wrong?”
I cried and cried. I tried to speak, but I couldn’t. Dad put his hand on my shoulder and asked if I was okay.
“Dad,” I finally said through my tears and sniffles, “I broke the light on the lawn mower. I’m sorry.”
Dad put the parking brake on, slid next to me, and wrapped his arms around me. He just held me for a minute or two. Then the words I had hoped for—even prayed for—came.
“It’s okay,” he said. “It’s okay.”
A wonderful peace came over me as I felt his arms around me and heard his voice say those words. I sobbed some more.
“I didn’t mean to do it. It happened a long time ago. I’m sorry!”
“I know,” he said. “It’s okay.”
A few minutes later, we were sipping strawberry shakes. Dad didn’t have to say anything more. His countenance said it all.
I’ve never forgotten the peace that came over me once I admitted everything. It was so hard to tell Dad I had broken the headlight. But once I confessed, my mind, my spirit, and even my knotted stomach were relieved. I was at peace with myself.
It’s hard to confess our sins to those we’ve offended. But once we get the words out, peace can come in.
There have been times since then that I’ve had to humble myself and confess to the Lord of far more serious wrecks I’ve caused in my life. It’s at these times that I think of a broken headlight, a loving earthly father, and a merciful Heavenly Father.

The large classroom in the hospital for crippled children is full of children and laughter and clowns with rainbow-colored wigs and giant smiles.
The children have already laughed and shouted through exploding balloons and fun games. Now it’s time for clown bowling. The clowns are the bowling pins. A nurse is invited to bowl. She successfully aims a large ball at the clowns. But it never makes contact because the clowns jump and twist out of the way.
Now a little girl tries. Sitting in her wheelchair, she pushes the ball at the clowns as hard as she can, but it dribbles weakly off her lap and barely reaches the human bowling pins. The little bowler sighs, underestimating clown magic. As the ball gently nudges the foremost clown he hurls backwards as if struck by a truck, knocking down a second clown who ricochets into a third. The whole clown pile explodes like a grenade and falls apart, vanquished. The children cheer. When clowns are present, children always win.
When this day’s performance ends, the clowns move among the patients, making balloon animals and objects—dogs, cats, swords, giraffes, airplanes. They’ll try anything the children request, and even the failures are good fun. They also draw clown stars on the children’s faces.
All too soon the good times must end. The nurses who have laughed and cheered right along with their patients begin taking them away for medical treatment. The children devise delaying tactics, stretching out the farewell moment as long as they can. One little girl hugs a clown tight, then looks into his eyes. “I love you, clown,” she says. Finally, all the good-byes are said. The children go back to their rooms, feeling as if they have been touched by some special magic.

Luisa closed her math book when the bell rang. She hadn’t been able to focus on the problems for the last hour anyway.
All the other students rushed out. It was the last class on Friday. Normally Luisa felt excited about the weekend too. But today she couldn’t feel anything but worried. Not since lunch. That was when her best friend, Carlotta, had asked her a question: “Can you keep a secret?”
At the time, Luisa had leaned in and nodded eagerly. She was good at keeping secrets. She thought for sure Carlotta was going to tell her about some cute boy she had a crush on.
But Carlotta’s secret wasn’t fun at all.
A voice interrupted Luisa’s thoughts. She blinked and looked up from her desk. “Did you have a question about your homework, Luisa?” her teacher asked. All the other students had already left the room.
“No,” Luisa answered. She met her teacher’s eyes. She just had to tell somebody! But Carlotta had made her promise not to.
“I’ve gotta catch the bus,” Luisa said quickly. She put on her coat and hurried out into the cold winter air.
The whole bus ride home, Luisa felt so nervous inside she could hardly stand it. Her chest felt tight, like it was hard to breathe.
Luisa couldn’t stop thinking about Carlotta’s secret. At lunch Carlotta said she had been doing something that was dangerous. Luisa could still hardly believe what she’d heard. She thought she knew her best friend! She couldn’t imagine Carlotta doing something scary like that. When lunch ended, Carlotta had made Luisa promise never to tell anyone.
But what if Carlotta got hurt?
Luisa tried to block out the laughing and talking around her in the bus as she closed her eyes and prayed in her heart.
Please, Heavenly Father, help me know what to do. I don’t want my friend to be mad at me. But I don’t want anything bad to happen to her either. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.
The walk home from the bus stop felt longer than usual. Wouldn’t Mom be able to tell something was wrong when Luisa got home? What should she say?
Looking at the snow on the ground, Luisa remembered the snowball fight she and Carlotta had started with some other kids at the park last week. That was so much fun! She thought about the other things she and Carlotta loved doing together. Hanging out. Hiking. Doing homework. Playing sports.
What would it be like if Luisa told her secret and Carlotta didn’t want to be her friend anymore? The thought made Luisa’s stomach twist into an even tighter knot.
Then she had another thought. Right now the most important thing was what was best for Carlotta—not what Carlotta might think about her. Carlotta needed a true friend, a friend who would help her be safe. Luisa knew Jesus always did what was best for others, even if some people didn’t like Him.
Luisa knew what she needed to do. She had to talk to Mom about it. She would also call Carlotta and tell her how worried she was and that a grown-up needed to help. Maybe then Carlotta would talk to her mom too.
Luisa’s heart felt lighter as she walked up to her front door.
“Mom?” she called as she went inside. “Can we talk?”
Carlotta might end up being mad, but Luisa knew this was the right thing to do. She would be a true friend.
Some secrets are too important to keep.

Such was Walter Stover of Salt Lake City. Born in Germany, Walter embraced the gospel message and came to America. He established his own business. He gave freely of his time and of his means.
Following World War II Walter Stover was called to return to his native land. He directed the Church in that nation and blessed the lives of all whom he met and with whom he served. With his own funds he constructed two chapels in Berlin—a beautiful city that had been so devastated by the conflict. He planned a gathering in Dresden for all the members of the Church from that nation and then chartered a train to bring them from all around the land so they could meet, partake of the sacrament, and bear witness of the goodness of God to them.
At the funeral services for Walter Stover, his son-in-law Thomas C. LeDuc said of him, “He had the ability to see Christ in every face he encountered, and he acted accordingly.”

Britta and Peter go to the Hyde Park Ward in Chicago. The building where they meet is very crowded because many people have been joining the Church. The ward is trying to raise money to help pay for a new building. At a yard sale for the building fund, Britta sold a pot holder that she made. “Every penny counts!” Britta says. Peter is always proud to pay his tithing on the money that he earns doing special projects, such as folding clothes for his family.

Illustrations by Shauna Mooney Kawasaki
It’s time for family prayer, everybody. Gather around.
I believe it’s Matt’s turn to pray.
Are you sure? It seems like I just had my turn.
I have a question for everyone. Suppose Matt wanted to talk to the leader of our country—or any other country. How long would it take him to get an appointment?
A week?
A month?
It would probably take many months. And it might never happen at all. Even if it did, such a busy person couldn’t talk to him long and might not pay very close attention.
And yet in a few seconds, with no appointment and no waiting, Matt will be speaking on our behalf to Heavenly Father—the God of the whole universe—for as long as he likes. And Heavenly Father will listen as if Matt were the only person in existence.
Wow! What do you guys think of that?
I think I’m glad it’s my turn, and that I can have a turn whenever I want.

Ulisses:
When I was called to serve as bishop, I had to think if I would be able to fulfill my duties at home and with my calling. Emilia and I talked about it and we realized that we could do this together if we put our trust in God.
Serving my family has always spiritually uplifted me. Although we do not have as much alone time as a couple, we are close to each other spiritually. We are closer as a family. The whole time we have seen the hand of the Lord helping us. He has showed us miracle after miracle. We are truly blessed.

With special permission, I carefully share the experience of some great friends of ours, Nick and Cindy. On November 19, 2022, while awaiting an emergency lung transplant, their 24-year-old daughter, Taeloni, was in a battle for her life. Despite having exhausted every possible measure they could think of, including finding the best medical professionals, enduring multiple tests and treatments, and enlisting multitudes to fast and pray on her behalf, Taeloni, sweet, courageous, and positive to the very end, took her last few mortal breaths and passed away.

In this time of devastating loss, their family was left with a lot of unanswered questions. Comments like, “She is in a better place,” “The Lord needed her more,” and “Everything happens for a reason,” though said with the best of intentions, seemed to magnify their pain, not ease it, when they were already struggling.

In the two years since Taeloni’s passing, I’ve had many tender conversations with Nick. He admitted that he could have easily fallen away from the Lord when they didn’t receive the answer they had hoped for. But knowing how important it is to hold onto faith, Nick explained, “God’s promises can be different than we pictured, slower than we wanted, and further away than we thought.” And when asked about his feelings toward the gospel, he said, “I don’t know if I can say that I absolutely know this is true. But I sure hope it is.” As tears filled his eyes, he continued, “And if it is, I need to do all that I can to be with [my family] for eternity.” Through his pain, he has chosen to follow the Savior and is aiming for eternity. I admire the strength and examples of Nick and Cindy.

John A. Widtsoe tells us the following:
“For several years, under a Federal grant with my staff of workers we had gathered thousands of data in the field of soil moisture; but I could not extract any general law running through them. I gave up at last. My wife and I went to the temple that day to forget the failure. In the third endowment room, out of the unseen, came the solution, which has long since gone into print.” (In A Sunlit Land: The Autobiography of John A. Widtsoe, Salt Lake City: Deseret News Press, 1952, p. 177.)

On February 29, 1828, a baby girl was born in Petersham, Massachusetts. She was the seventh child of David and Diadama Woodward. Named Emmeline, the child soon showed a talent for writing and a desire to learn, so her parents enrolled her in grammar school. Even after Emmeline’s father died, her mother made sure that Emmeline attended school. Later Diadama remarried, and the family moved to nearby New Salem. This move benefited Emmeline greatly. There her mother was able to raise the money needed for tuition to send Emmeline to a good private school, the New Salem Academy.
While Emmeline was away at school, an elder from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints came to New Salem and converted several people. Among them were Emmeline’s mother, her two younger sisters, and a half brother. When Emmeline returned home from school, her mother encouraged her to join the Church too. Despite the objections of Emmeline’s friends and her older brothers and sisters, she was baptized in the Old Morse Creek on March 1, 1842.
After finishing school, Emmeline began teaching in Orange, Massachusetts, for $1.50 a week. However, her teaching career was soon cut short. Fearing that her daughter, standing alone, might not be able to withstand the persecutions against the Church, Diadama arranged a quick marriage in July 1843 between Emmeline and James Harris, a son of the local branch president. The youngsters were both fifteen years old at the time.
In April 1844 Emmeline left Massachusetts with her husband and his family for Nauvoo, Illinois. Upon their arrival in Nauvoo, Emmeline had the privilege of meeting and shaking the hand of the Prophet Joseph Smith, who was cruelly martyred just a few months later.
Times were hard for the Saints, and James’s parents wanted to leave the Church. They entreated their son and his pregnant wife to join them, but the young couple refused. Emmeline and James’s child, a son, was born in September 1844, but he died several weeks later. After losing their child, James left to find work and never returned.
Grieving and alone at the age of sixteen, Emmeline decided to remain in Nauvoo and teach school. She became acquainted with Bishop Newel Whitney, and on February 14, 1845, they were married. In 1848, Emmeline traveled with Newel and his family to Salt Lake City, Utah. Within two weeks of their arrival in the Valley, Emmeline gave birth to a girl.
After living in Salt Lake Valley for two years, Newel died. Once again Emmeline was left alone, and again she turned to teaching. She taught sixty-five children in a log house without desks, blackboard, or books.
Emmeline’s teaching career ended in October 1852 when she married Daniel H. Wells, a prominent Church leader, who later served as a counselor to Brigham Young for twenty years. Daniel and Emmeline had three daughters, and Emmeline was a devoted wife and mother. Secure in her marriage, Emmeline was able to use many of her talents, especially her writing. She wrote letters and poems to friends and relatives. Writing had become for her a “solace in times of trouble and sorrow, something to turn to for relief, and in a way a pasttime.”
Emmeline’s talent for writing soon led her to contribute to the Woman’s Exponent. Later she became its assistant editor and then editor in 1877. She served as an editor for almost forty years. This nationally recognized publication was the second woman’s magazine to be created in the United States and the first one in the West.
While editor of the Woman’s Exponent, Emmeline felt that its major purpose was to educate women about all subjects and to encourage them to be active in public affairs, particularly politics. Women were encouraged to write their thoughts down and to submit them to the magazine.
Through her work Emmeline became known to the national leaders of the suffrage movement. In Utah she was elected vice president of the Women’s Suffrage Association. Emmeline became a personal friend of Susan B. Anthony and corresponded with her regularly. She attended several conventions in Washington, D.C., and met several presidents of the United States, never passing up an opportunity to speak out for women’s right to vote. In an interview with the associated press in Washington, D.C., she said, “For one, I am proud of Utah’s record in dealing with her female citizens. I look forward with eager hope to the day when woman suffrage shall become universal.”
President Brigham Young also knew the power of the written word and the importance of women in the Church. In September 1876 he met with Emmeline in his office and said to her: “I want to give you a mission, and it is to save grain. … I want the sisters to save the grain and I want. … you to begin by writing the strongest editorial that you can possibly write upon this subject.”
In 1876 Emmeline’s first editorial encouraging all women to save wheat appeared in the Woman’s Exponent. A central grain committee was established with Emmeline as chairman. Money was raised to buy wheat, fields were gleaned, and wheat was saved. Children helped the sisters too. During the first year of the program over 10,000 bushels of grain were saved! In subsequent years the wheat was given to the poor as well as to people in southern Utah who suffered from a drought. Flour was sent to San Francisco after the earthquake and fire in 1906, and a year later China received help from the Church during a famine. During World War I, the Relief Society sold more than one hundred thousand bushels of wheat to the United States government.
Emmeline wrote several songs, including “Our Mountain Home So Dear.” In 1896 she published a book of her poems entitled Musings and Memories. She also wrote for the Deseret News, Juvenile Instructor, Millennial Star, and national newspapers and magazines. Emmeline founded two literary societies in Utah.
No matter what Emmeline was doing in her life she always felt that she was serving the Church. At the age of eighty-two Emmeline was called to be the fifth general president of the Relief Society. She served faithfully in that capacity for eleven years. In 1921, three weeks after her release as president, Emmeline died. For the first time in Utah, flags were flown at half-staff to honor a woman—Emmeline B. Wells.

During my first year of high school, my seminary teacher invited my class to give copies of the Book of Mormon to nonmember friends. Even though I was incredibly timid, I accepted the invitation.
It took me a couple of days to build up the courage, but I eventually gave my friend Britny the book during lunch hour and bore a brief testimony. Britny thanked me for the book.
At the end of that school year, Britny moved, but we kept in touch. She told me about her new school and how almost all her friends were members of the Church, but she never talked about anything spiritual with me.
That changed before I left for my mission. I got a message from Britny saying she had big news for me: she was going to be baptized, and she wanted to thank me for being her friend and setting a good example.
God took a shy 15-year-old boy with no missionary experience and directed him to share the gospel with someone He knew would accept it. I know that by listening to the Spirit, we can all find people around us who are waiting to learn about the restored gospel. I know that if we help bring even one person to the Lord, “how great shall be [our] joy with him [or her] in the kingdom of [our] Father!” (D&C 18:15).

As parental influences diminish, Latter-day Saints still have a God-given responsibility to teach their children to prepare for our family destiny in eternity (see Doctrine and Covenants 68:25). Many of us must do this when not all of our families are traditional. Divorce, death, and separation are realities. I experienced that in the family in which I was raised.

My father died when I was seven years old, so my younger brother and sister and I were raised by a widowed mother. In the most difficult of situations, she pressed on. She was alone and broken, but with the Lord’s help, her powerful teaching of the doctrine of the restored Church guided us. How she prayed for heavenly assistance in raising her children, and she was blessed! We were raised in a happy home in which our deceased father was always a reality. She taught us that we had a father and she had a husband and we would always be a family because of their temple marriage. Our father was just away temporarily because the Lord had called him to a different work.

But the Kirtland story doesn’t end with these marvelous manifestations. A year after the temple’s dedication, the community was fraying. An international economic crisis led to massive unemployment in the United States. Banks failed across the country, including a small bank established by Church leaders in Kirtland to spur development of the community. Joseph Smith and other Church leaders desperately tried to save the economy of the community. But the tide of the global economic crisis was too much. People began to lose jobs and homes. Many began to murmur against God and the Church. Why had the Lord allowed His people to fail economically? Some began to whisper and then proclaim that Joseph was a fallen prophet.

At one meeting in the summer of 1837 in the Kirtland Temple, Joseph Smith Sr., the Church patriarch, spoke in his son’s absence. As he spoke, a dissenter tried to pull him from the pulpit. When William Smith defended his father, a fellow Apostle threatened to kill William with a sword. Other men with knives and pistols surrounded William. The temple, which had been a place of sacredness and spirituality a year earlier, was now a place of violence, dissension, and chaos.

When Joseph Smith returned to Kirtland, most Church members sustained him as the prophet, but three Apostles were removed from the Quorum of the Twelve. Economic problems had turned into spiritual problems. Within a few more months, the Lord told Joseph to leave Kirtland for the safety of his family and for the sake of his own life.

Eyewitness accounts testify to the difficulties of that time. Vilate Kimball, the wife of Apostle Heber C. Kimball, sent a letter to her husband, who was then serving as one of the first missionaries in England. “I have no doubt but it will pain your heart,” she wrote to Heber, telling him about the dissenters. “They profess to believe the Book of Mormon and Doctrine and Covenants but in works deny them.”

Vilate knew that Joseph was not perfect. He had made mistakes in the Kirtland economic crisis. And she continued to love many among the dissenters. But she saw a deeper lesson in the events of 1837: “The Lord says, he that cannot endure chastisement but denies me cannot be sanctified.”

In the same letter, Marinda Hyde added a note to her husband, Orson, also an Apostle serving in England. Marinda’s older brother was one of the Apostles who had left the Church. “Such times in Kirtland you never witnessed as we now have, for it seems that all confidence in each other is gone,” she wrote.

My great-mamaw, Grace Wells, was always kind and gentle. She was always there when I needed her. She used to come from Lexington, Kentucky, for the Fourth of July. We played games like piñata, kickball, and soccer. We threw water balloons at each other. She gave me a jump rope and taught me tricks using it. The third word I said when I was a baby was Mamaw. She was proud to have me for a great-granddaughter. We used to go to her house for Christmas and exchange gifts.
A few years ago, the doctor said that she had Alzheimer’s disease. She had more and more trouble remembering things. Sometimes she did not even recognize her family. On Sunday, February 25, 2001, she died at home while listening to a Primary song, “Mother, I Love You.” I never knew my Great-Aunt Carolyn, who lived with her, to sing. But she started singing with the rest of her brothers and sisters who were sitting at Mamaw’s bedside. When the song ended, Mamaw took her last breath.
The funeral was really nice. People talked about all the nice and fun things Mamaw did with everyone. It was sad, too, because everyone will miss her very much.
I’ll never sell the jump rope she gave me, and I’ll never forget the special memories I have of her. I have a picture of her and me. She is in a better place, and I will get to see her again.
Kellie Slinker, age 9Knob Lick, Kentucky

It was Houston’s transfer to the Benin City stake that introduced him to Raymond. Raymond arrived in Benin a few days later directly from his missionary training in Lagos. Houston joined Raymond and his companion to proselyte on Raymond’s first day. When Raymond expressed his fear about teaching a discussion on his first day, he remembers Houston’s encouragement: “Elder, go ahead and do it. I had the same experience. If I did it, you can do it, too.”

Raymond recalls, “I was filled with strength and confidence. And when I finished the discussion, Houston tapped me on the knee and said, ‘Elder, you came out okay.’ This experience kindled a feeling of respect for him. And as our paths have crossed many times since our missions, that feeling has only increased.”

Fire has been used to describe a wide range of things, from romantic love to a “burning” testimony. Another common association with fire is anger. Ever heard of someone being described as “hotheaded” or as having a “fiery” temper?

Anger, like fire, can appear suddenly and without warning. Both can destroy anything they touch. Yet there’s something intriguing about fire. If you cut off its access to fuel, the flames vanish. The same principle applies to anger.

Object lesson time!

Supplies
Baking soda (aka sodium bicarbonate)
Vinegar
Tall drinking glass (see-through is more fun to watch, but not necessary)
Measuring spoons
Candle and flame source

Explain to your family that in this object lesson, fire represents anger. Ask somebody to read the following story by President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008). As they read the story, light the candle.

“Many years ago I worked for one of our railroads. A switchman was aimlessly strolling about the platform one day. I asked him to move a car to another track. He exploded. He threw his cap on the pavement and jumped up and down on it, swearing like a drunken sailor. I stood there and laughed at his childish behavior. Noting my laughter, he began to laugh at his own foolishness. He then quietly climbed on the switch engine, drove it over to the empty car, and moved it to an empty track.”1