Gospel Story Finder

Today the Church honors a faithful and distinguished pioneer woman. Aurelia Spencer Rogers—a child of adversity, testing, determination, and love, who built her faith event by event, challenge by challenge. What of her beginnings?
Orson Spencer and his six motherless children ferried across the Missouri River and hurriedly moved into their unfinished log cabin in Winter Quarters. Their mother had died soon after the family left for Nauvoo. The family had to be settled before their father left for England—he had been called by President Brigham Young to publish a newspaper for the Church.
Orson Spencer had trained Ellen, just fourteen, and Aurelia, only twelve, to be father and mother to the four younger children. He bought eight cows so there would be plenty of milk to drink and enough to sell. There was also a horse to be sold if necessary to buy supplies.
That winter was long, cold, and lonely. Many people at Winter Quarters died. Aurelia wrote in her diary, “We got through the first part of the winter pretty well. … Our horse and all our cows but one had died, therefore we had no milk nor butter; our provisions had also … nearly given out. … We really suffered for something to eat; part of the time having nothing but corn-meal, which was stirred up with water and baked on a griddle. Many a night I have gone to bed without supper having to wait until I was hungry enough to eat our poor fare.” (Rogers, pp. 48, 50–51.)
One day President Brigham Young visited the Spencers’ one-room cabin and found it neat and the children clean. Their father had been gone a year. The Saints were beginning to make preparations to start their move west.
The children informed President Young that their father wrote often, making suggestions as to what they should wear, how to comb their hair, what to do if they became ill, and how to take care of each other. After President Young read their father’s last letter, he told them he had a very important matter for them to think about. He asked, “What would you say if your father stayed in England at least another year? We need him there.”
The children looked at each other and then waited for Ellen to speak since she was the oldest. “If it is thought best,” Ellen said quietly, “we would like it so, for we want to do [what’s] for the best.” (Rogers, p. 87.)
All the other children agreed. They remembered that Father had once written, “Though He slay us we should trust in Him, and all will be right.” (Rogers, p. 62.)
They had faith in their father, in his counsel, and in their Father in Heaven. In the spring of 1848, the Spencer children, with determination and grateful hearts, moved west with the Saints.
During the two-year absence of their father, the six children had experienced many trials—crossed the plains to Salt Lake Valley, lived in the old fort, then moved to a one-room adobe house. Relatives and friends watched over them, but the responsibility had rested on the two eldest girls, Ellen and Aurelia.
At last, Orson Spencer, the former New England Baptist minister, was welcomed home amid a chorus of shouts and hugs and kisses from his heroic family. He was appointed chancellor of the new University of Deseret. Daughter Aurelia was one of his students for only a time, for Aurelia had met and fallen in love with Thomas Rogers, a young teamster, while crossing the plains. They married and set up housekeeping in a log cabin in Farmington. Here in the foothills of the Wasatch, overlooking Great Salt Lake, Aurelia Spencer Rogers spent the rest of her life. Here, she bore twelve children, burying five of them in infancy. As her children grew, she became increasingly concerned about the lack of weekday wholesome activity—the genesis of Primary.
Aurelia Rogers was a daughter of the refiner’s fire. Mosiah’s counsel to “not suffer your children that they go hungry, or naked, … transgress the laws of God, … but … teach them to walk in … ways of truth, … love one another, and serve one another” was part of her life. (Mosiah 4:14–15.)
From these humble beginnings in a small Mormon town has emerged a worldwide concern for children. Every phase and aspect of our Primary program is in harmony with Christ’s teachings. Wholesomeness, virtue, culture, service, and love for one another add strength and purpose to the Primary we honor as it closes its first one hundred years.
When Primary first began, there were no lesson books or outlines. Children were taught obedience, faith in God, prayer, punctuality, good manners, and the Word of Wisdom. Aurelia must have gained strength from reading: “Wherefore, be not weary in well-doing, for ye are laying the foundation of a great work. And out of small things proceedeth that which is great.” (D&C 64:33.)
Primary will continue fulfilling its goal of enriching the lives of children—blessing not only their individual lives but the lives of their families and friends. Every child needs to know that he has a Father in Heaven who loves him, to develop a faith in Jesus Christ, and to desire to live his gospel so as to meet the pressures and problems of today’s world. Primary belongs to the children. Aurelia wrote: “Why should anything be allowed to come before the most sacred duty of parentage, that of looking after the spiritual welfare of the children? was the question which burdened my mind.” (Rogers, p. 206.)
Though Primary’s responsibility is awesome, the parent challenge is even greater. In addition to harmful programs on television, there are drugs, child abuse, acceptance of violent acts, and child pornography. Research indicates that American children watch television one-half of their waking hours. By age twelve they will have watched the violent destruction of 18,000 human beings. By age twelve they will have spent 10,720 hours with television and only 352 hours in Primary if they had perfect attendance.
Today we not only honor Aurelia Rogers but all the Primary leaders and teachers who during the first one hundred years have trained us. Her motto was:
“Our children are our jewels.
We have counted well the cost.
May the angels ever guard them,
And not one child be lost.”
(Rogers, p. iii.)
May we as parents and spiritual leaders be blessed to understand what the Master meant when he said, “Except ye be converted, and become as little children, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven.” (Matt. 18:3.) In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

In the final analysis, however, it is his kindness that makes dad a special man, a special parent. I’ve seen him engaged in quiet deeds of goodness from the time I was small: playing catch with a seven-year-old neighborhood girl, writing a personal letter of encouragement to a sixth-grade boy, inviting a nephew to eat with him at the training table. Dad is a man with a great gift for humble acts of kindness. I’ll never forget one evening when this gift made the difference to me. When I was a young girl, our ward used to sponsor an event known as the daddy-daughter dinner date. Now this was an occasion that I looked forward to with a good deal of excitement. Being proud of my father, I naturally seized any opportunity to show him off and the daddy-daughter dinner date seemed like the ideal occasion to do so. After weeks of anticipation, we Primary girls made and delivered invitations to our fathers. I watched eagerly as dad read mine. He looked at the flimsy construction paper I had given him, and then he looked at me.
“I’m sorry, honey, but I’m going to be out of town that week. There’s nothing I can do about it, I’m afraid.”
“Oh.” I tried hard not to show my disappointment. I even opened my eyes wide so that the tears I felt coming would dry before they had a chance to spill down my face. “Well, that’s okay.”
He gave me an affectionate hug. Looking back on it now, I realize that he was as unhappy about the whole state of affairs as I was.
During the week before the daddy-daughter dinner date, my parents made arrangements with our bishop to be my special escort. The day before the event, my father left town after apologizing once again for having to leave.
The day of the dinner date arrived quickly. On the way home from school, listening to my friends chatter excitedly about the evening’s planned activities, I made a silent decision not to go; as nice as the bishop was, I preferred to stay home and feel sorry for myself. When I shuffled into the house, prepared to tell my mother that the whole thing was off, I found a surprise waiting for me in the living room: my father was sitting by himself on the sofa.
“Well,” he said, “is the date still on?”
It wasn’t until some years later that I learned just what my father’s act of kindness cost him in terms of time and money. In addition to losing one day of valuable recruiting time, dad had to purchase another round-trip ticket so that he could fly out once again on the following morning. That night, though, I had no idea of the sacrifice he had made to be my escort—I was too busy having the best time of my life.

Julius Blackwelder, teachers quorum adviser in the Trumbull (Connecticut) First Ward, explained his plan to the quorum members in 1991. He wanted to form a sailing group that wouldn’t just be for the young men’s enjoyment. His vision was to have the youth gather each Friday during the summer at Jennings Beach on the Atlantic Ocean in nearby Fairfield for a day of catamaran sailing. And he wanted it to be a fellowshipping tool—a way to attract the less-active in the ward and the boys’ nonmember friends.
Everybody liked the idea, and the plan, along with the boats, was launched. They called themselves the Sea Rats.
“We start right at the beginning of June. Once school is over we start sailing,” says 17-year-old Aaron Blackwelder, Brother Blackwelder’s son. “We start at ten in the morning, set up the boats, and just go out and sail. We felt we had to be friends with the less-active members first, and this is a way to bring nonmember friends out and make friendships with less-active members.”
In the group’s five-year existence, the Sea Rats now count 50 kids from the New Haven Connecticut Stake who spend the day on the group’s four catamarans. The Sea Rats have a routine that rarely changes—unless a worldwide event rolls into town.
Last July, organizers of the Special Olympics World Games approached the Sea Rats and asked if they would donate the use of their boats for the Games’ sailing events being held at nearby Savin Rock.
“We said, ‘Sure, no problem. We’ll donate the boats,’” says Drew Brown, 17, “but we also told them we wanted to donate our services and work as safety officers for the Olympians.”
As safety officers, the Sea Rats served as dead weight—or ballast—on the boats they loaned. “We made sure [the Olympians] were safe, that they didn’t get dehydrated,” says Drew. “We got to help them out and make sure they didn’t get tangled in the line. Things like that.”
Adds Ryan Brown, Drew’s younger brother, “It was fun getting to know these athletes. They’re a little slower in doing things, but they’re a lot more trusting.”
That’s something Aaron understands. His older sister Liz has both physical and mental handicaps. “I’ve always grown up with a sister with some disabilities, and that’s normal for me. It’s helped me to have patience and to deal with people better,” he says.
After only a few hours at the beach with the Special Olympians, Victor Solis, a member of the Trumbull Spanish Branch, understood why the Sea Rats gave up, not only their boats, but their time for this one week.
“These athletes have a few setbacks, but they’re choice spirits and they’re special. They just can’t get everything to work like we can. Because you have been given much, like the hymn says, you, too, must give. We’re just giving back a little bit more because of all we have.”

I can attest to the truth of President Snow’s statement. Relief Society has always been comprised of those who put others first and self last. I remember that when I was a small boy during the Depression, my mother was the secretary-treasurer of the ward Relief Society. Back then dues were paid to assist those in need. Mother was not really a bookkeeper, so Dad would help her. The individual contributions were never so much as a dollar, but rather would be a quarter, a dime, a nickel, a few pennies.

I learned many lessons from my mother. I must have been a very active boy, for Mother was always telling me, “Slow down, Tommy, slow down. You’re on the verge of Saint Vitus’ dance!” You know, I never did know what Saint Vitus’ dance was. All I knew was that Mother said I was on the verge of it—and the way she spoke the words, I assumed it was a drastic ailment.

Since we lived just a block or two from the railroad tracks, frequently men, unemployed, without funds for food, would leave the train and come to our house for something to eat. Such men were always polite. They offered to do some work for the food. Indelibly imprinted on my mind is the picture of a gaunt and hungry man standing at our kitchen door, hat in hand, pleading for food. Mother would welcome such a visitor and would direct him to the kitchen sink to wash up while she prepared food for him to eat. She never skimped on quality or quantity; the visitor ate exactly the same lunch as did my father. As he wolfed down the food, Mother took the opportunity to counsel him to return to his home and his family. When he left the table, he had been nourished physically and spiritually. These men never failed to say thank you. Tears in their eyes revealed ever so silently the gratitude of their hearts.

I became acquainted with The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints through my fiancé and his family. Chase was American. He was raised in the Church and served a mission, but he was not active at the time. His oldest son, however, was preparing to serve a mission, and Chase supported his decision.
During the COVID-19 lockdown, we attended sacrament meeting in the home of Chase’s parents, watching broadcasts originating from their church meetinghouse. When the talks ended, Chase’s two sons blessed and passed the bread and water.
I had many questions. My fiancé answered each one patiently. Who was Jesus? What was this feeling in my heart each time we gathered to have church meetings? It was a feeling I had never felt before. What did the bread and water represent? Why did tears come when I took the sacrament? What was this peace I was feeling?
One night I found a website in my native language that explained who Jesus is and that told about His life. The next day, I told my fiancé’s mother that I understood who Jesus is and that I believed in Him.
One Sunday the bishop came to the house because Chase’s oldest son was going to ordain his younger brother to be a priest. When the older son put his hands on his brother’s head, I could not stop crying. I felt such a big emotion in my heart, I could not stop the tears. Later, my fiancé explained that I felt the Holy Ghost and that he felt it too.
I could see that my fiancé’s love for his church was returning to him. Somehow, I knew that everything I was feeling was connected to God and to something true. I felt love like I had never felt before.

Thanks to my dear wife, Ruth, I can say that our home has been a place where we have sought to honor the spirit of holiness to the Lord. We did not always succeed. Of course not. But we tried. When I was overwhelmed as a young father with the responsibility of providing temporally for my family, taking care of my Church callings and many other civic duties, Ruth would lovingly and gently bring me back to my parental responsibility in our home.
For example, she would remind me when it was time for home evening and then tenderly suggest what we might appropriately study in our home evenings. She would also help me keep track of important family events such as birthdays and activities of the children when they needed my time and support. She still does that important and appreciated service. If we really want our homes to be places of holiness, we will try harder to do those things that are conducive to the Spirit of the Lord.

“The princess is here!” cried the innkeeper. “We’ll soon be rich!”
“The princess is here!” cried the innkeeper’s wife. “We’ll soon be famous!”
And at that instant, into the inn walked the princess followed by four of her servants.
Days before, it had been announced that the princess, who was traveling between her castles, would be stopping at this particular inn for her noonday meal.
So now, as the wife scuttled to the kitchen, the innkeeper stepped briskly toward the door.
“Your Highness,” he said, bowing deeply, “what an honor this is to have you stop at our humble inn. Please follow me. Your meal is ready.”
With practiced charm, the innkeeper seated the princess. He scowled, however, when her four servants sat down at the same table.
The innkeeper’s wife whisked into the room, carrying a bowl of steaming stew.
“A rich, thick, savory stew, Your Highness,” she announced, setting the bowl before the princess, “prepared especially for you.”
The princess nodded graciously, picking up her spoon.
The innkeeper and his wife watched anxiously. Everyone knows what delicate and refined tastebuds a real princess has. One kind word from her about their stew, and people would come from far and wide to taste their famous fare.
But the princess paused before even tasting it. “And what about my servants?” she asked. “What are they to eat?”
“What’s this? The servants?” muttered the innkeeper to his wife as they exchanged angry glances. They hardly wanted to serve mere servants.
“Please understand, Your Highness,” replied the innkeeper in sugary tones. “We are poor. It would be a great hardship on us to feed everyone here.”
The princess made no reply. Instead, she raised her spoon and took a taste of the stew. The innkeeper and his wife leaned forward to catch any complimentary word that she might utter.
Slowly the princess licked her lips with the tip of her tongue. “This stew,” she said, at length, “needs salt.”
Salt? “We’ll add salt at once, Your Highness,” said the innkeeper, clicking his heels together. Retrieving the bowl, he and his wife rushed to the kitchen.
A moment later they returned with the salted stew.
“Oh, dear. Oh, my,” the princess said, puckering her lips. “I’m afraid that it’s too salty now.”
Too salty? Adding salt was easy. But removing salt was impossible. The innkeeper and his wife could do only one thing. Taking the stew back into the kitchen, they poured it into a large pot. Quickly they added carrots, onions, potatoes, and broth.
“That will dilute the saltiness,” said the innkeeper. “Yes, the stew will be perfect,” said his wife, tasting it. Both of them smiled at the thought of the fame that the stew would bring them.
When the stew was set once more before the princess, she took another taste. “It’s better, much better now. But,” she added, “a tad more salt would make it perfect!”
The innkeeper and his wife were delighted. Surely they were close now! In the kitchen they added the smallest dash of salt to the stew.
But, alas, when the princess tasted it this time, she wrinkled her nose. “Oh, my!” she said, reaching for a water goblet. “What have you done! This stew is far too salty.”
Back into the kitchen rushed the innkeeper and his wife. They poured the stew into an even larger pot and added more carrots, onions, potatoes, and broth.
“Oh, how famous and rich we’ll soon be!” the wife and the innkeeper whispered happily to each other.
Soon the princess was tasting the stew again. “Almost,” she said, taking her fifth delicate taste. “It needs more salt, however. Just a touch perhaps.”
Ten grains of salt were all the innkeeper and his wife added to the stew this time. But as before, the princess took one tiny taste and said, “Too salty. Much, much too salty.”
“This princess and her fickle taste buds are going to drive me crazy!” cried the exasperated innkeeper as he added more carrots and potatoes to the pot.
“But once we get the combination right,” replied his wife, “we’ll be rich and famous. We’ll call it ‘Princess Stew,’ and everyone will come to our inn to eat it!”
Once more the princess tried the stew, … took a second taste, … then another! The innkeeper and his wife were overjoyed. Breathlessly they waited for her to speak.
“Innkeeper,” the princess said, after another spoonful, “I believe that by now there should be enough stew in your pot to feed my servants.”
The innkeeper and his wife exchanged glances. These were not the words that they had expected to hear! But after all the vegetables that they had added to the stew to dilute its saltiness, they couldn’t claim that there wasn’t enough to serve the servants, after all.
As everyone ate, the innkeeper and his wife waited and waited for a good word from the princess. But the princess finished her bowl of stew without saying another word!

My younger brother is silly, has a great imagination, and cares about others. He is one of my biggest fans when I perform on stage. He also has some special needs. He is very small for his age and struggles with reading, writing, talking, and sometimes understanding others. He is also deaf.
One day at play practice, I walked up the stairs to get to the stage. I heard someone say something mean about kids with disabilities. Everyone started to joke and laugh about it.
I know they didn’t mean to hurt my feelings, but I got really sad and ran to find a place to hide. As I was sitting in my hiding spot, a grown-up sat by me and started to talk to me about the play. I started to feel better.
When it was time to go home, I told my mom what happened. She told me that it’s OK to walk away from something that makes me feel bad and that it’s OK to talk to a grown-up about my feelings.
Sometimes people don’t understand how it feels to have special needs or to know someone who has special needs. I want to be an example of love and kindness.

The young people of the valley have learned that in the clash of values and ideas, everyone can win. Instead of being weakened by the world around them, they can help strengthen others. Take Kelly Adams, for example. Kelly loves popular music. He joined several record and tape clubs, and became the local teen expert. The other kids caught on and started having him DJ their dances. But Kelly wouldn’t listen to junk, and he wouldn’t play music that taught garbage. So when he DJ’s a dance, nobody else listens to junk either, because he won’t play it. It’s had an effect on the musical tastes of both the LDS and non-LDS youth. Everybody won.

Because of the fire, two families that were already friends became even better friends sharing the same house as brothers and sisters in the gospel. “When we learned their house had burned down, we said, ‘Why don’t you come live with us in Chico?’” says Luke B., 11. “Sometimes it’s been a little crowded, but we’ve learned a lot about sharing and being kind,” Luke says.
Grady B., 14, says, “When we have home evening together, I always try to share a scripture that has helped me understand how faith can help us get through trials. I’ve learned that there’s a lot of comfort in the scriptures.” Just as there is comfort in helping each other.

The unique qualities possessed by these men and women whom I have mentioned can be of invaluable assistance to us as we face the problems and the trials which lie ahead. May I illustrate by mentioning the experience of the Jerome Kenneth Pollard family of Oakland, California.
This past May, as Elder Taavili Joseph Samuel Pollard was traveling to the mission office on the last day of his mission in Zimbabwe, the mission car he was driving somehow spun out of control and hit a tree. A passerby was able to rescue Elder Pollard’s companion, but Elder Pollard, who was unconscious, was trapped in the car, which burst into flames. Elder Pollard perished. His mother had passed away eight years earlier; hence, his father was rearing the family alone. A brother was serving in the West Indies Mission.
When the news of Elder Pollard’s death reached his father, this humble man—who had already lost his wife—called the son serving in the West Indies Mission to let him know of his brother’s death. Over that long-distance telephone line, Brother Pollard and his son, no doubt grief stricken and heartsick, sang together “I Am a Child of God.” Before concluding the call, the father offered a prayer to Heavenly Father, thanking Him for His blessings and seeking His divine comfort.
Brother Pollard later commented that he knew his family would be all right, for they have strong testimonies of the gospel and of the plan of salvation.

There can be certain occupational hazards whenever anyone provides a service. For Jennifer Wang and Chen En Ger, it was changing diapers. “That wasn’t very much fun,” Jennifer said.
Other than diaper duty, though, there were no other complaints from Jennifer, 17, and Chen, 18, who organized a small nursery inside their ward meetinghouse where children could be dropped off while their parents went to the temple. “I felt really happy that I could learn more about service and also about little children,” said Chen. For Jennifer and Chen, both members of the Tao Yuan Second Branch of the Tao Yuan District in Taipei, Taiwan, the baby-sitting was a new experience—one they’re glad they had and that they hope becomes a tradition.
Church members in Taiwan have had a temple in their country since 1984. However, with work and family commitments in this island country, it’s not always easy for the members to attend. That’s why Jennifer and Chen came up with their idea. After getting other Church members to volunteer to baby-sit, the service project was approved.
“As youth, we decided we would do baptisms for the dead in the morning, then go next door to the meetinghouse and baby-sit for members while they went to the temple,” explained Jennifer, a Laurel and seminary class president.
Since children as old as 10 years old were dropped off at the nursery, Jennifer and Chen decided to divide the children into groups by age. Instead of just letting them play with toys and goof off for the four-hour period, they decided to make their nursery a little more educational. Besides showing Church videos and having playtime, Jennifer, Chen, and the rest of the baby-sitters also told Book of Mormon stories and talked about the importance of the temple. Afterward, they had the older children draw pictures of the temple. In the process, they also gained an appreciation for the temple themselves.
“We wanted the time the children spent with us to be a learning experience. We could have watched them for four hours and let them do whatever they wanted, but we wanted to do something more,” said Chen, who has been a member for about three years. “I knew a lot of the kids by face already, but when we baby-sat them it was the first time I had the chance to interact with them.
“I was impressed with the children,” he continued. “Many of the older children were good examples toward the younger ones. They would take care of them and help us as we watched them. Two brothers really stood out to me. One was three and the other was two. They really had unique personalities, and it helped me realize that all these kids are special children from Heavenly Father.”
The chance to serve is what Jennifer remembered most about her experience. She realized that in a lot of cases, without their baby-sitting service, only one parent could go to the temple while the other would stay home with the children. “I saw a lot of parents who were very happy they didn’t have to be concerned about their children. They could go to the temple without worrying, and I think that was important to them,” she said. “Maybe when I get married and I want to go to the temple with my husband, young men and young women from my ward will baby-sit my kids.”
It could happen. Both Jennifer and Chen have proved it can work.

The temple here in Philadelphia has changed the face of this city. I was at the temple almost every day during the open house. People would stop and stare and just gawk at the temple. I was working security one night, and this lady stopped and asked me, “What is this building?”
I said to her, “This is a building where faithful members of the Latter-day Saint Church can go and make covenants with the Lord.”
She looked down and said, “I have goosebumps.”
At that moment it struck me. This lady was a regular Philadelphian. She had no idea what was going on, but she could feel the Spirit just as strongly because the gospel is true.

In England, Elder Woodruff learned that a large group of people called the United Brethren had gathered to worship and to ask God for more knowledge of truth.
Elder Woodruff: John, this is inspired! The Lord sent me to Hereford to teach these people.
Elder Woodruff’s success with the United Brethren was even more astounding than his boyhood success with fishing. In two days he baptized six hundred people!
Constable: I have been ordered to arrest you, Elder Woodruff, for preaching to the people.
Elder Woodruff: But I have a license to preach the gospel, sir. If you will sit in this chair until the meeting is over, we will talk about this misunderstanding and get it settled.
By the end of the meeting, there was nothing left to settle.
Constable: I, too, wish to be baptized, Elder Woodruff.
Four ministers: So do we.

I once asked Dad if I would see an angel. He said that he didn’t know, but he hoped so. “They’re all around us, you know.”
Well, I saw one last Sunday, I think.
Before I tell you about it, though, I need to explain something. Sometimes Sundays are hard for me. I don’t understand much of what happens in sacrament meetings. And since my feet don’t touch the floor, my legs hurt from hanging over the bench. I think parents ought to sit on giant chairs every week, dangling their legs above the ground while listening to someone speaking in a foreign language, so that they understand what it’s like.
Last Sunday was hard. Sacrament meeting had seemed extra long, and the baby behind us cried a lot. By the time I got to Sharing Time, I just wanted to go home to my pet caterpillar, Zipper. Jimmy Pasko and Fred Grey didn’t help, either. They kept talking to me about the movie they had seen on Saturday. It sounded a lot more interesting than Sharing Time.
I kept moving around on my chair, trying to get my legs to quit hurting. Finally I leaned my chair back against the wall and stretched my arms. It was an accident, but I hit the light switch, and all the lights turned off. A lot of the kids laughed. I quickly turned the lights back on. Then, for some reason, I turned them off again—but that time it was on purpose.
That’s when the angel came. I didn’t think she was an angel at first. She looked more like an upset Sister Eisen of the Primary presidency. She came from the front of the room, staring at me with wide blue eyes. She looked like Mom does when she has a headache and I’m pestering her.
Sister Eisen bent down and whispered, “Dan, let’s go outside for a moment.”
I thought she would talk to me about being reverent and threaten to get my parents if I didn’t behave. But instead, after we left the room, she calmly asked, “Dan, how are you doing?”
I didn’t feel safe, so I shrugged my shoulders.
“Having a hard time today?” she asked then, still calm.
Feeling safer, I said, “I hate it in there. Sometimes I just hate Primary.” After I said it, I thought I had made a mistake. I was sure she would talk to me about my attitude.
But she surprised me. She said, “Tell me why you hate it.”
I thought for a moment, then decided to tell her the complete truth. “My legs hurt from dangling over the seat in sacrament meeting, I didn’t understand what the speakers said, my chair is hard, it’s hot and noisy in the Primary room, I’m tired of sitting, Jimmy and Fred keep talking to me, and I wish I were somewhere else.”
Then she said, half smiling, “I know. Sometimes I wish I were somewhere else, too. So, what do you need to do, Dan?”
“I just need to walk around.”
“Do you need a drink?”
I thought for a second, then said, “No, not now. Just a walk.”
“How far?”
“Just to the end of the hall.”
She said, “OK. May I walk with you?”
“Sure,” I said. We started walking, but I stopped. I looked at her and said, “Sometimes you hate it here, too?”
“Well,” she answered, “Let’s say that sometimes I have a hard time being here.”
“Then why are you here? You’re a grown-up. No one makes you come.”
“Because,” she said, “it’s OK to do something we don’t like, especially when we know that it’s right.”
“What do you mean?”
She looked at me for a moment. “Dan, do you remember what happened at the end of Jesus’ life?”
“You mean when they nailed him on the cross?”
“Yes. And even before that—do you remember when he prayed in the Garden of Gethsemane and it was so painful that he bled from every pore?”
I told her I remembered that and also that they whipped him and made fun of him.
She then said, “You know, I don’t think he liked doing any of those things. But he did it because he loved us and he knew it was right. Did you know he even asked Heavenly Father if there wasn’t another way?”
She paused, putting her hand on my shoulder. “So I figure that if he didn’t like doing hard things that were right, it’s OK if I don’t like doing hard things that are right. And it’s OK if you don’t like doing hard things, like being reverent in Sharing Time when you’re hot and tired.”
I noticed as she was talking that she kept putting her fingers on the side of her head. So I asked, “Is it hard for you today?”
“Yes,” she said. “I have a bad headache.”
I stood there for a moment, feeling very different than I had ever felt about Primary. I looked at Sister Eisen and said, “I don’t think I need to walk any farther. I can go back in now.”
She told me she was glad, and we returned. Before we went in, she said, “You know, Dan, I really like you.”
I told her that most people did after they knew me.
She went to the front of the Primary room, and I sat down in my chair. After she sat down, she looked at me and smiled. Then she touched her fingers to both sides of her head, like Mom does when she has a headache, and winked.
Although my chair still felt hard, the room was still too hot, and Jimmy and Fred still kept trying to talk to me, I didn’t mind so much. I wondered as I watched Sister Eisen if Dad had been talking about her when he said that angels are all around us. I think I’ll tell him that I saw one last Sunday—and that she had a headache.

An interesting story of one such trip concerns the voyage of the ship International, which left Liverpool, England, on 25 February 1853. She carried on board a Latter-day Saint immigrant company of 425, including a number of unbaptized friends and relatives and a crew of 26.
The ship ran into violent storms, delaying the crossing and making it necessary to ration food. In four weeks, only one-third of the distance to New Orleans, Louisiana, had been covered.
Thanks to the faith and prayers of the valiant Saints, a miracle occurred: favorable winds made it possible to make up time lost. The International docked in New Orleans after a 54-day voyage across the Atlantic Ocean.
Christopher Arthur presided over the company of Latter-day Saints aboard the International. In his official report to the British Mission president, President Arthur wrote: “I am glad to inform you, that we have baptized all on board except three persons. … We can number the captain, first and second mates, with eighteen of the crew, most of whom intend going right through to the valley. … The number baptized in all is 48, since we left our native shores” (quoted in William G. Hartley, “Voyage on the Ship International,” New Era, September 1973, 9).

Tommy stood at the window looking out at the drifted snow. He sighed a long, loud sigh. The snow hadn’t melted a bit since yesterday. He was tired of winter.
“That was a mighty big sigh for a small boy,” Grandpa said.
Tommy looked at Grandpa who had just come into the room. Then he looked back out the window at the snow and said, “I don’t like winter. I can’t go outside and play. The snow just stays in heaps and mounds all over the yard.”
“It does stay snowy and cold,” Grandpa agreed.
“I can’t even fly my kite, it’s so cold and wet outside,” Tommy complained.
Grandpa laughed.
But Tommy was still cross. “I wish I could push winter so far away that it would never come again.”
“Never have winter!” Grandpa was astonished.
“I don’t know what good it is,” Tommy said. “So I wish it would never come again. Then I wouldn’t have to keep waiting through winter.”
Grandpa put his hand on Tommy’s shoulder. “Why don’t you get your coat and cap? The sun is out for awhile and we can go for a walk and see about the winter you don’t like.”
Tommy bundled up and met Grandpa, who smiled at him as they went outside together.
They had gone only as far as the front walk when Grandpa stopped. He pulled a branch of the maple tree down close to Tommy’s face.
“See those shiny brown bumps?” he asked.
Tommy looked closely at the branch and nodded his head.
“Those are leaf buds,” Grandpa said. “The tree is just waiting for the bright sunshine to melt the snow so that the water will go down to its deep roots. Without water, the tree can’t make its leaves open for spring. It would stay bare and brown forever.”
After they had walked a little farther, Grandpa stopped again. This time he bent close to the ground and pushed away the snow. Tommy could see some bright green shoots poking right up out of the ground.
“These are spring crocuses and hyacinths,” Grandpa said. “The snow has already melted deep enough into the soil to wake them up. They’re only waiting for the sunshine to tell them it’s time to grow taller.”
Grandpa pushed the snow back over the shoots and stood up. “Let’s go this way,” he said, pointing up the street.
They had gone only as far as the corner when Grandpa stopped. Beside the wall of a house he showed Tommy a spot of brown earth where the snow had melted.
Grandpa poked at the brown earth. Tommy poked at it too.
“See how soft and damp the soil is already,” Grandpa asked. “It’s just waiting for the sunshine to warm the seeds so they can burst into life.”
Tommy walked beside Grandpa. And Grandpa said, “Soon the snow will melt and make ponds where wild ducks and geese can live. It will fill streams where fish live. And, most important of all, it will melt into water for all of us to drink.”
Tommy nodded his head up and down. He looked at the snow that still lay in heaps and mounds all over the lawn and laughed right out loud.
“Now that I understand how important winter is,” Tommy said, “I won’t mind having to wait through it after all.”

My husband and I were assisting our daughter and her two sons at the airport, where they were preparing for their return flight home. We helped our daughter as she juggled luggage, located passports, and managed an active three-year-old. Tommy, our one-year-old grandson, was fast asleep in his stroller until he awakened abruptly. He panicked as he struggled to take in all the noise, bright lights, and general chaos.
I saw his expression and knew what was about to happen, so I cried out to my daughter. She quickly stooped down, cupped Tommy’s face in her hands, met his gaze, and lovingly said, “Hello, little lamb.”
In an instant his furrowed brow, turned-down mouth, and tensed-up shoulders relaxed as his whole body sighed with relief. He gave a little smile before his heavy eyelids closed again. His fear was replaced by a calm assurance and a peace that seemed to envelop him. It was a small but powerful manifestation of the trust Tommy had in his mother. Her familiar touch, voice, and presence comforted him.

For example, the day two missionaries knocked on Jacques Faudin’s door in Nîmes, Jacques, then an 18-year-old student, seemed an unlikely candidate for membership in any church—he was an active Marxist-Leninist atheist. “I invited the missionaries in only so I could fight with them and try to convert them to atheism,” says Brother Faudin. “However, after two discussions, I was shaken. These missionaries had a strength I couldn’t define. I stopped fighting and began to doubt my atheism.”

This was the turning point for Jacques. He decided to find out if there was a God. Still skeptical when the missionaries gave him a copy of the Book of Mormon, he decided to prove it wrong. After a constant two-week study, he had found no errors.

“I wanted a spiritual testimony,” says Brother Faudin. “In my heart I made a covenant with the Lord that if he would answer my prayers, I would give him my life. Soon I learned that Elder Howard W. Hunter, then of the Quorum of the Twelve, was coming to dedicate the chapel in Marseille. I went to the meeting fasting. When the missionaries introduced me to Elder Hunter, I handed him my program and asked if he would write something to me. He looked me right in the eyes, and then he wrote, ‘You will gain a testimony if you exercise faith and prayer.’ I took the program home and read his words many times. I continued to exercise my faith and to pray. Then one night, after fasting, I received my answer. I knew without any doubt that Joseph Smith was a prophet and that the Book of Mormon was true. I was baptized two days later on 27 July 1968.”

As promised, he has given his life to the Lord and has served in many important leadership positions.

One evening I took three of my younger siblings to the temple to do baptisms. As the temple worker checked our recommends, he discovered that my sister’s was missing the bishop’s signature. I started filling out a form to take to the temple recorder, who would call the bishop. Then the temple worker checked my brother’s recommend and found that it had not been activated. I had the pen, so I took the form we were handed and began filling it out too.
I knew my brother and sister could not go in with errors on their recommends, but I felt responsible for them, and until I helped them take care of these errors, I could not go in either. I felt frustrated at being kept out of the temple. We left the baptistry and went upstairs to the temple entrance to explain our situation at the front desk. The temple recorder said he could fix the problem in just a few minutes, so the four of us sat down to wait in the lobby.
As I sat there, my frustration changed to discouragement. We were being kept out for such simple errors, but they were all the difference between waiting in the lobby and entering the Lord’s house. It had been a rough day, and I had counted on the temple to help me feel at peace. The mistakes weren’t my fault, but as the wait dragged on, I felt ready to cry. I was trying to be good by coming to the temple and setting an example of temple attendance for my younger siblings. So why were we being kept out when I wanted so badly to be inside?
And then I realized something: if I felt discouraged being kept out of the temple for a few clerical errors, how disappointed would I feel to be kept out for my own errors—to not be worthy to enter the temple? As I considered this, I was suddenly calm. I felt that I had learned the lesson God wanted me to learn. I promised Him that I would always try to be worthy to go inside the temple. I promised that I would never be kept out of the Lord’s house for my own errors; I never want my actions to confine me to just the lobby.
Later that night I had an appointment with my bishop to renew my temple recommend. Before I went, I checked for any errors in myself that might keep me out of the temple. When the bishop asked if I was worthy to enter the house of the Lord, I was so grateful that I could say yes.