Gospel Story Finder

I have a blog where I write about modest fashion and style, because it can be challenging to dress modestly in a world where modesty is unpopular. I used to rely on my parents’ testimonies. I didn’t have my own until I was a young woman and started attending seminary. I found a desire to read the scriptures, and that’s when my faith began to grow. Now I feel in my heart for myself that the gospel of Jesus Christ is true.
Laura P., 18, Philippines

I was 37 years old when I was sealed to my husband in the Salt Lake Temple. My single years presented many unique challenges. I had always thought that I would be married and have children by age 25, but I found myself in circumstances that were far different from my plans.
Many times I found myself looking down at the pavement, focusing on me and my circumstances. My perspective was narrow. Life seemed hard and unfair. I became discouraged. I lost my self-confidence.
I remember a significant point in my life when, like the sons of Mosiah, I looked to the Lord. I had always remained active in the Church and had a “knowledge of the truth” (1 Timothy 2:4; 2 Timothy 3:7), but I desired more. I made the decision to be more diligent in my scripture study, to be more prayerful, and to live more worthy of the guidance of the Spirit. I longed to be an “instrument in the hands of God,” as were the sons of Mosiah.
It “took courage to go forth” (Alma 17:12) and look for new opportunities. I set professional goals and enrolled in a graduate program to improve my job situation. I chose to move from a singles ward into a family ward. I became involved, attending family picnics and dinners and programs for adults. I joined the ward choir. I came to know the bishop well. He was a wise and caring man who extended callings to me that blessed my life.
Through visiting teaching and Relief Society activities, I became friends with many women, and they often included me in their family activities. But I didn’t wait to be included; I looked for opportunities to be included. I volunteered to watch their children, and I invited their families to dinner. Their children became my children.
I also realized that the best place to love and be loved is within your own family. My brother had three children, and I became interested in their lives, schoolwork, and activities.
Because I was contributing, my self-confidence improved, and I found life to be more interesting and fulfilling as I looked to the Lord. Just as I saw the trees, flowers, birds, and people along the path when I looked up on Wan Chai Gap, looking to the Lord helped me see new opportunities for my life.
As I continue to look to the Lord, I recognize that He expands my limited, mortal vision to an eternal perspective. Through answers to prayers, I have learned that the Lord knows me, loves me, and is aware of me and of my circumstances. This knowledge has given me the faith that He will continue to help me meet future trials and challenges as I look to Him for opportunities and “choose righteousness and happiness, no matter what [my] circumstances.”

As soon as Kathy handed out the invitations to her birthday celebration, a buzz of excitement spread through Mrs. Clyde’s second grade classroom. Up till then, the girls weren’t sure that their mothers had OK’d the kind of party that Kathy had asked her mother for. The girls could hardly wait for recess, when they could fully discuss plans for the upcoming slumber party.
Once outside, the girls clustered around the jungle gym and chattered enthusiastically about the games they’d play and the goodies they would eat at Kathy’s party.
Outwardly, Trisha appeared to be as excited as her friends. She nodded her blond head and giggled with the rest about how much fun they’d have. But on the inside, Trisha wasn’t feeling very happy. With the news of Kathy’s party, a little seed of worry had formed in the pit of her stomach. The more she thought about the party, the bigger the worry grew.
A slumber party meant spending the night—the whole night—at Kathy’s house. And what Trisha didn’t want any of her friends to know was that she was afraid of the dark. Trisha didn’t know any other seven year olds who were afraid to go to sleep in the dark, and she was sure that Kathy and her other friends would laugh at her.
On the walk home from school Wednesday afternoon, talk turned once again to Kathy’s party. Trisha didn’t say much, thinking and wishing with all her heart that Friday would never come. When she entered the bright, yellow kitchen at home, she was greeted by the warm smell of her mother’s peanut butter cookies. She didn’t feel much like eating, though.
Noticing with a bit of concern that her daughter didn’t go for the usual finger tastes of the sweet dough, Mom said, “I’m sure Kathy will love the gift you got for her. Are you all ready for the party?”
All of Trisha’s worry erupted into anger, and her blue eyes flashed as she responded. “Party! Party! The only thing people can think about is Kathy’s party!” With that, she stormed up to her room. Flopping onto her quilted bedspread, Trisha released the cascade of tears that she had held back for the past couple of hours.
Soon she heard a soft knock at the door, accompanied by her mother’s voice. “Trisha, don’t you want to go to the slumber party?”
Trisha rolled over to look at her mom standing in the doorway. “I do want to go,” she said as she wiped away her tears. “It’s just that …”
“It’s just that what, honey?”
“It’s just that we’ll have to sleep in Kathy’s dark basement.”
A look of understanding came over Mrs. Campbell’s face. “So that’s what’s been bothering you,” she said with a gentle smile. “Well, I’m sure that Kathy’s mother won’t mind leaving a small light on like Daddy and I do. You have nothing to worry about.”
But Trisha thought that she had a lot to worry about. It was one thing for her parents to leave the hall light on until she fell asleep—they never teased her about it—but what would her friends say?
Despite Trisha’s wish, the time for the party did come, and it was a big success. Trisha laughed with others as they got all tangled up in a game of twister, and she even forgot to worry as she ate birthday cake and watched Kathy open her presents. About midnight the girls paraded along the fireplace hearth for a nightwear fashion show. Then it was time to settle down with their blankets and pillows.
Trisha’s heart began to beat faster and faster. She was OK as long as a few girls continued to whisper, but one by one they fell asleep. Trisha felt completely alone in the inky blackness. She stared at the fearsome shapes that seemed to crowd around her. Kathy’s piano in the far corner had grown huge goblin-like appendages, and Trisha was sure that a rustling sound she heard was made by some creepy creature lurking in the shadows, just waiting to pounce on her.
Trisha tried everything she could think of to will herself to sleep. After squeezing her eyes tightly shut and silently reciting the ABC’s backward, she began to think about the Primary lesson Sister Patterson had given last week on prayer. She remembered her teacher saying, “Our prayers can bring comfort and peace when we are troubled.”
Knowing now what she should do, Trisha sat up. She knelt on her green checked sleeping bag and asked Heavenly Father to help her to not be frightened, so she could get to sleep.
Trisha was filled with a warm, calming feeling as she slipped back into her sleeping bag. The next thing she knew, she felt someone tugging at her nightgown sleeve, and she heard Kathy’s voice. “Come on sleepyhead. My mom has breakfast ready.”
Trisha opened her eyes, and a big grin spread across her face as she realized that it was morning and that her mom had been right. She really didn’t have anything to worry about.

“Peter, give me that thumbtack!” The Primary class fell silent, every eye on Peter.
He surrendered the thumbtack, protesting, “Jeffrey started it!”
Sister Brock glanced at the boy next to Peter. He was sitting quietly with his scriptures open. She turned back to Peter. “Young man,” she scolded, “this is your last warning. I’ll have no more troublemaking!” She turned and hurried back to the blackboard.
Jeffrey smirked at Peter, flashing the thumbtack he’d been hiding in his pocket. Peter lunged for it. Sister Brock turned just as Peter slammed into Jeffrey, sending both boys crashing to the floor.
Peter’s triumph of getting even with Jeffrey quickly faded in the tomblike silence in the den at home. He squirmed under his father’s penetrating gaze. From His picture on the wall, the Savior seemed to be looking gravely down at him also.
Peter looked away. Even though Sister Brock had learned the truth after class—and Jeffrey was being talked to by his father—Peter knew that his temper had gotten him in trouble far too often.
Minutes passed. The only sound was the ticking of the wall clock. Why doesn’t he say something? Peter wondered as his father seemed lost in thought. Maybe he’s forgotten I’m here.
Dad’s voice interrupted Peter’s thoughts. “Peter, let’s pray.” His father had already knelt. Quickly Peter slid to his knees.
After praying for help to solve their problem, they both sat down. Then Dad leaned forward, his eyes measuring Peter. “Peter,” he said, “I want you to try an experiment. For the next three days, you are to try to follow Jesus’ example whenever you get angry. Do you think you’re strong enough?”
“Strong enough?”
“Yes, Peter, strong enough.”
“But, Dad,” Peter objected, “Jesus never acted strong and tough.”
Dad seemed disappointed. “It takes a lot of strength to love and forgive others.”
Peter grumbled, “I know we should love others—but our enemies? And only cowards would turn the other cheek.”
Again, silence. Grown-ups were sure confusing.
“Well, Peter?”
“Well, what?”
“Are you strong enough?”
Peter gave up. “Sure,” he declared. “All I’ll have to do is nothing.”
“Glad to hear you’ll try this experiment. I think you’ll find that Jesus Christ was no coward.” Dad stood, offering his hand, “You can report to me on Wednesday after Scouts, OK?”
Peter shook his hand, smiling in relief. This would be a snap!
His first test came Monday after school. When he opened his bedroom door, his little sister, Amanda, and her friend Alex jumped in alarm. Plastic model pieces flew everywhere.
“My race car!” Peter shouted. “I’ve told you to leave my things alone!” He grabbed for Amanda, but she and Alex bolted for the door.
“You’re going to be sorry,” Peter fumed, steadying himself against his desk. His glance fell on his picture of the Savior with happy children around Him. Peter groaned. The experiment!
He breathed deeply, trying to calm down. How do I know what Jesus would do? he thought crossly. The Bible didn’ttell us anything about Jesus having a little sister who wrecked His stuff!
All at once, Jesus’ crucifixion came to Peter’s mind. No, just people wrecking His life! he realized. Even when the soldiers killed Him, Jesus didn’t get mad. Instead, He asked Heavenly Father to forgive them. A quiet feeling settled on Peter. He began to feel sorry for getting angry at Amanda. He went to find her.
As soon as Amanda saw him, she began whimpering, “We didn’t mean to break it, Peter. It just slipped. …”
“I know,” Peter said softly. “I’m sorry I yelled at you. Come help me rebuild it, then I’ll show you how it works, OK?” The joy on Amanda’s face matched the warm glow in his heart.
His success carried him all the way to Wednesday morning, when Brad Duncan came back to school. The moment Brad dunked him at the drinking fountain, Peter knew that chicken pox had not improved Brad’s personality.
As Peter came up sputtering, his friend Jeremy grabbed his arm and shouted, “Come on—let’s get him!”
“Aw, let him go,” Peter answered.
“Let him go! Are you crazy?”
I must be, Peter thought. What could he say—Well, Jer, there’s this experiment … ? No, that’d really sound stupid. “Look,” he hedged, “it just isn’t worth the bother.”
“What’s wrong with you?” Jeremy challenged. “You getting wimpy or something?” When Peter didn’t answer, Jeremy shook his head in disgust and walked off.
Miserable, Peter went to class. Everyone had lined up at the door. Wednesday was library day. Peter noticed Jeremy whispering with some other kids. They gave Peter weird looks. Great! thought Peter. Now everyone thinks I’m a coward. He wondered if the Savior had felt like this when His friends deserted Him. How did He stand feeling so alone?
Just then Brad sauntered into class. Miss Lewis had him join Peter at the back of the line. “Hey, Pete,” he snickered, “your shirt’s all wet!”
Peter ignored him. All the way down the hall, Brad kept jabbing him, each time a little harder. Peter was really getting mad.
When Miss Lewis stopped at the office, Brad shoved Peter so hard that he went sprawling. Peter forgot all about the experiment. He scrambled up, his only thought was to get even with Brad Duncan! He shoved Brad against the wall. “Cut it out!” When Brad glared back, Peter clenched his fist.
“Peter!” Miss Lewis had returned. “Get back in line,” she ordered. “Brad, up here next to me!”
All at once Peter remembered the experiment! I’ve failed, he realized, I’m really not strong enough after all.
The rest of the day Peter worried about reporting to his father. The experiment had been harder than he’d ever imagined. Especially with Brad. Had Jesus felt like that with the Pharisees? What had kept Him from getting mad?
When Peter sat down in the den that evening, he felt too ashamed to look up. Then Dad asked the dreaded question. “Well, Peter, were you strong enough?”
Peter sighed. “Only sometimes,” he admitted.
“Tell me about it.”
So Peter told him, first about Amanda and then about Brad. When he finished, Dad was smiling warmly. Maybe he hadn’t understood.
“Dad,” Peter repeated, “I really tried, but I’m not even half as strong as Jesus.”
“I know, Peter. Neither am I.”
Peter was startled. Even his father struggled to be good?
As if reading Peter’s mind, Dad explained, “I think it takes all this life, and even some of the next, but you’ve taken a big step in that direction. I’m proud of you.”
Slowly the words sank in. Peter studied the Savior’s picture on the wall, thinking about what Dad had said. Someday, I’d like to be that strong, he thought.
He realized that Dad was waiting to go to dinner with him. When Peter walked over, his father gave his shoulder a firm squeeze. “Keep up the good work, Peter.”
Peter smiled back. “Thanks, Dad.”
“Thank you, Peter.”

What goes on there? The usual joking around, making plans for after school, keeping track of friends, and a fair amount of sharing the gospel and fellowshipping. Susan Benefield can tell you about that.

Susan noticed the LDS youth at Lathrop and liked what she saw. “One thing I noticed when I first met these students is that they all smile. It’s like they know something you don’t. They walk through the halls with a smile on their faces, most of them. It makes you kind of wonder, why are they so happy all the time?”

Susan began to find her answer when Courtney Hull, Susan’s best friend, invited her to early-morning seminary. “It was just a going-with-my-friend sort of thing,” Susan explains. “Then I started going to Young Women and to church and everything else, and everyone was really friendly. Then I started listening to the things the teachers were teaching. And one day it just came to me that this is the thing I needed to do.” So she was baptized.

“I still have my friends that I had before I joined the Church,” Susan goes on, “and I have a lot of friends that aren’t in the Church. But I know when I’m with the LDS youth that there’s no peer pressure, no gossiping going on, no name calling, no drinking.” Now Susan knows why the LDS students seem so happy all the time: “I guess the gospel kind of does that to you.”

“My dream was to be a humanitarian, and this was the door to it,” Loni reflected. “Working in the library, I always wanted to give back . . . but I didn’t see the [opportunity] until Cyclone Gita hit [Tonga].”
It was in the aftermath of Cyclone Gita, that Loni’s engagement on the national level began. Being a librarian and also Tongan, and well-known for her work in the T?maki community, she was asked to help establish the first public library in her beloved island nation of Tonga and serve as the first librarian.
With schools and educational resources destroyed, Loni worked tirelessly with founders, Kahoa and Brendon Corbett, as donations of thousands of books from over 50 Auckland Council libraries, as well as computers, and even bicycles, were brought to the renovated community fale (centre).
The library opened in October 2019, in the village of Kolovai, with plans for a second library underway in a nearby town.
Loni paid her own fare on her trips to Tonga, lived by herself, and donated her time and talents to establish the library. She started weekend English classes, children’s programs, computer and family history classes, job application skills classes, and even bicycle rentals.
She says, “Tongans now understand that a library is more than a building—it is a safe place for growth and development, connections, and learning for many different reasons.”

One day I remember I met in the grocery store some old friends of mine, and this woman had just paid eighty dollars for a small supply of food that she was carrying out of the grocery store. And I came in and bought one or two small things, and she said to me, “How can you do it? How can you do it?” And I said, “Well, I have a wife who is careful and she doesn’t waste anything. She doesn’t throw anything away. She just makes it over, uses it again. And we buy only what we need. And instead of buying the prepared things we can buy as many potatoes probably for a dollar that it would take many, many dollars to put into chips and in other preparations.” I have heard my mother-in-law, who was a very careful cook in her home, say many times, “That woman throws more waste from the kitchen than I would use in a month.” And I have seen that in many homes. And so I think that we need to be very, very careful.

My family and I were driving home from my grandparents’ house after Christmas. The roads were very icy. Our minivan got stuck going up a hill. My dad got out of the van and tried to push it up the icy hill, but it wouldn’t move. We were stuck. I said a prayer and asked Heavenly Father to help us. My dad got back out of the van and pushed again, and we went up the hill! Heavenly Father does answer our prayers, and He loves us.
Andrew B., age 7, Wisconsin, USA

When Kathy and I were married and sealed in the Logan Utah Temple, then-Elder Spencer W. Kimball performed our sealing. In the few words he spoke, he gave this counsel: “Hal and Kathy, live so that when the call comes, you can walk away easily.”

Initially, we did not understand what that counsel meant for us, but we did our best to live our lives in such a way that we would be prepared to leave to serve the Lord when the call came. After we had been married nearly 10 years, an unanticipated call did come from the Commissioner of Church Education, Neal A. Maxwell.

The loving counsel given by President Kimball in the temple to be able to “walk away easily” became a reality. Kathy and I received a call to leave what seemed an idyllic family situation in California to serve in an assignment and in a place that I knew nothing about. However, our family was ready to leave because a prophet, in a holy temple, a place of revelation, saw a future event for which we were then prepared.

Sandra, a BYU Relief Society president, told the following story. “I got up one morning and went out to my car. The tire was flat. Luckily it was Saturday and I didn’t have to be anywhere right away, so I called my home teacher and asked him if he could come over and fix it for me. He said sure, and a while later, there he was at my doorstep. I walked out to the parking lot with him, all set to give him moral support and compliments on his chivalry in coming to my rescue. Was I surprised when, upon arriving at my car, he handed me the jack and said, ‘Okay, Sandra, this is your car. You had better learn how to change a tire.’ At the time I wasn’t so sure I agreed with his reasoning, but I did change the tire! And I’m kind of glad now that I know how.”

The Lord declared that “this gospel of the kingdom shall be preached … for a witness unto all nations; and then shall the end come” (Matt. 24:14). Can it possibly be accomplished? I remember an insight that suggested how it can happen.

I met a woman in South America who had just joined the Church. Fired by a great love for that which she had found, she had gone about enthusiastically telling others. During a period of only seven months since her baptism, she had referred 300 acquaintances to the missionaries so that they might explain the gospel to them. At one point, 60 had come into the Church. More likely came in. In São Paulo, Brazil, I met the young missionary who first had taught her the gospel. He, too, had been a convert, had gone on a mission to represent the Church at considerable financial sacrifice. The woman of whom I speak was one of 43 he had assisted in bringing into the Church to that point. This young man of Brazil had expanded himself more than 100 times—43 converts of his own and 60 through one of those he converted, with more from others of his converts to come.

Yes, this work requires sacrifice, it requires effort, it requires courage to speak out and faith to try. This cause does not need critics; it does not need doubters. It needs men and women of solemn purpose. As Paul wrote to Timothy: “God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind.
“Be not thou therefore ashamed of the testimony of our Lord” (2 Tim. 1:7–8).

I wish that every member of this church would put those words where he might see them every morning as he begins his day. They would give us the courage to speak up, they would give us the faith to try, they would strengthen our conviction of the Lord Jesus Christ. I believe that more miracles would happen over the earth.

I know that God lives, that Jesus is the Christ, that this is their holy work, and I plead with you and with the God of heaven that we shall have the power and the faith and the devotion to roll it forward to its great destiny.

Though there may be occasional setbacks, the Lord’s great latter-day work is not going to fail, and it continues to get stronger.
Within the Church there is a great host of good and decent youth, youth who are thankful for their parents and their parents’ righteous teachings.
Service will ever be this people’s watchword, particularly as youth, couples, and members throughout the Church involve themselves in service to those who need the gospel.
The Lord’s latter-day work requires sacrifice, effort, courage, and faith.
The Apostle Paul’s counsel to Timothy is counsel to us. We would be blessed to consider it daily: “God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind. Be not thou therefore ashamed of the testimony of our Lord” (2 Tim. 1:7–8).

I went to seminary and later to institute, I attended Church activities, and I even started my own Personal Progress. I couldn’t wait to go to Young Women activities. I will never forget the hours we spent cooking, making postcards or bookmarks, decorating our classroom, or playing games, as well as the wonderful spirit of friendship between us. Each activity helped me understand my divine nature and role in life.

The call of duty came to John E. Page when the Prophet Joseph Smith extended to him a call to serve as a missionary. John E. Page “murmured” and responded, “Brother Joseph, I can’t go on a mission to Canada. I don’t even have a coat to wear.”

The Prophet Joseph removed his own coat, handed it to Brother Page, and said, “Here, take this and the Lord will bless you.” John E. Page went on that mission to Canada and, during a two-year period, walked five thousand miles and baptized six hundred people. (See Andrew Jenson, “John E. Page,” The Historical Record, 5:57.)

It was much like an old Charlie Chaplin movie. Mother was still in her nightgown with her ski jacket unzipped and her boots unlaced. She was outside floundering around in circles, trying to catch up with our dog, Jenny, always a few feet ahead of her. Once, Jenny stumbled into a deep drift, and I thought the chase was over. Instead, Mother disappeared up to her waist in the same drift just as Jenny struggled to her feet again.
“What are you laughing at, Missy?” Dad asked, coming up behind me and rubbing his eyes and yawning. It was Thanksgiving morning, and all of us had slept late except Mother.
The smooth white snow behind our house was now covered by big squiggles, as though a fox-and-geese track had lost its way.
Mother caught up with Jenny at last. We saw her staggering toward the house with the large furry bundle in her arms.
“She’ll catch her death of cold!” exclaimed Dad. “It’s well below zero out there!” Dad was wide awake now, and he went bounding down the stairs to open the door for Mother. Soon I smelled bacon frying. Dad always cooks breakfast on weekends and holidays, and my brothers and I take turns doing the dishes.
When I went into the kitchen, Jenny was lying in an exhausted heap in the doorway. She didn’t even stir when I patted her and said, “How are you doing, old girl?” Jenny’s a black and white springer spaniel, nearly fifteen years old. She’s blind and almost deaf too.
“That poor dog completely loses her sense of direction in the snow,” Dad said. “I’m afraid it really is time she was put to sleep.” He poured out five glasses of orange juice. “Talking of sleep, you’d better wake Bruce and John. If they’re going skiing, they ought to get moving.”
The boys ate quickly. “We’ll head for home the minute the lift closes,” Bruce promised. “You can have the turkey ready any time after five o’clock.” He and John got up from the table and started to leave.
“Hey! It’s your turn to do the dishes,” I exclaimed.
“Don’t worry, Missy, you and I will do them together,” Dad said. “No squabbling on Thanksgiving Day!”
But Mother shooed us out of the kitchen, saying that she was in a hurry to get the turkey ready for the oven.
“What can I do to help?” I asked.
“You can keep an eye on Jenny for me,” Mother replied. “She’ll probably need to go out again soon, and we don’t want her wandering off a second time.”
“OK, Mom.” I watched Jenny feel her way toward her favorite spot in front of the living room fireplace. Each time she bumped into something, I cringed. Maybe Dad’s right, I thought. Maybe she’s not enjoying her life anymore. But surely we can keep her with us a little longer if we take good care of her.
Seeing that she was about to go to sleep again, I went up to my room to read. I’d just reached an exciting part of the book when I heard Jenny whimpering. Reluctantly, I got off the bed and went down-stairs to let her out.
“Don’t leave her outside long,” Mother warned. “The weather seems to be changing.”
About an hour later I finished the last chapter and looked out the window. It was snowing hard. Suddenly I remembered Jenny. Is she still outside or did someone let her in? I raced downstairs. She wasn’t in the living room or the den. Mother was still working in the kitchen. “Where’s Dad?” I asked.
“He went somewhere in the jeep,” Mother replied, switching on the electric mixer.
Quietly I opened the front door, hoping to find Jenny waiting on the step. She wasn’t there.
Slipping quickly into warmer clothes, I went outside. Jenny’s tracks showed up clearly in the fresh snow. I followed them around to the back of the house.
Half an hour later I was still searching for her. I no longer had any idea where she might have gone, for she had evidently wandered in circles, and her tracks had merged with those of other dogs. The snow was coming down thicker now, and the wind was blowing it into my eyes, making it difficult to see. My fingers and my toes were freezing, and my whole face was stiff from the cold. I decided to go back home and get help, even though it meant Mother and Dad would know that I was responsible for Jenny being lost.
Neither of them said a word of reproach. I wanted to start out again at once, but Mother made me drink some hot soup while she telephoned the neighbors. The soup was comforting, but the thought of Jenny lying half-buried in a snowdrift somewhere brought tears to my eyes.
“Don’t worry, Missy.” Dad patted my shoulder. “If none of the neighbors has seen her, I’ll take the jeep out and find her.”
Mother came back into the kitchen. “No one has seen her, but they’ve all promised to keep their eyes open.”
“Come on, Dad, let’s go!” I pleaded.
Dad drove very slowly while we both strained our eyes to catch sight of anything moving in the snow. Every now and then Dad would stop the jeep and we would search on foot. I was terrified that I might stumble upon Jenny’s lifeless body.
I almost cried again. Jenny had been a part of our family since before I was born. I couldn’t imagine life without her.
When we’d been gone about two hours, Dad looked at his watch. “The boys will be home by now,” he said. “I think we’d better go back. She wouldn’t have come this far anyway.”
Neither of us spoke as we climbed stiffly out of the jeep. I was praying desperately that Jenny had somehow found her way home. Instead, Mother said, “Bruce and John came home about an hour ago. They’ve gone to look for Jenny over by that new development. They figure people over there won’t know whose dog it is.”
Granny and Aunt Ruth were in the kitchen with Mother. “She’s wearing her tags, isn’t she?” Aunt Ruth asked.
Sadly I reported, “She’s wearing her rabies tag, but her name-and-address tag came off the last time I brushed her. I forgot to put it back on.”
A spurt of gravel in the driveway signaled Bruce and John’s return. I ran to the door. One look at their faces was enough to tell me they had not found Jenny.
“Perhaps she’ll turn up later,” Mother said, but she didn’t sound very convincing. “Right now there’s nothing more we can do, so let’s try to think of all the things we have to be thankful for. If everyone will wash up, I’ll bring you some hot cider to drink by the fire while I add the finishing touches to dinner.”
How heartless grown-ups are, I thought. Dad and Aunt Ruth were discussing a TV program they had both seen. Grandma was busy winding wool yarn with Bruce’s help.
John and I sat staring at the fire without speaking. I didn’t know exactly what he was thinking, but I was sure he wasn’t feeling very friendly toward me. He and Jenny had been born within a few months of each other.
Suddenly I had an idea. “Did you go to the Roberts’s place?”
“No. Why should we have? Mom said she’d called all the neighbors.”
“The Roberts moved, and the new people don’t have a phone yet. One of the kids is in my class, and I heard her complain that they have to wait two more weeks for one.” I was already halfway to the door.
“I’ll come with you,” John offered.
I wanted to say no, because I had lost Jenny and it was up to me to find her, but I realized that John was as miserable as I was.
It was dark outside now. The snow had stopped, and a few stars were appearing.
“Didn’t you come by here this morning?” John asked, as I rang the doorbell.
“Yes. No one was home.”
The door opened and Betsy, the girl in my class, said, “Why, hello, Missy.”
“Hi,” I greeted her. “This is my brother John. We’re looking for our dog.”
“Is she a springer?”
“Yes!” John and I shouted together.
“Come on in. She’s here.”
“Is she all right?” I asked anxiously.
“She is now.” Betsy laughed. “She’s just eaten a huge Thanksgiving dinner!” She led us into a big old-fashioned kitchen. Jenny was lying in front of the warm stove, looking very much at home. She thumped her tail on the brick floor when she heard our voices, but she didn’t get up.
“She’s still tired. When we came home about noon, she was lying in our driveway, and she was covered with snow. She didn’t even lift her head when Dad honked the horn,” Betsy explained.
I fell to my knees beside Jenny and buried my face in her soft fur. Betsy must have brushed her, I realized. Right then and there I silently offered a Thanksgiving prayer.
John thanked Betsy and the rest of her family for their kindness, then turned to me and said teasingly, “Come on, Missy, let’s go! I can’t carry both of you.”
I stammered my thanks to everyone, especially Betsy.
“Think nothing of it,” she said. “I love dogs.”
I don’t suppose I’ll ever forget that Thanksgiving. The dinner might have been a bit overdone, but nobody cared.

When I was a young child, our family was anxious for the return of Uncle Orson. My mother had deep feelings about the matter, which she implanted in her children. For some reason I always watched for Uncle Orson to come to the back door of our home. I remember on a number of occasions when a peddler would come to the back door. I would pull on my mother’s dress to get her attention and ask, “Is this Uncle Orson, huh?” But the answer was always no.
It was many years later that mother shared the story with me of her younger brother. Uncle Orson was born in 1881. Fourteen months later his father died, leaving him without the guidance of a father during those critical early years. When he was 17 years old, he, with a group of other boys his own age, went to Saltair, a dance pavilion on the shores of the Great Salt Lake. Before the evening was over, they became drunk and ended up in the county jail.
The following morning, parents and family members came to the jail house and obtained their sons’ releases. Many of them put their arms around their sons and built them into pillars in the community. But unknown to my grandmother, Uncle Orson was released from jail, given a one-way ticket to the Northwest, and told never to return.
Mother said that on occasions she would hear her mother sobbing in her bedroom during the night. When she went to her mother’s side, her mother would say, “I wonder where my wandering boy is tonight.”
Uncle Orson likely worked in the lumber camps of the Northwest in an atmosphere that was not conducive to living the principles of the gospel, If he were living today, he would be very old. It is most likely that he has gone to the world of spirits by now. I’ve been searching the scriptures to find out what happened to Uncle Orson.
Isaiah wrote, “And they shall be gathered together, as prisoners are gathered in the pit, and shall be shut up in the prison, and after many days shall they be visited” (Isa. 24:22). Between the crucifixion and the resurrection of the Savior, he “organized his forces and appointed messengers, clothed with power and authority, and commissioned them to go forth and carry the light of the gospel to them that were in darkness” (D&C 138:30).
This, too, is a prototype and applies in a like manner to those who died after Christ’s resurrection.
My good friend, Joseph S. Nelson, died a few months ago at age 86. He was a great missionary during his life. He served four missions. He was called to the last at 80 years of age. I’ve been searching the scriptures to find him—and here he is:
“I beheld that the faithful elders of this dispensation, when they depart from mortal life, continue their labors in the preaching of the gospel of repentance and redemption, through the sacrifice of the Only Begotten Son of God, among those who are in darkness and under the bondage of sin in the great world of the spirits of the dead” (D&C 138:57).
I have come to love my great-grandmother, Ursula Wise Derrick. She must have been a most remarkable person. She was obviously “faithful in the testimony of Jesus while [she] lived in mortality” (D&C 138:12). But she had no opportunity to receive the saving ordinances that would assure her “redemption from the bands of death” (D&C 138:16).
I have loved Uncle Orson from childhood because I inherited a longing for him. I want so much to buy him a return ticket home to his eternal family.
I wonder if my good friend Joe Nelson might find my great-grandmother and ensure that she has been taught the wonderful truths of the gospel of Jesus Christ so that she can take advantage of the saving ordinances we have performed in her behalf.
I wonder if my good friend Joe Nelson might find Uncle Orson and teach him the gospel truths that his father would have taught him in mortality had he been here to do so. I hope that he might now have the opportunity to hear the gospel truths that he might have heard except for the one-way ticket he was given away from those who might have helped him.
Please, dear friend Joseph, find them and teach them these precious truths of salvation so that our family might be a forever family. If you do, I will be more grateful than mortals can express.

In another stake, Relief Society president Mickie Neslen realized that financial security helps strengthen families. She and the stake presidency prepared a stake home, family, and personal enrichment meeting that traveled from ward to ward. It began with a spiritual lesson on finances. Afterward, the sisters were invited to visit five different stations with 15-minute presentations by knowledgeable sisters:
“Budgeting” featured various ways to keep track of and manage money with notebooks, envelopes, or software.
“Money-Saving Tips” consisted of simple ways to save money each day.
“Finances for Kids” demonstrated a variety of ways to teach finances to children, including interactive games.
“Preparing for the Future” reviewed information about disability insurance, assisted living, nursing care, and other retirement concerns.
“The Cost of Credit” pointed out the dangers of debt and how to avoid it.
These enrichment meetings helped educate and strengthen the sisters in many important ways.

Sitting in the assembly hall with the rest of the sixth-graders, Patty Barnes fixed her eyes on Miss Fletcher as she mounted the platform, paper in hand.
Today was the day when the pupils from Alma Heights School would hear the complete program for drama night. Not only would there be a play, but the choir would sing and there would be instrumental numbers.
Patty fidgeted impatiently and twisted a lock of hair that curled around her right ear. She was sure she would be asked to play the sonatina she had been practicing for months.
“In addition to the play,” Miss Fletcher glanced around the auditorium, “the choir will sing ‘On Wings of Song.’ The boys’ glee club will do three sea chanteys, Ron Bateman will play a violin solo, and Deedee Bates will play a piano solo.”
Patty gasped so loudly that her friend, Rosalie, who was sitting next to her, gave her a sharp nudge in the ribs. It seemed that Miss Fletcher also heard the gasp of dismay, because, as she concluded her remarks, she looked right at Patty.
“It isn’t fair,” argued Rosalie loyally, as the boys and girls were dismissed and began to make their way toward the lunchroom.
Patty could not answer. There was a choking feeling in her throat and she was afraid that if she blinked, the tears would start.
“Thanks, Rosalie. You go ahead and save a place at the table. I’ll be down in a few minutes.”
As she went back into the classroom to talk with Miss Fletcher, bitter disappointment gave place to anger. She couldn’t believe their teacher was capable of such an injustice.
“Was there something you wanted to say to me, Patty?” Miss Fletcher asked, looking up from her desk.
Still smarting from the hurt, Patty answered, “The last time I played in an assembly you were almost sure I would be playing on the program. I don’t see why Deedee was chosen. After all, she hasn’t been—”
“I know just what you’re going to say, Patty—Deedee hasn’t been going to our school very long, and she has pushed you out of your place.”
Up until now Patty had never thought of Deedee as a rival. They had even played duets together down in the music room after they had finished lunch.
But now, thought Patty, I’ll never play another duet with Deedee as long as I live!
Miss Fletcher was waiting for Patty to say something. “It isn’t fair!” Patty finally declared, “I don’t think it’s fair at all.”
Miss Fletcher sighed, and then she got up from her desk and motioned to Patty to sit down with her on a little bench by the door while she explained, “When we were planning the drama night, Mr. Lawson said, ‘We want to have the very best program possible.’ That’s why all of the teachers and I decided to have Deedee. Those who have parts in the play were chosen the same way. I know you’re disappointed, Patty, but we all must learn to recognize and appreciate talent, regardless of who has it.”
“But does Deedee really play better than I do?” Patty questioned, still unwilling to believe the right decision had been made.
“You play very well, Patty, but Deedee is a remarkable little girl,” said Miss Fletcher. “Someday she will have something wonderful to offer the world, and we must all help her. Do you remember when you were playing the ‘Turkish March’ together that Deedee played the music through only once and that she didn’t need to look at the notes again? But she’s terribly nervous about playing in front of people. That’s where we can all help her. At our drama night she’ll be playing in front of a very sympathetic audience and that should give her confidence.”
Patty’s heart went down, down, down. She knew within herself that what Miss Fletcher said was true. She hated to admit it, but there was something special about Deedee. Her fingers flew over the keys with scarcely a ripple, and she could make up little tunes right in her head.
Trying to be a good sport about Deedee’s good fortune, Patty moved toward the door and said, “I guess you’re right. I’ll try to help her.” She wanted to smile at Miss Fletcher, but somehow she couldn’t, so she turned and hurried down the hall.
It’s funny, she thought, but sometimes when people show you that you’re wrong, you still want to believe that you’re right.
During the afternoon Patty tried not to resent the fact that all her work on the sonatina had been in vain. She congratulated Deedee, and even felt sorry for her when she saw how frightened she was about the idea of playing in front of an audience.
Walking home with Rosalie, Patty tried to think of a way to break the news to Mother and Dad, but she didn’t find it nearly as hard as she had expected. She even managed to make a little joke about it.
Dad gave an exaggerated sigh of relief. “You mean we’re not going to have to go through another week of having you pound out that sonatina?” he teased. Then he put his arm around her shoulder and said lovingly, “Don’t feel badly, Patty. You’re the best pianist in our family.”
Finally, the drama night came. Patty sat in the audience with her parents and thoroughly enjoyed the choir and the play.
Then during the intermission, Patty saw Miss Fletcher slowly walking down the aisle and peering along the rows as though she were looking for someone. When she saw Patty, she motioned to her.
“Oh, Patty, I’m so glad I found you!” Miss Fletcher said when they reached the back of the room. “I need your help. Deedee has gone completely to pieces. I know it’s short notice, but could you play your sonatina for us in her place?”
“I’ll be glad to,” Patty said without a moment’s hesitation.
As she followed Miss Fletcher backstage a feeling of triumph swept over her. What a surprise it would be for Mother and Dad when they heard her play.
Then Patty saw Deedee, white and shaking, standing in the wings. All Patty’s happiness ebbed away. Deedee was something special and Miss Fletcher’s words came back to her, “We must all help her.”
If Deedee doesn’t learn to play in front of an audience now, she may never be able to do it, Patty thought.
She walked over to Deedee and put a steady, warm hand over Deedee’s cold one. “Remember the fun we had playing the ‘Turkish March’ together?” she asked. “That’s what we’re going to do, both of us together.”
For a moment Deedee hesitated, and then she smiled and walked out onto the stage with Patty.
In a few minutes the audience heard the best piano duetists in the whole school!

When I read the May 2011 issue of the New Era, I came across the “Questions & Answers” article on dating before the age of 16. I was shocked, because I had recently had a boyfriend, even though I am not yet 16. When I read through the answers given, I felt the Spirit with me. I realized that by ending the relationship I was keeping the standards. I’m so glad the New Era was there for me.
Felisha L., Vermont, USA

Samantha,* a girl in my first-grade class, was kind of mean. She would step on people’s heels, yell at them, and even hit them. Nobody liked her. Nobody played with her. Sometimes other kids told lies to get her into trouble. I didn’t like her at first, either, but I always defended her when I knew someone had lied to get her in trouble.
In second grade, her desk was next to mine. She kept on being mean, so she was moved away from the other kids. I felt sorry for her and offered to help Samantha with her schoolwork. The teacher let me.
Then Samantha’s baby brother died. That’s when I learned that she has a hard life. She had lived in another state, and her father had drinking problems. When she moved, one of her cats died and another ran away. Then her two dogs died. One day in class, she started crying because she missed her baby brother. I went over to her, and I got to help her that day.
At Christmastime, I drew her name for our gift exchange. Mom and I prayed about what to give her. We gave her a small nativity set, and she really liked it. She became nicer to everyone, and soon everyone wanted to sit by her.
For Valentine Day, we gave each other the same card. We didn’t plan it that way.
She moved away at the end of second grade. That was the last time I saw her. I miss her. Sometimes I even cry a little bit. My teacher thanked me for helping Samantha and said that I had changed her life. I feel good that I chose the right.

Maxine Grimm stands out in my mind as an honored pioneer. I met her in the Philippines in 1964, when there was only one branch of the Church and fewer than one hundred members. With her husband, Peter Grimm (we called him “Grimm-pa”), this remarkable woman helped unfurl the flag of truth in that beautiful island nation.

Sister Grimm had been a Red Cross volunteer during World War II and had remained in the Philippines after the war to help the new Church members there. I clearly remember her arriving at our small place at 7-D Kamias Road to help us begin the first Relief Society in Quezon City. She would always bring copies of the Relief Society Magazine for the sisters to borrow, as well as her portable pump organ so we could sing the hymns together—all six of us.

Many beautiful faces among those first few Latter-day Saints in the Philippines will be etched in my memory forever. One of many that could represent them all is the face of Salud Dizon Jimenez, the first convert to be baptized in Quezon City. She later became the Relief Society president when a branch was organized in that huge city near the Philippine capital of Manila. Sister Jimenez and many like her would often travel for hours on jeepneys and buses to Taft Avenue in Pasay, where we held all our Church meetings. Others followed in the footsteps of those great pioneers, and today the Philippines is blessed by nearly 300,000 members in forty-seven stakes. A temple graces the city of Manila.

I see in my mind another pioneer woman who helped the families in a Monclova, Mexico, branch make their homes learning centers. I met her on a Sunday in September 1975. Adelita happily showed me the things she had done in her own home to motivate her children to study, then told of things she was doing to help the other sisters in the branch teach their children better study habits. Adelita herself was illiterate, yet she placed great value on education. Humble and gracious, she desired only to serve.

I think of the Saints in the little village of Bermejillo, Mexico, where I went with some health missionaries in 1975. As we walked along a dusty road with the branch president and his wife, we were taught how to pick out the homes of Church members. Their fences and homes were painted, and vegetable and flower gardens accented their neat and tidy yards. As we passed several homes, the branch president’s wife told us, “These people are not active right now, so you can’t tell they’re Latter-day Saints. But soon they’ll be back with us, and on your next visit you can pick them out, too.” Eventually the members in this branch built their own chapel.

The beautiful face of Sister Pai on the Altiplano in Bolivia fills my memory with a warm glow. I visited her and her family in January 1975. They had been members of the Church for only three months, but in that time they had learned that President Spencer W. Kimball had encouraged Church members to have gardens. I was thrilled to see their two small vegetable gardens and a flower garden. Each night they covered their three gardens with plastic sheets to protect their treasures from freezing.

I shall never forget their family home evening, held in the warmest spot in the home—on their bed. Of that experience I wrote in my journal: “The rain and the cold, the walk and the mud were all well worth it. I would have walked one hundred miles to visit with this family and have the privilege of feeling their spirit and their enthusiasm in being members of the Church and learning principles which help them to be healthier and happier.” Blessed, honored pioneers.

I think of the woman I met in the Dominican Republic right after Christmas in 1983. Some missionaries and I were sitting in her San Francisco home as she told us of the dramatic changes Church membership had brought into her life. I was impressed with her courage in blazing trails through habits and traditions she felt needed to be changed. My faith was strengthened as this great pioneer soul spoke of her deepest feelings about Jesus Christ and her joy in discovering the gospel.

I cried as I had to leave. We had been together for only a short while, yet I felt as if I had known her forever. As my companions and I walked down the street, I kept looking back to wave. She was still waving back as we turned a corner and lost sight of her radiant face.

Many of the pioneer faces in my mind are the faces of friends in Nigeria, West Africa. When I first arrived there in January 1984, I met Cecilia and learned of her creative pioneering in what seemed to me the overwhelming task of day-to-day living. I said, “You are my teacher.”

She responded, “I will be your teacher.”

I told her that I didn’t know if I could learn very fast, because she had so much to teach me. She smiled gently and said, “I will teach slowly.”

And she did. I lived as Cecilia’s neighbor for several months, and I will be grateful all my life for the things she helped me learn. I am a better pioneer because of this great soul and others in our neighborhood who allowed me to follow in their footsteps for a little while.

One of the most important lessons I learned in Africa was to examine my priorities and values. In one of our Relief Society lessons there, the manual recommended that children should be helped to keep their drawers clean and neat. One of the sisters asked, “What is a drawer?”

So many great Latter-day Saints, honored pioneers, will be exalted without ever having seen a drawer, owned a new dress, used a time planner, or gazed into a mirror. They will rejoice in the celestial kingdom having never walked through Temple Square or visited Relief Society headquarters in Salt Lake City.

It still amuses me that my companion, Ann, and I were sent to teach Cecilia and others about self-reliance. While I hope we were able to share some information about health and sanitation that made a difference for them, I know that I personally learned the greatest lessons. Most of those lessons I learned from them had to do with self-reliance. I’m convinced that Cecilia and her sisters can handle any emergency. Forging onward, ever onward, they are indeed blessed, honored pioneers.

I first met Sally Pilobello in the Philippines in 1972 when I was sent there as a health missionary. I learned that she and her husband had lost their first baby when the baby was five months old. Sally had other children, but she now was pregnant with another and asked me, “What can I do to have a healthy Mormon baby?” I thought of her courage and faith as she responded to truth and adopted some new habits and traditions. Soon people in the neighborhood were sharing the news: “Mormon baby is coming!”

On 20 January 1973, Sarah Pilobello was born—a healthy, beautiful “Mormon baby.” Her mother’s pioneer spirit had enabled her to do things she had not done before—to add more truth to what she already knew. Sally used to smile at me and say, “Sister, you can never teach an old dog new tricks.” Then she’d pause and add: “But Sister, I am not a dog!”

In 1984 I received a letter from eleven-year-old Sarah—“Little Melon” to her family and friends: “I’m sorry that I have not written for a long time because every time I’m going to start my letter my playmates are insisting me to play with them. Now I firmly decided to write to you. We are glad that Mommy is doing what the family preparedness program of the welfare missionaries taught them. We now purify our water and have a balanced diet. That is why we grow faster than the other children. The temple is now being made and I hope I’ll see you there. I love you. Little Melon.”

I also received a letter from her mother, my dear friend Sally: “I want to express my gratitude for the things I have learned which are making such a difference in my family. I realize now that some of the things my mother taught me—things her mother taught her—were not correct. But the truths I’m learning will now be taught to my children, and to their children, and to the generations to come. We will not be damned any longer by ignorance. ‘Ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free!’ As they say, it is never too late to learn and change. God must love us dearly to allow us to have so much truth.”

When I first arrived in Indonesia in 1976 I met a group of pioneers in central Java who helped me understand much, much more about the meaning of words such as relief, compassion, and service. These Relief Society sisters, led by their president, Ibu Subowo, were giant souls in small bodies. Every morning before they began their cooking, each sister would hold back a spoonful of rice. They kept the rice in plastic bags that they brought to Relief Society each week. After the meeting, they would gather and prayerfully consider who needed a visit. All would then go together to visit those in need, taking the bags of rice with them to share with those who had less than they did.

Consecration. The Lord’s storehouse. A society of interdependent Saints. I learned much about sacrifice, wondering what my equivalent of a spoonful of rice would be.

I’ve thought a lot about Enos’s comment toward the end of his short narrative in the Book of Mormon. He felt sure that he would someday meet the Lord and “see his face with pleasure” (Enos 1:27). There are many faces on this earth that I hope someday to see with pleasure again. Among them are those of the women who have taught me much about pioneering—about having service as a watchword and love as a guiding star.

We’re all pioneers. Across the years, and across the miles, we blaze our trails through our personal wild frontiers. In a wide variety of circumstances, we cross our plains, sing our songs, bury our dead, deal with our personal sorrows, bear one another’s burdens, visit, comfort, and show compassion. Blessed, honored pioneers!