Gospel Story Finder

“No, bishop, I don’t think I’m going on a mission.”
These were my words as I declined every invitation from my bishop to consider going on a mission. When my family became members of the Church, there were many things we had to learn and unlearn. Being first-generation Church members, in our family going on a mission was something we neither discussed nor considered. It seemed like a big sacrifice.
Still, I was an active member of the Church. I would attend all my meetings and accept responsibilities as they were extended. I was in my second year of studying accounting when the bishop called me to be the financial clerk.
One Wednesday, I was faced with trying to find an error in the records. I felt helpless as I labored to find the three centavos’ difference between the Church’s and the bank’s records. The report was due the next day and that compounded my problem. The only sensible thing to do was to ask for help.
I approached my bishop and explained my predicament. It surprised me that instead of immediately reviewing the report, he invited me to kneel and pray with him as we explained our problem to the Lord. When we got up from our knees, the bishop asked to see the report. Almost immediately and without using a calculator, he pointed to a column and said, “This is where your problem is.”
I totaled the numbers, and, sure enough, he was right. I felt overwhelmed. It seemed I had just witnessed a miracle. My young and feeble testimony of the Church was strengthened. I gained a stronger conviction that this was the true Church.
While I was still wrapped up in this experience, the bishop asked, “Now are you going on a mission?”
This time, I said yes.
As I left the meetinghouse that night, I had with me all the missionary papers I needed to fill out. Within a few months from when my bishop submitted my missionary recommendation form, I was called to serve a full-time mission in the Philippines Baguio Mission.
It has been many years since that night. After completing a two-year mission, I returned to school and obtained my college degree, four years behind the normal age. If I had to do it over again I would still choose to serve.
I’m thankful for a bishop who obeyed a prompting to ask the right question at the right time. I’m also thankful to Heavenly Father who not only helped me find the three centavos to reconcile my report but who also led me to a wealth of missionary experiences without price.

When I was in high school, I lived in Idaho. They dismissed school for a couple of weeks every fall for the students to help in the potato harvest. One day when I was picking up potatoes, the boy working with me began to tell me things about the Prophet Joseph Smith that I didn’t believe were true. I don’t think I discussed my concerns with anybody. I just naturally went to the Book of Mormon and began to read. Nobody told me to do this. It just seemed right. From what I read there, I knew that a bad man could not have written it.

“Me?” I asked, looking at the Young Women president in utter shock.
“Yes,” she said. “You’d only have to play one hymn each week for opening exercises. You can tell us ahead of time which one you choose, and practice during the week. Besides, it’s only for Young Women. You’re all friends anyway.”
“Well, I guess so. But I’m not making any promises,” was my response.
For as long as I could remember, my mother had been teaching me how to play the piano. But I was only to the point where I could study a piece of music one measure at a time and eventually memorize it.
For that first Sunday, I chose a piece in the key of C that looked fairly simple. I began practicing it, and it turned out to be quite a chore. But by the end of the week I had memorized the hymn and felt ready for Sunday. Unfortunately, with 20 girls singing and a director setting the pace, I was lost within the first three measures. I tried with all my might to catch up, but the song dragged on—a capella.
When the song ended, I buried my head into my folded arms through the opening prayer. At its conclusion I took a seat by my best friend who greeted me with a sympathetic pat on the back. I also received an affirmative thumbs up and a smile of encouragement from our Young Women president.
After class, she came over to talk to me. I figured she had realized her mistake and was going to let me sing each week rather than play. “So, what song will it be next week?” she asked. Silent groan.
The next week I spent every free second playing “Come Follow Me.” I was not going to make a fool of myself again. All this practicing did was slowly cause me to dislike the piano and dread the quickly approaching Sunday. However, I managed to master the hymn, and even practiced with my mom leading and my little sister singing. I was prepared.
Sunday came, and by the time we got to the part of the song “… the Savior said,” I was lost. Tears were forming in my eyes. I tried with all my might to blink them away, but couldn’t. It wasn’t fair. I had worked so hard—and for what? More embarrassment.
I finally decided there was only one thing to do. I looked very closely at the final measure through my tears. I wanted to play the last chord of the song, and I carefully placed my shaking fingers on each key while the young women warbled on without me. “With God’s own loved, begotten Son.” I attacked that last chord with all the power I could muster, then confidently bowed my head for the prayer.
Unfortunately, the prayer was delayed until everyone stopped laughing. I can see the humor in it now, but at the time I decided to never touch another piano key for the rest of my life.
Thankfully, I stuck with the weekly chore. As the Sundays went by, playing became easier. I used most of my free time to practice the piano, which helped me learn how to play without having to memorize the piece.
I still play a hymn each week and usually hit a few sour chords. Every day I sit down at the old piano and play all sorts of music. I have gained a talent that I love, but almost missed.
I’m so thankful that after my first catastrophic experience, I was convinced to stick with it and not give up. I think about the friendly smile from my supportive president, and realize my assignment to play each week was a blessing in disguise.

I’ve found that I allow more time for my family if I remind myself that playing with the children is church work. While I was mission president, I would often go to a beautiful amusement park with my family. I would just walk around the park with a smile on my face, holding hands with my children, eating candy.
Once in a while, the thought would enter my mind. “You’re the mission president. You’d better get back to the office.” But then I’d smile again and say to myself, “Well, I’m doing my church work here. I’m with my children and my wife. We’re having a fun day, and tonight I’ll be able to write in my journal that I did six hours of glorious church work today.” I’d eat a little more candy and let the children lead me wherever they wanted to go.

We shouldn’t have a problem with masturbation. I know one fine father who interviewed his 11-year-old son and he said, “Son, if you never masturbate, the time will come in your life when you will be able to sit in front of your bishop at age 19, and say to him, ‘I have never done that in my life,’ and then you can go to the stake president when you are interviewed for your mission and tell him, ‘I have never done that in my life.’ And you would be quite a rare young man.”

The father again interviewed the young man, who is now 18 years old, and he asked the son about masturbation. The son said, “I have never done that in my life. You told me, Dad, that if I didn’t do that, I would be able to sit in front of the bishop and stake president and tell them I had never done it, and I would be a rare young man, and I am going to be able to do it.”

Jimmy’s refusal. One evening when Jimmy went with friends to a party, “a girl came up and offered me alcohol,” he says. “I said no and didn’t pay any attention to her, but she kept offering it to me. And it wasn’t just alcohol—there were invitations to do other things. I didn’t agree to any of it, and I pulled away from the group. Some of the kids said I was antisocial, but I knew I couldn’t stay there. Every time I have a trial like this and overcome it, I become stronger.”

Ouch! Have you ever been attacked by a jumping cactus? Cholla cactus segments “jump” off to stick to clothes, skin, or whatever else they can hook their spines into.
The Latter-day Saint youth of New Mexico know how difficult it is to detach themselves from a prickly cactus. They got some extra practice, though, as they cleaned the site where the Albuquerque New Mexico Temple will be built. Armed with shovels, rakes, and gloves, youth from four stakes assembled on a hot Saturday morning to rid the property of sagebrush, garbage, and cholla, so the weeds could be mowed and the ground made safe to walk on for those attending the temple’s groundbreaking ceremony.
“It was hard work, but it will be totally worth it for the temple to come,” says Robyn Sampson, age 15.
Before the city of Albuquerque approved the plans for the temple, the youth fasted and prayed for a solution to the problems the temple’s project manager faced when he presented the plans to city officials. Now they say they are fasting and praying for the temple builders. But the prayers and the cleanup are only part of the work the young people of Albuquerque are doing to prepare for the temple. They are also working to make certain their own lives are clean.
Despite the burrs on their socks and an occasional scare from a snake or lizard, the Albuquerque youth succeeded in clearing the future temple site of every spiny cactus and broken bottle they could find. It might seem strange, but the youth actually enjoyed pulling cactuses and loading trucks with sagebrush.
“We’re so happy we will have a temple here. We thought it would never happen,” says Rosalie Campbell, age 12.
Amber Chee, age 17, looks forward to doing baptisms for the dead and someday getting married in the Albuquerque temple. “It was really fun coming here. I felt the Spirit,” she says.
Both Rosalie and Amber have done baptisms for the dead before, but opportunities for temple trips come only once a year for the Albuquerque youth, who have had to travel at least eight hours to get to a temple.
“Temples were always a faraway thing,” says Neil Peterson. As 16-year-old Neil wipes his brow, he says he enjoys helping out with something so important, even if it is hard work.
Besides concentrating on the cactus plants, Michelle Williams is thinking about what it will mean to have a temple in her area and about why she is cleaning up the temple site. “It’s very symbolic,” she says. “You have to be clean yourself to go to the temple.”
Logan King is waiting for his call as a full-time missionary. He won’t be able to go to the Albuquerque temple before his mission, but he realizes the importance of being worthy to attend the temple. “We need to clean all the cactuses out of our lives before we can go to the temple,” he says.
Researching family history is another way the Albuquerque youth are preparing for the temple. Many of them have become excited about doing family history, knowing they will soon have a temple in their area. Albuquerque’s family history center missionaries, Sister Wilcox and Sister Hatfield, say the temple will strengthen the youth. Among the large number of young people in the area, they have seen a “big push for genealogy.”
Sarah Sego, age 17, loves doing baptisms for the dead and can’t wait for the temple to be built so she can do baptisms more often. “I know it’s the right thing to do, because all those people are waiting,” she says.
Sarah is eager to tell others why she loves going to the temple. She talks to her friends about the temple and even tactfully shared her testimony of temple work with her high school class.
Sarah is not alone in her missionary efforts. Many Church members are enjoying the opportunity to explain the gospel to others because of the temple.
“I think the temple will make people notice us more,” says Lisa Willis, age 14. She’s also been telling her friends about the temple. “The best part of building a temple is having people ask about it,” she says.
Albuquerque’s full-time missionaries were also working hard at the cleanup. They say members in the area feel that the temple will bring many blessings to all the people of Albuquerque.
“While tracting, we stopped by a house and a woman opened the door and said, ‘Hey, I heard you are building one of those temples.’ That allowed us to get in the door and talk to her about the Church,” says Elder Moyer from California. Many missionaries have similar stories.
The temple will be built in a valley where it can be seen from far away. In fact, it’s the same valley the Mormon Battalion came through on its famous march from the Missouri River to California.
At the groundbreaking ceremony, many young people who had been at the cleanup also sang in the youth chorus. The strains of “High on the Mountain Top” (Hymns, number 5) rang out over the crowd of thousands that had gathered to see the temple ground dedicated.
“We all joined together to celebrate our temple,” says Tyler Lindsey, age 16. “I knew that it was right and the ground was holy. I don’t know how we sounded, but the Spirit was there.”
The Spirit is there. The spirit of service, of missionary work, and of love can be felt strongly in Albuquerque. Whether pulling cactuses or doing baptisms for the dead, the youth of Albuquerque are carrying out the Lord’s work with His Spirit to help them. The youth don’t know yet all the ways the temple will change their lives, but they are grateful to have been able to take a small part in the temple-building project. They are looking forward to the temple’s dedication in the year 2000 and to even greater blessings and opportunities to come.

I remember one day going to my office and seeing outside the door of the faculty person next to me (a bishop) a young lady with a distraught look on her face. She waited and kept knocking on this door for some time, but my colleague was out. There was something about her appearance that was compelling to me, and so I said, “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to interrupt, but you look distraught. Is there anything that I can do?”
She said, “I’m waiting for Brother So-and-so. He’s my bishop, and he seems to be out.”
I said, “Is there anything I can do?” So she came into my office, we talked, and I found that this young lady was a cousin of mine, a woman of about 38. When she found that we were kin, the tragic story of her life began to unfold. I began to see the despair and the disappointment and the frustration and the hopelessness that she was experiencing at that point in her life—single, never married, distraught, worried about her future. Later, she undoubtedly received help from her bishop, but I as a kinsman tried to engage for a period of months in a helping relationship with her, to talk with her, to sustain her, to counsel her as best I could. She finally decided that it was best that she go back with her family and help take care of her mother, who was an invalid. So she went home and was somehow able to put off her despair, invest herself intently again into the affairs of those things spiritual. Then came the time when I received a telephone call and later an announcement that she had met a young man whose wife had died and left him with five children. I was able to greet her in the temple when she was sealed to her companion and became the instant mother of five children. I have hope that at certain points my strength might have been a help to others. I pray that the strength you may have might be a help to those who are faltering in their race of life.

My Young Women president challenged all of the young women in my ward to read Jesus the Christ in just five months. As I sat down to read it, I was disappointed at first. I had expected the heavens to open and light to pour down, instantly filling me with the Spirit. However, that did not happen. Instead, I struggled to get through even the first chapter without my mind wandering off. I put the book down, frustrated at the seeming lack of divine inspiration.
I decided I needed to change my approach to reading. The next evening I knelt by my bed and asked Heavenly Father to allow me to have the Holy Spirit accompany me, that I might better understand and be able to read this book about His Son and my Savior. After that prayer, I felt a subtle wave of peace come into my room as I settled down to read. I understood the book better and enjoyed it more.
Every night after that, I made sure I started and ended my reading sessions with a prayer, in which I thanked my Heavenly Father and invited the Spirit to guide me as I learned more of the Savior.
I struggled at times and became discouraged that I couldn’t just zip through this 800-page book. But I continued on with my reading and even felt sad as I turned to the last page, knowing the book was ending. The Spirit that was present as I read Jesus the Christ was so indescribably sweet and comforting, and I came to know my Savior on a deeper level. My testimony of the Savior and of the Atonement grew so much from the simple act of reading a book for a few minutes every night.

A young boy and his parents are on the Brooklyn with other Latter-day Saints going to California in 1846. A storm came up so terrible that the captain of the ship told them to prepare to die. But they had faith that they would be all right, and the storm finally ended.
Once the hatches were unbattened, the children rushed up on deck like buckshot exploding out of a shotgun. There seemed to be magic in the breeze as the ship sailed quickly along. How good it was to see the sun and to breathe fresh air again! We forgot all about the bumps and bruises from being banged about like marbles in a leather pouch.

Several months after I regained my strength, we were caught in another violent storm, only this time at sea. The waves became so big they flipped our small boat over, throwing the three of us into the raging, churning ocean. When I found myself in the middle of a tumultuous sea, I was surprised, scared, and a little upset. “Why has this happened?” I thought. “I’m a missionary. Where is my protection? Missionaries aren’t supposed to swim.”

But swim I must if I wished to stay alive. Every time I complained I found myself underwater, so it didn’t take long to quit complaining. Things are how they are, and complaining doesn’t help. I needed every ounce of energy to keep my head above water and make it to shore. Having earned my Eagle Scout Award, I was a pretty confident swimmer, but over time the wind and the waves began to sap my strength. I never quit trying, but there came a time when my muscles simply would move no more.

I had a prayer in my heart, but still I began to sink. As I was going down for what could have been the last time, the Lord infused into my mind and heart a deep feeling of love for a very special person. It was as though I could see and hear her. Even though she was 8,000 miles away, the power of that love came rushing across those miles and, penetrating time and space, reached down and pulled me up—lifted me from the depths of darkness, despair, and death and brought me up to light and life and hope. With a sudden burst of energy I made it to shore, where I found my shipmates. Never underestimate the power of true love, for it knows no barriers.

The sound of raindrops on the car windshield. The chirp of crickets on a summer night. The distressing cry of a baby. The ringing of the telephone down the hall. All everyday sounds, but they are sounds that are becoming part of Shellee Carrick’s life now that she no longer lives in silence.
Shellee has been deaf since she lost most of her hearing during a case of meningitis when she was 18 months old. But now, thanks to the efforts of Kristina Coleman, a student at Pleasant Grove High School in Utah, where Shellee is the American Sign Language teacher, Shellee has received a cochlear implant and is now being introduced to the noisy, musical, thumping sounds that surround her.
But the sounds that motivated her, that made her go along with the amazing offer made by one of the studentbody officers at the high school, the sounds she wanted to hear more than anything, were the sweet voices of her little children.
The story of how these two young women met and became friends is a great one with a happy ending. As she prepared to graduate from high school, Kristina was required, as were all others in her class, to complete a project during her senior year. She heard some friends who were taking Shellee’s sign language class talking about cochlear implants. These devices are surgically implanted in the inner ear with a microphone and digital processor worn outside, under the hair. At first, Kristina was only going to write a paper about the technology. But because Shellee wanted the implant so badly, Kristina’s plans soon became more elaborate. What is even more remarkable about Kristina’s determination is that she really did not know Shellee well and wasn’t one of her students.
Looking back, Kristina says, “I do think Heavenly Father inspired me to do this project. I think several things prepared me for this.”
Kristina was serving as student body historian. Just being on student council and having to plan events and speak to strangers prepared Kristina for the work she would do to help Shellee get a cochlear implant.
The implants and accompanying surgery are expensive, and Shellee’s insurance would not cover them. At first, Kristina thought it would be easy to raise the money. She planned to e-mail many places explaining the need, and then the funds would pour in. Kristina says, “That didn’t work at all. I didn’t get one donation that way. I was going to have to call personally. The first phone call was hard; then it just got easier.”
Kristina found a grant program where Shellee could apply to get the device donated. Then it was just the cost of the surgery, a much more attainable amount, that needed to be raised. When news that Shellee qualified for the grant arrived, she called Kristina to her classroom and announced the news to Kristina and her students at the same time. Between the cheering and the crying, it was a great day.
Shellee underwent the operation, and her family and Kristina gathered on the day the implant was turned on for the first time. Shellee had been warned not to expect too much. Then her daughter, one-year-old Kylee, started crying, wanting to be held. Shellee turned to the small crowd in the room and asked incredulously, “Is that Kylee crying? I can hear her!”
Although implants are not the answer for everyone, Shellee has been intrigued with learning to figure out what the sounds she hears mean. “There are so many sounds I’ve never heard,” said Shellee. “I don’t know what they are. I have to learn like a baby does.” Austen, her four-year-old son, is delighted to demonstrate noises for his mom. He opens the front door and rings the doorbell or claps. Daily life has become both adventurous and frustrating. Shellee says that she didn’t realize how much Austen talks while she is driving.
Naturally, the relationship between Shellee and Kristina is a special one. During the months arranging everything, the two became close. “We e-mailed every day. We talked all the time,” said Shellee. “We became good friends. She will be part of my life forever.”
Kristina was excited with the outcome of her senior project. “I’ve cried so many times over this. Not only has Shellee received an implant, but I have a new friend. It’s changed my life. I learned what the power of one person or a group of people can do. Just to know that you can do things that seem impossible at first is great.”

That was in June 1974. One year later there was another change of a historic nature. It was announced that Churchwide June Conferences held in Salt Lake City would be discontinued. One of Ruth’s most memorable experiences came during the last June Conference session held in the Salt Lake Tabernacle. Traditionally, every year the leaders of the MIA sang “Firm as the Mountains Around Us” during the opening session. It was the last time that Ruth May Fox’s hymn for youth would be sung in such a setting. The song was announced, and then the conductor arose. But instead of raising his arms to lead the singing, he called for President Funk to come forward. “Because of her great love for youth and her dedication to them, we feel it only fitting that she conduct this song at this special time.” Surprised but willing, she was assisted by the Brethren nearby to climb onto the conductor’s stand. With exuberance she led the thousands of leaders packed into the Tabernacle in singing: “O youth of the noble birthright, Carry on, carry on, carry on!”

I continued to travel each weekend to various parts of the world. Many months later, I was assigned to a conference in a city noted for its particularly flagrant violations of God’s laws. The Saints there were wonderful, but oh, the decadence and debauchery that seemed to be all around them.
As I returned from the especially hectic weekend, I began reading in the scriptures. I thought about Sodom and Gomorrah. Could they have been much more wicked than this? And yet the Lord promised to spare them for fifty righteous souls—or even down to ten—but they were not found.
I let my imagination go and seemed to see a band of destroying angels loosed from heaven—thundering across the land. And even before I had time to think about the situation, I seemed to see myself standing in front of these determined destroyers, declaring, “Hold, hold, hold”; and they held. “Go back,” I said: and their horses reared, their eyes flashing in impatience. The destroyers’ anxiousness showed, but they held.
The leader looked me squarely in the eye and challenged, “By what right do you ask us to hold? Have you not seen the evil of the land?”
I replied, “Yes, I know of the sordidness of the world. I see the constant mocking of God’s laws, the merchandising on his holy day, the constant breaking of his commandments. I see the evil that exists almost universally. Yes, yes, all these things are true, still …” Then I became concerned. What right had I to ask them to hold?
My eyes began to fall from his penetrating gaze, but something inside kept searching, searching, until finally a laserlike beam locked onto a misty memory made many months ago and faithfully filed away for such a time as this. A vista of a beautiful green valley passed before me and moved to the front of my consciousness.
I raised my eyes and met his as he again said, “What right do you have to ask us to hold?”
Then with the confidence of sure knowledge and spiritual direction, I replied, “You must hold, for you see, I have been through Cache Valley on a Sunday afternoon.”
There was no hesitation, no anger, no look of surprise, no disappointment, only obedience; and he turned and rejoined his group, and they left.

Jill* stumbled around our shared room in the motel where we were staying with the rest of our high school basketball team, ranting about why she’d do something so stupid as to drink beer. She fell across me, pinning me to my bed. I tried to push her off, but she was about a foot taller than I was.
Then, with her nose way too close to mine, she asked a question I’ll never forget: “Deb, why can’t I just be like you?”
Like me? What? Jill had complete athletic control of her six-foot four-inch frame. She got good grades in tough classes, and the previous week she’d accepted a full ride scholarship to play ball at an elite university. So why did she want to be like me?
I was confused, especially given her treatment of me during the past few months. We both played volleyball too, and our volleyball team elected me captain. Jill made it clear she didn’t think I was fit for the honor. Slyly, quietly, Jill used hurtful comments to isolate me from the team. She claimed I was jealous of her and made fun of my missed plays and personal habits. A promising season fell to an early loss in the state volleyball tournament, resulting in a huge squabble among our players. Tempers flared, and fingers were pointed.
In an effort to patch things up, our basketball coach assigned us to share the same motel room. Now here lay the drunken MVP of the tournament. After I finally moved her to her bed, I listened to her snore and worked on the puzzle in my mind.
What did I have that she could want? I began to list my blessings. I had parents who supported me and a future that didn’t rely on making every shot I took. I knew who I was—a daughter of a Heavenly Father who loves me. I knew the Savior and the power of His Atonement. Tears welled in my eyes as the Spirit bore witness of the truth of the gospel and the power of living it.
That experience started my quest to understand those who are unkind and to see them through the Savior’s eyes. From that moment, our basketball season moved forward and ended successfully. We didn’t take state, but we made it to the semifinal game as a close-knit team, not as finger-pointing individuals. My greatest hope is that Jill saw the Savior’s image in my countenance for the remainder of our senior year.

A Church member in Texas, USA, shared this experience:
“During Relief Society one day, a sister I had never seen in church before shared how she felt like women in Relief Society were hypocritical and exclusive. After the meeting, she left so fast I couldn’t catch her.
“After church, I went to her home. I introduced myself and said I appreciated her comments in Relief Society and wanted to hear more about her concerns. She talked, and I listened. I expressed my love for her and her family and asked if I could visit her again.
“I took the assignment to serve as her visiting teacher. Over time, as I came to understand her concerns better, we began talking about her doctrinal questions. Her children started coming to church. Then she started coming with them. I admire her courage and perseverance. She has become one of my dearest friends.”

Matthew slapped a pickle on top of his peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich. He opened his mouth wide for an extra big bite. Crunch! Matthew bit into the pickle. “Yummmm,” he said, jelly sliding out one corner of his mouth and peanut butter sneaking out he other. He wiped his sleeve across his lips.
Peanut-butter-jelly-and-pickle sandwiches were Matthew’s and Grandpa’s favorite. Matthew had showed Grandpa how to make them, and Grandpa said they tasted great!
Grandpa used to live at Matthew’s house. But one day Grandpa got a terrible disease. It made him very sick. The doctors tried to help him, but there didn’t seem to be anything they could do. Then one day Grandpa died. Matthew missed him. He missed him a lot. Mom said that Grandpa was now living with Heavenly Father and that he wouldn’t be in pain anymore. Matthew was glad Heavenly Father would take care of Grandpa, but he still missed him.
Matthew licked the jelly off each finger and picked up the valentine that sat next to his glass of milk. He had made it all by himself. Red hearts covered the card, and silver glitter formed neat letters that spelled out “I Love You.” Tomorrow was Valentine Day, and this special valentine was just for Grandpa.
“Mom, tomorrow can we mail my valentine to Grandpa?” Matthew asked as Mom tucked him into bed that night.
Mom smiled. “Grandpa is in heaven. The post office doesn’t deliver mail to heaven.”
“But I made it just for Grandpa!”
Mom bent over and kissed Matthew on the forehead. “Grandpa would love your valentine, but I’m afraid there just isn’t any way to get it to him. Good night, dear.” She turned out the light as she left.
Matthew lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling. He folded his arms behind his head—it was his best thinking position. “That’s it!” he blurted, sitting up in bed. “I know how to get my valentine to Grandpa.” Then he snuggled down under the covers and went to sleep.
The snow glistened in the morning sunshine. Valentine Day had arrived! Matthew’s boots crunched through the snow as he stomped his way out to the giant oak tree in the corner of the yard. He clambered up the rope that hung down from his tree house. He could see Mrs. Johnson’s house next door. She had lived all alone in that house as long as he could remember. Grandpa said that she was lonely and needed a friend. Once, Matthew had helped Grandpa gather the eggs from the henhouse and take them to her.
Matthew squinted as he gazed across the frozen snow that covered his own backyard. Then he looked way up into the sky. An icy breeze bit at his nose. He shivered and buttoned the top button of his jacket. He didn’t mind the morning breeze, though. He knew it was just what he needed to make his plan work.
He reached under his coat and pulled out the valentine, now neatly folded into a paper airplane. Holding it tightly between his fingers, he thrust it out into the icy air and shouted, “Fly, valentine. Fly all the way to heaven!”
The wind caught the valentine and sent it whirling and twirling into the sky, across the yard—and onto Mrs. Johnson’s front porch.
“Oh, no!” Matthew moaned.
He scampered down the big tree and across the yard and peeked over the fence. Mrs. Johnson was nowhere in sight. Slipping through the gate, he bolted toward her door. In three giant steps he reached the porch and scooped up the valentine.
But before Matthew could retrace his steps, the front door opened and Mrs. Johnson stood in the doorway. She stared at the valentine in Matthew’s hands. She smiled and tears welled up in her eyes. “Bless you child,” she said.
Matthew looked at her. He studied his valentine. Then he smiled and slipped it into her hand.
“This is the best valentine I have ever been given,” she said. “I hope this means that you will be my friend, too, like your grandpa was.”
Matthew felt all warm inside. And just maybe Mrs. Johnson would even like peanut-butter-jelly-and-pickle sandwiches!

In the Mormon Message “Become,” Clark Manmureen tells his story of finding success after his father passed away when he was 11, and he lost his mother three years later. To achieve most success, Clark had to take initiative. To earn money for college, Clark started a landscaping company. In a few years, he was able to pay for all of his undergraduate degree with the money he earned.
After two years working as a general contractor, Clark decided to start his own company. During this time, he was faced with many challenges that required him to learn something new or difficult. He relied heavily on Heavenly Father to help him learn the skills he needed in his fledgling business. Today he thanks the Lord for the success of his business. “The Spirit is not only there to teach you spiritual things,” Clark says. “It’s there to help you learn skills.”
Offer frequent and sincere prayers. While building the ship, Nephi “[prayed] oft unto the Lord” (1 Nephi 18:3) in order to be shown each step and receive revelation. Clark likewise utilized prayer as he started his business. “There were moments on one of the jobs that I just had to say a prayer,” Clark recalls. “I said, ‘Help me figure this out. I don’t know what to do.’ And sure enough, within the next couple of hours, I was able to solve the problem, and it was fixed.” As we pray to the Lord for help in developing a specific practical skill, He will give us the direction we need.
Show humility. The Lord’s way of constructing a ship was different from the way that most boats were constructed in Nephi’s time. Nephi writes, “I … did not work the timbers after the manner which was learned by man, neither did I build the ship after the manner of men; but I did build it after the manner which the Lord had shown unto me” (1 Nephi 18:2). In this, Nephi’s lack of formal training in boat construction actually benefitted him. It forced him to approach the Lord in humility instead of leaning “unto [his] own understanding” (Proverbs 3:5). Of his own experiences, Clark says, “Relying on Heavenly Father to help you through [challenges]—it’s humbling. It’s hard knowing that you’re not always in control. But He has better plans.”
Be patient. Skills do not come immediately, even with the Lord’s help. Nephi likely confronted many trials as he built the ship, because he had to “go into the mount oft” (1 Nephi 18:3) to commune with the Lord. When starting his company, Clark likewise faced many challenges. “You make mistakes,” Clark says. “Through trial and error, you figure out what works best, what you need to change.” When you’re patient through times of trial and continue to return to the Lord for assistance, it allows Him to teach you the necessary skills in His time and His way.
Be willing to work. The Lord can’t help us develop skills if we aren’t willing to help ourselves. Both Clark and Nephi worked hard to achieve their goals. Nephi had to build much of the ship on his own and Clark put long hours of work into his job to reach his goals. “Being self-reliant spiritually is relying on Heavenly Father. You’re doing your best and then allowing him to do the rest.”

In order to keep the Sabbath day holy, I once had to lose my job. But I know now that God lives. This is a great joy, isn’t it? Another time, shortly after my marriage, I became seriously ill. For two years my condition worsened and doctors gave no hope for my recovery. Finally, however, through a powerful priesthood blessing, my health was fully restored. Without your help and the help of other missionaries, I might never have known about the restoration of the priesthood. I don’t know how to thank you all enough for your sincere hearts and your love for me.

By Geiziane Morais Freitas Duarte, Brazil

I once ministered to a sister who had stopped attending church. When I visited her, I would share how much the Savior loved her and her family. I would always invite them to come to church the following Sunday. This practice went on for a long time, but they never came. I felt discouraged. The temptation to give up was strong. But every time my companion and I visited their home, we had a glimpse of heaven. We would always picture them in the temple, dressed in white. We knew we had to keep trying.

After many prayers and visits, the day finally came—the family came to church! They kept coming back each week. The family put in hard work to grow their faith and get on the covenant path. It became evident that the gospel had strengthened them.

Eventually, I received an invitation to their temple sealing. As I watched the sacred ordinance, I couldn’t help but shed tears of joy. It was a miracle.

At times I wanted to give up. But every time I visited them, I saw the temple. God showed me a glimpse of His plan for this family. He used me as His instrument to stay in touch with them. I am grateful to Him for showing me the true vision of ministering.