Gospel Story Finder

Just the thought of someone actually reading what I wrote distorted my journal entries. For example, here’s what really happened:
I lost the election for sophomore vice president by the widest margin in our school’s history. I can’t think of one good reason why anybody would vote for Carol instead of me. I felt so rotten that I cried all night.
But here’s how it appeared in my journal account:
Running for student-body office was a real growing experience for me. I’m so glad Carol won. She’s a wonderful girl.

Car horns blared and taxis and buses jostled for a place in the traffic. As Benjamin Misalucha sat in the marketplace watching the automobiles roll by, he reached for a handkerchief and mopped his brow. He hoped his wife would be done with the shopping soon. The weather was hot and muggy, as it often is in the Philippines, and he was eager to get home and relax with his children.
Then he noticed a sign, high on the side of one of the buildings overlooking the square. “No other success can compensate for failure in the home,” the sign read. He found himself contemplating the message and believing in its truth.
“During those times I was young, about 30, and had four children. We had everything, comparatively speaking, compared to other Filipinos, but I was not satisfied with life. In my heart I knew I was searching for something more,” he said.
He didn’t guess that the quotation from President David O. McKay had been inscribed on the sign by missionaries living in the building, the same kind of Mormon missionaries who had already visited with him for three weeks when he lived in Manila, the capital city. He had also been visited twice by the elders here in Davao, another large city in the south.
A short time later, Benjamin Misalucha was transferred by his pharmaceutical company to Cebu City, an important community on one of the central islands. It was in Cebu that Mr. Misalucha and his family would discover the secret of what had been lacking in their lives.
In a society in which sharing is so accepted, it might seem unusual that someone would stand out as being particularly kind and generous. But such was the case with the local Parent Teacher Association (PTA) president. Right from the start she went out of her way to help the Misaluchas adjust to their new city. Soon Mr. Misalucha was serving on the PTA board. He eventually found out that the PTA president was also the wife of the local Mormon bishop. His curiosity grew and grew.
“One day I saw both of them walking home, and I ran over to catch up with them,” Mr. Misalucha explained. “I told him I wanted to know more about his church. He said he could recommend a couple of nice young men who could teach me about it.”
For the next ten months, the elders became a regular fixture in the Misalucha home. Benjamin Misalucha would entertain them with stories about previous encounters with missionaries, before he fully understood who they were: “They knocked on my door and asked me if I was the head of the house. I was all hot and perspiring from doing some chores, so I told them, ‘No, I’m just the janitor here.’ It’s something I say jokingly to my family all the time, but they believed me!”
Avelina would always provide cold water or juice, cake, or even siopao (doughy, white, steamed Chinese bread stuffed with sausage and eggs). And of course, the children, who numbered five by now, would have fun teasing the missionaries and telling jokes before the serious gospel discussions began.
“I wanted answers from the Bible,” Benjamin said, “because I didn’t believe in the Book of Mormon yet. And they showed me answers in the Bible. I was totally perplexed by how they could always get answers to questions I couldn’t even answer myself.” Slowly, his perplexed state gave way to understanding. The missionaries could find the answers because they knew the truth. He summoned a family council.
“Take this individually into prayer,” he told his wife and children. At the next family council, they all voted in favor of becoming Latter-day Saints. The family was baptized on April 29, 1978, a Saturday.

When he was President of the Church, he visited Nauvoo in 1906 and reflected on a memory he had when he was just five years old. He said: “This is the exact spot where I stood when [Joseph, my uncle, and my father, Hyrum] came riding up on their way to Carthage. Without getting off his horse father leaned over in his saddle and picked me up off the ground. He kissed me good-bye and put me down again and I saw him ride away.”
The next time Joseph F. saw them, his mother, Mary Fielding Smith, lifted him up to see the martyrs lying side by side after being brutally murdered in Carthage Jail on June 27, 1844.

In a room filled with couches, end tables, and lamps, two slightly nervous missionaries talk with a Church member.
“Do you know anyone you’d like to share the gospel with?” asks Sister Marissa Johnstun.
“Uh, I’m not really sure,” answers the young woman.
The sisters look a little stumped and a lot self-conscious as the video camera in the corner continues to run.
In an adjoining room of the Training Resource Center (TRC), Elder Morgan furiously scribbles notes as he observes the sisters on a computer screen.
“Thank goodness we get a second try,” says Sister Katie Kondel as she and Sister Johnstun emerge from the classroom-turned-living-room. Elder Morgan gives encouraging pointers as the three replay the sisters’ video. “Next time try testifying a little more.”
The sisters head back for another try, this time looking more confident. As they share their testimonies, Elder Morgan cheers for them in the observation room. “Good job!” he says, clapping his hands.
Missionaries have TRC experiences like this every week, taking turns observing each other as they practice missionary situations they’ve learned about in class. The “investigators” or “members” are volunteers from the community.
“I enjoy it,” says Sister Kondel. “It’s good practice, and we need all the practice we can get! It helps to know what kinds of situations we’ll be in.”

I’m not sure when my love of change commenced, but I still remember the thrill that accompanied one of the ?rst big changes in my life: the change of advancing from riding a tricycle to riding a bicycle. The brief sinking feeling that accompanied my awareness that my dad had let go of the back of my bike and was no longer running alongside and holding me up was quickly replaced by exhilaration. I was riding a two-wheeler—all by myself! A few wobbles on the heavily graveled road and I was off! I could go further, faster. My world suddenly got bigger.

I loved this change. And I loved the exhilaration that accompanied this change. A change in the number of wheels on my vehicle changed my speed, changed what I could explore, changed even my view of myself. I was all grown up now—or so I thought. And I loved those changes.

My progression to a bicycle was a change that involved much more than a decrease in wheels. It involved moving forward in my life—and realizing that my dad believed I could move forward even faster than I thought I could. I was ­embracing something new I’d never tried before. Riding a bicycle didn’t feel anything like riding a tricycle. It felt more like flying!

Brian took a deep breath. Three balls, two strikes—full count. He squinted at the pitcher and tightened his grip on the bat. Fast ball, he thought. No doubt about it. The pitcher wound up and let loose. Brian planted his right foot and swung hard. The ball curved smoothly around his bat—thwack—into the catcher’s mitt. “Strike three. You’re out!”
Brian watched the ground as he walked back to the dugout. Andrew jogged past on his way to the plate. “Good goin’, Brian. Why don’t you just go on back to the tee-ball league so they can teach you how to play?”
Brian clenched his fists. “Oh, be quiet, Andrew. Just play, OK?”
On the way home after the game, Brian sat slumped in the back seat.
“What happened out there today?” his mom asked. “The team looked pretty good in the first inning, but after that you fell apart.”
“It’s Andrew,” Brian mumbled. “He’s really good, and he knows it, so he tries to make the rest of us feel stupid. Nobody likes him.”
“You like him, don’t you?” his dad asked, looking at him in the rearview mirror.
“I guess so,” Brian answered, but mostly because he knew that’s what his dad wanted to hear.
“Good. The Savior teaches that we should love everyone, even people who are mean to us. Maybe if you showed Andrew a little love, he wouldn’t act that way.”
Brian sighed and looked out the window. His dad was always saying stuff like that. But his dad didn’t have to play on the same team with Andrew. How could anyone possibly love him?
“You know,” Mom said, “there was a girl on my basketball team in high school—Sarah—who had the worst attitude. She was always yelling at everybody and making us feel terrible when we made mistakes.”
“She must be related to Andrew.”
Mom laughed. “Well, I got pretty fed up with Sarah’s bullying. So one day I decided to show her what real team spirit was all about. Every time somebody made a mistake, I jumped in before Sarah had a chance and said, ‘Good job, Karen,’ or ‘Nice try, Susan.’ And if somebody did something really great, I jumped up and down and yelled and screamed and really whooped it up.”
“So did Sarah stop being so mean?” Brian asked hopefully.
“No.”
Brian looked out the window again. “I didn’t think so.”
“But everyone else was too busy watching my spirited pep shows to notice her anymore,” Mom said with a smile. Brian smiled, too, in spite of himself.
That night during family prayer, Dad prayed that Brian would find a way to show love for Andrew. Brian didn’t have much hope, but he said “amen” anyway, just in case.
The next day at practice, Brian decided to try out Mom’s idea. When Ryan let an easy grounder slip under his glove, Brian started clapping wildly and shouted, “All right, Ryan! Nice try! Go get ’em, dude!” Ryan busted up laughing so hard that he didn’t hear Andrew call him a name. The other guys laughed too.
Hey, what do you know? Brian thought. It works!
It worked through the next two practices too. “Go get ’em, David!” “All right, Jason!” Brian was becoming a regular expert in whooping and hollering, and it was contagious. Pretty soon, all the boys were too busy clapping, giving high-fives, and laughing to notice Andrew’s insults.
By Saturday’s game, the boys were starting to play like a team again, and they were having a good time doing it. At the end of the fifth inning, the score was tied, 8–8.
Then, with two out in the top of the sixth, it happened: Andrew misjudged a pop fly ball, and it dropped behind him in the grass. The runner scored from second, and Andrew was so flustered that he overthrew the second baseman, and the batter took third base. The score was now 9–8.
At first, Brian wanted to scream at Andrew. How could he be so stupid? But just as Brian was about to open his mouth, he saw Andrew’s face. A small, quiet voice seemed to whisper in his ear, “Andrew could use a little love right now.”
Brian ran over to Andrew and slapped him on the back. “Nice try, Andy. It’s OK—don’t worry about it.” Then he shouted to the whole team, “All right, Pirates! Let’s go!” and clapped all the way back to third base.
When Brian turned around, Andrew was staring at him in astonishment. Brian socked his glove and grinned at him. “Let’s play ball!” he shouted, and Andrew turned away.
The pitcher struck out the next batter, and the Pirates came to the plate down a run. The first two batters struck out, but the next three singled, so Brian stepped up to the plate with two outs, the bases loaded, and the winning run on second.
The first pitch whizzed over the plate. “Strike one.” The second pitch looked high, but dropped into the strike zone at the last second. “Strike two!” Brian’s lips drew tight as he took his stance for the next pitch. The pitcher let it fly and Brian swung with all his might. The ball thwacked into the catcher’s mitt. “Strike three! You’re out!”
The Pirates had lost, 9–8.
Brian kicked the dirt and started walking slowly back to the dugout while the other team jumped up and down and gave each other high fives.
When Brian reached the dugout, a pair of cleats blocked his way. Brian looked up into Andrew’s face and waited for the usual insults. But this time, it was Brian’s turn to be surprised.
“Good game,” Andrew said slowly. “We’ll get ’em next time.”

John has already started saving money for a mission. When John was baptized by his father, he received a set of scriptures from his parents. John uses his scriptures at church, during family home evenings, and when his family reads scriptures each morning. He loves the stories in the scriptures, and his favorite is the one about David and Goliath. John was happy to be able to appear in a road show about David and Goliath.

The moon was big and round and bright, just as it should be on the night of the Moon Festival. I held my glowing paper lantern higher, hoping that the Old Man in the Moon would see me amid the other children. The whole park gleamed with our brilliant Chinese lanterns.
I ran up the hill to where my parents and sisters sat on a blanket, eating moon cakes. My eldest sister, Mei Lai, was gazing at the moon. I knew that she was probably dreaming about that boy who took her to the dance last Saturday. That’s a girl for you! I thought. I’m glad that I’m not a girl.
Not that Mei Lai didn’t have a right to think about love tonight. Everyone thought about love during the Moon Festival, or Mid-Autumn Festival, the proper name that my sister preferred to call it. On this night the Old Man in the Moon supposedly wove an invisible red thread around couples who would one day get married.
Even I was thinking about love. But not that kind. I was thinking about how I could love my neighbors.
My Primary teacher had told us last Sunday that we should, and ever since then, I had been wondering how I could ever do it. I couldn’t think of any neighbors in our apartment building that I even liked—especially not that new boy down the hall! He didn’t even speak Chinese! The first time I saw him, I just kept looking at his eyes. I had never seen such blue eyes!
Once I had tried talking to him in the English that I was learning in school. “Where are you from?” I asked.
Looking at me oddly, he lifted up his large nose and declared, “I’m an Aussie.”
Whatever an Aussie was, I certainly didn’t know. I went home and asked Mei Lai, who knew English well.
“An Aussie is someone from Australia,” she told me.
My mother’s voice interrupted my thoughts. “Sun Ling, it will soon be time to go home.”
“Oh, let me run once more through the park.”
“Well, you be careful with that lantern. Remember that you have a lighted candle in it.”
“I will.” As I sprinted down the hill, I looked up at the Old Man in the Moon to see if he was still watching me and my shining paper lantern. I ran and ran, with my eyes turned upward toward the beautiful full moon.
Suddenly—CRASH! Was it a wall? No, it was a body. Another person and I tumbled over and over each other. It was the Aussie. When we finally stopped, we raised our tousled heads and looked at each other. I blurted out, “What are you doing here? This is a Chinese holiday!”
It was a good thing that he couldn’t understand my Chinese. I indignantly grabbed my lantern, which miraculously lay unharmed on the grass. In my mind I grumbled, Even if I wasn’t looking where I was going, it wasn’t really my fault because he’s the one who doesn’t belong here.
A sizzle and a flare made us both jump up. His colorful paper lantern was in flames. My mother’s words flashed through my mind, “Be careful with that lantern.”
I looked at him. Then I tilted my head in amazement. There were tears in those blue, blue eyes! It had never occurred to me that an Aussie could cry too.
The boy’s lips began to quiver, and he said, “My dad gave me that Chinese lantern.”
I didn’t understand all his words, but I understood what he meant. And I felt awful! I tried to remember how to say I’m sorry in English, but all my words came out in Chinese.
Suddenly, in Chinese, he said, “I’m sorry too.”
I blinked with surprise. He did know some Chinese words. He smiled at me. I smiled back.
The next day I strode into the house, banging the door happily behind me.
“What’s that huge grin for?” Mei Lai asked.
“Oh, I’ve been learning to love my neighbor. Jim is my friend now.”
“Who’s Jim?” she asked.
“He’s the Aussie I told you about,” I replied, perching myself on a nearby stool. “Do you know what? Before he came here, Jim had never even heard of moon cakes. So I gave him one with an egg-yolk center. When he bit into it, he sort of wrinkled up his nose and tried to smile. I could tell that he didn’t like it.”
“So, do you think he’s still your friend?” Mei Lai laughed.
“Well, I did let him try a lotus seed moon cake after that, and he ate every bit of it and smacked his lips.”
“I’m glad that you gave him something he likes,” said Mei Lai.
“I did give him one other thing that I hope he likes. I gave him my Book of Mormon.”
“Your Book of Mormon!” exclaimed my sister. “Why did you do that?”
“Well, because it’s the most special thing I could share with a friend,” I answered.
“But how do you expect him to read it?” she said. “He doesn’t even read Chinese.”
I looked at my sister intently. “I don’t know, Mei Lai, but I’m still glad that I gave it to him.”
It was the week before Christmas. Someone knocked at our door, and Mei Lai opened it to blond-haired Jim. My friend didn’t see me sitting in the corner, so he spoke in English to my sister. “I read your book,” he said, holding up a blue book with Chinese characters Book of Mormon engraved on it.
“You read it!” she gasped. “But—but you don’t know Chinese, do you?”
“No. What I meant to say,” Jim explained, “was that my tutor read it to me. He comes every day to teach me Chinese, and so we have been reading it together. In fact, my tutor was wondering if he could get a copy of his own. Also, would it be possible to get a copy in English for my father?”
My sister finally closed her mouth from her astonishment. She smiled, motioning to me.
Jim turned and saw me. “Oh, Sun Ling,” he said in halting Chinese, “this book you gave me is very interesting. I am curious to find out more about it. Can you help me?”
“I’ll be happy to help you,” I replied slowly to make sure that he understood my words. “I can think of no better way to love my neighbor from Australia.”

Another part of following a course is getting good directions and following them. There’s a fun race called the Mango Madness, [48] a challenging 10-mile course in the mountains, and part of the fun is people get lost every year, sometimes running quite a few more miles than they should.

The first time I ran the Mango Madness, I was nervous because I didn’t know the course at all. I listened very carefully to the instructions before the race, so I would know what to do. Unfortunately, the instructions were something like this: “OK, head out toward the top, then go through Ginger Gate. Take the second left, that’s different from last year, and then go around the banyan tree the other way because the trail got washed out a bit. OK. Go!”

I was lost before we even started. I wondered, “Is Ginger Gate made out of ginger, or is it manned by a red-headed volunteer?” Now, luckily, I’m hardly ever first in races, so it was easy to follow someone, and I tucked in right behind a guy running about my same pace. It soon became apparent that guy didn’t know where he was going either. He turned left when I was pretty sure we were supposed to turn right, so we grinned at each other and parted ways, each secretly wishing the other would get lost so we could move up in the final results.

I felt confident I had chosen wisely until I came down a steep hill to a T in the road. I had no idea where to turn. There was no one around—just me and the mango trees. I tried looking for footprints, marking ribbons, anything but was absolutely flummoxed. I stood there for two minutes, trying to figure out what to do, watching precious seconds tick by, when I finally heard someone way up the hill shout, “To the right!” As I looked back, I saw that from where he was, he could see where the road went. He also looked very confident, so trusting that he knew the course, I turned right and raced on ahead.

That experience helped me to realize how important it is to get clear instructions, follow them, and hope for the best.

How does that apply to you? Well, we get instructions in life through the scriptures, church leaders, teachers, coaches, family, and friends. Sometimes, when we’re following someone who is starting to stray, we need to make the tough decision to let friendships go and turn back to the main path. Occasionally, someone higher on the hill, who knows the course and can see where to go, will give us helpful directions if we trust their experience and insight.

As a seven-year-old boy living in the Arabian Peninsula, I was consistently told by my parents to always wear my shoes, and I understood why. I knew that shoes would protect my feet against the many threats to be found in the desert, such as snakes, scorpions, and thorns. One morning after a night’s camping in the desert, I wanted to go exploring, but I did not want to bother with putting on my shoes. I rationalized that I was only going for a little wander and I would stay close by the camp. So instead of shoes, I wore flip-flops. I told myself that flip-flops were shoes—of a sort. And anyway, what could possibly happen?
As I walked along the cool sand—in my flip-flops—I felt something like a thorn going into the arch of my foot. I looked down and saw not a thorn but a scorpion. As my mind registered the scorpion and I realized what had just happened, the pain of the sting began to rise from my foot and up my leg. I grabbed the top of my leg to try and stop the searing pain from moving farther, and I cried out for help. My parents came running from the camp.
As my father battered the scorpion with a shovel, an adult friend who was camping with us heroically tried to suck the venom from my foot. At this moment I thought that I was going to die. I sobbed while my parents loaded me into a car and set off across the desert at high speed toward the nearest hospital, which was over two hours away. The pain all through my leg was excruciating, and for that entire journey, I assumed that I was dying.
When we finally reached the hospital, however, the doctor was able to assure us that only small infants and the severely malnourished are threatened by the sting of that type of scorpion. He administered an anesthetic, which numbed my leg and took away any sensation of pain. Within 24 hours I no longer had any effects from the sting of the scorpion. But I had learned a powerful lesson.
I had known that when my parents told me to wear shoes, they did not mean flip-flops; I was old enough to know that flip-flops did not provide the same protection as a pair of shoes. But that morning in the desert, I disregarded what I knew to be right. I ignored what my parents had repeatedly taught me. I had been both lazy and a little rebellious, and I paid a price for it.

It was December 31, 1974. I know the exact date because it was the day I was baptized and received the gift of the Holy Ghost. I had been baptized early in the morning and was in my front yard, playing in a tree by the road, when a neighbor girl walked by. Now, this neighbor girl and I did not need to have a DTR, because we understood exactly where we stood with each other. We hated each other. She called me names, and I threw rocks at her. On this particular day, as I sat in the tree, she walked by, and I didn’t have any rocks with me, but I did have some nasty things to yell. And I yelled them. But something funny happened as soon as I did. The Holy Ghost whispered to me that I had just committed a sin. At the time, I didn’t recognize it as the Holy Ghost. I just felt a sick feeling in my stomach and guilt swept over me. The distinct thought came to my 8-year-old mind that I had just been baptized and cleansed from my sins, and I was supposed to go the rest of my life without sinning, and I didn’t even make it one day.
I’ve spent a lot of time, as I suppose some of you may have, wishing I could just be baptized again and start over fresh and clean. However, I have come to realize that even if I had another shot at baptism, I wouldn’t make it very long before I was wishing I could do it again.

Some years ago our family was taking a drive into the countryside after a week of being confined to our home due to excessive rainfall. As we pulled off to the side of the road to take a look at the cherry blossoms, we felt the car’s tires sink into the wet, soft mud. All of our attempts to drive back onto the center of the road only pushed us farther down until the quicksand-like mud was above the car’s hubcaps. We were hopelessly stuck and hadn’t seen another car for some time.
Suddenly we noticed a large dilapidated truck with six boisterous teenagers coming to a stop behind our car. As they jumped out of the truck, we noticed tattoos, chewing tobacco, and extreme hairstyles. My husband became fearful for our family’s safety and told us all to get into the car and lock the doors. The young men asked my husband if we needed help. My husband said no, we could easily handle the problem.
The boys’ appearance looked more ominous than the car stuck in the mud up to the axle. The boys noticed the five small children and wife in the car as the “we” my husband was referring to and suggested that he get back into the car and start driving while they pushed. The wheels spun sheets of mud in every direction, covering the boys from head to toe while they pushed the car onto the pavement.
My husband pulled money out of his wallet to pay the teenagers, but they refused and jumped back into the truck, saying they were happy to help a brother. They were gone before we could even thank them properly. My husband, who had expected the worst at the outset, was overcome with gratitude. Physical coverings can impede seeing into the heart.
Our family has often retold the story of being stuck in the mud and rescued when we have temporarily forgotten the basic goodness of people and judged needlessly. Jesus saw beyond the temporal coverings to the heart as He reached out to the tax collectors, forgave the debtors, and healed the sinners.

Before Cliff went overseas the colonel in charge of his unit called him into the office. He said, "Lieutenant Johnson, I see by your record that you are a Mormon. Is that right?" Cliff answered, "Yes sir." The Colonel continued "I had a Mormon boy with me over in North Africa and through Europe, a Captain Glen Cassidy. I wonder whether you knew him." Cliff said, "Yes sir, I knew him well, I went with him through school. He was a mighty fine person." The Colonel responded, "You don't need to tell me about him. He was the best officer I ever had serve under me, period."
Cliff was chosen over thirty other officers to accompany the Colonel based on the decisions made by another person to hold fast to that which is good. Likewise, decisions you make influence not only yourself, but others around you.
Cliff experienced the ugliness of war and was in several battles, including the Battle of the Bulge, the largest land battle of the war that raged from mid December 1944 through the end of January 1945. At the end of the war General John Francis Uncles, a three star general, came to inspect the outfit Cliff was in. Cliff was chosen to show the General and his staff around the camp. Afterward, General Uncles asked Cliff to be his Aide-de-camp, a position where he would assist the general in his responsibilities. Cliff responded, "Sir, I need you to know I am a Mormon, so I don't drink or smoke." The general responded, "I know that, but the job is still yours if you care to have it."
Cliff was promoted to the rank of Captain and was again experiencing change as he went from the battlefront to the general's staff. Can you imagine how the new Captain Johnson must have felt when another officer began to make fun of him because he didn't drink and smoke in the presence of General Dwight D. Eisenhower, a five star general and the Supreme Commander of the Allied Forces in Europe? What happened next would be forever etched into my father's memory. General Eisenhower rebuked the officer who had been ridiculing Cliff. General Eisenhower demanded, "You stop that for Captain Johnson! I smoke, and I wish I didn't! And I don't want you making fun at him."
One of General Uncles' responsibilities was to inspect the military establishments across Europe. Among the officers at one of the establishments was the tack officer who had kicked Cliff out of OCS. By this time Cliff outranked the lieutenant. When the general gave the outfit a showdown inspection, the tack officer looked up to Cliff and respected him. The promises given in the blessing before he entered boot camp were fulfilled. Those who would have as their purpose to destroy his ideals would be rebuked and later would come to respect him.

It was prom night for my high school in Idaho. I was excited to go with a group of seven of my Latter-day Saint friends. For this special occasion, we went to dinner at a Thai restaurant. We ate our delicious meals and were getting ready to pay when our server told us our meals had already been paid for. We told him there must have been some mistake because we hadn’t paid yet. But the server pointed out the window and said a woman in the group of people outside had paid for our meals.
Imagine our shock at the news that a stranger had paid for our dinner. Eager to give our thanks, we rushed out to talk to this kind woman. The people outside wouldn’t tell us who paid for our dinners, but they did say that a woman in their group had done it because the four girls in our group were dressed modestly.
The young men were very appreciative to this unknown lady, so they sang a song to the group in return for her kindness. Her generosity made our evening especially memorable.
It is not easy to find a modest dress in today’s stores, but with some altering all of us we were able to meet proper dress standards. That night I learned that people really do notice what you wear and that you never know who may be watching.

President Uchtdorf met his future wife, Harriet Reich, as they attended meetings of the Church’s Mutual Improvement Association. Harriet was baptized when she was nearly 13 years of age, along with her mother and her sister, after missionaries knocked on their door and taught them the gospel. Harriet’s father had died from cancer just eight months earlier. Her mother and her sister have since passed away.
A remarkable reward came to one of those missionaries, Elder Gary Jenkins, who had taught and baptized the Reich family. What a joyful day it was for him, decades later, when on February 16, 2008, his granddaughter, Crystal, was sealed to her husband, Steven, in the Salt Lake Temple by a member of the First Presidency, President Dieter F. Uchtdorf.

On Saturday Stephanie was happy because her grandma had come to visit. They had fun making round cookies, square cookies, and heart-shaped cookies.
On Sunday Stephanie and Grandma bundled into warm coats, furry hats, and warm gloves. They walked to church together. Grandma liked the talk Stephanie gave in Primary.
On Monday Stephanie put on a puppet show for Grandma and Rex the cat. Grandma laughed and clapped her hands. Rex licked his paw and went to sleep.
On Tuesday Grandma and Stephanie rode the bus to town for lunch. Stephanie was happy to see a fancy toothpick in her chicken sandwich.
Wednesday was Valentine Day, but Stephanie was sad. Grandma was going home today. Grandma handed Stephanie a long white envelope.
Stephanie opened the envelope. It was empty! “It’s a hide-and-seek valentine,” Grandma explained. “If you look in the kitchen, the living room, and your bedroom, you will have a valentine.”
“What fun!” Stephanie began searching in the living room. First she looked on the couch; then she ran to the bookcase. There she found a piece of red paper with lace on its edge.
Next Stephanie went to the kitchen. She looked and looked but couldn’t find anything on the counters or table. Then she looked in the silverware drawer and found another piece of the valentine.
Stephanie ran to her bedroom. A piece of shiny red paper with lace was hiding under her pillow.
“Now put the pieces together,” suggested Grandma. Stephanie laid the pieces on her bed and made a lacy heart-shaped valentine.
“The best part is still missing,” said Grandma. She gave Stephanie a big hug and said, “I love you.”

Our son did this long ago on a family trip. We had traveled many miles to see a beautiful castle. By the time we finally arrived, one of our younger daughters was tired and cross. She refused to get out of the car to take the short hike to the site we had come so far to see. Most of us felt impatient with her. But with gentleness our 14-year-old son lifted her on his back and carried her to the castle. That tense moment was softened by his quiet expression of love. That now lives in each of our memories more than the view of the castle.

Almost three years ago, one of our daughters got married and immediately left with her husband for medical school in a distant city. She was leaving the security of the nest to begin a family of her own. I wondered: “Did I teach her everything she needs to know? Does she know what is most important in this life? Is she prepared to build a happy home?”
As I watched her drive away, I remembered a little journal I gave her on her 17th birthday. It was entitled “Did I Tell You … ?” In it, I recorded counsel I had often given her in our late-night conversations. As she and her new husband headed for their life together, I thought of three additional entries I wanted to add to that little journal to help her make a transition more important and challenging than that of crossing the country: the transition to starting her own home and family. Let me share these entries to her and to all young people in the Church, to teach and testify of the importance of family.

Alexandria had not seen her homeland for twenty-nine years. During those years, however, she had corresponded with her parents and one sister. Although she wanted to visit them, she was repeatedly denied a travel visa. Finally, in 1972, she was granted permission to visit her family. The reunion was bittersweet: her mother and two of her sisters had passed away, and her aging father was blind. Still, it was good to be home again with her father, her sister Katrina, and her relatives and close friends.
On one occasion the family visited the cemetery where Alexandria’s mother was buried. Overcome with emotion, Katrina fell upon the grave and wept. Alexandria knelt beside her and explained that death was not final, that their mother still lived in spirit, and that in time they would be with her again. Katrina was puzzled, but the look in her eyes expressed hope, so Alexandria explained the plan of salvation as simply as she could. Katrina listened intently, then turned to her father, who had been listening too. “Papa, do you believe what she says?” He nodded yes as he shed tears. Alexandria bore her testimony and saw a glimmer of enlightenment register on their faces. Never had they spoken of such things before. A seed of truth had been planted.

“The decision I made to go on a mission was the greatest one I made in my life,” says BYU’s star player, Mike Smith. “I made my decision to serve a mission many years ago. I made the decision before other pressures could influence me.”
And the pressure did come. Mike was considered to be one of the best players to come out of any California high school and many large universities wanted him. Mike chose BYU, and in his first year, he was a starting player 27 of 31 games. But id didn’t bother him at all to leave his sports career behind for a couple of years.
There were those who didn’t understand, however. One man in particular, a long-time fan of Mike’s from his hometown, couldn’t understand why Mike would run the risk of sacrificing his career to serve a mission. Mike wrote his non-Latter-day Saint friend a letter from the mission field in which he bore his testimony of the truthfulness of the gospel, the Book of Mormon, and the prophet of the Church. Mike also told him he felt it was a privilege rather than a sacrifice to serve. His friend was so affected by mike’s testimony that he took the letter to a local Catholic priest, who happened to be interested in Mike’s basketball career too. The priest, in turn, read the letter in mass every day for a week, saying it was an example of a youth who was doing all he could to serve the Lord.
“Nothing that happens on the basketball court can compare with experiences in the mission field,” Mike explains. “The feelings you experience on the basketball court are so limited, so temporary. You can make a game-winning shot and the fans love you, but the next play you might accidentally bounce the ball off your foot and that great feeling is gone. But the feelings that you have in the mission field, where the Spirit touches your heart, you’ll never forget.”