Gospel Story Finder

One of my earliest memories of Primary is the day that my teacher, Sister Johnson, invited our Blazer class to her home. Her husband was a carpenter and helped us construct birdhouses. Then, using the scriptures and quotes from modern-day prophets, she talked about the importance of being kind to all of God’s creatures.
I don’t remember too many of the actual lessons taught in Primary, but building something with my hands made that lesson come alive for me. To this day, I try to be nice to birds, as well as to other animals.

I was a single parent. I barely had enough money to buy food and pay my bills. Often it was a matter of paying tithing or buying food, paying my utility bills, or making a car payment.
For years, I went through stages of trying to pay tithing. Finally, I said, “If you believe the gospel is true, then you need to step out there. Once you step out there, God can bless you.”
I owed $500 in tithing, but I also needed $503 to pay some bills. I didn’t see how it would work, but I said, “I’m just going to try.” I paid my tithing. Nobody knew I was $503 short, but somebody anonymously sent me five $100 bills in the mail.
That was a turning point for me. It changed me spiritually. I realized that God loves me, that He cares for me, and that He wants me to succeed. From that point forward, I have paid my tithing. But it hasn’t always been easy.

For many years the girls were too shy about their writing to share it even with each other. It took a small accident by Charlotte to get them to share their work and their dreams of someday having their work published.
Charlotte was moving Emily’s notebook one day to set the table. She had done this many times in the past and had never neglected Emily’s privacy by reading her work. This day, however, the notebook fell open accidently to some poems, and before Charlotte could close it her eyes caught a few lines.
Having studied the best poets at her boarding schools, Charlotte was capable of recognizing good poetry when she saw it. Emily’s poems were good, very good, and Charlotte couldn’t put the notebook down. She knew her sister’s work must be published.
“Charlotte! How dare you!” Emily cried as she came into the dining room.
“It was an accident, Emily; really it was.” Charlotte realized what her sister must think. “Your poems are so good, though, I couldn’t quit reading them.”
Emily’s anger lasted for three days during which she didn’t speak to Charlotte. After all was forgiven, the door was open for the sisters to discuss their work with each other and make plans to try to publish it.

Growing up in the small town of Aurora, Utah, I learned the power of prayer. We lived on a cattle and dairy farm, and our animals were essential to our livelihood. We knew each of them by name, and whenever one of them got sick, my father always prayed for it. Once when a cow named Old Blue became bloated with air in her stomach, my father knelt right there in the field and offered a prayer for her. Old Blue recovered.

When I was in a young adult ward, I had family home evening with my ward family. One of the most memorable family home evenings I ever attended was a night when the full-time missionaries were in charge.
The elders invited several of the converts in our ward to share their conversion stories. As the converts spoke, the Spirit’s presence was undeniable.
After the stories had been shared, my mind returned to my own missionary experiences—as both a full-time and a lifetime missionary. I reevaluated my own actions in sharing the gospel on a day-to-day basis and continued to reflect on them for weeks to come.
When I was later called to be in charge of family home evening in the ward, I made it a point to continue “the conversion stories night” activity periodically, asking different converts in our ward to participate.
Janna McFerson, California, USA

The following is the story of Marian and Frederick Akinbo:
“Marian and her family were among the pioneers of the Church in Benin City, Nigeria. Her family started attending the Church in 1982 but got baptized in April of 1984. When I met Marian, I had stopped attending my former church as I got an impression that something was just not right with my old church but couldn’t figure it out. I was introduced to the Church in 1992 by Marian, while I was searching for a wife. It became clearer to me when the missionaries started talking about eternal life as the greatest of all gifts from Heavenly Father. I got baptized on July 15, 1995. I am grateful for my membership in His kingdom and the opportunity to have an eternal family.”

“We’d better find out where the well goes before we begin,” he declared. “It should be close to both the house and the barn. We’ll try out that divining rod the Indian gave us.”
When we went back to the dugout for lunch, Papa found the forked branch we’d brought with us from southern Utah. “It should be thirsty enough to find water by now,” Papa said with a wink.
Holding the branch horizontal to the earth with one prong in each hand and the other pointing straight ahead, Papa walked slowly around the area where he hoped to have a well. Suddenly the free end of the stick seemed to tip toward the ground.
“Here’s the spot,” Papa said. “That’s just the way they said it would work. Dora, you stand here while I try it again. I can’t believe it’s that easy to find water.”
He tried the rod several times again, and it always tipped at the same place. Papa was so excited I thought he was going to dig the well right then. He grabbed his shovel and started a hole. When he had it about a foot deep and three feet across, he leaned on the shovel to rest and said, “There, that ought to mark the spot. The well’s the next project after the barn. Let’s go to Texaco and see if we can buy some lumber to get started. I have a feeling there’s going to be a storm before long.”
After we got back with the lumber, Ed and I lifted and held the boards while Papa nailed them in place. Soon we had a good start on the barn.
One morning we woke up to find the ground covered with snow—in New Mexico, imagine! Enough to make angels, or play fox and geese, but not enough to stop work on the barn. The snow melted during the day, and that night when we got home Mama showed us where the water was running down inside the dugout. The next day Papa went to town for something to seal the leak.
Mama went with him and left Caroline in charge. Ed and I thought we were old enough to take care of ourselves and didn’t like her bossing us around, so we went out to the barn to plan our day.
“Let’s go see the Indians,” Ed said. His curiosity was pulling him like a magnet. I liked to talk about danger more than I liked to experience it, so I wasn’t so eager.
“Caroline won’t let us,” I offered as an excuse.
“Pooh! She can’t stop us. Come on. Let’s go.”
I followed obediently, but slowly.
“Hurry up,” he urged.
“W-what if they ch-chase us?” I whispered.
“They won’t chase us, and even if they do, we can run faster. And you don’t need to whisper. No one can hear you.”
“What if the braves are there?”
“They won’t be. They come in the middle of the night.”
“I’m scared.” I couldn’t help whispering, even though Ed had told me not to.
“That’s all right. It’s fun to be afraid.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Go back then, scaredy-cat, and I’ll go by myself.” Ed started off. He knew I’d follow. Frightened as I was, I couldn’t stand to miss a chance to be with Ed.
I followed slowly. Ed picked up a stick.
“What’s that for?” I asked.
“Nothing,” he answered.
“You could hit with it if you needed to,” I suggested.
“Yeah, but I probably won’t,” he replied. Even so, we both felt better now that Ed was armed.
We walked more slowly as we approached the first hut, and Ed put his finger up to his lips to warn me to keep quiet. The air was still except when a small breeze whispered through the grass. Our bare feet left silent prints in the damp ground. No sound at all came from inside the dugout, and we could see only a black square where the door was ajar. We tiptoed closer and closer, trying to see inside.
Suddenly a voice came from the darkness, gentle and coaxing. “Come on,” it encouraged.
We stood in the doorway and gradually out of the darkness emerged a great shape, a woman who seemed large enough to half-fill the room. No wonder she didn’t want to move. She was beckoning to me with her finger. “Come on,” she invited again.
Ed gave me a little push. “Go on,” he said. “I won’t let her hurt you.”
When I got close enough, the squaw grabbed me, lifted me onto her ample lap, and nearly took my breath away, hugging and kissing me. She touched my hair gently and murmured, “Palomino, Palomino.”
When Ed said we had to go, it was hard to pull away, but I did. As we left she said, “Come back. I want to be your grandma.”
We checked the other dugouts, and what Mr. Talbot said was true. Each had an old squaw in it. We were never welcome in any of the houses but the first, however. “Grandma” became our first and best friend in New Mexico. Until she died, she loved my golden hair and called me Palomino.
When we got back home that day Papa was already there and fixing the leak.
“Where have you been?” he asked.
“To see the Indians,” Ed answered.
“Not clear up on the reservation?”
“No, just those old squaws over there.” Ed pointed to the dugouts.
“I thought you heard Mr. Talbot say to stay away and not to bother them.”
“They don’t mind. They’re lonely for little kids.”
“One likes me,” I said. “She calls me Palomino.”
“Palomino’s a horse,” Papa said.
“I think she means my hair,” I explained.
“Maybe so,” Papa agreed. “A palomino is a blond horse.”
Before the next storm came the barn was nearly finished and the animals were cozy inside. We had some hay in the loft and Ed and I coaxed to sleep there.
“Not until we move into the house,” Papa said. “It’s too far away from the family now.”
The barn was built like a shed, with a steep roof slanting to one side only. The day Papa was hanging the door, Mr. Lenstrom, who had come over to help, was busy on the roof. I climbed up to see what he was doing and saw he was working with a plane, scraping up curls of wood.
“Why are you doing that?” I wanted to know.
“I’m making this board smooth.”
“What for?”
“So you can slide down it without getting slivers in your backside.”
I wondered if he’d tried it once. “That’s a good idea,” I told him. “I’ll help you.”
We worked until we had the board so slick that Ed and I could shoot down it like a slippery slide, with a scary sail into the air before we hit the ground.
In a few days Papa started to dig the well. When he dug so deep he couldn’t throw the dirt out, he rigged up a bucket on a pulley. Ed and I pulled it up, emptied the dirt out, and sent it back down for Papa to fill again. He had to put in boards as he went along to support the sides so they wouldn’t cave in. He shoveled deeper and deeper until the hole was three times as tall as he was, and still there was no water. He began to doubt the power of the Indian’s stick.
One day he called up, “The ground’s too hard for the shovel; send the pickax down in the bucket.”
For a foot or two he dug through rock, but underneath that, the ground was moist.
“Hadn’t better dig any deeper,” he said when he came out of the hole. “Water might come in and drown me before I could get out. We’ll just wait awhile and see what happens.”

As young parents, Brother and Sister Samad learned the gospel of Jesus Christ in their simple two-room home in Semarang, Indonesia. Seated around a small table, with a dim light that seemed to provide more mosquitoes than illumination, two young missionaries taught them eternal truths. Through sincere prayer and the guidance of the Holy Ghost, they came to believe what they were taught and chose to be baptized and become members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. That decision, and their pattern of living since, has blessed Brother and Sister Samad and their family in every aspect of their lives.
They are among the early pioneer Saints in Indonesia. Later they received the ordinances of the temple, and Brother Samad served as the branch president and then district president, driving throughout Central Java to fulfill his responsibilities. For the past decade, he has served as the first patriarch of the Surakarta Indonesia Stake.
As one of the missionaries in that humble, faith-filled home 49 years ago, I have witnessed in them what King Benjamin taught in the Book of Mormon: “I would desire that ye should consider on the blessed and happy state of those that keep the commandments of God. For behold, they are blessed in all things, both temporal and spiritual.” The blessings that flow into the lives of those who follow the example and teachings of Jesus Christ, who choose to be counted among His disciples, are numerous, joyful, and eternal.

When Nikolay Shaveko traveled to Poland from his home in Chernigov, Ukraine, he thought the trip would be routine—just another long bus ride across the border to buy children’s toys to sell at an outdoor market back home.
The year was 1995, and many changes were taking place in Ukraine, a former Soviet republic. “I was having great difficulties,” Nikolay says. Not only was he struggling with harsh economic challenges, he was also tasting religious freedom for the first time. He was hungering and thirsting for the truth.
In Poland, Nikolay met a group of Latter-day Saints from L’viv, Ukraine, who were also there on business. “They started speaking to me about God and about faith,” he says. When Nikolay returned home, he brought not only a load of toys to sell—but also a copy of the Book of Mormon and a great desire to learn more.
Nikolay’s wife, Lena, was frightened by his interest in a new religion. “There were so many churches coming into our country,” she says. “I didn’t know what to do.”
As Nikolay studied the Book of Mormon, his faith grew steadily. Then the Church members he had met in Poland visited him and his family. Impressed by their spirit, Lena now shared Nikolay’s hunger to learn more.
“We tried to find the Church in Chernigov,” Lena says. “But we couldn’t.” In the city of 350,000, there were no missionaries, no branches, no known members. The closest branch was 150 kilometers away in the capital city of Kiev. “So we decided to follow all the commandments we knew of—to obey the Word of Wisdom and pray,” she says. “Our family grew closer. We started to spend more time together.”
But they yearned to have a greater understanding of the gospel, to make covenants with the Lord, and to have fellowship with Church members. On Sunday, 24 November 1996, Nikolay, Lena, and their daughters, Anya, age 10, and Yulia, age 7, made the 150-kilometer journey to Kiev.
“When we arrived at the branch, we met the missionaries for the first time,” says Lena. “They thought we were already members!” The Shavekos were amazed by the love and welcome they received. “It’s in our blood not to smile a lot,” she says, “so we were surprised to see all the people smiling. We loved the spirit we felt.”
That was the first of many trips the Shaveko family made from Chernigov to Kiev for Sunday meetings. For months they never missed a Sunday, even though the 300-kilometer round-trip journey took 24 hours each weekend, the temperatures dipped to -30 degrees Celsius, and the trains were poorly heated. The train always made several stops along the way, including a seven-hour layover in a crowded station in the middle of the night. The Shavekos would leave home at 8:30 P.M. Saturday and return home at 8:30 P.M. Sunday—or they would leave at midnight and return home the following midnight. In Kiev they would take buses and subways to the rented building where the branch met, arriving just in time for the 10:00 A.M. meeting. Afterward they would mingle with members, eat lunch, listen to a missionary discussion or two, and then head home.
Traveling by bus would have been faster—only three hours each way because of a more efficient schedule. But bus tickets were too expensive. As it was, train tickets for four Sundays each month cost nearly half of Nikolay’s monthly income.
But the journey didn’t seem burdensome, remembers Lena. “We were happy. Even the girls didn’t complain, although sometimes they fell asleep on the way. When we received the Liahona at church, we would read the whole magazine on the way home using the dim overhead lights on the train. The inconvenience of the trip didn’t mean anything. It wasn’t important.”
Two missionaries, Elders Kent Averett and Derek Rowe, obtained permission from the mission president, Wilfried M. Voge, to travel to Chernigov a couple of times to teach discussions to the Shavekos in their own home. Since the home’s heating wasn’t adequate, the family and missionaries had to dress warmly. “But the presence of the Spirit in our gospel conversations warmed us,” says Elder Rowe.
On 5 January 1997, six weeks after their first visit to the branch, the whole family—Nikolay, Lena, Anya, and Yulia (who had turned eight)—were baptized.
After Lena became pregnant a few months later, she was unable to make the long journey to Kiev every Sunday. So the mission president authorized a variation in the schedule. Two Sundays per month, Nikolay and his daughters continued to travel to Kiev for meetings. On the other Sundays, missionaries held Church meetings in the Shaveko home. Talks and lessons were taken from the scriptures, Church manuals, and the Liahona.
But along with joy came persecution. “Some neighbors said, ‘Oh, the Orthodox Church isn’t enough for you?’ And they started giving us problems,” says Lena. “Some of them are not as close to us anymore.”
On the day of their baptisms, the Shavekos received wonderful news. A member in Kiev told them that while serving as a missionary three years earlier in St. Petersburg, Russia, she had taught the gospel to a Ukrainian family—a single mother named Alla Kurnosova and her young son, Vitaliy. They had joined the Church and returned to live in Chernigov, where Alla works as a tailor.
During the three years since Alla Kurnosova’s baptism, she had corresponded with missionaries she had known in St. Petersburg. “Through letters, they gave me hope and strength,” Alla says. She and 13-year-old Vitaliy had continued studying the scriptures. “It seems Vitaliy knows even more than I do,” says Alla. “He teaches me all the time.” Both prayed that the Church would come to Chernigov.
Their prayers and patience were finally rewarded. Alla and Vitaliy became close friends with the Shavekos. The two families took turns hosting the twice-a-month Sunday meetings with the missionaries. Nikolay and Vitaliy were assigned as home teaching companions and visited both families together.
The meeting in Nikolay and Lena’s home on Sunday, 1 June 1997, is typical of the meetings during those days. Twelve people are in attendance: Nikolay, Lena, Anya, and Yulia; Alla, Vitaliy, and Alla’s nonmember mother, Vera; Katya Malihina, a 19-year-old Church member from Kiev attending law school in Chernigov; and four missionaries who have been teaching the group—Elder William and Sister Manette Murri, Elder David Sills, and Elder Chris Colton.
Elder Sills conducts the meeting. Sister Murri plays the piano. (She has been encouraging Anya and Yulia to learn to play several hymns. Before and after the meeting, the girls demonstrate how well they are progressing.)
The opening hymn is “I Need Thee Every Hour,” and Vitaliy offers the prayer. The sacrament hymn is “Jesus Once of Humble Birth.” Nikolay and Elder Colton prepare the sacrament on a small table covered with a simple white cloth and offer the sacrament prayers. Vitaliy passes the bread and water. Then, as sunlight streams through the living room windows, the members and missionaries express love for the Savior and gratitude for the gospel.
Lena weeps as she expresses how wonderful it is to hold Church meetings in her home. “There are very few people here; everybody fits into one apartment,” she says. “In other places, there are more members of the Church, and everybody does not have the opportunity to bear his or her testimony every time.”
She tells about a visit she had with a woman during the week: “I had a feeling in my heart that I should share the gospel with her.” In return, the woman, a member of a Protestant church, shared with Lena the steps necessary to officially register the LDS Church in the city—making a complicated process seem manageable. “The woman and I were happy to have the opportunity to talk with each other about religion. We became good friends, sisters in faith, even though we have different religions. We are all children of God. I know God will always help us and that the Church will grow here in Chernigov.”
Nikolay expresses appreciation for “being able to bear my testimony freely and to show my feelings to other people. How wonderful it is to come to know the truth and to have faith in God and in Jesus Christ, our Savior.” Then he bears witness of the Word of Wisdom. “By following it, we can have a clean heart and a clean body,” he says. “Before, I was often a drunk man, but today I am bearing my testimony! When I began to live the Word of Wisdom, there was a big change inside of me. I look at life a lot differently than before. I don’t want to go back to the darkness we had around us. The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints has the truth and the commandments we should obey. We are coming closer to becoming like our Heavenly Father.”
Katya Malihina, the 19-year-old law student, says: “Yesterday I spoke with my friend about what Jesus Christ did for us. She asked me many questions.”
Young Anya Shaveko testifies: “I know Jesus Christ lives. The Church of Jesus Christ is true. It was restored through the Prophet Joseph Smith. I hope we can get a branch here as soon as possible so people can come more quickly to the gospel.”
Alla Kurnosova says: “I love the Savior with all my heart, and I try to live His commandments. After our meeting last Sunday, I spoke to my cousin about the Church. She was very interested and wants to come to our next meeting.”
Then Alla’s nonmember mother, Vera, speaks: “This is my first time to come to church here in Chernigov, but I attended several times in St. Petersburg. I have noticed here today the same feeling I had when I went to that branch—peacefulness in my heart. My soul is softened today. I think I will keep coming.”
“Love at Home” is the closing hymn. Eight-year-old Yulia offers the prayer.
Since that Sabbath day in 1997, much has changed for the Church in Chernigov. Nikolay and Lena have had their baby—a daughter named Lara. Alla’s mother, Vera, has been baptized. Vitaliy, now age 14, is preparing to serve a mission. The Church has been officially registered in the city, and a branch has been organized—with Nikolay serving as branch president. Full-time missionaries now live and work in Chernigov. Several more people have been baptized. And the growing branch has rented a small building in which to meet.
But other things have not changed. The branch members still care about and watch over one another. They still share the gospel with people they meet. And the Spirit of the Lord continues to burn brightly in their hearts and in their homes.
Best of all, on 8 August 1998 the First Presidency announced that a temple will be built in Kiev, Ukraine. Soon, when the members from Chernigov make the trip to Kiev, it will be to attend the house of the Lord.

Micki Adams, West Point Stake Young Women president, and Annice Nixon, her second counselor, spearheaded the bear project. They approached Captain K. D. Simpson of the Davis County Sheriff’s Department with the idea of placing teddy bears with the sheriff’s paramedic and patrol units.
Captain Simpson told them that children are involved in approximately 45 percent of all the calls for services by the Davis County Paramedics.
Sister Adams read a newspaper article about a Montana group who donated teddy bears to a paramedic organization. She brought up the idea at a Young Women presidency meeting, and the theme “Teddy Bear Picnic” was selected for the Young Women birthday party.
Knowing how anxious children are when confronting a policeman or a paramedic, the Young Women decided that they would create teddy bears to help. “We wanted to give the child something to focus on beside his pain,” Sister Adams said. “We wanted to give him something to hold on to and to love.”
When the young women gathered for a stake Young Women birthday party, they met to begin clipping, turning, stuffing and hand finishing 285 bears.
Lori Ellsworth, a Beehive in the West Point Third Ward, said, “The first bear was hard to make until I got the hang of it. But it was worth it because it would help someone in pain.”
Ninety bears were completed that evening. The girls took the rest of the bears home to finish on their own.
The bears are eight inches tall and made from scraps donated by the stake Young Women presidency. The West Point Stake Relief Society donated most of the stuffing.
The Davis County Sheriff’s Department received 100 teddy bears. Captain Simpson said it is policy now for a paramedic or a sheriff on a call to give any child involved under the age of ten a bear. However, young children have not been the only recipients. The paramedics gave a bear to an 80-year-old woman who suffered a stroke. “It was the only thing that calmed her down,” said Captain Simpson. “She wouldn’t let go of the bear.”
The local hospital received another 100 teddy bears that were hung on a Christmas tree. Children admitted to the hospital were able to choose which one they wanted.
Captain Simpson said, “At first the paramedics weren’t too sure about using the bears. It wasn’t macho. It took two or three times using the bears before they realized how well they worked. Now if they don’t have enough, they get more. They count on them when working with children.”
Captain Simpson, who is also a flight paramedic, saw firsthand how effective the bears can be. Twelve-year-old Nicole Wallace had to be flown by helicopter from one hospital to another. She was bleeding internally from a lacerated kidney and liver suffered in an automobile accident. She refused to give up her bear even when the paramedics needed to transfer her from one gurney to another. She finally gave it up just before undergoing surgery.
Nicole lives in the West Point Sixth Ward but had not yet turned 12 when her friends had made the green spotted bear the paramedics gave her after the accident.
“The paramedics had to take the seat out. Then they took me out of the back window. When they put me in the ambulance, they gave me this cute little bear,” Nicole said. “It kept me from getting scared. I would hold on to it, so I wouldn’t hurt so bad. In the hospital it stayed right by me in my bed.”
Jennifer Techmeyer, a Beehive in the West Point Seventh Ward, said, “I thought it was really great to make something to put in the ambulance for the kids. I thought it was special to donate our love to them.”

When I was 14, I lived with my family on a small island off the coast of Malaysia. Weather on the island was always warm, so my family enjoyed an occasional escape to the cool highlands on the mainland. During one such escape, we decided to visit a small mountain village accessible only by a narrow road. For safety reasons, this road was closed after dark. During the day, it operated on an alternating hourly schedule with one-way traffic flow directed either up or down the mountain.
After spending the afternoon on the mountain, we decided to return to our hotel. We waited patiently for the traffic direction to change and began our descent. When we were about halfway down the mountain, the engine of our car stopped. With great effort, my father steered the stalled car into a clearing along the side of the road. He inspected the engine but couldn’t find the cause of our problem. Everything appeared to be fine, but the engine would not start.
We quickly realized how difficult our situation was. Even if we could find the cause of our engine trouble, we did not have the tools needed to make major repairs. We could not walk to find help because the only towns with services were miles away. We had little hope for help from other motorists because traffic was light and the road would soon be closed for the night.
Knowing that we could not solve the problem ourselves, my father called us together and led us in a family prayer. He explained the situation to Heavenly Father and asked for guidance and help in getting the engine started. As we said amen at the end of the prayer, the clearing was filled with a strong breeze that moved the surrounding trees and bushes. The air had been unusually still up to that point, and we all felt that the breeze was Heavenly Father’s way of telling us not to worry, that our prayers had been heard.
About a half hour after our family prayer, we heard the sound of a vehicle making its way up the mountain. When it came into view, we could see from the telephones painted on the doors that it was a government telecommunications vehicle. As it rounded the corner, it came to a halt, and three men walked over to our car. My father explained the trouble we were having, and the leader of the group assured us they would fix our car.
The men unloaded an array of specialized tools and began a systematic check of the engine. It was clear that the men were highly skilled and, after 30 minutes of work, they found and repaired a problem in the car’s electrical system.
As they packed up their tools, my father thanked them for their help and asked what had brought them up the mountain. The leader of the group explained that a television transmission tower on the mountaintop had gone dead. They had been sent to repair the tower but had felt compelled to help our family, even before restoring television service to a large part of the country. When we inquired further, we learned that the television transmissions had ended about the same time our engine had failed.
As we started down the mountain again, my heart was filled with gratitude for an earthly father who could call down the blessings of heaven and for a Heavenly Father who sent people to help us.

“Tell me about this picture, Mom,” Jeff asked. He had pulled a picture out of the large red velvet photo album that had been his great-grandma’s. “Who is the little boy? I’ve never seen him before. The little girl looks like you.”
Mother sighed. “It’s a picture of my cousin Kenny and me. Kenny was my best friend too. We both loved the early spring, when buds began to form on brown branches, green grass peeked out from patches of melting snow, and the river roared through the farm with spring runoff. Kenny was deaf and couldn’t hear it, but he could feel the spring sun warm his back as he played with Bridget, his huge pet sheep who was about to have baby lambs.
“We were both five. We talked to each other with our own made-up sign language. I loved playing with his large collection of farm toys, and he was always willing to share them.
“On that beautiful spring afternoon, the snow had been totally replaced by a carpet of green grass, and the creek had calmed from a roar to a strong, pleasant chuckle. Our mothers decided to let us go fishing.
“I was eager to try out my new bamboo fishing pole. A real fishing pole. Always before I had used a thick stick, like the one Kenny was still using.
“We sat side by side on our little perch, not moving so that we wouldn’t scare the fish. I threw my line into the creek, just the way my mother had shown me, being careful not to get it tangled. Kenny just sat there with his stick-pole, a sad expression on his face. Oh no! I thought. He wants a new pole too.
“Soon he motioned to me in our own private language that he wanted to use my new fishing pole. I shrugged him away, pretending not to understand. He tried again, more insistent this time. I looked away, pointedly ignoring him. Frustrated, he tried to pull the pole out of my hands.
“I pried his fingers off my pole and pushed him away. I wanted to tell him, ‘Just let me use it first for a little while. I’ll let you try it if you’ll only wait until I’m ready.’ But I didn’t know how.
“He was hurt and turned away. I reached over to pinch him, angry because he wouldn’t let me enjoy my new pole even for a moment.
“I looked up to see my mother taking our picture. My face burned with shame. I felt small and little and mean. I didn’t feel like fishing anymore.
“Handing my precious new pole to Kenny, I left to go play with Bridget. I loved to put my fingers deep into her soft wool. I looked back to see that Kenny was offering me his thick stick and motioning for me to come back and sit by him, but I ignored him.
“We had a picnic that day on the vast green lawn, with fancy little sandwiches cut in the shape of hearts, pink lemonade, and Aunt Dorothy’s angel food cake. We laughed when Bridget tried to steal a nibble.
“That was the last time I ever got to play with Kenny. Our mothers had planned this special day for us because Kenny was going into the hospital to have surgery, which the doctors hoped would help his ears.
“But something went wrong. Kenny died. My mother said that Kenny went to live with Jesus. I didn’t understand why he couldn’t stay right here with us.
“I missed him terribly. His mother put away all his farm toys and never got them out again. I wanted to play with them because then I could pretend that he was playing with me.
“Mom’s pictures came back from being developed, and the pinch was in that picture! Mom had the picture made big and ordered several copies so that Grandma and all my aunts and uncles could have a picture of Kenny.
“I have always felt sad about that mean pinch. Every time I see that picture of Kenny and me fishing, it makes me feel bad.”
Jeff looked up at his mother’s sad face. “Don’t you remember what you told me when I said I hated Jared because he teased me? You told me that learning to get along was just like taking piano lessons. It takes practice, and sometimes you stumble.
“And when I was learning to ride my bike, Daddy held on to me as long as he could, then ran beside me to try to keep me from falling. Sometimes I fell anyway. You said learning to be like Jesus Christ was something like that, only His hand is always there for us when we reach for it.
“Mama, I think from now on when you look at this picture of the pinch, it should remind you of Jesus Christ instead of making you feel sad.”
Mother gave Jeff a big hug and kiss. “Thank you, Jeff. From now on, when I look at this picture, it will make me happy. I will think of the love and forgiveness of Jesus Christ.”

Last summer we took our family to the San Diego Zoo, the largest zoo in the world. Our twelve-year-old son, Craig, had never been there, and he was delighted with the variety of birds and reptiles and other animals. But the part of the zoo that especially interested Craig was the area where the lions and the tigers were kept.
It was a sunny day, and the big cats were all fast asleep. My son thought that they should be up growling and stalking around. All the people there seemed to think so too. They were clapping their hands, shouting, and whistling. But their noise didn’t wake up the animals at all. So my son nudged me in the ribs and said, “Dad, give them your whistle.” I have a very, very shrill whistle, and, to please my son, I whistled as loudly as I could. But the lions still didn’t move.
Then I said, “Craig, listen to this.” I imitated the quiet growl of a tiger. Grrrrr!
Those lions perked up their ears and started moving about. The yelling and whistling hadn’t even disturbed them, but the quiet growl of the tiger reached through all the noise of the crowd. I put my arm on Craig’s shoulder and said, “Now you can see why Heavenly Father speaks to us in a still, small voice in such a noisy world.” We’ve referred back to that experience at the zoo a number of times.

In just a few moments, we will listen to our beloved prophet, President Russell M. Nelson, a man of undaunted faith in Jesus Christ, a man of hope and peace, loved by God but not spared from the wounds of the soul.
In 1995 his daughter Emily, while expecting a child, was diagnosed with cancer. There were days of hope and happiness as her healthy baby was delivered. But the cancer returned, and their beloved Emily would pass from this life just two weeks after her 37th birthday, leaving her loving husband and five young children.
In general conference, shortly after her passing, President Nelson confided: “My tears of sorrow have flowed along with wishes that I could have done more for our daughter. … If I had the power of resurrection, I would have been tempted to bring [her] back. … [But] Jesus Christ holds those keys and will use them for Emily … and for all people in the Lord’s own time.”28

From the moment I walked into the preschool room, I was in love. I saw how much I could give to the children there, and I knew they needed me. I had never worked with severely handicapped children before, so this was a new experience. A feeling of love that I hadn’t felt before began to grow within me.
I was told that any one of the children in that room could die at any time, but that didn’t upset me. My experiences with death had been few, and I had never felt the sting it could bring.
One day as I walked into that room, before going to my assigned room, I noticed a new face. I find it hard to explain what he looked like. His face seemed to light the entire room. Never had I seen such clear blue eyes, and I wondered what went on behind them. I asked Trudy who the new boy was, and she told me that his name was Christian and that he was three. I felt so drawn to him that every moment I could spare I was next to him.
After school one day Trudy asked me if I could possibly take Christian home in my car. He lived only a short distance away, and after receiving instructions to his home, I carefully bundled him up and carried him to my car. I was so afraid I might hurt him that I kept checking on him to make sure he was all right. He never did make much noise; even his cries were so faint that they would have been muffled by the blanket.
Upon reaching his house, I set him carefully on the couch. His father thanked me, and as I turned to leave I said, “If you ever need a baby-sitter I live only a short distance away, and I’d enjoy sitting for you.” I scribbled my name and number on a scrap of paper and left.
That was the first of many times when I took Christian home in my car. Each time I felt very lucky to have the responsibility of getting him safely there.
I didn’t hear from his parents about baby-sitting, but I saw him almost every day anyway. The year passed quickly, and soon school was dismissed for summer break. I thought about Christian, though, and looked forward to September when I could see him again.
One night, shortly after school was back in session for the children, I received a phone call. The woman identified herself as “Cindy Marx,” but I didn’t recognize the name. She said she needed a baby-sitter desperately, and since they had my number her husband said she should at least try to reach me. Suddenly I remembered Christian, and in less than 20 minutes I was sitting in their small apartment with Christian and his baby brother, Lance.
I fixed them dinner and fed both of them. It took about 45 minutes to feed Christian. I sat him in his little yellow chair and fed him slowly. I had to mix the eggs with applesauce to disguise their presence. Cindy had told me that Christian would eat anything mixed with applesauce.
Bedtime rolled around and suddenly I was in the middle of bathing the boys. I couldn’t bear to leave Christian alone on the front couch, so I put him back in his little yellow chair and sat him by the tub. Lance rolled around for a while and then I gave him his bottle and put him to bed. As I undressed Christian I noticed how skinny he was and how his ribs protruded. Somehow it didn’t seem fair that I had to slap him on the back so often to clear his lungs. Soon I got him dressed, and we were sitting on the front couch while I combed out his hair; it was so soft, and he didn’t cry—not even once.
After that I tended regularly for the Marxes, and I always enjoyed it. There was something in the way Lance treated Christian. Even though he was only seven months old, he seemed to treat Christian with dignity. Sometimes he would just look at his face, as I often did. Was it possible that Lance knew Christian was different?
One night Cindy called on short notice and asked if I could come to baby-sit for a couple of hours. When I got there she led me into the bedroom, where I saw baby bottles, diapers, tissues, and medicines of all kinds. She turned to me and said, “Christian has been sick. He hasn’t been to school this week.” I had been so busy with my own work that I hadn’t noticed Christian’s absence. I looked at him, lying quietly on the bed. Even my thoughts were gentle when I was near him. I could see that he looked weaker than usual, and I noticed a rocking chair had been moved into this room. After I put Lance to bed, I gathered Christian up in my arms and sat in the rocking chair. It was rather awkward at first, because his legs were so long, but soon we were comfortable and I started to rock him. I don’t know how long we sat there rocking, but soon I heard sounds of Cindy and Brad returning from their evening out. They thanked me, and I went home.
The next day was Saturday, and Cindy called me to come again right away. When I arrived, I saw many of their close relatives—aunts, uncles, and grandparents. They left, and I began to play with Lance. As I did so, Christian started to smile. I don’t know why, he just smiled, and I smiled back and talked to him. I reached over and slipped my finger into his little fist, and then realized how cold he was. I felt just awful that I had let him get cold after he’d been so sick all week, so I found a blanket and wrapped him up, until only his little face was showing. Lance played happily and quietly on the floor until their parents arrived.
I sensed a feeling among them when they saw me with Christian all bundled up on my lap, and Lance playing happily there on the floor. They had accepted me, and somehow that was important.
The next week I was so busy I hardly had any time to stick my head in the classroom to see Christian. Once, as I walked by, I saw him, sitting by the door in his little yellow chair. I remembered how gray he looked. His little head lay limply against one side of the chair, and his eyes just watched in an unwavering gaze. All that day I wanted to go in and hold him, but my responsibilities didn’t permit it.
The next day a friend and I were leaving the library when she turned and said, “One of the kids at the center died today. He just stopped breathing in his mother’s arms. I don’t know what I’d do if one of the kids in our classroom died.”
I felt sad that one of the children had died, but I didn’t ask who it was. She continued, “I don’t know any of the children in the preschool room, but I still think it’s hard knowing that one of them won’t be coming back tomorrow.”
The preschool room! I paused. “Who was it?”
“Christian,” she said. “I think his name was Christian.”
Christian! Not my Christian! “Are you sure?”
She was sure. But I couldn’t believe it. All I could see was the picture of Christian in my mind, sitting in his little yellow chair, looking so very gray. I could almost touch that picture. I wanted to.
Angry, frustrated thoughts pounded in my head. “Oh Christian, why did you have to die, and why couldn’t I see that you’d be leaving us soon?” But I couldn’t find the tears; they just weren’t there. I was angry with Christian for dying. I don’t know why, but I was. And I knew I couldn’t go back into the preschool room. I just couldn’t! Suddenly I knew that all those children were going to die, and I couldn’t face the thought of all that empty loneliness.
The day after the funeral I walked into the office and found my supervisor gazing at the picture of Christian that had appeared on the funeral program. I sat down and told her how I felt. I said it wasn’t fair that I should give all that love and then lose it. She then turned to me with tears in her eyes and told me something I will never forget.
“Tracine, you can’t stop loving people simply because you are afraid of being hurt. All of us here take that gamble when we love these children with everything we have. We can learn through our love for Christian, and the memory of him will always be a very special part of us.”
I think that was when I felt my heart break and all the bitterness leave.
Christian, can you run now? What would you say if you could talk to me?
Yes, I have the memory of him while he lived, and I know he now lives. I know I loved him, and I’m not afraid to love anymore. Loving is for now, and you can never really lose that love. It can’t be taken away. It just becomes more precious than before.

My heart stopped beating as I peered over the edge of the 90-foot cliff. I couldn’t believe I’d put myself in this position. My friends in the boat below were laughing at my hesitation to jump, which made me even more determined to go through with it.
We’d chosen Lake Powell in southern Utah as our graduation retreat, and we were glad temperatures soared into the 90s during that first week of June. It felt great to be healthy, tan, and 18.
As we climbed to the summit of that 90-foot cliff, we laughed at our friends back in the boat who passed up the chance of flying through that great expanse of air toward the water. They were all talk and no action, we joked as we reached the top. They were the same guys, after all, who had passed up almost any form of “entertainment” during our high school years.
My thoughts were suddenly interrupted when Bryce, the bold one, let out a scream and jumped off the cliff. It wasn’t a graceful takeoff, but it got the job done. I watched him flip like a fish as he fell through the sky, and I heard the distant splash when he hit the water. “You’ve got to try it!” he yelled as he pulled himself into the boat. It was a direct challenge.
I looked around and found my three buddies smiling at me. My stomach went sour. It was then I realized that jumping from a 90-foot cliff wasn’t such a hot idea. But how could I pull out now? They’d never let me live it down.
Just when I was about to jump, I was interrupted by Kelly, who barked out an obscenity and took off. We never saw him hit the water, but heard him crying as the others pulled him into the boat.’ His knees had slammed together upon impact, and he would be in a cast for the rest of the summer, following surgery on both knees.
The three of us who remained were now scared to death, but we wouldn’t admit it. I remember thinking about my acceptance to BYU, and about my plans to serve a mission after my freshman year. For the first time that day, I began to think of the consequences of making the jump. What if I became seriously injured? Was impressing my friends really that important?
“Fifty percent chance you make it and fifty percent chance you get hurt,” Bryce impatiently yelled at me from below. That was comforting.
I slowly walked back from the edge, then raced toward it, lifting my body off the ground as I soared into the warm sky. I looked immediately down and found the water racing toward me. I waved my arms to maintain balance.
My entry into the water was like an explosion, and I heard my back snap. As I sank through the water, I became aware that I couldn’t move my body. I felt as though my lungs would explode as I slowly floated to the surface, only to hear my friends laughing at the expression on my face.
Ted was the first to realize I was in pain, and he told the others to stop laughing as I was pulled into the boat. I mentioned something about the pain in my back as they laid me down next to the already-injured Kelly, and I was soon whimpering right along with him.
Kelly and I watched in bewilderment as the remaining two contemplated their own jumps. Despite unfavorable odds, each of them made the leap—successfully.
Since no doctors were within 100 miles of us, I decided to finish the trip with my friends. I lay in a tent for two days, shocked at my stupidity. I was only 18, yet I had risked my life for the sake of “entertainment.”
The doctor who examined my back said I had a compression-fracture which would cause arthritis throughout my life, but I still considered myself very lucky.
For nearly four years I had wandered carelessly through a world of smashed pumpkins and crazy dives. I hadn’t stopped to consider what effect my actions were having on other people, or on myself. I had been a thrill seeker who never had to face the consequences until that fateful day when I’d almost given my life just to impress my friends. It took a crash through Lake Powell’s waters to plunge me from my fantasy world into a world of reality and responsibility.

To most of the world, Nepal is a land of mystery. On a map, it can be hard to find, wedged as it is between Chinese Tibet and India. Nepal is a land of kindness, beauty, and vibrant colors. It is the land of Sagarmatha, as Mount Everest is commonly called.
It is a land of Hinduism and Buddhism and a land where everything that is worshiped—rocks, trees, stone statues with many arms—has been smudged with red powder and worn down by ceaseless rubbing. Rubbing powder on such objects is a form of respect, and by rubbing the powder the Nepali people are praying to the god represented by the rock or tree. The Nepali greeting, namaste, means, “I bow to the god within you.”
Below the ridges of terraced rice paddies, in the middle of the crowded capital city of Kathmandu, is a small branch of the Church. In a country where missionaries are not allowed to teach, this branch of 50 active members is thriving. Much of its success is due to the young people who have become pioneers for the Church and Christianity in Nepal.
How have they been so successful, averaging 12 baptisms a year, when there are no full-time missionaries to spread the gospel? Once converted, Nepali people can teach each other, and these young people have not been afraid to speak about their new faith.
If you ask 13-year-old Manita Maharjan about the Church, she will happily tell you her story in beautiful English. As a seven-year-old, she lived near two friends, sisters Usha and Sabita Thapa, who had joined the Church. They brought her to church regularly, and Manita says she was always happy there. “I got such love from the branch members as a little girl,” she says. “As I grew up, I learned to play the piano, lead music, and share my talents. I learned to pray and study the gospel. I thank Usha and Sabita for bringing me into this happy world.” Manita has become the top student in her class at school, and she regularly brings her school friends to church.
This same love soon brought another young lady to the gospel. Monika Gurung, now 14, also came under the wings of the Thapa sisters. Her family was already Christian, but she says she felt such pleasure when she joined the Church. “Here everybody loves me, and I love them too,” she says. “I am still the only member in my family, but I bring my little brothers with me every Sabbath day.” (In Nepal, the Sabbath is on Saturday.)
Monika is also one of the top students in her school class. She was permitted to give a talk in school about the Church and the Book of Mormon. This is unusual in the schools, but Monika was allowed to make her presentation because she is such a fine student.
To demonstrate their love for their culture, Monika and Manita both perform Nepali folk dances in native costumes with professional grace and ability.
The day after the baptism of Veswengal Gharti Chhetri (known as G. C.), a political group in Nepal called a bund (strike). This meant that no vehicles were allowed on the roads. But G. C., who lives a great distance from where the branch meets, knew people were counting on him to be at church to be confirmed. He walked 2 1/2 hours one way on roads that, empty of the crushing traffic, were now crowded with people and wandering animals.
He first learned of the Church at the school where he teaches when he overheard a young Latter-day Saint teacher discussing the gospel with the school’s principal. He quickly approached Ramesh Shrestha and began asking questions. Now, age 21 and a member of the Church for only a few months, he has been called as Young Men president. G. C. says, “The Church was something more than I expected.” He loves the concepts of eternal marriage, agency, the Word of Wisdom, and the plan of salvation. G. C.’s talents are the warmth of his personality and his great love of people, which make him a natural for his second calling as a branch missionary. When asked why he likes to teach the gospel, he says, “It is not good to have something so delicious and not share it.”
Love seems to be the central key for the growth of the branch in Kathmandu.
Like the rugged Himalaya mountains in the north, which are geologically young and constantly being changed by nature, these young people’s lives are being changed by the gospel. Sixteen-year-old Suman Shilpakar says the Church has made a wonderful difference in his life. He no longer feels shy and uncertain. He knows the scriptures have the answers to all his questions about life.
Preeti Khadgi says that she has become more kindhearted and she enjoys talking to people more since she became a member of the Church. Preeti is one of the few whose entire family joined the Church, starting with her father, who was the first Nepali to be baptized in Nepal and is now the branch president.
Before joining the Church, Preeti’s mother had a dream in which she found a way “to make all of her children good children.” The Khadgis feel the Church is fulfilling that dream. Preeti’s brother, Pratik, is now serving in the India Bangalore Mission.
In Nepal, students must pass 10th-grade exams to continue in school. Failing the exams ends their education. “One of my teachers,” Preeti says, “wanted me to come on the Sabbath to a study session for the exam. I explained that I could not; I had to go to church.”
“Is that necessary?” he asked.
“Yes,” Preeti answered. “I have a teaching responsibility.” She later passed her “iron gate,” her name for these rigorous tests. “I prayed that whatever I had learned, Heavenly Father would help me remember,” she says.
For Nepali families, drinking tea with milk first thing in the morning is an ingrained tradition. In every home and every tiny shop along every narrow street, small stoves brew tea. To begin to follow the Word of Wisdom has been difficult for many of these young converts.
When Deepak Shrestha’s older brother, who was the first missionary to serve from Nepal, told him the Church was the greatest thing in the world, Deepak was interested. Then his brother challenged him to live the Word of Wisdom. Deepak quickly felt the wisdom of this advice because “it affects the future.” The result of that decision has been the start of Deepak’s strong and continually growing testimony of the gospel.
Seventeen-year-old Bikki Sahi has recently been baptized. And like many of the other Latter-day Saint youth here, he is the only member in his family. He feels strongly that he has “chosen the right way.” Bikki has a new but beautiful testimony to share. “When I first came to the Church, I felt peace in my heart,” he says. “I also felt that my tensions and sadness were driven away. The brothers and sisters showed me their love and taught me about Jesus Christ and the Book of Mormon. When I obeyed the commandments, it helped me improve my habits, and I felt good. I know that Jesus is the Christ and that the Book of Mormon is true.”
The only thing these youth lament is not having the Book of Mormon in the Nepali language. For those who do not speak English well, it is difficult to study the gospel. They must accept on faith alone and learn what they can in class. Even for those who are quite fluent in English, it is a struggle.
Though they lack a Nepali Book of Mormon, these youth fill their lives with school, Church, and cultural activities. They sing, perform Nepali dances, and play the piano. They go bowling and rock climbing and have tried golf and tae-bo exercises. They do service projects and enjoy their friends both in and out of the Church. They face life with enthusiasm.
In the midst of the incredible mountains and valleys of Nepal, a clear voice is sounding. It is young, vibrant, and full of faith. These teens are pioneers in the truest sense of the word. They are leading the gospel forward in their native land. These young converts will continue to love their people into the gospel until that day comes when this country opens its welcoming doors to the missionaries.
Namaste.

My sister reads her scriptures every night for seminary. I try to read my scriptures each night now, too. One night my sister and I decided to watch a movie and sleep downstairs. After the movie I felt afraid and went upstairs to sleep in my bed. I couldn’t go to sleep, so I listened to Primary songs. Then I read my scriptures. I was able to fall asleep without feeling scared. The Primary songs and scriptures made me feel peaceful and happy.Rachel Cottle, age 9, West Bountiful, Utah

Kaylie’s fingers shook as she opened the brightly wrapped present. “Hurry up,” Erica said. “I picked it out just for you.”
Kaylie couldn’t remember a better birthday party. Her parents had let her plan the party all by herself. She had invited 10 friends. They’d had cake and ice cream in the kitchen, then went to her bedroom to open presents.
Erica, her best friend, had told Kaylie that she’d brought something “way cool.”
Eleven now, Kaylie wanted grown-up clothes. She’d be going to middle school next year and wanted to look like Erica and the rest of the girls in her class. They all wore clothes bought from stores in the shopping mall.
Kaylie’s dad had started a new business last year. There wasn’t money for new clothes, so her mother made her clothes or bought them from the thrift store.
“Finally!” Erica exclaimed when Kaylie’s fumbling fingers undid the tape.
Kaylie ripped the paper from the box and lifted the lid. The girls squealed as she pulled the blue sweater from the box.
“It has a butterfly on it,” Erica said.
Kaylie collected butterflies. She had butterfly barrettes, notebooks, and necklaces. But it wasn’t the butterfly that she was staring at. The sweater had tiny straps, so thin that they were practically invisible.
“Th—thank you,” she stuttered. “It’s beautiful.”
“Try it on,” one of the girls suggested.
Kaylie went into the bathroom. She pulled off her T-shirt and slipped on the sweater. It fit perfectly, but she had never worn anything so revealing.
“Cool,” the girls shouted when she went back into the bedroom.
She wore the sweater for the rest of the party, but she didn’t feel comfortable in it.
After Kaylie thanked each of the girls for their presents and walked them to the front door, she joined Mom in the kitchen.
Mom raised her eyebrows at the sweater. “One of your presents?”
“Erica gave it to me. She knows I like butterflies.” One of the straps slipped from her shoulder. Self-consciously, she pulled it back in place.
Mom put down the carrot she was grating and gestured to the kitchen table. Kaylie knew that look. Her mom was getting ready to tell her something important.
“I know,” she said before Mom could say anything. “It’s different from what I usually wear.”
Mom waited a long time before speaking. “It’s not very modest.”
“Erica’s my best friend.” Kaylie knew she sounded defensive. “You’re probably going to say I can’t wear it.”
Mom shook her head. “No, I’m going to let you decide what to do.”
Kaylie knew her mom was telling her that she was old enough to make her own decisions. Sometimes she wished she could go back to being a little girl.
“You know our standards,” Mom said. “I know you’ll make the right decision.”
Kaylie wandered back to her room. She looked at all the presents she had received. Ordinarily, she’d be showing her parents everything. Now she couldn’t think about anything but the butterfly sweater. Once again, the strap slipped from her shoulder. She knew she would never feel comfortable wearing the sweater and changed back into the T-shirt she’d been wearing earlier.
She remembered the sharing time lesson in Primary last week. Sister McClure had asked Jason to blindfold Sam. Sam then had to walk across the room. Sister McClure said Sam would have to listen carefully to Jason, who would whisper the right directions to him. At the same time, the other children and teachers called out to him, trying to lure him away from the straight path.
When Sam made it to the other side of the room, Sister McClure thanked him and then asked if he’d had a hard time crossing the room blindfolded.
Sam nodded and said that all the voices had confused him and tempted him to stray from the path. Only Jason’s directions had kept him going in a straight line.
Sister McClure said that members of the Church had someone who could lead them in the right direction because he talked with Heavenly Father. She asked if the children knew who that was.
Kaylie raised her hand. “The prophet.”
Sister Rojas, the chorister, then led them in singing “Follow the Prophet” for the closing song.
The words of the song echoed through Kaylie’s mind now.
What would the prophet do? Kaylie knew the answer instantly. He would never do something that made him feel uncomfortable. The confusion that had clouded her mind cleared.
An idea flashed through her mind. She pulled the sweater over the T-shirt, then looked at herself in the mirror. They looked good together. She walked back to the kitchen.
Her mom wrapped an arm around Kaylie’s shoulders. “I knew you’d figure out a solution.”
Kaylie hugged her mom back.

While I was serving years ago as president of the Southern States Mission, in one of our public meetings one of our missionaries, a young man who stood 6? 3? and had played on a championship basketball team, said that when his team won the championship game, their companions literally carried them around on their shoulders. Then he said: “That was the greatest experience of my life until I came into the mission field. I wouldn’t exchange a night like this, bearing testimony of the restoration of the gospel, for all the basketball games I have ever played.”