Gospel Story Finder

The mission president in Sweden at the time of our visit was Reid H. Johnson, a cousin to my wife. As he and our group were journeying throughout that area, we went to a large Lutheran church. As we walked into the building, President Johnson said, “I think you would be interested in an experience my companion, Richard Timpson, and I had in this city at the termination of our missions back in 1948.”

He said, “We came to this town because we knew that our family history was recorded here and had been lived here. As we entered this large church, we were met by a most hostile keeper of the archives. Upon hearing that we had completed our missions and had a few precious days in which we would like to seek out the records which he maintained in his church building, he said that no one had ever been given the opportunity to peruse those valuable records, far less a Mormon. He declared they were under lock and key, and he held up to view the large key to the vault in which the records were stored. He said, ‘My job and my future, and the sustenance of my family, depend upon how well I safeguard this key. No, I am afraid it would be impossible for you to peruse these records. But if you would like to see the church, I’ll be happy to show you through. I’ll be glad to show you the architecture and the cemetery which surrounds the church—but not the records, for they are sacred.’”

President Johnson indicated they were profoundly disappointed. However, he said to the keeper of the archives, “We will accept your kind offer.” All of this time, he and his companion were praying fervently and earnestly that somehow something would change this keeper’s mind, that he would let them view the records.

After a lengthy journey through the cemetery and looking at the church building, the keeper of the archives unexpectedly said to them, “I’m going to do something I have never done before. It may cost me my job, but I’m going to let you borrow this key for fifteen minutes.”

President Johnson thought, Fifteen minutes! All we can do in fifteen minutes is open the lock!

But the keeper let them take the key. They turned the key in the lock and had made available to their view records which were priceless for their genealogical value. In fifteen minutes the keeper arrived. He looked at them and found they were still in a state of wonder over the find which they had discovered.

They said, “Can’t we please stay longer?”

He said, “How much longer?” And he looked at his watch.

They said, “About three days.”

He said, “I’ve never done anything like this before. I don’t know why, but I feel I can trust you. Here is the key. You keep it, and when you are through, you return it to me. I’ll be here every morning at eight o’clock and every evening at five o’clock.”

For three consecutive days, those two missionaries studied and recorded for our current use information which could have been obtained in no other way. President Johnson, filled with emotion, explained this experience to us. He said, “The Lord does move in a mysterious way, His wonders to perform.” As he made this statement of testimony to me, I realized that his experience had also blessed the lives of Sister Monson and me, for much of the information he and his companion had obtained happened to be on our family lines.

Age 17. From Texas, USA. Likes playing tennis and basketball, running track, and listening to music.
Recently, I organized a clothing drive with some youth from my stake and high school. We collected boxes of gently used clothes to send to clothing closets in the area to help families in need and kids with special needs or disabilities. My younger brother has an autoimmune disease, so I have a special place in my heart for kids going through similar challenges.
While the outcome of this service project was important to me, it was also about bringing people together and creating a sense of community and purpose. By working together, we were able to make new friendships and connections. I felt a sense of accomplishment from doing something good for others.
This experience reminded me of how important it is to love God by serving others. It’s easy to get caught up in our own lives and problems, but when we put others first and follow the Spirit’s promptings to serve, we can bring joy and love into the world.
“We can bring joy and love into the world.”

Heeding the prophet’s call at age 19, I prepared myself to serve a full-time mission. Soon, I received a call to the Mexico Hermosillo Mission.
While I was waiting to enter the missionary training center in Mexico City, I became concerned about how I would share the gospel. I wondered, “What should I do to prepare?”
One morning before leaving for work, I put a new copy of the Book of Mormon in my bag. Then I prayed, “Heavenly Father, help me know how to give this Book of Mormon to whomever Thou dost send to me.” Then I left for work.
After work, I went to the institute of religion. By then, I had forgotten about the book in my bag. When I got on the bus to return home, however, I sat next to a young woman who was reading the Bible.
I felt a strong impression that said, “This is the person.” I doubted the impression at first, but then I felt it again.
“Pardon me,” I said as I pulled out my Book of Mormon, “this book is very special to me, and I would like to give it to you.”
With a look of contempt, she responded, “No, thanks.” Pointing to her Bible, she added, “This book is enough for me.” Then she stood up and left, leaving me alone on my row of seats.
As I sat there for a minute feeling rejected and foolish, wondering about my impression, the woman in front of me turned around and said, “Excuse me, do you still want to give away that book?”
Apparently, she and her husband had overheard my conversation with the young woman.
“Of course!” I replied.
As we talked, l learned that the couple had wanted to read the Book of Mormon. They also wanted to learn about the Church. I was excited to answer their questions.
That day I learned for myself that “the field is white already to harvest” and that “if [we] have desires to serve God [we] are called to the work” (Doctrine and Covenants 6:3; 4:3).
God had made me an instrument in His hands after all. Today, doing missionary work is the most cherished thing in my life.

When Mormon missionaries were proselyting in Mississippi in 1844, their message was not widely received. However, one 13-year-old slave boy, Samuel Chambers, showed unusual interest in the elders’ street meeting discussions, and a nighttime baptism and confirmation soon followed. Born on May 21, 1831, in Pickens County, Alabama, Samuel grew up in Noxubee County, Mississippi, as an orphan. Slave traders took away his mother, Hester Gillespie, while Samuel was a small boy.

Thus he embraced the LDS faith despite “not having kind parents” to encourage him. Nevertheless, as he later told the deacons quorum, “the spirit of God remained with me.” He had “known the gospel to be true ever since I was confirmed,” and after his conversion he “greatly longed” to gather with the Saints, but being a slave he “could never see how it would be brought about.” Samuel was cut off from any contact with the Church but “tho’ lacking age & experience yet God kept the seeds of life alive in me.” During these years in bondage he married. But shortly after the birth of his son Peter his first wife either died or was sold into Texas (the records disagree). Then on May 4, 1858, he married Amanda Leggroan, a slave who was born to Green and Hattie Leggroan in Noxumbra County, Mississippi, on January 1, 1844.

When the Civil War brought the collapse of the Confederacy, Samuel became a freedman. He turned to shoemaking and then to sharecropping in order to support his family. It had been 21 years since his baptism. “I then commenced to save means to gather (to Utah),” he recalled, and “this took me four years.” This desire to join the Saints is most remarkable in Samuel’s case because he had “never heard another word of the gospel” since his baptism.

Finally in 1870 the 38-year-old freedman left Mississippi with 26-year-old Amanda and teenaged Peter. Evidently their means of transportation for part of the journey was a simple, ox-drawn wagon. Accompanying them was the family of Amanda’s brother, Edward Leggroan. He and his wife were in their mid-20’s and brought with them three children under six years of age. Like others who had migrated to Zion, this small group came with high hopes. At the same time the fact that they were black gave them cause to worry about what the future might hold for them in the strange new land. But one thing was certain with Samuel: “I did not come to Utah to know the truth of the gospel, but I received it away back where the gospel found me.” They arrived in Salt Lake City on April 27, 1870.

“Yes. It’s a story about a little girl named Ida, who was very, very sick. In fact, she was so sick that her parents were afraid that she might die.”
“Didn’t they take her to the doctor?” asked Kristi.
“Well,” continued Mother, “this story happened a long time ago, before penicillin was discovered, so although the doctor tried to help Ida, he wasn’t certain that she would get well.
“For many days Ida stayed in her bed. She didn’t feel like eating, even though her mother coaxed her, and she became very weak. When she slept, she tossed and turned and cried out in her sleep. Then, little by little, she began to improve.
“When her strength began to return, it wasn’t easy for Ida to be patient. She wanted to be completely well immediately. The sounds and fragrances of summer came drifting through the open window. Bees droned around the snapdragons, birds chirped, and the scent of blossoms filled the air. Peals of laughter echoed across the lawn as Ida’s older brothers and sisters scrambled to fill Mother’s big blue bowl with sweet cherries from the orchard. How Ida longed to be with them, climbing the leafy branches and plucking the juicy red fruit.
“‘Perhaps in a few days you will be well enough to sit on the porch,’ her mother had said. But ‘a few days’ seemed like forever to Ida.
“Creak-bang! went the screen door downstairs as Ida’s father returned, tired and dusty from his work in the fields. Ida could hear the sound of dishes clinking in the kitchen and the soft wails of Baby Beth, tired and cross from the heat.
“‘Poor Baby Beth,’ Ida sympathized. It seemed like such a long time since Ida had played with her brothers and sisters. She missed them all, especially Baby Beth. But because her illness was contagious, the other children were not allowed to come into Ida’s room. Because it was summertime, her father spent nearly every day working in the fields. And with cherries to preserve, a hungry family to feed, and little Beth to look after, it was difficult for Ida’s mother to find time to just visit with her. For Ida, the hardest part of being sick was the loneliness.
“‘Are you asleep?’ her mother asked one day, setting a cup and bowl down on the little table next to Ida’s bed.
“‘No,’ Ida replied with a frown. ‘I was just thinking.’
“‘What about?’
“‘I was thinking about how summer evenings seem so long.’ Ida paused. ‘Mama, will it be long before I’m well again? Will there still be cherries on the tree?’ Ida peered anxiously at her mother’s tired face.
“‘It seems awfully long to you, doesn’t it?’ Her mother smiled sympathetically. ‘Try to be patient.’ She blew Ida a kiss as she turned to leave.
“Ida listened to her mother’s footsteps on the stairs, then folded her arms and closed her eyes.
“‘Dear Heavenly Father,’ she whispered, ‘I thank Thee for this food. Help me to eat it so that I can get better soon. And please help me to not feel lonely tonight.’
“After dinner, Ida closed her eyes again. The sun had nearly set. If only I could sleep, she thought. But it was no use. Her eyes just simply would not stay shut. The corners of the room were beginning to get dark, and Ida heard the sound of a lullaby floating up the stairs, accompanied by the clickety-whirr of her mother’s treadle sewing machine.
“Ida felt a wave of loneliness sweep over her. She wanted to run downstairs and tuck Baby Beth into bed or watch her mother sew or just sit on her big brother’s lap. She tried not to cry, but a big salty tear slipped from her eye and rolled down her nose. And that is when she saw it: Poised on the windowsill, ebony-black against the twilight, was a cricket. It sat silent and motionless for a moment, then burst into a chirping song.
“‘What a strange sound!’ Ida exclaimed. She caught her breath as the cricket hopped up in the air and landed again on the windowsill. Ida watched, entranced, as the cricket leaped and chirred in the fading light until, at last, her room was enfolded in darkness and she was fast asleep.
“In the morning the cricket was gone. But when twilight came, it returned to the windowsill to sing and dance until Ida fell asleep. After that the cricket came every night to sing Ida to sleep.
“One day Ida was finally well enough to leave her bed and go downstairs to sit on the porch. That night the cricket didn’t come. It never came again. But always after that, whenever Ida heard the song of a cricket in the twilight, she remembered ‘her’ cricket and felt again the assurance that there is a loving Father in Heaven who answers the prayers of His children.”

And that brings me to my wife, Elisa. I remember the first time I met her. As a favor to a friend, I had gone to her home to pick up her sister, Frances. Elisa opened the door, and at least for me, it was love at first sight.
I think she must have felt something too, for the first words I ever remember her saying were, “I knew who you was.”
Elisa was an English major.
To this day I still cherish those five words as some of the most beautiful in human language.
She loved to play tennis and had a lightning serve. I tried to play tennis with her, but I finally quit after coming to the realization that I couldn’t hit what I couldn’t see.
She was my strength and my joy. Because of her, I am a better man, husband, and father. We married, had eight children, and walked together through 65 years of life.
I owe more to my wife than I can possibly express. I don’t know if there ever was a perfect marriage, but, from my perspective, I think ours was.

When one woman visited Sequoia National Park in the western United States, she was astonished to learn that giant redwood trees have no major taproot to hold them deep in the ground. How is it possible, she asked, for the top-heavy trees to keep from falling when severe winds come? The guide responded that the trees grow close together. Their roots, although near the surface, intertwine with those of the other trees. A tree standing alone could fall. But the interconnected trees in a grove support each other well.

But in the days that followed, both of us felt unsettled—not about marrying each other but about the ring. Let me explain.
In the weeks leading up to our engagement, Shelley and I had spent significant time talking about how we wanted to raise our family and what we wanted our marriage to be like. One of the things at the center of that discussion was our determination to always follow the prophet.
Two months before we were engaged, we listened to lots of talks at the October 1976 general conference reinforcing the principles of self-reliance. This was a topic that President Spencer W. Kimball (1895–1985) and others had been consistently teaching for several years. Both Shelley and I had grown up knowing the importance of growing a garden, having a supply of food, and being generally prepared. But in that general conference, the theme of preparation seemed especially prevalent. Some speakers made reference to the Teton Dam flood that had occurred in June. Among them was Barbara B. Smith (1922–2010), the Relief Society general president, who emphasized the importance of self-reliance—specifically, acquiring a year’s supply of food, as was counseled at the time.1 President Kimball, in the closing session of the conference, reminded Latter-day Saints of the scripture in Luke 6:46, where the Savior says, “Why call ye me, Lord, Lord, and do not the things which I say?” President Kimball then exhorted the Saints to let the messages of conference follow them into their “homes and … future lives.”2
After our engagement, as Shelley and I contemplated the beginning of our marriage and family life, these messages were ringing in our ears. Unbeknownst to each other, both of us were thinking about how to start home storage for our family. To obey the counsel of that time, we needed to start acquiring a year’s supply of food. But how were we supposed to do it? We were students—and would be for years to come—and didn’t have a lot of money. The Holy Ghost gave both of us, separately, the same answer: we needed to sell the engagement ring.
But how was I supposed to ask Shelley to do that? I had just given her the ring. What would she think about my asking her to sell it so we could buy some oats and flour and rice? Meanwhile, she was worrying too. What would I think, she wondered, if she were to approach me about selling the ring I had picked out for her? Would it hurt my feelings?
But the prompting each of us had felt was too strong to ignore, and the more each of us thought about it, the more glaring that diamond ring became. When Shelley raised the subject a few days after Christmas, I was relieved that she had arrived at the same conclusion I had. In many ways, it was a tremendous confirmation to both of us about the choice of whom we were going to marry. To know that our priorities and values were in sync with the other’s and with the prophet of God was tremendously reassuring. I was so grateful for her willingness to make such a sacrifice to follow the prophet.
Please don’t misunderstand me and please don’t sell your rings! Buying or wearing an engagement ring isn’t wrong. In fact, our married children all have lovely and appropriate rings. There are many ways we can follow the prophets and apostles and apply their counsel to our personal lives. But because the Spirit had directed us to follow the prophet by selling our engagement ring, in our case the choice was between keeping the ring and following the prophet. This helped us establish two patterns in our home from the very beginning: following the prophet and following the personal, spiritual promptings we received.

Illustration by Allen Garns
One Sunday during sacrament meeting, I sensed something that disturbed me. I did not know what it was, but the feeling would not leave. I looked nervously at the clock and longed for the end of the meeting. This was unusual for me.
After the closing prayer, the feeling was still there. I glanced around the chapel and noticed a man clutching his chest. I went to him, and he asked if I would take him to the train station. I told him I should take him to the emergency room instead. He said he had medication at home that would help him. I told him I would drive him home because taking a train in his condition would be too dangerous.
I helped him into my car and asked again if I should take him to the doctor. He said that was not necessary and that I could just go to his home. I silently prayed, asking my Father in Heaven to help him be all right and to help me drive him home safely! I drove carefully, opened the car windows, and tried to calm him down. After some time, he leaned back in his seat and slowly began to relax.
When we arrived at his home, he invited me in. I was glad because I wanted to make sure he got his medication and that it worked. He took his medication and started to feel better. He said his chest still hurt a bit but that he felt safe at home.
He invited me to stay for dinner, and since that afternoon, we have become good friends. We often go on outings together and help each other. Before this experience, I had many friends who were not a good influence on me. But my friendship with this man has blessed my life.
Sometimes out of a crisis, a great friendship can arise. If I had simply put him on the train, I wonder if he would have made it home. I would never have forgiven myself if something had happened to him. I am grateful to my Father in Heaven that the Holy Spirit led me into this situation and that, in the process, I was able to gain a true and dear friend!

I am grateful to Heavenly Father for His love and special blessings in my life. During the desperate times of difficulties and throughout the war, I wandered to the very edge of my life and felt most helpless. There was no hope and no future for me. I thought I had been completely thrown out and left out by everything.
Heavenly Father, through my loving parents, worked out miracles for me. I was able to stand up and move forward.
The shelters and food were provided here and there. It wasn’t much, but enough for me to keep going and ultimately to join with you today in this historic great Tabernacle, surrounded by the chosen leaders of the Lord’s Church.
Thus, I say, “Kam sa ham ni ta” to my Heavenly Father.

As many of you know, our family experienced a tender separation three months ago when our daughter Wendy departed from this mortal life. In the final days of her battle with cancer, I was blessed with the opportunity to have our farewell daddy-daughter conversation.
I held her hands and told her how much I loved her and how grateful I was to be her father. I said: “You married in the temple and faithfully honored your covenants. You and your husband welcomed seven children into your home and raised them to be devout disciples of Jesus Christ, valiant Church members, and contributing citizens. And they have chosen spouses of that same caliber. Your daddy is very, very proud of you. You have brought me much joy!”
She quietly responded, “Thank you, Daddy.”
It was a tender, tearful moment for us. During her 67 years, we worked together, sang together, and often skied together. But that evening, we talked of things that matter most, such as covenants, ordinances, obedience, faith, family, fidelity, love, and eternal life.
We miss our daughter greatly. However, because of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ, we do not worry about her. As we continue to honor our covenants with God, we live in anticipation of our being with her again. Meanwhile, we’re serving the Lord here and she is serving Him there—in paradise.1

Not long ago I interviewed a young man who desired to fill a mission, but he had been guilty of some very serious transgressions during his teen years. He was a member of an active Latter-day Saint family, and he himself had been an actively participating member of the Church, even during the time of his transgressions. Ultimately he had gone to his bishop and confessed his wrongdoings. Now, for more than a year, his life had been free of the earlier difficulties, and he was anxious to serve a mission.

As we talked about his situation and the decisions he had made earlier in his life that led to his questionable standing in the Church, he said, “Oh, I knew that what I was doing was wrong, and I was sure that one day I would put things back in order and go on a mission.”

While I was pleased with this young man’s desire to reorder his life and serve the Lord as a missionary, I was troubled by the apparent premeditated, calculated way in which he had allowed himself to move off the proper course to engage in some destructive, immoral behavior, and then, almost as if he were following a timetable set by himself, he had begun to reconstruct his resolve to be obedient.

If my experience with this young man had been an isolated one, it would not be worthy of note here; unfortunately, however, it is not unique. There appears to be an increasing tendency and temptation for young people to sample the forbidden things of the world, not with the intent to embrace them permanently, but with the knowing decision to indulge in them momentarily as though they held a value of some kind too important or exciting to pass by. It is one of the great tests of our time.

She catapults helplessly through darkness and she is screaming, screaming, screaming. “Wake up, Amy!” Scream. “Wake up! You’re having a bad dream.”
Amy struggles to look at her father who is smiling even though it’s the middle of the night. She feels beads of sweat, newly formed along her brow, trapping her hair. Her voice trembles, “What time is it?”
“Three-thirty.”
“I’m sorry I woke you, Dad.” Amy frowns as she slides back under the covers.
“Don’t worry. I was getting up at four anyway.” Amy’s dad goes to the flower mart early so he can choose the freshest blooms for his shop himself. “Looks like I’ve got some free time; want to talk about these bad dreams you’ve been having?”
“I’m pretty sleepy, Dad. Maybe we can talk tomorrow.”
“It is tomorrow,” he says, watching Amy rub her eyes. “Okay,” he sighs, “after school then.” He kisses Amy’s cheek. “Pleasant dreams.”
Amy stays awake. Pleasant dreams, sure, she thinks.
Later that morning at the breakfast table her little brother makes slurping noises. “Can’t you be a decent human being?” Amy asks.
Her brother, Markie, opens his mouth to defend himself, but Amy’s mother interrupts their morning ritual with one word: “Amy.”
Amy reads the ingredients on the cereal box. “Yuck, this cereal is full of poison! I can’t eat this stuff.”
“Amy,” her mom strains to speak patiently, “you need to eat something. The cereal is not poisonous.”
“It’s full of chemicals and preservatives. It’ll give me some incurable disease or something.” With that, Amy grabs her books and heads out the door for school. As she walks, a passing car reminds her of a recent nightmare. She was in a car and there was a horrible accident.
At school Becky invites her to go snowboarding Saturday on the last spring snow. “It’ll be great and I’ve got a snowboard you can borrow.”
“I can’t.”
Becky squeezes her face into an expression of disbelief. “Why not?”
Amy doesn’t want to go because she has never done it before and she’s afraid she’ll break a bone, probably an important one. “I have to finish my research report this weekend.”
“All you need to do is type the bibliography, remember?”
“I, uh, you know, had to make some major changes in it.”
“Okay, suit yourself. I’ll just ask someone else.”
Amy watches Becky walk toward a group of girls. She decides this would be the ideal time to finish her current events assignment. After a while the news stories begin to bear a striking resemblance to her nightmares. There are shootings and stabbings, drunk drivers killing innocent people, kidnappings, and tornadoes tearing apart entire communities. The bell rings and Amy nearly hits the ceiling.
Walking home after school, she takes a detour to see if her dad’s truck is at the flower shop. Seeing it, she goes inside the shop and sees the manager. “Hi, Amy, how are you?”
“Hi, Mrs. Jepperson. I’m okay.”
Mrs. Jepperson looks up while filling some balloons with helium. “Just okay?”
“Yeah.” How can anyone be any more than that? she thinks. There’s a horrible war on the other side of the ocean and there are town-eating tornadoes. No one has a right to be anything more than okay under the circumstances. “Where’s my dad?”
“He’s probably at your house by now. He ran out for a while. Oh, before you go, take these.” Mrs. Jepperson reaches for a scrambled bunch of flowers, the leftovers she would soon throw out.
“Thanks, but no.” Amy pushes through the door. “They’re just going to die.” That’s the trouble with flowers, Amy thinks as she walks up the hill to her house. They always turn brown and shrivel up.
Her dad is drinking ice water in the kitchen. “Amy, I need to go back and get the truck. Why don’t you come with me?” Amy knows what that means. He wants her to run with him, so she begins to formulate her excuse-for-the-day, but remembers that it won’t do her any good. She could give a hundred good reasons why she can’t run with him, and he’ll give her two hundred reasons why she should. It’s another family ritual.
“Okay,” she sighs, and goes to her room to change.
As they start down the hill he asks about her day. She tells him about all the horror stories she read in the newspaper and about how she couldn’t go snowboarding. Then he asks her if she knows why she’s having nightmares. “I really don’t know,” she says. “I just wish they’d go away.”
“Keep running hard and you’ll sleep like a baby.”
“But babies wake up crying every few hours.”
“Okay, I’ll think of another comparison,” he says as he playfully shoves his daughter into the grass.
“Dad! You got grass stains on my shorts!” They walk in silence the rest of the way to the shop.
She waits outside in the truck while he talks to his employees. When he comes out he’s carrying the armload of leftover flowers. He doesn’t even put them in the back; he just climbs into the driver’s seat with all the flowers. Some fall over onto Amy’s lap; they feel cold. “Dad, how can you see to drive?”
“I’m just going to breathe these in for a moment.” He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “Ah, that’s wonderful.”
“But they’re not fresh. They’re going to die, like, probably tomorrow.”
Her dad opens his eyes and looks at her for what seems like hours. He puts the flowers down and begins to drive. “They’ll be gone, maybe tomorrow, but that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy them today.” He doesn’t drive toward home.
She wishes he’d take her home. She’s in grass-stained shorts and a sweaty T-shirt. What if someone sees her? Her dad turns on the radio. It’s his favorite program, some old-fashioned comedy. He’s laughing hard. When the commercial comes on she switches the station to the news. They hear reports of a capsized boat and how the coast guard is looking for survivors. They hear about some famous couple getting divorced, and then they hear reports of atrocities in a war-torn country.
“Can I switch it back to my station now?” he asks Amy.
“It’s the news, Dad. It’s reality. We can’t bury our heads in the sand.”
“That’s true. But we don’t have to wallow in misery,” he says as he pulls over.
“Who’s wallowing in misery?”
Amy looks up to see pink and yellow flowers as far as she can see. “I’m just aware of what’s going on.”
“Being aware is one thing, but you can’t let it get to you.”
“Why not? It’s a miserable world. I have reason to be miserable.”
Amy’s dad gets out and opens Amy’s door. She gets out reluctantly. He takes her arm and leads her toward the rainbow of endless flowers. They stop at a patch of ground surrounded by flowers, and he digs into the dirt. Yuck, Amy thinks. Mud covers his fingers and an earthworm squirms away.
“Imagine,” her dad says, “if flowers decided that since they only live a short time they shouldn’t bother being beautiful and fragrant.”
“Yeah, but how can we go around being happy when so many people are suffering?”
“Does being unhappy help the people who are suffering?”
“Well,” Amy turns toward the truck.
“Does being unhappy help you in any way?”
Amy tries to think of a response. She looks at her dad for a clue. He isn’t even paying attention. In the middle of his lecture he’s stooping over, smelling flowers.
“Do you remember that scripture about ‘Man is that he might have joy’?” He stretches his arms out and looks like he is offering some kind of salute to the flower kingdom.
“But that’s for after we get through all the misery of this earth.”
“Is it? Amy, I have two assignments for you. One is for Saturday while you’re sitting around with nothing to do when you could have been snowboarding. I want you to answer the following question using your scriptures and other Church books. Think about this. Could it be that it is a good thing to be of good cheer?”
“And the other assignment?” she asks.
“Race me to the car!”
They run all the way, the colorful images of the flowers flashing past in such a blur that Amy almost laughs out loud, especially when her dad passes her along the skinny path looking like some kind of hairy gnome in running shorts. The fragrance is energizing, and she wonders if the things her dad said are true.
That night she helps her mom fold towels and asks her, “Why is Dad always so happy? Hasn’t he ever experienced anything really hard?”
Her mom stops folding and looks at the towel she is smoothing. “Oh, he’s had some hard times. Maybe you’ve forgotten. Your dad’s mother—your grandma—died when he was 12. That was really hard. He lost the first business he started. Then he was diagnosed with a liver disease and diabetes all in the same year.” She pauses, begins to lift a stack of towels, puts them down, and continues. “He was sent to fight in Vietnam when he was 19. He’s told me some about that, but I know he hasn’t told me everything. His brother was killed there. That was probably the hardest for him; he used to wake up with nightmares.”
Amy doesn’t say a word. The rest of the weekend she hardly says anything at all until her research is finished. On Sunday her dad asks her to sit down and make a report to him.
“Dad, terrible things happened to Christ, but he spent his time lifting others. And there are others who were like that too. They did terrible things to Joseph Smith and his family, but even though he had the right to be really miserable he still found time to arm wrestle and play with the kids and things like that.”
“So, did you learn from your research that it’s okay to be a happy person?”
“It’s more than okay. I think Heavenly Father wants us to find joy in our lives while we’re here. Maybe it’s like a skill. If we learn it here we’ll be better at it in eternity.”
He smiles. “So your research really helped.”
“Actually, I think I learned the most from example. There’s this man, you see, and he’s had some hard things happen to him. But he likes to get up early every morning and go to the flower mart, he listens to corny comedy on the radio, and he’s been teaching me all along that being happy is an important skill.”
Her dad isn’t smiling anymore. She doesn’t remember ever seeing him look this serious. “We have our agency,” he says. “We choose how to react to the hard things in life. We can grow and have gratitude for our blessings, or we can be miserable and stagnate.”
“Dad, will you lighten up!”
“Here, let’s give these to your mom.” He takes an armload of wilted flowers from a large grocery bag, and the two of them carry the gift. Amy fully breathes in their fragrance.

It’s tough to be the only member or active member in your family. It seems as if the ward is full of ideal families who have family home evening, prayers, and scripture reading—all of which you want to have too. Meanwhile, you sit alone at church or tag along with another family to the ward party. It’s not that you want to change families, but you want your family to change, because you love them and want eternal blessings for them: you don’t want to sit alone in the congregation in the hereafter. Yet you get discouraged when their answer to your pleas is no. At times you might even feel sorry for yourself. But always you clutch on to the hope that someday they will join. Susan also had that hope.
Susan, 16, is a pretty and talented girl, pretty because she’s self-assured, and talented because she’s self-motivated. Rather than cautiously and worriedly dipping her toes into life, she plunges in head first, perhaps blue-lipped and sputtering at first, but having a good time anyway. After her baptism three years ago, Susan channeled her efforts toward home: she wanted her father baptized.
“I knew if my dad was baptized, Mom would come. So that was my number one goal,” Susan recalled. “I figured I could accomplish it by myself because I knew my parents kind of liked me, so I figured they’d want to do this,” she said with bold confidence. “I tried everything,” she added more humbly.
“I tried being forceful, but that didn’t work. Then I tried making them feel sorry for me. I told them that I had to sit in church by myself and sing by myself, and that everybody else was with their families. That didn’t work either.”
Although she sometimes felt discouraged, Susan would not give in. “After I learned more about missionary work,” she continued, “I tried a different approach: I invited them to come to my church meetings. I gave talks in sacrament meeting, and Mom would come. One time I sang in stake conference. I even got a new dress. Mom was going to come, but she got sick, so I went with no hope that either Mom or Dad would be there. We were singing our song when I looked at the back of the chapel and saw my dad coming through the door. I wanted to cry, but I couldn’t because I had to sing.
“Another time that Dad came with me was at the ward father-daughter date. While we were sitting there eating our breakfast, I looked at Dad, and the thought came to me that someday he was going to be baptized. Right in the middle of bacon and eggs, I knew it, and I wanted it more than anything.”
But the baptism didn’t happen overnight, and Susan learned more about missionary work. “I knew I couldn’t do it by myself,” she admitted.
One day while walking home from school, Susan saw two parked bikes on her street and two missionaries knocking on someone’s door. The missionaries had been to Susan’s home five times before. Usually they had just come once. But Susan wouldn’t let that block her new excitement. Maybe this time her father was ready.
“I had hoped the missionaries wouldn’t get in to the house they were knocking at because I wanted to talk to them. They didn’t, so I told them about Dad. They told me that they had prayed that morning about where they should tract and were sent to my street. I think the Lord knew that my dad was ready to hear the gospel. Whether anyone else knew it or not, the Lord knew it, and that is all that matters.”
But all wasn’t perfect and easy. There were times when Susan got very discouraged, wondering why things weren’t happening faster. “Then I would have to remember that getting ready for baptism was a slow process for me also. I would look around and see other young people who sat by themselves in church or whose circumstances seemed worse than mine, but they didn’t seem discouraged. Their example helped me to quit feeling sorry for myself.”
Meanwhile, realizing that her example was crucial, Susan also reaped one of the blessings of missionary work—that of preparing and growing herself.
“I had to be as ready as Dad was. I had to do a lot of praying, some fasting, and even some repenting. I realized that missionary work is love and service, that it is telling your mom and dad you love them even if your little brother and sister are listening. I also tried to follow the missionaries’ example of showing love for Dad. I would try not to scream and holler at my family,” she admitted.
The missionaries came to Susan’s home seven times over a five-month period. Each time she could tell that her father was getting closer.
“One night in April I went for my birthday interview with the bishop. Dad came to pick me up after.” Susan continued mischievously, “I hid down the hall so Dad would have to come in and find me. When he came into the church, he asked if he could see the bishop alone. He was in there for about 30 minutes, and I was out in the foyer wondering what in the world they were talking about!
“On the way home I was dying to hear what went on. All of a sudden Dad said, ‘Well, Susie, I guess I’ll get baptized.’ I just sat there. I wanted to cry, but I knew I shouldn’t because Dad doesn’t like us to get emotional. All I said was, ‘Oh Dad, I think that’s so neat.’ That was kind of a dumb thing to say, but what do you say when your biggest goal has just been realized?”
Susan’s father was baptized on April 14th.
But Susan realizes that her missionary work isn’t over yet. “I still get impatient and discouraged at times, but I’ve come to realize that becoming a celestial family is a step-by-step process. And I must understand my parents. I try to do my part. When I’m spiritually down, it shows in the home. So I try to keep my testimony strong by doing what I’m supposed to do; I feel better when I do.”
Susan has learned a lot about missionary work, mostly through trial and error. She has learned that timing and responses are different for different people, that force and pity aren’t successful, that true service is far more important than lip service, that the Spirit must touch the person’s life, and that desire—well, as for desire, Susan isn’t lacking; she keeps on trying, regardless of mistakes, to boldly live the gospel, although it’s sometimes awkward, frightening, and even downright hard.
But positively, Susan summed it up: “My dad wanted absolutely nothing to do with the Church 20 years ago, but after going through a lot of visits from our home teachers, and after many different sets of missionaries, and after he had a daughter who wouldn’t leave him alone—my dad is a member of the Church.”
And when asked about her recent goals, Susan enthusiastically replied, “To have family home evening, family prayer, and to be sealed in the temple to my family—that’s my number one goal now!”

The house at 402 Cinnamon Street was covered with a blanket of darkness. The moon lit up the yard in dim, random patches, almost as if playing a game of hide-and-seek in the cloud-covered sky.
Gentle whispering of sleep echoed about the bedroom. In her dream the Grand Ballroom was even more beautiful than Amy remembered. The catering manager, dressed in suit and tie, was motioning with his arms.
“And, Miss Harding, your guests will enter the ballroom through these doors. Inside to the right on a table will be the wedding book to sign. Next will be a table for the gifts. Proceeding on around, the guests will meet you and Steve and your families here. We’ll have flowers and trees, and this is where the photographer will be taking pictures. Then the line proceeds on past the wedding cake.”
Amy slept peacefully in her bed. She was oblivious to the clouds, once small in number, building forces in the sky. In the midst of Amy’s pleasant dream, a storm was brewing.
Headlights from a passing car threw fleeting shadows across the bedroom wall. Amy pulled her blanket up over her shoulders and turned over. A flash of light streaked across the midnight sky. The bolt of lightning and accompanying crash of thunder awakened Amy with a start.
She stared at the darkened walls, going over the list in her mind.
She could hear her mother’s comments. “… a wedding cake, and we remembered to ask for the little pink flowers on the top. The invitations are all addressed, waiting to be mailed. I called the florist today. Do you think we’ve missed anything?”
Thunder continued to rumble. It seemed like tiny earthquakes were shaking the ground. In the excitement of her temple marriage, was she forgetting something? Was she leaving out some small detail, overlooking an important element?
Amy moved to the window to part the curtains. To Amy, who was always fascinated with electrical storms, it just seemed like a big show in the sky. As the rain pelted against the windowpane, Amy’s thoughts flashed back to her date with Steve that evening.
“You look great, Amy. But maybe you’d better bring along a jacket. The evenings can be cool.” Steve, dressed in his college sweatshirt and baseball cap, had been waiting for Amy. “Sorry, I’m late. You know how that dumb car is.”
Steve opened the car door for her, then walked around to his side. He was over six foot four, and his legs fit awkwardly behind the wheel. He turned onto the freeway and lowered the visor to keep the sun from blinding him. “Did you go to the hotel this morning?”
“You wouldn’t believe the ice sculptures, Steve. The catering manager showed me pictures. The largest one on the main buffet is of the temple, complete with the Angel Moroni. Oh, and get this! One sculpture is of two love birds kissing, and they’re sitting on a heart.”
Steve stared straight ahead at the road while Amy rattled on. “And another one is our initials on a huge pedestal.”
Steve hit the turn signal, glancing in his rearview mirror before making a turn. “Couldn’t we just use ice cubes like normal people?”
Amy nudged Steve hard with her elbow. “It’s for decoration, not to keep the punch cold. Oh, maybe I shouldn’t have made the arrangements without you, Steve. I keep thinking I’m missing something.”
Steve shook his head. “Naw, that’s okay. I don’t know anything about stuff like that. I trust your judgment.”
The drive to the park was fun. They drove around a few minutes before claiming a small picnic table nestled under several shade trees. Amy and Steve sat quietly for a few minutes, watching a little bird hop around and listening to a tiny stream nearby.
Amy dug her tennis shoe into the soft soil, leaving a ridged imprint. Then with her toe she smashed a fallen leaf, brittle from lack of nourishment. Steve sneezed. The trees brought out his allergies. Amy crunched another leaf. Steve sneezed again. Amy stepped on another leaf. Steve continued to sneeze. She tried, but she couldn’t stand it any longer.
“Steve, please take an allergy pill. Your sneezing is driving me crazy.”
Steve reached for an allergy pill. He swallowed it without water. Then he leaned back, squirted two drops of medication into each eye, squinted, then raised his head. His eyes were tearing and were as red as the nose of a clown.
“I get the allergies from my mom. Sometimes I just wish I could have inherited my dad’s crooked toes. You can at least hide them.”
Steve’s voice dropped off. He didn’t remember much about them. Both parents died when he was young, and his aunt had raised him. But certain small memories were imprinted forever in his mind.
Amy reached over and took Steve’s hand. “Steve, we haven’t forgotten to invite a relative of yours to the reception, have we?”
Steve picked up a broken twig and drew Xs and Os in the dirt. “You know, I keep thinking we’ve forgotten something, too. And I’m wondering if we ought to spend so much money on a wedding band for me. And it bothers me that so much is being spent on the reception.”
Amy was agitated. “Rings represent forever, an endless circle. You know, like you and me. You are getting that wedding band. And you know how much the reception means to my mother. We can’t take that away from her.”
“I’m sorry, Amy. You’re right. It’s just that material things have never mattered much to me. You know, I’ve been thinking a lot lately about a couple named Young who used to sit in front of me every Sunday during sacrament meeting right after I joined the Church. They always sat so close together even though they had a bunch of kids crawling all over them.
“When they bore their testimonies I could really feel they understood what the Church meant to the other one. So I started praying for a girl I could take to the temple who really understood what the Church meant to me.”
Steve squeezed Amy’s hand. “I found her. I found her the night you bore your testimony at that fireside.”
Amy squeezed back. “I’ll always remember that night. I’d been a member two weeks. It took a lot of courage to stand when I hardly knew anything. I didn’t have Primary when I was young or Sunday School. But I did know one thing for sure the night I stood up. I knew the Church was true.”
Steve dropped his stick and took Amy by her shoulders. “We’re learning the answers together. We’ve been able to share so much.”
Steve put his arm around her. “Amy, I do want this wedding and reception to be everything you and your family want it to be. So let’s do something. How about if right now we start a special fast? Just the two of us. If something is missing, some small detail or someone we’ve forgotten, then we can find it. What do you think?”
Amy shrugged her shoulders. “Fasting is hard. But okay. Starting right now, for 24 hours?”
A tap at Amy’s door brought her back to the reality of her bedroom.
“Is that you, Mom?”
A soft voice responded. “Yes, dear. I couldn’t sleep and saw your light.”
Amy walked over to the door. “Come on in.”
Amy’s mom looked troubled. She sat beside Amy on the edge of the bed, pulling her robe tight around her.
“What’s wrong, Mom? I’ve heard you wandering around downstairs tonight. Is it the storm?”
Her mother stood up and began to pace. Her slippers made little squeaky noises across the hardwood floor. “I really like Steve. And I have the reception to look forward to. But honey, you’re my only child. I want to be at your wedding. Why can’t I go inside the temple?”
Amy lowered her head. This was hard for her too, having her parents missing from the sealing ceremony.
“Mom, I’m going to invite the missionaries over Sunday. I think they will be able to explain to you why nonmembers aren’t allowed in the temple. If only you knew how much I want you to be there.”
Her mother walked over and lifted Amy’s chin to look into her eyes. “It’s hurting your father, too, Amy. He understands very little about this church you have joined. But he knows how happy it has made you. Maybe it would help to have someone explain why we can’t go inside the temple. I’ll let your dad know they’re coming.”
She kissed Amy’s cheek. “Good night, honey.”
After her mother left the room and closed the door, Amy lay back on the bed. As she stared up at the ceiling, her eyes were drawn to the light fixture. Suddenly she imagined herself standing in the Grand Ballroom staring up at the chandeliers. The diamond-shaped crystal had tinkled delicately. Amy finally fell asleep.
The morning was almost gone when the phone rang on Amy’s nightstand. Amy was startled from a deep sleep. After grabbing the phone by instinct, it took her a moment to realize what she was doing.
“Hello.”
The caller hesitated. “Uh, hello? Is that you, Amy? It’s Steve. Were you still asleep?”
Amy pushed her hair away from her face and sat up. “Yeah. What time is it?”
The line was fuzzy. “Around nine I guess.”
“You sound so far away. Where are you calling from, Timbuktu?”
Steve chuckled. “No, but close. Somewhere near Storm Mountain. The car is acting up, and I stopped to cool it down. I’ve been rock climbing.”
Amy had a momentary vision of Moses climbing the mountain to talk to God. “Sounds pretty heavy. You shouldn’t be exerting yourself so much when you’re fasting.”
“I know, but ever since I started fasting I’ve been haunted by the impression that something very important was missing. I just had to get away to see if I could find out what it is.”
Amy heard a loud clunk. Steve had dropped the phone. “Oops, sorry. Hey, could we come up here for the Young Adult activity tonight? Campfire, games, and dinner. We could break our fast then.”
“But what about that history report you wanted to finish, Steve? Isn’t it due soon?”
“Yes, but it can wait another night. I’m afraid I’ve discovered what it is that’s missing, Amy. It’s not something missing from our wedding. It’s something missing in our lives, especially my life.”
Amy tried to clear her mind to think. “Well, okay. Pick me up at five, the car willing.”
Amy hung up the phone and sat staring at it for a minute, confused. Deciding not to think about it, she spent the afternoon with her nose buried in college textbooks and trying to keep her mind off food.
A large group had already gathered when Steve and Amy arrived. They had to stop twice to fiddle with the car. Steve lifted the hood as soon as they parked at the campsite while Amy visited with friends. Food was cooking, and the young people were throwing frisbees and playing badminton.
The smell of hamburgers teased hearty appetites, and the food was gone in minutes.
The sun began to set. More firewood was gathered, and everyone sat close together around the warmth of the campfire. Steve and Amy huddled together on a fallen log.
Roger, always the unspoken leader, suggested they play a game, one that his dad always loved to play for Family Home Evening.
One boy, Aaron, chided him. “Oh, brother. Not “button, button, whose got the button.’”
Everyone laughed.
Roger shook his head, leaning closer to the fire. “No. This game is called ‘Search Your Soul in Two Minutes or Less.’ And I’m the emcee.”
Roger squinted, trying to make out the familiar faces around the smoky campfire. He pointed to Heather. “Okay, Heather, you have two minutes to answer the first question. Ready?”
Heather shrugged her shoulders and nodded.
“Heather, why do you live the gospel?”
Heather, her short brown hair barely visible around the hood of her parka, was thrown off guard. “Come on, Roger, how can I answer a question like that?”
Roger smiled, enjoying the challenge. “I didn’t say the game was easy, did I?”
Heather lowered her head and took her full two minutes.
“Time’s up, Heather. Let’s have the answer.”
Her voice was shaky. “I lived with my Heavenly Father before I ever came here. I live the gospel because it’s the only way to get back to his presence.”
The group huddled even closer. Roger chose his best friend next.
“Okay, Craig buddy, reach down into your soul. Why do you live the gospel?”
Everyone expected a wisecrack. But instead Craig reached into his back pocket and dug through his wallet. He passed around a picture. Everyone leaned close to the light to make it out. The picture was worn with frayed corners.
“I have five brothers and two sisters. I have two parents who drive me crazy but love me even when I’m driving them crazy. I have aunts, uncles, cousins, and twin nephews two weeks old. My sister and her husband are staying with us for a little while. The babies kept us up almost all last night. I guess I live the gospel because for some stupid reason I want it to stay this way. I want to be with my family forever.”
Amy and Steve held hands. Roger pointed to Kathy. “Okay, greenie, you’re the newest member. In two minutes or less, why did you join the Church?”
Kathy stared at the fire, watching the little sparks jump in the air and burn themselves out. She appeared to look at Roger, but with a serious look seemed to see beyond Roger or anything else in the radius of the campfire.
“I’ve never been a happy person. I really don’t know why. Maybe I thought no one really cared. The elders were interested in me as a person. One was from Maryland, the other from England. That’s a long way to come to give me a message.
“I listened and knew it was true. I am happier. And I’m beginning to understand why. Without the Church in my life, something was missing. And if it hadn’t been for those elders sacrificing to go on a mission, it would always have been missing.”
Amy felt something creep up her back. She could hardly breathe. She turned to Steve and, through the light of the fire, saw in his eyes the answer he had brought down with him from Storm Mountain. Their eyes pierced through each other.
Amy jerked her hand away and hurried from the circle. She began to run. Through the shadows of darkened trees, Amy ran faster and faster, wishing she could run forever.
“Amy, wait! I can’t see you! You’ll fall or something! Amy, get back here!”
Steve couldn’t tell which direction Amy had headed. He stood still for a moment, then heard movement to his left. He saw Amy struggling up a steep incline. His heart was in his stomach, envisioning her falling over the edge. He followed her, watching her trip several times, holding onto tree roots and small, jagged rocks sticking out from the hillside.
At last Steve stood at the top, the whole valley lying before him in a panoramic view. The lights twinkled like Christmas trees. He spotted Amy crouched beside a large boulder.
He sat down beside her and put his arm around her gently, not wanting to frighten her and have her jerk away. Amy sniffed and wiped her eyes.
“Amy,” Steve said breaking the awkward silence, “today when I was climbing, I couldn’t think about anything except those four sets of missionaries I went through during my conversion. Elder Snow gave up a baseball scholarship. Elder Decker postponed his education. Another missionary’s father had to work two jobs to support him. And then all I thought about was a postage stamp.”
Amy shook her head, pulling a weed from the soil and picking it apart. “You climbed Storm Mountain, fasting and everything, and all you could think about was a postage stamp?”
Steve’s voice was barely audible. Amy knew right away he was going to talk about his mother. “Once when I was six or seven years old and my dad was out of town, my mom needed a postage stamp to mail Uncle Robert’s birthday card. We lived in the country. The mailman would pick up the mail but couldn’t sell us stamps. Mom couldn’t wait until Dad got back home with the car or the card wouldn’t arrive at the right time.
“Mom sent me to Mrs. Harold’s down the lane. She was an old lady who kind of looked after Mom and me when Dad was on the road. Of course Mrs. Harold loaned me the stamp, and we mailed the card on time. But the next day Mom told me we were going to pack a picnic lunch and walk the two miles to the post office to buy a stamp to replace the one we borrowed from Mrs. Harold.”
Steve picked up a little rock and tossed it down the hillside. “I remember saying to her, ‘Why don’t we just bake her some cookies or just give her ten cents to cover the cost of the postage stamp?’
“And then I said, ‘We could wait until Dad gets home in a few days and drive to the post office. Why today? What’s a couple more days?’
“Mom put her arms around me. Then she said, ‘Because today is the day we owe for the postage stamp, not tomorrow or the next day.’”
Steve tightened his arm around Amy. “Uncle Robert got his card when he needed it, and the debt was paid when it was owed.”
Amy buried her face in her hands, crying. “You’re telling me there isn’t going to be a wedding? After all the plans, all the dreams, you’re telling me that you’re leaving me for two years?”
Steve was sniffing and rubbing his nose, but not from his allergies. “Amy, look how the town is all lit up. We have the gospel here. But there are areas of the world that are pitch dark. Christ said, ‘Go ye into all the world, and preach the gospel to every creature’ (Mark 16:15). I have to light up that little corner of the world that’s dark, Amy. Our corner.”
The drive home was a quiet one. When they pulled into the driveway, Steve looked at Amy as he turned off the ignition. He started to speak, but before he could say a word, Amy threw open the door and bolted from the car. Tears were streaming down her face. Steve got out and stood for a moment, not knowing what to do. Then he lifted the hood of the car, almost out of habit, while he glanced out of the corner of his eye as Amy slipped into the house.
When Amy walked in the front door, she was glad it was quiet. She wanted to go to her room to be alone. After opening her door and then closing it quietly behind her, she turned on her bedroom lamp.
The room was just as she had left it.
Amy glanced down at her engagement ring. A wave of deep sadness swept over her. She took a soft handkerchief and tried to polish the setting. The diamond didn’t seem to sparkle as brightly as it had the day in the jewelry store. She pulled her ring from her finger and placed it in her jewelry box.
The rain began to plink against her windowpane. Thunder was barely audible in the distance as tears flowed down Amy’s cheeks in torrents. She loved Steve so very much. But did she love the gospel more? And if she sacrificed Steve for just a little while, if she could somehow bear it, would both loves merge almost as one, making both even stronger?
Amy walked to the window. Rain was coming down faster now as Steve huddled under the hood trying to make some kind of adjustment. She looked at the terrible storm lurking on the horizon. The trees were beginning to bow and the house began to creek from the wailing wind sneaking through unseen cracks.
Amy went to her closet and pulled down a rain hat and coat. She grabbed a black umbrella from the top shelf. She couldn’t, she wouldn’t, leave Steve out in that downpour trying to fix the car by himself.
When she came up behind him, he jumped, startled.
“How many times do you suppose we’ve fixed this dumb car, Steve?”
Steve turned. The umbrella barely covered the both of them. Steve looked like a drowned rat.
“Well, I don’t have my calculator handy.” He jokingly patted his shirt pocket. “But off the top of my head I’d say if we’ve fixed it once, we’ve fixed it a hundred times—in just the last two weeks.”
Amy moved closer, pushing his wet hair from his eyes. “Seems like whenever we’re in the car and feel something isn’t running right, we get out of the car together, lift the hood, and look inside, right?”
Steve nodded, wiping his forehead with a greasy hand.
“And we fix whatever is wrong and continue on to where it was we were heading. Is that what we’re trying to do tonight?”
Steve couldn’t resist hugging her. “Yes, Amy. And as I was going to say as we drove into the driveway, I love you. But I just want to pay our debt now, while we owe it. Two years is a long time, I know, but what did Roger say tonight? ‘Who said the game was going to be easy?’”
Amy felt her heart would break as Steve kissed her gently. He didn’t have to tell her it was a kiss that would have to last two years. Tomorrow was Sunday, and Amy knew Steve would go to the bishop in the morning. But then a bright hope flooded Amy’s thoughts. Sunday was also the day her parents agreed to see the missionaries. A lot could happen in two years.
They fixed the car. Amy went inside as Steve drove away in the yellow car. Amy went to her room, changed into her nightgown, towel dried her hair, and then knelt beside her bed. There was nowhere else to go with all the hurt she felt inside.
She prayed with all her heart for comfort. At first she just felt sick even trying to say the words, but a feeling of peace started in a little corner, building and building until she felt the warmth of a blazing fire.
As Amy fell asleep that night, outside a terrible storm was raging. The lightning cracked across the sky, the thunder boomed, the dark clouds could be seen hovering over the neighborhood around the house at 402 Cinnamon Street. But through the raging storm, Amy slept peacefully in the midst of pleasant dreams. No matter what transpired in the ominous sky, for Amy and Steve this particular storm was over.

Once while I was visiting a class of young women, the teacher asked the class to write their top-10 goals in life. Then she asked them to share what they had written. Abby, who had recently turned 12, was sitting next to me. This was Abby’s list:
Go to college.
Become an interior designer.
Go on a mission to India.
Get married in the temple to a returned missionary.
Have five kids and a home.
Send my kids on missions and to college.
Become a “cookie-giving” grandma.
Spoil the grandchildren.
Learn more about the gospel and enjoy life.
Return to live with Heavenly Father.
Abby had a vision of the plan Heavenly Father has for all of us. When your path is focused on that most important goal of returning to Heavenly Father, you will get there!

On the way home from school, Ben ran to catch up with his older brother, Rick. Rick didn’t seem to be in a good mood, but Ben had something important to ask him that just couldn’t wait.
“Hey, Rick,” Ben panted, “are you going to enter the school spirit contest this year?”
“I have no choice,” Rick said without slowing down. “Everyone has to enter.”
Ben was surprised. “But you probably can’t win it again.” Ben swallowed hard and then spoke quickly. “Maybe you’d like to help somebody else win.”
“Like who?” Rick asked.
“Like me.” Ben smiled weakly.
“You? Bashful Benny?”
“After I win, nobody will call me Bashful Benny anymore. They’ll know I’m somebody special, a real winner, like—well, like you.”
Rick’s expression softened. “Think so, huh? I’m sorry I can’t help you. It’s against the rules.”
“I didn’t mean for you to do anything. I just need to borrow your camera for a few days. Please?” Ben pleaded.
“You can use my camera for one week if I can cut up all your old magazines for my poster,” Rick said.
“Deal!” Ben sprinted home before Rick could change his mind.
Ben worked hard on his project. For the contest, students had to get involved in school activities and make posters to promote school spirit. Ben decided to take photographs of different school activities and mount them on poster board. He had just finished writing carefully under the last picture when Rick came into his room and looked over his shoulder.
“You spelled a word wrong,” Rick said.
“I did not! Mom checked all my spelling. You’re just jealous of my poster.”
“I’m not jealous,” Rick said. “I won last year. You’re the one who should be worried.”
“What do you mean?” Ben asked.
“What are you going to do when you have to get up in front of all those people and accept your award?” Rick asked.
Ben thought about that. “I won’t have to give a speech, will I?”
“You never know.” Rick shrugged and turned to leave.
“Rick,” Ben said, “were you ever scared to win?”
“Of course not,” Rick said quickly. “Well, maybe a little.” He sat down on Ben’s bed. “Do you know what helped me last year?”
“What?” Ben scrambled up next to him.
“My friend, Pete—remember him?”
Ben nodded. “The one who moved away?”
“Yeah. Pete started clapping and yelling so loud when they announced my name that it made me laugh. And I forgot my fear.” Rick smiled, remembering it. “Tell you what, Ben. When you win the contest I’ll clap really loud, and maybe even whistle.”
Finally the day came when the whole school assembled to find out who would win the school spirit contest. The room was so crowded that Ben had to look for a long time before he saw his brother. Rick grinned and gave him a thumbs-up sign. Ben tried to smile back, but he was too nervous.
The room fell silent as the principal stood up to speak. “I am so proud of each of you for the hard work you’ve put into your projects this year.” Her words echoed throughout the gymnasium. “Normally we would not award the prize to the same person two years in a row,” she explained, “but we have an exceptionally talented student at our school.” Ben’s mouth dropped open as the principal announced that Rick had won. Again. At first Ben wasn’t sure he’d heard right. Then he thought it must be a mistake. The principal had probably confused him with his brother.
Ben looked up hopefully at the principal, but she wasn’t looking at him. She was looking across the room to where a group of boys was shoving Rick forward. But Rick wouldn’t move. He shook his head, looking disappointed and a little frightened.
When Ben saw this, he realized his brother really loved him. Rick had wanted Ben to win. Ben could also see that Rick was scared. He couldn’t face the crowd alone. Ben wished that Rick’s friend, Pete, was still there to help him.
Then Ben had a rather frightening idea. He wasn’t sure he could do it, but he knew he had to try, for Rick’s sake. Ben closed his eyes. Then, finding his courage, he leaped to his feet and started to clap.
“Way to go, Rick!” he yelled as loud as he could.
Some of Ben’s classmates tugged on his shirt and whispered, “What are you doing? Sit down.”
“That’s my brother!” Ben whispered back. Many students stood up and clapped with him. Others patted Ben on the back and said, “You’re pretty brave, Ben!” Soon the whole room was filled with applause and cheering.
Slowly Rick walked to the podium to accept the award. He looked at Ben and smiled gratefully. Even though Ben had lost the contest, he felt happy. He knew he was a winner. Nobody could call him Bashful Benny anymore.

When I heard about his passing, though, I couldn’t help but be sad and frustrated that my grandfather hadn’t been baptized in this life. So when my sister suggested a year later that we go to the temple and do ordinances for my grandfather, I had mixed feelings. Why would it matter now if he hadn’t accepted it when it was right here for him?
But I prayed about doing my grandfather’s work in the temple, and my heart softened. I knew I needed to do it. When I went to the temple and was baptized for him, something happened to me in that font: I felt the Spirit come into my heart along with a sense of forgiveness and love that I didn’t know I had for my grandfather. My heart was truly turned to him. I felt the truth of the promise that “he shall plant in the hearts of the children the promises made to the fathers, and the hearts of the children shall turn to their fathers” (Doctrine and Covenants 2:2). It was real.

During my first Christmas as a bishop, a single mother with three small children lived in our ward. This young woman had a strong testimony of the gospel and lived it to the best of her ability. She cleaned homes and did sewing to try to earn enough money, but often she could not.
Raising three young boys by herself was a real challenge. These active, energetic youngsters always seemed to be in some sort of trouble. I remember removing them from more than one tussle with their classmates.
Several good people helped this struggling family. I’ll never forget the brother who came into my office one Sunday just a couple of weeks before Christmas, asking to speak with me privately. He was concerned about the young mother and her family and wanted to do something for them. Would I accept his contribution and use it in the best way I could to help them? As we spoke, I hardly noticed his small son, who remained in the office with us.
The man explained that he did not know what the woman and her family needed. He just wanted to help and felt that I would be inspired to know what to do. He then entrusted to me quite a remarkable sum of money—not remarkable in amount, but remarkable relative to his modest income, of which I was well aware, I knew that this gift meant a sacrifice of his own family’s Christmas, at least in the temporal sense. Seeing the resolve shining in his eyes, I protested only gently. Then I cleared my tightening throat, thanked him for his unselfish gift, and promised to do my best to make Christmas a little brighter for the young mother and her sons.
I also agreed to honor his request that his name be kept secret.
The story might well end here and still be memorable. But the event that has kept this experience in my mind had yet to occur. It wasn’t the way I was able to help the family with the contribution—although that turned out to be most gratifying—but rather what took place in my office one week following that brother’s visit.
It was just a few days before Christmas, and I was between tithing-settlement interviews when I heard a soft knock on the office door. I opened it to see, standing quite alone, the six-year-old boy who had sat quietly in my office while his dad and I had talked the Sunday before.
He asked politely if he could talk to me for just a minute. After we walked into the office—which I think is always a bit of a frightening experience for youngsters—I invited him to sit down. He fidgeted with something in his pocket and, after some struggle, pulled out three small coins and laid them on my desk. He apologized that the coins were all the money he had, and that they were a little old and dirty, since he had had them quite a while. The money, he explained, was for me to use to help his three friends, like his dad was helping their mother. As my heart swelled and my eyes became moist, he added that he felt I would know best how to divide his treasure among his friends and that he was sorry that one of the coins was of less value than the other two, so they could not be divided evenly between the three boys.
What lessons originated in that moment! A father’s unselfish example, the trust of a small boy in his bishop, and the humble, Christlike act of a child obviously without guile. Only a few weeks before I had pulled this boy from a quarrel with the boys who would soon be receiving his forgiving love and charity.
I hugged him, partly to cover my now obvious tears and mostly to tell him how much I appreciated him and how much I knew his Father in Heaven loved him. I then walked him to the door, shook his hand, and assured him that I would do the best I could to help his friends this Christmas with his generous gift. As I turned to go back into my office, he whispered after me, “And remember, Bishop, don’t ever tell anyone it was me.”
Well, I never have told anyone until now, my young friend. I hope relating our special story in this way is alright so that others might feel a bit of the quiet Christmas spirit of love and charity that we felt that day.

Ethan sat in sharing time and looked on as his best friend, Sam, bore his testimony. His friend Sarah was waiting her turn. Sam talked about a service project he did. He said he had a testimony of service. Sarah bore her testimony about families. Ethan’s teacher also bore his testimony. He talked about temple work. All of them testified that the Church is true. It seemed like everyone except Ethan had a testimony.
“What do I have a testimony of?” Ethan wondered.
He thought back a few years to when he and his friends were baptized. His Primary teacher, Sister Calder, had given a talk on the Holy Ghost.
“The Holy Ghost can give you a burning feeling in your heart. He can help you know what is true,” she’d said. “And that’s how you get a testimony of what you believe.”
Ethan tried to do what was right so he could feel the Holy Ghost. He read the scriptures and prayed. But he had never had that burning feeling people talked about. Did that mean he didn’t have a testimony?
This question stuck in Ethan’s head all the next day. He was still thinking about it when he and Sam were skateboarding after school. He wondered how he could ask Sam about it.
“Hey, Sam,” Ethan finally asked, “were you scared when you bore your testimony yesterday?”
Sam hopped off his board and walked to the grass. “Not really,” he said, sitting down. “I’ve shared my testimony at family night before.”
Ethan joined him and set his skateboard on his lap. “But how did you know you had a testimony?”
“Well, I prayed and I felt good about it.”
Ethan slowly nodded and spun a wheel with his hand. Somehow he wanted to feel that way too.
That night, when the house was dark and quiet, Ethan knelt by his bed to pray.
“Heavenly Father,” he said, “please help me have a testimony. Help me know that the Church is true. That Joseph Smith was a prophet. And that the Book of Mormon is true.”
In the middle of his prayer, Ethan stopped. He thought for a minute. Then he asked himself, “Well, do I know anything yet?”
And then a quiet, peaceful feeling came over him. It wasn’t a powerful burning feeling. But Ethan knew, that was the Holy Ghost.
A thought came into Ethan’s mind: “I know that I know.” And as he thought about it, he realized he had felt this peaceful feeling before.
Whenever he read the Book of Mormon, it felt good and right. Now he knew that feeling was the Holy Ghost testifying to him. When he went to church and it felt good and right to be there, that was the Holy Ghost too. He had already been getting a testimony!
He didn’t need to know everything right now. But he did know that the Holy Ghost was real and could help him keep building his testimony.
Ethan began to pray again. But this time it was to say thank you.