Gospel Story Finder

For a first-grade class project we were asked to dress up a paper bear to look like someone we want to be when we get older. I decided to dress my bear as a missionary. My mom helped me cut out a white shirt, vest, and pants. I glued them onto the bear. My dad made me a missionary nametag. I wrote a few sentences about how education would help me become what I had dressed my bear as. I wrote that education would help me learn to read, write, and even learn a new language. We had a teddy bear parade for all the first-grade children and their parents. I do plan to be a missionary.

One morning during the conference, nearby Seabrook Beach was covered with wave after wave of teens in yellow shirts. They were youth conference participants dressed in Beacon-in-the-Night T-shirts who spent the morning collecting trash.
“People would approach us and ask if we were at some sort of a summer camp,” says Alex Morales. “It was great to be able to tell them that we are members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. It was cool to be with other youth from the Church, showing people that service is an important part of what we’re all about.”
“I remember looking down the beach and seeing all those yellow shirts,” says Bethany Klick. “We were excited to be there, and I noticed that our attitude rubbed off on other people, too. When they saw what we were doing, they smiled and seemed to enjoy the day just a little bit more.”
Following the cleanup, youth and leaders ended the day at the beach with a sandcastle building competition.

On a recent assignment in the Philippines, I met Karen, who shared an experience she had as a Laurel while studying for a bachelor’s degree in hotel and restaurant management. A teacher required that every student learn to make and taste the variety of drinks that would be served in their restaurants. Some of the drinks contained alcohol, and Karen knew it was against the Lord’s commandments for her to taste them. In the face of serious consequences, Karen found courage to arise and shine forth, and she did not partake of the drinks.

Karen explained: “My teacher approached me and asked me why I was not drinking. He said, ‘Miss Karen, how will you know the flavor and pass this important subject if you do not at least taste the drinks?’ I told him that I am a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and as members, we do not drink things that are harmful to us. Whatever he expected of me, even if it meant receiving a failing grade, I would understand, but I would not fail to live my personal standards.”

Weeks passed, and nothing more was said about that day. At the end of the semester, Karen knew her final grade would reflect her refusal to taste the drinks. She hesitated to look at her grade, but when she did, she discovered that she had received the highest grade in the class.

She said: “I learned through this experience that God … will surely bless us when we follow Him. I also know that even if I had received a failing grade, I would not regret what I had done. I know that I will never fail in the Lord’s sight when I choose to do what I know to be the right thing.”15

Star tugged at her clothes. It still felt strange to wear a dress to church. In her old church the girls wore pants or shorts on Sunday. But not in her new church. She and her mom had just been baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Star sighed as she looked in the mirror. She was excited to go to church for the first time as an official member, but she was also nervous. Before, she stayed with Mom the whole time at church. But this time she was going to Primary.
Star blinked at her reflection. What if she didn’t fit in? What if the other kids didn’t like her?
“Star? Are you ready?” Mom called.
Star walked downstairs. “Do I look OK?” she asked.
Mom smiled. “You look beautiful.”
Star made a face. “You have to say that. You’re my mom.”
“You’re right. I do have to say that. Because it’s true.”
Star gave a small smile. Mom always had a way of making her feel better. But there were still butterflies in her stomach. What if none of the other kids wanted to talk to her? She had friends at school, but they weren’t members of her new church. She wished she had even one friend going to church with her.
“I just remembered something I have to do,” she told Mom.
She ran back upstairs and knelt by her bed. “Dear Heavenly Father, please help me make friends. I believe what the missionaries taught is true, but I’m scared.”
Star stayed on her knees and listened. After a moment she felt a sweet, peaceful feeling, and she wasn’t so nervous anymore.
At church Star and Mom sat by a family with three little girls. The parents introduced themselves and started talking with Mom before the meeting started. Star helped the girls color a picture of Jesus.
Bishop Andrews made his way toward them. “Sister Cunningham! Star! It’s good to see you today.” He gave them each a warm smile and a handshake. Star had forgotten how nice everyone at church was. Maybe she would make a friend after all.
After sacrament meeting Star went to the Primary room. She glanced at the other kids nervously as she sat down. They were talking to each other and didn’t seem to notice her. Star’s heart sank. She’d be on her own after all.
Just then a girl Star’s age walked into the room. She looks nervous too, Star thought. I could go talk to her.
Star took a deep breath, then walked over to the girl. “Hi, my name is Star. I’m new. Would you like to sit by me?” Star held her breath. Would the girl want to be her friend?
The girl’s mouth turned up in a half-smile. “I’m Sarah. I’m new too. My family just moved here from Ontario.”
“My mom and I were baptized two weeks ago,” Star said. “I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do.”
Sarah’s smile grew wider. “We’ll figure it out together.”
Star and Sarah sat with their class. Sometimes Star caught Sarah’s eye and smiled. Sarah smiled back. Star felt calm and happy. She knew that Heavenly Father had answered her prayer and helped her find a friend.
In class the teacher asked Star and Sarah to introduce themselves.
Think About It
How can you help someone who’s new at church feel welcome?
Star stood up. “My name is Star Cunningham. My mom and I were baptized two weeks ago.” She paused, and a smile grew on her face as she looked at her new friend. “And this is my friend Sarah.”

Dixie and her friend Jimmy struggled up the steep bank of the ravine. In one arm she carried a large black cat with an orange spot on its nose. “I’m going to call her Desdemona,” she panted, scrambling up onto the sidewalk.

Jimmy scrambled up beside her. “That’s a strange name,” he said.

“My mother told me about a beautiful cat she once had named that.” Dixie stroked the cat as it nestled comfortably in her arm. “Maybe she’ll feel more like letting me keep her if we call her Desdemona.”

“Maybe,” Jimmy said. Then he frowned and added, “I didn’t think that they allowed pets in your condo.”

“Well, not dogs, but a few people have cats.”

“She may belong to someone,” Jimmy said, warning his friend to not become too attached to the cat. “She doesn’t look starved.”

“Bobby Feltz told me that she sleeps in an abandoned shed and eats mice and squirrels in the ravine.”

“Maybe,” Jimmy said. “Maybe not.”

“Oh, oh. They’re out on the porch.” Dixie stopped abruptly as they approached a large Victorian house. Several elderly people sat in rocking chairs on the large front porch. “I hate going past here.”

“They don’t bother me,” Jimmy said. “My grandpa’s in a rest home.”

“Oh.” Dixie didn’t know what to say to that.

They were in front of the home now, and one man had come down the front walk and stood leaning on a cane, watching them. “You there,” he said. His voice was hoarse and raspy, but commanding.

Jimmy stopped. “What do you want?” he asked.

“I want to see that cat,” the old man said, pointing at Desdemona. “Bring it up onto the porch. The ladies want to see it too.”

Jimmy turned toward the house, and Dixie followed reluctantly.

“What’s your name?” Jimmy asked as they climbed the wooden stairs.

“Colonel Stayner.” The old man turned to the women. “Ladies,” he said, “look what these fine young people have brought for you to see. Children, this is Miss Bessie.” Dixie and Jimmy nodded, but Miss Bessie only looked at her hands. Dixie thought that the old lady’s face was the saddest face that she’d ever seen. “This is Mrs. Jones,” Colonel Stayner went on, nodding toward a lady who was staring into space. She looks grumpy and cross, Dixie thought. “And this is Sarah.” Sarah smiled kindly at them. “Look at this nice cat,” the colonel said.

Miss Bessie lifted her head very slowly and looked at the cat in Dixie’s arms. She slowly raised her hands toward Desdemona.

“Let her hold the cat,” the colonel rasped.

Dixie reluctantly placed the cat in the lap of the sad old woman, and the cat promptly curled up and began to purr. Miss Bessie slowly stroked the cat with her wrinkled hand.

“What a lovely cat,” said the lady introduced only as Sarah. “What’s her name?”

“Desdemona,” Dixie answered.

“Desdemona,” Sarah repeated. “That’s a beautiful name, but what made you think of it?”

“My mother had a cat named Desdemona, so I named her that.”

Sarah smiled. “What a thoughtful girl you are,” she said.

“I want to hold the cat!”

Dixie was startled by Mrs. Jones’s loud voice.

“After Miss Bessie,” the colonel said kindly.

“After Bessie, after Bessie!” Mrs. Jones shrilled. “She gets everything first.”

A moment later the colonel picked the cat up off Miss Bessie’s lap and put it on Mrs. Jones’s lap. Desdemona settled comfortably again.

“She’s a real people cat,” the colonel said.

Dixie nodded. Desdemona seemed to love all the attention given her by the old people.

Finally the colonel picked Desdemona up quickly from Mrs. Jones’s lap. She grabbed at the cat but missed, and the colonel put her back in Dixie’s arms.

“Please may I pet her a minute before you go?” Sarah asked. When Dixie stepped closer to the old lady, she stroked the gleaming black fur with her tiny hand. “Desdemona,” she said slowly. “You can call her Desi for short.”

“Yeah,” Dixie said. It really wasn’t a bad idea.

“We have to go now—it’s dinnertime,” Jimmy said.

“You young people come again,” the colonel commanded.

“And bring Desi,” Sarah said.

The children clomped down the steps. They didn’t say anything until they were well past the old house.

“Were they really so bad?” Jimmy finally asked.

“Well, Sarah and the colonel seemed pretty normal, but Mrs. Jones kind of gave me the creeps.”

When Dixie reached home, her mother asked, “Where did you get that cat?”

“In the ravine. She doesn’t belong to anyone—I checked. Her name is Desdemona. Isn’t she beautiful?” Dixie set Desdemona down on the floor, and the cat walked calmly around, her tail high and regal. She rubbed against Mother’s legs.

Mother smiled. “My Desdemona was pussy-willow gray.”

“May I keep her, Mom—please?”

“Even if she doesn’t belong to anyone else—she’ll still need shots and things, and that all costs money.”

“I could pay at least part of it out of my own money,” Dixie pleaded.

“Well, Dixie, I guess you can keep the cat if no owner shows up, but she’ll have to have a box and be confined in the apartment all day while I’m at work and you’re at school. She may not like that.”

In school the next day, Dixie kept thinking about Desi’s being alone in the apartment all day. “A people cat,” the colonel had said, and it was true. Desi liked everybody. And she liked lots of attention.

When Dixie unlocked the door to her apartment that afternoon, Desi streaked past her and down the steps, raced across the lawn and up the trunk of a sycamore tree, and sat on a branch, swishing her tail wildly back and forth.

“Come on, Desi,” Dixie called. “Come here.”

Finally the cat ran down the tree trunk, across the lawn, up the steps, and into the apartment. Dixie followed and gathered Desdemona into her arms. “Was it awful being in here alone all day? It was nice to have you to come home to, but you must have been lonely.”

“A people cat.” The colonel’s voice echoed in Dixie’s mind, and she remembered Miss Bessie’s scrawny hands raised toward the cat. “What a thoughtful girl you are,” Sarah had said. And Mrs. Jones: “I want the cat!”

Dixie hadn’t realized that old people loved animals too. Still holding Desi, Dixie headed for the rest home. The colonel and Sarah waved as she approached.

“It’s the girl with the cat,” Sarah said to Miss Bessie, who raised her head slightly.

Dixie climbed the steps and put Desi into Mrs. Jones’s lap. Mrs. Jones still looked off across the lawn, but her hand came down gently on Desi’s warm back. Desi purred loudly.

“You came back,” the colonel stated. “Mrs. Jones will keep the cat forever if you don’t take it from her. She’s selfish.”

Mrs. Jones stopped stroking the cat and turned her face slowly toward Dixie. “Bessie’s turn,” she said, putting the cat in Miss Bessie’s lap, where Desie again purred contentedly.

Almost before she thought, Dixie asked, “Could you keep her here?”

Miss Bessie stopped petting the cat and raised her head, her face brightening a little.

“She’s your cat,” the colonel said.

“I just found her. And I have to leave her alone all day. She’d be happier here.”

The colonel limped toward the door and called, “Mrs. Samson!”

A large woman in a white uniform came quickly and stood in the doorway.

“This fine young lady wants to give us this beautiful cat named Desdemona,” he said.

Mrs. Samson regarded Desdemona curled up in Miss Bessie’s lap. “We had a cat here once several years ago. This one looks like a civilized sort. Why not?”

Sarah smiled her sweet smile. “Thank you, Mrs. Samson,” she said. Then she turned to Dixie. “You are the nicest girl I’ve met in some time. Come by often and see Desi—and us.”

“I will,” Dixie said.

Walking home, she kept picturing the happiness on the old people’s faces when Mrs. Samson had said that the cat could stay. Miss Bessie had even smiled slightly. Tomorrow, Dixie thought, maybe Jimmy will go with me to visit them all.

“Sister Olsen, we bless you with patience.” Those weren’t the words I wanted to hear. I had been praying all day to have enough faith to be healed. In the blessing, I was promised that I’d eventually get better, but I was assured that it would take time.
I sighed as the elders finished giving me a blessing. I had only three months left on my mission, and I wanted to be out with the people—not sick in bed. I wanted to accept the Lord’s will, but I honestly didn’t understand why He would make me wait.
It took me several days to come to terms with my situation. I had resigned myself to the fact that I wasn’t going to get better right away, but in the meantime I was miserable—until one day I turned to the scriptures. Eventually, I found the peace I needed in James 1. Joseph Smith found his answer in verse 5—mine was in verses 2–4:
“My brethren, count it all joy when ye fall into divers temptations [the Joseph Smith Translation changes “divers temptations” to “many afflictions”];
“Knowing this, that the trying of your faith worketh patience.
“But let patience have her perfect work, that ye may be perfect and entire, wanting nothing.”
As I read those verses, I can’t say that I was suddenly able to “count it all joy” that I was sick, but I did learn some things that helped me feel less miserable about my situation.
The fact that I hadn’t been immediately healed didn’t mean that I didn’t have faith, and it didn’t mean the Lord didn’t care about my situation—quite the opposite, actually. The Lord cared enough to test my faith by not healing me right away so that I could develop patience.
I realized that the Lord wanted me to develop patience because it’s a vital characteristic. Patience refines us. Patience helps us become more like the Savior. I did have important responsibilities as a full-time missionary, but I realized that when it comes to serving the Lord, He cares just as much about the instrument as He does the task at hand. The Lord was teaching me patience so that I could be a better and more effective missionary in those final months of my mission.
My promised blessing of healing did eventually come, but my lesson in patience didn’t end there. Many blessings in our lives—marriage, employment, children, physical or emotional health, answers to prayers—don’t come right when we expect them to. When you experience delayed answers to prayers, and you likely have or will, commit to patience by trusting in the Lord and His timing. It will bless your life.

“During the St. Petersburg concert,” said James B. Kennard, “I kept making eye contact with a man in the audience. I found him afterwards and invited him to the fireside the next evening. He and his two sons came to the fireside and then invited us to their apartment, where we held a gospel discussion. They happily agreed to read the Book of Mormon and visit with the missionaries. At the evening’s end, our wives embraced and hugged each other.”

On a winter day not long after her baptism, Renee learned firsthand about the protection of the Holy Ghost. As she walked out the doors of her school, she heard a voice say, “Stop!” She looked around. She couldn’t see anyone, so she started forward again. Once again, the voice said, “Stop!” She obeyed.
As soon as she stopped, a pile of snow and big chunks of ice slid off the roof of the building and landed right in front of her! Her heart beat fast as she looked at the snow. If those ice chunks had hit her head, she could have been badly hurt.
Renee knew the Holy Ghost had warned her to stop. That night in her prayers, she thanked Heavenly Father for the gift of the Holy Ghost.

Following President Hinckley’s encouragement for us to hold family home evenings, the next article in the Ensign was entitled “The Calling I Didn’t Know I Had”:
“Family home evening was challenging when our children were young. My husband and I took seriously the latter-day prophets’ counsel to hold regular family home evenings, but between our Church callings and other responsibilities, we too often found there wasn’t time or energy to plan an effective, loving family home evening when Monday night came around.
“While visiting Primary one Sunday I noticed how captivated the children were by the stories, visual aids, and brief but effective activities planned for sharing time and music time. I was also absorbed in learning from the well-prepared efforts the Primary counselor and music leader put into their callings. ‘They obviously spent adequate time mingled with lots of love,’ I thought. ‘They do wonderful things in their callings.’
“Just then a thought came to mind: ‘Family home evening is one of your callings. In fact, it is part of your most important calling—motherhood!’ I reflected on that insight. ‘If I can make the time to magnify my callings as newsletter editor and visiting teacher, I can surely magnify my family home evening calling.’”

Within weeks of my call to the Twelve in October 2015, I had the opportunity to get an up-close glimpse of the past professional life of President Nelson. I was invited to attend an event where he was honored as a pioneer of heart surgery. When I entered the venue, I was astonished to see the large number of professionals there to honor and recognize the work that President Nelson had done many years before as a medical doctor and surgeon.
That evening numerous professionals stood and expressed their respect and admiration for President Nelson’s outstanding contribution to his medical specialty. As impressive as each of the presenters was in describing President Nelson’s various accomplishments, I was even more spellbound by a conversation I struck up with a man seated next to me. He did not know who I was, but he knew President Nelson as Dr. Nelson, director of the thoracic surgery residency program at a medical school in 1955.
This man was President Nelson’s former student. He shared many memories. Most interesting was his description of President Nelson’s teaching style, which, he said, brought with it a large measure of notoriety. He explained that much of the teaching of heart surgery residents was conducted in the operating room. There, residents observed and performed surgery under faculty supervision, as a laboratory classroom. He shared that the operating room environment under certain faculty surgeons was chaotic, competitive, pressure filled, and even ego driven. This man described it as a difficult environment, sometimes even demeaning. As a result, resident surgeons even felt their careers were often on the line.
He then explained the unique environment found in President Nelson’s operating room. It was peaceful, calm, and dignified. Residents were treated with deep respect. However, following the demonstration of a procedure, Dr. Nelson expected the highest standard of performance from each of the residents. This man further described how the best patient outcomes and the best surgeons came out of Dr. Nelson’s operating room.

It was wartime. We said farewell to our loved ones, and walked up the loading ramp onto the Sea Ray, a merchant marine ship docked at San Francisco, California. It would take forty-five days to reach our destination.
Of the 2,500 men who crowded on the ship, at least three of us were Latter-day Saints. More than anything, we wanted to meet together in our own sacrament meeting.
We asked the ship’s chaplain if we could use the ship’s chapel for our meetings. We were surprised when he said he didn’t have the time to conduct a special meeting for so few. We would have to attend one of he meetings held for other faiths.
We explained that we would conduct our own meetings, and that we only needed the chapel at a time when it wasn’t in use. He insisted that there were not enough of us to make it worthwhile to occupy the chapel. We responded that it would be worthwhile to the three of us.
We continued to ask. He continued to say no. Finally he left, emphatic that we would have to attend one of the services already scheduled.
So we began looking for a secluded spot on that crowded ship. Every available space on deck was occupied by soldiers who preferred the fresh ocean air to the crowded, stuffy quarters below the deck. After searching the ship from end to end, we decided the only way we could meet was to sit cross-legged on the cramped area near the ship’s smokestacks and study the scriptures together. We wouldn’t be able to enjoy the privacy and freedom that would allow us to partake of the sacrament and to sing and pray, but at least we could be together.
While we were discussing our plans, a voice over the ship’s loudspeaker blared, “There will be a church service held at six o’clock in room 45 for all Latter-day Saints.” We were amazed, yet pleased that we had been granted a place to meet, and we wondered what had changed the chaplain’s mind.
It was almost six o’clock, so we hurried to the stairs and climbed down into what had been a food-storage area. The large room was cluttered with long, thick shipping planks and small wooden barrels. There was no furniture anywhere. But we were excited to have a place where we could partake of the sacrament, sing, and pray.
We began to make benches of the planks and barrels. Before long, young men dressed in combat clothing began to come down the stairs, asking if this was the place for the Latter-day Saint meeting. They helped us, and soon the room looked organized and ready for services. When we counted, there were thirty of us for our first meeting in what was to become our special room below decks.
Using the songs and sacrament prayers in our servicemen’s edition of Principles of the Gospel, we made all the arrangements for a special sacrament meeting. We felt the Spirit of the Lord rest upon us as we listened to impromptu talks and instructions. Our hearts were touched as we were drawn together in our feelings of love for our Heavenly Father and his Beloved Son. Memories of our families and homes became vivid and warm.
We lingered after the meeting, not wanting our time together to end. It was the nearest thing to home we would experience while at sea. All week, we looked forward to the next service. These gatherings became bright spots that carried us through some discouraging days.
Our services continued Sunday after Sunday. Unknown to us, the meetings had attracted the attention and curiosity of the chaplain. When we gathered on fast Sunday in January 1945, we were astonished to see our ship’s chaplain descend the stairs into our room. He asked if he might attend our services, and we made him welcome.
Men dressed for combat bowed in reverent prayer, sang hymns, blessed the sacrament, and partook of those emblems with humility and sincerity. After the sacrament, one by one, the men stood and bore testimonies that were filled with gratitude for the teachings of good parents, for homes where love and fun and happiness were a part of growing up, for the restoration of the gospel of Jesus Christ to the earth, and for living prophets.
After the meeting, the chaplain approached and asked if he could speak to us during our next service. We granted his request without hesitation.
Sunday came, and we turned the time over to the chaplain after administering the sacrament. He stood before us as we sat upon our plank and barrel benches. “I don’t know who you are or what you’re doing here, but whoever you are and whatever your mission, please continue,” he said. “In all the years I studied to become a minister, in all the services I have conducted, in all the church councils I have attended—I have never been lifted spiritually as I was in your meeting last Sunday. Please continue to set the example for others that you have set here.”
We were impressed by the obvious change that had taken place in his heart and mind concerning Latter-day Saints.
We continued to meet in our sacred room each Sunday until we reached our destination and we were scattered by our various assignments. Since then I have often wondered about the chaplain and where he is today. I am thankful to him for providing us with a place to meet. And I am grateful for those special meetings that we held in a room “below decks.”

“We would go down,” Elder Hockett said, “usually on a very cold Saturday morning, and work all day picking pecans in an elderly couple’s 12-acre orchard near Atlanta, Georgia. We’d pick all the pecans we could, sell them, then donate the money to the welfare program. And I remember as a priest, working in the regional welfare cannery, cooking chili for eight or nine hours. And I always remember the father-and-son campouts. My brother and I didn’t have a father, and some of the brethren would always say, ‘Can I be your father?’ or ‘I’ll be your father again this year if you want me to.’ We never felt left out in our ward.”

Matthew Holland was born in 1966, Mary Alice in 1969, and David Frank (who recently returned after serving a mission in the Czech Republic) in 1973. Matt, now a doctoral student at Duke University, recalls that spiritual training was a part of everyday family life. On an outing when he was about 12 years old, he had his first experience with feeling personal revelation.

Returning from an exploring trip on backcountry roads, he and his father came to an unexpected fork and could not remember which road to take. It was late in the day, and they knew darkness would be enveloping them in unfamiliar territory. Seizing a teaching moment, Jeffrey Holland asked his son to pray for direction. Afterward, he asked his son what he felt, and Matt replied that he felt strongly they should go to the left. Replying that he had felt the same way, his father turned the truck to the left. Ten minutes later, they came to a dead end and returned to take the other route.

Matt thought for a time and then asked his father why they would get that kind of answer to a prayer. His father replied that with the sun going down, that was undoubtedly the quickest way for the Lord to give them information—in this case, which one was the wrong road. Now, though the other road might not be familiar and could be difficult in places, they could proceed confidently, knowing it was the right one, even in the dark.

Anna’s husband had died and she had a desire to take her little daughter Albertina to be with the Saints in America. Rasmus had gone already, and a number of their friends were preparing to leave too. Anna borrowed enough money for both their fares. And after a journey by boat and by train to Hamburg, Germany, Anna and Albertina boarded the sailing ship Humbolt for the trip across the ocean.
For more than six weeks they lived aboard ship in crowded quarters, where food was scarce and storms were plentiful. Finally, the company arrived in New York harbor. Anna was grateful for their safe arrival, but her little girl was crying for food and there was no money left to purchase any. In despair she took AIbertina into a nearby warehouse where they both knelt behind some large barrels and asked God to supply their needs. Stepping outside, they met the man who had been in charge of the company of emigrants. He explained that he had charged too much for Albertina’s fare and refunded part of the money—enough to provide food for the remainder of their journey!

I was given an assignment to prepare an entry for my school’s social studies fair. The title of my project was “How Does The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints Teach Its Youth to Live Their Religion?” I interviewed 40 members of my ward. Then I charted their answers and wrote my research paper. I also narrated a slide show that showed many of our church activities.
My project won “Best in Fair” at the school, county, and regional levels. I did not win at the state level, but that was OK because my project taught people how the Church works. I even got to teach the judges about the Church. I think it was a good missionary project.

Tashia Wood, from the Lazona Ward, was paired with a 10-year-old girl named Angelica. Tashia, 16, was nervous at first, but soon discovered that she had more in common with Angelica than she thought. “It was really cool because they were just like us,” Tashia said. “They just wanted to have fun.”
After Angelica won a prize at one game, she gave it to Tashia and said, “I want you to have this because I don’t want you to forget me.”
“She wasn’t selfish at all,” Tashia said. “She taught me not to take for granted what I have, because I have a lot of stuff and I’m usually whining about things I can’t have. Instead she gave to me, and she hardly has anything. She usually doesn’t even have a home to go to at night.”

Jennifer Zahne and her sons
“Let us run with patience the race that is set before us” (Hebrews 12:1).
Derrick and Jenn Zahne of Shiprock also faced a decision about seeking worldly success or strengthening the Navajo. For four years they had lived in Phoenix, Arizona. When Derrick, an accountant, had been unemployed for nine months, their prayers became more and more fervent: “What wouldst Thou have us do?” Even when Derrick found another job, something still didn’t feel quite right.
“We came home to Shiprock, which is Jennifer’s home, to visit for the weekend,” Derrick recalls. “In the parking lot after church, I looked over and she was crying. I knew instantly that she had received a prompting to move home. At first, I was upset. But then I thought about our prayers, and I knew we should move.”
They arrived in Shiprock wondering what they should do. The Zahnes decided to become involved in their community as well as in the Church. “We spend a lot of time with dog rescues on the Navajo Nation,” Derrick says. “And we help with community sports—baseball, basketball, and, most of all, cross-country because Jennifer and I are ultra-runners. We run races longer than 30 miles (48 km). We teach kids, ‘Hey, running can be fun. You just have to work at it.’ We try to build people and set an example.”
Their involvement naturally creates missionary opportunities. “When our boys miss practice on Sunday,” Derrick says, “their buddies ask, ‘How come you weren’t there?’ ‘Because it’s the Sabbath, and we go to church,’ they say. Same thing for Jennifer and me. A lot of our races are on Sundays, and our running friends ask, ‘Why weren’t you there?’ We’re having the same discussions as our boys.”
Derrick now works as chief financial officer for a construction company owned by the Navajo Nation. He is also bishop of the Shiprock Ward. “We’re building the ward too,” he says. “We’re trying to teach by example that ‘love your neighbor’ means all your neighbors. It means to do what we promised to do when we were baptized. It means to serve as Christ would serve.”

My friends and I take turns inviting a friend of ours to church. She really likes going to Primary. I thought it would be neat if my friend could be in the Primary sacrament meeting program. My mom talked with a counselor in the Primary presidency, and the presidency wrote a part for my friend. She worked hard to memorize her part, and her parents came to see her in the program. It was so neat to share this with her and see her family at church. Maybe one day I can go on a mission and share the gospel with lots of people.
Bailey S., age 10, Arizona

Brenna was crying. She sat in a barber’s chair, hair pulled back, her ponytail just moments away from being cut off. The hairdresser holding the scissors was crying. Those watching the scene were also in tears.
Snip! Brenna’s long hair, which had taken years to grow out, was gone. Her ponytail would now become a gift, a donation to an organization called Locks of Love. It would be combined with other donated hair and made into wigs for children who had lost their hair because of cancer treatment or who suffer from alopecia, a permanent hair-loss condition.

After two weeks of constructing carnival booths, baking cookies, and wrapping candy and prizes, the youth, of the Ventura California Stake were ready for their “Getting to Know You” session with retarded young people.
Nestled against low hills and surrounded by lush landscaping, the Camarillo State Hospital is home to over 200 severely retarded youths. These young people were greeted on a one-to-one basis by their “friends for a day” and led from booth to booth where they earned rewards for achievement, stopping now and then to sway and dance a little to a youth band.
In the afternoon, 150 more young Latter-day Saints joined the group, and it was not uncommon to see a patient, hand-in-hand with an LDS youth, being led around the crowd and personally introduced.
Randy Jabbs, in charge of one of the booths, commented, “This was a good project, a big learning process. It has let us know some of the problems to be coped with.”
Steve Moore, a young patient, said that the fish pond was his favorite booth and then summed it up for many others when he said, “Best of all, I found a friend!”