Gospel Story Finder

My father-in-law, Blaine Twitchell, one of the best men I have ever known, taught me a great lesson. Sister Rasband and I went to visit him when he was nearing the end of his mortal journey. As we entered his room, his bishop was just leaving. As we greeted the bishop, I thought, “What a nice bishop. He’s here doing his ministering to a faithful member of his ward.”
I mentioned to Blaine, “Wasn’t that nice of the bishop to come visit.”
Blaine looked at me and responded, “It was far more than that. I asked for the bishop to come because I wanted my temple recommend interview. I want to go recommended to the Lord.” And he did!

Paying lobola is meant to demonstrate how valued the bride is by both her family and the man she intends to marry. It symbolizes a union between families. So, throughout our lives, we had always strived to be respectful, successful, intelligent women. We wanted to make our family proud and pay them back for raising us well.
But in 2014, when we were both in early young adulthood, President Dieter F. Uchtdorf, then serving as Second Counselor in the First Presidency, came to speak to the members in Africa. We felt the pure love that God has for each of us as he spoke. However, during his talk, he taught that the tradition of lobola was no longer in line with the gospel. He discouraged the practice, saying: “The consequences of [bride price] are manifold and lead to behavior that is unbecoming for a member of the Church of Jesus Christ. … The Lord’s way is the real path to bring families together forever.”3
Our entire culture takes part in this custom, and we always expected to as well, so we were puzzled after his message.
Our first thoughts were humorous: “We did not work this hard to not get any cows!”
But truly, we were confused. If Heavenly Father didn’t want us to practice this tradition anymore, when most people in our culture refuse marriage without lobola, how could we follow Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ and respect our culture and family? The gospel already seemed peculiar to our family members who weren’t part of the Church, but now it was going to become even more difficult for them to understand.
How could we follow Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ and respect our culture and family?
When we saw some members leaving the Church because they couldn’t understand this teaching from a living prophet, we realized we needed to take our questions to Heavenly Father.
When we joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints as teenagers, we promised each other to always help each other stay close to the Lord, no matter what. We decided that wherever life took us, we would always hold on to our faith because we had seen how living the gospel leads to true joy.
So, when we were struggling to understand Elder Uchtdorf’s message, we remembered that promise. We were reminded of the importance of prioritizing a relationship with Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ and trusting in Their promised blessings. We both focused on deepening our faith in Them to rebuild that trust.
When I (Phindi) was praying to Heavenly Father for guidance about dating and marriage, I had a thought come to mind. An Apostle of the Lord was inspired to come to my country and talk about a tradition specific to our culture because Heavenly Father knows us individually. He knows what may be limiting us, and He has our best interests at heart when it comes to the covenant path.
Photograph of Durban South Africa Temple by Matt Reier
I sincerely pondered this truth and realized that Heavenly Father truly doesn’t want our eternal marriages and families to be limited by worldly traditions. Thinking about this helped me see how lobola is often being corrupted, especially when the steep price prevents some couples from getting married at all. I started to realize I could trust Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ more than my own knowledge, even if it was hard.
I (Samu) turned to the scriptures to find answers for my anxieties about the future. I have always believed that this gospel has room for questions and encourages us to gain knowledge and seek personal revelation. So I studied the Book of Mormon more than ever before. Over time, I felt the truths in that book confirming that I could trust the words of today’s prophets. I felt my heart changing and my relationship with Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ deepening.
As I continued to worry about what my future would look like in regard to dating and marriage, I remembered the truth given from Nephi that “the Lord giveth no commandments unto the children of men, save he shall prepare a way for them that they may accomplish the thing which he commandeth them” (1 Nephi 3:7). And with that, I know I can trust Him and have hope in His promises.
As President Russell M. Nelson has taught, life is about learning to “let God prevail”4 and to “overcome the world.”5 Knowing this helped us to gradually deepen our trust in Heavenly Father. Even if we don’t know how marriage will work out for us, we know that as we keep our covenants and focus on our relationship with Him and Jesus Christ, we will be blessed with miracles as we let go of this tradition.
Relationships and dating can be hard and uncertain for anyone seeking temple marriage anywhere in the world. When we are left longing for an eternal companion, the future can sometimes feel daunting. Trust us—we personally face so many unknowns about how life will work out when most of our culture won’t consider marriage without paying lobola.
But despite the odds against us (and whatever odds, cultural barriers, or challenges you may be facing regarding dating and marriage), we truly believe Heavenly Father will continue to help all of us navigate and fulfill our righteous desires as we put our trust in Him. When we focus on our relationship with Him and Jesus Christ, everything else about the future is less daunting and more full of hope.
Sometimes we feel like we are missing out, and we wonder if it would be easier to simply give in to the customs, expectations, and standards of the world. But when we ponder the blessings and the joy that the Lord has in store for us as disciples of Christ, we realize that we are not missing out at all. We are in the hands of a loving Father in Heaven, who will guide us to unimaginable blessings.
In the meantime, we continue to do our best to progress spiritually and temporally. We build beautiful relationships with friends, family, and each other. The relationships we have with our loved ones—and especially with Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ—will always help us feel connection and love and give us the strength to continue on the covenant path.
Some righteous desires may seem impossible as we navigate the ups and downs of young adulthood. But as we continue to keep our covenants and seek the Lord, we hold on to hope for temple marriages. Until then, as President Nelson taught, we can always seek and expect miracles.6 We really do experience the joy, blessings, and, yes, the miracles of living the gospel of Jesus Christ.
We hope you know that miracles and blessings are in store for you too.
The authors live in Gauteng, South Africa.
The Mkhize sisters are originally from KwaZulu Natal, South Africa. Samukelisiwe is a UX copywriter who loves singing with her family, blogging, and watching Korean dramas. She loves her Heavenly Father and her Savior Jesus Christ and believes that having a relationship with Them has made her a better daughter, sister, and friend. Phindile is a software engineer and enjoys serving in the Relief Society presidency, watching movies and Korean dramas, and hanging out with friends and family. She loves the meaning, purpose, and eternal perspective that the gospel brings to her life.
Notes

With great anticipation, my family waited in line at the Bountiful Utah Temple open house. Our guide explained to us that as we walked through the temple, we would need to wear covers over our shoes. Tens of thousands of people had already visited the temple that day, walking through rain and snow. Shoe covers would help keep the temple clean.
I assumed we would put the covers on our shoes ourselves. But when we reached the door, I saw a group of young men and young women—volunteers from a nearby stake—placing the covers onto people’s shoes. Caught by surprise, I automatically raised one foot, then the other, as a young woman assisted me. I was a little embarrassed, feeling that I could certainly have done it myself. And I doubted that the task was enjoyable, considering the cold weather, the wet and messy shoes, and her uncomfortable kneeling position. As the young woman finished, I offered an inadequate thanks. Even after she had assisted thousands of others, her smile and kind response were sincere and tender.
I felt overwhelmed by her act of service. Then suddenly I was filled with a sweet thought. If the mortal Messiah were here today, wouldn’t he also be serving in a quiet, selfless way—making that which was unclean clean? Deep emotion washed over me, and I felt the Savior’s deep love. Had he not knelt in Gethsemane and died on Golgotha to make the highest, most sacred things possible for us?
A feeling of reverence accompanied me throughout the tour. The temple was beautiful, but what I remember most happened at its doorstep.

I have five older sisters who all got married in their early twenties. Growing up, I expected my life to look just like theirs—but it didn’t. I graduated college with no fiancé or serious relationship prospects, started a career, moved back in with my parents for a while, traveled, bought a house, had amazing roommates, and charted my own course. I never felt at all excluded in my family, but there were times that I felt very single and wanted a husband and children like my sisters had.
And wasn’t that what God wanted for me too?
I wasn’t always lonely, of course. And I certainly knew that God hadn’t abandoned me—I had many amazing blessings in my life. I was able to focus on my spiritual and mental health, I volunteered and met incredible people, and I had the time and energy to serve in unique ways. When I felt discouraged, I kept telling myself that I was learning and growing and that God was aware of me.
Eventually I did get married, and it was absolutely worth the wait. A few days after our wedding, I had this very clear thought: “I am so grateful for the wait. I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”
I was honestly a bit surprised by this moment of revelation. Wouldn’t I have wanted to meet my husband much sooner? But for me, I was a better person and spouse because of all I had learned and experienced while waiting for this eternal blessing. I would have missed out on so much growth without that time.
Of course, one person’s timing isn’t better or worse than another’s. The timing of marriage is up to you and God, and growth can happen at any stage of life—married or unmarried, with or without children, etc. And I would continue to keep learning and growing; obviously marriage isn’t a final destination in our growth and spiritual development. But for me, there were crucial experiences that would likely not have happened under other circumstances, and I am grateful for how they have shaped who I am.

First, many people will mourn with us; they won’t judge us. Due to severe panic attacks, anxiety, and depression, our son returned home from his mission after just four weeks. As his parents, we found it difficult to deal with disappointment and sadness because we had prayed so much for his success. Like all parents, we want our children to prosper and be happy. A mission was to be an important milestone for our son. We also wondered what other people might think.

Unbeknownst to us, our son’s return was infinitely more devastating for him. Note that he loved the Lord and wanted to serve, and yet he could not for reasons he struggled to understand. He soon found himself at a point of total hopelessness, battling deep guilt. He no longer felt accepted but spiritually numb. He became consumed by recurring thoughts of death.

While in this irrational state, our son believed that the only action left was to take his own life. It took the Holy Ghost and a legion of angels on both sides of the veil to save him.

While he was fighting for his life and during this immensely difficult time, our family, ward leaders, members, and friends went out of their way to support and minister to us.

I have never felt such an outpouring of love. I have never sensed more powerfully and in such a personal way what it means to comfort those in need of comfort. Our family will be ever grateful for that outpouring.

I cannot describe the countless miracles that accompanied these events. Gratefully, our son survived, but it has taken a long time and much medical, therapeutic, and spiritual care for him to heal and to accept that he is loved, valued, and needed.

I recognize that not all such incidents end like ours. I sorrow with those who have lost loved ones far too early and are now left with feelings of grief as well as unanswered questions.

In 1886, Samuel was called to serve a mission in the British Isles and for some of that time presided over the Welsh Mission. He recorded the following experience that occurred in South Wales in 1888. (Although we don’t know the names of the individuals involved, or even the precise location, this record teaches some important truths about the gospel and the power of the priesthood.)
“I was presiding over the Welsh Mission and while at my office one day I received notice from a local elder who lived about eleven miles distant, that there was a man in his town who was very sick, and had been for some months. The doctors could not diagnose his case or give him relief. He wanted me to come and administer to him for his health and [the] relief of his affliction (he was not a member of the Church). The elders stated that there were some men in the neighbourhood representing the sect known as the Josephites. They had told the sick man they had the power and authority to administer to the sick and they could heal him of his affliction, and said the Latter-day Saints were not the true Church of Christ, and they did not have the authority to administer to the sick as they, the Josephites, had.
“They persuaded the sick man to give them a chance and they worked with him for some weeks, and he did not receive any relief or help whatever. He then appealed to this local elder of the Latter-day Saints and he appealed to me as I have stated.
“I considered the matter seriously and prayfully, and finally said I would go, and the will of the Lord be done. I started early the next morning (without breakfast, fasting) and praying on my way that I might go aright and be wise in my procedure. I walked the entire distance and when I arrived at the man’s home. I found him sorely afflicted. He was most pleased to see me and told me of his experience and said he would like for me to administer to him.
“After some consideration and a little rest, I prepared and attended to the ordinance. After anointing with oil, I commenced to confirm the anointing and bless the man and was led to make great promises and say things I had not thought of. I paused in my administration [and] a flash of wonder came to my mind; was I saying too much? And immediately a plain, quiet voice spoke from behind and over my right shoulder, [saying] ‘Quench not the Spirit.’
“I knew in a flash what it was and from whence it came. I immediately continued my administration and said all that was given me of the Spirit. The result of my labours was, the Lord blessed and healed the man of his long and sore affliction.
“This decided all controversy as to where the authority of God lay and was a testimony to the whole neighbourhood of the truth and restoration of the gospel and power of God as taught by the Latter-day Saints. I was not surprised at this. The only object that I had was to be humble and honest and felt in my heart to say, ‘The will of the Lord be done!’
“After a short conversation with the local elder and a few friends, I ate a little food and started on the long journey back to my office, rejoicing all the way to think that I was counted worthy to be called into the service of God and that he had blessed my labours during the day, and directed the administration and healed the man. I arrived safe at my office. Praise and glory to my Heavenly Father for my experience and blessings of the day.”

Carlos was just about your size when his parents sent him to Mexico to stay with his grandmother. Carlos’s family was moving to a different part of Colorado, and Carlos’s father told him that as soon as they had found a new house and moved into it, they would send for him.
Carlos’s Uncle Pablo drove him to Mexico. They traveled over hot, dusty roads and through deserts and mountains. Finally, in one little village next to the mountains, his uncle smiled at Carlos and said, “We’re here.”
As they pulled up in front of a tiny white adobe house, chickens scattered in every direction, flapping their wings and squawking at the car and its passengers.
An old lady came out of the house. She had dark brown skin and white hair. Carlos’s uncle threw his arms around her and kissed her cheek.
“Carlos,” his uncle said, “do you remember your grandmother?”
“Bienvenido (welcome), Carlos.” The woman smiled at him.
Carlos just stood there. He hadn’t been with his grandmother since he was a baby, and he didn’t remember her at all. Finally he looked up at his uncle. “Uncle Pablo, I don’t want to be here!” Carlos whispered, even though he knew his grandmother couldn’t understand English.
“Now, Carlos, remember that you agreed to give it a try here. It’s just for a little while,” Uncle Pablo said. “Here, see if you’re strong enough to carry this into the house.” Pablo took the old, battered suitcase out of the car and handed it to Carlos.
Carlos dropped the suitcase just inside the door. He walked through both rooms of the house. The wooden furniture looked strange to him, as did the pictures with beads hanging from them on the walls. In the middle of the larger room stood a tall, wooden machine with rows of yarn going up and down; on the floor around it lay several balls of colorful yarn.
Carlos walked out the back door and into the cooking shed, where black pots and pans hung on the wall and firewood was piled in the corner. He saw that his uncle and grandmother were still talking, and he decided that somehow he’d think of a way to get his uncle to take him back to Colorado.
Carlos went through the backyard to the other side of the house. He saw some boys playing in the street and walked closer to watch them. Suddenly a dog ran up and started barking at him. The boys stopped playing, and one of them called the dog. They all yelled a greeting to Carlos, but he couldn’t understand them. They called again, and when he still didn’t respond, they started to laugh.
Carlos turned and ran away from them. I can’t help it if I don’t understand Spanish! he thought.
Carlos ran through the village and didn’t stop until he’d climbed a small hill. From the top of the hill he could see his grandmother’s house. “Oh no!” he agonized. “Uncle Pablo’s car is gone!”
The sinking sun had turned the faraway clouds into a red, orange, and pink sunset before Carlos returned to his grandmother’s house. She was busy making dinner in the cooking shed. When she looked up and saw Carlos, she put down the bowl she was holding and grasped his shoulders. “Carlos!” she cried, then went on excitedly in Spanish. Carlos didn’t understand her words, but he understood that she had been worried about him and that he wasn’t to wander off again without telling her. Grown-ups are all alike in every language, Carlos decided.
During dinner Grandma tried teaching him the names of the things that she pointed to: mesa (table), plato (plate), tenedor (fork), pan (bread), frijoles (beans), arroz (rice), limonada (lemonade). Carlos just picked at his food. When his mother made Mexican food, it was always a treat, but now all he wanted was a hamburger with catsup and mustard and pickles.
After dinner Grandma worked at her loom by the dim light of a kerosene lamp, weaving fabric from the colorful yarns. As she worked, she sang softly and looked up every few minutes to smile at Carlos. Carlos sat on the floor watching his grandmother, wishing that she had a television set.
Grandma let Carlos sleep in the only bed in the house. She covered him with a sheet, let down the mosquito netting, then tucked its edges under the mattress. “Buenas noches (good night), Carlos.” She went into the other room and put out the lamp.
Darkness closed in on Carlos. Crickets chirped nearby. He turned over and looked out the window at a bright star and wondered if that same star was shining down on his parents. All day he had fought tears, but he couldn’t stop them anymore. Soon he was sobbing out of control.
Grandma lighted the kerosene lamp again and came into the room. Lifting the mosquito netting and sitting on the bed next to Carlos, she pulled him up into her arms. “Carlos, Carlos.” She put her soft cheek against his forehead and gently rocked back and forth, humming softly.
“I want my dad … and my mom,” Carlos sobbed.
Grandma got up, took his hand, and led him to a wooden chest in the other room. From the chest she took brightly colored fabric and soft-colored dresses and placed them aside. Then she took out what looked like a small, woven blanket with broad stripes of green, red, white, and orange. One of the corners was slightly burned. She held it out for Carlos to take. “Sarape (serape),” she said.
Then the old woman brought out something wrapped in white lace. She took off the lace, revealing a book. Smiling at Carlos, she opened the book so that he could see it. Black and white photographs filled each page. She turned the pages slowly, smiling at pictures of a bride and a groom and babies. Pointing to a picture of a young boy, she said, “Tu papi (your daddy).”
Carlos looked closely at the picture. It was like looking at himself. It was his father, standing with the same sarape over his shoulder. Also in the picture was a beautiful young woman with her arm around him.
Carlos ran his fingers over the coarse fabric of the sarape. His father’s fingers had probably felt this fabric the same way when they were the same size as Carlos’s were now.
He looked up from the picture at his grandmother. She wore her white hair pulled back in a bun—the same way it was in the picture—only then her hair had been black. She’s still pretty, Carlos decided.
As he looked at his grandmother, she smiled, but a tear ran down her cheek too. Suddenly Carlos understood that she loved his father as much as he did and that she was as lonely for him as he was.
“Grandma,” Carlos said simply, putting his arms around her.
Tears came to both their eyes, but this time they were tears of joy.
When Grandma had tucked Carlos back into bed, she placed the sarape on the end of the bed.
“Thank you, Grandma,” Carlos said, smiling up at her. “Everything is going to be good, I can tell.”
Grandma smiled at Carlos, then bent down and gently kissed him good night. “Te quiero mucho (I love you a lot), Carlos.”

May I share with you the account of how our Heavenly Father answered the prayers and pleadings of one woman and provided her the peace and assurance she so desperately sought?
Tiffany’s difficulties began last year when she had guests at her home for Thanksgiving and then again for Christmas. Her husband had been in medical school and was now in the second year of his medical residency. Because of the long work hours required of him, he was not able to help her as much as they both would have liked, and so most of that which needed to be accomplished during this holiday season, in addition to the care of their four young children, fell to Tiffany. She was becoming overwhelmed, and then she learned that one who was dear to her had been diagnosed with cancer. The stress and worry began to take a heavy toll on her, and she slipped into a period of discouragement and depression. She sought medical help, and yet nothing changed. Her appetite disappeared, and she began to lose weight, which her tiny frame could ill afford. She sought peace through the scriptures and prayed for deliverance from the gloom which was overtaking her. When neither peace nor help seemed to come, she began to feel abandoned by God. Her family and friends prayed for her and tried desperately to help. They delivered her favorite foods in an attempt to keep her physically healthy, but she could take only a few bites and then would be unable to finish.
On one particularly trying day, a friend attempted in vain to entice her with foods she had always loved. When nothing worked, the friend said, “There must be something that sounds good to you.”
Tiffany thought for a moment and said, “The only thing I can think of that sounds good is homemade bread.”
But there was none on hand.
The following afternoon Tiffany’s doorbell rang. Her husband happened to be home and answered it. When he returned, he was carrying a loaf of homemade bread. Tiffany was astonished when he told her it had come from a woman named Sherrie, whom they barely knew. She was a friend of Tiffany’s sister Nicole, who lived in Denver, Colorado. Sherrie had been introduced to Tiffany and her husband briefly several months earlier when Nicole and her family were staying with Tiffany for Thanksgiving. Sherrie, who lived in Omaha, had come to Tiffany’s home to visit with Nicole.
Now, months later, with the delicious bread in hand, Tiffany called her sister Nicole to thank her for sending Sherrie on an errand of mercy. Instead, she learned Nicole had not instigated the visit and had no knowledge of it.
The rest of the story unfolded as Nicole checked with her friend Sherrie to find out what had prompted her to deliver that loaf of bread. What she learned was an inspiration to her, to Tiffany, to Sherrie—and it is an inspiration to me.
On that particular morning of the bread delivery, Sherrie had been prompted to make two loaves of bread instead of the one she had planned to make. She said she felt impressed to take the second loaf with her in her car that day, although she didn’t know why. After lunch at a friend’s home, her one-year-old daughter began to cry and needed to be taken home for a nap. Sherrie hesitated when the unmistakable feeling came to her that she needed to deliver that extra loaf of bread to Nicole’s sister Tiffany, who lived 30 minutes away on the other side of town and whom she barely knew. She tried to rationalize away the thought, wanting to get her very tired daughter home and feeling sheepish about delivering a loaf of bread to people who were almost strangers. However, the impression to go to Tiffany’s home was strong, so she heeded the prompting.
When she arrived, Tiffany’s husband answered the door. Sherrie reminded him that she was Nicole’s friend whom he’d met briefly at Thanksgiving, handed him the loaf of bread, and left.
And so it happened that the Lord sent a virtual stranger across town to deliver not just the desired homemade bread but also a clear message of love to Tiffany. What happened to her cannot be explained in any other way. She had an urgent need to feel that she wasn’t alone—that God was aware of her and had not abandoned her. That bread—the very thing she wanted—was delivered to her by someone she barely knew, someone who had no knowledge of her need but who listened to the prompting of the Spirit and followed that prompting. It became an obvious sign to Tiffany that her Heavenly Father was aware of her needs and loved her enough to send help. He had responded to her cries for relief.

My great-great-great grandmother is Mary Wilson Montgomery. She was born in Scotland. She and her husband, Robert, sailed to Canada looking for new opportunities.
In the spring of 1845, they met the missionaries. That winter, Mary and Robert were ready to join the Church. They had to cut a hole in the ice to be baptized!
Mary and Robert moved to Nauvoo, Illinois, USA, to be with other Church members. But soon they were forced to leave their homes. They went to Utah in a covered wagon. They settled in North Ogden at the base of a mountain. It reminded Mary of a mountain in Scotland named Ben Lomond (Beacon Mountain). She asked city leaders to name this mountain Ben Lomond too.They agreed.

Every time my family goes to visit Grandpa, he pinches his fingers at me and says, “Come here and let me tweak your nose.”
I say no, and I hide behind Grandma.
Dad laughs, and Mama gives Grandpa a hug.
When Grandpa’s not looking, I sneak up and tweak his nose.
Then he says, “Grandma and your mama are fixing a delicious supper, and you can’t have any.”
“Yes, I can,” I tell him.
“No, you can’t. Everybody’s working for their supper today. Your mama’s cooking and your dad’s wiring the new ceiling fan. You’re the only one who doesn’t know how to work,”
“I know how to work,” I tell Grandpa. “I help Dad in the garden.”
Grandpa says, “You’ll have to show me.”
We pick up a little basket from the garden shed.
In the garden, Grandpa ruffles the straight row of radish leaves. “These strawberries look big enough to eat,” he says.
“Those are radishes,” I tell him. And I pull one to show him.
“No. They’re strawberries,” he says. He wipes the radish clean, snaps off the root, and takes a bite. “Oh, it’s sweet. Have one.”
I laugh and say, “I don’t like radishes.”
Grandpa laughs too. He always tells me radishes are strawberries.
While I pick radishes, Grandpa pulls green onions.
When the basket is half full, he says, “Take these to Grandma. We’ll have radish sandwiches for supper.”
I run to Grandma with the basket. I tell her, “Grandpa says we’re having radish sandwiches for supper.” I try not to make an awful face, but I can’t help it.
Grandma and Mama laugh. Mama says, “He told me the same thing when I was little.”
“Honey,” Grandma says to me, “we’re having chicken.”
I feel much better about supper. Grandpa tells me, “Chicken takes a long time to cook. I think I’ll go to the park and swing.”
“You don’t swing,” I say. “I do.”
When we get to the park, Grandpa asks, “Are you ready to watch me swing?”
“You can’t swing,” I say. “You have to push me.”
“Push you? I’d rather sit on a park bench.”
“OK,” I say. “Sit on a bench. I’ll push myself.”
Grandpa sits and watches as I stretch toward the sky, going higher and higher. “Who taught you that?” he asks when we’re walking to the car.
“Mama taught me.”
“How could your mama teach you that?” Grandpa asks. “She doesn’t know how.”
“Yes, she does,” I tell him. “She said you taught her.”
“I bet she won’t teach you to play baseball.”
“She’s already teaching me.”
“When your mama was in grade school, she played baseball in this park.”
“That must have been a long time ago,” I say.
Grandpa’s quiet on the way home. When he stops the car, I ask, “Are you very old, Grandpa?”
“Sometimes,” he says, “but not when I’m with you.” He reaches across the car to me. “Come here and let me tweak your nose.”
I jump out of the car and run to the house. Grandpa follows me with his arm stretched out and his fingers pinching.
When we get to the back door, I let him catch me and tweak my nose. Then I run in the house, holding my nose and hollering, “Grandpa tweaked my nose!”
And everybody laughs.

Elder Perry had a lifelong gift for making friends. When he worked in New York, USA, as a retail executive, he thought his fellow commuters seemed unfriendly. So he decided to shake things up.
One man always stood on the same platform location to wait for the train. He also picked the same seat on the train every day.
To build a friendship, Elder Perry showed up early several days in a row to grab those spots before the man could. At first the man was irritated, but before long, the two were laughing and it turned into a game—a game the whole train station eventually enjoyed as more and more commuters joined in. In time they all grew so close that they sang Christmas carols together at the station. “It livened up the whole platform,” Elder Perry remembered.

When the Book of Mormon was published, Martin Harris was nearly 47 years of age, more than 20 years older than Joseph Smith and the other two witnesses. He was a prosperous and respected citizen of Palmyra, New York. He owned a farm of over 240 acres, large for the time and place. He was an honored veteran of two battles in the War of 1812. His fellow citizens entrusted him with many elective offices and responsibilities in the community. He was universally respected for his industry and integrity. Assessments by contemporaries described him as “an industrious, hard-working farmer, shrewd in his business calculations, frugal in his habits,” and “strictly upright in his business dealings” (quoted in Richard Lloyd Anderson, Investigating the Book of Mormon Witnesses [1981], 96–97, 98).
This prosperous and upright older man befriended the young and penniless Joseph Smith, giving him the $50 that permitted him to pay his debts in Palmyra and locate in northeastern Pennsylvania, about 150 miles away. There, in April 1828, Joseph Smith began his first persistent translation of the Book of Mormon. He dictated, and Martin Harris wrote until there were 116 pages of manuscript.
Martin’s persistent requests to show this manuscript to his family wearied Joseph into letting him take it to Palmyra, where its pages were stolen from him, lost, and probably burned. For this the Lord rebuked Martin and Joseph. Joseph had his gift of translation suspended for a season, and Martin was rebuked as “a wicked man” who had “set at naught the counsels of God, and … broken the most sacred promises which were made before God” (D&C 3:12–13; see also D&C 10). Fortunately, both Joseph and Martin were later forgiven by the Lord, and the work of translation resumed with other scribes. We obviously honor Joseph for his magnificent ministry, but Martin’s subsequent faithfulness continues under a shadow from which this important man should be rescued.

My friend Arnaldo and I both served missions for the Church, but after our missions, I was less active in the Church for almost 10 years. Arnaldo paid for my subscription to the Liahona (Spanish) year after year. His faith has been rewarded. I am again active, have a calling, and have had the blessing of returning to the temple, thanks to Arnaldo and the Liahona.
Alberto Tejada ChacónHunter Ward, Arequipa Peru Central Stake

The hollow feeling in my stomach slowly spread through my chest, and my throat tightened until I could no longer speak. The early winter drizzle even made the sky seem to weep as Amanda crept toward the car, her steps painful and faltering.
“I’ll get that,” I blurted, my mind jolted from numbness by her fumbling with the door handle. I opened the car door and watched in embarrassed silence as she maneuvered her body into the car. I shut the door after making sure her brace was completely inside. She looked at me through the rain-spattered window. “Thanks, Sara,” she mouthed. I nodded my reply and got in the other side.
My thoughts drifted back to another day. Summer sunlight had washed over the neighborhood that morning, soaking its warmth into our shoulders and the tops of our heads as Amanda and I rode our horses to the shopping center by our apartment. Well, they weren’t real horses. At least, they weren’t alive and you couldn’t see them. But they were real to us, and we rode them everywhere, always careful to tie them up before going inside. If we rode in a car, we tied them to the bumper and they followed behind. We even named them after our favorite ice-cream dishes at Gabby’s Ice-Cream Parlor: Starlight and Anastasia.
Amanda’s dad had picked us up later that afternoon in his car and dropped me off at home. It was the next morning before I learned that they had been in an accident and that Amanda had been severely burned.
The car jostled as it turned into the parking lot of Gabby’s Ice-Cream Parlor, bringing me back to the present. I had promised Amanda while she was still in the hospital that we would go to Gabby’s to celebrate her recovery. Now I wondered if I’d made the right decision.
Mom let us out in front of the plate-glass window that framed a row of booths. Amanda emerged from the car slowly. There were still some bandages on her arms, and one leg was encased in a metal brace. The spattering of freckles I had been jealous of was gone. In its place was whitish skin that stretched and pulled, as if there wasn’t enough to cover her face.
Heads turned and peered around the huge yellow and blue letters painted on the window. One little girl pointed at us. Her mouth moved in silent conversation. The woman beside her looked embarrassed and moved her away from the window. I squared my shoulders and returned their stares for Amanda’s sake. Defiance turned to surprise as I saw that their sad-eyed looks were directed at me too. I walked a few steps ahead of Amanda, my arms and legs swinging in exaggerated rhythm. Can’t you see there’s nothing wrong with me, I thought, my surprise turning to anger.
Finally we were inside and seated at a table. I studied the menu intently, as if it were directions to unearthing a million dollars in gold. I just about had everything memorized by the time our waitress got there. “I’ll have the Starlight Sundae,” I said, without looking up.
“I’ll have the Anastasia,” Amanda said quietly.
The waitress collected the menus. I counted the flowers in the pink flocked wallpaper and traced the marbled pattern in the tabletop with my finger until the sundaes arrived.
I usually lingered over every bite, enjoying the contrast of the smooth mint ice cream against the sharp bits of chocolate on my tongue. But today I only wanted to finish as quickly as possible. As soon as Amanda had taken her last bite, I wadded up my paper napkin and tossed it on the table.
“We’d better go,” I announced and added lamely, “I’m sure Mom’s outside by now.” Amanda offered no resistance.
I walked ahead to get the door. Amanda shuffled through, but instead of turning to the left, where Mom was waiting, she turned to the right and raised her burned hand slightly. I heard the familiar soft clicking noise that we used to call our horses.
“Come on, Anastasia,” she said softly. “Let’s go, girl”—her whisper was punctuated by a great, deep sob—“far away from here.” Her shoulders shook; her breath came in gasps. Tears dropped from her nose and chin onto the scarred hands she clasped tightly in front of her.
The hollow feeling in my stomach returned, and my throat tightened again. I felt helpless. I wanted to make people stop staring. I wanted to smooth her lumpy skin and give her back her freckles. I wanted to go back and change what happened that summer day and erase her pain.
I looked long into Amanda’s eyes for the first time since her accident. They shared the pain her physical body had endured. But there was more. Behind the pain were the eyes of the friend I had always known. Burned and scarred skin may have changed the outside, but Amanda would always be Amanda on the inside.
I put my arm around her shoulder. The rain had stopped. Despite the chilly air, the sunshine warmed the tops of our heads and our shoulders as we walked side by side to the car, oblivious to anyone else. Things would be different—and yet the same. I held on to Amanda’s hands and gently helped her onto the car seat. Then I picked up her leg by the steel bars that supported it and helped her position it in the car.
A smile appeared through her tears. “Thanks,” she said.
Our eyes met again, and I returned her smile. “Sure,” I replied. Then I added quietly so that only Amanda could hear, “I’ll tie the horses’ reins to the bumper so we can ride them when we get home.”

Shortly after hearing this story, I was playing with my little brother Samuel (3) on the balcony of our home. Before I knew it, Samuel had closed the door and locked me on the outside. I couldn’t open the door and started shouting for someone to come and open it. But no one heard me. I remembered the story, so I decided to pray that my mama would know where to look for me. At the same time, Mama felt that she should look for me, and she decided to check the balcony first. I was really excited because I had had an answer to my prayer, just like the little boy in the story. I know that Heavenly Father is there and answers my prayers.Emily Erlacher, age 5Lichtenberg, Austria

“Here is your class,” Lilly said.
It was Sam’s first day in Primary. Lilly was happy to help her brother.
When Sam cried, Lilly sat by him. She helped him feel better. Sam was scared when they went to class. So Lilly stayed with him.
Lilly helped Sam every Sunday.
“Lilly, you have been a good helper with Sam,” Mom said one Sunday. “Now it’s time for his teacher to help him instead.”
“But if I don’t sit by Sam, he’ll cry,” Lilly said.
“I know,” Mom said. “But his teacher can help. Then you can go to your class too.”
Lilly frowned. She didn’t think this was a good idea.
“Sometimes we need to obey, even when we don’t know why,” said Dad. “When we obey our parents, it helps us learn to obey Heavenly Father.”
“OK,” Lilly said. She hoped Mom’s idea worked.
Lilly sat with her own class in Primary.
Sam cried for a little bit. His teacher helped him. Soon Sam was singing songs with the others. He liked Primary.
Lilly liked sitting with her class too.
After Primary, Dad asked how it went.
“It was great!” Lilly said. “Sam only cried a little. We both had fun with our classes. I showed Sam how to be reverent.”
Now Lilly felt double happy. She was happy she helped Sam. And she was happy she obeyed.

Some years ago as our youngest son, Clark, was approaching his 12th birthday, he and I were leaving the Church Administration Building when President Harold B. Lee approached and greeted us. I mentioned to President Lee that Clark would soon be 12, whereupon President Lee turned to him and asked, “What happens to you when you turn 12?”
This was one of those times when a father prays that a son will be inspired to give a proper response. Clark, without hesitation, said to President Lee, “I will be ordained a deacon!”
The answer was the one for which I had prayed and which President Lee had sought. He then counseled our son, “Remember, it is a great blessing to hold the priesthood.”

In August of 1985, the Asia Area Presidency and our wives toured the main Asian countries in company with Elder and Sister Marvin J. Ashton and Bishop and Sister Robert D. Hales. I was finally participating in an “invasion” of Japan, but this time with love and a desire to share with the Japanese people the gospel of Jesus Christ. We later went to Korea and then to Hong Kong and finished our tour in the Philippines.
As a part of our activities in the Philippines, we were shown the great war memorial in Manila dedicated to those from our country who had given their lives during World War II. It was a sad but sacred experience. Sister Wilcox and I shed tears when we saw the name of one of our dear friends from Weber College who had been successful in entering the Air Force directly following Pearl Harbor. He was listed as “missing in action.”
Our experiences at the Manila war memorial reminded us of many personal friends who joined the services in the first years of that war and who did not return. Had I become a part of those early engagements, the possibility of losing my life would have been very great. Had I been willing to tell an untruth concerning my hay fever, I would have been immediately moved into the first bitter battles where so many lost their lives.
Looking back to that eventful day, I realized that I survived one of the greatest tests of my life in telling the truth about my hay fever. My life was spared. There had been a great temptation to tell a “little lie,” but the counsel my father had given me was sound and enduring and served me well. I share it with you humbly: always be honest.

Years ago, I served as a local Church leader. One of our young men, Danny, was outstanding in every way. He was obedient, kind, good, and had a great heart. However, when he graduated from high school, he started to associate with a rough crowd. He got involved in drugs, specifically methamphetamine, and traveled down the slippery slope of addiction and destruction. Before long, his appearance completely changed. He was hardly recognizable. The most significant change was in his eyes—the light in his eyes had dimmed. Several times I reached out to him, but to no avail. He wasn’t interested.
It was difficult to see this incredible young man suffer and live a life that was not him! He was capable of so much more.
Then one day, his miracle began.
He attended a sacrament meeting where his younger brother shared his testimony prior to departing for a mission. During the meeting, Danny felt something he had not felt for a long time. He felt the love of the Lord. He finally had hope.
Although he had a desire to change, it was difficult for Danny. His addictions and the accompanying guilt were almost more than he could bear.
One particular afternoon, when I was out mowing our lawn, Danny pulled up in his car unannounced. He was struggling terribly. I turned off the mower, and we sat down together in the shade of the front porch. It was then that he shared the feelings of his heart. He truly wanted to come back. However, turning away from his addictions and lifestyle was extremely difficult. Adding to this, he felt so guilty, so ashamed for falling so far. He asked, “Can I really be forgiven? Is there really a way back?”
After he poured out his heart with these concerns, we read Alma chapter 36 together:
“Yea, I did remember all my sins and iniquities. …
“Yea, … the very thought of coming into the presence of my God did rack my soul with inexpressible horror” (verses 13–14).
After those verses, Danny said, “This is exactly how I feel!”
We continued:
“While I was harrowed up by the memory of my many sins, behold, I remembered also to have heard my father prophesy unto the people concerning the coming of one Jesus Christ, a Son of God, to atone for the sins of the world. …
“And oh, what joy, and what marvelous light I did behold” (verses 17, 20).
As we read these passages, tears began to flow. Alma’s joy was the joy he had been searching for!
We discussed that Alma had been exceptionally wicked. However, once he repented, he never looked back. He became a devoted disciple of Jesus Christ. He became a prophet! Danny’s eyes widened. “A prophet?” he said.
I simply responded, “Yes, a prophet. No pressure on you!”
We discussed that while his sins did not rise to the level of Alma’s, the same promise of complete and perfect forgiveness is made to everyone—in and through the infinite Atonement of Jesus Christ.
Danny now understood. He knew what he needed to do: he needed to begin his journey by trusting in the Lord and forgiving himself!
Danny’s mighty change of heart was nothing short of a miracle. Over time, his countenance changed, and the brightness in his eyes returned. He became temple worthy! He was finally back!
After several months, I asked Danny if he would like to submit an application to serve a full-time mission. His response was one of shock and awe.
He said, “I would love to serve a mission, but you know where I have been and the things I have done! I thought I was disqualified.”
I responded, “You may be right. However, there is nothing precluding us from making a request. If you are excused, at least you will know that you expressed a sincere desire to serve the Lord.” His eyes lit up. He was thrilled with this idea. To him this was a long shot, but it was a chance he was willing to take.
A few weeks later, and to his amazement, another miracle occurred. Danny received a call to serve a full-time mission.
A few months after Danny arrived in the mission field, I received a telephone call. His president simply said, “What is it with this young man? He is the most incredible missionary I have ever seen!” You see, this president had received a modern-day Alma the Younger.
Two years later, Danny returned home with honor, having served the Lord with all his heart, might, mind, and strength.
Following his missionary report in sacrament meeting, I returned home, only to hear a knock at the front door. There stood Danny with tears welling in his eyes. He said, “Can we talk for a minute?” We went outside to the same porch step.
He said, “President, do you think I have truly been forgiven?”
Now my tears accompanied his. Before me stood a devoted disciple of Jesus Christ who had given his all to teaching and testifying about the Savior. He was the embodiment of the healing and strengthening power of the Savior’s Atonement.
I said, “Danny! Have you looked in the mirror? Have you seen your eyes? They are filled with light, and you are beaming with the Spirit of the Lord. Of course you have been forgiven! You are amazing! Now what you need to do is move forward with your life. Don’t look back! Look forward with faith to the next ordinance.”
Danny’s miracle continues today. He married in the temple and returned to school, where he received a master’s degree. He continues to serve the Lord with honor and dignity in his callings. More important, he has become an incredible husband and a faithful father. He is a devoted disciple of Jesus Christ.
President Russell M. Nelson taught, “Without the [Savior’s] infinite Atonement, all mankind would be irretrievably lost.” Danny wasn’t lost, and neither are we to the Lord. He stands at the door to lift us, to strengthen us, and to forgive us. He always remembers to love us!

A young woman named Brooke writes: “This past summer I had the opportunity of attending a leadership conference. It only took a couple of hours to find out that the LDS kids were in the minority there. I ended up [rooming] with two girls who were very nice but definitely didn’t have the same standards. At night when I read my scriptures they stared at me like I was some kind of weirdo. While they were talking about their drinking parties, I was talking about [parties] with punch and cookies. They laughed but were always curious.
“Although I was scared sometimes, I never failed to stand up for what I believe in. At the end of the conference, one of my roommates [said], ‘I guess Mormons can be cool,’ and that she would think about our religion and maybe even learn about it. I [learned] that I could make a difference by simply standing up for what I believe.”