Gospel Story Finder

As I lay in my bed that night, I watched each of my sisters and brothers in turn be taken down the stairs. I was the oldest child at home that year since my older sister had left on her mission. Below me in the living room, I heard the song over and over as each child was sung to. Then it was my turn. I followed Papa down the stairs into the living room. He sat in the big chair and opened his arms.

“Do you still want me to sit on your lap?” I asked.

“Of course,” he smiled. Gratefully, I climbed onto his lap and pulled my knees up to my chin, snuggling up next to him.

“This is my last night to be rocked,” I said.

“I know,” came his quiet reply.

As the first few strains of the familiar tune began in the tape recorder next to us, I thought back to all the years I had heard this song on Christmas Eve. Suddenly something in me wanted to stay. I was so warm and comfortable, and I had no idea what the future months and years would hold. I started to cry.

Don’t let this song end, I thought.

Papa began to sing.

Heaven bless you little one while you’re fast asleep.
You’ll awake to dancing toys,
Candy canes, Christmas joys.
And I pray your whole life through,
Angels will watch over you,
Loving you the way I do,
My little one, sleep well.

Each year before this night, the song had reminded me of Christmas and what the next morning would bring. But on this last time, I knew Papa was singing about life and the years ahead—not toys that would break or wear out, but eternal joys I would find on my journey through life, joys I was not even aware of now. On this night I heard the emotion of his voice as he sang for angels to watch over me, not just for tonight but for tomorrow night and all the nights that would follow when he wouldn’t be there.

I let my tears flow, as the last strains of music faded away. Papa and I watched the lights of the tree in the darkness, and we rocked and rocked, long after the song had ended.

As we rocked, I thought what our last night in heaven must have been like, the night before each of us came to earth to be born. Did Heavenly Father hold us close and tell us of the joys and dancing toys which we would find on the morrow? Did we cry and wish we could stay with him forever, even though we knew earth life would bring us more joys than we could imagine? He must have held us long after his song to us had ended, asking that angels would watch over us in our earthly journey, that our years away from him would be filled with happiness and would eventually lead us back to his presence.

I found comfort as I thought of my Heavenly Father that night, while my earthly father rocked me. Even though Papa couldn’t be there every day in the future to help me with each struggle I would face, my Father in Heaven would be there. No matter what the years ahead would bring, I would not only have the support of an earthly father but of my Heavenly Father. And he would guide my paths and bring me home for good. That night I felt he too was singing, “Loving you the way I do, my little one, sleep well.”

Because Jessica is surrounded with words, both those she can see and those she hears, she has become a very good reader. She says, “My brother, Jonathan, taught me to read when I was starting kindergarten. It’s interesting that television actually helped me and my brother learn a lot of words and how to pronounce them correctly. It really helped us when we started school.”
Jessica also learned to read well from watching the words that appear at the bottom of the television. It’s called closed captioning. The words that people say on television are typed and scrolled across the bottom of the screen. Jessica became a very good reader by reading the captions as she listened.

But while Pedro’s academic curiosity and craftsmanship would have made him stand out in any community, one other quality made him unique. There have been few characters in the course of written history with whom faith and fact were synonymous. Pedro was one of these.
Even for those of us who use the term daily, faith is a paradox. Conspicuously absent in many who bear its robes, it sometimes finds a more congenial soil under homespun wool and leather thongs.
At any rate Pedro’s faith was both simple and factual. We had bought a diesel engine that generated electricity for our school and church building. A film arrived from Church headquarters depicting the struggles of early pioneers in southern Utah. President Lorenzo Snow, president of the Church at that time, promised the pioneers that a devastating drought would end if they would pay their tithing.
That year Pedro’s village was experiencing a drought. Potatoes and corn were drooping in despair at the rainy season’s slow arrival.
Pedro arrived the morning after the film was shown to pay ten soles (less than 50 cents) in tithing. He then went home and sat on his porch to wait for the rain.
It rained.

Will the Guiness Book of World Records ever believe that a 230-page novel was authored in just 30 hours? If they don’t, they can ask Dale Van Atta, from Rochester, New York, managing editor of the Brigham Young University Daily Universe. Dale spent a grueling weekend in a downtown Provo store window producing the literary wonder to help raise money for an addition to the student library.
The ordeal began at 4:00 P.M. Friday, February 16, as Dale drew from a hat three story ideas submitted by the public. From these he chose to write on the trials of a POW during captivity and his reunion with his family and friends.
With the release of American prisoners making national headlines, Dale surprised everyone by approaching the story from a different angle. As completed pages were hung in the window by assistants, it became clear that the hero was no ordinary POW, but a mercenary captured during a domestic dispute in Argentina.
“I didn’t know enough about Vietnam and POWs so I chose Argentina,” Dale explained between pages. “I don’t know much about Argentina either, but then neither does anyone else.” He grinned.
Early Saturday morning Dale’s nimble fingers gave out on him, and a staff of typists were called in to record his dictation.
Ten o’clock Saturday night arrived and the world’s fastest novel was complete. As a result of his 30-hour stunt, Dale garnered over $1,200 for the student library fund.

Sammy liked to memorize scriptures. He couldn’t read yet, but he already knew six articles of faith and many verses from the Book of Mormon and Bible. Mom wrote a scripture on a card and drew a picture on the back to help Sammy remember. Sammy knew scriptures about the Savior, gratitude, service, the stripling soldiers, and Nephi. He felt good inside because he was learning the scriptures.
One Sunday before Primary opening exercises, Sammy waited reverently on the CTR 5 bench beside his teacher, Sister Taylor. He folded his arms and listened to the music. Then he heard Sister Hunter, the Primary president, talking to Sister Taylor.
“I just found out that the boy who was going to give the scripture is sick today,” Sister Hunter said. “I’m going to see if an older child can read a scripture for us on short notice.”
Sammy quickly thought about all the scriptures he knew. “I can give a scripture today,” he told Sister Hunter.
“That would be great, Sammy,” Sister Hunter said. “Can Sister Taylor help you find and read a scripture?”
“I don’t need any help,” Sammy said.
Sister Hunter and Sister Taylor looked surprised. “Are you sure?” Sister Taylor asked.
“I have lots of scriptures memorized,” Sammy said. “I just learned a scripture about King Benjamin. I could say that one.”
“OK,” Sister Hunter said. “Will you please come sit up front?”
Sammy felt his heart beat faster as he walked to the front of the room and sat down. He was a little nervous, but he was confident he could say the scripture.
After singing “Book of Mormon Stories,” Sister Hunter said that Sammy would give the scripture.
Sammy walked to the pulpit and stood on the step stool. He took a deep breath and then spoke into the microphone: “Mosiah 2:17. When ye are in the service of your fellow beings ye are only in the service of your God.”
Sammy stepped down and went back to his seat, smiling the whole way. A warm feeling came over him. He was grateful that he had helped Sister Hunter in Primary. And he was grateful that even though he couldn’t read, he could still learn the scriptures.

She was my best friend, the one I had grown up with and known since that first frightful day of first grade. Since then we had shared everything from doll cradles and humpty-dumpty cookies to high school classes and slumber parties. There was only one big difference between us. You see, she did not yet know the truth and I did.
It took me 12 long years to realize that the gospel belonged not only to me but to her too and that it was through me that she might be able to find it.
I took my problem to our missionaries, thinking I would give the job to them; but I was fooled.
“You ask her and we’ll teach her,” they said.
Teaching her seemed to be no problem. I had the most difficult job of all.
I called her on the phone.
“Hey, how would you like to come and see a movie at my house tonight?” I said. “The new missionaries in our ward are showing it.”
She came. She saw the film and left without saying much about it.
A week later the elders dropped by. “Have you set up a time when she can hear the gospel?” they asked.
“Well, she hasn’t really said much about the movie. I didn’t know whether to ask her again or not.”
“Call her and ask her,” said one. He was the type who hated wasting time. Well, I couldn’t argue with an elder, so hesitantly, shakily, I picked up the receiver and dialed. I’ve always wondered why things like this are so hard.
“Hi, Cheryl,” I said. “I was wondering … well, the elders are here now and … well, I was just wondering if sometime you’d like to come and … learn some more about the Church?”
There was a long pause.
“Well, yeah, I guess so.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. “When can you come?”
“Anytime you want me to, I guess.”
“Tomorrow night?”
“Yeah, that’s all right.”
I turned to the elders. “Is tomorrow night all right?”
They nodded enthusiastically. “You bet!”
“Hey thanks, Cheryl,” I said as I started to hang up.
“Just a minute, Patti.” she said. “I want you to know that I’m not going to agree with what they say.”
“Oh, that’s okay. Just come!”
“But I might argue with them, and I don’t want to.”
“If you want to disagree with them, it’s all right. They don’t mind.”
The second step was taken. By the end of the fourth visit she hadn’t argued once. In fact, she had agreed wholeheartedly with everything the elders had told her. That night the younger elder was speaking, and as he closed he looked at her and said, “We would like to set up a baptism for you on Saturday. How about it?”
The older elder gasped. He hadn’t expected it to come so soon. My heart beat faster, and all I could do was hold my breath. There was silence for a moment.
Cheryl nodded and said, “Yes.”
I did not move, but I started to tremble when they asked her to pray.
She prayed, a very simple and beautiful prayer.
I kept my head bowed. I could not look up. The missionaries left in silence.
Then I felt her arms around me, and we both wept together.
“Patti,” she said, smiling through her tears, “thank you.”
She was thanking me for something she could only give herself, thanking me, when she had given me the greatest gift I could ever hope to receive—her acceptance of my most precious possession, the gospel of Jesus Christ.

In a notable talk on administering to the sick, President Spencer W. Kimball said: “The need of faith is often underestimated. The ill one and the family often seem to depend wholly on the power of the priesthood and the gift of healing that they hope the administering brethren may have, whereas the greater responsibility is with him who is blessed. … The major element is the faith of the individual when that person is conscious and accountable. ‘Thy faith hath made thee whole’ [Matthew 9:22] was repeated so often by the Master that it almost became a chorus.”11

President Kimball even suggested that “too frequent administrations may be an indication of lack of faith or of the ill one trying to pass the responsibility for faith development to the elders rather than self.” He told about a faithful sister who received a priesthood blessing. When asked the next day if she wished to be administered to again, she replied: “No, I have been anointed and administered to. The ordinance has been performed. It is up to me now to claim my blessing through my faith.”12

It was a beautiful, sunshiny, October morning, and everybody had a Saturday chore to do. Everyone except Annie. She was too short to help Jennifer clean the tub, too young to help Mother rinse the breakfast dishes, too little to help Dallin bring in the garbage cans.
Annie wanted to help too. Sadly she kicked a crackly red leaf off the porch just as Daddy came through the gate.
“You’re just who I was looking for,” he said, picking up the lawn rake and taking Annie’s hand. “I’m trying to find the Leaf Queen, and you’re just the right size to help me.”
They walked through the gate into the backyard, a wonderland of red, gold, brown, and purple leaves. Daddy showed Annie how to use the rake to make small piles of leaves.
“What does the Leaf Queen look like?” Annie asked.
“Oh, you’ll know her when you see her,” Daddy said.
Annie raked and cleared, pulled and piled. She peeked and poked and searched and searched, but there was no Leaf Queen to be seen. Before long, the lawn was green again, except where the leaves were heaped together in one high pile.
“Maybe we accidentally raked the Leaf Queen into the pile,” said Daddy, gathering Annie up into his arms. “You’d better look.” And with that he tossed her gently into the middle of a big, soft mountain of leaves.
Annie squealed and tumbled, scattering leaves all around. Then she stood up and laughed, “There’s nobody in here but me!”
“Who said that?” Daddy turned and stared. There stood Annie, colorful autumn leaves sticking to her from her hair to her toes, like the branches of the maple tree. “Why, if it isn’t the Leaf Queen herself!”
“I’m the Leaf Queen!” She giggled amid a flutter of leaves.
“And,” said Daddy, lifting her out of the leaves with a crunchy hug, “you’re a pretty good helper too.”

You have observed in your own life and in the lives of others the miracle of happiness coming from growing holiness, becoming more like the Savior. In recent weeks, I have been at the bedside of people who could face death with full faith in the Savior and with happy countenances.
One was a man surrounded by his family. He and his wife were chatting quietly as my son and I entered. I had known them for many years. I had seen the Atonement of Jesus Christ work in their lives and in the lives of their family members.
They had together chosen to end medical efforts to prolong his life. There was a quiet feeling as he spoke to us. He smiled as he expressed gratitude for the gospel and its purifying effects on him and the family he loved. He spoke of his happy years of service in the temple. At this man’s request, my son anointed his head with consecrated oil. I sealed the anointing. As I did, I had a clear impression to tell him that he would soon see his Savior, face-to-face.
I promised him that he would feel happiness, love, and the Savior’s approval. He smiled warmly as we left. His last words to me were “Tell Kathy I love her.” My wife, Kathleen, over many years had encouraged generations of his family to accept the Savior’s invitation to come unto Him, make and keep sacred covenants, and so qualify for the happiness that comes as a result of that greater holiness.
He died hours later. Within weeks of his passing, his widow brought a gift to my wife and me. She smiled as we talked. She said pleasantly, “I expected that I would feel sad and lonely. I feel so happy. Do you think that’s all right?”
Knowing how much she loved her husband and how both of them had come to know, love, and serve the Lord, I told her that her feelings of happiness were a promised gift because she had, by her faithful service, been made more holy. Her holiness had qualified her for that happiness.

I take a lot of hard classes, so typically I get home from school and am overwhelmed by my workload. By the end of the night, I am exhausted. This leads to superficial scripture study and prayer.

But this year I changed things. I started reading my scriptures before doing my homework. This made a tremendous change in my life. After reading my scriptures, I could get my homework done much faster, and even had extra time after. I’ve received more guidance on how to face my challenges and even help my friends. As I study the scriptures with the challenges of the school day fresh on my mind, I receive specific guidance for facing those challenges.

The Lord never leaves us alone. As I have prioritized things of God, I have learned that He always prepares a way for us to accomplish the things He commands of us (see 1 Nephi 3:7).

Rozlyn N., 17, Arizona, USA

“Hello, Sheri! Are you there?” a friendly voice crackled from the shortwave radio. Australia’s School of the Air classes were ready to begin.
Sheri North sat up straight, arranged her school books a little, and adjusted the radio dial labeled squelch.
“I’m here, Mr. Walker,” she told her teacher.
Mr. Walker sat in an almost empty classroom a hundred miles away at Broken Hill in New South Wales, Australia.
Sheri listened attentively while Mr. Walker finished calling the roll. Then she heard a horse whinny and her mind wandered outside to where Jumper, her pinto pony, pawed the parched earth of his pen. She glanced at the calendar above her desk—December 22—two more days and she’d be free for Christmas vacation. Though it was only nine o’clock, the hot, dry air told her the day would be another scorcher.
It’s funny, she thought, how my cousin in the United States always sends Christmas cards showing ice and snow. She’d probably be surprised to know that south of the equator we have summer in December and winter in July.
“Sheri! Sheri North! Come in!” an anxious voice shouted.
Sheri’s daydreams were shattered by Mr. Walker’s call over the radio.
“Oh! I’m sorry, Mr. Walker,” Sheri said as she pressed the microphone switch. “I guess my mind wandered.”
“Thank heavens you’re still there! I thought for a minute that you had disappeared too.”
“What do you mean too?” Sheri asked.
“Do you know Donny Fisher? He lives about ten miles north of you.”
“Sure, he’s a little red-haired boy my cousin sometimes plays with. He’s the only other eight-year-old in the whole neighborhood.”
“Well, he doesn’t answer his radio this morning; and he hasn’t missed a single day of class since we started this term. Do you think your father could drive over and see if the family is having some kind of trouble?”
Sheri tried to stifle her fears for a moment as thoughts of danger flashed through her mind. She knew families living in Australia’s outback (isolated rural countryside) had to be self-sufficient—modern-day pioneers, her father always called them. They were so isolated from each other, they even held church services over the shortwave radio.
Sheri’s father insisted that all his children learn to use a fire extinguisher, for there were no fire engines available. He taught them to shoot a rifle to drive off the dingos (wild dogs) that sometimes frightened the cattle with their wolf-like howling. Even her two-year-old brother was beginning to ride a horse, for horses were the only sure transportation across the parched, dry desert where cars and trucks habitually broke down.
“My father is out with the sheep,” Sheri explained. “He’s been gone three days and we don’t expect him home until tomorrow.”
“What about your mother?” Mr. Walker asked. “Could she go see if they need help?”
“I’ll ask, but I don’t think so. The baby is feverish and my mother can’t leave her when she’s so sick.”
“Then you’ll have to go,” Mr. Walker said in a firm voice. “It’s quite a responsibility, Sheri, but you’re the oldest in your family. People must grow up fast out here if they expect to survive.”
Sheri gulped hard. It wasn’t the ten miles that bothered her so much—she could ride that far in less than two hours—what worried her most was how she could help when she arrived. What if their house has burned down and they’re all dead? What if they’ve been attacked by outlaw aborigines or by a pack of dingos? What could I possibly do to help?
“All right . … I’ll go if my mother says it’s OK,” she hesitantly agreed. “But I want you to know I’m plenty scared! I don’t know what I’ll do when I get there.”
“Look. You just radio me, and if they’re sick or hurt, I’ll send a flying doctor over in a plane to help out. You won’t be alone for long,” Mr. Walker consoled.
“Just one more thing,” Sheri added. “You won’t mark me absent from school, will you?”
“No, I’ll give you full credit,” Mr. Walker chuckled. “Now skedaddle and get moving. Don’t forget to take a canteen, and don’t ride too fast. You can wear out a horse in no time at all in this heat.”
“I’ll be careful,” Sheri assured him.
Within minutes Sheri had saddled and mounted Jumper. Her mother slung a pair of heavy saddlebags behind Jumper’s saddle. Then she smiled and patted Sheri’s knee.
“There’s a first-aid kit in this side,” Mother explained, pointing to one bag. “I’ve packed a lunch in the other one and also a pistol. Don’t use it unless you have to!”
“Don’t worry, Mother, I won’t. I hate the loud bang and the way it kicks,” Sheri said, nudging her horse and trotting away.
“Radio me when you get there so I can stop worrying,” her mother called.
Sheri waved, but didn’t look back. Her mind was on the problems ahead. She rode past scattered dwarf acacia trees, saltbush shrubs, and tough spinifex grass growing in large clumps in the sandy areas.
Suddenly, Jumper pulled up short, rearing on his hind legs so quickly he almost threw Sheri from the saddle.
A large red kangaroo leaped from a bush in front of them. He was followed by another and then two more.
Sheri sighed, then called after them, “G’wan home you crazy wallaroos!”
The sun was high when the Fisher Sheep Station (ranch) appeared on the horizon. Sheri spotted a man on horseback and Jumper broke into a gallop.
Approaching the jackaroo (apprentice sheepherder) and his dog, Sheri was puzzled to see everything appearing pretty much as normal.
“Hold up there, young lady!” the man called. “What’s the big rush?”
“I rode over to help save the Fisher family,” Sheri said.
“Save ’em?” The man looked confused. “Save ’em from what? The ants or the lizards?”
“No! You don’t understand.” Sheri didn’t appreciate his dry sense of humor. “Mr. Walker, my teacher, sent me over to save them when Donny didn’t answer the radio at roll call this morning. I’ve got to help!”
The man burst out laughing, but stopped when he saw a tear run down Sheri’s cheek. “Hey, look, miss, if you really want to help and you don’t mind getting your hands greasy, you can ride over there to the tool repair shop and help Mr. Fisher fix the electric generator. He’s been working on it since late last night, and I’m sure he’d be happy to have all the help he can get.”
“You mean Donny didn’t answer the radio because there’s no electricity?”
“Kind of seems that way, doesn’t it?” the man said, his eyes twinkling. “And you’ve had an unexpected day off from school.”

My missionary companion and I were having difficulty getting along well together. I still do not know all that lay at the root of our difficulties, but after we had been together only a few weeks, walking the streets of a small Brazilian town, resentment, pride, and petty differences began to darken our relationship. Our prayers together became more and more perfunctory, and resentment more and more frequently broke out in sharp words. Almost unnoticed, the Spirit began to slip away from us.
One afternoon, after one of many unfruitful days of tracting and visiting members, and with what promised to be a barren afternoon stretching before us, we decided that we could fill some of the empty spaces on our daily activity records by visiting Antonio. Antonio was a nonmember whose wife had joined the Church several years before but had been only marginally active. He respected the missionaries and several times had shown sufficient faith to ask them to administer to him when he was ill. My present companion and I had administered to him twice, and I knew that earlier elders had done so. All of that took place before we learned that Antonio was dying of an abdominal cancer and had only a few months, perhaps weeks, to live.
When his wife answered the door that day, she looked drawn and worried. She took us into her kitchen, from which an open door led to Antonio’s room. Through the door we saw Antonio threshing in agony on a narrow bed, unconscious that we were even there.
We were suddenly at a complete loss for what to do or say. Antonio’s wife looked at us silently. We looked at each other, at Antonio, at the floor. We had no idea what to do, and worse, without a word being spoken between us, we knew that we were both thinking that we were in no spiritual condition to do anything. Finally, one of us asked if there was a room where we could be alone for a while. Antonio’s wife showed us to a bedroom, and we closed the door behind us.
We knelt and took turns praying, at first asking the Lord to make known to us his will concerning Antonio. In the silence that answered our first prayers, the knowledge of our unworthiness to receive an answer fairly shouted at us. Then, at first awkwardly and cautiously, and finally pleadingly, we began to confess to the Lord and to each other our sin in allowing vanity and pride to rob us of the power to act in our priesthood. We pleaded that Antonio not be denied release from his suffering because of our unworthiness, that the Lord would forgive our sin and bless us with faith and power to bless Antonio, or that he would bless Antonio without us.
We must have prayed for half an hour, taking turns, before a peace came to us. We agreed that we should go out, lay our hands on Antonio, and let the Spirit guide us.
When we went out, his wife asked, “Did you pray?” We said yes, and she said, “He has gone to sleep.”
We left the house subdued and chastened. Permanently and profoundly recorded in our hearts was a hard-learned lesson in the foolishness of allowing personal differences to cut us off from the source of the power to bless.

Latter-day Saints are weird.
I mean that in a nice way. After all, my best friend and next-door neighbor, Ben Blanchard, is a Latter-day Saint, and he’s great. Ben has a wild sense of humor, is good at sports, and likes to build model cars and planes, just like me. The rest of his family’s pretty neat too. Mr. Blanchard is a whiz at repairing bikes and go-carts and other mechanical things. Mrs. Blanchard makes scrumptious pies and cakes. Becky’s OK, Joel’s not bad for a baby, and Tom, who’s just younger than Ben, is all right too.
So, they’re a nice family, just a little weird. Like on Mondays. Not long after we moved into the neighborhood, I went over to play at the Blanchard’s one Monday night after dinner.
“I can’t,” Ben said when he came to the door.
“Why not?” I asked.
“Oh, I’m doing stuff with my family,” he said.
“Like what?” I asked.
Ben shuffled a little and looked flustered. “Well, on Mondays we have family night. We sing, have a lesson, play games, and have a treat. It’s churchy.”
“Oh,” I said. “Every Monday?”
“Every Monday.”
I wouldn’t mind the games and treats, but I don’t sing, and a lesson sounds boring. Sometimes Ben tells me about the lessons. Once he went through the whole day at school being real polite and not cracking his usual jokes about the teachers.
“What’s wrong?” I asked as we got on the bus. “Are you sick?”
Ben looked put out. “We had a lesson last night about being kind and thoughtful and had to set goals for the week. I’m trying to be more considerate of my teachers.”
“Oh” was all I could say.
Soon I could tell when Ben had a family-night goal to be considerate, or to say thank you all the time, or to pick up litter, or to get to bed early, or to watch out for his younger brothers. He would act really strange for a week or two, then gradually slip back toward his old ways.
Sometimes the Blanchards went places on Monday nights. The next day I’d ask Ben where his family had gone, and he’d say to visit his aunt or to pick apples for Church welfare or to a widow’s house to weed her garden.
One Monday in November I was helping my dad change the oil in the car when the Blanchards drove off, then came back so quickly that I couldn’t figure out where they could have gone.
“Where’d you go last night?” I asked Ben the next morning.
He got a funny look on his face. “Oh, somewhere,” he answered.
I couldn’t believe it. Ben always told me where they went! “What is this, some kind of secret mission?”
Ben half-laughed, half-choked, “Sort of.” He looked behind him and then leaned toward me and whispered, “Becky made me promise not to tell anyone.”
I spent the next week trying to puzzle out what the Blanchards could have done that Becky wouldn’t want anyone to know about. Had they discovered gold or silver? Were they rehearsing a circus act? Or maybe they were plotting to take over the world!
The next Monday the Blanchards stayed home. I was outside with Dad again, helping him replace the porch light. We were nearly done when a car came up the street. I was instantly alert because we live on a dead-end street, and we hardly ever get strange cars on it. Even more mysterious, this car was creeping along at a snail’s pace. As soon as the car passed our driveway, its headlights blinked off. But the car kept on going and stopped just beyond the Blanchard’s house.
I nudged Dad. “Something fishy’s going on here,” I whispered.
We tiptoed to the hedge that divides our property from the Blanchards’ and watched. A figure got out of the car and crept up the driveway to the Blanchard’s porch. He—or she or it—placed something by their door, pressed the doorbell, and scooted down the driveway.
Dad squeezed through the hedge and grabbed the skulker’s jacket. “What are you doing?” he asked.
I squeezed through the hedge, too, and ran up to the door while Dad marched the boy—we could tell that much now—up the driveway behind me.
By the time Dad got to the door, Ben and the rest of his family were crowding around the door, wide-eyed.
“Do you know this boy?” Dad asked.
“It’s Frank Adams,” Mr. Blanchard told us.
Frank was absolutely crimson. He bent down and picked up a plate of cookies. On top of the cookies was a ghost shape cut out of paper. “I just left these,” he explained weakly.
The Blanchards all whooped with laughter. “He was phantoming us!”
“Huh?” Dad and I stared at each other.
“Can I go?” Frank looked desperately at Dad. “Mom’s in the car and probably thinks I’ve been kidnapped.”
Dad let go of Frank’s jacket. “Sorry. I was just trying to watch out for my neighbors,” he said, shaking his head as Frank rushed down the driveway.
I was dying of curiosity. “What was he doing?”
Becky sighed. “Different families in our ward—our church congregation—have been going around on Mondays and secretly leaving treats on other people’s door-steps. We say that the Family Night Phantom left them.”
Dad and I stared at each other again and raised our eyebrows.
“Better cookies than vandalism,” Dad finally said with a shrug.
“I bet that’s what you were doing last week. Right?” I asked Ben.
He nodded, embarrassed.
As Dad and I walked home, I thought again how weird Latter-day Saints were. Who else would leave cookies and stuff at people’s houses without being seen? Crazy!
The next Monday night our doorbell rang. Mom, Dad, and Tina were all watching TV, so I went to see who was there.
Nobody was there! At first I thought it was somebody’s idea of a dumb joke. Then I looked down. The Blanchards had phantomed us! They’d left a plate of brownies and a silly drawing of a ghost.
Nutty, right? Absolutely nutty. But I must say, the brownies were delicious. Maybe family night phantoms aren’t so weird after all.

That night he had a dream. In his dream he was fishing from a boat with Jed as they had done many times. It was the same lake in the mountains that they had been to that summer. At first he was catching fish, laughing with Jed, having a good time. Then the dream changed, and he was alone in the boat. The boat was leaking, and all he had was a plastic drinking cup. At first he was able to stay ahead of the water, but then it got worse. He bailed furiously to keep the boat from sinking, but he could see the water filling the boat. When he looked up, he saw Kim and Fitzie on the shore laughing at him, yelling for him to let the boat sink.
Suddenly he wrenched free of his dream. He was sweating, and his covers were in disarray. He got out of bed, turned on his light, and looked at the time. It was 12:30.
He lay down and tried to go back to sleep, but sleep wouldn’t come. All the offending thoughts poured down upon his mind in rapid succession.
He threw back the covers and got out of bed. Putting on a pair of slacks and a shirt, he walked outside on his front steps and sat down. The sky was free of clouds, and he could see the stars clearly. He found himself identifying some of the constellations that he had learned in Scouting.
Sitting there, he relived in his mind what Jed and he had gone through in order to both earn their Eagle Scout rank. He remembered how Jed was always in front, leading the way.
Suddenly he found an answer to his problems: “I’ll call Jed and ask if I can move out with his family!” His mind raced, picturing himself back again with his friends.
He hurried inside and went into the family room where there was an extension phone. He dialed the number of Jed’s home.
The sleepy voice of Jed’s mother answered the phone. He apologized for calling so late and asked if he could talk to Jed.
Jed answered the phone, and they talked for a few minutes about small things. Then Jed asked, “Is anything wrong?”
“I want to move back there. Do you think your parents will let me move in with your family? I could get a job and pay them for room and board. My parents would probably help too.”
“I’ll ask them in the morning,” Jed answered. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t like it here. The people are really different.” He told Jed about the drugs and loose morals, painting it in as bad a light as he could.
Jed was unimpressed. “So what? I can find the same attitudes back here in our high school. Have you forgotten?”
Kevin felt as if his last hope was being yanked away. “No! It’s different. I’ve got to get out of here, or I’ll end up being just like them.”
“Why don’t you try to set a good example?” Jed asked.
“I can’t. They’ll laugh at me. Let me come back.”
“Okay, if you need to, we’ll work it out. But Kevin, maybe you’ve got some missionary work you can do there.”
“No, not me. How can I convert them? They’ve nearly converted me.”
“Look,” Jed continued, “since we were in grade school, you’ve been somebody I’ve looked up to for help. You practically dragged me through to become an Eagle. You were always the one who was out ahead yelling for us to catch up.”
Kevin was stunned to hear Jed say that. “No, not me. You were the leader.”
“I had to hustle to stay up with you,” Jed insisted. “Didn’t you know that? Now find some friends there who will lift you up the way we helped each other.”
Kevin pictured in his mind the way the halls overflowed during a class change. “How will I find them? There are 2,000 kids in the school.”
“I don’t know. You’ll find a way. You always have before when you faced a challenge.”
They said good-bye, and Kevin hung up. He walked slowly to his room, lost in thought. Kneeling down by his bed, he began a long prayer: “Father in Heaven, I’ve got a problem …”
The next night after supper he went with Fitzie and some of his friends to play basketball in the school gym. They played for two hours.
Afterward they were all in the locker room. Kevin had already showered and was just putting on his shoes. The others were in various stages of getting dressed.
Suddenly the lights went out.
“Okay, who’s the clown?” Fitzie yelled. “Turn the lights back on!”
“I didn’t turn ’em off,” someone answered. “Where’s the light switch anyway? … Ow! My toe! … The switch doesn’t work.”
“There aren’t any lights anywhere in the building,” another voice added.
“Oh no,” Fitzie groaned, “another blackout. Do any of you guys have a lighter?”
“I do,” someone volunteered. “It’s in my shirt pocket if I can find it.” Kevin could make out a figure fumbling in a locker near him. “Here it is.”
A small glimmer of light shone in the otherwise dark room.
“Hurry up, you guys! I’m low on lighter fluid.” Kevin sat on the bench and watched unknown figures make use of the small light as they finished preparing to leave the room.
“Man, I never thought I’d be glad somebody had a cheap lighter,” a voice drawled.
“What do you mean, cheap lighter? It cost me two bucks.”
“Yeah, well it sure seems bright in here.”
Finally they were ready. “Kevin, what are you doing sitting there? Let’s get out of here.”
On Sunday Kevin went with Jenny to class, mainly to be with her. He had already discounted any possibility that their teacher could teach him anything, so he sat with his shoulders hunched over, his head down, wrestling with his problems.
It wasn’t until Sister Mattson called on him that he looked up. “Kevin,” she said, then read aloud from the manual, “this can best be seen by examining what the Savior said. Will you read Matthew, chapter 5, verses 14 through 16?” [Matt. 5:14–16]
Jenny loaned him her Bible and helped him find the reference. “‘Ye are the light of the world,’” Kevin began mechanically. “‘A city that is set on an hill cannot be hid. Neither do men light a candle, and put it under a bushel, but on a candlestick; and it giveth light …’” He stopped and stared at the words on the page.
“Yes, go on,” Sister Mattson urged.
“‘… and it giveth light unto all that are in the house.’”
“Kevin, there’s one more verse,” Jenny quietly prompted.
“‘Let your light so shine before men,’” he read slowly, “‘that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven.’”
“Yes, and what can we learn from this scripture?” Sister Mattson asked.
He didn’t say anything. He pictured the small light in the darkened locker room and the dim figures of people moving around, each attracted by the light and using it as their reference point.
“Jenny, do you know what we can learn from this scripture?” Sister Mattson asked, thinking that Kevin did not have an answer.
“We can learn a lot,” Kevin said quietly, almost to himself. “The first thing is that in order to be a light, we have to live the commandments. You have to set your standards. You can’t re-decide what to do every time someone asks you to do something wrong. You’ve got to make a mental list: This is what I will do. This is what I won’t do. You have to decide what your life is going to mean, or it won’t mean a thing.”
“Thank you,” Sister Mattson said. “Now we should get on with the rest of the lesson.”
Kevin interrupted. “The problem is, I keep thinking that if I didn’t live here, it would be easier. It doesn’t really matter where you live. What matters is that you set your standards once and for all. If you do that, you can be a light.”
“Yes, thank you, and now we’d better get on to Ephesians,” Sister Mattson said.
“You’ve got to be a light to the people around you. Do you know how much light one small lighter can throw in a completely dark room?”
“No,” Jenny replied.
“Enough. That’s the point. Enough for everyone in the room to find his way out of the darkness. And the darker it is, the more the light is noticed. And people who enjoy the light will come nearer to it. That’s how I can find friends who will help me live my standards! We can gather friends around us who will help us, and the light will get even brighter.”
Sister Mattson by now was just looking at both of them.
“Do you know what I’m going to do?” Kevin burst out. “I’m going to memorize jokes from my brother’s Boy’s Life magazine. It has some of the corniest jokes in the world. Every time I hear someone starting a dirty joke, I’m going to bombard him with corny jokes. And I’m going to have a party of my own, at my house, with kids from school and the missionaries. In a nice friendly way, they’re going to know I’m a Mormon.”
“Thank you, Kevin,” Sister Mattson broke in. Turning to Jenny, she asked confidentially, “Jenny, what did he say?”
Jenny put her hand on his arm and answered proudly, “He said that he’s going to be okay.”
“How nice,” Sister Mattson said. “Well, we’d better get on with the rest of the lesson.” She looked at the page of the manual, paused, and then shut the book.
“No. I think Kevin’s story can teach us the same thing. What were you saying about the light in the dark room?”

Sometimes temptation to slacken can be almost overwhelming, especially when a cherished goal comes in sight. Like the time Jenny was invited to meet with top deejays from Independent Radio City, Liverpool—on a Sunday.
She wanted so much to be there, supporting her hospital team and meeting influential people, possibly furthering career opportunities. Workmates kept pressing invitations. But she refused, at the same time explaining her feelings for the Sabbath.
“I felt awful letting them down,” she says, “but I’d have felt even more awful letting myself and Heavenly Father down and my workmates, too, in the long run, because they’d have witnessed a bad example.”
And Jenny knows bad examples knock down bridges. As she’s more interested in building them, she rejoins the radio waves with another cheery message.
“Time to close for today, but before we go, I’d like to interview the lady who’s been interviewing me for the past two hours. She, too, is a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, sometimes known as the Mormons. Let’s ask her a few questions about the Church and a magazine called the New Era. …”

On my mission, my companion and I taught a family with several children. During one of our planning times, we prayed and discussed what lesson we should teach the children next, and we both agreed to teach about prayer.
When we came to their house, the grandmother and the kids were so excited. We began the lesson with a prayer. The children were quiet and ready to listen. We explained to them how and why to pray. To end our lesson, we asked them, “Who wants to give a closing prayer?” All of them wanted to pray! So we made a schedule for them to give the prayers each time we came to give a lesson. We also invited them to pray when we were not around.
After that lesson, I thought, “Why do little children find it easy to pray while our older investigators have a hard time praying?” I found an answer in the Bible Dictionary: “As soon as we learn the true relationship in which we stand toward God (namely, God is our Father, and we are His children), then at once prayer becomes natural and instinctive on our part (Matt. 7:7–11). Many of the so-called difficulties about prayer arise from forgetting this relationship” (“Prayer”; see also Guide to the Scriptures, “Prayer,” scriptures.lds.org).
From that time on, I tried to help people understand their true relationship with our Father in Heaven. Our Father in Heaven wants to talk to His children, just as our earthly parents want to talk with us. He loves us, He wants to talk to us, and He wants us to talk to Him.

As a young elder, I had been in the mission field about one year, and while reading scriptures and words of the latter-day Apostles about revelation and the Holy Ghost, I had a stunning awakening. I did not have a testimony of my own, specifically of the Father and the Son. I went on my mission living on the borrowed light of my wonderful parents. Never doubting their words, I had not thought about seeking my own spiritual witness. On a February night in San Antonio, Texas, in 1962, I knew that I had to know for myself. In our small apartment I found a place where I could quietly pray out loud, pleading, “Heavenly Father, are You there? I must know for myself!”
Sometime later that night I came to know for myself for the first time in my life that God and Jesus are real. I did not hear an audible voice nor see a heavenly being. I knew in the same way you too may have come to know—which is “by the unspeakable gift of the Holy Ghost” (D&C 121:26) and the spirit of revelation (see D&C 8:1–3) speaking peace to my mind (see D&C 6:23) and assurances to my heart (see Alma 58:11).
From that experience I witnessed the results of Alma’s counsel to “awake and arouse [my] faculties … to [conduct] an experiment upon [His] words” (Alma 32:27). These words or seeds have grown into trees, indeed giant trees of testimony. The process continues with more experiments upon the word, resulting in additional trees of testimony, now a veritable forest based on revelation through and by the Holy Ghost.

Ashley P., 16, attended church in another faith for the first six or seven years of her life. Then her parents stopped going. Still, they taught her about Heavenly Father and the power of prayer, so she grew up believing in God. Throughout her early teen years, she attended various worship services with friends.
Just before her sophomore year of high school, Ashley was struggling, so she looked for answers through prayer. “I prayed that I would be able to be happy in high school. I asked Heavenly Father, ‘Please help me find something that will make me truly happy.’”
Within a few weeks, she started to get to know a classmate, Katie J., in orchestra class. Because they shared a music stand, talking happened easily.
“One day after school in the orchestra room, several of us started talking about our faith,” recalls Katie. “Religion is a big thing for a lot of kids in orchestra—most of the kids have strong beliefs and high standards, so those kinds of discussions happen a lot. Talking about the Church wasn’t scary for that reason—people are open to other people’s opinions and are generally accepting.”
“Katie started telling us about her church,” Ashley recalls. “I asked her a lot of questions after that discussion, and she suggested I go with her to church. And I found that I really wanted to.”
A few days later, Katie told Ashley about the Book of Mormon and showed her a copy. She had written her testimony in it and told Ashley she wanted to give it to someone, but she wasn’t sure whom. “I wanted that book,” says Ashley, smiling. “But I didn’t want to just come out and say, ‘Can I have that?’ As it turned out, she gave it to me a few days later.”
Shortly after that, Katie repeated her invitation to Ashley to attend church with her and her family, and Ashley accepted. That pattern continued for the next two months. “I loved church!” says Ashley. “I loved that families worshipped together—sacrament meeting was for both parents and children. That is what church should be about—being there with your family.
“But I also loved that there were lessons specifically for different groups. Young Women strengthened me so much—I felt so accepted by the young women there. I have made lifelong friends.”
In time, Ashley began meeting with the missionaries. “I had questions about things I had wondered about since I was a kid,” Ashley says. “The missionaries answered my questions perfectly, especially when it came to the plan of salvation. It all made sense. And as I prayed about it, I got answers.”
Although Ashley’s parents initially asked her to wait until she was 18 to be baptized, they later told her that if she really felt that she needed to be baptized, she could. Shortly after that, her family began praying together at dinnertime. And a month after Ashley’s baptism in June 2010, her brother, Josh, was baptized. The whole family even joined in one of his meetings with the missionaries. “My family situation regarding the Church totally flipped,” Ashley says.
“I have learned that Heavenly Father will bless us and help us if what we want is righteous,” Ashley says. In addition to helping her find good friends and true happiness, she says, “He helps me with other things too. I pray every day, and He always finds ways to comfort and bless each of us.”
Ashley points out that sometimes that comfort and those blessings come through other people, as they came to her through Katie. “You never know who you are going to touch spiritually,” she says. “Don’t be afraid to try. You never know if they are struggling with something hard in their life. They might really need to hear your testimony or learn about the Church. Don’t hold it in.”
Katie agrees. “If you feel a prompting to say something, don’t doubt it—go for it! If you doubt your testimony, people will see that. But if you are an example of what you believe in, they’ll see that too.
“Take the opportunities you find,” she continues. “If there is a religious discussion at school, you don’t want to miss that kind of chance. Be open and honest about what you believe in. Explain it to the best of your ability. It can change your life—and the life of a friend.”

This is the story of Patrick and Elizabeth Appianti:
Sister Appianti: “One Saturday afternoon, I met missionaries teaching my mum as I visited her. They invited me to join the lesson, but I declined. I met them many times as I kept visiting my mum, but I always turned down the invitation to join the discussion. One Sunday as I was going to the usual church I had been attending, I got a prompting when the vehicle got to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I alighted and entered the premises. The warmth of the members and the missionaries as they welcomed me informed my decision to start meeting with the missionaries. They introduced the Book of Mormon and taught of the Restoration. After studying the testimonies of the Three and the Eight Witnesses, I was touched as it reminded me of the Lord’s mercies, and I made a decision to be baptized.”

For as long as I can remember, I have always looked up to my big sister, DeNeece. I will never forget those cold winter mornings when the snow seemed to rise above my waist but never reached her knees. She would boldly take a clump of snow and roll it over the ground to create a snowman. I would gather up some snow and follow directly behind her, rolling my tiny snowball in her footsteps. I would follow her around for what seemed to be hours. Then she would abruptly halt and announce her ball finished. So naturally, I declared the same. Would my ball ever be as large or as skillfully round as hers? I pondered the situation, and finally it occurred to me to start my snowball alongside her, not behind. Then they both would be large and we could create a huge snowman. But we never rolled snowballs again.