Gospel Story Finder

Before I married my wife, Stacey, people told me how to find the right person to marry. They said I should make a list of the qualities I was looking for in a spouse.
My list went something like this: I want to marry a young woman who is spiritual, is a returned missionary, has a strong testimony, and wants to be a mother and raise our children in the gospel. It would also be nice if she is tall, athletic, and has blonde hair.
As I was dating, I had a hard time finding a young woman with all of those characteristics. Young women are much more than a list of characteristics. They have different personalities, different likes and dislikes. Some are easier to talk to than others. Some are tall, some short. Some like sports, some don’t.
I began to revise and prioritize my list.
The most important change came from a sentence in my patriarchal blessing that says Heavenly Father was preparing a young woman for me to marry in the temple. That sentence, along with prayer and the Spirit, was my guide.
My wife is short, has dark brown hair, didn’t go on a mission, and doesn’t play sports. But as we dated, I found that she is kind, easy to talk to, fun to be with, has a strong testimony, and wants to raise children in the gospel.
So I decided that hair color and athletic ability weren’t as important to me as seeking to know Heavenly Father’s will in deciding whom to marry. When I was with Stacey, I felt at peace. I felt she was the one Heavenly Father had prepared for me to marry. Stacey and I were sealed in the temple.
I’m glad I put learning and obeying Heavenly Father’s will at the top of my list.

I don’t think any of us had any idea how big America really was. When we landed in Boston, we didn’t realize that our long journey was just beginning, rather than nearing its end.
From Boston, we traveled to Iowa City, Iowa, by railroad. The new railroad saved us weeks of traveling by wagon. The cattle cars were crowded, but we endured the journey well. The train stopped in Buffalo, New York, on the Fourth of July. We could only watch the people celebrate. How I wanted to join them!
Finally we arrived in Iowa City. From the train station, we walked three miles in rain and mud to the place where we were to meet the Church’s agent in charge of organizing the trek. We had been assured that everything would be ready for us when we arrived, but it wasn’t. The handcarts hadn’t even been built! We camped and worked at preparing for the journey until all was ready.
Eventually the handcarts were obtained, and our family was assigned to Captain Edward Martin’s company. Near the end of July 1856, we cheerfully began our journey to Zion. Our family had three carts when we started out. Each cart could carry about 120 pounds of baggage, 100 pounds of flour, cooking utensils, and additional food. There were 576 people in our company. I’d never been with so many members of the Church!
Pulling the handcarts wasn’t bad at first. But many of them broke down because they were built of green wood. We pulled those carts three hundred miles to Florence, Nebraska. The last members of our company, and the Willie company, arrived there on August 22. As soon as we arrived, there was some disagreement as to whether we should continue on. Some said that it was too late in the year. They felt that we should set up a winter camp in Florence and wait until spring to travel to Salt Lake City. But most of the Saints were for starting immediately. After much discussion, it was decided to continue on. We were anxious to finish our long journey. About a thousand miles remained ahead of us, but we had already come so many miles that another thousand seemed like a short trip. We didn’t know that the worst part of our journey was still ahead.

After several weeks on the road, Christian had used all his money, and he was forced to beg for food. At night he slept against fallen trees in the woods, curled up, pulling his coat tight against the cold. He felt more alone and cold then he ever had in his life. The loneliness bit at his insides even more than his hunger did.
At last he reached Drammen, but he found no success, no work, and no one knew of any Mormons or they were unwilling to help him find them. For days he wandered, knocking on doors, asking for work and direction. A blackness of despair grew inside him.
While he was looking for shelter against a growing snow storm one evening, he saw a small cottage on the edge of the woods just outside of Drammen. He decided to knock on one more door. He told the woman who answered that he was looking for work. She smiled and told Christian that her husband was not home at the moment and that Christian should come back later and talk to him. She offered him slices of bread and cheese. He took them, thanked her, turned, and walked back into the woods. In the fading daylight he found a snow-covered brush pile with a hollow inside and crawled into it. His nose and fingers were numb with cold, and inside he felt lost, without hope.
The woman reminded him of his own mother, and he longed to be home. His thoughts became unclear and dreamy as a drowsiness came over him. He knew it was the cold and that if he went to sleep he would freeze. For a while he accepted the hopelessness and began drifting into a comfortable, warm sleep.
Then he remembered his grandfather’s words.
“There are steps in life that can change your entire future and the future of entire generations. Take those steps carefully, Christian, in the direction you believe to be right, no matter how difficult they appear to be, and God will be with you.”
Christian crawled from under the shelter. The snow was falling heavily.
“Surely,” Christian said aloud, “if God is my Father, he can help me. I know he will.”
Christian knelt in the fresh snow and began praying.
In the darkness a short distance away, a figure watched and listened. When Christian stood from his prayers the figure approached him.
A tall man, Moen Hotvedtvien stood looking at the slender boy.
“I am Brother Hotvedtvien, and I am also a Mormon,” he said. He led Christian back to the house where the woman had given Christian bread and cheese. The house was warm.
The Hotvedtviens had no children of their own, and they took Christian in as their son. Moen was a carpenter and cabinetmaker; he taught Christian his trade.

Maya and Cade raced to the chicken coop.
“Is anything there?” Maya asked.
“Not yet,” Cade said.
Maya and Cade took care of the chickens every day. They gave them food and water. And they checked for eggs. But there were no eggs yet.
“My chicken will lay the first egg,” Cade said.
“No,” Maya said. “Mine will.”
A few days later Cade ran into the house. “I found an egg!” The egg was white with brown speckles.
“That’s from Cade’s chicken,” Mom said. “My chicken’s eggs will be brown. Maya, your chicken’s eggs will be blue.”
Cade pumped his fist. “My chicken laid the first egg!” he said.
Maya thought about the blue egg. She could wait for that.
But waiting was hard! The next egg didn’t come for days. And it was brown. “Your blue egg will come,” Mom said. “Sometimes we have to wait for good things.” So Maya kept waiting.
Every day Cade and Maya filled the water. Every day, they scattered seeds for the chickens to eat. And they kept checking for eggs. Sometimes there was a speckled egg. Sometimes there was a brown egg. But never a blue one. So Maya kept waiting.
One day Maya checked for eggs again. This time she found two. One was speckled. One was brown. Then something caught her eye. Another egg, hidden under the straw. A blue egg!
Maya picked it up. It was beautiful. Waiting was worth it.

But Elder Jesus Ramon, from Elche, Spain, the only member of the Church in his family, says, “I cried when I got my mission call to Utah. I wanted to serve my people in Spain; share the gospel message with them. I also wanted to be closer to my family and help bring them into the Church. But I prayed and knew that the call was from the Lord through President Spencer W. Kimball, and that Utah was where I should be.”

Now he is glad that he was obedient to the call. “I have seen a great deal of progress in the attitude of my family toward the Church. They are now attending church because of the change for the good they have seen in my life, and because they like the members. I feel that one of the blessings of serving a mission will be to see my family come into the Church.”

Although Elder Ramon is serving an English-speaking mission, he often is the first contact with Mexicans or South Americans living in his area of Zone Eight.

My brethren and sisters, like many of you I was surprised after my marriage to discover the extent of my wife’s relatives. Having come from an extensive family myself, it was nothing new to me to be surrounded by a large family. Nevertheless, as I became acquainted with the connections into which I had married, I had my eyes opened.
I served as a Regional Representative in Wyoming. Her parents grew up there and it seemed that everyone was her relative. The same thing was evident when I was transferred to southern Utah. Her family connections are everywhere. I find them in Texas and in Arizona. We even found them in Egypt and in Saudi Arabia when we visited there two months ago. I have found myself in constant competition to find relatives of my own. I don’t know whether I should say this, but I’ve always laid a certain claim to fame from the fact that Sister LaVern Parmley, who was president of the Primary, was my cousin. But you know, Sister Bangerter arranged to have her released. And then she had Sister Barbara Smith, who is her cousin, sustained as president of the Relief Society.
Several years ago while I was conversing with a man from southern California who was visiting for the first time in Salt Lake City, he commented that the members of this Church seem to be a unified people. He mentioned that this was foreign to his experience. Even though he was a member of a church in Los Angeles and attended regularly, he rarely did more than greet the man who sat behind him and speak “good morning” to the one in front. He said, “I have no close friends in a congregation of 1,200 people.”
I responded that while I had been to Los Angeles only two or three times, I was sure that if I were to visit any one of the fifty or hundred congregations of our Church in that city, within twenty minutes I would find someone I knew or someone who was acquainted with friends of mine, or perhaps even a relative. If not that, certainly one of my wife’s relatives.
I have often been impressed with these extensive relationships which are common to those of us who are members of the Church.
We have other examples of the extensiveness of our families. Last summer we were driving through Switzerland and were passing near the town from which my grandfather came. Immediately in front of us on the highway was a truck, on the tailgate of which was written the name Bangerter and the name of the town. I turned to my wife and said, “At last I have you outnumbered. All these people are my relatives.”
In pursuing our genealogy, our family has extended many lines of our ancestry back in to the 1500s. One day I counted up the surnames on our pedigree. I found that I come from 226 known family lines. If each one of you whose family came from Switzerland or England would check your pedigree to the same extent, I am sure you would have some of the same names I do.
This is an indication that we all have a real kinship based on blood relationship.
On my pedigree I counted up the names of 650 individuals who have been identified as my direct progenitors. But I have calculated that if I could fill in all the spaces on my pedigree chart only going back to about the year 1500, there would be between 15,000 and 20,000 individuals who are my direct ancestors. And if I were to add to those names the names of their children, I would have a genealogy of between fifty and sixty thousand people, all closely related to me.
Because of the intensive efforts of my mother and other members of the family, several thousand names have been gathered of my close relatives who are dead. Following the doctrine of the Church, these names have been taken to the temple and ordinances have been performed for them so that when we meet them in the life after death we will recognize them, not only as members of our family, but also as brothers and sisters in the gospel.
I have also learned that even in a family where extensive work has been done in genealogy, the majority of this research is still ahead of us.
There are other relationships in our lives not founded so closely on blood connection.
I have listened to the testimonies of many people who have joined the Church. Invariably they speak of how they wandered in different philosophies and religions, but that when they joined the Church they found that they had connected with their true family. In a spiritual sense, they have come home.
I have had close association with a man in business who is a beloved friend. We have occasionally discussed religion; and although he has not shown interest in joining the Church, he has investigated many religious philosophies, including the Methodist Church, reincarnation, certain aspects of spiritualism, Pentecostal groups, and Christian fellowship associations. I told him one day that I was sure he would someday join the Church.
When he inquired with a smile how I knew that, I responded, “Anyone who is looking as earnestly as you are will never be satisfied until he finds the full answer. But when you do join the Church, you will feel like you have come home and you won’t be searching anymore.”
This is the feeling of the members of this Church. Since the days of Jesus Christ, the members of his Church have called each other brother and sister. This was not just happenstance—it was intended.
The Savior taught us to pray to our Father who is in heaven. He spoke of himself as the Son of his Father and frequently referred to the members of the Church as the children of God. If this doesn’t indicate family relationship, I fail to understand the meaning of those terms.
When I first went to South America as a young missionary, I noticed that the people looked like foreigners. They spoke a strange language; they had a darker skin; their hair was dark; their eyes were dark; and I felt lost among them. I did not understand until later that I was the foreigner. But now after spending many years with those people, when I now go among them, I can no longer distinguish between them and North Americans or Europeans. I feel so much at home with them that I don’t even notice what color their hair is or the tone of their skin or the color of their eyes. I don’t even notice what language they speak.
They’re my brothers and sisters. I extend my full love to them, and they return it to me with ties as close as those that I have experienced in my own family.
Now when I read the scriptures I understand better what the Savior meant. He was visiting in a certain home when a messenger came in and informed him that his mother and his brethren were waiting outside. He turned to the man, not to depreciate his family relationship but to teach a special lesson, and said, “Who is my mother? and … my brethren?” And then, turning to the group gathered before him, he said, stretching forth his hand toward his disciples, “Behold my mother and my brethren! For whosoever shall do the will of my Father which is in heaven, the same is my brother, and sister, and mother.” (Matt. 12:48–50.)
What I experienced in South America was described by Paul in his letter to the saints in Ephesus: “Now therefore ye are no more strangers and foreigners, but fellowcitizens with the saints, and of the household of God.” (Eph. 2:19.)
Does not this word household denote a family relationship?
From these examples I infer that God the Father, after having scattered his children abroad in the earth for their experience, desires to bring them home again. We, who, as Peter said, “are given … exceeding great and precious promises” (2 Pet. 1:4), have ourselves promised to engage in a lifetime of service in behalf of our brothers and sisters who are not so favored.
Those relatives who have gone on to the spirit world without the blessings of the gospel cannot forever be neglected. A small number of Church members have been diligent. A new era is upon us now. At this very moment, instructions are going out to the high priests of the Church to mobilize their forces so that every member of the Church can be helped to find his family and bring the lost members home again. This year we are all called upon to prepare our own personal history and to organize our living family. Even without a temple or a library close at hand, everyone can do this. Next year we will be given other challenges and assignments until gradually the members of the Church everywhere will become proficient in preparing the records of their families who have died without the gospel.
If this work is true, we may shortly expect the day when we do things for the dead as extensively as we now do them for the living. This may conceivably require many members to devote years of their time, expending substantial amounts of money, just as we do now in missionary service.
Putting the Lord’s family together on eternal terms constitutes the purpose for which the gospel was restored. This will even save nations and the world. We do it by uniting our homes and obtaining our blessings in the temple. We do it by inviting others to accept the restored gospel. We do it by extending our hands across the spiritual spaces to those many relatives who died without the gospel. Those who destroy homes commit a crime against eternity. If we do not put our family together, Moroni says the whole earth will be utterly wasted at Christ’s coming. (D&C 2:3.) May God bless us to be saviors in the Lord’s family, rather than destroyers, I pray in the name of Jesus Christ. Amen.

A few months after my change of heart, my future wife, Malaina, came into my life and our courtship began. I was grateful to now be ready for our future together. Dating Malaina was really like a fairy-tale dream come true! Both of us had been hurt by past relationships, and we found love and understanding in each other. We both wanted with all our hearts to be worthy of a temple marriage. Six months after we started dating, we were sealed in the Seattle Washington Temple.
Heavenly Father blessed me with a loving wife who understands the power of Jesus Christ’s Atonement and what it means to be cleansed through repentance. Malaina loves me for the man I am today and not for the mistakes of my past. Her personal testimony and love of the Savior continually gives me strength and a desire to fulfill the full measure of my creation. She is truly the companion I always dreamed of having, and together we’ve been blessed with two children.

The third is to be different. Let me tell you a story that happened this July on Panama City Beach in Florida.5 Late in the afternoon, Roberta Ursrey saw her two young sons screaming for help from 100 yards (90 m) out into the ocean. They had become caught in a strong current and were being carried out to sea. A nearby couple tried to rescue the boys, but they also got caught in the current. So members of the Ursrey family dove in to rescue the struggling swimmers, and quickly nine people were caught in the rip current.
There were no ropes. There was no lifeguard. The police sent for a rescue boat, but the people had been out in the ocean struggling for 20 minutes, and they were exhausted and their heads were slipping under the water. Among the onlookers on the beach was Jessica Mae Simmons. Her husband had the idea to form a human chain. They shouted at people on the beach to help them, and dozens of people linked arms and marched into the ocean. Jessica wrote, “To see people from different races and genders come into action to help TOTAL strangers [was] absolutely amazing to see!!”6 An 80-person chain stretched toward the swimmers. Look at this picture of that incredible moment.
Everyone on the beach could think only of traditional solutions, and they were paralyzed. But one couple, in a split second, thought of a different solution. Innovation and creation are spiritual gifts. When we keep our covenants, it may make us different from others in our culture and society, but it gives us access to inspiration so we can think of different solutions, different approaches, different applications. We aren’t always going to fit in with the world, but being different in positive ways can be a lifeline to others who are struggling.
The fourth is to be distinct. Distinct means to be recognizably well defined. Let me go back to the story about Jessica Mae Simmons on the beach. Once that human chain was stretching toward the swimmers, she knew she could help. Jessica Mae said, “I can hold my breath … and go around an Olympic pool with ease! [I knew how to get out of a rip current.] I knew I could get [each swimmer] to the human chain.”7 She and her husband grabbed boogie boards and swam down the chain until they and another rescuer reached the swimmers, and then they ferried them one by one back to the chain, who passed them to the safety of the beach. Jessica had a distinct skill: she knew how to swim against a rip current.

I can’t count the number of times I have stumbled out of bed at five-thirty in the morning to a blaring alarm. Or how many times I’ve had to rip myself from a warm, soft bed to walk across a cold floor, mumbling to myself all the while that I would receive blessings for this and it would strengthen my testimony. But it wasn’t until recently that I began dropping to my knees and humbly offering up my thanks for early-morning seminary class.
As a junior in high school, I have spent approximately 311 hours studying the scriptures, watching Church videos, and being drilled on scripture-mastery scriptures. Those hours I could have spent studying for that last-minute trig test or finishing my homework or sleeping in one more hour. But what could I have been doing that was more important?
Over the years, seminary has become increasingly important to me. In that 45 minutes before school every day I have come to realize the truth of the gospel, the importance of the commandments, and the love that our Savior has for us. I have grown and learned with my fellow seminary students. I have gained something much more priceless than a few more hours of sleep. I have a great set of outlined scriptures and a growing testimony of the gospel. To me, that is worth the five-thirty alarm.

In the early days of the Church it was common for young married couples to be called on missions and some of these young couples were called to Samoa. The first person to be buried in that plot was Sister Katie Eliza Hale Merrill. She and her husband had only been on a mission for three months when she took sick and gave birth to a premature child. The child died the next day. The history says the following: “An hour after the death of the child, the mother called Sister Lee (wife of the mission president) to her bedside and, after thanking her for waiting on her during the sickness, said that she was ‘going to die’ that she ‘could not stay because they had come for her.’ She then talked with her husband, kissed him goodbye, and all was over. The mother and baby boy were buried in one coffin.” After his mission, Brother Merrill took the remains of his wife and infant son back to Utah for burial.

When I was a child growing up and learning about life, I did not have the security of my father and mother telling me who I was, how I could find lasting happiness, and what would happen to me if I were to die. My parents did not have the gospel of Jesus Christ, so my childhood was very uncertain in many ways and often full of fear.
But in all the memories of my childhood, there is at least one of peace and joy. This is the memory of Christmas.
Christmastime was celebrated in the traditions and customs of my home country of Germany, and it was specifically for the children.
Four Sundays before Christmas Day, preparations for something holy and beautiful could be felt in our home. A little wreath with four candles on it was placed on the family table.
On the first Sunday, the first candle was lit. As a family we sat around the table, singing Christmas songs and preparing little gifts that each of us would give to each member of the family.
On the fourth Sunday, the last candle was lit, and expectations for the coming joyous events were growing extreme.
A Christmas tree did not appear in our home until December 24. On that day, we children had to stay outside, go on errands, and play by ourselves. I still remember how time seemed to not pass at all.
We children were taught that the Christmas tree and all of its glory and beauty, along with presents and food and cookies, came from the little Christ Child.
This lack of logic did not bother us children. We believed that there was a Christ-child person of a supernatural existence who cared for us in such a way that once a year He would come in person to fulfill all of our hopes and dreams.
In preparation, we cleaned the rooms where we slept. We put on our best clothes. We had our gifts ready to give. When the sun started to set on that special day, we were invited to get ready to enter the living room.
As was the custom, the doors to the living room had been locked because we children were not to go into that room. It became a place of great mystery. Once in a while we heard some rustling of papers, and once in a while the more courageous of us tried to peek in the keyhole—only to learn that the key was in it from the inside and the door was locked.
When Mother finally decided that we were clean, orderly, dressed, our hair groomed, and had our rooms in order, we were asked to listen carefully. Suddenly we heard a little bell ringing, and our hearts beat close to explosion. This was it! This was the moment when the doors were unlocked and we were allowed to go into the living room. And there it was—a Christmas tree standing from the floor to the ceiling! We became aware of its beautiful, fresh-cut smell and that it was glowing with candles. Our father, who happened to be already inside the room when we walked in, was watching it carefully so that nothing caught on fire.
The Christmas tree had many decorations that we as children would see only at Christmastime. In the center of the tree was a wax sculpture of a little Christ Child surrounded by glowing angels of gold paper and silk.
Our family gathered around the tree and sang four or five Christmas songs. Then we children were invited to find our own corner of presents, which had been covered by a blanket.
This Christmas Eve tradition developed in us powerful feelings of holiness, joy, love, gratitude, and security. These feelings, radiating from the symbols of the little wax figure of the Christ Child, which we saw only at Christmastime, had a great influence on all of us.

For many years my wife and children and I have had the tradition of spending summer vacation on a small beach near our home in southern Brazil. Sometimes we moved because of work, but no matter how far we lived from that small beach, we always made the annual trip with much anticipation and joy. Likewise, extended family members and friends would travel long distances so we could all be together once a year. Everyone came as early as they could and stayed as long as possible.
At that small beach our family had many wonderful opportunities for spiritual growth and gospel teaching. Most of our extended family members were not members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and did not share our religious beliefs. To them the Lord’s day was just another day to play and have fun. Because more of the family would be at the beach on weekends than during the other days of the week, our presence and participation in Sunday activities was not only expected but also insistently requested—including by our children.
Our children were small and only just learning to apply the truths of the gospel. To them the temptation of participating in activities with their cousins and friends on Sundays was great. Spending time with family is an important part of the gospel, and breaking the Sabbath would have been easy to rationalize. After all, the closest unit of the Church at that time was more than 60 miles (96 km) away from the beach. Our friends and neighbors in our home congregation were far away, and none of them would ever know if we stayed at the beach instead of driving to the chapel and attending our meetings on Sunday. We went to church the entire year, and our extended family could be together only a few weeks a year.
Nevertheless, we never missed going to church on Sundays—not even once! We remembered the Lord’s teachings:
“And that thou mayest more fully keep thyself unspotted from the world, thou shalt go to the house of prayer and offer up thy sacraments upon my holy day;
“For verily this is a day appointed unto you to rest from your labors, and to pay thy devotions unto the Most High; …
“But remember that on this, the Lord’s day, thou shalt offer thine oblations and thy sacraments unto the Most High. …
“And on this day thou shalt do none other thing, only let thy food be prepared with singleness of heart that thy fasting may be perfect, or, in other words, that thy joy may be full” (D&C 59:9–13).
We chose to keep this commandment, and we taught our children that they should keep it as well. Soon they understood that it was more important to worship God on His holy day than to please family and friends or to satisfy their own desires.
On Sundays at the beach, we would wake up early, dress up for Sunday worship, and travel by car to the nearest chapel. During our trip and throughout the entire day, we would enjoy the peace and joy the Lord has promised to those who keep His commandments. We came to learn that this feeling of peace and joy does not come from the world.
After several years of this routine, something wonderful happened. Our children stopped questioning the importance of worshipping God on His holy day, and several of our children’s cousins began to ask if they could go to church with us! Little did we know that the feeling of peace and joy we felt was also being felt by our nieces and nephews upon our return from our meetings. Eventually a great blessing resulted. After some of those children became adolescents, two of them from one family told their parents, “We want to become Latter-day Saints.” Soon the entire family was baptized. Recently, one of the children, now a returned missionary, was married in the temple.
We still go to that beach every year, but everyone knows that on Sunday our family will not be there to play. Instead, we will go to church and worship God with family members who join us—a group that is becoming larger and larger every year!
When we look back on those years and think about the choice we made, we thank God for helping us have the courage to do what was right and to teach our children to do the same. We don’t have the slightest doubt that that decision strengthened our children as well as our extended family. It gave us the Lord’s promised peace, played an important role in the conversion of family members, and blessed us with a satisfaction not found in alternative Sunday activities that do not fill the soul.

I remember a bishop who treated me as if I were already what I had the potential to become in priesthood power. He called me one Sunday when I was a priest. He said he needed me to be his companion to visit some members of our ward. He made it sound as if I were his only hope for success. He didn’t need me. He had excellent counselors in his bishopric.
We visited a penniless and hungry widow. He wanted me to help him reach her heart, challenge her to make and use a budget, and promise her that she could rise to be in a position not only to take care of herself but also to help others.
We went next to comfort two little girls living in a difficult situation. As we walked away, the bishop said quietly to me, “Those children will never forget that we came to them.”
At the next house, I saw how to invite a less-active man to come back to the Lord by convincing him the ward members needed him.
That bishop was a Melchizedek Priesthood holder who was raising my sights and giving me a boost by example. He taught me to have the power and the courage to go anywhere in service for the Lord. He is long gone to his reward, but I still remember him because he reached down to lift me up when I was an inexperienced Aaronic Priesthood holder. I learned later that he saw me on a future priesthood path of greater responsibilities, then beyond my own vision.

Life is not always easy for the three boys. Sometimes bad things do happen, and the boys have learned to depend on Heavenly Father to help them.
One morning a few years ago, Sister Lopez was taking her children and four of their cousins to school. On the way, they were in a very serious accident. The children weren’t hurt, but Sister Lopez broke her neck.
The doctors in Guatemala City did what they could for her, but eight months later she became very ill. The doctors said that she needed neck surgery and that afterward she would be in a wheelchair the rest of her life. The family prayed, and Sister Lopez decided to call some of the young men in the United States who had lived in their home as missionaries. One of them was studying to become an orthopedic surgeon! He said, “Come to Provo, and let us do the surgery here.” One of his teachers agreed to perform the surgery, and a family offered to care for Sister Lopez until she was well enough to return to Guatemala.
On the day of the surgery, it was hard for the rest of the family to not know how the surgery was going. They all prayed a lot on that day. Benjamin in particular prayed that his mother would feel good again and would still be able to walk. When they called her that night, she said that the operation had gone well and that she still had the use of her legs!
“I was recovering in Utah for three months,” Sister Lopez said. “Everyone helped me a lot, but it was hard to be so far away from my family.”
Isaac remembers well the one time the family got to see her before she came home. “We drove for five days to get to Provo to see Mommy. It was a very long drive, but it was worth it!” Sister Lopez recovered and returned home. The family is grateful to Heavenly Father for taking care of her and making it so she could walk.

Katy and her mother did not agree on many important things. Like rock collections. One day Katy took all her dolls and stuffed animals off her bed. She put her rock collection in their place. “I like rocks better than dolls,” said Katy.
“Katy, you’re impossible,” said Mother. Mother liked dolls much better. She liked anything that was dainty, neat, or ruffled.
That’s why Katy’s mother didn’t like Rex.
Katy had found the scruffy old dog in a vacant lot. He was very big and very dirty. Katy brought him home and cleaned him up. She thought that he was beautiful.
“Wouldn’t you rather have a little poodle?” asked Mother after they were sure he didn’t belong to anyone else. “You could put a bow in its hair, and it could sleep next to your bed.”
“Nope. I like real dogs,” said Katy.
Mother sighed. “Katy, you’re impossible.”
Mother banished Rex to the backyard, but sometimes Katy sneaked him chocolate chip cookies and cherry gelatin.
When Mother decided to send Katy to ballet class, Katy moaned, “I don’t want to wear one of those dumb little dresses.”
“They’re called tutus,” said Mother.
“I don’t care what they’re called. I won’t wear one.”
“You don’t have to wear it all the time, just for performances,” said Mother.
“Performances! I’m not going to get up in front of people in that thing and dance on my toes. I don’t like that sissy stuff,” said Katy.
“Katy, ballet is not sissy stuff. You have to practice hard and be very strong to be a ballerina.”
“I won’t do it.” Katy stuck out her chin.
“You have to,” said Mother. “I’ve already paid for the first month’s lessons. You start on Saturday.”
Katy went outside and sat down on the back steps. “This is the last straw,” she said to Rex. “She doesn’t understand me at all. She can’t be my mother.”
Rex nuzzled her. Katy reached into her pocket and gave him half a baloney sandwich.
“I bet I got switched with another baby at the hospital when I was born!” said Katy. A little pocket of worry started to grow in her heart. “Maybe I’d better check, just in case,” she said as she hugged Rex.
Katy rode her bike to Dr. Bigelow’s office.
The nurse said that the doctor was busy, but Katy hung around the waiting room until she saw him. “Doctor Bigelow,” she yelled as she ran past the nurse, “the night I was born, you didn’t close your eyes for a few minutes, did you?”
The doctor laughed. “Of course not. In fact, I was very busy that night. Another baby was born just about the same time you were.”
“Do you remember who the mother was?”
“Certainly. It was Mrs. Douglas Carr. She had a little girl too. Her name is Pamela. They’re still patients of mine.”
Katy left the doctor’s office and found a phone booth. She looked up Douglas Carr in the phone book, then got back on her bike and rode as fast as she could.
She thought about Pamela Carr. Pamela was probably a very neat person. She would be happy living at Katy’s house with a room full of dolls and ruffles.
The Carrs lived on Florian Drive. As Katy rang the bell, her stomach felt like it did on the first day of school. A pretty redheaded lady opened the door.
“Is Mrs. Carr here?”
“I’m Mrs. Carr.”
“Do you have a daughter named Pamela?”
“Why yes. You must be a friend of hers. Pam, come here.”
The girl came and stood beside her mother. They could have been twins! They had the same curly red hair and the same beautiful smiles.
“I guess I made a mistake,” stammered Katy. She’d never felt so stupid in her whole life, but she also felt relieved.
Katy didn’t want to go home yet, so she went to Grandma’s house, instead.
“Katy, where have you been? Your mother has been looking all over for you,” said Grandma. She called Katy’s mother to tell her where Katy was, then she poured a glass of milk and cut a piece of angel food cake for Katy. “Now, tell me what the trouble is.”
Katy told her the whole story.
“Oh dear! You actually thought that the hospital had switched babies?”
Katy nodded.
“Don’t move. I’ll be right back.” Grandma went into the other room and came back with a family photo album. She showed Katy a picture of a little girl hanging upside down from a tree. She was making a face at the camera. On the next page was another picture of the same little girl dressed up in a cowboy suit. She looked like Katy’s kind of person. “These are pictures of your mother when she was little,” said Grandma.
“Oh no—it can’t be!” Katy exclaimed. She stared at the pictures. “What happened to her? She sure has changed.”
“She grew up,” said Grandma. “You will, too, someday, but you will still be unique.”
“Does that mean I still have to go to dancing school?”
“Dancing school never hurt anyone. You might even like it.”
Katy sighed. Even Grandma had turned against her.
“There are other kinds of dancing, you know,” said Grandma. “Perhaps you would like tap dancing better than ballet. You get to have taps on your shoes and make a lot of noise. And you don’t have to wear a tutu. Would you like me to talk to your mother about it?”
“Yes, please,” said Katy. She hugged her grandmother. “I’m glad I’m who I am, because you’re the best Grandma in the whole world!”
At the next dance recital, Katy was dressed like Uncle Sam and tapped her way through “Yankee Doodle.” Her parents sat in the front row so that Mother could take pictures of Katy as she danced.
Katy smiled extra big. After all, you never know who might be looking at those pictures someday!

Danette Allred pauses before beginning her transformation from a fair-haired Wyoming girl into a wicked Nephite dancer. Blue eyes sparkling, she relates the events that have brought her here: “I came to the pageant last year with a youth group, and it really touched me. I decided right then that I’d like to be in it. It made me realize that there is more to the Church than I had thought. And even then I knew I’d like to be a dancer and an angel, which is what I’m playing now.”
Because of her double role, Danette spent weeks of rehearsal with a five-hour, four-day-a-week schedule. Did she ever get tired of it? What about the eight performances? “Oh no, never! I get a special feeling during every performance.”

Whether she’s organizing her own flea market to raise money for the needy or playing Queen of the Woods in a “secret” green hideaway, Heidi Irene Pedersen fairly bubbles with enthusiasm. She lives with her family in Hallingby, a hilly, wooded area about 50 miles (80 km) northwest of Oslo, Norway’s capital city. Like many wooden homes in Norway—old and new—the Pedersens’ house has a ladder permanently attached to one of its outside walls, which allows quick and easy access for the skorsteinsfeir (chimney sweep) to reach the rooftop.
Touched by pleas to help poor people in third-world countries, Heidi got the idea one day to hold a flea market. Afterward, she and her friend Kim Pedersen, who helped her, sent the 150 Krone ($21.00) that they had earned to an organization that helps children in need.

“Just right,” Andi thought as she quickly looked in the mirror. She was wearing her favorite red dress. She always wanted to look her best on Sundays. She ran down to breakfast.
Andi was just finishing her last piece of toast when the Reeders’ car horn honked from the driveway. “Bye, Mom! Bye, Dad!” Andi said, kissing them as she ran out the door.
Even though Mom and Dad were not members of the Church, they encouraged Andi to go to church each week. The Reeder family had given her a ride almost every Sunday since she had been baptized and confirmed. Andi liked how they always made her feel so welcome and loved.
After sacrament meeting it was time for Primary. Andi loved being in Brother and Sister Long’s Valiant class. They were kind, and their lessons were always the best.
“Today we’re going to talk about temples,” Sister Long said. “What are some things we know about temples?”
Andi knew one answer: “We can do temple baptisms.” She was excited about that because every year the young women in her ward made a trip to the temple to do baptisms. Soon Andi could go too!
“Great, Andi. What else do we know?”
“You can be married in the temple,” said Andi’s friend Allison.
“Very good,” said Sister Long. “Anything else?”
“Families can be together forever when they’re sealed in the temple,” Allison added.
“But not my family,” thought Andi. “Mom and Dad haven’t been sealed in the temple!” Suddenly her face felt hot, and her eyes began to sting with tears.
“Are you OK, Andi?” asked Sister Long.
“Yes,” Andi sniffed, trying to hold back the tears. But she could feel her heart pounding all through the rest of the lesson.
When class was over, Sister Long sat by Andi and put an arm around her. “What’s the matter?” she asked.
“I won’t be with my mom and dad forever,” Andi said. “They haven’t been married in the temple. Who will I belong to after I die? Does Heavenly Father still love me even if my parents aren’t members?”
Sister Long looked directly into Andi’s eyes. “No matter who you are and no matter if your family has been to the temple or not, you are still part of Heavenly Father’s family. You can stay close to Him and be an example to others. He will always love, guide, and protect you, no matter what. He wants to bless you and your family. You are a child of God, Andi.”
Just then Andi’s heart seemed to skip a beat, and the pounding stopped. Now a warm feeling filled her heart instead. She knew what her teacher had said was true.

I would like to close with an experience that occurred recently.
For three days in a row, my son Duffy (who is our eleven-year-old and plays on the school football team) leaped from some hidden corner of our home to throw a body block on me, in professional style. The last time he did this, in my effort to avoid the attack, I fell on the floor and knocked over the lamp and found my right elbow wedged up somewhere near my eyebrow. I completely lost my patience, and I scolded him for making me his tackling dummy.
His response melted my heart when he said with tears rolling down both cheeks, “But, Mom, you’re the best friend a guy could have. I thought this was as much fun for you as it was for me.” Then he added, “For a long time now I’ve planned what I will say in my first interview as a big time trophy winner. When they ask me how I got to be so great, I’ll tell them, ‘I practiced on my mother!’”

Long years ago, when I served as a bishop, I learned that Mary Watson, a member of my ward, was a patient in the county hospital. When I went to visit her, I discovered her in a large room with so many beds that it was difficult to single her out. As I identified her bed and approached her, I said, “Hello, Mary.”
She replied, “Hello, Bishop.”
I noticed that a patient in the bed next to Mary Watson covered her face with the bedsheet.
I gave Mary a blessing, shook her hand, and said good-bye, but I could not leave her side. It was as though an unseen hand were resting on my shoulder, and I felt within my soul that I was hearing these words: “Go over to the next bed, where the little lady covered her face when you came in.” I did so. I have learned in my life never to postpone responding to a prompting.
I gently tapped the other patient on her shoulder and carefully pulled back the sheet that had covered her face. Lo and behold, she, too, was a member of my ward. I had not known that she was a patient there. Her name was Kathleen McKee. When her eyes met mine, she exclaimed through her tears, “Oh, Bishop, when you entered that door, I felt you had come to see me and bless me in response to my prayers. I was rejoicing inside to think that you knew I was here. When you stopped at the other bed, my heart sank, and I knew that you had not come to see me.”
I said to Kathleen McKee: “It does not matter that I didn’t know that you were here. It is important, however, that our Heavenly Father knew and that you had prayed for a priesthood blessing. It was He who prompted me to come to you now.”
A blessing was given, a prayer was answered. I bestowed a kiss on her forehead and left the hospital with gratitude in my heart for the promptings of the Spirit. It was the last time I saw Kathleen McKee alive.