Gospel Story Finder

Brother Jung Dae Pan was also among those who learned the gospel from the first missionaries to serve in Korea. He had dropped out of the Seoul National University to attend a theological college. His dream was to become a pastor and to lead the Christian community in Korea.
One day a friend gave him a copy of the Book of Mormon in English because a Korean translation hadn’t been published yet. He was drawn into reading the book. He even read it during a class. When his classmates asked him what it was, he said that it was a book like the Bible and recommended that they purchase one.
In the end Brother Jung got in trouble at the college. Administrators summoned him and said that he was succumbing to Satan’s temptation to fall into heresy, and they forced him to choose either the school or the Book of Mormon. The decision was not difficult for him because he already knew the Book of Mormon was true.
However, after Brother Jung joined the Church, he suffered social and economic difficulties. The scholarship from the college and the financial support from the previous church discontinued, and all his friends left him. Dr. Kim took good care of him. Later, Brother Jung contributed greatly to the growth of the Church in Korea by translating the Doctrine and Covenants and editing the hymns. The beautiful lyrics he translated still touch the hearts of Korean members.

Another very dear young friend here at BYU shared how accepting the invitation to be in the temple has brought the miracles President Nelson promises:

I accepted this invitation from President Nelson ­hoping to simply receive the revelation and peace that time in the temple brings. In a fashion typical of Heavenly Father, my small efforts were magnified, and I received blessings that I never thought I would experience during this life.

Like many converts, I struggle with the concern that the rest of my family cannot enter into the Lord’s temple with me. However, Heavenly Father used my efforts to remind me that miracles can and will occur as we act in obedience and faith. While I was home recently, my family unexpectedly asked me to take them through the temple during the upcoming temple open house. I testify that the sacred work done in the temple is amplified in ways that will bring us and our families eternal joy.

In the midst of all the suffering of the pioneer handcart companies are numerous examples of Saints who, through their actions, showed great love for the Savior. One of these was a young English girl named Emily Wall, who had come across the plains with her brother, Joseph. They had been promised that they would live to come to the Salt Lake Valley. That faith sustained them through all the terrible sufferings they endured. Their mother had given each of them extra pairs of shoes to wear during the journey, and they gave most of those away to Saints who had no shoes at all.
Partway across the plains, Joseph, who was then eighteen, fell sick. The leaders of the group felt that they would have to leave him behind—not because they were cruel but because they simply could not stop and wait for him to get better. To do so would endanger the lives of everyone in the group. They said that if Joseph got well, he could catch up to the company. Emily said, “I can’t leave him. We have both been promised that we will live to get across the plains, so I’ll put him in the handcart and I will push it myself.” So fifteen-year-old Emily, with the help of another girl, pulled the heavy handcart for three days while Joseph recovered. Soon he was able to get back on his feet, and the two of them proceeded as part of the Martin Company.
Emily later married a man she met at Devil’s Gate after the handcart company was rescued. The couple had twelve children who followed the example of their mother’s faith and obedience to the Lord’s commandments.

In October, a group of young adults, missionaries and stake leaders from Northampton Stake got together to help the Buckingham Canal Society. The society was one of the first organisations within the stake boundary to sign up on JustServe, so the stake was very keen to respond to their needs. The society was founded in 1992. They are currently restoring a canal that spans the Buckinghamshire and Northamptonshire border between Buckingham and Cosgrove.
Terry Cavender, executive officer at BCS, said, “Three of us at the Buckingham Canal Society were joined by around 20 of the Helping Hands team. After explaining the COVID safety briefing and the other aspects of site safety, the group got to work. I was joined by five of the volunteers to undertake some weird plumbing and generally wallowing in mud. Rob took ten in-waders to go pulling reeds in the canal bed. Amanda took a team of five and tackled several site tidy jobs moving rubbish and scrap. Suddenly it was lunchtime, and I was amazed, along with my colleagues, at the amount of work achieved by the teams.
“After the ‘pizza picnic’, the folk came back for more and we achieved a tremendous amount of task completion.
“Everyone seemed to enjoy the day despite an early finish due to high winds in the afternoon. We look forward to welcoming all the Helping Hands back again.”

One of our favorite Church stories is that of President McKay when he was a young man loading stock for market with his brothers.

The McKay brothers, unlike many of their neighbors, did not dress in overalls and heavy boots when they were working. By rural standards they were elegantly turned out as they loaded calves, sheep, and hogs into the waiting wagons with speed and grace before an admiring crowd of small boys. Nearing the end of their labor, young David O. decided he would hoist the last hog aboard all by himself. As he started the mighty heave it would take, he slipped—and ended with the hog on top of him and both of them deep in the loading corral mud. The boys on, and peering through, the fence waited expectantly.

Slowly, David extricated himself, wiped futilely at the muck that now almost covered him, and then said to the assembled youngsters, “No use waiting, boys; I’m not going to swear!”

His decision not to swear on this occasion was the same as it had been on many occasions. The control of his tongue, in a moment of stress and humiliation, was reinforced by the countless other times when he had resisted the easy and insecure recourse of profanity.

Forrest Michaelson showed up in my homeroom the Wednesday after Easter vacation. It had been a typically wet April morning, and he had on jeans, a T-shirt, and cowboy boots. An ankle-length, buff-leather, oilskin slicker made him look like he’d blown into town out of a Clint Eastwood western. He gave Mr. Riegert a form from the office. Raking his fingers through his tousled, black hair, he gave the rest of us a bemused look as Mr. Riegert shuffled us about so he could reseat us alphabetically.
But the thing that struck me most was how totally unself-conscious he was. His whole demeanor said: Whatever’s going on here, I’m not getting uptight about it.
“Shophead,” sniffed Linda Matthews, who sat behind me.
That said it all. But as Mr. Riegert read the roll to make up a new seating chart, I couldn’t help noticing how Forrest Michaelson paid close attention to each name as it was called out. And when Mr. Riegert called my name and I said, “Here,” our eyes met momentarily. He had sharp, clear eyes, and he winked at me, like we had something in common.
I turned away sharply to tell him he was wrong.
But after the bell rang, he caught up with me in the hall.
“Heather Mastrioanni?”
I nodded.
“Kinda new here, you know. Direct me to D-wing? Room 104.” He pointed to the first class on his schedule. I almost gaped. Auto shop, of course, but he was also signed up for AP calculus.
I said, “First room on the right past the cafeteria.”
“Thanks.” He ambled off down the hall.
After civics I went to the cafeteria and sat down at my usual place. When Forrest Michaelson put his tray down right across the table from me I didn’t notice him. Well, Rob Herndon had just walked in with Linda and I was thinking it would be nice if he ever wanted to eat lunch with me. I looked up and nearly choked on my tuna fish sandwich.
“Thought we should get to know each other better,” Forrest said. “It seems that we constitute a minority of two.”
“What minority of two?” I finally said.
“Mormons,” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “At least in the senior class. That’s what I gathered from your father.”
Of course. I nearly smacked myself on the side of the head. The Michaelsons. Monday, Mom and Dad had gone over to help a family who were just moving into the ward. But I never connected them with this Forrest Michaelson.
Forrest read my reaction with a smile. “Initial impressions can be misleading.” He glanced around the cafeteria. “So, how about a tour of the student body? Beginning with the pack of jackals over there, for example.” He nodded to where Rob and his teammates were sitting.
“That’s Rob Herndon,” I said, coldly. “He’s on the wrestling team, and he’s a nice guy.”
“If you say so.”
“Initial impressions can be misleading.”
“Touché,” he said, touching his forehead in a kind of salute.
He always sat with me during lunch. There wasn’t anything I could do about it, and I knew as long as Forrest was sitting there, no one else would dare to.
“You know, Forrest,” I finally said to him one day, “I don’t know why you think you have to sit with me. We really don’t have anything in common.”
That provoked a raised eyebrow. “I would have thought we had most everything in common. We sure don’t share the same taste in fashion, but we believe the same things, and that makes us pretty even.”
“Oh, really? What about those shophead friends of yours? I’ve got a lot more in common with Rob than you do with them.”
“No, you don’t. Okay, maybe my friends don’t believe the same things I do, but they don’t pretend they do, either.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“The people who hang around guys like Herndon, they want to think he’s their friend because they want to pretend they’re his friends.”
I didn’t pretend to understand what he had just said. I just laughed. “You expect me to believe he’s such a terrible person just because you don’t get along with him?”
“I really don’t worry about getting along with Herndon or not, Heather. But I don’t laugh at his jokes or marvel at who he goes out with, so that kind of counts me out, doesn’t it? Every school I’ve been in has a pack of them. And they come on to you depending on what kind of a person they think you are.”
“He’s always been nice to me,” I protested.
“He’s as nice as it takes.”
The worst thing about these arguments was that they convinced everybody that Forrest and I were a serious thing. Even Linda was convinced. Linda would ask me about him, about us, and about other things as well, which was a total shock, because before Linda hardly said two sentences to me. We became pretty good friends, though. She even got me on the publicity committee for senior class night at Jumpin’ Jacks drive-in.
Friday I stayed late cleaning up in art class and missed the bus. I was standing at the front entrance debating whether to call Mom or wait for the late bus when Forrest walked up.
“Miss your bus?”
I hesitated a moment too long.
“Be right back,” Forrest said and jogged off to the student lot. He drove up and got the door for me.
“So what’s this big deal at Jumpin’ Jacks?” he asked.
“It’s the drive-in across from the park by the river marina. The Friday before Memorial Day is senior class night. Nothing formal. Just a chance to have a good time before the Regents exams begin.” I waited as long as I thought I could before I felt I had to ask him the obvious question. “I don’t expect you’d want to come?”
“I thought I might.”
“Really? I didn’t think you’d be interested in that kind of thing. After all, Rob Herndon and his friends will be there.”
“Ordinarily I wouldn’t be. But if you’re going to be there …”
“I don’t need a chaperon, Forrest.”
He pulled into our driveway. I got out and slammed the door to show just how grateful I wasn’t for the ride and stormed up the steps and into the house.
Mom was in the kitchen preparing dinner. “Forrest drive you home?”
I sat down at the kitchen table and folded my arms and didn’t answer.
Mom wasn’t impressed by my attitude. “Forrest taking you to Jumpin’ Jacks tonight?”
“Mom!” I exploded, “Why does everybody think I’m dating Forrest Michaelson?”
Mom looked at me quite innocently. “I didn’t think you were dating Forrest. It just seemed reasonable that he would give you a ride, if you’re both going.”
“I wouldn’t go out with him if he were the last man on Earth,” I stated. “He’s stubborn and opinionated. He always thinks he’s right.”
I could tell by the way Mom reacted that she didn’t like my choice of words, and I cringed inside at the anticipated correction.
“Well, yes,” Mom said, after giving it some thought, “but it’s more than that.”
I looked at Mom, amazed. She was actually agreeing with me.
“I think, like most teenagers, he can’t bring himself to be just another slice of bread. But he’s smart enough to know what’s important. So it’s his way of proving what the Church means to him without having to come out and say it. The same way you wouldn’t respect a lion if it barked like a Chihuahua. He’s protecting what he respects.”
“He’s determined to protect me as well,” I said glumly. “He’s got an opinion about all my friends, whether I ought to be associating with them at all, whether they’re really my friends. Like it’s any of his business.”
Mom laughed. “Young men like Forrest suffer from being taken too seriously too much of the time. I think humoring him would go a long way.”
“Then he’s going to have to be humored at a distance.”
It was only a short walk through the park to the drive-in. Someone came up behind me and I turned around. It was Forrest.
There were tons of kids there already. We crowded into line. It was great food but pretty expensive. I had eaten dinner so I wouldn’t be tempted, but Forrest ordered a seafood platter that made my mouth water. When we sat down and Forrest said, “Have a shrimp,” I couldn’t refuse.
“So where’s Linda?” Forrest asked.
I didn’t know.
A moment later he said, “Speak of the devil.”
Rob drove up and he and Linda got out. She looked flustered, a bit disheveled, and a little scared. Rob just looked angry.
After they ordered, Linda brought her plate over to our table. I couldn’t believe she knew what she was doing. I could tell Rob was hating it.
“Don’t mind, do you?” Rob said icily.
“Not at all,” Forrest said. “In fact, I was just leaving.
“Yes,” I said, almost without thinking, “we were just leaving.”
The rest of the jackals then crowded around the table, pushing us out of the way.
“Are you really leaving?” Linda asked quietly. She tried to laugh and stood up. “I guess I don’t care much for the company of some of my friends,” she said as she began to follow us.
“I don’t care much for the company of some of your friends, either,” Forrest said.
Rob stood up and looked around. “Hey, Linda, where are you going? Get over here. C’mon, the night is still young.”
I heard the jackals laughing. I used to think it was funny, the way Rob talked to Linda, but I felt cold and sick inside.
Then Rob grabbed for her. Linda shied away. “Quit playing hard to get, Linda.” He reached for her again, and Forrest caught Rob’s wrist like a vice grip. Rob’s mouth dropped open in surprise. “You got some kind of problem?”
It suddenly got quiet.
“No problem,” Forrest said. He stepped to the side and let go of Rob’s wrist. Rob immediately lurched forward, thumping Forrest hard on his shoulders. Forrest backed away, showing the palms of his hands.
“Let’s go, Linda,” I said quietly.
Rob stood, flushed and angry. Forrest, facing him, looked like he had just solved a math problem too simple to bother with in the first place. When we reached the sidewalk, he turned and walked away.
“That’s right, chump!” Rob shouted. “Go ahead, walk away!”
“I’m sorry,” said Linda, when Forrest joined us.
Forrest simply shrugged.
We walked through the park, then up Lakeside Avenue to the Michaelsons’s house. It was reassuring to have Forrest with us. So I did have more in common with him than Rob Herndon, a lot more. But I could live with that. When you’ve been in a den of jackals, you come to appreciate the pride of lions.

I was a ballet dancer from the time I was a little girl. I took it very seriously and devoted a great amount of time and effort to it. When I reached middle school, I decided I wanted to be a professional dancer, no matter what it took to get there.
One day, my ballet teacher talked to our class about preparing for our future careers. He mentioned that only a small percentage of people who train in dance become professional dancers and that of those professionally trained dancers, only a very small number end up pursuing ballet as a career. He went on to say that whether or not dancing became our career, we should plan on being the best professionals we could be—the best doctors, teachers, bakers, or what–ever else we were to become.
At this time, my ballet classes were held on the top floor of a building that overlooked the Salt Lake Valley. While my teacher was giving this speech, my attention was drawn to the window—and then to the Salt Lake Temple.
Up to that point, my focus had been on becoming a professional dancer because I was certain that ballet would make me happy. But as I gazed at the temple, I realized that no matter what path my life or career took, being worthy to enter the temple and live in the presence of my Heavenly Father were the only things that were going to fill me with lasting joy.
This realization lifted an immense burden off my shoulders. Ballet no longer had to be my ultimate goal. It was being worthy to enter God’s presence. And unlike professional ballet, there is no limit on how many of us can make it back to live with Heavenly Father forever. Because of the Atonement, we all have that chance.

When our children were young, we moved into a small house with a beautiful yard. On either side of the front door were two empty flowerbeds, and though my gardening experience was limited, I was excited to plant flowers there. I bought a gardening book and ordered plant and seed catalogs and studied them carefully.
Over the next few months I planned my garden, prepared the soil, and planted more than 200 bulbs. I knew it would be a few more months before I would see any results, but still I checked the garden often for growth. In early spring my flowers started to bloom, beginning with tiny purple irises and then daffodils. By the middle of spring my flower boxes were filled with a splendid display of tulips. I loved my garden, and I often sat on the front steps just to look at the flowers.
One afternoon our four-year-old daughter, Emily, had a friend over to play. Just before her friend’s mother came to pick her up, the girls struggled in through the kitchen door, their arms filled with heaps of tulips. “Look what we’ve brought you,” they said happily. They had picked nearly every bloom.
Tulips bloom only once a year. I was heartbroken—all that work, all that waiting. We filled my vases with flowers and sent the rest home with Emily’s friend. Later, as I complained to my mother about the disaster, she said, “Well, it’s a good thing you’re raising children and not flowers.”
I realized that I needed to change my perspective. I remembered the Primary song I had sung with my girls about gathering flowers:
Dear mother, all flowers remind me of you.
O mother, I give you my love with each flower.1
I saw the ruin of my garden, but two four-year-old girls saw a gesture of love.
Planting a flower garden had required patience, and stepping back and looking at this incident through my child’s eyes required even more patience. But learning patience as a mother draws me closer to the Lord.

Seminary student Girly Mbuli explains how her faith and love of the scriptures saved her from a terrible situation.
“One day my friend Tiny Gugu and I had to go to Zondi to take some books to another girl. On our way back we saw a gang of boys. Gangs here rape girls, steal cars, do everything horrible. We started to run, but it was too late.
“The boys faced us. They had weapons. They made us go up on a hill and meant to do awful things to us. On the way up the hill, I was saying a prayer to my Heavenly Father. I don’t remember which scriptures I tried to say, but I kept thinking of them. I asked for help to be calm and not afraid. I felt peace come into my heart.
“When you are on top of that hill, you can see everything. The boys looked down and asked where I was staying. I pointed to Jabulane and something told me to say I was with my grandmother and my friend Lindiwe.
“The leader looked at me and said, ‘You are not afraid. Let them go!’ I later found out the brother of my friend Lindiwe is the boss of this gang, and he stays in the house of my grandmother. That is why they let us go free.
“When I tell this story to people, they refuse to believe we survived. But I know I did and I know why. It was because of my faith in Heavenly Father. I know that Isaiah 1:18 can be true for those guilty gang boys, if they will repent: “Come now, and let us reason together, saith the Lord: though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be white as snow.” [Isa. 1:18]

I would like to thank you and tell you how much I enjoyed the story “I Didn’t Want to Die” (Jan. 2004). Just a few weeks before, I was struggling with a problem like the one described in the article. When I opened the magazine, I turned right to the story and felt like I needed to read it. For a few days I read it and studied it, and then I prayed. I poured my heart out, and the next day I felt an answer come. I felt a smile immediately come to my face, and I couldn’t stop smiling. I felt warmth and love, and I knew my worries about this problem were over. I know I can always turn to that article to remember the power of prayer and that Heavenly Father truly does love us. Thank you so much.Brynn Pehrson, Slate Canyon Third Ward, Provo Utah Stake

One of my favorite stories concerns a woman named Sarah Edwards, wife of the famous Puritan preacher Jonathan Edwards. He was best known perhaps for his sermon that every early American schoolchild had read: “Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God.” He told his audience:
The wrath of God is like great waters that are dammed for the present. . . .
The God that holds you over the pit of hell, much as one holds a spider, or some loathsome insect over the fire, abhors you.
And, for the unregenerate, he continued:
When God beholds the ineffable extremity of your case, and sees your torment to be so vastly disproportioned to your strength, and sees how your poor soul is crushed, and sinks down, as it were, into an infinite gloom; he will have no compassion upon you . . . ; there shall be no moderation or mercy.
I cannot help but wonder how such excesses struck the hearts and minds of tender people everywhere and of Edwards’ own devout and loving wife in particular. It so happened that on one occasion when Edwards was out of town, another local preacher came to visit Sarah and her children. He offered to have a prayer with the family, and she agreed. Afterward, she recorded in her journal that while the Reverend Peter Reynolds was offering his prayer, she found herself feeling “an earnest desire that, in calling on God, he should say, Father.” She asked herself, “Can I now at this time, with the confidence of a child, and without the least misgiving of heart, call God my Father?”

In consequence of this reflection, she recorded, “I felt a strong desire to be alone with God,” and withdrew to her chamber. In the moments that followed, she continued:
The presence of God was so near, and so real, that I seemed scarcely conscious of any thing else. God the Father, and the Lord Jesus Christ, seemed as distinct persons, both manifesting their inconceivable loveliness, and mildness, and gentleness, and their great and immutable love to me. . . .
The peace and happiness, which I hereupon felt, was altogether inexpressible.

The Prophet Joseph Smith knew his life was in danger. Angry mobs had followed him everywhere, threatening his life and the lives of his family. Then in the fall of 1838, he had been arrested again in Far West, Missouri.
As he was tied and pushed into a canvas-covered wagon, he asked for the privilege of saying good-bye to his mother, Lucy Mack Smith, who tearfully watched him being taken away. The officers refused to let the Prophet out of the wagon, so he called out to his mother to come closer. Searching frantically, Joseph found a rip in the canvas and reached out to touch his mother’s hand for one last good-bye. Just touching her hand seemed to be important to him as the wagon quickly pulled away and Joseph Smith was taken to the Liberty Jail. There he was confined to a dark, crowded dungeon for six months.

Beth Tracy accepted a call to serve in the Los Angeles California Stake Primary with apprehension. As a convert to the Church who had never attended Primary and had served mostly with adults, Beth wondered, “What can I offer to children?” But through substitute teaching in a nursery, encouraging other Primary leaders who were also feeling inadequate, and learning to love children of many nationalities, she found satisfaction and joy—the results of Christlike service to her fellow beings (see Mosiah 2:17).

One day I joined my siblings at the table to do our family scripture study. My mom started our Come, Follow Me lesson, but I wasn’t really paying attention. I was thinking about something else: Is Jesus really real?
In church and in Primary we learned that He is real, but I didn’t know for myself. I thought and thought, but I couldn’t find the answer.
After scripture study, I asked my mom, “Is Jesus real?”
“Good question,” she said. “How about you pray about it?”
“OK,” I said.
That night I said a prayer and asked, “Heavenly Father, is Your Son real?” Then I felt a really warm feeling inside. I knew God had answered my prayer. After that, I said a thank-you prayer to Heavenly Father for answering me. I know He listens to my prayers and that He will also listen to yours.

Adjacent to the bird-of-prey sanctuary, the location of my main assignment as a service missionary, there is a large fishing pond where many wild ducks live. Every morning and evening the ducks come to the sanctuary, as we throw grain out for them to eat. One morning we noticed a small American wood duck (what it is doing in England, we still don’t know) that was tangled in a fishing line, with a sharp triple-hook caught to its left leg and wing. We tried to catch and help it, but it kept on escaping.
Finally, one afternoon, we managed to catch the duck using a large net. As we took it out, the duck put up quite a fight, but we were able to restrain it. Then, we carefully tried to remove the sharp fishing hook. The duck panicked and cried out in pain. It thought that we were trying to harm it but, we were trying to help. Eventually, the fishing hook and line were removed, and we released the duck back into the pond. As it ran away from us, I thought to myself, “That poor animal will never know that all along we were just trying to help it.”

Earlier this year my reading and writing buddy came to class feeling blue. She had made some mistakes on her math work. She said, “I’m useless.”
I was worried about my friend, so I told her all about Jesus and how He loves us. I told her how that means we are not useless! Then I sang “I Am a Child of God” to her. She loved it and asked me where I learned these things. I explained that my family goes to church every week and that I learn a lot about Jesus in Primary.
That night she told her mom about our conversation. She asked her mom if they could come to church with my family. Her mom said yes!
My friend sat next to me in sacrament meeting that very Sunday! Now she joins me at church almost every week. She and her parents are learning more and more about the gospel of Jesus Christ from the missionaries and other families in our ward.
I feel very happy that I was able to follow the Savior’s example and comfort a sad friend. Whether or not her family decides to get baptized, the best part is that now she knows that God and Jesus love her, no matter what!

In fact, I was driving into work early one morning as I was having all these thoughts about looking at others through Heavenly Fathers eyes and not judging others, when I was given an opportunity to do just that. I came up on a four-way stop where three cars were waiting their turn. As each took their turn there was one driver just sitting there and not taking his turn or looking up. He just sat there. As it appeared to me he may have been looking at his phone. It was past his turn to go but he was not moving. So I started to pull forward to make eye contact. "Hmm..." I thought. "I wonder if everything is okay."

I started driving through the intersection and then stopped in front of his car. He looked up and I mouthed, "Are you okay?" He seemed annoyed, by my perception, for his reaction was with his hand and he mouthed to me, "Just drive through". The next thought into my head was "Really? That is not a parking lot. That is a stop sign."

"Oops," I immediately said to myself. That is not looking at him in an eternal perspective. Maybe he is lost. Maybe he just felt the need to say a silent prayer. Give him the benefit of the doubt. So you see I am the one that needs to work on this whole concept the most, but I am thankful I have the opportunities to try and try again.

1 Senora Chali sat quietly in the cool shade of the trees in the backyard and read from her Bible. She found comfort in reading the words of the prophets and the stories of Jesus’ life.
2 The senora worked as a maid for a lady who lived in a large house and who sometimes rented rooms to other people. At this time a family from the United States was staying there. Senora Chali thought that they were a nice family and that their children were well behaved.
3 As the senora continued her reading, the family’s little girl came into the yard. Seeing the book, she asked, “Are you reading the Book of Mormon?”
“What is the Book of Mormon?” Senora Chali asked.
“It’s a book like the Bible that we Mormons believe in. Joseph Smith translated it from some golden plates given to him by an angel,” the child explained.
4 Senora Chali had not heard of the Book of Mormon before. In the weeks that followed, she wanted to ask the family about the book, but she couldn’t find the courage to do so. Then one day the family moved back to the United States. The Senora continued to read her Bible and wonder about the other book.
5 Some years later two young missionaries from the United States came to live at the house. As she became acquainted with them, they offered her a copy of the Book of Mormon. After all the years of waiting and wondering, she could hardly wait to read it!
6 From the very start of the book, the senora knew that the writings were truly the words of prophets. She could tell that it was a book much like the Bible, just as the little girl had told her. Senora Chali now could sit under her shady tree and read the Book of Mormon every day.
7 The missionaries were busy with their charlas (discussions) and tracting, and they forgot to ask the senora if she had read the book. Then they were transferred to another area.
8 Many months later Elder Scott Kelly and I were sent to the city. We also came to live at the house where Senora Chali worked. One morning as we were leaving to go tracting, she asked, “Do you have any other books that I can read besides the Book of Mormon? I have already read it three times.”
9 We were surprised to learn that Senora Chali had read the Book of Mormon and wanted to know more. We had been so busy asking others if they wanted to learn about the Church that we had neglected to ask her. We told her that we would teach her the gospel if she would like us to. She agreed, and in a short time she was baptized!
10 She became one of the most active members in the branch. She told her friends about the gospel and the Book of Mormon, just as the little girl had told her about them many years before.

Many of the students said they became involved with Adopt-a-Grandparent in about the same way Sharon Pritchett of Atlanta, Georgia, did. “Julie had been praying about finding people who wanted to get involved, and I had been feeling lonely and praying for ways to get to know new people,” Sharon said. The two met on their way to a religion class they had together, and after class Julie invited Sharon to a staff meeting the same day. Soon Sharon was publicity chairman for AAG.

The volunteers also said they felt their leaders had been inspired in matching them with particular elderly participants. “The Lord guides us a lot in what we do,” Julie said. “You wouldn’t believe the backgrounds of these people,” another supervisor added. “One man used to catch broncs by the tail and then train them. Another was born in Czechoslovakia and was a concert pianist. Now he’s paralyzed in one hand, but he still plays. His name is Rudy.” The supervisor also said it’s a goal of the program to place volunteers and participants with similar interests together. One fellow watches football games each Saturday with the gentlemen from a rest home. A young lady is learning how to crochet. Others work on sewing, knitting, and lapidary (making jewelry from rocks) projects with their elderly friends.

Kathleen Koch, of Carbondale, Illinois, often discusses genealogy with Alberta Campbell, her special friend. They spent one day together watching a general conference session, eating lunch, and visiting with Sister Campbell’s friends in other rooms of the convalescent center.

“My friend has been to college. Even more important, she doesn’t want to be treated like a baby,” Karen Critchfield of Los Altos, California, said. “We were both nervous to start with, but now we confide in one another.”

Besides visiting their elderly friends, the students meet on their own at least once a month for a fireside and often have social gatherings. Wendy Ius of Trail, British Columbia, said fireside speakers are usually experts in social work, psychology, or human relations. The meetings help group members feel like a team, sharpen their skill in dealing with others, and provide a time for sharing ideas and experiences. A periodically published newsletter also helps to unite the group.

From time to time special activities are held at the rest home, especially on holidays. “We had a home evening a little while ago,” Karen said, “at which she (Sister Strong) bore her testimony. It was really uplifting. We had my entire home evening group out here, and she spoke about relying on the Lord.”

Linda Barr, of Brunswick, Georgia, said AAG “makes you more concerned because you find out how lonely some people are, what little joy they have, how they feel they’re not worth anything. You want to make them feel better. And it makes you feel better to think you’re important to them.”

“Just because they’re old doesn’t mean they’re not people. They’re up-to-date, not living in the ’20s. The person inside will be the same, now or later on,” Julie said.

And Sharon Wendell, of Bountiful, Utah, added, “They have lots to offer, unless people forget them.” Colette Johnson, of Boise, Idaho, commented, “It’s hard to know if I’ve changed because of the program. It was so great to start out with, how could it get any better?”

Perhaps one of the most poignant stories, however, was related by Peggy Buchanan, of Waynesboro, Virginia, as she described her first visit to the rest home: “I went to visit Edna. She was in bed and kind of sick. I had a picture of a lily mounted on matboard, with a poem on the back. I was going to read the poem and give her the picture. She didn’t respond much, so I decided to talk to her instead. I asked her if she liked flowers. She said yes and started talking a bit. She is a great lady, and she brought out something in me. I told her about my grandmother’s flowers, and she listened while I shared parts of my life with her, which was very rewarding. Then she fell asleep, and I left. Outside the door, a woman in a wheelchair asked me to pick up her blanket and tuck it in. She cuddled up and snuggled back in her chair and was happy. I got to see about five ladies that day and helped them all. As I was leaving, I went down the back hall and asked if I could visit anybody else. I started to go, when someone called out to me and said to please come in. She reached her hand out and said, ‘Please don’t leave. We love you.’”

Peggy said, “I love you, too,” and spent several more minutes chatting with the woman. As she left, Peggy knew “that lady was happy, and that it meant a lot to her to have people visit.” She also knew that despite the pressures of school, dating, and work, she had found friends and would find time to come back often.

When I recently faced the daunting task of choosing two counselors, I wondered how I could possibly choose just two from twelve men whom I love and respect.
Because I know that good inspiration is based upon good information, I prayerfully met one-on-one with each Apostle. I then sequestered myself in a private room in the temple and sought the Lord’s will. I testify that the Lord instructed me to select President Dallin H. Oaks and President Henry B. Eyring to serve as my counselors in the First Presidency.