Gospel Story Finder

“Come on,” Tracy insisted as she pulled on Kent’s arm. “It’s not that big of a deal. All we have to do is go in and read them a few stories; you’ll love it.”
Kent looked up at the tall white building towering above him. “Yeah, about as much as I’d love a broken arm. I hate hospitals.”
Tracy smiled and shook her head. “That’s why I like you Kent, because you’re so brave.”
“Real funny, Trace. Why don’t we catch a movie and get a hamburger like most people do on a date?”
“You’re the one who wanted to do something different,” she said, pinching his cheek.
“I said different, not crazy!”
“Okay,” Tracy grinned. “We’ll go in for one hour; then we can see the late movie.”
Before Kent could answer he had been dragged through the glass doors and onto the elevator. Soon they were on the second floor. The whole room was yellow: yellow walls, yellow carpet, little yellow tables and chairs. What had he gotten himself into? When he called Tracy last week he had said he wanted to do something different, but he never imagined he would be at a hospital reading to children, especially on Friday evening.
They walked over to the nurse’s station and rang the bell. A nurse appeared in the doorway and stepped up to the desk.
“Can I help you?”
Tracy spoke up. “Yes, we’re volunteers.”
“Oh good, the children like visitors so much.” She handed them each a stack of books.
Kent looked shocked. “Do we have to read them all?”
“Oh no, it’s completely up to you, but I’m sure that after you meet our patients you won’t mind. I’ll be right back,” the nurse said as she disappeared down the hall.
Kent looked at his watch. “Only 47 minutes and 35 seconds to go.”
Just then the nurse reappeared pushing a wheelchair whose occupant was a small, blonde-haired girl. She had a huge bright smile and sky blue eyes that sparkled like diamonds.
“Hi, I’m Mickey,” she said with so much enthusiasm it nearly knocked them to the floor.
“Hello, I’m Tracy and this is Kent.”
Kent smiled and shook her small hand.
Mickey winked at Tracy. “He’s cute.”
“Yes,” Tracy replied. “But we don’t want to talk about it or he’ll get a big head.” Kent could feel his face getting hot and turned away.
“He’s not as cute as me,” said a gruff voice from behind the nurse. She stepped aside to reveal a small boy with chubby, freckled cheeks and brown hair.
“No,” the nurse replied. “No one is as cute as our little Cliff.” He smiled and ducked his head.
“Come on over here, Cliff,” Tracy said. “I’m going to read to you.”
Cliff hobbled over on his metal crutches. “Way to go, nurse; it’s about time we got some good volunteers.”
Mickey spoke up. “Can’t Jacson come hear today?” she asked the nurse.
“No, Mickey. Jacson doesn’t feel very well today.” Mickey smiled and looked at Kent.
“I’ll betcha he’d go to Jacson’s room and read to him.”
The nurse looked at Kent. “If you don’t mind, he would enjoy it.”
Tracy squeezed his hand. “You can handle it, big guy.”
Kent smiled stiffly and stood up. “Okay, where is he?” Kent glanced at Tracy and pointed to his watch. She ignored him, opened a book, and began reading.
The nurse led Kent down the hall to a bright yellow door.
“Why is everything so yellow?” Kent asked her.
“Because yellow is a cheerful color and it makes people feel happy. Don’t you feel happy just being here?” Kent smiled his stiff smile again and stepped into the dark room. The smell of sanitizers and deodorizers reached his nose. He looked across the room at the small bed, and the even smaller boy lying in it.
“Hi, Jacson, I’m Kent. I’m here to read to you.”
“Just go tell them you did and get your money.”
“My money?”
“Yeah, the money they give you guys for reading to us sick kids.”
“We don’t get paid. I’m a volunteer. That means I’m here because I want to be.” Kent suddenly felt guilty.
“Well I don’t care. I still don’t want no story.”
“Okay.” Kent walked toward the door.
“Hey, Kent, do you play football?”
“Sure do. I’m the quarterback on my high school team.”
“Oh, that’s nothin’. When I get better I’m gonna be the best quarterback in the whole world.
“Is that so?” Kent said as he slowly made his way back to the bed.
“Yep, and you know what else?”
“What?”
“I can beat you in checkers.”
“Oh yeah? We’ll have to see about that.” Kent walked over to the small desk. He picked up the box of checkers and soon they were involved in a full-fledged checker battle.
After being beaten badly, Kent decided it was going to be a difficult task to win. “Okay, Jacson, one more game.”
The game was over more quickly than the one before it.
“I think you better give up, Kent.”
“Just one more game.” Kent suddenly realized he was enjoying himself.
After about seven more games there was a knock at the door and Tracy’s head poked in. “Come in, Tracy,” Kent called.
Jacson looked at Kent. “She’s pretty. What’s she doing with you?”
“I felt sorry for him,” Tracy grinned.
“Tracy, this is Jacson Williams. Jacson, this is Tracy Lewis.”
“Hi, Jacs.”
“Hi. Is Kent really a quarterback?”
“Yes, and a very good one.”
Kent smiled. “Jacson here is going to be a pro.”
Tracy took Jacson’s hand. “I’m sure you’ll be a great quarterback.”
“Well, Jacson,” Kent said. “We have to go now, but we’ll be back next week, and I want you out of this bed and in a wheelchair, okay?”
“Okay,” Jacson said as he slugged Kent’s arm. “Next week I might let you win a couple of games too.”
“Well I’m going right home to practice.” They stepped out into the bright hall, and Kent looked down at his watch. He had been in Jacson’s room for an hour and a half.
“Sorry, Tracy, but I think we missed the movie.”
Tracy smiled and took his hand. “I don’t think anyone in this whole hospital minds one bit.”
The next week passed quickly for Kent as he found himself looking forward to his Friday night hospital visit. On his way to the hospital he picked up a sports magazine for Jacson. He couldn’t believe he had become so attached to a little kid, and in such a short time.
“I don’t even mind the yellow,” he thought as the elevator doors opened. He stepped over to the desk and rang the bell. The nurse from the week before was there again.
“Hello, it’s Kent, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, how’s Jacson?” The nurse led him over to the tables.
“I’m afraid he’s not doing very well at all. Jacson has leukemia.” The words hit Kent like a ton of bricks.
“Well sure,” he said. “But he’s a strong kid. He can tackle it.”
“I’m afraid not. Jacson is dying.”
Kent couldn’t believe it, a scrawny, freckle-faced kid had him feeling as though his heart had been ripped through his chest.
The nurse smiled. “After your visit last week he really improved. He even got out of his bed and into a wheelchair. He wanted you to know that.”
Kent tried to hold back his tears. What was he doing becoming attached to a little kid he barely knew? A feeling of joy passed through his body. It felt good to care about someone besides himself for a change.
“Can I see him?”
“Of course,” she replied. “He’s been counting the days since last Friday.”
Kent followed the nurse down the endless hallway. A million thoughts passed through his mind. What was he going to say to him?
“Only a few minutes,” the nurse cautioned. Kent stepped into the dark room. He walked over and opened the drapes. A shower of moonlight fell through. He looked down at Jacson’s frail body in the oxygen tent.
“Jacson?” he whispered.
Jacson’s eyes fluttered open and a huge smile covered his face. “Kent,” he tried to sit up but couldn’t. “I got in a wheelchair, Kent. I rode all around …”
“Don’t talk, Jacson. You need to rest.”
“I’m tired of resting. I want to play football.”
“Well, you can’t for a while. I brought you a magazine. You better get better so they can interview you.”
“Kent, I’m gonna die.” Kent turned away so Jacson couldn’t see his tears. “But it’s okay ’cause Mom says they have quarterbacks in heaven.”
Thunder shook the small window and the nurse poked her head through the door. “Kent, you’ll have to go now.”
“Okay, just a minute. Well, Jacson, I gotta go but I’ll be back real soon.”
He squeezed the small hand that reached out for his. “Thanks, Kent.”
“Anytime, Jacson.” He stood by the bed a moment, then slipped silently out the door.
“Nurse, I want to know when … when …”
“I understand, I’ll call you.”
Kent quietly left the hospital and drove home. Then next Wednesday Kent got the phone call he had been expecting all week. Jacson had passed away. Even though Kent thought he had prepared himself, the news sent chills down his spine. “He left something here for you if you’d like to come pick it up,” the nurse told him.
“Yes, I’ll be there in a few minutes.” He silently hung up the phone and made his way to the car. The ride was the longest he could remember. The nurse gave him a small box. Inside was the checkerboard and the little red and black checkers stacked in two neat piles. A small piece of paper was taped to the board. He carefully unfolded it, and read:
“Dear Kent, My Mom’s writing this letter because I can’t hold a pencil too good. I just want to thank you for being my friend and helping me to get better a little. I’m giving you the checkers so you can practice. I really wish I could see you play football. Maybe we’ll be on the same team in heaven. We’d win every game too. Well, I’m kinda tired so I’m going to sleep now.” Tears filled Kent’s eyes as he read the signature scribbled in Jacson’s own handwriting. “I love you, Jacson.”
Kent was interrupted by a tap on his shoulder. He wanted to scream. He wanted to be alone.
“Hey, mister, do you play football?”
Kent turned to see a young face staring into his. “Yeah, do you?”
“I used to a lot, but now I have to settle for checkers.”
“Well,” Kent replied. “I just happen to have some with me.” He laid out the board, and they were soon playing. “What’s your name?”
“Bill.”
“Well, Bill, how do you feel about quarterbacks?”

I thought other youth would be interested in hearing about the Punta Arenas Branch, southernmost branch of the Church in the world, I believe. When Isaiah said, “… utter it even to the end of the earth,” he must have been referring to Punta Arenas, Chile! We’re on the Straights of Magellan, facing Tierra del Fuego. The wildlife and beauty of the Patagonia is outstanding: sharp green mountains, grazed by guanacos; blue waters filled with trout and salmon; and birdlife ranging from parrots to ostriches, ducks, swans, flamingos, and an occasional penguin.
Our branch is at the tender age of four years and has a membership of two hundred Saints. Jaime, our MIA president, and Carlos, an MIA officer, both youth, have been working all year to save enough money to cover their traveling expenses to the international youth conference to be held in Arica, Chile, at the northern end of the country. It’s been a long, hard job, involving window cleaning, cakes sales, and cleaning houses, but they have finally made it. That’s what it means to be a Latter-day Saint down here.
Elder Gary WeldChile Mission

Soon we began learning about the restored Church of Jesus Christ with the missionaries. I shed beautiful tears because I was so happy to be coming back to my Savior. I had no questions about what they taught us until we came to the Book of Mormon. I had a hard time believing anything about it. The missionaries, however, asked me to read the Book of Mormon and pray about it. I prayed sincerely every day for weeks to know if it was really the word of God, but I never read it.

After several weeks without an answer from God, I boarded a train for a trip to Stockholm. On the way, I pulled out the Book of Mormon and began to read.

I read the introduction and the Testimony of Three Witnesses and Eight Witnesses, and I read about Joseph Smith. I was reading it and reading it and reading it. By the time I got to Stockholm, I was crying, shivering, and covered with goosebumps. I felt overwhelmed with the Spirit of God. I knew from personal revelation who Joseph Smith truly was—that he was a prophet and a servant of God. I knew that the Lord had restored the gospel of Jesus Christ to the earth through him.

I then believed all that the missionaries had told me. Once I had read the Book of Mormon for myself, I knew it was true. I told the missionaries I wanted to be baptized. My husband brought our whole family to show their support for me.

Kyle Dopp, who served in the Scotland Edinburgh Mission, said he had an experience which brought a new focus to his scripture study. “One of our investigators, Carol, was studying with missionaries from another church when we started to teach her. We explained some of the basic doctrines of the gospel. She said what we had taught her would make an interesting discussion with the missionaries from the other church. She had a study session planned for Monday.

“We gave her a Book of Mormon, read her the promise in Moroni 10:4–5 [Moro. 10:4–5], and scheduled an appointment for Tuesday. The next week when we arrived, Carol was waiting for us—and so were two men. She had changed her study session from Monday to Tuesday.

“We sat down and began talking about the differences in our beliefs. We talked and talked, and I remember not being very well informed on their doctrines or even our own. I wasn’t able to cross-reference my scriptures well enough to know what was going on.

“Carol finally brought our discussion to a close and asked the two men to leave. ‘I want the Mormon missionaries to stay for just five minutes,’ she said.

“‘Oh, here we go,’ I thought. ‘She’s going to tell us to take a hike and give the Book of Mormon back to us.’ The two men left, and I asked her if she was completely confused.

“‘Oh no,’ she said. ‘I’m not confused. I know now just what I want. Up to this point I thought the other church I was studying had all the truth. But I can see now that I have to read the Book of Mormon because I know there is more. I need to know what is actually true.’

“She said her views about a premortal life and the personality and nature of God were very similar to what we had taught her. She already believed in those things, but she couldn’t defend them against the other church because she didn’t have any knowledge of the scriptures.

“We came in, and with a basic knowledge of what the scriptures actually teach, were able to explain to her those basic doctrines. The Lord blessed her to be able to see the truth through the confusion of the discussion that Tuesday, and she knew then she had to investigate to find more truth.

“I received a transfer when Carol was still reading the Book of Mormon, but I later heard that she and her husband were baptized.”

This experience changed Kyle’s focus during his scripture study. He felt he could have used the scriptures more effectively by being able to cross-reference. Tying together several scriptures to explain one doctrine gives a fuller meaning and brings greater understanding of the topic.

“I realized you can’t just take one scripture out of context to prove what you believe or teach. You have to give the whole picture, supporting the scripture with the events that were going on when it was written.

“I studied more intently after that experience. I studied for a purpose—to answer questions. I wanted to learn something—not just read.

We eagerly climbed the steps to the Upper Room—the traditional site of Christ’s last supper. During our short stay in Jerusalem, our group of American students and teachers had seen the signs of past wars—but also some encouraging signs of peace and hope in this holy, yet often-bloodied, city. Now we had come to the Upper Room to review the quiet moments the Savior had spent during the last Passover of his life.
Gathered in the large room with its high ceilings and graceful arches, we realized that this wasn’t the actual setting of that sacred event: the building we were in had been constructed on this traditional site by Franciscan monks in the 1300s.
But that didn’t matter. Jesus Christ did celebrate his last Passover in an upper room somewhere in this city, he did wash his Apostles’ feet, he did give them the sacrament, and he did urge them to “love one another.” (John 13:34.) We were worshiping the Son of God and the event in his life was very real; the setting was not the important thing.
Whenever we stopped at a biblical site, we hoped there would be time and privacy enough to read the scriptures together and sing hymns as a group. In some cases we were undisturbed; in others, another tourist group came behind us and we politely moved on—or moved to one side out of the way. Since time was precious during our visit to the Holy Land, we began to hope for as few intrusions as possible.
After we had gathered in the Upper Room, someone in our group read Christ’s words from the New Testament, and then we all began to sing the song “Love One Another.” As we sang, another group of visitors entered the room. They were led by a bearded priest wearing a long brown robe, speaking a language I didn’t understand.
I’ll have to admit that while we sang, I thought more about the other group than about the words of the song; because they had come, we would have to leave instead of lingering. And I wondered if they considered our song and our presence as an intrusion into their own brief moments in that room.
We finished and, without a word, began to leave. As I passed the priest, he unexpectedly turned to us. With an accent, he said three short words: “God bless you.”
“God bless you.” The words seemed to be more than a common salutation. They were like a prayer—a blessing spoken in kindness by a stranger in a land that has known more intolerance than peace. Perhaps he had been touched by our simple singing of the Savior’s words. Perhaps he was simply expressing goodwill to a group of fellow worshipers. In either case, his words carried with them the spirit of the Savior’s own words at that Passover meal—words that we had just sung and that I had been too preoccupied to hear.
As I walked back down those steps into the busy city, I hummed the song again to myself—and was thankful for a stranger, a friend, who had gently reminded me of its message.

“I am so grateful for the Personal Progress program. I know that it has changed my life for the better. When you think of seven 10-hour projects, it seems like a lot, and you can get discouraged. But when you work on the projects one at a time, before you know it, you’re done with another project and can move on to the next.
“For one of my Personal Progress projects, I helped Grandpa clean his house. This was hard at first, but after a while it didn’t seem like a chore. As we worked, we really enjoyed talking to each other and got to know each other better. I’m glad I was able to strengthen my relationship with my grandpa. I really enjoy Personal Progress.”Tara Lunt, 16Duncan Ward, Duncan Arizona Stake

Once I was invited by a civic organization to present an award of recognition to the person who had done the most to help handicapped people in the area. When the honored lady, who was herself severely handicapped, came to the podium to receive her award, she walked between two stalwart men assisting her, with another wheeling an oxygen tank on a carrier behind her, helping her to breathe.
She protested her unworthiness but accepted the award on behalf of all others who had been helpful to the handicapped. She told how her saintly father had prepared her for her first day at school and then left his office to come home to meet her when she returned. He had prepared her to expect some disagreeable comments from a few who could not handle her physical appearance—the humped back and other problems. These birth difficulties, he had assured her, were no one’s fault—they were the consequence of problems not yet solved in this imperfect and sometimes unfair world. “But,” said he, “if you will always be more fair and more kind to others than a few of them may sometimes be to you, you will enjoy every sweet blessing life affords.”
That was her one qualification, she said: she had tried to be more fair and more kind to others than a few of them had sometimes been to her.

In the early spring mornings as the sun took a first peek over the mountains, Jan and I started walking together. As newly assigned visiting teaching partners, we were both young mothers with growing families and busy, demanding schedules.
Jan and her family were recent move-ins to our ward, and I wasn’t sure what we would talk about. Struggling, out of breath, up and down the inclines of a nearby mountain road, we walked and talked day after day.
In the beginning, our conversations were lighthearted chatter about our husbands and children, their interests, and the schools in the area. Little by little we opened our hearts to one another, processing spiritual ideas and delving into our experiences to find the kernels of truth. It seemed as we worked to get our bodies in shape, we began to get our souls in shape. I loved this wonderful exertion.
I learned two unforgettable lessons from my journey with Jan that continue to enlighten my mind and fill my soul with joy. The first is that whatever the circumstances in your life, if you are spiritually prepared, there is no need to fear (see D&C 38:30).
Long after we began our walks together, I discovered that years earlier Jan had made choices which took her step-by-step away from the Church and down a path she now regretted. About the time our lives intersected, she had determined to put her life in order. The longing in her heart was to prepare herself so that she could be sealed to her husband and children in the temple. Hers was a single-minded yearning, as Nephi phrased it, “[to] be reconciled unto Christ, and enter into the narrow gate, and walk in the strait path which leads to life, and continue in the path until the end of the day of probation” (2 Nephi 33:9).
You might expect that once Jan had determined as earnestly as Lamoni’s father in the Book of Mormon to “give away all [her] sins to know [the Lord]” (Alma 22:18), her journey would be smoothed. Such was not the case. She was faced with some of life’s most soul-wrenching trials. Jan was diagnosed with a brain tumor, her husband lost his job, then the family lost their home and their car.
Yet Jan’s faith in Jesus Christ grew steadier as her way grew harder. As we trudged along together on our morning walks, I learned so much from Jan about how her faith in the Lord and daily spiritual preparation helped her conquer fear. She seemed to understand perfectly what President Gordon B. Hinckley has taught: “We would be wise to kneel before our God in supplication. He will help us. He will bless us. He will comfort and sustain us” (Standing for Something [2000], 178).
Although she was in the midst of terrible trials, it was obvious to me that Jan knew our prophet’s words are true. She never stopped her personal spiritual preparation as she moved forward fearlessly a day at a time with a radiant sense of calmness in her life. Over the course of those early hours together, I literally watched “the morning [break], the shadows flee … [and] the dawning of a brighter day” (“The Morning Breaks,” Hymns, no. 1) as Jan’s repentance brought her a release from sins and then a deeply personal spiritual enlightenment.
I asked Jan how she had come to feel peace when her life was in such turmoil and things were collapsing all around her. I believe the words of a hymn capture best what she felt and subsequently shared with me about the power of the Atonement in her life:
The Lord is my light; the Lord is my strength.
I know in his might I’ll conquer at length.
My weakness in mercy he covers with pow’r,
And, walking by faith, I am blest ev’ry hour.
(“The Lord Is My Light,” Hymns, no. 89)
Because of her abiding faith, the Lord’s Atonement brought daily renewal to Jan. She submitted her will to the Lord one prayer, one scripture, and one act of service at a time.
Shortly before her death while she was in her 30s, I was among those gathered in the temple quietly rejoicing as she, her husband, and their children knelt at the altar and were sealed together for eternity.
The second unforgettable lesson that I learned from Jan is that when the sisters of Relief Society look “with an eye single to the glory of God” (D&C 4:5), they can experience rich spiritual insights and share deep spiritual strength together.
At the beginning of our walks, Jan and I weren’t walking at the same pace. As our hearts became “knit together in unity and in love” (Mosiah 18:21), we walked increasingly in step with one another both physically and spiritually. We buoyed each other up with our testimonies, bore one another’s burdens, strengthened and comforted one another as Relief Society sisters have always done.
Through my friendship with Jan I learned what a sacred kinship connects us as Relief Society sisters. Jan and I, like so many of you, grew from our assignment as visiting teaching partners into sisters and cherished friends. I testify that connections forged among covenant women in Relief Society can indeed enlighten, enliven, and enrich the journey of life because we can help each other learn how to put the Lord first in our hearts and in our lives. I know this because over 20 years ago, Jan helped me move closer to our Savior by the way she lived. She encouraged me to work beyond my own problems, to rejoice gratefully in the majesty of the Savior’s Atonement for my sins, to look forward with faith to what each new day brings, and to relish deep spiritual relationships available only through Relief Society.
I still walk in the mornings every chance I get. I still pause to study the beauties of this earth and to thank Heavenly Father for the mission of our Savior Jesus Christ. I often recall with deep gratitude the spirit Jan brought to our walks because of her great desire to feel the Savior’s redeeming love. Her love for the Lord flooded my heart then as fully as the rays of the rising sun continue to flood the land with light every morning.

Broto stood on the pendapa (large porch) built on the front of his father’s bamboo house. The village, on the north coast of Java at the edge of the Java Sea, was filled with excited people.
They were arranging for a selamatan (feast) to be held that night because the dalang (puppet master) was making his yearly visit to the village. After the selamatan he would put on an Indonesian wayang kulit (shadow play) with his intricately carved leather puppets. This wayang kulit portrayed stories that were brought to Indonesia over a thousand years ago from India, and the people loved them.
Close by the tall rubber trees Broto saw an old woman stumble and fall in the dirt street. As she fell, something rolled out of her selendang (piece of cloth for carrying personal belongings). Broto saw Amat, the big bully of the village, rush out from the shadows and snatch up whatever the woman had dropped. Then he ran back among the trees.
The hot tropical sun beat against the old woman’s body, and dust arose around her. She cried out, and startled birds flew from the rubber trees, scattering their bright colors above her.
Broto jumped from the porch and ran to help the old woman get to her feet. He noticed that she had been carrying mangoes in her selendang and he assumed that Amat had picked up some of the fruit she had dropped.
Later, when Broto was eating a lunch of spiced meat, rice, and salad with his family, a crowd of people gathered outside the house and started shouting.
"Come outside, Broto!" they called.
"Give back the money, you thief!"
"Come and face the woman!"
Broto and his father walked out onto the pendapa. Amat stood in front of the crowd. "A terrible thing, stealing from a poor old woman!" he shouted with pretended anger.
Broto’s father raised his hands. "What is this all about?" he asked.
Amat pointed his finger at Broto. "He stole an old woman’s tax money. It was all she had, and the tax collector will be here next week."
Amat was so big and seemed so angry that Broto was frightened. He couldn’t find his voice to deny the accusation. All the people in the village were afraid of Amat.
Broto’s father pushed his son into the house and dropped the split-bamboo curtain that formed the front wall. They could hear Amat’s roaring voice.
"Give back the money or we’ll chase you and your family out of the village!"
After a few more shouts, Amat and the crowd left.
"Did you steal the money?" Father asked Broto.
"No," Broto answered. Then he told his father about what he had seen Amat do when the old woman fell.
"You must tell the people that you did not steal the money," his father said.
Broto agreed. But how can I convince them that my story’s true! he wondered. Everyone was too busy with their own affairs to notice the old woman fall and see what happened. She must have told how I helped her up and so everyone suspects me.
In the afternoon Broto walked by a roundabout way to the puppet master’s camp. Later that night he would help the old man, for they had become friends in times past. As he walked, he worked out a plan to let the people know that Amat had stolen the money.
At the camp he greeted the dalang affectionately and then told him what had happened.
"I must tell the people the truth," Broto said. "I have a plan but I will need your help."
"Kami berteman (we are friends)," the puppet master said. "I will be glad to help you."
Broto explained his plan, and the dalang immediately began gathering the puppets for the new characters. Broto went to work setting up the stage for the wayang kulit.
He stretched a piece of white cloth over a wooden frame. Then he hung a lamp behind the cloth. When the dalang held the puppets between the cloth and the lamp, the people watching would see the shadows moving on the white screen. Then the dalang would tell the story in a high, squeaky voice.
As Broto finished helping the dalang, the people began gathering in front of the screen, waiting for the selamatan. Broto watched the dalang arrange his puppets.
"Now I will prove my innocence," Broto said. "And I hope the people will be angry and punish Amat."
"You’ll gain virtue if you forgive him, and you’ll feel better too," the wise old dalang told him.
After the feast of vegetables cooked in coconut milk, rich-smelling meat curries, and turtle and goat’s meat on a stick dunked in peanut sauce, the dalang started his wayang kulit.
Watching their eager faces, Broto knew that whatever the villagers saw on the screen, they would believe as though it were a real happening.
The people enjoyed the show immensely, laughing and crying in turn. Then the scene on the screen changed. Lacy shadows of the rubber trees and their houses in the village appeared. The crowd became silent.
Then the old man began working his thin leather puppets and Broto held the trees and houses in place. While the dalang maneuvered the figures and told a story, Broto felt bitter and revengeful.
Then the people saw the shadow of an old woman hobble past the trees. They recognized her and let out a long sigh. "A-h-h-h!"
The dalang made the old woman’s shadow fall and she appeared to drop a bundle. The villagers saw a great, hulking figure dash from the trees and pick up something and then run back into the trees.
Then the dalang turned off the lamp.
Amat jumped to his feet, exclaiming, "That’s ridiculous!"
Now the villagers realized who the large puppet represented, and they were angry.
Broto stepped from behind the screen. Two men held Amat. "You have been wronged, Broto. Tell us to, and we will drive Amat out of the village!" one of the men said.
Broto saw the fear in Amat’s eyes and he remembered the old dalang’s words. "No," Broto said. "If Amat returns the money to the old woman, she will forgive him, I am sure. And I also will forgive Amat that we may all live in peace together in our village."

President Hinckley is concerned about everyone, especially missionaries. While I was serving as a mission president in Madrid, Spain, one of our missionaries was injured by some young men who pushed and shoved and beat him. We had to take the missionary to the hospital. President Hinckley heard what had happened and called to find out how he was doing. It was a great example to me of how concerned the prophet is about people.

We see this promise fulfilled in the lives of faithful people. It was a little over a year ago that I was privileged to meet Travis and Kacie. They were married civilly in 2007. At the time, Travis was not a member of the Church. Kacie, though raised in an active Latter-day Saint home, had drifted from her faith in her teens and had strayed from her foundation.

In 2018, Travis met the missionaries, and he was baptized in 2019. Travis became a missionary to Kacie, who also experienced a life-changing conversion. They were sealed in the temple in September 2020. About two years after his baptism, Travis was called to serve in the bishopric.

Travis has a rare disease that continuously forms clusters of tumors in his internal organs. He has undergone many surgeries to remove the recurring tumors, but the disease is incurable. Several years ago, Travis was given fewer than 10 years to live.

Kacie has retinitis pigmentosa, a rare genetic disease that causes irreversible narrowing of the field of vision until complete blindness sets in.

Kacie spoke to me of her future. She anticipated the time, not far distant, when she would be widowed, blind, without financial support, and left alone to raise four growing children. I asked Kacie how she could handle such a bleak future. She smiled peacefully and said, “I have never been happier or more hopeful in my life. We hold to the promises we received in the temple.”

Travis is now the bishop. Two months ago he had another major surgery. But he is optimistic and peaceful. Kacie’s vision has worsened. She now has a guide dog and is unable to drive. But she is content, raising her children and serving as a counselor in the Young Women presidency.

Travis and Kacie are building their house on the rock. Travis and Kacie trust the doctrine of Christ and the promise that God “shall consecrate [their] afflictions for [their] gain.” In God’s perfect plan, suffering with faith in Christ is linked to our becoming perfected in Christ. Like the wise man in the parable who built his house upon a rock, when the rain descends and the floods come and the winds blow and beat upon the house Travis and Kacie are building, it will fall not, for it will be founded upon a rock.

From a young age, Elder Richard G. Scott had a desire to do what was right, even when faced with peer pressure. One summer during high school, he worked on an oyster boat off Long Island, New York, USA. His coworkers tried to get him to do things he knew were wrong. Because he consistently said no, he gained their respect. One night when one of them fell overboard, Richard was the only one who could save his crewmate—because he hadn’t gone partying like the others. He said, “Finally, when they understood I would not abandon my principles, we became friends. Then privately, one by one, they asked for help.”1
Richard was outgoing. He was elected high school class president, played the clarinet, and was drum major for the marching band. He did well in school and had many friends, but he felt lonely and lacked confidence. He realized later, after becoming active in the Church, “that those feelings need not have been part of my life if I had really understood the gospel.”2
By age 22, Richard was thinking about marriage and a career. But the woman he was dating, Jeanene Watkins, encouraged him to serve a mission. After praying about it, that’s exactly what he did. “That decision thoroughly changed my life and laid the foundation … for a marvelous experience in life together.”3
As a missionary in Uruguay.
Two weeks after he returned from his mission to Uruguay, they were sealed in the Manti Utah Temple.
His wedding day with Jeanene Watkins. July 16, 1953.

On a bright Sunday in April 1975 in the war-torn country of Vietnam, Nguyen Van The (pronounced “Tay”), president of the Saigon Branch, entered the local meetinghouse. Right away, members of the branch surrounded him, their faces full of frustration and hope. “President The! President The!” they cried out. “What news do you have?”
“I will tell you everything I know after sacrament meeting,” he said. He urged everyone in the crowd to remain calm. “All of your questions will be answered.”
For decades, Vietnam had been a divided land. Conflict had erupted shortly after World War II. American forces had fought alongside the South Vietnamese against the communist rule of North Vietnam for nearly a decade, but the high casualties led to America’s withdrawal from the war. Now the North Vietnamese forces were closing in on the southern capital of Saigon.
As President The entered the chapel and took a seat at the front of the room, he could hear the rumble of artillery fire. The war that had brought so many Vietnamese Saints to the restored gospel was now tearing the branch apart.
After the meeting, President The informed the Saints that the United States embassy was willing to evacuate Church members. The branch members insisted that President The’s family evacuate immediately so he could give his full attention to evacuating everyone else.
His wife, Lien, and their three children, along with her mother and sisters, flew out of Saigon a few hours later.
The following day, President The and a fellow Saint, Tran Van Nghia, hopped onto a motorbike to seek help from the International Red Cross. But they soon met a tank with a large gun that was rolling rapidly toward them.
Nghia swerved off the road, and he and President The clambered into a ditch to hide. The tank rumbled by them.
Saigon was now in North Vietnamese hands.
One week later, in May 1975, Le My Lien stepped off a crowded bus at a military camp near San Diego, California, on the West Coast of the United States. In front of her was a sprawling city of tents set up to shelter 18,000 refugees from Vietnam.
Lien had no money and spoke little English. And she had her three children to care for while awaiting news of her husband in Vietnam.
On their first night at the camp, Lien did her best to make her children comfortable. The camp had provided her with no blankets and only one cot. Her sons, Vu and Huy, crammed onto the cot while the baby slept in a hammock Lien fashioned out of a sheet and rubber bands.
There was nowhere for Lien to lie down, so she slept sitting on the edge of the cot, leaning against a tentpole. The nights were cold, and her health worsened. Soon she was diagnosed with tuberculosis.
She prayed continually that her husband would remain strong, believing that if she could survive her ordeal, then he could survive his. She had heard nothing from him since her flight out of Saigon.
As Lien rocked her crying baby each morning, she cried too. “Please,” she begged the Lord, “let me get through just this day.”
In 1976, President The was imprisoned in Thành Ông N?m. He was desperate for news of his wife and children, but all he knew about his family’s whereabouts came from a telegram from the president of the Hong Kong Mission: “Lien and family fine. With Church.”
Now, more than a year later, The wondered when he would be free again.
Life in the prison camp was degrading. The and his fellow captives were housed in rat-infested barracks. They slept on beds made of steel slabs. Meager and spoiled food, along with the unsanitary conditions in camp, left the men vulnerable to sicknesses like dysentery and beriberi.
Reeducation on the new government’s principles involved backbreaking labor and political indoctrination. Anyone who broke camp rules could expect a brutal beating or solitary confinement.
The had survived so far by lying low and clinging to his faith. For a time, he contemplated escaping from the camp. But he felt the Lord restrain him. “Be patient,” the Spirit whispered. “All will be well in the due time of the Lord.”
Sometime later, The learned that his sister, Ba, would be allowed to visit him in the camp. If he could slip her a letter to his family, she could send it to them.
On the day of Ba’s visit, The waited in line as guards conducted full-body searches of the prisoners ahead of him. He had hidden the message behind the cloth band on the inside of his hat. He had then placed a small notebook and pen into the hat. With any luck, the notebook would distract the guards.
They examined the pen and notebook, then let him pass.
Soon, The saw his sister and pressed the letter into her hands. He wept as Ba gave him some food and money. He trusted that she would get his letter to Lien.
Six months later, Ba returned to the camp with a letter. Inside was a photograph of Lien and the children. He realized that he could wait no longer.
He had to find a way out of the camp and into the arms of his family.
Nguyen Van The and his wife, Le My Lien, with their son in 1973. She and their three children found refuge in the United States, but The was forced to attend a prison camp. Later, he said, “I was able to survive the ‘reeducation’ camp because … I had faith in Jesus Christ.”
As part of its mission to care for families, LDS Social Services had arranged with Church members in the United States to care for about 550 Vietnamese refugees, most of whom were not members of the Church. Lien and her family were sponsored by Philip Flammer, a professor at Brigham Young University, and his wife, Mildred. They helped the family relocate from California to Provo, Utah.
At first, Lien struggled to find work. Philip took her to a thrift store to apply for a janitorial position. But during the interview, the manager tore her high school diploma in half and told her, “This does not apply here.”
She soon found temporary work picking cherries at a nearby orchard. She then found work as a seamstress and added to her income by baking wedding cakes. With help from Philip, she also earned money by typing reports for BYU students.
Amid her family’s hardships, Lien remained faithful to the Lord. She taught her children about the power of prayer, knowing it could carry them through their ordeals.
Then, in late 1977, Lien learned that her husband was in a refugee camp in Malaysia. He had managed to leave Vietnam on an old fishing boat after finally being released from Thành Ông N?m. Now he was ready to reunite with his family. All he needed was a sponsor.
Lien began working even more hours to save enough money to bring The to the United States.
In January 1978, Le My Lien sat nervously in a car headed for the Salt Lake City International Airport. She was on her way to meet her husband for the first time in nearly three years.
After arriving at the airport, Lien joined other friends and Church members who had come to welcome The.
Before long, Lien saw The descending an escalator. He looked pale and had a lost look in his eyes. But at the sight of Lien, he called out to her. Emotion welled in Lien’s chest.
She pulled The into a hug. “Thank God in heaven,” she whispered, “you are home at last!”

I carried a tray of food, prepared by my mother-in-law, into a cluttered and dusty home. The sole occupant sat where she always sat, on a big armchair positioned so she could see out the window. Her swollen legs were stretched in front of her and her cane, which she used only with great effort, leaned against her arm. She smiled when she saw me, thanked me for the food, and apologetically asked who I was. As I sat next to her and listened to her stories, I was filled with warmth and peace.
Three years later, I was on the floor with my two young children, bouncing them on my legs and singing a racehorse tune. Only a few feet away, my kitchen was in disarray and toys were scattered across the floor. I suddenly felt a reassurance from the Spirit that I was right where I needed to be. Warmth and peace flooded my soul, filling its worn edges and giving energy where there was none.
Another two years forward, I was lying on the bed. A pile of laundry was visible on the floor, and a stack of papers littered the desk to my left as I fed my newborn son for the fourth time that night. I brushed my fingertips against his long lashes, felt his soft bald head, and was thrilled when fingers curled around the lace of my shirt. I was so filled with warmth and peace that I didn’t even mind that I was sometimes awake at three in the morning.
In each of these cases, the Holy Ghost was with me, telling me I was in the right place and doing the right thing, and in each of these cases, I was in a messy home.

I had recently returned home from a full-time mission and was blessed to find a job that would enable me to save money for college tuition. I was eager to be productive so my employer would hire other returned missionaries.
My work was simple: I did whatever odd jobs needed to be done for a construction engineering company. This often meant performing simple laboratory tests. On one particular day, I was scheduled to pick up samples of construction materials from several sites and return them to the lab. I was given an old truck to make my rounds, and off I went.
I arrived at the first site, greeted the foreman, and quickly found the samples of concrete and steel. After placing them in the truck, I reached into my pocket for the truck key. To my alarm, my pocket was empty. I checked the ignition and took a quick look around the truck cab but did not find the key. It occurred to me that I might have dropped it while walking through the construction site. As I retraced my steps, I said a silent prayer, but I still couldn’t find the key.
I then searched the truck more thoroughly, even looking under the floor mats. No key. I bowed my head and sincerely prayed, explaining that I wanted to be productive and not be delayed at the first stop of the day. I began searching again while listening for an answer to my prayer. I felt an impression to look under the truck, so I took a quick, doubting glance at the ground near my feet. I still saw no key, so I decided to make another trip around the construction site.
When I returned to the truck, I was still empty-handed. How could I tell my new employer that I had lost the key and hadn’t been able to complete such an easy task? I quietly said one more prayer, and the impression to look under the truck came again. I gave another quick glance, and when I didn’t see the key, I was about to push the impression away. But then I decided to take a few steps away from the truck and look again.
Suddenly I saw it! It must have fallen when I got out of the truck. It was just far enough under the truck that I hadn’t seen it the first two times I looked. I was ashamed that I hadn’t listened better to the promptings of the Spirit.
That day and many times since, I have reflected on how patiently and lovingly the Spirit works with me. When we sing, “I know my Father lives and loves me too” (“I Know My Father Lives,” Hymns, no. 302), my heart swells. I am amazed that our Father loves us so much that He will answer our simplest prayers.

When I was walking home from school with my friend, she said that one of my classmates was mean. The person she was talking about was my friend. I thought, “That is not nice.” Then I said to her, “Jesus says love everyone.” In Primary the music leader taught us that we should be kind to everyone, even those we don’t like or those we think are different. Because of the songs I am learning in Primary, I knew the right thing to say to my friend.

I didn’t want to go.
It was that simple. I was 16, and everyone was talking about this “mini mission weekend” our stake was running. I didn’t see the point. I wasn’t planning on serving a mission—not then, not ever.
My mum really wanted me to go. My leaders were encouraging me. They said, “It’s just a weekend, Tyra!” The night before, I cried. I was like, “Why am I doing this to myself?”
I only said yes because I didn’t want to disappoint people. But in my heart, I was already counting down the hours until it was over.
At first, it wasn’t so bad. We did workshops, practiced teaching, got paired up with missionaries for study sessions. I remember thinking, “OK, I can survive this.” But I was still not emotionally invested. I told myself, “I’m just here so people will get off my back.”
Then came the second day.
My companion was Sister Fale. We went to the city, right around Town Hall Station, for some street contacting. I followed her lead as she stopped and talked to this guy about the plan of salvation. I stood next to her, awkward and quiet, thinking, “This is her thing, not mine.”
But something shifted.
She looked at me mid-conversation and nodded, like it was my turn. I opened my mouth . . . and my testimony just came out! I didn’t even think about what I was saying. I just spoke.
And the Spirit was so strong.
It hit me in that moment. I was 16, standing in the middle of a busy street, talking to a stranger about Jesus Christ, and for the first time in a long time, I felt like I was exactly where I needed to be.
That feeling didn’t go away. It stayed with me all weekend. Every teaching moment, every group prayer, every gospel conversation with strangers—I felt like something inside me was waking up.
I came home from that weekend changed.
The moment it really sank in—what the mini mission meant for me—was when I was back home, alone, writing in my journal. I just started crying. I felt the Spirit so deeply. That’s when I realised the revelations I had received were real. He had spoken to me. And I had listened.
I didn’t tell everyone straight away, but in my heart, I knew. I started going out with the full-time sisters every week. I wanted to feel that Spirit again—that sense of purpose. Eventually, I began working on my mission papers.
Now I’m 19, turning 20 this year. I’m studying Construction Project Management at University of Technology Sydney and serving as a YSA rep in my ward. I also took part in the Australian Association of Pacific Studies Conference 2025, and I’m learning how to integrate my faith with my career and culture and hopefully help share His gospel even more.
I haven’t left on my mission yet—but I will. That decision is still a little scary, but it’s also sacred. And every day my testimony grows stronger.
I know that all I’ve been able to do—every achievement, every step forward—is because of His mercy and His love. I hope that I can be a pillar of hope to others, because He has touched my life. And that, more than anything, is why I want to serve.

In February 1993 Lamjav Purevsuren became the first native Mongolian baptized in the country. Purevsuren grew up in western Mongolia in a round, felt-lined tent called a ger. His family’s major challenge was providing for their animals during Mongolia’s harsh winters, when temperatures regularly fall as low as 40 degrees below zero Fahrenheit. Several times during the year, the family would dismantle their ger and move elsewhere to find new grazing pastures.
Purevsuren met Elder Stanley Smith when he took Elder Smith’s marketing class at the Mongolian National University. “My classmate Tsendkhuu Bat-Ulzii and I were curious why this American professional would come to Mongolia,” Purevsuren recalls.
“Elder Smith told us about his church and invited us to attend, but he gave us an apartment address. We were very surprised!”
Purevsuren and Bat-Ulzii attended the small service with the missionary couples and agreed to hear the discussions. Both men joined the Church, and Bat-Ulzii was eventually called as president of the Ulaanbaatar Tuul Branch. Total membership in the nation now exceeds 550, with three branches in Ulaanbaatar, one branch in Erdenet, a city of 44,000 located northwest of the capital, and one branch in Darkhan, a city of 65,000 located north of Ulaanbaatar.

My mom was my seminary teacher throughout high school, so I didn’t have much of a choice about going. Every morning for four years I hauled myself out of bed and into a cold car and zipped off to seminary.

Years later, while in the MTC, I was amazed at how much seminary was still helping me. One day while teaching a lesson, my companion turned to me and asked, “How do you know the scriptures so well?” I was taken aback—I didn’t feel like I was a scriptorian at all. “Seminary, I guess?” I stammered.

The more I thought about it, the more I realized that attending seminary and memorizing the scripture mastery verses was the reason I felt comfortable in the scriptures (see the scripture mastery verses at sm.lds.org). It was the best preparation I had for serving a mission! Even though I was still an awkward new missionary and I didn’t know how to teach, I did know 100 scriptures that I could turn to when I didn’t know what else to say. So many times, a scripture mastery verse came into my mind through the Spirit when I was teaching investigators.

If I’d read my scriptures just on my own, I wouldn’t have had the same experience without going to seminary and learning the scriptures there too. My advice to my teenage self is to go to seminary—no matter what—and fully participate! The Lord will use the knowledge you gain for years to come.

The bishop knows, as do others close to the family, just how difficult Sage’s healing has been. At times, the pain has been almost more than she could bear. Once when she was undergoing some therapy at home, she begged her mother not to hurt her anymore. Denise told her about a little girl who cried so much that her parents stopped giving her therapy. Now that little girl can’t walk.
Sage wept. “I wish I could give my body so that little girl could walk again.”