Gospel Story Finder

In the summer of 1971 I was an undergraduate here at BYU and had been home from a mission for less than a year. I was in school and working hard in classes and at a part-time job.
I was assigned by my elders quorum president to home teach several people that summer.
My companion and I began contacting our people, two of whom were not much involved in the Church at the time. One of these was an attractive young lady who lived alone in a basement apartment. She seldom attended Sunday meetings and didn’t “do appointments” with home teachers. She would talk to us if we happened to catch her at her apartment. It usually took several attempts each month to connect with her. As the weeks passed, we made a special effort to get to know her. I think she was beginning to trust us, and even like us. She was becoming less evasive and guarded.
She was an interesting and engaging person. Attractive and witty, she held her own in conversation. She resisted being anyone’s service project and telegraphed just enough cynicism and mistrust to keep herself isolated from the well-intentioned. I sensed that she had been injured by people she had trusted the most and that her edginess and cynical humor were worn for self-protection. I was beginning to take on this relationship as a personal challenge, and I’ll admit that I was beginning to enjoy the challenge.
One day, walking alone past her apartment on my way to campus, I decided to stop and knock on her door and see if I could catch her at home. I had some pretext for stopping. I don’t remember what it was, but it was enough of an excuse to make the call seem comfortable. No one answered the door, so I went on my way.
A few days later I was in the company of my brother, Gene, who was serving in the bishopric of the same ward I was attending. He had just extended a calling to me in an interview and we were visiting for a few minutes before his next appointment. He asked me about my home teaching assignments and particularly how our efforts were going at helping this young lady. I mentioned casually that I had recently stopped by her place on my way to the campus but hadn’t found her home.
At that moment the expression on my brother’s face changed visibly. He looked carefully at me, put his hand on my forearm, and with that voice and expression I had come to know so well—the voice of the older brother—he said, “Michael, don’t ever, ever go over there on your own. Don’t risk being alone with her by yourself. Take your companion or call one of your quorum leaders or call me, but don’t go alone.”
I nodded and mumbled something like “fine” or “okay” and changed the subject to something that would let me quickly end the conversation. I ended it and left. I don’t know to this day if my brother heard the edge in my voice or noticed that I was suddenly very turned off. I was eager to get out of there and to get away from him. I was mad. He had given me some very direct counsel, and I had chosen, in an instant—as we so often choose on those occasions—to take offense.
Looking back on it, my reaction embarrasses me. It is very clear to me now why I was so offended. This response from my brother had cut me to the quick. He had felt impressed to tell me in that moment exactly what I most needed to hear. He had spoken the truth in love and courage, and I had retreated in resentment to sulk.
Ironically, his uninvited counsel worked. I followed his advice, and I was a lot more careful about home teaching and lot of other things throughout the rest of that summer. The effectiveness and care of my service improved. I don’t have much to report about the other events of that season. The summer passed quietly with no drama and no heartbreak. By the way, that young lady moved from the ward at the end of the summer feeling better about her relationship with the Lord and with His church.
I truly believe now that through that one moment of unsolicited warning, delivered by an inspired messenger, I had been rescued from a temptation I was beginning to caress in my mind and heart.
But I rewarded my rescuer with a cold shoulder for several days afterward.
A cold shoulder and the resentment of another are often the reward for speaking the truth in love and courage. But that speaking out and reaching out are what great and inspired people do. My brother had put up a guardrail for me to glance off of. I was close to an edge that I did not see—or did not want to see.

One of the defining moments in my life happened for me at the age of 10 when I spent two weeks learning Catholic doctrine at the Loreto Roman Catholic Mission, about 20 miles (32 km) away from my rural home in Silobela, Zimbabwe. I have come to know and love the Savior Jesus Christ and to look up to the Lord through these early lessons and impressions.
While I was in the Catholic chapel, I saw paintings with scenes from the Savior’s life pasted on the wall: scenes of Jesus Christ’s birth, teaching in the temple, praying in the Garden of Gethsemane, carrying the cross to Calvary, being crucified at Golgotha, and His Resurrection. It really made me feel sad to see those nails and thorns. By the time I got to the painting of the Crucifixion, my eyes were filled with tears. And each time I would cry and say, “Hey, He really went through a lot, just for me.”
During the confirmation ceremony, one of the priests looked into my eyes and said, “You are the light of the world” (see Matthew 5:14). Then, pointing to a burning candle, he quoted the Savior’s words: “Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven” (Matthew 5:16).
As I learned more about Jesus, I began to want to be of service to others. For example, we would have to fetch our water five miles (8 km) away from our village. Often, women in the village, including my mother, would carry a 20-liter container on their heads filled with water. After my experience at the Catholic seminary, I often pushed a 200-liter (about 50 gallons) container of water to help my mother, and I also helped two other widows who were our neighbors. I remembered the good feeling I felt each time I helped others.
These experiences helped develop my faith in Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ and indirectly prepared me to accept the gospel of Jesus Christ when I was 22 years old.

When she first heard the restored gospel in Chester County, Pennsylvania, where she was born on July 29, 1831, Mary Jane Dilworth knew it to be true. Her family and many of their friends and neighbors also believed the teachings of the elders. All were baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
After the Prophet Joseph Smith was killed, the Dilworths traveled to Illinois to join the Saints preparing to leave Nauvoo and journey west. When the Dilworths arrived, they found that many Church members had already been forced to leave the city. Helped by her three married sisters and their husbands, Mary Jane and her family soon set out across Iowa for Council Bluffs (Winter Quarters) on the Missouri River.
At first, the younger children enjoyed running and playing alongside the wagons as they traveled through the tall grasses, but when the weather changed and they had to stay in their wagons, boredom set in. Fourteen-year-old Mary Jane decided to entertain them by pretending to be their school teacher. She sang with them, told them stories, and taught them spelling and arithmetic. The time seemed to fly. Part of every day from then on was spent “playing school.”
After they arrived at Council Bluffs, Mary Jane found herself appointed nursemaid to about a dozen young children. She did the same thing that had worked so well on the trail. She began amusing them with rhymes and pictures (drawing with charcoal on the tailgates of wagons) to teach them their ABCs. She sang songs, told stories, and played games.
One day Brigham Young paused to listen. He was impressed with her manner and with the attention she received from the children in her care. Months later, when he had led the first pioneer company to the valley and was returning to Winter Quarters for another group, he passed the company Mary Jane was traveling west in. After again observing her teaching the children, he said, “Sister Dilworth, … I have a special mission for you. As soon as you reach the city, I want you to start a school for the younger children. Let any who wish to, attend, and encourage all to do so. And God bless you.”
Two weeks and three days after arriving in Salt Lake Valley, on October 19, 1847, Mary Jane Dilworth, then sixteen years old, welcomed children to the first school in the area that would later be Utah.

Shawn and Melissa Poirier, 16, are twins, born three minutes apart. Like most twins, they tease each other good-naturedly about who’s the most intelligent, who’s the strongest, and who’s the best looking. But there’s one thing they don’t tease about. That’s their testimony of the gospel.
“About two years ago, our parents were wondering what religion they should be,” Melissa says. “But they didn’t really know which Church would be right,” Shawn adds. Their father in particular talked with priests and missionaries from lots of denominations.
“Then the missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints knocked on our door,” Shawn continues. “He felt inspired to let them in.” The parents began taking the discussions in earnest. “One night, after I had seen the missionaries come over and over and over, I decided to sit in. Then my sister eventually came in.” As the twins studied, they began to see a spiritual summit worth attaining. Baptism became an important step along the way.
“Our parents have not been baptized yet,” Melissa explains. “But they’re still working on it.” And they encourage Shawn and Melissa to keep climbing as members of the English-speaking Montreal Ward.
“I’m surprised at how easy it’s been,” Shawn says. “I thought it would be really tough to keep the commandments and laws of God and the standards of the Church. But I take it day by day, and I pray and then do what I feel in my heart is right. People seem to respect what I’m doing, and I love being a Latter-day Saint.”

As a young missionary I was assigned as a district president over a group of fifteen small, scattered islands. On one occasion I received word that a missionary was very ill on a distant island. In spite of a bad storm, a companion and I sailed to the island, where we found that the missionary was indeed very ill. Fervent prayer was followed by administration, during which the impression came very strongly to get the missionary back to the hospital on the main island. The seas were heavy, the clouds were thick, the wind was fierce, the hour was late. But the impression was strong—“Get him back now!”

No sooner had we embarked on the turbulent sea than the intensity of the storm seemed to increase sevenfold. As we approached the reef surrounding the main island, the rain slashed at our faces and tore at our eyes—eyes vainly searching for the lifesaving light that marked the only entry through the reef to our home.

Suddenly I heard the chilling sound of waves crashing against the reef! It was too close. Where was the light? Unless we hit the opening exactly, we would be smashed against the reef.

Some passengers began to whimper; others moaned and cried. Many were pleading to turn to the left or to the right. I looked at the captain, and there I saw a face free of worry as his eyes penetrated the darkness ahead. His weather-roughened lips parted, and he declared, “There is the light!”

I still could not see it, but the captain’s experienced eyes were not fooled by the fury of the storm, nor was he influenced by the passengers’ pleadings.

Soon the reef was behind us, and we were in the protected harbor. Then and only then did we see through the darkness one small light—exactly where the captain had said it was. Had we waited until we could see the light, we would have been dashed to pieces. I thank the Lord for that wonderful Polynesian captain who saved my life and the life of the sick missionary I was charged with. I am grateful for his experience. I am grateful for his wisdom, for his eyes.

When I was a small girl, only three years old, my brother, sister, and I had a live-in baby-sitter who had a little girl of her own. Because my mother was single, she had to work.
One day, while my brother and sister were at school, I was playing with the baby-sitter’s daughter. I found her sitting on the top bunk of her bunk bed. I knew my mother did not allow me to climb to the top bunk because it was dangerous. But I saw that she was eating goldfish cheese crackers, which I loved. I climbed up, received some crackers, and leaned back against the safety rail. It came unhooked, and I fell to the floor, landing on my rear end. I was shaken but would have been unhurt. However, as I looked up, I saw the rail falling toward me. It hit me on the head, knocking me unconscious.
My mother worked at the hospital, so she raced to the emergency room after she was notified I had been admitted. She found me playing with hand puppets and a nice doctor. He assured my mom that I would be fine.
Three years later, when I started first grade, everyone started to notice something was wrong with me. I spent the next few years going in and out of hospitals having tests. I had a CAT scan. I had to stay up all night once with my mother and grandmother so that I would sleep through the next day’s tests so they wouldn’t have to give me drugs to sleep. I was prescribed six pills a day to keep me awake in classes at school. For years, the doctors could not find the problem. Finally, it was determined that I had suffered a brain injury resulting in a learning disability. My mother was told by teachers, doctors, and counselors that I would not graduate from high school. I would only be able to handle sixth-grade work, if that, and she should not be angry with me because of it.
I remember watching other kids reading with delight in class. Everyone in my family could read and did a lot of it. I once asked my brother, Rob, what was so great about reading. He smiled when he told me that when you read it’s like a whole new world opens.
I had heard the stories of Joseph Smith only being 14 when he received answers to his prayers. I wanted to experience this new world of reading. I was 13, living in Arizona with my dad. In early October, I prayed, sobbing into the sheets of my bed, begging the Lord to grant me the gift of reading. I promised that if he would grant me this great blessing, I would read the Book of Mormon from cover to cover.
Amazingly, in less than 18 days, I jumped six reading levels and was up to the same grade level as others my age. Once I had been told that was impossible. The miracle happened. I struggled but kept my promise and read the whole Book of Mormon. I have since moved on to the other scriptures.
Now that I am 15, I bear my testimony that the scriptures are so important that Heavenly Father allowed a girl with a learning disability to read. I know it is important to him that all of his children read his sacred books. The scriptures have changed my life forever.

When I was baptized, I invited a friend who was in the same reform school with me to attend. After I was baptized and confirmed a member of the church I walked up to him and said, “So Aaron did you feel something good at my baptism today?” Aaron responded, “Yes I did.”

Excited about the gospel and this new-found faith in my life, I exclaimed “That feeling you’re feeling—it’s the Holy Ghost bearing witness of the truthfulness of this church. Aaron, you have got to call the missionaries and learn more about this church.” Aaron eventually took the missionary discussions and got baptized. Since then, he has served a mission, married in the temple, and is currently serving in the high council in his home town.

James H., age 11, from Salt Lake City, Utah, likes to learn about history, use computers, and search for clues like a detective. That’s why he got really excited when his parents invited the ward’s family history consultant to teach James’s family about the Church’s online family history program. It’s called Family Tree, and James loves using it to search through his family history chart to find the green arrows next to the names of ancestors who weren’t baptized or sealed to their families.
Since that day, James has found more than 80 of his ancestors’ names. It feels good to know he can help his ancestors by sending their names to the temple. “Someone up in heaven is thinking, ‘They finally found me!’” he says.
When I find a new ancestor who needs to have temple ordinances done, I print out the ancestor’s name so the temple work can be done.
I taught my little brother, William, how to type in names so he can help search for our ancestors online.
My mom and dad and older brother and sister have helped me by doing baptisms for the dead and other ordinances in the temple for the ancestors I find.

An experience, repeated many times during my time as mission president and again as branch president at the Missionary Training Center, confirmed for me the truth of Joseph Smith’s statement that “the Book of Mormon was the most correct of any book on earth, and the keystone of our religion, and a man would get nearer to God by abiding by its precepts, than by any other book.”1 From time to time, one of my missionaries would sit with me, and our interview would go something like this:
“President, I seem to have lost my enthusiasm for missionary work lately. I haven’t felt very spiritual either.”
“Can you be more specific in what you have been feeling?” I would ask.
“Oh, I just haven’t been feeling positive, excited, or enthused about doing the work.”
“Have you felt this way long?”
“For about the last three weeks.”
“Has something happened personally that we need to talk about?”
“No, President. I am keeping all the mission rules. I get up on time. I read scriptures daily. I am currently reading the Old Testament. I say my prayers. My companion and I get along well. I really can’t find anything that is out of order.”
“Are you reading the Book of Mormon as part of your scripture studies?”
“No.”
“I would like you to try something for several weeks and then give me a call. In addition to your regular study in the missionary gospel study program, try reading and studying at least one chapter from the Book of Mormon a day.”
Two weeks later the missionary would call and report that things were fine and his spiritual intensity had returned.

Just before the evening devotional, a reception for the Osmonds was held at the meetinghouse in Solihull where Justin reconnected with Richard Grant, who he had worked with during voluntary service to the UK deaf community years earlier. The pair’s previous assignment was part of their mission for the Church.
Justin said, “My heart is full tonight. The UK is my second home with its beautiful green pastures and to reconnect with my hero, mentor and dear friend, Richard, who changed my life.”
Richard said, “It has been 25 years since we last were together. Justin is a fantastic guy. He was when we were serving together, and he is now. He honestly wanted to serve with all his heart, and he has not changed.”

During this time, letters arrived in camp from Sam Brannan, who was now sailing for California on the Brooklyn. Among the letters was the contract promising a safe exodus for the Saints in exchange for land in the West. Brigham read the contract carefully with the apostles. If they did not sign it, Sam’s letters suggested, the president of the United States could order the Saints to disarm and cease gathering together.6

Brigham was unconvinced. As wary as he was of the government, he had already decided to try working with it rather than against it. Shortly before leaving Nauvoo, in fact, he had instructed Jesse Little, the new presiding elder in the eastern states, to lobby for the Church and accept any honorable offer from the federal government to assist the Saints’ exodus. Brigham and the apostles quickly perceived that the contract was nothing more than an elaborate scheme designed to favor the men who had drafted it. Rather than sign the agreement, the apostles decided to trust in God and look to Him for protection.7

All through school, I had had the same group of friends. But one year, a new student started at our school, and unlike me, he was popular. But I still somehow became his friend. In the months following, we became closer until we were best friends.
I was in the habit of going to seminary immediately after school. One day he asked me where I went every day. I decided to explain all about the Church, but from the look on his face, I realized this wasn’t the best way to talk to him. So I stopped talking so insistently.
A few months later the elders were coming over to my house at the same time some friends and I were meeting there to do homework. This friend was one of them, so I asked the elders to talk a little about the Church. He was interested in what they were saying. He realized that some things in my life were different from what he and other friends were doing, and he wanted to find out why. He started coming to church, Mutual, and seminary, and he saw that all my Church friends were like me, with the same principles. Soon he decided to be baptized.
At his baptism, the bishop asked him to bear his testimony. He stood and said: “I am here today thanks to a friend and how different he was from other people. I hope that everyone will see the differences in all of you too.”

Sometimes the least likely prospects turn out to be the most receptive. Sherilyn Oakey and some friends were feeling crestfallen one day because a friend had just refused a gift subscription. “Well, I’ll take it,” a voice behind them said. They looked and then they had to look again. The voice belonged to one of the most anti-Mormon students in the whole school. She hasn’t shown much interest in the Church yet, but she now reads and enjoys the New Era.

There were 27 of us that day, all 18 or 19 years of age, except one fellow, 21, whom we called “Pop.” Three more had started out with us in our flight but had washed out along the way, unable to keep up with the grueling physical discipline of basic training in the Royal Canadian Air Force. We had been training hard for months to take the place of young men not much older than ourselves who, at watch behind machine guns and plexiglass bubbles, were still giving their lives over Germany.
Traditionally, completion of basic training called for a fitting “graduation ceremony.” Each flight was confident that it could outperform any other group in almost any sort of physical contest. The flight party at the end of basic training had become the recognized way for flight trainees to prove that they were second to none.
Our flight was no different. A youthful eagerness seemed to be pushing us to throw off the discipline for a night, to noisily proclaim that we were the top, and to somehow cram into one furious evening enough pleasure to last a lifetime. And so 27 of us sat down on the grass that day to discuss our flight party.
I sat down feeling very alone, and for the first time since our flight had been formed, I felt absolutely no desire to be part of the group. I watched the others smiling and laughing as they agreed that only a top night club would do, and I sensed the mounting excitement as they discussed the activities that they felt would be the most entertaining. It was suggested that each of us had an obligation to contribute his best thoughts on the matter, and after five or six fellows had enthusiastically expressed their ideas, someone said: “Let’s hear what Green has to say.”
Green was the only Mormon in the group and had no desire to say anything to anybody. All he wanted to do was withdraw. How do you tell 26 non-Mormons about the branch you attend every Sunday with a fellow Mormon from another flight? How do you convey the feelings you have about the mission home where you have a standing invitation every Sunday for dinner, and where you gather around the piano every Sunday evening to sing with the missionaries just before you and your buddy leave to catch the last streetcar back to the barracks before lights out? What could you say to 26 non-Mormons planning an all-out bash in a night club about how cold and dismal that Sunday night ride back to the barracks seemed? How sensitive would they be to your observation that you loathed setting foot in the barracks every Sunday night because you knew that the first word you heard would make a complete mockery of the word love.
The answer to all those questions, as they passed quickly through my mind that day, was: “They wouldn’t understand. They wouldn’t care. They’d probably sneer or laugh. Their idea of a flight party is a good indication of what they find important in life, and therefore it’s pointless to talk to them.” But somehow I had to come up with something that would get me off the hook, that would let me withdraw from the flight party. I was angry with myself because, after months of working together as a team with these fellows, I was going to suddenly and painfully resign. I was angry at them for putting me in a situation that I knew I was going to mishandle. They were going to judge me as the last type of person they wanted at the flight party, and I had already judged them as incapable of organizing a party I would want to attend.
“Let’s hear what Green has to say.”
“Yeah, Green. You haven’t said a word. What do you want to do?”
Green drew a deep breath, and looking rather sullenly at the grass in front of him made his brief withdrawal speech: “Well, if I were to go to a flight party … I’d be taking a pretty decent girl … so there’d be no drinking … and no smoking … and no swearing.” He didn’t dare look at anyone, and he gathered himself as best he could against the sudden onslaught he knew was coming.
And then it happened.
There was a good minute of utter silence. It was so still you could have heard a pin drop on the grass. Then someone from across the circle began to speak:
“Well …”
This was it. This was going to be the start. They would all have their say and then Green could beat his solitary retreat, leaving his worldly buddies with their frivolous taste for life.
“Well … I’d be taking a pretty nice girl myself …”
From beside him, “Who wouldn’t?”
There was another good minute of silence and then, from off to the right, “I nominate Green as master of ceremonies.” There were no other nominations.
A week later, all 27 members of the flight brought their beautifully dressed dates to our party. No drinking. No smoking. No swearing. Just lots of good food, good music, good dancing … and good memories of a flight party that was rather unique.
I remember, not without embarrassment, my thoughts on that sunny afternoon in 1944 as we sat down together on the grass. I remember that, unintentionally, I touched the lives of 26 young men. I thought I was putting them down. Generously, they put me at the top, and in my memory that’s exactly where I see them.

1. Jonathan looked at the clock for the eighth time. “Is it time for family home evening?” he asked again.
2. “Yes, we can start now,” Dad said with a smile.
3. Jonathan and his sister, Michelle, were excited. They put paper, pencils, watercolors, and crayons on the table. Everyone sat down on their chairs and folded their arms.
4. After the prayer Dad picked up a letter and read it to them. It was from Uncle Eddie.
5. Uncle Eddie was a missionary in Central America. Jonathan liked to hear about the boys and girls there.
6. When Dad finished reading the letter, everyone began to draw a picture or write a letter to Uncle Eddie. Jonathan drew a picture of Uncle Eddie riding his bike. He drew a picture of him flying away in an airplane to Central America. Then he drew a picture of him teaching a family.
7. “When you are finished, fold your letters and drawings, and we’ll put them in this envelope,” Dad said.
8. Jonathan wrote an extra note before he folded his letter: “Please send more pictures!” Then he signed it,I love you,Jonathan

When I found out our ward Young Women president was moving, I immediately had the feeling that I was going to be called as the next president. I even shared that prompting with my husband. A few weeks went by and, sure enough, I received an invitation to meet with the bishop.
I was anxious. Being called into a leadership position felt foreign to me. Plus, I was baptized at age 21, so I had never attended Young Women myself. And I would be serving in Utah, USA, which was very different culturally from where I grew up in Mexico.
I thought of all my inadequacies to serve—I didn’t have younger siblings, I had many periods of inactivity as a member, and then I spent several years attending young single adult wards where there was no Young Women organization. On top of that, I could think of many other little hang-ups, like not even knowing the Young Women theme.
I was scared. The calling hadn’t even been extended to me yet, and I was already listing off the reasons I was unfit for it. I knew that thoughts of uncertainty come from the enemy, Satan, trying to prevent us from serving and edifying others in the Lord’s kingdom. But I couldn’t deny that some of my fears and thoughts had truth to them.
As I prepared for my meeting with the bishop, I was still going over all the reasons I could give the bishop to decline the calling. Then a thought crossed my mind: “Would I say no to Christ?”
The answer was pretty clear: I would never turn down an invitation from Christ, even if I did not feel like I was ready for it.
Matthew 8:8 has always touched my heart. It says, “Lord, I am not worthy that thou shouldest come under my roof: but speak the word only, and my servant shall be healed.” That truth has helped me know that the Lord can heal me of all my fears. He can dissipate the negative thoughts I have about myself. And most importantly, He can help me connect to and serve the young women in my ward.
So I walked into my meeting with the bishop. He extended the calling to serve as Young Women president. I accepted the calling, but I also felt vulnerable and expressed how I was anxious about not being the right person for the calling. My bishop reassured me that if I could put those worries toward serving and relying on the Savior, then I would be able to serve to the best of my abilities.
Now as I serve, I think of a lesson the Savior has been teaching me since even before I was a member of the Church: I am loved, and it is my duty and privilege to share His love with others—especially through my callings.
I might not always have the right words or the best solution for what the young women in my ward need, but with help from Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ, I am able to make a spiritual difference in their lives.
Jessica M., Utah, USA

I was baptized when I was eight and attended Primary, but when I became a teenager I fell away from Church activity. At first, I went to a few Mutual activities, but by the time I graduated from high school, I was completely inactive.
During high school, I liked to go to a nearby field after school, lie in the tall grass while watching the clouds go by, and wish to be happy. I was sad because my parents were separated. I didn’t feel peace or happiness a lot of the time, and I didn’t know why. I was a cheerleader, I participated in school government, and I had plenty of friends, but something was missing in my life.
Two years after high school I went on a backpacking trip with friends. Everyone went to sleep early, but I stayed up by the campfire. As I was looking up into the heavens, the thought came to my mind to say a prayer. I looked up and asked, “Heavenly Father, are you really there? And if you are, will you help me to be happy?” It felt as if a huge blanket was wrapped around my shoulders. I felt warm, as though everything would be OK.
A few weeks later, my mom and I went for a vacation to Idaho with her sister. A couple of my cousins invited me to a youth dance at the church, and I had a great time. I danced with a young man who had received a mission call to Korea. He asked if he could write to me, and I agreed.
In his first letter, this young man shared missionary experiences with me and bore his testimony of the gospel. I don’t know whether I was swept off my feet by him or the Spirit. But after all those years of inactivity, I decided to go back to church and check things out.
I roped one of my older brothers into going with me so I wouldn’t have to sit alone. I don’t remember the meeting at all. I just remember thinking, “Everybody must be looking at me and saying, ‘Look, Gretchen is at church. I wonder why.’ ” I was so uncomfortable by the end of the meeting that I planned a quick escape as soon as the closing prayer ended.
That’s when something happened that changed my life forever. Four girls I remembered from Primary ran up and surrounded me. They were so happy to see me at church, and I felt their sincerity. They asked if I would come back later that night to a youth fireside. I agreed and then left for home.
I talked my brother into going with me again. At the fireside, a man stood to speak and said he felt impressed not to give his prepared talk but to share his testimony and then let us do the same. All of a sudden, my whole being felt on fire. I don’t know how long it took me to get up, but I stood and bore my testimony that now I knew why I had been feeling unhappy and lost. It was the gospel that was missing in my life. I knew I needed to make some changes.
Now, almost 30 years later, I am still grateful to those young women who didn’t let me escape the chapel that day. I later met and married a returned missionary in the Idaho Falls Temple. We have four children, three of whom have married in the temple. Our oldest son served a mission, and our last is now planning to go on his. I have served in the Young Women program of the Church. Each time I teach a lesson on service, I share my life-changing experience in hopes that the same will be done for others as was done for me.
I believe my simple prayer was answered on that mountaintop. Heavenly Father does hear and answer our prayers. And my prayer was answered because four girls chose the right. They put their arms around a lost soul and invited her back. There are Gretchens out there who need to be brought back. You never know whose life can and will be changed forever if you will just reach out and be a loving, caring friend.

When the alarm went off at 5:00 a.m., 17-year-old Yee Mun Lim got out of bed and got ready for the day. She left the house at 5:20 for seminary. At 6:30 a.m. she hurried to school, where she stayed until 7:00 p.m. for classes and cocurricular activities. Then she rushed to the stake center by public transport to practice for the stake musical production.
This was the standard routine of most youth in the Singapore Stake every Friday for five months. Sometimes exhaustion and fatigue set in, but throughout the entire preparation for the musical production, When a Prophet Speaks, there were no complaints or regrets, because the youth felt that the sacrifices they made were worthwhile. “This is the most amazing, awesome, spiritually uplifting, fun-filled, and heartwarming event I ever took part in,” said Yee Mun.
“Our initial purpose was to unite the youth,” said Kate Loreto, the stake Young Women president. “We have youth in eight different wards and from various cultural backgrounds. It’s hard for them to interact with each other. So we thought, why not do a musical to bring them together?”
The leaders chose music inspired by the list of B’s from President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008).1 This music was chosen “so the youth could internalize the lyrics of the songs, feel the Spirit, and live the standards,” said Connie Woo, the general director of the production. “We wanted to involve as many youth as possible,” said Sister Woo. In all, 78 youth performed.
Perhaps not all of the youth came with the same motive at the beginning, but almost all of them kept coming to rehearsals because they enjoyed the friendship, the singing, and, most of all, the Spirit.
After the theme was chosen and practices were organized, the youth were assigned to different parts in the production and to different committees that suited their talents.
Ally Chan, age 18, volunteered to help on the costume committee. “We needed to choose something that was modest, which was very important, and it had to be economical, youthful, and at the same time look good on the stage,” she said. Not only did she learn how to make decisions based on gospel standards and working with others, but she was also happy about how the youth looked.
Canden Petersen, age 15, was appointed choir president to help make sure that every practice ran smoothly. His responsibilities included assigning prayers, rallying and herding the youth for practices and games, and announcing seating on the stage. “I was also asked to have some young men help set up and take down the set and oversee the youth in fulfilling their assignments,” he said. “I felt that this responsibility was good for the youth. Hopefully it helped them understand that the Lord calls leaders now, not just from among the adults. They can and should sustain their leaders whatever their age or experience level.”
Kandace Lim, age 18, helped by taking multiple roles, including being a member of the costume committee, the choreography committee, and the photography committee and also by singing a solo. About her many responsibilities, she said: “It was my mum who inspired me to take on these assignments. She taught me that if there’s a chance to serve, just go for it. If you accept the task and put in your best effort, the Lord will definitely help you get through any difficulties you might face.”
Besides these administrative responsibilities, performers were also needed. John Lee, age 17, was one of the brave souls to volunteer for a solo part. His reason was simple: “I just like to sing! And it makes me feel special.”
Ezra Tadina, age 17, didn’t feel like he could sing, so he found another way to contribute. “I chose to be involved,” he said, “and I am actually the one who narrated the part about being involved. I feel the message because I know it’s true.”
The practices extended from November 2009 until March 2010. During this time, the youth gathered at the stake center to rehearse every Friday night, except on holidays. The amount of time and commitment required of the youth was no small sacrifice, considering the strenuous schedule of a typical Singaporean youth.
First-year junior college student Olivia Hoe chose to participate because “no matter how life throws mud at me, at the end of the day, it’s the gospel that’s going to keep me standing and pull me through the rubble. Knowing that there’s One who’s looking out for me and loving me completely gives me plenty of comfort, and I think that’s more than enough to get me going every day.”
Many of the youth had other commitments, but they knew that the Lord had laid a path for them. Such was the case of 16-year-old Amanda Ho. “I had dance practice, which clashed with some of the rehearsals for this musical, but miraculously the school changed the practice schedule, which enabled me to turn up for the musical rehearsals,” she explained.
After months of practice, the show was finally ready to be performed. Thanks to the teens’ enthusiastic promotion, more than 700 people showed up to watch them at three performances. As the youth shared their message through songs, dance, instrumental music, and their own testimonies, many in the audience were touched.
The group was also challenged to invite nonmember friends to see their performance and to make it a missionary opportunity. Michael Lee, age 18, took this challenge seriously. “I invited six friends to come, and three of my schoolmates and a schoolteacher came,” he said. Their performances especially left an impression on his teacher. “He said that it was a great experience. He even requested a copy of the For the Strength of Youth booklet. He said that he felt the energy through the many hopeful hearts of the youth.”
The leaders’ initial purpose of bringing the youth together was certainly fulfilled. “As I sat there and looked up at each of them during the performance, my heart was filled with joy,” Sister Woo said. “It was not about how good they looked, how well they sang and played, or how well they delivered the narrations. It was not about which school or country they came from. They were one.”
The musical helped many gain a stronger testimony. Some say they hum the tunes and sing the lyrics of the songs wherever they might be, and the message in the songs helps them get through their daily challenges. Many of them became not just good friends but spiritual supports who can lift each other up when the going gets tough. They can help each other stay on the narrow path and grow spiritually.

When Sally was about eight years old, she lived in Salt Lake City. President David O. McKay (1873–1970) was the prophet. Sally had heard many stories of people having the chance to see him. After general conference, he always came out a back door of the Tabernacle and climbed into a big car. A huge group of people waited outside the Tabernacle to see him, hoping to shake his hand, say hello—even just see him in person instead of on television. Sally thought it must be wonderful to actually meet the prophet.
She decided she would ask her parents if they would take her to Temple Square during general conference. But she did not tell them that she wanted to wait with all the other people and maybe have the chance to talk to President McKay. This was her special secret.
It was a beautiful day—not too hot, not too cold—when Sally’s family went to Temple Square during an afternoon session and listened to conference on the Tabernacle grounds. Large speakers carried the meeting to everyone outside, because the Tabernacle—every bench, every seat—was filled with people.
As Sally walked by the open doors, she caught a glimpse of the Tabernacle Choir and the General Authorities. Her heart leaped with excitement as she thought, “Today’s the day! Today’s the day! I’m going to meet President McKay!”
She could see people starting to gather at the back of the Tabernacle. After receiving permission from her parents, she joined the group and struggled toward the front. She wasn’t very tall, so if she didn’t stand right in front, how would she meet the prophet?
At last, with a wriggle here and jostle there, she reached the front of the crowd, where ropes blocked off a pathway between the Tabernacle and the road. There, just as she had heard, waited the big shiny car.
“Not much longer to wait,” she thought. She could hear the closing hymn being sung. “Sing faster! Sing faster!” she silently urged. After the closing prayer, the organist began to play the powerful Tabernacle organ once more. It was really time!
The crowd around her pressed forward, pushing against the ropes a bit. People were pouring out of the building, many of them joining the crowd, hoping to catch a glimpse of the prophet, too.
The big car started and pulled forward a little. A large door at the back of the building opened.
But much to Sally’s dismay, now that the car had moved, she couldn’t see a thing but the car! She could also see the heads of a few men. But President McKay was not well, so although he was a tall man, he now sat in a wheelchair. Sally couldn’t see him at all—not even to catch a glimpse of his wheelchair’s rubber wheels. How was she supposed to see the prophet, let alone meet the prophet, if she couldn’t see anything?
She wanted to dash under the rope and run to the car. She wanted to climb in the car and shake his hand, say hello—something.
But all too quickly, the door slammed shut and the big car pulled slowly onto the road. It was over. He was gone.
Sally stood stunned. Her dreams! Her plans!
The crowd scattered, leaving her standing alone, staring at the ropes that had been dropped to the ground after President McKay left.
Then, a quiet whispering thought entered her mind: “Why do you want to meet him, anyway?”
“To see him and to know for myself that he is a prophet,” she almost said aloud, feeling the sting of tears.
Suddenly, she sensed a warm feeling in her heart. It was sweet and loving and slightly reproving. The thought came: “You do not need to see him to know. All you need to do is ask.”
Ask?
It was so easy, so simple! Before she could even begin to say a quick prayer in her heart, an incredible warmth filled her from the top of her head down to her toes. She knew. The man in that car, the one who had sat so quietly all through conference, the one who seemed so frail—who, to her, seemed like he must have lived forever—was without a doubt a prophet of the Lord. She didn’t need to meet him. And she didn’t need to shake his hand. He didn’t need to pat her on the head or speak to her. She just knew.
And now she understood that for the rest of her life, she could always find out that the man who became the prophet and President of the Church was called of God. All she had to do was ask.

As a youngster of eighteen, a pretty young model found her dreams shattered by an automobile accident that confined her to a wheelchair with partially paralyzed legs. Because of the accident, she learned to play the piano.
Because of what the accident had done to her budding career, she learned to develop a sense of humor and to find that there is a funny viewpoint to almost any subject. And, in time, her legs regained their strength, and she became an actress gifted with a sense of humor that made her one of the outstanding comediennes of our day. You have seen her in motion pictures but particularly on television, and you have heard her on the radio, and you know that Lucille Ball was not stopped by adversity. On the contrary, it was the plus sign that made her grow in stature.