Gospel Story Finder

I used to keep all my money in my sock drawer. It was really simple to budget: when I ran out, well, I ran out. But managing my money from my dresser drawer forever just wasn’t realistic. I found that out when I got my first job and then again when I went away to college. My expenses seemed to skyrocket, and keeping track of my money was no longer an easy task. I wanted to be better at managing my money, but setting up a budget at that point appeared overwhelming. If only I had known how easy and important it is.

When my sister’s in a good mood, she calls me James Herriott. That’s because I’m going to be a veterinarian.
My name is really Jeannette, but everybody calls me Jetty. I’ll be twelve on my next birthday—small but strong for my age.
Mom and Sis and I live in a big old house at the edge of Bone Hollow. There are lots of farms around here. Most of the farmers are so busy they don’t like to fuss with an animal that needs a lot of care.
Somebody brought me an orphan lamb when we moved here a few years ago, and I raised it. Now anything is apt to turn up on our doorstep.
Just this spring I was keeping a lonesome cat, Gorgeous George, in the basement while its owners were on vacation. A runt pig named Pigwig was living in a cardboard box in the storeroom. In another box were twin orphan lambs so small that I called them Minutes.
Mom works long hours at the clinic and doesn’t mind my pets as long as I keep everything clean and the animals out from under her feet. Sis is another story.
One evening I was sitting at the kitchen table doing my homework while some milk for Pigwig’s eight o’clock feeding was warming. Mom and Sis were doing dishes. They were having a discussion about some dumb dinner Sis wanted to have. It was to impress the parents of her boyfriend, Ted, who were coming to visit.
The discussion woke up Pigwig. He started to squeal, and Sis let out a shriek about as loud. “That kid and her weird menagerie. I can’t invite the Austins to this—this zoo!”
About that time Gorgeous George started to yowl, and the uproar woke the Minutes. It took Mom and me a while to get them all quieted down.
The next day Mom had a talk with me. “You know, Jetty, your sister’s right. It’s her home, too, and it’s only fair that she should be able to entertain her friends here without embarrassment.”
“OK, OK,” I muttered. “What do you want me to do?”
“Find another place for your pets that evening.”
“But, Mom,” I persisted. “I can’t put them just anywhere! It’s too cold outside. They could get sick.”
“Jeannette, with your ingenuity I’m sure you can find a comfortable place.” When Mom starts using big words in that tone of voice, I don’t argue.
Finding a place wasn’t easy. I had to promise to give Betsy Lewis, my best friend, my very favorite record before she finally said she’d watch the animals—on the condition that her mother approved. Mrs. Lewis agreed to let Betsy keep Pigwig and the Minutes in a heated room off their garage.
Gorgeous George’s owners were back home by then so it looked like everything would work out. Sis was all excited. You’d have thought the president of the United States was coming to dinner.
I had just come back from taking Pigwig and the Minutes over to Betsy’s house when a car pulled into the driveway.
Mom and Sis weren’t home from work yet, and I was trying to decide whether I should let anyone in when I heard Curt Marsh calling, “Jetty, are you home?” He and his wife, Brenda, are good friends of ours.
When I opened the door, Curt came charging in carrying something in his arms. “Jetty, am I glad you’re here! I’m taking Brenda to the hospital. Moonbeam’s calf has pneumonia so I brought it over. We knew you’d take care of it.”
I just stood there. I mean I couldn’t even stutter!
“What’s the matter, Jet? Is something wrong?” Curt looked so worried and upset, I couldn’t tell him.
“It’s—it’s OK,” I finally stammered. “I’ll get a box.” And I rushed to find one so he wouldn’t see my face.
“Thanks, Jetty. We knew we could count on you,” he called as he hurried back to his car.
I looked at the calf. It was the size of a large dog and pure white with soft silky hair and long dark lashes. Its nose was bright pink. I promptly named it Snow White. It looked completely helpless stretched out on its side, breathing hard.
I didn’t have much time to get it out of sight before the party. I carefully placed the calf in a box. Just then Mom came rushing in, so I quickly shoved it to the back of the big coat closet.
“Hurry now,” she said. “Change your clothes and set the table.”
Everything looked super nice by the time the Austins arrived. Sis looked really neat too. She was so happy she was all sparkly.
I was eating my second piece of chicken when I noticed Sis was awfully quiet. Mrs. Austin was looking our house over like she was at a yard sale and couldn’t find anything worth buying. Mr. Austin was talking about the business he owned and how he thought Ted was wasting his time in such a small town. Ted was just sitting there. He wasn’t even holding Sis’s hand like he usually does, and I felt kind of sorry for her.
About then I thought I heard the sound of feet slipping and sliding. Suddenly through the closet door staggered the wobbly and bawling white calf. I froze for a moment.
Mrs. Austin screamed as her mink stole slid off the calf’s back and onto the floor. I had one glimpse of the stunned look on my mother’s face before I was out of my chair and dragging the calf out of the room.
The dinner party was over. I heard my mother and sister apologizing. Ted left with his parents.
Sis was crying. “Where did that thing come from?” she wailed. “Mom, I thought you told Jetty—no animals!”
“I did, and I have no more idea than you where she got it, but I intend to find out.” My mother’s voice told me I was in real trouble.
I was dragging myself out of the storeroom when the telephone rang. Sis answered it. When she turned from the phone, she had a funny look on her face. “That was Curt Marsh. Brenda had a seven-pound baby girl and they are going to name her Jeannette because Jetty is always so helpful—like tonight with that prize calf of theirs.”
Later I heard Sis say, “The Austins really are pretty stuffy, aren’t they?”
Mom said something I couldn’t hear. Then Sis giggled. “Only Jetty’s pets get to wear mink stoles,” she said. Then they both cracked up laughing!
I mean, who can understand grown-ups?

The palms of my hands were cold and sweaty the morning I first met Lester at the airport in Chardon, Ohio. Lester was a legend. Crusty and dusty was a good way to describe him. He was a short, stubby old guy who had run Dethloff’s Flying Service at Chardon’s Airport for—well—forever. Now he stood sizing me up, not exactly excited by the 15-year-old boy he saw. Finally, he asked, "Okay, what do you want?"
"I want to learn to fly."
"So does every other kid in the world. What should I do about it?"
I wasn’t going to back down, so I asked, "Will you teach me?"
He stared at me for some time. I felt like I was being X-rayed. "Nobody can teach anybody to fly," Lester grumbled. "Only experience can do that! But I can show ya how it’s done. But only if. …"
"If what?"
"If you’re willing to work hard enough to learn."
"I am."
"We’ll soon see, won’t we?" Lester turned and began walking away. I stayed rooted, not sure what to do.
He finally turned around and said, "Well, aren’t you coming?"
"Coming where?"
He looked at me like he couldn’t quite believe what he saw. "Flying for goodness’ sakes. Flying! Isn’t that why you came here?"
The next 40 minutes were crowded. We rattled and bumped across the grass and then climbed toward the clouds. Straight and level. Shallow turns. Climbing. Gliding. Then climbing and gliding turns. He guided me as we eased back toward the runway and didn’t take control until we were crossing the wires strung on poles beside the road. We climbed out. He nodded his head and said, "I guess you’ll do."
I pedaled my bicycle home that day fueled by pure elation.

When I first got to know the Church in 2016, it was a strange thing for me to have received the gospel through my two classmates, who today also serve in the same mission as I do. I waited a year to be baptized since my family was Catholic and it was a difficult thing for me, but thanks to prayer, the Lord supported me, and I was baptized in July 2017. I was in fifth grade, and I was the only member of the Church in my family, and in my neighborhood. I had to walk at least nine kilometers every Sunday to attend sacrament meeting, which from the start was difficult for me.
After my baptism, I lost the job that I had, and I began to go through a difficult moment. I applied the advice given in Deuteronomy 31:6, only if I was not afraid, the Lord was going to help me, and with His help I brought one of my best friends to Church who was the second person in my neighborhood to join the Church, and who also serves a mission today in Liberia.
After I graduated, I decided to do a full-time mission, which was difficult as my family initially disagreed, and I decided to apply Alma’s advice in 37:37, and I prayed to the Lord to help me, and I began to prepare for my mission by saving a little money from my odd teaching jobs to fund my mission.
In 2018 when I submitted my mission papers, President Alfred Kyungu of the Democratic Republic of the Congo Mbuji Mayi Mission explained to me the importance of doing a full-time mission and helped me with some advice to get there. I applied his advice, and it took me at least two years to get there and I saw other missionaries leaving on missions. It pained me at times, with everything, the sacrifice of cycling over 68 kilometers to get some documents I needed for my mission with other brothers with whom we were preparing together.
When we had submitted our papers, the COVID-19 pandemic had already started and foreign missionaries were forced to return home, and we were uncertain if we would serve a full-time mission. Two weeks later the prophet declared that we had to close the doors of the meetinghouses and 30 days later I received my call to serve a mission in the Kinshasa East mission with six months of preparation and saw the increase in the number of cases related to COVID-19.
I was still in a state of uncertainty, and I knelt down and asked the Lord if He wanted me to be a full-time missionary as I knew personally that He knew the situation perfectly, and my MTC date was postponed three more weeks. On Oct. 15, 2020 I started my training at Accra Ghana Missionary Training Center through technology and I experienced a most memorable experience of my life, spending the training on Zoom every day for three weeks made my faith grow and increase my trust in the Lord because He knew that He had prepared me to serve Him in this moment of technology in His work to learn the best ways to use technology and to help others to come to Him through this medium.
I am happy to serve Him in this time, I know that our Heavenly Father knows us personally and prepares us with the means to serve Him in his time by the tools He himself prepares to help us get there. Fervent prayer is the only way that can bring us closer to Him and help us prepare to become more like the Savior Jesus Christ.

I was in college, had a good part-time job, and was engaged to be married within a few months. My life was exciting, and the future looked bright.
I was surprised when my stake president approached me one Sunday morning. He said, “The Lord wants you to serve a mission.” I felt powerfully impressed that this was a call from God. I acted upon that impression and immediately committed myself to serve.
I was called to serve in the Southern States Mission, and I began my preparation with difficult tasks. I quit my job, left the university, postponed my wedding two years, and said good-bye to my loved ones. It seemed that I was leaving everyone and everything that mattered to me.
I traveled by train many hours with missionary companions to Atlanta, Georgia. Two missionaries picked us up and drove us to meet the mission president. He greeted me for a few moments and then told me that I must leave immediately by bus to Montgomery, Alabama, where I would be given instructions about my field of labor. The same elders who had picked me up took me to the bus station and handed me a piece of paper with an address on it. They told me that the missionaries in Montgomery would tell me what to do.
I walked tentatively into the bus station, bought a ticket, and boarded the bus. It was getting dark, and I began to feel very alone. I found an empty seat next to a window and tried to ignore the growing discouragement from not knowing where I was going, whom I would be with, or what I would do.
When the bus driver took his seat, he stared at me in the rearview mirror. He walked to where I was sitting and shouted, “What are you trying to do, boy?” I was shocked that he would shout at me with all the people on the bus watching. I had no idea why he was angry. I barely whispered, “I’m just riding the bus.”
He yelled, “Are you trying to start something here?” He pointed to a white line on the floor of the bus that I hadn’t noticed before. He told me to sit in front of that line or he would put me off the bus. I was terrified and moved immediately. I did not know, until much later, that in those days white lines divided the areas where white and black people could sit. There had been a lot of dissension in the southern United States over segregation of whites and blacks, and the bus driver thought I was trying to start a protest.
I rode for several hours, huddled in the bus, trying to fight off fear, loneliness, and embarrassment. By the time I reached Montgomery, my trembling hands could hardly lift my suitcases. The bus arrived late at night, so the bus station was almost empty, and no one was there to meet me. The only information I had was the address the missionaries had given me in Atlanta. I had no idea how to find the address.
I awakened a taxi driver sleeping in his taxi and asked if he could take me to the address on the paper. He was irritated. He told me how much it would cost, and I promised to pay the fee, even though it seemed very expensive. He drove me fewer than 100 yards (90 m) and announced, “This is it!” The driver demanded his fee and left me and my suitcases in front of a small white house.
The house was dark. I carried my suitcases to the porch and knocked on the door. Nobody came. I knocked more loudly. After a few minutes, a sleepy-eyed missionary opened the door.
“Who are you?” he asked.
When I told him who I was and why I was there, he said that he didn’t know I was coming, and he didn’t invite me in. I apologized and told him I was doing only what I was told to do.
“We don’t have any room for you,” he said, still leaving me on the porch.
“What do you want me to do, Elder?” I cried. “I have been sent here, and I have nowhere else to go.”
He finally invited me into the house and told me I would have to sleep on the kitchen floor. Then he disappeared into his bedroom. Never had I felt so alone, unwanted, and discouraged.
I put my suitcases on the filthy floor and turned out the light. I was too discouraged to sleep, so I stood at the door and peered out the window. I could see the bus station that I had left only a few minutes before. I could easily walk there and buy a ticket for home. I had just enough money left. All of my joys, hopes, and dreams were at home. People there loved me. I could have my old job back, go back to school, see my family, and get married. Over and over again I thought, “Go home. Nobody here cares about you. Nobody here wants you.”
Then I asked myself, “Why did I come here in the first place?” My stake president’s words came back to me: “The Lord wants you to serve a mission.” I had felt a powerful impression when he said that to me. That feeling had been so strong that I postponed my wedding, quit my job, and left the university so I could serve a mission. I had known that the Lord wanted me to serve.
However, being in the mission field was not at all like I thought it would be. I had been sure once, but now, when I needed divine reassurance the most, those powerful feelings seemed a distant memory.
My introduction to the full-time mission field had been an unexpectedly difficult struggle for me. Yet I knew I was on the Lord’s errand. I had once known without doubt that it was His will that I serve a mission. The absence of a profound witness at that darkened window in the missionary apartment didn’t change that knowledge.
I was in the process of making a very important choice. It was a choice between what I wanted to do and what the Lord wanted me to do. It was the first time in my memory that I had ever recognized so clear a choice.
I spoke to myself: “I will never, never quit the calling I have accepted. No matter what happens, I will stay on this mission.” As I said the words, peace came to my heart for the first time since arriving in the mission field.
Now, many years later, I recognize that the Lord was guiding me through this experience. I learned that the Lord blesses us with confirming peace only after we demonstrate a willingness to obey. I shall always be grateful for the blessings of that choice. It changed my life forever.

At the top of Mr. Gellért, high above the magnificent city of Budapest, Hungary, two sister missionaries search for a secluded spot in a grove of trees where they can be alone and unobserved.
They open their scriptures and bring out a typewritten copy of a prayer—the apostolic blessing, newly translated into the Hungarian language, that Elder Russell M. Nelson of the Quorum of the Twelve pronounced on Hungary in April 1987. It was here on Mt. Gellért—overlooking the Danube River, with the hills of Buda on one side and the plains of Pest on the other—that Elder Nelson originally gave this prayer, asking the Lord to pour out his blessings upon the nation and its people. Now, kneeling reverently among the trees, the sisters quietly review the prayer aloud in their own tongue. Overhead, a warm breeze gently stirs the leaves, and the bright sun shines in a cloudless sky. For a few moments, the sisters are enveloped in a spirit of warmth and peace.
Sisters. They love the sound of that word. There’s no family relationship between Sister Nagy Erika and Sister Pálinkás Bernadett. (Hungarian surnames are used first, followed by the given names.) And they met for the first time after becoming missionaries. But no sisters could feel more united in purpose and spirit. Their mission is filled with a sense of history in the making: These sisters are sharing the privilege of being the first two Hungarian citizens ever to serve as full-time missionaries in Hungary.
“For me,” says Sister Pálinkás, “it’s unbelievable that we Hungarians can actually do this now—hear the gospel message and then serve as missionaries.” Indeed, the events that brought them to this opportunity are miraculous. For nearly 40 years, Hungary was a communist-controlled socialist state, with no freedom of religion. In June 1988, just one year after Elder Nelson gave his dedicatory prayer, the Church received official recognition in this land. In October 1989, Hungary became a democracy, and in July 1990 a mission of the Church was opened in Budapest. Sister Nagy and Sister Pálinkás were baptized within a month of each other in 1992.
“I believe Elder Nelson was an instrument in the hands of God when he gave this blessing,” Sister Nagy says. “As I studied it again today, I thought about all the missionaries who are here right now and all the missionaries who will come later, after us. The prayer talks about all of them. I thought about the youth. I thought about all the stakes and wards that Elder Nelson prophesied would dot this land. I thought, too, about our Hungarian national anthem, which starts out ‘God Bless the Hungarians.’ God really has blessed the Hungarians!”
“Of course, we Latter-day Saints aren’t the only ones proselyting in Hungary,” says Sister Pálinkás. “Missionaries from many, many other churches are here now, too. This makes it hard for the people. After a long period of everything being forbidden, now it’s completely free as far as religion goes—and the people are a bit scared and confused and overwhelmed with all of these churches. Many keep to themselves a little bit and don’t want to make any decisions.
“That’s why our way of spreading the gospel is so important. If we do it with love, with Christlike love, and show them that we care for them and are not doing it for other reasons, then I don’t think there’s a person in the world whose heart won’t be touched.”
Both of these sisters know firsthand the religious confusion and uncertainty some of their investigators are feeling. Sister Pálinkás Bernadett is from Dunaújváros, a factory city built by Joseph Stalin as a model Communist city. For many years, there were no churches at all in the city. “My parents are not believers in God,” she says. “But somehow I felt close to Him and felt that He loved me.
“I often thought about what I was doing here on earth, what the purpose of life was, why I was born here in Hungary and not somewhere else, and why now and not earlier or later. Something was missing in my life, but I didn’t know exactly what.”
When Bernadett was almost 20, two American missionaries came into the store where she sold office supplies. “My co-workers and I could tell from the very first that these young men were different from others,” she remembers. “There was something shining from their eyes that made me very curious as to who they were and what they were doing here in Hungary. I felt that they could show me something that I didn’t know—something that I needed to know.”
Bernadett and a co-worker arranged to hear the first discussion. Although her friend soon lost interest, Bernadett attended sacrament meeting alone the following Sunday and was baptized a month later, on 22 August 1992. A year and a half later, she became a full-time missionary. None of her family has yet been baptized.
Bernadett’s parents are not happy with either decision—to be baptized or to serve a mission. “It hurts them because they don’t understand what I’m doing and why, even though I’ve tried to explain it to them. When I decided to be a missionary, my first goal was to somehow bring my parents closer to the Church. Now I recognize that each person has to personally walk the road to get to God, and it takes some people longer than others. I write to my parents every week and pray for them always.”
Although Bernadett doesn’t hear from her family, she is grateful for letters from branch members—especially the youth—back home. And she has a lot of support around her in the mission. Her first zone leader was the missionary who had baptized her in Dunaújváros a year and a half earlier! “When he baptized me, he was a beginner missionary,” she says. “Now I was a beginner, and he was more experienced. I felt very proud to be able to work at the same time with him.”
In April 1992, Nagy Erika was 20 years old and was living with her family in the city of Nyiregyháza when a friend encouraged them to listen to the missionaries. Erika’s father, a devout Christian, had taught his family about God, and the whole family had attended their own church earlier that day. “But when the two elders came in the door and greeted us—my parents and all eight of us children—we felt a surprising feeling of happiness because of the spirit that came from them.”
With that spirit, the missionaries “became our friends,” says Erika. “It was wonderful how they showed their love to us—to my younger brothers and sister, to us older children, and to our parents—and how they talked about their own parents with such love and respect. We thought that if someday, somehow, we could show this much love to other people, that would be a great thing. When they began talking about God and Jesus Christ, a wonderful discussion flowed between us.”
After the second discussion, the family suddenly lost contact with the missionaries. First, one of the elders was transferred. Then, unexpectedly, Erika’s family had to move to Budapest. “Every evening I tried to pray—the best I knew how—and I asked God to help me find somebody to talk to about what the missionaries had taught us.”
Two months after moving to Budapest, Erika had one of those days when everything seemed to go wrong. First, she missed her bus. Then she had to walk a great distance in the rain. When she finally reached a subway station, she was feel’mg pretty discouraged. “Then, whi1e waiting for the subway, I suddenly noticed two elders-and one of them was the one who had taught us in Nyiregyháza! I couldn’t believe it—in a city of more than two million people!”
The discussions immediately resumed with the family, and Erika was baptized alone on 13 September 1992, just five months after first meeting the missionaries. By December, seven of the ten family members had also been baptized. And she is confident the other three will follow. “In every letter, I send them good spiritual messages, and they are progressing,” she says with a smile.
A year after her baptism, Erika received her mission call to Hungary. “I was happy to be called to serve my own people in my own language. But I worried whether I was worthy to be the first Hungarian citizen to serve in Hungary and if I would be able to give the people what they needed. I prayed about it and felt many special feelings that night. I knew that God loved me and my family. I felt very close to God.”
As the two sisters reminisce about experiences they are having as missionaries, it is obvious that they are being richly blessed by the Lord in their efforts. “When I went to my first city as a new missionary,” says Sister Pálinkás, “my companion and I looked in our planners and there was nothing scheduled. I said, ‘Oh no, what are we going to do?’ But we went out and worked hard. I learned that when there’s an empty day in our planners, we can say, ‘No problem; we’re going to teach three or four discussions.’ Then we include in our prayers a plea to the Lord to help us with that righteous desire. I’ve learned that if we ask with real faith and real intent, the Lord will help us with it, as long as it’s according to his will.”
The joy of seeing a person change his life and be baptized is the greatest reward. “I can’t express how excited I was for my first baptism as a missionary,” says Sister Pálinkás. “I felt as if I could fly because of the happiness. It was a great thing to know that this wonderful person was going to be a member of the Lord’s church—a person whom I and many other members could learn from.”
As these sisters see it, the preaching of the gospel in Hungary is both a beginning and an end. “The gospel gives us Hungarians a new start,” says Sister Pálinkás. “We have a chance to come to know God and his gospel and to know ourselves. Maybe this means an end to the feeling some people have had that they needed to be apart from everyone else, that they couldn’t love each other.”
“Big walls are falling down and gates are opening up because of the gospel,” says Sister Nagy. “Over the years, we’ve built walls to protect us from things that were going to happen in our lives, and love and brotherliness were missing. But the gospel helps us open the gates to love and service.”

I used to leave the house at 8:00 a.m. and return at midnight after working all day and going to class at night. During the little time my husband, Daniel, and I had together, we argued. Things were bad. We were on the verge of separating.
One Sunday evening after an argument, Daniel said, “Maybe we should get closer to God.” The next day, while Daniel was home watching our son, missionaries knocked on our door.
When the missionaries started visiting us, I disagreed with everything they taught. But after a few lessons, we began to feel something. We didn’t know what it was, but we described it as “magical,” a feeling of peace and harmony. It would linger even after the missionaries left. We realized that we needed that feeling more often in our home.
Inspired by the missionaries’ message about the importance of family, Daniel and I came closer together in our marriage. I had hoped that going to school would lead to a better position at my work. But we decided to focus on our family, spend more time together, and have more children. I quit school, quit my job, and went to work as Daniel’s secretary at his pest control business.
Less than three months after the missionaries’ first visit, we were baptized and confirmed. Our life changed dramatically. We began living the law of tithing. We began praying at home and at work with Daniel’s employees. We began serving in the Church. Daniel’s business grew, and he needed to hire more workers.
A year after our baptism, we went to the temple to be sealed. A few days after our sealing, I found out I was expecting.
Sundays aren’t easy for us. Daniel leaves early for high council meetings. I have to prepare our three children for church by myself. But we are able to share a lot of time together throughout the week. So even if we are apart at times on Sunday as we serve the Lord, we know that we are blessed.
We have gained a testimony that when we do our part, the Lord can help us, and blessings come. We have received a lot more than we had ever hoped for from our own plans. The Lord had better things in mind for us.

When I was eleven years old, I began a paper route. It was hard work, but I enjoyed it and was still delivering papers five years later.
One day the manager of the newspaper offered me a job as assistant manager of circulation for the newspaper. My duties would include supervising other newspaper carriers and helping them sell subscriptions. In addition, every day after school and after delivering my route, I would spend a few hours at the office, answering complaints on the telephone. Between phone calls, I would be allowed to do my homework. The new job would include a raise—triple what I had been making as a newspaper carrier!
I was thrilled. I had been saving money for my mission, and I really felt that the Lord was blessing me for keeping the commandments, including paying my tithing faithfully and keeping the Sabbath day holy.
A year and a half later, the manager approached me again. Plans were being made to begin a Sunday edition of the newspaper. He told me enthusiastically that I would be able to deliver my papers early on Sunday morning, then come into the office to answer the telephone from 7:00 A.M. to 2:00 P.M. There would, of course, be another pay increase.
The manager saw that I was hesitating. Knowing that I was an active member of the Church, he said, “you may be thinking of not accepting this extra responsibility, but if you don’t take the job, you’ll lose your regular paper route and your weekday job. Many of the other paperboys would give anything to have your job. If you don’t take it, you’re fired.”
As I went home that day, I was discouraged and confused. I knew that I had been obeying the commandments, and I couldn’t understand why I would have to make such a difficult decision. I talked to my father and to my bishop, but they both said that the decision was up to me. My dad said, “I don’t know the answer, but I know someone who does [meaning the Lord]. Ask Him.”
After I prayed and struggled for two days, I knew what I had to do. I knew that while there are some people who have to work on Sunday, I didn’t have to and shouldn’t. When I told the manager of my decision, he was angry, told me I was fired and to come in Saturday to pick up my last paycheck, then stomped away. I really wondered if I had made a correct decision, as it would make it hard to earn enough money for my mission.
When I went to pick up my last check, I found the manager waiting for me. “Please forgive me,” he said. “I was wrong. I shouldn’t have tried to make you go against your beliefs and break a commandment of the Lord. I have found another young man who is willing to work on Sunday. You can keep your job. Will you?” He then added. “You will find in your check next week and for as long as you work for me the amount of money you would have received had you worked on Sunday.”
Of course I did keep the job. I know that the Lord blesses us for keeping his commandments. Be careful that you never compromise the principles you believe in. Remember to always trust in the Lord, and he will bless you for it.

My family joined the Church when I was seven years old, and it was because of my reading and valuing the Liahona that I met my husband.
When I receive the monthly issue of the magazine, I take it with me everywhere so I can read it. One day I was calmly reading it on the bus to work when a young man stopped at my side and asked, “Are you a member of the Church?” I didn’t quite trust him, so I answered yes, then asked him what stake he belonged to. (I assumed if he wasn’t a member he wouldn’t know what a stake was.) He told me the name of his stake, and we talked until we got off the bus.
Some time after this, a regional choir was organized to prepare for the visit of the prophet. That was when this young man and I started to see each other more frequently. Later we were married and went to the Guatemala City temple to be sealed. We’ve been married for almost three years. The gospel has given me the opportunity to have a very special husband, who is faithful in the Church. I am very happy to have the gospel in my life.Rebeca Sierra de Zelaya, Fraternidad Ward, Tegucigalpa Honduras Stake

Brother Miguel Troncoso from Santa Cruz, Argentina, was looking forward to hearing Elder Carlos H. Amado of the Seventy speak at his stake. But Elder Amado was scheduled to speak on a Tuesday evening, and Brother Troncoso, a high school teacher, had to teach a school class that night. Determined to attend the meeting, he and his family prayed for help.
Brother Troncoso said this about his experience:
“The day before the conference, I felt prompted to talk with the principal about leaving 20 minutes early. … Before I could say a word, she asked me if I would mind changing my Tuesday class starting time to two hours earlier than normal. …
“What a blessing this was to us. We arrived at the meeting in plenty of time and felt the Spirit in the presence of one of the Lord’s disciples. … In addition, we gained a testimony as a family that Heavenly Father knows our desires and hears our prayers.”

In this historic Tabernacle, now more than 100 years old, Christmas colors and traditional decorations take us ever so gently back in memory’s treasure to a pioneer scene recorded in the diary of Mrs. Rebecca Riter, December 25, 1847, Great Salt Lake Valley: “The winter was cold. Christmas came and the children were hungry. I had brought a peck of wheat across the plains and hid it under a pile of wood. I thought I would cook a handful of wheat for the baby. Then I thought how we would need wheat for seed in the spring, so I left it alone.”

It was finally here. My favorite time of the summer: Young Women camp. I was super excited because I was bringing my best friend, who was of another faith.

A few weeks earlier I had started bringing my friend to Mutual. She enjoyed the first activity and wanted to keep coming back. The other girls and I talked a lot about Young Women camp, so when it was almost time for camp, she asked if she could come. I said yes, of course, but the problem was convincing her parents. They weren’t keen on the Mormon religion and had denied her going with me to church before.

I went over to their house to bring the papers for camp and talked to her parents about letting her come, but I wasn’t sure they would let her go. That night I prayed earnestly to Heavenly Father that her parents’ hearts would be softened. I called back the next day and they had agreed to let her go!

I was glad my friend was coming to camp but nervous at the same time. I was scared that she would feel out of place when we played gospel-oriented games or sang hymns around the campfire. I was also scared because I felt like my friend didn’t really care for religion. I spent a lot of time praying that things would all go well at camp.

It turned out that I hadn’t needed to worry. All of us, including my friend, had fun playing games, hiking, and laughing. It was the night hike and testimony meeting, however, that were my favorite parts of camp.

It was stake camp, and every ward had their own campsite. For the night hike, the girls were separated into several groups and then each group took turns going from one campsite to another, where they had different speakers talk on women who had “lived as they believed” (that year’s camp theme). As we sat around the campfires and listened to the different speakers talk about courageous women, we felt the Spirit so strongly.

I glanced from time to time at my friend but couldn’t read her expression and couldn’t tell if she was paying attention to anything the speakers said. As we neared the end of the night hike however, my friend turned to me and the first words out of her mouth touched me deeply.

“I’m going to camp every year.”

I smiled and silently thanked Heavenly Father that my friend had been able to feel the Spirit. She had enjoyed the games and having fun, but she had felt the Spirit, and it was what made her want to come back again.

The next night was our last night at camp and our testimony meeting. My friend was confused as to what a testimony was so I quickly explained as best I could. She didn’t look too excited. After the opening prayer, the bishop and several young women bore beautiful testimonies and the Spirit was very strong.

My friend, who never liked to talk in public, stood up to share her feelings. She explained that even though she was of a different religion, watching us girls read our scriptures and pray had touched her. She said that after being here at camp, she wanted to start being a better person and was going to try to be nicer to her family. She also said that coming to camp was probably the best decision she had ever made. She sat down and I glanced over at her and saw there were tears in her eyes. I had never seen her become emotional or cry, but the Spirit of the Lord touched her so deeply it moved her to tears.

This experience at camp taught me a lot about how the Spirit touches the lives of others and about the power of testimonies. The Spirit can speak to everyone regardless of who they are. I now better understand the importance of having a strong testimony and sharing it with others. The gospel can touch the lives of those you would never expect.

A mission for us? My husband and I were past retirement age, yet President Spencer W. Kimball seemed to be looking right at us as he explained in a conference session that older couples were needed in the mission field. (“Let Us Move Forward and Upward,” General Conference April 1979.) The decision did not come easy to us, but come it did and we found ourselves being interviewed by our bishop, then by our stake president. Even at this early stage we began to experience blessings and surprises.
We had not advertised our house for rent, but suddenly there was a couple at our door who said they were looking for a large house. In calling a real-estate agent, they had somehow connected with a wrong number and the voice on the wire said that he didn’t deal in rentals but he knew of a couple who were going on a mission and perhaps their house would be available. He gave them our address.
When our call came for the Washington Seattle Mission, we were delighted. Our oldest son had served a mission in that area, and we felt well acquainted with it.
Some months later we were interviewed by our district leader, and he asked in what way our testimonies had grown since being in the mission field. My response was that I was surprised at the strength of the manifestations of the Holy Spirit. I remember so vividly the help, inspiration, and personal revelations I had received in fulfilling my church and vocational callings; but when we sat with investigators and bore witness of the truthfulness of this gospel, there was a power there that is impossible to describe. We saw men who had been engaged in rough work all their lives, and who confessed they had never prayed except with a quick, emergency prayer, get down on their knees and pour out their hearts to a loving Heavenly Father. We saw their lives change.
Although we planted the seed, we were totally dependent upon the Lord for the harvest. A young man whose wife was a member of this Church consented to listen to the discussions. He received the first few with great delight. Then, suddenly, before our next appointment, the world got to him and he sent word for us not to come again.
We prayed and felt that we should go back, but not just then. We continued to ask the Lord for direction, and three weeks later we felt the Spirit’s confirmation that we should go to him on the following Wednesday. We prayed to know the right time, and again felt the influence of the Spirit. We knew Wednesday morning wasn’t the right time. In the afternoon we prayed again, and the answer came with urgency, “NOW.”
We immediately left our apartment, but on the way I stopped at a store to drop off a roll of film. As I put that roll on the counter a feeling of force enveloped me and the Spirit seemed almost offended as the word was repeated in my mind, “NOW!” I felt propelled out of that store and into our car. Three minutes later we were at the door of our friend. He had been reading the Book of Mormon and was thinking about us. As we talked, he became willing to listen to the discussions again.
We loved our association with the splendid elders and sisters of our mission. We were touched when an elder who was being transferred from our district said, “I looked up my new district to see if there was a missionary couple there. I hoped there would be, but there isn’t.” He was genuinely disappointed.
We are thankful for President Kimball’s message and the impact it had on us. A mission for couples? Certainly! What is it like? It is filled with wonderful surprises.

I once attended a meeting with President Joseph Fielding Smith. Someone asked President Smith about a letter that was then being circulated by an apostate who claimed that the Church had lost the priesthood because certain words had not been used when it was conferred. President Smith said, “Before we talk about his claim, let me tell you a little about the man himself.” He then described the character of the man and concluded, “And so you see, that man is a liar pure and simple—well, maybe not so pure.”

by Sister Julia SadleirGeorgia Atlanta Mission
When I was on my mission several years ago, my companion and I rented a studio apartment from Mrs. Hill, an older widow with a strict contract on what she expected while we were living there. It seemed the minute we walked in the house, she would call us to complain. We would always be nice and try harder to please her, but she would constantly find fault.
One incident stands out. We were told not to touch any cats that wandered onto her property. One day we came home and found a cat by our porch. Being an animal lover, my natural instinct took over and I picked the cat up and petted it. Within seconds the phone rang. It was Mrs. Hill, who said, “I saw that! I told you never to touch any cats on my property! I hate cats! I do not want to see this happen again.” I apologized.
Come December it was time to get into the Christmas spirit, so my companion and I made holiday-shaped sugar cookies and decorated them with colored frosting and sprinkles. We made a list of people we planned to give them to, and I said, “Why don’t we include Mrs. Hill? Who knows how she’ll react, but after all, it’s Christmas.”
We put some cookies on a plate and knocked on Mrs. Hill’s back door. When she answered, we said, “Merry Christmas!”
She was touched and also impressed that we had made them ourselves. “I never saw such beautiful cookies,” she said. “They look too pretty to eat. I will have one and save the rest for my grandchildren who are coming to visit today.” She thanked us and wished us a merry Christmas too.
We walked away and couldn’t believe that was the same Mrs. Hill. Even weeks later, she would thank us and inform us she’d told all her friends and family about the beautiful cookies.
Soon she started asking questions about our work. We invited her to take the discussions so she could learn for herself what we share with others. She gladly accepted, so we made an appointment and began teaching Mrs. Hill the gospel. Her countenance changed and she became the nicest person. She loved the Book of Mormon. When she finished it, she shared its truths with others.
It all started with a small plate of cookies. “Out of small things proceedeth that which is great” (D&C 64:33).

Let me conclude with an account of two men who are heroes to me. Their acts of courage were not performed on a national scale but rather in a peaceful place known as Midway, Utah.

Long years ago Roy Kohler and Grant Remund served together in Church capacities. They were the best of friends. They were tillers of the soil and dairymen. Then a misunderstanding arose which became somewhat of a rift between them.

Later, when Roy Kohler became grievously ill with cancer and had but a limited time to live, my wife, Frances, and I visited Roy and his wife, and I gave him a blessing. As we talked afterward, Brother Kohler said, “Let me tell you about one of the sweetest experiences I have had during my life.” He then recounted to me his misunderstanding with Grant Remund and the ensuing estrangement. His comment was “We were sort of on the outs with each other.”

“Then,” continued Roy, “I had just put up our hay for the winter to come when one night, as a result of spontaneous combustion, the hay caught fire, burning the hay, the barn, and everything in it right to the ground. I was devastated,” said Roy. “I didn’t know what in the world I would do. The night was dark, except for the dying embers of the fire. Then I saw coming toward me from the road, in the direction of Grant Remund’s place, the lights of tractors and heavy equipment. As the ‘rescue party’ turned in our drive and met me amidst my tears, Grant said, ‘Roy, you’ve got quite a mess to clean up. My boys and I are here. Let’s get to it.’” Together they plunged to the task at hand. Gone forever was the hidden wedge which had separated them for a short time. They worked throughout the night and into the next day, with many others in the community joining in.

Roy Kohler and Grant Remund have passed away. Their sons have served together in the same ward bishopric. I truly treasure the friendship of these two wonderful families.

Later, as a teenager, I visited the Sacred Grove. It was a beautiful summer evening and a quiet setting. It seemed to be the perfect occasion. I prayed for some sort of confirmation of what I believed. I prayed very sincerely for a very long time and nothing happened. Disappointed, I gave up and walked back to the town of Palmyra where I was staying. I asked myself, “What did I do wrong?”
The spiritual confirmation I was searching for came a month or two later when I was at home. I was reading the Book of Mormon by myself, and I was overcome with a very powerful spiritual witness of the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon and the calling of the Prophet Joseph Smith—basically, the kind of witness I was hoping to receive in the Sacred Grove.
I’m glad the Lord didn’t respond when I was praying in the Sacred Grove because it taught me that you don’t have to be in any special place to receive a witness. I was at home, in my bedroom, and the Lord found me there.

We called upon the only native Filipino member we had been able to locate. He recounted a story which I remember as follows:
When he was a boy he found in a garbage can an old, tattered copy of the Reader’s Digest. It contained a condensation of a book giving the story of the Mormon people. It spoke of Joseph Smith and described him as a prophet. The word prophet did something to that boy. Could there actually be a prophet upon the earth? he wondered. The magazine was lost, but concern over the presence of a living prophet never left him during the long, dark years of war and oppression when the Philippines were occupied. Finally the forces of liberation came, and with them the reopening of Clark Air Base. David Lagman found employment there. His supervisor, he learned, was a Mormon, an Air Force officer. He wanted to ask him if he believed in a prophet, but was afraid to do so. Finally, after much inner turmoil, he mustered the courage to inquire.
“Are you a Mormon, sir?” the young man asked.
“Yes, I am,” was the forthright reply.
“Do you believe in a prophet? Do you have a prophet in your church?” came the anxious question.
“We do have a prophet, a living prophet, who presides in this church and who teaches the will of the Lord.”
David asked the officer to tell him more, and out of that teaching came his baptism. He was the first native elder ordained in the Philippines.

When I was young, I was in the same ward as President Nelson. He was my stake president. It was a pretty big ward, so I don’t think he really knew me.
But I had a special experience with him when I became a deacon. I wanted to be very reverent when I passed the sacrament. I felt it was important. So I tried to show respect for the sacrament every Sunday.
I was walking home from church one Sunday when a car pulled up next to me. The driver rolled down the window. It was President Nelson! He said, “I noticed that you were very reverent when you passed the sacrament. Thank you for doing that.”
He might not remember saying that. But I’ll never forget it. He took time to tell me that he thought I had done something good. It meant a lot to me.

Second, your mission president is the Lord’s representative. Do not criticize or demean him, privately or publicly. If you will respect his authority, be obedient, humble, teachable, and follow the mission rules, you will be a successful missionary. For instance, one of the hardest rules to follow is to get up in the morning when your mission president directs. Many young men think the best time to sleep is in the morning. I’m grateful to my obedient senior companion, Elder William Grant Bangerter, who would set the alarm clock to get up early. When the alarm went off, it would jangle my nerves. In the winter it was dark, damp, and cold, and we never had any hot water for bathing or showering. He would cheerfully shower in that cold water; I would start to shiver as soon as he got out of the shower. I could not do anything but follow his example, but I have to confess that I was not quite as cheerful because my teeth were chattering.