Gospel Story Finder

Well, I suppose I might take just another minute to tell you about Dean Rymer. I was on a flight from Australia to New Zealand, and I noticed that my seat companion was a minister from the Anglican Church, the Church of England. I introduced myself and told him what I was doing in New Zealand, and he asked me, “How does it feel to be a member of one of the fastest-growing churches in the world? “ He had been hearing things.

I said, “It’s a wonderful feeling, and I’d like to tell you about it.”

“Well, we have some problems in our church with the youth,” he said. “What do you do about the youth in your Church? We hardly have any young people coming, and we’d like to do something to stimulate them.”

I spent the next half-hour telling him about young men coming to pass the sacrament as deacons, groomed appropriately and representing the Lord as they should, and about how they had to be worthy to act in the name of the Lord. I told him about the older brothers of these deacons, young men sitting at the priest’s table, and about how they came properly groomed and administered the sacrament for the congregation. He was impressed; he was taking notes during all of this.

Then he said, “You know, I have another problem. I can’t get around to all my congregation. And not only that, but they’re mostly women—very few men in my congregation.” I told him about the Melchizedek Priesthood, and about home teaching. I told him about this army of men going out, hopefully into each home every month. “Oh,” he said, “that would be great help! I wish I had something like that. I wish I had some home teachers.” Then I told him about visiting teaching and the Relief Society, and he was almost over-whelmed.

Then he went on to ask me about our buildings; he was concerned about some buildings that they were having to close because they were losing members of the congregation. And I told him that we had approximately six hundred buildings under construction, that we had another five hundred buildings on the drawing board for next year, and that there were another five or six hundred buildings for the year after that. Then I told him about the law of tithing, and told him that every one of these buildings would be dedicated on the day that it was finished and used; that we did not have one penny of debt—not one commercial loan on any piece of physical property in this Church—and he could not believe what he was hearing. And again he was taking notes and writing very rapidly.

Then we talked about tithing. That is how we do it: because we believe what Malachi said—“Will a man rob God?”—and we believe that the windows of heaven will be opened for those who do what the Lord has asked them to do (see Malachi 3:8–10). Then we talked about welfare, and again he could not believe it when I told him about fast offerings and about the way our people fast two meals and give the equivalent cash to the bishop on the fast and testimony Sunday, and still he was writing.

After two hours and twenty minutes of flying we finally landed at Auckland Airport. He was writing all the time, and his final comment to me was, “Elder Simpson, these have been two of the most fruitful hours of my life. We’re going to have a seminar of all the ministers of the Church of England in Auckland in just a few months’ time, and I’m hopeful that you will be able to come and tell them exactly what you have told me.” Well, unfortunately, I have been released in the meantime; but Elder Loren C. Dunn is waiting. I have made arrangements for him to meet Dean Rymer, and Dean Rymer is anxious to extend that invitation to Elder Dunn. And I can promise you that Elder Dunn will finish the job and Dean Rymer will never be the same again.

I should also tell you this: The Sunday following this conversation on the airplane, I heard from one of our good Church members converted from the Church of England that one of her good friends from the Anglican Church came over and said, “You can’t guess what happened in church today. I was at the cathedral and Dean Rymer spent the whole hour talking about the Mormon Church. He told us this and that, and then he concluded his comments by saying, ‘Now, brothers and sisters, I don’t intend to convert you all to the Mormon Church; all I’m doing here today is letting you know that if you live more like the Mormons you’re going to be better people.’” Now, that is a pretty good endorsement, and we accept that! I know that Dean Rymer is a good man and I know that the Lord works in mysterious ways his wonders to perform.

It has now been 10 years since Te Awhina was baptised a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. She became a missionary herself, very soon after her baptism, when she served in the Australia Brisbane Mission. Then, in 2020, she married Josh, “the man of my dreams.” The couple looks forward to being sealed to each other—for time and all eternity—as soon as the New Zealand Hamilton Temple is reopened.

I recently went with priesthood leaders to visit the homes of four women in Honduras. These sisters and their families were in need of priesthood keys and authority, priesthood ordinances and covenants, and priesthood power and blessings.
We visited a dear sister who is married and has two beautiful children. She is faithful and active in the Church, and she is teaching her children to choose the right. Her husband supports her Church activity, but he is not a member. Their family is strong, but to enjoy greater strength, they need additional priesthood blessings. They need the father to receive the ordinances of baptism and the gift of the Holy Ghost and to have the priesthood conferred upon him. They need the priesthood power that can come through the endowment and sealing.
In each of the three homes we visited, a wise priesthood leader asked each sister if she had received a priesthood blessing. Each time the answer was no. Each sister asked for and received a priesthood blessing that day. Each wept as she expressed gratitude for the comfort, direction, encouragement, and inspiration that came from her Heavenly Father through a worthy priesthood holder.
These sisters inspired me. They showed reverence for God and His power and authority. I was also grateful for the priesthood leaders who visited these homes with me. When we left each home, we counseled together about how to help these families receive the ordinances they needed to progress on the covenant path and strengthen their homes.

Harold B. Lee once visited Tokyo, Japan, to speak at a conference for soldiers. After the meeting, a man came up to shake his hand.
Soldier: I am not a member of the Church, but I understand that you are going to be in the Philippines in a few weeks. I’ll be there with the U.S. Seventh Fleet, and I hope to be able to tell you then that I have been baptized.
Harold: I hope so, too!
Weeks went by, and Elder Lee traveled to the Philippines to give another fireside. He noticed that the man he had met in Tokyo was sitting on the front row.
Harold: I remember you! Have you been baptized?
Soldier: Yes. I can’t wait to go home and tell my wife that I will live righteously from now on. You see, when we met in Japan, my arm was hurting me terribly. After I shook your hand, the throbbing stopped. I took my arm out of the sling. When I went back to the ship, I didn’t need any treatment. The infection was gone. I know that you had the Lord’s power to heal me.
Years later, Elder Lee traveled to Virginia to organize a new stake. The man he had healed sat on the front row with his beautiful wife. That day the man was sustained to serve in his elders quorum presidency.
In a speech to Ricks College students, President Lee told this story and taught that God can heal us, both by taking away illness and by allowing us to repent.
President Lee: There is a power beyond the sight of man that heals not only sick bodies but sick souls. The greatest miracle we see is the healing of sick souls.

I had always planned to be a missionary, but I’d figured on waiting till I was older so I could get sent to Mexico, Africa, Russia, or some other far-off place. Turning me into a nine-year-old missionary was Sister Munn’s fault. She started talking in Primary opening exercises about the sons of Mosiah, the Apostle Paul, and Heber C. Kimball. Then, after church, we bumped into each other in the hall and she said, “You look like you’re eager to be a missionary, Benjamin. Are you?”
Well, my oldest brother, Matt, was a missionary in Spain, and I planned to be like him, so I grinned and nodded. “I wouldn’t mind going to Spain in about ten years. Matt thinks it’s pretty nice there.”
Sister Munns smiled. “Benjamin,” she said, getting real serious, “you don’t have to wait ten years. You can be a missionary now. You have some new neighbors moving in next door, and I don’t believe they’re members of the Church. Would you be willing to share the gospel with your new neighbors, just as your brother is sharing it in Spain?”
“I’m a little young,” I mumbled. “I don’t know what to say or how to say it.”
“The Lord says we’re a peculiar people,” Sister Munns explained. “That means that we’re different. People want to know why we’re different. Part of being a missionary is telling people why we’re different. Will you do that, Benjamin?”
“Sure,” I said. “I can do that.”
“Who are our new neighbors, and when do they move in?” I asked Mom as I ate Sunday dinner.
“They’re a young couple,” Mom answered. “His name is Conrad, and his wife’s name is Tricia. He just finished law school.”
“I told Sister Munns that I’d be a missionary and share the gospel with them,” I said. My whole family stopped eating. “How can I do it?” I asked.
My big brother James smiled. “Well, if you were like Ammon in the Book of Mormon, you could be their servant.”
“Huh?” I grunted. “Sister Munns didn’t say anything about being a servant. Isn’t that kind of like being a slave?”
Mom laughed. “James means that you can make friends with them by helping them. After they know that you care about them, you’ll be able to share the gospel with them.”
When the moving van showed up, I was a little afraid to make my first move as a missionary, but since I’d promised Sister Munns, I had to try. “Hello,” I said a little shakily, holding out my hand to Tricia, who was trying to decide which box to haul into the house next. “My name is Benjamin Tripp. I live next door.”
Tricia smiled and shook my hand. “Conrad,” she called, “come meet our next-door neighbor, Benjamin Tripp.”
“Well, Benjamin Tripp, it’s great to know you,” Conrad said, shaking my hand. He was a big, tall man with lots of thick brown hair and a huge, friendly smile. I liked him right away.
“Most people just call me Ben,” I mumbled. “I came over to … well, you know, to be your … servant.”
Conrad and Tricia grinned. “That sounds great,” Conrad said. “I could use a good servant right about now. Why don’t you start hauling some of these boxes into the house?”
I grabbed a big box off the lawn and started for the house. The box was heavy, and I couldn’t exactly see where I was going. I was thinking that there were four steps up to the front door, but there were five. I hit that fifth step and fell flat on my face, dropping the box and hearing a crash.
“We won’t worry about a few dishes,” Tricia said, smiling and patting me on the back. “Conrad breaks them all the time.”
“I do?” Conrad asked, giving her a funny look.
I tried to be more careful after that, and I did pretty well until I carried a chair to the dining room. I had to squeeze between stacks of boxes. One of the chair legs bumped a box, and it fell with a thud and a bunch of books fell out of it. I had them all put back by the time Conrad and Tricia came charging into the dining room.
Conrad took a deep breath. “I tell you what, Ben,” he said slowly, putting his hand on my shoulder. “I appreciate your being our servant and all, but maybe you could serve someplace else this afternoon.” He smiled. “Like over at your house.”
I thought a minute and then asked, “Are you hungry? If you’re hungry, I can bake some really good chocolate chip oatmeal cookies.”
“Have you ever made cookies?” Conrad asked suspiciously.
“I don’t have to make them. Mom already made the dough. All I have to do is put the blobs of dough on the pan and bake them.”
“I could use a cookie,” Conrad said. “You will bake them at your house, won’t you?”
It didn’t take me long to plop gobs of dough onto a cookie sheet and put them into the oven. They were supposed to bake twelve minutes, so I went into the family room and played on the computer.
“What’s burning?” I heard Mom exclaim.
I charged into the kitchen. The tops of the cookies were fine. I discovered that if I put the cookies on a plate just right, you hardly noticed that they were black on the bottom.
“Those are fine looking cookies,” Tricia said happily as I handed her the plate.
Conrad grabbed a cookie and bit down on it. Nothing happened. At least nothing happened to the cookie. It might have hurt Conrad’s teeth a little, though. He studied the cookie, turning it over.
“They got a little burnt,” I explained, fidgeting. “But if you just chew the tops off, they’re pretty good. Do you want me to make you a different batch? Mom has dough for sugar cookies.”
Conrad held up the cookie in his hand and pointed to the plate of cookies with the other hand. “No, Ben, I think this will keep us for a while. Thanks for thinking about us, though.”
I was about to leave when I spotted Conrad’s truck all covered with mud. “Your truck’s dirty.”
Conrad nodded, gnawing on the top of a cookie. “I’ll have to spray it off one of these days.”
Right then I got an idea. If I was going to be Conrad’s servant, I’d serve even when he didn’t ask.
Early the next morning I sprayed the mud and dirt off the truck. I was hiding in the bushes when Conrad hurried out the front door, dressed in his suit and carrying a briefcase. He stopped in front of the truck and smiled. “Well, I’ll bet Ben’s been here. It comes in right handy having a servant.”
Conrad opened the truck door, tossed his briefcase inside and sat down. Immediately he let out a yelp and shot out of the truck, banging his head on the door. “The seat’s soaked!”
I caught my breath. The windows had been rolled up last night … ! I hunkered down in the bushes. Tricia came out of the house with a towel and helped dry Conrad off. He was fuming and sputtering, but Tricia calmed him down. “Everything will dry out fine,” she assured him. “Ben was just trying to help.”
“Maybe he shouldn’t try so hard.”
It was late that evening before I dared go over to apologize. “I’m sorry about the truck seat,” I said when Conrad answered the door. “I was sure the windows were all up when I went home last night.”
“They were,” Conrad replied, smiling slightly. “I guess I left mine open after we went out for ice cream. It’s OK—I think everything dried out.”
For a little while I stayed and talked to him and Tricia. I decided to ask my first missionary question. “Do you know what makes me different?” I asked slowly.
Conrad and Tricia looked at each other and smiled. “I have some ideas,” Conrad answered.
“I’m a Latter-day Saint. Some people call us Mormons,” I said excitedly. “And Mormons are different. Do you know any Mormons?”
“I had a friend in college who was a Mormon.”
“Was he like me?”
“He didn’t go around knocking over boxes, burning cookies, and flooding my truck.” Conrad winked at me and grinned. “Maybe he just wasn’t a very good Mormon.”
“That isn’t what I meant,” I said, feeling my cheeks and neck burn with embarrassment. “That’s just me. Mom says I’m growing faster than my brain can operate.” I swallowed. “If you want to know more about Mormons, you just let me know.”
Tricia smiled and took Conrad’s hand. “We’ll do that, Ben.”
The rest of the week I was pretty careful about not being a disaster around Tricia and Conrad. I mainly just talked to them without touching anything. I talked about our family, about Matt serving his mission in Spain, about family home evening and reading the scriptures, and other things.
Saturday afternoon as Conrad was fixing his lawn mower, I asked, “Do you and Tricia go to church much?”
Conrad thought a moment, then shook his head. “I get pretty busy on Sunday.” He grinned. “That’s when the fish bite.”
“I like going to church,” I said. “We sing and tell stories.”
“I’m afraid the singing and storytelling would scare the fish away.” Conrad laughed, slapping me on the back. “Right now I need to get some big fat night crawlers so that I’ll be ready for tomorrow.”
I didn’t want Conrad going fishing on Sunday, but if he needed night crawlers, I knew where to get him some. I went out in our garden and pretty soon I had a dozen of the biggest, fattest worms a guy could find. “Here are your night crawlers,” I said as he put his lawn mower away. “Dad says our night crawlers are the best around.”
He took my tin can filled with dirt and worms. “Well, thanks, Ben. You’re a real pal.” He winked at me. “And you didn’t even burn them.”
I missed having Conrad and Tricia in church Sunday. I thought about him out on the lake, fishing with my worms. We got home from church just as he pulled up in his truck.
“You were right, Ben. Those were great night crawlers. I pulled in half a dozen of the best fish I’ve seen in a long time.”
I kept visiting Conrad and Tricia, but not because I was a missionary—Conrad finally had told me that he didn’t think he’d ever have time for church. I kept visiting them because I was their friend.
I helped them out when I could, and I was getting better about not being a disaster as soon as I walked through their door. I still had a few accidents—like the time I knocked Conrad’s grape juice all over his white shirt. There were good times, though, like when I helped Tricia plant her flowers, and when I helped Conrad dig postholes for a back fence.
The Saturday afternoon before our Primary put on the sacrament meeting presentation, I took Conrad his can of worms. He and Tricia were in the backyard, sipping lemonade. “I guess you’re going fishing tomorrow, aren’t you?” I asked as I set the can down.
Conrad peered into my can. “If you have some of your famous night crawlers, I should come home with a real trophy tomorrow. Do you want to come with me?” He grinned.
“We’re putting on a special presentation tomorrow in sacrament meeting,” I said softly, ducking my head. “I’m going to be Joseph Smith. That’s kind of like the main part. You could give the fish a rest,” I said hopefully. “They’d have a week to grow even bigger.” I looked up at him and then over at Tricia. She was looking at Conrad, too. “Then you could come to church with me.”
Conrad took my can of worms and turned it around in his hand, thinking but not saying anything for a while. “Ben, what difference does it make if I go to church with you?”
I thought about that. “You’re my friend,” I finally said. “I care about you. And going to church is better than going fishing on Sunday.”
“I’m not much of a church man, Ben. I’ve just never done it.”
“But you need it. Lots more than you need those fish. After a while, the fish will be gone. But if you have Jesus and His church, you’ll have them forever.”
“It means a lot to you, doesn’t it, Ben?”
I nodded and looked down at the ground. For a long time we were all really quiet. Then he handed me the can of worms. “Just one Sunday,” he said, trying to sound real stern. “And I’ll go just because you’re going to be Joseph Smith.” He smiled. “Now, if you put those back in your garden, do you think you can find them again for next Sunday?”
I hesitated and looked at Tricia. She winked at me and then said to Conrad, “Maybe after you go to church with Ben tomorrow, you won’t want those worms next Sunday.”
“That’s what I’m hoping,” I said with a huge smile. “Who knows, maybe the fish bite even better on Saturday. That way I could go with you.”
Conrad laughed as Tricia reached over and took his hand. “I think everybody needs a servant like our Benjamin Tripp.”

As a friend and I were completing the virtue value project for Personal Progress, we read the Book of Mormon at school during breaks. Our teacher and our classmates began to make fun of us. At times I wanted to stop reading, but I simply could not leave my scriptures at home. We continued to read at school, and over time we weren’t made fun of anymore. One of our friends became interested in the gospel and in Personal Progress. We gave her the booklet and a triple combination, and since then we have been telling her about the gospel. Her brother also became interested in the gospel. They are both reading the Book of Mormon.
Kimberly A., age 16, Brazil

Each Saturday morning as my brothers and sisters and I were growing up, our mother gave us housecleaning chores to do. Her instructions to us had been learned from her mother: “Be certain you clean thoroughly in the corners and along the mopboards. If you are going to miss anything, let it be in the center of the room.”
She knew very well if we cleaned the corners, she would never have a problem with what was left in the center of the room. What could be seen would never be left unclean.

Some years ago a newspaper reporter was assigned to interview workers on a construction site to get a firsthand story about the project. He approached one man who was breaking great rocks and filing them down in order to have smooth and even surfaces and corners.

“What are you doing here with these huge rocks?” he asked.

Looking up, annoyed, the man said, “What do you think I’m doing? I hack away at these filthy rocks all day long. My back is bent and I’m tired. Day after day I do the same thing!”

“Well,” said the reporter, “this certainly isn’t a very pleasant job. I don’t envy you.”

He approached another man who appeared to be doing the same thing. The reporter was hesitant to interrupt him but finally asked, “Can you tell me what you’re doing, sir?”

The man stood up, wiped his sweaty brow, and, pointing to a rough but very large foundation, said, “Can’t you see? We are building a cathedral. Its spires will rise to the sky, and my children and grandchildren will remember that I had a great part in it.”

“Oh,” said the reporter, “this is a very important thing you are doing.”

“Yes,” said the man. “How lucky I am.”

In September 1972 President Harold B. Lee visited Israel. President Lee was accompanied by Sister Lee, Elder Gordon B. Hinckley of the Quorum of the Twelve, and Sister Hinckley.
While in the Holy Land, President Lee met with the mayor of Jerusalem and other officials of the Israeli government. He also visited Bethlehem, where Jesus was born, and Nazareth, where the Savior spent His childhood.
One of his special visits was to the Garden Tomb, a beautiful area where it is believed Jesus was buried and rose from the dead. There President Lee met with the Saints in Israel and organized the Jerusalem Branch of the Church. The Primary children of the new branch sang one of President Lee’s favorite songs, “I Am a Child of God.”
Later when President Lee spoke to members of the Church in Rome, he told them that his choicest experience in the Holy Land was hearing the children sing that lovely song. He explained that we all are truly God’s children and that our Heavenly Father wants us to do what’s right so that we can return to live with Him.
The children of the Jerusalem Branch will always remember President Lee and his visit with them. They feel blessed that a modern-day prophet visited this land where Jesus lived and taught. They are glad too that they are able to visit some of these sacred places.

When I was 16, my mom allowed me to meet with the missionaries but told me I could never get baptized. I laughed. I didn’t need her to tell me that. I already knew I didn’t want to be baptized.
I first met the missionaries only to be polite. A friend asked me if I would be interested in talking with them, and I agreed because I didn’t want to hurt his feelings.
I kept meeting with the missionaries but didn’t take their lessons seriously, because I knew baptism wasn’t an option for me.
When the missionaries eventually invited me to be baptized, I said my mom wouldn’t allow it. My friend’s dad suggested we fast and ask Heavenly Father to help soften her heart.
I wasn’t convinced that fasting would change my mom’s heart, but I agreed to try. My friend’s family, the missionaries, and I all fasted for my mom to allow me to be baptized.
Shortly after our fast, my mom and I were having dinner together. Out of nowhere, she turned to me and said, “You know, if you want to get baptized, that’s your decision.”
I couldn’t believe what I’d heard.
She repeated herself. “You can get baptized.”
I was terrified. I could no longer use my mom as an excuse not to be baptized. I actually had to make the decision on my own. I started listening to the missionaries with an open mind.
When I started listening to the missionary lessons with real intent, I began to feel God’s love. It came as a feeling of peace and reassurance. Because of the love I felt for Him, I couldn’t bear the thought of being unclean before Him. I was willing to give up everything that was not in line with the commandments of God.
I remember thinking, “I wish I could redo my life.”
So when my friend casually mentioned that baptism was like being born again (see Mosiah 27:25), I could barely contain my excitement. I knew what I needed to do.
I was baptized and have since served a mission in Canada to help other people find the same joy I found in the gospel of Jesus Christ.
The joy I felt when I got baptized wasn’t a one-time feeling. I still feel that peaceful, clean feeling every time I pray for forgiveness.

Perhaps you have had an experience like the one I had when I was 11 years old. I had a friend whom I admired because she seemed to know so much. One day she offered me a cigarette. She told me she would help me learn to smoke, and she pressured me with words like “It won’t hurt—just this once.” I didn’t want to offend her, but I had decided when I was very young that I would never smoke. This decision made it easier to say no. Show you know by obeying the Word of Wisdom.

Could any day have been more beautiful?” Emma asked her sister, Martha, as she wiggled her toes in the warm, white sand. The girls were supposed to follow their family’s five cows as they roamed the green hills during the day, making sure they didn’t wander off and get lost or hurt. But this afternoon the cows were grazing in their favorite pasture and showing no signs of moving. Emma and Martha became bored and gave in to the temptation of the nearby beach.
Now the sun was close to setting, and its bright rays made the blue ripples of water on the lake sparkle like jewels. The girls’ family had been among the first to settle on the shores of Bear Lake in northern Utah, and Emma thought that there probably wasn’t any prettier place in the world. Dark green hills surrounding the lake were overgrown with wild raspberry bushes. Emma sighed with happiness.
But six-year-old Martha was thinking of something other than the beauty of the scenery. “I’m starving!” she burst out. “Let’s go home for dinner.”
“All right,” Emma agreed. “I’m hungry, too. Besides, it’s going to get dark soon, and we’d better get the cows home.”
They ran up the hill toward the pasture where they had left the cows. There they were, still happily munching on the grass, just as the girls had left them. Emma shook her head and smiled. She couldn’t imagine any animal more dull than a cow. Martha broke a switch off a nearby tree and headed toward the cows. Emma was getting herself a branch, when she heard Martha shriek.
“Emma! Emma! One’s gone! There are only four! One’s gone!”
Sure enough, only four cows were visible: Belle, Katie, Brown Eyes, and Matilda. Where was Old Spot? The cow was about to calf—that must be why she had left the rest of the herd.
“Martha, Old Spot wandered off somewhere to have her calf!” Emma reasoned. “We have to find her—soon! If something goes wrong, both she and the calf might die. You look in that bunch of trees over there, and I’ll go up that hill.”
The girls ran in separate directions, each shouting Old Spot’s name as they looked in every cluster of bushes and behind every rock and tree. After a few minutes, they met back in the pasture. Evening was not far off.
Emma made a quick decision. “Martha, you take the other cows home. When you get there, ask the boys to come back and help me. I’m going to stay and look for Old Spot.”
Martha’s eyes widened. “All by yourself? But it’ll be dark soon!”
“I know, I know! But it’s my fault Old Spot’s lost. I just have to keep looking!” She shooed her little sister toward the remaining cows. “Now, get going!”
Emma had a sinking feeling in her stomach as she watched her little sister leave. She would never admit it to Martha, but she was afraid, very afraid. Not just for the cow, but because she had always been afraid of the dark. In fact, her earliest memory was of being told to go out to the ditch after dark and fill a pail of water. After only a few nervous steps into the night, the wind rustled some leaves at her feet and an animal cried from the woods, and she had run screaming back to the safety of the house. Fear of the dark had haunted her ever since.
She began looking for Old Spot again, telling herself that finding the cow was too important—this was no time to let her fear get the better of her. But as the light faded from the sky and even the shadows faded into the night, her heart beat faster and she began to feel a little sick. The slightest noise made her jump, and chills ran up and down her spine.
It seemed like she had been searching for hours. Where were the boys? She sat on a boulder and hugged her knees close to her chest, fighting back tears. Her small body began to tremble. Then Emma remembered. Her parents had taught her what to do if she was in trouble. Immediately she got down on her knees.
“Father in Heaven,” she prayed, “I’m sorry we left the cows all alone. I know it is my fault Old Spot’s lost, but I didn’t mean to cause any trouble. If it be Thy will, please help me to find Old Spot. Bless her that she will be all right. And please help me to be brave. Help us both get home safely. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
Emma rose from her knees, feeling a little better. She took a big gulp, climbed down off the boulder and began looking for Old Spot once more. To her surprise, she felt a song hovering in the back of her mind, a hymn that she had learned recently in church. She hummed the melody while the words ran through her mind:
The Lord is my light; then why should I fear?
By day and by night his presence is near.*
Before she knew it, she was singing the words out loud. The longer she sang, the better she felt. Soon she no longer felt afraid at all. She knew that with the Lord’s help, she would find the cow and that they both would return home safely.
A few minutes later, Emma saw a long, deep ravine. She was frightened but knew that that was where she must look. She followed the winding gorge for what seemed like a very long time. Just as she was about to turn back, she heard a gentle lowing ahead of her. As she got closer, she could see Old Spot—and the cow was not alone! A newborn calf was wobbling about on shaky legs.
It was slow work driving the mother and baby out of the ravine. Old Spot was tired, and the calf was still very weak. Every once in a while, a coyote’s howl filled the air, seeming very close. Emma was tired and hungry, her bare feet cold and sore. The three of them still had a long walk ahead to reach home. Please, Heavenly Father, she prayed in her heart, just a little bit longer. Help me have the strength to get us home!
Finally the trio came out of the trees and onto the open hillside. Not far below them Emma saw a light. Her brothers had come to their rescue! She flew down the hill and threw herself into her big brother’s arms. “George, I found her! I found Old Spot and her baby!”
George looked down in surprise. “You did? All by yourself?”
“I was so scared, George. But I wasn’t alone. Heavenly Father helped me.”
George grinned. “Well, I’d rather be looking for twenty cows at midnight than face the scolding Ma’s going to give you for losing Old Spot in the first place!”
Emma smiled but didn’t answer. All she could think about was that Heavenly Father had answered her prayer. She and Old Spot and the calf were safe and headed home. And Emma knew that she never had to be alone.

In conclusion, will you come with me into a classroom of 12- and 13-year-old young women. Listen as you hear the learners discover doctrine. Notice the experience the teacher provides for the learners so that they can connect the doctrine to the reality of their lives. Feel the accompanying witness of the Spirit:
Our teacher moves her chair closer into the semicircle of five girls. “We have a guest waiting outside,” she begins. “It is Sister Jonas. She has agreed to show us her tiny baby and tell us how she feels about being a new mother. As you watch this new little baby, would you also notice his mother—how she treats the baby, what she does, what she says. We’ll talk about her visit after she leaves.”
Sister Jonas comes in, spends seven or eight minutes talking about her baby and answering questions. The girls thank her, and she leaves the classroom.
“The baby was darling, wasn’t he?” our teacher responds to the delighted hum of the class. “But what did you notice about the mother?”
A minute of silence and then a response: “Well, she was happy.” Another: “She kind of rocked back and forth the whole time she was holding him.” A few more responses, and then Katie slowly begins, “She—ummm—she talked really quietly.”
“Could you say more about that?” the teacher coaxes.
“Well, her voice reminds me of my mother’s voice when she called from the hospital to tell us we had a new baby sister last year.”
The teacher, turning to the other girls: “What do you think? Did anyone else notice her voice?”
The girls become more thoughtful and begin to reply with words like “reverence,” “heaven,” “love.”
The teacher: “I think I understand. I believe those words come to our minds because we are recognizing a great gift from our Heavenly Father. He loves us and trusts us so much that He is willing to share His creative powers with us. We feel such gratitude and reverence for this trust. Motherhood is a divine role.”
After this clear statement of doctrine and testimony, our teacher moves on to an activity where the girls identify qualities their own mothers exhibit that show an understanding of the divinity of motherhood. “Could each of you prepare for motherhood right now by practicing one of these very virtues—maybe being more patient, kinder, or more positive this week?”
Each girl talks about her choice. Our teacher bears personal testimony. The closing prayer is offered.

“I’m just a man like you,” the voice replied. “I’m in an adjacent chamber. When I lived on Earth I was called Desmond Jeffress.”
“Desmond Jeffress?”
“My, but that is sweet. That’s the first time I’ve heard my name spoken in more than 300 years.”
“You’ve been in space that long?” I asked, gasping at so profound a claim. Only the reality of hyperspace would allow such a thing.
The voice simply answered, “Yes.”
Looking directly at me with soft, brown eyes, he said, “I’m dying. I’ve lived more than 300 years, and I’ve barely an hour left.”
“I’m sure,” he responded. “That’s why I sent the SOS. I didn’t want to die alone, and, more important, I didn’t want to have lived in vain.”
“Three centuries before you were born I began my chronicle of the universe. Though there are countless planets, stars, and galaxies that I have never approached, I have nevertheless chronicled a total of 237 galaxies with 100 trillion stars and 600 trillion planets. I was able to visit exactly 200,000 of those planets, if only for a moment. If it sounds like I’ve been busy, I have. Never for an instant have I been idle. My last wish was to see all that I have learned safely delivered into another human’s hands. Since that is now assured, I should be able to die knowing that my life was not in vain. Still … still, something is not right.” He paused a moment, wheezing slightly. “I should feel at peace, but instead I’m more anxious than before.”
“Do you know why?” I asked.
“I believe,” he said, “that my mind is still troubled on one matter, on one foolish little matter.”
“What is that?”
“I had,” the old man recalled, “before I went into space, been somewhat of an atheist. I’ve always been analytic and cannot accept anything as true until it has been proven by experimentation. Not long after my voyages began, I found myself believing in God. I had become aware of a pattern, of a design in the universe, and observing mankind’s potential to control it, I felt a relationship, a descendency if you will, with some remarkably infinite power, maybe even a living, tangible being.
“From then on all of my experiments and voyages, of which my journals and chronicles became but by-products, were whole-hearted efforts to prove the existence and nature of God. All my knowledge was continually applied to this single purpose. I was determined to prove God, so that I could know, and not just feel, that he lives.
“However, despite all of my efforts, the most powerful evidence was nothing more than a strong indication of what I believed. It always left room for doubt.
“I’ve been almost everywhere and seen almost everything, and still have no proof that God exists. I’m a scientist believing something with no definite proof of its validity. That is my anxiety.”
“Have you ever asked God?” I inquired.
“How is that done?” he replied.
I then proceeded to bear my testimony to him. My testimony of God, that he is the Creator, that he is everyone’s Father in Heaven, of the premortal existence, of the plan of salvation, and of the atonement of Christ, and that Jesus is the Only Begotten Son of God; my testimony of all these things fell from my lips with more power than it ever had before.
We talked. In the short time available, our conversation must have touched upon nearly every principle of the gospel.
I told him that I did not just believe the things I’d said. I explained that I knew them by the power of the Holy Ghost, through prayer, that being the only way that anyone could know.
He then prayed one of the most fervent prayers that I’ve ever heard. He ignored my presence in the room as the words of supplication rolled smoothly off from his tongue, and when he ended his prayer, he knew! One quick glance at his tear-washed eyes and it was clear: he knew!
He looked up, right at me, and he said, “Young man, contained in this spacecraft is knowledge accumulated from more than three centuries of constant research, as I traveled from one galaxy to another, and never has it meant more to me than it does now.”
His eyes held mine in a firm stare as he continued, “The knowledge that you have shared with me for the last hour is more important than all the rest of the knowledge I’ve gathered put together. Thank you,” he said.
The moment that he finished uttering those words his final breath wheezed from his lungs. Silence permeated the air.

When I turned 18, my father allowed me to be baptized in any church I wanted. I wanted to join a Christian church because I’d studied the Bible in several congregations and believed in Jesus Christ.
One day my uncle invited two sister missionaries to our home. They spoke with much conviction about their belief in the Book of Mormon as another testament of Jesus Christ, stating that He had visited the American continent.
On that point, I expressed my opinion that perhaps they were mistaken, since never in my life had I studied about that. One of the sister missionaries, with tears in her eyes and with kindness, said to me, “Brother Roberto, the fact that you do not know the Book of Mormon is true does not mean that we are mistaken. I know that Jesus Christ loves us and that He was on this continent and that He taught His gospel just as He had in the Holy Land.”
They tried to help me with my many concerns and doubts during that first discussion, agreeing that they would visit me the next week.
That night I began to leaf through the Book of Mormon. As I read the title page, one phrase caught my attention: “Jesus is the Christ, the Eternal God, manifesting himself unto all nations.” I also read 3 Nephi 11 about the Savior’s visit to the Americas, and I felt a gladness in my heart. So I did what the missionaries had told me to do: I knelt and asked my Heavenly Father if the book was true.
As I finished the prayer, I felt a peace and a surety that this was so. For a moment I thought that the tears of the sisters had moved me and caused me to believe in their testimony. So I continued reading the Book of Mormon until a little after 4:00 in the morning. Each time I prayed, I felt with more strength the confirmation that Christ had come to the Americas and that He wanted me to learn more about His true gospel.
Within weeks, I finished reading the Book of Mormon and felt a need to be baptized into the true Church.
Reading the Book of Mormon helped me to grow closer to Jesus Christ and to make Him the center of my life. I am so grateful that the Savior put the missionaries and His Church into my path.

Elder Glenn L. Pace told a wonderful story that illustrates my point:

When I was in junior high school, I would get out of bed on cold winter mornings and head for the heat vent to get warm. The family cat would always beat me there, so I would gently shoo her away and sit down. Soon my mother would tell me it was time to leave for school. I would look out at the icicles on the house and dread going out into the cold, let alone beginning another day of school.

As I kissed my mother good-bye and went out the door, I would look longingly at my comfortable spot in front of the heat vent and find that the cat had repossessed it. How I envied that cat! If that weren’t enough, she would look up at me with heavy eyelids and an expression that seemed to laugh at me and say, “Have fun in school, Glenn. I’m sure glad I’m not a human.” I hated it when she did that.

However, an interesting thing would happen as the day went on. I would come home after experiencing the joys and sorrows of the school day and see that lazy cat still curled up in front of the vent, and I would smile and say to her, “I’m sure glad I’m not a cat.” [Glenn L. Pace, Spiritual Plateaus (Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Company, 1991), pp. 84–85]

Fielding Winward, a friend, age 78
“We had a hay farm up above the Bensons, and we’d go there to get a load of hay for our livestock every day, up past Bensons. The day after President Benson came home from his mission, my father and I got our team and sleigh to go up and get a load of hay. With snow on the ground and no shoes on the horses, we weren’t making any noise. The sleigh just slipped along so easily. When we got pretty close to Bensons, Father said, ‘Brother Benson just came home last night, and he’ll be tired this morning, so we won’t bother about calling on him now.’ And we’d just got past their lane when President Benson came out of the house just as fast as he could. He climbed up on our sleigh and was just so joyful and happy to see us. And we felt the same way about him. He shook hands with us and gave us a squeeze. We visited a minute, even though it was cold. He was such a joyful, pleasant-looking fellow that it made you feel good just to know him.”

I remember my last year as a student at BYU. I roomed with three fine young men. We were all returned missionaries—eager, confident, waiting to see what the test of life would bring for us. We were filled with all of those good things that young returned missionaries aspire to. Many years later it is interesting to see where those roommates are and what has happened to them. The wife of one roommate was killed in an automobile accident; he was left with nine children. Another roommate—by a strange, accidental slip of the knife in surgery in a routine operation—lingered between life and death for months, bordering on being permanently incapacitated and crippled. The third roommate, probably the most talented and the one with the greatest potential, somehow began to move away from the faith of his fathers, became disaffected with the Church, left the Church, and separated himself from his wife and his children. He lives a life of regret, I believe. So we cannot anticipate always what the race will bring us.

Let me tell you another story. We are assigned to the BYUH 6th Ward. We love that Ward - so many great young people. One fine young couple were the Bauros . They are great kids. Brother Bauro was the secretary in the Elders quorum Elder Monson worked with, so we had some extra association with them. We knew he wanted to go to Fiji to medical school. As the year went on, his scholarship funding became shakey. Then it became questionable. It was at this time we traveled to Fiji to meet with our missionaries there. One evening we returned to the hotel for dinner and Pres. Ardern, Pres of the Fiji mission, his wife, and some of their missionaries were eating dinner with Elder Winkel and his wife. Elder Winkle is a member of the Seventy, and at that time was a counselor in the Area Presidency. We knew Elder and Sister Winkel because he had been one of our sons Mission President in Spain. They greeted us so warmly and invited us to eat with them. We were seated right next to Pres. Winkle. As we chatted, Pres. Winkel said they had just been to Kiribati, so we mentioned we had been there several times and we knew such wonderful people there. We told him about Brother Bauro, and his desire to go to medical school, but that he was having problems with his scholarship funding. Pres. Winkel was very interested. He said to contact him in New Zealand in a couple of days and somehow, this funding problem would be solved.

So make a long and complicated story short, through Pres. Winkel, Vice President Kongiaka, President Shumway and a wonderful donor, Brother Bauro is now in medical school in Fiji.

How did that happen? Why were we in Fiji that very night? Why were Winkels at the same restaurant, why were they there at that same hour? Why did Brother Bauro's chance for medical school come together in the middle of the Pacific Ocean? I think it's amazing, don't you?

Mia Maid president Allison Wright and her classmates hand-made and delivered invitations to all the homes within the ward boundaries. Over 300 people attended, with approximately 100 being nonmember children and their parents. “It’s a great chance for us to associate with and get to know those we don’t usually meet through Church activities,” said Marianne Miner. “I was in charge of the punch and chips, and I got a big cauldron-looking pot, put dry ice in the punch to make it smoke, and asked one of my neighbors to dress up like a witch to serve it.”