Gospel Story Finder

Back in 2000 we were living in London directing the Study Abroad Program. It was our kids’ first time in the city, so we spent a couple of days walking around the neighborhood and helping them get settled. On one of these walks down a busy street, Amy noticed a bus number that she had been wondering about, and since it was one of the old Routemaster buses with the driver up front and a conductor in the back, she hopped on the back platform to ask the conductor about its route and cost. Satisfied, she hopped back off, and the bus started to drive away. What we hadn’t noticed was that Hansen had followed her onto the bus. And as it drove away, we had a perfect view of his eight-year-old face looking quizzically at us from the back platform. A million things go through a parent’s mind at a time like this, including, “How in the world is he ever going to find his way back when he doesn’t have any money, doesn’t know the city, and has no idea where we live?”

Panicking that she would never be able to find him again, Amy starting yelling, “Jump!” In a panic of what would happen if he jumped off a speeding bus onto a busy street, I started yelling, “Don’t jump!” Caught in that awkward moment of conflicting parental demands, Hansen froze, uncertain what to do. Luckily, an observant businessman grabbed him, stopped him from jumping, and notified the driver to pull over.

In the aftermath of our little scare, we went to a great deal of effort to establish a family safety travel plan. If any of the kids ever got separated from the family, they were to get off at the next bus or Tube stop and wait for the family to catch up.

Thank you so much for printing “Hidden Agony” in your March 1992 issue. It came at a point in my life when I really needed it the most. My older brother sexually abused me when I was about nine years old. I knew it was wrong, and felt awful and dirty because of it. I felt guilty, worthless, and totally confused. That was nine years ago, and it still affects me. Reading the article helped me realize I am not alone and there are people who understand. I am realizing it was not my fault and that our Father in Heaven understands and still loves me. Thank you very much.
Name Withheld

I’m from France, but my sister and I spent a year in the eastern United States as exchange students. During that time, we met lots of people, but the one who left the biggest impression on me was a girl named Destiny. She became one of my best friends. We did all kinds of things together, during school and after school, and with my sister. Destiny was always happy. That was the thing I liked most about her.

Then one day I saw her in a troubled mood I had never seen her in before. I asked her what was wrong. She said she didn’t want to talk about it. Then I noticed a paper in her hand. I took it and read it.

Someone had written unbelievably mean things to her. The anonymous note said she was ugly, that no one liked her, that she didn’t have any purpose for being alive, and that she ought to go and kill herself. I would never have believed someone like her could be attacked like that. It affected me deeply to know the pain she was going through.

From then on, I made an even bigger effort to be Destiny’s friend—not just to spend time with her, but to always be there for her, and especially to be sincere. I explained to her that she is a daughter of God, blessed with a divine nature, worthy of admiration and capable of great things.

It’s difficult to try to love yourself when others treat you badly and criticize you. As I befriended Destiny, I learned that sometimes the best way to help others is just to love them and to help them know who they truly are.

At the end of the year, when I had to return to France, Destiny told me something I will always treasure. “Emma,” she said, “you saved me. Before you came, I wanted to kill myself. But then you and your sister helped me a lot, just by caring. Today I love myself, and I love you.”

Elise wanted to dress up. She put on Dad’s shoes and a fake red nose.
I’m a funny clown.
Elise ran back to her room. She put on a yellow construction hat and grabbed a plastic hammer.
Elise hammered the floor before she ran back to her room.
I’m a strong builder.
Elise put on a glittery purple and silver gown and twirled out of her room.
Elise liked being a princess. She stayed dressed in her gown for the rest of the day.
I’m a beautiful princess.
At bedtime Elise changed into her favorite green pajamas. She walked out of her room and sat on Mom’s lap.
I am Elise. I am a child of God.

Over 25 years ago, while serving as bishop of the Aix-en-Provence Ward and working for Seminaries and Institutes, I met Sophronia, who had come from Tahiti to study in France. She was a young adult with solid gospel knowledge, having grown up in the Church. It was therefore disconcerting when she came into my office to announce she would no longer be attending church. I hoped it would be temporary but, indeed, she carried out her wish, and I never saw her again. For more than 20 years, Sophronia led a life distant from the gospel.
In 2024, when my wife and I arrived on our mission in Tahiti, we were delighted to see her again—and even happier to learn she had returned to the Church two years earlier. She shared what prompted her return:
“You have to know that throughout my time away from the Church, I kept my testimony of the gospel and had a deep desire for my daughter, Kahaili, to grow up as I had—in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I wanted her to know that God lives, that He loves her, and that He has a plan for her to return to live with Him and her family if she kept His commandments. Yet I didn’t want to return to church myself. Quite contradictory, wasn’t it?
“Kahaili occasionally attended meetings with my mother, but this sporadic attendance wouldn’t adequately prepare her for baptism. In 2022, when Kahaili was six and a half, I realized we only had a year and a half to prepare. I say ‘we’ because this process meant I would have to become involved personally, not relying on my mother or anyone else.
“I asked her, ‘Kahaili, do you want to be baptized when you turn eight?’
“Without hesitation, she replied, ‘Yes, Mom, I want to be baptized!’
“Her enthusiasm amazed me, and in that outpouring of fervor, I found the courage to make the sacrifice and return to church.
“We attended that first Sunday alone. But soon after, my husband, Cyril (although not a member of the Church), joined us, feeling his place was with us. When Kahaili expressed her desire for her father to baptize her, I responded with a forced smile, ‘Well, ask your daddy. You never know!’—not believing for a moment it could happen. Her father replied, ‘If I can, my daughter, I will.’”
The Lord then intervened in Cyril’s life. His conversion came through reading Ether 12:4: “Wherefore, whoso believeth in God might with surety hope for a better world, yea, even a place at the right hand of God, which hope cometh of faith, maketh an anchor to the souls of men, which would make them sure and steadfast, always abounding in good works, being led to glorify God.”
This scripture about hope becoming an anchor resonated deeply with Cyril as he recalled nearly drowning in the Tuamotus lagoon years earlier. While he was fishing, his boat had drifted away when its anchor came loose. Despite swimming desperately to catch up, he grew exhausted. Miraculously, the boat’s anchor caught on a coral formation, stopping the boat so he could reach it. Cyril still describes this as a miracle that saved his life.
Like a rebirth, Cyril was baptized on March 28, 2024—his 50th birthday. The following month, he baptized Kahaili. The crowning moment came on April 12, 2025, when Sophronia, Cyril, and Kahaili were sealed in the Papeete Tahiti Temple. We had the privilege of attending this sacred ceremony.
I share this story to testify that there is always hope when family members stray from the Church. Even if it takes a quarter century, through faith in Jesus Christ, a miracle is always possible.

In 2015, a three-year-old Arwen Villapando from Quezon City went to their neighborhood store to buy something. While waiting to be served, she was standing on a muddy sidewalk and noticed what looked like a large coin covered in petrified mud. Thinking it was money, she brought it home.
Her father Ireneo was newly-baptized member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and her mother Maribel was being taught by missionaries. They got curious about the muddy coin their youngest daughter brought home so they cleaned it up. It took days to get it clean, and they even had to use a steel brush. As they scraped off the mud, the words “Aaronic Priesthood” appeared and after a while images of the temple and three personages became visible. The familiar engravings prompted them to clean the medallion and keep it as a souvenir. They never told anyone about it until September 2017 during a Stake Family Discovery Day.
A booth Arwen’s mother visited had a small box wherein a familiar coin was displayed. She was astonished to see that it was similar to their coin! Upon asking, she learned that it was a medallion awarded to young men who successfully finished the Duty to God program.
The Villapando family finally shared the story of how they found the medallion. The members wanted to help them find the owner of the medallion but they had no leads. For the family, the medallion was a reminder from heavenly Father for them to stay true to the covenants they made as members of the Church.
Through the years, the medallion was a reminder to Brother Ireneo to magnify his priesthood and lead his family in living the gospel. To Sister Maribel, it was a lesson that material wealth or money is not the most important thing in the world: it’s having a happy and healthy family and staying united in serving the Lord. To Arwen, the medallion teaches her that she is a child of God, and that her potential for eternal growth is limitless.
To this day, the Villapando family keeps the medallion as a reminder that they made the right decision when they joined the Church, and they will do everything to stay on the covenant path.

In August of 1959, a groundbreaking ceremony was held at the site of what was to become Hyde Park Chapel in London. One worker on the site was struck by the peculiarities of the chapel that he was helping to build. Walter Frederick Kew would return home to his wife, Mary, and tell her about the lack of crucifixes and stained-glass windows. This was unlike any chapel either of them had seen.
On 26 February 1961, the Hyde Park Chapel was dedicated by President David O McKay (1873–1970). But to Walter Kew and his young family, this was just the end of a job. It would be a long time before the Latter-day Saints would again enter his mind.
Eleven years later, Mary received a knock at the door of their Hayes, West London home. It was two young missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Trying to put them off gently, she said they could return when Walter was home. Unexpectedly, that is exactly what they did! After a few more attempted visits, they knocked on the door during a downpour of rain. Feeling sorry for these young men, one of whom was limping, she immediately invited them inside.
The family was baptised in July 1972, in the very chapel that Walter had helped build all those years earlier.
Walter passed away peacefully in 2010, a member of the Milford Haven Branch, Merthyr Tydfil Stake.
50 years on, Walter and Mary’s family has grown to include grandchildren and great children, the majority of whom get to enjoy the blessings of the gospel and the promise of eternity together.

Through obedience we build spiritual strength that sustains us during times of adversity. My friend and counselor Joy F. Evans tells of such a time in her life. She had four young children and was expecting her fifth child. The much-anticipated day of birth arrived—about six weeks early. They had expected to have “a” baby, but they had twins instead—Michael and Amy, premature and very small.

They had already lost one child earlier, and Joy, being a nurse, felt certain those babies were also going to die. She was even afraid that her own lack of faith would contribute to their dying, and she wanted desperately for them to live!

In her words, “I think it was the first time I couldn’t say ‘Thy will be done.’ I just couldn’t say it.”

When her husband went home the second day after the babies’ birth, he prayed, not for the babies, but for his wife, their mother. Then a sweet assurance came to her that everything was all right: whatever happened was the Lord’s will. The babies did die, one after two days, and the other after three; but Joy still had her feeling of peace. She could draw from the wonderful reservoir of strength she had developed by keeping the commandments through the years.

Having the babies dressed appropriately for burial was very important to their mother, but they were so tiny that clothes could not be found small enough to fit them. When the Relief Society president came after the second baby died, she sensed Joy’s disappointment in not being able to dress the babies as she would like. The president went home and sewed busily that night. When she came back the next morning, the day of the graveside service, she had a darling little white suit for Michael and a dainty little white dress for Amy.

Peace can come to both the giver and the receiver as we follow the promptings of the Spirit to serve one another.

I will never forget the experience I had when I was called to serve as the Stake President of the Mesa Arizona Maricopa Stake. Elder Lawrence, the visiting Authority, invited my wife and me into the stake president's office and extended the calling, and I dutifully accepted. He then invited us to enter the High Council Room and to prayerfully consider people to recommend as my counselors. As I entered the High Council Room, I looked up at the north wall and there I saw the pictures of all the stake presidents who had previously served in the Maricopa Stake since it was organized, and my heart sunk.

The first six pictures were of men I had never known. They lived before my time. But I knew their names. They were great leaders both in the Church and in the community. The next five pictures were of men that I did know - Lorenzo Wright, to whom I had delivered newspapers as a boy, his son Harold Wright who later served as a mission president and a temple president, President J. Lamar Shelley, President W. Dea Montague, and President David K. Udall - great men whom I had sustained and revered all my like. I looked at my wife and said, "Kathleen, I don't think I can do this. I'm not in their league. My picture doesn't deserve to hang next to theirs." She said, "Well, don't tell me about it. You better talk to Elder Lawrence." Which I did.

I rehearsed my experience to Elder Lawrence thinking that he would try to reassure me that I could do it, that I had served as a Bishop and a counselor in the Stake Presidency, that I would have the support of the stake members and that I would be a fine stake president. But, to my surprise, when I told him that I didn't think I could do it, he responded, "Well, I suppose you're right." And I wondered who might be next on his list. But then he said, "You can't do it, Brother Andersen, but the Lord can. He has the power to do His work, and if you will be worthy and work hard, He will do it. You will see." And He did.

Like every mayor, Lindsay Anderson had to deal with the headaches of bureaucracy, endless meetings, and special-interest groups. Unlike other mayors, Lindsay had to do it all after school let out for the day.
West Bountiful, Utah, the town Lindsay calls home, is also home to a unique program that puts the youth of the town in the driver’s seat of city government. In order to give the youth an experience in leadership, the city council appoints a youth mayor and city council. Although the town has another, adult mayor, the youth mayor and council are responsible for activities and programs for the youth of West Bountiful. They also give their input and ideas to the regular city council.
“We hold meetings about every other week, and we plan for upcoming holidays like dances for the youth and Easter egg hunts for the little kids.”
Lindsay and her council have also begun work on ideas to help youth at risk, brainstorming ideas to help teenagers stay involved in positive activities. One successful program that is already in place is the West Bountiful Fourth of July dance.
“It’s great because we get such a huge response to the dance,” says Lindsay. “It’s a place to come and have a good time and stay out of trouble.”
As youth mayor, and before that as a member of the youth city council, Lindsay has learned a lot about how to manage people without stifling their creativity.
“During meetings it was hard to get everyone quiet, but that was kind of neat because they were all talking about their ideas. I’m not a shy person, but I don’t like to dominate people, so I like to be receptive to their ideas. That’s fun.”
Lindsay finds her inspiration in the two individuals she admires most: her father and Jesus Christ.
“My dad is a role model for sure. I love him. Also I learned that Jesus had a whole group of people to bring together. He taught by example and love. Like him, I hope that if I’m doing the right thing, people will follow in my footsteps.”
After a year in office, Lindsay has stepped down from her position, making way for a new youth mayor. As a Latter-day Saint, Lindsay believes in “obeying, honoring, and sustaining the law” (A of F 1:12). With a year of government experience under her belt, Lindsay may someday not only uphold the law; she may have a hand in making it.

Miles of gray desert ended abruptly in a miragelike valley of green. A cluster of neat houses sparsely shaded by poplar and cedar trees flanked both sides of the road. Near the center of town stood a bank, a mini-supermarket, a hardware and general mercantile store, and a combination garage and service station.
A few strings of tinsel and pasteboard Santa Claus placards swung wearily in the hot breeze above the street. In the doubtful shade of a large cedar stood a small frame building with a weathered sign that read: U.S. POST OFFICE, DESERT CITY, ARIZONA, POPULATION 467. The cedar was decorated with colored bulbs and strands of red and green paper. Inside the post office a wreath of holly hung over a grilled window which boasted a faded sign: GENERAL DELIVERY … STAMPS.
Behind the window, Luke Jones sorted the mail without conscious thought or effort. After 30 years in Desert City there was little he didn’t know about every resident—with one exception, the stranger who had arrived in town two days before. Luke shrugged, murmuring under his breath, “Curiosity killed the cat.” His lips twitched into a wry grin. “Must be a mighty long trail of dead cats behind me.”
Luke heard a scuffle of feet and turned toward the door. Mrs. Abbie Smithers walked in, and just behind her stood the stranger. Luke’s eyes watched the stranger, but his words were to Mrs. Smithers. “Got a postcard for you, Abbie. From your sister in Colorado. She ain’t going to get here for Christmas after all.”
“For pity’s sake!” Mrs. Smithers said. “I’ve cleaned house until the whole place shines like a new pin.”
“Don’t fret,” Luke said calmly. “It’s only a delay. Her little girl came down with the chicken pox. Here—you better read it yourself.”
As Mrs. Smithers left the window, the stranger asked, “Anything for Bill Anders?”
Luke’s sharp eyes studied him. He knew without looking that there was nothing, yet he turned and slowly sorted through some letters, his gaze darting sideways at the young man. “Ain’t you the fellar whose car broke down here day before yesterday?”
“That’s right.”
“Too bad,” Luke said. He looked directly at the serious-faced young man. “I hear it’s costing you $70 to get it fixed.” His glance was shrewd. “Garageman was in a while ago. Said it’s been ready for you since yesterday.”
“That’s right. Have I got a letter?”
“Where you expecting this letter from?”
Anders’s face flushed. “Look, I just want to know—”
“If I know where it’s from,” Luke interrupted, “maybe I can tell you when it’ll be here.”
Anders looked down at the floor. “It’s coming from Los Angeles. I wrote airmail two days ago when my car broke down.”
“Ain’t here yet,” Luke drawled.
Anders’s face shadowed. He turned to leave.
“Should be in tomorrow,” Luke said. “Mail gets in at 11:00.”
Anders limped toward the door, and Luke noticed that he wore a heavy brace with a built-up shoe on one foot.
“Hey, Anders!”
The young man stopped and turned around.
“You clear broke?” An angry flush reddened Anders’s face. “None of your business!”
Slyly Luke said, “You got money coming in that letter, ain’t you?”
“What’s it to you?” He stopped, took a deep breath, and said more quietly, “Yes, 100 dollars. Anything else you’d like to know?”
Without expression, Luke said, “From your folks, hey?”
Anders hobbled back to the window; his face was white. “Look, my folks are dead. A friend of mine in L.A. is sending me the money. At least, I asked him to send it, and I’m sure he will.”
“Maybe,” Luke said dryly, “maybe not.”
“What do you mean?”
“Sometimes you find out you ain’t got a friend when you ask for money.”
Anders stared at him, then said, “Jim isn’t that way.”
Luke could sense an uncertainty behind the words. “Where you going from here if this Jim sends the money?”
Bill Anders’s mood changed suddenly. He looked at Luke and grinned. “Darned if you aren’t the most nosy, old … curious man I’ve ever seen.”
“I’ve been told that.”
Anders laughed. “All right, you might as well know. I’ve got a job waiting for me in Albuquerque that I’ve been trying to get since high school. A good job. A big chance for me.” His voice lowered. “I’ve got to get there in time to begin work the day after Christmas. I’ve got to!” He turned abruptly and limped out to the street.
Luke rubbed his chin and stared after him.
At 11:30 the next morning Luke finished sorting the mail to the barely audible Christmas carols coming from the battered radio on the shelf. He examined again the letter addressed to Bill Anders. The postmark was smudged beyond recognition; the name and the address were typed. Luke held the envelope up to the light. He could see the outline of currency inside. He fingered the envelope. It crinkled like crisp, new greenbacks crinkle. Yes, it contained the 100 dollars Bill Anders was waiting for.
Luke’s lips thinned a little. A hundred dollars could mean a lot to a person, even to a man in his position. It could mean that new fishing outfit he wanted for his next vacation. He smiled at the thought. A Christmas gift to himself …
He fondled the letter. What he would have given years ago for this money! It might have changed his whole life—marriage, children, grandchildren—but he had been unable to borrow the money. Friends—even relatives—had turned him down. He slammed the letter into the mail slot. Why should he worry about a crippled young man, a stranger he would never see again?
Luke heard dragging footsteps on the wood floor and turned around to see a subdued Bill Anders, a face lined with worry, yet eyes which still held a lurking hope.
Luke hesitated, and then he reached into the slot and pulled out the mail under the letter A. Deliberately he sorted through the letters; indecision still weighed upon him. He didn’t have to give this letter to the boy. But if he didn’t, could he ever live with himself? Could he look into a mirror without seeing the disappointment on the young man’s face?
He held the letter away from the others.
“Is that for me?” Anders’s voice was strained.
Luke held the letter up to the light. “Postmark’s smudged. Can’t tell where it’s from.”
“Is it for me?”
“Ain’t got a return address on it,” Luke drawled.
“It’s from Jim! It must be!”
Luke watched the boy’s face. It was transformed. His eyes were shining now, the lines of strain and worry vanished. Luke waited a moment longer, and then he tossed the letter through the iron grill.
Anders ripped open the envelope. Five crisp, 20-dollar bills fell out. There was no message. Carefully he picked up the money, handling each greenback almost with reverence. He glanced up at Luke. “Jim isn’t one to write,” he explained, “but when a guy needs help, he comes through.”
“Guess you got a real friend, hey?” Luke said softly.
As he reached the door, his shoulders straight, Anders looked back and smiled. “Merry Christmas!”
Luke watched him limp down the street toward the garage. He sighed heavily and turned again to the mail rack. From the A slot he withdrew a postcard. It was postmarked Los Angeles and addressed to Bill Anders. The few scribbled words on the back were still fresh in Luke’s memory. “Dear Bill: Sorry I can’t help. Things are tight for me too. Jim.”
Slowly Luke placed the card on the counter and stamped it “UNCLAIMED.”
His voice was fretful as he muttered, “Curiosity cost more than a cat this time.” But he was smiling as he turned back to his work.
From the battered radio came the soft strains of “Peace on Earth, Good Will to Men.”

Kirsten, our second child, was born about 30 years ago after a difficult pregnancy. Immediately after her birth the doctors discovered a serious cardiac defect. Kirsten was quickly transferred to the intensive care unit of the children’s hospital. Laying his hands on her tiny body in the incubator, my husband gave her the first priesthood blessing of her life—a welcome gift for her arrival on this earth.
During the following days I often stood in front of the glass window looking into intensive care and watched as this little girl struggled for her life. We were not even allowed to touch her, and we did not know what to wish for her.
When I was discharged from the hospital without my baby, my husband and I had the desire to go to the temple. We could do nothing physically for our little Kirsten. We had to trust the Lord and the physicians. At that time the nearest temple was in Switzerland, far from our home in Hamburg, but we felt we had to gather strength there for the unknown future. We applied all of our faith in behalf of our daughter.
In the meantime the doctors diagnosed a rare cardiac defect they were not able to operate on at that time. The life expectancy of patients with this condition was very limited. But five weeks later we were able to take our little Kirsten home. While her body may have been suffering, her spirit was cheerful and willing to learn, and we could tell that she enjoyed living in our family and loved her older brother very much.
When Kirsten was four her condition deteriorated, and she became weaker and weaker. After praying, fasting, and visiting the temple, we decided upon surgery in a cardiac center in Munich, where doctors had recently repaired a complicated condition like Kirsten’s. Doctors actually had to change everything in the heart—make the ventricles smaller, close holes, and repair both valves. It was a genuine work of art. We were very worried about Kirsten, and our whole ward joined us in praying for her.
The doctors operated on Kirsten on May 21, 1980, and when she had gotten over the worst and was transferred from intensive care to another unit, we were full of confidence. Then a terrible thing happened. A tiny blood clot loosened from a repaired heart valve, settled in the brain, and within a few minutes caused a complete paralysis of her right side and a loss of speech. Kirsten’s eyes were full of fear and sadness. This was very difficult for us. I still see my husband and me standing in a phone booth in Munich, desperately calling our bishop. Within the next few days we received comforting letters from many ward members. Fasting also gave us renewed strength to encourage Kirsten and accept this affliction.
The following years were filled with therapies, and we rejoiced in every little bit of progress. When it was time for Kirsten to start school, her health was sufficient for her to attend a regular elementary school. She developed fabulous coping strategies with her left, usable hand. Her right leg became stronger, and she learned how to swim, bike, and ride horses. She rejoiced in her life. If a child laughed at her somewhat peculiar walk, I simply showed him or her pictures of Kirsten’s life, and the laughter turned into admiration.
Kirsten received much love from her grandparents and other relatives, and the ward fellowshipped her. In turn, she showed her joy in the gospel to everyone she met and has been the one in our family who has brought the most friends into the Church.
After graduating from high school Kirsten diligently completed training to be an industry saleswoman and also obtained her driver’s license. With her slightly converted car she could be more self-reliant, and she was able to participate in young single adult conferences and fulfill stake callings. In 1999 she took a year off to serve a Church-service mission in the Frankfurt temple.
Kirsten loves children and finds a special closeness to them. Her niece, nephew, and Primary children love her very much. She is an example for us, showing that one does not have to become bitter because of severe adversity, but that one can radiate cheerfulness.
In 2003 a very loving young man came into Kirsten’s life and became more and more important to her. He is a returned missionary who grew up in a faithful Latter-day Saint family. In August 2004 he and Kirsten were sealed in the Frankfurt temple. They are now mastering life’s challenges together.
Two of our children have physical impairments. You do not wish it, but if it happens, you have to accept it wholeheartedly, learn, and fight through the difficulties. You develop a keen ear for the promptings of the Holy Spirit. Our Father in Heaven knows which afflictions we need here on earth if we are to grow. I have often comforted my children with the words, “You will have these physical impairments only while you live on this earth, and mortality is very short compared to eternity.”

On June 5, 1932, Elder Widtsoe came to Naples to baptize me, but a revolution had started in Sicily, and the police at Palermo refused to let me leave the island. The following year, Elder Widtsoe asked me to translate the Joseph Smith pamphlet into Italian and to have 1,000 copies published. I took my translation to a printer, Joseph Gussio, who took the material to a Catholic bishop. The bishop ordered the printer to destroy the material. I sued the printer, but all I received from the court was an order to him to return the original booklet.

When Elder Widtsoe was released as president of the mission in 1934, I started correspondence with Elder Joseph F. Merrill, who succeeded him. He arranged to send me the Millennial Star, which I received until 1940 when World War II interrupted the subscription.

In January 1937, Elder Richard R. Lyman, successor to President Merrill, wrote that he and Elder Hugh B. Brown would be in Rome on a certain day. I could meet them there and be baptized. However, the letter was delayed because of war conditions, and I did not receive it in time.

From then until 1949, I was cut off from all news of the Church, but I remained a faithful follower and preached the gospel of the dispensation of the fulness of times. I had copies of the standard works, and I translated chapters into Italian and sent them to acquaintances with the greeting, “Good day. The morning breaks—Jehovah speaks!”

On February 13, 1949, I sent a letter to Elder Widtsoe at Church headquarters in Salt Lake City. Elder Widtsoe answered my letter on October 3, 1950, explaining that he had been in Norway. I sent him a long letter in reply in which I asked him to help me to be quickly baptized, because I felt that I had proven myself to be a faithful son and servant of God, observing the laws and commandments of his kingdom. Elder Widtsoe asked President Samuel E. Bringhurst of the Swiss-Austrian Mission to go to Sicily to baptize me.

On January 18, 1951, President Bringhurst arrived on the island and baptized me at Imerese. Apparently, this was the first baptism performed in Sicily. Then, on April 28, 1956, I entered the temple at Bern, Switzerland, and received my endowment. At last, to be in the presence of my Heavenly Father! I felt that God’s promise had been fully fulfilled—the day had come indeed when the source of the book was known to me and I was able to enjoy the effects of my faith.

During COVID-19 quarantine, Sunday could become too casual at home on our couches and in our comfy clothes. I wanted to do something to make sure Sunday was special. I decided to make my family our own sacrament tray as one of my spiritual goals for the new Children and Youth program.
First, I took a piece of wood and drilled holes in one half for cups. Then I carved out a tray on the other half for the bread. My abuelita helped me sand it until it was perfectly smooth. Then we attached a handle and sealed the wood.
The first Sunday we went to prepare the sacrament and couldn’t find the cups that fit the holes in the tray. We all looked for hours and hours for them. After a while I decided that with or without the perfect cups we were still going to partake of the sacrament. We weren’t going to let this stand in our way of keeping the Sabbath day holy.
That Sunday when we partook of the sacrament, it was with more stillness, intention, and reverence. I felt pleased with the goal I’d set and achieved. I know and could feel that my Heavenly Father was proud of me for my goal and the choices it involved.

I would like to conclude my talk today with a final story, the details of which have sustained me spiritually for many years.

The Answer to a Child’s Prayer

I am the youngest child of a family of 15 siblings, a large, blended family. My mother, Joann, was raised in a small town along the Snake River called Riverside, Idaho. She met her first husband, Calvin, in the community where she grew up. His family, the Wheelers, were farmers. Life was good for them. They homesteaded land in the Idaho desert and began farming sugar beets and potatoes. She had three children, my brothers Lynn, Ross, and Garth. In a tragic turn of events, her husband was killed while cutting timber in Montana to be used for a potato cellar leaving her a widow at a young age.

My father married his first wife in another part of Idaho, but also along the Snake River. She was his high school sweetheart. They had four children, my sisters, Laura and Louise, and my brothers Terry and Kelley. Tragically, his wife died after a struggle with cancer, leaving him a widower with four children.

A mutual friend introduced my father to my mother, and they married in September of 1958 after a short courtship. In Brady Bunch-like fashion, the four and the three children were brought together into a new family of seven children. My sister, Collette, and my brother, Kevin, were born in the ensuing years and the Green and Wheeler families later moved from Idaho to Bountiful, Utah. My father was working for Litton Industries on the west side of Salt Lake City and was attending night school at the community college (where I later spent twelve years teaching). Things were going well for my family.

However, in January of 1965, my father and my oldest brother, Terry, were involved in a car accident. Terry survived, but my father didn’t. Because I was born six months later, in July of that year, I didn’t get to meet my father. My mother now had the sole responsibility of raising 10 children.

During my fourth year of life, a series of events occurred that changed my family’s life. As a curious and observant 4-year-old, I asked my mother one day why our family did not have a father. She told me that my Heavenly Father had taken my father because he needed him to do his important work on the other side of the veil, but if I would pray with faith, he would send me another father to take my father’s place. For a four-year old, that seemed like a simple request. So, I prayed for a father.

Considering my family’s situation at the time, this was somewhat of a tall order. Mom had tried to socialize and attend older single adult events, but, as she reported later in her life, it was difficult because she had 10 children to care for and all of the men who came to those social events knew it and kept their distance. At one Friday night church dance, a new man was introduced to her, and according to her, he was a good dancer. However, she knew that if she let him go to meet the other men at the gathering, they would tell him to stay clear of her because of her situation. So, mom did the only practical thing she could think to do, she held onto him and danced with him all night. This was the beginning of their courtship, which later ended in marriage where the final five, all boys, of the 15 were added to the family of 10. So, with that marriage, a four-year old child received a confirmation that Heavenly Father loved him and answered his prayers. He also got a good father who lived a long life devoted to family and God.

Perhaps the greatest way my mission prepared me for military service was what it taught me about the power of example. While serving with the 101st Airborne Division, I have come to realize how powerful a good example can be to those with whom I serve. People say they never hear me use profanity or see me drink alcohol or view pornography. A lot of the guys in my unit have asked me why I won’t participate in those activities and have questioned me about the Church and what it teaches. I always explain my values, telling them my religion teaches me that certain things are bad for me and to abstain from them. Knowing that others are noticing my actions helps me strive to be a good example of what a Latter-day Saint should be.

I’m a convert. But it took me six years to join The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
One of the reasons was that growing up, I didn’t have a very good opinion about the Church. If you’d read what I read about it in my school textbook when I was 12 years old, you might have been that way too. The things it said weren’t very nice. And since I’d never met a Latter-day Saint, I accepted what I read as truth.
I grew up in Kentucky, USA. Where I lived, there were very few members of the Church. So I was surprised when the Martinez family moved into our neighborhood when I was 13.
Everybody liked them. They were kind and easy to get along with. They had six kids—which seemed huge! And they had a son my age who quickly became my best friend.
Actually, I think he was everybody’s best friend. There was a light about Mateo that just drew people to him. So even though I thought his church was a little strange, pretty soon that didn’t bother me because of our friendship.
A couple of years later, Mateo and I entered high school. That’s when I met other members of the Church. There were several at our school, and others in the community. Over time, they would talk about their lives and bring up the Church naturally. Eventually I started going to Church activities, played basketball with other youth, and even went to early morning seminary for a few weeks.
I had a lot of good friends who chose to follow good standards, but there was something special about my Latter-day Saint friends. Of course, they didn’t drink or smoke or do drugs. And while some of my friends were getting involved physically with their boyfriend or girlfriend, these ones didn’t. But it was even more than that. There was a light about them that was wholesome. They never pushed the gospel on me—they just lived it. When the moment was right, they would share little things with me.
“They never pushed the gospel on me—they just lived it.”
And the Martinez family was always so open and generous. I was welcome at their house anytime. And their kitchen was always open too!
Still, I was pretty set in my religion, and I still thought some of the things Mateo believed were weird. I also had a strong personality. Even though I mostly lived the standards of the Church, I didn’t want anyone telling me what my standards ought to be.
At the same time, I felt lost spiritually. I think that can happen when you feel drawn toward the light and goodness of the gospel but push it away. Though I believed in God, I struggled to accept that God could or would be actively involved in my life. And yet I was attracted to the light of the gospel in other people.
That’s probably why I decided to join my friends at a Church school when I was 18. We attended Brigham Young University in Provo, Utah, USA, where I met even more members of the Church. Good people. Kind people. Filled with light, just like back home. And I still didn’t join the Church.
After that first year in school, I ran out of money and went back to Kentucky to live with my dad. I was 19, and all my friends began to leave to serve missions or were still in Utah.
But the amazing thing was that God put other awesome people in my life. The Martinez family still lived nearby and invited me into their home whenever I wanted. And I learned that there were other Latter-day Saints my age living nearby as well. All of them stood by me as I wrestled with my beliefs.
No one pushed me. No one pressured me. They were just good to me.
Finally, after six long years, I started studying with the missionaries. It took a lot of deep questioning, but with kindness and encouragement of friends, I was finally ready to open my heart, study and pray about the Book of Mormon, recognize the Spirit, and accept baptism.
Of all the things that helped me in my journey, probably the most important was the patient, kind support of other people.
“Of all the things that helped me in my journey, probably the most important was the patient, kind support of other people.”

Rainbow stepped from the shelter of the wigwam just as the soft summer rain stopped. Turning her face to the sun and closing her dark eyes, she took a deep breath. Everything smelled fresh and new after a rain.
“I see Rainbow enjoys the scent of the earth after its bath too.” Rainbow didn’t have to look to see who had spoken to her, for she knew well the voice of her great-grandfather.
“Oh, Great-Grandfather, isn’t it lovely!” she exulted. Her delight in it was even greater now that she was sharing it with the person she loved most.
Great-Grandfather nodded. He patted the ground, inviting Rainbow to sit with him. “That which you are named after is especially beautiful this day,” he said, looking above the tall trees to the colored arch stretching across the sky.
Rainbow loved the many colors of the rainbow, but every time she saw one, she was reminded of her own plainness. She felt her spirits sinking, and the world no longer seemed as lovely as it had a short time ago.
Sensing Rainbow’s mood changing, Great-Grandfather asked, “Why do you grow sad?” When she didn’t answer, they both sat in silence. He would let her decide when the time was right for talking.
This was Rainbow’s thirteenth summer, and her sorrow grew deeper with each one. The daughter of a Sioux chief, she was proud of her heritage, yet …
“Great-Grandfather, Running Antelope is able to run with the swiftness of an antelope, isn’t he?”
Great-Grandfather gave Rainbow his complete attention, “Yes, he is as quick and surefooted as an antelope.”
“My other brother, Red Fox, is skillful and cunning.”
“As the red fox is, so is he.”
While they talked, Rainbow had been watching the multicolored rainbow grow pale and fade away. I wish that I, too, could fade away, she thought. “Great-Grandfather, on the day of my birth, you chose my name. Is that not true?”
“That is true.”
Picking at the fringe on her dress, Rainbow whispered sadly, “But the rainbow is beautiful.”
“Yes, it is beautiful—as are you.”
She was surprised at his answer. No one had ever told her that she was beautiful, and she knew why. She was not beautiful; not even pretty.
“Great-Grandfather, I love you for saying so, but I am plain, and I know it.”
The old man rose on wavering legs. He paused, letting his limbs gain strength. “Stay here; I will return.”
Lost in her misery, Rainbow hardly noticed his absence. It haunted her that she couldn’t live up to her name as her brothers lived up to theirs.
She was shaken out of her thoughts when something was pressed into her hand. Looking up, she found Great-Grandfather had returned. He squatted beside her and said, “As a child, you received joy from this. Do you remember?”
She nodded, gazing at the smooth object she held. The solid glass bar had three sides, each end exactly like the other. It was transparent, but by holding it just right, she could see the seven colors of the rainbow reflected on a boulder or on the side of the wigwam.
“I have had this many years,” Great-Grandfather told her. “When you were a baby and I first held you, I knew you to be as this glass.”
Rainbow looked at him in wonder. “How can that be?”
“The glass, though attractive, is plain. Its beauty is hidden, yet is always there. To me, you are beautiful. I see the colors of the rainbow within you. They radiate your inner beauty with every smile and every tear for others.”
Rainbow threw her arms around him. “I love you, Great-Grandfather!”
“And I love you, beautiful Rainbow.”

As a boy Elder Hales loved baseball. In high school he became the pitcher for the school’s baseball team. Once he lost three games in a row, one to nothing. One of the games was a no-hitter. The school newspaper had an article called “Hard-Luck Hales Loses Again.”
Robert told his coach he was going to quit. His coach told him that he just needed to stop wearing out his arm. He was pitching fastballs before the games to show off. Robert listened. The next game he pitched so well that the other team never scored a single run. Because he listened to his coach, he was able to play better. Robert learned that listening to Heavenly Father is like that too. When we listen to Heavenly Father, we can do well.

One Sunday after church, my mother, my brothers, and I were in the car ready to go home. But we could not find the car key. Our dad had put all our bags in the car and walked home with my younger sister in the stroller. We looked everywhere for the key, but we could not find it. In Primary and family home evening, I have learned that we should always pray when we need help. I told my mom that we should pray so Heavenly Father could help us. My mom was very happy, and we prayed together. Suddenly our grandmother drove up and brought us the key. Our dad had accidentally taken the key and sent it back with our grandmother. I know that Heavenly Father helped us by sending our grandmother. He will always help us, even through other people.