Gospel Story Finder

When my parents got married, they bought the refrigerator secondhand. My mother took it upon herself to paint it a strange yellow color I have never seen on any other refrigerator. (She also ended up painting the floor, some of the other furniture, and a new dress.) But we actually saw the strange yellow color only when the refrigerator broke down, had to have a new part, and Mama took everything off of it.
Its color was hidden because my mother covered it with all sorts of things: a good cartoon from the newspaper, a well-known saying, my dad’s picture, scriptures to be memorized, the ticket from the cleaners, an ad for some product, a letter to be answered, a recipe, the shopping list, the ward telephone directory, and even our report cards. As we got older, she put up lists of weekly assignments, schedules, and messages for the family. We didn’t have a chalkboard or a bulletin board, so our parents also posted gospel pictures on the refrigerator.
In February, my mom would put up a big heart with all our names written on it; in March, her wedding picture and a list of some things she would like for her birthday. June she dedicated to Dad, because it was the month of his birthday—she did the same in the month each of us was born. In September, a Mexican flag was displayed. In November, the month in which my parents remembered their ancestors, Mom put up pictures of loved ones, providing an opening to talk about them. In December, she displayed a small nativity scene she had fashioned out of cloth.
Each time one of us went on a mission, Mom stuck a missionary photo on the fridge and didn’t take it down until our return. When Mom’s only brother died, she displayed on the refrigerator a picture of the two of them together and never took it down. She didn’t ever mention it, but to see her so profoundly contemplating that picture, we knew how much her brother meant to her.
Together, the refrigerator and my mother united the family.

The Targeteer A classes of the Orem Fourteenth Ward decided to do something to beautify our sacrament trays. This was done in secret so that only the members of the class and our teacher knew about it. Everyone rolled up their sleeves and really scrubbed and polished the trays. We became so enthusiastic that one class member suggested that we also clean the storage shelves. We felt good about it and many of the ward members commented on the gleaming silver trays.
We also baked cookies at our teacher’s home and took them to some of the sick and elderly people of the ward where we sang songs and visited.

I would like to conclude with a personal experience that occurred at our home several years ago. I had gone outside to turn on our barbecue grill, when I noticed a quail sitting on the railing of our deck. I only noticed the quail because it was making a terrible racket- to the point of being annoying. As I looked across my yard in the direction the quail was directing the noise, I noticed the neighbor's cat sitting under our tree. I became intrigued and walked over toward the cat. As I got close, I noticed that the cat had something in its mouth, and I came to see that it was a tiny baby quail. Armed with my barbecue utensil, I scared the cat away, and it dropped the baby quail from its mouth onto the grass. The baby quail was still alive, so I went back into the house to give the mother quail a chance to attend to its missing baby. I gathered my family and together we watched from the window. Soon thereafter, the mother quail flew down to the ground, and began to make a call that was noticeably different than the one she had made before. In response to the call, we were all surprised to see not just one, but five, baby quail immediately pop up from different areas of the grass, and began to quickly make their way to their mother. The mother continued making the sound until all of the baby quail, including the one that had been in the cat's mouth, had all arrived safely back to her.

It became clear that the initial call made by the mother quail was a voice of warning- instructing the baby quail to take deep cover in the grass. The latter sound was a call to gather. Thus, there was safety and security to be had for the baby quail in both recognizing and responding to the specific instruction that was given.

I first met Carly when she was 12 years old. A new and inexperienced Beehive, there were some temporary bumps in her world. Listen to her voice as she describes some of her feelings [a short videotaped segment was shown]:
“Change has always been real hard for me. My problems aren’t that bad, but when I look at them it just seems like they are the worst in the world when I have them. Everyone was kind of worrying about themselves, you know. I was kind of alone all the time. And I didn’t ever want to go to school. I just felt like Heavenly Father didn’t care if I was sad. And he didn’t care if I was upset or didn’t have any friends. And I just felt like he wasn’t there. I just felt like no one really cared.”
This is Carly. She is now 16.
“When I hear my 12-year-old self talk, I remember how big those problems seemed then and how small they are now. I remember how much I wanted a magic solution. I now believe that there isn’t just one thing that can make everything all right. The thing I did know when I was 12 was that I wanted to be good. That desire kept me reading my scriptures, going to church, and saying my prayers. Now, four years later, I feel so different, mostly because I kept doing those things. I now get answers from the scriptures, I am closer to the Lord through prayer, and I understand the lessons in church so much better.
“My dad has a saying on the wall: ‘Success seems to be largely a matter of hanging on after others have let go’ [William Feather]. I am so glad I hung on! I even think we need those times where we have nothing left in us. They help us build a trust and dependency on the Lord.
“Some popular songs and movies teach us to believe that nothing really matters, that we should give up because everything is temporary anyway. We know differently. We have the gospel. It isn’t temporary. It is eternal. We can’t quit. We can’t give up.
We may not see it now, but everything we do, every day we live is for a purpose. And we have a Heavenly Father who will always be there to lift us up and cheer us on.”

Let me tell another story from my family. My mother didn't come from a very religious home. She married my dad when they were 19 and 20. My dad had stopped going to church when he was 14 and my mother was not a member of the Church. But in their neighborhood near their small apartment they became friends with another young couple who had both just joined the Church. Keith and Margaret Miller were on fire with the gospel and the scriptures. They loved to talk about how happy they were and what they were learning. They shared these things with my parents as they socialized and finally invited my parents to hear the missionaries.
My parents came into the gospel just before I was born. Keith and Margaret's encounter with the restored gospel and with the Savior created something that did not exist before—a desire on the part of their friends, my parents, to have religion and truth guide their family. It drastically changed my parents' trajectory. Now they have lived more than 50 years in the gospel. And their encounter with Jesus Christ and his gospel changed everything about my own life. How thankful I am that when Keith and Margaret felt joy, they expressed it by creating a friendship that hadn't existed before. They were creators of eternal friends.

One final example I’d like to share is that of Elder Robert D. Hales, who grew up on Long Island, about 30 miles from New York City. His father assigned him a number of chores involving yard work, and he thought he had worked pretty hard. Then, one spring day, his father said, “You’re never going to learn to work until you go out and work on the ranch with your Uncle Frank.” As a result, he spent that summer in Skull Valley, near Tooele, Utah, learning how to work.

Regarding that summer, Elder Hales recounted, “Ranch life was an education for me. I can remember [my] feelings when I first realized that an enormous amount of preparation was necessary before the crops were brought in. We had to plow, harrow, plant, cultivate, weed, irrigate, and then continue to cultivate, weed, and irrigate, endlessly it seemed. That summer is a cherished part of my heritage because it was there, in [that] desolate, remote corner of the world, that I learned the law of the harvest --that you don’t get something for nothing in life” (“Channeling Your Creativity,” New Era, Elder Robert D. Hales, August, 1983).

Like many of you, I am frequently before those who are not of our faith, and the challenge is great and wonderful. Not long ago I was given a little honor before a great group of non-Latter-day Saint athletes. In the proceedings of the convention, one of my great idols, a Hall of Famer, was to take the rostrum and speak to us. Being the great athlete that he was, respected by many, I was shocked to hear his language as he repeatedly took the name of the Lord in vain. As I sat there, I wondered, “What do you do as a Latter-day Saint in these kinds of social situations?” And then I remembered—again, a great influence in my life—the counsel from a prophet and an experience that he had had one time coming out of surgery. An orderly who was wheeling the prophet back to his hospital room on a little metal cart caught his hand between the door and the cart in the elevator and, not thinking, let go with a few adjectives, taking the name of the Lord in vain in the process. And a prophet, sick as he was physically but very well spiritually, lifted his head and said, “Please don’t talk that way—that’s my best friend.”

To Martin Harris the Savior waxed even more explicit about the link between repentance and his atonement. Early in June 1829, Joseph and Martin asked Palmyra printer Egbert Grandin to publish the Book of Mormon. Grandin was reluctant, and agreed to the controversial project only after Martin returned with news that a Rochester printer would do the publishing if Grandin refused. They worked out an agreement in which Grandin would print and bind 5000 copies of the Book of Mormon for $3000, with Martin putting up more than 150 acres of land as collateral. Martin mortgaged the land on August 25. He had eighteen months to pay the debt, hopefully with proceeds from book sales, or else Grandin could sell the property. Once the paperwork was finished, Grandin's employees began printing.

In January 1830, Joseph and Martin agreed to share profits from the Book of Mormon until Martin's mortgage was paid. In March, as the first copies came from the press, Martin became alarmed. He met Joseph on the road from his Pennsylvania home to Palmyra to check on the printing. Arms full of books, a distraught Martin Harris told Joseph, "the books will not sell for nobody wants them."

"I think they will sell well," Joseph responded. "I want a commandment," Martin demanded, seeking a reassuring revelation. "Fulfill what you have got," replied Joseph, referring to the Lord's earlier instructions to Martin (see D&C sections 5 and 17). "I must have a commandment," Martin said, increasingly anxious.

Martin stayed that night with Joseph at the Smith home. Restless, he had an anxious dream that an enormous dog was pouncing on him. He rose in the morning, again demanded a revelation, and left for home. That afternoon Joseph received Doctrine and Covenants section 19 as Oliver Cowdery scribed.

Six times in that section the Savior commands Martin to repent in order to escape suffering that the Lord alone could fathom. "I . . . have suffered these things for all, [so] that they might not suffer if they would repent;" the Savior told Martin, "but if they would not repent they must suffer, even as I" (D&C 19:16-17).

Recently I returned home from a mission presidents’ seminar. We held meetings all day, and then I caught an airplane back to Salt Lake City. By the time I arrived home I had been up about 17 hours. I changed into my sleep wear and climbed in bed. My wife and I talked for a few moments; then the telephone rang.
A boyhood friend, one I had known since my early school days, was calling me. “Brother Vaughn,” he said in a trembling voice, “my daughter is back in the hospital. She has had several major seizures. She has stopped breathing twice. She is on oxygen but seems to be failing fast.”
I asked if she had been administered to.
“No, we were hoping you could come and bless her.”
The physical body was tired. I felt I had earned the rest. I also knew my wife was glad to have me home for a while and the flesh wavered. However, the spirit knew precisely what was to be done. I said, “Joe, I will be there in about 30 minutes.” We live about a half an hour from the University of Utah Hospital, in Salt Lake City.
I turned to my wife and asked her if she would like to go with me. This noble woman said yes. We both got up, dressed, and drove to the hospital.
I embraced this sweet friend that I had known for more than 46 years. We found a little room, and along with family members we joined in a prayer of great faith.
Then Joe and I went to the intensive care room and gave his daughter a blessing. We pleaded with the Lord and had a sweet, peaceful assurance come over us that she was in his care. At the time, I wondered whether or not she would live through the blessing.
My sweet wife waited in the car. We drove home, and we were not tired or exhausted any more. We were deeply grateful to be worthy enough to be called upon. At the time of the writing of this article, Joe’s daughter is alive. She is a miracle.

One such step just concluded for our oldest son Jonathan who returned just two weeks ago from serving in the Wellington, New Zealand mission. In one of Jonathan's last emails he said:
"I love New Zealand, and I love the people here. God has blessed me with so much love for so many people. ... I find it easier to love than I ever have before. I also love God and His Son more than I ever have before. What a great blessing."[1]
That season of missionary service provided Jonathan with the opportunity to learn more about the Savior, to serve Him and His children, and to become more like Him.
I sense that a similar thing is happening for our second son, Spencer, who will return next week from serving in the Johannesburg, South Africa mission.
We read in his emails about the things that he is learning, and the things that he is doing, and occasionally we get a glimpse into his heart, and into who he is becoming. For example, a few months ago he wrote the following:
"On Saturday we went to the funeral of the brother who passed away last week. It was a unique experience. Me, my companion, and one other sister were the only white people in the congregation of about 250-300. There was a LOT of singing. I loved the beautiful African songs. I played the piano for the normal hymns and gave the closing prayer. I prayed in Zulu for a small part of the prayer. I wanted to let the people know that I am African too."[2]
These comments, along with some of the pictures we receive from him, indicate that a love for Africa and for the African people is growing in his heart and changing who he is. (I'm not sure, but I don't think that this is his normal proselyting attire.)

When Elder Abrea was president of the Argentina Rosario Mission, his daughters noted that he regularly interviewed all the missionaries under his direction. They asked him for the same one-on-one opportunity. Through these interviews, he has often provided exactly the counsel his daughters needed to handle problems. His technique is not to tell them just what to do; instead, they talk about the problems and arrive at a solution together. “Things that seem really difficult for me seem easy for him,” Claudia comments.

“Invite Mr. Wood* to seminary.” The thought popped into my mind as soon as I heard the announcement, and I immediately thought it was crazy. Why would I invite my music teacher to come to seminary at 5:30 in the morning?
The seminary president had just told our class that we would be having a teacher appreciation day. We were challenged to invite some of our schoolteachers to join us for a morning of seminary where we would thank them for their service. The entire week after hearing this announcement, I thought about inviting Mr. Wood. Every time I went to seminary or saw him in music class, the thought came back: “Invite Mr. Wood to seminary.” After several days of this, I couldn’t ignore the thought any longer.
One morning as all the students in music class were getting out their instruments, I put my trombone aside and approached Mr. Wood. My heart was pounding and my hands were shaking, but when I opened my mouth to extend the invitation, I felt comfort.
To my surprise, Mr. Wood said that he would come! He was curious about why I went to seminary every morning before school and wanted to learn more. After giving him all the details, I walked away full of joy.
During this experience, I didn’t feel a burning in the bosom (see D&C 9:8). But I did feel the Holy Ghost. The recurring thought to invite Mr. Wood (see D&C 128:1), the comfort I felt when I invited him (see John 14:26), and the joy I felt after I invited him (see Galatians 5:22) all came from the Spirit. But if I had been looking only for a burning in the bosom, I might not have recognized when the Holy Ghost was prompting me.

David Conrad makes a fine-looking dachshund out of an orange balloon. He can whip out a wiener dog in about 30 seconds. A twist here and a twist there. Voila!
Then there is Dan Christensen, who likes doing magic tricks, has built a gas-powered airplane, collects foreign money, and started the MHL, the Mormon Hockey League, in his neighborhood.
Andrew Willis sings. Baritone, in case you’re wondering. He also likes history and science, and he just graduated from high school.
But let’s be honest about this. We’re not writing about these guys because of dachshunds, deep voices, and disappearing rabbits. And, actually, they don’t want to talk about their hobbies. They’d rather discuss other areas of their lives.
Okay, David, take it away.
“At Christmastime, I got my entire ward together and we had a collection of toys and food for needy families in our ward and stake area. We had one gentleman in the ward dress up like Santa Claus, and I put on a red hat—I was Santa’s helper—and we went door to door delivering food and toys. When we knocked on the doors and said ‘It’s Santa Claus,’ the kids’ jaws dropped. They were so happy, all of them jumping around.”
Your turn, Dan.
“My sister Nicole volunteered at a hospital, and so I just followed after her when I was old enough. I like volunteering. I like helping people.”
And, finally, Andrew.
“My friends and I love to hang out with Peter and do stuff. We’ll always include Peter. We’ll go out in the car; we’ll rent a movie. Sometimes we’ll take Pete out with us to see a flick and get something to eat.”
Peter, Andrew’s 15-year-old brother, has Down’s syndrome.
“All my friends like to come to my house, and I like hanging around my family. We have a warm house, and my best friend has said that,” adds Andrew, whose thoughts about a warm house have nothing to do with the furnace.
And the stories don’t stop here.
Becky Altimirano, 18, worked with the Fraternal Order of Police and planned a Christmas party for handicapped children in her area.
“You can make a difference in someone’s life, and that’s what I felt,” she says. “I felt really good about it.”
So did Sarah Drinkwater, 16, after she finished a project similar to David’s. For many years her ward had collected food and toys during Christmas to give to needy families. But the youth never had an opportunity to meet the families receiving the assistance. When Sarah, a member of the Sewell Ward, was called as Mia Maid president, she decided to change things. She wanted the youth to meet the people they were serving.
“I wanted to do something for the people living in the battered women’s shelter, so we decided to have a party for them at the ward,” she says.
Before the day was over, women and their children had received gifts and food, and Sarah knew her idea was a good one. “You just can’t replace the personal contact. We had one-on-one contact, and each child was assigned a big sister or big brother from the Young Men and Young Women. We found out they are real people. It was just great.”
David, Dan, Andrew, Becky, and Sarah are all members of the Cherry Hill New Jersey Stake, and all of them, plus many others, are finding the time to make differences in their communities. As they do, they see the differences in their own lives.
In Medford, New Jersey, Kristin Feuz, 17, a member of the Medford Ward, noticed that Medford was celebrating its 150th anniversary in 1997, which coincided with the Church’s sesquicentennial celebration. So she went to work. Along with other members of her ward, she helped plant flowers and clean up several different areas in Medford.
Shall we go on?
Robert Bramhall affiliated himself with a postmen’s food drive, where mail carriers picked up nonperishable food. The food, which was taken to a Camden, New Jersey, food bank, then had to be sorted. That’s where Robert came in. He had helped do the same thing when Andrew was working on his Eagle Scout project, so he knew what he was doing.
“We had about 100 tons of food, and between everybody that helped, we put in more than 150 hours into the project. It gave me a good feeling to know that we were doing something that was going to affect so many people,” he says.
So what’s the deal? Why are all these young people, with busy lives of their own, taking so much time to do things for others?
“I’ve thought more about my brother this year than usual because of scripture mastery [in seminary],” Andrew says. “One scripture we did this year was the scripture in Matthew, the one that says ‘Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me’ (see Matt. 25:40). Every year there is something about service, and service has been on my mind more than it has before because it seems to be so stressed. I know that’s really important, to please God.”
“You know,” adds Dan, “how there’s that song ‘Because I Have Been Given Much’? (Hymns, no. 219). Well, I, too, must give. It’s my way of giving, other than tithing. Helping other people and seeing their reactions. It helps to strengthen my testimony to see the expressions on people’s faces when I’m serving them.”
Dan remembers the times when he wishes he could do more than answer phones, sort files, or distribute magazines and water to the hospital’s patients. “There are some people who really look like they are in pain, and there’s nothing I can do about it. What I do is worth it, though. If you can just help one person, that’s great.”
David, who calls himself “the balloon guy” and has business cards to prove it, shares many of Dan’s feelings.
He runs his own business working parties and making balloon animals to entertain children. David’s work provides a pretty good cash flow for somebody who wants to major in music in college and is preparing for a mission. “But I like to incorporate service and my work together. I was at this fund-raiser where I was doing balloons there for the kids. It was fun.” When asked, only then does he confess he volunteered his time and accepted no money.
“You get that good feeling of service,” he adds.
There you have it, a group of young people who have learned that service is important, and that stepping outside of their own needs and wants to influence others for good is a richly rewarding pursuit. Sure they’re busy, and they don’t have to do the things they do.
But since they began making time for others, they’ve learned something very important. They might like to sing, play hockey, and twist balloons into animals, but they love to serve.

I was converted to the gospel when I was very young. Throughout my youth, I held different Church callings, and it is impossible to describe the joy I received from them. But one of the most remarkable experiences I had as a young person came the week before my mission.

I turned in my mission papers in January 1976. After some time, which seemed very long to me, I received a letter calling me to serve in the México Monterrey Mission.

Because my stake president was about to be released, he set me apart a week before I was to leave for my mission. He cautioned me about how I would need to live now that I had been set apart, but we agreed that I would continue at my job for one more week—as I had planned. I wanted to continue working as long as possible to earn more money for my mission and to help my family. As I left the stake president’s home on the Sunday evening I was set apart, I felt a beautiful warmth fill my entire body.

The next morning I got up to go to work as usual. As I entered the office building where I worked, I greeted the elevator operator and told him which floor I wanted. The operator did not answer but just stared at me. Then the owners of my company got on the elevator, and we greeted each other. After the elevator doors closed, I noticed my bosses were staring at me too. They asked me what had happened. I answered that nothing had happened.

When I walked into the department where I worked, my coworkers stopped talking and looked at me. I still could not understand why.

Later that day my bosses called me into their office. They asked me to recommend someone responsible to take my place. Then they asked why I seemed so different. I told them about my religion and my mission. They congratulated me and refused to accept my resignation. They said they would instead allow me to take leave for a year and a half so I wouldn’t lose my job benefits. And they asked me to return to work as soon as I finished my mission.

As I looked at my coworkers on my last day of work, I realized how much I loved them, even though their standards were very different from mine. María, who worked near me, asked, “What is happening to you? Why are you so different?” She said she could see a light in my countenance. “Why is that?” she asked.

Finally I began to understand the importance of missionary work from a new perspective. I had been called as a servant of the Lord, and the influence of the Holy Ghost was shining through me.

I am grateful to our Heavenly Father for that week of preparation before my mission. I am also grateful for my coworkers. They strengthened my testimony of the gospel by letting me see the importance of my calling through their eyes.

On November 9, 1989, an East German government official mistakenly announced that effective immediately, the citizens of the capital city were allowed to pass through the Berlin Wall. A few minutes later the usually bored border guards had no choice but to allow the large and growing crowd to leave the territory of the German Democratic Republic.
My best friend, Jakub Górowski, and I—then still in our teens—watched the unexpected miracle unfold on television from our home in Poland. The world was truly on fire but not a destructive one. The spirit of freedom and hope filled the hearts of millions of people.
For Jakub and me, our dream had been to one day move from Poland to the West—Denmark, Sweden, West Germany. We were inspired by American movies and TV shows. My favorite was The Wonder Years. I loved the atmosphere of American suburban life.
I don’t think anybody on either side of the Iron Curtain expected the Cold War to end. But Heavenly Father had a different plan. In 1975, unbeknownst to us, President Spencer W. Kimball (1895–1985) had invited Latter-day Saints to “join in a serious continuous petition to the Lord to open the gates of the nations and soften the hearts of the kings and the rulers to the end that missionaries may enter all the lands and teach the gospel.”1
Two years later, President Kimball visited Warsaw, Poland. One morning, accompanied by a small group of his associates, including Elder Russell M. Nelson, President Kimball left his hotel, walked by the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, and entered Saski Park. Not far from a large fountain that still stands there today, he knelt and rededicated Poland for the preaching of the gospel.
A decade of unrest and mass protests followed. While the adults distrusted and opposed the political leaders, many young people questioned some of the values, traditions, and attitudes of their parents. My friend Jakub and I felt disillusioned with Christianity as we understood it. He lost interest in religion in general, while I was drawn toward philosophies that originated in Asia.
In April 1990, Jakub and I hitchhiked to Austria. In Vienna we met two nice women standing on the sidewalk of a busy street. One of them was holding the Book of Mormon in Polish. She told us about Jesus’s visit to the people of ancient America and promised to mail the book to our homes if we gave her our addresses. We also opened our address books and copied addresses of many of our friends. We thought it would be a nice surprise for them to receive a gift.
A few months later the Poland Warsaw Mission was established, and four missionaries arrived in our city. Later, I learned that the large number of “referrals”—our friends’ addresses—played a key role in the decision to open our city for the missionaries. To my surprise a few months later, Jakub told me that two “Mormon” missionaries had visited him and that he had decided to join their church.
I was hurt by his announcement. I had tried for years to interest him in religion but with no success. How could strangers from a different country suddenly convert him? I was determined to face them and show Jakub they had no chance in a debate with me.
When I saw the two young, smiling missionaries standing in the doorway of my parents’ apartment, I forgot about my goal to prove them wrong. They were happy and funny. They asked me lots of questions about myself and my beliefs. They respected my convictions. Later they told me that during that first meeting with the arrogant guy with long hair and ripped jeans who was smoking cigarettes, they had a hard time imagining I would ever be interested in becoming a follower of Jesus Christ. But I felt something special in their presence, and I was intrigued that their Church was the only Christian denomination I knew of that believed in a premortal existence.
I was also impressed with their testimonies and the strong convictions of Jakub and Robert ?elewski, his new friend from the Church. Robert was a psychologist, an intelligent but down-to-earth man whose insights and experiences strengthened my interest in the religion of the Latter-day Saints.
Everything the elders, Jakub, and Robert told me was fascinating, especially the doctrine of the plan of salvation, starting with premortality and ending with the three degrees of glory. But I didn’t see any point in joining the Church until I was able to grasp more fully their unique beliefs. My understanding of Christianity was that anciently, God performed miracles, sent angels, and called prophets, but all those things belonged to biblical times. Once the Bible was completed, humanity no longer needed miracles and revelation because scripture contains all we need to know.
A breakthrough came during our discussion about the Great Apostasy and the Restoration of the fulness of the gospel through the Prophet Joseph Smith. I realized that their beliefs were more consistent with the Bible than the claim that the Bible had replaced prophets and revelation. I felt real joy when I realized I might be living in modern “biblical times.”
I was ready to ask God sincerely for personal revelation, but an answer did not come. Finally, I said, “Heavenly Father, if You called Joseph Smith as Your prophet, I will obey every commandment You revealed through him.” Then the answer came to my heart and mind with surety, and I knew that God had restored the fulness of the gospel and that it is found in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Jakub was baptized on November 3, 1990, and remained faithful until dying in a tragic hiking accident two decades later. I joined the Church on January 11, 1991, determined to serve a mission. Robert was called as the first local president of our branch and drove me all the way to Freiburg, Germany, so I could receive my temple endowment. During my last interview with him, I promised to return to Poland after my service in the Illinois Chicago Mission to use my missionary experience to strengthen the Church in our country.
Two years later, my mission president convinced me that I should get my education in America at Brigham Young University. But I never forgot my promise to Robert.
After getting married in 2000, I moved back to Poland with my wife, who, in 1988, had been an extra in the sixth episode of The Wonder Years. We attend Church meetings in Krakow, raising two boys and keeping in close touch with our two older children. Our older son recently announced he has decided to serve a full-time mission.
In the summer of 2021, I took my family to Berlin, where I showed them the spot where the wall used to stand. It no longer stops God’s servants from sharing the message of the Restoration with the people of Eastern Europe. God’s miracles continue in our day.

Carly knew something was wrong when she saw her dad’s car in the parking lot.
“Dad’s home,” she said softly.
“Dad’s home?” her little brother, Robert, repeated excitedly. “Awesome!” He swung his backpack over his shoulder and hurried toward their apartment.
“Wait,” Carly said. “I think something is wrong.”
Robert stopped. “What do you mean?”
“I’m not sure,” Carly began, “but I heard Mom and Dad talking last night. Dad said that a lot of people at his work are getting laid off.”
Robert looked confused.
“That means Dad might lose his job,” Carly explained.
“What would happen then?” Robert asked.
“Well, if he doesn’t have a job, then he won’t make any money. And if we don’t have any money, then we can’t buy anything.”
Robert’s eyes widened. “We’ll be like those people downtown who live in the park.”
Carly shuddered as she thought about the people she had seen by the roadside holding signs that read, “Will work for food.” “I don’t think that will happen,” she said.
“We should call Brother Worthington,” Robert said. “He said we should call him if we have a problem. He said he would help.”
“You’re right,” Carly said. “Let’s tell Mom and Dad.”
As they opened the door, they saw their parents talking.
“Dad, did you lose your job?” Robert asked.
Mom and Dad looked at each other. “Yes, I did,” Dad said. “How did you know?”
“I heard you and Mom talking yesterday,” Carly said.
“Did you call Brother Worthington yet?” Robert asked.
“No, we haven’t told anyone,” Mom said. “We’re trying to figure out what we should do first.”
“We need to call Brother Worthington,” Carly said. “He always tells us to call him if we have a problem.”
“He is our home teacher,” Mom said. “Maybe we should call him.”
“I don’t want to bother him,” Dad said. “I just need to start looking for another job.”
“I’ll get a job too,” Robert said.
“That’s very sweet, but you and Carly are busy with school,” Mom said.
“How can we go to school if we’re living in the park?” Robert asked. He started to cry. “Please call Brother Worthington. He said he would help.”
Dad lifted Robert onto his lap. “We won’t have to live in the park,” he said as the phone started ringing. “I lost my job, but we haven’t lost everything.”
Carly went to answer the phone. Moments later she handed the receiver to Dad. “It’s for you,” she said with a big smile. “It’s Brother Worthington.”
As Dad talked on the phone, he grabbed a notebook and pen and wrote down names and phone numbers.
“What did he say?” Carly asked as Dad hung up.
“He heard about the layoffs on the news, so he called to see if I had been laid off. When I told him I had been, he gave me the name and number of the ward employment specialist, and names and numbers of other people he knows who might be able to help me find a job.”
“That’s great!” Robert said. “I knew he would help!”
“You were right,” Dad said. “He is the man Heavenly Father has asked to watch over our family when we need help. You children understood that better than I did. And now, thanks to Brother Worthington, I have some phone calls to make.”

Some time ago I had the privilege of attending a stake conference in the company of President Spencer W. Kimball. He was not the president of the Church at that time. Elder Kimball worked tirelessly holding one meeting after another until late Saturday night. On Sunday we held a meeting with bishoprics and high councilors at 8:00 A.M. This was followed by the general session, a meeting with the seventies quorum, an interview with the patriarch, the dedication of a chapel, and a talk to the seminary students in the evening. We went to the stake president’s home about 9:00 P.M. to wait for our plane that did not leave until nearly 11:00 P.M. The kindly stake president’s wife wanted to fix us dinner. Elder Kimball said, “Please, all I need is a bowl of milk and some of your homemade bread to break up in it.” These are not men to be conquered.

Like many of you, much thought and prayer preceded Douglas's decision to come to BYU-Idaho. He considered other paths, but the Spirit prevailed, and Douglas chose a most unexpected path that has proved to be guided by the Lord.

While you may not have met Douglas, some of his work has been displayed in the Spori Building.

In many ways, Douglas blends in with thousands of other BYU-Idaho students, but his story diverges. Douglas was born in Hanoi, Vietnam, to parents who divorced when he was 16. The family separation prompted many questions, including his own purpose in life. Enter his high school physics teacher, who told the students about an unfamiliar book called the Bible. Douglas explains that this really was an odd topic because in Vietnam, "Christianity is not popular. In fact, it's almost taboo, and most people consider themselves atheists."[2] Douglas felt prompted to learn more about Christian churches and determine whether they were as "sketchy" as portrayed in the media. He located a Christian church called "Latter-Day Saints" just five minutes from his home. Later he learned it was one of only two LDS branches in the entire country. Although Douglas had planned to sit in the back of the church, observe, and then leave, his decision to seek increased knowledge and understanding led Douglas to a different experience. When he arrived, he was warmly welcomed, and a young man led him to a seat in the front of the chapel. This was not at all what he'd planned, but inside he felt an unusual feeling of peace. He liked the feeling, so he stayed. The young man spoke Vietnamese so perfectly that initially Douglas didn't realize he was American. Interested, Douglas asked him about his background and was invited to learn more. To his surprise, the first lesson was about whether there was purpose in life.

Within three months, Douglas made a decision that changed the course of his life forever. He entered into the covenant of baptism and promised to take upon himself the name of Jesus Christ. Almost immediately, his life took on greater purpose: He developed a great drive to develop spiritually and to learn English. He volunteered to translate for visitors to Hanoi, and his vocabulary and pronunciation improved rapidly. Upon learning of the Church's education system, his post-high school plans to attend a university in Finland changed. His desire to progress in the gospel and lead a purposeful life brought him to Rexburg, Idaho. Douglas views coming to BYU-Idaho as the best decision he's made in his life. It was a difficult decision, though, because he worried about leaving his mother, with whom he had a close relationship, alone in Vietnam.

But, once he arrived and met his faculty, he knew he'd made a good choice. He says: "I truly love it here. I have a personal and meaningful relationship with my faculty, which I'd not expected in college."[3]

Although Douglas had planned for years to major in business, instead he chose a major in communication with a public-relations emphasis. Because he followed spiritual promptings, he discovered an immense talent of which he was completely unaware. He says, "I picked up a camera for the first time a couple years ago.
"I had never designed anything in my whole life. I didn't know I had any of this potential, but this place made it possible."[4]

Douglas has about a year left until he completes his degree. But first, a much-prayed-for detour. He explains: "Last summer, right after my internship at Universal Studios in Florida, I invited my mom to come here.
"It was supposed to be my ticket to go back to Vietnam, but a part of me realized she needed to come see what I was doing and see these Mormon people. That experience, I think, touched her heart, and she realized I should go on a mission. It's mind-blowing to me that she would ever agree for me to go on a mission before I graduated college, because the culture in Vietnam is that education is number one. The Lord remembered my promise to serve Him."[5]

The next chapter of Elder Douglas Phan's BYU-Idaho story now moves to a new location. He reported to the Provo MTC just five weeks ago and will serve for the next two years in the Texas Houston South Mission. Elder Phan's story is unfinished, but his choices, dedicated work, and willingness to follow the Lord's path for him have created a story that is as beautiful and majestic as his photos.

“One. Two. Three. Pull!” The pullers jerk the handles surrounding the walrus skin blanket outward, sending 17-year-old Karmy McKay soaring high into the air. The spotter yells to the pullers and tugs the blanket to guide them to where Karmy will come down. She wobbles a bit, but manages to land on both feet. She grins, gamely ready to try the blanket toss again. Tourists applaud their approval.
Entertaining tourists is just one facet of Karmy’s day. Like many Latter-day Saint teens, her schedule is busy. She has a summer job, attends church meetings, helps around the house, works out, spends time with her friends, and plans her future. But Karmy does all this in a small, predominantly Inupiat Eskimo village north of the Arctic Circle.
Karmy and her brother, Kris, 16, are the only Mormon teens for hundreds of miles. There are 15 members in the Kotzebue Branch, and seven are members of the McKay family.
Rising early, Karmy pedals down the main dirt road to work at the village’s hotel, waving to everyone she meets. “That’s one of the things I like about living here,” says Karmy, who wears a kuspuk, a colorful print cotton parka, over her clothes. “You know everybody.”
Most summer days in Kotzebue are overcast and gray. The village is almost an island on a narrow neck of land surrounded by water, and is only 200 miles away from Russia. There is no movie house or swimming pool for Karmy and her family to go to. The teen center—with a TV and video games, several small playgrounds, and a ball field—does provide additional options for summer activities.
Mainly, though, kids provide their own entertainment. When they have free time, Karmy, Kris, and the other McKay children (Mindy, 11, Levi, 9, and Logan, 8), like to ride their bikes over the dirt roads. There are no mountains or trees here, just rolling tundra, covered with tiny low-lying plants. There are wildflowers of every hue. A constant breeze helps dissipate the clouds of mosquitoes and no-see-ums, a gnat with a particularly nasty bite.
Karmy, of Canadian-Yugoslavian descent, likes the small community. “Everyone here is friendly,” she says. “I’ve had opportunities I couldn’t have had anywhere else. Here, you can be involved in everything.”
That is, everything that’s “virtuous, lovely, or of good report or praiseworthy.” Valedictorian of her graduating class, she was also the president of student government and was involved with Future Homemakers of America, the National Honor Society, and Alaska State Battle of the Books. She played basketball and volleyball, ran cross-country, took Russian classes, completed home-study seminary, and earned her Young Women Recognition.
“In some ways I’ve missed out,” Karmy says about the lack of LDS youth. “I would have liked to have gone to Church activities with a lot of kids. I went to a youth conference in Utah once and that was neat. Here, standards are low. Kids drink, smoke, and tell dirty jokes. I have different values.”
Occasionally a “debate” will come up about the Church. Some people have bad feelings about Mormons. “I try to stay calm and politely correct them,” she says. Her own friends have, in Karmy’s words, “grown to respect my values. I think respect builds up over time.”
Along the shore, boats of various color gently sway with the dark water. The raucous calls of ravens disturb the stillness.
Less than a block away from the beach is the Kotzebue chapel, where Karmy and her family have spent many hours. Constructed in 1981, it replaced the old chapel, a building the McKays eventually bought and remodeled into their home.
It is in these two places where Karmy has developed a close, personal relationship with her Heavenly Father. The smallness of the branch has provided her ample opportunity to give talks and prayers. Through personal prayer, and church and seminary attendance, the gospel has become essential to her.
“Three. Two. One. Blastoff!” Kimber Gabryszak was thrust back into her seat as the space shuttle simulator took off. As mission specialist on this flight, she later “repaired” the Hubble telescope.
The space camp in Huntsville, Alabama, sponsored by the National Aeronautics and Space Administration, is for students in the seventh through ninth grades. The camp is a long way from Kimber’s home on the banks of the Yentna River in Alaska. Kimber, 14, lives in a two-story wooden lodge, the Yentna River Station, built by her father and mother. The lodge is only 70 air miles from Anchorage, but there are no roads to be found here—only trees, water, moose, and bear. Visitors come by boat, plane, or snow machine—depending on the season and the height of the river. That’s why the Gabryszaks don’t leave their bush paradise very often. Kimber, who has lived here since she was 15 months old, manages to get to Willow, the closest “town,” about every two months. She visits with friends and goes to the movies.
So why and how did Kimber get in a space simulator? Kimber wants to be an astronaut. The oldest of six children, she is mostly self-taught through the state’s home-study curriculum. When the chance to go to space camp came, she worked hard, saving money and soliciting sponsors. “I needed to see if I really want to be an astronaut,” she says. “I love science. I want to work on a space station.” One of her prized possessions is the light blue space uniform she brought back from camp.
In Alaska, Kimber’s typical day starts at 7:30 A.M., with the family’s animals. “If they don’t eat, we don’t eat,” she says. So the 17 chickens, ten chicks, two cats, four dogs, goldfish, guinea pig, and goat are tended to. After breakfast, there is firewood to split, snow to shovel, the lodge to clean, and younger children to look after. When Kimber begins home-study seminary, her day will begin 90 minutes earlier.
At night, the Gabryszaks have prayer and scripture reading. They just finished the Book of Mormon and have started it again. On Sundays, the family gathers for a meeting where they sing hymns, accompanied by Kimber on the recorder. She’ll read and study her own lesson, and then help her two younger sisters and brother with Primary lessons.
One of the highlights of her summer is going to girls’ camp with members of the Wasilla Stake. “Sometimes it’s hard not to be part of a class,” she adds. “I went to seminary in town one morning. It was neat. Everyone was friends and they were doing neat things with the scriptures. Here, there’s no one my age to do that with.”
For now, Kimber is content to write to friends she’s met along the way. She has pen pals as far away as the British Isles, and writes regularly to a Jewish boy she met at space camp. He’s interested in the Young Men and Young Women programs, and often asks questions about the Church in his letters. Kimber also sent a Book of Mormon to another friend in Wyoming.
Life is good for Kimber. She is surrounded by a family she loves and by the great Alaskan outdoors. Although college, a mission, and temple marriage—and her dream of becoming an astronaut—may eventually pull her away, at the Yentna River Station, Kimber has already learned the most important thing of all: “I love Jesus Christ and Heavenly Father. They take care of me.”
Alaska has spectacular sunsets, trees and brush in a rich variety of greens, flowers of every hue, and, in winter, snow that turns into a fairyland. It also has Karmy and Kimber, two young women who have proven that wherever you are, you’re never alone.

Lee was a member of his high school track team—he both sprinted and high-jumped. During the 1968 Summer Olympic Games held in Mexico City, the world became enamored with a little-known high jumper named Dick Fosbury. He had experimented with a new high-jumping technique that involved sprinting diagonally toward the bar, then curving and leaping backward over the bar. It came to be called the Fosbury flop.
Like many others, Lee was intrigued by this new technique, but until the new school year started, he didn’t have a place to practice it. I came home one evening to find him practicing the Fosbury flop in our basement. He had set up two makeshift standards by stacking chairs, and he was jumping over a broomstick set on the chairs, using a sofa to cushion his landing. It was very clear to me that the sofa would not hold up under such treatment, so I called a halt to his indoor high-jumping. Instead, I invited him to go with me to a sporting-goods store, where we purchased some foam padding to use for landing and high-jumping standards so he could move the activity out of doors.
After experimenting with the Fosbury flop, Lee decided to return to the western-roll technique that he had used previously. Still, through the end of the summer into the fall, he practiced high-jumping for many hours in our backyard.
One evening as I returned home from work, I found Lee practicing his jumping. I asked, “How high is the bar?”
He said, “Five feet, eight inches.”
“Why that height?”
He answered, “You must clear that height to qualify for the state track meet.”
“How are you doing?” I asked.
“I can clear it every time. I haven’t missed.”
My reply: “Let’s raise the bar and see how well you do then.”
He replied, “Then I might miss.”
I queried, “If you don’t raise the bar, how will you ever know your potential?”
So we started moving the bar up to five feet, ten inches; then to six feet; and so on, as he sought to improve. Lee became a better high jumper because he was not content with just clearing the minimum standard. He learned that even if it meant missing, he wanted to keep raising the bar to become the best high jumper he was capable of becoming.