Gospel Story Finder

A tiny sunbeam shining bravely through a crack between the logs in her bedroom played across Louisa’s face. She stretched lazily and listened to the shrieking of the sea gulls outside her small window. They seemed to be calling to her to come and play. Louisa knew they had come for their usual breakfast of worms and insects and perhaps an occasional mouse from the fields surrounding the growing settlement. She had come to think of the gulls as her own, because each morning as the sun rose over the mountains they settled first in the field next to her window and then moved to other fields.
Quietly she slipped from her bed onto the rough floor and down the stairs to the door of the cabin. She smiled as she slipped outside. Father had built one of the few two-story log houses. He planned to cover it with stucco later when he wasn’t so busy.
Louisa chose her favorite spot on the porch by the corner post to sit quietly without moving to watch the sea gulls. She arranged her flannel nightgown around her bare toes to keep out the morning chill. Her soft, brown hair fell gently over her shoulders and her clear, blue eyes seemed to shine as brightly as the sunbeams.
With a soft sound the door opened again and her little brother Thomas crept quietly to her side. The sharp sound of her father’s ax in the woods across the field and her mother’s gentle singing in the garden broke the stillness of the beautiful morning. Thomas yawned sleepily and gazed at the birds in the field.
“Father’s chopping wood for winter and Mother’s weeding the garden so the vegetables will grow,” Louisa almost whispered so she wouldn’t frighten the sea gulls. The birds continued to eat as though Louisa and Thomas were not even there.
“Tell me again about the sea gulls, Louisa,” Thomas said sleepily. “Please.”
He was too young to remember when they had crossed the plains in the covered wagon to Utah. Louisa remembered, though.
“Mother and Father packed our clothes, quilts, pots and pans, dishes, food, and everything else they could into the wagon. I put in my doll and helped with some of the smaller things. Father hitched the oxen to the wagon and we started on our long journey. I’d never seen oxen before. They looked like big brown cows to me.”
“What about the sea gulls, Louisa?” Thomas didn’t like to hear about the times they had traveling to their new home in the mountains.
“When we first came to Utah, I helped Father and Mother plant the seeds in the ground. It took Father two days to break the hard ground before we could plant the seeds. All day we worked and dropped a seed at a time on the ground.”
“Where was I?” asked Thomas.
“You wouldn’t remember because you were only a baby then and had just learned to walk,” Louisa answered quietly. “Anyway, when the new plants were just coming up, about this high,” Louisa measured with her fingers, “some crickets came and began eating them. More and more crickets came.”
“What are crickets?”
“Thomas, you know what crickets are. They are those shiny black bugs. They scrape their wings together to make a squeaky sound at night,” Louisa answered.
“Oh. Tell me about the sea gulls.”
Louisa continued her story. “Everyone got sticks and shovels and whatever they could find and began beating the crickets. But more crickets came. Finally, the people gave up. They couldn’t kill all the crickets. They were going to eat up all the food we planted.”
Tears came to Louisa’s eyes remembering how hard she had cried. She had only been four. Now Louisa was eight and too big to cry. But sometimes she did when she was hurt or afraid.
“When did the sea gulls come?” Thomas asked.
“Father and Mother and the rest of the people prayed to our Heavenly Father that the crops would be saved from the hungry crickets. And it wasn’t long until we were surprised to hear a noise in the sky. I looked up and saw sea gulls. At first they looked like more crickets. I hadn’t seen any sea gulls here before, although I used to watch them on the ocean before we came west in the wagon.”
Louisa waited for Thomas to encourage her to go on with the story. But he just lay quietly beside her. The sky was dark blue with streaks of white clouds high in the sky. Most of the sea gulls were quiet, but once in a while one would call.
“The sea gulls came to the ground and ate up the crickets,” Louisa continued. “No one had really noticed them in the valley before. Some people say they were here all the time. But I think Heavenly Father sent them to us when the people prayed. What do you think, Thomas?”
But Thomas didn’t answer. He had fallen asleep in the warm sunshine.

Our family was returning from a weekend getaway to Peace River, Alberta, Canada, about five hours north of our home in Edmonton. Darkness had long since descended on the northern landscape, and although the wind was blowing snow wildly across the road in front of us, all seemed peaceful and calm inside our van.
Suddenly an ominous warning light appeared on the dashboard. I had seen it only once before, years ago, and now I feared what was in store. I quickly turned off all unnecessary power, but the engine soon stalled. I knew we had traveled several kilometers since we had passed the last town, and it would be many more kilometers before we reached the next town. I could not even remember the last time we had encountered a vehicle going in either direction.
As we desperately considered our options, our 11-year-old son, Casson, said, “We need to pray—now!” Not three months before, Casson had been devastated by the loss of his younger brother, who had passed away from cancer. How many prayers had Casson sent up to heaven as he struggled to understand why he had lost his only brother?
My wife and I were not sure how fully he had understood our explanation that our prayers need to be aligned with Heavenly Father’s will and not necessarily with our own desires. Yet here he was, showing us that we needed to turn to Heavenly Father and continue to have faith in Him.
Not long after we had finished praying, the headlights of an approaching vehicle began to sparkle in our rearview mirror. Within seconds a long flatbed truck en route to Edmonton stopped in front of us.
As the driver and I approached each other, he asked in a thick French Canadian accent, “Do you have any children in that van?” When I told him yes, he said he had passed another stopped vehicle several miles back but had not pulled over because of the bad weather. However, as he had approached us, he felt a distinct impression that we had children who needed his help. As a result, he stopped.
Within a few minutes he had our vehicle winched onto his truck, and we were heading to Edmonton. It was a cold trip back, but we were warmed by the sweet confirmation that Heavenly Father does hear prayers. Sometimes the answers come in ways we don’t envision, and sometimes the answers are more powerful and direct than we can ever imagine. We just need to have faith and trust in the Lord.

Then there is so much fun in Church service. I remember one hot summer evening when we were engaged in a ward building-fund project. We had contracted to supply the food service at a state fair. I was assigned to the dishwashing detail along with Bay Hutchings, another member of our ward. We were working across the counter from the customers who were enjoying our delicious food. There was a call from the cashier’s cage: “Dr. Hutchings, the hospital is calling you.” Suddenly all the forks were suspended in midair. The customers turned one to another and exclaimed, “A doctor washing dishes?” We had to immediately explain that this was a Church building-fund project. No one was being paid for his services. The waiters, cooks, dishwashers, and busboys were doctors, lawyers, merchants, chiefs—all having one great time working together for our project. We must never forget that the wealth, the strength, the security of the Church is our ability to labor together. Let us be a righteous example of this fundamental principle in our homes, our places of employment, our neighborhoods, our communities, our states, and our nations.

The Book of Mormon was a means of introducing Wannipha Thongchalerm, to the Church. First introduced to Christianity by a United States serviceman, she received a copy of the Book of Mormon from a friend. The book led to visits by the full-time missionaries. “Learning the gospel was a happy experience for me,” she says. “The missionaries would visit me every other day, and I would make notes of what they told me. Each time they came, I would repeat the previous lesson back to them. I was baptized in 1976.”
Sister Thongchalerm married a nonmember whose work required him to travel a great deal. After five years of marriage, they were divorced. Prior to the divorce, Sister Thongchalerm began studying to be a nurse, a profession she still follows at one of the local hospitals. Three years after her divorce, she married Anan, who had been baptized in 1981. With their two children, Ariza, 4, and Aachanoon, 3, they were among the group that went to the Manila Temple.
“When I came back from the temple, I felt a greater need to share the gospel with others. I decided I would try to bring at least ten other people into the Church, a goal I reached within two years.”
Sister Thongchalerm, who teaches in seminary, Sunday School, and Relief Society, treasures her testimony. “I feel that no matter what happens, no one can take away my testimony of Jesus Christ.”
The Thongchalerms live in a multilevel house in Udorn—a house Brother Thongchalerm will completely finish “some day.”

But life will never be the same. Some people, particularly children, who see her for the first time are frightened. For a friendly little girl who remains the same inside despite the changes on the outside, the rejection can be devastating.
Sage was playing outside one day when a child came upon her. Unprepared for the experience, he ran away screaming, “Monster! Monster!” It hurt, but Sage understood. “The kids used to laugh at me,” she says. Do they now? “Not at school. Sometimes people stare when we go to the store.”

Nick was so finicky that his family called him “Picky Nicky.” He was picky about his clothes. He was picky about his toys. And he was especially picky about his food.
One day Mom made Nick’s favorite dish—macaroni and cheese. She served it to him in his favorite bowl, gave him his favorite spoon to eat it with, and expected him to say, “Yum! Yum! My favorite!” But all Picky Nicky said was, “It isn’t cheesy enough.”
Mom took a deep breath—what she usually did when she was upset. “Picky Nicky, I have had enough! You don’t like gelatin because it keeps falling off your spoon. You won’t eat tomatoes because they have seeds. Now you’re even complaining about macaroni and cheese! I give up! You’re too picky! Starting tomorrow, you do the cooking! See if you can make something that’s just right!”
When Nick went downstairs the next morning, Mom, Dad, and Tyler were already at the kitchen table.
“We’re waiting for breakfast, Picky Nicky. We would like some pancakes, please,” Mom said.
“I don’t know how to make pancakes. How about cereal?”
“I don’t want cereal today,” Mom said.
“Me either,” Dad said.
“I want pancakes,” Tyler said.
“Get the pancake mix out of the pantry and read the directions on the box,” Mom said. “I’ll help you if you don’t understand them.”
Nick was upset. Why couldn’t they just eat cereal? But everyone was staring at him, so he got out the pancake mix.
Mom helped him figure out what to do, but it still wasn’t easy. As he put the pancake mix into a big bowl, he spilled some onto the counter. And when he cracked two eggs into the mix, pieces of shell fell into the bowl too. It took a while to fish them out—yuck! Finally he added the milk and stirred everything together. He scooped up some batter with a measuring cup and poured it on the hot, oiled griddle Mom had gotten ready for him.
“Remember, Picky Nicky” Dad said, “I like thin, little pancakes—lots of them.”
“And I like fat, round pancakes,” Tyler said.
“I want big, brown, crispy ones,” Mom said.
After a few minutes, Nick looked at the pancakes on the griddle. None of them was thin and little, or fat and round, or brown and crispy. One pancake was flat but big. Another was round but lumpy. And the biggest one was brown, all right, but it looked soggy in the center. He put the pancakes on three plates. He gave one to Dad, another to Mom, and the last to Tyler. Then he got out the syrup and butter and put them on the table.
“This isn’t thin and little,” Dad said. “It’s flat and big and not even round. And there’s only one!”
“My pancake looks lumpy, Picky Nicky,” Tyler said.
“And mine looks soggy in the center,” Mom said. “Maybe you’d better make some more for us.”
“Maybe they’ll be OK once you put on the butter and syrup.”
“We’ll try them, but …” Mom said.
“I like melted butter,” she said, “and my pancake isn’t hot enough to melt it.”
“I like hot syrup,” said Dad.
“I like blueberry syrup,” said Tyler, “and this is maple.”
Nick was getting upset. They were just being picky. Oh!
“I’ll melt the butter,” he said to Mom. “And you’ll have hot syrup in just a minute, Dad.” “Here’s your blueberry syrup, Tyler. Do you want it heated?”
While the rest of the family ate their pancakes, Nick ate his favorite cereal in his favorite bowl with his favorite spoon. No one said anything more.
After breakfast Nick helped Mom clean up the kitchen. As he was putting the last plate into the dishwasher, Mom was wiping off the table.
“Mom,” he said softly, “will you make the sandwiches for lunch? Any kind will be OK.”
Mom didn’t take a deep breath this time. She just smiled. “OK, Nick,” she said.

When I was a student in dental school, the financial outlook of our local economy was not very encouraging. Inflation dramatically decreased the value of currency from one day to the next.
I remember the year when I was to enroll in surgery practices; I needed to have all the necessary surgical equipment before enrolling that semester. My parents saved the needed funds. But one night something dramatic happened. We went to buy the equipment, only to discover that the amount of money we had to buy all the equipment now was sufficient to buy only a pair of surgical tweezers—and nothing else. We returned home with empty hands and with heavy hearts at the thought of my losing a semester of college. Suddenly, however, my mother said, “Taylor, come with me; let’s go out.”
We went downtown where there were many places that buy and sell jewelry. When we arrived at one store, my mother took out of her purse a small blue velvet bag containing a beautiful gold bracelet with an inscription that read, “To my dear daughter from your father.” It was a bracelet that my grandfather had given her on one of her birthdays. Then, before my eyes, she sold it.
When she received the money, she told me, “If there is one thing I am sure of, it is that you are going to be a dentist. Go and buy all the equipment you need.” Now, can you imagine what kind of student I became from that moment on? I wanted to be the best and finish my studies soon because I knew the high cost of the sacrifice she was making.
I learned that the sacrifices our loved ones make for us refresh us like cool water in the middle of the desert. Such sacrifice brings hope and motivation.

In 1837, two years after being ordained an Apostle, Elder Heber C. Kimball was sitting in the Kirtland Temple when the Prophet Joseph Smith whispered to him that the Lord wanted him to go on a mission to England. He would be the first missionary sent outside North America.
“The idea of such a mission was almost more than I could bear up under. I was almost ready to sink under the burden which was placed upon me,” Elder Kimball said. But he accepted the call and went to England—even leaping from the boat upon his arrival in Liverpool. “The moment I understood the will of my heavenly Father, I felt a determination to go at all hazards, believing that He would support me by His almighty power, and endow me with every qualification that I needed” (see History of the Church, 2:489–90).
Elder Kimball’s mission opened the door to much success in England over the next several years, as thousands of people accepted the gospel and became a great strength to the Church.

While I have had many experiences in my life that follow this pattern, my call as a member of the Seventy is illustrative. The call came the first week of June 1992, and my first assignment was to serve as a member of the Central America Area Presidency beginning on August 1. During my vacation time in July, I immersed myself in the scriptures, especially the Book of Mormon, and spent hours studying, praying, and pondering to help me prepare and overcome my feelings of inadequacy.
Based on Matthew 4:1–11 and the Joseph Smith Translation of Matthew 4:1–11, the parallels shown in table 2 came to me.
Table 2. A Pattern for Spiritual Growth (see Matthew 4)
Verses
Phrases from the Scriptures
Parallels to Our Day
1
The Savior sensed His sacred responsibility and sought to commune with God.
I sensed my sacred responsibility and sought to commune with God.
1
He communed with God.
Enlightenment came as I studied, fasted, pondered, and prayed.
3–10
He was tempted and challenged.
I was challenged with feelings of inadequacy and unworthiness.
11
Angels ministered to Him.
The Holy Ghost comforted, taught, enlightened, and strengthened me to go forward with divine assistance.

“Son, don’t do this,” his parents said. “You’re throwing your life away.”
Those aren’t the words most missionaries expect to hear—right at the airport—just as they are leaving to report to the missionary training center (MTC).
Elder Morris, from New Zealand, knows how much his parents love him. They’ve been there for him through thick and thin. They cheered him on in his rugby matches. They applauded his decision to attend law school. They raised him with love and with hope that he’d have a bright life ahead of him.
Their pleading words came from a place of love. To them, the idea of their precious son serving a two-year mission for his new faith seemed not only confusing, but also a threat to the goals he’d worked so hard to achieve.
You see, Elder Morris was a gifted athlete on his way to becoming a professional rugby player. In his schooling, things were just taking off in his legal career.
Oh, and he was thinking about getting married!
Elder Morris already had this conversation with them many times before. He responded in the only way he knew how. “I told them I loved them. I embraced them. And I shared my testimony that I knew this was what I needed to do.”
Then he bid them farewell and hopped on the airplane for the MTC in Provo, Utah, USA, to prepare for his mission to the Philippines.
At which point COVID-19 showed up and turned the world upside down.
COVID-19 had already been making headlines throughout the globe for weeks before Elder Morris showed up at the MTC. In fact, his group would be the last batch of missionaries to report to the MTC for another 16 months. Groups after him were told to stay home and wait for further instructions.
To say that things were uncertain at the MTC would be an understatement. “Many people were worried about what was going to happen,” Elder Morris says. “For me, I felt calm. I still didn’t know how things would unfold. I only knew that they would work out for the best.”
When the news came that Elder Morris would be reassigned to his home country of New Zealand, his reaction might not be what you’d expect.
He was more excited than ever!
“I realize that many missionaries hope to serve in a faraway place,” Elder Morris says. “For me, though, I always thought it would be a privilege to teach my own people in my own country. I wanted to share the gospel with New Zealand.”
“I always thought it would be a privilege to teach my own people in my own country.”
Little did he know how this would change his life—and the life of a woman who is very important to him.
Elder Morris’s grandmother (his nan) was dealing with some serious health challenges. “She was so unwell that she said she reached a point where she was ready to die. She didn’t feel she had anything left to live for.”
Before his mission, Elder Morris had a chance to start teaching the gospel to his nan. But now, he was a full-time missionary assigned to the very area where his nan lived.
“I love my nan very much,” Elder Morris says. “And I’ve seen the gospel absolutely transform her.”
His nan chose to be baptized and become a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. She’s the first member of Elder Morris’s direct family (besides himself) to join the Church.
Her life, Elder Morris says, is very different now. “When my nan found the gospel, she realized why she was still alive. Now she wants to live! Every morning she wakes up at 4 a.m. or 5 a.m. and sings hymns. She prays and reads her scriptures every single day. She does it because the gospel has blessed her with purpose.”
Time and time again, Elder Morris has seen the light that the gospel brings into the lives of those he teaches. He’s had the chance to teach other friends and family members. He’s seen firsthand how they improve. “The gospel of Jesus Christ gives us purpose,” Elder Morris says. “I feel so sorry for those who don’t have the gospel in their lives. They don’t know their true identity.”
On a related note, even his parents have begun to notice the changes in Elder Morris’s nan. They can now see that the gospel has blessed her life in many ways.
Elder Morris with his nan (grandmother).
Elder Morris has no doubts whatsoever that serving a mission was the right choice. He also knew at the start of his mission, when COVID-19 began to rage throughout the world, that God would still guide His work. “The work of man will be frustrated, but God’s work never will be,” he says.
Every time he has an opportunity to do so, he encourages youth to live worthy to serve a mission. For Elder Morris, no other decision would have had a greater impact on his future—especially his eternal future. “The biggest advice I would give to youth is to prepare to serve a mission. It will change your life.”
He recognizes that choosing to serve may come with sacrifice. But then again, he knows a thing or two about sacrifice, and the blessings that come from it.
Witnesses of Jesus Christ
Elder Morris: The gospel is simple, and the gospel is true. Jesus Christ is our Savior. He and our Heavenly Father are mindful of us. I testify that the Book of Mormon is amazing. It helps us to come closer to Jesus Christ and to learn the fulness of His gospel. The Restoration of the gospel of Jesus Christ through the Prophet Joseph Smith had to happen. Without it, we would still be lost today.
Elder Fotuaika (Elder Morris’s companion): I’ve seen in my life that, without the Lord, I’m nothing. With the Lord, I’ve seen myself grow to the best person that I could ever become. When we try to do the small and simple things like praying and reading the scriptures, God magnifies who we are. I have a testimony that God loves us.

I grew up in what some of you might call a boring farming community: Virden, New Mexico, population 135. One summer night when I was a boy, my cousins, some friends, and I were looking for ways to create some excitement. Someone suggested we play a harmless prank on a neighbor. My conscience whispered it was wrong, but I didn’t have the courage to resist the enthusiastic response of the group.
After performing our mischievous act, we sprinted down the dark country road to make our escape, laughing and congratulating ourselves as we ran. Suddenly, one of the group stumbled, crying out, “Oh no, I kicked a cat!” Almost instantly we felt a very fine mist settle over us. It carried a horrible odor. What my friend thought was a cat was actually a skunk. It had sprayed us in self-defense. Very few odors are as nauseating as skunk spray, and we smelled terrible.
Dejectedly, we went home in search of a little parental comfort for our pitiful plight. As we stepped inside the kitchen door, Mom took one sniff and shooed us out into the yard. We were cast out of our home. Then she launched the cleansing process. She burned our clothes. Then, it seemed that every home remedy or concoction in the community was volunteered in our behalf. Among them, we endured a variety of baths: first tomato juice, then cow’s milk, and even harsh homemade lye soap.
But the stench remained. Even my dad’s powerful aftershave lotion could not overpower the stench. For days we were condemned to eat outside under a tree, sleep outdoors in a tent, and ride in the back of the pickup truck.
After a while, naively thinking the smell was gone, we tried to approach some normal-smelling girls. They would not allow us within yards, shattering our fragile teenage egos!
If I had responded to my conscience when it first whispered that the prank was wrong, I would have avoided the whole stinking ordeal.

When I was young, my friends and I often played ball in an alley behind our home. A woman named Mrs. Shinas rented a tiny house nearby, and she used to watch us play from her window. She rarely came out of her house, and when she did, she never smiled. We all thought that she was mean. She had a big dog, an English setter, and whenever one of our baseballs rolled in its direction—which happened often—Mrs. Shinas would send the dog to fetch it. We wouldn’t see the ball again. Soon we ran out of baseballs.

In those days, we didn’t have lawn sprinklers, and so each day I watered our lawn by hand with a hose. One day as I stood watering our little stretch of grass, I noticed that Mrs. Shinas’s lawn looked a little shabby. It took only a few more minutes to water it, too, and soon I was watering her lawn each day.

When autumn came that year, one of my tasks was to clear our yard of leaves. I sprayed the ground with a hose, pushing the leaves into a pile with the force of the water. I decided to gather up the leaves on Mrs. Shinas’s yard as well, and as I was doing this one day, she came to her door and beckoned for me to come inside. I turned off the hose and went into her house.

She invited me to sit in her living room, and she gave me a cookie and a glass of milk. As I sat there eating my cookie, she showed me her collection of little china dogs. I could tell that they were her most prized possession. Then she thanked me for taking care of her lawn. It was the first conversation I had ever had with her.

Mrs. Shinas then went into her kitchen and returned with a box. In it were all the baseballs that her dog had taken. She handed me the box, said thank you—and smiled! It was the first time I’d ever seen her smile.

The chain reaction continued as Ana Carolina reached out to a new investigator. Tatiane Pimenta, age 16, began attending church when she and her family were introduced to the Church by Sister Pimentel. “I felt very timid because I didn’t know anyone,” Tatiane says. “I quietly stayed in the corner.”
But soon things began to change for Tatiane. “I started feeling good because I made a friend.” In one class, Sister Pimentel introduced a game in which all the girls put their shoes in the middle of the floor, put on someone else’s, then got to know the owner of the shoes they had picked. “That’s how I started talking to Ana Carolina,” remembers Tatiane. “She became my first friend, a friend who encouraged me a lot. Because of her, I felt able to join the Church.”

One of the stories President Monson uses comes from his days as a deacon. He and the other members of his quorum were apparently assigned to be Eskimos in the ward’s road show. President Monson’s sister was playing the part of Lady Liberty. When his sister came down with a severe case of laryngitis just at the critical performance time, it was feared that she would not be able to speak her lines and the show would be impaired. The “Eskimos” decided to do something about this situation. They gathered in the room in the basement of their meetinghouse and knelt in prayer. They sought the Lord’s intervening Spirit in behalf of President Monson’s sister. At the appointed time, Lady Liberty was able to deliver her lines with a clear voice. President Monson’s sister remembered the experience as being a miracle in her life and was grateful for those Eskimos.

I raced into the dorm, shut my door, and fell face down on my bed. I was too upset to even cry; I just lay there, not believing that my life had spun so wildly out of control so quickly.
I had flunked a test.
Then I had flunked another one.
I was the Relief Society president for my student ward, visiting teaching reports were due, and not a single person had done hers yet.
My boyfriend and I had broken up.
My roommate had gone on a trip.
I had gained five pounds, caught a cold, and my face had broken out.
But this was my first year at college, and I was determined not to call my mother. I was an adult after all; I could handle it.
It just didn’t feel like I could.
A headache was just beginning to form behind my right eye when I heard a quiet knock on my door. I debated whether or not I should open it; it could be more bad news. But I figured things couldn’t get much worse, so I staggered to the door.
It was a girl from down the hall. I never could remember her name, but I will never forget what she did for me that day. In one hand she held a box of crayons, in the other, a large tablet of art paper.
“You look like you need to color,” she said.
“Huh?”
“Well, I’m just getting bogged down with the project I’m working on for my art class, and you, well … I’ve seen you looking better,” she replied.
She handed me the box of new Crayolas and set about arranging paper on the floor.
“Start with the happiest color you can think of,” she said.
I pulled a yellow crayon from the box. I stared at it, still dazed. I was absorbed in my thoughts, feeling sorry for myself.
“Well, do something!” she called out.
I knelt down and drew a large sun in the middle of one of the sheets of paper. I giggled and said, “Pretty original, huh?”
She smiled and started her own picture. So there we sat, two 18-year-olds, coloring like second graders. We talked about our families and old friends from high school. We talked about boys and classes—I carefully avoided the subject of tests—and what we were going to do over summer vacation. It was just idle chatter, really. She didn’t pry to find out what was bothering me; she just listened to what I wanted to talk about. Pretty soon I was laughing and having such a good time I had nearly forgotten what was bothering me.
After about an hour, she packed up her crayons and left to go back to her art project. My mind returned to tests, church reports, and all of the other things that were weighing so heavily on me, but somehow they just didn’t seem as bad as they had earlier in the afternoon. Most of my anxiety had spread out over the pages of smiling sunshines and purple daisies I now had tacked to my bulletin board.
It may have seemed a small thing to her, but the girl from down the hall did more service with that box of crayons than she will ever know. She didn’t come to see me so she could find out my personal secrets, and she didn’t do it so that other people would see her (actually, no one did see her). She simply saw my need for a friend and filled it.
She also taught me that service can be anything from helping a widow mow her lawn to smiling at the new kid when you pass each other at school. Good Samaritans come in all shapes and sizes. They listen when you talk, and they make you feel good about who you are. And sometimes they come with a big box of crayons.

My life was eternally blessed by one choice member who reached out more than 50 years ago. Some days after World War II, my grandmother was standing in line for food when an elderly single sister with no family of her own invited her to sacrament meeting in Zwickau, East Germany. My grandmother and my parents accepted the invitation. They went to church, felt the Spirit, were uplifted by the kindness of the members, and were edified by the hymns of the Restoration. My grandmother, my parents, and my three siblings were all baptized. I had to wait two years because I was only six. How grateful I am for a spiritually sensitive grandmother, teachable parents, and a wise, white-haired, elderly single sister who had the sweet boldness to reach out and follow the Savior’s example by inviting us to “come and see” (see John 1:39). Her name was Sister Ewig, which translates in English to “Sister Eternal.” I will be eternally grateful for her love and example.

Joseph Smith and William W. Phelps, by Robert Anderson McKay
In the early years of the Church, William W. Phelps was a strong supporter of Joseph Smith. He was one of the first Latter-day Saints sent to Jackson County, Missouri, where the Lord called him as a counselor in the presidency there.
But as Brother Phelps began to stray, his behavior became so serious that the Lord revealed to Joseph Smith that if Brother Phelps did not repent, he would be “removed out of” his place.4 He did not repent and was excommunicated on March 10, 1838.
Although William was rebaptized, his difficulties with the Church and Church leaders continued. In October 1838, he testified against the Prophet and other leaders of the Church. This led to Joseph Smith’s incarceration in November 1838.
For the next five months, the Prophet was imprisoned in two Missouri jails, including Liberty Jail.
By 1840, William W. Phelps had experienced a profound change of heart and wrote to the Prophet pleading for forgiveness. The letter Joseph wrote in response concluded with the couplet:
“‘Come on, dear brother, since the war is past,
“‘For friends at first, are friends again at last.’”5
Joseph freely forgave Brother Phelps and welcomed him back into full fellowship.
Four years later, when Brother Phelps learned that Joseph and Hyrum had been killed by a mob, he was devastated. Joseph’s forgiveness of Brother Phelps may have inspired him as he penned the beautiful and moving words to the hymn “Praise to the Man.”6

Thirty-seven years after her baptism, with a heart firmly fixed through persecutions in Missouri and the eventual assassination of Joseph Smith, Eliza remained a committed Latter-day Saint. On June 22, 1872, she shared about her conversion with a group of women in Salt Lake City, Utah, USA: “When I heard it announced that the Lord had spoken from heaven and a record had been brought forth I was deeply interested. I prayed unto the Lord to let me know if the work were true, covenanting with him if he did so that I would ever praise his name.” After her baptism, she said, she attended Church meetings. “We were called upon to speak; I dared not refuse for I had promised God I would ever praise his name in the congregation of the Saints.”8 Her continual conversion required her continued witness.

In 1976 an area general conference was held in Copenhagen, Denmark. Following the closing session, President Spencer W. Kimball desired to visit the Vor Frue Church, where the Thorvaldsen statues of the Christus and of the Twelve Apostles stand. He had visited there some years earlier and wanted all of us to see it, to go there.
To the front of the church, behind the altar, stands the familiar statue of the Christus with His arms turned forward and somewhat outstretched, the hands showing the imprint of the nails, and the wound in His side very clearly visible. Along each side stand the statues of the Apostles, Peter at the front to the right and the other Apostles in order.
Most of our group was near the rear of the chapel with the custodian. I stood up front with President Kimball before the statue of Peter with Elder Rex D. Pinegar and Johan Helge Benthin, president of the Copenhagen stake.
In Peter’s hand, depicted in marble, is a set of heavy keys. President Kimball pointed to those keys and explained what they symbolized. Then, in an act I shall never forget, he turned to President Benthin and with unaccustomed firmness pointed his finger at him and said, “I want you to tell everyone in Denmark that I hold the keys! We hold the real keys, and we use them every day.”
I will never forget that declaration, that testimony from the prophet. The influence was spiritually powerful; the impression was physical in its impact.
We walked to the back of the chapel where the rest of the group was standing. Pointing to the statues, President Kimball said to the kind custodian, “These are the dead Apostles.” Pointing to me, he said, “Here we have the living Apostles. Elder Packer is an Apostle. Elder Thomas S. Monson and Elder L. Tom Perry are Apostles, and I am an Apostle. We are the living Apostles.
“You read about the Seventies in the New Testament, and here are two of the living Seventies, Elder Rex D. Pinegar and Elder Robert D. Hales.”
The custodian, who up to that time had shown no emotion, suddenly was in tears.
I felt I had had an experience of a lifetime.

Several years ago, Philip Xaxagbe (the Xs are pronounced like Hs) was working in Nigeria, so deeply involved in his job that his family life was withering. He was troubled by drinking. He and his wife had drifted apart, and each was secretly contemplating divorce when she met the missionaries. Philip agreed to listen to them. “It seemed that everything they were teaching me I had heard somewhere before, but I didn’t know where.” He was baptized after a dream convinced him that if he did not accept the gospel, he would eventually be separated permanently from his wife and daughter.
Since returning to Ghana in 1992, he has shared his faith with loved ones and friends and has seen three members of his extended family come into the Church. He currently serves as president of the Christiansborg Branch of the Accra stake. President Xaxagbe credits the gospel with saving his marriage and his spiritual life. “All I am now, I am because of the Church.”