Gospel Story Finder

One afternoon, Ben’s mom said he had to clean up his room in the next 15 minutes if he wanted to play video games. Ben’s room was a big mess, with toys, clothes, and books all over the floor. Ben wanted to play video games, but he didn’t want to clean his room. “Please let my room be cleaned by magic,” he prayed. Fifteen minutes later when Mom came back to check, the room was still messy. Ben was not allowed to play video games. “Why didn’t Heavenly Father answer my prayer?” he wondered for the third time.
One night Ben awoke in the middle of the night with a terrible earache. His ear hurt so much that he had to go to the hospital. On the way, he prayed, “Heavenly Father, my ear hurts worse than anything has ever hurt me before. I really need help. Please help the doctors find a way to make my ear feel better.” Ben remembered that Heavenly Father hadn’t always given him what he asked for, but he tried to have faith and believe that the pain would go away.
At the hospital, the doctor gave Ben some medicine. It tasted yucky, but Ben swallowed it, and on the way home his ear started feeling better. He knew that Heavenly Father had answered his prayer.
As Mom tucked him back into bed, Ben told her about the scuba diver, the broccoli, and the messy room. “Why does Heavenly Father answer some prayers and not others?” he asked.
“Heavenly Father always answers our prayers,” she said. “But sometimes the answer is no if we ask for things that would be bad for us. He wants us to learn here on earth. What did you learn at the swimming pool?”
Ben thought for a minute. “I learned that some things float and some don’t,” he said. “And that I have a nice brother who will help me.”
Mom nodded. “Then there’s the casserole. I’m sorry you think that broccoli is squishy, but it’s good for you. Why do you suppose Heavenly Father let you eat it?”
Ben sighed. “Because he wants me to be healthy and strong.”
“And finally the messy room,” Mom said. “Why didn’t Heavenly Father clean it for you?”
“I guess because it’s my job, and I need to learn to do it.” Ben sat quietly for a minute, thinking. “But when I asked Heavenly Father to help the doctors to make my ear feel better, the answer was yes,” he said.
Mom nodded. “Yes, it was. But did your ear stop hurting the instant you asked?”
Ben frowned. “No. Why not?”
“Heavenly Father wants us to do all we can to help solve our problems. What did we do?”
“We went to the doctor, and I took the medicine he gave me, even though it tasted yucky.”
Mom smiled. “Heavenly Father helped the doctor to give you good medicine, and He helped your ear to feel better.”
Ben rubbed his ear. “Sometimes the answer is yes, and sometimes it’s no.”
“And sometimes it’s ‘not yet,’” Mom added.
Ben hopped out of bed. “I’m going to thank Heavenly Father for helping the doctors to make my ear feel better,” he said. “And from now on, I’m going to try to ask for things that are good for me. Heavenly Father knows how to answer best.”
Mom gave him a hug. “I think that broccoli is making you smarter already!”

But in addition to the blessings, life for the Pitakpongs has had its traumas, too. Some seven years ago, President Pitakpong was out of town on business when an intruder in his home struck Sister Pitakpong with a wrench and stole a gold necklace she was wearing. “My son, Wuthikrai, went to his mother’s aid, and he, too, was hit, as was my wife’s mother. The man ran away as my daughter screamed for help.
“My wife had to be hospitalized, and she still suffers from severe headaches that make it difficult for her to concentrate.”
But the family finds comfort in living the gospel of Jesus Christ. “Being sealed together in the temple brought a special spirit into our family,” says President Pitakpong. “It strengthened our individual testimonies. Now, not only does our sixteen-year-old son want to go on a mission, but his two younger sisters want to go, too.”

On Wednesday, May 21, Elder Kearon met again with Cardinal Pablo Virgilio David of the Diocese of Kalookan at San Roque Cathedral compound in Caloocan City. Together, the two faith leaders ministered to 250 parolees and former detainees participating in the diocese’s Kaagapay Ministry Project, a community-based drug rehabilitation program. Elder Kearon led in the donation of Church-published emotional resilience materials as well as food and hygiene kits to the participants.

“It was wonderful to see Cardinal David again,” Elder Kearon beamed, “he is constantly caring for those who might be forgotten.” In turn, Cardinal David expressed appreciation for Elder Kearon and the Church’s efforts: “The elders of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints have been our partners in our many advocacies since I was still an auxiliary bishop of San Fernando, Pampanga, and serving as parish priest of Holy Rosary Parish.”

For many years the girls were too shy about their writing to share it even with each other. It took a small accident by Charlotte to get them to share their work and their dreams of someday having their work published.
Charlotte was moving Emily’s notebook one day to set the table. She had done this many times in the past and had never neglected Emily’s privacy by reading her work. This day, however, the notebook fell open accidently to some poems, and before Charlotte could close it her eyes caught a few lines.
Having studied the best poets at her boarding schools, Charlotte was capable of recognizing good poetry when she saw it. Emily’s poems were good, very good, and Charlotte couldn’t put the notebook down. She knew her sister’s work must be published.
“Charlotte! How dare you!” Emily cried as she came into the dining room.
“It was an accident, Emily; really it was.” Charlotte realized what her sister must think. “Your poems are so good, though, I couldn’t quit reading them.”
Emily’s anger lasted for three days during which she didn’t speak to Charlotte. After all was forgiven, the door was open for the sisters to discuss their work with each other and make plans to try to publish it.

I was baptized on December 5, 1993, in the city of Minsk. At that time, it was the only city in Belarus with a branch of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I attended worship services there, but I lived in Borisov, 40 miles (70 km) away. I was 17 years old, and there was sharp opposition in my family. But because of the trials I had at that time, my faith and testimony of the truth were strengthened. I was even fortunate enough to go to the temple twice in Freiberg, Germany, to perform baptisms for the dead. I impatiently awaited the time when I could receive my endowment.
In 1996 I began dating my future husband. Igor gladly accepted the news of the Restoration and was baptized on February 23, 1997. On March 1 we were married. Having a strong testimony of temple work, I wanted more than anything to go to the temple as soon as possible.
In September 1997, we moved to St. Petersburg, Russia, where Igor studied at the university. Our daughter Nelly was born there. Even after Igor had been a member for a year and a year had passed since our marriage, we still couldn’t go to the temple because we didn’t have visas and couldn’t get exit papers.
When Nelly was six months old, I became pregnant. It seemed to me we were in a hopeless situation. Igor couldn’t find steady work because he didn’t have a visa. He was holding down three jobs, but it wasn’t enough money for us to live on. Igor’s parents helped by sending money and food from time to time, but I was practically in despair because of our financial struggles. I felt even worse because we couldn’t go to the temple. In August 1998, after the exchange rate rose sharply, we decided to return to Belarus.
Our second daughter, Yelyena, was born in Minsk on January 6, 1999. Igor had a steady job now, but we still didn’t have enough money to go to the temple. Gradually we saved, however, and at the end of August 2000, we took the children to Germany. Igor has relatives in Kaiserslautern, and we stayed with them.
Early on the morning of September 2, we began our journey to the temple in Frankfurt. Although the trip was very tiring and included two transfers, we were full of enthusiasm and joy. We are grateful to all the temple workers, the temple president, and also the sisters who watched our daughters while we went through the endowment session. That was an unforgettable day! It is difficult to put into words the feelings we experienced there, but they were very good.
After the endowment session, we went into the sealing room, where Yelyena was already crying (it was her nap time). I hardly heard any of the sealing ceremony because of the crying, but we were very happy anyway. That was the most wonderful trip of our lives because we were in the house of the Lord.
We even managed to return to the temple. In February 2001 a group of members from Minsk went to Freiberg. I wanted to participate in the ordinance of sealings for the dead, since I had heard so little during our own sealing. I was grateful when Igor and I were invited to participate.
We now have a son, Robert, and as a family we attend the Minsk Second Branch (or, as it is known in Belarus, the Second Religious Community of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in Minsk). And while we have overcome several difficulties, we now have new ones. I am very grateful for all of these trials. No matter what happens to us on this journey, Heavenly Father wants only good for us. No one else can help us in our most difficult hour. If we reject Him because of some difficulties, it would be like throwing away a life preserver because it did not keep us from falling into the river.
The burden is easy and the yoke light when we are with the Lord. He will not give us trials we cannot bear.

Seminary began as it usually did: we sang a hymn, recited the scripture-of-the-week, and said the prayer. Then I began telling Grandma’s story about service. As I spoke, I kept noticing my seminary teacher, Brother Olsen, in one of the desks on the back row. He looked really serious.
Great! I thought. I hope he’s not mad at me. Maybe this wasn’t what he had in mind when he asked me to do the devotional. I finished the story by saying, “I hope we can all take time to serve others like my grandma did, because we never know how much good one small act of service can do.” Then I quickly sat down in my desk.
My seminary teacher didn’t say anything. He just sat there in the back row. Everyone started looking at him.
“Man, I must have really blown it,” I thought.
Finally Brother Olsen spoke. “Lindsay, what is your grandma’s name?”
“Mary Lois Gunnell,” I answered. What was he going to do—call her and make sure I hadn’t made up the story?
Brother Olsen continued, “Do you know who that sergeant was? That was my sergeant while I was in the service myself, and I was very close to him.” Everyone in the class started whispering.
“No way!” said one of the boys. He thought we had planned this all out before.
“Really,” Brother Olsen said sincerely. “I knew him before he was wounded and after he recovered. He told me that same story himself and said how much that meant to him to have a stranger care enough to bake a birthday cake for him. He wanted to thank the woman, but never knew her name.” Brother Olsen looked right at me. “Lindsay, that cake wasn’t just a birthday cake. It was the beginning of a whole new life for my sergeant.”
I couldn’t believe it, and I couldn’t wait to tell Grandma.
“Class,” Brother Olsen continued, “I want you to know that Lindsay’s Grandma’s act of service literally changed that sergeant’s life. Before he was wounded, he was pretty mean. Every other word out of his mouth was a swear word. After he received that cake in the hospital in Colorado, he decided to change. He told me he was going to try harder to be a better person, and that’s just what he did.”
Until hearing about Brother Olsen’s sergeant, I never realized how much just one kind deed could affect another. My grandma sweetened a bitter man’s life with as simple a thing as a cake. Her story gives me hope that my small acts of service—a smile or a kind word—may also add richness to other people’s lives.

A bright flash lit the night sky as the Russian built surface-to-air missile roared from its launcher. In a few seconds, it passed through the cloud cover over Hanoi and raced toward its rendezvous.
It was December 20, 1972. Two days earlier President Nixon had ordered full-scale bombing of Hanoi, hoping to force North Vietnam to negotiate an end to the war.
Captain Deverl Johnson, a pilot of one of the eighty B-52s sent on this mission, leaned forward intently in his seat.
This was the time in the flight when they were most vulnerable to enemy missiles. A few minutes earlier, as they approached Hanoi, they had evaded seven other missiles. Hanoi was living up to its reputation as one of the most heavily defended antiaircraft areas in the world. Now, as they approached their designated target, there could be no dodging. The mission came first.
The missile electronically locked onto the radar signal aimed at the plane by the enemy radar crew on the ground.
The crew released its bombs on target. Johnson began a turn to their out-bound heading back to their base in Guam.
The missile exploded when it was only a fraction of a second from the plane. It was not a direct hit, but its bright ball of fire hurled thousands of tiny pieces of metal through the plane.
In the cockpit, glass gauges on the instrument panel blew out as the shrapnel burst through the plane’s shell.
Fire warning lights flashed on two of the engines. Instinctively, Johnson quickly shut down the two engines.
Suddenly the lights went out, and they were flying in darkness, uncertain how much longer the plane would continue to fly.
Much later, when he was telling about this experience to a group of young people at a fireside, he was asked if he was praying then. “No, not then. It was all I could do to fly the plane. But before every flight, even now, I take several minutes for prayer. Of course, I have to hope that my Father in heaven has a good memory because some of our flights last up to 14 hours.”
In checking with the crew, he found out that his navigator had been wounded with shrapnel, but not seriously.
“See if you can get us some electrical power,” Johnson asked his copilot. The electrical monitoring equipment was on the copilot’s side of the cockpit.
Johnson retrieved a flashlight and shone it on the instrument panel. Most of that complicated set of flight instruments were useless to them without electricity. He had four flight instruments that didn’t need power to operate: a compass, an altimeter, a vertical velocity indicator, and an air speed indicator.
Two hundred fifteen knots was the optimum speed. Any slower than that and the wings would give more drag and less lift.
“I can’t get anything,” the copilot finally said, finishing his inspection of the plane’s electrical system. The electricity for the plane was generated by air-driven generators. Apparently the shrapnel had punctured the air lines.
The air speed indicator slowly approached the critical speed—217, 216, 215, 214. Johnson edged the plane downward in order to pick up speed. They were descending at 200 feet per minute.
Johnson felt his legs getting cold. The outside air, at 40 degrees below zero, whistled noisily into the plane through each tiny hole made by the shrapnel.
“We’re heading west,” the navigator announced. “We need to be heading south. At this rate we’re going to wind up in China.”
Johnson tried to turn the plane, but it wouldn’t respond. “I can’t turn it. We’ve got a fuel imbalance on one wing.” Without electrical power, he was flying the plane with his own strength. To make matters worse, the missile’s shrapnel had made enough holes in the fuel tanks on the left side that the resulting weight imbalance made it impossible to maneuver the plane.
The air speed indicator took another drop as the plane again slowed down. Johnson nosed the plane into a steeper descent—500 feet per minute. Four of the eight engines were working.
“At least we’ve got a full moon,” he thought, looking down on the cloud cover. The tops of some of the more rugged mountains jutted above the layer of clouds below.
His copilot retrieved a hand-held, battery-operated radio from a survival pack and tried to make radio contact.
Once more the plane slowed down. They were flying on three engines. Johnson steepened their rate of descent to 1000 feet per minute.
“If we can just make it to Thailand, we’ll be all right. It’s a friendly country, and everyone who’s made it back there has been picked up safely.”
The magic line was the Mekong River. Johnson and his copilot looked out, trying to spot the river by the light of the full moon.
“My legs are so cold,” he thought. Reaching down to feel them, he touched a strange, thick wetness. He shined a flashlight on his hand and saw blood. It was the first time that he knew he had been hit.
A panic began to gnaw at him—the fear that he was approaching his death—but years of training would not allow the panic to gain control.
A few minutes later another engine flamed out. They were flying on two engines and descending with a vertical velocity of 1500 feet per minute.
He checked the altimeter—20,000 feet. “How high are the mountains around here?” he asked his navigator.
“Five thousand feet.”
“Then we’ve got ten minutes to get out of here.”
Ahead of them, Johnson could see a rugged range of mountains about five minutes from them. “That’s the safest place to bail out,” he thought, “where the enemy soldiers will have a harder time reaching us than the rescue helicopters will.”
Each of the crew prepared for the ejection sequence. Each man went in his turn. The three crew members downstairs went first.
Finally it was the copilot’s turn. A hatch above him blew open, and suddenly he disappeared, seat and all, into the emptiness overhead.
Captain Johnson was the only one in the plane. As he let go of the controls so that he could begin the ejection procedure, the plane, now dangerously out of balance, lurched over on the heavy side.
He grabbed the controls and leveled the wings. “What if my ejection mechanism won’t work?” he thought desperately. The normal procedure in that case was to get to the openings left by the downward ejection of either the navigator or radar navigator, but with the plane out of balance, it would go into a steep dive the minute he let go. He wouldn’t be able to reach the bomb bay before the plane would crash.
His mind raced as he tried to come up with a plan in case his seat would not eject him. Finally he decided that he would try to crawl out the hole where the copilot had ejected.
The plans were not necessary. He pulled the ejection seat trigger. The hatch above him blew out. Automatically the control column stowed forward. An instant later he was hurled out of the open hatch as an explosive charge fired the pilot’s seat.
Out of the plane the seat, with him still strapped in it, tumbled about wildly. A second later, on schedule, the seat automatically separated from him.
He was spinning over and over in the air.
“The chute, what about the chute?” The panic, which he had controlled before, now consumed his mind as he realized the parachute should have automatically opened.
He felt an overwhelming depression. His thoughts were of his small family; he wouldn’t be able to be a father to his two children.
Seconds flew by as he plummeted to earth.
Suddenly he remembered there was a manual parachute release. He gained control over the panic.
He tried to pull his arms into his side to reach the manual release. Because of his rapid tumbling, the centrifugal force made it difficult to move his arms.
Finally he managed to move his arm to the handle. He pulled it and felt a beautiful jerk as the parachute opened.
He looked around. A few seconds later he saw a huge fireball light the sky as his plane crashed into a mountain peak a few miles from him.
Then he was falling through the cloud cover. Still disoriented and in shock, he was unaware of the ground coming up rapidly.
He slammed into the ground. Still in the darkness of night, he felt himself sliding down a steep slope.
Suddenly he stopped. His parachute had snagged on some bushes.
He spent the remainder of the night hanging upside down from his parachute straps. He was afraid to move until he found out where he was.
When it became light enough, he could see that he was about two-thirds of the way up a steep canyon about a thousand feet deep.
Cautiously he released one parachute strap and used the other strap to slowly pull himself hand over hand up the 15 feet to a more level area where he could rest.
Eventually the gray of night gave way to the colors of day.
Looking around he saw that a bright orange life raft had inflated when he hit the ground. He stood up and walked over to the raft. Taking his knife, he punctured it, then hid it in the bushes where it would be less likely to be spotted by the enemy. He also hid his parachute.
Looking around to make sure he was not leaving any signs of his presence to be picked up by the enemy, he limped into the deep vegetation and hid.
Alone in a jungle in Laos behind enemy lines is probably as good as any place to review your life. They had landed in Laos, about four miles from the North Vietnam-Laos border.
Rescue efforts depended upon radio. When the parachute opened, a radio tone was automatically broadcast on guard channel, which all U.S. aircraft monitored. Planes flying over the area picked up the beacons and notified rescue units.
The rescue helicopters decided to wait for the clouds to be burned off by the sun before attempting the rescue.
After five hours of waiting, he heard the helicopters coming in. He talked to the helicopter pilot by radio until he was nearby. Then he fired a flare to pinpoint his position.
The helicopter maneuvered until it was directly overhead and then lowered a rope. As the rotor wash from the helicopter blew the branches of trees madly about, Johnson had to fight to maintain his footing on the steep hillside.
Finally he managed to climb into the seat at the end of the rope. He gave a thumbs up signal and was reeled up into the helicopter.
The crew members were strung out over a four-mile area, and all but one were rescued. The missing man was never heard from again. It still isn’t known what became of him.
Johnson spent a week in the hospital in Thailand. He had lost quite a bit of blood from the shrapnel wounds in his legs. When he left the hospital, he was flown home for convalescent leave.
His night in enemy territory was over.
He has since been promoted to major and currently serves as a B-52 flight instructor at Ellsworth AFB in Rapid City, South Dakota. In the Church he serves as seventies group leader in his ward and stake.
In a recent sacrament meeting in his ward, he told about this experience.
“Sometimes people ask me what it was like to go through an experience like that.
“We were in a fairly secure environment in Guam. One day we were told about a hazardous mission we were to perform. We were warned that the enemy would do everything in his power to stop us. We were assured that if we had learned the information contained in our Air Force manuals, it would be a help to us in succeeding.
“Even if we had trouble, we were told that there was help for us. There was a way to be rescued. It involved sending someone in for us, someone who would be willing to put his own safety on the line for us.
“Above all, we were assured that there would be communication channels open for us to ask for help when we needed it.
“Doesn’t this sound a little familiar? To me it sounds like the same experience that every one of us here on the earth is going through.
“We also once lived in a reasonably safe environment. We call it the premortal existence. We were told about a dangerous mission and about the obstacles that the enemy would put in our way.
“The manuals that can help us to succeed here on earth are the scriptures. If we read them and learn the lessons contained in them, they will help us to accomplish our mission on earth.
“Even if we get into trouble, there is still hope for us. The Savior put his safety on the line to come to the earth to provide a way for us to be rescued.
“There are also communication channels here on the earth for us. If we pray, God will hear us and provide help. We also have a prophet on earth who can give us help and guidance.”

Milton Soares Jr. and his wife, Irene, are gracious hosts for visitors to the house they built in Recife. They have spent much of their lives in building—building a family and building up the Church, which began here with them.
They still have the first LDS pamphlet they received, the story of Joseph Smith, with a hand-drawn missionary diagram on the inside showing a church built on the foundation of Apostles. Another well-used Church book bears a message that the missionaries who taught Milton inscribed to him as the first person baptized in Recife in this dispensation. The date was 15 May 1960. His wife and children of baptismal age followed him into the Church three weeks later.
Irene Soares was skeptical when her husband first began investigating the gospel, but knowing him to be a good man, she thought that if he could accept it, it must be right. She received her own strong witness of the truth when President Joseph Fielding Smith of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles visited Recife with Elder A. Theodore Tuttle of the Seventy. “I felt in my heart the knowledge that all we had been learning was true and that [President Smith] was a prophet,” she recalls.
In the beginning, when both of their families questioned why they would join this unknown church, Milton and Irene had only their faith to cling to. His family’s feelings toward the Church softened over time. The feelings of her parents and siblings did not, but she could not give up the truths she had found.
Irene laughs when she remembers that “after just one week in the Church, I was considered an old-time member.” She felt a responsibility to meet and fellowship everyone. Her first sacrifice for the Church was to make cloths for the sacrament table. When their small branch moved to a different meetinghouse, Milton built the baptismal font and Irene found herself rounding up baptismal clothes.
Like many other Brazilians who joined the Church when it was just getting started in their area, they planted the seeds of gospel growth for their family. And as in many other Brazilian families, their example has borne fruit in succeeding generations. Their eldest son, Irajá, is just one example. After his baptism as a teenager, he quickly learned to enjoy working with the missionaries. In 1966 he became the first Brazilian elder called on a full-time foreign mission (he served in Chile). Today he serves as an Area Authority Seventy.

The conversation then turned to recollections of Elder Perry’s parents and his own childhood: “I grew up very close to the Church,” he said. “My father was made bishop of our ward when I was only six months old. By the time I was six years of age, our ward was building a chapel. Father would take us all over to work on it. I remember that my first job was pulling nails out of boards and straightening them so they could be used again.
“My father came from a large family. They were homesteading in Idaho and had little money. When he reached high school age, he asked my grandfather to allow him to go to high school. His father gave him five dollars and a one-way ticket to Salt Lake, where he had to make it on his own. He found a job caring for President Joseph F. Smith’s cows and lived in the Beehive House like a member of the family for three and a half years. Father attended LDS High School and then went on to the University of Utah, where he was valedictorian of his graduating class. He accepted a position as principal of a school in Rexburg, Idaho. There he met my mother who was a teacher in the same school. They were married and Dad left teaching and went to law school and became an attorney.
“Dad was a very intense man, but he knew how to relax. Saturday afternoon was spent with the family—fishing, hiking, or playing ball up Logan Canyon. He and I enjoyed pitching horseshoes together even when I was very young
“My mother was a tremendous woman. She had more energy than anyone I’ve ever been around. She was the first one up in the morning and the last one to bed at night—just perpetual motion all day long. Her family came first and she was a tremendous support to my father, who was a bishop for eighteen years and then in the stake presidency for another twenty years.
“I had some great teachers when I was a boy. I remember a Sister Johnson, who was president of the Primary for years and years. How tender she was!
“But the teacher I remember best was Sister Call. She was just a jewel. I remember how impressed I was that she was willing to go on hikes with the Trail Builders. She’d plan scavenger hunts, but they were not just the regular kind. Each one would have a connection with some part of the lesson. As we would find each thing, it would teach us another part of the lesson. Then there was always a nice reward—some special treat at the end. I can’t believe the creative ways she used to keep our attention as young boys.
“Sister Call is a person who keeps on giving. Recently I received a phone call from her son. He wanted to bring a gift Sister Call had just completed for me. He brought to my office a beautiful quilt she had made. Thousands of careful stitches prepared in a beautiful pattern. She is ninety-one years young. I could not hold back a tear as I thought of the kindness of this great teacher.”
We concluded the interview with some conversation about Elder Perry’s own family: “I have two grandchildren who live here and two who live in the East. We try to have family home evening together once a month with those who live here. One of our greatest family activities has been a garden that we planted in a vacant lot. We call it the Perry Family Welfare Farm. Both grandchildren have assignments. We plant, water, irrigate, harvest, and have a great time together! I hope I’m teaching them something about the Lord’s cycle of replenishment—that if we’re diligent, He will reward us abundantly. Each little seed brings forth a hundredfold.”
“Do you have a last word about children?”
“Children are receptive and attentive and able to follow the leader. They have freshness and are eager to learn. Children are wonderful!”

On April 14, 2006, my 11-year-old sister, Alexandra, died in a car accident. A few weeks later, my mom was reading to me and she started crying because she missed my sister. I hugged her and told her not to cry, that my sister would want us to be happy because she was in a happy place. Several months later, Mom began to cry again. I put my arms around her. I comforted her and told her not to cry, and that everything would be OK.
When I was baptized, my mom reminded me that I made a covenant with Heavenly Father. In Mosiah 18:8–9 it says we need to be “willing to bear one another’s burdens, that they may be light; Yea, and are willing to mourn with those that mourn; yea, and comfort those that stand in need of comfort.” I’m grateful I was baptized and could be there to comfort and help my mom.

Zenadine Blake, a 15-year-old from Saint Catherine, Jamaica, is the youngest of seven siblings. He learned valuable life lessons early on. One significant lesson is the importance of forgiveness.
His story begins when he was in preparatory school and faced bullying from a fellow student. The bullying was hurtful, and it left a lasting impact on him. However, things started to change when the COVID-19 pandemic hit. With school closures and the shift to online learning, Zenadine lost contact with the student who was bullying him. When the school began online classes, there was time allowed on Fridays for students to socialize with one another via the internet.
Zenadine noticed a difference in his nemesis. He had changed. He stopped the cruel behavior, and the two began to develop a friendship. Eventually, the student even apologized to Zenadine for the harm he had caused. Zenadine, despite the pain he had endured, chose to forgive him.
Life was not easy during the time of bullying. At one point, he found himself retreating to the internet to escape his feelings. But as time passed, he realized that this distraction wasn’t helping him heal. Instead of avoiding the problem, he chose to confront it by embracing forgiveness and positivity. Zenadine said, “If you’re scared to do everything, then you would just be living your life in fear.”
“Forgiveness takes time,” he shared. “It’s a process. I was sad at times, but I realized that nothing would change unless I changed. I started surrounding myself with positivity.”
Zenadine’s approach to dealing with negative emotions was rooted in his faith and strong sense of self. He studied the teachings from the pamphlet For the Strength of Youth, which helped him understand that forgiving others is not only for their benefit but also for his own well-being. “Once you fill your life with positivity, you stop thinking about negativity,” he said. “It doesn’t consume you anymore.”
When asked what helped him stay positive, Zenadine mentioned reading scriptures, praying, and spending time with supportive friends and family. These practices gave him the strength to face his challenges and remain humble.
Zenadine found inspiration in the scriptures, particularly in 1 Nephi 7, from the Book of Mormon. He recalled the moment when Nephi’s brothers, Laman and Lemuel, had tied him up and left him to die in the wilderness. Despite their cruelty, Nephi forgave them when they later apologized, showing that forgiveness is not about forgetting the hurt but about letting go of the anger and pain that comes with it.
“For me, this story teaches that forgiveness is powerful,” he explained. Even though Nephi’s brothers were wrong, he forgave them, which also helped Zenadine forgive. It reminded him that we all make mistakes, and it’s important to forgive, just as Nephi did.
“Never give up on people, even if they hurt you,” he said. “They can change.”
Through forgiveness, Zenadine not only healed his own heart but also built a stronger relationship with someone who had once caused him pain. His story is a reminder that kindness and understanding can lead to change, even in the most challenging circumstances.

“Mom, can I look for buried treasure?” Cindy asked.
Her mother looked up from the book she was reading and said, “Of course, but stay around the camp.”
“I will.” Cindy loved camping with her family and looking for buried treasure. She picked up a small shovel and a blue bag.
As she walked around the camp, she found a gray feather. “I wonder what bird lost this?” she said as she put it into her blue bag.
A few feet farther away, she saw something shiny sticking out of the dirt. With her shovel, she dug up a small stone. Cindy rolled the stone in her hands and said, “Jesus made this.” She put the stone into her blue bag with the feather.
Cindy noticed tiny purple flowers growing everywhere. She knew that she was not supposed to pick the flowers, so she got down on her knees and smelled their sweet fragrance.
Cindy walked some more. In a clump of tall grass, she spotted a baby rabbit and said, “I wonder where its mother is?” She didn’t put the baby rabbit into her bag, either.
Then she noticed something strange in the dirt. She began to dig. In seconds she dug up a rusty tin can. It wasn’t pretty like the other things she had found. She was going to bury it again, then remembered what her parents and Primary teachers had taught her about choosing the right. She knew that the right thing to do was to put it into her bag, take it back to camp, and throw it into the trash bag.
Cindy began to sing her favorite Primary song, “Choose the Right Way.”* As she sang, she continued to enjoy the treasures Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ had put all around her.

One member learned how easily an unchallenged lie can snare us in the web of sin even if we believe we have personally kept ourselves at arm’s length from it. He bought a motorcycle from a man who told him, “Pay me [U.S.] $600, but I’m writing out the bill of sale for [U.S.] $400. That way we won’t have to pay as much in taxes.” The buyer fully intended to report the price of the motorcycle honestly; if the seller chose not to do so, the buyer reasoned, he could do nothing about that.

But as he prepared his own tax return, reporting the price of the motorcycle correctly, he realized the problem might not be as simple as he originally had assumed. What if the names of the buyer and seller were somehow linked on tax records? What if he had to back up the information on his tax return with a bill of sale? There was little likelihood of ever being challenged, he reasoned, but that was not the point. He could not live with the idea of sustaining a lie, even though it was not his own.

The buyer of the motorcycle returned to the seller and asked for a legitimate bill of sale. He went away having learned a valuable lesson: if we tolerate lying to any degree, we are accessories to deception.

Years ago the seagulls in St. Augustine, Florida, USA, were starving. For generations the gulls had learned to depend on the shrimp fleets to feed them scraps from their nets. The shrimpers eventually moved from the area. The seagulls had not learned how to fish for themselves; nor did they teach their young how to fish. Consequently, the big, beautiful birds were dying even while there was plenty of fish all around them in the water.2

Growing up in Ghana, my journey through high school was fraught with obstacles.
Most high schools at that time required tuition, and my family struggled financially. My uncle graciously offered to support my education, allowing me to move in with him and continue my studies. However, financial difficulties were common, and my uncle could not always cover my fees. Failing to pay led to me being sent home, which unfortunately became my reality multiple times, along with other punishments.
In the midst of my struggles, I often felt disheartened as I watched other children with better opportunities. Yet these challenges became the backdrop for a transformative experience in my life.
While living with my uncle and his family, they introduced me to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. They devoted time each week to home evening, scripture study, and daily prayer. After a year of attending church and seminary with them, at the age of 17, I made the sacred decision to be baptized.
Years later, while attending Sunday School, I learned about patriarchal blessings and felt an urgent need to receive one. The patriarch, Joseph William “Billy” Johnson, was a respected disciple in the Church community and was among Ghana’s first converts. I traveled two hours to request my blessing and returned a month later with an open heart to receive it.
During the blessing, I was overwhelmed as the patriarch spoke personal insights that resonated deeply within me, revealing a connection to my life that only God could know. I felt His love and assurance that I had a purpose. Each subsequent reading of my blessing emphasized God’s intimate knowledge of me and the divine work I was meant to accomplish.
I came to realize that God is deeply interested in our lives, that we are His children (see Romans 8:16) and have a divine purpose. This realization inspired me to keep my patriarchal blessing at the forefront of my mind, reminding me of the commandments and promises associated with it. My patriarchal blessing motivated my decision to serve a mission. This experience profoundly transformed my life, and I witnessed the blessings that the patriarch pronounced upon me materialize throughout my service.
Upon returning from my mission, I was determined to follow the path laid out in my patriarchal blessing. Every step I took was guided by my faith in the promises I had received and my desire to see them fulfilled. I knew if I obeyed God and tried to live the way He wanted me to, He would guide me. Despite difficulties during college, I felt Heavenly Father strengthening me and leading me along.
To those struggling with education or navigating hardships (particularly in Africa), I empathize with you. I have walked that path. I understand the weight of uncertainty, but I implore you: Do not give up. The Lord is ever present, ready to assist you despite the trials you may face. As the Savior taught, “Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest” (Matthew 11:28).
Help may come from unexpected sources—be it family, friends, or Church leaders—and I testify that the Lord inspires others to support His children. It’s essential to maintain faith in yourself and the potential that lies within you. With hard work and determination, you can overcome your circumstances.
My patriarchal blessing, a personal Liahona for my life, continually reminded me to look forward to better days. In Alma 37, the Liahona is described in such a beautiful way: “It did work for [Lehi’s family] according to their faith in God” (verse 40). This shows how our patriarchal blessings can guide us if we maintain our faith in the Lord’s promises.
While not all blessings may be realized in this life, we can have hope that some will manifest, and our faithful pursuit of righteous desires will lead us toward joy and fulfillment.
Throughout my journey, I’ve learned that while life may not always be straightforward, trusting in Heavenly Father’s plan leads to personal miracles. When confronted with obstacles, I leaned into this truth and became fortified by faith. When we act in faith and make wise choices, the Lord prepares a path for us. Each time I felt overwhelmed or uncertain, I remembered this promise and was reminded that faith is key (see Matthew 17:20).
In moments of doubt, I often find myself reflecting on the encouragement found in reading my patriarchal blessing. It inspires me to press forward, knowing that every effort made in faith will not go unnoticed by the Lord.
When we keep our hearts open to inspiration, we will find that God is constantly providing opportunities for growth. As we conduct His work and build His kingdom, we are not alone.
As I continue to embrace the guidance found in my patriarchal blessing, I remain steadfast in my commitment to follow the Savior. As we move forward together, I encourage you to hold fast to your blessings and the hope they represent. Our patriarchal blessings serve as divine reminders of our worth and potential in the eyes of God.

How would you like to live in a schoolhouse? Minna and her family live in the countryside of southern Sweden. Their home used to be a schoolhouse many years ago. She says the best part is that the house has a room big enough for lots of people. In December, Minna’s family invites neighbors, friends, and family over for a special “sing-in.” About 80 people come to sing Christmas carols together! Then they enjoy treats before everyone goes back out into the cold Scandinavian winter weather.

Many youth in the Church have had the opportunity to do baptisms for the dead, but for the priests and Laurels of the Adelaide Australia Modbury Stake, this great blessing has come only in recent times with the completion of the Sydney Australia Temple.
Even so, the trip to Sydney was a long one. As a fund-raising project, the young people committed to deliver 50,000 telephone directories. With many ward members helping, the youth spent Saturdays and many evenings making the deliveries.
The 26 enthusiastic youth attended two baptismal sessions. Many were baptized for their own ancestors or those of other members of the stake.
What may have seemed like a trial to some when they had spent several Saturdays delivering heavy directories turned out to be one of the most wonderful experiences of their lives.

The girls in the Holladay Stake First Ward in Utah, USA, know their activity day plans are much more fun when more girls are involved. That’s why they made a special effort to get every girl in their neighborhood to come to the activities. The group was praying for more members when they realized that there were many girls nearby they could invite to attend. With the help of their leaders, they decided to reach out to their friends from school and in their neighborhood.
At first the girls were nervous to knock on doors and talk to others, but their leaders encouraged them and let them do all the talking. Soon they had many new friends! When they started their project, only four girls were coming regularly. Now the group has more than 20 girls who participate every week!

We were driving through the majestic Swiss Alps on a family vacation when, without warning, our van lost all power. My husband, Floyd, pulled over to the side of the alpine road and tried to restart the engine. Suddenly there was a loud bang. “It’s okay,” Floyd said. “Just a backfire.”
But something made me look out the rear window. To my horror, I saw flames of fire coming out from under the van, spreading across the back of the vehicle. “There’s a fire!” I cried. Floyd reacted instantly. “Everyone out of the van—now!” he yelled, running around to open the side doors for us. Our two girls, ages sixteen and six, quickly climbed out of the van and ran down the roadside out of harm’s way. Our four-year-old son, shoeless and frightened, was next into his father’s arms. He was sent running away from the burning van which we expected to explode at any minute.
The baby and I were last. It seemed to take forever to unfasten the harness holding him in his car seat. Floyd helped us out, and we ran, too.
A cloud of oily black smoke was rising from the burning van as a young French couple stopped. The man ran to telephone for help. His wife helped me calm the children.
Next a truck driver stopped, and began to put out the fire with an extinguisher from his truck. Then he helped my husband rescue most of our baggage. The van continued to burn.
By now, farmers had wandered out of their homes to watch the excitement. Soon a large fire truck and police cars arrived. Quickly, the fire crew put out the blaze and retrieved the rest of our baggage.
There we were, our suitcases scattered beside the burned-out van, stranded at the side of a highway in Switzerland—a long way from our home in California. But we felt relieved and thankful to be safe and to have most of our baggage as well.
“Anyone here speak English?” my husband asked hopefully. There were only blank looks and a few shrugs.
Then a man and his son stepped forward. “You come to my house,” he said in halting English. “You come to my house.” He pointed across the valley to a small cottage. It took three trips in his little car to get all of us and our baggage there. Our new-found friend’s wife and family fed us, put our weary children to bed, and helped us sort and repack all our things.
The wife spoke perfect English, and we stayed up late into the night talking with our hosts, but it wasn’t until the next morning as we prepared to leave that we discovered they were Latter-day Saints, too. It made our host family even more special to us.
That day in the Alps was the most memorable part of our vacation. We will never forget our frightening experience. Nor shall we forget that Swiss family—brothers and sisters in the gospel whom we found by accident—and the love they showed for us.

Twenty people crowded into the small home of Erich Konietz in Selbongen, Poland. Some had traveled more than nine hours to get to Selbongen, and among them were seven young children. These boys and girls weren’t old enough to understand just what the meeting meant, but they could feel the wonder and excitement of friends being together again.
The date was October 17, 1970. Percy Fetzer of Salt Lake City, Utah, had been specially ordained by the First Presidency of the Church to give patriarchal blessings to members behind the Iron Curtain. M. Elmer Christensen, president of the Switzerland Mission, had arranged for him to go to Selbongen and had sent word to the members of the branch to meet with him on that wonderful Saturday afternoon.
President Christensen first told the group about the death of David O. McKay, the ninth president of the Church. He had been able to bring a picture of Joseph Fielding Smith, who was now the tenth president. He told the group the names of all of the General Authorities and had them say the names again and again until even the young children could repeat them.
Sister Fetzer and Sister Christensen told the Saints about Sunday School and Primary programs for children. Young and old learned some songs, including “I Am a Child of God,” which they especially liked. No one there had heard this song before, and they learned the words quickly and sang it with great feeling. Although they couldn’t write the words down on paper, they recorded the melody in their hearts and minds.
The members of the Selbongen Branch who crowded the Konietz home had once been free to enjoy each other and their membership in the Church. They had even built a small chapel in 1928—the first chapel of the Church ever built in Germany. But in 1945 war came to their country and many of them left their homes to escape the invading Russian army.
Some of the Church members who fled walked for days, taking with them only what they could carry. Others loaded their belongings into handcarts. A few were able to scramble aboard trains. Many died trying to escape.
Those who stayed in their own homes and survived the horrors of war found afterward that they were no longer citizens of Germany. Their land had been given to Poland. Because of this the people had to endure many hardships, and they were greatly limited in where they could go and what they could do. In spite of these difficulties, however, the small group of Church members managed to meet together. They were more than six hundred miles from any other Latter-day Saints, but by a miracle their lives and their chapel had been spared. Their hearts were full of gratitude.
Now they were meeting together, hearing news of their brothers and sisters, and receiving Patriarchal blessings from Brother Fetzer. It was a wonderful day!
While giving the blessings, Brother Fetzer was inspired to promise some that if they lived the gospel, they would go to a temple. He promised others that they would go on missions. These things seemed impossible on that day in October 1970, but since that time, all German people living in Poland have been given permission to move to West Germany.
It is very possible that the promises of those blessings for the Saints of Selbongen might soon be fulfilled!