Gospel Story Finder

Mackenzie felt miserable. Her best friend, Bekah, had moved all the way to Texas with her family. Mackenzie tried to have fun without Bekah, but it just wasn’t the same. Playing by herself just wasn’t fun. Mackenzie missed having someone to giggle with and play superheroes and princesses together. She missed Bekah.
Without Bekah, Mackenzie had no one to show her drawings to or sit with in Primary. She liked the other kids in her class, but none of them were her best friend.
One night Mackenzie lay in her bed, hugging her favorite stuffed animal, Bunny. She counted all the days Bekah had been gone. “I’m lonely,” she told Bunny. “What am I going to do?” Tears filled her eyes.
Bunny didn’t have any answers for her. But Mackenzie knew someone who did.
She knelt down beside her bed. Then she folded her arms and bowed her head. “Heavenly Father,” she prayed, “please help me find a new best friend so I won’t be lonely. Please help me be brave enough to talk to people.”
A few weeks later, Mackenzie’s parents invited someone over for dinner. His name was Brother Bryce. He was new in the ward. During dinner, Brother Bryce turned to Mackenzie and said, “My family is still in Colorado while I look for a house here, but I have a daughter about your age. Would you like to talk to her on the phone?”
Mackenzie’s heart started pounding. What am I going to say? What if she thinks I’m boring? Then Mackenzie remembered her prayer. Heavenly Father can help me be brave.
“Sure,” Mackenzie said in a small voice.
Brother Bryce pulled out his phone and called his family. Then he handed the phone to Mackenzie. She bit her lip nervously.
“You can sit on the couch while you talk,” Dad suggested with a smile.
Mackenzie nodded and headed to the living room. She sat on the couch and hugged a pillow tightly. She took a deep breath and raised the phone to her ear.
“Hello?” Mackenzie asked.
A quiet voice answered, “Hi.”
Mackenzie took another deep breath. “My name’s Mackenzie. What’s yours?”
“Hannah,” the girl said after a short pause. “Do you like books?”
Mackenzie smiled. “I love books. Do you like superheroes?”
“Superheroes are my favorite!” Hannah’s voice sounded excited. “What about princesses?”
“Definitely!” Mackenzie said with a grin.
Before they knew it, Mackenzie and Hannah were talking about all kinds of things. They could have talked forever, but Brother Bryce had to leave. And his phone battery was about to die!
“I can’t wait for you to get here!” Mackenzie said.
“Me too!” Hannah said. “You’re really cool!”
That night, Mackenzie knelt beside her bed with a huge smile. “Thank you, Heavenly Father,” she prayed, “for helping me find a brand-new friend.”
Mackenzie and Hannah have been best friends for 15 years. They grew up and went to college together. They’re still best friends today!

I was 13 when I found myself faced with what I felt was a no-win scenario. I had been friends with this girl for a few months. She was not a member of the Church, nor did she share all of our values of always striving to be Christlike. She preferred to settle her disagreements with her fists.

During lunch that day, I had been sitting quietly, listening to the conversation around me. Then my friend suddenly started bad-mouthing another friend of mine. This other friend I knew to be a nice, polite girl, who always tried to treat everyone kindly. My heart started to pound, sounding in my ears. I knew it wasn’t right for me to sit there and say nothing; so I spoke.

“Please don’t talk about her like that.”

My friend glared at me. “I can talk about her if I want,” she responded.

“I’m asking you not to,” I said a little louder.

That’s when she stood—face flushed and eyes wide. “You want to take this outside?” she snarled.

There I sat, unsure of how to keep one friend while defending another, who I knew didn’t deserve to have her reputation slandered.

I stood up to meet my friend’s eyes, praying that Heavenly Father would help me be a peacemaker.

I spoke calmly but sincerely. “You’re my friend,” I told her, “and it hurts me to hear you talk badly about another friend I care about.”

That was all it took. The wrinkles between her brows disappeared and her eyes softened. She shrugged, “Fine.” Then, she sat back down.

That may not have been our last disagreement, but that was the last time she ever wanted to fight me. I learned then that treating others as friends and fellow sons and daughters of our Heavenly Father is the right thing to do, no matter the situation. And I’m grateful for the example that our Savior, Jesus Christ, and the Prophet Joseph Smith set for me so that I could learn this for myself.

Friday, March 11, 2011, 2:46 p.m.; K?riyama, Japan; K?riyama chapel, second floor.
Fifteen missionaries in the middle of leadership training begin to practice teaching about Joseph Smith. As the message of hope and peace fills the room, the windows begin to rattle. The noise intensifies. What began as vibrations escalates to booming.
The building jerks side to side, and the movement increases in speed and magnitude until it becomes one continuous jolting motion. Standing and walking are nearly impossible. Some missionaries try to take cover under the tables—until the tables are thrown across the room. The building, the city, even the whole province reel in commotion as if the earth will burst open. One thought prevails in my mind: “Get the missionaries out of here!”
As mission president of the Japan Sendai Mission, I had been teaching the missionaries and members for months to “turn to the Lord” (Mosiah 7:33). Now, as I turned to Him for divine guidance, inspiration came quickly: “Open the door—create an escape route.” I knew that I must open the door before the ceiling collapsed, trapping us inside. So I rushed to the door and opened it. “Get out of here!” I shouted.
The missionaries staggered along the shifting, rocking, heaving floor toward the open door; then they headed down the stairwell and out of the church. Once outside, we felt safer, although we were not yet safe from the elements. The weather had turned bitter cold, and snow pelted our faces.
Across from the church, headstones in a Buddhist cemetery toppled over; the wall of the cemetery had turned to rubble. A large fissure zigzagged up all 12 stories of an apartment building behind the church. Large chunks of concrete facade had crumbled off the walls of an adjacent elementary school. Windows had blown out, and broken glass littered the ground. On the opposite side of the road, a blue tile roof lay in pieces. I gathered the 15 missionaries in the parking lot of the church, and we gave our Heavenly Father thanks for our protection and asked for His continued help.
Panic set in throughout the city. Afraid that they would go without food, people began buying everything in sight. Bread and milk sold out immediately, and within a few hours no bread could be found in the city. Lines miles long formed at the gas stations.
In contrast to the panic of the people on the streets, the missionaries were remarkably calm. We offered prayers of thanksgiving, and we felt a calm assurance that all would be well.
We could not leave the city—roads were damaged and freeways were closed, and no trains or buses were running. People who had waited hours in long lines to purchase gasoline were turned away. Government inspectors systematically entered each residence, condemning some and approving others for occupancy. So we stayed overnight at evacuation centers with numerous others who, like us, could not return to their homes.
The next day, Saturday, we began as usual with scripture study and prayer. That day we especially needed our Heavenly Father’s help. After scripture study, I organized the missionaries into groups. One group went to the church to help clean up and then worked with the branch president to repair members’ homes. One group visited the city inspectors to find out whether the missionary apartments were safe to enter. Another group checked to see if trains and buses were running. Several others stood in lines to obtain water while others searched for food. One companionship received a special assignment: find bread for the sacrament on Sunday. I worked throughout the day trying to contact all the missionaries in the mission.
That day we felt our Heavenly Father’s guidance in everything we did. The missionaries who stood in the line for water met two men with whom they shared the gospel. The missionaries shared their testimonies of God’s love and brought the two men to our testimony meeting in the evening and to church the next day.
The sisters who sought food for us soon learned that God was guiding their footsteps. Unable to find anything in the stores, they found food in places they usually would not consider, such as down deserted alleys and in small, one-room shops. We had been given our “daily bread” (Matthew 6:11).
At the end of the day we reported back to our Heavenly Father. We had not lost our focus. We were still “disciple[s] of Jesus Christ,” who were “called of him to declare his word among his people, that they might have everlasting life” (3 Nephi 5:13).
That evening we felt a greater need for the strength and power of our Heavenly Father. We needed His Spirit to be with us. So we had a testimony meeting at the chapel. The missionaries thanked the Lord for giving us our daily bread, and they recognized that we had been led, guided, directed, and protected. They knew that many others were not so fortunate and would not see another sunrise. We truly had been “troubled on every side, yet not distressed; we [had been] perplexed, but not in despair; … cast down, but not destroyed” (2 Corinthians 4:8–9).
All the missionaries testified of the peace they felt. They testified that God had protected them and calmed their souls. They had faced the possibility of death but did not fear. They did not have the water, food, or heat needed to sustain them long-term, yet they were nourished with living water; they were fed by the word of God; they were warmed by the Spirit. Within our little band of missionaries, not one feared. Each missionary felt God’s strengthening power that night and felt closer to God than ever before.
As that day ended, we were grateful to be alive. We thanked the Lord for the help He had extended to us in very literal ways. We made assignments for our worship service the next day and left the chapel to join the dozens of other temporarily homeless people in the evacuation center.
But two elders were especially solemn. They had been asked to get the bread for the sacrament the next day and had not accomplished their assignment.
As we reached the evacuation center Saturday evening, the city employees welcomed us back. They apologized that they had given us little food (20 crackers) to eat the day before but then beamed as they handed us the next day’s rations: a bottle of water and eight slices of bread.
My elders looked at me as if to say, “How could the Lord bless us any more?”
God, who knows the fall of a sparrow, had reached out again, as if preserving our lives had not been enough. Our Heavenly Father made sure that we would be able to “always remember” His Son (D&C 20:77). We were closer to our Savior than we had ever been in our lives.
The missionaries gave a special prayer that night. They dropped to their knees to thank our Heavenly Father for another miracle in a series of special miracles. They understood the priority that God has placed on our covenant to always remember Jesus Christ, and they were grateful for the mercy and kindness of a loving God who lets us partake of the sacrament each week.
These missionaries now testified, with greater conviction than ever before, that God wants us to always remember His Son, Jesus Christ.
The 2011 T?hoku earthquake took place 70 kilometers (about 45 miles) off the Oshika Peninsula and registered at a 9.0 magnitude, one of the five most powerful earthquakes measured since modern record keeping began in 1900.1
All of the Sendai missionaries were accounted for within days of the earthquake.

As a young Aaronic Priesthood boy, I received a firsthand confirmation of the remarkable testimony of the Three Witnesses concerning the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon. My stake president was President Henry D. Moyle, and his father was James H. Moyle. In the summertime Brother James H. Moyle would visit his family, and he would worship with us in our little ward in the southeast of the Salt Lake Valley.
One Sunday, Brother James H. Moyle shared with us a singular [remarkable] experience. As a young man he went to the University of Michigan to study law. As he was finishing his studies, his father told him that David Whitmer, one of the witnesses of the Book of Mormon, was still alive. The father suggested to his son that he stop on his way back to Salt Lake City to visit with David Whitmer face-to-face. Brother Moyle’s purpose was to ask him about his testimony concerning the golden plates and the Book of Mormon.
During that visit, Brother Moyle said to David Whitmer: “Sir, you are an old man, and I’m a young man. I have been studying about witnesses and testimonies. Please tell me the truth concerning your testimony as one of the witnesses of the Book of Mormon.” David Whitmer then told this young man: “Yes, I held the golden plates in my hands, and they were shown to us by an angel. My testimony concerning the Book of Mormon is true.” David Whitmer was out of the Church, but he never denied his testimony of the angel’s visitation, of handling the golden plates, or of the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon. Hearing with my own ears this remarkable experience directly from Brother Moyle’s lips had a powerful, confirming effect upon my growing testimony. Having heard it, I felt it was binding upon me.

Elder Orson Hyde, who became a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, wrote:
“I attended the Saints’ meeting in Kirtland, Sunday, October 30, 1831, and offered myself a candidate for baptism, which was administered to me by the hands of Elder Sidney Rigdon; was confirmed and ordained an elder in the Church on the same day under the hands of Joseph Smith, the Prophet, and Sidney Rigdon. Not until about three days after did I receive any internal evidence of the special approbation of Heaven of the course I had taken. When one evening behind the counter, the Spirit of the Lord came upon me in so powerful a manner, that I felt like waiting upon no one, and withdrew in private to enjoy the feast alone. This, to me, was a precious season, long to be remembered” (Millennial Star, 26 [1864]: 761).

The stake president, Sonny Purcell, was driving his car when he saw the enormous wave coming far out at sea. He honked his horn and stopped children on the road walking to school and warned them to run for higher ground and safety as fast as they could go. The children followed his instruction. He frantically drove, reached his four-year-old daughter, put her in the car, and then tried to get to his mother. Before he could reach his mother, the wall of water picked up his car and swept it over 100 yards (91 m), where it lodged in a tree. He scrambled to secure his daughter on top of the car and then swam to rescue his mother, who was clinging to a branch of another tree near their house. With great effort he swam with her to the car and safety. Many were not as fortunate. They did not have time to get to higher ground and safety. Many lost their lives, particularly the young and the elderly.

by Ruth Duffin
As we piled into the automobiles that would take us on the first lap of our field trip, we paid little attention to the warning hanging heavy in the overcast skies. For weeks we had been planning a re-enactment of the last few miles of the pioneer trek into the Salt Lake Valley, and now that it was here, we were determined to have as realistic and exciting an experience as possible. The clouds added to the atmosphere: after all, hadn’t the real pioneers awakened many times to the threat of stormy weather? We, the Tooele, Utah, seminary students, felt equally ready for the challenge!

The morning began with a devotional, followed by a film presentation concerning the historical spots we would be visiting in our journey from Tooele to Henefer and then up Big Mountain. By the time we arrived in Henefer, splotches of rain could be seen through the windshields of our cars. When we reached Big Mountain, it was raining and hailing so hard that we decided that those who wanted to hike the three miles up the mountain could do so, and those who didn’t want to could ride to the top in cars. We unloaded the large handcart, thankful that, unlike the first pioneers, we could send the contents up in a safe and dry automobile. Nancy Stewart, one of our historians, recorded the hike in her journal:

At the beginning, our journey was quite easy, but soon our troubles began. First the right wheel of the handcart fell off, so we had to stop and repair it. We were on our way again, doing quite well, when the wheel fell off again, and again and again. We finally just took it off and carried the right side of the handcart.

The trail was really wet and slippery. We had a few falls, but none were really serious. The left wheel was also giving us quite a few problems, and finally it got so bad we just took it off and carried the whole handcart. We thought about leaving it behind but decided against it. We continued trudging along through the rain and mud, singing a few hymns when things got rough.

When we finally looked down into the valley, we stood at the monument where Brigham Young had declared, “This is the right place.” We were grateful that our time on the old pioneer trail had consisted of only an afternoon and felt much greater appreciation for those courageous pioneers who had been willing and determined to make the whole trip.

Like so many other young married couples, Jeff and Pat struggled through their student years at Brigham Young University. Nearing graduation in 1965, he was not eager to become a teacher of English, his academic major. Then came an opportunity to teach religion half-time at BYU while he worked on a master’s degree in religious instruction. He regarded it as an answer to prayer and felt privileged to be hired as an institute teacher in the Church Educational System on completion of his graduate work in 1966.

After a year in Hayward, California, teaching at several institutes in the area, he was appointed director of the institute in Seattle. Seattle Temple President Brent Nash, who was called as stake president during that time, says Jeffrey Holland reached out to many young members who might otherwise have faded into anonymity on campus. “Youth were drawn to him. If he was able to bring some of those young people into the institute, the gospel changed them.”

It was a time when uninformed comments about the Church had generated controversy on campus, but the young institute director’s ability to make friends and touch hearts helped erase ill feeling among students and organizations allied with other faiths. He became a sought-after speaker for firesides and other Church programs, and his wife frequently spoke along with him.

But anticipating a lifelong career in the field of education, Jeff knew he would need more schooling, including a doctoral degree. Years earlier, at BYU, he had opened a Yale University catalog and felt prompted that one day he would go there. A Yale-educated professor at the University of Washington recommended him for Yale’s American Studies program, and the Hollands moved to New Haven, Connecticut, in 1970.

On a May morning in 1843 some of the Apostles were meeting in Joseph Smith’s office in Nauvoo. Opposition to the Church was building in Illinois, and persecution of the Saints was increasing. Yet at this difficult time, the leaders called four men to leave their families, travel far from their homes, and serve missions in the Sandwich Islands (Hawaiian Islands). They were the first missionaries called to a non-English-speaking mission field. The four men—Addison Pratt, Noah Rogers, Benjamin F. Grouard, and Knowlton F. Hanks—were set apart on May 23 by Brigham Young, Heber C. Kimball, Orson Hyde, and Parley P. Pratt.
The missionaries first traveled east to New Bedford, Massachusetts, where they hoped to find a ship going to their mission area. When they couldn’t find one, they booked passage on a ship traveling to the Society Islands (French Polynesian Islands) in the South Pacific. They set sail on October 9, 1843.
After they had been at sea only a few weeks, Elder Hanks, a young man who had suffered from ill health, died and was buried in the Atlantic. The three remaining missionaries continued on. Their voyage took them east across the Atlantic, around the Cape of Good Hope, across the Indian Ocean, along the southern coast of Australia, and into the Pacific.
The first island reached by the ship was Tubuai in 1844. When the natives there pleaded with the missionaries to stay, Addison Pratt left the ship to teach these people who had shown them kindness and hospitality. Serving there alone for many months, struggling to learn the Polynesian language, he baptized sixty out of a population of two hundred and organized the first branch of the Church in the South Pacific. To this day, the Latter-day Saint community on Tubuai is a strong one.
Elder Pratt’s two former companions traveled on to Tahiti, where their teaching met with far less success. After a few months, Elder Rogers traveled west to the leeward islands and Elder Grouard sailed to the island of Anaa in the Tuamotus. Elder Rogers again met with little success and much opposition. When rumors finally reached him of the death of the Prophet Joseph Smith, he began to fear for the safety of his family in Nauvoo, and he returned to America. He died during the exodus from Nauvoo.
The people of Anaa, on the other hand, came to greatly love Elder Grouard. He was the first white missionary of any kind to come to their island, and many of them accepted the truth he taught. He baptized over six hundred natives, organized five branches, and called local officers to serve. He wrote to Elder Pratt and asked him to come to Anaa, as there was too much work for him to do alone.
Elder Pratt responded to his companion’s invitation, and a conference of the Church was held on Anaa with over eight hundred in attendance. At this time Addison Pratt decided to travel back to Church headquarters to request more missionaries to help in the work in the South Pacific. Leaving Elder Grouard behind, he traveled first to California, then to the Salt Lake Valley, arriving in September 1848, one week after his wife and four daughters had arrived from Winter Quarters.
He shared his experiences with the Saints, taught Tahitian classes, and prepared to return to Polynesia. In 1850 he set out with a new companion, James S. Brown, and the promise that his own family and other missionary families would soon follow. They did follow, and despite growing problems with the French government in the islands, the missionaries and their families served until 1852, when they were forced to return to America.
Forty years passed before LDS missionaries were allowed back into French Polynesia. Many members had remained faithful despite the lack of contact with Church headquarters, but many had fallen away. The work began anew in 1892 and has continued with a few interruptions to this day. The gospel truth has shone in these islands for 150 years!
There are now four stakes in the Society Islands, and a beautiful temple stands in Papeete, on the island of Tahiti. The stories of the early missionaries are remembered and shared often by those who now send their own sons and daughters as missionaries to other countries and other islands.

What is the record of Church service of Joseph Smith, Sr.? When he accepted the restored gospel, he found himself. Although previously skeptical of all organized religion, he believed at once in his son’s visions. He physically protected the Prophet during the translation of the plates and became a witness of the Book of Mormon after seeing and handling the plates. He then brought people into the Church as a missionary to the northeastern United States and to his family. In 1833 he was called as Patriarch to the Church. There were other offices: member of the first high council in 1834 and even counselor in the First Presidency for a short time in 1836. But Mormon diaries show that his greatest impact on his fellow Church members was through the blessings given as Patriarch. Many of those blessings were prophetic for Church members who came west. A young college student who attended blessing meetings in Kirtland, Ohio, was Lorenzo Snow, then a nonmember and later president of the Church. His sister, Eliza R. Snow, had induced him to come from Oberlin College to study with the competent Hebrew instructor employed by the Church for the missionaries. She had hoped that he would be exposed to Mormonism while studying Hebrew, and it was Joseph Smith, Sr., who impressed him most toward conversion. For Lorenzo felt his strong inspiration and discerned the appropriateness of instruction given to different people. In recalling his first impressions, Lorenzo Snow later said: “I looked at Father Smith and silently asked myself the question: Can that man be a deceiver? His every appearance answered in the negative. … I had never seen age so prepossessing.”11 His strong convictions attracted strong men to the Church. The most influential Smith of the second generation in Utah was George A., cousin of the Prophet and counselor to Brigham Young. His Uncle Joseph, the Patriarch, visited northern New York to meet initial ridicule of the Book of Mormon even from his family, most of whom were later converted. George A. Smith, then a bright and brash teenager, began to read the Book of Mormon but with the purpose of gathering devastating objections against it. The sequel was not as he expected. In his own words: “On the return of my Uncle Joseph, I undertook to argue with him upon the subject, but he so successfully removed my objections and enlightened my mind, that I have never since ceased to advocate its divine authority.”12 Other converts left records that show the unquestionable sincerity and deep convictions of Joseph Smith, Sr. His total loyalty to the restored church is itself a strong argument for the authenticity of the prophetic mission of his son.

I grew up in Mexico with my siblings, my mother, and my grandmother. Every day after doing homework and chores, I played soccer. I loved soccer! I would pretend that my right leg was one team and my left leg was the other team.
One day when I was playing soccer, I suddenly couldn’t breathe very well. I rested for a few minutes, but I still had trouble breathing. I became so sick that I had to go to the hospital.
The hospital room had many other children in it, but I missed my family and felt very alone. Although I was not a member of the Church yet, I believed in God. Every day I prayed to be healed, but instead I got worse and worse. The doctors thought I might not live.
The doctors finally sent me home from the hospital, but I had to spend the next year in bed. I took many pills and had two shots every day. And I still had a prayer in my mind and heart. I told Heavenly Father that if I got well, I would serve Him all the rest of my life.
Then one day when I was reading in bed, I accidentally dropped my book on the floor. When I leaned down to pick it up, I realized that I was breathing normally. I dropped the book again. Again I could pick it up without any problem!
I got out of bed. At first I was dizzy because I had not walked by myself in such a long time. I looked in the mirror and saw that I was smiling. I knew that I had received an answer from Heavenly Father.
Every day since then, I have tried to do something to express my gratitude to Heavenly Father. When I grew up, I became a doctor to help answer the prayers of other children. And now I am trying to serve Heavenly Father with my calling in the Church.

I am encouraged by a story that appeared in the New Era some years ago. The author recounted the following:
“When I was young, our little family lived in a one-bedroom apartment on the second floor. I slept on the couch in the living room. …
“My dad, a steelworker, left home very early for work each day. Every morning he would … tuck the covers around me and stop for a minute. I would be half-dreaming when I could sense my dad standing beside the couch, looking at me. As I slowly awoke, I became embarrassed to have him there. I tried to pretend I was still asleep. … I became aware that as he stood beside my bed he was praying with all his attention, energy, and focus—for me.
“Each morning my dad prayed for me. He prayed that I would have a good day, that I would be safe, that I would learn and prepare for the future. And since he could not be with me until evening, he prayed for the teachers and my friends that I would be with that day. …
“At first, I didn’t really understand what my dad was doing those mornings when he prayed for me. But as I got older, I came to sense his love and interest in me and everything I was doing. It is one of my favorite memories. It wasn’t until years later, after I was married, had children of my own, and would go into their rooms while they were asleep and pray for them that I understood completely how my father felt about me.”22

The scriptures are for people of all ages. Young children can also learn to read, ponder, and appreciate them. A father recently assigned two of his children, ages eight and nine, to read four chapters from the New Testament each Sunday. At first they had to be prodded, but they gradually developed interest and even began to read on other days of the week. Soon they were reading before going to bed each night. When they finished the New Testament, they started the Book of Mormon. Within three months the older child finished the Book of Mormon and started it again.

Many years ago it was my opportunity to serve as president of the Canadian Mission. There we had a branch with very limited priesthood. We always had a missionary presiding over the branch. I received a strong impression that we needed to have a member of the branch preside there.
We had one adult member in the branch who was a deacon in the Aaronic Priesthood but who didn’t attend or participate enough to be advanced in the priesthood. I felt inspired to call him as the branch president. I shall always remember the day that I had an interview with him. I told him that the Lord had inspired me to call him to be the president of the branch. After much protest on his part, and much encouragement on the part of his wife, he indicated that he would serve. I ordained him a priest.
It was the beginning of a new day for that man. His life was quickly put in order, and he assured me that he would live the commandments as he was expected to live them. In a few months he was ordained an elder. He and his wife and family eventually went to the temple and were sealed. Their children served missions and married in the house of the Lord.

Young Women from the Mesa Arizona North Stake decided to devote some of their time at girls’ camp to performing a service to others. For the three days they were at camp, the girls devoted some of their time each day to sewing teddy bears to be given to local fire departments. Firefighters can give the bears to children who have been in traumatic situations, to comfort them and keep them occupied.
Just one week after giving their phenomenal gift of 650 teddy bears (all sewn in patriotic red, white, and blue), the girls were able to see their gift in use. A local paper showed a picture of a child who had been involved in an accident. In his arms, he was holding a small bear, hugging it tightly around the neck.

I met a young man in the gym, and we became friends. For the next ten months we shared our ideas and thoughts about many things, but never religion. One day I found that my friend traveled with a Bible, so I asked him if he went to church and what the name of his church was. It was some long name—The Church of Jesus Christ of something something Saints. I wasn’t the least bit interested—it sounded like just another church to me.
My friend later told me he was going to serve the Lord for two years in another country. I figured he was going to be a pastor. As he left, I began to wonder what his church was like, and I began to search for their meeting place.
I found it a few months later, but I also found something more. As I walked through the doors of the meetinghouse, I felt a feeling that is impossible to describe; it was joy, peace, comfort, surety, and happiness all in one. It was like coming home. My questions had now been answered.
The members of the church welcomed me with open arms. At first, I was reluctant to accept these welcomes because it was a little too much. I wasn’t used to so many people. They welcomed me whether they knew me or not. At the end of the meeting time, a calm feeling came over me and I heard the words in my mind, “Debbie, this is the place, and these are the people you have been searching for.”
Looking back, darkness to light, my life in the ghetto was difficult, and a person could make it harder by making wrong choices. There was little opportunity for progression. But I wanted something worth living for. When the opportunity came to leave the ghetto with part of my family, I decided this was my chance.
Many of the girls I grew up with never left the ghetto. I could not have made it without following the desires of my heart and trusting in my Father above to lead me. At times, while walking around Ricks College in Idaho, I realize all that I have been blessed with. I was blessed with the chance to leave the ghetto, be baptized a member of this church, gain an education, and fulfill a mission in Utah. I know Heavenly Father loves us all and is mindful of our circumstances no matter where we are. He desires above all things our happiness.
I often feel that the song sung at my high school graduation was written for me: “This is my quest—to follow the star. No matter how hopeless, no matter how far. To fight for the right, without question or pause, to be willing to march into hell for a heavenly cause.” I know if I am true to God’s commandments, I will reach that unreachable star.

Graffiti would soon disappear if those who spray it on had to clean it off. I still remember an experience during my first year in high school. I was eating lunch with some other boys. I peeled a banana and threw the peeling on the ground. Just at that moment the principal walked by. He asked me to pick up the banana peeling. I say he asked—there was a certain steely firmness in his voice. I got off the bench on which I was sitting and picked up the banana peeling. I put it in the trash can. There was other litter around the can. He told me that while I was picking up my own trash, I could pick up the trash of others. I did it. I have never thrown another banana peeling on the ground.

One brave little girl showed me how powerful one person who takes the lead in including others can be. It was her second week of third grade at a new school, and she saw another girl about her age crying during recess. This girl was going to be repeating a grade, and her last year’s classmates were now her tormentors.
Immediately, my little friend walked over to the girl who had been teased. But even though she had no friends herself, she did not walk into that cruel circle empty-handed. From deep within her own kind heart, she had comfort to offer the crying girl. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ve missed a whole year of school, so my parents are holding me back too.” Needless to say, those two will be friends forever.

At the age of twenty-seven, I was diagnosed with eye cancer. When I thought all was lost and without any purpose in living, two missionaries came to my home. I had always been God-fearing, so I listened to the lessons. I struggled to make up my mind, but after three months I was baptized. My life with this disease has not been easy. I walk with my cane everywhere. I continue with medication and treatment. I have remained true to what I have come to know as the Lord’s self-reliance principles. I support myself with a business selling sheets and household items, plus help from the government and the generous members of our Church.
I can say today that my strength comes from the knowledge I have of Jesus Christ. I thank those missionaries who came to me. The Church is my family. I invite everyone to know Jesus Christ who brings hope and love to our lives.

War in the Persian Gulf
Maureen Clark, 14, Farragut Ward
I was at church on Wednesday night for Mutual. I remember someone came in and yelled, “The war’s started.” A bunch of people started crowding into a room where there was a television. I was shocked and scared. My friends and I went into the meetinghouse library and started looking up the signs of the last days in the scriptures and what would happen before Christ comes. We read about the wars that would happen. We started getting a little shaky, but time calmed us down.