Gospel Story Finder

Like most of us, Matthew and Judy Morrise of the West Hills Ward, Beaverton Oregon Stake, are always looking for new ideas for family home evening lessons and activities. The Family Home Evening Resource Book (item no. 31106) is the mainstay, but other ideas are also welcome. While looking through the resource book, Judy Morrise came across an idea calling for the use of a suggestion box.
“This seemed like a good way to find out how our children felt about family home evening,” says Sister Morrise. “I made the box and placed it on a shelf where I knew the children would see it. Imagine my delight when after a few days I found notes from my six-year-old and eight-year-old daughters. They wanted to use the family home evening ideas they saw monthly in the Friend magazine. We gave it a try, and within the next two months each girl gave a short lesson that included an opening song, scripture references, a story, and an activity. Of course, we ended with treats.”
The suggestion box worked for the Morrises. Following is a “suggestion box” for you, full of family home evening ideas and testimonies gathered from readers. As you read these suggestions, choose some that best fit your situation and give them a try.

Jerry and Karen Johnson served in Hong Kong, teaching English as a second language. One day after class, near the end of their mission, a little second-grade girl, to whom Sister Johnson had become very attached, came up to her and, putting out her arms as though she were an airplane flying, asked, “Meiguo?” meaning “America?” Sister Johnson looked at her and said, “Yes, we are returning to America.” She buried her head in Sister Johnson’s chest and sobbed. “I held her tight and sobbed right along with her,” Sister Johnson said. “Fifty other students gathered around, sobbing right along with us. Our mission has placed us in the center of a whirlwind of love that seems to envelop us.”

I was baptized with my parents when I was 16 years old. My younger brother, Kyung-Hwan, who was 14 years old, joined the Church through my uncle, Young Jik Lee, and invited us to his church. Each of the 10 members in our family belonged to a different church, so we were happy to find the truth and wanted to share that happiness we found in the gospel of Jesus Christ after we were baptized.
My father was the most excited among us to learn and share the truth. He used to wake up early in the morning to study the scriptures for over two hours every day. After work he went with the missionaries to visit our family, friends, and neighbors nearly every day. Seven months after we were baptized, 23 of my family and relatives became members of the Church. That was followed by the miracle of seeing 130 people baptized in the following year through my father’s member missionary work.
Family history was also important to him, and he completed eight generations of our ancestors. From that time on, the fruits of our family conversion, started by my 14-year-old brother, have increased in countless ways not only among the living but also among the dead. Building upon the work of my father and others, our family tree now spans to 32 generations, and we are now completing temple work for many branches. Today I am amazed and feel great joy linking our ancestors and our descendants.

We ought to remember we don’t dictate to God the timing of His answers to us and the content of what comes in response to our prayers. I learned this when I was about 16. I was in the pageant at Hill Cumorah. I lived in New Jersey at the time, and they had some of the youth from New Jersey and New York as participants. I thought I had a deep belief in the Prophet Joseph Smith and the Book of Mormon and felt that they were true and that the First Vision was as he described it. I thought, “This is the perfect chance. I’ll go to the Sacred Grove one night after the performance and get the final confirmation I need there.”

So I did. I went there late one night. It was a beautiful summer evening. Nobody else was there—perfectly reverent and peaceful. And I prayed. I didn’t ask for anything specific. I just said, “Can I have some confirmation of my belief?” Really I wanted a testimony of my feeling about the Prophet and the Book of Mormon.

Nothing happened. I prayed a long time—I’m sure more than an hour. Nothing. I was really disappointed. I said, “What did I do wrong? Why didn’t the Lord answer me? Wasn’t it the perfect place, the perfect time? What should I have done that I didn’t do?”

Later, what I was looking for came, but it was at home in a quiet moment when I was reading the Book of Mormon. That witness from the Holy Ghost flooded over me, and I knew. I knew I knew. And when I looked back on the experience, I said, “Why didn’t He answer my prayer then? Why was it later?” I learned two important lessons from that:

First, you don’t have to be any place special for the Lord to answer your prayer. You don’t have to make a pilgrimage to Palmyra or Jerusalem or anything like that. He knows where you are. He knows your name. He can answer you right here, right now, any moment.

And second, you don’t dictate to God. You just don’t tell Him what and when. That comes according to His will and His timing and His wisdom. He loves us; He knows what’s best for us, and our job is to be open. Our job is always to be willing and ready to receive. Then He knows what’s best and when to answer us and how to answer us. So, after all is said and done, we still have to live by faith.

The arrival of the Hamilton New Zealand Temple in 1958 stirred a realisation amongst the Saints in Australia that this may be their only chance to make sacred covenants with the Lord. When my father announced that we as a family needed to go to the temple, my mother asked how that was even possible—they had no money and, in his spare time, he was still building the house they were living in. I was two years old then and my brother was recently born.
With unwavering faith, my father set about planning the trip by boat. He did not know how, and had no detailed plans, but he felt an assurance and a hope that the Lord would provide. My father cashed in a life insurance policy, and though we still didn’t have enough money to return, we sailed.
After my family entered the holy temple and were sealed to each other for time and all eternity, my father, once again, set about exercising his faith. He managed to get a job to earn money to live and to return to Australia. Some may say he was delusional, but years later my father and mother declared that this act of faith brought power and direction to their lives.

I was serving as a senior sister missionary in the Missouri Independence Mission when Church meetings were canceled and we began self-isolating in our apartments. We used our phones and computers to keep in touch with members and to reach out to those we were working with, who didn’t attend church regularly.
To keep busy, I decided to do some family history, even though for quite a while it has been difficult for me to find any new names. When I logged on to FamilySearch, I found a notification of a record waiting to be attached. That one record led me to find about 70 people in my line. After five days, the flow of names stopped. Later that day, we found out we were all being released to go home. I am sad to leave, but I also feel blessed that I was able to serve family on the other side of the veil during this difficult time.
Kim Nielson, Oregon, USA

A hundred-pound sack of rice landed on my back. If this was what Dad called “small odd jobs,” he had another letter coming from me. Tottering under the load, I almost fell over a chicken as I followed another moving rice bag. My uncle stood on a truck exuberantly shouting directions. But his sing-song Cantonese went right through me. The din of trucks, chickens, dogs, and babbling people clattered to the sky on this narrow Hong Kong street. I could make no sense of anything. All I could do was wonder why I was here when home was on the other side of the world?
“If you can’t make up your mind between going to college or finding a job,” Dad had said, “at least you can take a look at your roots.”
Roots? I had plenty of roots—all firmly implanted in American soil. After all, I was a second-generation American.
Dad had ignored my tirade. “Besides, Uncle Cheung is the only one left back in Hong Kong. Poor guy. No kids, lost his wife last year, and you could cheer him up. He probably gets awfully lonely, being retired and only doing a few jobs here and there,” Dad said.
Staggering under another rice sack, I watched a small shriveled man lithely carry his own enormous load.
“It was a very good day,” Uncle Cheung kept saying after finishing work. Were those the only English words he knew? I didn’t pay much attention to what he was saying. I was busy thinking about getting rid of this Hong Kong sweat under a cool shower.
The minute we walked into his rectangular cinder-block room, I remembered. The bunk beds were still stacked against the stark walls. The lonely white rice cooker was still on the floor in a corner, and the television stood on its rickety wooden table. But no bathroom or kitchen facilities had magically appeared.
Grumbling, I sauntered down to the common washing facilities in the middle of this huge building called an H-block because it was shaped like the letter.
I continued grumbling. “I know there’s better housing near here. It’s not that Uncle Cheung can’t afford it.”
When I returned, Uncle Cheung was in front of his door happily talking to a neighbor. I couldn’t figure out why he needed any cheering up from me.
The H-block was coming alive now. Woks sizzled outside people’s doors. Oil, fish, bean curd, vegetables, pork, and chicken created an aroma my nose had never before encountered.
Dinner was rather loud, not because of our lively conversation but because several jets at Kai Tak Airport picked that time to take off. They drowned out everything. I thought they might take our building with them. I wouldn’t have minded if they had taken me too. In between roars, I kept repeating one of the few Cantonese phrases I knew: “Hou sihk.” If my sounds and tones were right, it meant “delicious.” Uncle Cheung nodded and smiled gratefully, shoveling rice and fish into his mouth with his chopsticks. I wished I was back in America eating pizza with my friends.
Dad’s last words to me when I got on the plane were: “Re-learn the language,” and now Uncle Cheung was waving his hands and talking excitedly to me. It was time to bring out my trusty Chinese-English dictionary. What did Dad mean, “Re-learn the language”? How do you re-learn something you’ve never learned in the first place?
After a series of facial expressions, gestures, and dictionary pointing, I figured out that Uncle Cheung was going someplace after dinner and he was wondering if I wanted to come. I declined, choosing instead to stay and watch TV.
Unfortunately, the one English-speaking station was as fuzzy as the Chinese stations were unintelligible. I took out some paper.
“Dear Mom and Dad,” I wrote. “Is there any chance I could grab a plane back a few weeks early?”
The first time I saw her we were pressed almost nose to nose on the Hong Kong subway. I didn’t mean to have such a close first encounter, but I had no other choice.
“You need the day off,” my uncle had said, his eyes showing concern for my aching back and my diminishing appetite for rice and strings of greasy green vegetables. I didn’t object. I didn’t seem to be cheering him up much, and I always turned down his offers to go out with him in the evenings. Even on Sundays—my favorite day to sleep in—he was out the door long before I woke up to another day in Hong Kong.
With no work to do, I happily headed to the subway. Each train car bulged with people, with hundreds more waiting to get on. After missing several trains, I realized my only hope was to shove with the rest of them. But my technique was less than graceful, and I bumped noses with the most beautiful girl in the world. Drawing back in embarrassment, I knocked five heads behind me. Our noses remained one inch apart.
I tried not to stare at the girl’s soft dark eyes, sleek black hair, and delicately shaped face. If only I could say something to her. The Cantonese equivalent of “How are you?” (Neih hou ma?) sounded too trite. And how could I ask her if she’d eaten yet, even if it was a typical Chinese greeting. I wanted to reach for my dictionary, but my arms were straitjacketed in. Besides, how would it look for a Chinese guy to be sounding out Chinese tones in front of all these other Chinese people. No one knew I was an American.
The conductor droned out the stops in both English and Chinese. It was so muffled I couldn’t tell the difference. Suddenly, the beautiful girl was politely pushing her way out. Dumbfounded, I watched her disappear through the jostling crowd. “She’s gone forever,” I mumbled. By the time I realized Tsim Sha Tsui had also been my stop, I had missed it and was speeding under the harbor to Hong Kong Island.
When I finally made it back to Tsim Sha Tsui, I didn’t shop much. I got sidetracked at McDonald’s and a pizza place instead.
Rushing to make the subway before rush hour, I took one of the last places on the long silver benches lining each side of the car. I was still thinking about that girl when she suddenly appeared. “Is this seat taken?” she was asking me. At least I assumed that’s what she was saying. I smiled, motioning nonchalantly for her to sit down.
I looked at her, disappointed she didn’t recognize me. I ruffled through my dictionary, hoping no one would notice. What could I say to her?
Suddenly, I had something to say as the train jolted forward and I slid into her.
“I’m sorry,” I blurted out in English.
She looked up, smiling. “No problem.”
“You speak English too!” I gasped.
She giggled. “At least I like to practice English.”
She looked at me quizzically. “You must be from America.”
“How did you know?”
“Your English doesn’t sound so British,” she said.
“You speak English very well,” I said.
She smiled demurely. “Oh, not so well. My brother and I like to speak English together.”
“Do you ever practice English with anyone else?” I asked.
“Well, yes …” she said.
The train screeched to a stop. I skidded into her again. “This is my stop,” she said, leaping up.
“It’s mine too,” I said.
“It is?” she said with surprise. “I thought you’d be staying in a hotel.”
“No, I’m staying with my uncle in the H-blocks,” I said.
“We live there too,” she replied.
“Really?” I exclaimed, not expecting such a beautiful girl to live in a plain, rectangular room.
It was time to go our separate ways. I hadn’t mustered enough courage to ask her name, and now she was leaving.
Then she called back. “I’m sure my brother would like to talk to you about America. He wants to go there.”
Here was my chance. I stuttered, “My name is Tod. Do you have a name too?”
“Yes. It’s Ling Fa. My brother is Lai Jan. Maybe we could all get together at the park tonight and talk English.” Yes! We had made a connection.
I almost ran over my uncle as he tromped up the stairs loaded with vegetables and fruit. I hugged him, watermelon and all.
“You had a good day?” he asked with a grin.
“It’s been a great day.”
I met Ling Fa and her brother that night, and quickly became fast friends with them. We did a lot together, including going to a dragon boat race practice a few days later. Lai Jan was one of the boatmen in the race held each year during the Dragon Boat Festival, a Hong Kong celebration.
“Maybe you could help us out today,” Lai Jan said to me, as we headed to a small inlet on the harbor. “One of the guys in the other boat said he couldn’t make it today.”
“Who me?” I laughed. “Never seen a dragon boat in my life.”
Then a sleek dragon boat splashed into view. It looked like the longest canoe in the world, except its sides were painted with green dragon scales and a ferocious dragon head stuck out the front with a green tail flowing out the back. Forty paddling boatmen were almost lost in the spray. A drummer stood in the middle beating a large drum in a steady cadence.
“I’m just sure I can do that,” I joked. “But I don’t even speak Chinese.”
“No need to speak Chinese,” Ling Fa answered. “Just paddle with the beat of the drum.”
After being introduced, I stepped gingerly into the boat. I had never seen so many people in such a narrow boat. Gripping my paddle, I nodded to the guy next to me.
“Good luck,” shouted Lai Jan from the boat next to mine. I realized we would be racing each other.
Soon, we were gliding over the water. I concentrated on paddling to the beat of the drum. I was actually getting the hang of it. The faster the drum beat, the faster we paddled. On my right, I could see the menacing dragon head of Lai Jan’s boat. Lai Jan grinned at me.
When our drummer beat faster, my paddle responded. I wanted to win this race. We pulled ahead of Lai Jan’s boat, which began lagging way behind.
My strength melted the minute we rounded the buoy and headed toward shore. I knew something was wrong. It looked as if there had been a big traffic accident in the middle of the water. A limp body was being pulled into a boat. It was Lai Jan.
When I stepped to shore, Ling Fa ran to me sobbing, “Please, please. I don’t want it to be true.”
When I asked what had happened, Ling Fa said, “It was so strange. Suddenly he was spilling out of the boat when another boat hit him.”
Soon sirens were crying, and Lai Jan was loaded into an ambulance. He briefly opened his eyes and said something to Ling Fa.
“What did he say?” I asked.
“He said he wanted a blessing from his home teacher.”
“Home teacher?” I said, perplexed.
“It’s someone in my brother’s church,” she answered, as she got in the ambulance with her brother. I ran to catch a bus that would take me to the hospital.
When I arrived at the hospital, I looked for Ling Fa’s beautiful face. But it wasn’t her I noticed first. Startled, I saw Uncle Cheung talking to Ling Fa.
“This is Lai Jan’s home teacher,” she said.
Home teacher? My uncle was a teacher in a church?
“He’s going to give my brother a blessing now.”
I watched in awe as my uncle placed his wrinkled hands on Lai Jan’s head. As I listened, I wish I could explain what happened to me. But I doubt even my best buddy back home could know what I felt. I understood everything. Not just individual words, but the meaning of all Uncle Cheung was saying. There was no need to speak English or Chinese. There was a calmness and peace like nothing I’d ever felt before. I knew some power beyond me—the power of God—would heal Lai Jan.
When I lifted my eyes, Ling Fa was quietly crying. I wondered if she understood how I felt.
Lai Jan’s eyes blinked open, focusing on Uncle Cheung. “I knew you would come.”
Ling Fa gently placed her small hand on my uncle’s arm. “My brother says you help everyone.”
Uncle Cheung shook his head modestly. But his eyes smiled. “I just love everyone.”
I wasn’t supposed to understand, but I did.

One of the hardest decisions Zane ever had to face was whether or not to go on a mission. Colleges all over the United States were recruiting him. Although he had always planned on a mission, the final decision was really hard. “But I decided I had to go on a mission to try to pay the Lord back for some of the many blessings I have received,” he said.
Zane wrote home from his mission and said, “I’ve learned many things. I’ve changed a lot. I thought riding three times at each rodeo all summer long was tough, but it wasn’t anything as tough as serving a mission; nevertheless, it has been good for me.”

Chilean Saints like Guillermo Miranda know Elder McConkie’s prophecy, and they are working toward its fulfillment. “I feel that the Lord has blessed me in my business so that I can be a positive influence,” says Brother Miranda, who owns and manages a successful chain of department stores.
Brother Miranda is a high priests group leader in the city of San Fernando, an agricultural area about an hour’s drive southeast of Santiago. His business, which he believes should be “a light for others,” is respected and renowned for its honesty and strict employee behavior code.
“I want Church members to be good examples for my nonmember employees,” says Brother Miranda, “especially in those areas where the Church is small.”
Brother Miranda considers himself blessed rather than successful, though he has experienced both persecution and professional setbacks since joining the Church in 1982. “I have been the brunt of gossip, and my business has been the object of attack,” he says, recalling a widely distributed flier that claimed his department-store chain was failing. Rather than seek legal action against the perpetrators, he prayed that his business would be protected, and he made sure his tithing was paid promptly. As a result, business improved. These days Brother Miranda, who often is asked to speak about his business philosophy, does not have enough job openings for all those interested in working for him.

Twelve-year-old William Moroni Palmer leaned against his mother’s arm. “Read the story about David and Goliath,” he said.
“I read that one to you yesterday.”
“Then how about Daniel and the lions?”
“You already know that by heart.”
“I know. But David and Daniel were so brave. I wish I was as brave as they were.”
“They were more than brave,” his mother said. “They also had great faith in the Lord. They knew He would help them.” She put her arm around her son. “Besides, you are as brave as they were. Every day you face a world of darkness, and every day you face it with a smile.”
William reached for the Bible his mother held, and she put it into his hand. He gently caressed the cover. “Oh, I wish I could read it!”
His mother tousled his hair. “You can read it in your mind,” she said, her voice growing firm. “Daniel 6:23.” [Dan. 6:23]
William sat up tall. “‘Then was the king exceeding glad for him, and commanded that they should take Daniel up out of the den. So Daniel was taken up out of the den, and no manner of hurt was found upon him, because he believed in his God.’”
“Very good,” his mother said. “Because you have memorized it, you can read it any time you’d like.”
Just then his father stepped into the room. “It’s official,” he reported. “Elder Heber C. Kimball is coming to the conference your mother and I will be attending in Ogden.”
“He’s in the First Presidency now!” His mother jumped to her feet and ran to the front door. “Hyrum,” she called to William’s brother, “come here, please. I have something wonderful to tell you!”
For the next several hours, William’s parents, his married brother and sister, and even nine-year-old Hyrum excitedly talked about the upcoming conference.
William only listened. Ever since he had learned that President Kimball was coming, a great shivery feeling had filled his heart. Did he truly have enough courage—and enough faith—to ask what he so desperately wanted to ask?
After a while, his mother returned to his side. “What is it, Son?” she asked. “Aren’t you excited too?”
William nodded. “Yes, but …” He swallowed hard. “Mother, would you ask President Kimball to come to our place after the conference and bless me so that I can see?”
His mother pulled him into her arms. “Dear William, do you believe that you can be healed?” she asked.
William thought of Daniel climbing out of the lions’ den. He pictured David swinging his slingshot above his head. “I know I can, Mama, if he will come and if the Lord wills it.”
“Then I will bring him. He gave me a blessing to heal me when I was dying in Nauvoo, and he promised that he’d shake hands with me in the west, so I’m sure that he will come.”
When conference day arrived that day in 1858, William’s father gathered his family for prayer. He prayed that he and his wife would have a safe journey, that all would be well at home, and that William would receive his sight, if it was God’s will. Then the boys’ parents left for the conference.
While they were gone, William spent most of his time in his parents’ room, praying. “Please, Heavenly Father,” he pleaded, “let President Kimball come.”
Finally, just as the warm afternoon air was beginning to cool, William heard the clickety-jingle of the family surrey. He ran to the front door and listened harder. The Apostle’s voice!
“Is this the boy you told me of?” President Kimball asked as he stepped through the door.
“It is,” his mother said. “But would you like to eat with us first?”
“This must come first. He has waited long enough.”
William’s father placed a chair in the middle of the room for William to sit on. Then he and President Kimball gave William a blessing.
“Open your eyes, Brother William,” President Kimball said, “and you shall see.”
William’s eyes flew open. He sat stunned for a moment, then jumped from his chair and ran out the door. “Oh! I can see! I can see! Oh, Mama, I can see!” Then he fell to the ground and hugged it.
How grateful he was that God had not only restored his sight but had also taught him that if he had faith in Him, all things were possible.

During my high school years, I played football and had a good friend named Ryan. I frequently offered him rides home from practice. Early one morning in February of 2003, my senior year, I was at school getting help from my math teacher. A girl walked in the door and announced the death of my friend Ryan. I was astonished and almost didn’t believe the words I had just heard. A good friend of mine, whom I had just talked to a week before, was now dead.
I made the decision to miss school the next week and attend the funeral services. Upon arriving, I noticed that the building was very beautiful and bore the logo of the church to which it belonged—The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The moment I walked in the door, I felt something different: a sense of peace, joy, and happiness—feelings that are not typically experienced at a funeral. As the services progressed, I noticed a new vocabulary, one that I had never before heard. The words gospel and Atonement entered into my mind for the first time. It was something new and unheard-of but, oddly enough, familiar. I listened attentively as Ryan’s mom spoke, and tears came to my eyes. Something was telling me that this “plan of salvation,” which she was speaking about, was true. I felt that the people in this chapel had something in their lives that I did not, and for some reason, I felt a desire to get it.
Now, I was not completely oblivious to Mormons. I grew up in Mesa, Arizona, where members of the Church come in great abundance. I knew two things for sure: first, many of my friends were members of the Church, and second, Church members believed in something called the Book of Mormon. I had a newfound desire to get my hands on this book and to find out what this religion was all about.
In March of 2003, one of my good friends, Bret, invited me to help with his Eagle Scout project. After school the next day we drove in his truck with another friend of ours, Camden, to where the project would be. Inspired by the Spirit, Bret directed Camden to a Book of Mormon situated in a holder in the passenger-side door. He told him to open to a verse he had recently read in the Book of Alma. My interest was sparked, and for the first time, I saw the book I wanted so very badly. However, I was too scared to say anything right then. Upon returning that evening, I worked up the confidence to ask Bret for the book. He happily gave it to me and told me to read it. That night I read nine chapters. From the moment I picked up the book, I fell in love with its message.
The next evening, I was sitting in Bret’s living room with his family and two young men dressed in dark suits, both of whom were named “Elder.” I learned these were missionaries for Bret’s church. We watched Finding Faith in Christ. I will admit that I cried during the movie and loved every bit of the lesson. I decided to continue investigating and to come to church. I eventually finished the lessons and accepted everything the elders taught me about being a member of the Church of Jesus Christ.
One night as I was kneeling in prayer after reading a portion of the Book of Mormon, I specifically asked if what I was learning was true. Overwhelming feelings of peace and joy came into my heart. I was feeling the Spirit, and it was answering my prayers. After that time, I knew without a doubt that the Book of Mormon was true. I felt it in my heart and had the knowledge given to me in my mind.
With this new knowledge, I knew what my next step would be. I was baptized on May 3, 2003. The following day, I was confirmed a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I will always remember my baptism, the Spirit I felt, and the covenants I made with my Heavenly Father.
My first year as a member of the Church was a long and difficult one, but also full of rewards. Being the only member in your family isn’t the easiest thing, and I also received much persecution from old friends. In May of 2004, I received the Melchizedek Priesthood and a call to serve in the Virginia Richmond Mission, speaking Spanish. I left my nonmember family in July of 2004, not knowing exactly what I was getting myself into or just what it was that I was leaving behind.
During the beginning months of my mission, I heard many things from many friends about the progress of my parents in the Church. They had been attending church off and on and had allowed the missionaries to come by every so often. I was always excited to hear news. Then one Saturday morning my mission president told me he had just spoken with my stake president about my parents. My parents had decided to join the Church. The gospel had now changed their lives for the better, just as it had mine only two years before.
I am so grateful for my Savior Jesus Christ and for the opportunity I had to serve Him as a missionary. I now understand more fully the plan of salvation. I know that this is the gospel and Church of Jesus Christ. Upon returning from my mission in July of 2006 I was overjoyed to enter the Mesa temple with my parents, where we were sealed as a family for time and all eternity. It’s a day I could hardly have imagined just a few years earlier.

The love of Jesus Christ was the answer I received when a close friend told me she was stepping away from the Church. Prior to this decision, she had shared her sincere questions with me, asking for my opinions and confiding in me about the hurt she was feeling. Her pain was real, her questions were heartfelt, and I felt honored to be a listening ear. However, the thoughts I shared often didn’t seem to reach her.
I would leave our conversations feeling unsure of how to support her. During one conversation in particular, she asked me a sincere question about something I had personally been feeling uncertain about and then called my bluff when I struggled to know how to respond. I remember her saying, “Em, you don’t really believe that. I know you don’t.”
She was right.
After that interaction, I felt myself drifting away from the friendship. I was uncomfortable discussing spiritual matters with her and felt frustrated by our differences in belief and my own lack of perfect answers. I felt hopeless. I slowly stopped asking her about her gospel questions out of fear of not having the answers. I started to think that we were too different to be friends.
It took a few months before I realized that in seeking answers to her (and my) questions, I had lost sight of the most important answer: God so loved the world—God so loves my friend.
In his October 2020 general conference address, President Dallin H. Oaks, First Counselor in the First Presidency, reminded us, “The Savior’s teaching to love [one another] is based on the reality that all mortals are beloved children of God.” He ended his message with a reminder about the perspective that this knowledge provides: “Knowing that we are all children of God gives us a divine vision of the worth of all others.”1
Those words struck me. Of course, this teaching is a fundamental truth. However, I realized that in my response to my friend’s transition away from the Church, I had set this truth aside.
Knowing that my friend—regardless of our differences in belief—is a beloved child of God changed everything for me.
Months had gone by with me feeling very distant from my friend, but I immediately called her after my realization, and I shared God’s love with her. I was able to explain why I had distanced myself from her. I articulated why it hurt to feel like something so precious to me wasn’t treated with respect. Fortunately, she was understanding, and we both apologized. We talked about how important our friendship was and how our similarities were stronger than our differences. I told her that I wanted to meet her where she was while maintaining my standards and faith, and that I hoped we could continue supporting each other. I was so grateful when she agreed.

Cantonments Athlete Serves on and off the Court
Martin Aggrey, a standout athlete from the Cantonments Ward in the Accra Ghana Christiansborg Stake, has turned his passion for sports into preparation for missionary service. In high school, he excelled as a sports leader, especially in volleyball. But it was at the stake center where he discovered a new love—pickleball.
Introduced to the game by senior missionaries, Martin quickly became hooked. “The spiking reminded me of volleyball, and the quick hand movements were like table tennis,” he said. Though unfamiliar at first, he embraced the challenge under the guidance of mentors like Elder Halladay, Elder Sackley, and Elder Galland—missionaries whose faith and example inspired him both spiritually and athletically.
That dedication recently paid off. Martin and his 15-year-old partner clinched second place in the men’s doubles at the 2025 Battle of the Paddle tournament. Now preparing to serve a full-time mission, Martin draws a clear parallel between rising in sport and progressing in discipleship: “If you expect the best from yourself, you will always improve.”
He looks forward to serving the Lord and plans to continue his athletic pursuits upon his return.

During the next few years, Mormon missionaries seemed to be all over the place. Even my barber was trying to preach to me! Several sets of missionaries came to visit me. Feeling somewhat ashamed about my treatment of the two I had left standing on the doorstep a couple of years earlier, I began inviting them inside, on the condition that they “leave their books in the car, and don’t preach to me.” I always felt uncomfortable when they came, and I would not allow any discussion of religion.
How was I to make them leave without being extremely rude? How? Then I got an idea. Sure, why not? It should be easy. I would just prove that they were wrong. I would show these people that their doctrines were false, and I would do it with their own scriptures. The next time they came, I would be ready.
If I were going to prove them wrong, I had to know something concerning what they believed. How could I find out what they believe? That Book of Mormon the two lady missionaries gave me years ago. Sure! I had put it away in some drawer or box. I soon found it. What did it contain—the story of Joseph Smith’s life? A history of Mormonism? I didn’t know. But one thing I did know: when the missionaries next came, I would be ready for them.
I took the book to work, where I had some free time throughout the day. The first chance I had, I opened the book. Why, this didn’t appear to be about Joseph Smith at all! I noticed a page in the front showing interesting things to look up—the Sermon on the Mount on the American continent, Columbus, the Savior in the Americas. What was I getting into?
Not finding anything about Joseph Smith’s life story in the book, I picked up some missionary tracts at a gas station owned by a Mormon. I wanted to find out about this Joseph Smith. I read about Joseph’s First Vision. Somehow it seemed different from what I remembered hearing years before. I read about an angel named Moroni and some gold plates. Returning to the Book of Mormon, I began reading it in my spare time.
Something strange began to happen. My hostility began to disappear. Indeed, my desire to prove the missionaries wrong disappeared. My brief curiosity after first opening the book was replaced by a desire to know. What was this strange power that seemed to literally reach out and pull me toward this book? What was happening to me? I had to know.
I found myself using all my spare hours to search through the Book of Mormon. I found something else too: a promise by an ancient prophet named Moroni—a bold declaration that I could know the truth of the book by asking God to reveal it to me. Alone one day, I bowed down before my Maker, and, holding the Book of Mormon in my hand, I asked Heavenly Father what it was that was pulling me to the book. Immediately—almost before I had finished my prayer—a recollection of my past habits and hostilities flooded over me. I begged for forgiveness, having not recognized my wretched state until then.
The next few days were about the same—I tried to cope with an overwhelming desire to immerse myself in studying the Book of Mormon. Then it happened. It was a Thursday night before the October general conference of the Church. I came home from work with a peculiar feeling growing inside me—a feeling I had never before experienced. I did not know what to think of it. It slowly grew in intensity. What a marvelous feeling! I remember thinking, “If this is what it feels like in heaven, I wish I were ninety-nine years old and about to die.”
Then came the testimony—that sureness of the missionaries that had disturbed me in the past. I knew! Joseph smith had been in the presence of the Father and the Son. Indeed, he had been visited by angels. I knew. Yes, indeed, I knew.

As we cleaned I told Sister Wong about Topie. I told her about how I had sold him because we couldn’t afford to take him to California. I also told her about how I had earned the money to buy him two years ago when he was just a foal. I explained the voice commands I had taught him before he was old enough to be broken. I told her of the endless hours walking with him when he was sick with colic, and how he trembled when I put salve on his wounds after he tore himself on barbed wire.
I explained how hard it had been to pay my tithing when I was responsible for my horse financially. Yet somehow it had always worked out. The baby-sitting jobs had come, and I was able to keep the promise I had made to Mom and Dad that my horse wouldn’t burden the family financially. Now I had decided to sell my horse. I had decided to sell my beautiful friend rather than beg and cry to my parents and break my promise.

After graduating from high school, I got a good job as a secretary at the university and was able to help Papa support the family. He had been the only one in the family working, and it had been hard for him to support four of us in school. We had sometimes gone without necessities.
Then when I was 18, my father died unexpectedly. My mother could not work because she was ill, and as the oldest I would have to support the family.
One day when I was upset because I hadn’t made enough money to cover all our expenses, I remembered the promise in Malachi. I prayed to Heavenly Father, reminding Him that I was paying a full tithe, even when I lacked money for food. Later that day the bishop came to visit, bringing food and help. Never in all the time I was supporting my family did the Lord fail me.
When my brother became old enough to serve a mission, he wanted to stay home and work to help pay for household expenses. But we felt he should go, so he quit his job and left for a mission. The following month, my salary was raised. The whole time he was on his mission, my family never lacked for anything. I received a scholarship and was able to study to become a commercial engineer. During this time our shoes lasted longer, our clothes didn’t wear out as quickly, and we didn’t get sick as often.
After supporting my family for six years, I married a wonderful man in the Guayaquil Ecuador Temple. Our goal was always to pay tithing, and we always did. Every month we took our tithing out first. We didn’t have everything, but we didn’t suffer either.
Two years after we married, my husband died in a traffic accident. Now once again I support my own family. But I have a good job, and I know that if I continue to live the law of tithing, my young son and I will have what we need. With all my heart I know that the Lord will never forsake me and that He will continue to pour out blessings—not only temporal but also spiritual.
Karina Vanegas Barcia, Monay Branch, Cuenca Ecuador Stake

One such pioneer in Ghana is Joseph W. B. Johnson. Brother Johnson was converted after prayerfully reading the Book of Mormon in 1964. He relates that following his conversion “one early morning, while about to prepare for my daily work, I saw the heavens open and angels with trumpets singing songs of praise unto God. I heard my name mentioned thrice: ‘Johnson, Johnson, Johnson. If you will take up my work as I will command you, I will bless you and bless your land.’ Trembling and in tears, I replied, ‘Lord, with thy help, I will do whatever you will command me.’ From that day onward, I was constrained by the Spirit to go from street to street to deliver the message that we had read from the Book of Mormon.”

When the missionaries arrived fourteen years later, there were already many unbaptized congregations that Brother Johnson had organized, identifying themselves with the Church. Some of these early converts later rejected official membership in the Church, but many accepted it. A foundation had been established upon which later missionary work would build with increasing success.

“Dad loves to take his grandchildren on an imaginary lion hunt, where they all try to find a make-believe lion. First, they pretend to sit on the seat of a car. Then when they arrive at the airport, they climb invisible steps to get on the airplane. Once inside the plane, everyone fastens his safety belt and leans way back in his chair as the plane takes off. When the plane lands, everyone comes down the stairs and walks over to a jeep. They climb in and, because the jeep ride is bumpy, everyone joggles up and down.
“When the jeep stops, everyone jumps out and gets an imaginary rope and gun to put over his shoulder. They wade through long grass and reeds—swish-swish-swish. They come to a bridge and everyone crosses over it—clump-clump-clump. Then they come to the place where the lions are, and they throw their ropes up around a rock to secure them. They all climb up the rope to get into a cave so they can creep up on the lion. The lion roars—GRRRR!! All of the brave lion hunters run out of the cave, slide down the rope, go clumping over the bridge, run swishing through the reeds, take off their ropes and guns, get back into the jeep, and take the bumpy ride back to the airport. Finally they arrive back home safe and sound after a great trip!”

When I was a very young boy I had pneumonia, and both my lungs filled up with fluid. My father asked me if I wanted a priesthood blessing. I told him I did. I remember asking him to call my uncle to come. When they placed their hands on my head and through the holy Melchizedek Priesthood called down a blessing of heaven, I felt different. I felt something flow into me, and I knew that the priesthood was very real. The doctor had told my mother that I was in very serious condition, but the next morning I felt great. My mother took me back to the doctor, and he checked my lungs. They were completely empty of fluid.

My next step was to try my goal at school. Being the only Mormon in my school was more than a little challenging. I started by listening to my friends, not just hearing. Others began to listen back. I found there was so much to learn about each person—their beliefs, their interests, and their goals. Also, I found that each person, whether he is Jewish, Greek Orthodox, or Catholic, wants to be important; he wants others to care about him.

The red, yellow, and orange leaves crunched under my feet on the bumpy brick sidewalk. Ivy climbed up the old buildings I passed on my way, forming intricate designs. I was headed for the subway. I was happy; inside I was singing. The blue sky outlined the tall majestic buildings. When I arrived at the subway station, I dug into my pocket and pulled out a button that read, “I Care.” I smiled. I pulled out a quarter and rode up to Park Street Station. A hundred faces, each individual, each reflecting a different personality, rode with me.
I smiled at every gaze that fell my way; some smiled back and sent a part of themselves with their smile. I knew where I was going; I knew what I wanted. I wanted others to know too. I had found the true joy of living; the button was pinned on the outside of my coat and on the inside of my heart.