Gospel Story Finder

When school bus number 882 finally turned onto the dirt road, I had never felt happier to see our house.
I was still upset from the argument that had exploded between me and my friends three days earlier. Or should I say ex-friends? Now I thought of them as stubborn and selfish.
When the bus stopped, I marched down the aisle past Connie and Vicki, determined never to speak to them again.
That night I tossed and turned as contention filled my dreams.
By morning I had a headache. I also woke up late and had to hurry to get ready for school on time. I grabbed my books and slammed the front door without saying good-bye to my mom and little brothers and sisters as I ran to the bus stop, arriving just as the bus pulled up.
I walked quickly down the aisle, finding a seat away from Connie and Vicki. I could feel their eyes watching me, but I sat close to the window and pretended not to see them. I vowed that we would not be friends again until they changed.
I reached for my history book to read my assignment. I was surprised when I saw in my hands Pathways to Perfection by Elder Thomas S. Monson. I had grabbed the book by accident as I raced out of the house. It had fallen open to what I needed to read most: a chapter titled “Love As Jesus Loves.” The words seemed to be directed to me as I read Matthew 22:36–39:
“Master, which is the great commandment in the law?
“Jesus said unto him, Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind.
“This is the first and great commandment.” [Matt. 22:36–39]
Then these words penetrated my heart:
“And the second is like unto it, Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself.”
Those verses took on new meaning for me. Tears filled my eyes as I felt my Heavenly Father’s love for me. And I realized that it wasn’t Connie and Vicki who needed to change. It was me!
That morning on the bus I made a commitment to serve and love the Lord through loving those around me.

Our personal testimony usually begins with someone else’s testimony. My sister shared her testimony with me after her baptism. I felt a desire to hear more about what my sister had testified. Then missionaries came and testified about Jesus Christ, His gospel, and the restored Church. It was so powerful that it completely changed my life. In an instant, an atheist had become a believer who wished to follow the teachings and example of Christ. In the same way, our testimony can change someone else’s life. Because of our testimony, someone can come to know Christ whom they did not know before.

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 in 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.

The air was biting cold and damp. The pungent odor of smoke from coal fires stung our nostrils as we breathed. The fog and the darkness of the evening made it difficult to see. It was a typical winter night in England.
I was a new missionary of two months. My companion and I were hurriedly riding our bicycles to a nearby town to meet the lady missionaries. On the telephone the sisters seemed anxious and concerned. A member in their area needed help.
Arriving as quickly as we could after the phone call, we accompanied the sisters to the member’s home. We knocked at the door and a woman answered, inviting us into a very small room with a fireplace at one end. In the dim light I could see the woman’s face. She had puffy cheeks and sad, tired, reddened eyes. Her eyelashes were wet and matted. More tears streaked her face as she gestured toward a small crib near the fireplace. Sobbing, the mother said, “My baby is sick. She can’t breathe and the doctor says she will die.” Bronchitis and pneumonia kill many babies during the harsh British winters.
The mother asked us to administer to the tiny, three-week-old baby. Tenderly she lifted the baby from its crib and held it gently and protectively in her arms. Tears fell from her eyes onto the clean linen in which the baby was wrapped. There was hardly enough room on the tiny head for my two comparatively large hands. As I placed my hands on her soft little head, I could feel the delicate tufts of hair.
It was the first time in my life that I had administered to a sick person. Somehow I managed the correct words. “Sonja Holbert, in the name of Jesus Christ and by the power of the Holy Melchizedek Priesthood …” At that moment I could feel a surge of power within me. It was something unique and unusual. I knew without a doubt that I was acting as an instrument in the hands of Almighty God himself to heal that little baby.
This experience merged into others as the time went by until the memory of it was dimmed. Almost two years later near the end of my mission, I was assigned to work in the town where the mother and the little girl lived. As we tracted down a street, one of our contacts told us that a member of our church lived around the corner. We found the house and knocked at the door. English row houses look much the same, and I was not immediately aware that this was the same house I had visited nearly two years before. The woman invited us in. As we entered the same small room, a pair of bright, blue eyes stared up at me. I sat down in a chair, and a beautiful little girl climbed into my lap. As I patted the blond ringlets on her head, a flood of memories returned to me—the dreary night, the tearful mother, the infant gasping for every breath, and the unmistakable power of the priesthood. “Thank you, Father,” I murmured silently, “for the privilege of using that power to help this little girl.”
I was strengthened by this experience. I knew then the reality of what it meant to say, “I know that the priesthood has been restored in this day, and I bear testimony that God lives and loves us. I know great blessings can come to pass through righteous exercise of his priesthood.”

She first heard the gospel preached in 1836 in Portage County, Ohio, about 40 miles (64 km) south of Kirtland. Cyrena took several months to decide to join the Church and was baptized in March 1837. In her autobiography, she noted that her siblings were “greatly mortified” at her choice and that as long as she lived at home, she “had to endure their persecutions.”2 Although she was the only member of her immediate family to join the Church, there was a small group of Latter-day Saints living nearby. She visited Kirtland that summer and received a patriarchal blessing from Joseph Smith Sr. in April 1838.3

I can’t wait to be a deacon. Ever since I was little, I’ve watched with envy as the older boys passed the sacrament. It’s an important job, and they always seem to know just where to go when they pass the sacrament. Now it’s my turn. My twelfth birthday is this week, and I’ve been learning about the priesthood in Blazer class. I’ve been dreaming about passing the sacrament myself. I wonder if I’ll get to pass it to the bishop?

My Blazer teacher had told us that we would be interviewed by the bishop before we could be ordained. This would be my second interview—he had already interviewed me when I was going to get baptized. But I’ve lived half my life again since then!

I like my bishop. I see him every Sunday, and he knows my name. Sometimes he says hi. But I still worried about that interview. Did I know enough to be a deacon? Would he ask me about things I keep secret? Could I share my secrets with him? If I did, would he keep them secret?

Friday after dinner the bishop’s secretary called and said the bishop wanted to see me after my Blazer class on Sunday. I said OK, but I was nervous. In my mind I went over everything I thought that he might ask me. I began to remember all the things that happened this year. Some of them I wished hadn’t happened.

Sunday after class I headed for the Bishop’s office. What a busy place! I thought. Everybody wants to see him. I think I’ll go home and come another day.

But he saw me. “Hello there, Bobby,” he called. “Come in and sit down, please. Excuse me just one moment.” He stepped out into the hall to talk to someone about something. I wondered what they were talking about. I looked around his office. He had a big chair and a desk, a picture of the Savior, and a picture of President Benson. I saw the scriptures on his desk. They sure were ragged. I wondered what it would be like to be a bishop.

The door opened, and the Bishop came back in and sat next to me. He shook my hand. “Thank you for coming to see me,” he said. “You’re almost twelve, the age at which we normally confer the Aaronic Priesthood and ordain boys as deacons. I’ve talked with your father, and he also felt that you and I should have this interview. Tell me what you know and how you feel about the priesthood.”

Oh no, I thought. What shall I tell him? He probably knows everything about the priesthood. I started by telling him some things from Blazer class and some things my mother had taught me. He didn’t interrupt, and once I got started, my nervousness went away.

When I finished, he said, “Very good. I can see that you’ve been paying attention and that you understand some important principles. There are some scriptures about the priesthood that I’d like to share with you. They’re some of my favorites.”

He turned first to section 20 of the Doctrine and Covenants [D&C 20]. We read from it and talked about the duties of a deacon. Then we read from section 84 [D&C 84] and talked about the covenant of the Aaronic priesthood. After that, he turned to what he said was his favorite scripture—section 121. We read from verse 34 [D&C 121:34] to the end of the section. He helped me understand what the promise in verse 38 [D&C 121:38] meant.

Then he looked me right in the eyes and asked if I was paying tithing. I thought about how hard it had been to start. I was sure happy that I could say I was a full tithe payer. I told him how good I felt when I paid my tithing.

Next he asked me if I ever smoked or drank alcoholic beverages or took drugs. I remembered the time my friends and I had tried a cigarette, and I didn’t want to say anything. I hadn’t even told my parents. I knew it was wrong when I’d done it, and I still felt bad about it. Something inside me said, “Speak up,” but I just couldn’t. My silence must have told the bishop I was wrestling with something, because he talked to me about keeping secrets. He called it “confidentiality.” He said that he would keep anything I told him a secret unless I gave him permission to share it with my parents. Then he waited.

It seemed like a long time while I figured out what words to use. I told him about smoking and how ashamed it made me feel. We talked about how it had happened and what I should do to repent. I didn’t tell him who I’d done it with, and he didn’t ask me to. He said that his knowing their names had nothing to do with my worthiness to receive the priesthood. We discussed the help my parents could give me, and I decided to tell them. A calm feeling came over me. I guess that’s what happens when you do something that you know is right.

When the bishop asked me if I was morally clean, I didn’t know what he meant, so I asked him. He explained about keeping my mind and body clean. We talked about how to do that. He explained that if I lived righteously, the power of the priesthood would always be with me.

He asked me to kneel with him and say a prayer, so I did. It was a short one. Then he prayed. He asked Heavenly Father to bless me, and that made me feel good. I knew that my bishop liked me.

I can hardly wait to tell Mom and Dad about my interview. They’ll be happy for me and will help me be a good, worthy bearer of the priesthood. Just think—next Sunday I’ll be presented in sacrament meeting by the bishop to be sustained to receive the Aaronic Priesthood and be ordained a deacon. Then after the block meetings, the ordinance will be performed. And the week after that I’ll pass the sacrament. I’m going to be reverent when I do and try to set a good example. Maybe some younger boys will be looking up to me.

Recently the Philadelphia Pennsylvania Stake held a fathers and sons’ outing to commemorate the 148th anniversary of the restoration of the Aaronic Priesthood. The outing was held in a wooded campground only a few hours drive from the spot where the priesthood was actually restored. Over 200 attended the event that started Friday afternoon at 4:00 P.M. and lasted through the next day until 3:00 P.M.
The games, food, and fellowship were all good activities, but the main event was the lesson learned from the service project. The boys and their fathers all pitched in to help Wally, the camp ranger, clean out the debris accumulated through the winter in the creek bed so the stream could run clean. They also helped get the campground ready for the summer season. Stake President R. D. Jess said, “The boys learned that they could have fun and do a good turn all at the same time—a good lesson for anyone.”
The stake presidency was especially pleased to see so many men and their sons with nonmember neighbors and friends. Brother M. Soto, first counselor in the Spanish-speaking North Philadelphia Branch, had a group of boys with him from families who are investigating the gospel. And the men of the stake took their responsibility a little further and brought boys who did not have fathers who could come with them. More than one father took the boys they home teach.
The camp had lean-to shelters for 50 bedrolls, with a campfire set in front of each shelter. Tent trailers and tents accommodated the rest in the same area, and that evening you could count as many as 20 fires at once.
Each ward put on a skit for entertainment that evening. Everyone sat out on the lawn by the campfire in front of a makeshift stage of canvas strung on a rope between two trees. The young men decided that President Jess needed to be involved. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to be measured for a coffin or simply play the part of the radiator on the people car. He soon found out that he would get wet either way.
After the skits, a full-length feature movie was shown in spite of the fact that the wind blew the screen down several times. A midnight snack was then served before the bugler John Dorny, Broomall First Ward deacons quorum president, blew taps. Hot chocolate and doughnuts warmed everyone so that even the fathers were ready to face the night in sleeping bags on boards in the shelters or on the ground in tents.
The next day began with reveille at 7:00 A.M. Breakfast was served by members of the Order of the Arrow. A local farmer had sold them whole, fresh, unprocessed milk. It had stayed cold through the night, and it was the favorite item on the menu.
The morning’s activities included hiking, racing, catch ball, basketball, softball, kickball, and touch football.
The Order of the Arrow also served lunch, and after eating, everyone was ready to get into the service project. That afternoon as the campers left the area, the ranger said he would like to have this group back next year.

One experience that helped me learn this lesson took place when Elder Jeffrey R. Holland of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles visited our mission, together with the three other missions in Santiago. There were over 1,000 missionaries gathered in our chapel where my husband had been asked to conduct the meeting. Elder Holland entered the chapel, took the seat next to my husband, leaned over to us, and said, “Okay, here’s what we are going to do. Sister Wright, you will speak first and represent all of the mission presidents’ wives here. Then President Wright will follow.”
I honestly didn’t hear the rest of the agenda. It had never occurred to me that Elder Holland would ask me to speak, so I had made no preparations. I prefer time to prepare to speak, time to gather my thoughts a little at least, but I would be speaking immediately after the opening hymn and prayer.
As my thoughts began to swirl, I felt the sudden desire to share my message in Spanish. However, though we were a year into the mission, and I had worked very hard to learn Spanish, I was still struggling with the language, and I was definitely not fluent in it. The translator was available to me if I spoke in English, but this was a Spanish-speaking mission, and I really wanted to speak in Spanish. Speaking would be a hard thing for me to do in English; speaking in Spanish felt like a giant leap. So amid the sound of 1,000 missionaries singing “Called to Serve” (Hymns, 249), I took a deep breath, confessed my inadequacies to my Father in Heaven, and pled for help to be rescued by the Spirit.
I told Heavenly Father that I had no idea what to say or how to say it in Spanish, but I promised Him that I would open my mouth and do my best, having faith that He would fill it (see Moses 6:32). In that moment, I felt a peaceful assurance come over me. After the prayer I rose to the pulpit and began to speak. Words I had pondered before came back in that needed moment, even in the foreign language I was struggling to communicate in. I sat down after my short three-minute talk, still feeling at peace but unsure about how effectively I had communicated.
After the meeting, the brother who had translated for Elder Holland approached me and said, “Sister Wright, I had no idea you spoke Spanish so well!” I replied, “I don’t.” He assured me that I hadn’t made any mistakes.
I am sure that none of those missionaries remembers anything about my short message that day. But for me it was a life-changing experience. I learned to put my trust in Heavenly Father and the Savior, that They could and would strengthen me despite my weaknesses when I was willing to take a leap of faith. If I had chosen the safe route and used the translator, I might never have learned how They rescue us when we open ourselves to letting God prevail.2

Now let’s look to another set of missionaries closer to our time, the time of the Restoration. There was considerable persecution from enemies in and outside the Church. At a time when it appeared that the Prophet needed them at home, two of the Apostles, Brigham Young and Heber C. Kimball, were called on foreign missions. The following is Elder Heber C. Kimball’s historic account of the pathetic setting at his departure:
“I went to the bed and shook hands with my wife, who was shaking with the ague, having two children lying sick by her side; I embraced her and my children, and bid them farewell; the only child well was little Heber Parley, and it was with difficulty he could carry a two-quart pail full of water from a spring at the bottom of a small hill to assist in quenching their thirst. It was with difficulty we got into the wagon and started down the hill about ten rods; it appeared to me as though my very inmost parts would melt within me; leaving my family in such a condition, as it were, almost in the arms of death; it seemed to me as though I could not endure it. I said to the teamster, ‘Hold up.’ Said I to Brother Brigham, ‘This is pretty tough, ain’t it? Let’s rise up and give them a cheer.’ We arose and swinging our hats three times over our heads, we cried ‘Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah for Israel!’ Vilate [Kimball] hearing the noise arose from her bed and came to the door; she had a smile on her face and she and Mary Ann Young cried out to us, ‘Good bye, God bless you.’ We returned the compliment and then told the driver to go ahead. After this I felt a spirit of joy and gratitude at having the satisfaction of seeing my wife standing upon her feet, instead of leaving her in bed, knowing as I did that I should not see them again for two or more years” (quoted in Helen Mar Whitney, “Life Incidents,” Woman’s Exponent, 15 July 1880, p. 25). This was one of four missions that these two Apostle missionaries served.

In my school one day my class was talking about religion. My teacher asked me to read something about the Church that I knew wasn’t true. At that moment I remembered a verse in the scriptures: “For I am not ashamed of the gospel of Christ” (Rom. 1:16).
My teacher again asked me to read. I replied that I wouldn’t because the passage spoke many lies. I then took advantage of the opportunity to explain and teach the truth about my beliefs.
After passing through that difficult situation, I felt a warm peace in my heart. Thanks to the scriptures, I learned to defend myself in the world.

It was another dreary, lifeless, and boring day. For the last little while, everything had been the same, and though I tried to be happy, I was growing bored and restless. It was the middle of the COVID-19 pandemic and my country was in lockdown, so we were all encouraged to stay home until further notice.
Every day when I looked at myself in the mirror, I saw an emptiness there. It could have been because I couldn’t see my friends or because I wasn’t able to work or support my family at the time. I had just graduated from college and wanted to become a teacher, but I needed to pass an examination that had been postponed because of the pandemic.
I felt unhappy, like something was missing in my heart, but I couldn’t completely figure out what it was or even how I could find it.
One night, my cousin was browsing through a book. It was dark blue and entitled “Ang Aklat ni Mormon.” She had recently gone with her friend to something called “family home evening” and had been talking to missionaries on the phone a few nights a week ever since. On this particular night, she was talking on the phone while skimming the book when suddenly she asked me if I could help her answer a question from one of the missionaries.
“Seriously?” I thought. “You’re the one being asked, so why do I have to help?”
But I gave in and asked her what the question was. And she said, “Ano daw layunin mo sa buhay?” (“What do you think is your purpose in life?”)
My heart started beating so fast when I heard the question.
“This is it! This is what I’ve been looking for. This is what’s been missing in my heart,” I thought.
I stared at my cousin, smiling, and borrowed the phone to answer the missionary’s question. I told him that I believed that the purpose of life is to be happy, to enjoy life, and to serve others and be kind to them. And he agreed!
He and his companion also asked if they could teach my cousin and me more about the gospel, and we said yes. My family was taught by missionaries when I was young. My mother is a member but had been less active for most of my life, but after the conversation on the phone, I wanted to learn more.
Every time the missionaries shared something about the gospel, I felt joy in my heart, particularly in learning about the plan of salvation and the promises of Heavenly Father and the Savior. Eventually we went to church, and the members welcomed us with their warm hearts and helping hands.
I could feel in my heart that I was taking the right path. And after a few months, I was baptized by a close friend who had helped me move forward in the gospel.
Making a lot of changes in my life after joining the Church was hard. And my life is far from being easy or happy all the time. But as I have had new opportunities to serve and deepen my testimony, I have come to know with certainty that everlasting joy is indeed found in this gospel.
I feel joy in my heart whenever I read the scriptures, hear divine inspiration from our prophets and apostles, and witness the testimonies of the members around me. I’ve found my answer to the question those missionaries asked over the phone: the purpose of life is to be a better person for God, for myself, and for my family, all while striving to return to Him. And this knowledge has brought me the exact happiness I’ve been looking for. Continuing to serve people and take my family to church is now my top priority, because I want them to experience true joy.
President Russell M. Nelson taught, “When the focus of our lives is on God’s plan of salvation … and Jesus Christ and His gospel, we can feel joy regardless of what is happening—or not happening—in our lives.”1
I too testify that true happiness can be found only in following Jesus Christ. Every opportunity I have had in the gospel of Jesus Christ has filled my soul with joy, especially as I have allowed these experiences to help me grow closer to Him.
Before the COVID-19 pandemic, I had been happy with my life. But the true joy the gospel brings is different from happiness. Even in the pandemic, the gospel brings me peace and shows me the purpose of life, which helps me keep moving forward with faith and hope.
I finally found my missing piece. I needed the joy that following Jesus Christ brings to my heart and my life, as we all do.

Like enthusiasts of any sport or hobby, amateur radio operators love to have contests to sharpen their skills. And Mike has done well in contests, too. The contests involve contacting as many stations as possible during a certain amount of time. “During the longer contests, I might contact as many as 5,000 operators,” Mike says. “The real reason for contests is to improve your skill as an operator, and it does take a lot of skill.” Contests range from 4 hours on one day to 96 hours spread over two weekends, though most contests are for either 48 straight hours or for 36 hours during a 48-hour period. “It gets tiring, but I keep going. That’s part of the excitement.”
There are domestic contests (within the U.S.) and international contests. “I’ve never won a world contest before,” Mike says, “but I’ve placed in the top 50.” Mike has made special arrangements not to compete on Sundays and is also lobbying to have Sunday contests eliminated. “I think it is good for my radio friends who are not members of the Church to know that I consider my standards more important than winning a worldwide contest,” Mike says.

I am an atheist who recently came to Saipan from mainland China. One day I unexpectedly found a copy of Sheng Tu Chi Sheng, the Chinese International Magazine. Out of curiosity, I read through the magazine and was deeply touched by its contents. It gave me courage to live, strength to face difficulties, and curiosity about the Mormon Church and God. I hope to gain more knowledge about religion, because until now I could not believe that an almighty God exists in this world.
I came to Saipan by myself, and I have often felt lonely and lost. It was this magazine that gave me the courage to overcome these feelings. I give my sincere wish that the International Magazines will continue to be successful.
Li, Rei-mingSaipan

There was something strange about mom and dad both coming to my room to say good-night. It seemed like they had something on their minds. Mom said, “We received a great blessing in the mail today, Jan.” Then dad added, “I have been called to be a mission president. Here is a letter from President Kimball. You will want to read it.”

My heart dropped. Where? When? Do I have to go, too? My eyes began to sting. I didn’t even attempt to hold back the tears. I wanted mom and dad to know that what they were saying was destroying my world. It wasn’t fair. Imagine asking a young, involved, excited sophomore in high school to pack away all her dreams and go out into the mission field without her friends or her older brothers or sisters for three years!

“Sweetheart, this is such a special opportunity and calling,” mom said soothingly. Then dad said, “If you want me to say no, I will. We can’t accept this call without the support of all our family.”

“No way, daddy,” I said through my tears. “We will have to think of something else. Can I live with someone here and finish school? Maybe one of my brothers or sisters wouldn’t mind.” Then the thought struck me: How could I function without mom and dad there to help me along the way? How could I stand it? We had always been so close.

Mom was the Young Women president in the stake and dad the stake patriarch. No wonder the Lord called them to preside over a mission, but why couldn’t He have waited until I was finished with high school and out of the nest? Why was I the only one left to go with them? Why was I born five years after the rest?

Then I noticed the tears in dad’s eyes and saw mom’s face full of hurt. I realized then that leaving home for them would be anything but easy. They would have to leave children and grandchildren, their friends, and home. I knew they were willing, so I took a deep breath and decided I could give it my best shot, at least for the summer.

Where would we be? It could be any place in this wide world. We talked a lot about different places in the world where we would like to live. But somehow, home in Bountiful, Utah, still seemed the very best place for me. I started hoping we would be assigned to the Salt Lake City North Mission.

The assignment came on April 1, 1979. Only missionaries know the feeling of anticipation that letter can bring. As we opened the envelope, the first thing I saw were three familiar signatures at the bottom, and then slowly I raised my eyes to the body of the letter. There it was. We were called to the Mississippi Jackson Mission.

Mississippi … where was Mississippi? I had no idea which state it was except that it was down south. Dad got out the map and the World Book. Excitement began to grow, even in me. This could be kind of fun, seeing new country and meeting all those missionaries. I have to admit I had no intention of breaking school ties and staying down there beyond summer, to go to a school where I might be the only Mormon in my class.

To my utter amazement, my older brothers and sisters envied me. My oldest brother, Craig, really encouraged me. “Jan,” he said, “this is a chance of a lifetime.” I was glad they were excited for me, but still I figured those words were easy enough for them to say, easier than for me to do.

I guess I was feeling a little sorry for myself. My world was changing, and I didn’t want it to. As a teenager I was struggling to find security by developing my talents, getting involved in many things, and in making lots of friends. I belonged and felt comfortable. Drill team tryouts were just over, and I had made it. I was a Vykette!

How could I ever give up that dream? I had so many other dreams. The one I had yet to achieve, and the most important of all, was to be in the madrigals chorus. Being in that singing group would be the highlight of my senior year if I were lucky enough to make it. However, summer was still before me, and I decided to spend it down south regardless of all my school anticipations.

That first summer, dad and mom and I traveled a lot getting acquainted with the wards and branches. I found that I did have a family after all with about 80 big brothers.

Our big family decision that summer was still what to do with Jan. Building a foundation for a new mission meant dad had to travel much of the time and mom needed to be with him to get to know the missionaries, their needs, and the areas. We all prayed about it, and the decision was made. I could go back to Viewmont High School in Utah and live with my brother David, his wife Pamela, and Kimi.

My junior year at Viewmont was wonderful, packed with lots of drill team memories, book learning, work with the junior class committee, special dances, fun with family, and spiritual and fun times with my Laurel class. Only my journal and my Heavenly Father knew of all my lonely times without my parents. The phone bills also gave unmistakable evidence.

In the spring after an especially exciting day, I just had to call “home” to tell mom and dad the big news. The voice on the other end of the line said, “Honey, we’re glad you called. We were just going to call you. Dad and I have talked to the headmaster at Jackson Preparatory School, and they have room for you this next year. We know this is where you should be. We really want you to plan to come here for school next year.” Silence. I felt my world slipping again.

“But, mom, I just can’t. I tried out for madrigals just yesterday, and I feel so good about it. My big dream, remember?” I cried, and mom cried. How could I leave everything and everyone? All my dreams of being a senior at Viewmont—I had waited so long. But when parents like mine say they both have a strong feeling that I should do something, I know that I should. When I said, “Okay, mom and dad, I will come,” a sweet, peaceful feeling came over me, and I knew it would be all right.

The second summer was filled with zone conferences and youth conferences. It was great fun seeing the missionaries again. The number had grown from 80 to 160, so there were many new ones to get acquainted with.

I was enrolled in a college preparatory school, Jackson Prep, which seemed to be number one in everything—academics, sports, drama, music. I was scared to death to start there. Aside from a couple of girls in the neighborhood, I didn’t know a soul.

My classes were tough and were taught like college courses. Everyone bought their own books and we were to take notes on lectures every day. Exams were held often. To add to my potpourri of confusion, I was told that I was being watched because I was a Mormon—the only one in the entire school. I felt that I was stuck in a spot, although not necessarily a bad one. I could make it good or bad depending on one thing—my attitude.

I had all kinds of good advice from the missionaries and others on just what I should say and do, but when that first dreaded day of school arrived, I forgot it all and barely made it home and through the front door before I broke down and wailed as if my heart were broken. There sat mom hurting too, but at least she was there for me. We cried together as I explained, “Mom, the kids are so different. I can’t understand the teachers.” The teachers spoke with a strong southern accent, and I found myself writing notes from their lectures that weren’t anything near what they actually said. I hadn’t quite mastered the language yet.

“Oh,” I sobbed, “besides that, today I was one minute late for my English class. When I finally found the room, my teacher made me stand up in front of everyone and explain why I was late.” At first mom looked at me, attempting to give me some motherly consolation, but then we both started to laugh. Mom and usually dad were always there to listen as I unfolded the happenings of the day, and we found that laughing was a lot more fun than crying. Things did get better.

As I started the school year, I made some promises to my Heavenly Father. The memory of a special blessing given to us by President Ezra Taft Benson just before we came into the mission field helped me to set my goals. I knew if I did all I could to be a good example and symbol of the Church for Him that He would send special opportunities to me.

I found myself, miraculously, a member of a new madrigal singing group, a member of the chamber singers, and of the acappella choir at school. I also found great friends in my choir director and drama director. I gained many new friends as I participated in two dramatic productions that year. Getting into these activities wasn’t all my idea. I had a little mother behind me all the way, encouraging me to get involved.

Slowly but surely, I gained respect from my friends and teachers, and I almost welcomed all the teasing about being a Mormon. It wasn’t unusual at all to have someone come into my first period class waving an article they had found on the Mormon Tabernacle Choir or on the Church’s stand on abortion.

Everyone seemed interested in the Mormons, and even though they would kid me a lot, I think they were impressed that a group of people could stick to their guns and pass up liquor and tea and coffee, not just once in a while, but all the time. Defending the Church wasn’t hard anymore. It was kind of fun. Who would be up to bat next, and whose hits could I catch?

The best opportunity I had defending the Church was when I became involved with the Junior Miss Pageant as a contestant for Capitol City’s Junior Miss. Many of the senior girls were trying out, and I decided to go for it, too.

Once I was picked as one of the 20 contestants, there were dances to learn, a short course on modeling, a talent number to prepare, and studying to do for a personal interview with the judges. It was great. Twenty girls from different schools learning together and having fun and not a Mormon except me in the bunch. Excitement began to mount as the pageant drew near. Our interviews were scheduled the afternoon of the pageant.

Finally, it was my turn, and I nervously walked up the long flight of stairs to the room where the five judges awaited. At first they just visited with me. Then an older, quiet man began asking questions about my religion—tough questions. It took me back for a moment. Then I got hold of myself and answered the best way I knew how. The words flowed freely, and I felt as if my eyes were relaying the message as well as my words. I knew I received lots of extra help from above that day. What I said must have satisfied the judges because that night number 10 was crowned Capitol City’s Junior Miss—I was number 10!

As friends and mom and dad crowded around and hugged me, my mind reflected back to the hateful feelings I had felt at first after reading “the call.” Now in my heart I thanked Heavenly Father for giving me the chance. I felt so happy—happy for wonderful friends who accepted me with all kinds of southern hospitality and for friends at home who kept reassuring and encouraging me with their love. I was happy for a wonderful family like my sisters who received calls from a bawling baby sister and always ended up making her laugh. Most of all I was happy for a dad and mom who stood by through it all and guided me with all their love.

What happened to that year I was so afraid of? I shudder to think of missing my year at Prep. There was, however, a constant concern in my heart. What more can I do to let everyone know that the Church is true? A Book of Mormon with my personal testimony written in the front to each of my teachers helped satisfy that unrest. Each one promised to read that precious book.

I am now so thankful that I listened to my wonderful family and accepted the challenge of the mission field. It means so much to me to have become a part of my dad’s special calling. I grew up a lot and learned many important lessons through my experiences in Mississippi. Things that make us grow never are easy, and now when I look back, I can’t really remember the rough times. I only remember the great ones.

All the friendships I made in Mississippi continue to grow sweeter as time passes, and maybe someday some of the seeds planted there will flourish. I guess most of all I learned how to totally rely on my Heavenly Father. This lesson will stay with me not only for today but forever.

Photographs by Christina Smith
Caroline M. from Tennessee, USA, loves to spread joy. “I like it when people are happy,” she says. “My purpose in life is to help people know how much Jesus loves them. My purpose here on earth is to spread hope, happiness, and love.”
“My purpose in life is to help people know how much Jesus loves them. My purpose here on earth is to spread hope, happiness, and love.”
Caroline enjoys learning the gospel of Jesus Christ, living what she learns, and sharing the gospel with others. She knows the gospel brings great joy because she has experienced it for herself.
Caroline finds joy in the gospel of Jesus Christ because “it brings so much love to everyone.” She says: “I follow Jesus Christ by being obedient. He is the source of peace and happiness and love—that is who Jesus Christ is to me. He died for us and paid for our sins so that we can be like Him.”
Seminary is one way Caroline has been able to learn the gospel, and it’s been a good experience for her. “I love early morning seminary. I’m a morning person.” The students come to her house since her mom is the seminary teacher. “Not a lot of people are members of the Church where I live. But a few members go to my high school and come to seminary with me.”
“I love early morning seminary. I’m a morning person.”
She’s enjoyed studying the Old Testament in seminary this year. One of her favorite stories is the account of the Creation in the book of Genesis. “I love reading about the Creation because it shows Jesus created this world for me. It makes me really happy to think that He did that for me.”
Living the gospel also brings Caroline great joy. She loves Jesus Christ and wants to follow Him, which helped her to understand the importance of being baptized. “I knew I needed to obey God’s commandments, that I needed to make covenants with Him and follow the right path.”
By being baptized, she knew she’d be following the right path—the path Jesus showed us. For her, being baptized “felt so amazing.” Through her desire to make and keep covenants and her desire to serve others and bring them joy, she shows she wants to follow Jesus Christ.
Another way that Caroline experiences the joy of the gospel often is through Church activities. She loves going to Young Women classes and activities because of the happiness she finds there. “The Young Women make me smile and laugh.”
She also enjoys going to Young Women camp. “When I’m at Young Women camp, everyone is around me and I can feel the Spirit. It reminds me of when I was baptized.”
Caroline also experiences the joy of the gospel in her everyday life. “Every time I play the piano or the guitar, every time I ask God to help someone, whenever I’m lonely, whenever I’m listening to uplifting music—that all shows me that the Savior loves me because I can hear Him.”
When Caroline was at Young Women camp, she bore testimony of the fact that she is a daughter of God, that He has a purpose for her in this life, and that her purpose is to bring joy and love to others. “A lot of people told me how much they loved my testimony.”
One special thing about this particular testimony was that everyone could clearly hear her and understand what she was saying. This made Caroline happy since that is not always the case. Caroline has Down syndrome, and she says it’s common for people to have a hard time understanding everything a person with Down syndrome says.
The Spirit was strong as she bore her testimony, and afterward many people said that hearing Caroline’s testimony was one of the most sacred experiences of their lives. She knew the Spirit clearly confirmed the truth of what she was saying.
Caroline has learned for herself that serving others brings joy! The Holy Ghost has helped her to feel the joy of the gospel and the joy of following Jesus Christ, and she wants others to experience that same feeling. By spreading happiness and love to others, she brings the Spirit into their lives. And by sharing what brings her joy, she invites them to come unto Christ.

In the words of a well-known song, I wish you could “come fly with me” to eastern Germany, where I visited many times. Not long ago, as I traveled along the autobahns, I reflected on a time almost 35 years before when I saw on the same autobahns just trucks carrying armed soldiers and policemen. Barking dogs everywhere strained on their leashes, and informers walked the streets. Back then, the flame of freedom had flickered and burned low. A wall of shame sprang up, and a curtain of iron came down. Hope was all but snuffed out. Life, precious life, continued on in faith, nothing wavering. Patient waiting was required. An abiding trust in God marked the life of each Latter-day Saint.
When I made my initial visit beyond the wall, it was a time of fear on the part of our members as they struggled in the performance of their duties. I found the dullness of despair on the faces of many passersby but a bright and beautiful expression of love emanating from our members. In Görlitz the building in which we met was shell-pocked from the war, but the interior reflected the tender care of our leaders in bringing brightness and cleanliness to an otherwise shabby and grimy structure. The Church had survived both a world war and the cold war which followed. The singing of the Saints brightened every soul. They sang the old Sunday School favorite:
If the way be full of trial; Weary not!
If it’s one of sore denial, Weary not!
If it now be one of weeping,
There will come a joyous greeting,
When the harvest we are reaping—Weary not!
Do not weary by the way,
Whatever be thy lot;
There awaits a brighter day
To all, to all who weary not!
I was touched by their sincerity. I was humbled by their poverty. They had so little. My heart filled with sorrow because they had no patriarch. They had no wards or stakes—just branches. They could not receive temple blessings—neither endowment nor sealing. No official visitor had come from Church headquarters in a long time. The members were forbidden to leave the country. Yet they trusted in the Lord with all their hearts, and they leaned not to their own understanding. In all their ways they acknowledged Him, and He directed their paths. I stood at the pulpit, and with tear-filled eyes and a voice choked with emotion, I made a promise to the people: “If you will remain true and faithful to the commandments of God, every blessing any member of the Church enjoys in any other country will be yours.”
That night as I realized what I had promised, I dropped to my knees and prayed: “Heavenly Father, I’m on Thy errand; this is Thy Church. I have spoken words that came not from me, but from Thee and Thy Son. Wilt Thou, therefore, fulfill the promise in the lives of this noble people.” There coursed through my mind the words from the psalm, “Be still, and know that I am God.” The heavenly virtue of patience was required.
Little by little the promise was fulfilled. First, patriarchs were ordained, then lesson manuals produced. Wards were formed and stakes created. Chapels and stake centers were begun, completed, and dedicated. Then, miracle of miracles, a holy temple of God was permitted, designed, constructed, and dedicated. Finally, after an absence of 50 years, approval was granted for full-time missionaries to enter the nation and for local youth to serve elsewhere in the world. Then, like the wall of Jericho, the Berlin Wall crumbled, and freedom, with its attendant responsibilities, returned.
All of the parts of the precious promise of almost 35 years earlier were fulfilled, save one. Tiny Görlitz, where the promise had been given, still had no chapel of its own. Now, even that dream became a reality. The building was approved and completed. Dedication day dawned. Sister Monson and I, along with Elder and Sister Dieter Uchtdorf, held a meeting of dedication in Görlitz. The same songs were sung as were rendered all those years earlier. The members knew the significance of the occasion, marking the total fulfillment of the promise. They wept as they sang. The song of the righteous was indeed a prayer unto the Lord and had been answered with a blessing upon their heads.
At the conclusion of the meeting we were reluctant to leave. As we did so, seen were the waving hands of all, heard were the words, “Auf Wiedersehen, auf Wiedersehen; God be with you till we meet again.”

In our squadron I had a dear friend who was an outstanding football player. Years before, his team played in a New Year’s Day bowl game. Before a sold-out stadium and a large television audience, his team lost 61-6. It turned out he and a few other members of his team had not kept the training rules. They paid a dear price. They had to live with knowing they were not prepared to play the big game; they had to live with the final score for the rest of their lives.
Years passed. Two members of this same football team were in my flight training unit. One was an exemplary, well-disciplined student and a model pilot who had learned his lesson well from the bowl game.
However, the other had not learned to listen to those with more knowledge and experience. When his turn would come to learn emergency procedures and to precondition his mental and physical responses so they would be automatic, even instantaneous, my friend would put his arm around the airman instructor and say, “Check me off for three hours of emergency procedure.” Then, instead of training, he would go to the pistol range or play golf or go to the officers’ club. But he never learned the emergency procedures.
On one occasion he was asked what he would do in an emergency. His answer: “I am never going to bail out; I am never going to have an emergency.”
On an evening mission a few months later, fire erupted in his plane, and it dropped below 5,000 feet, spinning in flames. Noting the fire warning light, the younger pilot who was with him said, “Let’s get out of here.” And with the centrifugal force pulling against him, the younger man, who had taken his training seriously, bailed out. His parachute opened at once and he slammed to the ground, receiving serious injuries. But he survived.
On the other hand, my friend stayed with the airplane and died in the crash. He paid the price for not having learned the lessons that could have saved his life.

Even though Corey was constantly busy with his academic studies and activities such as debate and drama, he made the choice to attend early morning seminary. He knew he would have to give up something, and that something was swimming. By then he knew he wanted to focus on academics, and that made dropping swimming much easier. Seminary, on the other hand, was too valuable. Corey says, “I’ve known all my life that I would take seminary. It is very helpful in understanding the scriptures. If you study the scriptures every day, you come to a better understanding of what they are all about.”

I was baptized in Comayaguela, Honduras, in February 1992. After serving a mission in El Salvador, I moved to San Pedro Sula, Honduras. There I met Brenda, a beautiful young woman who had been home from her mission for only nine days. Some months later we were married in the Guatemala City Guatemala Temple.
We established our home in the Fesitranh Ward in Honduras, and before long I was called as the first counselor in the bishopric. At a priesthood executive committee meeting, the bishop informed us that one of our ward members, Brother Fidel Durón, was moving to another ward in the stake. He told us that Brother Durón was a very service-minded person and that every ward member no doubt had something to thank him for.
Brother Durón helped anyone in need, whether it involved an electrical problem, some construction work, a broken pipe, or an early-morning trip to the hospital. His service was not limited to Church members but was also extended to his neighbors and acquaintances. He was loved and respected by all. The bishop gave us an assignment to find all those members who had something to thank Brother Durón for. A meeting was planned to honor him for the selfless service he had given for such a long time.
I said to myself, “I don’t have anything to thank Brother Durón for.” I had lived in the ward for just a short time and had spoken with him on a few occasions. He seemed to be a pleasant person, but I didn’t think I had had the opportunity to be the recipient of an act of service at his hand.
Some time later I was called to be a member of the high council and assigned to the López Arellano Ward, the ward Brother Durón now attended. One Sunday I was in Sunday School in this ward, and the teacher asked class members to share personal experiences regarding service.
I happened to be seated to the left of a sister named Adela Rosa de Santos. She started to tell how the man at her right, Brother Durón, had served as her home teacher when she and her family were new members of the Church. She told how his kind service had given them strength and encouragement when they needed it and how he had blessed their lives. She concluded by saying, “If it weren’t for you, Brother Durón, I wouldn’t be here.”
I could hardly believe my ears. Sister Adela’s daughter, Suyapa, was the missionary who had knocked on my door five years earlier, and now I was a member of the Church and my life had been filled with the richest possible blessings. I had been given the opportunity to serve a mission, the privilege of receiving my temple ordinances, and the glorious hope of having an eternal family.
At that moment I learned that 20 years before, a humble man who was true to his commitment to serve others had unknowingly labored for the welfare of my soul. I was filled with a joy that is hard to express and with love for my brother, Fidel Durón. I had once thought I didn’t have anything to thank Brother Durón for. Now I considered myself to be first and foremost on the list the bishop had asked us to make.
That special meeting for Brother Durón was never held, because he returned to the Fesitranh Ward for a time. We now have a beautiful friendship. I have so many reasons to be grateful to Jesus Christ for all He has done for me and also to Brother Durón for the love he showed me 20 years before he ever met me.

“Mom is coming back tonight,” Dad said when he picked up Cassie from school. “That means today is clean-the-house day.”
“Yes!” Cassie cheered. Cassie wasn’t too excited about cleaning, but she was excited that Mom was finally coming home. She had been gone for two long weeks taking care of Grandma, who lived far away.
Cassie had missed her so much that some nights she had even listened to the old cassette-tape recordings that her mom had once made for her. On these tapes Mom had recorded herself reading stories to Cassie. Before Cassie knew how to read, she would listen to these recordings over and over while looking at the pictures in the books. Cassie hadn’t listened to them in a long time—until now.
After the house was sparkling clean, Cassie and Dad went to the airport to pick up Mom. When she got off the plane, Mom was happy to see them, but she looked tired.
“I don’t think I should give kisses today,” Mom said. “I think I caught the flu on my trip. I don’t feel so good.”
Mom went straight to bed when they got home. Cassie came in to see her later, and she had a cold cloth across her eyes.
“Do you want to play a board game?” Cassie asked.
“No, sorry, sweetie,” Mom said. “I have a bad headache, and I need to rest my eyes. But there’s nothing wrong with my ears. Why don’t you sit with me and tell me everything that happened while I was gone?”
Cassie smiled and pulled a chair close to the bed. She talked and talked, and Mom listened.
The next night Mom was still sick. Cassie had to go to school the next day, and Mom would be home by herself. She’ll be so lonely, just like I was, Cassie thought. Then she had a great idea. She went to the bookshelf and got down one of Mom’s favorite stories.
In the morning before she left for school, Cassie brought a shoebox to her mom. “This is for you,” she said. “I also made you a sandwich. Peanut butter with strawberry jam. It’s in the fridge.”
“Oh, thank you,” Mom said. She opened the box and took out the tape recorder. “What’s this?”
Her mom pushed “Play” and Cassie’s voice said, “Dear Mom, I’m going to read your favorite story. Just close your eyes and have fun listening.”
She pushed “Stop” on the recorder and laughed. “This is wonderful,” Mom said. “I’m so excited to listen to this.”
“I did all the voices,” Cassie said. “Just like you used to.”
“Thank you, Cassie! How did you get to be so thoughtful?”
“I learned from you, Mom.”