Gospel Story Finder

Lorenzo Snow was baptized and confirmed in Kirtland, Ohio, when he was twenty-two years old. But he was disappointed that no miraculous manifestation (happening) took place after these ordinances were performed. Two or three weeks later, however, the young man, who was to become the fifth president of the Church, did have an unforgettable heaven-sent experience that he described in these words:
“One day while engaged in my studies, I began to reflect upon the fact that I had not obtained a knowledge of the truth of the work … and I began to feel very uneasy. I laid aside my books, left the house, and wandered around through the fields under the oppressive influence of a gloomy disconsolate spirit, while an indescribable cloud of darkness seemed to envelop me.
“I had been accustomed, at the close of the day, to retire for secret prayer, to a grove a short distance from my lodgings, but at this time I felt no inclination to do so. At length, I concluded I would not forego my evening service, and knelt as I was in the habit of doing, and in my accustomed retired place.
“I had no sooner opened my lips in an effort to pray, than I heard a sound, just above my head, like the rustling of silken robes, and immediately the Spirit of God descended upon me, completely enveloping my whole person, filling me, from the crown of my head to the soles of my feet, and O, the joy and happiness I felt! No language can describe the almost instantaneous transition from a dense cloud of mental and spiritual darkness into [one] of light and knowledge. I then received a perfect knowledge that God lives, that Jesus Christ is the Son of God, and of the restoration of the holy Priesthood, and the fulness of the Gospel. It was a complete baptism—a tangible immersion in the heavenly principle or element, the Holy Ghost; and even more real and physical in its effects upon every part of my system than the immersion by water; dispelling forever … all possibility of doubt … that the ‘Babe of Bethlehem’ is truly the Son of God; also the fact that He is now being revealed to the children of men, and communicating knowledge, the same as in the Apostolic times. I was perfectly satisfied, … for my expectations were more than realized.
“That night, as I retired to rest, the same wonderful manifestations were repeated, and continued to be for several successive nights. The sweet remembrance of those glorious experiences … bring them fresh before me, imparting an inspiring influence which pervades my whole being.”

I first met Kim Hye Gook in November 1989 while serving as a missionary in Suwon, South Korea, about thirty kilometers south of Seoul. She was referred to the sister missionaries by Brice Womack, an American soldier stationed in Songtan, some distance away. The missionaries in my zone visited the orphanage where Miss Kim worked. We were impressed with the patience, love, and care she gave each of the children.
At about the same time, we met Pak Hyang Gook while talking with people on the streets in Suwon. A short time later we began teaching her the missionary discussions.
Both of these investigators completed the discussions, developed strong testimonies, and decided to be baptized. The date was set for Sunday, 24 January 1990. We made all of the usual preparations for baptism and met with the meetinghouse custodian and bishop to make sure the details were all settled. Everything seemed to be in order.
The day finally came, and it was very cold, as Korean winter days tend to be. After Sunday School opening exercises, I thought to ask the custodian if hot water would be available from the taps. That’s when he told us the furnace had broken and we wouldn’t be able to perform the baptism.
We were shocked. Some of Miss Kim’s friends had come all the way from Songtan to attend the service. Also, three investigators from the Osan Branch (fifteen kilometers away) were to be baptized at the same service. The whole Osan Branch was planning to attend.
Sister Gu Jean Jaw (a sister missionary) and I tried to remedy the situation. We took apart the furnace and found a fuse that was burned out. We replaced it with an automotive fuse that seemed compatible, then put it all back together.
At first we were elated to find that it worked. But our excitement was to be short-lived. It soon became apparent that no water would flow from the furnace up to the baptismal font. The reason: the water in the pipes had frozen solid. We tried for three hours to thaw the pipes by pouring boiling water over them. It didn’t work. We also tried to find a welder, hoping to heat the pipes and thaw the ice inside. But no one who had a welder was willing to let us use it.
By now it was 2:00 P.M., time for the baptism to begin. The Osan branch president and members had arrived. Sister Gu Jean Jaw called every mogyoktang (bath house) in Suwon to see if we could perform the baptisms there, but none of them would accommodate us.
I talked to Miss Kim. She was disappointed. She said that she had prayed and knew that she was to be baptized. She had set a goal with the sister missionaries to be baptized on this day. She pulled out the Book of Mormon that the sisters had given her when she started the discussions and opened it to the picture of Alma baptizing a girl in the Waters of Mormon. She asked, "Is it possible for me to be baptized in a river or lake?" Voices blurted out that it was impossible, that everything outside was frozen over, that it was too cold.
The bishop called us into his office to decide what should be done. We agreed that the girls themselves should decide when and where they would be baptized. The bishop called them into his office. He said he knew where a lake was, but warned that it would take a long bus ride, followed by a twenty-minute walk, to get to a secluded cove where the baptism could take place.
The room was quiet for a long time. Then Miss Kim spoke. She repeated that she had accepted the gospel and had agreed to be baptized on this day. She believed that if she did her part, the Lord would do his. And if doing her part meant being baptized in an icy lake, then she was willing.
We began preparations for the lake baptism. Elders Forbes and Miner ran home to get blankets. The two investigators changed into baptismal clothes; my companion, Elder Parker, and I did the same. We held the baptismal service at the Church meetinghouse, then climbed on a bus for the ride to the lake. When we arrived, we saw a large group of people ice skating. We knew the ice had to be very thick.
The bishop had gone on ahead in his truck and was already on the other side of the lake. When we reached him, he was futilely trying to break a hole in the ice with a large rock. My companion and I hiked to a little house on the edge of the lake and knocked on the door. A middle-aged man appeared at the door, dressed in a purple hanbok, the traditional Korean dress. I explained in Korean that we needed to cut a hole in the ice. He hurried into the house and returned with an old axe head fastened onto a homemade stick handle. He didn’t even ask us to return it, just smiled and closed the door.
We returned to the lake and cut a small hole in the ice, then tested the depth with a stick. It was too shallow for a baptism. We cut many small holes, testing the depth of the water each time. Finally we found a place where the water was the right depth.
It took another hour to cut a trough big enough in which to perform the baptism. The homemade handle on the axe broke once, but we caught the head before it sunk. The ice was 30cm. Thick. Most of the chunks we cut off were just too big to lift out, so we slid them under the ice on either side of the merging hole.
Finally, Elder Parker baptized Sister Pak, and I baptized Sister Kim in that frozen lake. By now it was late. The ice skaters had all gone home. The sky was clear and the air bitter cold. Yet I remember thinking, as I slid out of the hole back onto the ice, that, amazingly, I didn’t feel cold. Sister Kim had the same experience.
We huddled together to have a closing prayer, after which we bundled in blankets and headed toward the bus stop. The baptized sisters went to the bishop’s house to change clothes, while the other elders and I went home. At 8:30 P.M. we all met at the bishop’s house for dinner. The bishop felt strongly that these two girls should be confirmed right there and then, so we complied.
During and after the confirmation prayers, the room was filled with a sweet feeling of peace. I can’t begin to describe it. I truly believe that for some reason it was important for those girls to be baptized and confirmed that cold, icy day. Their faith and courage typify the attitude of the humble members of the Church in South Korea.

Jared Stewart’s involvement in this year’s 2023 British Pageant is remarkable, even miraculous. An aspiring actor and former missionary, Jared is excited to play the role of early Church leader, George Q. Cannon.
Jared has been pursuing a career in acting since he was 16 years old and participated in the 2017 British Pageant as a member of the core cast, playing the part of David Ashton.
Over the years, he had been gaining traction as a background performer. In 2018, his acting pursuits were put on hold as he accepted a call to serve in the Poland Warsaw Mission for two years.
When he returned, his life changed dramatically. He was diagnosed with a large brain tumour and needed urgent surgery, which left him with complete facial paralysis on his left side, total deafness in his left ear, along with other mobility issues.
The pageant auditions were being held only a couple of weeks after surgery. He should not have been able to attend.
Jared said, “But I know the power and impact the pageant has on people and decided to show up and offer my service,e whatever that meant. The facial paralysis made speaking hard but the Spirit helped me to push through and to my surprise and gratitude, I was cast.”
At this early stage of recovery, Jared was able to endure rigorous auditions for various top acting schools in London, and has since been accepted at his dream school—the London Academy of Music and Dramatic Art. He began his studies in October of 2022.
Jared hopes that the pageant audience will feel the love that God has for them, as well as the excitement the cast has in being able to share these remarkable stories of early British and Irish Church members.
He adds, “I feel a great sense of excitement, peace, and joy when pondering on my previous experiences in the pageant and look forward to this summer’s performances. “
“As part of the rising generation,” Jared says, “I hope to see the pageant act as a beacon to my peers of the many fun and creative ways in which we can share the gospel of Jesus Christ. There is power in our past. Honouring our faithful and courageous ancestors is such a joy and a privilege.”

A nearby explosion jolted me awake, and alarms started to blare. For a moment, I couldn’t figure out what was happening. The glowing white numbers of my alarm clock told me it was 06:00. I looked around the darkened room, wondering what was going on. Nothing seemed out of place.
But then a second and third blast began a barrage of incoming rocket-propelled grenades and bursts of gunfire outside. I was not sure from where the barrage was coming, but I knew we were under attack.
Feeling my adrenaline kick in, I rolled off my bed and began grabbing my gear. As I pulled on my tactical vest and helmet, I could hear the continued wail of alarms and the engines of the Quick Response Force vehicles rev as they rushed through the camp to meet the attack.
With my M9 pistol strapped to my side, I grabbed my rifle and headed into the hallway to await orders.
I was about nine months into my longest deployment to Afghanistan with the United States Air Force. My responsibilities working with the senior Afghan Air Force finance officer and officials from the Afghan Ministry of Finance often put me in harm’s way, and I had felt the Lord’s protecting hand. But this attack was a first for me. When our colonel asked for volunteers to follow him outside, I joined six others taking position around the building in case attackers overran the gate.
The colonel ordered me to take my post on the side of our base that faced the attack. Gunfire continued as people darted left and right, seeking shelter. Marines posted on the top of a nearby building ducked for cover as rocket after rocket flew into the camp to the north of my position. They rocked the ground and buildings when they exploded. Some hit a hangar. Many left craters.
I lay on the ground with my M4 assault rifle pointed toward my sector of fire. Deafening gunfire surrounded me, though it was directed toward the camp to the north of me. I had trained for such a scenario but had never faced a real threat. I was terrified, and I wasn’t even in the thick of the fight!
My stomach knotted. Sweat coated my skin. I braced myself, expecting at any moment that a rocket would explode where I lay. Thoughts of my family popped into my mind.
“Heavenly Father,” I prayed, “please protect us so we can all get home to our families.”
As I finished my prayer, a memory played in my mind that momentarily replaced the sights and sounds of battle. The memory was of seven-year-old Gabriel, one of the boys in the Primary class I taught back in the United States. Just a few weeks earlier, his father had emailed me a video of Gabriel praying at his bedside—praying for me and for my safety in Afghanistan.
I remembered teaching my Primary class about prayer. At the time, I had wondered if any of them understood the miraculous power of prayer. But when I saw that video, I was astounded by the faith of that little boy—something I witnessed with many of the children I taught.
Now the memory of that simple prayer inspired my faith in that terrifying moment. I felt God tell me that little Gabriel was praying for me. I knew He had heard Gabriel’s prayer, my prayer, and the prayers of countless others on my behalf. I felt peace replace worry. I felt in my heart that my fellow servicemen and I would be all right.
When the firefight finally ended six hours later, we assessed our casualties. To our surprise, nobody in our camp had been injured by the 47 rocket-propelled grenades and thousands of rounds fired into our camp.
I knew I wasn’t the first to pray on the battlefield. I also knew that not every battlefield prayer had been answered in the same way. But I was grateful for the assurance that God hears and answers our prayers, even those of a little child.

Two days later, the Willie company had to travel the most difficult part of the trail, going over Rocky Ridge, in a freezing storm. The last of them didn’t reach camp until 5:00 the next morning. Thirteen people died and were buried in a common grave.
On November 7, the Willie company was nearing the Salt Lake Valley, but that morning there were still three deaths. Two days later, the Willie company finally reached Salt Lake, where they had a marvelous greeting and were welcomed into the homes of the Saints.

A true story from the USA.
“Time for school!” Mom called.
Bella frowned at herself in the mirror. Her jeans felt tight, and her shirt looked awkward on her shoulders. She remembered what David said on the bus last week—“You’re so fat!” She knew she shouldn’t let his words bother her, but she couldn’t stop thinking about it.
Mom knocked on the door. “We’re going to be late!”
Bella grabbed her backpack. “I’m coming.”
“You look cute today!” Mom said.
“Thanks,” Bella mumbled.
As she walked to class later, she kept her head down. She wished she could be invisible.
“Hey, Bella!” Her classmate Ashley handed her a flyer. “Do you want to be in the school play? It’ll be really fun!”
Bella read the flyer. The auditions were tomorrow. Bella liked to sing and dance with her younger sister. Sometimes they put on shows for the family. Maybe it would be fun!
But then she remembered what happened on the bus. If Bella tried out for the play, so many eyes would be on her. She stuffed the paper in her backpack and tried not to think about it.
When Bella got home from school, Mom was making dinner. “How was school?” she asked.
“It was OK.” Bella put her backpack down and zipped it open. The flyer was still there.
“Oh, the school play!” Mom said, looking over her shoulder. “Are you going to audition?”
“Probably not,” Bella said.
“Why?”
Bella thought about it. “I just don’t like the way I look, I guess. I don’t want people staring at me on stage.”
Mom gave her a hug. “I know it can be hard to feel comfortable with your body,” she said. “But God created your body to be more than what people look at. Think of all the things it can do!”
Maybe I should audition for the play, Bella thought. It wouldn’t hurt to at least try.
The next day, she walked into the theater. There were lots of kids inside, laughing and talking. Maybe this was a bad idea.
When they called her name, Bella walked slowly onto the stage. Her heart was beating so fast. She said a quick prayer in her head. Heavenly Father, please help me not be so nervous.
Bella felt a little calmer. She sang one of her favorite songs and read lines from a script. After everyone was done, the theater teacher read a list of those who got a part.
Bella heard her name. She couldn’t believe it. She would be in the play!
Over the next few weeks, Bella practiced dancing, singing, and saying her lines. It was hard, but she got better every day. Her body was made for the stage! Her feet loved to dance to the music. Her arms loved to move props across the stage. Her brain loved learning the words to the songs. And her heart loved all the new friends she made.
Bella was so excited when the day of the play finally came. It was showtime!
She put on her costume and looked in the mirror. She loved how it sparkled in the light. During the show she danced, sang, and said her lines on stage. When it ended, she found her family in the crowd.
Mom gave her a hug. “You were so confident up there!”
Bella smiled. “God helped me!”
Illustrations by Shawna J. C. Tenney

A few months ago our two youngest granddaughters visited us—one each week. I was at home and answered the door. My wife, Mary, was in another room. In both cases, after a hug, they said almost the same thing. They looked around and then said, “I love to be in Grandma’s house. Where is Grandma?” I didn’t say it to them, but I was thinking, “Isn’t this Grandpa’s house too?” But I realized that when I was a boy, our family went to Grandma’s house. The words of a familiar song came into my mind: “Over the river and through the woods to Grandmother’s house we go.” Now, let me say unequivocally that I am thrilled with the educational and other opportunities that are available to women. I treasure the fact that the backbreaking work and domestic drudgery required of women has been reduced in much of the world because of modern conveniences and that women are making such magnificent contributions in every field of endeavor. But if we allow our culture to reduce the special relationship that children have with mothers and grandmothers and others who nurture them, we will come to regret it.

I am an eyewitness of that truth. Over a lifetime, my wife has spoken for the Lord and served people for Him. As I’ve mentioned before, one of our bishops once said to me: “I’m amazed. Every time I hear of a person in the ward who is in trouble, I hurry to help. Yet by the time I arrive, it seems that your wife has always already been there.” That has been true in all the places we have lived for 56 years.
Now she can speak only a few words a day. She is visited by people she loved for the Lord. Every night and morning I sing hymns with her and we pray. I have to be voice in the prayers and in the songs. Sometimes I can see her mouthing the words of the hymns. She prefers children’s songs. The sentiment she seems to like best is summarized in the song “I’m Trying to Be like Jesus.”
The other day, after singing the words of the chorus: “Love one another as Jesus loves you. Try to show kindness in all that you do,” she said softly, but clearly, “Try, try, try.” I think that she will find, when she sees Him, that our Savior has put His name into her heart and that she has become like Him. He is carrying her through her troubles now, as He will carry you through yours.

I recently read the account of some deacons who got a little careless in their attitude towards passing the sacrament. They began to think of it as a chore, something that no one else wanted to do. They often came in late, and sometimes they didn’t dress appropriately. One Sunday their priesthood adviser told them: “You don’t have to worry about the sacrament today. It’s been taken care of.”
They were, of course, surprised to hear this, but as usual, they were late for sacrament meeting. They slipped in casually during the opening hymn and sat in the congregation. That’s when they noticed who was sitting on the deacons’ bench—their adviser and the high priests of the ward, who included men who had served as bishops and stake president. They were all dressed in dark suits with white shirts and ties. But more than that, their bearing was one of total reverence as they took the sacrament trays from row to row. Something was deeper and more significant about the sacrament that day. Those deacons who had become so perfunctory in their duties learned by example that passing the sacrament was a sacred trust and one of the greatest of honors. They began to realize that the priesthood is, as the Apostle Peter called it, “a royal priesthood.”

What does learning how to cut hair have to do with setting up stage lights?
“It’s all part of my plan,” says Lisa, a young adult now in her first year of college.
Lisa started cosmetology school at age 16. She even found a program that let her attend shorter days at high school so she could train at cosmetology school in the afternoons. The fact that she’s now at college studying theater tech doesn’t mean that the whole salon thing didn’t work out, either. In fact, everything is unfolding exactly how she’d hoped.
“I wanted to have a skill I could use to help pay for college,” Lisa says. “Plus, it lets me serve other people and save money on family haircuts for the rest of my life!”

A man I knew—one of the great men I have known—was in a bunch of roustabout boys. They were always where they should not be and never where they should be. Finally, a wise, resourceful leader got them into a Sunday School class. The teacher was this old man—just an ordinary, homely old man. More than that, he was a convert from Europe, and he did not speak English very well. They giggled, “Our teacher? Him?” These boys, I suppose, had the reputation of running any teacher out.
Then my friend said that something happened. The teacher started to speak, and they all began to listen. This friend said, “You could warm your hands by the fire of his faith.” That meant that in that older, worn-out body that did not seem to be able to erase an accent, there was a powerful spirit.
In the Resurrection the body—the dust of the earth, the carnal part of us—can be renewed and made powerful if it is to equal the spirit.
If you can understand how the Spirit operates, you will be all right. There is not enough evil put together—if it was all brought together as some kind of a dark, ugly laser beam and focused on you, it could not destroy you, unless somehow you consented to it.
In the course of your learning, “wisdom is the principal thing; therefore get wisdom: and with all thy getting get understanding” (Proverbs 4:7).
Make sure you learn the things that you are not taught overtly. If all you know is what you read or what you can hear, you will not know very much. Moments of reverence are so precious when you think and feel. That is why temples are so important. You can go to the temple and be out of the world.
The promise from the Lord is that when you receive the Holy Ghost, “he shall teach you all things, and bring all things to your remembrance, whatsoever I have said unto you” (John 14:26).
You will be doing some things automatically, almost unwittingly. Without thinking, you will find you have been prompted and guided by the Holy Spirit. That is why this young elder, without knowing why, took a 20-mark note out of his wallet as he was trotting alongside the train and handed it to me as the train was pulling out. He saved us from great danger.
That is how you will do things and then later look back and know that you were guided. And also that is how you will be warned. You will be warned, “Don’t go there! Don’t do that!” You will be warned, “Don’t go with him! Don’t go with her! Don’t be with them!” And then, “Do be in this company!” You will be guided, and the Lord will watch over you.
I know that the gospel is true, that Jesus is the Christ, that He lives, that this is His Church. Find a place in the world where you can, without embarrassment, without any hesitancy, declare to yourself: first, that you accept the gospel of Jesus Christ and, second, that what you are is more important than what you do. What you do, if it is guided, will make you what you are and what you can be.

Sadie is my granddaughter. Her dad is studying to be a pediatrician, a doctor who helps children. Her mom told her that there are a lot of children in Afghanistan who need help. In wintertime, many of them don’t have warm clothes. After talking about how they could help the children, Sadie and her mom decided to make cookies and sell them, then send the money to United States President George W. Bush for his Afghanistan Children’s Fund.
They made cookies one whole afternoon, then set up a booth with a sign and a flag. They made $70, which they sent to the fund. Sadie said, “I hope the money we earned will help some children in Afghanistan to be able to have warm clothes. I feel happy that I could help them.”

The troubles predicted by Elder Taylor suddenly struck during one of the first nights out. Below deck nearly 400 souls were asleep in the tightly stacked berths along each side of the “extensive bedroom”—about 30 yards long and 8 wide. “In the dead of the night” a 13-year-old lad excitedly leaped from his bunk and at the top of his voice screamed over and over again the name of a fellow passenger. The boy’s parents and a brother and sister could not silence or subdue him. “It soon became apparent,” noted passenger Wilson Nowers, “that he was possessed of an evil spirit.” Through the administrations of the priesthood, the evil spirit was dispelled.

There were 27 of us that day, all 18 or 19 years of age, except one fellow, 21, whom we called “Pop.” Three more had started out with us in our flight group but had failed along the way, unable to keep up with the grueling physical discipline of basic training in the Royal Canadian Air Force. We had been training hard for months to take the place of young men not much older than ourselves who, at watch behind machine guns and Plexiglass bubbles, were still giving their lives over Germany.
Traditionally, completion of basic training called for a fitting “graduation ceremony.” Each flight group was confident that it could out perform any other group in almost any sort of physical contest. The flight party at the end of basic training had become the recognized way for flight trainees to prove that they were second to none.
Our flight group was no different. A youthful eagerness seemed to be pushing us to throw off the discipline for a night, to noisily proclaim that we were the top, and to somehow cram into one furious evening enough pleasure to last a lifetime. And so 27 of us sat down on the grass that day to discuss our flight party.
I sat down feeling very alone, and for the first time since our flight group had been formed, I felt absolutely no desire to be part of the group. I watched the others smiling and laughing as they agreed that only a top night club would be acceptable or would satisfy, and I sensed the mounting excitement as they discussed the activities that they felt would be the most entertaining. It was suggested that each of us had an obligation to contribute his best thoughts on the matter, and after five or six fellows had enthusiastically expressed their ideas, someone said: “Let’s hear what Green has to say.”
Green was the only Mormon in the group and had no desire to say anything to anybody. All he wanted to do was withdraw. How do you tell 26 non-Mormons about the branch you attend every Sunday with a fellow Mormon from another flight group? How do you convey the feelings you have about the mission home where you have standing invitation every Sunday for dinner, and where you gather around the piano every Sunday evening to sing with the missionaries just before you and your buddy leave to catch the last streetcar back to the barracks before lights out? What could you say to 26 non-Mormons planning an ultimate imaginable bash in a night club about how cold and dismal that Sunday night ride back to the barracks seemed? How sensitive would they be to your observation that you loathed setting foot in the barracks every Sunday night because you knew that the first word you heard would make a complete mockery of the word love.
The answer to all those questions, as they passed quickly through my mind that day, was: “They wouldn’t understand. They wouldn’t care. They’d probably sneer or laugh. Their idea of a flight party is a good indication of what they find important in life, and therefore, it’s pointless to talk to them.” But somehow, I had to come up with something that would get me rid of, that would let me withdraw from the flight party. I was angry with myself because, after months of working together as a team with these fellows, I was going to suddenly and painfully resign. I was angry at them, for putting me in a situation that I knew I was going to mishandle. They were going to judge me as the last type of person they wanted at the flight party, and I had already judged them as incapable of organizing a party I would want to attend.
“Let’s hear what Green has to say.”
“Yeah, Green. You haven’t said a word. What do you want to do?”
Green drew a deep breath, and looking rather sullenly at the grass in front of him made his brief withdrawal speech: “Well, if I were to go to a flight party … I’d be taking a pretty decent girl … so there’d be no drinking … and no smoking … and no swearing.” He didn’t dare look at anyone, and he gathered himself as best he could against the sudden onslaught he knew was coming.
And then it happened.
There was a good minute of utter silence. It was so still you could have heard a pin drop on the grass. Then someone from across the circle began to speak:
“Well …”
This was it. This was going to be the start. They would all have their say and then Green could be at his solitary retreat, leaving his worldly buddies with their frivolous taste for life.
“Well … I’d be taking a pretty nice girl myself …”
From beside him, “Who wouldn’t?”
There was another good minute of silence and then, from off to the right, “I nominate Green as master of ceremonies.” There were no other nominations.
A week later, all 27 members of the flight group brought their beautifully dressed dates to our party. No drinking. No smoking. No swearing. Just lots of good food, good music, good dancing … and good memories of a flight party that was rather unique.
I remember, not without embarrassment, my thoughts on that sunny afternoon in 1944 as we sat down together on the grass. I remember that, unintentionally, I touched the lives of 26 young men. I thought I was putting them down. Generously, they put me at the top, and in my memory that’s exactly where I see them.

“Just before I take part in competition, I always ask Heavenly Father to help me get through,” says 13-year-old discus thrower Leanne Grey, of Sutton Coldfield, England. “This is a great comfort. Having a clear conscience and feeling good inside helps too.”
It seems to be working. She’s won first place in the Independent Schools 16-and-under age group, after facing stiff competition from the rest of the country.

My husband and I had been praying for another baby before we found out we were expecting. “Excited” hardly describes how we felt. Adding to our joy was the news that a friend’s baby was due the day before mine, and my sister-in-law’s baby was due four days later. Almost immediately, we started planning the play dates.
Nine weeks into my pregnancy, however, I started having seizures. Terrified, my husband and I rushed to the hospital for an ultrasound. At my appointment, I eagerly looked to the monitor and asked the technician if my baby was OK. He didn’t respond as he turned the monitor away from me.
I didn’t want to expect the worst, but when the technician left the room, fear seized me. I began to pray in a way I had never realized I could, asking for something—anything—that could give me peace.
Instantly, I was enveloped in a warm embrace and heard the “still small voice” (1 Kings 19:12) reassure me that all would be well. I felt comforted and calm as I waited for the doctor to give me answers.
When the doctor arrived, he gently told my husband and me that our baby had died. Instantly, I again felt the Spirit’s warm embrace. I hurt, but I could not doubt the feeling that comforted me.
As I grieved during the following weeks, I turned to my Heavenly Father in frequent prayer. The calming reassurance of the Holy Ghost never left, and I knew that the Lord was watching over me. I gained a deeper understanding of the Atonement of Jesus Christ as I felt the Savior’s healing balm. On days when I felt I could not function, I could feel angelic hands bearing me up.
My husband and I prayed for continued comfort. We were both still sad, but neither of us doubted that through His Atonement, the Savior could cover our pain and loss.
This experience was incredibly difficult. At times it was almost too great to bear. But I am eternally grateful for the relationship I developed with my Heavenly Father and my Savior through this experience. Prayer can be one of our greatest resources.
I know that Heavenly Father really does care for His children and that He and His Son “will not leave [us] comfortless” (John 14:18).

The youth of the Lindon Utah West Stake (this page) were called by their stake president to be missionaries for a day at an outdoor activity where they gave “Church history tours.” They took visitors to various booths where other youth acted out episodes from Church history and the life of Joseph Smith. KC McMillan, a priest from the Lindon Fifth Ward, played Joseph Smith in the Smith family home booth. He says his testimony of Joseph Smith has “increased quite a bit. The Spirit can be so strong when you’re talking about Joseph Smith.”
Following the tour, visitors eventually arrived in an area that represented Nauvoo, where they could play pioneer games and participate in other activities. Youth and other stake members also helped construct a large replica of the Nauvoo Temple.
Braden Sweeten, 18, from the Lindon 18th ward, helped youth and other stake members build the replica of the temple. He said while he was building, “It really sunk into my heart how much the Prophet and the Saints really sacrificed to build the temple.”

Michael DeLoach of Hollister, Florida, won top honors nationally in team roping. He and his partner, Andy Mills, placed first in their event at the National High School Rodeo Finals held in Rapid City, South Dakota. They also helped the Florida contingent to outscore the two-time defending champs from Texas. This was the first time that a high school rodeo team east of the Mississippi had claimed overall top honors.

We experienced one of those “only with time” blessings this past February when we attended the naming and blessing of a little Mongolian girl in our expanded missionary family. Her name is Tungalag. Her mother is Davaajargal. She’s a modern-day pioneer as the first woman to be baptized in Mongolia. Tungalag’s father, Sanchir, is an MBA student at BYU.

I knew Sanchir in Mongolia for some time before he became a member. It was only after one year and many, many discussions with dedicated missionaries that he was baptized. It is nothing short of a miracle that this young father, after only two years in the Church, could have uttered the words of this beautiful blessing which began, “Tungalag, I bless you that you will be a good human being.” I’ll never forget that beginning!

In this blessing he said things that he would not have known or even imagined before his baptism. Witnessing this blessing and realizing the extent to which the gospel has changed this young man and this family truly made this a missionary payday.

8. Bishop Kofi Sosu and His Father: Forgiveness of Father and Son, by Emmalee Glauser Powell
After his mission, Kofi wanted to return home, but his father had disowned him. He felt impressed to go anyway. When he arrived, his father saw him and said, “Stop.” So he stopped.
“Who are you?” asked his father.
“I am your son.”
“My son?”
“Yes, your son, Kofi.” At this he saw tears running down his father’s face. His father stood up and embraced him.
“Oh, my son, my son. I am so sorry. I know you did the right thing. I have accepted you as my son.”