Gospel Story Finder

Jenny reached for the nearest pans to put them into the water. “Oh, no!” she thought. “Not the muffin tins!” The muffin tins were always hard to clean. She would have to scrub out each section one at a time and keep checking to make sure they were completely clean.
As Jenny worked, she started thinking about muffins. Her mother had made banana muffins for breakfast that morning. Banana muffins were her favorite kind, and this morning they had been hot and delicious. Jenny had never made muffins before, but she knew her mother had to get up early to make sure they were ready before school. And her mother probably hadn’t gotten much sleep last night because of Elizabeth’s crying. Jenny rinsed the muffin tins carefully and set them out to dry. Somehow, washing the muffin tins didn’t seem like such a chore anymore.

Maybe we don’t know a widow whose home needs paint or a new neighbor on our street. But promptings will come, encouraging us to do something good for someone. When we lived in Idaho, we enjoyed doing little things for “Uncle Joe,” the ward’s favorite pioneer. After we moved, we remembered him occasionally and thought that we really should write a letter to brighten “Uncle Joe’s” day. The idea began pressing on my mind, and finally we mailed a note to him. But it was too late. Only one day later we received word that “Uncle Joe” had passed away. An opportunity for service had slipped by because we had ignored a first impulse.

Penny Edwards was in the ninth grade when she realized that someday she wanted to work in the business world. The process was simple enough: she took some business classes. Since she was also interested in the law, but didn’t want to become a lawyer, it occurred to her sometime in high school that perhaps legal secretary would be the ideal occupation. And that meant getting some higher education.
Penny’s high school grades were good (mostly A’s and B’s), but she never looked into scholarship possibilities, and she really didn’t save any money for college. So, after graduation, Penny went to work.
It’s easy to just keep working, especially when you have car payments to make, and it took a few years before Penny realized she wasn’t getting any closer to what she really wanted. If you have to work for a year to earn enough money, that’s one thing. “But,” she says, “I waited too long. If you know what you want to do, just do it. Start. Jump in. No one’s going to do it for you.”
So Penny took the leap and enrolled in LDS Business College. There, she began to learn the essentials of being a legal secretary. Yet she knew from experience that there’s more to a job than the technical skills you get in school. For example, one of the things Penny did after high school was to set up a successful business doing artificial nails for women. “It was boring,” she says. “You sit and you are a psychiatrist to all of these women.” She had learned that the working atmosphere and the personality requirements are just as much a part of the job as the technical skills.
That’s why Penny jumped at the chance to get a good, close look at her chosen career before graduation. LDS Business College’s “co-op” program placed her in a paying part-time job with a local real estate/law firm. There, Penny works in a real job setting. She meets regularly with her boss to set goals and objectives. Evaluations from her boss, the program coordinator, and her student adviser become the basis for her grade. Best of all, she knows first-hand that the job is something she will enjoy doing full-time.
“You can sit in class,” Penny continues, “and you can read the information in a book, and you can even give the right answers on tests. But there is no way to know how you are really going to feel in a work environment until it happens to you, day in and day out.”
Whether it’s in a co-op program like the one Penny’s in, or in an internship of some kind, Penny notes that “It’s very beneficial to work in an environment before you graduate to see if you really want it.”

When Thomas Lillbäck was 11, his father was killed in a train accident. When he was 12, his mother died of cancer.

“It was very difficult,” the 18-year-old from the Vasterhaninge Ward, Stockholm Sweden Stake, explains. “My mother knew in advance she was going to die, so she made arrangements for me and my younger brother, Mathias. My parents were recent converts to the Church, but they knew some good people in the stake. They agreed to take care of us when she was gone.”

Thomas and Mathias have been part of the Simonsson family ever since.

“The Church has helped in building our relationships,” Thomas says. “We came into a gospel-centered home, and that made the transition easier. We had the same ideas. We had faith in the Lord, in the scriptures, and in prayer. We all knew that someday we’d see my mother and father again.”

The Simonssons live near the Stockholm Sweden Temple. Brother Simonsson is a temple worker, and Thomas often goes to the temple to do baptisms for the dead.

“When I’m in the temple, I give thanks for my present earthly family,” Thomas says. “I know they have blessed me a lot and I love them dearly. But I also think of my parents who are now in heaven. I know the Lord has promised that someday, if I live worthily, I can see them both again.”

The hot Venetian sun fills the upstairs room where the teenagers are discussing their upcoming activities. They’re using hesitant, mispronounced Italian, broken English, and some French, so the communication can’t help but break down.
Finally, one of the American boys turns to an Italian boy and translates into German. “Capito!” (understood), the boy replies, and the Young Men/Young Women group continues their discussion.
In September 1985 the Venice Italy Stake was created and the Vicenza Italian Branch and American Serviceman’s Branch were united to become the Vicenza Ward. Together, the youth of the ward are striving to strengthen their testimonies, grow in the gospel, and become united while overcoming language, cultural, and national barriers that in many parts of the world could seem insurmountable.
Vicenza is in northern Italy, where cultures have been blending and languages have been mixing, not for centuries but for millennia. In the shadow of the Alps, on the site of an ancient Roman camp not far from the Brenner Pass into northern Europe, Vicenza has been a trading area and cultural melting pot since the third century B.C.
Vicenza was first conquered by Romans, then by barbarians sweeping out of northern Europe to topple the Roman Empire, then by several medieval city-states, and then absorbed by the Venetian Republic in the 14th century. In the 1800s, it was conquered by Napoleon, then controlled by Austria until it became part of the new Italian nation in 1848.
The young men and women of the new Vicenza Ward are like the city itself, a montage of backgrounds, personalities, and nationalities. There are Americans whose fathers are stationed at a nearby military base, Italians from several areas of the country, and a German-American family. The youth are enthusiastic and bi- or tri-lingual, and strive to bridge the communication gap that separates them as much as the cultural differences.
With such diverse backgrounds and languages, Church lessons are different and more condensed than they are in a typical ward. When a missionary is not available to translate a lesson, one of the youth may try to help. But since the young people are more familiar with colloquial terms or schoolbook Italian or English, translating gospel concepts can be quite a challenge.
Some of the newer and younger youth find it difficult as well as distracting to wait for the translation, and they lose their train of thought. The older students, however, most of whom are studying languages, find this a challenge and a benefit.
“I really like how it helps me learn English better,” says Denis Evolani, a 15-year-old who is fluent in German and French and is currently studying English.
Most of the Americans are studying Italian, but many of them are new to Italy and don’t understand much. “I wonder sometimes why I can’t stay where I want to be, where I can understand the language,” says Donna Kennedy, whose family recently arrived in Italy. “But though it’s difficult now, I know that when I leave I’ll wish I didn’t have to.”
Athena Dayley, a senior at the American High School, is often the translator for the Young Women. She finds it challenging but fun. “It is so neat to be able to talk to someone in another language,” Athena says, “but translating at church is really hard, and I get flustered at times and can’t remember what is being said or comprehend the meaning of what I’m translating. All I’m doing is parroting words.”
But the youth have discovered that sometimes spiritual moments transcend the language barrier.
“I seldom cry at movies,” Athena says, “but at girls’ camp the Spirit was so strong that even if I couldn’t understand the words, I couldn’t help but have tears in my eyes.”
American Marc Dayley, 15, who attended the Young Men camp in the Alps, agrees. “You can feel the Spirit so strongly when someone is speaking about the Church, even if you can’t understand the words,” Marc explained. “Listening to other testimonies at camp really strengthened my own.”
The youth activities are very difficult to plan because school schedules for the Italian and American nationalities are very different. The Italian youth go to school six days a week, from 8:30 to 12:30, while the Americans attend school on post five days a week, 8:30–3:30, with many extracurricular activities and sports lasting until 6:30.
The Italians observe “riposo,” when shops and businesses close from 12:30 to 4:00, then reopen until 7:30, and the people often enjoy activities from 8:00 to 11:00 P.M., when most Americans are studying. Stake youth activities are often scheduled on Italian holidays, when American students must go to school. The large boundaries of the stake force many youth to commute an hour by train, so it is very difficult to schedule seminary or activities during the week.
“There are not as many youth activities here as in the States,” says Marc. “But I like the ward dances we have had where we’ve invited other youth from the stake, even if it’s more challenging to flirt with girls in a foreign language.”
Some activities, like volleyball, soccer, dancing, and camping, are universal, and can be enjoyed equally by all; while others, like scripture chases, Church knowledge games, and drama, are far more difficult because of the language problems. Food is another thing. Some youth are hesitant to try pumpkin pie, hot dogs, pizza romano (with anchovies), and other foods that may look or taste different. Yet they usually try some of everything and generally admit they like it “a little.”
These youth enjoy an opportunity to live in Europe and to gain an appreciation of another culture, whether it is the Americans viewing priceless Renaissance art or the Italians learning to play football. But they admit that it’s hard at times to be a member of the Church in Italy.
“In the States, most people know what the standards of the Church are, so it’s easier there,” Donna explains. “Here there are more temptations because they don’t know automatically what you stand for or what to expect from you.”
“It’s hard here,” Athena adds. “School activities are set up on Sunday and everyone plays soccer and goes to the movies. Here you’ve got to set your own standards for yourself and stand by them. It has strengthened my testimony.”
But despite the challenges, the youth are growing in unity, not just as a ward youth group but as citizens of the world. This was brought home forcibly to the young women when they participated in an activity that was conducted worldwide. They tied their written testimonies to balloons and released them into the Italian skies.
“I thought of all my friends in Arizona,” Donna said, “and I felt close to them, even though we are far away.”
Living in the mission field, or anywhere in the world as a Mormon youth, is not always easy, nor is gaining a testimony and understanding other cultures and people. But in the Vicenza Ward, the youth are learning to help each other by appreciating each other’s differences and reveling in their similarities.

Every December, Katie helped Grandpa decorate his Christmas tree.
First, they put string through their needles. Then they made long popcorn chains.
Next, Grandpa got some cranberries, and they made cranberry chains too.
After that, Katie helped him mix peanut butter and birdseed together. She made bumpy round balls with her hands.
“Now it’s time to decorate,” they told each other. They put on their coats, boots, hats, and mittens and went outside.
Katie brushed the snow from Grandpa’s fir tree. She helped him twirl their popcorn and cranberry chains around it. They hung the peanut-butter balls from lots of branches.
When they finished, they hurried inside.
“This is my favorite part,” Katie said as they peeked out the window and watched the birds come to eat the tasty decorations.

Occasionally Papa got a job laying brick for a fireplace chimney, and once he received a horse in trade for his work. It was a gentle, broad-backed creature named Bessie, who would carry as many children as could climb on. When she got tired she would walk under the low limbs of the Early Harvest apple tree and sweep the laughing riders off onto the ground. Ed could leap onto her back with a quick, smooth movement that I envied. I always seemed to get stuck lying across her back on my stomach, unable to wiggle around to swing one leg over and sit upright. Ed usually had to give me a shove that threatened to push me off.
One day I had an idea as I sat on the barn roof watching Ed ride Bessie around the yard. “Bring her over here,” I called. “I want to try something.”
Ed rode over. “OK, here we are,” he said. “Come on down.”
“Back her up under the sliding board,” I said.
Ed could see my idea at once and did as I asked. It was not more than two inches from the end of the board to the horse’s back, and I slid easily from one to the other. After that I always mounted Bessie the same way, and before long she backed herself close to the board as soon as anyone was on the barn roof. She learned to lower her head so we could slide down the board onto her back, over her head, and onto the ground in one quick swoop. We called that game the Bessie Bounce, and it was one of our favorites.

Jahmin Tengu of New Zealand nearly took his own life. Wanting to know of the Lord’s love for him, he felt prompted to get on his knees.
He recalls, “As I began to pray, I felt the Spirit of the Lord comfort me. I asked the Lord to bring truth into my life.” A few weeks later, Jahmin met a returned missionary who yelled out to him and asked, “Would you like to meet the missionaries?”
This led to meeting the missionaries and receiving a copy of The Book of Mormon. “I had no desire to read it at all, but I had this feeling when I read it. I felt as if the Spirit was saying, ‘I have given you what you asked for, I have answered your prayers.’”
Now, a missionary himself, Elder Tengu says, “I can truly testify that The Book of Mormon saved my life. . . . It is the word of God and is solely focused on bringing people closer to Jesus Christ.”

Mary Nash, another student from the past, who married classmate Clive North after his mission, comments, “I have rich memories of rising early to catch the 7:25 A.M. train from Birmingham to Leicester to be present for the 8:30 A.M. devotional at Wakerley Road Chapel one Saturday each month. There were a handful of us from all over the stake, but our teacher, John M. Madsen (Church Educational System Regional Coordinator), made those classes so much fun. I still recall his saying, ‘Welcome to cemetery,’ as tired, bleary-eyed youngsters sat yawning through his opening remarks. I remember the struggle I had at first with homework and daily scripture study, but through practice and Heavenly Father’s help, I coped with both and succeeded.”

Years later, our family had grown to five children, including our youngest, Spencer.
Once, when Spencer was six years old, my wife and I went away for just a few days and left the children with a babysitter. When we returned home, I sat down with Spencer and asked him how everything had gone while we were away.
He told me that he’d had a hard time sleeping. When I asked why he didn’t sleep well, he thought about it and said he did not know.
Later that evening our family began our nightly routine of reading the Book of Mormon together.
Suddenly Spencer exclaimed, “That’s it!” I asked what he was talking about. “That’s why I couldn’t sleep very well at night.”
“Why couldn’t you sleep?” I asked.
“We didn’t read the scriptures at night while you were gone, and I like how the scriptures make me feel.”
Spencer had learned that reading the scriptures every day brings us the comfort, peace, and guidance of the Holy Ghost.

A few months ago, members of the Daveyton Third Branch, of the Benoni South Africa Stake, experienced firsthand the thrill of researching their own family histories and performing sacred ordinances for their ancestors in the Johannesburg South Africa Temple.
The project began in earnest last April as branch members became at first interested and then determined to discover the spirit of Elijah in their own lives and in the lives of their families. The Church’s family history tools—especially the new and easy-to-use Family Tree Lite website at lite.fs.org—enabled the branch members to research their ancestors’ names and key dates and then record those individuals as branches in their own family tree.
Branch members were aided by Elder Gordon and Sister Susan Foote, who are a senior missionary couple assigned to the Daveyton Third Branch. “We got behind this effort and supported the goal of the branch president (Edward Mtshali) for branch members to find at least one of their own family names and then perform baptismal ordinances in the Johannesburg Temple,” Sister Foote explained.
Elder Foote began by helping more than 40 branch members register online and obtain individual FamilySearch accounts. Then an Africa Southeast Area senior missionary couple, Elder Dennis and Sister Merrily Bird, who are area family history specialists, traveled to the branch several weeks in a row, helping complete registrations, teaching key concepts, and assisting members with their questions. They also taught branch members how to enter family history information themselves through the Family Tree Lite website on their personal cell phones.
Once members had properly entered the names and information of their ancestors, they scheduled a day trip for Saturday, April 21, 2018, to travel to the Johannesburg South Africa Temple to complete proxy baptism and confirmations. With the distance from Daveyton to the temple being about 50 kilometers—and with few members owning cars—transportation was a key issue. Branch members made and sold African greeting cards to pay for public transportation to and from the temple.
All their hard work and planning paid off and on that very special day, 25 branch members journeyed to the temple and completed baptisms and confirmation ordinances for 66 of their ancestors. The spirit of Elijah poured forth.

You’re Rosalie Pakiding, you’re 18 years old, and you’ve just graduated from high school. You’ve been accepted at the University of San Carlos in your native Cebu, Philippines, and you’ve decided you want to major in political science. You’ve got the world in front of you, and you can’t wait to tackle college. You’ve got big plans.
Then the next thing you know, you’re withdrawing from classes and telling your family and friends you’ve decided not to go to school for six months. Attending school right now just doesn’t feel right. You say it’s a feeling you have, but you really know it’s the Holy Ghost speaking to you. It doesn’t make sense to many people. But it does to you, and that’s all that matters.
So you’re left waiting for the second semester to start, which is still six months away. Half a year with free time on your hands. What do you do? You could apply for a job, so you check around to see what’s available. You’re offered a position working in a factory assembling parts to telephones. But working all day means you’d miss your institute classes, and since you enjoyed seminary so much when you were in high school, you turn the job down because, as you say, “Institute is more important.”
Then some things happen that help you understand why you had the feelings you did about going to school. It begins to make more sense.
You meet with Mrs. Itomay from your neighborhood. Her six-year-old daughter, Queenie Ann, is in kinder-one in school, but she has some troubles. She was born with a defect in her tongue that limits her ability to speak. Mrs. Itomay works all day, and she is worried. She knows Queenie Ann needs a tutor who can give her individual attention in the areas that are hard for her. But Mrs. Itomay doesn’t know who could provide that help. To compound matters, she doesn’t have much money to pay a tutor.
So you look at Mrs. Itomay and say, “I think I have an idea.”
You volunteer to be Queenie Ann’s tutor, and Mrs. Itomay is so relieved. What little money she does have she offers to you, but you turn it down. Although you could use the money you realize those seminary lessons about service really did sink in.
Suddenly you’ve got things to do, and life is going to be a bit different. It seems a little odd that instead of sitting in college classes as you planned, it’s you and this six-year-old working on the alphabet.
But you settle into a routine. You do your household chores in the morning and then pick up Queenie Ann. You have word exercises for her to do, you help her write her letters, and you take her to school. She’s a bit of a slow learner. But when she writes out a letter or says a word, you feel so good inside. You also discover she likes to sing. She’s shy around strangers, but you’ve quickly become her best friend. She sings to you a lot. Things are going so well that Queenie asks you if you’ll teach her more. You can tell she’s really learning. And she seems very happy. Whether you’re learning words or stopping for a soda pop break at a store outside the school, it doesn’t matter. She just likes being with you. And you know what? You like it too.
“I’ve learned to love her,” you say, not the least bit surprised by your response.
Taking a semester off, you also figured to have some free time when you weren’t with Queenie Ann. But then your ward, Mandaue II, is asked to produce a road show about the Book of Mormon for a stake activity. It’s a big project, and your bishop is looking for a person to serve as the scriptwriter. Everybody is so busy with school except you, so you volunteer for the assignment. Again, it just feels right.
There have been times when you wondered if you made the right decision, delaying school and everything. You’ve watched while friends progressed in school without you. You’ve asked your Heavenly Father for a confirmation that what you were doing was what he wanted and what was best for you. Eventually those feelings of doubt leave and you say, “I understand now.” And you really do.
Your testimony continues to grow, and you are so excited when you learn new gospel concepts. You’re a bit short on money, but that doesn’t seem to matter. “The knowledge I have learned from institute class cannot be exchanged for the money I could have earned if I had worked,” you explain when someone asks why you’re doing this. Then you continue. “I’m very happy about it.”
It’s then that you look down at Queenie Ann, who’s holding your hand. She looks up at you while squinting in the hot Philippines sun. She smiles, and as you smile back you realize that while dropping out of school for one semester would not be the right decision for most people, it was one of the best decisions you’ve ever made.

When I was a child in Samoa, my friends and I never seemed to get tired of swimming. It was our favorite thing to do. I remember that as a four-year-old I even wanted to go swimming with my friends on Sunday after Sunday School—as if there weren’t enough hours for playing together in six days a week. But I was reared in a good Latter-day Saint home, and I recall vividly how my wonderful mother worked with me to keep the Sabbath day holy.
Mother solved the problem by directing me toward the scriptures. Knowing how much I liked to show off by reciting from books, she asked me how I would like to learn to read and recite passages from the scriptures. I jumped for joy at the opportunity, so she said to me, “All right, I’ll meet with you every Sunday after dinner to help you learn passages from these two books”—she held up the Bible and the Book of Mormon.
The first passages I learned to repeat from memory were the Ten Commandments and the first Psalm. Then I learned to recite the story of Lehi’s family from the Book of Mormon. Naturally, the more I learned, the more the principles contained in these scriptures became a part of my life—something that was strengthened by the example of my parents, who lived the gospel very faithfully in our home. By the time I left home for college in 1962, the teachings of my parents were well planted in me.

Church ball was my chance to make up for being cut. Our ward team was the best church team I’d ever played on. Brother Sid Rogers was our priests adviser and coach.
During the season we went undefeated. The only team that came close to us—and we still beat them by seven points—was Jeremy James’s ward. They had a couple of decent players, but Jeremy was really the team.
In the stake tournament the championship game was between us and Jeremy’s ward. During warm-ups I watched Jeremy. He was a quiet, reserved kind of guy. And even though he was the best player on the team, he didn’t make a big deal of it. He passed the ball around and shouted encouragement to his teammates. And he was good. Oh, was he good!
The game was close throughout. We took the early lead when Joel Preston made a three-pointer. But Jeremy’s ward kept it close. Jeremy couldn’t miss, it seemed. When we double-teamed him, he managed to get the ball to a teammate who would score. It was frustrating. Things looked bleak when we went down six with two minutes to play.
Then we started battling back, finally taking a one-point lead with ten seconds to go. And we had the ball. But then I bobbled a pass and Jeremy stole it. He began driving toward the basket and drew up for a quick jumper from ten feet as I lunged to block the shot. He grimaced even before I hit him. It was as though he knew I was going to bat away his shot. As I reached my hand to swat the ball away, I slapped his forearm. The whistle blew, and the ref pointed at me.
Then something happened. Jeremy, still grimacing and shaking his head, intervened. “I traveled before I went up for the shot,” he explained, the disappointment and anguish heavy on his face.
Jeremy’s coach fired off the bench, a look of shock pinching his features. “Let the refs make the calls,” he hollered, turning to the officials. “I didn’t see the traveling. You didn’t see it, right?”
“If he said he traveled,” the ref said apologetically, nodding at Jeremy, “I can’t just ignore that. He called traveling on himself.”
Every eye was on Jeremy. Everybody was wondering what he was going to do. But more than anyone I knew what Jeremy would do. I had seen him sacrifice more than the last two points in a church ball game. I wanted him to stand by his call, but not so we could win. I suppose I wanted reaffirmed to me that someone could actually guard his integrity more intensely than he guarded his team’s chance to win.
Jeremy shrugged and shook his head. “I traveled.” Turning to his coach and teammates, he muttered a quiet, “I’m sorry.”
Jeremy’s coach, obviously frustrated, put his arm around Jeremy. Ever since my experience with Coach Angelo I had packed an annoying pocket of guilt in the pit of my stomach. Many times since I had reflected on the decisions I had made to earn a varsity spot. I had come to know that to experience the comfort of clear conscience sometimes demands the sting of public disapproval. As my team celebrated, I felt a deep-down empty sickness born of disappointment. For a moment I wondered what it would be like to lose on principle instead of winning in spite of it.
“We ought to play it over,” I blurted out. “That would be the fair thing to do. Jeremy would be hitting free throws right now if …” I stopped and glanced at Jeremy. I detected surprise in his look. “If we’re going to win,” I continued, “we ought to win without a questionable call at the end.”
“C’mon, Dave, we’ve got it won if the ref calls traveling on James,” Joel said.
It was now my turn to feel the pressure of the crowd. Then I remembered that Sunday afternoon when Coach Angelo “complimented” me by saying I went with the flow without making waves. He hadn’t meant to, but he had labeled me a coward.
“We can replay the last ten seconds of the game,” I explained. “This is a church game. We ought to do that. They get the ball where Jeremy stole it and we play from there.”
There were protests and arguments, each team struggling for the advantage. But the referees went along with my suggestion. We were ahead 68–67 with ten seconds on the clock.
Joel and I double-teamed Jeremy as he brought the ball up court. Jeremy made a move, and Joel slipped and fell. It was Jeremy and me, one on one. I knew I couldn’t foul him. My only chance was to block the shot. I expected the crucial moment to come under the basket as Jeremy drove the lane. But as soon as Jeremy reached the three-point line, he pulled up for a jump shot. The ball hit the bottom of the net as the buzzer blared.
Jeremy’s team went crazy, slapping high fives, hugging, laughing, and shouting. We stared in disbelief, and then my teammates turned away, some of them grumbling, all of them shunning me.
I made my way to the dressing room, more to be by myself than to shower or dress. Dropping down on the bench, I held my head in my hands. I had wanted to win. Yet there was a quiet, tranquil peace inside me. I had no regrets.
“Hey, Bluth.” I looked up to see Jeremy standing there. We stared at each other a moment before he spoke. “It was a good game. I just wanted to say thanks. I wasn’t sure … I just wanted you to know that …”
He smiled and shrugged, words escaping him. He swallowed and tried again. “Thanks for playing tough and hanging in there.”
Neither of us knew what to say after that. We both stood there silently. And then Jeremy held out his hand and I took it, feeling a lump squeeze into my throat. We shook hands firmly and looked into each other’s eyes, and I knew that between the two of us there was nothing more that needed to be said.

After the meeting, several students shared how they heard about the Church from Pavel Agafonov.
Pavel learned of the Church in March 1990, while studying engineering and psychology in the United States. Previously, he had visited many other churches, asking hard questions. “None of the churches I visited could answer the questions I had,” explains Pavel. “I wanted a real church, one that knows God today.”
He was baptized in April 1990, then began bringing his friends. Since then, his two roommates, Andrei Chromovskich, another engineering and psychology major, and Vladimir Shestakov, a semi-professional basketball player and athletics major, have both joined the Church. Another friend of Pavel’s named Valeri Pomazanov, who studies at the institute of teachers, has also joined the Church. These young men agree that there is no other place where they’ve found as much closeness, both emotionally and spiritually, as they’ve found in the Church.

“This … story from my dear friend Kathryn Godderidge, Primary General Advisory Council Member, touched my heart deeply:

“‘My husband and I attended a sacrament meeting with our son and his family in Simpsonville, South Carolina. His wife had gone to church early to play the organ, and we came in a little bit late with our son and grandchildren, finding seats in the back. We quickly settled in and began listening to the organ music for the opening hymn, when we discovered that our two-year-old grandson had brought with him his favorite binoculars. He began using them to carefully search the congregation, and when we tried to help him put them away, he protested, “I need to see mama on the organ!”

“‘What a sweet expression of love and desire from a little boy for his mother!

“‘Oh, that we all would pack our own “binoculars” to not only find that which brings us joy but to also truly see each other as we gather and worship together on Sunday.’

“‘As we are preparing for sacrament meeting, are we intentionally “seeing” all the individuals in the congregation? Do we “see” our precious children, youth, and young single adults as vital participants in this great work? Do we “see” them as covenant members with a unique role to play in building the kingdom of God?

“‘I testify that as we begin to “see” and engage all members of the congregation, our Sabbath day worship will become more joyful, sacred, holy, and centered on Jesus Christ.’”
Sister Amy A. Wright, First Counselor in the Primary General Presidency, Facebook, Feb. 19, 2024, https://www.facebook.com/Primary1stCounselor.

It was cool inside the Western Presbyterian Church of Palmyra on Sunday, that twenty-first day of September, 1823. Fall had just come blowing in, laying the smoke flat on the chimney tops, but there was no fireplace inside the frame meetinghouse on Church Street. It was not considered necessary to provide comforts in a house of worship.
Joseph and Don Carlos, who were not Presbyterians, had accompanied their mother, Hyrum, Sophronia, and Samuel to meeting. The other members of the family attended the newly built Methodist church in the eastern part of Palmyra. As Joseph passed the Reverend Daniel C. Hopkins on the way out, he smiled and was about to comment on the sermon when the minister abruptly turned away. Joseph and his family had almost grown used to being treated with a shrug and turn of the head, so they quietly walked on through the doorway. On several occasions, men of high standing in the most popular churches of the day had instigated bitter persecution against Joseph and his family. Joseph thought often of the intense bitterness that would cause someone to try to kill him in the dooryard of his home.
Joseph recalled his mother’s words as he walked down the meetinghouse steps that morning. A red-headed boy with a splash of freckles taunted in a whisper that was meant to be heard, “Had any visions lately?”
When Joseph turned and caught his eye, the boy snickered and ran down Church Street.
Suddenly chilled, Lucy hugged a shawl to her shoulders as a husky, weather-beaten farmer called out, “Well, I do believe that’s young Joe Smith coming out of our meetinghouse!”
The men began joking about visions, taunting Joseph to argue with them. But he walked on in silence, his mouth tightened around a reply that he would not utter. No use starting a war of words, especially when he wasn’t right sure of the answers.
Lucy’s heart cried out to her son, Joseph, Joseph, don’t let them hurt you. Alvin, noticing his mother’s anguished expression, took her arm and said comfortingly, “Remember that Father has often said that Joseph has a lot of courage for a stripling. He can take it on the chin. If he had a mind to, he could wrestle the two of them to the ground with one arm tied behind his back.”
Lucy knew it was true. She also knew it took strength and courage to bear the humiliation in silence.
But six-year-old Don Carlos was flushed with anger. He backed away from the men, fretting like a cornered owl. Then suddenly he stopped for a moment, his face curiously without expression. When he caught up with Joseph again, he was smiling broadly. In guarded tones he confessed, “There’s one good thing about having four front teeth missing at once. You can stick out your tongue with your mouth closed.”
Joseph chuckled all the way to the wagon. “I’ll never tell,” he promised.

“Oh, Sarah, that’s a beautiful sweater!”
As usual there was a crowd of girls clustered around Sarah Dunlap. This time they were admiring a pink sweater, soft and luxurious.
“It’s such a beautiful color!” one girl exclaimed.
“Where did you get it?” another asked.
“At the Mainline—yesterday.” Sarah smiled smugly. “Dad gave me the money and told me to get whatever I wanted.”
Janie Meyers stood on the fringe of the group. How she would love to have the girls crowd around her like that! If I could buy beautiful clothes like Sarah does, I’d be popular, too, Janie thought. She wished for the hundredth time that they had never moved here to Yarborough. Why did her Dad have to lose his job in Macetown? His job in Yarborough didn’t pay nearly the money that his old job did, and everything here was much more expensive. Having things seemed important to these girls at Janie’s new school. She longed for her old, comfortable, Macetown friends as she turned and started down the street by herself.
Janie heard the group giggling and talking as they left the school. She walked as slowly as she could, hoping that they would catch up with her and include her in their group.
But the girls passed her without a word. Janie blinked quickly to keep from crying. She stared down at her blue cotton dress. No wonder none of the girls will talk to me or make friends with me. My dress is two years old and looks a little worn. If we could afford to have nice things, I’d make a lot of friends, she told herself resentfully.
Janie felt guilty about her thoughts. She knew that her parents were trying as hard as they could to make things comfortable for her and her sister, Susie. Living here wasn’t easy on them either.
“Hey, Janie, wait up!” Monica Lewis ran up and swung her arm through Janie’s. “I was wondering if you could come over to my place this afternoon, Janie.”
Janie couldn’t believe it! Monica dressed even better than Sarah, and Janie knew that she lived in one of the nicest houses in town. Janie stammered in her eagerness to accept. “S-sure.” Then she remembered and added, “I’ll have to call my mom and let her know.”
Although Janie had never seen anything as large and grand as Monica’s house, she was surprised that Monica’s mother wasn’t there.
Monica shrugged it off. “Mother’s probably at some committee meeting or something. She’s never here when I get home.”
Janie couldn’t remember a time that her mom hadn’t been home when she got there after school, but she didn’t say anything.
Monica’s room almost made Janie gasp. Monica had her own record player, her own phone, even her own TV! Janie thought ruefully of the small room she shared with her sister.
About a half hour later Mrs. Lewis came home. The girls were playing records and dancing when the door burst open. …
“Monica, turn that thing off!” Monica’s mother was a small woman, but her voice was loud and harsh. “I have a splitting headache, and I certainly don’t need to hear that noise.”
“You always have a headache,” Monica muttered.
“It’s no wonder, listening to your racket. And keep a civil tongue, miss. Who’s this?”
Monica mumbled the introductions.
Mrs. Lewis acted as if she didn’t even hear. “Your friend can’t stay long. I have to leave again in a half hour, and you’ll have to fix supper for your father and brother. There’re some TV dinners in the freezer. All you have to do is heat them up and make a salad. Hurry up now, Monica.” Rubbing her head, Monica’s mother left the room.
There was dead silence. Monica looked as if she were going to cry. After a moment Janie suggested, “I guess I’d better be going.”
Monica clutched her arm. “Wait a sec, Janie. I was wondering … You’re doing pretty well in geography, aren’t you?”
Janie nodded.
“Do you think we could study together sometime? I don’t understand what we’re doing.”
Was that why Monica invited me over? Janie wondered. Just so I could help her with her studies? It was all Janie could do to agree to get together for a study session sometime soon. She left Monica’s house as quickly as she could and started for home.
The minute that Janie opened the door to her own house, she heard Mrs. Saunder’s voice in the living room. Mrs. Saunders had come over as part of the welcoming committee soon after Janie and her family had moved to Yarborough. She had a booming voice and expensive tastes. It seemed to Janie that Mrs. Saunders looked down on her mother because she didn’t live in a big house or wear expensive clothes.
“Then we can expect you to help with the charity rummage sale, dear?” Mrs. Saunder’s voice came out to the hall where Janie stood. Janie closed the door quietly and tiptoed up the stairs.
“Yes, I’d love to help.” Her mother’s quiet voice floated up to Janie. “Thank you for thinking of me.”
How can Mother be so nice to that woman? Janie wondered. She heard the rustle of movement as Mrs. Saunders rose to leave.
“Perhaps you could pick up a few things for yourself while you’re tending the booth.”
Janie stopped abruptly as Mrs. Saunders’ comments rose up to her. How dare Mrs. Saunders say such a thing!
Then she heard her mother’s voice: “Oh, I don’t think that we’ll be buying anything right now. There really isn’t that much that we need.”
“But, my dear”—Mrs. Saunders wouldn’t leave the subject alone—“it must be so hard for you. I think that you are just marvelous. You’re coping so well.”
“Hard for me?”
“Why, yes. To have to do without so much!”
“But I have the best things of all, the greatest things that anyone could have: I have my health, my family’s health, the love and companionship of a good and gentle man, and two good, happy, kind, loving daughters. What could possibly be more valuable than that?”
“Oh, well, of course,” Mrs. Saunders murmured. Janie could tell that Mrs. Saunders hadn’t understood a word that Mother had said.
Mrs. Saunders didn’t see Janie on the stairs as she said good-bye and left. In a rush Janie was down the stairs and in her mom’s arms. “Did you really mean it, Mom?” Janie whispered. “Are Daddy and Susie and I really that important to you?”
Mom gently stroked Janie’s hair. “Of course, dear. Oh, I get tired of scrimping, of not being able to get you and Susie pretty things, of worrying about paying the bills, and of all the rest of it. But, darling, when I get very discouraged, I just remember the three of you and how much I love you. You are everything that is really important to me. So whenever I get blue, I remember how blessed I am, and I try even harder.”
Janie thought about the girls at school. She remembered how hurt she’d been that none of the other girls had paid attention to her. But I didn’t really try to make friends. I was so worried that I didn’t have everything that they all had that I didn’t give them a chance, she decided. Maybe all Monica wanted right now was a tutor for geography, but it looked like she needed a friend as much as Janie did. She moved toward the phone.
“Where are you going?” Mother asked.
“To see if Monica wants to come over and study after dinner,” Janie replied. “I think she’s going to like it here almost as much as I do!”

I saw it in New Mexico as a young man. For generations the prophets have told us that we must help the missionaries find and teach the honest in heart and then love those who come into the kingdom.

I have seen for myself what faithful priesthood leaders and members can do. In 1955 I became an officer in the United States Air Force. My bishop at home gave me a blessing just before I left for my first station, which was in Albuquerque, New Mexico.

In his blessing he said that my time in the air force would be missionary service. I arrived in church on my first Sunday at the Albuquerque First Branch. A man walked up to me, introduced himself as the district president, and told me that he was going to call me to serve as a district missionary.

I told him that I would be there for training for only a few weeks and then I would be assigned somewhere else in the world. He said, “I don’t know about that, but we are to call you to serve.” In the middle of my military training, by what appeared to be chance, I was chosen from hundreds of officers being trained to take the place in headquarters of an officer who had died suddenly.

So, for the two years I was there, I worked in my office. On most evenings and every weekend, I taught the gospel of Jesus Christ to people the members brought to us.

My companions and I averaged more than 40 hours a month in our missionary service without once having to knock on doors to find someone to teach. The members filled our plates so full that we often taught two families in an evening. I saw for myself the power and the blessing in the repeated call of prophets for every member to be a missionary.

On the last Sunday before I left Albuquerque, the first stake was organized in that city. There is now a sacred temple there, a house of the Lord, in a city where we once met in a single chapel with Saints who brought friends to us to be taught and to feel the witness of the Spirit. Those friends felt a welcoming home in the Lord’s true Church.

As a young man, I served a 30-month mission in France, from 1955 to 1958. During the last eight months of my mission, I was called to serve as branch president in Cannes. The Cannes Branch was small, with fewer than 10 active members.
Our mission president informed us that he planned to close the branch shortly if we had no baptisms. Miraculously, three elderly ladies soon requested baptism. After their baptism, one of them moved to Dijon, where there was no branch of the Church, and the other two struggled to remain active in the Church. Nevertheless, these new Church members helped us keep the branch open.