Gospel Story Finder

Let me say something of the marvelous members of the Church themselves. In the reorganization of a rather far-flung stake recently, I felt the Lord’s prompting to call a man to the stake presidency who, I had been told, owned a bicycle but no automobile. Many leaders across the Church don’t have cars, but I was nevertheless worried about what that might mean for this man in this particular stake. In my terminally ill Spanish I pursued the interview, then said, “Hermano, ¿no tiene un auto?” With a smile and not a second’s hesitation he replied, “No tengo un auto; pero yo tengo pies, yo tengo fe.” (“I do not have a car, but I do have feet and I do have faith.”) He then said he could ride the bus, ride his bicycle, or walk, “como los misioneros,” he smiled—“like the missionaries.” And so he does.

When I was 12 years old, me and my older siblings decided to find another church to help us better live the teaching of Jesus Christ as we understood in the Bible. We became like the Wise Men at the Savior’s Birth, seeking for Christ.

My mother, Dorothy, is the oldest of twelve children. My mother’s sister, Katherine Warren, we call her Aunt Rene, was the first member of our family to join The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. She lived in New Orleans, Louisiana and was baptized on Christmas Day 1976. [1]

Aunt Rene shared the gospel with our family by holding a Family Bible Study. [2] She would travel from New Orleans to Baton Rouge often to hold Bible Study with her 11 siblings and their children, all at my mom’s house in Baton Rouge under a huge oak tree. Aunt Rene would teach us the gospel of Jesus Christ using the Bible and the Book of Mormon. Aunt Rene was guided by the Lord on how to teach us. She was shown in a vision that some members of her family would be baptized.

As a result of her teachings and lessons with the missionaries, 13 members of my family were baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints on January 21, 1979. We found Christ! It was a large baptism in the South and Church News recorded it. [3]

Long years ago when I was in the stake presidency in the St. Joseph Stake in Arizona, one Sabbath day I filled an assignment in the Eden Ward. The building was a small one, and most of the people were sitting close to us as we sat on the raised platform about a foot and a half above the floor of the building itself.
As the meeting proceeded, my eye was attracted to seven little boys on the front seat of the chapel. I was delighted with seven little boys in this ward conference. I made a mental note, then shifted my interest to other things. Soon my attention was focused on the seven little boys again.
It seemed strange to me that each of the seven little fellows raised his right leg and put it over the left knee, and then in a moment all would change at the same time and put the left leg over the right knee. I thought it was unusual, but I just ignored it.
In a moment or two, all in unison would brush their hair with their right hands, and then all seven little boys leaned lightly on their wrists and supported their faces by their hands, and then simultaneously they went back to the crossing of their legs again.
It all seemed so strange, and I wondered about it as I was trying to think of what I was going to say in the meeting. And then all at once it came to me like a bolt of lightning. These boys were mimicking me!
That day I learned the lesson of my life—that we who are in positions of authority must be careful indeed, because others watch us and find in us their examples.

May I close with a story of inconvenience, now well known to you. Two weeks ago Air Florida’s Flight 90 to Tampa, a Boeing 737 with 74 passengers aboard, began rolling down the runway at Washington’s National Airport. Nothing seemed very different about this; hundreds of planes leave that airport every day. But you all know what happened next. The plane slammed into the 14th Street Bridge, smashed five cars and a truck, and then skidded into the ice-clogged river. To quote one source:

For a moment, there was silence, and then pandemonium. Commuters watched helplessly as the plane quickly sank. . . A few passengers bobbed to the surface; some clung numbly to pieces of debris while others screamed desperately for help. Scattered across the ice were pieces of green upholstery, twisted chunks of metal, luggage, a tennis racquet, a child’s shoe. . . .

Within minutes, sirens began to wail as fire trucks, ambulances and police cars rushed to the scene. A U.S. Park Police helicopter hovered overhead to pluck survivors out of the water. Six were clinging to the plane’s tail. Dangling a life preserving ring to them, the chopper began ferrying them to shore. One woman had injured her right arm, so [the] pilot . . . lowered the copter until its skids touched the water; his partner [then leaned out and] scooped her up in his arms. Then [a young woman] grabbed the preserver, but as she was being helped out of the . . . river by [a] fellow passenger . . . she lost her grip. . . . A clerk for the Congressional Budget Office who was watching from the shore, plunged into the water and dragged her to land. But the most notable act of heroism was performed by [another] of the passengers, a balding man in his early 50s. Each time the ring was lowered, he grabbed it and passed it along to a comrade; when the helicopter finally returned to pick him up, he had disappeared beneath the ice. [James Kelly, “We’re Not Going to Make It,” Time, 25 January 1982, pp. 16–17]

I quote from an essay entitled simply “The Man in the Water”:

His selflessness [is] one reason the story held national attention; his anonymity another. The fact that he [has gone] unidentified invests him with a universal character. For a while he was Every man, and thus proof (as if one needed it) that no man is ordinary.

Still, he could never have imagined such a capacity in himself. Only minutes before his character was tested, he was sitting in the ordinary plane among the ordinary passengers, dutifully listening to the stewardess telling him to fasten his seat belt and saying something about the “no smoking sign.” So our man relaxed with the others, some of whom would owe their lives to him. Perhaps he started to read, or to doze, or to regret some harsh remark made in the office that morning. Then suddenly he knew that the trip would not be ordinary. Like every other person on that flight, he was desperate to live, which makes his final act so stunning.

For at some moment in the water he must have realized that he would not live if he continued to hand over the rope and ring to others. He had to know it, no matter how gradual the effect of the cold. In his judgment he had no choice. When the helicopter took off with what was to be the last survivor, he watched everything in [his] world move away from him, and he deliberately let it [go]. . . .

The odd thing is that we do not . . . really believe that the man in the water lost his fight. . . . He could not, [like Nature], make ice storms, or freeze the water until it froze the blood. But he could hand life over to a stranger, and that is a power of nature too. The man in the water pitted himself against an implacable, impersonal enemy; he fought it with charity; and he [won]. [Roger Rosenblatt, Time, 25 January 1982, p. 86]

In this world we are all, you and I, the man or the woman in the water. We often, like this man and Hamlet, must “take arms against a sea of troubles, and by opposing end them” (Act 3, scene 1, ll. 59–60). And sometimes the cost is very high. It was for Christ, it was for Joseph Smith, and it was for this lone man who counted the cost there in the Potomac—and paid it.

I have a friend who is not a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. She had a party where we got our nails done and watched movies. She wanted to rent R-rated movies. I told her that I don’t watch those kinds of movies. One of the girls told me that she once watched a movie that she wasn’t supposed to watch, and her mom didn’t ever find out. I told her that I still wouldn’t see that movie. We ended up getting two other movies.
The next morning her mom made coffee. She offered me some. I told her that I wasn’t allowed to have coffee, and she told me that a little wouldn’t hurt. I politely told her that I did not want any. She didn’t say anything else after that. I’m glad that I could obey the Word of Wisdom.

One particular example of true love left a permanent impression in my mind. I once came across a general conference talk by Elder Joseph B. Wirthlin (1917–2008) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles where he spoke on charity, or the “pure love of Christ” (Moroni 7:47).

Elder Wirthlin began by quoting Jesus’s teaching that the greatest commandment is to love God and to love our neighbor (see Matthew 22:37–40). Of course, I’d heard this scriptural account many times before. And always, for me, that level of Christlike love had seemed somehow beyond reach. How could I, plain old me, ever love as purely or as effectively as the Savior? It felt like an impossible goal.

But then Elder Wirthlin described an elderly couple who’d been married for many years. The wife grew unable to care for herself fully, including being able to paint her fingernails.

So the husband decided to paint them for her, simply because it made her smile. “That is an example of the pure love of Christ,” Elder Wirthlin declared.2

And with that brief example, something clicked in my brain. Painting fingernails? Not raising Lazarus from the dead or healing the blind, but a quiet act of kindness? That’sconsidered the pure love of Christ? Well … gee, I could do that!

Elder Wirthlin continued, adding further clarity. “Sometimes the greatest love is not found in the dramatic scenes that poets and writers immortalize. Often, the greatest manifestations of love are the simple acts of kindness and caring we extend to those we meet along the path of life.”3

My mind latched on as this idea took hold. I could perform those acts of kindness. What’s more, I knew for certain I’d been the recipient of countless such acts my whole life. True love isn’t glamorous or glittery. It’s quiet yet powerful. And available to all.

Each of us has an opportunity to serve people through callings and to feel that we are “no more strangers and foreigners, but fellowcitizens with the saints, and of the household of God” (Ephesians 2:19). I clearly and profoundly remember that shortly after I was baptized, my branch president assigned me to take the roll for Sunday School classes. I was glad to have this assignment. Each class I would excitedly hold the name list and check off each name. As time went by, I gradually got to know each member of the Sunday School. I soon became acquainted with all the members and would care about those who were absent. I felt privileged and happy that I could do my part for the Lord’s Church. I also felt that the Lord had taught me and blessed me in this assignment.

When I was 16 I had the opportunity to go to Ecuador for the summer as an exchange student. I looked forward to this opportunity to live in an exotic location, but some of my excitement was reserved for meeting new people who wouldn’t know I was a Mormon. I decided that it wasn’t necessary for the people of Ecuador to know that I was LDS. I could still live the standards—but quietly and unobtrusively.
In Ecuador I attended an orientation with other exchange students from all over the United States. I quickly made friends, some that I would see almost every day that summer because we were staying with host families in the same city. Others I saw throughout the summer at parties and field trips. It felt wonderfully liberating to meet people who didn’t know my family’s entire history. They didn’t know I was a farm girl or that I was Miss Squeaky-clean. For the first time in my life I felt popular and accepted.
After orientation I met my host family. The very first thing we did, before I even unpacked, was to walk to a liquor store. My host sisters informed me that they were giving a big party that night in honor of my arrival, and they wanted me to pick out the booze. They were surprised to learn that I didn’t drink and pressured me about it. I finally had to admit that I was Mormon.
My stay in Ecuador marked the beginning of the most intense test of living Church standards I had ever faced. I was frequently pressured to drink alcohol. I met several handsome, fun young men who were anxious to get to know me a little too well. The other exchange students quickly learned that I was a Mormon, and they had quite a bit to say about it, much of it negative. One girl, who was known for her partying, teased me frequently about my moral standards. She suggested that I thought I was better than others because of these standards.
Though I never seriously considered abandoning my standards, I did begin to question why I was making these choices. I felt like it wasn’t good enough anymore to say, “Because of my religion, I don’t do such-and-such” or “That’s how I was raised.” I knew I needed a testimony of my standards if I was going to continue to uphold them. I wanted a stronger testimony of the restored Church.
I started reading the Book of Mormon on my own for the first time, and I finished it in 13 days. The Spirit testified to me that the powerful testimonies of those ancient prophets were true. I was filled with joy and gratitude that I had the privilege of being a member of Christ’s Church. This precipitated a complete change in my attitude toward Church standards. My newfound testimony of the Book of Mormon gave power and substance to my beliefs. I felt proud of my standards, and it became easier to live them.
Nothing had really changed as far as how I lived, but my feelings were different. Nothing about me had outwardly changed, and yet I was a new person. I even noticed that my new friends responded to this change in me, perhaps without realizing it. They seemed to have greater respect for me.
One day I was alone with the girl who had been making fun of me in front of the other exchange students. She confided that she wished she had been raised to have the same standards I had. She said she wished she had never had a drink and had never been unchaste. She was not the only one to tell me that.
When I was a senior in high school, a good friend who had gone on to college was visiting at Christmas break. She told me that she wished she had been taught my standards as a child because it would have been much easier to keep from getting into trouble. She told me to hold on to my standards no matter what because they would keep me safe.
A couple of years later when I was in college a girl I had known in Ecuador came to visit. She told me she wished she had been raised a Mormon because then she might have avoided the burdensome sins she’d committed. I felt very sad for my classmates, and on both occasions I cried with them over the pain they’d suffered. They’d had to learn the hard way that “while you are free to choose for yourself, you are not free to choose the consequences of your actions” (For the Strength of Youth [2001], 4.)
At first it surprised me a little to think that other teens were envious of my standards. Hadn’t so many of them made fun of me in high school? Didn’t teens want fewer restrictions instead of more? However, it soon began to make sense. My standards did keep me safe, and everyone wants to feel safe. Living the standards as outlined in For the Strength of Youth had spared me a great deal of pain. Also, more importantly, because I was exercising faith by living those standards and reading the Book of Mormon, I was worthy of the companionship of the Holy Ghost. It was through the Holy Ghost that I was able to obtain one of my most valued possessions: my testimony of the Book of Mormon and the restored gospel of Jesus Christ.

I attended many general conference sessions in the Tabernacle, always being edified and inspired by the words of the Brethren. Then, in October of 1963, President David O. McKay invited me to his office and extended to me a call to serve as a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. He asked that I keep this sacred call confidential, revealing it to no one except my wife, and that I be present for general conference in the Tabernacle the next day, when my name would be read aloud.

The following morning I came into the Tabernacle not knowing exactly where to sit. Being a member of the Priesthood Home Teaching Committee, I determined that I would be seated among the members of that committee. I noticed a friend of mine by the name of Hugh Smith, who was also a member of the Priesthood Home Teaching Committee. He motioned for me to sit by him. I couldn’t say a thing to him about my call, but I sat down.

During the session, the members of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles were sustained and, of course, my name was read. I believe the walk from the audience to the stand was the longest walk of my life.

Once when I received my pay at work, I cashed the check and headed home to pay some bills and to help my wife, who was expecting our first child. I got on the bus and put my money in my wallet. Then I hid the wallet in a pouch that was part of my shoulder bag, where it would be safer. I was quite surprised when I got home, looked for my wallet, and wasn’t able to find it. I was very worried. It was my whole two-week salary, and losing it would cause us many problems.
I looked diligently for my wallet, and when I couldn’t find it I decided to go back to the bus that had brought me home. I couldn’t find it there either.
After some time I went home, feeling very frustrated. I went into my room and knelt down. With a sincere heart and in tears, I lifted my prayer up to God and asked Him to help me. I told Him I paid a full tithing and now I needed a blessing. I know that the Lord doesn’t always answer our prayers in the way we desire, but on this occasion He did bless me in a wonderful way.
Later that night the bishop knocked on our door and asked me if I had a social security card. I told him I did, but it had been lost with my wallet that very day. He showed me a wallet and asked if it was mine. I saw that it was and that all of my money was still there. The bishop explained that a friend, who was not a member of the Church, had found it outside her house. When she saw the temple recommend in it, she took it to him. He told me this was nothing less than a miracle and it had happened because I faithfully paid tithing.

Many years ago I had the privilege of teaching early-morning seminary. The class was held between 6:30 A.M. and 7:30 A.M. each school day. For two years I watched sleepy students stumble into class, challenging their instructor to wake them up. After prayer was offered and an inspirational thought given, I watched bright minds come alive, to increase their knowledge of the scriptures. The most difficult part of the class was to terminate the discussion in time to send them on to their regular high school classes. As the school year progressed, I watched each student gain greater confidence, closer friendships, and a growing testimony of the gospel.

Ten years later I came back to my father’s home for a time. My father, who was the ward mission leader, invited me to listen as the missionaries taught two young ladies in his home. The missionaries challenged us to ask Heavenly Father if Joseph Smith was a prophet. I accepted the challenge and spent fourteen hours reading, meditating, and praying about Joseph Smith. It was a spiritual experience that is sacred to me. I read Joseph Smith’s history in the Pearl of Great Price twice that night. I prayed many times and stayed up all night. At nine o’clock the next morning I knew that Joseph Smith was a prophet and that the gospel was true.
I went to the sister missionaries’ house and asked for baptism. They explained that they needed to teach me seven discussions. I told them, “Give me all seven right now. I need to be baptized.” Two days later, I was. I began at once to work in the Church and to study everything the Church published in Portuguese. I enjoyed it all immensely, and my testimony has been strong ever since. The Church and the gospel have given me everything I have, including my family.

So thrilled was Judy with new blessings flowing from Tammi’s gift of the New Era, that it seemed a good idea to share in like manner with another pen pal.

A new 12-month subscription winged across the world. This time to teenage correspondent Albert Wong in Hong Kong.

“I’d been writing to Albert for some time before sending the New Era,” Judy adds. “But after meeting my husband-to-be, who was baptised shortly after me, and getting married at age 19, I lost contact.”

Awhile later Judy was in a hospital recovering from an operation. Visiting time arrived together with her excited husband, Ian. He’d come from a branch presidency meeting where they’d been reviewing Church Magazine subscriptions. “And there was this brother’s name, Albert Wong from Hong Kong,” he exclaimed. “His original donation came from Coventry, England, and somehow he’d reappeared on our lists.”

After further correspondence, Judy found out that Albert had indeed joined the Church. When Judy’s letters stopped earlier, he made friends with a Latter-day Saint boy in his own town. Baptism quickly followed.

Albert attributes his conversion process to reading how the Saviour works in and through the lives of other worldwide youth facing similar problems to his own.

“I love to read his testimony when he writes now,” says Judy. “He’s busy in Church callings and has married a beautiful Latter-day Saint girl. Every letter expresses gratitude for the gospel, his church work, and personal growth.”

I’d like to tell you about the circumstances of Koen’s birth. On Father’s day last year, in Sharlie’s 31st week of a very healthy and uneventful pregnancy, her water broke. They then went to the hospital, and Sharlie was immediately admitted and told she would remain there until the baby was delivered. This is not as routine as it sounds. It is best for the baby to remain and develop inside the womb as long as possible; but, once the water breaks, the risk of infection also increases with time, so it’s a bit of a balancing act.
Of course this was totally unexpected, and the timing could not have been worse (is there ever good timing for such a thing?). Sharlie was working full-time, and Joshua was in his last semester of an accelerated master’s program in architecture, finishing up his final projects. In addition, Joshua was applying for architecture jobs.
The doctors determined that Sharlie would be induced July 5, the beginning of the 34th week. However, the night before, she developed a fever of 104 and began having contractions. Obviously, this was a very scary time for all of us. To quicken the labor and decrease the chances of the infection transferring to the baby, she was immediately induced. Koen was born at 12:07 a.m., July 5, and immediately placed in the neonatal intensive care unit (NICU). Koen weighed 3 lbs 14 oz at birth – he was tiny. The doctors said Koen would likely remain in NICU for 2 months, but he made good progress and was released after only 16 days.
What are the lessons here? 1) We all have trials. Count on it. 2) What is important is how we respond to our trials. I never heard Joshua or Sharlie ask, “Why is this happening to me?” or anything similar to that. Their attitude was more in line with, 1) many others have much more difficult trials, 2) we are in a good hospital with great people and equipment, so everything will work out, and 3) what can we learn from this?

Loy Bunseak, president of the Siem Reap Branch in the Cambodia Phnom Penh Mission, was nine years old in 1975, when he and his family had to leave their home. They—along with millions of others—were required to perform hard manual labor in the country’s vast fields.
During this time, President Loy lost both of his parents and five of his eight siblings.
Despite the hardships, President Loy always had at least one thing to help get him through his pain.
“I always had hope,” he says.
The determined hope that helped President Loy get through the trials of his childhood is the same hope that later allowed him to recognize the truth of the gospel of Jesus Christ.
Because Cambodia is largely a Buddhist country, President Loy grew up without a knowledge of Jesus Christ. He began to learn about the Savior when Latter-day Saint missionaries came to his home and told him and his family they had an important message to share.
“I had never heard of Jesus Christ until I met the missionaries,” he says. “I wanted to learn more about Him.”
After intense study and discussion, President Loy and his family were baptized in 2001.
“The missionaries helped me learn from the Book of Mormon, but I received my testimony of its truthfulness from God,” President Loy says. “I could see how living by the teachings of the Book of Mormon made my family happier.”

A short history will illustrate this point: Isaac of Ghana returned honorably from his full-time mission with the desire to continue on the covenant path, and he knew that meant finding a young woman to whom he could be sealed in the temple. He came to know Edema, a wonderful returned missionary from Nigeria. The two fell in love and wanted to be sealed in the Ghana Accra Temple. Isaac did not have a job, and Edema’s extended family presented a list. Isaac’s parents were both deceased, and his uncle forbade him from getting married, telling him that he was crazy to think of marriage when he did not even have a job. Isaac prayed about what to do and heard these words spoken to his mind: “You should not fear man more than God.” So, he went to his uncle and told him that he respected him, but that he respected God more and would put God first. So, he and Edema decided to be sealed and set the date. Then, miracles began to happen. Isaac was offered a job. With the help of Edema’s mother, they did not need to be concerned about the list. They were sealed in the temple and are happy in their marriage.

In this short history, we see that Isaac and Edema faced strong opposition and difficult trials. Because they had decided to put God first, the opposition they faced became an opportunity to choose the right. Once they moved forward in faith, they had hope, the expectation of good things to come; the miracles followed.

Our vacation was ending. Over waffles that morning, we planned how to make the most of our time at the hotel before enduring the five-hour drive home. My husband decided to take our three young daughters for a final escapade in the pool. I would take advantage of a treadmill in the workout room.
The treadmill I chose faced a wall-sized window overlooking the swimming pool. Shortly I saw a family, my family, make their way to the pool. Towels, shoes, and T-shirts flew everywhere as the girls excitedly prepared to jump into the water. Normally I would be following behind them, gathering up clothes and shoes and, quite honestly, being a bit annoyed by it all. Instead, I saw this family from the outside looking in, as though the giant window before me was a movie screen. As my feet pounded a rhythm on the rotating belt beneath, I watched.
I saw how happy everyone was, laughing and playing together, and I thought about the times I had become discouraged by the petty arguments that inevitably arise in a family, by the uneasy feeling that, despite my best effort, I was failing to teach my children to love each other. But as I watched, I saw people who were happy together. I discovered that I wasn’t failing to teach them to love one another; I was just failing to notice that they could.
I watched one of the girls jumping from the pool’s edge over and over again into her daddy’s arms. I thought about all the big jumps she would make throughout her life and hoped she would trust Heavenly Father to catch her each time. I knew that with each jump she was learning to trust and that being part of our family was a safe way to learn that trust.
Another daughter sought to perfect a swimming skill. I saw how her family’s encouragement kept her trying. There would be times in her life when she would need that same support in the face of more difficult challenges.
And then I watched as our third daughter was accidentally bumped into the pool. Upset and angry, she sputtered her way out of the water and into a chair. Immediately her family noticed she was missing. I watched each one lovingly encourage her to rejoin them. She eventually did, and I thought of her future, of all the times she would be hurt and feel like giving up. I hoped she would always find in the love of her family the strength to endure.
Suddenly, the realization hit me: our families can be a key to our ability to learn, understand, and live the gospel. Nephi noted that “by small means the Lord can bring about great things” (1 Nephi 16:29). And so it is with families. Yes, parents struggle. But every effort to teach and train and love, no matter how small, matters.
My little movie drew to a close. As I turned off the treadmill and watched my family gather their clothes, I felt renewed determination to keep going, to keep doing all the little things that I sometimes worry don’t make a difference.

I live in Chile and have been a member of the Church since I was eight. I have always known that I was in the true Church, and I felt I had a testimony of the Book of Mormon, but it was a borrowed testimony. Although I wanted to, I had never read the Book of Mormon all the way through. I had never read further than 1 Nephi.
On the night of July 4, 2002, my friend and I attended our Book of Mormon institute class. We stayed after class talking until we noticed that it had gotten late. We began walking home around 10:15, and when we got to the place where we were to split up, we stopped and continued to talk.
Two men passed by and asked us what time it was, but we were so involved in our conversation that we barely heard them. Suddenly they came back. One of them threw his arms around me, putting a knife to my neck. Then he let me go and threatened my friend. The other man asked us for money, and when we said we didn’t have any, they were furious. They demanded our jackets and backpacks.
I had wanted this jacket for a long time and had finally been able to buy it a month before. And I loved my backpack, which my older brother had given me. My friend had homework assignments in her backpack that she needed to turn in. I was really scared—almost frozen in place. It was the first time I had ever been robbed.
Without hesitation we gave them our things. But suddenly I said, “Wait! Please let me take out my Book of Mormon! It’s the only thing of value I have.” The thief gave me a strange look and let me take it out. Then they fled.
I hugged the book and didn’t care about anything else. I felt peace because I had rescued this precious book from two criminals.
That night I decided to show greater appreciation for this treasure of mine and for all the sacrifices made by the people who had brought it to light. I started to read it, and I began to feel an indescribable peace and a spectacular joy. All of a sudden it was worth so much more to me. I finished it two months later, and I finally gained a testimony of the book for myself.
I still don’t know where I got the courage to ask for my book back, but I’ll never be sorry that I did. I don’t harbor any ill feelings toward the men because through that experience I gained the testimony I desired.
That testimony helped motivate me to serve a mission. I am now home from serving in Argentina, where I was able to tell people about the Book of Mormon and share with them how marvelous this work truly is.

From the first penny that I put in my mission savings jar, I knew I wanted to serve. I had saved money for 12 years when the announcement came that sisters could serve at age 19. Although I wasn’t sure if the time was right for me, the Lord answered my prayers, and I felt inspired to start my mission papers.
I wanted my mission call to be right for me and knew that being honest with my Church leaders, especially about my health, would be the only way to feel at peace. I have epilepsy, a condition that causes unpredictable seizures. Fortunately, my condition is completely controlled by medicine. Still, it was possible that my dependence on it could limit where I could be assigned to serve.
Imagine my surprise when I was called to serve in the Dominican Republic Santo Domingo East Mission! There was a problem though: I found out that my medication wasn’t available in the Dominican Republic. I was confused. Why would the Lord inspire Church leaders to send me somewhere that didn’t have my medication?
My family and I prayed together for an answer. I felt a strong conviction that the Lord really wanted me to serve in the Dominican Republic, so we went to work. My doctor wrote me an 18-month prescription, but our insurance would only pay for a year’s worth of medication, leaving us to pay for the last 6 months. As we moved forward with faith, we eventually found an affordable option.
When I was set apart, my stake president blessed me that my condition would not affect me during my mission—a promise that I can testify was fulfilled. Although I was stretched to my physical limits, I know that through the Atonement of Jesus Christ, I was able to overcome the challenges I faced before and during my mission.
Despite having epilepsy, Sister Fletcher (left) was able to serve a mission (pictured here with her companion and mission president and his wife).

One day I realized that I wasn’t reading my scriptures or doing some of the things I should be doing. I wasn’t being a good example to my brother and sister. So I decided to talk to my parents and my bishop about what was going on, to pray in the morning and at night, and to read my scriptures.

Sometimes I would pray to find answers to my questions through the scriptures. One morning, I prayed to have my eyes opened to something that I needed to know. I opened to Alma 38, where Alma is giving his son advice about things that you should and should not do. That really helped me out. This experience changed me because it opened my eyes to how much God loves us.

Doing what God wants me to do in the little things each day—including praying and reading my scriptures—helped me find these blessings.
Kade M., Hawaii, USA