Gospel Story Finder

For Christmas one year, my wife, Julia, made candy-cane chocolate sweets that we wrapped in little decorated boxes. Then we visited those in the Spanish-speaking branch we ministered to and gave them our gift, along with wishes for a merry Christmas.
When we arrived at the house of Brother Sanchez, a friendly, elderly member of our branch, we knocked and waited. No one was home, so we left the candy in his mailbox.
Several weeks later, during sacrament meeting, Brother Sanchez spoke of his conversion and of the many miracles he had experienced throughout his life. He testified of the amazing power of the Book of Mormon to answer life’s deepest questions. He lifted the set of scriptures he had received decades ago from the missionaries who had taught him. His voice trembled with his love for and testimony of the Lord.
Then Brother Sanchez did something we did not expect. He set our little decorated box on the pulpit. He said that when he found the box, he didn’t think he would eat the sweets because he is diabetic. Instead, he placed the box on his nightstand and forgot about it.
A few days later, as he lay in bed, he said he felt his blood sugar suddenly drop. Fear overcame him when his body began to shake. He recognized that he faced an emergency, knowing that he might need to call an ambulance. Then he noticed the box. He grabbed it, opened it, and quickly ate the chocolates. He felt relief as his blood sugar returned to normal.
Brother Sanchez lifted the empty box and testified that small acts of service can make a big difference. He testified that such experiences are not a coincidence and that Heavenly Father’s hand is in the details of our lives.
My wife and I were humbled to know that our small act of service had made a large impact on him and had maybe even saved his life. As we do small acts of service for those around us, the Lord will unlock opportunities that bless lives in powerful ways.

There are so many reasons why my wife Ann is not only the person I love, but also the person I most admire. Just before the Olympics in Salt Lake City in 2002, she was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. She documented her battle with that disease in a book which has inspired others facing debilitating illnesses. She also founded a center for neurological research that has led to treatments for Alzheimer’s as well as multiple sclerosis. But there is something else that stands out about my Ann.

One day some years ago, I overheard her talking at great length with someone on the phone. She was on that call for over an hour. When it was finally over, I asked her who she was talking with. She said it was an elderly widow who she had met during one of our vacations—not a family member, not a close friend, just an acquaintance. A little puzzled, I asked Ann why she had spent a whole hour talking to an acquaintance. She explained simply that the widow was lonely and needed someone to talk to. And then she added this: “wherever I go in life, I want to leave flowers in my wake.”

My wife’s example of Christ-like kindness inspires me.

As the Saints moved across the plains, their care for each other was organized in “companies.” One of my paternal great-grandfathers was returning from his mission in what is now Oklahoma when he met a company on the trail. He was so weak with disease that he and his companion were on their backs in a little wagon.
The leader of the company sent two young women to help whoever might be in that forlorn wagon. One of them, a young sister who had been converted in Switzerland, took a look at one of the missionaries and felt compassion. He was saved by that company of Saints. He recovered enough to walk the rest of the way to the Salt Lake Valley with his young rescuer by his side. They fell in love and married. He became my great-grandfather Henry Eyring, and she my great-grandmother Maria Bommeli Eyring.
Years later, when people remarked at the great difficulty of moving across a continent, she said, “Oh no, it wasn’t hard. While we walked, we talked the whole way about what a miracle it was that we had both found the true gospel of Jesus Christ. It was the happiest time I can remember.”

Sarah was unpacking a box in her room when Mom walked in.
“Can we paint the walls yellow?” she asked Mom.
They had just moved into a different house. Sarah had been able to pick out a quilt and curtains for her new room!
“I think so,” Mom said. “Yellow is a happy color.”
Sarah put a few books on a little shelf by her bed. Mom didn’t always feel happy lately, not since Dad had died in the accident. Sarah carefully put her favorite picture of Dad next to the books, where she could see it every morning when she woke up.
She heard a sniffle and saw tears in the corners of Mom’s eyes.
“I love you, Mom,” Sarah said, wrapping her arms around Mom’s waist and squeezing tight.
“I love you more.”
The Saturday before school started, Mom and Sarah put on old clothes, moved the furniture to the middle of Sarah’s room, and carefully pushed paint rollers into trays of yellow paint. After a while, the walls were covered in yellow—and so were their faces and clothes!
“You look like you’ve got sunshine splattered all over you,” Mom said with a laugh.
Sarah giggled. “And you look like a banana exploded next to you!”
They were still laughing as they cleaned up. But Sarah’s smile faded when she thought about going to Primary tomorrow and school the day after that.
“I’m worried about church and my new school,” she told Mom as they rinsed paintbrushes in the sink. “I won’t know any of the teachers or kids or anybody.”
Mom turned off the water and pulled Sarah into a hug.
“You’ll make friends. You have a kind heart that will draw others to you. Be your wonderful self, and friends will come.”
Sarah felt a little better, but she was still nervous.
“I wish Dad were here to give me a blessing,” she said. “Like he always used to before I went back to school.”
Mom was quiet for a minute. “What about Uncle Wyatt?” she said. “I’m sure he’d be happy to give you a blessing.”
Sarah nodded. Maybe a blessing would help.
That night, Sarah’s uncle put his hands on her head to give her a blessing.
“I bless you to know that the Savior is mindful of you as you start this new chapter in life,” he said. “He will not leave you alone.”
Sarah paid special attention to the words new chapter. She loved to read and was always excited to start a new chapter in a book.
The next morning Sarah and Mom went to church. After sacrament meeting Mom helped Sarah find the Primary room. A girl inside smiled at her and said hello.
“You can sit here if you want,” she said, patting an empty chair next to her.
“Thanks,” Sarah said. “My name’s Sarah. I’m new here.”
“I’m Melody. And I’m new too! This is only my second week.”
Soon Melody and Sarah were talking with the other Primary kids. Their teacher was really nice.
“I hope school goes this well!” Sarah thought as she went to bed that night.
The next day, Sarah rode the bus to her new school. She was excited to see a few kids from Primary in her third-grade class.
“Thank you, Heavenly Father,” Sarah prayed silently as she ate lunch with her new friends. “Maybe this will be a good chapter, after all.”

As a teacher, I am always looking for effective ways to engage my students in the lesson. I thought I was making good use of the chalkboard or whiteboard until I saw the board in the classroom next door. There, neatly displayed in the center, was a simple statement of doctrine, a picture, and two questions along with instructions for the students to answer the questions. As the class members came in, I watched as they looked in their scriptures for answers to the two questions. They even discussed the doctrine with each other. And all this activity was happening before the start of class!
I was impressed. Here was a teacher using a simple tool to engage his students in learning during a time that was normally wasted. He still greeted his students and gathered them for an opening prayer, but when the lesson began, the Spirit of the Lord had already touched the hearts of many of the students. They were prepared for a wonderful experience in the scriptures.

I froze on tiptoe and listened hard. Was that creaking sound I heard my parents’ door? No, they were still in their room, getting ready for church. I sighed in relief then continued silently up the stairs into the kitchen.
On most fast Sundays I didn’t have too much of a problem making it to dinnertime without eating. But this morning I had awakened starving! I decided to sneak up to the kitchen and get just a little snack before church.
I poked my head into the pantry and checked my options. “No, no, no,” I whispered to myself as my eyes flicked over wheat crackers and unripe bananas. Then I spied it—my absolute favorite cereal. It was sweet and crunchy, and all I needed was a handful to tide me over until dinner.
The cardboard box made a pleasant thwick sound as I opened it. My hand brought out a fistful of cereal. My mouth watered in anticipation, but before I could pop that first sweet piece in, I froze again.
This time it wasn’t because I had heard a noise. It was because I felt a gentle but persistent nudge to my conscience. I knew I didn’t really need to worry about my parents catching me eating when I was supposed to be fasting. I was old enough to decide for myself whether I would fast or not. So what was it going to be?
As I contemplated that delicious-looking handful of cereal, I realized it didn’t matter whether I actually took a bite. If my heart wasn’t in my fast, I might as well not be doing it at all. I had been kidding myself spiritually. Even if I didn’t get caught with my contraband cereal, I would know, and more importantly, the Lord would know that a little treat was more important to me than my spiritual well-being.
The pieces of cereal clattered back into the box as I released my clenched hand. I said a silent prayer of gratitude for the lesson I had just learned. From then on when the first Sunday of the month came around, I would know I was fasting for the right reasons, my own reasons, and not because my parents or leaders expected me to.
As I walked back through the kitchen and down to my room, I didn’t creep along on tiptoe like I had on the way up. This time, I walked with my head held high. The Spirit had taught me the blessings of a sincere fast, and I had chosen it for myself.

A true story from Denmark.
Amalie loved to be a helper. She helped Mom put plates on the table. She helped Dad find his shoes. And she said the prayer at family scripture time.
Every Sunday, Amalie’s family went to church. Mom played the piano. Her older sister, Emma, held the door for everyone. Dad said the announcements. Her older brother, Alexander, passed the sacrament. Everyone got to help at church.
Everyone except her!
Amalie knew that Jesus Christ helped everyone He met. She wanted to help like He did! But she couldn’t play the piano. She couldn’t help with the announcements either. She felt a little sad. Maybe she would get to help when she was older.
One day before church, the branch president came up to Amalie. He smiled “Would you pass out the hymnbooks?” he asked.
Amalie smiled back. “Yes!”
Carefully, she took a stack of green hymnbooks off a shelf. She put a book on each seat.
When church started, everyone opened their hymnbooks. Amalie felt so happy. She had helped them all so they could sing together!
From then on, everyone in Amalie’s family helped at church. Mom played the piano. Emma held the door. Dad said the announcements. Alexander passed the sacrament. And Amalie put the hymnbooks on the seats.
Amalie felt happy that she could help Heavenly Father. She knew He wanted her to help like Jesus did.
Illustrations by Dave Williams

January of this year (2025) marked one year since I returned home from my mission in the Australia Adelaide Mission. My mission changed me and blessed me immeasurably. We taught a wonderful lady—a friend who was baptised and who is now a lifelong friend. She is an example to me of diligence, obedience and strong faith, and seeing her example has helped me stay positive and faithful post-mission.
On my friend’s baptism day, she bore her testimony. It was so powerful, and I can never forget it. She spoke about how, to most people in this world, it was just a normal day, but to her, it was a special day—the day she was committing to follow Christ. She concluded by saying, "A little miracle happened on this normal day."

Let me illustrate this with an incident that happened some years ago. As a young man I was called on a mission to Tonga. Through a series of unusual circumstances, such as ship strikes, and so forth, it took three months to get to Tonga from Salt Lake. As I was the only one assigned to Tonga at that time, much of the journey was made alone.

Finally, in Samoa, the mission president put me on a boat to Fiji and assured me that he would telegraph ahead, and when I arrived in Suva two elders would meet me and put me on a boat to Tonga.

Even though I had been in transit for two and a half months at that time, that several-day voyage to Suva seemed extra-filled with trepidation. How I looked forward to seeing those two missionaries!

The boat arrived in Suva early in the morning. I looked and looked, but could see no elders. An hour went by, then two, then three—still no elders. The captain kept telling me to get off the boat as they were leaving soon. I kept telling him that I would be met soon by two young men, but they didn’t come.

Finally, noon arrived and the captain was ready to leave. “Get off,” he said, “you only have a ticket to Suva. I’m leaving, and you’re staying here.”

With great fear I started down the gangplank only to be met by the immigration officials. “Let us see your visa, your onward ticket, and the money to keep you while here,” they demanded.

I had no visa. I had no onward ticket. I had not sufficient money. But I assured them that two young men would be there right away with whatever was needed. How I prayed! But they didn’t come.

“Back on the ship then,” they insisted.

“Not on my ship,” bellowed the captain.

I can remember standing in the middle of the gangplank, looking up at the folded arms and glaring eyes of the stern captain, and then looking down at the equally determined faces and set jaws of the immigration men.

I looked at the ocean under the gangplank. I should have wondered how long I could tread water, but I was too scared to think of anything right then.

In the end, the captain proved to be the toughest; and amidst cursing and yelling and banging of bags, the gangplank went up, the ship departed, and I found myself in the not-too-friendly hands of the immigration officials.

There was a long discussion among them, most of it in a foreign tongue. Finally, one of the younger men, who seemed more friendly, came over and explained that for now I should move with my things into the “customs shed.” That’s where things go that aren’t really allowed into the country until duty or tax is paid on them. He assured me that he, too, felt that the two young men I referred to would soon be along and everything would be fine.

The afternoon wore on. I tried several times to contact the missionaries every way I knew how, but to no avail. I know missionaries are supposed to be brave, but right then I was scared and tired and hungry.

The sun was getting low, and it seemed the lower it got in the sky the lower my spirits became. I knew I wasn’t really in danger or in prison, but to one used to lots of freedom it seemed like it.

The pungent odor of curry and copra and drying fish and the myriad other sights and sounds and smells of an oily tropical wharf seemed so foreign to the cool, fresh smells of my Idaho home. I knew I was homesick. I wanted to cry, but I knew that wouldn’t do any good.

Finally, the whirring of winches, the groaning of blocks and cables, the banging of cargo, and the sputtering of machines ceased. The dock workers began to leave, then the immigration people, until just a few watchmen and supervisors were left. It was silent now. I don’t know when I have felt more alone.

I tried to lie down on the dirty, uneven cement floor. I prayed to know what to do. There seemed to be no answer. I watched the last rays of sunlight as they broke through the clouds and blazed across the ocean and through the holes of the metal customs shed.

“How long will the light last?” I thought. Then I wondered, “What will happen when those last rays disappear and fold into the night?” (Have you ever wanted to just sort of close your eyes and disappear—or have things around you change?) “But, no, I must have hope. Things must turn out all right.”

Once more, I closed my eyes in prayer, when suddenly I felt almost transported. I didn’t see anything or hear anything, in a physical sense; but, in a more real way, I saw a family in far-off Idaho kneeling together in prayer; and I heard my mother, acting as mouth, say as clearly as anything can be heard, “And bless John on his mission.”

As that faithful family called down the powers of heaven to bless their missionary son in a way they could not physically do, I testify that the powers of heaven did come down, and they lifted me up and, in a spiritual way, allowed me, for a brief moment, to once again join that family circle in prayer. I was one with them. I was literally swallowed up in the love and concern of a faithful family and sensed for a moment what being taken into Abraham’s bosom may be like. (See Luke 16:22.) I was given to understand also that there are other circles of love and concern unbounded by time or space to which we all belong and from which we can draw strength. God does not leave us entirely alone—ever!

Tears of joy flowed freely as I had restored to me the warmth of security, the light of love, and the strength of hope. And when I again felt the hard, uneven cement beneath me, there was no fear, no sorrow, no trepidation, only deep gratitude and certain assurance.

To conclude the incident, within a half hour I saw the young immigration man who had befriended me coming towards the shed with two young elders behind him. It seemed that on his way home he just happened to run into two young Americans with white shirts and ties and told them about one just like them down at the wharf. Apparently the telegram never arrived, but they followed him down to the shed, and soon all was straightened out, and within a few weeks I landed in Tonga and was ready to begin my mission.

In 1989 there was a terrible earthquake in Armenia that killed over 30,000 people in four minutes. A distraught father went in frantic search of his son. He reached his son’s school only to find that it had been reduced to a pile of rubble. But he was driven by his promise to his son, “No matter what, I’ll always be there for you!” He visualized the corner where his son’s classroom would be, rushed there, and started to dig through the debris, brick by brick.

Others came on the scene—the fire chief, then the police—warning him of fires and explosions, and urging him to leave the search to the emergency crews. But he tenaciously carried on digging. Night came and went, and then, in the 38th hour of digging, he thought he heard his son’s voice. “Armand!” he called out. Then he heard, “Dad!?! It’s me, Dad! I told the other kids not to worry. I told ’em that if you were alive, you’d save me and when you saved me, they’d be saved. …

“There are 14 of us left out of 33. … When the building collapsed, it made a wedge, like a triangle, and it saved us.”

“Come on out, boy!”

“No, Dad! Let the other kids out first, ’cause I know you’ll get me! No matter what, I know you’ll be there for me!”

I learned lots of lessons from my Grandmother. She was always cheerful, even though she was a widow and lived by herself all of the time I knew her. She loved serving and helping others. Her house was always tidy inside and out. She didn't even get mad at me when I told her I had accidentally broken her bedroom window with a softball while I was playing "Annie I Over" with my cousins.

Grandma always encouraged me to practice the piano. In fact, one time she promised to give me ten dollars if I would practice my piano every day all summer. I must have been crazy to agree to that much practicing for that little pay, but I did it for Grandma. I remember how thrilled I was the day she gave me the ten dollar bill.

Grandma always spoke her mind. When I was about 15 years old I had gone shopping for a bathing suit in the city near where she lived. When I brought the suit to her home and put it on to model it for her, she looked at me and said with a scorn, "I never thought a granddaughter of mine would wear a two-piece bathing suit." Well, that was the first and last time I wore the suit. I returned the swimming suit to the store the next day.

—Michelle Beach, 19, worked for 10 weeks in a floral design shop in Darmstadt, West Germany, not far from where her father is stationed with the army.
“They really wanted me to learn, so they gave me a lot of opportunities,” she said. “I worked on displays, color selection, care and handling of flowers, just about everything they do in the shop, except that I don’t speak much German, so I didn’t have much interaction with the customers.”
She studied firsthand the similarities and differences between German and American business practices, and between European and American floral designs.
“I learned that running a shop is not an easy thing to do. But it’s an opportunity to use your talents and work hard. And,” she said, “I found out that it’s really what I’m interested in.”

I remember when I was a returned missionary, and having searched the scriptures diligently, I thought I knew it all. During our courtship, Blanquy and I would study the scriptures together. I used many of my notes and references to share my knowledge of the gospel with her. After we married I came to a serious realization as I learned a great lesson from her: I may have tried to teach her the gospel, but she taught me how to live it.

“Hi, Mom,” Tanner called as he took off his shoes and hung up his backpack.
“Hi, Tanner,” Mom said as she looked up from washing the dishes. “How was school?”
Tanner liked school, so when Mom asked him that question, his answer was usually the same.
“Good. How was your day?”
“It was fine,” Mom said softly.
Tanner wasn’t so sure. Mom didn’t sound very happy. And she wasn’t smiling like she usually did when he came home from school.
“Is something wrong?” Tanner asked.
“No, nothing’s really wrong,” Mom said. “I’ve just had a bad day.”
“I’m sorry,” Tanner said. He gave Mom a big hug, hoping it would help.
Tanner walked to the pantry and began to look for a snack. While he looked, he thought about some bad days he had had—like the time someone stole his scooter, or when he crashed his bike and skinned his knee. “I guess moms can have bad days too,” Tanner thought.
Tanner wondered what he could do to help Mom feel better. He thought of a few things that made him smile—frogs, video games, and spaghetti—but he was pretty sure Mom didn’t care very much about any of those things.
After grabbing a handful of crackers, Tanner had an idea. He walked across the kitchen and stood next to Mom. “Mom,” he said, “what was the best part of your day?”
Mom stopped washing the dishes. Tanner could tell she was thinking hard about his question. A big smile spread across her face. “You are,” she said. “You are the best part of my day.”
Tanner smiled too. Mom seemed happier. He was glad he could help make her bad day better.

Angela stormed into the house, slamming her books onto the kitchen table. Her fifth-grade math book fell to the floor at her mother’s feet. Seven-year-old Caleb, who had run home from the bus stop, sat in shocked silence.
“I’m never going back to school again!” Angela yelled. Her anger turned into tears as she dropped into a chair. Between sobs, Angela wailed, “Sheela is making life miserable for me. I tried to be nice to her when she called me names. I ignored her when she teased me about my clothes. Then today she told everyone that I told her secrets about Ammon Young. Now Ammon’s afraid to talk to me.”
Mom sat down and put her arm around her daughter. Angela raised her tear-streamed face. “Mom, Ammon’s my best friend. He’s the only other Church member in my grade. We always help each other choose the right.” She laid her head against Mom’s shoulder and cried for a long while.
Caleb, uncomfortable with the silence, said, “My Primary teacher said that Jesus taught us to pray for our enemies. Maybe you should pray that Sheela gets really sick and misses lots of school.”
“I don’t think that is what Jesus meant,” Mom gently corrected.
“Then, maybe you could pray that Sheela moves to another country,” Caleb suggested.
Mom shook her head. “No, Caleb—but you’re right that we should pray for our enemies. In fact, this Sunday is fast Sunday. Let’s use this opportunity to fast for Sheela. When we combine faith, prayers, and fasting, miracles can happen.”
Angela, who had calmed down a bit, sniffled and added, “Like the time we all fasted and prayed for cousin David when he was born two months too soon?”
“That’s right, Angela,” Mom said. “Heavenly Father blessed us for our faith. He always does.”
Angela prayed many times throughout the weekend that Sheela would stop being mean to her. As she fasted, she hardly noticed when her stomach growled.
Before leaving for school on Monday morning, Angela knelt by her bed once again. “Heavenly Father, please help Sheela to stop being mean. I’ve fasted and prayed. I have faith that Thou canst change her. In the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.”
Angela bounced happily down the stairs. “Good-bye, Mom.”
“Have a great day,” Mom said, kissing her and Caleb good-bye.
“Oh, I will—I just know it!”
She was sure she would when she arrived at her class and found that her teacher had rearranged the desks. Angela was no longer sitting next to Sheela. She was on the opposite side of the room. Angela silently offered a prayer of thanks. Ammon even smiled at her as he walked past her desk. This really is going to be a great day! she thought.
After lunch, she stopped by the rest room to make sure that no food was stuck in her braces. Her heart raced when Sheela walked out of one of the stalls. Summoning her courage, Angela smiled and said, “Hi, Sheela—do you have fun plans for the weekend?”
Sheela just smiled—not exactly a friendly smile, but a smile. The two girls left the bathroom at the same time.
“Hello, Sheela. Hello, Angela,” Mrs. Keiter, the music teacher, said as she passed by.
“Hello,” the girls answered. Angela was glad Sheela had not said or done anything mean in the bathroom. She was happy, too, when Sheela went to the office instead of out to the playground. Again, Angela offered a quiet prayer of gratitude to Heavenly Father for His help.
A few minutes before school was over for the day, the secretary spoke over the intercom. “Mrs. Winn, will you please send Angela Valencia to the office. The principal would like to see her.”
Angela stood and walked across the room, wondering what the principal wanted. As she passed Sheela’s desk, Sheela smirked and cooed, “Good luck.” It made Angela feel cold all over.
The principal, Mr. Cooper, was waiting for Angela when she arrived. He shut the door behind her. “Angela, I’ve received a report that you have been defacing school property. Someone scratched ‘Angela Valencia loves Ammon Young’ on one of the stalls in the girls rest room. The student who reported this said that Mrs. Keiter saw you leaving there during lunch recess. I’ve checked with her, and she said that you were there at that time.”
Angela was stunned. How could this be? Hadn’t she fasted and prayed and used all her faith that Heavenly Father would make Sheela be nice? Sheela had been in the rest room at the same time. She must have scratched the names on the stall.
“Mr. Cooper,” Angela said softly, “I did go into the rest room after lunch, but I didn’t scratch anything on the stalls.”
“I’m sorry, Angela, but I have your word against another student’s and a teacher’s. You will help the janitor, Mr. Hamblin, during recess for a week. Maybe that will help you respect school property more.”
Caleb knew by the look on Angela’s face when she got on the bus that things had not gone well. He walked silently beside her on the way home from the bus stop. Entering the kitchen just ahead of her, he blurted, “Angela’s faith didn’t work.”
“Caleb! That’s not nice,” Mom scolded.
“No, Mom, Caleb’s right,” Angela sighed sadly. “I must not have enough faith for Heavenly Father to make Sheela be nice.” She told Mom about her day.
Taking Angela by the hand, Mom led her into the living room. “Angela, we can’t pray away another person’s agency, no matter how much faith we have.” Mom explained, “When we pray for our enemies, it changes how we feel about them and brings us peace. We change for the better, and sometimes our goodness helps our enemies to change. Sadly, some never change. But we should never let our enemies choose how we will act.”
“So what does Angela do about Sheela?” Caleb interrupted. “How does all this faith, prayer, and fasting help her if Sheela is still mean?”
Angela nodded, tears starting to spill over her eyelashes. “I thought faith could produce miracles.”
“It does. I promise you that it does,” Mom assured her. “Do you remember from family scripture study last week the story of Alma and his people in the land of Helam?” Mom reached for her scriptures sitting on the end table.
“A little,” Angela said. “Alma’s people were being good, but they still were captured by the Lamanites. Things got even worse when the Lamanites put Amulon, one of the wicked priests of King Noah, in charge over Alma’s people.”
“And Amulon was Alma’s enemy,” Caleb added. “He knew that Alma had believed the prophet Abinadi and had tried to save him from being burned.”
“That’s right,” Mom said. “Amulon made slaves of Alma and his people and gave them hard work. He even put guards over them to kill anyone caught praying.”
“But they still prayed in their hearts, didn’t they?” Caleb asked.
“Yes, and the Lord answered their prayers,” Mom replied. “He didn’t help them escape right away, but He helped them with their trials. Let’s read what happened in Mosiah 24:15:
“‘And now it came to pass that the burdens which were laid upon Alma and his brethren were made light; yea, the Lord did strengthen them that they could bear up their burdens with ease, and they did submit cheerfully and with patience to all the will of the Lord.’
“So, what do you think you should pray for now?” Mom asked gently.
Angela sat quietly, then, breathing deeply, she answered, “To endure my trials cheerfully.”
The next day, after sanding and painting over the writing in the bathroom, Angela was emptying trash cans from the classrooms when Sheela walked by. Loudly she said to the girls with her, “It looks like we have a new janitor at our school.” The group left, giggling.
“Please help me to be cheerful and patient,” Angela prayed in her heart.
Just then Mr. Hamblin walked up. “Angela, you’re a good worker. I appreciate your help.” Then he smiled a big smile. “You didn’t scratch those words on the bathroom stall, did you?”
Angela shook her head.
“That’s what I told Mr. Cooper. And while we were talking, Ammon Young came to report that he’d overheard Sheela Kelly bragging about doing it herself and getting you in trouble. Ammon even volunteered to take your punishment himself if the principal didn’t believe him.” Mr. Hamblin smiled again. “So, Mr. Cooper wants to see you again in his office. He’s a fair man, young lady, I think you’ll be happy to talk with him again.”
Patience and cheerfulness, prayers and faith, Angela thought. They really do produce miracles. I don’t think my troubles with Sheela are over, but I’ll keep trying to do what’s right. Maybe I’ll try to talk with her again. And as she hurried toward the principal’s office, she silently prayed, Thank Thee, Heavenly Father, for helping me with my trials.

Years later when my childhood dreams of a mission were realized, I was called far away to New Zealand. There I first met the Maori people who have brought so much into my life by their simplicity, sincerity, and great faith.
One of my first assignments was to a Maori village called Judea, where the missionaries were helping in the construction of a small chapel. At that time I was trying to learn the Maori language. Each day I prayed to our Heavenly Father for help. And then one day I was surprised to be surrounded by Primary children. My prayer for help with the new language had been heard, and our Heavenly Father had inspired the branch president to send these children to help me. They followed me everywhere I went for weeks, talking to me in Maori. Their first lesson I shall remember forever:
Hei tito tito te ngeru me te whiro
Te kau peke runga te marama
Ka kata te kuri ki tana mahi pai
Ka oma te rihi me to punu.
The words sounded beautiful, but they were meaningless to a new missionary. I thought I was learning an old Maori war chant. What a surprise to me when I found out the children were teaching me “Hey, diddle diddle, the cat and the fiddle, the cow jumped over the moon. …”
How grateful I shall always be to those children of New Zealand for the wonderful blessing they brought to their new missionary.

When Elder Quentin L. Cook was 15 years old, he had a talk with his big brother, Joe. Joe was trying to decide if he should go to medical school instead of going on a mission. They talked long into the night. They talked about the gospel. They talked about testimonies. They talked about serving a mission.

Joe knew that going to medical school and becoming a doctor was a good way to help people. But he also knew that Jesus Christ truly lived, that Joseph Smith was really a prophet, and that the Book of Mormon was really true. So he knew that going on a mission first would be a better choice. Quentin learned that night that his brother Joe had a strong testimony.

5 Facts about Elder Cook
Born on September 8, 1940
The L stands for LaMar
Played basketball, football, and baseball in high school
Served a mission to the British Mission
Became an Apostle in October 2007

Quentin decided that he wanted to have a testimony too. After they finished talking that night, Quentin went to another room to pray. He had always had a testimony of Jesus Christ. And he believed that Joseph Smith was a prophet. He believed the Book of Mormon and the Church were true. But he wanted a spiritual witness from the Holy Ghost. As he prayed, a powerful witness came to him that swept away any doubts he had forever.
Now Elder Cook relies on that strong testimony to help him with every choice he needs to make.

I grew up in Rexburg, Idaho, where I was influenced and taught by a wonderful family, friends, teachers, and leaders. There are special experiences in the lives of all of us that touch our souls and make things different forever. One such experience happened in my youth. This experience transformed my life.
I was always active in the Church and progressed through the Aaronic Priesthood. When I was a teenager, Brother Jacob, my teacher, asked that I write down on a card what I had thought about during the sacrament. I took my card and began to write. First on the list was a basketball game we had won the night before. And then came a date after the game, and so went the list. Far removed and certainly not in bold letters was the name of Jesus Christ.
Each Sunday the card was filled out. For a young Aaronic Priesthood holder, the sacrament and sacrament meeting took on a new, expanded, and spiritual meaning. I anxiously looked forward to Sundays and to the opportunity to partake of the sacrament, as understanding the Savior’s Atonement was changing me. Every Sunday to this day, as I partake of the sacrament, I can see my card and review my list. Always on my list now, first of all, is the Savior of mankind.

While serving as young missionaries in Chile, my companion and I were walking down a street in the city of Los Andes. Across the way, a lady leaned out of her window to shake a blanket and said, “Good morning, elders.” She then disappeared into her house. I was surprised by her greeting. I walked up to the door, knocked, and when the woman answered, I asked, “How did you know us?”

She invited us in and explained that she and her husband had been two of the first people baptized in that community many years earlier. They had loved the Church until they had been offended. They now attended another church. “Now we know the Mormon Church is not true,” she said, retrieving a book titled something like Everything You Want to Know about the Mormons and written, of course, by a non-LDS author.

I glanced at the first few pages. I wasn’t an expert in Church history, but I knew Joseph Smith did not claim to see two angels named Urim and Thummim! “Not all this is true,” I said to the woman. “Look, if you want to know about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, talk to us. We’ll help you.”

That was the beginning. In the weeks that followed, my companion and I watched the members of this family add to their testimony tanks through study. They became active in the Church, but relying only on experiences in the Church was not enough to see this sister and her family through when the going got rough. Now, because they had also studied hard and found answers on their own, they each could say, “I know.”

The clowns must make up and be ready before everyone else to “warm up” the audience for the rest of the show. The clowns do slapstick comedy and vaudeville-type routines to get laughs from the crowd. Sometimes they all work together in one big rollicking show, and other times they work alone doing a routine of their own creation. Tim is the very first performer in the arena. He walks in with his huge shoes slapping on the hard rubber runway and a big bandage wrapped around his head. He groans and screams in pain from the most terrible toothache that anyone has ever had. But never fear, who should appear at the other end of the arena but a clown-faced dentist in a tuxedo who obviously has the equipment and know-how to help Tim get rid of his horrible toothache. This all seems fine to Tim until he sees the dentist’s equipment—a large hammer and a huge pair of pliers. Tim makes several attempts to escape but all to no avail. The dentist and Tork finally wrestle Tim to the ground right in front of the center ring, and with his huge pair of pliers the dentist extracts a huge foam-rubber tooth that had been hidden in Tim’s bandage. It’s a great laugh for everyone, and the clowns seem to enjoy it most of all. After a few more good routines, the crowd is warmed up and the show begins.