Gospel Story Finder

I first met Sally Pilobello in the Philippines in 1972 when I was sent there as a health missionary. I learned that she and her husband had lost their first baby when the baby was five months old. Sally had other children, but she now was pregnant with another and asked me, “What can I do to have a healthy Mormon baby?” I thought of her courage and faith as she responded to truth and adopted some new habits and traditions. Soon people in the neighborhood were sharing the news: “Mormon baby is coming!”

On 20 January 1973, Sarah Pilobello was born—a healthy, beautiful “Mormon baby.” Her mother’s pioneer spirit had enabled her to do things she had not done before—to add more truth to what she already knew. Sally used to smile at me and say, “Sister, you can never teach an old dog new tricks.” Then she’d pause and add: “But Sister, I am not a dog!”

In 1984 I received a letter from eleven-year-old Sarah—“Little Melon” to her family and friends: “I’m sorry that I have not written for a long time because every time I’m going to start my letter my playmates are insisting me to play with them. Now I firmly decided to write to you. We are glad that Mommy is doing what the family preparedness program of the welfare missionaries taught them. We now purify our water and have a balanced diet. That is why we grow faster than the other children. The temple is now being made and I hope I’ll see you there. I love you. Little Melon.”

I also received a letter from her mother, my dear friend Sally: “I want to express my gratitude for the things I have learned which are making such a difference in my family. I realize now that some of the things my mother taught me—things her mother taught her—were not correct. But the truths I’m learning will now be taught to my children, and to their children, and to the generations to come. We will not be damned any longer by ignorance. ‘Ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free!’ As they say, it is never too late to learn and change. God must love us dearly to allow us to have so much truth.”

A few years ago I had been assigned with other General Authorities to attend a series of area conferences in New Zealand and Australia. Initially, the leader of our group was to have been President Spencer W. Kimball. However, because of the need for some emergency surgery, he could not travel with us, so President N. Eldon Tanner led the group in his place.
Each day during the trip President Tanner telephoned President Kimball in his hospital room to get a report on his condition and to give a brief report of the conferences in which we were participating. After the daily call to Salt Lake City, President Tanner would always give us a report on the President’s condition. We were anxious and appreciated these brief messages.
Once, after we had been out for five or six days, President Tanner made his usual call to the hospital in Salt Lake City. However, this day he had no report for us. When we asked if he had talked to the President, he told us he had tried, but President Kimball wasn’t in his room. “Where was he?” we asked. “They weren’t sure; they couldn’t find him,” President Tanner said. “They thought he might have gone down to the next floor of the hospital to visit the sick.”
To paraphrase a statement made by Wendell Phillips, it may be accurately said, “How prudently most men sink into nameless graves, while now and then a few forget themselves into immortality.” (As quoted by William Jennings Bryan, The Prince of Peace, Independence: Zion’s Printing and Publishing Co., 1925.)

We see powerful evidences of the magnitude of the baptismal covenant in the history of the Church. In Liverpool, England, in the 1840s, George Cannon and his wife, Ann Quayle Cannon, were converted to the gospel. George wrote in a letter to his sister:

I was sincerely desirous to lead a new life . . . ; and though slow of belief at first, and not seeing the necessity of baptism, yet God in His infinite mercy opened my eyes.8

With the covenant of baptism and the promise of more covenants came the desire to join the Saints in America at all costs. Ann tucked a little money away each month so the family would have the funds necessary for the voyage.

The wish to get to Zion became . . . a consuming desire. . . . She began to count the days that must elapse before the ship’s sailing. She was impressed that if this season . . . should pass and find the family still in England, she would not be alive to urge the journey another year. . . . She had a sure premonition that she should not live to reach the shores of America, and told her husband so.9

Ann was expecting their seventh child at the time, and George tried to persuade her to wait.

[But] she refused absolutely—she would rather die in trying to go than live [by] remaining. . . .

. . . Both [George and Ann] prayed . . . that God’s blessing would attend them in doing what they believed to be His will.10

On September 17, 1842, George, Ann, and their six children boarded the ship and set sail for America. George later wrote:

We are now launched on the bosom of the mighty deep, and sea-sickness has made the passengers for the most part very ill. My dear Ann is dreadfully affected with this nauseous sickness. . . . Yet I have never heard one complaint from her on her own account.[She] regret [s] . . . not being able to assist me in the care of the children.11

The days and weeks went by, and Ann only worsened. On October 28 she passed away. George wrote, “O God, how mysterious are Thy ways! Teach me resignation to Thy will!”12

Both George and Ann Quayle Cannon understood the promise “The Lord God will proceed to make bare his arm . . . in bringing about his covenants and his gospel unto those who are of the house of Israel.”13 George and Ann Cannon lived their lives keeping their covenant of baptism and looking to the promise of more covenants while carving out a future for their posterity.
What did they clearly understand about the covenant of baptism? What was it that drove George and Ann to come to America at all costs? They were simply doing what they believed to be the Lord’s will.

One day in 1862 Henry’s father sent his family some money, and Sister Roberts decided to take two of her children, seven-year-old Anne and two-year-old Thomas, with her on a ship to the United States. At the time, all members of the Church were encouraged to gather to Utah. Sister Roberts didn’t have enough money to take the whole family, so she decided to go to Utah and earn enough money to send for her other two children.
She arranged for some distant relatives to take care of twelve-year-old Mary, but they refused to take Henry, who was five. A husband and wife who were new members of the Church seemed to be good people. They didn’t have any children, and they agreed to be temporary guardians for Henry until Sister Roberts could send for him.
The husband was a stonecutter and thought Henry would be helpful in carrying the buckets of sand and water that were used in stonecutting. Because of the heavy buckets carried on his head, Henry’s head sank low between his shoulders. It wasn’t until he was an adult that his head and shoulders were once again in a normal position.
His temporary “father” was often out of work, and sometimes Henry and his guardians wandered from town to town, sleeping under hedges or in haystacks. They worked at odd jobs when they could, and sometimes they begged. Their only belongings were a Bible, a violin, and a bundle of ragged clothes. They spent many nights in inns, where the husband played the violin, and his wife and Henry sang ballads. Henry sometimes stood on a table to sing, then passed his hat around for coins.
His guardians fought with each other a lot, and sometimes they wanted to be rid of Henry. Once they decided to enlist him in the army as a drummer boy. The night before he was to go, Henry heard a calm voice tell him, “If you are enlisted as a drummer boy, you will never see your mother in America.”
He had promised her that he would go to Utah, no matter what happened, so he left the couple’s cold shack and wandered about for several days. He ate what he could find and slept in doorways and empty boxes. Finally he rejoined them.
While Henry was longing for his mother, she was thinking constantly of him and Mary. In Utah she worked long hours, sewing, tailoring, and making hats. After three years she had earned enough to send for her children.
But Henry could not be found! He was nine years old by the time Church leaders in England found him. On April 30, 1866, he and his sister Mary boarded the sailing ship John Bright with about seven hundred other Latter-day Saints.
The voyage was a mixture of terror and fun. Violent storms brewed at sea, lasting as long as three days. Other days were calm and cloudless. On those days the passengers sometimes sang, danced, and played games on the deck. Henry often played marbles with other children when the ship was steady enough for the marbles to stay in the ring. He and Mary ate food they had brought with them, such as bread and pickled fatty bacon that had turned green.
After the ship landed in New York on June 6, Henry and Mary still had a long way to go. They travelled to Nebraska by boat and train, often riding in cattle cars. The bedding and equipment sent by their mother were not waiting for them in Nebraska, so on July 13 they set off in a Church wagon train with only the clothes on their backs.
To make matters worse, Henry lost his wooden clogs when he crossed the Platte River. Not wanting to wait for the rest of the wagon train to reach the river, Henry got up early and left by himself—something he knew he was not supposed to do. When he reached the river about noon, he was tired and fell asleep. When he woke up, he saw the last of the wagons pulling up on the other side of it.
He shouted, and William Henry Chipman, the captain of the company, told him to swim across the river. Taking off his heavy coat and wooden clogs so he could swim, Henry plunged into the water. When the current carried him downstream, Captain Chipman rode his horse into the water. Henry grabbed a stirrup and held on while the horse swam across.
He was safe, but he had to walk across the remaining plains barefoot. His feet became black, hard, and cracked from the journey; blood often oozed from the cracks. Sometimes at night Mary cried in sympathy as she pulled spines of prickly pear cactus from his feet.
Near Fort Laramie, Wyoming, the Saints lost many cattle in an Indian raid and had little food, but a relief train from Salt Lake City kept them from starving.
When Henry and Mary entered Salt Lake City on September 15, 1866, it had been more than four years since they had seen their mother. Henry walked proudly at the head of the train, his clothes in tatters, his hair sticking out in all directions. In honor of the occasion, he was wearing a pair of boots, many sizes too large, that he had discovered in a burned-out pony express station.
His mother was nowhere to be seen. When the company halted for the last time, Henry sat on a crate in a wagon, heartsick, watching the happy reunions between loved ones. At last he saw a woman in a red and white plaid shawl approaching. He went to her and said, “Hey, Mother.”
“Is that you, Henry?” she asked. “Where is Mary?” Mary was hiding inside a wagon, ashamed of her ragged clothing. The family was finally reunited. However, there was sad news. During her journey to Utah, Sister Roberts had watched her baby, Thomas, weaken and die. She had buried him in a donated breadbox coffin along the way.
When Henry arrived in Utah, he couldn’t read or write, but he learned very quickly. Brigham, as Henry was now called, helped to support his family by farming, herding cattle, training horses, prospecting, mining, and blacksmithing. One night he and a friend shot a 550-pound (250-kg) grizzly bear. They sold the hide, and Brigham used his share of the money to help pay for his education at the University of Deseret (now the University of Utah). He finished his two-year course of study in one year, graduating in 1878 at the head of his class.
Brigham, or B. H. as he was often known in later life, went on to achieve great things. He served missions in the United States and Great Britain. He presided over the Southern and Eastern States Missions. He wrote many books, including the six-volume Comprehensive History of the Church. He became famous for his eloquence in preaching the gospel. He served in the First Quorum of the Seventy and was elected to the U.S. House of Representatives. The poor boy sleeping in doorways, yearning for his mother’s love, had grown into one of the most loved and respected men in the Church.

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.

As I walked down the fairway, thoughts of what had happened earlier in the round began to press in on my mind.
On the seventh hole of the junior golf tournament, my third shot had come to rest in the middle of the narrow fairway. I hit the ball. It sailed onto the green, took two bounces, and fell into the hole. My partner was impressed.
“Great shot. Is that a three?”
“Yes,” I had replied confidently. But I hadn’t really made a three. It had taken me four strokes to get the ball in the hole. But I thought one stroke wasn’t going to mean anything.
By the time I finished, I realized I had played the round of my life.
I headed back toward the clubhouse, adding my partner Joe’s scorecard as I walked.
At the scorer’s table, I handed Joe his scorecard, and he gave me mine. “You’re in first place,” he said.
I looked up at the scoreboard and thought, This score would put me in first place. Looking down at my card, I noticed the “3” I had given myself on the seventh hole was standing out like a neon sign. I could change it to a “4.” But I’m in first place by two strokes. That one stroke won’t make any difference, I thought.
I signed my name at the bottom of the card and handed it to the scorer. I watched with fascination as my name was placed at the top of the list on the giant scoreboard. I made my way to the pop machine. I was actually in first place.
While sipping on my soda, I sauntered over to the base of an elm tree, sat down against it, and began to think about what I had done.
In church, Scouting, and at home, I had been taught to be honest in my dealings with others.
I glanced again at the scoreboard. More scores were being posted. Then I noticed Fred Baker was only one stroke behind me. Now that one stroke I hadn’t counted meant the difference between undisputed first place and a tie.
Everyone cheats, I kept thinking. I remembered when Joe moved his ball to a better position when it came to rest in a bare spot of grass. Besides, no one will ever know what I did, I reasoned.
I again walked slowly to the scorer’s table and past the gigantic first-place trophy. “That sure would look nice in our family’s trophy case,” I mumbled to myself. As I walked past the trophy, I decided what I had to do.
“Can I help you, son?” the scorekeeper asked.
“Sir, I seem to have made a mistake on my scorecard. On the seventh hole, I made a four, not a three.”
“Have you already signed your scorecard?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said, knowing I would be disqualified for turning in an incorrect scorecard.
“I’m sorry, son, but you know the rule.”
“I guess I’m disqualified then,” I mumbled. Tears welled in my eyes.
“Yes, I’m afraid so. What’s your name? I’ll need to remove it from the scoreboard.”
“Jae Markham,” I said. I then stood by and watched as my name was scratched from the top spot.
That afternoon I slowly walked to the parking lot with my golf bag over my shoulder. The sun was bright and figures still dotted the course.
I looked back again at the first-place trophy, and somehow it didn’t seem so big anymore.

In the early ’90s, before Melbourne had a temple, our stake hired a bus once a month to take us to the Sydney Australia Temple.
In preparation, I would ensure my visiting teaching was done. One Tuesday evening before a Friday bus trip, my companion and I visited one sister. As we sat chatting, her husband came into the lounge, and I felt to ask him for a priesthood blessing.
In that blessing, he said that two of the sisters whose work I would do in the Sydney Australia Temple would come and thank me in the celestial kingdom, which of course, was very nice to hear.
The next day, I received a phone call and was told that the bus wasn’t going to the temple on Friday.
I thought, “Oh dear, what am I to do?” I rang my friend, Bev, who always went on the bus, and she confirmed that the bus trip was cancelled.
I suggested that we hire a little bus for a few of us to go, but she didn’t want to do that.
“What about these two sisters?” I thought, recalling the words in the priesthood blessing I’d received. “I have to get to Sydney somehow!”
I worked on Fridays for a lady who owned a home in Ivanhoe for people with special needs. I did a lot of cooking and was responsible for all the meals there, which needed to be served exactly on time. The day before we were meant to bus to the temple, 24 ladies were to have dinner at 5:00 pm. I needed to have them fed and everything cleared away by 5:25pm so that I could get to the travel agency and book my airline ticket to Sydney.
Throughout the day, whenever I had a chance, I kept ringing the travel agent hoping to secure a ticket but to no avail. Anne, the travel agent, said to me at one point, “Give up, Bev.”
Well! That was like waving the red flag at the proverbial bull!
I managed to clear the evening meal and ring the bell and by 5:25 pm, with my bag in hand, I was waiting at the front door ready to leave—then off I went in my car to the travel agency.
Fortunately, another client was booking an overseas trip, so the office was still open when I arrived at 5:35 pm. The agent who assisted me looked at the screen and said, “I don’t think you’re going to find a flight.”
I stood there, smiled, and waited, and then she said, “Hang on. There is still one left.”
I said, “Thank you,” paid for my ticket and raced out to my car to get to the airport as soon as I could.
I knew I was a little late getting to check-in. I apologized to the attendant and asked, “Am I okay?” She had a look, found that the plane was running 20 minutes late, then handed me my ticket and said, “Go to Gate 11.”
From the Sydney Airport, I needed to catch a train to my girlfriend’s house in Epping, which is not far from the temple. When I landed, I thought I might get a taxi to her place instead, but it was 11:00 pm by then and no taxis were available. I had to walk in the dark for nearly two kilometres.
When I finally arrived at her home, I saw there were no lights on I had to carefully make my way down the dark driveway, lugging my suitcase, one step at a time, to knock on the door.
My friend had thought I wasn’t coming because I’d forgotten to tell her about the mayhem I had been through, but all is well that ends well.
I was able to do the work for those two sisters, and I often think of the time when I will greet them in the celestial kingdom of God.

Illustrations by Ingrid Ochoa
I used to work at a camp where I helped campers rappel (or abseil) down a 100-foot cliff, a difficult and terrifying task for some. Most of them struggle with it for one reason: they lack trust. When rappelling, you need to trust your partners, the gear, the rope, the belay, and the carabineer. But most importantly, you need to trust yourself—or nothing can be accomplished.
Many people who approach the cliff come with wide eyes and shaking hands. But before they can scramble away in fear, I look at them and say, “Everything will be OK. I know you can do this. And I’m holding you up the whole way.” And when they make it to the ground, everyone cheers and hugs them, celebrating that they were able to conquer their fears.
During my time there, I realized something powerful: in order to overcome our fears, we need to place our trust in the Lord. Sometimes I get scared or lose trust in myself, but then I remember the rappelling wall at camp. I see myself turn away from the cliff’s edge, but it’s like I can hear the Savior calling to me, saying, “Trust me! I will guide you and encourage you the whole way down. I know you can do this.” Putting my trust in the Lord, I can make it through any trial or fear. It may be hard and scary, but I know the Lord is there, helping me along the way.

The year 1998 was a turning point in my life. During that year, though concerned about my studies, I decided to work part time after school to avoid my father. Our relationship had been tense for a long time, but it was now turning into hostility. The anger we both felt was ready to erupt.
Then a miracle changed our relationship. One night at work, two missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints paid a visit to one of my coworkers. They shared a brief message with him, and I listened casually to what they said. Curious to hear more, I accepted their invitation to listen to the discussions.
In the first lesson, I learned I could live with my family even after death. A sense of remorse concerning my relationship with my father filled my heart. I knew it was time to repair the damage. My desire for a happy and a forever family gave me the courage to speak to my father. At first he didn’t respond, but my fervent and constant prayers and my faith in God gave me the strength to keep approaching him. I knew as long as I did my part, Heavenly Father would do His.
Day by day, God answered my prayers. The misunderstanding between my father and me dissolved, and our hearts softened. God’s love overwhelmed me, and in three months I was baptized into the Church, becoming a member of the Hsin Ying Branch, Tainan Taiwan Stake. I still show my love to my father, just as my Heavenly Father did to me.

After reading “Kenny’s Christmas” in the December 2005 Friend, I felt sad that some children don’t get any toys for Christmas. I asked my mom if I could use the money I had been saving to buy a toy for a child who wouldn’t have any presents to open on Christmas morning.
We went to the store, and I bought some toys to put in the big box the store had to collect presents for children who wouldn’t get any. I felt really good that I had helped a child have a good Christmas, and I know that I followed Jesus Christ’s example.

I stayed out of the race for popularity for the first half of high school—not because I wanted to, but because I knew I wasn’t cool enough to compete. I would watch from the sidelines and tell myself, “Oh, popularity is such a waste of time,” but deep down I wished the “cool kids” would see me.
As time went on, I got tired of having a small circle of friends. So I decided to change the way I looked and acted, hoping to catch the attention of the “cooler” kids I wanted to be friends with. I significantly moved up the social food chain, but it came at a price—I made a lot of bad decisions to finally get noticed.
For a little while, it felt good to be popular! But it honestly didn’t take long for me to see that popularity was an illusion—the people I was surrounding myself with didn’t actually care about me. They were all just trying to win the social race for themselves.
I felt lonely even among my “friends,” and when I finally took a break from this pointless race, I realized how thin my connection to God had become.
I’m not the first person to fall into the popularity trap, and I know popularity is not the only trap Satan sets to distract us from building and maintaining our relationship with God. Money, possessions, and worldly obsessions are all things I’ve seen Satan try to lure us with. His goal is to slowly lead us away until we’re so far that we feel unforgivable and undeserving of even being children of God (see 2 Nephi 28:21).
But even when we can’t see it ourselves, Jesus Christ sees who we truly are. He says to us, “Thou wast precious in my sight” (Isaiah 43:4) and “Thou art mine” (Isaiah 43:1).
Sister Amy A. Wright, First Counselor in the Primary General Presidency, says, “Often the scriptures give only a small portion of someone’s life, and based on that portion, we sometimes tend to exalt or condemn. No one’s life can be understood by one magnificent moment or one regrettable public disappointment. The purpose of these scriptural accounts is to help us see that Jesus Christ was the answer then, and He is the answer now. He knows our complete story and exactly what we suffer, as well as our capabilities and vulnerabilities.”1
This message was a huge reminder for me that although I’d made big mistakes and had wandered from the path, Jesus Christ saw me where I was, loved me still, and had a way back for me.
I believe Heavenly Father saw me heading in the wrong direction during high school and reached out to me by inspiring my parents. They noticed that I wasn’t myself anymore and that a lot of the light I used to have inside was missing. So, my mom asked if we could start having one-on-one scripture study together every night. I agreed, even though I hadn’t personally studied the scriptures for a while.
At first it felt like reading a chapter each night wasn’t making much of a difference; however, after a few months, I looked back and realized how far I’d come in strengthening my connection with God. I noticed an increase in my baseline level of happiness, and it became easier to let go of those friends who weren’t good influences.
Refamiliarizing myself with the scriptures has been a great blessing. I especially love the story of Alma the Younger and his incredible change of heart (see Alma 36:6–24). In my scripture journal I wrote this about his story: “God freely forgives anyone who repents. All we have to do is reach out. Those who leave the path are welcome back as soon as they make an effort to return.”
I know now that changing ourselves for the popular things of the world can be tempting but can also take us away from the path that leads to true happiness. The only changes that will give us the sense of belonging and fulfillment we seek are the ones that strengthen our connection to Heavenly Father. Like Brother Bradley R. Wilcox, Second Counselor in the Young Men General Presidency, recently taught, Heavenly Father wants us to change in righteous ways because “God loves us as we are, but He also loves us too much to leave us this way.”2 I still have a long way to go to be the person Heavenly Father wants me to be, but I’m choosing to change because I love Him.

That brings us to the first category of trials we will consider: the tragedy that death can bring. Life ends early for some and eventually for us all. Each of us will be tested by facing the death of someone we love. Just the other day I met a man I had not seen since his wife died. It was a chance meeting in a pleasant social holiday situation. He was smiling as he approached me. Remembering his wife’s death, I phrased the common greeting very carefully: “How are you doing?”
The smile vanished, his eyes became moist, and he said quietly, with great earnestness, “I’m doing fine. But it’s very hard.”
It is very hard, as most of you have learned and all of us will sometime know. The hardest part of that test is to know what to do with the sorrow, the loneliness, and the loss that can feel as if a part of us has been lost. Grief can persist like a chronic ache. And for some there may be feelings of anger or injustice.

One who caught the spirit of this work was Wilford Woodruff, and his journal is full of memories and details. Wilford Woodruff is the man who wrote in a journal almost every day for sixty-three years, thereby producing perhaps the most important single historical treasure we have in the Church. Why did he keep the journal? Because the Prophet admonished him to. By my estimate, more than two-thirds of what we have of firsthand records of Joseph Smith’s discourses and counsels to his brethren would have been lost had it not been for Wilford Woodruff’s makeshift shorthand and then staying awake, often till past midnight, transcribing his notes into readable English. In that journal Brother Woodruff recorded the Prophet’s announcement that the Saints could be baptized for the dead in the Mississippi River prior to the temple’s completion, but that there would come a time when the Lord would accept that no longer. They would have to do it in the temple. This privilege was received with great joy, and people flocked to the riverside to be baptized on behalf of departed relatives and friends. Not understanding at first, they were baptized without regard to gender—men for both men and women, and women for both men and women—and without a recorder present. But with the benefit of further thought and revelation, the Prophet was able to put this right, so that things were done in order, witnessed, and properly recorded.

When I was preparing to go on a mission, I had an interview with my stake president—who was also my father. After telling him about some of my shortcomings, I anxiously awaited his response. Would he be angry? Would he be disappointed? But my dad simply looked at me. He didn’t lecture me. He didn’t shake his head in shame. He just looked at me and told me that he loved me. I felt the most incredible wave wash over me and my entire body tingled. At that moment, I felt more than just the love of my earthly father. I felt the pure and perfect love of my Heavenly Father. I left with the realization that if my imperfect, earthly father can love me despite my weaknesses, my perfect Heavenly Father loves me perfectly and always.

I hope you can print my letter because I feel it may help a brother or sister who is struggling to find faith. As our Sunday School class discussed “The Currant Bush” by Elder Hugh B. Brown [January issue], I realized that I have had the same kind of experience. Last fall I was working on Sunday, but I thought nothing of it because I needed the money. I got involved in school too and began to become inactive in church. Then I got an important part in our school play—the best part I ever had. I was thrilled. Rehearsals began and conflicts arose. I knew I would have to quit my job and let my schoolwork suffer because of the play. This did not really bother me because I had a great desire to be in the theater at any cost. Well, just then I got mononucleosis and had to withdraw from the play. I was out of school for months and also lost my job. At first I felt very bitter because I had wanted this part in the play. I felt much the same as Elder Brown. I am a junior, and I had worked for this good part since I was a freshman. I also had plans of being the star in my senior play.

My dreams were shattered, my life’s activity stopped. I had to stay home in bed. For a long time I felt bitter. But then one day as I was watching the sun, I knew this was not a curse but a blessing in disguise. I had more than eleven weeks to think and pray. It finally came to me that the Church was the most important thing in my life, not the theater or my job. Now I am well again and am back at church. Every day I thank Heavenly Father for pruning me so that I was able to start over. I realize now the importance of attending church. Perhaps others can learn this lesson less painfully, but I would not change a thing that happened.
Robynann McfarlandKeene, New Hampshire

Once I was arguing with my mom and felt pretty bad. So, I decided I would pray. Although I was in a bad mood and didn’t want to be spiritual, I knew praying would end up with me getting happy and less argumentative. So right there at the table, after my mom left, I started my prayer. “Dear Heavenly Father, I’ve come to you tonight because …”
No, I opened my eyes and unfolded my arms. That sounded weird. I tried my second attempt. “Heavenly Father, I need …”
That also sounded strange. Now that I think of it, the opening to my prayers had only one problem, and I am glad I tried again because I felt Satan urging me to stop and give up my prayer to ask Heavenly Father for help. “Dear Heavenly Father—”
Suddenly I had a prompting to say thank you! So I did, and all the many things I could thank my Father in Heaven for started spilling from my head. When I was done thanking Him, I then discussed the problem at hand. My prayer lasted 25 minutes. In the end I made sure to close in the name of Jesus Christ. After my prayer I felt a wonderful peace inside me, the warm spiritual feeling that I know our Heavenly Father and parents love me and that I am a child of God.

A few years ago, my wife and I served as a resource to a little inner-city branch of the Church. Our meetings were held in one of the most troubled neighborhoods of a large eastern city.
One Sunday, right in the middle of the branch sacrament meeting, a woman walked in the door off the street. A homeless woman, she was wearing dirty, ragged clothes, and she was coughing, choking, and blowing her nose into a filthy handkerchief. In a loud, hoarse voice, she said, “I want to sing! I want to pray!” and walked right to the front row, sat down next to a member who was wearing a white blouse, leaned against her, and laid her head on her shoulder. The member immediately put her arms around this guest and held her in her arms throughout the remainder of the meeting.
It happened that the speaker had been talking about the parable of the Good Samaritan as the woman came in. As this woman coughed and choked, the speaker continued telling of the parable. As he came to the end of his talk and was quoting a relevant scripture, suddenly, in a loud voice, this homeless woman finished giving the verse that the speaker had begun.
In talking of this after sacrament meeting with the speaker, we thought it had probably been a long time since someone had affectionately put an arm around our visitor. We wondered what better illustration you could have of the parable of the Good Samaritan than what we had just seen, and we were reminded of the Savior’s words that preceded His telling of that parable, “Thou shalt love … thy neighbour as thyself” (Luke 10:27).

Five young women and their leaders from the Bucharest Romania District, along with a nonmember friend, took part in the Church’s first Young Women camp in Romania from August 24 to 26, 2009. District Young Women president Dina Cojocaru led the camp with the help of senior missionaries Elder Don and Sister Edie Van Noy.
The girls and leaders held morning and evening devotionals, studying the scriptures together every day. Elder and Sister Van Noy taught workshops on topics such as virtue and how to give effective talks in church. In another workshop, the girls learned about modesty and dressing fashionably while still maintaining integrity.
Alina Mateescu, one of the young women, said she had wondered what it takes to be a virtuous young woman, but through the workshop on virtue she felt assured she could become the exemplary woman of integrity God wants her to become.
Romania, a country in southeast Europe, has about 2,736 members in 17 branches.

Let me share a quote by Elder Robert D. Hales about this kind of humanitarian organization. He was talking about the interactions between parents and children, but think of this instead as a handbook of how you might extend humanitarian offerings to the broader human family.
I desire to encourage parents and all who are called to lead and serve the youth of this world. . . .
. . . As a father and grandfather, . . . may I share some of what I have learned. . . .
. . . To truly understand [young peoples’] hearts, we must do more than just be in the same room or attend the same family and Church activities. We must plan and take advantage of teaching moments that make a deep and lasting impression upon their minds and hearts. . . .
. . . Mothers and fathers, as you drive or walk children to school or their various activities, do you use the time to talk with them about their hopes and dreams and fears and joys? Do you take the time to have them take the earplugs from their MP3 players and all the other devices so that they can hear you and feel of your love? . . .
. . . I remember as a young man asking permission to play baseball through dinnertime. “Just put my meal in the oven,” I said to my mother. She responded, “Robert, I really want you to take a break, come home, be with the family for dinner, and then you can go out and play baseball until dark.” She taught all of us that where family meals are concerned, it’s not the food but the family interaction that nourishes the soul. . . .
For our interactions with youth to truly touch their hearts, we have to pay attention to them just as we would pay attention to a trusted adult colleague or close friend. Most important is asking them questions, letting them talk, and then being willing to listen—yes, listen and listen some more—even hearken with spiritual ears! Several years ago I was reading the newspaper when one of my young grandsons snuggled up to me. As I read, I was delighted to hear his sweet voice chattering on in the background. Imagine my surprise when, a few moments later, he pushed himself between me and the paper. Taking my face in his hands and pressing his nose up to mine, he asked, “Grandpa! Are you in there?”
Mother, Father, are you in there? Grandpa, Grandma, are you there? Being there means understanding the hearts of our youth and connecting with them. And connecting with them means not just conversing with them but doing things with them too. . . .
I ask the Lord’s blessings to be with the parents and with the youth . . . , that they will understand the joy it is to be in a home and family where they can be loved, directed, and guided. It is my prayer that we may have eternal families and be together forever in the presence of God the Father and His Son, Jesus Christ.11

Suddenly there’s a dozen LDS girls she hardly knows at her bedroom door, and they’re giving her plates of cookies and smiling big, toothy grins.
“Why don’t you come to our church Sunday?” someone asks and they all nod and smile some more.
She grins back and wonders when they’ll leave.
But they don’t. They talk and laugh and eventually she realizes they’re not so obnoxious. She starts to catch their enthusiasm. And she begins to wonder if this is what it’s like to be LDS? Is it always fun? Her father was LDS once. She’d heard things about the Church, but …
DarLynn Hawkins, 14, is sitting on the couch between Amy Van Camp and Erica Egli, both 14. This is Amy’s house, north of Chicago, in a town called Gurnee. And as the girls explain, Gurnee is a quiet place, famous for only two things—its immense factory outlet stores, and its spectacular junior high school band (which, as a matter of fact, the girls all play in).
DarLynn’s a Church member now. And that all began one evening about a year and a half ago when Amy and Erica convinced their Beehive class to crowd into DarLynn’s room. It started then; it just didn’t start perfectly.
“It was really weird,” says DarLynn. “We’d just moved here and I didn’t really know anyone, and all of a sudden here were all these girls asking me to come to church. I mean I knew Amy and Erica from school band …”
“But we didn’t like each other,” Erica adds. They all laugh.
“No, we weren’t best friends or anything,” says DarLynn. “I thought they were snobs.” They laugh again. “Just kidding, but I did think I was being rushed at first.”
Amy admits that maybe they were pushy. But, as she points out, there are no instructions to follow when you want to talk to a friend about the Church, and every now and then you make a mistake. “We’d heard her father was a member once. Erica and I just got the feeling she might need the Church in her life. The standards of the Church are so high that it helps you through the tough times.”
When Erica and Amy sensed DarLynn was uneasy, they slowed things down. They became closer friends with her during a school band trip, gave her a copy of the Book of Mormon (she read parts during the summer), and invited her to Church activities (which made her more comfortable with the other members). Eventually, Amy and Erica gained the courage to ask DarLynn if she’d like to have missionaries visit her home.
Erica says it wasn’t that easy getting up the nerve to ask DarLynn such an important question. “You have to conquer the fear. We were afraid that if she didn’t accept it, it would hurt us because it means so much to us. I was afraid she would laugh at the lessons or think they were soooo boring.”
But DarLynn said yes. “And everything the missionaries said was so interesting. They really got through to me and made it fun. There was a time in every discussion where I’d almost cry. Then during one discussion the missionaries asked me to read, ponder, and pray. I did that night, and the Spirit was there. It was so cool. I started to cry, and I just knew the Church was true.”
DarLynn’s parents had watched her careful study of Church teachings, and when she asked for their permission to be baptized they were happy to give it.
While there are no rules to follow when talking to a friend about the Church, there is one common mistake many make—going to places or doing things you know are wrong with the idea you will have your friend come to a Church activity next time.
Not too bright, says DarLynn. “When I was in the sixth grade, I wanted to try everything—smoking, drinking, everything. Then I got to know Amy and Erica, and they were strong in the Church and I thought that was really cool. It made me want what they had. We wouldn’t be as close now if they had followed me and had done the things I wanted to do back then.”
And if Erica and Amy had not been examples to DarLynn, they would have missed a great ending. Erica says, “I’ll never forget …” and Amy joins in, “DarLynn’s baptism!”
“It was the best feeling as we watched DarLynn being baptized because we helped her find the truth,” Erica continues. “You could see how happy she was. After she had changed clothes, she came out and said, ‘I’m perfect, and you’re not!’”
“I was kidding,” says DarLynn.
They all laugh again—a trio in perfect harmony.