Gospel Story Finder

Hi! My name is Juan Bautista, and I’m from Argentina. I shine my light by sharing the gospel.
My best friend Facundo and I have known each other since we were five. We both love football! I invited him to a lot of Church activities.
Once when Facundo was having dinner with us, he asked, “Why does your family always pray?” I said it’s because Heavenly Father blesses us, and this is how we thank Him. He was amazed!
Facundo came to a family home evening when my brother Benjamin was getting ready for baptism. Facundo felt the Spirit, and he asked if he could get baptized too! My father then talked to Facundo’s parents.
The missionaries taught Facundo’s family. Then Facundo and his sister Augustine both got baptized! His parents come to church, but they haven’t been baptized yet.
Facundo asked my mom if he would ever know as much as I do about God. She smiled and said that if he studies his scriptures and prays, he could learn even more!

In October 1981, Sister Renlund was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. She underwent two surgeries and nine months of chemotherapy. Struggling to take care of Ruth and their daughter, Elder Renlund recalls, “I was hurting, and it seemed as if my prayers wouldn’t go heavenward.”
When he brought Ruth home from the hospital, she was weak, but they wanted to pray together. He asked Sister Renlund if she would pray. “Her first words were, ‘Our Father in Heaven, we thank Thee for priesthood power that makes it so that no matter what happens, we can be together forever.’”
In that moment, he felt a special closeness to his wife and to God. “What I’d previously understood about eternal families in my mind, I now understood in my heart,” Elder Renlund says. “Ruth’s illness changed the course of our lives.”
To take her mind off the illness, Sister Renlund decided to attend law school. “I just thought, ‘This will only be a bad experience unless we make something good of it,’” Sister Renlund says. “It wasn’t in our plan for me to have cancer as a young woman and have only one child. And my survival was in doubt. But we felt like law school was the right thing.”
She pursued her studies even as she continued treatment for her illness and her husband continued his residency.
As Elder Renlund was transitioning from three years on the medical house staff to a cardiology fellowship, he was interviewed to be the bishop of the Baltimore Ward. Brent Petty, who was the first counselor in the Baltimore Maryland Stake at the time, remembers that interview. Both he and the stake president, Stephen P. Shipley, felt “the strong influence of the Holy Spirit” as they interviewed him.
Brother Petty recalls that “he distinguished himself as a superb bishop,” even with the professional and family challenges he was experiencing. When Elder Renlund received his call to the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles last year, Brother Petty notes that members of the Baltimore Ward as well as Elder Renlund’s medical colleagues, most of whom are not Latter-day Saints, were pleased. They expressed their love for him and their admiration for his service and exceptional moral character.
In 1986, after Sister Renlund graduated from the University of Maryland School of Law and Elder Renlund completed his three-year internal medicine residency program and three-year cardiology fellowship, they returned to Utah. Sister Renlund began practicing law at the Utah attorney general’s office, and Elder Renlund became a professor of medicine at the University of Utah. For 18 years he was the medical director of the Utah Transplantation Affiliated Hospitals Cardiac Transplant Program.
In 2000 he also became the director of the Heart Failure Prevention and Treatment Program at Intermountain Health Center in Salt Lake City. The program included implantable cardiac pumps and the total artificial heart. Donald B. Doty, M.D., an internationally recognized heart surgeon, was a colleague and friend of Dr. Renlund at LDS Hospital. Dr. Doty says, “His remarkable training, in-depth focus, capable administration, and compassion were exceptional.”
Dr. A. G. Kfoury, a devout Catholic who worked closely with Dr. Renlund for many years, states that Dr. Renlund was the lead transplant cardiologist in the region, “unmatched in his character, integrity, humility, and compassion.” He says Dr. Renlund “brought out the best in people. He did it quietly. He listened well and cared, and he was immensely interested in the success of those who worked with him.” Dr. Renlund led quietly by example and was always concerned about the families of his co-workers.
Dr. Kfoury particularly noted Dr. Renlund’s compassion for patients. For example, if a patient didn’t have means of transportation, Dr. Renlund would drive significant distances to the patient’s home, lift him or her into his car, and then drive the patient back to the hospital. Dr. Kfoury said this was extraordinary.
After serving as stake president for five years in the Salt Lake University First Stake, Elder Renlund was called in 2000 to serve as an Area Seventy in the Utah Area. Then in April 2009 he was called to be a General Authority Seventy. His first assignment was to serve in the Africa Southeast Area Presidency, an area that has Church units in 25 different countries.
Sister Renlund shares their response to the calling: “It was a surprise, of course. And people have said, ‘You’re leaving your careers at their peaks.’ And that’s probably true. But if the Lord needs the peak of our careers and this is when we can be of service, then that’s the time to go.”
Speaking of his wife as his hero, Elder Renlund says, “She made the greater sacrifice.” Sister Renlund left her job as the president of her law firm and left positions on several prominent boards to serve with him. “We were sent to Africa and tutored by the Saints about what really matters,” says Elder Renlund.
One Sunday in central Congo he asked the members what challenges they were facing, but they couldn’t think of any challenges. He asked again. Finally, an old gentleman in the back of the room stood and said, “Elder Renlund, how can we have any challenges? We have the gospel of Jesus Christ.” Reflecting on that experience, Elder Renlund explains: “I want to be like these Congolese Saints, who pray for food every day, are grateful every day for food, are grateful for their families. They have nothing, but they have everything.”
Serving in the Area Presidency for five years, Elder Renlund traveled thousands of miles through the vast Africa Southeast Area, visiting members and missionaries. He studied French because it is spoken in several of those countries.
Elder Jeffrey R. Holland, who was the member of the Twelve assigned to work with the Africa Southeast Area Presidency at the time, says of Elder Renlund: “No one could have invested himself in the area and its people and their needs more than Elder Renlund did. He labored unceasingly to know the people, to love their cultures, and to help move the Saints toward a place of redeeming light.”
On September 29, 2015, he received an unexpected call from the Office of the First Presidency. At the Church Administration Building, “I was welcomed warmly by President Thomas S. Monson and his two counselors. After we were seated, President Monson looked at me, and he said, ‘Brother Renlund, we extend to you the call to serve as a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles.’”
Elder Renlund was stunned. He humbly accepted the calling and recalls, “I think President Monson sensed that my bones had dissolved, and so he looked at me, and he said, ‘God called you; the Lord made it known to me.’”
Elder Renlund returned to his office, closed the door, and fell to his knees in prayer. After collecting himself, he called his wife. “Her reaction was one of astonishment,” he says, “but of absolute commitment to the Lord, His Church, and to me.”
Their daughter, Ashley, acknowledges, “My dad has excelled because of the blessing of heaven and has been prepared by a lifetime of service for this call. He has a big heart; it is full of love.”
Similarly, Elder Renlund’s brother, Gary, says Elder Renlund “was prepared from a long time ago, both by challenges and by service for the call that has come to him. This is part of the larger plan that is in place, and it is easy for me to sustain him.”
Reflecting on the magnitude of the calling, Elder Renlund says, “I don’t feel qualified, with the exception that I do know that Jesus Christ is the Savior of the world. I can witness of His living reality, that He is my Savior and your Savior. I know that that’s true.”

I would not say that I had no goals before I was baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. But I can say that my life had no clear direction. I sometimes felt as if I were walking in darkness, not really knowing which way to go.
Like most other 19-year-olds in Saint Petersburg, Russia, I hoped to someday get married, have children, and live happily ever after. Still, I wouldn’t say that I exactly knew how to achieve this goal—especially the part about living happily ever after.
But Heavenly Father knew. He knew that before I could attain real happiness, I needed to place Him and His Son at the center of my life. I started to learn how to do this not long before my 20th birthday when the missionaries began to teach my family about how to find happiness through living the commandments.
After we met the missionaries, it didn’t take long for me to know what to do. I prayed and knew that if I wanted to meet my life’s goals, I needed to be baptized a member of Jesus Christ’s Church.
Following my baptism, I was ostracized by some friends and family members who couldn’t understand why making this choice to follow Heavenly Father’s plan was so important to me. Despite this, I was happy. I knew He was comforting me by allowing me to go through these trials with peace.
By the time I turned 21, I had a strong desire to testify of the truthfulness of the gospel and share with others how resolving to live the commandments had changed my life, so I became a missionary. It felt wonderful to share with people what had happened to my life from the time I decided to put the gospel first.
My life has been full of blessings since that time. Eight years ago I was able to enter the temple and reach my goal of getting married. However, instead of only being married, I was sealed to my husband for eternity.
Over the last several years, my goal of becoming a mother has also been fulfilled. I have been blessed with three wonderful sons.
Not long ago my family and I had the opportunity to visit a temple open house. As we walked through the temple, our four-year-old son looked at me and said, “Mom, because you and Dad got married in the temple, our family is going to be together forever.”
I feel blessed and humbled to think of the last decade of my life. I am on my way to achieving my goal for a “happily ever after,” thanks to the fact that I turned my life to my Heavenly Father and to Jesus Christ. As long as I place Them at the center of my life, I know I can achieve my goals. I know that Heavenly Father and the Savior love us and want to help.
Would you like to share how Jesus Christ has touched your life? We welcome accounts of your gospel experiences and insights relating to the Savior’s ministry and mission. Possible topics might include the Atonement, grace, healing, hope, or repentance. Please limit submissions to 500 words, label them “We Talk of Christ,” and send them to liahona@ldschurch.org.

Joseph F. Smith was the first president of the Church to visit Europe. When John Ruothoff, a young boy with failing eyesight, discovered that President Smith would be visiting in Holland, he said to his mother, “The Prophet has the most power of any missionary on earth. If you will take me with you to the meeting and he will look into my eyes, I believe they will be healed.”
After the meeting President Smith lifted John’s bandages, looked into his eyes, blessed him, and promised him that he would see again. Later at home when the bandages were removed the boy cried out, “Mama, my eyes are well; I cannot feel any more pain. I can see fine now, and far too.”

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.

Second, pay your tithing to rightfully claim the blessings promised those who do so. “Prove me now herewith, saith the Lord of Hosts, if I will not open you the windows of heaven, and pour you out a blessing, that there shall not be room enough to receive it.” After she lost her husband in the martyrdom at Nauvoo and made her way west with five fatherless children, Mary Fielding Smith continued in her poverty to pay tithing. When someone at the tithing office inappropriately suggested one day that she should not contribute a tenth of the only potatoes she had been able to raise that year, she cried out to the man, “William, you ought to be ashamed of yourself. Would you deny me a blessing? If I did not pay my tithing, I should expect the Lord to withhold His blessings from me. I pay my tithing, not only because it is a law of God, but because I expect a blessing by doing it. [I need a blessing.] By keeping this and other laws, I expect to … be able to provide for my family.”

I can’t list all the ways that blessings will come from obedience to this principle, but I testify many will come in spiritual ways that go well beyond economics. In my life, for example, I have seen God’s promise fulfilled that He would “rebuke the devourer for [my sake].” That blessing of protection against evil has been poured out upon me and on my loved ones beyond any capacity I have to adequately acknowledge. But I believe that divine safety has come, at least in part, because of our determination, individually and as a family, to pay tithing.

When I was a boy, my family had a small farm with cows and hayfields. Growing up on a farm was hard work. Also, I had bad allergies, and the dust from the hay sometimes made me sick.
One hot summer day, my brother and I were working in the field. The wind was blowing hard, and there was a lot of dust in the air. My eyes were watering. It was hard to breathe. My nose even started to bleed because I’d rubbed it so much.
When my mother came out to the field and saw me, she told me to come inside the house. She had me lie on the couch with a wet cloth on my face. A few minutes later, she came back with two farmers in overalls.
The farmers were members of our ward. They placed their hands on my head and started to give me a blessing. My dad wasn’t a member of the Church then, so he didn’t hold the priesthood. But I’ll never forget the feeling I had as those men blessed me. It was warm, peaceful, and calming. And I didn’t feel so sick anymore.
Later in life, I realized that feeling was the Holy Ghost. The Holy Ghost is sometimes called the Comforter. I like that name because it was the Holy Ghost that brought me comfort. It made me feel better on the outside and on the inside.

Illustration by Joshua Dennis
After getting my children off to school, I began thinking about the rest of the day. I had many things to do, but I had to work the night shift at the hospital, so I had limited time. I could work in the yard, work on a quilt for my nephew’s birthday, or exercise. Then I remembered a quote from President Ezra Taft Benson (1899–1994):
“When we put God first, all other things fall into their proper place or drop out of our lives” (“The Great Commandment—Love the Lord,” Ensign, May 1988, 4).
“Scriptures it is!” I thought. I sat at my desk and continued my scripture study from the day before:
“Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth, where moth and rust doth corrupt, and where thieves break through and steal:
“But lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven … .
“For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also” (Matthew 6:19–21).
“Where is my treasure?” I thought. Next to my scriptures were four names from my husband’s family that I had recently taken to the temple. My husband’s parents were the first in their families to join the Church. I had spent the past two years working on my late father-in-law’s line. I decided to go to FamilySearch to see if the ordinances were recorded as complete.
I looked at the temple icons along his line. To my surprise, several names I had prepared for sealing ordinances had not been recorded as complete. I must have misplaced the cards, and the sealings had not yet been done! As soon as I reprinted the names, a distinct thought came to my mind, “Now you can go about your day.”
I felt peace knowing I had put the Lord first. He helped me prioritize what was most important. Enjoying my family in the eternities is definitely what I treasure most. I know that if I put God first, all other things will work out for my spiritual benefit and for the benefit of others.

A small green lizard darted in and out of the crevices in the crumbling old stone pier that jutted out into the Red Sea. The hot, glaring desert sun made its body glisten. The lizard stopped suddenly, and its yellow eyes watched Abu Ibn (son of) Hassan putting his catch of five fish into the net bags that had been slung over the sides of his donkey. He had caught three kanad, a type of mackerel, and two small hamur, which looked like sea bass.
Abu hoped these fish would help his father get more money at the suq (marketplace) in town ten miles across the Saudi Arabian desert.
For a few moments Abu stood beside his donkey and listened to the tinkling sound of small bells coming from the village, a tiny gathering of stone houses for fifty-two fishermen and their families. Every family owned a donkey, and every donkey except Abu’s had a bell on a thong tied around its neck. Abu’s father had a large family to feed. There never was any extra money for a bell. Abu dreamed of the day when his father would sail home with his dhow (boat) stacked high with fish. Then there would be money for a bell—maybe even a brass bell.
When Abu arrived home, his mother and sisters were full of news.
“We have a new fisherman in the village,” his mother told him.
“He owns a camel,” one of his sisters said.
“Yes, he must be rich!” another sister added. “His name is Rathman, and he is building a house. He doesn’t seem to have any family, but his new house will be bigger than any around here. He brought men from the town to help him.”
Abu ran outside and kept running until he came to where the new house was being built. The workmen were already putting up the walls. The floor would be dirt, and the roof would be made of thatched date palm leaves.
“Is-salaam alaykum (Peace be upon you),” Abu greeted one of the workmen.
“Wa-alaykum is salaam (And upon you be peace),” the workman answered.
Abu was impressed with the size of the new house. He was about to step inside when a harsh voice shouted, “Boy, get to where you belong! Don’t bother the workmen!”
Abu turned and met the angry eyes of Rathman. He had a great hooked nose, a thin-lipped mouth, and his legs and arms looked like old, dried sticks. Abu ran for home. His tobe (a long, shirt-like garment) hindered him, so he pulled it above his knees. His red kaffiyeh (headdress) fell off, but he didn’t stop to pick it up.
It was weeks before the excitement caused by the coming of the new fisherman subsided. Rathman’s dhow was the largest at the stone pier. His camel delivered his fish to the suq earlier and fresher than anyone else’s fish. It was learned that he was a friend of the sheikh (leader of the tribe) who lived in the big town.
Unlike the bells on the donkeys, which rang together and sounded like music in the village, the bell on Rathman’s camel was large, and it clanked and clunked when the beast moved. The camel held its head high, as though it was too proud to look at the lowly donkeys. Each time the fish were taken to the market, the camel would race past the donkeys, carrying not only a bigger load of fish but also Rathman on its back. The donkeys would have to plod along, trying to avoid the sandy dust that the camel kicked up. The fishermen walking beside their little animals would have to listen to Rathman’s mocking laughter.
At the pier, Rathman crowded his fishing dhow into the best place. He walked around the village as though he were a sheikh himself.
One evening Abu’s father told his family some bad news. “Rathman has ordered that the bells be taken off all the donkeys.”
“Why?” Abu’s mother asked.
“He said that the sound of our donkey bells keeps him from hearing his camel bell,” Abu’s father explained.
“But, Father, the men are not going to do it, are they?” Abu asked.
“They must,” his father said, “or Rathman may go to the sheikh, and the sheikh could punish us.”
The next day the bells were taken off the donkeys. The village was a sad and silent place. For weeks nobody sang or laughed. All that could be heard was the ugly sound of the camel’s big clanking and clunking bell.
Then one day after Rathman took his fish to the suq, he was late getting back to the village. The people saw him walking home across the desert without his camel.
One of the fishermen found enough courage to ask what had happened. Later he told Abu’s father, “Rathman’s camel stepped on a stone and fell. It strained a muscle and refuses to move.” The fisherman started laughing. “Rathman smells awful. The camel got angry and spat on him!”
All the villagers treated Rathman’s trouble as a big joke. Rathman stayed in his house, but he could hear the people laughing. Nobody offered to help him.
Abu felt sorry for him and spoke to his father about it. “Shouldn’t we try to help Rathman get his camel back to the village?”
“After the way he has treated us?” his father asked.
“But we are taught to be good to our enemies,” Abu said.
His father looked at him with a worried frown, then walked away.
Early the next morning Abu loaded his donkey with a bag of water and a bag of hamdh bushes for the camel. A few villagers looked curiously at the goatskin bags as Abu started through the village.
There were no dunes between the village and the town. At this time of the year the flat sand was abloom with zahra hamra, a beautiful pink flower. Abu enjoyed walking among the blooms while looking for Rathman’s camel. When he found the injured animal, Rathman was sitting beside it. The man didn’t speak to Abu, even when the boy started to feed and water the camel.
Suddenly Abu saw a long line of donkeys coming toward them from the village. When the fishermen and the donkeys arrived, Abu saw that the donkeys were hitched together and that they carried ropes and an old dhow sail.
“I told the men what you said—about being good to our enemies,” Abu’s father told him.
After tying the camel’s legs together, the men maneuvered it onto the sail and dragged it back to the village.
Rathman didn’t thank them, and the fishermen grumbled a little. Then, a week later, they found a small basket full of new donkey bells in the middle of the street. On top was a solid, shining brass bell marked, “For Abu.”

But her children had not forgotten her, either. Susan, only seven at the time of the separation, ran away when she was eleven and sought refuge with a Mormon family, hoping to find a trace of her Mormon mother. The baby was already dead; another daughter would die a few years later. But about 1870, a missionary met Susie Williams and mentioned her to the Yates family in Scipio. With so fragile a clue, mother and daughter were reunited in Utah.

My second story centers around Great-Uncle Grover, who lived in a house out in the country, far from the city. Uncle Grover was getting very old. We thought our sons should meet him before he died. So, one afternoon, we took a long drive to his humble house. We sat together to visit and introduce him to our sons. Not long into the conversation, our two young boys, maybe five and six years old, wanted to go outside and play.
Uncle Grover, hearing their request, bent over with his face in theirs. His face was so weathered and unfamiliar that the boys were a little scared of him. He said to them, in his gravelly voice, “Be careful—there are a lot of skunks out there.” Hearing this, Lesa and I were more than startled; we were worried that they might get sprayed by a skunk! The boys soon went outside to play as we continued to visit.
Later, when we got in the car to go home, I inquired of the boys, “Did you see a skunk?” One of them replied, “No, we didn’t see any skunks, but we did see a black kitty cat with a white stripe on its back!”

Beep! Beep! Beep!
I slipped my hand from underneath the warm cover and gently tapped the alarm clock. Since I had received that old clock as a Christmas present years ago, that same, resounding “beep” became the clue to start each day of my life. Today, though, my new life was beginning, and the sound of the clock became the introduction to the course my life would follow.
As I sat up on the edge of my bed, I stared at my old clock. A friend had given it to me, and I smiled as I thought of Rebecca. Only a short 18 years ago, Rebecca and I had been born three days apart in the same local hospital. She lived two houses down, and I remember vividly the many times we would play together in the neighborhood park.
Some days, we became world-famous explorers. Other days, Rebecca was transformed into the fairest of all princesses, and I, of course, became her knight in shining armor. Most days, though, I would teach Rebecca about the chirping noises the robins made in spring, the sound of the lawn mower trimming the summer grass, or the rustling sound of blowing leaves in fall. She was always full of questions.
“Rebecca, the red bird,” I would say, as I flapped my arms and pointed to the treetops, “sounds like this.” Then, I’d chirp as loud as I could. Rebecca would laugh with delight as she witnessed my performance; then she’d brush two of her fingers across her nose a few times to tell me I was funny.
I laughed, too, then began my next impression of the water flowing beneath the bridge.
“Water sounds like this,” I’d explain. Then, moving my hands in a wave formation, I’d curl my lips and create a loud gurgling noise. “Do you understand, Rebecca?” I was proud of my ability to conjure up various noises and became a sort of maestro of noisemaking.
Rebecca would smile and bring her forefinger close to her head, then move it up and down to show she understood. In my mind, I set Rebecca apart from the other girls because she didn’t communicate like everyone else did. But she was my favorite because she made me feel comfortable and needed. She taught me to enjoy the simple things of life, and out of those small things, to find the great things within. Rebecca was deaf, but that alone didn’t set her apart. She was also a Mormon, and at school, I saw the Mormon kids as such a life-loving people. Something about them and about Rebecca intrigued me.
I smiled as I thought about our friendship and all those days we’d spent together in the park. Sometimes I felt like her protector, especially when the other kids teased her about her hearing aids or how she used her hands to talk. My role of “knight in shining armor” became real when I’d rescue Rebecca from her tormentors.
The past didn’t seem so distant now. Just after entering high school, I went to the annual Christmas concert in the town square. Rebecca had asked me to go with her family.
As we sat listening to the familiar carols and arrangements, I studied Rebecca’s mother with envy. Because she was Rebecca’s interpreter, she would sit in front of the audience and use sign language to illustrate the music. Her facial expressions melted from one emotion to the other helping Rebecca to actually “hear” the meaning of the songs. And although at the time I didn’t realize it, I, too, “heard” a distinct voice as the choir sang about the Christ child that night.
The clock flashed to 8:43. I grabbed my towel and stumbled to the shower, still thinking about the days after that Christmas concert. Until a few months ago, there was a time when I refused to allow Rebecca to be a part of my life. As high school activities began, I was so involved with the basketball team, student council, and trying to be “cool” that Rebecca no longer was a priority. I occasionally joined with the other kids, ridiculing and tormenting my old playmate behind her back. Sometimes, Rebecca would wave across the lunchroom, but I’d pretend I didn’t see her, turn, and walk the other way.
Throughout the next three years, Rebecca sometimes invited me to church dances, firesides, or to summer youth conferences, but I never accepted her invitations. I always felt like I had an image to uphold, and being seen with Rebecca would destroy that. The differences that had attracted me to her when we were young were the same differences that kept me away from her now.
My friends would tease me, “So, Rebecca asked you to another church thing, huh, Drew? When she uses her hands to talk, she looks like a bird ready to take off the runway. She’s so weird.”
The whole crowd would laugh, and on the outside I would laugh, too, but, in my heart, I knew Rebecca wasn’t weird. Yet my integrity weakened, and my “shining armor” lost its sparkle.
My clock flashed to 9:32. I concentrated on what had taken place during the past few months. During the spring of our senior year, Rebecca invited me to her church worship services, but this time, I couldn’t come up with a ready excuse, so I consented to go. I recollect that day in the hall.
“Drew,” Rebecca yelled as best she could at me.
I was about to continue down the hall, but something told me to turn back and talk to her. I had “heard” this voice before at that Christmas concert. The strangest feeling pulled me back to talk to Rebecca.
She greeted me with her warm, enthusiastic smile, and using her hands in various gestures, she asked me to a sacrament meeting. “Drew, I teach little children, and I taught them a song that I think you’ll like. Will you come with me Sunday?”
“Um, well, I …” I stammered.
“It’ll only last an hour, and I promise, I’ll never ask you again,” she tried speaking while her hands created each word.
“Well, I guess I can go, but I don’t …” I tried to conjure up another excuse, but a powerful feeling of “Drew you need to go” overwhelmed me.
“Great!” she grinned. “I’ll pick you up at 10:45.”
When we were younger, I had gone to church with Rebecca, but it had been ten years since I’d been inside a chapel. I remember that following Sunday well. Rebecca promptly rang the bell at 10:45, and within 15 minutes, I was sitting in the middle section of the chapel waiting for sacrament meeting to begin. This week would be the Primary program, and Rebecca’s CTR class had a special part.
Through the prayers, announcements, and sacrament, I kept feeling that same strange sensation I had encountered in the school hallway and at the Christmas concert, and I puzzled over the joy and warmth that the congregation seemed to create. These people really enjoy being here, I thought.
After a few talks and scriptures, it was finally Rebecca’s turn. She marched to the front with five eight-year-olds trailing her heels. She looked like a mother duck with her ducklings. They took their positions, and the melody of “Teach Me to Walk in the Light” seeped from the piano. My heart began to pound as the children formulated the words with their tiny hands. They grinned from ear to ear as they followed Rebecca’s slow and cautious signals. Then the song ended, leaving the chapel in complete silence. A flood of memories filled my mind, and I felt at peace as when I used to play with Rebecca. The feeling of being needed was back.
After the meeting, I approached Rebecca to ask her about the meeting, the song, and the strange feeling I was experiencing.
“You did a good job. Those kids are amazing,” I said while trying to sign the words I knew. It had been quite a long time since I’d talked with Rebecca in her language. She beamed.
“Could you come to dinner?” she asked. “Then I will explain more about the Church.”
I agreed. I truly wanted to know why I was feeling this way. After all, I hadn’t felt like this since that Christmas concert years ago, and now, suddenly, Rebecca asked me to church, and the feeling was back and I wanted to know why.
I went to dinner and met Elder Dial and Elder Burningham for the first time. They immediately became two of my best friends, and my friendship with Rebecca began to strengthen again. Through months of study, discussions, going to church, and praying, I decided to join the Church, and last night, my decision became reality as I dressed in white, went into the water, and was baptized. Now, I “hear” that familiar voice, and my friend and confidant Jesus Christ is always with me as I do my part.
At school, my integrity began to blossom, my rusting armor gleamed again, and my friendship with Rebecca was as strong as when we were younger. My friends eventually softened their hearts and began including Rebecca in our circle. She started teaching them various signs, and throughout classes and in the halls, this became our secret code.
For years, I felt sorry for Rebecca because she couldn’t hear the sounds I heard, but when it came to what was truly important, she had full hearing, and I was the deaf one trying to find the true voice to follow. When I began meeting with Elder Burningham and Elder Dial, along with Rebecca’s testimony, I received my “hearing aids” through scripture study and prayer. Ultimately, my “hearing” began to improve. Last night, I received the most precious of gifts when my spiritual ears were restored.

When Uncle Palacios announced he had chosen Simon to live in Caracas with him, the Bolivar children looked hopelessly at each other. They knew now that other relatives would take Simon’s older brother and his two sisters. It was bad enough to be separated from each other, but they did not want to leave the white-pillared mansion in the beautiful Aragua Valley, Venezuela, that had always been their home.
Father had died when Simon was only six, but his mother had insisted that the children stay together on the large estate, where its cocoa trees, herds of cattle, and copper mines were taken care of by the thousands of slaves owned by the family. Now, three years later, their mother was dead too, and so the relatives had met to decide who should be responsible for each child.
The house of Uncle Palacios was stiff and formal, and the strictness of the cowled monks who came to teach Simon there was frightening.
Simon missed the river, filled with fish, that flowed through the green valley of his home. He missed the sloping hills and the cool little summer-houses hidden among the trees where he had played. But sometimes it seemed to him that more than anything else he missed having a horse and the freedom to ride it that he had enjoyed all his life.
Uncle Palacios was good to Simon and grieved over the unhappiness of his rich and lonely little nephew. So after a year or two he dismissed the stern monks and hired an exciting young man, Rodriguez Carreno, to live at the house and be a companion and a teacher to Simon.
Rodriguez threw away the dull books Simon had been studying and announced that together they would learn about life and living. He was quick to see the sparkle of interest on the boy’s face, and he caught the longing in Simon’s voice when he talked of the home and horses he had had to leave. The next day the new teacher said, “Among other subjects, I intend to teach you something about the anatomy of animals. We will include the horse. Therefore, we must have a horse stabled in the garden to study and to ride.”
Simon learned much from Rodriguez. He was shocked and hurt when he was told that, in spite of the Bolivar family’s wealth and their high place in Venezuelan society, they were looked down on by their Spanish rulers because they were people of native birth, even though they were of European descent.
He found this to be true when at sixteen he went to live with some of his wealthy and titled relatives in Madrid, Spain. One morning very early, as he was riding his horse on the hills outside of Madrid, he was surrounded by mounted police who told him that because he was a Creole, he would not be allowed to wear his costly jewels and fine clothing.
Simon left Madrid a few days later and went to France. There he was called Prince Bolivar by his friends, who with him enjoyed parties and pleasure. His old companion-teacher Rodriguez expressed disapproval of the way his former student was living and insisted that he and Simon go on a walking tour through Italy. They talked of many things as they walked—of governments, the French revolution, the needs of people, and the ideals of freedom.
One day they stopped to rest on the green hillside overlooking the ancient city of Rome. Simon Bolivar suddenly stood up, stretched out his arms, and said in a solemn voice, “On my life and honor I promise most faithfully not to rest until I have freed America of her tyrants.”
Simon gave up his carefree ways and returned to Venezuela.
The beautiful Bolivar estate outside of Caracas had been taken over by the government, and Simon was left without money or friends. But he had a magnetic personality and soon was able to persuade others to join him in the cause of freedom.
He gathered around him men of various nationalities, soldiers who had only ragged uniforms and odd bits and pieces of civilian clothing to wear. Their powder and bullet pouches were roughly made out of cattle hide, and their muskets and bayonets were almost worn out. Most of the men were bareheaded; on their feet they wore clumsy leather sandals. The discomfort of the humid heat of the jungles through which they traveled was equaled only by the shivering cold of the high Andes Mountains, where the half-frozen and hungry men gasped with exhaustion as they labored across the volcanic peaks and the mighty glaciers.
They met defeats that would have seemed complete disaster to most armies, but Simon Bolivar would somehow manage to hold his men together, to attract others to join them, and to almost miraculously secure funds. Because of his brilliance and his dedication, he was able to lead the army to startling and unbelievable victories. These men knew that they had to defeat the Spanish forces or die, and they did not want to die—nor to let their country remain in bondage.
Because of personal sacrifices and in spite of unbelievable odds, Bolivar’s army won independence for Venezuela and Colombia. On October 3, 1821, Simon became president of Colombia.
By the time he was forty-three many of his dreams had become glorious realities when he was also named president of Venezuela, Ecuador, and Peru. Soon afterward he learned that certain provinces in Peru wanted to break away from the rest of the country, so arrangements were made for them to do so, and Simon Bolivar became president of these united provinces too. They were named Bolivia in his honor.
Although there were many problems, heavy responsibilities, and much heartache, Simon never deviated from the vow he made to his old teacher on the hills above Rome. Twenty years later Rodriguez received a letter of appreciation:
“You may have followed with curiosity my steps in the path you traced out for me. You opened my heart to freedom and justice. You would hardly believe how deeply your teachings are graven on my heart.”

Until last year, Danny had a hard time communicating. Even those close to him had a hard time understanding his speech. But now Danny talks with his eyes—well, with a laser that’s attached to his glasses. Using the laser, Danny can activate keys on a small, talking computer. Now that he’s able to communicate more easily, collecting fast offerings becomes as easy as pushing a button.
“Hello. I’m from the Church. Do you have any fast offerings today?” When the envelope is returned to him, Danny pushes another button, and the electronic voice says, “Thank you!” He’s also used his new voice to give talks and bear his testimony.

In 1994, President Howard W. Hunter invited all members of the Church to “establish the temple … as the great symbol of [our] membership.” Later that same year, construction on the Bountiful Utah Temple was completed. Like many, we were anxious to take our young family to the open house prior to the dedication. We labored diligently to prepare our children to enter the temple, praying earnestly that they would have a spiritual experience so that the temple would become a focal point in their lives.
As we reverently walked through the temple, I found myself admiring the magnificent architecture, the elegant finishes, the light shining through towering windows, and many of the inspiring paintings. Every aspect of this sacred building was truly exquisite.
Stepping into the celestial room, I suddenly realized that our youngest son, six-year-old Ben, was clinging to my leg. He appeared anxious—perhaps even a little troubled.
“What’s wrong, Son?” I whispered.
“Daddy,” he replied, “what’s happening here? I’ve never felt this way before.”
Recognizing that this was likely the first time our young son had felt the influence of the Holy Ghost in such a powerful way, I knelt down on the floor next to him. While other visitors stepped around us, Ben and I spent several minutes, side by side, learning about the Holy Ghost together. I was amazed at the ease with which we were able to discuss his sacred feelings. As we talked, it became clear that what was most inspiring to Ben was not what he saw but what he felt—not the physical beauty around us but the still, small voice of the Spirit of God within his heart. I shared with him what I had learned from my own experiences, even as his childlike wonder reawakened in me a deep sense of gratitude for this unspeakable gift from God—the gift of the Holy Ghost.
In teaching our six-year-old son, Ben, I thought it important to differentiate between what he was feeling, which was the influence of the Holy Ghost, and the gift of the Holy Ghost, which he would receive after baptism. Before baptism, all honest and sincere seekers of truth can feel the influence of the Holy Ghost from time to time. However, the opportunity to receive the constant companionship of the Holy Ghost and the fulness of all the associated blessings is available only to worthy, baptized members who receive the gift of the Holy Ghost by the laying on of hands through those holding the priesthood authority of God.
As I reflect back on my experience with Ben in the Bountiful Utah Temple, I have many sweet feelings and impressions. One clear recollection is that while I was absorbed in the grandeur of what I could see, a small child near my side was recognizing the powerful feelings in his heart. With a gentle reminder, I was invited not only to pause and kneel down but also to heed the Savior’s call to become as a little child—humble, meek, and ready to hear the still, small voice of His Spirit.

The second element is further demonstrated in this entertaining piece from the chronicler Francisco Dávila’s writing in 1598:
“They say that anciently the world was to be destroyed, and it happened like this: as one Indian tied up his llama in a good pasture … the llama talked to him, saying: ‘Loco, what do you know, or what do you think? Understand that I am worried, and with good reason. You should know that in less than five days the sea is going to swell and burst open until only it covers the whole earth … you must take refuge on the summit of the mountain Vilcacoto.’ Carrying his belongings on his back, and taking his llama on a leash, the Indian arrived at the summit of the indicated mountain where he found many diverse animals and birds huddled together. … The waters rose until only the summit of this Vilcacoto was not covered. … Finally the waters rose so high that some of the frightened animals were almost in it. The fox, for instance, was close to the water, waving his tail in the waves, which is the reason why the fox’s tail is black at the tip. And at the end of five days, the waters began to recede and the sea returned to its former place, even lower than it had been before, and thus the entire earth was cleansed of people except the Indian referred to.”10

The File on Cindy
Cindy was a bright, hyperactive girl of fourteen who began, on occasion, to be quite emotional. It became increasingly hard for her to make and keep friends. She had a hard time getting along with others in school. She became unfriendly and hostile toward her parents. She started avoiding people and worried at great length about little day-to-day situations. She said she wanted to get out of the rat race. Her parents were fearful that she was experimenting with drugs.
The cases of Jerry and Cindy are true. They don’t know each other, but they do have something in common: Both of them are young Latter-day Saints who were having troubles. But today they are secure about themselves. Jerry has found new confidence in himself, which makes him feel good about his home life and school activities. He is planning on a mission. Cindy has developed a warm relationship with her family and even enjoys talking to her parents. In fact, she has helped some of her friends with their problems.
There is one other thing that Jerry and Cindy have in common. Both were helped tremendously in overcoming their problems by meeting with their bishops, who in turn through the stake president brought into the setting some professionals from the Church’s Social Services Department.

The accident happened while I was riding home after a soccer game in a town south of Santiago, Chile. My younger brother had played for one of the teams, and while my parents waited for him, I went ahead on my bicycle. My eight-year-old cousin asked if he could go with me. I set him on the bar of my bike and took off.
As I pedaled, I felt a twinge of guilt. The night before, after celebrating the triumph of my own team in another local game, I had become intoxicated. At 18 years of age, I wasn’t doing much with my life.
The wind buffeted our faces, and my cousin shifted uncomfortably. As he did so, one of his feet caught between the tire and the bike frame. The bike flipped forward, and I hit the rough asphalt face first. When I touched my face, I thought my nose was damaged beyond repair.
Fortunately, my cousin was fine. My parents arrived shortly, then a police officer, and finally an ambulance. I was taken into surgery, where they stitched up part of my nose and placed some tissue on my forehead. After a few hours of observation in the hospital, I was sent home. That night I experienced intense pain that kept me from sleep.
The following night the pain was even worse. Finally, exhausted from the intensity of the pain, I fell asleep. In a frightening dream, I seemed to see myself lying on the bed with my arms folded over my chest—the only position I found comfortable. Then I saw a dense vapor of darkness and felt a hand pulling me toward it. Terrified, I struggled to get free.
Suddenly I saw my younger brother at my other side, pulling me away from the darkness and into the light. But his help was not enough; I became desperate and cried out. As I did, I woke up. My father came in to calm me. The pain came back, and for the first time in my life, I saw my father cry.
I was moved into my parents’ room, next to Mama. Mama and my brother had been baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints a few months before, and I had seen how much she loved the Book of Mormon. She read to me from it as I fell asleep again.
Almost immediately, I had the same dream. This time when my brother started to pull on my arm, I understood the significance of it. The darkness represented the world in its fallen state, and my brother represented the gospel and a life of hope—the life he wanted for me. I knew I had fallen into bad habits. I had not opened my heart to what the missionaries taught us, and I had never prayed to find out if what they taught was true. At that moment, I promised my Father in Heaven I would be baptized.
I woke up crying. Mama cried too and prayed for me.
The pain continued the following day, and Mama asked the missionaries to give me a priesthood blessing. After that, I began to get better. Throughout my recovery, my desire to be baptized grew stronger.
I began to receive the missionary discussions again, and this time I opened my heart. I did not yet have a great deal of gospel knowledge—but the dream, combined with my mother’s faith and the priesthood blessing, helped me know God loved me and had provided a way for me to obtain eternal life. I took an important step toward that goal on the day I was baptized.
I used to think I had plenty of time to worry about finding the true Church, if it existed. But the accident helped me understand that we must not postpone making good choices.

It was in a sacrament meeting that I came to better appreciate the power of a mother’s teaching. A young returned missionary, Clint Jordan, was telling us about his mission and of the variety of experiences he had had in sharing the gospel.
But then he said something that made me more than just a casual listener. “I really wouldn’t have had any of these experiences,” he said, “if my mother hadn’t taught me the real value of prayer.”
He continued, “I can still hear my mother’s voice telling me over and over again, ‘Clint, there’s no reason to be afraid. Whenever you are alone or you begin to feel afraid, remember that your Heavenly Father is always with you.’”
Gathering my children together after the meeting, I could still feel the power of that testimony. A mother’s example, and the example of her son, gave me greater resolve to instill that same understanding of prayer in the hearts of my small children.

One day I sat on the school bus near two brothers. They started singing a song I hadn’t heard before. A few of the words were about the Holy Ghost, but they weren’t very nice. I started to feel sick. Later, just thinking about the song made my stomach hurt. After school, I told my mom about it. She thought it was possible that I had misunderstood what the boys were singing about. She told my dad, and we decided to talk to the bus driver about it.
The next morning, the three of us talked to the bus driver. We explained that the boys were singing a song that made me feel bad. My mom said that maybe I had not heard exactly right. The driver seemed concerned and said that he would ask the boys about it.
That afternoon, when I came home, my parents were waiting at the bus stop. The driver got out after me. He told my parents that he had talked to the boys. They said that they had heard the song on a CD but they hadn’t been using the words that were bad. Then they admitted that they really had been singing the bad words. The bus driver said that he felt that the song’s words really were bad and that the boys could not sing it on the bus anymore. They haven’t, and I’m very glad. Now I don’t feel awful inside every time I ride the bus.Aubrey Fitzgerald, age 6West Linn, Oregon