Gospel Story Finder

One of the strongest recollections I have of being a missionary is how close I drew to the Lord through the practice of regular prayer. In my day the mission home was located on State Street in Salt Lake City. It was a large house that had been converted to a missionary training center. It had large dormitory rooms with perhaps as many as 10 beds in a room. We checked in on Sunday night.

The week before I entered the mission field was an exciting time. There were a lot of parties and farewells. I am afraid that I was not properly rested and prepared for the training I was to receive at the mission home. As the evening of our first day in the mission home came to a close, I was weary. While waiting for the other missionaries to prepare themselves for bed, I stretched out on my bed and promptly fell asleep. My sleep, however, was interrupted by a feeling that I was surrounded. As the fog of sleep lifted, I heard the words of a prayer being said. I opened my eyes, and much to my surprise I found all the elders in my dormitory room kneeling around my bed, concluding the day with a prayer. I quickly closed my eyes and acted as if I was asleep. I was too embarrassed to get out of bed and join them. Even though my first experience with prayer as a missionary was an embarrassing one, it was the beginning of two wonderful years of frequently calling upon the Lord for guidance.

Throughout my mission, I prayed with my companion each morning as we began a new day. The process was repeated each night before we retired. We offered a prayer before we studied, a prayer as we left our apartment to go out tracting, and of course special prayers when special guidance was needed to direct our missionary work. The frequency of our appeals to our Father in Heaven gave us strength and courage to press forward in the work to which we had been called. Answers would come, sometimes in astonishingly direct and positive ways. The guidance of the Holy Spirit seemed to be magnified the more times we appealed to Heavenly Father for direction on a given day.

I will never forget my first visit to West Africa in 1986. The Saints came to our meetings in great numbers. Though they had little in terms of material possessions, most came dressed in spotless white clothing.
I asked the stake president how he cared for members who had so little. He replied that their bishops knew their people well. If members could afford two meals a day, no help was needed. But if they could afford only one meal or less—even with family help—bishops provided food, financed from fast offerings. Then he added this remarkable fact: their fast-offering contributions usually exceeded their expenses. Surplus fast offerings were then sent to people elsewhere whose needs exceeded theirs. Those stalwart African Saints taught me a great lesson about the power of the law and the spirit of the fast.

What the power of the Spirit can communicate beyond the meaning of words is clearly seen in an experience of Brother Peter Mourik, real estate director for the Church in Europe. He met with city officials, including the mayor, to negotiate the purchase of the former city hall. If it could be purchased, it was to be converted into a meetinghouse for the Church. The mayor of the neighboring German town was also present, inasmuch as a recent change in the boundaries involved both communities in the transaction.
The gentleman who introduced Brother Mourik to the mayors and officials did so in a spirit of levity. He said, “I want to introduce Mr. Mourik here, who represents this denomination … this sect … this group.” He finally got around to saying “This church.”
Then Brother Mourik raised his hand and said, “Mr. Mayor, I object.”
The mayor answered, “The meeting hasn’t even started. What are you objecting to?”
Brother Mourik replied, “Before we start, I’d like everybody to understand who and what it is I represent. I represent The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, the only true church upon the face of the earth today!”
This statement incited laughter. Then the mayor said to the gentleman introducing Brother Mourik, “You’d better be careful what you say about this church!”
Brother Mourik thought that this had settled the preliminaries. But the mayor of the smaller town spoke up and said, “I would like to say something about this church. We have leased a schoolhouse to them for over two years. I have found them to be a very beautiful people. I go to the swimming pool on the school grounds quite often. One night I found a special gathering of their church members near the pool. They were holding a baptismal service. I sat quietly at the rear of the group and watched. They sang a hymn. I thought it was beautiful. Then someone prayed, and when he said ‘Amen,’ they all said ‘Amen.’ I was impressed with that. Then a teenage girl got up and spoke about what Christ and the Church meant to her. She was moved to tears. I, too, was deeply moved. I was further moved by the heartwarming sincerity, the oneness and spiritual unity of these people. When I went home, I said to my wife, ‘Let’s get more information about this church. We need to find out more about it.’”
When the mayor concluded, Brother Mourik said: “Mr. Mayor, you would make a good bishop in our church,” and they all laughed again.
But the feeling in the meeting had changed profoundly. The Spirit of the Lord was there and was speaking to the hearts of those present. So Brother Mourik was impressed to say, “Since the mayor has explained to you what our church is about, I’m sure now you understand why we need to purchase the building at the lowest possible price.”
The Church bought this choice piece of property at a very greatly reduced price. This was accomplished because Brother Mourik had the courage to bear his testimony. This testimony was accompanied by the power of the Spirit, which inspired the mayor to speak and which communicated a favorable conviction about the Church to the city officials. What the Spirit communicates to the hearts of men is beyond the power of words to portray!

I didn’t have a lot of friends when I was 15. Or at least that’s the way it seemed. I really wanted to fit in, but most of the time I felt like an outsider.
One warm Sunday morning I shoved my hands in my pockets, ducked my head, and started walking to sacrament meeting. I heard a car behind me but didn’t pay any attention until it pulled up next to me at the curb. It was a classy, bright red outfit. I was surprised that I knew the driver. It was a guy I’ll call Tom.
I’d known Tom most of my life. He was a natural leader. His parents were active, and he usually went to church. We didn’t hang around together at school because Tom ran with a crowd that didn’t think much of me. Tom was athletic, good looking, and popular. I was surprised that he bothered to stop.
“Hey,” Tom said, “where are you going?”
“To church,” I answered awkwardly. “Where did you get the wheels?”
“It belongs to my cousin,” Tom smiled, patting the steering wheel. “He lets me use it.”
I stepped back for a better look. The red car was sleek and shiny, and the engine rumbled like an earthquake. There was music playing that sounded like a live band in the back seat. I hoped Mom would let me drive her rusty clunker when I got my license, but “the green box” was as ugly as a soup can. I shook my head and sighed hopelessly.
“Do you want to go for a ride?” Tom offered.
I was stunned. “Sure,” I said, “but I can’t be gone very long. I’ve got to set up the sacrament.”
“Let someone else do it,” Tom sneered.
I believed my priesthood responsibilities were important, but here was a chance to spend time with someone popular. No one would care if I was late, and I was sure the sacrament would get done without me.
“All right,” I agreed. “Where are we going?”
Tom smiled. “I promised the girls a ride. Jump in. We’ll find them and look up some fun.”
When I realized the offer was more than just a ride around the block, my stomach flopped and my mouth filled with cotton. A thousand thoughts filled my head. This could be my big chance! The girls Tom knew were popular and pretty. If I showed up with him, there was a chance they might like me. It could mean a whole new image. And yet …
Tom’s face clouded over. “Are you coming?” he demanded.
I tried to answer, but the noise I made sounded like I was strangling. I couldn’t seem to move my feet.
“I guess you’re scared,” he concluded as he jammed the car into gear. “Well, it won’t take me long to find someone else.”
Tom punched the pedal and took off like a shot, leaving a patch of rubber to remind me what a fool I was. I stood and stared after him with my mouth open.
“He’s right,” I told myself miserably. “I am scared.” I felt terrible. “Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!” I muttered, kicking the curb so hard my toes hurt.
I went to church, but I couldn’t pay attention to the meetings. I was sure that Tom would never ask me to ride with him again (I was right) and that he would tell everyone what a geek I was (right again).
After the meetings I went straight to my bedroom and beat up my pillow. Church had cost me a chance to be with Tom and his cool friends. I felt sick about it and called myself names until I couldn’t think of any more. Finally I went to sleep just to get away from myself.

Some may prefer to serve while still living at home. After a stroke left Aase Schumacher Nelson (no relation) confined to a wheelchair, she feared her lifelong desire to go on a mission with her husband, Don, would not be fulfilled. Then a neighbor talked to them about his Church-service mission at a bishop’s storehouse. Encouraged, they talked with a supervisor at the facility, completed their recommendation forms, and were called to serve for two days a week at a storehouse near their home.
“It’s easy to just lay back and think, ‘Oh, I’m not needed anymore,’” Aase Nelson says. “But now I feel that I am needed. And that’s been a testimony to me.”

The first meeting I attended was a fast and testimony meeting. I came late, and as I walked into the chapel, a young woman was crying and talking about how the gospel helped her with her problems. After listening to her and to some of the other members, I realized that all of them had problems. They weren’t perfect, and they knew it. But I could also see they had something strong inside them. Their faith in God was helping them. With that kind of faith, I thought, maybe I could overcome my problems, too.

Maike Adler:
“I grew up as a member, but about the time I was 14, I had to decide how committed I was—which way my life would go. Would I go with my friends to the parties they kept inviting me to, or would I go to seminary? I talked to my parents, and I prayed. I gained a testimony, and I knew I had to go to seminary.
“Without the Savior, my whole life would be totally different—my friends, my values. I wouldn’t know why I’m here. There are a lot of people with advice, but the values and morals of the world change and shift. If I’m built on something that’s not firm and it shifts, I have to rebuild every time. You have to have something unchanging to build on. Christ never changes. His right is always right. You can lean on Him. He never lets you fall.”

As a young man I was offered an appointment to the United States Naval Academy. This was an honor and a real temptation. However, in my early life I had definitely decided that I would like to go on a mission, and I could now see that if I accepted the Naval Academy appointment I probably would not be able to serve as a missionary.
After prayerful consideration I declined the appointment, as I felt it was the will of the Lord that I go on a mission. Soon thereafter I received a call to serve in the Eastern States Mission.
I will be eternally grateful for the call I received, because it was in the mission field that I learned to love the gospel, learned the power of faith, and felt the happiness and peace that come when one is responsive to the whisperings of the Holy Spirit. The pattern I set in the mission field has been a guide to me throughout my life.
My mission president, Brigham H. Roberts, in his letter of release to me, promised me that I would “find new beginnings from time to time … even more missions.” As I left the mission field I prayed fervently and at length that this promise might be fulfilled. Twenty-four years later it was partially fulfilled when I was called to be the stake mission president of the East Mill Creek Stake. At that time Elder Gordon B. Hinckley was president of that stake, and also at that time President Harold B. Lee gave me a beautiful blessing as he set me apart.
Four years later it was further realized when I was called to preside over the Northwestern States Mission. And one of the choicest and most inspiring experiences of our lives was when Sister Richards and I spent approximately ten days with President and Sister Lee in touring our mission.

I heard a recent experience that reminded me of such love. When all Church meetings were suspended due to the COVID-19 pandemic, a ministering brother accepted an assignment from his elders quorum president to bless and administer the sacrament to a sister he ministers to. When he called her to offer to bring the sacrament, she accepted reluctantly, hating to take him out of his own home in such a dangerous time and also believing that things would quickly return to normal.

When he arrived at her home that Sunday morning, she had a request. Could they walk next door and also have the sacrament with her 87-year-old neighbor? With the bishop’s authorization, he agreed.

For many, many weeks, and with very careful social distancing and other safety measures, that small group of Saints gathered each Sunday for a simple sacrament service. Just a few pieces of broken bread and cups of water—but many tears shed for the goodness of a loving God.

In time, the ministering brother, his family, and the sister he ministers to were able to return to church. But the 87-year-old widow, the neighbor, out of an abundance of caution, had to remain home. The ministering brother—remember that his assignment was to her neighbor and not even to this elderly sister herself—still to this day quietly comes to her home each Sunday, scriptures and a tiny piece of bread in hand, to administer the sacrament of the Lord’s Supper.

His priesthood service, like mine that day in the care center, is given out of love. In fact, the ministering brother recently asked his bishop if there were others in the ward he could care for. His desire to magnify his priesthood service has grown as he has served in the Lord’s name and in a way known almost exclusively to Him. I don’t know if the ministering brother has prayed, as I did, for those he serves to know of the Lord’s love, but because his service has been in the Lord’s name, the result has been the same.

Sometimes temptation to let down her standards can be almost overwhelming, especially when a cherished goal comes in sight. Like the time Jenny was invited to meet with well-known disk jockeys from a major radio station—on a Sunday.
She wanted so much to be there, supporting her hospital team and meeting influential people, possibly improving her career opportunities. Workmates kept pressuring her to go. But she refused, at the same time explaining her feelings for the Sabbath.
“I felt awful letting them down,” she says, “but I’d have felt even more awful letting myself and Heavenly Father down—and my workmates, too, because eventually they would have seen me as a bad example.”

One day I showed Peter to my friend who played the part of Jesus in the pageant. His name was Brother DeLaMare, and all the kids in the pageant loved him. I showed him the frog Peter Whitmer, and he really liked him.

When Brother DeLaMare was dressed in his costume and beard, he looked just like I think Jesus would. Sometimes when he was acting his part, I saw tears in his eyes and on his cheeks. He was a real good “pretend Jesus,” and he was my friend. I was in the scene with him where Nephi sees the vision of Christ blessing and teaching the people. My friend Lynne and I were two of the little children that he blessed. After we knelt down and he touched our heads, he blessed a sick child who was brought to him on a stretcher.

Someday I will meet the real Jesus. He won’t be dressed in a costume. I don’t know what He’ll be wearing, but I know that when I look into His eyes and see His kind face I will remember Him and He will remember me. This makes me happy!

Do you ever wish that you could have a perfect friend? The kind of friend who is always caring, friendly, polite, and understanding? The kind of friend who brings out the best in you? Maybe it’s what you think about most when you feel like you don’t have any friends, much less perfect ones. Dreams of a perfect friend are great if you’re somehow not invited to go to the party that everyone else has been talking about all week, or if you’re sitting home alone while your best friend, your sister, and even your mom and dad are out on dates. With a perfect friend, you’d never be lonely, or bored, or left out.
Youth in Louisville, Kentucky, might feel that way sometimes, but not right now. Right now they’re at youth conference, and, instead of thinking about themselves, they’re thinking about other people. Lots of other people. Children who need their help, their love, and most of all their friendship.
These teens are doing a three-day service project providing most of the volunteer support for the Spina Bifida Association of America’s yearly children’s program being held at a hotel in downtown Louisville. The program is a sort of day camp for children with spina bifida—a birth defect that affects spinal cord development. Their siblings are also invited to attend while their parents attend workshops on spina bifida. Most of the kids have leg braces, crutches, or wheelchairs, so for the Latter-day Saint youth it means three days of hard work, patience, and, hopefully, fun.
Eighteen-year-old Annie Poulsen knows that the art of making new friends requires plenty of supplies—art supplies, that is. Several months before youth conference, Annie began to gather markers, scissors, and glue from local businesses as part of a Laurel project. When the conference began, Annie and all the other volunteers used the supplies she gathered to cut, color, and paste different projects.
“Here in the art room, everybody is sitting down,” says Annie. “We’re all coloring together and having a good time. You don’t even think about the fact that some of us are in wheelchairs.”
In another room, Natalee Norton is up to her elbows in shaving cream. The infants and toddlers she has been assigned to help are too young to do the art projects that Annie helped coordinate, but they’re plenty old enough to enjoy making a mess. After a few minutes of mucking shaving cream around a large table, Natalee and the other kids and volunteers hold up their foam-covered hands, stare for just a moment, and then laugh, some of the kids making faces and holding their hands up like monster claws.
“This is really fun,” says Natalee, as she heads for the sink to rinse off. “I didn’t think it would be this much fun.”
This is John Draper’s last youth conference. In the fall he heads to college at George Washington University. As a youth director for this very busy conference, he’s going out with a bang.
“The main goal of this conference is that the children and their parents will be able to feel the love of the Savior through us,” says John. “It’s a challenge, but I think we can accomplish it.”
And that feeling, that focus of sharing Christlike love, not only to the conference participants, but to each other as well, is evident in every group and at every activity.
“We sometimes give the boys in our ward a hard time,” says Mia Maid Rochelle Neal. “But today I got to see a little different side to them, playing with all the kids and having a great time. They were all really great.”
Austin Latchaw didn’t know much about spina bifida before this conference began. He still probably couldn’t tell you much scientific information about it, but he knows that it has made it difficult for his new friend, eight-year-old Jay, to use his legs.
“Jay has a really good attitude about everything,” says Austin. “He came all the way from Indiana with his family to be here, and he just makes friends with everyone. It’s hard for him to walk, and a lot of these kids have to use wheelchairs, but they are happy anyway—very happy. It makes you feel good just to be around them.”
Michael Draper, a teacher, found a buddy on the basketball court.
“I played a lot of ball with my new friend Chris today,” he says. “At first I think we both felt a little awkward since we didn’t really know each other. But by the end of the day, he was my friend.”
Since the youth of the Louisville stake go to several different schools and live fairly far from one another, youth conference is one of the few times all year that they get to spend a sustained amount of time with each other. Their time together is precious. When their volunteer work is done for the day, they gear up for evening sports, games, or dancing. There’s not a lot of sleeping (they can do that when youth conference ends), but no one seems tired. In fact, after a whole day of pushing wheelchairs, playing children’s games, and standing in the sun, these youth seem energized.
“I wasn’t sure I wanted to come to youth conference,” confides 15-year-old Rebecca Eve. “I thought the days would be long and boring, but now I don’t want it to end. This is a once-in-a-lifetime experience.”
There’s a good feeling at the conference, and it seems to be contagious. Even people assigned to less exciting jobs—like serving as runners for the nurses’ station or guarding a large staircase to ensure that no one goes tumbling down it in a wheelchair—seem to be having fun.
“I thought these kids would need a lot of help,” says Mia Maid Ashley Holmes. “But really, we are just here to talk to them and be their friends. Since we’re actively involved with what’s going on the whole time, it’s a lot of fun, just as much fun as a regular youth conference, if not more.”
Since the SBAA hosts its annual conference in a different city each year, it’s not likely that it will be held in Louisville again for a long time. Chances are, most of these participants and volunteers will never see each other again. With the activities winding down, the youth want to give their new friends one last memorable experience.
On the last day of the conference all the children and their parents gather in the hotel lobby for a special goodbye. The youth have prepared a song called “We Are the Hands of Heaven” to leave a final, spiritual message. The song has been carefully prepared and rehearsed, complete with two flute players and someone “singing” the words in American Sign Language. The piano begins and the voices start out strong. But then someone looks out into the crowd and sees the smiling face of a new friend, looking up intently from where she is seated in her tiny wheelchair. Tears begin to stream down a few cheeks, then a few more, and finally hardly anyone is left with dry eyes. The song, still beautiful, is sung more softly than in rehearsal. No one seems to mind.
When the song ends, one little girl rushes toward two of the volunteers and says, “You made my eyes water!” A little boy moves his crutches as fast as he can to catch up with two priests. “Here’s my address,” he says a little shyly. “Will you write me?”
As the youth leave the hotel for the last time, some smiling, some a little teary, the atmosphere is quiet. There are lots of things to think about.
There’s a dance tonight, a ’50s theme dance which everyone will dress up for. Later, there will be a devotional. Tomorrow morning, a testimony meeting. It’s all pretty much the same as any youth conference, but they feel just a little different. It’s been a unique three days.
And as they are thinking about all the new friends they’ve made and all the old friendships they’ve strengthened, they may briefly think about that perfect friend. The one who always knows just what to say, the one you can always count on.
Perhaps they’ll never find that perfect friend. But after the last three days maybe, just maybe, they’re a little closer to being one.

Fu Bi Hsia sprinted the last block to her home in a small Taiwanese village. The August sun poured out of the blue-glass sky, and the humid air covered her body like a hot heavy blanket. To escape the heat, she ran through the warm grass and along the edge of the benjo (open ditch) where an old woman was beating her clothes clean against a large rock.
Reaching her home, Bi Hsia paused in the front yard to look for her goose, Goldie. A few of her mother’s pigs snorted and rolled in the dirt, her father’s water buffalo lay partway in the benjo, and a stray dog nipped at her heels. But Goldie was not in sight.
Goldie and all the goose’s brothers and sisters had been purchased at the market on Bi Hsia’s ninth birthday. Over a period of many months, they had all been used for food—all except Goldie. Bi Hsia kept Goldie for a friend. They went on long walks together, clucking their way past rice fields and through ditches, walking barefoot in cold puddles, and chasing barking little dogs down narrow alleys. She had given her goose an American name, because America was so big and far away and because she believed that everyone who came from there was rich and important. Goldie was important too.
Bi Hsia bounded through the gate and up the stairs to her home. “Mother!” she called.
The two-room house was made of concrete. The main room (the living-sleeping area) was bare except for a few chairs, a television, and some rice-straw mats. These were rolled out at night and used for mattresses.
Bi Hsia found her mother in the kitchen, stirring a pot of chicken egg soup. She stuck her nose over the rim of the pot and sniffed. “Smells good.”
Her mother’s elbow nudged her aside. “Get out of there. Your father has invited guests for supper.”
“Guests? Who are they?” She stuck her finger quickly into the broth as her mother’s eyes searched the cupboard for more eggs.
“They’re Mormon elders. One is from Taipei, and the other has come all the way from America. He will be staying in Taiwan for two years to teach people about his church.”
Bi Hsia’s finger was in her mouth. She sucked the soup juice off with a loud slurp. “How did Daddy meet them?”
“At the market, quite by accident. And don’t you dare stick your finger in there again, unless you want me to spank you!”
Bi Hsia jerked her hand back. “When will they come?”
“Soon,” replied her mother. “Go get changed into your best dress. And get Sun Ming washed. He is all covered with dirt.”
The missionaries arrived in a taxi. It had a dented fender and a motor that chugged louder and louder as the car drew near. The elder from Taipei stepped out first. “I’m Elder Lin, Lin De Fu,” he said, in the custom of saying his surname before his given name. (Fu is Fu Bi Hsia’s surname.) “This is my companion, Elder Wheeler.”
“Ni hau ma (How do you do)?” Elder Wheeler stepped forward and offered his hand to Bi Hsia’s father. The American’s words sounded strange and stilted, and his thin face seemed hard and expressionless. His hair was like yellow rice straw, and his pale eyes were cold and as far away as the country he came from. Bi Hsia felt her throat tighten with apprehension.
Her father spoke up boldly. “Ni tsung nali lai (Where are you from)?”
“Utah.”
It was a strange name. Bi Hsia said it quietly to herself, over and over, Yu ta. Yu ta.
Her mother smiled, saying in Chinese, “It’s a long way for anyone to come.”
The elder’s brow wrinkled as he studied her face. “Pardon me. I do not understand.”
Elder Lin put his hand on Elder Wheeler’s shoulder and said something to him in English, too rapidly for Bi Hsia to understand. Elder Wheeler listened intently, then laughed at himself. “Yes. A long way.”
The adults moved into the kitchen. Bi Hsia sat on the back step to wait for them to eat their meal. It was not considered polite for children to be served with the guests. She held Sun Ming in her arms, listened to the murmur of their voices, and thought about the faraway places she had never been. She wondered if this elder would ever understand her country’s customs and accept her people as they were. She didn’t think so—not coming from America, where no one ever had to live without the necessities of life because people there always had lots of things of their very own.
Bi Hsia sat and reflected, and in the distance a light evening breeze tossed a weightless white feather in the air. A feather! She got up, paused for a moment, then placed Sun Ming on the grass at her feet. “Now don’t go anywhere,” she said firmly. “I won’t be gone long.”
All of Goldie’s feathers were there in a little pile by the garden. Bi Hsia knew that they were eating her goose for supper. It was not proper for her to object. Her family was very poor, and her mother needed meat to serve to the guests. Chinese custom was very strict about children honoring and obeying their parents. And Chinese pride was firm on the point of offering the best that one could.
Bi Hsia did not cry. She walked heavily, as if her limbs were lead weights. She sat on the porch for what seemed like forever and watched the sun die in the sky above Taiwan.
When the elders were ready to leave, Bi Hsia followed them out to the front of the house. The elder from America offered her his hand, and she wanted to hold hers back. He took it and squeezed, and she pulled quickly away. He reached down and lifted her chin. “I hope we can become friends,” he said in slow, painful words.
Bi Hsia kept her eyes turned away from his face, looking past him to where the lights from the houses on their street shone smaller and smaller as they receded into the distance. Her mouth remained silent, bur her heart thumped loudly inside her ribs. Never! Oh, never, never, she thought, knowing that if it wasn’t for him and his companion, she would still have Goldie. She watched the elders get into a taxi, and she was glad when it drove away.
Bi Hsia awoke early the next morning. The sun was just peeping through the sugar cane, and her parents and brother were still asleep on their mats. She rose quietly and tiptoed to the door. Outside there was a small scrape, the sound of quick footsteps on the porch, a whisper, and a wild, hissing sound. She opened the door.
At her feet lay a huge white goose, the biggest that she had ever seen. It was bound so that it could hardly move, but its head was free, and it was honking and trying to flap its wings. As she bent to free it, out of the corner of her eye she saw something move down by the benjo.
It was Elder Wheeler! He was sprinting across the grass toward Elder Lin, who waited on the road with two bikes. As Bi Hsia watched, Elder Wheeler reached his bike, paused for a breath of air, and glanced back. Their eyes met across the distance and held. Then a smile spread slowly across his somber face. It was a sad, happy smile, a smile filled with understanding. That’s when Fu Bi Hsia knew for certain that the elder from America was not so very different.

Another faithful family is that of Edwina Swartzberg, first counselor in the Sandton South Africa Stake Relief Society, a third-generation Latter-day Saint. Her explanations about Church temples to her future husband, Isaac, who was reared in an Orthodox Jewish home, assisted in his conversion. He had puzzled why the Lord, who, scripturally, always spoke to his people in temples, no longer had one on Earth. He recognized, too, prophecies of Christ in the Old Testament, especially in Psalm 22, and things fell into place for him. The Swartzbergs were later sealed in the Salt Lake Temple. They live in Pretoria where Brother Swartzberg is Church legal advisor and area director of Church public communications.

Clarissa Smith had two best friends. Both of them were daughters of Brigham Young. One day when the girls were together, shortly after Salt Lake Valley was settled in 1847, Josephine and Maimie Young were called from their play and told to meet their father. Clarissa was given permission to go with them. This was an exciting experience for Clarissa, because the meeting place was ZCMI, the biggest store in the little pioneer city. She could hardly wait to look at the beautiful piece goods she had heard about. She had often dreamed of a new dress or coat she might someday be able to have.
Brigham Young warmly greeted his two daughters and their friend. He ushered them through the store until they reached the counter where fabrics were sold.
“Let me see that brown velvet, please,” he asked the storekeeper. The bolt of cloth was lifted down from the shelf and the material was spread out on the counter.
“Please measure off a piece long enough to make cloaks for Maimie and Josephine,” their father directed the storekeeper. Then he looked down at the other little girl, whose eyes reflected her longing to at least touch the beautiful cloth.
“And cut off another length for Clarissa,” he said. Brigham Young smiled down at the girl, whose face shone with surprise and delight. “And please make it a very generous one,” he added.

When I was learning about the Church, I read Jacob 5:74. It stuck with me from the moment I read it. I was a very active member of my previous church for my whole life and had always had a desire to serve God. I even hoped to one day study philosophy and theology in order to serve Him. I had already passed my entrance exams to study philosophy.
But I will never forget when I first read that scripture. I remember that it was the night after I had first attended an LDS Church service. During one of the breaks between classes, I saw on the bulletin board the revelation received by President Thomas S. Monson concerning the lowering of the missionary age.
When I read Jacob 5:74 that night, I knew that I had to serve God. And somehow, looking at the missionaries—those two young men who were the same age as me—giving their lives for Him, I knew that this was how I could do so. The night before that Church service, I had decided to get baptized. The night after the service, I decided to go on a mission. Now I have returned home honorably after serving the beautiful people of the Philippines Cebu East Mission.
Josef Gutierrez, Batangas, Philippines

As I arrived at the hospital, the young doctor who was attending me did what he could. But I had expanded so much, almost twice as big like a blister, that it was very difficult to tell if I was lying on my back or my stomach. And with all that, he tried to find some life signs and couldn’t. He declared me legally dead. He covered me with a sheet and took me back down to the entrance to the emergency care center. And there I was left on a cot. A nurse walked by. She was just beside the cot when my arm jerked slightly under the sheet. She became quite alarmed. They gathered all their resources and took me back up to intensive care.
Seven weeks of excruciating pain followed. Peter was given no chance to live. Teams of nurses and doctors had to relieve each other. Gradually Peter approached the threshold of consciousness.
I could hear them talking. It was like a fantasy because of all the pain. It was like a cloud around my mind. I heard the doctor say to my mother, “There is no chance that Peter will live.” When I heard him say this, I became very angry. I wanted to get up and hit the doctor. I remember trying to get off the bed, but I was tied down. I’ll never forget that feeling when the doctor said, “I don’t know how he has survived this long. There’s no chance that he’ll live.”
I remember thinking as I was slipping into a coma that I felt like I was dying. This happened many, many times, only I couldn’t remember the other times. I could only remember the time I was going through. As I was slipping away, I was so mad at the doctor that I said, I’ll prove to you I’m not going to die. I’ll keep living.”
The pain was so severe that I made a commitment to myself that before I gave up I would count to ten. I would see if I could make it to ten before I died. I’d get to five or six and feel myself slipping, and I’d say, “I’ve got to get to ten.”

My mother and I were baptized on 5 October 1997. It was such a great blessing for me. I had always felt something important was missing in my life, and I could not understand what it was. But while studying the Book of Mormon I felt that this book was true and that the Church was true. This feeling grew stronger and stronger. My faith grew too. I read the Book of Mormon every day. When the missionaries came to visit us, they asked my mother and me if we had asked the Lord if the Book of Mormon was true. I told them I did not have any doubts about the Book of Mormon. My feelings about the book were strong from the minute I started to read.
Julia Martynova,Obukhovsky Branch, St. Petersburg Russia South District

One day my cousin Jeff came over to play. We played under the back porch. Jeff had a little dump truck and I had a windup tractor. Mom gave us an empty cereal box and we made houses and roads.
I wanted to make another road. Jeff was using the shovel, so I took Woody out of my pocket and started to dig. Woody dug nice roads. I kept making the road longer and longer until I hit a rock and then SNAP! I picked up the piece that had broken off and tried to fix Woody, but it was no use. I felt like crying, but Jeff was there.
“It’s just a dumb stick,” Jeff said. I put Woody’s broken pieces under the porch steps and kept on playing. When Jeff went home, I crawled under the porch and got the pieces.
“I’m sorry, Woody,” I whispered. He didn’t say anything. I put him in the cereal box and carried him down to where we planted the flower and made a hole. Then I put Woody in the hole and covered him up.
He was a good stick and I miss him a lot.

From the time the tooth fairy left her first quarter under my pillow, my parents have been teaching me to be careful with my money. I always paid tithing first on everything I earned and put at least half into savings for college.
By the time I met my husband, I was pretty sure I had done everything right when it came to managing my money. I didn’t have a credit card or a car loan, and I had worked part time during college so I didn’t have to take out a student loan. I had followed my parents’ advice about money to the letter.
So I was shocked when my husband and I sat down to open a joint bank account and get our first credit card. The bank clerk came back and told us that our application for a credit card had been rejected. I couldn’t understand what I had done wrong.
As it turns out, there is a lot more to credit than I realized. I set out to learn the basics, and I now understand why our first credit card application was denied. What I learned will help you prepare to handle credit wisely in the future.
I knew that using credit usually ends up costing you money, so I avoided credit cards. But I didn’t understand that there are some times when using credit might be necessary and beneficial.
It turns out my credit card application was rejected because neither my husband nor I had a credit history. This is a record kept on any person who has ever used credit before (whether a car loan, a credit card, or even a store card). A credit report lists all the lines of credit you have, what the balances are, and whether you’ve made your payments on time. All of this information is combined to create a credit score—a number usually between 300 and 850 that tells lenders how likely you are to repay a loan. The higher your score, the more lenders will trust you to make your payments on time. Plus, you’ll get better interest rates and terms on loans.
Because my husband and I had never used credit before, lenders had to assume we weren’t a safe investment. When we bought our first car, we had to make a large down payment and pay a high interest rate until our credit score improved. It was an expensive mistake. By getting a credit card earlier and paying off the bill in full each month, we could have built a good credit history without ever paying interest. This would have allowed us to get better terms on our car loan and saved us money.