Gospel Story Finder

I have a friend who served as a priests quorum adviser. The boys and the adviser planned a kayak activity at Flaming Gorge, Utah. After some initial planning, one of the quorum members quietly approached the adviser and said: “We better not plan a kayak trip. Mike won’t be able to go because he can’t paddle.” Mike was partially paralyzed on his right side. When he learned that the quorum was not going on the activity because of him, he told the boys, “I want to go. I can paddle.” The quorum adviser placed his hand on Mike’s shoulder and said, “OK, Mike. You’re my paddle partner.”

So from January to August, the boys built their kayaks. They departed to the reservoir in the first week in August.

Rhythm, togetherness, and teamwork are essential to keep a kayak in a straight line. Mike and his partner had more trouble than the others getting their rhythm and strokes coordinated. Mike had almost no stroke of consequence on his right side. His adviser had to compensate by paddling easy on the left and hard on the right.

After several hours of learning to work together, Mike said to his adviser, “You wouldn’t happen to have a Band-Aid, would you?” The adviser pulled his wallet out and gave Mike a Band-Aid. He placed it over a big water blister that had just popped in the crook of his hand between his thumb and his first finger. The hand and arm that was little used now had to help hold the paddle.

Several hours later, Mike turned again to his adviser, who was in the rear cockpit, and said, “Do you have any more bandages?” The adviser pulled out several and handed them to Mike. By now the crook between Mike’s right thumb and his first finger was becoming raw. Mike applied the Band-Aids and resumed paddling.

The next day the crew set out again. The adviser encouraged Mike to rest from paddling and let his hand have a respite. The words fell on deaf ears. Instantly, Mike was paddling as he had the day before.

This day found a usual midday and afternoon wind blowing directly at the flotilla of kayak paddlers. It required stronger strokes and took much energy and time. Wincing from the hurt, Mike continued to paddle. Each suggestion that he rest intensified his will to carry his load.

Throughout the week, Mike persisted in holding his own. Though his hand was as raw as hamburger and awful to look at, he would not give up.

During the week’s trip, the conversation with his senior companion often centered around his desire to go on a mission. Repeatedly Mike asked, “I hope they will let me go on a mission. Do you think my problem will prevent me from going?” Mike walks with a noticeable limp of his right leg. He has a firm handshake with the left hand, but his right hand doesn’t open up all of the way.

How many who have no visible blemish have a heart like Mike’s? How many young men with not a single cell out of place fail to soften their hearts and desire to serve the Lord? How many who have so much forfeit their blessings because of selfish desires or inability to set lofty priorities?

My adviser friend said, “Mike taught eleven others that though one may appear to be a little less physically capable, the heart makes the difference in those who choose to overcome many odds and set a standard for others to follow.”

Mike fulfilled an honorable mission to California and is now working in his hometown.

On 25 December 2010, my family and I were baptized. Everything looked different in our view. I was 12 years old; I was not able to understand much about the Church. As the days passed, I was able to understand the gospel better. I slowly started to learn about the importance of attending the temple. In a family home evening, we invited the missionaries to join us and to teach us. They taught us about how the temples on the earth help members to worship our Heavenly Father, to make and keep covenants and to perform ordinances for our ancestors. These teachings humbled us to be grateful and thankful to God for blessing us with temples on earth. After learning much about the temple, I and my family had a strong desire to go to the temple but because of some challenges in our family it took several years to prepare for the temple. Finally, the day came for me and my family to go to the temple in Hong Kong. It was 1 October 2017 and we were well prepared with family history work and with enthusiasm and with great joy in our hearts we were all set to enter into the house of the Lord.
As we started our journey from India to Hong Kong, our excitement to attend the temple increased. Our flight landed in the Hong Kong International Airport. We were standing in the line for immigration. An immigration officer took us to a different room and asked us lot of questions. Along with my family, there were five others with us from my home branch. My brother and I tried our best to help him understand that we were going to leave Hong Kong after a week. As proof we showed our return tickets, but he was not convinced. The immigration officer made the decision to send us all back to our country. We were devastated. Our excitement and joy turned into sorrow. My mom cried a lot. With great pain, we all returned to our country. Our ordeal continued in India. The Indian immigration authorities also questioned us as why we were sent back. It was with great difficult we were allowed to go. It was not easy to go through this situation, but we stayed faithful hoping that Heavenly Father would show his mercy on us to get into His house and receive His blessings for us.
A couple of weeks later, our branch was visited by a beloved member of our stake presidency. He gave a talk in the sacrament meeting and invited everyone to remain faithful in their trials and to prepare for the temple. He asked all the members to pray for us to go to the temple again. His talk was comforting to our wounded hearts and gave us hope that one day we will be able to attend the temple.
One day I was reading a talk given president Henry B. Eyring on “Try, Try, Try”.1 I learnt from his talk that great things never come easily. When I was reading his talk, the Spirit of the Lord confirmed it to me that I should keep trying because attending the temple is one of the greatest blessings of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ in this dispensation.
My family and I never gave up our desire to go to the house of the Lord. With the help of our loving church leaders, the prayers of the members of our branch and many others who helped us, once again we got the opportunity to go to the temple. We were blessed to go to the Taipei, Taiwan Temple. This time, we did not have any problems in passing the immigration. In the Taiwan airport, we were expecting the officers to ask us questions. But miraculously, they didn’t even ask us a single question. They just let us go. It brought great joy to us.
On 1 February 2018 we entered the temple. We had great experiences in the temple, there are no words to describe those feelings. My family was extremely happy after attending the temple. Our family did sealings, baptism for our ancestors and other ordinances.
While I was in the temple in Taiwan, I was thinking about our temple trip to Hong Kong and the story of Jonah and the whale came to my mind and helped me understand that we were meant to be sealed as a family in Taiwan temple not in Hong Kong.
My dear brothers and sisters we may face lot of challenges on our progress towards eternal life but it is after the trial of our faith that we receive witness as it is mentioned in Book of Mormon in Ether 12:6: “For ye receive no witness until after the trial of your faith.” We might have lot of works to do but don’t postpone visiting the temple. As you make attending the temple a priority, you will receive many blessings which our Heavenly Father has stored for us. I have received so many blessings personally. I testify that when we have true desire to go to the temple nothing can stop us2. And I promise you that when you attend the temple, you will literally feel the love that our Heavenly Father and the Saviour have for us.

Before I was five years old, I had discovered that the walkway of vinyl between our dining room and our kitchen was a good place to sulk, especially when I wanted my dissatisfaction to be noticed. I would sit there for a long time and feel that no one understood or loved me.
Fortunately, that wasn’t the case. My teenage sister, Rebecca, found me there one evening before dinner. She knelt down and quietly said to me, “Manda, let’s go count your freckles.”
It was a simple suggestion but so kindly put forth that I forgot my frowns and followed her to the bathroom mirror. She set up a stool for me so I’d be tall enough to see my nose up close in the mirror. With her chin resting on my head, she started with number one, and I helped her as high as I could count. I remember proudly entering the kitchen with the announcement that I had more than a thousand freckles, and we hadn’t even finished counting.
With just a small investment of her time and energy, my sister had changed my black mood. And, although my sulkiness that night probably wouldn’t have lasted very long, by giving me some positive attention, Rebecca insured me against the next time I felt unhappy.

Sister Aketzaly Llanos was an exemplary missionary with a stalwart testimony. She was originally assigned to the Costa Rica San José East Mission, but she served with my wife, Janeen, and me in the Mexico Aguascalientes Mission for a year before she received a visa to Costa Rica.
In April 2022 we waved goodbye as Sister Llanos boarded a plane for Mexico City, where she would catch a connecting flight to Costa Rica. Less than 24 hours after we said goodbye, however, police in Mexico City called us.
“We’ve arrested Aketzaly Llanos at the airport for possession of a military-grade bullet,” they said. “This is a federal crime, and she will be prosecuted.”
Immediately, I contacted the Church’s area legal office, and they hired an attorney to seek Sister Llanos’s release. This attorney was not a member of the Church. He committed to help us but expressed pessimism. He explained that mere possession of a military bullet by nonmilitary personnel is a serious crime, regardless of a person’s intent.
Later, Sister Llanos told us she had picked up the bullet off the street in her last area. She thought it was a souvenir. The bullet, after all, resembled the souvenir key chains sold outside an old silver mine in one of her previous areas. Government investigators, however, treated her like a terrorist. Within a few days, Sister Llanos was moved from the airport jail to a high-security prison where the worst female criminals were housed.
Prayers for Sister Llanos’s prompt release began immediately. Janeen and I invited the 115 missionaries serving in our mission to exercise faith that we could see a miracle, if it was the Lord’s will. I contacted the mission presidents in Mexico City, the Costa Rica San José East Mission, and the Mexico Missionary Training Center, and they invited their missionaries to join us in prayer.
A preliminary trial was quickly scheduled in Mexico City. Janeen and I went to testify in person. When we met the legal team outside the courthouse, the attorney was visibly nervous, pacing up and down the sidewalk.
I took him aside and said: “Today you are going to feel more calm and more peaceful than you have ever felt in a courtroom. Let me tell you why. More than 500 missionaries and their families are praying for you and your success today. They’re also praying that the judge will have a softened heart and that he will release Sister Llanos from prison.”
The attorney’s eyes filled with tears, and he expressed his appreciation for the faith and prayers of so many people in his behalf.
At 10:00 a.m. the trial started, but I was required to wait outside until my turn to testify. Two long hours passed. Then the courtroom guard came out and said the judge didn’t need to hear my testimony—he’d already made his decision.
Anxiously, I entered the courtroom, and the judge began to speak. He spoke about the law Sister Llanos had violated and about the serious charges she faced.
“Disregarding all that,” he continued, “I believe the evidence that has been presented about Sister Llanos’s good character.” Then he quoted an obscure part of the law that allowed him to grant mercy, and he immediately released her.
Sister Llanos with Sister Janeen Redd, into whose arms Sister Llanos collapsed upon her release from prison.
This was the miracle we had sought! Instead of being sentenced to four or more years in prison, Sister Llanos was free to go.
Twelve hours later, Sister Llanos was released, still dressed in prison clothes. She collapsed into Janeen’s arms. Once we all stopped crying enough to speak, Sister Llanos exclaimed, “President, I got some referrals in prison!”
This entire experience confirmed that “God has not ceased to be a God of miracles” (Mormon 9:15). I have no doubt that the faith and prayers of many good people helped an attorney argue his case and softened the judge’s heart.
Because Sister Llanos was arrested, several imprisoned women received hope through the gospel of Jesus Christ, an attorney sprouted a seed of faith, and we were strengthened in our conviction that God can use us to further His work no matter where we are.

As soon as the bell rang, Lincoln started walking to the parking lot as fast as he could. He couldn’t wait to get home from school!
He stood on his tiptoes, looking at all the buses and cars in the pickup lane. Classmates rushed by him, laughing and talking. But Lincoln didn’t feel like joining them. He prayed that his mom would get there soon. Finally he saw their blue minivan.
“Hi, buddy,” Mom said as the van door slid open. Lincoln climbed in and pulled the door shut. All the noise went quiet. It was like he had clicked the mute button on the TV remote.
Lincoln sighed with relief. The quiet felt so good.
“How was your day?” Mom asked.
Instead of answering, Lincoln started to cry.
Mom looked at him in the rearview mirror.
“Uh oh, what happened?” she asked. “Are you OK? Did you get hurt?”
Lincoln wanted to answer, but his throat felt tight. Even if he could talk, he didn’t know what to say.
“I don’t know,” he finally mumbled.
“You don’t know why you’re crying?” Mom asked.
Lincoln shrugged. “I feel worried and nervous and scared, and I don’t even know why!” He cried harder, glad that he didn’t have to hold it in anymore.
“It sounds like you are feeling anxious,” Mom said. “Sometimes I feel like that too. I actually feel that way a lot.”
“You do?” Lincoln asked, wiping his cheeks with his sleeve.
“Yep. For me, it happens when I’m tired or I’ve been around a lot of people without a break.”
Lincoln nodded. That sounded like his day today! He was glad he wasn’t the only one who felt this way sometimes.
But there was still something he didn’t understand.
“At church I learned that when we choose the right, we feel good inside,” Lincoln said. “I don’t think I did anything bad today, but I still feel terrible!”
Mom looked at him with a smile. “Our feelings can be funny like that. Not all unhappy feelings are because of bad choices. There are lots of reasons we can feel unhappy or anxious. Sometimes we don’t even know why we feel the way we do.”
Lincoln thought about that during the rest of the drive. He was glad his anxious feelings weren’t because of something he did wrong. When they got home, they said a prayer together and asked Heavenly Father for help. Then Mom helped him figure out some things he could try to feel better.
First Lincoln got a snack. Then he played with his toys for a while. After that, he read a few chapters of a book he had gotten for his birthday.
Pretty soon, his body felt more relaxed. The nervous thoughts weren’t racing through his brain anymore.
Lincoln thanked Heavenly Father for helping him feel better and learn more about his feelings. He could use the ideas he’d learned next time he felt anxious too. Things were going to be OK!

It’s no fun to want a dog more than anything else in the world and end up with a silly chicken. But that’s what happened to Peter.
“Poor little thing,” Aunt Helen said when she gave the poult to him. “A great big rat got into the coop and almost killed it. I told Mr. Raines I knew a boy who would love to take care of it.”
Peter mumbled, “Boy! Thanks a lot.”
“You’ll learn to love it, dear,” Aunt Helen said. “You’ll love it just because it belongs to you.”
“I could love you a lot more if you belonged to somebody else,” muttered Peter to the bird as he filled a can with fresh water.
The chicken stretched out its neck and pecked at the freckles on the back of Peter’s hand. “Ouch!” he yelled. “Talk about dumb.”
The chicken made a noise like a squeaky hinge. Peter poured some of the purple medicine his father had bought into the wound in the chicken’s side. After a few days, the chicken did look a little better. But it still walked like one leg was shorter than the other. That purple stain doesn’t help its looks much either, Peter thought.
“I can’t even give you a proper name,” Peter grumbled, “because I don’t know whether you’re a hen or a rooster. I guess you’ll just have to be plain Chicken.”
He put some food in another dish and sat down to watch it eat. “Boy, are you ugly,” he said. “It wouldn’t be so bad if you were a dog. An ugly dog would be better than no dog at all.”
Peter’s best friends Dick and Andy had dogs. Would they ever laugh if they found out about the chicken! But Peter was determined that they’d never find out. The old toolshed where he kept it was behind the garage, and they never went back there.
Then one day Peter’s father said, “You can’t keep that chicken penned up in the shed all the time. It needs to be out in the fresh air and sunshine. And it needs bugs and worms and gravel.”
So every day Peter took Chicken out for a short time and dug worms while the poult scratched around in the dirt. He was careful to keep Chicken in back of the shed though.
It wasn’t long until the bird began to wait for Peter. When the shed door opened Chicken half-flew to the shovel Peter was carrying and perched on top of the blade.
“Hey,” Peter would laugh. “That’s pretty clever.” But when Chicken tore after a butterfly and smashed headfirst into the fence, Peter would groan, “What a dumb chicken.”
When Chicken flew onto Peter’s shoulder and picked at the cracker he held in his mouth Peter said, “Not bad, Chicken.” But when Chicken swallowed one of Peter’s marbles and almost choked to death, Peter said, “Serves you right, stupid bird!”
As Chicken grew bigger and bigger, Peter had to spend more and more time exercising the bird. The chicken’s wound healed and it no longer limped.
Whenever Peter heard his friends Dick and Andy calling him from the front of the house, he hurriedly locked Chicken in the shed and ran to answer them. Then the three of them would take off on their bikes with Dick’s and Andy’s dogs running behind. Toby and Duke are sure swell dogs, Peter thought. How I wish I had a pet I could be proud of instead of an ugly, dumb chicken I have to keep out of sight.
One Saturday morning Peter hurriedly carried fresh water and feed out to the shed for Chicken. Dick and Andy would be along soon. The three of them were taking a picnic lunch down to the river on their bikes.
But when Peter got to the shed he found the door open, and the peg that held the hasp closed was lying on the ground. He had failed to push it in all the way the night before. Chicken was nowhere in sight, and Peter’s heart jumped to his throat. Maybe Chicken was out all night and wandered into the street and was run over! he worried.
Peter ran all around the yard, calling, “Here, Chicken! Here, Chicken! Where are you?” He was still on his hands and knees, crawling by the flower bed, when Dick and Andy rode up. “What in the world are you doing, Pete?” Dick asked.
Peter felt his face get hot. “I’m—I’m looking for a—a chicken,” he stammered.
“Looking for what!” the boys exclaimed.
“My pet chicken,” Peter answered, turning his head away.
The boys started laughing. “You mean you have a chicken for a pet?”
A surge of anger went through Peter. “Well, not an ordinary chicken!” he defended hotly.
Then he told them all about Chicken—how he had nursed it back to health, and how it rode on the shovel when he dug for worms, and how it ate a cracker out of his mouth.
“And besides,” he added, “Chicken is mine.”
“We’d better find your chicken before something happens to it,” said Dick.
The three boys rode around the neighborhood searching everywhere. “Here, Chicken! Here, Chicken!” they called.
Suddenly there was a loud squawking and a flutter of wings. Chicken flew clumsily from under a laurel hedge and landed on the handlebars of Peter’s bike.
“Chicken!” Peter cried. “You’re all right!”
The chicken stretched out its neck, looked into the boy’s face, and made a loud, squeaky noise that sounded like static.
The boys laughed and the chicken made the noise again, louder.
“You crowed!” exclaimed Peter. “You’re a rooster! I won’t have to call you Chicken anymore. And whether you’re a hen or a rooster doesn’t matter. From now on your name is Lucky, because it was lucky for both of us that I learned to love a chicken.”

Our missionaries serving throughout the world are beautiful examples of those who are truly ambitious for Christ. A few years ago, Sister Yamashita and I served in the Japan Nagoya Mission. Our missionaries were so ambitious for Christ. One of those missionaries was a young man named Elder Cowan.

Elder Cowan did not have a right leg because of a bicycle accident as a youth. A few weeks after he entered the mission, I received a phone call from his companion. Elder Cowan’s prosthetic leg had broken while he was riding his bike. We took him to a good repair facility, and there in a private room, I saw his leg for the first time. I realized how much pain he had been suffering. His prosthetic leg was repaired, and he returned to his area.

However, as the weeks went by, the prosthesis continued to break again and again. The area medical adviser recommended that Elder Cowan return home for a possible mission reassignment. I resisted this advice because Elder Cowan was a great missionary and he had a strong desire to remain in Japan. Gradually, though, Elder Cowan began to approach his physical limit. In spite of this, he did not murmur or complain.

Again, I was advised that Elder Cowan be allowed to serve in a place that did not require him to ride a bike. I pondered this situation. I thought about Elder Cowan and his future, and I prayed about the matter. I felt impressed that, yes, Elder Cowan should return home and await reassignment. I phoned him and expressed my love and concern and told him of my decision. He did not say anything in reply. I could only hear him weeping on the other end of the phone. I said, “Elder Cowan, you don’t have to answer me right now. I will call you tomorrow. Please consider my recommendation with sincere prayer.”

When I called him the next morning, he humbly said he would follow my counsel.

During my final interview with him, I asked him this question: “Elder Cowan, did you request on your missionary application to be sent to a mission where you would not have to ride a bike?”

He said, “Yes, President, I did.”

I responded, “Elder Cowan, you were called to the Japan Nagoya Mission, where you would have to ride a bike. Did you tell this to your stake president?”

I was surprised by his answer. He said, “No, I didn’t. I determined that if that is where the Lord called me, I would go to the gym and train my body to be able to ride a bike.”

At the conclusion of our interview, he asked me this question with tears in his eyes: “President Yamashita, why did I come to Japan? Why am I here?”

I answered him without hesitation: “Elder Cowan, I know one reason you came here. You came here for my benefit. I have come to understand what a great young man I have been serving with. I am blessed to know you.”

I am happy to report that Elder Cowan returned to his loving home and was reassigned to serve in a mission where he could use a car for his travel. I am proud not only of Elder Cowan but also of all the missionaries throughout the world who serve willingly without murmuring or complaining. Thank you, elders and sisters, for your faith, your focus, and your strong ambition for Christ.

It was the end of the assembly on Joseph Smith at our seminary, and our teachers had left the last 15 minutes for testimonies. I knew I had felt something during the program, and I realized I had to go up and bear my testimony even though I wasn’t sure if I had one.
I had recently turned 15, and I was questioning everything. I had prayed and read my scriptures, but the answer hadn’t yet come. I began to think Heavenly Father had abandoned me. I didn’t know if it was right to bear a testimony I wasn’t sure I had.
But as soon as I got up there, peace came over me, and I realized that I did know. I knew Christ was my Savior, I knew that Joseph Smith was a prophet, and I knew Heavenly Father was there, listening. I began crying for joy. Heavenly Father hadn’t abandoned me, and He had answered my prayer through my own testimony.
I know that if I live the gospel and do my best, then I will never lose that glorious feeling of knowing what I’m doing is right.

Christmas is a giving time of year for the young people of the Mt. Pleasant Second Ward, Mt. Pleasant Utah Stake. The youth were involved in service projects that helped emphasize the true spirit of giving.
In a combined effort to include the entire ward in their Christmas service projects, the Young Men and Young Women supplied 12 small Christmas trees to special members of the ward, some elderly and unable to get a tree for themselves and some who simply deserved a little extra cheer. The Young Men cut the trees, attached stands, and arranged to deliver the trees. The Young Women procured lights and decorations. The highlight of the evening was the surprised looks on the recipients’ faces as the youth went caroling to deliver the trees. One brother commented, “Why, no one has ever brought me a Christmas tree before!”

One Sunday while I was serving as mission president in Vladivostok, Russia, a rather amazing thing happened. I had gone to my office to gather some materials when a 13-year-old young man, Vladimir, whose friends call him Vova, knocked on the door. Vova is a deacon in the Vladivostok First Branch. He asked to visit with me in my office. He was accompanied by Sister Olga Vyachyeslavna Dryagunova. This sister speaks wonderful English, and the boy had asked her if she would act as his interpreter. Vova speaks no English, and I speak only a little Russian.
Vova had been an orphan, abandoned at birth because he was born with a cleft palate. The birth defect has since been partially repaired, leaving a scar. He was adopted by a wonderful woman who has treated him as her son. The boy is always happy. He has a smile on his face and a wonderful countenance when he passes the sacrament. He wears the mantle of a deacon as well as any boy I have ever known. He regularly bears a sweet and brief testimony of the truthfulness of the gospel. He is everything that a deacon ought to be.
At our meeting Vova spoke Russian and Sister Olga interpreted. She told me that Vova had come to fill out his application to serve as a full-time missionary. I asked, without a hint of a smile, “How old is he?”
She asked and he answered, “Nearly 14.”
Retaining my composure, I said, “Does he understand that he needs to be 19 before he can serve a mission?”
She responded, “He does, but he does not want to be tardy in getting his application in.”
I assured them that there was still time before we needed to send his missionary application to Moscow and then on to Salt Lake City. Neither the branch president nor I would forget when it was time for him to fill out his forms. I walked to the wall displaying pictures of the 44 missionaries then serving in the Russia Vladivostok Mission. I told Vova I was worried that the missionary papers might be returned if it appeared that I was recommending a 13-year-old boy for a mission.
Then I explained that since he was in my office where I conducted interviews with the missionaries, I thought it appropriate to ask him the questions that will be asked of him when he is 19, just to make sure that he was currently worthy to serve a mission. I then went through all the worthiness questions as though Vova were one of my full-time missionaries but tactfully passed over the boy-girl questions, thinking them premature. Besides, I didn’t want to embarrass Sister Olga.
Vova answered all my questions with the appropriate responses and with the wisdom of a boy twice his age. Upon further reflection, I guessed that he may have even asked one of the elders what interview questions he might anticipate from the mission president. I then told Vova that he could come back every six months, and we would repeat the interview process.
He then asked with some concern what he should say to let me know he was ready for another interview six months from now. I said to him, through Sister Olga, that it was time for him to have his first English lesson. I then said slowly, “This is what you should say to me, ‘President, I am ready for my missionary interview.’”
He repeated the important words he needed to know three times.
As I was ready to end the interview, Vova asked Sister Olga to ask me one last question. “President,” he said, “what advice do you have for me to prepare for my mission?”
I was a bit taken back. Few of my mature elders would have the wisdom to ask such a timely question. I pondered for a moment and then told him to do three things: First, I told him to read the scriptures each day. Second, I suggested that he pray to his Heavenly Father each morning and evening. Third, I told him to practice his English.
I confess the last suggestion was a little selfish on my part, as I was thinking how I would enjoy speaking with him in English and asking him questions about the things of his heart. I suggested he attend the free English classes taught by the missionaries, but he said his mother would not allow him to be out after dark. We agreed that he would work harder each day in his English class at school.
Later, when I saw the deacons in the hall after church, I asked Vova if he would like to repeat the phrase he needed to use to ask for his next interview. This he did in a fine manner. Then to my great surprise, I learned that each of the other deacons in the branch had also learned the magic words. Each one repeated while looking right at me, “President, I am ready for my missionary interview!”
Oh, the power of example! The joy of one willing to open his mouth and share the things he had learned with another was something I was trying to get all of my missionaries to experience! These Russian deacons were on the road to perfection.

Mara buttoned her skirt and looked in the mirror. It felt funny to wear church clothes on a Saturday, but this was a special Saturday. It was general conference!
“Are you excited for the women’s session?” Mak (Mom) asked. She brushed Mara’s hair with quick, gentle strokes. “I want you to try to listen as much as you can.”
“Yes! I hope they tell pioneer stories!” Mara liked those best.
“Maybe they will,” Mak said. “Did you know your dad is a pioneer?”
Mara was confused. Her dad had never pulled a handcart.
“How is he a pioneer?” she asked.
Mak nodded toward the window, toward the river. “He was fishing there when he met the missionaries. He was the first one in his family to get baptized,” Mak said. “That makes him a pioneer! Now let’s go find your grandmother.”
Yiay (Grandma) was waiting for them in the front room. Mara’s family and her grandparents all lived together. Yiay helped take care of Mara after school while her parents worked. Now Yiay stood by the moped, the big motorized scooter that carried them around the city.
“The Church has only been in Cambodia for 25 years,” Mak told Mara as she opened the door and pushed the moped onto the street. “So we’re all pioneers. Even you!”
“How am I a pioneer?” Mara wondered as she got on the moped. Mak drove the moped, with Yiay in back and Mara in the middle. Mara held on tight as they zigged down the crowded street.
As they passed a café, the smell of tea wafted over them. Almost everyone here drank tea. But Mara didn’t. She followed the Word of Wisdom. Mara grinned. That’s one way she was a pioneer!
As the moped turned a corner, Mara saw a wat, a Buddhist temple. The red pointed roof rose above the other buildings. Monks with shaved heads and orange robes sat studying in the courtyard.
Mara knew that most people in Cambodia were Buddhist. They didn’t believe in Jesus Christ. But Mara did. “That’s another way I’m a pioneer,” thought Mara. And today she would get to listen to the prophet!
As the moped turned into the church parking lot, Mara saw lots of women arriving. Some had walked or ridden mopeds. Others arrived in tuk tuks, small carriages pulled by a motorbike. Many of the women wore dresses or plain skirts, like Mara did. And some wore sampots, beautiful long skirts made of colorful patterned fabrics.
Mara, Mak, and Yiay sat down in the chapel with the other women. Conference had actually happened a whole week ago in Salt Lake City, Utah, USA. But now the people in Cambodia would be able to watch the broadcast in Khmer. Mara spoke both English and Khmer at home, and she also learned French in school. But many Cambodians just spoke Khmer.
The first speaker didn’t tell any stories about pioneers. But then the second speaker told a story about walking up a steep dirt path on her way home from school. It was called the “boys’ trail,” and sometimes she would take off her shoes and walk barefoot. She wanted to do hard things so she could be like a pioneer! Mara smiled as she thought about all the ways she was a pioneer.
The last speaker was the prophet. He stood tall. Mara listened extra closely. “I invite you to read the Book of Mormon between now and the end of the year,” he said. “The heavens will open for you. The Lord will bless you.”
Mara knew it wouldn’t be easy to read the whole Book of Mormon. She looked at the women around her. All of them had chosen to follow Jesus Christ. All of them had come tonight to listen to the prophet. She would follow the prophet, just as they did. She would be a pioneer!

Throughout his life, the Prophet Joseph Smith provided countless examples of courage. One of the most dramatic occurred as he and other brethren were chained together—imagine, chained together—and held in an unfinished cabin next to the courthouse in Richmond, Missouri. Parley P. Pratt, who was among those held captive, wrote of one particular night: “We had lain as if in sleep till the hour of midnight had passed, and our ears and hearts had been pained, while we had listened for hours to the obscene jests, the horrid oaths, the dreadful blasphemies and filthy language of our guards.”

Continued Elder Pratt:
“I had listened till I became so disgusted, shocked, horrified, and so filled with the spirit of indignant justice that I could scarcely refrain from rising upon my feet and rebuking the guards; but [I] had said nothing to Joseph, or any one else, although I lay next to him and knew he was awake. On a sudden he arose to his feet, and spoke in a voice of thunder, or as the roaring lion, uttering, as near as I can recollect, the following words:
“‘SILENCE. … In the name of Jesus Christ I rebuke you, and command you to be still; I will not live another minute and hear such language. Cease such talk, or you or I die THIS INSTANT!’”

Joseph “stood erect in terrible majesty,” as described by Elder Pratt. He was chained, without a weapon, and yet he was calm and dignified. He looked down upon the quailing guards, who were shrinking into a corner or crouching at his feet. These seemingly incorrigible men begged his pardon and remained quiet.9

I recall a particularly important crossroad—the decision to go on a full-time mission. I stood on that crossroad for a very, very long time. As I struggled to decide which road to take, my family, friends, and priesthood leaders came forward to take my hand. They encouraged and challenged me and offered countless prayers on my behalf. My full-time missionary sister wrote to me regularly and never gave up.

Even today, I am still carried on the shoulders of good men and women. I suspect that we all are. To some degree we all depend on each other to be able to make it back to our heavenly home.

“Mormons aren’t Christians.”
The statement from one of my high school classmates caught me off guard.
“Of course we are,” I said.
“Then why do you read the Book of Mormon?” he said as he walked away, leaving me no chance to reply.
I thought about his question a lot. The answer is, of course, that Mormons are Christians and the Book of Mormon is another testament of Jesus Christ. We read it along with the Bible to learn even more about the Savior.
I had read the Book of Mormon before. I knew it was true. But because of my classmate’s question, I felt prompted to study it in a new way, keeping track of how often it mentions Jesus Christ. As I did, I was amazed.
I had hardly opened the book when I read on the title page that the Book of Mormon is written to convince readers “that Jesus is the Christ, the Eternal God, manifesting himself unto all nations.”
In the introduction to the Book of Mormon, I read, “The crowning event recorded in the Book of Mormon is the personal ministry of the Lord Jesus Christ among the Nephites soon after His resurrection.” It said that those who gain a witness from the Holy Ghost that the record is true “will also come to know by the same power that Jesus Christ is the Savior of the world.”
I turned to “he Testimony of Three Witnesses,” who said that an angel showed them the plates from which the Book of Mormon was translated, and that “we know that it is by the grace of God the Father, and our Lord Jesus Christ, that we beheld and bear record that these things are true.”
Next, “The Testimony of the Prophet Joseph Smith” told of the visit of angel Moroni, who said the Book of Mormon contains the fulness of the everlasting gospel “as delivered by the Savior to the ancient inhabitants” of America.
The Converting Power of the Book of Mormon, by Ben Sowards
I hadn’t even made it to 1 Nephi, and already I had found a lot!
My search continued. In 1 Nephi, I found that Lehi knew about the coming of the Messiah (see 1 Nephi 1:19). I read his prophecies about the Redeemer, “who should take away the sins of the world” (1 Nephi 10:10; see verses 4–10). I read Nephi’s description of the birth of Jesus Christ, His ministry, death, Resurrection, and future visit to ancient America (see 1 Nephi 10–12).
I read prophesies that the Book of Mormon would affirm Bible truths that “the Lamb of God is the Son of the Eternal Father, and the Savior of the world; and that all men must come unto him” (1 Nephi 13:40). And I read Nephi’s testimony that “all nations, kindreds, tongues, and people shall dwell safely in the Holy One of Israel if it so be that they will repent” (1 Nephi 22:28).
After one day, I was on page 53. I had finished just one of the books in the Book of Mormon, but what powerful witnesses I had already received!
In the weeks that followed, I found page after page of testimonies of Jesus Christ, visions in which He appeared to prophets, and the detailed description of His ministry among the ancient Americans. I concluded my reading with Moroni’s powerful testimony of Jesus Christ (see Moroni 9); his challenge to, “ask God, the Eternal Father, in the name of Christ, if [the Book of Mormon is] true” (Moroni 10:4; emphasis added); and, on the last page, his tender and compelling invitation to “come unto Christ” (Moroni 10:30, 32).
I found that the Book of Mormon refuted my classmate’s statement completely. If a Christian is someone who believes in Jesus Christ, then page after page in the Book of Mormon says, “We believe!”
Eventually, I saw my friend again. I told him about my experience and invited him to read the Book of Mormon. He politely declined but said he was happy that I accept Jesus Christ as my Savior. And after our discussion, I think he understood better what I mean when I say, “Of course we are Christians.”

Let me give an example. Some years ago, a young couple we will call the Joneses visited with their bishop about a problem the wife had. The details are not important, but through the direction of the Spirit, the bishop’s decision was that, among other things, Sister Jones would not partake of the sacrament for a period of time while she worked out some attitudes and problems.

With lots of love and support, she continued to attend meetings with her family, and few but her husband and the bishop were aware of the situation or even noticed that week after week she did not partake of the sacrament. At first she didn’t feel much difference; but as time went on, she became more and more desirous to be worthy to partake of the sacrament. She thought she had repented before, but as the real soul-searching deepened and as her desire to worthily partake of the sacrament increased, true fundamental changes began to take place in her life and in her actions and in her thinking.

More time passed. Finally, during one sacrament meeting, the Spirit bore witness to the bishop and to Brother and Sister Jones that the time had come for her to again partake of the sacrament. “Next Sunday,” the bishop said.

Next Sunday came, and Sister Jones sat again with her family, nervous, yet excited and full of anticipation. “Am I really worthy? How I want to be!” she thought. The sacrament hymn was more meaningful than ever. She sang with such feeling that it was difficult to hold back the tears. And the sacrament prayers—how profound! She listened so intently that every word sank deep into her soul—to take his name, always remember him, keep his commandments, always have his Spirit. (See D&C 20:77, 79.) “Oh, how I desire this,” she thought.

The deacons began to move up and down the aisles, and the trays were passed from person to person across the rows. As one young deacon got closer and closer to her row, her heart began to pound harder and harder. Then the tray was coming down her very row. Now her husband was holding the tray in front of her! Tears streamed down her face. There was a barely audible sob of joy, “Oh!” as she reached for the emblem of the Lord’s love for her. The congregation did not hear the sob, but they did notice the tears in the bishop’s eyes.

Life and hope and forgiveness and spiritual strength had been given and received. No one could be more worthy. Sister Jones truly wanted to have his Spirit. She wanted to take his name upon her. With all her heart, she wanted to remember him and keep his commandments. She wanted to repent, to improve, and to follow the guidance of his Spirit.

My friends and I were going downstairs. When we got to the elevator, I had an uncomfortable feeling and asked my friends not to use it. They decided to do it anyway. I took the stairs. When I got downstairs, my friends weren’t there. The elevator had gotten stuck! It was a while before they got out. I was happy that nothing serious happened. I also felt good that I followed the Holy Ghost.
Amalie N., age 10

My dear brothers and sisters, when I was 12 years old, my family lived in Göteborg, a coastal city in southern Sweden. By way of reference, it is the hometown of our dear associate Elder Per G. Malm,1 who passed away this summer. We miss him. We’re grateful for his nobility and his noble service and for the example of his absolutely adorable family. And we certainly pray God’s richest blessings to be theirs.
Fifty years ago, we attended church in a large remodeled home. One Sunday, my friend Steffan,2 the only other deacon in the branch, greeted me at church with some excitement. We went to the chapel’s adjacent overflow area, and he pulled from his pocket a large firecracker and some matches. In an act of youthful bravado, I took the firecracker and lit the long gray fuse. I intended to snuff out the fuse before it blew up. But when I burned my fingers trying to do so, I dropped the firecracker. Steffan and I watched in horror as the fuse continued to burn.
The firecracker exploded, and sulfurous fumes filled the overflow area and the chapel. We hurriedly gathered up the scattered remnants of the firecracker and opened the windows to try to get the smell out, naively hoping that no one would notice. Fortunately, no one was hurt and no damage was done.
As members came to the meeting, they did notice the overpowering smell. It was hard to miss. The smell distracted from the sacred nature of the meeting. Because there were so few Aaronic Priesthood holders—and in what can only be described as dissociative thinking—I passed the sacrament, yet I did not feel worthy to partake of it. When the sacrament tray was offered to me, I took neither the bread nor the water. I felt horrible. I was embarrassed, and I knew that what I had done had displeased God.
After church, the branch president, Frank Lindberg, a distinguished older man with silver-gray hair, asked me to come to his office. After I sat down, he looked at me kindly and said he had noticed that I had not partaken of the sacrament. He asked why. I suspect he knew why. I was sure everyone knew what I had done. After I told him, he asked how I felt. Through tears, I haltingly told him I was sorry and that I knew I had let God down.
President Lindberg opened a well-worn copy of the Doctrine and Covenants and asked me to read some underlined verses. I read the following out loud:
“Behold, he who has repented of his sins, the same is forgiven, and I, the Lord, remember them no more.
“By this ye may know if a man repenteth of his sins—behold, he will confess them and forsake them.”3
I will never forget President Lindberg’s compassionate smile when I looked up after I had finished reading. With some emotion, he told me that he felt it would be fine for me to resume partaking of the sacrament. As I left his office, I felt indescribable joy.
We can—and sometimes do—make different choices. Such choices may not seem intrinsically wrong, but they prevent us from becoming truly penitent and thus preclude our pursuit of real repentance. For instance, we may choose to blame others. As a 12-year-old in Göteborg, I could have blamed Steffan. He was the one who brought the big firecracker and the matches to the church in the first place. But blaming others, even if justified, allows us to excuse our behavior. By so doing, we shift responsibility for our actions to others. When the responsibility is shifted, we diminish both the need and our ability to act. We turn ourselves into hapless victims rather than agents capable of independent action.13
Another choice that impedes repentance is minimizing our mistakes. In the Göteborg firecracker incident, no one was hurt, no permanent damage occurred, and the meeting was held anyway. It would have been easy to say that there was no reason to repent. But minimizing our mistakes, even if no immediate consequences are apparent, removes the motivation to change. This thinking prevents us from seeing that our mistakes and sins have eternal consequences.
Additionally, we forgo real repentance when we choose to separate God from His commandments. After all, if the sacrament were not sacred, it would not matter that the smell of the firecracker was disruptive to that Göteborg sacrament meeting. We should be wary of discounting sinful behavior by undermining or dismissing God’s authorship of His commandments. Real repentance requires recognizing the Savior’s divinity and the truthfulness of His latter-day work.
I still remember the feelings that washed over me in the branch president’s office after the firecracker episode. I knew I had been forgiven. My feelings of guilt vanished, my gloomy mood lifted, and my heart felt light.

Some years ago I was called, with my wife, Jacqui, to preside over the Washington Spokane Mission. We arrived in the mission field with a mix of fear and excitement at the responsibility of working with so many remarkable young missionaries. They came from many different backgrounds and quickly became like our own sons and daughters.
Although most were doing wonderfully well, a few were struggling with the high expectations of their calling. I remember one missionary telling me, “President, I just don’t like people.” Several told me they lacked the desire to follow the rather strict missionary rules. I worried and wondered what we could do to change the hearts of those few missionaries who had not yet learned the joy of being obedient.
One day while driving through the beautiful rolling wheat fields on the Washington-Idaho border, I was listening to a recording of the New Testament. As I listened to the familiar account of the rich young man coming to the Savior to ask what he might do to have eternal life, I received an unexpected but profound personal revelation that is now a sacred memory.
After hearing Jesus recite the commandments and the young man reply that he had observed all these since his youth, I listened for the Savior’s gentle correction: “One thing thou lackest: … sell whatsoever thou hast, and … come, … follow me.” But to my astonishment, I instead heard six words before that part of the verse that I seemed never to have heard or read before. It was as if they had been added to the scriptures. I marveled at the inspired understanding which then unfolded.
What were these six words that had such a profound effect? Listen to see if you can recognize these seemingly ordinary words, not found in the other Gospel accounts but found only in the Gospel of Mark:
“There came one running … and asked him, Good Master, what shall I do that I may inherit eternal life?
“And Jesus said unto him, …
“Thou knowest the commandments, Do not commit adultery, Do not kill, Do not steal, Do not bear false witness, Defraud not, Honour thy father and mother.
“And he answered … , Master, all these have I observed from my youth.
“Then Jesus beholding him loved him, and said unto him, One thing thou lackest: go thy way, sell whatsoever thou hast, and give to the poor, and thou shalt have treasure in heaven: and come, take up the cross, and follow me.”
“Then Jesus beholding him loved him.”
As I heard these words, a vivid image filled my mind of our Lord pausing and beholding this young man. Beholding—as in looking deeply and penetratingly into his soul, recognizing his goodness and also his potential, as well as discerning his greatest need.
Then the simple words—Jesus loved him. He felt an overwhelming love and compassion for this good young man, and because of this love and with this love, Jesus asked even more of him. I pictured what it must have felt like for this young man to be enveloped by such love even while being asked to do something so supremely hard as selling all he owned and giving it to the poor.
In that moment, I knew it was not just the hearts of some of our missionaries that needed changing. It was my heart as well. The question no longer was “How does a frustrated mission president get a struggling missionary to behave better?” Instead, the question was “How can I be filled with Christlike love so a missionary can feel the love of God through me and desire to change?” How can I behold him or her in the same way the Lord beheld the rich young man, seeing them for who they really are and who they can become, rather than just for what they are doing or not doing? How can I be more like the Savior?
“Then Jesus beholding him loved him.”
From that time forward, as I sat knee to knee with a young missionary struggling with some aspect of obedience, within my heart I now saw a faithful young man or young woman who had acted on the desire to come on a mission. Then I was able to say with all the feeling like that of a tender parent: “Elder or Sister, if I didn’t love you, I wouldn’t care what happens on your mission. But I do love you, and because I love you, I care about who you become. So I invite you to change those things that are hard for you and become who the Lord wants you to be.”
Each time I went to interview missionaries, I first prayed for the gift of charity and that I could see each elder and sister as the Lord sees him or her.
Before zone conferences, as Sister Palmer and I greeted each missionary one by one, I would pause and look deeply into their eyes, beholding them—an interview without words—and then without fail, I was filled with great love for these precious sons and daughters of God.

When I was a teenager, I developed faith that marriage could be a wonderful and eternal experience. It was difficult for me to always believe, however, because the examples of marriage I had growing up were not strong ones, and I kept a fear of marriage in my heart. But I determined that failure and unhappiness didn’t have to be the rule and that Heavenly Father would help me know how to have a happy marriage.

When I was 26 years old, I married Sidnei in the São Paulo Brazil Temple. While we were still dating, we tried to prepare ourselves spiritually and emotionally for the most significant event of our lives. We decided what type of marriage we wanted, we established goals together, and we shared our thoughts—our testimonies of the gospel, our wishes and worries, and our dreams. We also read together the counsel of the prophets on marriage. We did everything we could to prepare, wishing to provide happiness and security to each other and our future children. We asked the Lord to give us wisdom to live a happy life.

Now we have been married for 18 years. During these years, we have continued to learn from the precepts of the gospel, the counsel of our leaders, and, of course, the Spirit. Some of the things we have done to have a strong, happy marriage are:
Pray together every day. When we pray at night, we thank Heavenly Father for our marriage, for the love we have for each other, and we ask that our feelings will be strengthened and that we can become strong individually in the face of the designs of the adversary, who works to destroy families.
Ask for forgiveness. We work to never allow pride to keep us from asking for forgiveness or admitting we are wrong. Love and unity are more important than who is right or who is wrong.
Never speak evil of each other. It is obvious that neither of us is perfect, but we don’t say bad things about each other, and when we’re with others, we speak positively about each other.
Defend the institution of marriage. Whenever we have a chance—and especially if we are around people who are criticizing the institution of marriage—we stand up for families and what we believe in.
Talk a lot and listen. We stop what we are doing to really listen when the other person is talking.
Treat each other with love and consideration. We do not insult, accuse, or criticize each other.
Continue to seek help and counsel about marriage from the scriptures and the words of modern prophets. We do not know everything. We are imperfect and prone to forgetting and making mistakes. We prefer not to wait for problems to afflict us, but instead we work to build a strong marriage before a situation can hurt us.
These things have been instrumental in strengthening the relationship between my husband and me. I know that if we share our lives and our feelings with Heavenly Father and seek counsel from Him, the Holy Ghost will inspire us and we will be able to become an eternal family, overcoming all difficult times. We also know that Heavenly Father will help us as we seek to know and do His will.

I recently felt irritated as I scrolled through my Instagram feed and felt perfectly justified in my unkind feelings toward some of my friends. After all, they seemed to live shiny, golden lives filled with one fantastic adventure after another. I felt conflicted but rationalized my feelings. “These people!” I scoffed.
My scoffs and eye rolls evaporated one morning when I read Moroni 7:4: “And now my brethren, I judge these things of you because of your peaceable walk with the children of men.” At this time, Moroni was sharing the words of his father, Mormon, to the Church members. Mormon spoke to the “peaceable followers of Christ” about faith, hope, and charity (Moroni 7:3).
In this marvelous chapter, the Lord teaches how we can have a “peaceable walk” among men. In my negative and certainly unfair attitude toward my fellow social media users, I was not walking very peaceably. Rather, I’d been slinking along, secretly grumbling at others’ successes. I was like a “bitter fountain” not bringing forth “good water,” or not being Christlike in my thoughts and feelings toward others (Moroni 7:11).
I’ve talked to many social media users who feel irrationally bitter or depressed when scrolling through their friends’ posts and pictures. Spending a little less time on social media is one way to avoid these feelings. Of course, many of us enjoy keeping tabs on our family members, friends, and acquaintances via social media. When those unsettling feelings creep in, however, how can we maintain a “peaceable walk with the children of men”? The scripture uses the preposition with. In life, we should not be against each other—we should be with each other; we should be one.
American author Mark Twain is credited with saying, “Comparison is the death of joy.” Sometimes it’s a challenge not to make comparisons. But filling our hearts with humility enables us to delight in others’ shiny moments instead of begrudging them. The Lord asks us to “walk in the meekness of my Spirit, and you shall have peace in me” (D&C 19:23).
It’s equally important to not invite comparisons. We can ask ourselves some questions before sharing a post. “What is my intent? Is it to exclude someone or cause jealousy?” If so, rethink your sharing. But if it’s just to share something you’re super excited about or to uplift others, go for it.
Mormon also spoke about serving others with “real intent” (Moroni 7:6). We can adopt this real intent when we sincerely hope for others’ happiness. This means being excited for our friend when she posts a selfie with her new outfit or for our friend who posts that he was just voted class president. Whether our social media friends are embarking on a trip we can only dream of or are sharing their academic or sporting achievements, we can celebrate with them.
Living peaceably just feels better. Eliminating the eye rolls and dropping the burden of jealousy helps us to walk with others, not away from them or against them.
One friend described social media as a “highlight reel” of life’s events. Most people aren’t inclined to share pictures of embarrassing situations, grief, or even a bad-hair day. Everyone experiences life’s ups and downs, and it’s important to remember that social media users typically share the ups.
It’s funny how much we allow social media to affect our view of our worth. President Dieter F. Uchtdorf, Second Counselor in the First Presidency, once asked, “Do you think your value to [Heavenly Father] changes based on how many followers you have on Instagram or Pinterest? Do you think He wants you to worry or get depressed if some un-friend or un-follow you on Facebook or Twitter? Do you think … popularity make[s] the slightest difference in your worth to the One who created the universe?”1