Gospel Story Finder

Four months into her mission in Lusaka Zambia, Sister Christiana Ogunbote was told she would have to go home. The onset of the pandemic meant that many missionaries around the world would need to return to their home countries. So, Sister Ogunbote returned to her native United Kingdom. The changes continued: she was reassigned to the Scotland/Ireland Mission, and then recalled to Zambia in October 2020. When asked about life lessons she had learned while serving a mission during the pandemic, she shared the following in her own words:
“There’s been a lot of learning and life lessons. One big one is that when we are called to serve as missionaries, we don’t get to choose the circumstances of our call. We decide that we are going to serve the Lord with all that we have, no matter where it is or what language, whether it is inside missionary apartments or outside on the road. We don’t get to choose those circumstances.
“But we get to choose how we react. We get to choose if we want to serve with joy and with our whole hearts, or if we want to see the negative and be weighed down by the things that we can’t do. That was something that I was really able to learn and to be reminded that a mission experience is one of great joy. There is no greater joy than doing the work of the Lord.
“Being in Zambia was an incredible time of my life. Having my time in Scotland made my mission greater than I could have ever planned. Being able to be a missionary at home with my parents and trying to be a missionary in the middle of their day-to-day life was a very interesting scenario for me and for many other missionaries who did the same thing. I think it was the training we needed to understand why we wanted to be missionaries.
“Even if I went from one continent to the other and spent time in my home and time at home with my parents, throughout it all, I know that it was part of the experience that helped me to really understand that Heavenly Father is in the details of our lives. He knows each and every one of us and He wants for us to be able to do things according to His design.
“I have a better eternal perspective, knowing that not everything is going to be rosy. But having that eternal perspective is the way the Lord gives us the strength to endure the challenges and the trials that we face.”

Many years ago, I read of a father who awakened his son one Sunday to get ready for church. The son replied, “I’m not going to church today.” Many parents in a moment like that would be tempted to say, “Oh, yes you are” and then add a threat. This father was wiser and simply said, “Son, you don’t need to explain why to me, because this isn’t my Church. But you ought to get down on your knees and give your excuse to your Father in Heaven.”
The father then left his son at the crossroads with the Holy Ghost. The Holy Ghost can disquiet our children far better than we can if we will just trust in that great gift. “There is no witness so terrible or no accuser so powerful as the conscience.”14 Within a few minutes, the teen was up and getting ready for church. Had the father forced his son to go to church, he might have planted seeds of resentment and rebellion, with the cobra effect slithering in.

During the summer of 2001, 17-year-old Tricia Hale had an idea, or a dream as she calls it, to put on a spiritual Christmas dance program that would portray the life of Christ.
She enlisted the help of three friends and fellow dancers (Anna Woolf, 17; Jill Hendrickson, 16; and Donelle Crandell, 16) at her high school in Mesa, Arizona, to turn the dream into reality.
The dancers were on the school’s dance team but had taken issue in the past with music and costumes they felt were inappropriate or not in keeping with Church standards. They wanted to use their talents to present their testimonies of Christ by dancing to sacred music and wearing modest outfits.
The program that resulted would be an experience that strengthened their testimonies and was well-received by family, friends, and the community. Other young women took over after these girls graduated, making the spiritual experience an annual program.
Other dancers are invited to join them in planning, practicing, and performing. Although some of the dancers are not members of the Church, prayer, devotionals, and sharing testimonies are part of rehearsal time.
The free program, entitled “Let There Be Praise,” portrays the life of Christ from birth to resurrection through scriptures, narration, slides, and lyrical dance to hymns and other spiritual music. It drew more than 500 people the first year, and the audience has since grown.

Casey had his bath and put on his pajamas. He brushed his teeth. He was all ready for bed. Daddy read him a story and helped him with his prayers. Mommy came to tuck him in. But something was wrong. “This bed is scary,” Casey said to himself after Mommy left. “I don’t like being here all by myself. I’d better sleep somewhere else.”
He got his pillow and quilt and went looking for a bed. He climbed up beside his brother Mike, who was in his bed reading. Casey wriggled under the covers and closed his eyes. He was very warm. Soon his eyes opened and he climbed back out. Mike’s bed was too hot.
His other brother, Josh, was at the desk doing homework. Casey climbed into Josh’s bed and closed his eyes. He shivered between the cool sheets. He wiggled his toes. He stuck his head under the covers and breathed in the little air pocket. He curled up into a ball like a cat. Soon his eyes opened and he climbed out. Josh’s bed was too cold.
Casey looked in the bathroom. The streetlight shone through the window. He threw his pillow and quilt into the empty tub and climbed in. He rolled up in his quilt and closed his eyes. Drip, drip, drip. Casey felt something wet on his toes. Drip, drip went the tap. Soon his eyes opened and he climbed out of the bathtub. It was too wet to sleep there.
Next he tried under the kitchen table. The tablecloth made a good tent, and he crawled inside, fixed his quilt and pillow, and closed his eyes. He lay on his side. He turned on his back. He rolled on his tummy. Soon his eyes opened. It was no use. The floor was much too hard.
Casey dragged his pillow and quilt from the tent and rubbed his eyes. He was tired. He wandered into the family room, lay on the couch, pulled his quilt over him, and closed his eyes. Mommy was talking on the phone. His sister, Jana, was practicing the piano—up the scale, down the scale, up, down. Daddy was mending a broken chair—bang, bang, bang—and listening to a ball game. Casey put the pillow over his head. Soon his eyes opened. He was sure he could not sleep here. It was too noisy. He sat up and yawned.
Suddenly Casey thought of the best place to sleep. It was not too hot and not too cold, and not wet at all; it was nice and soft, and very quiet and cozy. He gathered up his pillow and quilt and went right back to his own bed. He knelt to ask Heavenly Father to help him not feel alone and scared. When he got up, he felt something soft under the bed. It was Old Brown Bear, his favorite stuffed animal. They snuggled under the covers together, and Casey closed his eyes. This time, they didn’t open till morning.

Years ago I spent quite a bit of time gathering information for my four-generation family group records. The information on one of my group records was eventually complete, with the exception of a great-uncle named Edward. I had searched extensively for his birth and death dates without ever finding a real lead. Every time I glanced at this record, the white space where Edward’s information should have been stared out at me.
Several times I despaired of ever finding his information, but I prayed for inspiration to know what I should do. I asked Heavenly Father to help me find a record or a person who would be able to help. After praying I felt that I must not give up.
One day, after having tried every other source I could think of, I picked up a postcard and addressed it to the “Rector of the City Cemetery” of a town where Edward’s family had lived for a while. On the back I simply asked if there was a grave with Edward Oren Tarbutton’s name on it. I wasn’t even sure a cemetery existed in that town, yet as I sent the postcard I suddenly felt free of frustration.
A few weeks went by without any answer to my postcard, and I did not expect one. Then one day I felt unusually excited. At the normal mail delivery time, I ran out to pick up the mail. The stack was big that day, but I stood at the open box and looked carefully at every piece. In the stack was my postcard, and on it was Edward’s missing information!
As I gazed at the long-sought-for dates on the postcard, a warm feeling embraced me. I felt that Edward was somehow close to me in that moment, and I could feel his great joy.
I will never forget the prompting to send the postcard and the circumstances of its return. Later I learned that the town I had sent the postcard to had no rector and no official cemetery. Realizing no one in the town would know about my ancestor, the postmaster almost stamped the card Return to Sender. Then, on second thought, he decided to search for the grave himself. He remembered once seeing headstones in a field near a small church. It was there he found Edward’s headstone and copied the inscription.
This experience deepened my love for my ancestors and helped me understand how much they long to be linked permanently to their families. And as I have encountered disappointments in the following years of family history research, I have thought of the postcard and kept going.

During the next few years, Mormon missionaries seemed to be all over the place. Even my barber was trying to preach to me! Several sets of missionaries came to visit me. Feeling somewhat ashamed about my treatment of the two I had left standing on the doorstep a couple of years earlier, I began inviting them inside, on the condition that they “leave their books in the car, and don’t preach to me.” I always felt uncomfortable when they came, and I would not allow any discussion of religion.
How was I to make them leave without being extremely rude? How? Then I got an idea. Sure, why not? It should be easy. I would just prove that they were wrong. I would show these people that their doctrines were false, and I would do it with their own scriptures. The next time they came, I would be ready.
If I were going to prove them wrong, I had to know something concerning what they believed. How could I find out what they believe? That Book of Mormon the two lady missionaries gave me years ago. Sure! I had put it away in some drawer or box. I soon found it. What did it contain—the story of Joseph Smith’s life? A history of Mormonism? I didn’t know. But one thing I did know: when the missionaries next came, I would be ready for them.
I took the book to work, where I had some free time throughout the day. The first chance I had, I opened the book. Why, this didn’t appear to be about Joseph Smith at all! I noticed a page in the front showing interesting things to look up—the Sermon on the Mount on the American continent, Columbus, the Savior in the Americas. What was I getting into?
Not finding anything about Joseph Smith’s life story in the book, I picked up some missionary tracts at a gas station owned by a Mormon. I wanted to find out about this Joseph Smith. I read about Joseph’s First Vision. Somehow it seemed different from what I remembered hearing years before. I read about an angel named Moroni and some gold plates. Returning to the Book of Mormon, I began reading it in my spare time.
Something strange began to happen. My hostility began to disappear. Indeed, my desire to prove the missionaries wrong disappeared. My brief curiosity after first opening the book was replaced by a desire to know. What was this strange power that seemed to literally reach out and pull me toward this book? What was happening to me? I had to know.
I found myself using all my spare hours to search through the Book of Mormon. I found something else too: a promise by an ancient prophet named Moroni—a bold declaration that I could know the truth of the book by asking God to reveal it to me. Alone one day, I bowed down before my Maker, and, holding the Book of Mormon in my hand, I asked Heavenly Father what it was that was pulling me to the book. Immediately—almost before I had finished my prayer—a recollection of my past habits and hostilities flooded over me. I begged for forgiveness, having not recognized my wretched state until then.
The next few days were about the same—I tried to cope with an overwhelming desire to immerse myself in studying the Book of Mormon. Then it happened. It was a Thursday night before the October general conference of the Church. I came home from work with a peculiar feeling growing inside me—a feeling I had never before experienced. I did not know what to think of it. It slowly grew in intensity. What a marvelous feeling! I remember thinking, “If this is what it feels like in heaven, I wish I were ninety-nine years old and about to die.”
Then came the testimony—that sureness of the missionaries that had disturbed me in the past. I knew! Joseph smith had been in the presence of the Father and the Son. Indeed, he had been visited by angels. I knew. Yes, indeed, I knew.

In conclusion, I testify to you that the 15 living prophet, seers and revelators are called of God. Before Sister Kaluhiokalani and I arrived in the mission field, we spent four days being taught and trained by them. On Sunday morning, we were invited to a sacrament meeting with the First Presidency and the Quorum of Twelve Apostles along with all the other Mission Presidents and their companions. Following the administration of the sacrament, Elder Bednar was asked to speak to us. His topic was the character of Christ. As he spoke, a powerful spirit filled the room. At the conclusion of his remarks, all of us sat motionless, overcome by the Lord’s spirit which filled the room. So powerful was this experience that the only comparison I can relate it to is 3 Nephi 17, when Jesus had appeared to the Nephites. “And no tongue can speak, neither can there be written by any man, neither can the hearts of men conceive so great and marvelous things as we both saw and heard Jesus speak; and no one can conceive of the joy which filled our souls at the time we heard Him pray for us unto the Father.” [21] For a period of time at the conclusion of the meeting, no one could speak. This was a tipping point for us. Any doubt of Jesus’ reality disappeared. It changed our lives forever. I testify that this is the Church of Jesus Christ, and that Joseph Smith did restore it, and that he translated the Book of Mormon. I know that Jesus Christ is our Savior and Redeemer. I pray that you will make time to Know Him.

We were working with an executive named Steve. He was employed at a large retail firm but was stuck at his current level because he focused on himself and what he could accomplish. He was not engaging others, motivating them, helping them do their jobs. His approach was what we call in leadership studies, command and control. His superiors asked us to work with Steve to see if he could change his approach to see the bigger picture, understand how he was affecting other people, and improve his ability to lead. He was African American, which fact will become important as I tell his story. We worked with Steve for nine months and were making little progress. As one of the activities, we went to the site of the Battle of Gettysburg. Over the course of the day we walked the battlefield and used the examples from the engagement to highlight leadership. At a very critical point in the Battle of Gettysburg, Colonel Joshua Chamberlain, who commanded the 5th Corps, gave a speech to some mutineers who were refusing to fight. Let me quote a bit from his recreated comments. As I do, pay particular attention to how he reframes their stewardship so they could understand, commit and act on their responsibilities. I am not trying to glorify war, or suggest who was good or bad; I am trying to suggest an approach to working with others.

"I have been told that if you don't come I can shoot you. Well you know I won't do that...
This is a different kind of Army. If you look at history you'll see men fight for pay...,They fight for land, or because a king makes them... But we're here for something new... That hasn't happened before much in the history of the world. We're an army going out to set other men free...
It's the idea that we all have value, you and me, we're worth something more than the dirt...What we're fighting for in the end, is each other..."
I think if we lose this fight the war will be over. So if you choose to come with us I'll be personally grateful" (Useem, 1998).

The 5th Corps was given the end of the line to defend at a place called "Little Round Top", the end where the enemy must not sweep or the battle would be lost. The enemy charged many times, and in the process the men of the 5th Corps used all their ammunition. As the enemy was coming yet again, Colonel Chamberlain gave the command to fix bayonet and charge down the hill into what was bound to be withering fire. At this critical point, each of them, including the mutineers fixed bayonets and charged down the hill, so surprising to the superior enemy force that they retreated at a fast run. The battle and, by some historians' accounts, the war was saved.

I stood next to Steve on Little Round Top as our guide asked us to look down the hill and imagine the enemy's charge and what Colonel Chamberlain was asking his troops to do. It was very moving. I looked over at Steve and he was obviously having a very emotional experience. As we were walking away from the site I asked him if he was ok. He said yes he was fine. And then he said "This is the first time I have understood what others have done for me". He was beginning to understand his own leadership responsibilities in a different way. For that moment the unspoken leadership question became what could he do for others.

He began 1838 by taking another missionary trip, but in May he was called back to Kirtland. Joseph Smith and the Twelve had moved to Missouri, so Erastus with about 40 others headed West to join them. He arrived at Far West, Missouri, on August 8, 1838. There, to his joy he found his converted mother and unconverted father who had settled with the Saints in Missouri. He had not seen them since his departure from Vermont two years before. Of Erastus’s ten brothers and sisters, all but two had become Latter-day Saints. His father never accepted baptism.

For a few weeks Erastus lived at the home of Joseph Smith, where he earned board and room by chopping firewood, hauling water, and doing chores. But when hostilities escalated against the Saints, “I was among the defenders of Far West when it was surrounded by government troops, and I laid down my rifle with the rest of the brethren on demand of General Clark, at which time Joseph (Smith) was arrested and put into Liberty Jail.”

Looking down the shorter corridor of more recent history, we see pioneers struggling through unimaginable hardships trekking westward to their beloved Zion.

Thirteen-year-old Mary Goble of the Hunt wagon company had already lost two younger sisters and a younger brother on the journey. As she and the rest of her family neared the Salt Lake Valley, her mother slipped away also. They arrived in Salt Lake City on December 11, 1856.

Mary wrote in her journal, “three out of the four that were living were frozen. My mother was dead in the wagon. When Brigham Young came in, he shook hands with all of us. When he saw our condition, our feet frozen and our mother dead, tears rolled down his cheeks. The doctor wanted to cut my feet off at the ankles, but President Young said, ‘No, just cut off the toes and I promise you that you will never have to take them off any farther,’…The doctor amputated my toes using a saw and a butcher knife. That afternoon, my mother was buried.”

But it wasn’t over. Mary married Richard Pay whose wife and baby girl had died on the westward trek. They had 13 children, three of whom died very young. After 21 years of marriage, and still with little children to care for, Mary’s oldest son died. One year later her husband passed away and the following year another son died. She lived another twenty years as a widow.

And we, through our tears, call down that corridor of years and cry with all the compassion within us, “Mary, O Mary, don’t give up. It’s all going to work out. We know the rest of the story! One of your grandchildren will be Marjorie Pay Hinckley, wife of a mighty prophet of God. O Mary, listen to his words about you.”

This is…a marvelous but simple faith, an unquestioning conviction that the God of Heaven in his power will make all things right and bring to pass his eternal purposes in the lives of his children.

We need so very, very much a strong burning of that faith in the living God and in his living, resurrected Son, for this was the great moving faith of our gospel forebears….With faith they sought to do his will. With faith they read and accepted divine teaching. With faith they labored until they dropped, always with a conviction that there would be an accounting to him who was their Father and their God.

“Mary, your story of faith will live on. The husband of your granddaughter will become the prophet whose words, “It will all work out,” will give hope to millions of us in our own trek through life.

But Mary, with dying mother and siblings and frozen toes cannot hear us. Mary, living in unspeakable poverty and losing two sons and a husband in three years, must not hear us. Through her wine press circumstances wherein her first-person faith was born and nurtured, Mary Pay would learn to lean on the Lord and submit her will to his…a true life drama with but one cast member and one director. It had to be just Mary and her Father in Heaven.

When we began dating, I learned how strongly Kathy felt about keeping the Sabbath Day holy. Because of her devotion, our family has always tried hard to make Sunday a special day. We don’t watch TV on Sunday or go to sporting events. We listen to sacred music, write letters, and spend lots of time talking together. Our younger children liked to read stories from the Friend and from scripture readers. As a result, we have enjoyed a spirit of peace in our home on the Sabbath.

For David Wojnar, 22, from Springfield, Massachusetts, a good friendship played an important role in his conversion to the Church. Now a missionary serving in the Utah Salt Lake Mission, Elder Wojnar talked about the role of friendship in missionary work.
“When I graduated from high school, I decided it was time to move away from home. I got a job in Virginia and moved in with an old friend. One of my roommates was a Latter-day Saint. We soon became good friends. We did things together, and we could talk about anything. He had a sincere interest in me. We were friends first, and being friends probably helped more than anything else,” Elder Wojnar explained.
“Eventually he asked me to go to a young adult activity with him. They were putting on a play. The young people came up and made me feel welcome. They all were excited about meeting someone new,” Elder Wojnar said. “They were different from anybody I had run around with before. There was a different spirit.
“When I became involved in the activities and started attending church, the members made me feel special and important. They never put me down because I was a member of another church.”
At that time, Elder Wojnar still wasn’t ready to commit himself to baptism. “My other roommate, my friend from Massachusetts, was taking the discussions and was almost ready for baptism. When the missionaries came, I always found an excuse to leave. Most of the barriers I had were just fear and not knowing what would happen. I was determined to serve the Lord, and I just needed time. No one seemed excited or upset about the hesitancy that I was experiencing. My friend was patient and didn’t give up on me. He was still my friend, and eventually I did make the commitment,” Elder Wojnar said.

I went on a two-day school field trip with other fifth and sixth graders to study paleontology. I shared a motel room with three of my friends. One of my friends found a Bible in the nightstand drawer. He flipped through some of the pages and then asked me if I would help him read it. I was surprised that he didn’t know any of the Bible stories I thought everyone knew. I taught him about the Creation, Adam and Eve, and the Resurrection. I also told him about Joseph Smith. I told him some of the stories I learned in Primary.
Afterward, I felt like we should have a prayer. I let my friend say the prayer. I led him through it by saying one phrase at a time and having him repeat it. I had a warm feeling, and my friend said he felt good inside.
I never expected that to happen on a school field trip. I was glad that when I had an opportunity to be a missionary, I was prepared and I wasn’t afraid to share my beliefs.

Bryan’s favorite family home evening lesson was one his mom gave on repentance. She hid paper footprints around the house. Each footprint had a step of repentance written on it. The children first had to find the hidden steps. “I found some and let Rachel find some,” Bryan recalls. Then the family talked about each one and put them in order on the floor. Then each person walked on the footprints, naming the steps of repentance as he or she went.

“I want to be a missionary. I’ve been reading the scriptures to prepare.”

Bryan knows that all Latter-day Saints have been called to be a light to the world and that his home is a “lighthouse” for neighbors and friends. His family is looking forward to going to yet another house of light—the holy temple—where they will be sealed for time and eternity. They want all the light they can get.

Later Charles and his fiancée, Sarah Price, said good-bye to their families and went to Liverpool, a seaport from which most of the Latter-day Saint emigrants embarked. They were married on shipboard after they set sail for Nauvoo. Although the trip across the Atlantic Ocean aboard the Equinox was long, the 572 Saints “arrived in full health and vigor, with not one soul lost, full of praise and thanksgiving to the God of Israel for his mercy in blessing them with a safe journey with no serious difficulty” (Journal of Charles Smith).
The company of Saints remained together on the second part of the trip, from New Orleans up the Mississippi River to Nauvoo. As their boat landed at Nauvoo on April 12, 1843, the Prophet Joseph was standing on the riverbank to welcome them! The next day he delivered an address to the new arrivals that was very comforting to them after their long journey.

Imagine waking up to the smell of smoke, the sound of screams and gunshots, the sights of looting and beating. Imagine racially inspired violence so dangerous that schools close and curfews are imposed for days.
This tragic scenario might seem like something you’d see in a movie—the kind your parents and leaders would probably recommend you avoid—but during late April and early May this year LDS youth in the Los Angeles area actually lived it. They saw the rioting. They knew people who looted. They watched familiar buildings burn to the ground.
Yet even while the ashes were still smoldering, the Young Women of the Los Angeles area were busy putting the finishing touches on a long-planned multistake conference that would unite nearly 500 LDS young women of various ethnic backgrounds and affirm that the gospel offers peace to everyone.
The six-hour conference featured an address from Young Women General President Janette Hales. Her message focused on how the fundamentals of personal religious behavior, things like reading the scriptures, praying, and keeping the commandments, can get you through life’s trials and keep you close to Heavenly Father, no matter what is going on in the world around you.
The conference also included 15 workshops covering subjects like dating, preparing for a mission, self-defense, sign language, and baby-sitting. It was just what the doctor ordered for the girls after the tragedy of the weeks before. But the memories for some of the young women were still vivid.
“We went to the store before they burned it to get some food,” said Virginia Smith of the Inglewood Stake. “It was crowded. All of a sudden people were screaming and running to the back. Someone said there were people there with guns. So my mom said to get on the floor, ’cuz if they shoot, they’re not going to shoot down there. Then someone said they went out. The next chance we got, we headed for the door, got in our car, and left.”
Lisa Fu, of the Santa Monica Stake, was also affected. “I could see the looting in the morning when I went out. I have some friends who actually did it—just for their own benefit—because everyone else was doing it. We said to those kids who were taking groceries, ‘You just stole! Don’t you know what you did?’ And they said, ‘Yes, but we don’t know if there’s going to be a store tomorrow to buy food, so we have to get what we can now.’
“And sometimes I’d get really scared to walk by certain people because of the Korean incident. (A 15-year-old black girl was shot in a dispute with a Korean store owner.) Because they don’t know if I’m Japanese or Korean or what.”

We were supposed to be filled with joy, but our hearts were heavy and our arms were empty. Debra Caelia Carter arrived on her due date, April 26, 2010, but she was stillborn.
As we walked into our home, I carried the tiny pink blanket we had used to hold and cuddle Debra at the hospital. When I sat on the couch, overcome with emotion, our two-year-old son approached the empty blanket and whispered, “Hello, baby sister. I love you.”
Tears streamed down my face, and I turned away. As I did so, I saw the words of a poster from the Friend magazine hanging on the wall: “Our Heavenly Father is only a prayer away, and the Holy Ghost is within whispering distance.”1
I began to pour out my heart to God in silent, fervent prayer. As I did so, I felt the Holy Ghost whisper, “Read your Book of Mormon again.” I had just finished reading it, but the feeling was distinct and the impression clear.
Arising early the following morning, I began reading the Book of Mormon. I used pencils and markers to highlight every passage about faith, prayer, hope, Jesus Christ’s attributes, preaching the gospel, and hearkening to the Lord’s voice. I knew that I must do what Nephi, Enos, Moroni, and other Book of Mormon prophets had done when they suffered trials. And I must do it with the same love for the Savior that filled their lives during difficult times.
During these daily, personal scripture study hours, I felt the Lord’s arms encircling me in His love, and I felt the power of His atoning sacrifice for all. The Spirit spoke to me, a peace covered me, and answers came to my fervent prayers. Pondering the words I read gave me strength as I grieved.
One day the Spirit filled me with joy as I read these words:
“I love little children with a perfect love; and they are all alike and partakers of salvation. …
“Little children … are all alive in [God] because of his mercy. …
“For behold that all little children are alive in Christ” (Moroni 8:17, 19, 22; emphasis added).
I felt as if I could see my daughter alive in Christ—smiling and happy and encircled in His arms. From that moment on I felt the power to endure, and I felt a new hope ignite in my soul for my family. I knew that if we would hold fast to the Atonement, the scriptures, the words of the living prophets, and each other through our temple covenants, we would be reunited as a family eternally.
I love the Book of Mormon, which clearly testifies of Jesus Christ, what He did and does for us, and what we must do to be like Him. The Book of Mormon brings light to my life and fills up my heart with hope in Christ.

A young man who knew the Prophet Joseph Smith later recalled an occasion when
Joseph and some of the young men were playing various out-door games, among which was a game of ball. By and by they began to get weary. He saw it, and calling them together he said: “Let us build a log cabin.” So off they went, Joseph and the young men, to build a log cabin for a widow woman. [Edwin Holden, in “Recollections of the Prophet Joseph Smith,” Juvenile Instructor 27, no. 5 (1 March 1892): 153]
On other occasions after playing ball with the boys, the Prophet gathered up the players and sent them out to chop and deliver wood to the needy (see Mosiah Lyman Hancock, page 22 of Autobiography, typescript, LDS Church Archives, Salt Lake City; also in They Knew the Prophet, comp. Hyrum L. Andrus and Helen Mae Andrus [Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1974], 103).

Limerick, Republic of Ireland—
Do you ever get really impatient with your parents? I suppose everyone does at some time in their life. But my friend Sharron Coyle and I learned that being patient and following the commandments is really the only way to go.
Our parents were responsible for our first encounter with the missionaries—they invited them into our homes. Although our parents weren’t interested in their messages, Sharron and I were, and we took the discussions from the sisters. We were so impressed and knew they had the happiness and peace we’d been looking for.
We’d been brought up Roman Catholic, but neither of our families were practicing, so we didn’t foresee any great difficulty in our joining the Church.
We were wrong. When we asked our parents for permission to be baptised, they refused, point blank, to even consider the thought.
For a while we fought with them continuously, but then we realized that fighting wasn’t going to get us anywhere. We stopped fighting and just went on living the gospel, hopefully changing our parents’ minds by example.
The church was about seven miles from our homes, and since we didn’t drive and Sharron didn’t have a bicycle, we walked to and from church for meetings and activities. Hail, rain, or snow, we walked. Our parents thought we were mad, but we didn’t give up.
Soon we noticed subtle changes in our parents. They were friendlier towards the missionaries, and the negative talk about the Church stopped. We believed that the missionaries and the members, with their persistence, good deeds, and polite attitudes of respect, were beginning to help turn our parents around.
Then one day, much to my surprise, just before the results from my final exams were due out, my mom said I could be baptised! It was several months before my 18th birthday. Not long after, Sharron’s mom gave her permission too.
Both of us now more fully understand 1 Nephi 3:7 [1 Ne. 3:7]. We believe that the Lord truly provided a way for us to do his will. We know that we developed strength from our trials, and we’re grateful for the support our parents ended up showing us. It just took time, following the commandments, and the patient support of the missionaries and members.
And now my little sister Sinead wants to join. Here we go again!

So do the Willeys lug their violins, violas, and basses from door to door playing inspirational music for people? Not exactly. If you’ve ever seen a Church music broadcast or attended one on Temple Square, you’ve probably seen how Anthony, Elizabeth, and Kristina share the gospel through music. They are some of the youngest members of the Orchestra at Temple Square.
Being so young compared to the other members of the orchestra doesn’t bother these teens a bit. They actually love it. Elizabeth says, “Even though there are only a few members under 20 in the orchestra, I feel like I fit in. I think it’s great because there isn’t any goofing off. Everyone had to work so hard to get here.”
How did they get to be in such a prestigious orchestra at such a young age? “Lots and lots of practice,” Anthony says.
To be in the Orchestra at Temple Square you have to be one of the top musicians in the Church, able to play whatever difficult piece might be put in front of you. And it’s a huge time commitment.
Kristina says, “Being a part of the Orchestra at Temple Square is my favorite thing I’ve ever done, but it’s been a sacrifice. It’s hard to find time for homework and friends because we have to practice every day and rehearse several times a week.”
But Anthony, Elizabeth, and Kristina all say the hard work is worth it.
“It’s neat to be able to see the audience’s reaction when we perform,” Elizabeth says. “The Spirit is always there. It makes me feel like all my hard work has paid off.”
The teens’ mom and dad go to their concerts and sit up in the balcony where they can see all their children. Their mother, Denise, says, “When the music gets going, the Spirit sweeps over me and over the whole audience.”
The beautiful music the orchestra plays on Temple Square helps many people feel the Spirit. After the concerts are over, members of the audience can learn more about the Church from the full-time and Church service missionaries standing at the doors.
Anthony loves the missionary opportunities that being a member of the Orchestra at Temple Square has given him. “Being a member of the orchestra has made me want to be a better person,” he says, “and it has prepared me to be a better full-time missionary.”