Gospel Story Finder

In that same inner-city ward, I observed a similar type of faith in the gentle, loving care of a bishop who wasted no time despairing over the vast needs of an ever-growing number of new converts. Rather, he pressed forward by rallying the more experienced members of the Aaronic and Melchizedek Priesthood quorums to help prepare new converts from Africa and Latin America for their priesthood responsibilities. The newer brethren were taught how to hold the trays while passing the sacrament, how to kneel and reverently bless the bread and water. Their more seasoned, often younger brethren, practiced along with them the words of the sacramental prayers so they would feel confident in giving them. Then, together, all the brethren discussed the sacred nature of this important priesthood ordinance.

Several years ago I was visiting a friend. In the morning, she was trying to get her baby’s food ready. I watched the baby cry, oblivious to the fact that her mom was getting her exactly what she wanted and needed. Certainly, this is what a baby should be doing—crying to communicate her needs. However, I have thought of that moment several times since when I have been impatiently waiting. How often when I am waiting do I recognize or look for the pieces that are falling into place exactly as I need them to? Or how often am I unaware of others or my Heavenly Parents working on my behalf?

While raising our young family in Hawaii, my wife and I were grateful for the wonderful Latter-day Saints who assisted us. These dear members embraced us and treated us as their own family. On several occasions men in the ward would take my young son on ocean fishing adventures. These excursions did not involve boats but rather ancient fishing techniques developed by the early Hawaiians.
Using one such method, a skilled fisherman would meticulously fold and layer a circular net that had weights attached to the perimeter. He would then carefully carry the net to a location along the rocky shore above a clear pool of water. As he would see fish entering the pool, at just the right time and with great skill, he would throw the net, which would unfold to its full capacity and land in a large circular pattern on the water below, quickly sinking to the bottom and enmeshing the gathered fish.
While the skill of any such fisherman is impressive, he will be the first to tell you that without a good net that is clean, mended, and in full repair, his efforts would be futile. Experienced fishermen know that their success is contingent upon the integrity of their fishing nets and that effective, productive fishing does not begin until the nets are inspected and in good order.
We see an understanding of this principle among the original Apostles, several of whom were fishermen by trade. We are introduced to these fishermen in the early chapters of Matthew, Mark, and Luke, where they are casting, mending, and washing their nets when they first encounter their future Master (see Matthew 4:18, 21; Mark 1:16, 19; Luke 5:2). These men fed their families and the families of others by toiling daily to catch fish. Their fortunes and their families depended on their preparation and skill and on the integrity of their nets.
When Jesus invited them to “follow me, and I will make you fishers of men,” “they straightway left their nets,” “forsook all, and followed him” (Matthew 4:19, 20; Luke 5:11; see also Mark 1:17–18).
I have thought of this example many times as I have considered that those who stand at the head of the Church have responded with similar faith to the invitation to “follow me.” Like the ancient Church, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is led by prophets and apostles, who have forsaken their nets and their hard-earned professions and have developed new skills in order to serve and follow the Master.
What does it mean to become “fishers of men”? In His simple words of invitation to the early Apostles, the Savior introduced what was to become His common and powerful form of teaching—teaching in parables. He knew that those called to follow Him would understand, to a degree, what He meant by the words “fishers of men.”
President Harold B. Lee (1899–1973) taught, “To become ‘fishers of men’ is just another way of saying ‘become leaders of men.’ So in today’s language we would say … : ‘If you will keep my commandments, I will make you leaders among men.’”1
A leader of men is someone who is called to help others become “true followers of … Jesus Christ” (Moroni 7:48). Handbook 2: Administering the Church says, “To do this, leaders first strive to be the Savior’s faithful disciples, living each day so that they can return to live in God’s presence. Then they can help others develop strong testimonies and draw nearer to Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ.”2
All who have accepted the call to lead in the Church have accepted the Savior’s invitation to become fishers of men.
From the highest level of leadership in the Church to Aaronic Priesthood quorum and Young Women class presidencies, leaders are organized into councils. Leaders are instructed to prepare spiritually, participate fully in councils, minister to others, teach the gospel of Jesus Christ, and administer the priesthood and auxiliary organizations of the Church. Additionally, they are to build unity and harmony in the Church, prepare others to be leaders and teachers, delegate responsibility, and ensure accountability.3
Just as the early Apostles applied their knowledge of fishing to become fishers of men, we can apply the principles found in their use of nets to the councils of the Church. Like a net, these councils are organized and prepared to gather Heavenly Father’s children—each council member acting as an important and integral strand of the net. Just as a net is effective only if it is in good repair, so are our councils compromised when council members are not organized, focused, and functioning as they should.
Leaders of councils follow the example of the ancient Apostle fishermen by regularly inspecting and mending these “nets.” Council leaders do so by providing regular training, leading out in council meetings, giving timely and appropriate feedback to council members, and offering love, encouragement, and praise. There is no substitute for the effective strength and gathering capacity of properly functioning councils.
Perhaps the council with the greatest opportunity to influence individual members of the Church is the ward council. Men and women in this council are truly called to be fishers of men with the charge of leading the work of salvation in the ward, as directed by the bishop. They live and serve in their respective wards, where they can know and associate with those they have been called to lead.
“Members of the ward council strive to help individuals build testimonies, receive saving ordinances, keep covenants, and become consecrated followers of Jesus Christ (see Moroni 6:4–5). All members of the ward council have a general responsibility for the well-being of ward members.”4
Members of ward councils play an integral role in hastening the work of salvation. When the ward council is not functioning as it should, the work slows. The gathering capacity of the “net” is compromised, and council efforts yield limited results. But when the ward council is organized and focused on strengthening individuals and families, the results can be astonishing.
I am familiar with a ward that struggled with an ineffective ward council. It was difficult for the bishop to embrace the direction found in Handbook 2 because he was comfortable in his ways and liked his old patterns. After much counseling and training by a loving stake president, however, the bishop softened his heart, repented, and began in earnest to organize the ward council as instructed. He watched training videos available at LDS.org, he read sections 4 and 5 of Handbook 2, and he acted upon what he learned.
Members of the ward council quickly embraced the changes, and a spirit of love and unity settled on them as they focused on strengthening individuals and families. In every meeting, they spoke at length about investigators, new converts, less-active members, and members with needs. Their hearts began to be drawn out to these brothers and sisters, and miracles began to happen.
The bishop reported that almost immediately after these changes were made to the ward council, previously unknown less-active members began to attend church. These members said they suddenly felt moved upon to return to the Church. They said they had received a clear and compelling impression that they needed to once again associate with the Saints. They knew they would be loved and that they needed the support members would offer.
The bishop shared with me that he is certain Heavenly Father was just waiting for him to follow the counsel he had received and organize the ward council as instructed before He could put the desire into the hearts and minds of these less-active members to return to activity in the Church. The bishop realized that he needed to create the loving, nurturing environment these members needed before the Spirit would lead them back. His words remind me of the experience of Peter the fisherman:
“And [Jesus] entered into one of the ships, which was Simon’s, and prayed him that he would thrust out a little from the land. And he sat down, and taught the people out of the ship.
“Now when he had left speaking, he said unto Simon, Launch out into the deep, and let down your nets for a draught.
“And Simon answering said unto him, Master, we have toiled all the night, and have taken nothing: nevertheless at thy word I will let down the net.
“And when they had this done, they inclosed a great multitude of fishes” (Luke 5:3–6).
As we listen to and follow the counsel given us by modern-day prophets, seers, and revelators—true “fishers of men”—and as we inspect and mend our nets while serving, our capacity to hasten the work of salvation will be greatly increased and we will become instruments in Heavenly Father’s hands to gather His children.

Crocodiles, sharks, and sea snakes may seem to be strange things to mention as memories from childhood. But when Domingos Liao was growing up in Darwin, Australia, they were an everyday part of his life.
Domingos and his friends would ride their bikes to the mouth of Rapid Creek, where fresh water and sea water mix.
While wading across, dodging jellyfish adrift in the current, they would watch for sharks that had wandered in from the sea, crocodiles buried in the mud, poisonous sea snakes, and stonefish with their venomous spikes. Despite the perils, they crossed the river again and again, lured by what they knew was on the other side.
“It was a land of promise,” Domingos remembers. “We could catch buckets of fish. The beaches were untouched and clean. There were green fields where nobody had been before.”
Today a bridge crosses the river. The open spaces have become a park, crisscrossed with jogging paths and frequented by university students. Still, Domingos likes to visit the river, to remember and to think.

Claudiana: Shortly after Gustavo and I got engaged, I became very sick. We visited doctor after doctor, but none of them knew what was wrong with me. Most foods upset my stomach, and I spent weeks at a time in the hospital throwing up and losing blood. My quality of life was quickly diminishing.
Weeks turned into months and months turned into years, and I still had no diagnosis. The medicine that I was given to treat my symptoms made me swollen and caused me to lose my hair. I was soon unrecognizable.
I felt like a deformed monster and told Gustavo that it was OK if he wanted to break up with me. I didn’t want to compromise his happiness. But his eyes still shone whenever he looked at me, and he refused to leave my side. That was when I knew I had found true love.
After four long years, I was finally diagnosed with an aggressive form of Crohn’s disease and began treatment with a high-tech medication. My hair grew back, and my swelling disappeared. Five and a half years after meeting, Gustavo and I were finally married in the temple.

Sturdy gospel roots that go deep into rich spiritual soil strengthen and steady us in times of trial and difficulty. One of the leaders of the Church once related to a group of religion instructors[8] that not long after he had been called as a General Authority someone planted a bomb at the door of the Salt Lake Temple. The bomb had exploded and knocked the large, heavy door off its hinges. He commented that the episode was chilling to him and created an anxiety and discomfort, a fear, that lasted all day. To his utter surprise, he noticed that all through the day, in the many meetings he attended with other General Authorities, no mention was made of this scary incident. Finally, at the end of the day, he asked one of the senior Brethren about the temple door, only to have his colleague remark, “Yes, we need to get that fixed, don’t we.” Then he added this important principle, one that will help each of us to be steadfast and immovable as we move into ever more troublesome days ahead: “We do not take counsel from our fears.”

Mosiah 3:19 is one of my favorite scriptures. In the summer of 1968 I was sitting with my Grandmother Payne at the Manti Pageant. I was fourteen, and it was the day that she would ruin my life. We had arrived early, so we had time to visit.

Grandma Payne was always interested in our lives, and she asked me, “David Rolph, what are you planning to do with your life?”

Being a child of the sixties, I thought long and hard before revealing my well-thought-out plans to a grown-up—a member of the Establishment. But I took the risk, and I carefully began to explain how I planned to leave our warlike and corrupt and materialistic society and retire to the woods to study the outdoors and to learn to play the guitar and to write poetry. I concluded my short sermon, declaring somewhat innocently, “I am going to be the natural man.”

She smiled at me, almost incredulously, and said, “Boy, are you in trouble! Don’t you know that the Book of Mormon teaches that the natural man is an enemy to God?”

I have never forgotten that day. It changed my life. I always read this passage with a smile—and I learned that it is risky to tell your plans to an adult.

To become consistently charitable is a lifelong quest, but each act of love changes us and those who offer it. Let me tell you the story of a young woman I met recently. Alicia, as a teenager, had drifted far from the Church, but later she felt stirrings to return. She often visited her grandfather in a retirement home on Sundays. On one of those days she decided to attend the Latter-day Saint meetings there. She opened the door and found a Relief Society meeting, but no empty seats. As she was about to leave, a woman motioned to her and scooted over to make room for her on her chair. Alicia said: “I wondered what the woman would think of me. I was covered with body piercings, and I smelled of smoke. But she didn’t seem to mind; she simply made a place for me at her side.”

Alicia, heartened by this woman’s charity, returned to activity. She has served a mission and is now sharing that same kind of love with other women. The elderly sister who shared her chair understood that there is a place for every woman in Relief Society. Sisters, we gather for strength, but we bring with us all our weaknesses and imperfections.

Alicia told me something I will never forget. She said: “I only do one thing for myself when I go to church: I take the sacrament for me. The rest of the time I watch for others who need me, and I try to help and nurture them.”

But I felt so alone. I was in Zion, the place of peace and rest for the Saints. I was supposed to be happy. But I missed my family.
The blind lady allowed me to stay with her and keep house, and I tried my hardest to keep everything neat and clean for her. But she wasn’t my family. Mama was always in my thoughts. I knew that she would come. Somehow, some way, Mama would make it to Zion.
Whenever I heard of a wagon train coming into the Salt Lake Valley, I watched for the dusty sky—a sure sign that the wagons would arrive soon. Then I’d run to the fence and climb as high as I could to see the immigrants. At first they would be just a dust cloud on the horizon. But slowly, oh so slowly, I could make out the wagons and the animals and the people.
I studied the women passing by. Mama’s hair is that color—but no, it isn’t Mama. Over there is a woman with Mama’s posture—but no, it isn’t Mama, either. Could that one driving the team be she? No, no, no. With every incoming group, I thought, Surely Mama will be in this company with my younger brothers and sisters.
I searched and searched, and doubts would come. No one smiled at me. No one ran and wrapped me in her arms. As the wagons rolled past, another heartache began. With each disappointment, the tears coursed down my cheeks, and I cried until there were no more tears left.
Two long, hard years passed before Mama finally came. When she did, I could hardly believe my eyes. She was worn and tired and covered with dust. I almost didn’t recognize her. But she knew me, even though I had grown quite a bit taller.
I ran to her as fast as I could. I wrapped my arms around her and wept—this time tears of happiness. She had made it to Zion. I wasn’t alone anymore. Together we were home. At last I felt Zion in my heart.

I sat on my bed hugging my knees, staring at the walls, but seeing nothing. Although it was the end of July, I felt cold and numb. I wasn’t worried about what I would be doing tomorrow, or the next day, or next week even. Everything that had seemed a matter of extreme importance didn’t make any difference to me at all now.
“I hope that’s not for me,” I thought as I heard several car doors slam in the driveway. Smiling and trying to carry on small talk was certainly something I didn’t feel up to today. Besides, none of my friends—or anybody my age for that matter—would have even the smallest idea of what I was going through. All their fathers were still alive.
“I’ll be right there,” I answered when Mother called to me. When I entered the living room, I was a little surprised to find my whole Young Women class, not just the presidency or a chosen few, there to visit me. Somehow, it made me feel special, even important, to know that everyone cared enough to come. They were all standing around looking a bit awkward and embarrassed. It was obvious this kind of visit was something none of them had ever done before.
My adviser stepped forward and spoke for the class. “We just wanted to drop by and let you know we’re thinking of you at this difficult time.”
I nodded, forcing a phony smile on my lips. I hadn’t been able to really smile, or cry for that matter, since the funeral. She ended with the usual, “If there’s anything we can do, please let us know.”
Bev, one of my classmates and a pretty good friend, stepped forward to hand me a single red rose. As I reached out to take it, mumbling my gratitude for their kindness, something unexpected happened. Instead of letting go of the rose, Bev held on to it. Drawing me closer, she wrapped her arms around me and began sobbing. Her crying shattered my resistance, and I threw my arms around her and broke down with weeping of my own. All the pain and grief I had tried to store came flooding out. I hadn’t allowed myself to cry so hard, but with Bev’s arms around me, it was suddenly easy to do.
Then another of my classmates stepped forward and took Bev’s place. It was then that I realized they were all huddled together, wiping tears, and saying nothing. I was amazed at how much better such a good cry was making me feel. Without saying anything, they seemed to be providing just what I needed most. When they had each taken a turn at my side, they quietly whispered good-byes and left.
After the door closed behind them, I still stood where they had left me, clutching the rose.
“That was a wonderful thing they did,” my mother said from behind me. It was then I remembered she had been there, a witness to the whole beautiful scene.
“I didn’t know I needed that,” I quietly mumbled.
Each time I looked at the rose in my vase, I remembered the young women from my class and the supporting embraces they gave me. If there was something to be grateful for during this trying time, it was the feeling of knowing I did not have to endure this suffering alone.
Before my own experience with death, I had often wondered what to say and do for someone at such a time. For me the answer was pretty simple: don’t say anything; just be there. The greatest comfort I received was a shoulder to cry on, arms to hold me, tears of sorrow, and a single red rose to cherish.

While growing up, I struggled with my mental health. I was eventually diagnosed with anxiety and depression, but I never told anyone the details. I never told anyone that I was often hearing voices and seeing things that nobody else did. I was worried about what they might think.
When I returned from my mission early because of my issues with mental health, I realized I needed to get help. So I set up an appointment with a psychiatrist. I made a plan to tell her only that I needed to get off the medication I had been taking for depression because it was making my symptoms worse.
But the Lord had different plans for that day.
When I stepped into the psychiatrist’s office, I felt the strongest sense of peace. My parents and I had been praying that the doctor would be inspired to help me and that I would be able to get things figured out. And I wasn’t sure why, but I felt that I was finally going to receive answers.
What I thought would be a quick appointment turned into a two-hour interview as the doctor asked me questions that struck me very personally. I was nervous, but the Spirit whispered, “This is the time to be honest. You can trust her.”
Taking deep breaths, I answered each question, feeling more and more comfortable with every answer. Finally, the doctor calmly said to me, “You have schizoaffective disorder.” She explained that it’s a cross between schizophrenia and bipolar disorder. I could not believe it.
“Schizophrenia?” I thought. “No way!” I immediately thought of supervillains and people locked up in straitjackets—those were the only types of people I thought could have schizophrenia. Horrified, I thought, “How am I ever going to tell my parents?” and “What will people think of me if they find out?” But the peace I felt from the Spirit persisted, and I heard it whisper once again, “This is right. You can trust her.”
Initially, I was terrified of letting people know. Not only did I have these problems, but now I had this label—one that would probably make people think of insane criminals! But time passed, and gradually I learned to accept that I have this condition, just as someone diagnosed with cancer or diabetes must accept theirs.
I’ve come to realize that labels—even scary-sounding ones—don’t define me. I’m still the same Courtney I was before I was diagnosed. Now I just understand the problems I face a little better. Just because I have a name for my condition now doesn’t change the way I’ve lived my life. It doesn’t change my worth, and it doesn’t change everything I’ve accomplished.
Today I can honestly say that I’ve been blessed by this experience. I have seen miracles come about because of my willingness to be honest and thanks to the treatment I’ve received. My paranoia and panic attacks have significantly lessened. I don’t hear voices in my head anymore, and I can walk around my house at night without being haunted by hallucinations. I’d never trade the healing that I am experiencing for the secrecy I once had about these challenges.
I know that the Lord truly knows what we need and when we need it. Sometimes we just have to be brave enough to reach for the tools He has provided for us. I believe that the Lord extended His mercy to guide me to that specific doctor at that specific time. It was nothing short of a blessing.

When I was eleven, my family had to leave East Germany. We moved to Frankfurt, West Germany. Until my father could find a job like he had had before, he and my mother ran a laundry to make a living, and I was the laundry delivery boy. I saw some shiny red bicycles, and I wished I could have one to make my deliveries. But I needed a heavy-duty bicycle to pull the cart with the laundry on it. I rode around pulling that heavy laundry cart before school and after school. It was hard to see the other children play, especially during the winter months. But everyone in our family had to work hard, and I was an important part of the family business. I felt needed and valued.

As I grew older, I learned not only the value of hard work but also about the blessings of doing things that at the time you don’t realize are important and good for you. During World War II, when I was very little, I came down with a lung disease, but no one knew it at the time. I knew that I was easily out of breath when I rode the delivery bicycle. I thought that it was because the cart was heavy. Later, when I joined the air force, I learned that because of that hard work, somehow my body had healed itself. I had built up endurance. I had built up immunity to disease. I had built up strength. When the doctors saw those spots on my lungs, they asked me about them. They said that the disease took care of itself and that I passed my physical. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have been able to become a pilot. I have been a pilot for thirty-five years, and I was a chief pilot for Lufthansa German Air Lines.

In 1951 and 1952, I attended the Frankfurt branch, which was not as big as the one in Zwickau. The Frankfurt meetinghouse was small, and we had classes in the basement. The missionaries taught us important gospel principles. One missionary, Elder Stringham, impressed me very much with his lessons on the Pearl of Great Price, especially where Moses is being taught that he is a Son of God. Elder Stringham also taught me the scripture that says, “If God be for us, who can be against us?” (Rom. 8:31). This gave me comfort and courage, because at that time, the future looked bleak in Germany. The city of Frankfurt was in ruins with bombed-out buildings. That teaching has stayed with me throughout my life. It taught me that I need to be on the Lord’s side. I cannot afford not to be on the Lord’s side.

As a pilot, I flew all over the world. In all those thirty-five years, I never tired of looking at the stars, the clouds, the landscapes. I saw the beauty of the different countries with their different cultures. I know from going to those places and seeing the people, and seeing the Church in those different places, that the gospel is for everyone, no matter what nation you live in or what your traditions are. It is the gospel of Jesus Christ. The word of God, whether it is written in the scriptures or spoken by the living prophets, whether we read it in Church magazines or hear it at general conferences, is for everyone.

I challenge you children to follow the words of the prophets. When you do, you will find the answers to your questions, whether you are six, nine, eleven, nineteen, or, like me, fifty-seven years old.

I would now like to share with you a remarkable account shared by my friend, Lee, that touched my heart deeply and reminded me that the best work we can do on our own pales in comparison, even as a social worker, to what we can do when strengthened by the Lord.

My friend shared in his own words:
Lee’s Story
I was born into and raised in an unloving and abusive home. My earliest memories, at the age of two, are of terror. I lived in fear every day of my life, until I moved away at the age of 17.

When I was about 16, I fell into a dark hole. My life consisted of waking up, going to school, coming home from school and going to my room, eating dinner, returning to my room, and staring at the ceiling. At school, the only time people would talk to me was if they needed an answer to a math problem. I was in a tremendous amount of emotional pain and was convinced that I was ugly, lazy, stupid, and unlovable. Satan was working hard to “sift [me] as wheat.”[6]

Thankfully, I knew that even if nobody else loved me, Jesus did. I had felt His love and guiding hand even before I was six years old. I distinctly remember many times feeling his presence.

Going to church on Sundays was a haven for me. I could feel my Savior’s deep love for me. My family lived on a farm, so I couldn’t really visit neighbors, but wandering the fields, I could find a degree of peace, feel Christ’s love for me, and see the beauty of the earth.

One day, as 16-year-old me was in my room trying to find a way out of my situation—I cried out in my heart to Jesus, “Lord! I’m stuck and can’t get out!”

A day or two later, a boy a year older than me knocked on the door of our house. He met my parents there and said, “There is something wrong with Lee.” My parents’ response was, “We know, but we don’t know what to do.” I had grown up with this young man. I’d had sleepovers at his place, and he and his brother had been to sleepovers at mine. We had gone to Primary together and had served in Aaronic Priesthood quorums together.

He finished talking to my parents and came up to my room to talk to me. I didn’t believe he cared. I mean, who could? So, I ignored him. He would talk to me, and I didn’t look at him or respond. He said, “That’s OK. I can do the talking” and he talked to me for about an hour. At the end of that time, he said, “I have to go home and do my chores. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

The next day, he showed up again. I treated him the same way again. He came the third day in a row. Now I figured he did actually care so I started to talk with him. Jesus Christ sent him to rescue me. To help me. To show me that there were others who did care about me. He was the angel Christ sent.

I am so grateful to my Savior, Jesus Christ, for sending that young man. I am so grateful that someone only 17 years old would be listening to and acting on the words of the Spirit. The Lord and this young man got me out of the pit. It took many years, but, beginning with those visits, they rescued me from Satan and his chains of hell.

I now have had a great life. I have a wonderful wife of 40 years. I have 5 amazing children and 13 incredible grandchildren. The Lord has supported me and my family all these years, and I know that He will continue to do so throughout the years to come.

Jesus Christ lives! He rescued me! He wants to rescue you too. Please let Him. Cry out to him. Expect angels to come. They will come.

Through their tellings, I experienced that defining time when each received a sure witness and consecrated his life to the Lord.

LeGrand was fourteen when he heard two returned missionaries bear testimony in his ward. The Lord touched his heart with such power that, returning home, he knelt beside his bed and asked God to help him live worthy to be a missionary when old enough to go.

When the time came, he was on crutches and in pain. At Church headquarters he was told to go home until well. He said, “You book me and I’ll be ready!”

His father blessed him and he went—ailing in body, strong in spirit, but yet having to battle the Dutch language.

Pray. Before the Young Women’s conference, Allison Buytendorp, 17, of the Roswell Georgia Stake, didn’t want to go. But her mother suggested she pray about it before she made up her mind. Allison prayed and felt she should go. Now she knows why. “I loved it. I felt spiritually renewed afterwards, and it made me want to go to seminary. Now I want to learn more about the scriptures. I know I was where I was supposed to be because I prayed. It just feels good to know Heavenly Father is always there for you to help you out.”

When she was 26, Cristina’s health quickly declined. She went to São Paulo for some tests. There she learned she needed another surgery. During the operation, Cristina suffered a heart attack that caused brain damage. Months passed, and she did not improve. As a family we gathered together to fast and pray for her recovery, but she did not improve. We decided to fast again, this time asking for help to accept the will of our Father in Heaven. The following day Cristina passed away.
This was not what we hoped for, but we realized this was a miracle too. Cristina no longer had to suffer. The gospel gave us joy and peace, even in moments of deep sadness. Because we have been sealed, we know we can be with Cristina again.

A lot of people are thankful to Shawn for their introduction to the gospel. One of his favorite activities is helping the missionaries. When invited, he sometimes travels across four or five states on an airline or in his own plane to tell an assembly of investigators about rodeoing and the gospel. He explains some of the finer points of bronc riding and then winds up the meeting telling them why the gospel is so important. After a recent trip to an Indian reservation where he explained about the gospel and how to ride broncs, he said, “I guess this approach has helped opened a few more doors for the elders.”

In October 2004 the Young Women and Young Men organizations in our stake had an event called “Modesty in Dress,” based on the pamphlet For the Strength of Youth. It consisted of a fashion show divided into three parts: casual wear, sportswear, and formal wear. We asked each of the young men and young women to select three changes of clothing, and we helped them choose which clothes were suitable. We invited their leaders and parents to this activity. We emphasized scriptural verses about the body being a temple (see 1 Cor. 6:19–20) and the counsel of our prophet, President Gordon B. Hinckley. The activity had a positive effect; the young people in our stake are more concerned now about grooming and dressing in an appropriate way.
Teresa de Jesús Contreras de Ramírez, Mexico

In just a few years, the efforts of the Simarrón family bore great fruit. May 30, 1999, became a day of celebration in Guayacana when a large baptismal service was held. President Intriago recalls, “We arrived with Roberto Garcia, the mission president, and both participated in that glorious day, where on the beaches of the Canandé River, two missionaries baptized 60 people. Then, President Garcia on one side and I on another confirmed as members of the Church all who were baptized. It was a privilege that will never be erased from my life.”

A few months later, my teammates on the Dixie State College debate team and I boarded a 15-passenger van, heading to the regional tournament in Casper, Wyoming, hundreds of miles away. After a stop for dinner, I had the backseat of the van all to myself. It was the perfect place to get extra sleep to be ready for the next day’s competition. Of course, by lying down I wouldn’t be able to wear a seat belt.
I was nearly asleep, when suddenly the Spirit reminded me of a conversation I had had with Johnny earlier in the week. As I drove Johnny and his father home from our house, he told me, “Remember to buckle your seat belt. I wish I had.”
At first, I thought I was just being paranoid. But the words kept coming into my mind, over and over, urging me to buckle up.
Finally, I listened. I buckled myself in and unsuccessfully tried to sleep. Meanwhile, we had entered a late-winter blizzard. As we made our descent into Casper, our van hit a patch of black ice, spun, went off the road, and rolled.
The next thing I remembered was waking up spitting mud and glass and wondering why I was suspended in midair. My seat belt had held me in place and saved me from being thrown from the vehicle. Fortunately, everyone in the van had been buckled in, and only two were slightly injured.
I am grateful on a night when I needed some sleep to get ready for a busy day that I was able to listen to the voice of the Spirit. I’m grateful I heeded that warning.