Gospel Story Finder

In Springs, east of Johannesburg in South Africa, four large local malls agreed to house Light the World giving boxes to receive donations for specially identified nonprofit organisations needing support.

Members of the Church donated their time manning the stalls at the malls and received secondhand clothing, toiletries, stationery and cleaning products for the homes in need. Then, volunteers gathered at the centres to donate the goods. One of the beneficiaries was Vita Nova Centre, a centre that caters for persons with cerebral palsy, Down syndrome, autism and the physically and mentally challenged.
Another one of the stake’s service projects was St. Francis Care Centre, a hospice and palliative care for persons suffering from life-threatening and life-limiting conditions. Members participated in some much-needed garden work at the centre, before returning for a play date.
Jasmine Westpfahl (11) spent four weeks making 20 beanies for orphaned babies from scraps of wool. She presented the beanies to the St. Francis Children’s Home along with the other clothing donations that were collected from the community.
Members of the church in Ladysmith, South Africa donated almost 200 handmade curtains to the Môrester Children’s Home.
Môrester Children’s Home cares for children that were removed from their families by a court order because of unsafe and unhealthy circumstances in their homes. The home houses 157 children in 11 houses in Ladysmith and surrounding areas.
“During our visit to the care centre we found the curtains to be old and washed out and often two different curtains hung at the same window. We felt that curtains are associated with light, and this would fit in well with our campaign,” Sister Susan De Klerk, the communications director in Ladysmith District, said.
Hours of sewing the curtains, and more hours of altering the curtains to Môrester’s specifications yielded 198 curtains.
The group further donated a volleyball net and two volleyballs as well as boxes of biscuits.
With tears in her eyes, Nobambo Nzinya, a social worker at the Môrester Children’s Home expressed her gratitude for the efforts of the volunteers.
“The children kept asking when the centre is going to buy them cookies for Christmas. And I honestly didn’t know what to tell them as I knew that there was no funds available to buy cookies for Christmas,” Nobambo Nzinya said.
“We as the centre are so grateful. Your service proves that you work in collaboration with the Holy Spirit.”
Members and unit leaders in Cape Town organized efforts to collect and donate 200 comfort packs for children at MOSAIC, a community-based nonprofit organisation for abused women and children that provides support services, access to justice and training for abuse survivors.
While 200 comfort packs consisting of new clothes, underwear, face cloths, toys, toiletries, juice, two-minute noodles and biscuits may not prevent gender-based violence, they will certainly improve the lives of the affected victims.
“There were so many members from our region who were involved in this project. From unit leaders collecting and receiving items to more leaders delivering it to the event,” said Denise Van Der Merwe, the communications director of Cape Town Stake said.
“Volunteers put together donations with care, while congregational Church leaders encouraged their members to participate any way they could. There was so much love and service given to this project that it can’t be fully expressed,” she continued.
Two of South Africa’s biggest retail outlets collaborated with the Church in donating and giving the Church items at a discounted price towards the abused victims.
The executive director of MOSAIC, Tarisai Mchuchu-MacMillan, poured out her thanks to the Cape Town Stake for the service.
“I am so grateful to the Cape Town Stake for selecting MOSAIC. During this Christmas season the #LightTheWorld initiative has lightened the burdens of so many children who access our services at the Thuthuzela care centres by generously donating comfort packs,” said Mchuchu-MacMillan.
Across the Indian Ocean, volunteers from the Church in Mauritius gathered to paint an apartment that houses six orphaned children at the S.O.S Children’s Village.
The shelter for the orphans in Mauritius advocates for childhood development and supports orphaned children by giving them access to a home, safety, education and health care.
The director of S.O.S Children’s Village, Christiano Arlando expressed his gratitude for the members’ efforts. “I felt the members’ willingness to help during their service of painting one of the children’s apartments,” Arlando said.
Dressed in red Light the World t-shirts, volunteers took to the streets of South Beach and the Durban harbour to clean.
This clean-up was in collaboration with the local government of Ethekwini and Gagasi FM, a local radio station in KwaZulu-Natal.
The cleaning campaign was part of the city’s ongoing efforts ofto keep the streets of Ethekwini clean, while creating an awareness on the proper disposal of waste.
With the cleaning spots identified, and the pickup truck arranged, members of the Church, Ethekwini Municipality and Gagasi FM with brooms on the one hand and refuse bags in the other, swept through the streets of South Beach and Durban harbour.
Tons of clothing items, plastics, polystyrene food packaging, and beverage bottles were collected.
After two industrious weeks, members of the Bulawayo and Nkulumane Zimbabwe stakes completed two service projects at two centres—the Ramstein Salvation Army Home of the Aged and Qinisani Daycare Orphanage.
The time period of the service projects was packed with clearing of the yard, cleaning of the centres and construction of a rabbit cage. Donations of four rabbits were made to the two centres.
President Mzingaye Ndlovu, a leader for the Church in Buluwayo, addressed the attendees at the handover, a joyful event where members of the Church sang Christmas carols for the elderly.
“Continue to follow the example of Jesus Christ and also light the world here at Ramstein Salvation Army Home of the Aged. Our Lord Jesus Christ, went about in a ministry that extended over a period of three years. [During that period of three years] nothing was about Him. He sought to lift others,” Ndlovu said.
In keeping true to the spirit of Christmas, Elder and Sister Miller, serving as missionaries in the George-Knysna area on the western coast of South Africa, participated in a neighbourhood Christmas house lighting tradition.
Houses along one suburban street place Christmas lights outside their homes in a lighting spectacle that brings in visitors from all over the town. “We are the first house on the block to present a completely Christian nativity depiction in our yard which has been seen by many hundreds of people,” the Millers said.
In another service project titled “Light the world by helping one person help another”, missionaries identified an area in the George metropolitan area that needed upliftment.
“We identified a local neighbourhood park that was in bad need of upgrading, interviewed patrons of the park and a neighbourhood volunteer who helped clean the park,” Elder Miller said.
“We then kept track of what facilities were being used and what was in need of repair. We contacted and met with local government officials and presented a comprehensive plan to them and demonstrated our willingness as a Church to help fund the initial upgrade needs to get the project rolling. They approved our initial proposal and we ordered some facility upgrades.” the Millers said.

From a position of great influence and authority, all three witnesses fell, each in his own way. During 1837 there were intense financial and spiritual conflicts in Kirtland, Ohio. Martin Harris later said that he “lost confidence in Joseph Smith” and “his mind became darkened” (quoted in Anderson, Investigating the Book of Mormon Witnesses, 110). He was released from the high council in September 1837 and three months later was excommunicated.
Martin’s wife, Lucy, who had been involved in the loss of the manuscript pages, died in Palmyra in 1836. Within a year thereafter, Martin and his family located in Kirtland, and Martin married Caroline Young, a niece of Brigham Young.
When most of the Saints moved on—to Missouri, to Nauvoo, and to the West—Martin Harris remained in Kirtland. There he was rebaptized by a visiting missionary in 1842. In 1856 Caroline and their four children took the long journey to Utah, but Martin, then 73 years of age, remained on his property in Kirtland. In 1860 he told a census taker that he was a “Mormon preacher,” evidence of his continuing loyalty to the restored gospel. Later he would tell a visitor, “I never did leave the Church; the Church left me” (quoted in William H. Homer Jr., “‘Publish It Upon the Mountains’: The Story of Martin Harris,” Improvement Era, July 1955, 505), meaning of course that Brigham Young led the Church west and the aging Martin remained in Kirtland.
During part of his remaining years in Kirtland, Martin Harris acted as a self-appointed guide-caretaker of the deserted Kirtland Temple, which he loved. Visitors reported his alienation from the leaders of the Church in Utah but also his fervent reaffirmation of his published testimony of the Book of Mormon.
Finally, in 1870, Martin’s desire to be reunited with his family in Utah resulted in a warm invitation from Brigham Young, a ticket for his passage, and an official escort from one of the Presidents of Seventy. A Utah interviewer of the 87-year-old man described him as “remarkably vigorous for one of his years, … his memory being very good” (Deseret News, 31 Aug. 1870). He was rebaptized, a common practice at that time, and spoke twice to audiences in this Tabernacle. We have no official report of what he said, but we can be sure of his central message since over 35 persons left similar personal accounts of what he told them during this period. One reported Martin saying, “It is not a mere belief, but is a matter of knowledge. I saw the plates and the inscriptions thereon. I saw the angel, and he showed them unto me” (quoted in Anderson, Investigating the Book of Mormon Witnesses, 116).
When he reiterated his testimony of the Book of Mormon in the closing days of his life, Martin Harris declared, “I tell you of these things that you may tell others that what I have said is true, and I dare not deny it; I heard the voice of God commanding me to testify to the same” (quoted in Anderson, Investigating the Book of Mormon Witnesses, 118).
Martin Harris died in Clarkston, Utah, in 1875, at age 92. His life is commemorated in the memorable pageant, Martin Harris: The Man Who Knew, produced each summer in Clarkston, Utah.

Upon hearing the mission president’s message, the widowed sister desired to be sealed to her family in the temple someday. However, it was impossible for her, due to financial constraints and language barriers.
Then several innovative solutions emerged. The cost could be reduced by half if members in Japan chartered an entire plane to fly to Hawaii in the offseason. Members also recorded and sold vinyl records entitled Japanese Saints Sing. Some members even sold homes. Others quit their jobs to make the trip.
The other challenge for members was that the temple presentation was not available in Japanese. Church leaders called a Japanese brother to travel to the Hawaiian temple to translate the endowment ceremony. He was the first Japanese convert after the war, having been taught and baptized by faithful American soldiers.
When the endowed Japanese members living in Hawaii first heard the translation, they wept. One member recorded: “We’ve been to the temple many, many times. We’ve heard the ceremonies in English. [But] we have never felt the spirit of … temple work as we feel it now [hearing it] in our own native tongue.”
Later that same year, 161 adults and children embarked from Tokyo to make their way to the Hawaii Temple. One Japanese brother reflected on the journey: “As I looked out of the airplane and saw Pearl Harbor, and remembered what our country had done to these people on December 7, 1941, I feared in my heart. Will they accept us? But to my surprise they showed greater love and kindness than I had ever seen in my life.”
Upon the Japanese Saints’ arrival, the Hawaiian members welcomed them with countless strands of flower leis while exchanging hugs and kisses on the cheeks, a custom foreign to Japanese culture. After spending 10 transformative days in Hawaii, the Japanese Saints bid their farewells to the melody of “Aloha Oe” sung by the Hawaiian Saints.
The second temple trip organized for Japanese members included the widowed Okinawan sister. She made the 10,000-mile (16,000-km) journey thanks to a generous gift from missionaries who had served in her branch and had eaten many meals at her table. While in the temple, she shed tears of joy as she acted as a proxy for her mother’s baptism and was sealed to her deceased husband.
Temple excursions from Japan to Hawaii continued regularly until the Tokyo Japan Temple was dedicated in 1980, becoming the 18th temple in operation. In November of this year, the 186th temple will be dedicated in Okinawa, Japan. It is located not far from the cave in central Okinawa where this woman and her family sheltered.
Though I never met this wonderful sister from Okinawa, her legacy lives on through her faithful posterity, many of whom I know and love.

Eleven-year-old Cassie sat on the front porch, frowning at the yellow stains on her fingernails. Since early morning she’d helped peel bushels and bushels of peaches, and the fuzzy skins had not only stained her fingers but made her hands itch. She never wanted to see another peach as long as she lived.
It had been a good summer for her family. The garden had given them lots of vegetables, and they’d already bottled beans and peas. The corn and the apples looked promising, but the peaches had been the best crop that Cassie could remember.
“Come inside and wash up for supper,” Mama called. “We have to go to bed early because we’re making peach jam tomorrow.”
Peaches, peaches, and more peaches, Cassie thought. Too many peaches! I’ll be dreaming all night about peaches.
“I see Papa and the boys coming up the back way,” Mama said. “Please hurry.”
Cassie hadn’t realized how hungry she was. Mama’s beef stew was wonderful, and even the peach cobbler tasted good.
After supper, Papa, Willy, and Jon took the bottles of peaches down to the fruit cellar. “These will be mighty tasty this winter,” Papa said. “How many bottles did we get?”
“Nearly two hundred,” Mama answered. “Almost twice as many as last year, even after we took the tithing bushels to the storehouse.”
Papa smiled. “I hope you children realize how much the Lord has blessed us.”
Cassie offered the family prayer that night and thanked Heavenly Father for all their blessings, including the peaches, though it was hard to feel grateful when she was so tired.
Cassie fell asleep right away. She awoke to the sounds of people shouting and wagons rattling down the road. She looked out the window and saw a smoky orange and red glow coming from the direction of the Ashman house. She jumped out of bed, her heart pounding. Sara Ashman was her best friend! She wrapped her quilt around her and ran downstairs. The floor felt cold on her bare feet. Mama was shaking out their extra quilts.
“What’s wrong, Mama?”
“I’m glad you’re up, Cassie. The Ashmans’ house caught fire. I don’t know how bad it is yet, but Papa and the boys are helping to put it out. The Ashmans are going to have to stay with us awhile, and I need your help to get the house ready. Brother and Sister Ashman will stay in your room. You, Sara, and Molly will stay in the boys’ room, and the boys can sleep down here on the floor.”
Cassie dressed quickly and moved her things to her brothers’ room. She put fresh sheets on her big double bed that had belonged to Grandma Bingham. The boys’ straw mattresses wouldn’t be nearly as comfortable as her down-filled one, but she was happy to share it with Sara’s parents. Besides, it would be fun to have Sara and Molly stay with her.
As she and Mama finished getting the house ready, a wagon pulled up outside. Cassie was hurrying downstairs when Willy came through the door, carrying Molly wrapped in a quilt. Sara and Sister Ashman followed him in. Their faces were smudged with soot, and Cassie could see where tears had run down their cheeks. She ran to Sara and gave her a hug.
“Oh, Cassie,” Sara cried, “everything’s gone—our clothes, our furniture, even our dolls!”
“Couldn’t you save anything, Edith?” Mama asked.
Sister Ashman shook her head. “We’re just very grateful to be alive.”
Papa and Jon came in with Brother Ashman, Tim Ashman, and Bishop Smith. “Looks like some rags were left too close to the wood stove, and the fire just spread from there,” the bishop said. “It’s a good thing Tim smelled smoke and woke the family. You’re a hero, Tim.”
Tim blushed. “I’m just glad the house was built next to the oak tree. We all climbed out Sara’s window and down the tree. You should have seen Mother—she shinned down faster than any of us.”
“We’re grateful that you’re safe,” Papa said. “We’ll go over when it’s light and see what’s to be done. Bishop, will you offer a prayer?”
The Bishop thanked Heavenly Father for saving the lives of the Ashman family. He asked for a special blessing on Cassie’s house while the Ashmans were staying there. Cassie felt good inside knowing that they had more than enough to share.
At daylight the men examined the ruins. They decided that it would take nearly two months to build a new house since they could work on it only after their own work was done. Every man in town volunteered to help.
The time went by quickly. Each evening except Sunday the men worked on the house. Lumber was donated from the sawmill in the next town, and Mr. Farley gave them paint from his store. People Cassie didn’t even know came to help. If anyone had a spare minute, it was spent building the house.
The sisters from the ward were busy too. They met to make quilts and clothing. People donated furniture, clothes, and kitchen utensils. A traveling salesman stopped by with a box of kitchen knives and left without telling anyone his name. Cassie couldn’t remember when everyone had seemed so happy.
Cassie and Mama kept busy making peach jam and canning the vegetables from both their own garden and the Ashman’s, which had not been harmed by the fire. Being with Sara and Molly was so much fun that Cassie even forgot that canning was hard work.
Because of everyone’s help, the house was finished sooner than expected. Cassie felt sad to think about Sara leaving. One night at dinner Sister Ashman began to cry. “I don’t know how I’ll ever repay all of you. The new house, the clothes, the dishes. Why I feel like a young bride again.”
“There’s no need to thank us,” Mama said. “You’d do the same for us.”
When the Ashmans moved, everyone came to see the new house. It was beautiful. Cassie couldn’t believe all the wonderful things the neighbors had done. There were dishes in the cupboards, rugs on the floors, and curtains at the windows. But for Cassie, the best part of the house was the fruit cellar. Lined up on the shelves were the bottles of vegetables she’d helped preserve—including three full shelves of bottled peaches. Well, she thought, maybe there weren’t too many peaches after all.

Our son Justin grew up with a difficult disease. Sometimes he was very weak. He couldn’t always do things like everyone else, even though he tried. He knew what it felt like to be different.
One day Justin and his friends got together to play a game. They had to hit a ball with their arms to keep it in the air. One of the girls who came to play had a broken arm.
It would have been easy to say, “OK, we’re all playing, and she’s just going to watch.”
But instead, Justin said, “I have a great idea. We’re all going to play with one arm.” Everybody played the game using just one arm, including the girl who was wearing a cast. No one was left out.
Justin is my hero. He always looked at other people and thought, How do they feel? Justin was sick for most of his life, but he was happy because he helped other people and followed Jesus Christ.

I think of what occurred 141 years ago in the old Tabernacle, which stood where Temple Square is now located. And I take you back to the general conference of October 1856. On Saturday of that conference, Elder Franklin D. Richards and a handful of associates arrived in the valley. They had traveled from Winter Quarters with strong teams and light wagons and had been able to make good time.
Brother Richards immediately sought out President Brigham Young. He reported that there were hundreds of men, women, and children scattered over the long trail from Scottsbluff to this valley. Most of them were pulling handcarts. They were accompanied by two wagon trains which had been assigned to assist them. They had reached the area of the last crossing of the North Platte River. Ahead of them lay a trail that was uphill all the way to the Continental Divide with many, many miles beyond that. They were in desperate trouble.
Winter had come early. Snow-laden winds were howling across the highlands of what is now western Nebraska and Wyoming. Our people were hungry, their carts and their wagons were breaking down, their oxen dying. The people themselves were dying. All of them would perish unless they were rescued.
I think President Young did not sleep that night. I think visions of those destitute, freezing, dying people paraded through his mind.
The next morning he came to the old Tabernacle. He said to the people:
“I will now give this people the subject and the text for the Elders who may speak. … It is this. … Many of our brethren and sisters are on the plains with handcarts, and probably many are now seven hundred miles from this place, and they must be brought here, we must send assistance to them. The text will be, ‘to get them here.’
“That is my religion; that is the dictation of the Holy Ghost that I possess. It is to save the people.
“I shall call upon the Bishops this day. I shall not wait until tomorrow, nor until the next day, for 60 good mule teams and 12 or 15 wagons. I do not want to send oxen. I want good horses and mules. They are in this Territory, and we must have them. Also 12 tons of flour and 40 good teamsters, besides those that drive the teams.
“I will tell you all that your faith, religion, and profession of religion, will never save one soul of you in the Celestial Kingdom of our God, unless you carry out just such principles as I am now teaching you. Go and bring in those people now on the plains” (in LeRoy R. Hafen and Ann W. Hafen, Handcarts to Zion, 1960, 120–21).
That afternoon food, bedding, and clothing in great quantities were assembled by the women.
The next morning, horses were shod and wagons were repaired and loaded.
The following morning, Tuesday, 16 mule teams pulled out and headed eastward. By the end of October there were 250 teams on the road to give relief.

A few years ago in Italy, LDS missionaries were harassed by some Italian youths. Among the group on two occasions was a young man named Felice Lotito. He was challenged by a bold elder to come to the local LDS branch so that he could judge for himself. It was a dare which Felice accepted. He came. He heard. He studied. He believed. He was baptized. Later he was sent on a mission to England where he increased his faith and his facility with English. He served honorably, came home, married a lovely Italian girl in the Bern Switzerland Temple, and became one of the directors of the seminary and institute program in Italy.
In July of 1980, Felice Lotito left at age 32 to be the mission president in the Italy Padova Mission of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints! God saw in Felice possibilities that Felice did not see in himself. When the gospel was presented to him, Felice had the integrity of heart and intellect to believe it, even though he had been hassling the missionaries just days before.

What does my church believe?” Andrea stammered.
“Yeah.” Jane urged. “You have to believe something—maybe something different.”
“Well, um … we believe in God and … and …”
“I guessed that much. Most churches believe in God,” said Jane. “But what does your church believe that makes you different from other churches?”
Andrea could feel a hot blush rise in her face. What can I say? she wondered.
Just then Jane’s mother called, “Andrea, your mother just telephoned. She would like you to come home right away.”
“Oh, I forgot! I promised to take care of my brother! Sorry, Jane—I have to run. See you tomorrow.”
As she thanked Jane’s mother and hurried toward home, Jane’s questions kept popping into her mind, and she felt ashamed that she didn’t know what to say. I’ve been a member all my life. I should know what the Church believes.
After school the next day, Andrea slipped out of her chair and through the door. If I hurry, Jane won’t catch up to me and ask me again, she thought. But she wasn’t fast enough.
“Andrea, wait for me,” Jane yelled down the hall to her. “I just need to get my library book.”
As they started toward home, Andrea kept her head down and stared at the sidewalk as if expecting it to jump up at her. She could only manage to nod or shake her head whenever Jane said something. Finally Jane bent down and looked up at her friend’s face. “Are you OK?”
“Yes. I’m fine. I just don’t feel like talking. Anyway, here’s your house. I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon. You’re still planning to come over to make cookies, aren’t you?”
“Of course, I can hardly wait to try your recipe!”
Andrea hardly heard Jane’s reply. What do Latter-day Saints believe? she asked herself, continuing down the street. From her parents and in Primary, she had learned about temples, prophets, the Book of Mormon, the celestial kingdom, Jesus, Heavenly Father, and lots more. But how could she explain all that to Jane? It had taken her her whole life to learn these things.
That night, as she and her father did dishes, she asked, “Dad, what does our Church believe?”
“Well, Andrea, we believe a lot of things. For starters, we believe in Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. We believe that families can be together forever. We believe in Joseph Smith and the Book of Mormon.”
“But that’s not all, is it?”
“No, of course not. I guess that if we went into detail, we could write several books about what we believe. Why do you ask?”
“Yesterday Jane asked me what our church believes, and I didn’t know what to say. I’m 10 years old. I’ve been baptized, and I still don’t know what to say.” Andrea’s voice choked up, and tears started to pool in the corners of her eyes.
Dad put down the dishcloth, sat at the kitchen table, and gestured for her to sit next to him. “Andrea, you know what we believe. You’ve just forgotten that you do. Remember when you were preparing to be baptized? What did you do?”
“Well, I read the Book of Mormon, and I tried to repent of my sins, and I memorized the Articles of Faith.”
“Right. And what do the Articles of Faith tell us?”
A smile spread slowly across Andrea’s face. “They tell us what we believe! I do know!”
“Sure you do. The Articles of Faith can be really valuable tools in helping us and other people understand what we believe.”
When Andrea and Dad had finished the dishes, they sat and opened their scriptures to the Pearl of Great Price. On the last two pages, they found the Articles of Faith and read them one by one. Or rather, Dad read while Andrea recited them from memory. She was happy that she had been reviewing them for her Gospel in Action award and could remember them all.
Below the 13th article, Andrea saw the name Joseph Smith. “When did Joseph Smith write these?” she asked.
“Well, a man named John Wentworth, who was the editor of an Illinois newspaper, wanted to know how the Church was started and what members believed. Joseph Smith told him in a letter, which became known as the “Wentworth Letter.” The principles mentioned in that letter later became the Articles of Faith. They don’t go into a lot of detail about all the things that we believe, but they list many basic truths of the gospel.”
“I’m glad that we have the Articles of Faith! Now I know what I can say to Jane. I’ll tell her tomorrow. Thanks, Dad.”
The next day, Andrea was eager for Jane to arrive. Before her friend had even hung up her coat, the words were tumbling from Andrea’s mouth. “Remember what you asked me the other day—about what my Church believes?”
“Oh, yeah. I remember. We didn’t get very far, did we?”
“I can tell you now.” Andrea began reciting the Articles of Faith.
“Wow! You really know a lot about what you believe. I think that’s great. How did you know all that?”
“I’ve been learning at home and at church all my life, but”—she grinned at her friend—“I had a little help from a newspaper man.” Then she told Jane about the Wentworth Letter and about how Joseph Smith’s reply had become the Articles of Faith.
“I can’t believe you memorized them all,” Jane said. “That’s a lot to remember!”
“It’s not that hard when it’s what you believe.”
Jane sat quietly for a minute. “Andrea, could you tell me more about what you believe? I don’t really understand everything you said, but I’d like to.”
“Sure. Let’s get started with cookies, and I’ll tell you about the first article of faith.” Andrea spent most of the cookie-making time explaining some of the Articles of Faith. Then, while they munched on the hot, chocolate cookies, she explained more. When Jane left for home, Andrea offered, “If you want to know more, you can come to church with me sometime.”
“Oh, I’d like that. I’ll ask my mom and let you know.”
That night, Andrea told her father all about her experience with Jane.
“Andrea, the Prophet Joseph Smith would be happy that what he wrote to John Wentworth helped you to share the gospel. Remember to thank the Lord tonight for him and the great work he did.”
And Andrea did just that.

Brrrrring! The bell rang for the last class of the day. Now that Megan was in middle school, she went to different classes during the day. And there was a lot to learn. Megan was glad her last class was for study time. That meant she could start on her homework.
Megan sat down at an empty table. A boy named Bennett walked up to her.
“Hey, Megan, you’re Mormon, right?”
“I’m a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints,” Megan said.
“So, you think Joseph Smith wrote the Book of Mormon or something, right?” Bennett asked.
Megan said a quick, silent prayer to know how to an?swer. “He translated the Book of Mormon,” she said. “God called him as a prophet to help bring back Christ’s Church.”
Bennett scrunched his nose. “That’s crazy,” he said. He laughed and walked away.
Megan’s face felt warm. She stared down at her book.
“Hey, Megan.”
What now? Megan looked up. “Oh. Hi, Taj.”
“Sorry about Bennett,” Taj said. He sat down across from her. “What you were saying sounded important to you.”
“Thanks,” Megan said. “It is.”
“I think I know how you feel,” Taj said. “I’m the only Hindu at school. It’s hard when people don’t try to understand your beliefs.”
Megan sometimes felt lonely as the only member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints at their school. But she’d never thought that other kids might feel that way too.
“My parents say that when someone is mean it’s because they don’t feel happy inside,” Megan said. She twirled a pencil around her fingers. “I wonder if Bennett feels sad. Or lonely.”
Taj tilted his head. “I’ll bet you’re right. Maybe he needs a friend.”
Megan grinned. “Maybe he needs two!”
The next day at study time, Megan and Taj saw Bennett sitting alone at a table.
“Hi, Bennett,” Taj said.
Bennett looked surprised. “Hi.”
“What are you working on?” Megan asked, plopping into a chair.
“History.”
“For the quiz tomorrow?” Taj sat down too.
“Yup,” Bennett said.
“There’s a lot to remember,” Taj said. Bennett nodded.
“Maybe we could quiz each other.” Megan opened her history book. They took turns asking and answering questions until the bell rang.
“Hey, Megan, I’m sorry about yesterday,” Bennett said as they stood to go. “I heard some stuff about your church and was curious.” He shifted back and forth on his feet. “I believe different things, but I should have been nicer.”
Megan smiled. “Thanks. My church is important to me, but it’s OK if we believe different things.”
“I think we make a good study group even if we have different beliefs,” Taj said.
Bennett grinned. “Me too. And I think we’ll do great on that quiz.”
This story took place in the USA.

After high school, I decided to serve a mission. But I had some unexpected medical problems that kept me from leaving when I expected to.
I had to be patient, but I was eventually called to the Mexico Guadalajara East Mission. There, I taught many amazing people and even helped some of them be baptized. But even with my faith, obedience, and hard work, none of them stayed active in the Church.
Often, life events are out of our control. I couldn’t instantly solve my medical problems. And I can’t force others to live the gospel. But I can trust in the Lord’s timing and way.

From the first time she came to church, 16-year-old Moema Duberley loved it. “The girls were very receptive and tried to help me get to know everybody,” she says. “It made me feel like the Church was my second home.”
But it became difficult for Moema to come to church when her mother became inactive a few months after their baptism. Partly because of her calling, but mostly because of their friendship, Katarina began calling Moema.
“Sometimes I felt like I was bothering Moema,” says Katarina, “but I kept trying because I felt it was important, and I knew God was going to help because I was also praying.”
After months of Katarina’s and other girls’ fellowshipping, Moema returned to full activity. “I came back because I was missing everything I had been learning at church, and my relationship with God and the people.”
Now Moema and Katarina share a special bond. “I’m really grateful because I needed a friend when I was inactive,” says Moema. “I’m very thankful for Katarina being like this for me. When you spend time away from the Church, you begin to feel that maybe you won’t be well accepted. But when people call, it feels good to know you’re not forgotten.”
As for Katarina, “I feel really happy and thankful that she came back. And it worked! I prayed and it worked.”

The young freshman student seated across the desk from me slumped despondently as he rehearsed a series of recent disappointments. The final blow had been his first semester’s grades. In every case they had been below his expectations, and he was beginning to doubt his ability to benefit from the college experience he had looked forward to since childhood.
Opening one of the books on my desk at random, I asked him to read a few paragraphs for me. He made it through about 50 words doggedly, without expression and with awkward pauses that betrayed how little he was understanding what he was reading. Gently, I asked him what magazines he read regularly and what the name was of the last book he had thoroughly enjoyed. His answer to both questions was simply a shake of his head and muttered comment about how “hard” reading had always been for him.
I suggested that he have one of the campus clinics check to see if he had a functional disorder that made reading unusually difficult for him, but I assured him that such conditions were relatively rare and that quite probably his was a case of never having learned to read well enough to enjoy it and thereby turn reading into the basic learning tool it should be.
Knowing that he had been recruited by the university as a long-distance runner, I suggested that he had never brought himself to the stage in reading that he routinely achieved in running, the point at which he caught his “second wind.” I reminded him that making it through to the point that heart and lungs suddenly returned to their normal operation was painful but that he could count on it, and it was very much a part of his success as a runner.
Happily, in learning to read easily and well—however difficult the process—he could achieve a permanent “second wind” that did not have to be struggled for each time it was used. I assured my young friend that, although many successful students had learned to read easily and well in grade school, he was far from alone in college in attempting to increase both reading speed and comprehension. Fortunately, there were remedial courses to help, and I suggested that he not delay in bringing his reading to a collegiate level.
A semester later, a smiling young man brought his latest grade report to show me. Obviously, he now was competing well—and he knew how to do even better.

After they interviewed and baptised six people at the first branch, Elder Toa and Elder Nalin headed to Saetsiwi, an isolated area tucked high in the mountains. They had no way to contact the Saetsiwi Branch president but knew he was expecting them at some point, so the missionaries drove their truck as far as they could then continue on foot for the remaining 3-hour trek. When they finally arrived, the branch president was nowhere to be found. The elders had hiked all that way in vain.
Then the big rain fell. Everyone in Saetsiwi knows that when it starts to rain hard, getting off the mountain is treacherous. Elder Toa and Elder Nalin rushed back to their truck, knowing every second counted before the local rivers swelled and became impassable. They made it to the truck in time to drive through the first and second rivers, but they knew the third river would be a challenge.
Sure enough, their truck got stuck partway. They tried to push it—no luck. They called the district president, and soon help arrived, but the truck still wouldn’t move. The river rose and flowed so swiftly that the helpers had to get out and move to safety. Then, Elder Nalin spotted something else that worried him. He saw that the waters in next river over—which converged with this river—had become torrential and threatened to break through.
In his mind, it seemed to Elder Nalin that an invisible force was holding that third river back, as though buying time for them—but he knew it wouldn’t be for long. The torrent was racing.
Elder Toa and Elder Nalin are examples of the finest possible young men from Vanuatu—responsible and excellent in every way. To them, a truck is of almost incomprehensible expense, especially in a country where families can barely afford to educate their children, much less buy a vehicle. The elders were determined to preserve the Church’s truck at all costs, but now the water was up to its door handles. They called their mission president and asked, “What should we do?”
President Messick’s response was: “Thank you for calling. Now get out of the truck and save yourselves. I don’t care about the truck; I care about you.”
As they rushed out of the truck, Elder Toa climbed into the back seat to grab their scriptures and the 114 interview papers they needed for the baptisms. He couldn’t see them anywhere. Then a voice yelled, “The water is coming! Get out of the truck!” and Elder Toa slipped out of the back door just as the truck was swept downstream.
As soon as the elders realised that their scriptures and the 114 interview papers were still in the truck—which was now well out of sight—they used the power of the priesthood and commanded the truck to protect their precious documents. “That’s what you can do with the priesthood,” the young men said later, with absolute confidence. “You can command.”
Elder Toa and Elder Nalin managed to pull themselves out to safety, and there by the side of the river, they knelt and prayed. As they prayed that the truck would be safe and that their scriptures and interview papers would stay dry, the missionaries felt a peaceful assurance that all would be fine. Then they walked the rest of the way off the mountain.
The next day, the elders received a call from the district president. Saetsiwi’s branch president had found their truck, 250 meters downstream. When the Elders arrived to retrieve it, they discovered not a dent or a scratch on the body of the vehicle, despite its journey in the river, past trees, rocks, and debris.
The inside of the truck wasn’t so fortunate. It was drenched. The engine suffered electrical damage, and everything in the cab—pamphlets, manuals, books—was soaked beyond repair, except for the Elders’ scriptures and the 114 interview papers. These sat in plain sight above everything else, completely dry.
While the truck was being repaired, Elder Toa and Elder Nalin resumed their tour on foot. At their next stop, they interviewed and baptised 48 candidates before continuing right across Tanna Island. “When you get tired of walking,” one of them told a fellow missionary, “You walk with your heart.”
Their hearts and a priesthood miracle helped these faithful elders reach and bring all 114 candidates safely into the Church of Jesus Christ.

Illustration by David Malan
A year after becoming a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, I sent in my papers to serve as a full-time missionary. My family was totally against me serving a mission and thought that I should get my master’s degree instead. I had recently finished my bachelor’s degree, and it was always my dream to get a master’s degree when I finished. My professors were willing to help me as well because I was a good student.
As I prepared to leave for my mission, life became very difficult financially for my family. My oldest brother lost his job. A short time later the company where my father had worked for many years began to fail economically, and he was laid off. My father ended up using all of his government benefits to help my grandmother, and one night I saw him crying because he didn’t know how to support the family.
At the time, I was receiving a university scholarship that was about equal to half of a minimum wage salary. When I received my payments, I would always pay my tithing first. But when I received my most recent payment after my father lost his job, my mother asked me not to give money to the Church because we needed it at home. I told her about tithing and its importance and showed her the promise the Lord gave in Malachi 3:10. Although she wasn’t happy, I paid my tithing and I knew that it was right.
While I continued my mission preparation, I entered a competition at a local university just to see how I would do. I passed and was offered a position where I could earn almost the same amount of money that my father had earned in his job. It would be enough to take care of my family until my father could retire. My family hoped that I would take the job.
I prayed a lot, and the Lord responded that I needed to go out to the mission field. I trusted Him and accepted my call to the Brazil Santa Maria Mission. The Lord blessed my family while I was gone on my mission. I know the windows of heaven were opened (see Malachi 3:10). My father and brother found work again, and the family was able to raise dairy cows for more income.
My testimony of Jesus Christ and His work has grown, and seeing the joy on the faces and the change in the hearts of those I served is something very valuable to me. No amount of money is equal to the blessing of seeing families prepare to go to the temple and be sealed.

The sacrament provides a time for a truly spiritual experience as we reflect upon the Savior’s redeeming and enabling power through His Atonement. A Young Women leader recently learned about the strength we receive as we strive to thoughtfully partake of the sacrament. Working to complete a requirement in Personal Progress, she set a goal to focus on the words in the sacrament hymns and prayers.

Each week, she conducted a self-evaluation during the sacrament. She recalled mistakes she had made, and she committed to be better the next week. She was grateful to be able to make things right and be made clean. Looking back on the experience, she said, “I was acting on the repentance part of the Atonement.”

One Sunday after her self-evaluation, she began to feel gloomy and pessimistic. She could see that she was making the same errors over and over again, week to week. But then she had a distinct impression that she was neglecting a big part of the Atonement—Christ’s enabling power. She was forgetting all the times the Savior helped her be who she needed to be and serve beyond her own capacity.

With this in mind, she reflected again on the previous week. She said: “A feeling of joy broke through my melancholy as I noted that He had given me many opportunities and abilities. I noted with gratitude the ability I had to recognize my child’s need when it wasn’t obvious. I noted that on a day when I felt I could not pack in one more thing to do, I was able to offer strengthening words to a friend. I had shown patience in a circumstance that usually elicited the opposite from me.”

She concluded: “As I thanked God for the Savior’s enabling power in my life, I felt so much more optimistic toward the repentance process I was working through and I looked to the next week with renewed hope.”

Fourteen-year-old Trevor Hoffman of the Carrolton Second Ward, Lewisville Texas Stake, has already been wrestling for ten years. Recently, he won the Texas Amateur Wrestling Association Championship, in the 15-and-under, 85-pound division.
Last year Trevor had a perfect 21–0 record. He credits much of his success to family support. He’s also got several Montana State wrestling and judo championships under his belt, which he earned before moving to Texas. His goal is to qualify for the 1996 and 2000 Olympics.
Trevor doesn’t live his life on the mat, though—he spends some time hitting the books and has made his school’s high honor roll. He’s also active in his ward.

I was serving as district Relief Society president in 1969 and felt I should make a special effort to keep in contact with the sisters who lived long distances from the meetinghouses.
One of these sisters lived one and one-half hours’ drive from my home and an hour from the nearest chapel. She was diabetic, and a recent stroke had left her partially paralyzed.
I had arranged to visit this sister on a scheduled Monday holiday. Fast Sunday preceded this holiday, and when we came home from church and broke our fast, I felt an urge to visit her immediately. My husband felt I’d have more time for a proper visit the next day, but I kept feeling that we should not wait. Finally, my husband said, “All right, let’s go.”
We arrived at her home just after six o’clock in the evening. We knocked and got no answer. The house seemed deserted.
We knocked and called through the mail slot in the door and were on the point of leaving when I recalled my friend had said, “When you come to see me, just open the door and come in.” I asked my husband what he thought we should do, and he said, “Try opening the door.”
It opened. I called her name and heard a faint reply. We found her lying in a pool of water on the kitchen floor. The cane she used to support herself with had slipped, and she’d dropped a kettle of water she was carrying and had fallen to the floor herself. Once she was down, she couldn’t get up again.
My husband and I got her up and onto the couch she used as a bed, then my husband went for a doctor. The doctor had been trying to get her to go into a care center for the elderly, and when he came to see her she finally agreed. She realized just how near her accident had been to a disaster.
She told me she had prayed the Lord would send someone to help her, and I’ve always been grateful I was listening to the promptings of the Spirit that fast day. If we had waited until the next day to visit her, we would have been too late.

Daniel pushed the handcart with all his strength. His arms and legs shook with the effort. He saw sweat run down his sister’s face as Jane pushed beside him and their parents strained to pull the handcart. He saw his mother’s mouth moving and her eyes shut, and he knew she was praying for strength.
The last few weeks had been difficult. Food supplies were low. Each person in the handcart company was allowed only about 230 grams of flour a day. There hadn’t been any meat for days. Daniel didn’t mind the hungry feeling as much as the weakness. And now they had come to this stretch of the trail. The deep, dry sand made it difficult to pull the wagons, and they were almost at the end of their strength.
Daniel’s father set the cart handle down and said, “Let’s all rest for a few minutes.”
Jane crumpled into a heap at Daniel’s feet. He sat down by her and gingerly lifted one of her feet. He tore another little strip from the bottom of his shirt and wound it snugly around her foot.
Her shoes had worn out weeks ago. At first, she had tried walking in the soft dust of the wagon-wheel ruts. But her feet had become so sore that much of the time she either had to crawl or have Daniel carry her piggyback. When she had to stand, her feet bled painfully. “Tell me again what the Salt Lake Valley will be like,” she said.
Daniel sighed. At least she hadn’t asked how much farther they had to go. “The missionaries said that the beginning of a beautiful city is already there. Thousands of people have arrived in the valley, and a temple has been started.”
“Will we live in the city?” she asked next.
“The missionaries said some of us will stay there, but Brigham Young will call some families to settle towns and cities in other places.”
“What is the land like? Is it beautiful?”
Daniel tore another strip from his shirt to wrap her other foot. He wondered if she was missing her flower garden.
“Well, the missionaries said it was land that no one else wanted. That’s one reason the Saints hope to be able to worship and build Zion there without the persecution we’ve had elsewhere. And we’ll make it beautiful. After all, the scriptures say that the desert will ‘blossom as the rose’” (see Isa. 35:1).
Jane smiled contentedly. Daniel leaned against the cart. He knew Jane had been waiting to hear “blossom as the rose.” For some reason that gave her comfort. Tears sprang to his eyes as he looked at her. Her clothes were worn, and her feet were blistered and scabbed, but a complaint never escaped her lips. Her testimony of God was firm and sure. He wished he felt that way.
He had at first. But lately, with so many adversities, he had begun to wonder. Why wasn’t God helping them? Why had the journey been so difficult? Did he really want to be planted in this new land—especially a desert—after all?
Daniel looked around. Not a handcart moved. Most of the company were doing as his family was—resting. His parents moved closer to him and Jane. His father pulled off his hat and bowed his head in prayer. “Dear Father,” he pleaded, “Thou seest our situation and knowest our needs. We pray that thou wilt bless us that we may live to yet serve thee and to build up thy kingdom. …”
“Pa, look!” Daniel whispered as soon as the prayer was over. A large cloud of dust was moving toward them.
“Is it a buffalo stampede?” Jane asked.
The attention of the whole company riveted on the growing dust cloud.
“I think it’s Indians, Pa,” Daniel whispered. Jane moved close and put her hand in his.
The Indians stopped a short distance from the weary company. The sun shimmered on the sand, and waves of heat could be seen as well as felt. One Indian dismounted and slowly approached the handcarts. Daniel hugged his sister protectively. He heard Mother’s sharp intake of breath.
The Indian went to where Father stood and stared at him for several moments. Without taking his eyes off Pa, he took hold of the cart and began to pull it. It moved sluggishly, protesting with loud creaks. At his signal, the other Indians got off their horses and pulled the handcarts through the sand. Their somber faces sometimes broke into smiles, as though they were having fun. A great cheer arose from the handcart company.
By evening the handcarts were on solid ground again. The pioneers began to fix their meager meal to share with the Indians, who now unloaded fresh buffalo meat from two ponies. As Daniel helped one of the Indians unload some of the meat, he noticed a pair of moccasins tied to the saddle. If only Jane could have them for her feet!
Perhaps there was something he could trade for them. All through supper, he hardly noticed the taste of the roasted meat as he thought about the moccasins. His only possession was a broken pocketknife. He pulled it out and looked at it. Very little of the blade was left. No, he couldn’t ask his new Indian friend to trade for it. It wasn’t a fair trade. He put the knife away.
Morning came early. The Indians stayed for breakfast; then they and the Saints prepared to go their separate ways.
Mother leaned her mirror against the wagon wheel. Daniel took the comb from her hand and began to comb his hair. He had long since quit grumbling about this morning ritual. Even though it seemed silly to him to comb his hair in such circumstances, he knew it was important to his mother.
The astonished face of his Indian friend filled the mirror beside his own. The Indian examined it front and back. He pointed to the mirror and then to himself. Daniel nodded. “Mother, I think he wants this mirror.”
Mother looked up from the campfire. “After all he has done for us, if he wants it, let him have it.”
Daniel lifted the mirror off the wheel and put it into the hands of the Indian. Within minutes the man was back with his horse. He put the reins in Daniel’s hand. Daniel understood that the Indian wanted to trade his horse for the mirror. Daniel smiled warmly at his friend, shook his head, and handed him back the reins. The Indian pulled a long rifle out from under his saddle blanket and offered it to the boy. Again Daniel shook his head. His friend climbed on his horse, looked at him for a moment, then disappeared in a cloud of dust.
Daniel sighed. He had wanted to ask for the moccasins, but he didn’t know if it was fair to ask for more when they had already been given so much.
The next morning he was abruptly awakened by his sister. “Daniel, come quick! Look what Heavenly Father has blessed me with.”
There on her bedding lay the beautiful moccasins. Daniel gently slipped them onto her feet. The Indians had helped them get out of the sand, given them food, and now his friend had left footwear for Jane! In his mind and heart the thought blossomed—Heavenly Father does answer prayers!

Over 25 years ago, while serving as bishop of the Aix-en-Provence Ward and working for Seminaries and Institutes, I met Sophronia, who had come from Tahiti to study in France. She was a young adult with solid gospel knowledge, having grown up in the Church. It was therefore disconcerting when she came into my office to announce she would no longer be attending church. I hoped it would be temporary but, indeed, she carried out her wish, and I never saw her again. For more than 20 years, Sophronia led a life distant from the gospel.
In 2024, when my wife and I arrived on our mission in Tahiti, we were delighted to see her again—and even happier to learn she had returned to the Church two years earlier. She shared what prompted her return:
“You have to know that throughout my time away from the Church, I kept my testimony of the gospel and had a deep desire for my daughter, Kahaili, to grow up as I had—in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I wanted her to know that God lives, that He loves her, and that He has a plan for her to return to live with Him and her family if she kept His commandments. Yet I didn’t want to return to church myself. Quite contradictory, wasn’t it?
“Kahaili occasionally attended meetings with my mother, but this sporadic attendance wouldn’t adequately prepare her for baptism. In 2022, when Kahaili was six and a half, I realized we only had a year and a half to prepare. I say ‘we’ because this process meant I would have to become involved personally, not relying on my mother or anyone else.
“I asked her, ‘Kahaili, do you want to be baptized when you turn eight?’
“Without hesitation, she replied, ‘Yes, Mom, I want to be baptized!’
“Her enthusiasm amazed me, and in that outpouring of fervor, I found the courage to make the sacrifice and return to church.
“We attended that first Sunday alone. But soon after, my husband, Cyril (although not a member of the Church), joined us, feeling his place was with us. When Kahaili expressed her desire for her father to baptize her, I responded with a forced smile, ‘Well, ask your daddy. You never know!’—not believing for a moment it could happen. Her father replied, ‘If I can, my daughter, I will.’”
The Lord then intervened in Cyril’s life. His conversion came through reading Ether 12:4: “Wherefore, whoso believeth in God might with surety hope for a better world, yea, even a place at the right hand of God, which hope cometh of faith, maketh an anchor to the souls of men, which would make them sure and steadfast, always abounding in good works, being led to glorify God.”
This scripture about hope becoming an anchor resonated deeply with Cyril as he recalled nearly drowning in the Tuamotus lagoon years earlier. While he was fishing, his boat had drifted away when its anchor came loose. Despite swimming desperately to catch up, he grew exhausted. Miraculously, the boat’s anchor caught on a coral formation, stopping the boat so he could reach it. Cyril still describes this as a miracle that saved his life.
Like a rebirth, Cyril was baptized on March 28, 2024—his 50th birthday. The following month, he baptized Kahaili. The crowning moment came on April 12, 2025, when Sophronia, Cyril, and Kahaili were sealed in the Papeete Tahiti Temple. We had the privilege of attending this sacred ceremony.
I share this story to testify that there is always hope when family members stray from the Church. Even if it takes a quarter century, through faith in Jesus Christ, a miracle is always possible.

Sept. 13, 1853 I was stopped by ruffians. They said they would sink me in the Bay. (It made me mad.) I asked them if I could say a few words and I commenced to talk. I told them it was their religion that slew righteous Abel, killed the prophets, crucified the Savior and put his disciples to death, persecuted the Saints, martyred the Prophets Joseph Smith and Hyrum, and drove the Latter-day Saints, men, women, and children, into the deserts and mountains among the hostile Indians to suffer death and starvation. Then I told something about the religion of Jesus Christ. The sun was just setting when I stopped, as I saw the man of the sloop coming toward me. He wanted to know if I was ready to go. I told him yes. Says I, “I thought you would have been gone long ago.” “No,” says he, “there has been no wind.” We started for the boat. (Some of my persecutors begged me to forgive them. Says I, “Repent of your sins, be baptized, and get forgiveness of them.”) (11)

Says I, “How long have I detained you in talking to them people.” He said, “About one hour and a half, but there has been no wind.” The wind then began to rise. We made a quick trip over (in silence). As soon as we landed I started to go to Mr. P. Lewis’s. Says he, “Hold on, you must take supper with me.” I was surprised as he had always been my enemy. Says I, “I do not want to be late to meeting.” Says he, “You will not have to wait long. I am going to your meeting.” When we got in the man went in the kitchen. I heard his wife say, “What have you brought that fellow here for?” Says he, “To supper.” And says to her, “I never heard such preaching before as he gave the sailors and roughs. … They were going to drown him and he talked to them by the power of God; and I am going to his meeting and I want you to go. Hurry up the supper.”