Gospel Story Finder

That first memorable experience led to other strong confirmations that God lives and that Jesus is our Lord and Savior. Many of these came in response to earnest prayer. As a child, when I lost things such as my precious pocketknife, I learned that if I prayed hard enough, I could usually find them. I was always able to find the lost cows I was entrusted with. Sometimes I had to pray more than once, but my prayers always seemed to be answered. Sometimes the answer was no, but most often it was positive and confirming. Even when it was no, I came to know that, in the Lord’s great wisdom, the answer I received was for my best good. My faith continued to grow as building blocks were added to the cornerstone, line upon line and precept upon precept.

I had a similar experience in Idaho some years later. I was attending a stake conference. After the Sunday morning session one of the bishops brought his aged mother up to see me. I had been referring to the Book of Mormon during my sermon and was still holding it in my hand.
She took the book from me, opened it, read a paragraph at random, and then returned the book. I wondered why. Then she said that at the previous stake conference the visitor had been Elder Thomas E. McKay, one of the Assistants to the Council of the Twelve.
She asked me if I knew Elder McKay, and of course, I responded that I did. Then she said, “Will you please tell him that I read a paragraph in your book? When he was here at our last conference, my son brought him to my home and had him administer to me. I was blind. Please tell him that I read from your book.”

As anxious European Saints crowded aboard the beautiful sailing ship Olympus, an apostle prophesied that their voyage would be terrible—but successful.
Elder John Taylor, presiding over the French Mission, was in England on Church business in early March 1851. He took time to bid good-bye to friends—converts and missionaries—then leaving Liverpool for America aboard the Olympus. One friend was William Howell, who the previous year had opened up France for the preaching of the gospel, and who was named presiding elder for the 245 Saints taking the trip. Elder Taylor wished the travelers well. Then he prophetically warned that the Olympus would be wracked by storms, that Saints would suffer from evil spirits and from sickness, but “that God would preserve them in the midst of all dangers, and lead them to a harbor of safety.”
Another part of Elder Taylor’s prophecy likewise found quick fulfillment. Hardly had the Olympus entered the terrible Irish Sea when harsh head winds whipped huge waves against the wooden vessel day and night. For three weeks many of the tossed-about passengers were seasick, “suffering intensely from the distressing affliction.” Finally, when a calm day brought relief, the passengers felt the worst part of their voyage was behind them. But Captain Wilson’s trained eyes, making a careful survey of the horizon, spotted a rapidly approaching cloud. At first it was no bigger than a man’s hat, but it swelled and spread at an alarming rate.
Quickly the captain massed both shifts of the crew on deck and ordered all sails immediately shortened. He allowed Brother Nowers and a 20-year-old carpenter from Dover, Edmund Fuller, to stay aloft and help the crew. (Later in the voyage Mr. Fuller fell in love with a Mormon girl, Adelaide Jelley, and he joined the Church and married her in St. Louis.)
Barely were sails hauled in and secured, and passengers herded below deck, when the new storm struck the ship full force. The Olympus trembled and reeled “like a drunkard.” The “regular white squall” snapped the foremast off and carried it overboard. Several men nearly went overboard with the broken mast, which, hanging by the ship’s side, had to be cut loose from its stays with axes. Torrents of wind and water sprang the mainmast at the deck.
Thrown on her beam ends the Olympus became unmanageable. Into a fearfully dark night the ship struggled, battered by hurricane winds. Seams of the vessel cracked, letting water seep into the hold.
Two hours after the storm began, about 8:00 P.M., four feet of water had poured into the hold and the ship’s pumps were started. Above, knee-deep waters rushed over the decks, causing Brother Nowers and Mr. Fuller to lash themselves to the pumps they were manning to keep from being washed overboard. Hour after hour the storm raged. And the Olympus took on more and more water.
By midnight the captain, crew, and men on deck were despondent because the storm showed no signs of abating. Within earshot of Brother Nowers the captain ordered Second Mate Hamilton to go below deck and tell the Mormon’s president, Elder Howell, that “if the God of the Mormons can do anything to save the ship and the people, they had better be calling on him to do so.” The captain confessed that despite the crew’s best efforts the Olympus was sinking at the rate of one foot per hour and that by daylight it would be on the bottom of the sea unless the storm ceased.
The second mate asked Brother Nowers to accompany him below to deliver the message to the Mormons. As soon as the crashing waves allowed, the two messengers unbarred the companionway and ducked below. They found Elder Howell in his bed and told him the captain’s appeal.
“Very well,” answered the Mormon leader calmly. “You may tell Captain Wilson that we are not going to the bottom of the ocean for we embarked from Liverpool on a voyage for New Orleans, and we will arrive safely in that port. Our God will protect us.” Mr. Hamilton returned to the deck and gave Captain Wilson the Mormons’ answer.
Brother Nowers, dripping wet, could not help noticing the absolute chaos below deck. Everywhere unsecured trunks and packages rolled and skidded from one side to the other as the ship swayed and rolled. Some passengers were crying. Others prayed. Still others simply waited.
President Howell quickly arose, dressed, and called about a dozen brethren, including new convert Wilson Nowers, to his side. The leader instructed that each man in the circle take a turn to pray vocally that the Lord would spare the vessel. Elder Howell prayed last.
“While he was still engaged in prayer,” said Brother Nowers, “I noticed a material change in the motion of the ship.” Instead of rolling and pitching, the Olympus “seemed to tremble as one suffering from the effects of a severe cold.” He could not believe the ship was sinking. But he also could not believe that the storm had so suddenly ceased.
After the final hearty “amen” President Howell sent the prayer circle members back to bed. Brother Nowers, however, returned to his pumping duties on deck. There, astonished, he found that “the storm had miraculously ceased; the wind had gone down, and the waves were stilled immediately around the ship, while in the distance the billows were still raging.” The Olympus trembled at so sudden a change.
Pumping continued until daylight. When the Sabbath day finally dawned, clear and bright, Captain Wilson admitted that he had done all he could do before calling on the Mormons and that only God’s hand had saved the sinking ship.

Illustration by Trent Gudmundsen
We all experience ups and downs in life, but 2013 was a particularly difficult year for our family. We experienced many unexpected and costly home and auto repairs. My husband, Ryan, lost his job, and our youngest son was born with complications and had to spend a few weeks in the neonatal intensive care unit. I also struggled with postpartum depression. These circumstances, combined with being parents of four young children, strained us financially and emotionally.
Ryan found new employment, but he worked long hours and was out of town for weeks at a time. Our five-year-old son, Wesley, began having anxiety about his dad being gone so often. He constantly woke up during the night from nightmares.
Our extended family supported me when they could, but I still felt exhausted and alone most of the time. I knew that Heavenly Father loved and was aware of my family, but I felt like we were drowning.
One afternoon, while Ryan was out of town for work, I drove my kids home from school and desperately prayed for help. Later that night, my neighbor Kendra knocked on our door. She knew about our situation and asked how I was doing. I had no intention of complaining to her, and she was the last person I would have asked for help. Her husband, Brent, had been battling cancer for the past four years.
I told Kendra I was fine, but she sincerely asked again. Tearfully, I opened up to her about my struggles. When I told her about Wesley’s anxiety and nightmares, she asked if I would like Brent to give Wesley a blessing.
A while later, Kendra, Brent, and their oldest son, Tyson, came to our door dressed in church clothes. Brent was frail. I’m sure it took all the energy he had to come to our house. He gave Wesley a blessing, and Tyson gave me a blessing.
That day, Kendra, Brent, and Tyson were true examples of Christlike ministering. They set aside their own trials to sincerely offer us love and compassion. I felt blessed that Heavenly Father answered my prayer in this tender way. Brent died two weeks later.
That day in our home, Brent stood as a witness of God through righteously exercising the priesthood (see Mosiah 18:9). To me, it is sacred that his ministering to our family was one of his last acts on earth.

It all began on a chilly November morning when I was in eighth grade. My parents called my younger sister and me into their bedroom, requesting that we hold a family meeting. I saw my mother’s face, and instantly a cold, worried feeling filled my heart. My father explained to us that he had had the impression for many months that he should begin looking for a new job. A chilling thought crept into my mind, We’re going to move.
Horrified, I quickly voiced my speculation, hoping to clear the terrible thought from my mind. Instead, I was only met by a new wave of anxiety, as my parents confirmed my judgment. I burst into tears. My parents tried to console me, but I dreaded leaving my home, friends, and ward that I knew so well. I refused to see any good thing about moving. For the next few months before the move, I could never last a week without shedding a tear.
My first Sunday in our new ward was pleasant but did not make much of an impression on me. I knew that the ward would be a strength for me, so I tried to keep a positive outlook on the situation.
Then came my first day at a new school. I did not have my own schedule yet, so I was assigned to shadow another student and follow her schedule until I had my own. I was very shy, and everything was new and confusing. So many of my peers introduced themselves to me, and yet when I went home at the end of the day, I was unable to remember even one. Overwhelmed, I did not look forward to another day of school, but I decided it was tolerable enough and concluded that I would survive the experience.
Things at school progressed very slowly. I made some friends. I did well in my classes, but I was unhappy. I did not want to be there. My only truly happy times were when I went to church. I developed strong friendships with several girls my age very quickly, and those friendships provided strength and hope for me while I struggled to adapt. But still, despite those brief reprieves, I felt unhappy.
Everything changed when I went to young women’s camp. The testimony I gained at camp is one that I have kept and developed. I realized then why I was unhappy. I had let the Spirit leave my life. I had not relied on the Lord for strength. The instant I got home I kneeled down and prayed for strength and courage, for peace and comfort, and for the loving feeling that the Spirit brings to life. Suddenly a warm, comforting feeling filled my heart. I know that my Heavenly Father heard my prayers that day, and every day before that, and every day since.

I just received my August 1996 issue of the New Era. As I read through it I came upon the FYI article “Fine Tuning” about watching television. Recently my mother and I moved to Montana from southern California. It was a big change. I had grown up having everything within reach, like TV, radio, and different kinds of music. There is so much corruption and temptation everywhere, and after a while you kind of get used to it. I used to watch TV when I was at home, and I listened to the radio when I was in my truck. So when we moved here, at first I was upset that we didn’t have TV, and I got bored really easily. But then I started going outside and playing with my dog, reading books, and writing poetry on my computer. Then slowly I started forgetting about watching TV. I have been reading more books on the Church and developing my testimony. I sometimes go outside and watch the sunrise or sunset, admiring nature and all of the beautiful gifts Heavenly Father has blessed us with. Thank you for the spiritual encouragement.
Layla BastiansenHelena, Montana

It was Thursday, and like hundreds of others in the Church, Jim and Alex anxiously waited for the mail to arrive. Their missionary recommendation papers had been turned in several weeks before, and today might be the day their calls would arrive.
Jim was working at the local supermarket, and Alex was working for a home builder. Both had made their mothers promise that if a large white envelope from Church headquarters arrived, they would not open it. Both had trouble concentrating on their work that day. Jim nearly bagged bath soap with the fresh vegetables, and Alex cut a couple of boards too short.
The large white envelopes did arrive. And both young men rushed home from work at the end of the day. With their families around them, they opened the long-awaited calls to serve. The anticipation was replaced by joy and tears of gratitude. Both young men felt the Lord had spoken, and they were ready to respond to His call.
As the initial excitement died down, the next phase of preparation began. Both families made detailed checklists: scheduling the last day of work, buying clothes and luggage, preparing for sacrament meeting, holding a family get-together, and—oh yes—going to the temple. Sadly, however, only one of the families revered the temple experience as the main event in the life of their son, giving it the emphasis it deserves.

Late one evening on a Pacific isle, a small boat slipped silently to its berth at the crude pier. Two Polynesian women helped Meli Mulipola from the boat and guided him to the well-worn pathway leading to the village road. The women marveled at the bright stars which twinkled in the midnight sky. The friendly moonlight guided them along their way. However, Meli Mulipola could not appreciate these delights of nature—the moon, the stars, the sky—for he was blind.
His vision had been normal until that fateful day when, while he was working on a pineapple plantation, light turned suddenly to darkness and day became perpetual night. He later learned of the Restoration of the gospel and the teachings of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. His life had been brought into compliance with these teachings.
He and his loved ones had made this long voyage, having learned that one who held the priesthood of God was visiting among the islands. Brother Mulipola sought a blessing under the hands of those who held the sacred priesthood. His wish was granted. Tears streamed from his sightless eyes and coursed down his brown cheeks, tumbling finally upon his native dress. He dropped to his knees and prayed: “Oh, God, Thou knowest I am blind. Thy servants have blessed me that if it be Thy will, my sight may return. Whether in Thy wisdom I see light or whether I see darkness all the days of my life, I will be eternally grateful for the truth of Thy gospel, which I now see and which provides me the light of life.”
He arose to his feet, thanked us for providing the blessing, and disappeared into the dark of the night. Silently he came; silently he departed. But his presence I shall never forget. I reflected upon the message of the Master: “I am the light of the world: he that followeth me shall not walk in darkness, but shall have the light of life.”

One elderly person had no knowledge of the county she was born in. She mistakenly said, “I don’t think we lived in a county because we lived in the country—way out there. My ancestors lived on the Muskrat Branch, and to the west of their place there was a big swamp that they called Blackwater Swamp. It was someplace in Virginia I think.”
With this information a county was identified, and the records of the family were found in the courthouse.

Called as a new Apostle in 1943, Elder Benson soon received from the First Presidency a most challenging and significant assignment. He was assigned to give assistance to members of the Church in Europe who had been devastated by World War II. He witnessed the ravages of war. He saw the hungry, the cold, the destitute.

Frederick W. Babbel, called to serve as executive secretary to Elder Benson while he was in Europe, wrote to his family:
“The Lord knew what he was doing when he sent [Elder] Benson over here. He is a living apostle of God in every way. … I continue to marvel at his unwavering faith, his unflinching courage, his resolute determination and undaunted spirit. … He not only speaks to God, but he listens, and I’m sure God speaks with him even as he did with his apostles of old. … [He is] one of the humblest, most devoted men I have ever known, so kind in spirit and manner … a man surpassing all men I have known.” (On Wings of Faith, p. 125.)

In this special assignment, President Benson was responsible for perhaps the largest distribution of welfare supplies to members that has been undertaken. Thousands of tons of food, clothing, bedding, and medical supplies were delivered to Saints in thirteen nations. It is significant that he will now be sustained as the President of the Church during the fiftieth anniversary of the welfare program.

During that historic mission away from his family, Elder Benson held meetings with the Saints, reorganized the branches and missions, and lifted members’ spirits. To them he was an angel of mercy.

Only by prayer and divine intervention was he able to accomplish that mission and gain entrance into some countries. He said, “I assure you I know the source of the success which attended our labors. … It would [have been impossible] … to accomplish the mission … without the directing power of the Almighty.” (In Conference Report, Apr. 1947, p. 152.)

The place was solemn and forgotten as only an old graveyard can be. It was a grotesque, weedy pause between railroad tracks and decaying buildings, a shabby plot where crumbling cherubs tilted above sagging gray monuments. Grass grew high there, and the chiseled epitaphs had disappeared under a slow tide of moss. It was a good place to ignore.
That’s why it didn’t make much sense one morning when a squad of bright-faced young men and women showed up at the rusting gates with hoes and shovels and clippers and mowers, and went to work. Heads appeared in the windows of the surrounding buildings, and the questions flew. Who are they? What are they doing here? What’s in it for them? And the answers didn’t make much sense either. The young people sweating among the tombstones weren’t even from the neighborhood; no one had asked them to come, and they weren’t getting anything out of it. For all anyone knew, they might have been so many ghosts come back to spruce up their own exclusive little subdivision.
And when they left, with the weeds out, the grass mowed, and the monuments standing straight, everyone knew that the neighborhood had become a nicer place to live, but no one knew who the mysterious band of “ghosts” were, and it’s not likely they ever will.
And that suits the young men and women of the Richardson Ward in Dallas, Texas, just fine. They’ve discovered that being doers of the word instead of just hearers isn’t merely a scripture—it’s a beautiful, happy principle of life. It means doing the yard work of widows in the area, helping to maintain the chapel, working on community projects, and even cleaning up an abandoned graveyard—just because they need doing.
Whether cleaning up a graveyard, staging a dance festival, or spreading the truth, they have discovered where happiness is at. It’s at home—wherever you are—if you’re living the gospel.

When Stephen and Richard were born in 1985, twins were exciting, triplets happened occasionally, and quadruplets were rare. That septuplets were even possible was a relatively new idea.
Being in the first set of septuplets born in the United States brought a lot of attention to their family. Sadly, only Stephen, Richard, and their sister, Patti, survived the first few weeks, and the brothers were left battling cerebral palsy. Soon all the attention diminished, and the brothers would learn that being different isn’t easy.
“They’ve had to deal with a lot of teasing growing up because they couldn’t do some of the things other kids were doing,” says their father, Sam.
When their friends or family members play sports, Stephen’s and Richard’s participation is limited. But the two boys don’t see themselves as handicapped. They always give everything their best shot.
For example, when Richard (whose reflexes are better than Stephen’s) got a skateboard, Stephen wanted to ride it too. He didn’t give up until he had learned to balance and roll slowly down the street.
“He’s got real stick-to-itiveness,” Brother Frustaci says. “Neither of them gives up.”
Every Young Man
The Frustaci brothers’ challenges haven’t kept them from enjoying life. Stephen loves to play with the dogs, read, and run. He recently made his school track team. Richard loves music, skateboarding, and playing water polo.
Their challenges also won’t keep them from earning the Duty to God Award.
“There are some requirements Stephen won’t be able to do,” stepmom Toni says, “and some might have to be modified. But I think kids with challenges would be able to accomplish most of these requirements.”
Among the Duty to God goals for priests are to get a part-time job (something Stephen hasn’t been able to find yet), get a driver’s license (something he probably won’t ever be able to do—much to his dismay), and hike 15 miles with a pack in two days or less (the 15 miles is fine, but the pack is out).
Even so, with a little help the brothers are capable of completing enough requirements in each category to earn the award—which is only fitting, since like every young man, these brothers have a duty to fulfill and a desire to fulfill it.

READER 5: Sergei stood at the rail of the trawler and wondered:
READER 2: What impels a man to jump from his warm, safe ship into a stormy ocean thousands of miles from home?
READER 3: Freedom?
READER 4: He had material freedom in the motherland.
READER 5: His future?
READER 4: At 19 he was attending a naval academy.
READER 5: So why did Sergei want to escape?
READER 6: Perhaps it was that strange light he had seen in the eyes of the woman he had been about to strike so many months ago.
READER 5: These people called themselves Christians.
READER 4: The government tolerated them if they held their meetings under state supervision.
READER 5: But they had this strange habit of secretly gathering in homes, barns, and even out in the forest.
READER 3: And through police intelligence it was always known where they would gather.
READER 1: A number of the big fellows at the naval school were paid by local police as volunteers to break up the meetings.
READER 7: Sergei was one of these.
READER 4: After breaking through the door, they would grab the Bibles and handwritten hymnals and rip them up.
READER 2: Any cry of protest was our excuse to wade into the people with truncheons flying. After all, they had broken the law and were enemies of the state.
READER 7: The police said, “Faith will fly out of their heads when they see your stick.”
READER 2: But I cannot forget Natasha, a blue-eyed blonde of about 18 years. She had long flowing hair. We found her in a worship meeting in a little town. One of our group was a giant whose arms seemed the girth of telephone poles. He picked up Natasha by her hair and threw her out of the door. Then he laughed.
READER 5: It would have been nicer to have been friends with her.
READER 2: A week later on a nearby street, we made another raid. And there she was! We beat her so hard with truncheons that we boasted, “She won’t be able to sit down for a week!” Three days later we found her again at another meeting. Why, Natasha, why?
READER 4: After the raids they would haul the literature to the police station and burn it in a potbelly stove.
READER 2: As I shoved the literature into the stove one time after seeing Natasha, I slipped a booklet into my pocket. Later I read it in a quiet corner at school.
READER 6: In it he read about a young man who’d turned on his father and run off to a far country where he squandered all he had. Yet when he crawled home, his father welcomed and kissed him!
READER 2: As I read on, I was flooded with a strange emotion—part disbelief, but mingled with it, a fascination with what this book called love. Something within me was touched, and I trembled.
READER 3: Sergei tore the books into shreds.
READER 2: On our next raid I followed through mechanically. As I raised my truncheon at an old woman, she said something. I hesitated and heard her praying.
READER 6: Oh, Lord, save this young man.
READER 2: Someone or something held my arm, and I spun around; there was no one there. I dropped the club and left the melee. Why, Natasha, why? And you, old grandmother, why do you pray for me? I went to the police director and told him I was through with the activist group.
READER 6: It was 9:45 Friday night, September 3, 1971.
READER 2: I closed the radio room door behind me for the last time. Through the mist I could make out the outline of mountains on the horizon. I estimated the shore at three miles away. I was alone on deck. This was the time. I swung over the rail and dived into the blackness. Struggling to the roaring surface, I struck out toward what I thought was shore. It was frightening. I would climb one soaring crest only to be buried by another crashing on me.
READER 5: After two hours, a dark shape loomed above him.
READER 6: When he made out what it was, he became sick with shock.
READER 7: It was his ship!
READER 1: He had been swimming in a circle.
READER 2: My first thought was to give myself up. I couldn’t go on any longer. But at that moment the clouds broke, the night sky lightened, and I could see the whole line of our trawlers, their bows all pointed toward shore. Now I knew where to head. I struck out again.
READER 6: But after two more hours of fighting waves, Sergei weakened and started cramping.
READER 4: As he choked and gasped, his arms became leaden, and he began to sink into the dark depths.
READER 2: Something from deep within me cried out, “God, if you really are, if you do exist, and I feel sure you do, when my body drowns, take my soul into paradise with you.” As l finished my prayer, something happened. New strength, new courage flowed into my heart. I did not feel alone anymore. I struggled upward, broke water, and began swimming again, using the same powerful stroke that earned me a school swimming award.
READER 5: After a while a new sound grew in intensity.
READER 6: It was the crashing of giant breakers. As he looked up, jagged rocks awaited him.
READER 7: But a wave carried him into an inlet where he tumbled onto the shore.
READER 1: It was about six o’clock in the morning, and the sun was coming up over a new land before him. As its rays began to warm him—
READER 2: I gave thanks to Him who brought me here. And you, old grandmother, you who prayed for me as I was about to strike you, I think of you often. Now I know why you do what you do.
(Music interlude.)

Getting in the “in crowd” was like trying to thread the eye of a needle with a cob of corn. It felt impossible! I had tried out for cheerleading, the drill team, the school chorus group, and the art club—I failed at all of them. I really cared about how other people perceived me, so I continued my quest for popularity and decided to join a club my school calls the “Mice Squad.”
Mice Squad is for girls, and Rat Squad is for boys. Together they make up the Pep Club. They attend the games and cheer from the stands, giving the cheerleaders a boost to get the audience excited. All the “who’s who” in the popular world of my high school were in this club.
On the way to the first meeting, my heart raced. This was it. This was my chance to be among the elite, the faces that everyone knew. And it didn’t even require singing or physical exertion. All it took to be in was school spirit, and I had plenty of that. I knew that beyond the door were all the popular faces, and I was about to become one of them.
Smiling, I pushed open the door only to see surprised looks when I walked in. Sarah [name has been changed], who was pretty popular, was leading the meeting. I didn’t know her very well, although during our sophomore year my father sometimes drove us to seminary together. I was glad to see her, as there were no other LDS girls in the room.
First Sarah shared with us how fun Mice Squad was going to be. As she talked, I became more delighted that I could be involved. I could just see myself at football games cheering, painting my face, and having fun with my peers.
After talking about the games, Sarah gave me an uncomfortable look and began talking about the parties. The first party was the initiation. She told us where and when it would be held. And then, to my horror, she explained that we had to drink alcohol to be in the Mice Squad. With this “requirement” so clearly stated, I sat there in shock.
I knew I had a choice. I felt impressed that I would have to leave them, or the Holy Ghost would leave me. A darkened feeling started in, but I waited to see if anyone else would leave. Then Sarah looked straight into my eyes and said, “If anyone reports us, we’ll come after you.” Immediately, I left the room alone, but the Spirit was still with me. I knew I was saying goodbye to my dreams of popularity.
It took me a long time after that meeting to realize that I had value, even though I was invisible to most of my peers. I realized that while I had chosen the “out crowd,” it was the right crowd. I knew the only opinions that truly mattered were my own and Heavenly Father’s. And I knew we were both smiling at my decision.
Now, after marrying in the temple and having three children, I still sometimes look through my autographed high school memory book. I always smile when I read the short note that says, “Thanks for being a girl with good works and for sticking up for what you believe in. Don’t let anyone sway you.”
Perhaps I wasn’t so invisible after all.

As one of many examples, a translator was needed for the translation and recording of Church materials in Mam (pronounced “mum,” a descendant of the Mayan language, spoken in Guatemala). Among the first missionaries called to Guatemala was an elder whose grandfather had spoken Mam. The missionary had been raised in a city and spoke only Spanish. But every night his grandfather would come to him in dreams and teach him the Mam language. This young elder became the primary translator of Mam in the Church.

Steve was born a beautiful child, perfect in every respect. His infancy was problem-free, and he was busy playing and getting into mischief. Everything was going well in his life, until one day he became very ill with an unknown disease.
It didn’t seem serious at first, but when Steve didn’t get better we learned that he had a brain tumor as big as a grapefruit and would need surgery right away. My mother and father were separated, so we children were on our own with mother. The doctors told my mother that Steve probably would not survive the surgery, but it was decided to operate anyway. The surgery lasted 12 hours. Afterward Steve remained unconscious and was not expected to live through the night.
That night mother had the elders give Steve a blessing, feeling that the best would happen. Steve had a really bad night, but the next morning when my mother went to see him, he was sitting up in bed for the first time since the surgery.
This was the beginning of a long recovery. Steve had to learn how to walk and talk, to do everything all over again just like a baby. With the strong will that he had, even as young as he was, he did learn how to do the everyday things in life. He was a little slow and had to attend a special education class to catch up with the children his own age, but Steve worked very hard and before long was up with the other children.
In addition to Steve’s new life we were all adjusting to a new father; my mother had married again.
Just when things were going well for him it came time for more surgery to relieve fluid that was collecting on his brain. The doctors didn’t think that the surgery would be very serious. We were all getting ready to leave for the hospital to see Steve when my parents received a phone call telling them to come to the hospital right away because Steve had just had a stroke and was not expected to live.
This was a real turning point in our life as a new family with my new father. We became so close and worked together for Steve. The stroke was serious, but there was hope and the gospel in our lives. We relied on our Heavenly Father at this difficult time, and the Spirit was with us constantly. Steve recovered from his stroke but was paralyzed on his left side and could not talk, walk, or eat by himself. These were hard times for Steve. He could have given up very easily, but he didn’t. Steve had set goals for himself, one of which was to go on a mission and serve his Heavenly Father. This seemed like a goal that couldn’t possibly be reached. Steve would achieve it, however, because he never gave up.
The days after his stroke were difficult for him. He was confined to a wheelchair and required physical therapy every day. His spirits were always high, and he never complained. He just worked hard. After his time in the hospital, he finally got to come home, but in a wheelchair. He progressed from a wheelchair to a two-handed walker, which was amazing, and finally to a one-handed walker. We thought this would be as far as he would go, but Steve fooled us all. He kept up the hard work and finally could walk without any assistance.
This wasn’t enough for Steve. He still had that big goal of a mission to accomplish, so he set about working on school and learning more about the gospel. The bishop was a little skeptical about sending Steve on a mission but supported him all the way. To see if he could handle the everyday life of missionary work, Steve was called on a two-week mission in Salt Lake City. He did so well that the following Sunday after he was home, he submitted his missionary application and was soon called to labor in the California Arcadia Mission. He was so excited that he had been able to accomplish the goal he had set, especially since he wasn’t even supposed to have lived.
Steve is an example to his family and everyone he comes in contact with. He has the will to accomplish goals and the will to keep on going when things don’t look good. Steve is an example to us all that we can accomplish our goals if we have faith and keep going.
I am so proud to be his sister.

It was about that time Bob began talking again about going on his mission. We hadn’t mentioned it much, but then one day he said, “Well, I guess when we get home I’ll start getting ready for my mission.” From then on, he talked about a mission more and more. One night, about 1:00 A.M., after a long, hard day, he rolled over in his sleeping bag and said, “Dad, tell me about eternal life.” We talked for about two hours. Then, with his last effort, he said, “That’s what I want” and fell asleep. For me that made the whole trip worthwhile.
We slowly regained our lost time, and by the end of the trip, arrived in the small Eskimo village at the mouth of the river right on schedule. We had one half of a meal left. Our canoe was so badly damaged we had to abandon it (after notifying Canadian officials). We had sailed over every set of rapids on the river but one (whether we were tired or afraid of the one we carried our equipment around I’m not sure), so we didn’t claim any records. But Bob had been lost and now was found. The day after we returned home, he went to see the bishop and expressed his desire to serve the Lord. He is now serving in the Illinois Chicago Mission.

Life in New York City is always a challenge, but Leury Perez, a 17-year-old priest in the Inwood First Ward, New York New York Stake, seems to take it all in stride. When he’s not winning piano performance competitions, attending early-morning seminary, studying for school, organizing youth conference as a stake youth leader, or leading the local Scout troop as senior patrol leader, he helps his busy single mom, Bienvenida (below with Leury), at home.
Leury belongs to a priests quorum of one, so he carries a lot of responsibility. “I have been visiting a lot of people who can’t go to church and taking them the sacrament on Sundays. I also go home teaching,” says Leury.
Priests quorum lessons this year have explored mission preparation, and Leury credits the For the Strength of Youth pamphlet; the Duty to God program; his adviser, Jonathan Horey; and his bishop, Mark Johnson, with helping him keep his eye on the goal of a mission. “I would like to go to Japan,” says Leury. “It seems like a cool place to go.”
“Having Leury active in the priests quorum tremendously blesses my life,” says Bienvenida. “He loves the Church and is very spiritual. I want to be an example for him, but he ends up being an example to me in many ways.”
Bienvenida moved to New York from the Dominican Republic in 1974 and was baptized into the Church seven years later. Leury was born and raised in New York and joined the Church when he was 10 years old. At age 7 Leury started taking piano lessons and developed into a fine young pianist, winning several competitions. After serving a mission Leury hopes to attend college, where he plans to major in computer animation and programming and to minor in music.
What is the Perez family’s secret to keeping it all together? “Knowing the commandments helps us to stay focused on the important things in life,” says Bienvenida. “As a single mom with two jobs, I know that the Church is very important. Seeing Leury blossom in the faith gives me a sense of happiness that I cannot quantify.”

Ella didn’t like bedtime at all. When the lights went out, her imagination came alive. And the thing was, she couldn’t stop it.
Ella tried to figure out what was making the shadow on her wall. Then she heard a creaking sound. She froze with fear. What if something is under my bed?
Ella rolled over so she couldn’t see the wall. Maybe if I stay really still, nothing will bother me, she told herself. Dad and Mom were just down the hall, but she didn’t want to wake them up.
Pulling her fuzzy blue blanket up around her face, Ella said a prayer to Heavenly Father. But the scary thoughts didn’t go away.
Ella’s muscles felt tight, and her stomach hurt. Am I getting sick? she worried.
The next day Ella couldn’t keep her mind on her reading book. She wasn’t even excited when Ms. Lopez showed a video about dinosaur fossils. What if she really was sick? What if she missed the test tomorrow? Her list of worries just got bigger and bigger.
At recess, an easy soccer pass rolled right by her. “Hey, Ella!” her friend Porter yelled. “What are you dreaming about?” Ella felt her face get hot. She wanted to yell back at Porter.
That night after Mom tucked her in bed, Ella lay awake with her eyes wide open. She tried thinking happy thoughts. She prayed again. She even sang a Primary song. It helped for a minute, but then the scary thoughts came back.
Maybe it’s my fault, Ella thought. Maybe Heavenly Father isn’t answering my prayers because I’ve done something wrong.
The next morning Ella wandered into the kitchen, rubbing sleep out of her eyes.
“Good morning!” Dad said as he stacked banana pancakes on Ella’s plate.
Ella cut a bite of pancake and pushed it around in the syrup.
“Are you feeling OK?” Dad asked.
Ella didn’t answer. She just stared at her uneaten pancakes. Dad patted her shoulder. “You can talk to me about anything. I’ll listen no matter what.”
Ella felt a tear roll down her cheek. “Dad, I have really scary thoughts, and I can’t make them go away,” she said. “I pray really hard, but it doesn’t feel like Heavenly Father answers. The scary thoughts don’t go away!”
Dad hugged Ella tight. “Maybe Heavenly Father answered your prayer by helping you talk to me.”
Ella nodded and rubbed her eyes.
“And about your scary thoughts,” said Dad, “it sounds like your brain is having a hard time calming down after you have a stressful thought. That’s called anxiety. Mom started having trouble with it when she was your age too.”
Ella let out a deep breath. She didn’t know anyone else felt like she did! But she was still a little worried. “Does it happen because I’m doing something wrong?”
“No,” said Dad. “It’s not your fault at all! A lot of people feel anxiety.” He sat down next to Ella. “But we can definitely help you feel better.”
“How?” Ella asked.
“Well, you already took the first step,” said Dad. “Talking to me.”
“How else?” Ella wanted to know.
“Maybe you can try some of the things that helped Mom. We can talk to your doctor about it too,” Dad said. “I know one thing for sure. Heavenly Father loves you and wants you to feel better. Let’s pray to Him to help us know what else we can do.”
After they prayed, Ella smiled. “Eat up!” Dad said as Ella took a bite of a buttery, syrup-covered pancake. She felt peaceful knowing that Heavenly Father loved her—and that Dad and Mom could help too.

Julia Mavimbela’s life suddenly changed in 1955 when her husband, John, was killed in an automobile accident. Evidence at the scene suggested that the other person involved, a white man, had veered into John’s lane. Yet that man was not ruled at fault. Rather, white police officers said that blacks are poor drivers, so John was responsible for the crash.1

Julia was 37 years old with four children and another on the way. She had been wronged by racism, the police, and the justice system. Yet she eventually learned not to give in to bitterness; rather, she spent her life striving to be healed and to heal her beloved country through Christlike service. It was her love of the land, her faith in God, and her dedication to living by her faith’s principles that made this possible.

Julia was born in 1917, the last of five children. Her father passed away when Julia was five years old. Her mother was left to raise the children on her own, finding work as a washerwoman and a domestic worker.

Julia’s mother was a religious woman who taught her children from the Bible. “My mother had taught me to swallow the bitter pills of life and encouraged me never to look back but to look ahead,” Julia said. Julia’s mother also understood the importance of education and did all she could with her limited means to see that her children received formal schooling.

Photographs courtesy of Thoba Elizabeth Mavimbela Karl-Halla
Julia received more training and education and worked as a teacher and school principal until she met and married John Mavimbela in 1946. John owned a grocery and butcher shop. Julia gave up her career to work there. Together they built a home and had children. Despite the restrictions of apartheid, life was good. However, that all changed with John’s death.

On her husband’s tombstone, Julia inscribed these words:

In loving memory of
John Phillip Corlie Mavimbela.
By his wife and relatives.
But the lump remains.
May his soul rest in peace.

Describing the fourth line, Julia said, “At the time of writing, the lump that remained was one of hatred and bitterness—for the man who caused the accident, for the policemen who lied, [and] for the court who deemed my husband responsible for the accident that took his life.”2 One of her greatest trials was to overcome this bitterness and anger.

Shortly after the death of her husband, in a night of “troubled sleep,” Julia had a dream in which John appeared to her, handed her some overalls, and said, “Go to work.” Describing the result of this dream, she said, “I found a way of getting myself away from the worries of these years, and that was through community involvement.”

Twenty years later, in the mid-1970s, the blacks’ reaction to apartheid had gone from peaceful protests to violent outbursts. One of the flash points for the violence was Soweto, where Julia was living. She said, “Soweto became unlike any place we had known—it was as if we were in a battlefield.”

Julia feared that her wound of bitterness would reopen: “It had been over 20 years since John’s death, but I could still feel the pain of that time.” In an effort to seek healing, both for herself and for her people, Julia thought, “Perhaps if I can teach the children to love working in the soil, all is not lost.” She established a community garden that symbolized hope to people who knew only fear and anger.

As she worked with the children in her community garden, she would teach them: “Let us dig the soil of bitterness, throw in a seed of love, and see what fruits it can give us. … Love will not come without forgiving others.”

She said, “I knew deep in my heart I was breaking up the soil of my own bitterness as I forgave those who had hurt me.” The lump of bitterness that remained after John’s death started to dissolve.

In 1981, Julia was introduced to the Church. The missionaries, performing community service in Soweto, found a boys’ center in desperate need of repair. For several weeks they cleaned up the premises.3

One day, Julia was asked to serve at that same boys’ club. When she arrived, she was astonished to see “two white boys hurling their spades into the brown dust.” The missionaries asked if they could come to her home and deliver a message. Three days later, Elders David McCombs and Joel Heaton showed up wearing their missionary attire and name tags.

Julia said that the first two missionary lessons “went in one ear and out the other.” But on their third visit, the missionaries asked about a photograph of Julia and John on her wall. She mentioned that her husband was dead, and the missionaries felt prompted to tell her about the plan of salvation and baptism for the dead. She said, “Then I started listening, really listening, with my heart. … As the missionaries taught me the principle of eternal relationships, I had the feeling that here is the way to be with my parents and my husband.” Julia was baptized five months later.

A month after her baptism, Julia spoke at stake conference. “When I walked to the podium,” she said, “I think most everybody was shocked. It was their first time seeing a black person speaking at conference—maybe for some of them the first time ever to hear a black person address an audience.” She felt prompted to talk about her husband’s death and the years of difficulty she had. She described her bitterness and how she “had finally found the church that could teach me to truly forgive.”

Her struggles with misunderstanding and prejudice, however, were not over, even after apartheid ended in 1994.

Elder Dale G. Renlund of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, in his April 2015 general conference talk, “Latter-day Saints Keep on Trying,” told of an incident Julia and her daughter Thoba experienced when they “were treated less than kindly by some white members.” Thoba complained about their treatment. What could have easily become an excuse to leave the Church became a priceless teaching moment. Julia replied, “Oh, Thoba, the Church is like a big hospital, and we are all sick in our own way. We come to church to be helped.”4