Gospel Story Finder

In L’viv, a city in western Ukraine, Yuri Voynarovich and his family started searching for truth when he was just 10 years old. For years they visited different churches. Then his uncle invited them to attend a branch of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and Yuri’s parents were soon baptized and confirmed.
“I didn’t go at first,” Yuri says. “I kept searching on my own.”
But his parents, who knew the Church was true, didn’t give up on their son. They invited Yuri to English lessons and youth activities as well as Sunday meetings. Finally, the missionaries themselves invited him to English classes.
“I couldn’t say no to them,” Yuri says. So he went. Then he went to church. Eventually he too was baptized.
“Since that day I’ve had many more experiences that have built and molded my testimony and character into who I am today,” he says.
“I often see people who suffer from bad choices they’ve made,” he says. “I understand sometimes it’s hard because of temptations and peer pressure, but we shouldn’t give up. Later we can see the blessings that come from obedience.”
Yuri, now 17, serves as the branch mission leader and branch clerk in L’viv.
“I am so thankful for the Church and all it has done for me,” Yuri says. “I love this Church. I encourage everyone to hold to the iron rod and never let go.”

I was told about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints by my friend, who was a lapsed member of over 10 years, and she started to tell me about the great love that you get from church. At that time in my life, I was feeling very despondent, and I felt that I needed to find God again. I used to be a member of the Church of England and I taught in a private Christian secondary school, however, in 2013 I became the victim of a crime and the perpetrator was never brought to justice. As a result of this I felt very angry with God and I turned my back on Him, which I now know was the greatest mistake I could have made.
My first visit to the church was at the beginning of June 2024, and it was a Fast Sunday. In hindsight, what a brilliant first session it was. Hearing other people talk about the strength and power that they have found through The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints filled me with hope. Straight after the sacrament meeting, I spoke with the full-time missionaries and asked them if I could start working towards becoming a member of the Church. The Elders invited me to read the Book of Mormon and I also started to attend weekly lessons, which taught me more about the gospel and the mission of the Church. I was baptised on 27th July and my husband was baptised on 24th October.
Since joining the church, I have forged and strengthened my relationships with both friends and family. Prior to my baptism I had not spoken with my family for a number of years, but through understanding the gospel and the atonement of Jesus Christ, I realised that if I was to repair relations with my family I needed to make the first move. I went to them full of apologies and with a sincere intention to mend my relationship. I am happy to say that now the relationship with my mum and my dad has never been stronger.
In September I was invited to give a talk about my conversion at Stake Conference. I was so nervous, but I knew that I had the Holy Spirit with me and I knew that what I was about to say was true. At university I studied Egyptology and Ancient History, and the knowledge I acquired has helped to strengthen my testimony regarding the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I have been able to find many links between the Book of Mormon and the civilisation of ancient Egypt.
On the day of my baptism I was nervous – not about the decision that I had made to become a member of the church, nor about my belief in our Saviour Jesus Christ and the Book of Mormon – but because I was worried about being fully immersed in water. However, I should not have worried. I cannot adequately describe the feeling I felt as I was immersed and raised out of the font feeling clean, fresh, pure and rebuilt. As I was confirmed I could feel the Holy Spirit at work. I had a tingling sensation down my spine, I felt calm, strong, and galvanised. I still feel the Holy Spirit with me, especially when I study the scriptures and pray to Heavenly Father. When the Holy Spirit is near I feel goosebumps on my arms and legs, and this sensation gives me comfort, and I know that I will never be alone.
My life has changed dramatically since my baptism. I continued with my weekly lessons with the missionaries to help further my knowledge and understanding of the Book of Mormon. I have spoken publicly regarding my testimony and I have written an article for the Liahona.
I love going to sacrament meetings every week, I have joined the choir and I defy anyone not to leave a Sunday service with a big smile across their face and a feeling of empowerment for the week ahead. I have repaired the relationships within my biological family, but I have also gained a new ‘church family’ and I have a genuine love for the brothers and sisters in my ward.
I am a much happier and far less stressed person since becoming a member of the Church. Everyone has noticed and commented on it, and I am so happy that my husband decided to be baptised too. I look forward to our future – serving in the church, participating in ordinances, attending the temple, and being sealed to my husband for all eternity.
The gospel has transformed my life and for the first time in a long time I am hopeful and excited to see what Heavenly Father has planned for me.

Let me tell you a quick story about a briefcase. I know it’s a weird subject for a story, but it’s actually a magic briefcase. It’s my magic Brigham Young University briefcase. I visited here in the fall of 2007 for the first time—I’d never been here before. My friend Gary Cornia, who is the dean of the business school, gave me a beautiful briefcase that said “Brigham Young University” on it. I took it home and put it away because I already had a briefcase, and I didn’t think about it.

About a month later my briefcase broke, and I was complaining to my wife, and I said, “The handle’s broken. It’s very inconvenient.”

And she said, “What about that BYU briefcase you brought home? Why don’t you carry that?”

And I said, “Oh. Okay. That’s a good idea.”

So I took all my stuff and put it in the BYU briefcase, and I started carrying it around.

At the time, my research assistant at Syracuse University, Nick Bailey (he’s here—he actually works at BYU now), noticed, and he said, “You’re carrying a BYU briefcase.”

I said, “Yeah, it’s great. It’s an Italian briefcase. It’s very nice.”

I travel a lot, and one of the funny things I noticed is that when you are out in public carrying a briefcase that says something on it, the first thing people you don’t know do is read the briefcase and then look at you. It occurred to me that people were thinking, “He’s a Mormon guy.” And that’s actually sort of false religious advertising because I’m a Roman Catholic. I take my faith seriously, but no matter how seriously I take my faith, technically that still doesn’t make me a Mormon.

So I was walking around saying, basically, “I’m a Mormon,” and the funny thing is that it was changing my personality. And the reason it was changing my personality was because I was mortified by the idea that somebody would say, “You know, I was in the airport, and I saw this Mormon guy, and he was being a real jerk.” I wanted to live up to someone else’s reputation, and it was making me into a better person. It was a magic briefcase.

So what’s the implication of this story? Well, obviously it might just be that I’m trying to get a new briefcase right now. (Maybe the greatest kind of evangelization that the LDS Church could undertake would be to buy 300 million briefcases and give them out to all Americans.) But the bigger point here is that carrying the briefcase was actually making my life better. I was happier; things were going really well for me as I was carrying that briefcase. And the reason is that the service for which Mormons have become justifiably famous was infecting my life. It was making me better as a person. It was helping me. And I thank you for that.

Several weeks after I taught this concept to my Old Testament class at BYU while we were studying the book of Deuteronomy, a young lady shared with me a letter she had written to her parents. The concept of being God's "peculiar treasure" through a covenant of love had had such an impact on her that she felt compelled to write to her parents and express her love to them. Her feelings, I believe, have a relevant message for all of us here today.

"Dear Mom and Dad:
"What a day! I just had a wonderful experience in my Old Testament class. I knew that if I tried to call and tell you about it that I would just be one big blubber puss.

"We just studied Deuteronomy as a covenant of love. Moses is sort of giving his farewell address to the Israelites. As I thought to myself what I would say to these stupid, murmuring, slow-to-remember, quick-to-sin people, Deuteronomy became more like a message of fear rather than a covenant of love. I thought, if I were Moses I wouldn't waste my time reminding them of all that the Lord had done for them. No, I'd remind them of my rage at Sinai . . . I'd scare them into obedience. Well, I thought that would be a good idea. So, why didn't Moses do it? Maybe it had something to do with Moses' connections; maybe he knew something I didn't. Seriously, why did Moses use his last words to remind Israel of the incredible love God had for them. Brother Top, in our class discussion, helped me answer my own question.

"First of all, fear is not a lasting motivation. We read in the scriptures that we are supposed to "fear" God. Well, I was right on top of that one. "Fear means to respect," I thought to myself. Right? Well, sort of. It actually means to revere. It means adoration. It means love and love inevitably leads to obedience, service and righteousness. In fact, it is only through love that these actions are not burdensome. Brother Top gave an example in class of this concept. He told of a husband who cleaned the house and made dinner for his wife who had spent the whole day teaching their daughters how to ski. His point was that the husband didn't do this work begrudgingly. In fact, he was glad to do it, because he loved her so much. You see, it's imperative that the covenant between God and Israel be based on God's perfect love for his children. If we knew how much Heavenly Father really loves us, we would give up our sins and be totally righteous. Now this is the part where I started to bawl.

"I don't think I've voiced this concern at any time in my life, but I've always had this nagging little question as to why I've always been such a goody-goody. I don't mean to say that I've lived a sin-free life, but the fact is that I have passed up a lot of tempting opportunities to mess up. Why have I been such a "good girl?" I remember, even as a little kid, passing up some mischievous little crime with my friends and hearing them honestly say, "No way, I can't do that; my parents would kill me." But I was never afraid of you. Then today in my religion class, the answer came to me. It just overwhelmed me. If I have ever made a truly righteous decision, it has only been because I have wanted to. And I've only wanted to because I love you so much because you loved me first. It's not that I feel obligated to be righteous--I WANT TO BE RIGHTEOUS--to honor you. Even away from you I never want to do anything that would dishonor you. Every aspect of my testimony stems from your love for me.

"Mom and Dad how can I ever thank you enough? I love you so much. Today as we talked about the love Heavenly Father had for the Israelites, I feel like I caught a glimpse for the first time of how much He loves me, because it's like the love you have for me. That love helps me want to do good and be righteous. What an important lesson from Deuteronomy. Look what the Old Testament has done to me--I'm a wailing wreck now. Man, who would have though those Israelites could play such a big part in teaching me one of the most important lessons of my life?"
Wow--what a letter!

President Gordon B. Hinckley recounted this childhood experience: “When I was a boy I raised a question with my father … concerning the expenditure of Church funds. He reminded me that mine is the God-given obligation to pay my tithes and offerings. When I do so, [my father said,] that which I give is no longer mine. It belongs to the Lord to whom I consecrate it.” His father added: “What the authorities of the Church do with it need not concern [you, Gordon]. They are answerable to the Lord, who will require an accounting at their hands.”

In a neighboring village Aunt Toini was living in comfortable surroundings, but she was not comfortable at all. Her past haunted her. Though she had always been well off and had plenty of everything, her sister had not.
Her sister had had a family—a husband and three-year-old twin daughters. Her sister’s husband had been severely injured in an accident at work. After a short while she had become sick with tuberculosis and in desperation went to Aunt Toini asking for the small sum of 20 marks and bread for her girls. But in selfishness Aunt Toini had refused to give help in any way. A short time later Aunt Toini’s sister died of tuberculosis, and her husband died as a result of his injuries. Strangers adopted their three-year-old girls.
“It was my fault that my sister died and those little girls had to be adopted,” Aunt Toini confided to me that day I first met her. Tears blurred my vision as I listened to her sad story, and I sensed she was seeking forgiveness.
“My sister lived in this very house,” she told me. She looked me in the eye and handed me 20 marks. “Here you are. Pray that God will forgive me.” After a little while she pulled herself together, stood up, and said, “Well, let’s get to work. I’ll bring some wood so we can make supper.”

Nikki and Breck Fullmer quarreled constantly. Most of their fights were about Nikki borrowing her brother’s T-shirts, and Breck playing music at home that his sister didn’t like. Nikki and Breck were both looking for a way out of their conflicts when they decided to participate in their stake’s “Time Alone” experiment.
Nikki knew her brother liked to drink soda pop, so she invited him to go get one with her. He thought it was a fine arrangement, since she was buying. After the soda they talked and drove around for an hour. After just one rendezvous, Nikki said, “He’s at a stage where he’ll do just about anything to be cool. And now he thinks it’s cool to be with me.”

Let me give you two examples. First, as I read this familiar story, listen closely and try to discern at what particular point darkness was defeated.
After I had retired to the place where I had previously designed to go, having looked around me, and finding myself alone, I kneeled down and began to offer up the desires of my heart to God. I had scarcely done so, when immediately I was seized upon by some power which entirely overcame me, and had such an astonishing influence over me as to bind my tongue so that I could not speak. Thick darkness gathered around me, and it seemed to me for a time as if I were doomed to sudden destruction.
But, exerting all my powers to call upon God to deliver me out of the power of this enemy which had seized upon me, and at the very moment when I was ready to sink into despair and abandon myself to destruction—not to an imaginary ruin, but to the power of some actual being from the unseen world, who had such marvelous power as I had never before felt in any being—just at this moment of great alarm, I saw a pillar of light exactly over my head, above the brightness of the sun, which descended gradually until it fell upon me.
It no sooner appeared than I found myself delivered from the enemy which held me bound. When the light rested upon me I saw two Personages, whose brightness and glory defy all description, standing above me in the air. One of them spake unto me, calling me by name and said, pointing to the other—This is My Beloved Son. Hear Him! [JS—H 1:15–17; emphasis in original]
In the Sacred Grove, darkness left young Joseph Smith when the light first appeared.
The second example involves an experience I had in graduate school. I asked one of my classmates to take the missionary discussions. He did not join the Church at that time, and I moved back to Arizona. When I came back for another summer school session, I learned that although he had not been baptized, he had been going to church for the entire year that I had been away.
One evening I got a call from him requesting that we meet in the bleachers of the Smith Fieldhouse. He was puzzled over something that had just occurred. A few years before my friend had seen a movie that was a graphic R-rated movie on the subject of demonic possession. Now a friend had asked him to see the sequel to the movie, and this suggestion to see the second movie had brought back vivid memories of the content of the first movie that, at the time, my friend had thought little about. But now, a few years later, and after a year’s worth of church attendance, things were somehow different. He went to bed but could not stop thinking about the movie. He became extremely nervous and began sweating profusely. Finally, at about two o’clock in the morning, he reached over to his nightstand and picked up his copy of the Book of Mormon and started to read. He said that as he read, the nervousness went away and he calmed down and was able to fall asleep.
His purpose for our meeting was to ask me if I could explain what had happened to him. You can imagine I was most eager to do so. I testified to him that the Book of Mormon was true and that the light contained within its pages chased away the darkness that he was experiencing as he reflected on the evil contained within the movie. Again, light forsakes the evil one!

A tender, sweet story about receiving peace from the scriptures appeared in the January 1991 Ensign, submitted by Sister Carole Seegmiller. Using a few excerpts, I quote from her article: “Dad decided that our family should begin an intensive study of the scriptures to help my brother Bruce prepare for his mission. Dad’s goal was to read the entire Book of Mormon before Bruce left, tape-recording our voices as we went along. … We would take turns reading a chapter [each]. …
“The family finished the Book of Mormon a few months later, … so Dad decided we should read and record the four Gospels from the New Testament. I complained this time, telling Dad that I didn’t see the point: we could buy audiotapes of professionals reading the scriptures—and they sounded a lot better than we did. Still Dad persisted. ‘Carole, one day these tapes will be a great blessing to us.’ …
“I began to enjoy these times together with the family. I especially liked to hear Dad share his personal insights about a passage. Soon I began to sense the peace that comes through studying the scriptures. We finished reading the four Gospels shortly before Bruce left for the Missionary Training Center. …
“After Bruce left, I noticed how comforting the tapes were to Dad. He often listened to them, partly just to hear Bruce’s voice, I thought, since they had been very close. Sometimes at night Dad would fall asleep listening, and I would smile to myself as I heard the familiar click-click-click of the recorder that had run to tape’s end. …
“When Bruce had been gone for more than a year, Dad died quietly of a heart attack. … All of our family members … gathered except Bruce, who had determined to finish his mission.
“That evening, after [the funeral], I was feeling low. I went upstairs to Dad’s room and dejectedly sat down at his desk. I noticed his well-used tape recorder lying nearby; inside was one of our tapes of the New Testament, which Dad must have listened to the night before he died. I began rewinding the tape, stopping it at random, hoping to find solace in hearing the gentle resonance of Dad’s voice. … I sat upright as my father spoke from the tape:
“‘Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.’ …
“I listened to that passage over and over; the words reached out and wrapped a comforting arm around me. …
“Peace did come to us that night. … Since then, I have tasted the sweet peace of the New Testament time and time again. To me, that is its greatest message” (“Our Family’s Tape-recorded New Testament,” Ensign, Jan. 1991, p. 27).

Uncle Bob is my dad’s youngest brother. Dad was about seventeen when Uncle Bob was born. Dad always had a special love for him. No matter where else Dad lived, he’d get so lonesome to see Uncle Bob that he couldn’t stand it. He’d go home to his parents’ place just to see him. One winter Dad even walked partway across the Teton mountains to get there. A blizzard came up, and Dad nearly lost his way. He wanted nothing so much as to give in to the warmth that occurs as a person begins to freeze to death. Only the thought of seeing Uncle Bob made him continue.
As he was growing up, Uncle Bob often came to our home. He helped Dad with the haying and the fieldwork. He carried wood for my mother. He really enjoyed eating all the delicious food Mother set in front of him.
The rest of Dad’s family had been converted to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints after Dad was grown and had left home. Uncle Bob was the youngest member of Dad’s family, and he had a special testimony of the Church.
One day Uncle Bob stacked an armload of wood and turned to my mother. The spirit was strong in his heart as he began to explain the things he had been learning in church and through study of the scriptures and personal prayer. He told her many things about the gospel of Jesus Christ and about Joseph Smith praying to know which church was true and discovering that not one of the churches in his day had the fullness of the gospel. Uncle Bob told her how Joseph Smith had been privileged to see God the Father and His Son, Jesus Christ, and to know for himself that They had bodies of flesh and bone, just as he had. Uncle Bob’s eyes never wavered from my mother’s face as he bore his strong testimony.
Mother didn’t believe a boy so young as Uncle Bob could know these things. She became angry at the words she was hearing and told Uncle Bob, “You may come back to my house anytime, but never mention these things here again.”
Uncle Bob loved my parents and wanted to come as often as he could. He agreed. “Aunt Ruth, I will never mention these things again in your home, I promise. I also promise you that someday you will ask me to baptize you.”
Now, this was many years ago, when young people did not speak their minds. They were expected to show respect to those who were older than they. It took a lot of courage for Uncle Bob to speak to my mother this way.
We spent many happy times with Uncle Bob. He stayed with us occasionally while our parents went to Wyoming to visit my mother’s family. He never broke his promise to my mother by again speaking of the great truths of the gospel or bearing his testimony, not even when both of our parents were away.
One year Dad was farming the Phillipi place in Mackay, Idaho. Uncle Bob came to stay for two weeks. My other sister, Jeannie, made spice cake every day. We whipped a half-gallon canful of pure cream for the topping. The smells seemed to curl around the corners of the room and out to the fields where Jack and Uncle Bob worked. It made your mouth water, it was such a tangy odor. But not even then, with a stove full of wood and a stomach full of sweet spice cake did Uncle Bob break his vow to my mother.
The years kept going by, one by one. Uncle Bob grew up, married, and had six sons and one daughter. He always stayed close to the Church. He knew that it was true. He held many callings over the years. Wherever he was needed, he served, becoming in later years a stake patriarch and a temple worker in the Portland Temple.
In 1971 Uncle Bob was fifty years old. My mother was sixty-four that year, and she was living in Powell, Wyoming. She telephoned Uncle Bob.
It’s curious—after all those years, she still remembered! Mother said, “Will you come, Bob. Will you come and baptize me?” On April 15, 1971, forty years after my uncle had made his promise to her, he baptized my mother a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

Our family moved to Logandale, Nevada, more than eight years ago, and we have been involved with the Clark County Fair ever since. It is held each year in April, near Easter. Children can show pigs, steers, or lambs they have raised. The animals are judged on Thursday, and the auction takes place on Saturday.
I always dread the auction. I worry that one of my children will have an animal that doesn’t sell. Most parents try to get someone to prebuy their child’s animal. But even if your child’s animal is presold, you still have to wait endlessly for his or her turn at the auction.
One of the most touching events I have ever witnessed took place at the auction three years ago. We had sat most of the day on aluminum bleachers, listening to the auctioneer’s bark, the crowd’s babble, and the animals’ bleating, mooing, and squealing. Suddenly we heard another sound—the wind pelting a freezing rain against the building.
Soon, in addition to parents and extended family attending the auction, we had many other people seeking shelter inside the metal livestock pavilion. They were quite surprised to find an auction taking place. Most were from the big city of Las Vegas and had never experienced a real animal auction before. They apparently found the auction entertaining, and a few even bid on animals. Of course, after the auctioneer explained that the price was per pound, the bidding slowed considerably.
Our boys’ pig came up for auction, and I remember feeling quite relieved when it was sold. All I could think of was getting home, away from the people, the noise, and the smell. It was still raining outside, so while I waited for my brother-in-law to get the car, I listened involuntarily to the auctioneer as he started the bidding on lambs.
A young girl brought out her lamb, and the bidding commenced. I don’t remember the exact amount, but I do remember thinking, “That’s a lot of money for a lamb.” Then a most amazing thing happened. The auctioneer explained that the person who had purchased the lamb was donating it back to the little girl to be resold. He went on to explain that this little girl’s father, who normally would have been there with her, was in the hospital. He had cancer, and the prognosis was not good. The family had no medical insurance, and the father was their sole support.
What happened next will burn in my mind and heart forever.
The bidding resumed, and again the little lamb was sold for an unheard-of amount of money. Again the lamb was donated back to be resold. About that time my brother-in-law returned, wet and windblown, but I couldn’t move. I told him something remarkable was happening, and though I tried, I could not stop my tears.
That lamb was sold again and again, and all those people, many of them from the city, were bidding and giving donations for that local family.
As I stood there in amazement, I couldn’t help but think of another lamb—not one that was sold again and again to benefit just one family, but One who allowed Himself to be sacrificed for all of God’s children. It seemed fitting that Easter was just around the corner. The Spirit bore witness to me that day of the significance of sacrifice in behalf of others and the importance of community.
Regrettably, this little girl’s father did not survive. The family has since moved into our ward, and the wife of that good man bore her testimony in Relief Society one Sunday. She told us how she had been at the hospital with her dying husband when she heard of the auction. She didn’t know who or how many people had donated money, but she was moved to tears when expressing her gratitude for all who cared enough to help. She was amazed at the outpouring of love and support shown to her family that stormy day at the Clark County Fair—the day the lamb was sold.

Gary loved to visit Grandpa and Grandma McGregor on their farm near Cardston, Canada. It had been nearly four years since the family had made the long trip there from their home in Quebec. But at last they had reached the farm, and Dad stopped the car by the back gate.
Everything was quiet as they opened the doors. Suddenly Mother whispered, “Sh-h! Don’t move—listen!”
Gary and Dad listened carefully. “What’s the matter, Mom?” Gary asked. “I don’t hear anything.”
“It’s a swarm of bees” Mother answered, “and it’s close by.” She looked around and then pointed toward the lilac bush by the door. “There it is. Look, Gary!”
Gary could hardly believe what he saw. There were bees flying around the lilac bush—more bees than he had ever seen before.
“What are they doing?” Gary almost shouted. “There are thousands of them. Where did they come from?”
“They’re swarming, Gary. Every spring some of the bees leave a hive with a queen,” Mother explained. “We mustn’t get too close to them or they’ll chase and sting us, but I want to show you something special. Do you see that large brownish clump on the underside of the limb?”
Gary looked at the lilac bush. “You mean that big thing hanging down? The bees are flying around it.”
“That’s the swarm of bees. The queen is inside the swarm,” Mother answered.
“You mean that big clump is solid bees?” Gary asked.
“Yes,” Mother replied, “and I haven’t seen one for years.” Then she smiled as she reminisced. “One time a swarm landed on the bottom of Grandpa’s tractor seat, and he couldn’t go to work until he’d put them in a hive. They were hanging almost to the ground. Another time they were so high in the quaking aspen that Grandpa couldn’t get to them. A bad wind came up and the bees blew about so much that part of the swarm broke off and fell to the ground.”
“Can Grandpa get all of these bees out of the lilac tree?” Gary asked. “Where is he, anyway?”
Just then they saw Grandpa coming from the field. Gary ran to meet him. “Oh, Grandpa,” he said, “I just love being back on the farm, even with the bees.”
Grandpa McGregor laughed. “Well, we’ll take care of the bees later, when they’ve settled down a bit. I’ll show you how to handle them so no one will be stung.”
Gary watched the bees from the back porch. He was fascinated by the funnel shape clinging to the branch. Only a bee or two hadn’t settled down with the others. Gary wondered how they could hang on like that and why they didn’t break off and fall to the ground.
When Grandmother called Gary to eat, he was afraid the bees might disappear while he was in the house. Grandpa assured him they would still be in the lilac bush. “Sometimes they’ll stay like that for a day or two. Then if someone doesn’t put them in a hive of their own, they’ll leave.”
“Where would they go?” Gary asked.
“Sometimes they find an old hollow tree and make their home inside it,” Grandpa explained.
“Will you give the bees a hive of their own so they won’t fly away?” Gary wondered.
Grandpa smiled. “After dessert I’ll show you what we’ll do.”
When everyone had finished with supper, Grandpa pushed back his chair and said, “I’d better put on my bee clothes. That’s a large swarm, and I don’t want to lose any bees. They make a lot of honey for us.”
Gary saw Grandpa open the cupboard on the back porch and take out some strange-looking clothes. He watched Grandpa put on the clothes. Grandma tied his gloves at the wrists. “So the bees can’t crawl up his arms,” she explained. Grandma also tied his pants tightly at the ankles over some high boots. But when Grandpa put a big covering over his head, Gary could hardly believe what he saw! A net covered Grandpa’s hat and was tied tightly around his neck. It made him look like a man from outer space.
Grandpa made a little fire in an odd-shaped can. He put some oily rags in the can, touched a lighted match to the rags, and put the lid on. When Grandpa squeezed the handle, smoke came out of the spout on the can.
“What’s that for, Grandpa?” Gary cried.
“Bees don’t like smoke, Gary. If some get angry while I’m working, the smoke will keep them from stinging me.”
Then Grandpa went out to the shed and carried out an empty beehive. Gary watched from the back porch as Grandpa set the beehive directly under the big clump of bees. He removed the lid from the hive, and with a quick movement he shook the limb of the lilac bush. The large cluster of bees fell into the hive. Some of the bees were angry at being disturbed. They began buzzing around Grandpa’s head, but he aimed the smoking can at the bees and puffed some smoke at them. A few bees flew away, but some of them still buzzed around.
When the bees were in the hive, Grandpa put the lid on and carried the beehive out behind the bunkhouse with the others. “That’s one place I’ve never explored,” Gary said to himself.
“I’d like to go out there when the bees are asleep and take a look.”
The next morning after breakfast Gary headed straight for the bunkhouse. Gary looked at the first hive. He thought it was the one Grandpa had put out last night, but then all the beehives looked alike.
Quickly Gary lifted the lid to take a little peek. As if they were waiting for him, the bees swarmed up into the sunlight! Gary turned and ran for the house, but it was too late. The bees were after him. One flew down his shirt. Others flew around his head and hands.
When they heard Gary’s cries, Grandma and Mother came running. They helped chase the bees away, and Grandma put mud on the bee stings. Gary’s face was so swollen, he didn’t look like himself. And his arms and hands were swollen too.
“You know, Grandma,” Gary admitted, “I didn’t want to steal their honey, but I guess the bees didn’t know that. Next time I’ll go with Grandpa and wear bee clothes.”
Then Gary was quiet. He was thinking about the report he’d have for school next fall after learning all about bees. He thought he might leave the bee stings out of the report—but he’d have all summer to decide about that!

Sandra was a student in my advanced English class. Several weeks into the year, she hadn’t done any of the homework or projects. She just daydreamed at her desk. She made up excuses for why she hadn’t completed her assignments, and she demonstrated neither the attitude nor the work necessary for success in such a demanding course.
Her counselor and I decided to schedule a conference with Sandra, her father, and some of her other teachers to determine what direction she should take: should she drop her advanced courses and take standard ones instead? Most substantial was the unspoken question weighing on all of our minds: could we find a way to help Sandra succeed?
Believing that Sandra had been given many chances to succeed but instead had chosen to fail, I went into the meeting feeling very discouraged. Secretly I hoped she would decide to drop my class so that I wouldn’t have to worry about her anymore. I felt I had done all I could and that it was already too late.
In the meeting, Sandra’s body language revealed that she too doubted her ability to succeed. She stared at the table as I recounted her failure in English class. As her history teacher confirmed that Sandra was failing his class as well, her body slumped lower in her chair and I could see tears streaming down her face.
Mustering compassion, I explained to her and her father that if Sandra wanted to succeed in these challenging courses, she was going to have to change the behavior that had gotten her so deeply into this hole and that it was going to be very difficult.
The counselor then turned to Sandra’s father, a man with little education who seemed uncomfortable in the school setting. The counselor asked him if he had any questions for the teachers. He said he didn’t and thanked us for what we had done for Sandra. But then he said he had something to say to his daughter.
My heart tightened. I had been a part of some parent-teacher conferences where the parents had verbally rebuked their children in front of teachers and counselors, berating them for their laziness, inattentiveness, and lack of motivation. I braced myself to hear it again.
What I heard instead surprised me. Sandra’s humble father turned to his tearful 16-year-old daughter who was weighed down by shame and regret and said to her, “It’s not too late. It’s not too late for you to succeed. It really is not too late.”
I left that meeting grateful for his loving reaction but concerned that he had no idea what it would take for his daughter to pass at this point. It seemed impossible. Word came later that she had decided to drop her history class but not my English class.
Sandra, with motivation to start again, made slow but significant changes. The transformation was not easy—it required daily effort to overcome her bad habits—but she saw the rewards of her efforts as her grade gradually improved.

When I was serving as a mission president, a man called me to ask permission to baptize his mother in his ward rather than his mother’s ward. I asked “Why?” He responded, “Because I do not like her bishop and I will never forgive him for what he did.” When I heard those words, “never forgive him,” my concern shifted from his mother’s salvation to his, and I told him that. I shared the scripture about forgiveness in the Doctrine and Covenants that I just mentioned and asked him to ponder and pray about his request. He called a few days later and told me that he had been a member most of his life, and had read those scripture passages many times, but that somehow in his circumstance he had felt justified in not forgiving. He had finally realized that the commandment to forgive all men, meant all men and he forgave the bishop and felt the joy of forgiveness.

In 2008, she desired to find her paternal grandmother’s family history. Since she had passed away, Anu tried to find her grandmother’s sister. All Anu knew was her name, the city, and that she lived on Temple Street.

Anu traveled to another city, seven months pregnant with her two little children on her quest. When she arrived at Temple Street, she began asking people if anyone knew her. She said, “It was like the Lord’s hand was there, helping”. Each person she asked drew her a little closer until she found her great-aunt. It was like a miracle.

At first, she was worried if she would be accepted. Her great-aunt is Hindu and Anu is a member of the Church. She had only met her once before. However, her grandmother’s sister warmly welcomed her.

Anu eagerly sketched the four-generation family pedigree as they visited for two hours, “she was like an encyclopedia of information”. Anu exclaimed, “It was an amazing experience! I’ll never forget it! I felt a strong connection with my ancestors, like they were waiting for me to get the information recorded.” Anu explained that India’s government didn’t record birth and death dates. Approximate dates were typically remembered by lunar calendar. For example, a birth date may be recorded as five days after the full moon.

Although we live on the east coast of Queensland, Australia, we are Germans. My husband, Siegfried, was born in Danzig, and I was born in what is now the Czech Republic. When we considered going on a mission, we had concerns. Our family is constantly growing. The separation would be very hard for us. Our little house couldn’t be rented, and there were financial worries. We discussed it together and spoke about all the pros and cons. But in the end we knelt down and asked our Father in Heaven for guidance. After that it was very easy. We both had a good feeling and the certainty that we should go on a mission.

I was baptised in 1968 at the Nottingham chapel, West Bridgford. I was 17 years old. It was not long before I was called to serve as a ward missionary. This was a challenge for me at the start, but after a short period of time I became more valiant in my call, and with the help of local full-time missionaries I began to find it easier to testify to the truthfulness of the gospel.
It was during this time that I would go out with the full-time missionaries on teaching appointments or tracting.
One day they invited me to join them in the Market Square, Nottingham. We called it “Slab Square”—Elder M. Russell Ballard (1928–2023) preached there as a young missionary. They were going to preach the gospel. They stood on a raised wall and started to preach the message of the Restoration. I was amazed when a small crowd gathered, and even more amazed when I found myself volunteering to do what they were doing. The crowd had grown to about 40, and I said a silent prayer and started to share the message of the Restoration. Individuals in the crowd started to respond with some very critical comments, until one gentleman seemed to shout with a very loud voice, “Give the lad a chance!”
It worked and I was able to finish my remarks. I’m not sure if this gentleman was a little the worse for drink but I was very grateful for his comments.
We left the Market Square and I’m not sure what good I did, but I always remember that day in Slab Square. It gave me the courage to stand up and testify, no matter what. I thought, “If I can do that, I can do anything.” Even today I think the Spirit moved not only upon me that day but also upon the gentleman who spoke up for me.

Here is an inspiring story that demonstrates how one family made peacemaking a family affair, putting these principles into practice.
Children in this family were struggling in their relationship with an adult whose demeanor was often grumpy, condescending, and curt. The children, hurt and frustrated, began to wonder if the only way forward was to mirror that same mean-spirited behavior.
One evening the family spoke openly together about the tension and the toll it was taking. And then an idea emerged—not just a solution but an experiment.
Instead of responding with silence or retaliation, the children would do something unexpected: they would respond with kindness. Not just polite restraint but a deliberate, heartfelt outpouring of kind words and thoughtful deeds, no matter how they were treated in return. All agreed to try it for a set time, after which they’d regroup and reflect.
Though some were hesitant at first, they committed to the plan with genuine hearts.
What happened next was nothing short of remarkable.
The cold exchanges began to thaw. Smiles replaced scowls. The adult, once distant and harsh, began to change. The children, empowered by their choice to lead with love, found joy in the transformation. The change was so profound that the planned follow-up meeting was never needed. Kindness had done its quiet work.
In time, true bonds of friendship were formed, lifting everyone. To be peacemakers, we forgive others and deliberately build others up instead of tearing them down.

If we choose the wrong road, we choose the wrong destination. For example, a friend of many years told me that her husband, always a “good kid” in high school, took a few drinks he thought would help him forget some problems. Before he knew what was happening, he was addicted. Now he is not able to support his family, and he is ineffective at almost everything he tries to do. Alcohol governs his life, and he cannot seem to break free of its grip.

A friend shared an experience she had with one of her former mission companions. Since their mission they had seen each other occasionally. On one of these occasions, the mission companion confided in my friend about the difficulties she was facing with one of her children and the trial and heartache this experience created.

In the course of the conversation, the mission companion asked my friend what her greatest heartache was. My friend, feeling that she could safely share her thoughts and feelings about her greatest heartache, proceeded to tell her mission companion about the heartache she was currently facing with one of her own children. Instead of responding with the expected empathy and understanding, the mission companion immediately was critical of my friend, judging her and her situation with harshness.

My friend was surprised and shocked, to say the least, at her companion’s response—especially since it was the mission companion who had asked the question in the first place. My friend thought that she was in “a safe place” while relating her experience to her former mission companion, but instead she found herself exposed to criticism and harsh judgment with no empathy or understanding.