Gospel Story Finder

Light of the World by Brent Borup
When President Russell M. Nelson spoke about using the correct name of the Church, his message was very clear to me: “It is the command of the Lord. … To remove the Lord’s name from the Lord’s Church is a major victory for Satan” (“The Correct Name of the Church,” Oct. 2018 general conference [Ensign or Liahona, Nov. 2018, 87, 88]).
Committed to using the Church’s full name, I waited for the next opportunity to claim my membership in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Sure enough, that opportunity came. “You Mormons are such kind people,” someone told me.
“Well, thank you,” I answered. “As members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, we believe we’re all brothers and sisters.” Then the conversation continued with him and everyone else talking about the kindness of “Mormons.”
Although I had done my part in saying the full name of the Church, my friends and associates still viewed me as part of the “Mormon Church” and not necessarily as a follower of Christ, let alone as a member of Christ’s restored Church.
Over the next several interactions about my faith, I found it awkward to say the full name of the Church multiple times in the same conversation. Everyone I spoke to seemed to give me odd expressions. And they continued to use the term “Mormons.”
I wanted to make my interactions feel more natural. But this turned out to be more difficult than I expected, particularly with individuals I didn’t want to offend. I didn’t want to be embarrassed or lazy about living my faith, but I also didn’t want to come across as harsh, since many of these people had previously called me “Mormon,” with me accepting it. I also heard many members of the Church still calling members of the Church “Mormons.”
I found myself asking whether using the full name of the Church was really that important in the grand scheme of things. The “Mormon” brand, after all, is quite positive in the minds of many people—being a “Mormon” had often been an asset to me. But in revisiting President Nelson’s talk, I was impressed that this really is that important, even if it did cause some awkwardness in conversation. So I recommitted myself.
One day I was visiting a friend at a church of another faith. Someone came up to me and with a bright smile asked if I was a Mormon. “Yes, I am a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints,” I said.
He started asking me several questions, each beginning with: “Does the Mormon Church believe … ?”
And each time, I began my answer with the phrase: “In the restored Church of Jesus Christ, we believe …”
This banter went back and forth several times. When he noticed that I wasn’t accepting the title “Mormon,” he asked me point-blank, “Are you not Mormon?”
So I asked him if he knew who Mormon was—he didn’t. I told him that Mormon was a prophet, a historian, and a military general in the ancient Americas. I am honored to be associated with a man who was so dedicated to the service of God and others.
“But,” I continued, “Mormon didn’t die for my sins. Jesus Christ is my God and my Savior. He is my Redeemer. And it is by His name that I want to be known at the last day, and it’s by His name that I hope to be known today.”
I felt the assurance of the Spirit supporting me in this short testimony to my new acquaintance. After a few seconds of silence, he said, “So, you’re a Christian?”
“Yes, I’m a Christian,” I responded, “and a member of Christ’s restored Church.”
Seeking to follow the instruction of the prophet seemed simple, but it turned out to take more effort than I expected. I’m still not perfect at following everything I’m asked to do, but I make sure to use the full name of the Church.
I’m grateful for the Spirit that I feel when I get to testify to others about my Savior and my membership in His Church.
The author lives in Virginia, USA.

Enter Sara, another friend. About the same time that Tiffani and Catlin were investigating the Church, three of Sara’s friends from high school were preparing to leave on missions. Sara couldn’t understand what was so important that these young men would put aside a normal life to become full-time missionaries for the Church. She thought she might find some answers if she read the Book of Mormon, so she asked Catlin for a copy. Once she started reading, Sara couldn’t put it down. She went to church with Catlin and there met the sister missionaries. One month after Catlin joined the Church, Sara followed her friend’s example.

The two holdouts, Christina and Kristin, could not believe what was happening to their friends. First it was Tiffani (who had not yet been baptized, though they assumed it was inevitable), then Catlin, and now Sara. But Christina and Kristin decided they weren’t going to let religion come between them and their best friends, so they supported their friend Sara by attending her baptismal service.

Two young men dressed in white shirts and ties came to our home in Honduras. “We are from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints,” they said.
Mama welcomed them in. The missionaries taught our family about the gospel of Jesus Christ. Though I was only nine, I felt the truth of their words in my heart.
“What must we do to become members of Christ’s Church?” Papa asked.
“Be baptized,” one of the elders said.
Mama, Papa, and I were baptized one month later. My brother, Tomas, who was six years old, would be baptized in two years.
While teaching us more about the gospel, the elders explained how families could be sealed together in the temple.
The closest temple was in Guatemala, many kilometers away. We would need to pay for a two-day bus ride and two nights’ lodging in the city. We had no money for such a trip, but Mama and Papa refused to let that stop us from attending the temple.
Every year our family grew corn. We used it to make tortillas to sell to travelers who passed through our village.
Mama pulled out a paper and pencil. She added up some numbers and said, “We must sell 2,500 tortillas to pay for our trip.”
My eyes widened. That was so many tortillas! “We have never sold so many tortillas,” I said.
Mama didn’t look worried. “The Lord will provide,” she said. “Raoul, you and Tomas must help your papa harvest the corn,” Mama told me.
Tomas and I helped Papa harvest the corn. Every day, Mama ground it, made the dough, and fried it. Tomas and I took the tortillas to the village.
“A bus of tourists came today,” I told Mama when we returned home the first day. “We sold many tortillas.”
“It is a miracle,” Mama said.
Every day we sold more tortillas. Within a few months we had saved the money we needed to make the journey to Guatemala. But I was still worried. I had heard stories about robbers who stopped buses passing through the jungle. They took all the passengers’ valuables.
“What about the robbers?” I asked.
“The Lord will protect us,” Mama said. Then she asked, “Raoul, do you believe in the gospel?”
“Yes.”
“Then you know that we must do all in our power to follow the Lord and His prophets.”
One year after we were baptized, my family was ready to make the trip to the temple. We rode to Guatemala City in a bus. I will never forget the Spirit I felt as my family was sealed together for time and eternity.
That night, as I knelt to say my prayers, I thanked Heavenly Father for the blessings of the temple.

In Elder Pedro X. Larreal’s fourth month as a full-time missionary, President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008) visited the Venezuela Caracas Mission.
Elder Larreal recalled, “He extended an amazing invitation to us about consecration: ‘If you are focused 100 percent, I promise your future family will receive blessings.’”
Afterward, Elder Larreal wrote a letter to break up with his girlfriend back home. “I needed to put everything on the altar because I needed to be more focused.”
Looking back, he recognizes many blessings—beneficial education, successful employment—sprouting from trust in that apostolic promise.
“When we follow the direction of a prophet, seer, and revelator, we will get blessings in our life,” he said. “I promise.”

One Saturday evening in 2009, my missionary companion, Sister Alison Vevea, and I were sitting in a chapel watching the General Relief Society Meeting. I was thinking about Angela, a woman we were helping to prepare for baptism.
Two years earlier, Angela’s son had been killed. Angela was currently unemployed and, although excited to get baptized, often felt lonely and depressed. That evening before the broadcast, Sister Vevea and I had prayed for inspiration to know how to help Angela.
As President Henry B. Eyring spoke, I felt impressed to give something to Angela. But what? The Spirit then told me, “Angela needs flowers.” Almost immediately, President Eyring shared a story about a woman who was prompted to take tulips to a Relief Society sister.1 His story confirmed to me that Angela, for whatever reason, needed flowers.
After the broadcast had ended, I told my companion what the Spirit had whispered to me. Without hesitation, we drove to the nearest grocery store. While looking at the store’s meager flower selection, I picked up a bouquet of daisies.
“I don’t know,” Sister Vevea said. “What about the sunflowers?”
I pointed out their higher price, but my companion insisted. “I really feel that we should get the sunflowers,” she said.
Minutes later we were standing on Angela’s porch, sunflowers in hand. I don’t remember the greetings we exchanged when the door opened. I remember only Angela’s tears.
Angela explained that she refers to each of her children as her “little sunflowers.” Whenever she visits her son’s grave, she rests sunflowers by his headstone. The day before, however, she had gone empty-handed. Despite all her searching, she had not been able to find sunflowers anywhere. With our gift, she planned to return to the cemetery the next day to continue her tradition.
That evening the Spirit had worked through President Eyring, my companion, and me to deliver a message of love to Angela from her Heavenly Father. I am grateful for the whisperings of the Holy Spirit. They taught me early in my mission that God is aware of His children and that He is ever ready to help us accomplish His work.

At one privately owned and operated care facility, compassion reigned supreme. The proprietress was Edna Hewlett. There was a waiting list of patients who desired to live out their remaining days under her tender care, for she was an angelic person. She would wash and style the hair of every patient. She cleansed elderly bodies and dressed them with bright and clean clothing.
Through the years, in visiting the widows of the ward over which I once presided, I would generally start my visits at Edna’s facility. She would welcome me with a cheery smile and take me to the living room where a number of the patients were seated.
I always had to begin with Jeannie Burt, who was the oldest—102 when she died. She had known me and my family from the time I was born.
On one occasion Jeannie asked with her thick Scottish brogue, “Tommy, have you been to Edinburgh lately?”
I replied, “Yes, not too long ago I was there.”
“Isn’t it beautiful!” she responded.
Jeannie closed her aged eyes in an expression of silent reverie. Then she became serious. “I’ve paid in advance for my funeral—in cash. You are to speak at my funeral, and you are to recite ‘Crossing the Bar’ by Tennyson. Now let’s hear it!”
It seemed every eye was upon me, and surely this was the case. I took a deep breath and began:
Sunset and evening star,
And one clear call for me!
And may there be no moaning of the bar,
When I put out to sea.11
Jeannie’s smile was benign and heavenly—then she declared, “Oh, Tommy, that was nice. But see that you practice a wee bit before my funeral!” This I did.

Consider the power to love. I remember a mother I met once as I made a professional house call. This woman was confined in an iron lung. The ravages of polio had effectively destroyed all the breathing muscles so that her life was completely dependent upon this large metal tank and the electrical motor that powered its noisy bellows.
While there, I watched her three children as they related to their mother. The oldest interrupted our work to ask permission to go to a friend’s house for an hour. Later the second child asked her mother for help with arithmetic. Finally the youngest child, so small that she couldn’t see her mother’s face directly, looked up at her image in a mirror that had been placed over the mother’s head and asked, “Mommy, may I have a cookie?” I’ve never forgotten that lesson on the power of love. This woman, virtually disabled and certainly incapable of any degree of physical enforcement of parental authority, sweetly influenced that home solely with the power to love!

by Janet Sorensen
The young members of the Church in Sao Paulo, Brazil, know how to celebrate holidays. One of the biggest holidays in Brazil is Carnaval, a three-day celebration where parades and dancing take place at all hours of the day and night. It is a time when anything goes, and morals seem to be quickly forgotten.
But the LDS youth of Sao Paulo have a better way to celebrate. Every year during Carnaval, the members plan a youth conference away from the city, so the youth can enjoy three days of recreation, learning, and spiritual activities.
Last year they went to the original Sao Paulo stake center (there are now 11 stakes there). It is located at a complex outside of the city, along with the temple and the missionary training center. The group stayed in dormitories, and though they could see the skyscrapers of the city, they were far from the drunken parties and wild people.
For Independence Day, these youth chose sites within their stake boundaries that needed to be cleaned up. All worked together to plant trees, repair curbs, and generally clean the areas. On another Independence Day, they planted more than 400 trees that were donated by the city government. It seemed an impossible task, but they finished the project in half a day because everyone helped.
These Brazilian youth know the best way to celebrate: put the teachings of the gospel into action and let the joy shine through.

Photograph from Getty Images
After faithfully serving a mission in Mozambique, I returned home and, like many other returned missionaries, quickly turned to my studies and work.
I lived in Brazil in a city that borders Paraguay and found employment importing products for a large supermarket on the Paraguayan side. The blessing of having learned English on my mission helped me gain this position. During this time, I was married and blessed with a daughter.
When a financial crisis in Brazil culminated in the decline of Brazil’s currency, my work was directly affected. It caused a decline in the sales of the products I regularly imported. By the end of February the following year, I was left with practically nothing to do. Losing my job was almost certain, as had been the case with other colleagues. I became worried about supporting my wife and little daughter. I even started looking for another job.
I spoke with my wife about the situation. She suggested that we fast. While we fasted, peace enveloped our hearts and we felt that all would be well, although I could not imagine how.
The following day at work, my manager called me in. I thought that the dreaded moment had come—I was about to lose my job. But to my surprise, my manager told me that he had an idea. Because I had ability with English, he proposed that I translate legal documents that normally were handed over to lawyers to arrange for translation. He told me if I succeeded in performing the translation, I would be given that task and it would result in a savings for the department. I immediately began translating the documents. When I presented my manager the successful translations, he was thrilled! I was thrilled too because I was able to remain employed.
When I went to receive my check, which could have been my last, I was surprised to see that my salary had increased. My heart was touched, and I was grateful to our Heavenly Father. Through this experience I know that fasting opens the windows of heaven.

Last summer when I was away from home going to school in Manchester, England, I had to ride the bus into town every day. Then I had to walk several blocks through the worst part of the city in order to get to my college. I remember that the most corrupt street of all was right next to my bus stop. The walls of the street shops were covered with obscenities, pornographic posters, rude writing, and vulgar swear words. There were several bars, where loud, questionable music could be heard every time the doors opened.
People inside called out crude things to me as I walked. The first time I went into town to attend school, I got off the bus and walked right down this street. About halfway down, I was so sick, offended, and afraid, that I didn’t think I could make it the rest of the way. I did, with my eyes shut as much as possible, but I decided at that moment that I would never walk down that street again.
Being far away from our home and family, I had plenty of things to worry about and more temptations than I could ever list. I certainly didn’t need to add this street to my worries. So, everyday when I got off the bus to go to school, I would walk an entire block out of my way to avoid that street. Sometimes on rainy mornings when I was late to an eight o’clock class I would want to forget what I had resolved and take the shorter route. But I knew I would feel sick inside if I let myself be exposed to unclean things.
Crossing that street to take the long way around every morning just became a habit. After a while, I didn’t even think of why I was doing it. Then one afternoon a friend of mine, Bob, offered to show me a new music store close to my bus stop. As we left the college together, I automatically crossed the street.
“What are you doing?” Bob asked.
Without thinking, I answered, “I can’t walk on that street.”
“Why not?” he laughed.
Suddenly I heard myself telling the whole story. I was far from home and didn’t want to return to my family with a lot of bad thoughts in my mind that didn’t belong there. I was uncomfortable on that street.
Bob was several years older than I and knew more of the ways of the world. I fully expected him to laugh again, and I felt foolish for even telling him about my feelings.
Waiting for his laughter, I looked up to find a very subdued expression on his face. After a few minutes of silence (very uncomfortable ones for me), he told me he wished he’d had a commitment like mine when he first came to school. “I wish I had crossed a few streets, Vivian,” he said. “I’m ashamed to go home and see my family. I can’t look Mom in the face after some of the things I’ve seen and done.” We stood in silence for a few more minutes, but it was a comfortable one now. Then he took my arm, and we crossed the street together. We found our music store in no time at all, and had a chance for a wonderful conversation because of the route we took. He is now a friend I will always treasure.
I didn’t have to preach a sermon on moral and mental cleanliness. All I did was cross a street when there was something I wasn’t supposed to be exposed to on the other side. He didn’t sneer or criticize or think I was odd. By doing what I knew to be right, I actually earned Bob’s respect and friendship.

My family moved to Salt Lake City, Utah, from Milwaukee, Wisconsin, when I was two years old. My parents were born in Germany and belonged to the Lutheran Church, but as I grew up, many of my friends were members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
My friends and I were playing together one afternoon when one of them said, “We’re going to Primary. Would you like to come?” Primary was held on a weekday then. I went. I was interested in the lessons and being with my friends. I knew my teacher cared about me, and the Primary songs touched my heart.
After a few weeks, the Primary teacher asked me if I would like to learn more about the Church. She invited my parents to learn too. The ward missionaries came to our home. My parents chose not to join the Church, but they could see my desire and said I could be baptized. After my baptism, I continued to go to Primary with my friends but only occasionally attended Sunday meetings.
When I was 12 years old, my bishop said I was the right age to become a deacon. The bishop explained that Heavenly Father shares His power with the Church through the priesthood. If I kept the commandments, I could act for Jesus Christ—passing the sacrament, teaching the gospel, and someday giving priesthood blessings to help people who were ill or sad. I wanted to have the priesthood and become that kind of boy. I said I would come to Sunday meetings, trying very hard not to miss.
Soon I was prepared to become a deacon, and my parents came to my ordination. I remember the next Sunday, when I passed the sacrament for the first time. I was assigned to take the bread up to the bishop and then to the others on the stand. As I was walking up the stairs, the sacrament tray came detached from the handle, and the tray and the bread fell onto the floor. I felt as if everyone in the whole universe was looking at me. The bishop came over, put his arm around me, and whispered, “Let’s just pick up this bread and put it in the tray. Then sit down here until they’re through passing the bread, and you can pass the water.” Luckily, I passed the water without any problems. The bishop’s kindness and warmth helped me not to feel embarrassed. I felt a great love for him and was glad that he was my bishop.
When I was a priest, our quorum adviser promised us that if we would stop doing homework on Sunday and start studying the scriptures, our grades would improve and we would gain a testimony of the Prophet Joseph Smith. I had a strong feeling that if I would accept my adviser’s challenge, I would be blessed all my life. My study of the gospel helped me learn that Joseph Smith was a prophet of God who restored the Church in the latter days.
Throughout my youth, my Church leaders watched out for me. Because my mother died when I was 15 years old and my father had a serious illness, I needed to work at night to earn money and go to high school during the day. I wanted to serve a full-time mission, but I didn’t know how I could save enough money for it. Then the elders quorum president of my ward told me that the quorum would help support me on my mission. I was happy and grateful that they would help me be a missionary. With their help, I served a mission in Brazil. Years later, my wife and children came with me to Brazil while I served as mission president.
I encourage you children of the Church to watch how your leaders live the gospel. In your wards and branches there are many Saints who believe in Jesus Christ and try to obey His teachings. By following their examples, you will grow to be righteous leaders yourselves. Cultivate your sense of right and wrong; pay attention to how you feel when you go to Primary. Invite your friends to church and to Primary activities. They too can learn of Jesus Christ and grow to love Him, as I did when I was a boy.

I had lunch recently with Elder and Sister John Hess of Ashton, Idaho. “We’re just old potato farmers,” John told me, but that is precisely what the nation of Belarus in the Lithuania Vilnius Mission needed. For years the very best potato yields on government plots of ground there had been 50 sacks of potatoes a hectare. Considering it takes 22 sacks of seed to plant a hectare, the return was poor indeed. They needed help.

Brother Hess asked for ground just three feet away from the government plots, rolled up his sleeves, and went to work with the same seed, tools, and fertilizer available in Belarus. Come harvest time they began to dig, then called on others to dig, then called on everyone to dig. With the same rainfall and soil, but with an extra measure of Idaho industry, experience, and prayer, the plots planted by the Hesses produced a whopping 550 sacks per hectare—11 times better than any prior yield on that land. At first no one would believe the difference. They wondered if secret teams had come in the night or if some wonder drug had been used. But it was none of that. Brother Hess said, “We needed a miracle, so we asked for one.” Now just little more than a year later, in that community young proselyting missionaries are finding much more success just because an “old potato farmer” from Idaho answered the call of his church.

While I was growing up, my father was a very busy man because he had a demanding job as a truck driver for construction projects. But he always took time for me. When I was in high school, my father would ask my five sisters when he came home from work, “Where is Benjamín?”
My sisters would come to me and say, “Father wants you.”
I would leave playing with my friends and run to ask him, “What do you need, Father?”
He would say, “Bring your scriptures, and come with me.”
Two or three times a week we would read the scriptures together like that. He was a master teacher of the scriptures. At that time we did not have seminary in Mexico. Now I think of those study sessions as my own seminary class with my father as the teacher.
While reading the scriptures and hearing my father explain them to me, I learned for myself what the Spirit feels like in my heart and in my mind. Many times the Spirit was very strong as he would explain the scriptures.
These kinds of experiences with my father were the beginning of my own testimony of Heavenly Father and the Church. I always thought that the Church was true, but just thinking so was not enough. My father took my hand and put it on the iron rod. His manner of taking care of me was the key for my testimony and my inner security in the gospel.
During those meetings, not only did I learn many things from him about the scriptures, but I learned that my father loved me in a way that I couldn’t quite understand at the time. Many other times he would invite me to a movie or to eat, and I know that I was protected by my father’s care for me. Now I am a father, and I know that he loved me in a special way.

The Millers’ most unusual family home evening started out very much as usual. Mom and Dad sat together holding hands. Twelve-year-old Jeramie looked bored. Nine-year-old Charlie tapped his toes impatiently. Eight-year-old Jimmy made faces at six-year-old Jenny, who glared back at him. It was four-year-old Billie Jo’s turn to lead the opening song, and she waved her hands wildly to “Jesus Wants Me for a Sunbeam”—as usual.
After the opening prayer, Dad began the lesson by hanging a picture of Jesus on the wall and telling the children that they should always remember Him.
Just then there was a knock at the door, and the man Dad invited in was anything but usual. He had a brown beard and long brown hair that hung to his shoulders. He wore a tan robe that came down to the brown sandals on his feet. A dark blue cloak hung across one shoulder. He looked just like the people in most of the paintings they had seen of the Savior’s time.
The children were very quiet when the stranger spoke. He said his name was James and that he was going to tell them some stories about his special Friend, Jesus Christ.
The first story was about a young man who died. The man’s mother had been very sad. She needed her son. She had asked Jesus to help her. He spoke to her son, and the young man awakened. (See Luke 7:12–14.)
James’s next story was about when Jesus had been teaching a large crowd of people on a mountain by the sea. No one had brought anything to eat, except a boy who had five loaves of bread and two small fish. The boy had been willing to share his food, so Jesus blessed it. After it had been blessed, it fed all five thousand people, with some left over. (See John 6:1–14.)
The stranger, who called himself James, talked to the Millers a long time. They had heard his stories before, but when he told them, they seemed to have just happened. There was an even more wonderful feeling in the room as James told them how much the Savior loved the people He had taught and how much He loved them. He told them that they would be happier if they remembered to love one another as much as Jesus Christ loved them.
Mom had begun to lead the closing song, “Love One Another,” before the children recognized the stranger. When he began to sing, they all knew that it was Brother Park, the man who led the singing in sacrament meeting each week. Long hair and a beard couldn’t disguise his singing voice. His first name really was James, he said, and the Savior really was his special Friend.
Brother Park stayed to eat ice cream and cookies with them. Before he left, he looked at the picture of Jesus that Dad had hung up and said, “You know, this is just how an artist thinks Jesus looks, but when you look at it, I hope that you will remember Him. Remember that He cares about what you do, and He loves you.”

Timothy John Harris was a bully. Everyone at Pierce School stayed out of his way, including me. I could count on three hands the times he got me into trouble. He didn’t just push everybody around, he tattled. If I so much as rested my head, T. J. would tell the teacher, “Danny’s looking at his neighbor’s paper!”
Well, Timothy John had been here for about three weeks when my chance to get even came. Mr. Roundy, our teacher, had sent us to the school bookfair in groups of six. I happened to be by T. J. when he slipped a book into a folder that cost fifty cents. The book was Cool Cars, and everybody wanted it. I wanted it, too, but I didn’t have $4.95, which is what it cost. When it was time to buy, Timothy John was in line in front of me and was only charged the fifty cents for the folder. They didn’t see the book. I wondered if I should say something right then, but I didn’t.
When we got back to class, I thought I’d tell the teacher. Then I thought, What if T. J. really picks on me after school? I have to admit—he was pretty scary. He had blond hair that stuck out all over his head, and he had dirty hands with scabs on them. Well, scary or not, I had to do something!
Mr. Roundy said that he was going to show us a film about a family starting a farm. When the lights were off, I thought I could tell Mr. Roundy without T. J. noticing. I looked over at T. J. and couldn’t believe my eyes. He was crying! Crying over a film! I hardly felt like telling on him then.
By the time the lights came on, Timothy John looked as hard and mean as ever. I decided to write him a note before I chickened out: “I know you stole that book. Just take it back, and I won’t tell.”
I set it on his desk when I went to sharpen my pencil, and when I came back, I could feel him watching me. I’m in for it now, I thought.
At the start of recess, T. J. came over to me. He had mean green eyes and gave me the creeps. “OK, Danny, I’ll do it,” he said. “You come with me.”
We walked in silence to the book fair. I watched T. J. over the top of a book I picked up. He tipped his folder upside down, and the book slipped neatly back into it’s place on the shelf.
When we went out for the rest of recess, I kept expecting to get clobbered, but he picked on other kids.
I couldn’t play after school that day because my whole family had to go to the dentist. That evening it was my turn to wash the dishes, and when it was time for bed, I couldn’t sleep. It’s impossible to sleep when you live in a trailer and the wind is blowing. It sounds exactly like monsters moaning all around you.
The next day, after eating lunch, I played tetherball with Morse, my best friend. His real name is Cody, but on the roll, his name says, “Morris, Cody,” so we call him Morse Code. He doesn’t mind. Anyway, I was actually winning, when T. J. walked over. I sure didn’t want to play against him, so as soon as I won, I yelled, “I’m going to get a drink!”
I looked back to see T. J. slump down, holding his stomach. I hoped someone else would help him, but nobody did, so I walked him to the nurse’s office. He looked pretty sick.
“Did you eat lunch today?” the nurse asked him, taking his temperature. T. J. shook his head.
“How about breakfast?” He shook his head again.
The nurse got him some juice out of her little fridge, and a paper about the free breakfast program.
“You have a temperature,” the nurse said. “If you’ll give me your phone number, I’ll call your mom to come get you.”
“We don’t have a phone,” T. J. mumbled.
“How can we reach your mother?”
“I don’t have a mom.”
The nurse looked at me. T. J. drank his juice.
“I’ll walk him home,” I said.
“No!” T. J. said sharply. Then, softening, “I’ll get there OK.”
“I think Danny’s right,” the nurse said. “Someone should make sure that you get in the door.”
T. J. and I checked out and walked toward the river without saying much. We call it the river even though it’s dry most of the year. The air smelled like people were starting to burn wood in their fireplaces.
I had some peanuts in my pocket left over from lunch, so I held them out. “Want some?”
We shared my leftovers, and he cracked the shells with his fingers instead of his teeth, just like I do.
When we got to the end of the street, T. J. said, looking toward the river, “I never stole anything before. I’m glad you stopped me.”
I didn’t know what to say. He went on, “I just live a few houses down. You can go back now.”
“No,” I said, “I told the nurse I’d see you in the door.”
“Look,” he said, clenching his teeth, “this is as far as I want you to go.”
“All right,” I said. “See you tomorrow.” I walked off, wondering why he was so touchy.
Then he called after me, “Danny, thanks!”
“It’s OK,” I called back. I felt kind of good.
I watched him from around a fence. He kept walking and walking, way past the houses. I found a closer lookout point and saw him walk clear to the river bottom.
A man in a baseball cap got out of an old car and gave him a hug. T. J. leaned against him, and the man felt his head. Then he put T. J. in the backseat and tucked a blanket around him. They didn’t drive anywhere. I couldn’t figure out what was going on until the man got some things out of a sack and started to build a little fire. Then it hit me: T. J. lived in that car! That’s why he didn’t want me to come with him.
I thought about T. J. a lot that night. His dad must have been out of a job. Suddenly our trailer seemed like a pretty nice place to live.
Morse and I were playing tetherball the next morning before school started, when T. J. came over and just stood looking on. “Hey, T.J.,” I yelled. “Want to play?”
Morse looked at me like I was crazy, but T. J. shrugged his shoulders and walked over.
“No rope swings,” I said, hitting the ball to him. T. J. almost smiled and played hard. He skunked me!
“Come on, Morse,” I said. “You play the winner.”
T. J. beat him too. Soon there were kids lined up, bragging that they could beat T.J.—but not one did.
From then on, kids started hitting T. J. on the back instead of in the stomach. He stopped trying to get kids into trouble, and he wasn’t a bully anymore.
The art teacher said, “Timothy John, you are a fine artist!” T.J., of all people!
The day T. J. won the district art contest, he told us that he was going to move. “My dad got a new job.”
Even though he was a friend now and I would miss him, I was happy for him.
Two months went by before I heard from T. J. again. I smiled when I got his postcard; there was an apartment number on it.
It’s winter now. I kick holes in the ice puddles with my heels on the way to school. Sometimes when I walk home by way of the river bottom, I think about T. J. And peanuts. And friendship.

Heredia, Costa Rica: Drunk, he broke his back in a car accident. He begged the Lord for another chance at life.
When he left his friend’s wedding, Carlos Barrera was drunk. But he drove anyway—and ended up wrecking his car and breaking his spinal column in three places. “My whole life passed before me,” he says. “‘Give me another chance,’ I begged the Lord.” Now he knows that his petition was answered.
Carlos had been baptized when he was seventeen, but unlike his Latter-day Saint friends, he didn’t go on a mission. While they were gone, he made new friends—people with bad habits. “I began to smoke and drink. I’d been active until then—was even an elder—and my conscience got to me. From then on, my life was awful.”
He married Haydee, a nonmember. “We were always missing something in our lives,” he says. Then he lost his job. Problems mounted. “I started going around with an even worse crowd, people who took drugs, whose lives were filled with things of the world.”
“Instead of becoming more united during that time of trial,” says Haydee, “we became separated emotionally.”
Missionaries and Church members frequently came to encourage him, and he even went back to church once. “But I couldn’t stand being there because of my conscience,” he says.
Finally he got a good job as a radio operator for the police department. But he still hadn’t found peace. “I attended my wife’s church with her and the girls, looking for what I was missing, but I never found it. I talked with the priests there, begging with tears for help, but they didn’t know how.” Haydee listened to the missionary discussions but didn’t want to be baptized.
Then, in November 1986, came that accident in which Carlos broke his back. Luckily, his operations were successful: he wasn’t paralyzed. “I saw that I could walk again, that Heavenly Father had listened to my prayer, even though I had been drunk. How was that possible? I knew my life had some purpose; I prayed that he would help me.” From that moment, he never drank alcohol again.
In February two sister missionaries came to meet this less-active family they had on their list. “Their timing was perfect!” says Carlos. “If they’d come before or after that moment, my heart might not have been ready, and I might have missed the opportunity again. I put on a tough front, telling them I didn’t think I would come back to Church. But inside I was crying for help.”
The sisters kept coming, and they taught Carlos and Haydee all of the discussions again. Haydee gained a testimony and was baptized in March—just four months after Carlos’s accident. Carlos stopped smoking and began attending church with Haydee and their two daughters. Now he teaches the elders quorum and she teaches Primary.
“It’s been a complete, total change,” says Haydee. “Now, thanks to our Father in Heaven, here we are as a family in the Church! If we weren’t in the Church, perhaps we wouldn’t be together. Who knows what would have happened to us!” (See “They Didn’t Go by Accident.”)

We had been struggling with our family scripture study. Getting our children to pay attention was difficult, so we tried this technique as a family. My husband and I took turns reading general conference talks out loud to the family, and when we got to a scripture, we called it out. When our children found it, everyone marked it and then one of them read it. As we did so, our kids were poised on the edge of their seats, scriptures and pencils in hand. When we ended, they said, “Oh, please, can’t we do just one more scripture?” We finished our scripture study by singing a hymn. As we got ready to sing the closing song, we showed our children how they could look up scriptures in the back of the hymnbook. They found one of the scriptures we had marked, and we sang a song that reinforced the gospel principle we had studied. It was truly meaningful scripture study!
Donna Macurdy Nielson, Virginia, USA

I just had to write and tell you how much the New Era means to me. It is just as great a help out here in the California Los Angeles Mission as it was when I used to get it back home before that. I just love to read all the Church magazines and newspapers I can get my hands on.
I had glanced through the New Era from time to time after I joined the Church, but not being very strong in the Church for the first three years or so, I was not interested in reading it.
A few years ago I was given a very special home teacher who made the difference in my life. Both my spiritual and mental attitude had to change, a change I was ready to make when he walked into my life. We talked about my sudden strong interest to really find out about this church I had joined in 1979. I had a sudden, overwhelming desire to read all the Church books I had in my house, one right after another without worry about lack of sleep, reading most of the night. It took me no more than two weeks to complete my collection of 12 Church books.
One day while waiting at his home to go to some activity with his family, I picked up their copy of the New Era. I soon found myself engrossed with it. He asked if I received Church newspapers or magazines, as I was the sole member of the Church in the home. I mentioned that I got the Church News which was promptly put on my bed the day it arrived, but otherwise no.
A few months later I found that this special home teacher gave this hungry-for-knowledge member a gift of the magazine. The subscription ran out just before my mission began. I still enjoy the New Era here in the mission field.
Sister Robin FreemanCalifornia Los Angeles Mission

During Primary opening exercises, Sister Ashbourne, the Primary president, held up a painting of Jesus Christ.
Dustin liked that picture of Jesus. His family had the same picture in their home. It had a special place over the piano.
A white cardboard mat surrounded the picture. “We’d like everyone to sign his or her name on the mat,” Sister Ashbourne said. “That way we’ll frame Jesus with our love. We’ll take it to each classroom so all the children and teachers can sign it.”
Dustin struggled with his handwriting. A third grader, he was learning cursive writing, but a learning disability slowed his progress. His hand shook each time he had to write in cursive. He was nervous about the idea of signing the mat.
The Primary presidency brought the picture to Dustin’s class. Sister Beeker, his teacher, passed the mat to the children. Each one took a turn signing it. When it was Dustin’s turn, he hesitated.
“I don’t write very well,” he whispered to Sister Beeker.
“You can print your name if you feel more comfortable,” she said.
Dustin looked down at his feet. He didn’t want to admit that his printing was not much better than his cursive writing.
“Do you think Jesus cares how good your handwriting is?” Sister Beeker asked gently.
Dustin thought about it. He knew that Jesus loved everyone. “No,” he admitted.
His teacher nodded encouragingly. “That’s right. Do you know what Jesus does care about?”
Dustin shook his head.
“He cares that you’re here in church. He cares that you love Him and honor Him. He cares that you treat others kindly.” She handed the pen to Dustin.
Dustin smiled at Sister Beeker. “Thank you,” he said. He wrote his name the best he could and gave the mat back to his teacher.
The following week, Sister Ashbourne showed the painting in the mat and frame to the entire Primary. “We’ll hang it right here,” she said, pointing to the front wall of the room, “where we can see it every week.”
Dustin looked at Jesus’s face, which seemed to shine with love, and he felt a warm glow in his own heart.

In October 1918, 100 years ago, President Joseph F. Smith received a glorious vision. After almost 65 years of dedicated service to the Lord in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and just a few weeks before his death on November 19, 1918, he sat in his room pondering Christ’s atoning sacrifice and reading the Apostle Peter’s description of the Savior’s ministry in the spirit world after His Crucifixion.
He recorded: “As I read I was greatly impressed. … As I pondered over these things … , the eyes of my understanding were opened, and the Spirit of the Lord rested upon me, and I saw the hosts of the dead.”1 The full text of the vision is recorded in Doctrine and Covenants section 138.
Let me provide some background so that we may more fully appreciate Joseph F.’s lifetime of preparation to receive this remarkable revelation.
When he was President of the Church, he visited Nauvoo in 1906 and reflected on a memory he had when he was just five years old. He said: “This is the exact spot where I stood when [Joseph, my uncle, and my father, Hyrum] came riding up on their way to Carthage. Without getting off his horse father leaned over in his saddle and picked me up off the ground. He kissed me good-bye and put me down again and I saw him ride away.”2
The next time Joseph F. saw them, his mother, Mary Fielding Smith, lifted him up to see the martyrs lying side by side after being brutally murdered in Carthage Jail on June 27, 1844.
Two years later, Joseph F., along with his family and faithful mother, Mary Fielding Smith, left his home in Nauvoo for Winter Quarters. Although not yet eight years old, Joseph F. was required to drive one of the oxteams from Montrose, Iowa, to Winter Quarters and then later on to the Salt Lake Valley, arriving when he was almost 10. I hope you boys and young men are listening and will realize the responsibility and expectation placed on Joseph F. during his boyhood.
Just four years later, in 1852, when he was 13, his beloved mother died—leaving Joseph and his siblings orphans.3
Joseph F. was called to serve a mission in the Hawaiian Islands in 1854 when he was 15 years old. This mission, which lasted more than three years, was the beginning of a life of service in the Church.
Upon his return to Utah, Joseph F. married in 1859.4 For the next few years, his life was filled with work, family duties, and two additional missions. On July 1, 1866, at the age of 27, Joseph F. had his life forever changed when he was ordained an Apostle by Brigham Young. In October the following year, he filled a vacancy in the Council of the Twelve.5 He served as a counselor to Brigham Young, John Taylor, Wilford Woodruff, and Lorenzo Snow before becoming President himself in 1901.6
Joseph F. and his wife Julina welcomed their first child, Mercy Josephine, into the family.7 She was only two and a half years old when she passed away. Shortly after, Joseph F. recorded: “It is one month yesterday since my … darling Josephine died. O! that I could have saved her to grow up to womanhood. I miss her every day and I am lonely. … God forgive my weakness if it is wrong to love my little ones as I love them.”8
During his lifetime, President Smith lost his father, his mother, one brother, two sisters, two wives, and thirteen children. He was well acquainted with sorrow and losing loved ones.
When his son Albert Jesse died, Joseph F. wrote to his sister Martha Ann that he had pled with the Lord to save him and asked, “Why is it so? O. God why had it to be?”9
Despite his prayers at that time, Joseph F. received no answer on this matter.10 He told Martha Ann that “the heavens [seemed like] brass over our heads” on the subject of death and the spirit world. Nevertheless, his faith in the Lord’s eternal promises were firm and steadfast.
In the Lord’s due time, the additional answers, comfort, and understanding about the spirit world President Smith sought came to him through the marvelous vision he received in October 1918.
That year was particularly painful for him. He grieved over the death toll in the Great World War that continued to climb to over 20 million people killed. Additionally, a flu pandemic was spreading around the world, taking the lives of as many as 100 million people.
During the year, President Smith also lost three more precious family members. Elder Hyrum Mack Smith of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, his firstborn son and my grandfather, died suddenly of a ruptured appendix.
President Smith wrote: “I am speechless—[numb] with grief! … My heart is broken; and flutters for life! … O! I loved him! … I will love him forever more. And so it is and ever will be with all my sons and daughters, but he is my first born son, the first to bring me the joy and hope of an endless, honorable name among men. … From the depths of my soul I thank God for him! But … O! I needed him! We all needed him! He was most useful to the Church. … And now, … O! what can I do! … O! God help me!”11
The next month, President Smith’s son-in-law, Alonzo Kesler, died in a tragic accident.12 President Smith noted in his journal, “This most terrible and heart-rending fatal accident, has again cast a pall of gloom over all my family.”13
Seven months later, in September 1918, President Smith’s daughter-in-law and my grandmother, Ida Bowman Smith, died after giving birth to her fifth child, my uncle Hyrum.14
And so it was on October 3, 1918, having experienced intense sorrow over the millions who had died in the world through war and disease as well as the deaths of his own family members, President Smith received the heavenly revelation known as “the vision of the redemption of the dead.”
He alluded to the revelation the following day in the opening session of the October general conference. President Smith’s health was failing, yet he spoke briefly: “I will not, I dare not, attempt to enter upon many things that are resting upon my mind this morning, and I shall postpone until some future time, the Lord be willing, my attempt to tell you some of the things that are in my mind, and that dwell in my heart. I have not lived alone these [last] five months. I have dwelt in the spirit of prayer, of supplication, of faith and of determination; and I have had my communication with the Spirit of the Lord continuously.”15
The revelation he received on October 3 comforted his heart and provided answers to many of his questions. We too can be comforted and learn more about our own future when we and our loved ones die and go to the spirit world by studying this revelation and pondering its significance in the way we live our lives each day.
Among the many things President Smith saw was the Savior’s visit to the faithful in the spirit world after His own death on the cross. From the vision I quote:
“But behold, from among the righteous, he organized his forces and appointed messengers, clothed with power and authority, and commissioned them to go forth and carry the light of the gospel to them that were in darkness, even to all the spirits of men [and women];16 and thus was the gospel preached to the dead. …
“These were taught faith in God, repentance from sin, vicarious baptism for the remission of sins, the gift of the Holy Ghost by the laying on of hands,
“And all other principles of the gospel that were necessary for them to know in order to qualify themselves that they might be judged according to men in the flesh, but live according to God in the spirit. …
“For the dead had looked upon the long absence of their spirits from their bodies as a bondage.
“These the Lord taught, and gave them power to come forth, after his resurrection from the dead, to enter into his Father’s kingdom, there to be crowned with immortality and eternal life,
“And continue thenceforth their labor as had been promised by the Lord, and be partakers of all blessings which were held in reserve for them that love him.”17
In the vision, President Smith saw his father, Hyrum, and the Prophet Joseph Smith. It had been 74 years since he had last seen them as a small boy in Nauvoo. We can only imagine his joy at seeing his beloved father and uncle. He must have been inspired and comforted to know that all spirits retain the likeness of their mortal body and that they are anxiously awaiting the day of their promised resurrection. The vision revealed more fully the depth and breadth of Heavenly Father’s plan for His children and Christ’s redeeming love and the matchless power of His Atonement.18
On this special 100th anniversary, I invite you to thoroughly and thoughtfully read this revelation. As you do so, may the Lord bless you to more fully understand and appreciate God’s love and His plan of salvation and happiness for His children.
I testify that the vision President Joseph F. Smith received is true. I bear witness that every person can read it and come to know it is true. Those who do not receive this knowledge in this life will surely come to know its truthfulness when everyone will arrive in the spirit world. There, all will love and praise God and the Lord Jesus Christ for the great plan of salvation and the blessing of the promised Resurrection when body and spirit will once again be reunited, never to be separated again.19
How grateful I am to know where my precious Barbara is and that we will be together again, with our family, for all eternity. May the peace of the Lord sustain us now and forever is my humble prayer in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.