Gospel Story Finder

Apr. 13, 1853 I went to Cranberry Head, near to Yarmouth (2). Here I found Brother John Robinson and Brother Benjamin T. Mitchell at Mr. Moses Shaw’s. The Brethren (Robinson and Mitchell) said that they were going to travel together. The Brethren both said that I was too young and inexperienced to travel with either of them. They said I had better go to Halifax and see Brother A. D. L. Buckland and get counsel from him.

Apr. 14, 1853 I went into Yarmouth. Came back to Mr. Grace’s. He treated me kindly. I stayed until Saturday. Started for Halifax. (3) Left Cape Sable to my right hand. Traveled two hundred ten miles around the coast capes and bays to get to Halifax. I had to rely upon Him whose business I was on. I felt my weakness. A poor, ill-clothed, ignorant boy in my teens, thousands of miles from home, amongst strangers. The promise in my Blessings, the encouraging words of President Young to me, with the faith I had in the Gospel, kept me up. Many a time I would turn into the woods and brush in some desolate place, with a full heart, wet eyes and face, to call on my Master for strength and aid. I believed the Gospel of Christ. I never had preached it. I knew not where to find it in the scriptures. I had to give my Bible to the boatman at the Digby Gut for passage across.

Samuel loved to watch television with Papá, especially on Saturdays. Papá worked hard all week. But on Saturday, Mamá cooked pastelitos de piña (pastries with pineapple filling) and they all watched TV together.
One Saturday night, they decided to watch a partido de fútbol (soccer game). But the game started late, and it would last for a long time. When the first half was over, the score was 0-0. Samuel wanted to keep watching. But he couldn’t stop yawning.
“Time for bed, Samuelito,” Mamá said gently. “You need to get some sleep so you can stay awake in church tomorrow.”
“But Mamá,” Samuel said, “it’s two of the best teams in Honduras!”
Papá looked at the clock. “All right. You can keep watching. But you need to get up on time tomorrow.”
The game got even more exciting in the second half. Samuel was wide awake now! He and Papá were both cheering. First there was a corner kick. Then the goalie made a great save. One team scored, and then the other. Before Samuel knew it, the game was over. It ended in a 1-1 tie.
The next morning, Samuel was so tired that he didn’t want to get out of bed. But he knew that going to church was important.
During sacrament meeting, Samuel started to fall asleep. His head kept nodding. Mamá poked him to help him stay awake. But he was so tired that he didn’t pay attention to the speakers.
“I think your Saturday is getting in the way of your Sunday,” Papá said.
In Primary, Samuel’s teacher talked about keeping the Sabbath day holy. She asked what the children could do to make Sunday special. Samuel thought for a minute. Then he said, “Go to bed on time on Saturday!”
When they got home after church, Samuel talked to Mamá and Papá. “I had fun watching the game last night,” Samuel said. “But I should have gone to bed earlier. I think we should use part of Saturday to get ready for Sunday.”
“I agree,” Papá said.
Mamá nodded. “Me too.”
The next Saturday, there was another game on TV.
“What should we do tonight?” Papá asked. “The game goes late again.”
“We could watch a movie instead,” Mamá said.
“Or we could go for a walk,” said Samuel.
“Is a walk OK with you?” Papá asked Mamá.
“Of course,” Mamá said. “It’s just nice to be together as a family.”
“And when we come home,” Samuel said, “we can all get a good night’s sleep. Then we’ll be ready for Sunday!”

On a later visit to Cimezile, Richard and I found Brother Nqunqa very ill. We blessed and passed the sacrament—but not until after he had risen and dressed himself, insisting that he had to have his jacket and tie on to show proper reverence for the sacrament. He wept as he told us that he knew Richard and I would come that Sunday and that the Spirit had witnessed to him all would be well. Before we left, Richard and I blessed Brother Nqunqa through the power of the priesthood.
The next day, I went to Brother Nqunqa’s home to see how he was feeling. His wife, Judith, assured me he had been completely healed—he was down in the fields, attending to his plowing.

In the early ’90s, before Melbourne had a temple, our stake hired a bus once a month to take us to the Sydney Australia Temple.

In preparation, I would ensure my visiting teaching was done. One Tuesday evening before a Friday bus trip, my companion and I visited one sister. As we sat chatting, her husband came into the lounge, and I felt to ask him for a priesthood blessing.

In that blessing, he said that two of the sisters whose work I would do in the Sydney Australia Temple would come and thank me in the celestial kingdom, which of course, was very nice to hear.

The next day, I received a phone call and was told that the bus wasn’t going to the temple on Friday.

I thought, “Oh dear, what am I to do?” I rang my friend, Bev, who always went on the bus, and she confirmed that the bus trip was cancelled.

I suggested that we hire a little bus for a few of us to go, but she didn’t want to do that.

“What about these two sisters?” I thought, recalling the words in the priesthood blessing I’d received. “I have to get to Sydney somehow!”

I worked on Fridays for a lady who owned a home in Ivanhoe for people with special needs. I did a lot of cooking and was responsible for all the meals there, which needed to be served exactly on time. The day before we were meant to bus to the temple, 24 ladies were to have dinner at 5:00 pm. I needed to have them fed and everything cleared away by 5:25pm so that I could get to the travel agency and book my airline ticket to Sydney.

Throughout the day, whenever I had a chance, I kept ringing the travel agent hoping to secure a ticket but to no avail. Anne, the travel agent, said to me at one point, “Give up, Bev.”

Well! That was like waving the red flag at the proverbial bull!

I managed to clear the evening meal and ring the bell and by 5:25 pm, with my bag in hand, I was waiting at the front door ready to leave—then off I went in my car to the travel agency.

Fortunately, another client was booking an overseas trip, so the office was still open when I arrived at 5:35 pm. The agent who assisted me looked at the screen and said, “I don’t think you’re going to find a flight.”

I stood there, smiled, and waited, and then she said, “Hang on. There is still one left.”

I said, “Thank you,” paid for my ticket and raced out to my car to get to the airport as soon as I could.

I knew I was a little late getting to check-in. I apologized to the attendant and asked, “Am I okay?” She had a look, found that the plane was running 20 minutes late, then handed me my ticket and said, “Go to Gate 11.”

From the Sydney Airport, I needed to catch a train to my girlfriend’s house in Epping, which is not far from the temple. When I landed, I thought I might get a taxi to her place instead, but it was 11:00 pm by then and no taxis were available. I had to walk in the dark for nearly two kilometres.

When I finally arrived at her home, I saw there were no lights on I had to carefully make my way down the dark driveway, lugging my suitcase, one step at a time, to knock on the door.

My friend had thought I wasn’t coming because I’d forgotten to tell her about the mayhem I had been through, but all is well that ends well.

I was able to do the work for those two sisters, and I often think of the time when I will greet them in the celestial kingdom of God.

I don’t remember the exact words I used when I told my bishop that I had decided not to serve a mission. But I remember well his disappointment and the next question he asked me: “Do your parents know what you’ve decided?”
Of course they didn’t know; I hadn’t discussed my decision with anyone. As I left the bishop’s office that day, I thought, “Whew, I’m glad that’s over.”
It wasn’t that I hadn’t been taught the gospel. Our family was very active, I attended all my meetings, and I had graduated from seminary. I’m sure everyone assumed that I would go on a mission.
I was living at home, attending a nearby junior college, and trying to find a job. My hair was long, in the “hippie” fashion of the day, so it was difficult for me to find work. As my hair grew longer, tension grew between my father and me. When he told me to get a haircut, I left the house and spent three days with a friend. My return home without a haircut was my way of showing him that I was going to do as I pleased.
Several ward members mentioned to me that my decision not to go on a mission had broken my parents’ hearts. My church attendance slipped as I began to feel that the adults in our ward disapproved of my attitude and my hair length. (It wasn’t until much later that I learned that they had prayed numerous times for something to happen in my life that would help me find myself.)
When I did attend church, I attended elders quorum meetings, though I had not been ordained an elder. One Sunday morning the elders quorum president said, “We would like to call you to be a home teacher. Will you accept the call?”
Shocked, I said yes.
“Your companion will be Bill Brothers,” he continued.
As soon as I left the building, I began to plan how I could get out of this commitment. Just then Bill Brothers walked over to me. We were about the same age, and I had known him since our days together in Primary.
“Guess we’re going to be home-teaching companions, aren’t we?” Bill asked.
“I guess so,” I acknowledge glumly.
“Why don’t we show the guys in our ward how home teaching should really be done?” he said.
That thought struck me like a thunderbolt. Yes! We would show the men in our ward how home teaching should be done! We would do it better than any of them, and maybe that would silence the criticism about my attitude and my hair. Bill and I decided that the first thing to do was to ask the fathers in the two families assigned to us what they would like us to teach to their families.
Bill made the appointments. I assumed that each father would ask us to teach his children about getting along with each other or some other basic topic—but I was wrong.
“Well, boys,” said Brother Smith, “our family has been trying to read the Book of Mormon. Since our children are fairly young, it is sometimes hard for them to understand what we read. I think it would be great if you could tell us the basic stories from the Book of Mormon in chronological order.”
When we left the Smith home, Bill suggested that we visit the Smiths more than once a month. Bill was leaving on a mission in about three months and wanted to tell all the Book of Mormon stories before he left.
Bill also suggested that we start with the book of Ether, since it was first chronologically. He would give the story of the first half of Ether, and I would do the second half. I had thought this assignment was going to be easy, but now I knew I would have to spend some time preparing. I unenthusiastically agreed to do it.
Just before our first visit, I quickly read over the last part of Ether and hoped I would remember enough to get by. However, as we met with the Smiths, a sweet spirit of gentle anticipation filled the room. I felt embarrassed that I was not as well prepared as Bill, and I left determined to be prepared on our next visit.
Over the next two months, I read the entire Book of Mormon. At first, I read it just so I could tell the story to the Smith family. Soon, however, I began to ask myself, “What if this is really true?”
My view of the world began to change as I learned eternal principles from Nephi, Lehi, and Jacob. When I read of Alma’s prayers concerning his wayward son, Alma the Younger, I understood my parents’ anguish over me. I felt the spirit of Helaman as he wrote of his faithful stripling soldiers, and I wondered if I would have been as courageous as they had been. I read of the Savior’s visit and his teachings. I learned that the Nephites had been destroyed because of their wickedness. Finally, I read in Moroni that we would meet at the Judgment Day and that the Lord would hold us responsible for the words contained in the Book of Mormon. I felt as if Moroni had written that message specifically for me.
Suddenly, I knew the Book of Mormon was true! The seed of faith had been planted within me, and now it had grown until I could scarcely contain it. I wanted to tell everyone I met of the joy I felt in finding out that the Book of Mormon was true, that Joseph Smith was indeed a prophet of God, and that the teachings of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints were true. I wept in gratitude for having received this witness.
I drove over to Bishop Toolson’s house and knocked on the door. He invited me in and asked what he could do for me. Outwardly I didn’t look any different—my hair was longer than ever; yet inwardly, I had experienced a mighty change of heart. The words burst from me: “I want to go on a mission.”
Bishop Toolson smiled and invited me into his living room. He opened his briefcase and pulled out my missionary recommendation form. He had already filled it out completely, except for one box—and that was the first question that he asked me now: “When do you want to leave?”
“As soon as possible,” I answered. I could hardly wait to go! Bishop Toolson instructed me that I would need to submit a picture of myself—with a proper missionary haircut. I assured him that I would take care of that immediately.
I received my mission call on 4 August 1972. During my mission, I often bore my solemn witness that I knew from my own experience that the Book of Mormon was true. I learned that if we would encourage others to study the Book of Mormon, pray about it, and try to live by its teachings, they, too, would discover the truth of the Book of Mormon.

Our son, Spencer, has tried to learn to fast since his baptism two years ago. We have not made him feel he must fast at his young age, and he may not fast as long as we, his parents, do on some Sundays. However, in fast and testimony meeting some time ago, he whispered to me, “I think I’ll bear my testimony.” I smiled and nodded my approval, His sincere testimony touched my heart. Obviously, he was feeling something work within him because he was fasting. We, too, can develop special feelings within us if we enter into fasting with proper intent and with the foundation of prayer.

When I was 15 years old, my parents were hit by a drunk driver on their way to the Los Angeles California Temple.
When my brothers and I arrived at the hospital, we were informed that my dad had already passed away and that my mom had suffered massive traumatic injuries.
My mom ended up surviving, but her life was nothing like the one she had before. After the accident, she was no longer able to move, speak, eat, or drink. For the next 18 years until her passing, she lay in a hospital bed, staring at the ceiling, or propped up in a wheelchair.
For years, I thought it was my unrighteousness that had caused my parents’ accident. I had the mistaken belief that I had done something wrong to incur the displeasure of a wrathful God upon me. I thought that no matter how hard I tried, God was against me, and I was doomed to a constant state of misery.
That was the story I told myself, and it was extremely destructive. That narrative colored the way I viewed everything in life.
Like Laman and Lemuel, I also told myself a false narrative for a long time. I believed I had been wronged and robbed, mainly by God. I had sought my whole life to do the right things and felt I was being presented with one trial after another. I too felt angry.
I lived with this perspective until a friend explained to me that we all suffer and said that I should consider how I am labeling my suffering.
My first impression was, How dare he? How could he understand what I had been through?
But then my thoughts slowly changed, and I felt embarrassed at the rage I felt as I pondered.
I wondered: Do I really think Heavenly Father is punishing me? Do I think everything in life is unfair? Do I only focus on my suffering and nothing else? Do I see the world like Laman and Lemuel did?
Hoping to better understand my mindset and the narrative I had been telling myself, I started writing. I wrote and rewrote my life story, exploring different life choices to see what might have happened if the accident that transformed my life hadn’t occurred.
As I looked back on my life and considered alternative paths, I realized that if I had been able to pursue my own interests, I likely would’ve gone down some wrong paths and may not have gained the strong testimony that I have today. As extremely hard as it was to go through the experiences I did, I wouldn’t have gained the strength, courage, and faith in Jesus Christ that those years of hardship had developed.
Due to my parents’ accident, I was forced to make critical, life-altering decisions at a young age that caused me to stay true to Heavenly Father. And though I chose Him over and over again, I was furious about it because I thought He was being unfair and punishing me.
However, after 20 years, when I decided to stop kicking and screaming and told myself a new story, I started viewing myself through the eyes of a loving Heavenly Father. I realized Heavenly Father would guide me in and through tragedy. Knowing this gave me great hope and confidence in Him and how I could live my life. If I was on Heavenly Father’s side, then who could be against me? (see Romans 8:31). With this perspective in mind, I started to make changes, and my life got infinitely better in numerous ways—and with surprising speed:
I began to love, support, and care for myself as a loving parent would.
I made it a daily practice to exercise, journal, and immerse myself in the scriptures.
I sought meaningful relationships that brought connection and community into my life.
I met with a therapist to better understand myself and the consequences of my choices.
I developed my talents and pursued my goals.
I served others and attended the temple often.
I stopped blaming God and others for the circumstances of my life and started taking responsibility for them.
I woke up each morning excited to start the day; life became joyful.
I have experienced change firsthand through the actions I’ve taken. As I have relied on the Savior, He has helped bring true joy into my life.

As a 21-year-old college student, I was looking for the truth and ecstatic to hear the gospel message from the missionaries. I accepted the message slowly but wholeheartedly. I joined the Church, but I was the only member of my family to do so.
After being a member of the Church for about one year, I realized my testimony was growing stronger every day, but something was missing. I didn’t know that I was a child of God.
It was true that I had accepted God as the Father of all. I had not, however, realized how intimately He knows each of His creations. “With all that there is in this world,” I asked myself, “how could He possibly know me personally? How could He consider me His daughter? How could He love me as His child?”
It was with these questions in mind that I turned to Heavenly Father in prayer. Shortly after, during scripture study, I stumbled across 1 Chronicles 28:9. King David told his son, “Thou, Solomon my son, know thou the God of thy father, and serve him with a perfect heart and with a willing mind: for the Lord searcheth all hearts, and understandeth all the imaginations of the thoughts: if thou seek him, he will be found of thee; but if thou forsake him, he will cast thee off for ever.”
No other verse of scripture has brought me closer to my Father in Heaven than this one. It testified to me not only that I am a daughter of God but that if I seek Him, I can find Him. It testified to me of my divine nature. I had not, in my heart, been fully converted to the idea that I was a child of God. I had hoped that these things were true but couldn’t grasp the knowledge of such a loving Father in Heaven. I couldn’t fathom a Being who could know my innermost thoughts and aspirations. I couldn’t accept His love, knowing my shortcomings and the many mistakes I had made.
The scripture taught me many things. First, David, who had made many mistakes of his own, counsels his son Solomon to seek the Lord and serve Him with full purpose. By this Solomon can find the Lord. Reading these words awakened in me a strong desire to develop a personal relationship with my Father in Heaven. I was learning more about Heavenly Father’s loving ways. I knew that, like David and Solomon, I could be found of Him. Our relationship was growing. This scripture gave me a formula to live by, and I found it to be true.
I discovered that Heavenly Father knows me personally. I continued to study this scripture until the phrase “the Lord searcheth all hearts” was embedded in my mind. Each time I read it, the Holy Ghost whispered to my heart that Heavenly Father knows everything, even “all the imaginations of the thoughts.” I knew that He was not just my Creator but that He was my loving Father and I was His beloved child. I had finally come to accept that He knows me. He knows my private thoughts, aspirations, dreams, desires, fears, intents, and, of greatest importance to me, my imaginations. He knows me as my parents here on earth know me but even more so. It was with these insights that I gained a testimony that I am a child of God.

I can be like Jesus by being nice to my friends. One of my friends has a lot of video games. While I was at his house one day, he kept playing games without giving me a turn. I wanted to play, too, and I felt like whining and complaining. But I remembered that my mom had told me complaining wasn’t nice. So I let him play and waited my turn. I try to be like Jesus so I can live with Him and Heavenly Father again.

Earlier this year I attended the funeral of an extraordinary ordinary man—my husband’s uncle Don. One of Uncle Don’s sons shared an experience he had as a small child, shortly after his parents had purchased their first home. Because there were five small children to feed and clothe, there was not enough money to fence the yard. Taking seriously one of his divine roles as the protector of his family, Uncle Don drove a few small wooden stakes into the ground, took some string, and tied the string from stake to stake all around the yard. He then called his children to him. He showed them the stakes and string and explained to them that if they would stay on the inside of that makeshift fence, they would be safe.
One day the visiting teachers watched in disbelief as they approached the house and saw five little children standing obediently at the edge of the string, looking longingly at a ball that had bounced beyond their boundaries and out into the street. One little child ran to get their daddy, who, in response, ran and retrieved the ball.
Later in the funeral, the oldest son tearfully expressed that all he had ever hoped in this life was to be like his beloved father.

I was wearing the embarrassing Santa Claus sweatshirt and jingle bell necklace my mom had picked out. My mother had served as a chair of an organization that provided limited resources to homeless children. This year she talked me into volunteering at the Christmas party.
When we arrived the director of the program led us into the room where several volunteers were already helping children decorate Christmas cookies, make ornaments for a Christmas tree, and paint stars and angels on white T-shirts.
After we had all sung Christmas carols, eaten the cookies, and read the Christmas story from the Bible, it was time to go. As I sadly waved good-bye from the front door, a little boy ran forward.
I handed him the jingle bell necklace. His wide eyes filled with tears and he whispered in awe, “For me? This is the best Christmas ever!” He wrapped his arms around my neck and said, “I love you.”
As he ran off to show his friends his new toy, an overwhelming feeling of the true meaning of Christmas filled my heart with love.
Though the small gift I gave Markus did not cost a lot, his gift of love toward me was priceless. Moroni 7:47 says that “charity is the pure love of Christ, and it endureth forever.”
That Christmas, a five-year-old boy allowed me to sample the greatest gift of all.

Janet: Just as the blossom follows the planted and nourished seed, kindness grows and blooms into small miracles through our simple acts of service. Let me illustrate with one of my favorite stories.
More than sixty years ago, a little girl named Millie and a boy named Billie were in elementary school together. Every day each student stood at the front of the class by Millie’s desk to read from a primer. Whenever it was Billie’s turn, the children laughed at his constant stuttering. Millie was a tenderhearted girl who disliked seeing anyone ridiculed; one day, when she could stand the snickering no longer, she reached up and took Billie’s hand. A miracle happened! Billie quit stuttering, and from that day on, every time it was Billie’s turn to read, Millie repeated the therapy and the stuttering stopped. The two children did not play together after school or even on the playground, but there was magic in the moments when he read.

The children grew up, married others, and raised families. Bill moved to a different state, became the CEO of one of America’s largest corporations, and was called by President Kimball to be a regional representative. Millie excelled in various Church callings, was equally efficient at home and in the bank where she worked, and delighted the world with her winning smile, acts of compassion, and love for humanity.

Years went by, and they were both left widowed, separated from their eternal companions. One day after Bill had written his life history, detailing an episode of a “little blonde girl” who years ago had changed his life by holding his hand, a mutual friend told him, “I know your little blonde girl.” After a time Bill phoned Millie, they talked, he flew to see her, they had lunch, followed by another lunch, more phone calls, lunches, meeting each other’s families—eventually they became engaged. Last December the little blonde girl, now a beautiful woman, and the little boy with the stutter, now a confident man in his seventies, were married. They devote each day to making each other happy.

I am very grateful to have had a father who did not overindulge his sons, except with love and moral support. I think I have a special appreciation for many things because of having worked in a canning factory and having caught the hot cans as they came from the capper, for the munificent sum of 25¢ per hour. One of the by-products of the job was to have the flesh of the hands peel off from the moisture and the heat of the cans. It also involved a 16-kilometer bicycle ride every day to and from work.

One sentence in my patriarchal blessing thrilled me: “You will be called to preach the gospel in the world.” I had a lifelong desire to serve a mission, and so when I heard that sentence, I felt that I would have that opportunity.
When it was time for me to serve a mission, the United States was involved in a war and only a few young men were actually allowed to serve missions. The rest were expected to serve their country in the war if they were drafted.
At that time, all prospective missionaries were interviewed by General Authorities as well as by their local Church leaders. I went through the interview process, and because of that sentence in my patriarchal blessing, I thought I would be called on a mission. I was terribly disappointed when I was notified that I was required to serve my country instead.
I often thought about that sentence in my patriarchal blessing. When and how will I be called to preach the gospel? I asked myself. Today, of course, as a General Authority, I am preaching the gospel all over the world. I can see now how that promise is being fulfilled. But when I was younger, I often wondered.

Among the people of Córdoba, Argentina, lives a remarkable man named Natalio Virazapia. A descendant of Bolivian and Chinese ancestors, he was born in 1922 and now lives alone in humble circumstances, earning his living by working the soil.
Brother Virazapia considers himself an instrument in the hands of the Lord to help his brothers and sisters in need. Wherever there is a small place to plant seeds, there you will find his battered bicycle. He will be in the small field sowing corn or other vegetables—food that will eventually feed needy families. Although he doesn’t have any land of his own, he always seems to find space to plant his seeds, and the Lord blesses him with abundant harvests. He often brings to church special bouquets of his carrots, cabbage, or chard to share with the other members.
“I have little,” he says. “I can give service only with this small body I have that takes me from one place to another. Through the Church and the teachings of the gospel, I have learned to work with my hands in behalf of others.” His rough, work-worn hands do indeed show the humble victories he has won. They reveal an abiding love for his Father in Heaven, for the land, and for his neighbors.
Some people are satisfied simply to know about our Heavenly Father. Brother Virazapia uses his gifts to glorify Him.

The Lord speaks of offerings in the plural. He expects us, as a condition of faithfulness, to pay our tithing and our fast offerings to help the poor and the needy. But we are privileged to make other offerings, not by way of assignment, assessment, or ecclesiastical direction. Among these are donations to the General Missionary Fund, Humanitarian Aid Fund, and the Book of Mormon Fund. We are also privileged to voluntarily contribute to building the new temples President Hinckley has announced.

Recently I received an anonymous letter from a person who made a substantial sacrifice for the General Temple Fund of the Church. She said: “I decided when I wanted to spend any money on myself I would forgo it and put the money into the temple fund. This meant no new clothes or shoes, books, hair appointments, necklaces, or anything of a personal nature until I reached my goal. I thought this would be a sacrifice, but instead I have found joy in it. It has been a rewarding and fulfilling experience.”

The answer has to be in that room. Maybe I missed a false wall.
“How do you spell kiwi, Jackson?”
“Uh, what, Miss Grouder?”
“Kiwi. How do you spell it? We’ve been talking about the spelling test for the past ten minutes. Where have you been?”
“Trying to rescue the princess of Mendoza,” Chester whispered from his seat behind Jackson.
Jackson felt his face getting hot. “K-e-e-w-e-e.”
Miss Grouder sighed as she placed Jackson’s spelling test on his desk. A big, red D stared up at him.
On the way home, Jackson folded the spelling test into a square wad and stuffed it into the corner of his backpack. Chester ran up behind him. “Sorry about your spelling test. Hey, do you want to come over to my house and try out my new soccer ball?”
“No,” Jackson replied. “I think I’ve figured out how to rescue the princess. Do you want to come watch?”
“You mean just sit there and watch you play? No thanks!”
“Maybe tomorrow then?”
“You’re starting to sound like a broken record.” Chester sighed and turned the corner toward his own house.
At home, Jackson headed downstairs to the family room, turned on the TV, and activated the video game. I’ll just play one game, and then I’ll get going on my homework.
Two hours later his mom called, “Come on, Jackson, we have to eat and get going or we’ll miss the start of the movie.”
“Coming, Mendoz—uh, Mom.” If I can just get past this guard. His hand deftly moved the joystick back and forth. Too late. The figure on the screen toppled over. No fair! I’ll play just one more. I know I can do it.
Suddenly the house seemed awfully quiet. Jackson grabbed his jacket and flew up the stairs two at a time. Silence greeted him. There was a note on the table: “Gone to the movie. Wish you could’ve come. Sandwich in fridge. Home by eight. Call Gramps if you need anything.”
It’s all the guard’s fault! Jackson stomped to his bedroom. On the table was his unfinished homework. Beside it lay his scriptures. He hadn’t taken time to read them all week. Then there was the unopened family home evening manual. He was supposed to give the lesson Monday night. But he didn’t feel like doing any of those things tonight.
Good thing it’s Friday. Jackson thought as he turned around and headed back to the TV. I’ll catch up on everything tomorrow.
Zap! Zing! “Take that!” The sounds of the piano being played rather badly interrupted Jackson’s concentration. It was his sister playing the opening hymn to call the family together for family home evening.
Family home evening! He had meant to do the lesson on Sunday, but he’d gotten closer to rescuing the princess than ever before. Now it was too late.
Jackson grabbed his scriptures and ran upstairs. He’d fake it. After all, sometimes they read a scripture and talked about it so much that they never got to the lesson, anyway. He’d make sure that they did that tonight.
“And help us apply the lesson to our own lives,” his little brother said as he finished the opening prayer.
Jackson opened his scriptures to where he had last read, “Dad, could you read some scriptures for us? How about here in Ether, chapter 12, verse 27.”
“‘And if men come unto me I will show unto them their weakness. I give unto men weakness that they may be humble; and my grace is sufficient for all men that humble themselves before me; if they humble themselves before me, and have faith in me, then will I make weak things become strong unto them.’”
“What do you think that means?” Jackson asked.
“Well, that we are given weakness to help us be humble. If we acknowledge that and ask for Heavenly Father’s help in overcoming a weakness, it will become a strength to us.”
Mom raised her hand.
“Soap operas. That was my weakness. Some days I didn’t do anything but watch my shows. No laundry, no grocery shopping, no scripture reading. The TV was like a magnet, drawing me to it. It wasn’t until I admitted that I had a problem that I figured out a solution.”
Jackson squirmed in his chair. This wasn’t going quite like he wanted it to.
“When I worked at the candy shop,” his older sister began, “I practically ate my paycheck each week in candy. I couldn’t help myself, it tasted so good. Finally after praying about it, I decided to set a candy quota for each day. If I stuck to my quota, I rewarded myself by taking the money I would have spent on candy and putting it toward a new pair of jeans. Some days I didn’t make it, but gradually I ate less candy. And I got the jeans!”
Jackson thanked everyone for their participation and ended the lesson. As soon as the closing prayer was finished, he excused himself and went downstairs. Maybe if he could play a video game, it would help him forget the growing uneasiness inside him.
But with each step, the anxiety spread. Finally he stopped. Did he really have a problem with video games? Chester didn’t seem to be his friend anymore. He’d gotten a D for the first time on a spelling test. He hadn’t read the scriptures all week, and he’d missed the family movie. Perhaps it was time to apply his lesson tonight to his own life.
Jackson turned around and headed for his bedroom. He flopped down on his bed and opened the scriptures to Ether. The princess would have to wait. Right now he had some reading and a lot of thinking to do.

A true story from Peru.
Spencer held Papá’s hand as they walked through the grass. His older sisters walked ahead, gathering rocks and twigs.
“Papá, why do we use things from outside for the Nativity?” Spencer asked.
Papá picked up a piece of moss. “This is something families have done here for a long time. We gather things Heavenly Father has given us in nature to make a place for baby Jesus. It helps us remember that He was born in a humble place.”
Spencer looked at the moss in Papá’s hand. It wasn’t fancy, but it was soft.
When they got home, they gathered around the wooden table in the living room. Papá placed a small clay Mary and Joseph on the table. Now they would use what they found outside to make the stable and the manger. Then, on Christmas Eve they’d add the baby Jesus to the Nativity scene.
Spencer watched as his sisters worked. They added colorful flowers and wove branches into a little fence. They made it look so nice.
Spencer carefully placed some moss on one side of the stable and added a few rocks. But when he looked at what he had made, it didn’t seem as good as what his sisters made. His path looked crooked. His moss wasn’t smooth.
He sighed. “My part doesn’t look very nice,” he said quietly.
Mamá put an arm around him. “Why do you think that?”
“It doesn’t look as good as theirs.”
Papá moved to sit beside him. “Spencer, do you know why we make this Nativity?”
Spencer shook his head.
“To help us feel close to Jesus,” Papá said. “The Savior is the most special part of Christmas. He doesn’t need fancy gifts—just our love and our best efforts.”
Spencer nodded. He looked at his little pile of rocks and moss again. Maybe it wasn’t perfect, but he had done his best.
Over the next few days, they gathered by the table to light a candle and sing Christmas songs. Spencer liked how the manger for baby Jesus stayed empty. It reminded him that they were waiting for something special—just like the shepherds and Wise Men did.
Finally, Christmas Eve came. Mom handed Spencer the tiny clay baby Jesus, and he placed it carefully in the manger.
As Spencer looked at the Nativity, he didn’t worry about how perfect it looked. He thought about Jesus Christ.
Spencer smiled. This year, he had given something to Jesus by doing his best, even when it wasn’t perfect. And he wanted to keep giving—by being kind, loving others, and trying to be more like Him.

During my college years I looked at a fellow student, whom I will call Roy, in amazement. Where did he get such a gigantic ego? His need to be recognized and praised was never ending. Every conversation he had with anyone always centered on his recent triumphs and the projects he was now involved in that would ensure his fame. He was underappreciated and let everyone know it. His name became a joke. We had him pegged as an obnoxious egomaniac who blew his own horn from morning until night.
One day I learned that one of my friends knew his family. She began to tell me some things. “Roy’s father was an alcoholic. Did you know that?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Oh, yes. He made their life just miserable. He was a crazy man. Once, when Roy was about five, he walked in the kitchen and saw his father attempting to kill his mother. It was a terrible scene and Roy was there to watch it all.”
The tremor was instant. All my perceptions, all my judgment shattered, and I saw past the facade into the reality. I saw past the obnoxious adult to the traumatized little boy that I wanted to take in my arms and comfort. I never looked at Roy the same again. I knew his secret, one of his secrets, and I understood.

Like millions of Latter-day Saints all over the world, LDS youth in Russia joined in last year’s sesquicentennial commemoration of the 1847 arrival of the pioneers in the Salt Lake Valley. Like the others, they relived the trek of those who traveled by wagon and handcart to Zion. But perhaps as much or more than any other group, they truly understood what it means to be a pioneer.
“Vperiod!” Brother Brigham shouts. “Forward!” He raises his hand high and points straight ahead. The pioneers grab their handcart, grimace at the effort of pulling it, and continue past a row of apartment buildings.
Wait a minute! That’s not how the Saints got to Utah!
Not to worry. This is Vyborg, Russia. The man playing the role of President Brigham Young is actually Aleksandr B. Tomak, a district president. And the pioneers, who have only a single handcart among them, are Russians from the St. Petersburg area, gathered at a youth conference to celebrate their heritage.
Yes, these are young members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. That means that not only is the journey of the pioneers part of their history; so is the visit of God the Father and his Son Jesus Christ to the Prophet Joseph Smith. So is the translation of the Book of Mormon. And so is the Restoration of the gospel in the latter days, with living prophets, temple work, and missionaries all over the world.
That’s why, as the handcart they are now pulling has journeyed from Siberia on the east to Vyborg on Russia’s western border, the “Mormons” in each location have not only pulled it through forests and mountains but also through the streets and parks of the cities where they live. They are celebrating, not only the pioneers that were, but also the pioneers they are—young people eager to live the truth and to share it with anyone willing to listen.
“I love Russia,” says Katya Medvedeva, 16, of the Nevsky Branch. “I wouldn’t want to live anywhere else. And at the same time, I love being a Latter-day Saint. I know The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is true. It is a worldwide church. You see the members here? They are strong and happy. They believe in Heavenly Father and in Jesus Christ. They believe the gospel has been restored to the earth.”
As she walks the pioneer trail, Katya can’t help thinking about the trials faced by Church members of an earlier era. “They were driven from their homes. They faced storms, starvation, and a journey of more than a thousand miles,” she says. “Here we are on paved roads in the sunshine, when many times they had to push through the mud and shiver from cold!”
Not that today is free from challenges. “We have different tasks before us,” Katya continues. “We’re blazing trails in new ways. Sometimes it’s as simple as telling people about the Word of Wisdom. When people drink tea or coffee or alcohol, or when they smoke or use drugs, they think that if they stop they won’t have freedom anymore. But if you stop you don’t lose freedom; you gain freedom because you’re not dependent on those things anymore.”
Blazing trails. Preparing the way for others. That’s what pioneers do.
Vitaly Yakushev, 18, says that, thanks to the youth conference, he has a deeper understanding of why early pioneers went through so much to gather to Utah. Local Church leaders gave him permission to take the train from his home in Kaliningrad, located in a small slice of Russia on the Baltic Sea, across Lithuania and Latvia, then back into Russia and on to St. Petersburg and Vyborg. The distance isn’t that far, but since the train stops in nearly every town, it took 21 hours.
That might seem like a lot to go through for a youth conference, Vitaly explains. “But I believe Jesus Christ lives and that he restored his Church through Joseph Smith. To be with so many others who believe the same things brings me happiness and joy. My soul wanted to be here.”
Vitaly’s physical journey parallels the spiritual journey of another young man, Dema Nicholayev, 18, of the Tosno Branch. A year and a half ago, “I was rebellious,” he says. “I listened to heavy metal music, I had brightly colored hair, I was looking for some kind of direction, and I thought I had found it.”
Then he met the missionaries. “At first, I didn’t believe them,” Dema continues. “I didn’t believe another lifestyle could be better than mine.”
Then the missionaries introduced him to a teenage member who bore his testimony. “That touched my heart, and slowly I started to believe what they were telling me. It changed my life.” As he grew in gospel knowledge, he wanted to share what he knew.
“Now,” he says, “I’m here at the conference with two of my friends that I baptized.”
As the youth walk and walk and walk, they sing. Someone strums a guitar, and everyone joins in folk songs. At other moments, silence reigns. And every once in a while, it just seems right to sing a hymn. “Come, Come, Ye Saints” is most popular, and those who sing it sometimes cry.
“Maybe I’m a little tired from walking so much,” says Natasha Kulenech, 16, of the Kolpino Branch. “But I feel the Spirit so strong that I know I can keep going. Life is like that. Sometimes I get tired, but then I think about the gospel. Before I became a member, my life was like a black-and-white film. Now it’s living color!”
“I think I’m just a normal member of the Church,” says Genia Slepukhina, 17, of Vyborg. “I can maybe go on a hike like this, in good weather with all of my friends. But I don’t really know what it would be like in the winter without food and fuel and shoes. I don’t know if I could do what they had to do.”
But Genia has already proven she can do some things they had to do, like endure persecution. When she first joined the Church, former friends at school scorned her.
“They said, ‘You are not like we are so we won’t speak with you,’” Genia explains. “One teacher said, ‘I will quiz you every day on my subject. Every day. And I know Mormons must be truthful, so don’t lie to me if you’re not prepared.’ That was hard, because I have six or seven subjects each day, and I must prepare for every one.”
Sometimes classmates would even hit her. “But my family, Church friends, and the missionaries really helped me,” Genia says. “They gave me great examples to follow. One of the missionaries showed me Matthew 5:10–12 [Matt. 5:10–12], where the Savior says if you are persecuted because of your faith, you will be blessed. So I kept after it. I always tried to testify of the truth. I think a lot of people thought my belief was just a temporary thing, and in time it would go away. Now they know it’s here to stay.”
“For us the LDS Church is new,” says Katya Pyshnyak, 13, of the Avtovo Branch. “Nobody in our branch has been a member for more than six or seven years. So we are the first, and that makes us like pioneers. We’re trying to be examples to others, like the pioneers who crossed the plains are examples to us. They had love and believed they would reach the right place and everything would be all right when they got there. They knew that God would help them.”
She and her friend Tanya Kuznezova, 16, also from Avtovo, foresee the day when The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints will be a major influence in Russia.
“The true church must have its beginning in some country,” Katya says. “It isn’t important where it began. What is important is that it is true.”
“I think the LDS Church will be very big in Russia, that many people will want to be members,” Tanya says. “Right now people don’t understand that this is the only way we can live once again with our Heavenly Father. But some day they will understand how important it is and that they can know, as I know, that it is true.”
What do pioneers do? They go where others have not gone before, discover new things, mark a path, and prepare the way.
The Vyborg-St. Petersburg handcart company reaches the end of the trail at the shore of a lake in the forest. Here, workshops will be held and lunch served for those who have “safely completed the journey to Zion,” as President Tomak proclaims.
“Vot eto mesto!” he says, in his best Brother Brigham voice. “This is the place!”
It’s a phrase that was true 150 years ago in the valley of the Great Salt Lake. It is now a phrase that is equally true from Siberia to Vyborg, all across a vast country where modern pioneers are embracing the restored gospel today.
Two handcarts were actually used in various cities across Russia, one as a backup in case of trouble or in case activities were planned in two places on the same day. When the celebrations were through, one cart remained in Russia. The other was shipped to Church headquarters, where it was presented to President Gordon B. Hinckley, then displayed at the Church Museum of History and Art.
Members filled the handcart bound for Salt Lake City with souvenirs. The youth of St. Petersburg were eager to be part of the sharing, but what could they add to such a collection?
A perfect answer: each youth conference participant was given a sheet or two of paper. They were instructed to write their testimony, addressed to President Hinckley. Then all the testimonies were bound together in a blue velvet book trimmed with gold braid and bearing the Russian coat of arms.
Though there were many items in the cart, from teddy bears to dolls dressed in native costumes, none were more precious than the book of testimonies, a true gift from the heart.