Gospel Story Finder

May I conclude with a simple little illustration of the response of one who stood at level three. He had passed from level one because his eyes were fully open to the reality, including some of the pain, of seeing things for what they were. Yet he had moved from a level two kind of realism to a third level where his mature perspective permitted what he saw with those wide-open eyes to be subordinated to what he felt in a wide-open heart.

The man in this case is my own father, who died about fifteen years ago. At the time of this incident, he was in his mid-fifties and was very involved in his professional life and in other heavy obligations that frequently took him out of his hometown for several days at a time. He was tired. At a much earlier time in his life, he had served for ten years in a stake presidency and had fulfilled numerous other assignments for the Church. One day his friend Brother Whitehead approached him to say the stake presidency had called him, Brother Whitehead had told the presidency he would accept the assignment only if my father would act as his first counselor.

It is one thing to be called as a counselor in the bishopric when one is young and full of fresh enthusiasm to learn about leadership in the Church, and when one’s time is not heavily committed. One might understandably have a somewhat different attitude at a later time in life. Let me share with you the inner thoughts of my father’s heart as he wrote them that day in his personal journal:

My first reaction was, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me . . . I know something of the work required of a bishopric; it is a constant, continual grind; there is no let up . . . I am busy and my state affairs demand what spare time and energy I have. In some respects I am not humble and prayerful enough; I have not always been willing to submit unquestioningly to all the decisions of the Church . . . but neither do I feel that I can say no to any call that is made by the Church, and so now I add to my first reaction, ‘nevertheless, not as I will, but as Thou wilt.’ I will resolve to do it as best I can. There will be times when I will chafe under the endless meetings, but I am going to get in tune with the program of the Church in every way. I do not intend to get sanctimonious, but I know there must be no reservations in my heart about my duties and responsibilities. The work of the Church will have to come first. It will not be hard for me to pay my tithing and attend regularly, as I have been doing that. But I will have to learn, I suppose, to love the Deseret News, or at least the Church Section, as much as I love the Tribune . . . I will have to get to the temple more often . . . I will have to become better acquainted with the ward members and be genuinely interested in them and their problems . . . I will have to learn to love every one of them and to dispose myself in such a way that they might find it possible to feel the same toward me. Perhaps in my weak way I will have to try and live as close to the Lord as we expect the General Authorities to do.

Perhaps my appreciation for understatement and my personal knowledge that my father was an honest man makes that statement seem to me a more striking example of dealing humbly with ambiguity than it really is. But his statement stirs me to want to be as childlike as my education has taught me to be tough-minded—wise as serpents and harmless as doves, I believe the Savior called it.

Some years ago, a dear friend in Southern California called me at my office in Salt Lake and asked if I would give him a blessing the next time I came to his area. We made arrangements to meet and then he told me what his need was. His wife was suffering with a terminal illness and he needed to know from the Lord what kind of faith he needed to have. He wondered if he should seek to develop sufficient faith to heal his wife of her illness through the administration of a priesthood blessing. Or, if she was not to be healed, he would need faith to accept the Lord's decision that he might plead for strength to comfort her and provide whatever assistance she needed to get through the illness. Either way he would trust the Lord's will - he just needed to know what it was. This brother built on a safe foundation. I am a witness that he subsequently received the support Alma promised.

Sunny is an exchange student from Korea. She is living in a strange new land with a new language and a new family. School was hard and she had no friends to eat with or talk with or go to school activities with. She said: “I felt so miserable. Then I started thinking about praying. I had not thought about praying for help to Heavenly Father and for comfort and faith in myself. Then I began to read the Book of Mormon every morning and pray before I went to school. School began to be much easier. I was so surprised that I could understand better! I felt like someone was helping me while I was studying” (letter in possession of Young Women office).

Let me know how I can help. I’ve said this myself, dozens of times, but words alone are meaningless. I prefer the approach of my neighbor when a section of my backyard fence was blown over in a windstorm. He didn’t ask if there was anything he could do to help, he just came over one day, replaced a rotted post, and repaired the fence.
Are there some specific things that you could use some help with right now? When my neighbor saw my broken fence and fixed it, he knew that I needed help. But other needs aren’t as easily determined without asking. Gently ask or suggest ways in which you might help. For example, I was concerned that the financial provisions for my family were in order, but didn’t quite know how to go about determining whether or not they were. One day my bishop, who is a certified public accountant, came to see me. “If you’d like me to,” he said, “I’d be happy to review your financial affairs with you and your wife.” I was grateful for his tact, and relieved to learn after his review that things were as we wished them to be.

I am in awe of the special relationship between a young missionary, one of the first to the Hawaiian Islands in 1850, and that of a faithful Hawaiian man, a descendent of high chiefs. Their statute is outside, on the administration side of this building.

It commemorates the special bond these two great Latter-day Saints cultivated as they translated the Book of Mormon into the Hawaiian language almost 170 years ago. I am referring to George Q. Cannon, lovingly called P?kuniahi by the Hawaiian Saints and Jonathan N?pela, both who dedicated their lives in building up the kingdom of God. Their testimonies were solid, even as they experienced trials and despair. For N?pela, he lost his judgeship in the Wailuku circuit court when he converted to the Church. Later in life, his beautiful wife contracted leprosy and was exiled to Kalaupapa on the island of Moloka?i. Out of his love for her, he followed her there to care for her, knowing it was an eventual death sentence since there was no cure.

After his family’s conversion to the Church in England when he was 13, Cannon sailed to America two years later. His mother died during the voyage. When he arrived in the United States, he lived with his Uncle John Taylor and his father’s sister, Leonora Taylor, in Nauvoo. His father passed away not long after. Cannon worked in the printing house under the direction of John Taylor. There he learned the skills that he would need 12 years later when he printed Ka Buke A Moramona. Like many others in the early days of church history, N?pela and Cannon suffered severe trials, but due to their commitment to the gospel and their great love for the Savior, they overcame misfortune and accomplished great things in their life.

When the young women of the Rose Park Second Ward in Salt Lake City, Utah, got tired of putting up with a skimpy selection of formal dresses, they took matters—and the dresses—into their own hands. Spending an evening at a local dress shop owned by Beehive Elise Carnahan’s grandmother, the young women drew the line for modesty by trying on a new line of formal dresses.
Amid the bustle of fittings and alterations, the young women learned some practical ways to make dresses modest.
“I had a cute black dress, and we added a bolero jacket that covered my back and shoulders,” said Laurel Leslie Abalos. “The jacket made the dress a beautiful, modest option. We didn’t even have to alter the gown.”
For Elise, the alterations were a little more extensive, but the result was just as rewarding. With the help and expertise of her grandmother, Elise constructed sleeves for her dress. “When you’re modest,” she said, “you can focus on what matters: how you act. I want to enter the temple one day, so I need to prepare now for that day. One of the ways I do that is by dressing modestly.”
Eager to share their new modest formals and show others how easy it is to be modest, the young women’s next step was to put on a fashion show. After a flurry of distributing flyers, making announcements, decorating, and preparing refreshments, the young women were ready to share the confidence and joy they found in being modest.
Yanyn Flores, a Mia Maid with Down syndrome, spoke through her actions at the fashion show. Her participation showed everyone how modesty is important to her.
Alyssa Reed, a Laurel, also told why participating in the show and modeling modesty was important. “Modesty shows respect for your body as a temple. You also respect the people around you, the gifts you are given, and Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ.”
Mia Maid Kiko Makaya adds, “I want to set a good example to those around me by dressing modestly.”
And for Beehive Jonni Klus, modesty is a way of staying true to herself. “Modesty shows that you are happy with just being you.”
The fashion show was a packed event and a great success. Many more young women mentioned how dressing modestly helps them to be confident and focus on who they are rather than what they wear. Young Women leader Desirae Carnhahan was happy to see how the fashion show blessed their lives. “Our girls now know that modest additions are worth the extra effort,” she said.

When she visited Temple Square in Salt Lake City, Utah, with her 10-year-old son, Vincent, in December 2016, Katie Funk considered herself “comfortably agnostic.” She left the Church at age 16, became a single mother at 17, started getting tattoos, and developed a taste for coffee. But during that Temple Square visit, Vincent felt the Holy Ghost and asked his mother if he could take the missionary lessons.
Despite her two-job, 80-hour workweeks, Katie studied the gospel with Vincent, researching answers to his questions between missionary visits. By the summer of 2017, she began attending Church meetings, where she learned about the Church’s self-reliance courses.
“I realized they were something that could help me,” she said. “Maybe I wouldn’t need to work two jobs or lean on my parents for the rest of my life.”
Katie called her course “incredibly strengthening temporally and spiritually,” not just because of what she learned but also because of how her self-reliance group accepted and ministered to her.
How You Can Help
Here are some ideas from Katie for how we can make the Church’s self-reliance initiative an opportunity to minister both spiritually and temporally:
“I know it’s cliché, but don’t judge a book by its cover. The fact that I was able to go to that course and not feel judged by others was huge.”
“Give support and encouragement. My group supported me in such a way that I left each class feeling loved.”
“Share your experience. The honesty and openness we had for each other made our hearts feel better. You never know who’s going to benefit from what you share.”
“Be vocal. I’m vocal about how my life is much better because I pay my tithing and go to church. I take my Personal Finances for Self-Reliance book with me to my job as a behavioral therapist. When appropriate, I share some of its principles with others.”
“Go to a self-reliance course for yourself, but watch for those who might need your help. I had to miss almost half the classes because of a change in my work schedule, but members of my group stayed in contact and cheered me on. It was amazing to feel that I still belonged even when I couldn’t be there.”

Almost exactly two decades ago, President Henry B. Eyring was assigned to visit our stake (The Rainier Oregon Stake) for a stake conference. At that time he was serving in the Presiding Bishopric of the Church. He stayed in our home in the woods and sat at our table and talked with us and our children. As a newly called stake president, I privately sought his counsel regarding a member of the stake. He told me a story about when he was a young bishop and sought counsel from then President Spencer W. Kimball.

After explaining the situation he was facing and asking President Kimball what he should do, President Eyring expected a clear answer of profound wisdom. He was surprised when President Kimball started to ask him a string of what seemed to be trivial questions about the member that Bishop Eyring was concerned about. Does he come to all his meetings? Does he arrive early or late? Does he sit in the front or the back? Does he participate in classes or just observe? And so the questions went.

That little story has profoundly impacted my life. I think of it often as I make small, but conscious decisions. Alma 37:6 says, "Now ye may suppose that this is foolishness in me; but behold I say unto you, that by small and simple things are great things brought to pass." Great things, like eternal life, hinge on our small choices. Small choices are at first "conscious," effortful decisions, but eventually in our quest to be true disciples of Christ, they become part of our very nature.

I recall an evening when the family was all at home and we received a request from the missionaries for a visit, but I told them that we weren’t home. Then the elders informed me that they were in front of our home with the mission president. I hung up and immediately opened the door. They taught us about the blessings that await us, how we can face the difficulties in our lives, and that families can be eternal.

Then everything changed.
The whole world transformed overnight.
I’d reached the lowest point in my life. Nothing but a profound spiritual experience could change me. I knew deep down that I was meant to be doing more in life. And I’d finally become so desperate that I was open to the truth that perhaps God did live. I didn’t know anything about Him, but I started seeking His guidance. I searched desperately for a sign of His hand in my life. Then, suddenly, He answered, and I was catapulted into a world I’d never known.
My world came together in such an orchestrated fashion and guided me to exactly where I needed to be. Strangers, family, friends—everyone and everything—seemed to be sending me messages of love, concern, and support all at once. I started to notice a sensation in my chest: a wonderful burning feeling. And along with that feeling, I was witnessing a love that was completely new to me.
The love of God.
I really didn’t know what the feeling was or where it had come from at first. I just knew it didn’t come from me and that it was better than anything I had felt. It wasn’t until later while talking with my family that I really understood that I was experiencing a connection with Heavenly Father through the power of the Holy Ghost.
My reality suddenly changed from a dull gray to full color. And it was difficult to adjust. I knew God was real. But what did this mean? For at least a month, I would break down sobbing throughout each day. The new beauty of life I was seeing was forcing me to face the unbelievably ugly way I’d lived for years. I’d been so engulfed by hatred, and now I was witnessing the deepest love I’d ever seen. A love that struck me to my core. Life had become more beautiful than I’d ever imagined it could be. I knew God was calling me. He wanted me to seek a better life. And I was finally ready to answer Him.

Hong Kong China Temple
In 1991 the First Presidency asked the Asia Area Presidency to begin searching for a temple site in Hong Kong. If the Church were to build a temple in Hong Kong, it would have to be built before July 1, 1997, which was when the People’s Republic of China would resume government control.
President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008) arrived in Hong Kong on July 25, 1992, to approve a site for the temple. After visiting six different locations, President Hinckley discussed his feelings with the local stake presidents and decided that none of the locations would work. At 6:45 a.m. President Hinckley called the Area Presidency and asked to meet in his hotel room at 8:00 a.m. After they arrived, President Hinckley “then shared, on a sheet of white paper, a detailed drawing. During the night, he had envisioned a building of about eight floors above ground, with the temple on the top floors and other functions housed on the lower floors. … This concept of multiple use, President Hinckley explained, would depart from tradition in that all other temples in the Church at that time were stand-alone buildings.”7
President Hinckley returned to Salt Lake City and presented the new design to the Temple Department. The architects saw an opportunity to expand the building and created a plan that would be nearly twice the size originally designed by President Hinckley. The plans were completed and sent to Hong Kong for approval, but after negotiations with the officials, the building plans were denied. Remembering the experience they had earlier with President Hinckley’s first design, the Area Presidency immediately recommended that the Church return to his drawing. This plan quickly received approval, and the Church began construction on the temple. The Hong Kong China Temple was dedicated on May 26, 1996, by President Hinckley.

Illustration by Alex Nabaum
My father is a good man. But when you’re 12 and you find pornography hidden in a remote file folder on your father’s computer, your emotions get sliced open. I felt like it would be difficult to see him in the same way again.
Two years later, when I was 14, I was looking through the computer’s history files and again stumbled upon a few websites he had viewed and was forced to admit that maybe my father had a problem. I knew I had to talk to my mother.
She and I were driving together in the car when I blurted it out.
To my astonishment, she was not surprised.
She sighed. “Your father’s been struggling with this for a while now,” she said. “He’d told me he’d stopped, but I guess not.”
When we got home, I watched as she typed a letter to my father explaining what I had told her. After that, I tried to put it out of my mind again.
My father and I argued bitterly during my early teen years. I didn’t trust him, I didn’t like him, I didn’t respect him. I mistakenly thought, “Nobody else’s dad looks at pictures like that. He must be a bad person.”
It escalated when I was 15. Sometimes I would come into the room and glance at his computer screen and see that a pornography site was minimized to the task bar. He would pretend to have been playing a game of solitaire. I watched as my father didn’t take the sacrament, and I listened as my mother explained how my father had finally been convinced to go to the bishop. I felt burdened by humiliation.
What I didn’t realize at first, of course, was that these were incredibly wonderful steps on the path to full repentance. I later stumbled once or twice upon my father deep in fervent, aching prayer. This image is burned into my brain just as deeply as that file I’d found when I was 12.
At 16, the problem had not gone away. Once, I was doing homework late at night and overheard my mother sobbing and shouting at my father.
I crept back to my room, knowing from my father’s silence that he was suffering. I felt his remorse radiate through the house, as well as his sense of helplessness.
My brother and sister knew nothing about it, and I wanted it to stay that way. The only thing they knew was that sometimes, especially when Mommy wasn’t home, Daddy would come out of his room in an awful mood.
My father was trying. The bishop sent him to a support group for men with problems like his. I had learned to respect him again, learned how, on the good weeks when we read scriptures as a family every morning and he whistled hymns, to like and even love him again. I saw that there was much more to him than simply this ugly problem. I learned to let him ask me about school without turning it into an argument. I learned to pray for him.
Good men can do wrong things. My father gives a generous fast offering, he’s always willing to lend a helping hand, he serves in his Church calling readily, he never swears or speaks vulgarly, but most of all he wants to be better. He knows that what he’s done is wrong, and he is hopeful that he will change.
To anyone else in my situation: Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and He will carry you through. He will carry you through not only if you’re the one who struggles under the burden of sin, but also if you are the one who stands by, watching as the one you love fights for salvation.

It was the fifth period of my first day in high school. That meant biology, and as I sat down on my hard plastic chair, I recognized one of the boys at my lab table as Casey, the school’s best water polo player. I couldn’t believe I had a class with Casey!
The two boys on my left looked familiar too—I had seen them hanging around with the mob of baseball players during lunch. The last member of our little biology “team” was Mike, scholar-athlete of the year and an important contributor to both the volleyball and tennis teams. I felt like I was sitting among the who’s who list of our high school athletes.
I soon discovered that popularity and athletic prowess weren’t very good indicators of character. Surprise! The boys were nice to people, but the crude way they talked made me squirm in my seat.
At first I was rather timid, afraid to speak up to these “big men on campus,” but as the school year progressed I voiced my discomfort more and more often. They just laughed good-naturedly at my protests.
One day, out of the blue, Miles—one of the baseball players—turned his freckled face toward me and asked, “Kim, are you Mormon?” I was completely taken aback. Where had that question come from?
“Yes, why?” I asked. Miles just shrugged his shoulders and said matter-of-factly, “I don’t know. It’s just that you can always tell when a girl is Mormon.”
Now I was even more perplexed. I knew that I had the gospel in my life and that it set me apart from the rest of the world. But I didn’t think I acted noticeably different from any of the other girls in my class.
“How can you tell?” I asked, really wanting to know.
The other guys at the table were leaning forward, listening intently and murmuring in agreement. “I don’t know,” Miles said. “You can just tell when a girl is Mormon. They’re different.” All of the baseball caps bobbed up and down in unanimous assent.
Miles never said whether being able to tell a girl was LDS was a good thing or a bad thing—it was just a fact. I took it as a compliment that my behavior set me apart as a member of Christ’s church. From then on, I have tried to live my life so that people will realize there is something different about me because I’m a Mormon.

Many years ago, I joined the United States Air Force to serve my country. Soon I found myself at boot camp in Texas, USA. The weeks passed slowly as I endured the many things one typically experiences at boot camp.
One day I attended a large meeting of over 200 airmen, all in training just like me. The meeting began with one of our drill instructors—who regularly shouted loud and vulgar things—yelling out, “Does anyone object to the way I’m running things around here?”
Of course, no one dared answer, but surprisingly, one young man raised his hand.
“Airman, stand up!” the instructor shouted. “What do you object to?”
We all listened intently as the young man loudly declared, “I object to you taking my Savior’s name in vain. It hurts my soul. I would ask that you stop.”
The room fell completely silent. The instructor stared at him and then asked him what religion he belonged to. The brave airman proudly said, “I am a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints!”
The instructor thanked the airman for his courage to speak out, and the meeting continued. This act had a tremendous effect on me. I often thought that I would like to have the kind of courage that airman had.
I don’t know the brave airman’s name. I never saw him again, but I will be eternally grateful for his courage to stand up for what he believed.

In a business ethics class for my master’s program at the Schiller International University in Heidelberg, Germany, each student was asked to do a 20-minute oral presentation at the end of the semester. The professor asked me if I would talk about ethics from a Latter-day Saint perspective.
I was baptized at age 18 and was called to serve a mission in Brazil a year later. Since then I continued to share the gospel with many.
I knew it would be a challenge to discuss religious issues in the university environment, but I accepted the challenge. I decided to prepare a presentation covering information from Mormon.org.
My university has students from all over the world. My ethics class reflected that diversity, with 18 students from various nations.
The ethics presentations began with two students from India followed by a student from Myanmar. I was the last to present. I talked about “The Family: A Proclamation to the World,” the Articles of Faith, and other gospel topics. For most of the students, it was the first time they had heard about the Church.
I concluded with my testimony of the gospel and the importance of doing what is right despite the pressure around us. Finally I gave everyone a Book of Mormon in his or her own language. After my presentation I was bombarded with all kinds of questions. My 20-minute presentation turned into an hour.
The next school day, a friend from India told me he was impressed with my presentation and had read part of the Book of Mormon already. His friend, also from India, asked for a copy as well. Later a friend from Myanmar told me she was happy to hear about the Church, especially the teachings about families and the law of chastity because she believed those principles. She promised to read the Book of Mormon.
My friends from Ghana thanked me for telling them about the Restoration, promising that they would try to see the temple in Accra. My friend from Liberia told me my message was an inspiration to him and gave him hope for the future.
I was pleased that the Spirit of the Lord had confirmed my message. We may not always witness the impact of our words, but I know my class presentation will produce fruit in the future. I hope that some of the people in that classroom will someday accept the gospel and become instruments in the Lord’s hands to spread the message of the Restoration to all nations, kindreds, tongues, and people (see D&C 133:37).

In August of 2020, President Alan L. Fisher and Sister Elizabeth H. Fisher, the mission president and his companion, gathered all the missionaries in the Barbados Bridgetown Mission together in Barbados. President and Sister Fisher recalled, “We loved working with these sisters and having the opportunity of becoming very close to them during the pandemic. We believe the Lord wanted them to have this experience, learn these lessons, and have an opportunity to develop relationships with each other and their mission leaders in a way that wouldn’t have happened otherwise. One of the tender mercies we experienced was sharing in the ordinance of the sacrament with them in their apartment. We prayed, sang, and shared scriptures from the Book of Mormon. This repeated connection together brought a bond of love and strength between us and between these sweet missionaries and the Lord. He lifted them and was a constant sustaining influence.”

I am a convert to the Church. I was baptized when I was a 23-year-old young single adult attending medical school in Arizona, USA. I know firsthand how Satan works on investigators to confuse them and discourage them when they are seeking truth.

All during my youth, I had watched the examples of Latter-day Saint friends. I was impressed with the way they conducted their lives. I made the decision to learn more about the Church, but I did not want to tell anyone I was studying Mormonism. To avoid pressure from my friends, I decided to make my search a private investigation.

This was many years before the internet, so I went to the public library. I found a copy of the Book of Mormon and a book called A Marvelous Work and a Wonder, by Elder LeGrand Richards (1886–1983) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. I began to read these books with great desire, and I found them inspiring.

While my spirit was yearning to learn more, Satan began to whisper in my ear. He told me that in order to be completely objective, I needed to read what was written by the critics of the Church also. I went back to the public library and began to look around. Sure enough, I found a book that discredited the Prophet Joseph.

Reading this anti-Mormon book confused me. I lost that sweet spirit and influence that had guided my investigation. I became frustrated and was about to abandon my search for truth. I was praying for an answer while reading anti-Mormon literature!

To my surprise, I received a phone call from a high school friend who was attending Brigham Young University. She invited me to come visit her in Utah, promising that I would love the scenic trip. She had no idea that I was secretly studying about her Church.

I accepted her invitation. My friend suggested that we go to Salt Lake City to visit Temple Square. She was surprised by my enthusiastic response. She had no idea how interested I was to learn the truth about Joseph Smith and the Restoration.

The sister missionaries on Temple Square were very helpful. Without knowing it, they answered many of my questions. Their testimonies influenced me to “doubt [my] doubts,”9 and my faith began to grow. The power of a heartfelt testimony cannot be overestimated.

My friend also shared her testimony with me and invited me to pray and ask God if the Church was true. On the long drive back to Arizona, I began to pray with faith—for the first time “with a sincere heart, with real intent” (Moroni 10:4). At some point on that trip, it seemed that my whole car lit up with light. I learned for myself that light can dispel darkness.

After I had decided to be baptized, the devil put up a final struggle. He worked on my family, who did everything in their power to discourage me, and they refused to attend my baptism.

I was baptized anyway, and gradually their hearts were softened. They began to help me research my family history. A few years later, I baptized my younger brother. The friend who invited me to visit her in Utah is now my wife.

It was one of those special times when a daughter comes to her father with an honest question that deserves a careful answer. The question of this attractive teenage daughter was, “With all the influences for evil around me, how can I be ‘in the world’ yet still maintain standards that are acceptable to you and to my Father in Heaven?”
“There are two important forces in the world,” the father replied. “Centrifugal forces and centripetal forces. The term centrifugal force comes from Latin roots meaning ‘fleeing from the center.’ Centripetal force is ‘a force directed toward the center.’”
“I ask a simple question and you give me a complicated answer!” cried the dismayed girl. “Can’t you just give me a simple answer?”
“Well, my dear, let me try to show you what I mean. Let’s take a little ball of cotton and put it on the turntable of the record player.” He placed the ball on the very edge of the turntable and said, “Now turn it on.”
She did so, and after three or four revolutions the little cotton ball went flying out into the room.
“Turn the record player off,” he directed, “and put the cotton at the center of the turntable. Now turn on the record player again.”
She did as she was told, and round and round the turntable went. But this time the ball of cotton did not move.
“That is what I mean by centrifugal and centripetal forces,” the father continued. “One force causes an object to flee from the center, and the other directs an object toward the center.”

Meet Dorcas Asamoah Danso, a determined young single adult from the Ofankor Stake Gathering Place whose journey from student to entrepreneur is as inspiring as it is beautiful.
It began when she enrolled in a beauty class at the Gathering Place—a decision that would change her life. At first, it was anything but easy. “Shaping eyebrows was the hardest part,” she recalled. “It didn’t feel natural, but my instructor’s encouragement and consistent practice helped me push through.”
Determined to make the most of what she was learning, Dorcas began setting aside money to invest in her own beauty supplies. She didn’t wait for perfection—she got to work. After sharing a simple video on Facebook with before-and-after photos of her makeup transformation, Dorcas caught the attention of her peers. To build her client base, she boldly offered a free trial—and the results spoke for themselves. Her friends not only loved their makeovers but also became her biggest advocates, helping her turn her passion into a growing business.
Dorcas continues to visit the Gathering Place to sharpen her skills and stay connected to a supportive community. “My journey required humility,” she said. “I had to accept correction, stay open-minded, and be willing to sacrifice to reach my goals.”
Today, Dorcas is grateful—for the Lord’s guidance, for her leaders and fellow YSAs, and for the path that helped her discover her potential. Her experience has brought her not just success but confidence, joy, and a deeper sense of self-worth.

Donna’s brown curls bounced as she skipped home from school. Mrs. Richards had just read the class a story about pirates who buried chests full of treasure. Some of the buried treasures had never been found, and Donna was thinking how wonderful it would be to discover one of them. Her family was going to Grandma’s house for dinner that night, and she could hardly wait to tell Grandma the story. She often talked about the olden days; now it would be Donna’s turn.
When they arrived at Grandma’s house, Donna ran straight to the kitchen. “Grandma! Grandma!” she squealed. “We learned about buried treasure today. My teacher says there are still treasures hidden away. Maybe when I get older, I can find one.”
Grandma smiled. “What kind of treasure would you like to find?”
Grandma nodded with a twinkle in her eye. “That certainly would be wonderful. Maybe after dinner we could pretend to be pirates and look for buried treasure right here.”
Donna clapped her hands. “Oh, Grandma, could we? I’ll help you clean up after dinner.”
When the dishes were washed and put away, Grandma took Donna aside and whispered in her ear. “When I was a little girl, I, too, dreamed of finding a treasure. I used to search in the attic. Shall we see if there’s any treasure up there?”
Donna could hardly control her excitement. “Yes! Yes!”
They had to climb some narrow steps to get into the dark attic. Donna held Grandma’s hand very tightly. She was a little bit afraid, but she didn’t want Grandma to know. When they reached the top of the stairs and Grandma turned on the light, Donna was disappointed. All she saw were some dusty boxes, a few cobwebs, and a big trunk that didn’t look anything like a pirate chest. How could they ever find treasure in this junk?
Donna carefully opened one of the boxes. Inside were some old toys. She took out a doll with bright blue eyes and a pink dress. “Who did this belong to?” she asked, admiring the doll.
“Your mother. It was her favorite, and she used to play with it every day. She called it Donna, and she always said that when she had a little girl, she would name her Donna too.”
Donna smiled, trying to imagine her mom playing with the doll. It made her happy to know that her mom had always wanted a little girl.
Grandma had opened another box and was looking at a large picture in a beautiful wood frame.
Standing in the picture was a red-haired girl about Donna’s age. Donna examined the picture carefully. She had seen this girl before, but where?
“Who is she?” Donna asked.
“Well, goodness,” said Grandma, “that picture does look familiar.” She searched and found a dusty mirror, cleaned it off, and handed it to Donna. “Look,” she said, “and tell me what you see.”
Donna was puzzled. What did this have to do with the picture? As she looked in the mirror, her eyes got bigger.
They were the same big brown eyes she had seen in the picture, under the same red curls. The two faces were the same!
“That’s me in the picture, Grandma! Why can’t I remember when it was taken?”
Grandma laughed. “Because that isn’t you in the picture, dear. It’s your mother. We had that picture taken when she was just about your age.”
Donna was amazed. She’d had no idea that she looked so much like her mom.
Grandma’s eyes were gleaming as she opened the big trunk. “Donna,” she said, “come see what I’ve found!” On top of the pile was the dress Donna’s mom had worn in the picture. It was white with purple flowers and white ruffles.
“Can I try it on, Grandma?” Donna pleaded. “I’ll be very careful, I promise.” After Grandma had helped her put on the dress, Donna looked in the mirror again and giggled. Now she looked exactly like Mom. They were finding some wonderful treasures, even though not of diamonds or gold.
Grandma reached into the trunk again and pulled out another picture. This time it was a small picture of a beautiful building.
“I know what that is!” Donna exclaimed. “It’s the Salt Lake Temple.”
“Yes,” Grandma said. “This picture is very special to me. When I was a little girl, my Primary teacher gave one to each of us after a lesson about the temple. She told us how wonderful it was to go to the temple and be sealed together as a family.
“She said that we could also do work for people who had died without a chance to hear about the gospel. Then she explained that in order to enter the temple, we had to go to church, pay our tithing, obey the Word of Wisdom, and keep the other commandments.
“I was so proud of my beautiful picture that I took it home and hung it right above my bed. Every night before I said my prayers, I looked at the picture, then asked Heavenly Father to help me prepare to go there. I wanted to go to the temple more than anything else. I wanted to help people like my great-grandmother, who didn’t know about the gospel. And I wanted to be married there to a good man.
“The day I went to the temple with your grandpa to be married for eternity was the most beautiful day of my life. When I see our family together, it makes me happy that we have made the right choices. We still need to keep working to be good, but it’s all worth it, knowing that we can be together forever.”
Donna smiled. “I guess we really did find a treasure today.”
Grandma hugged her. “Donna, I want you to have this picture of the temple to help you remember the treasures you will find there.”
Donna gave Grandma a big kiss on the cheek. “Thank you, Grandma. You’re the best treasure finder in the whole world!”