Gospel Story Finder

President Kimball and some other Church leaders traveled to Denmark for an area conference.
While there, they visited a cathedral to see Thorvaldsen’s original famous sculpture, the Christus.
President Kimball: Isn’t it beautiful?
In the cathedral stood a statue of Peter holding a large set of keys.
President Kimball turned to a nearby caretaker to explain.
President Kimball: The keys of priesthood authority that Peter held as President of the Church I now hold as President of the Church in this dispensation.
President Kimball: Every day you are near Apostles in stone, but today you are in the presence of living Apostles.
President Kimball presented the man with a Danish Book of Mormon and bore his testimony of the Prophet Joseph Smith.
The man was moved to tears.
Caretaker: Today I have been in the presence of servants of God.
President Kimball never feared to share his witness of the gospel and bear his testimony to people around the world.

I didn't go straight to college after high school. Instead I went to work, and through that work I ultimately let myself get very distracted by the world and by voices who didn't speak truth and certainly didn't believe and trust in God. In a very short time, I put at risk not only myself but my future family. I put myself in danger of losing my eternal destiny. I had pulled up my anchor from the security of the teachings of my mother and had begun to drop my anchor in the sandy sediment of uncertainty and indecision.

Fortunately, the Lord never left me. He continued to reach out to me and whisper truth to my heart. Ultimately, because of the power of the Savior's love and my parents' constant pleas and faith, many rescues came into my life, ranging from personal spiritual experiences to the Lord sending tender mercies and even angels to assist.

The Rescue
During those years, the Lord repeatedly reached out to rescue me through a pattern of interventions that, over time, saved me. I would like to share a few of the rescues that defined my path. I will then share some of the choices that had to be made in order for the rescues to effectively change my life and move me forward on the path of happiness.

Rescue #1: A New Life
The first rescue came with the birth of our oldest daughter. She brought with her the resounding testimony that we are children of God--that she was and is a daughter of God. She was perfect and filled with light, and her life gave my life new meaning and purpose. My heart was instantly changed as I remembered who I was and my desires returned to the teachings of my mother and the gospel of Jesus Christ. Through my daughter I felt the love of the Savior flood my heart and bring new hope.

Rescue #2: Time to Move
The second rescue came nearly two years later when I removed myself and my daughter from a situation that was not good for either of us. It required physically driving away from Texas in the middle of the night with my little two-year-old. On that drive and through what seemed to be endless tears, I felt the hand of heaven guiding our path and protecting us straight into the arms and security of a loving and supportive family.

I would like to express my appreciation for J. Scott Henrie’s article “Harley-Davidson” which was published in the August 1985 New Era.
This story closely parallels the situation in my own family. I am about to complete my mission. When I came on my mission my youngest brother was 19 years old and totally inactive in the Church. His favorite pastime was motorbike riding, and he’d become involved with a “bad” group and was using drugs and was in trouble with the law.
When I read your story last year it really touched me. I could compare myself to Paul and my brother to Gus. At the same time as I read your story I also received a letter from my brother (the first in two months). He told me how proud he was of me for serving a mission and how he bragged to his friends about me. I never knew before how he’d felt about me and my mission. I had thought he didn’t care. But then I had hope for him—inspired by your story! I love that story. I posted it to my brother with my next letter.
A couple of weeks later he wrote me again and thanked me for the story and said it was great. Then he told me how he’d gone to church and seen the bishop and was trying to get his life straightened out. The next letter told me of his plans for a mission later this year. Since then he’s never missed church. Last May he was ordained an elder.
Of course I’m very happy. I know that my fasting and prayers have been answered. Your story has a place in my journal along with my brother’s letters. I wanted to share this with you because I thought you might enjoy a real-life story with a happy ending. Brother Henrie’s story was certainly inspired!
Name Withheld

I am Hannah. I am 18. And I am a cancer survivor.
I took a walk recently and was reminded of just how infinite our Savior’s love is. Even if I gave Him everything, it would never compare to His love for me.
I passed by people who smiled and waved.
I came to a park, where I swung on the swings.
I sat on a bench and watched a bird gather grass clippings for a nest, a butterfly land at my feet and flutter its wings, the cotton fall from the trees and be caught in the breeze, and a spiderweb glisten in the sunlight.
I listened to the wind rustle the leaves on the trees, the birds sing, the water from the lake wash up on the sand, and a bee buzz its way through the grass.
I felt the sun’s warm rays on my face, arms, and legs. I felt the wind brush against me, cooling my skin and rushing through my hair. Then I thought of what a miracle that was. I have hair. I felt my heart pump and my pulse slow down as I rested.
Then I just thought. I thought of what has happened and what may happen. I pictured myself years from now with the ones I love most laughing and playing in a similar park. I don’t remember everything I thought, but it doesn’t really matter, because in the end the song “My Heavenly Father Loves Me” (Children’s Songbook, 228–29) consumed my thoughts. I repeated it over and over, and I felt one last thing: peaceful, true, eternal, and amazing love.
And that is what it all comes down to—love.

When James R. Heap accepted his mission call, he was well aware of the years of college, medical school, and residency lying ahead. Still, he wasn’t worried that a mission break would hinder him professionally. Upon returning home he quickly made up for “lost” time. After three years of college he was accepted to medical school—the first year of medical school was applied to his graduation requirements—and he became a doctor of medicine at the age of 26, the same age as many others who had gone straight through. (Incidentally, he was serving in the branch presidency of a student branch at the time.) He then took a three-year residency at Scott Air Force Base Medical Center in Illinois and is presently established as a family practice specialist in Phoenix, Arizona.
During those years of internship and residency, he continued his Church service, fulfilling many responsible callings, among them executive secretary, Sunday School teacher, and high councilor.
Dr. Heap feels that his mission contributed in a large way to his success as a physician. When he returned to college, he found that his capacity for learning, and the speed with which he did it, were increased. More importantly, devoting his time and talents to full-time missionary work brought about an increased love and concern for others. “Intelligence alone is not enough,” he maintains. “Intelligence plus a Christlike love for mankind is the perfect combination for a successful and respected physician.”
In addition to his present responsibilities as husband, father of five, and physician, Dr. Heap still finds time to serve as the ward music chairman, ward organist and choir accompanist, family relations teacher, and temple preparation seminar teacher. He has done more, at the relatively young age of 30, than many do in a lifetime.
How does he manage it, one might wonder.
“The more I give, the more I’m blessed and the more I’m able to do effectively,” he answers. “Happiness has come into my life through service to my God, my family, and my fellowmen.”

Beyond my family story, I want to share my testimony of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. A pivotal moment in my spiritual journey came when I received the Book of Mormon in French from a friend while working as a hotel security supervisor. Reading its pages filled me with hope and a sense of belonging I had never known. Its introduction, which humbly acknowledges human imperfections, inspired a profound exploration of its truths. Life’s trials have tested my faith and resilience. Loneliness, loss, and the struggle to find a place to call home have been persistent challenges. Yet these very hardships have refined me, teaching me to lean on the Lord and trust His timing. Quiet moments of reflection have brought clarity and strength, allowing me to feel the guiding influence of the Holy Ghost. Each trial reminds me that God’s hand is always at work, shaping me for a greater purpose.
Following those promptings, I eventually found my way to Tema, Ghana. It was here that I began committed lessons with the missionaries. I owe a heartfelt thank you to them, especially Elder Young, whose dedication and spirit inspired me to grow closer to the Savior.
On a beautiful Sunday morning, December 22, 2024, I was baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. From the moment I joined, I have felt the love and care among the members. The Church has brought light and joy into my life, and I am forever grateful for the blessings it has provided.

Illustration by Mark Robison
Bobby bounded down the stairs to his toy chest full of building blocks. It was Friday. That meant there was only one day left of freedom before Saturday.
Bobby didn’t like Saturday mornings. Every Saturday his family had to do their chores. There was mopping and dusting, vacuuming and scrubbing. They even had to clean their bedrooms!
Bobby sat down beside his block chest and started building The Tallest Block Tower in the Universe. He knew it was important to get the house ready for Sunday, but what was the point of a weekend if you spent so much time working?
As Bobby continued building, he heard someone talking in the kitchen.
“But, Mom,” his older sister Charlotte said, “my birthday is on Saturday. Working tomorrow morning will ruin the whole day! Can I do my chores today instead?”
“That sounds like a great idea,” Mom said.
Charlotte left the kitchen and walked upstairs. Bobby stopped building to watch her go. Tomorrow was Charlotte’s birthday. Good thing she could get her chores over with now.
He turned back to his tower, then stopped. He set his blocks down. Maybe she doesn’t have to do her chores at all, he thought.
Bobby raced up the stairs to see Charlotte wheeling the vacuum cleaner down the hall. Before she could plug it in, he ran over to her.
“Stop! Don’t do your chores!” Bobby cried out.
Charlotte shook her head. “I can’t stop,” she said. “If I don’t do them today, then I’ll have to do them on my birthday, and that’s no fun.”
She started to plug in the vacuum cleaner, but Bobby stepped in front of her. “But I want to do them for you!” he said. “I’ll do both of our chores. You don’t have to do any of them.”
Charlotte looked up, surprised. “You would do that for me?”
Bobby winced a little inside. He knew it was going to be a lot of work. There would be two bathrooms to scrub and two rooms to clean. He looked over at The Tallest Block Tower in the Universe. There might not be time this weekend to finish it after all.
But he looked back at his sister and smiled. “Yes. Happy birthday!”
A huge smile spread across Charlotte’s face. She gave Bobby a big hug. “Thank you!” she said as she ran happily down the hall.
Bobby looked over at the vacuum. Plugging it in, he started working on the first of Charlotte’s Saturday chores. His sister was worth it. The tower would have to wait.

Finally, seek to serve others while experiencing trials. During the time Josh was being treated for cancer, he was granted a wish from the Make-A-Wish Foundation. Perhaps you have heard of that organization. They were famously highlighted a year or so ago when a five-year-old battling leukemia wished he could be Batman for a day, and so he helped save San Francisco from the Riddler, while tens of thousands gathered to watch and cheer him on. It was a touching experience that has since been made into a film.

In our case, Josh could ask for anything he wanted, and his brothers and sister chimed in on what he should wish for—including meeting NBA great Lebron James, going to Disneyland, or going on a Caribbean cruise. However, when we went to Josh and discussed his wish with him alone—away from his siblings—we discovered that he had already decided what he wanted. He said that so much of the year had been focused on him and his treatment, that he decided he wanted to give his wish away to his siblings. It was the first time in Make-A-Wish's history in the state of Idaho that someone gave what they termed a "give-back" wish. His wish was to give his siblings a surprise Christmas. We were amazed about his request, and we tried to determine whether this is what he really wanted--but he assured us that this was what he wanted most.

He spent weeks gathering information about what his brothers and sister wanted for Christmas, and then spent several days in Salt Lake City after one of his chemotherapy treatments shopping for presents. It was a great distraction from his own suffering. We will never forget that Christmas as long as we live! Josh—all dressed up in a Santa suit—handing out presents to his siblings.

In giving his "wish" away to his family, I believe that it helped Josh have time where he could distract himself from his own burdens, and have joy in witnessing the happiness of others.

A faithful member shared her testimony of how the power of goodness influenced her life. She writes:
“Until I was about eight years old, I was oblivious to the fact that my mother had serious health problems—later diagnosed as multiple sclerosis. When I was a first-year Beehive, I awoke one May morning to find that my mother was paralyzed from the neck down. She was already blind.”
Confined to her bed, this courageous woman became the hub of the household. Her daughter wrote:
“One day it fell upon me to clean the oven, a chore I approached with self-pity and much complaining. I went into her bedroom to whine a little and realized that Mom was crying. She said, ‘Do you know how much I would give to be able to get up and scrub that oven?’ I gained a different perspective on the nature of work. To this day, I think of that experience every time the oven needs cleaning.”
She continues: “An unusual blessing came to me in having my mother available. She listened patiently to my early-adolescent concerns and questions. She made me feel like the most important and interesting person in the world. She was always HOME—attentive, interested, and always available.”
Her mother died the spring of her senior year. She relates:
“One of the hardest moments in my young life was the day I returned home from school to an empty house and walked down that long hallway to her bedroom. My built-in counselor and confidante was no longer there, but she had given me those eternal, intangible gifts of love, wisdom, and acceptance. I will be forever grateful for her goodness.”
This strong woman, though physically helpless, had the power to love, to motivate, to inspire, to perpetuate righteousness, to do good.

I recall vividly when I was presiding over a mission some years ago in Central and South America. I was interviewing a sister by the name of Sister Rodgers. As we were speaking in warm conversation, she looked at me and she said, “President, I just found out with whom I am going to the temple to be sealed.”

I smiled and I said, “Sister Rodgers, is it logical, while you dedicate all of your time, your efforts, and all of your thoughts to the service of the Lord in the mission field, that the Lord would tell you here who you are going to marry?”

She said, “No, it isn’t logical, but I know.”

At the instant she said that there came to my mind, as clearly as can be, a face and a name.

I said, “Sister Rodgers, I believe you. What’s more, I know who it is.”

She looked at me in a very surprised manner and she said, “You do?”

I said, “Yes, the face just flashed before my mind, and I know his name. Sister Rodgers, in this mission we have five countries. He is one of the missionaries.” I hadn’t mentioned his name. “And I don’t recall your even working in the same country with him. So I don’t understand how you would know him.”

She said, “President, I haven’t worked in the same country or the same city, but I was at one zone conference and I saw him at a distance and the Lord told me he was to be my eternal companion.”

I said, “And his name is ———.”

And she said, “Yes.”

She smiled and shed some tears. We spoke on for a few minutes and then she told me about another experience she had had with someone in the field. Again, the impression clearly came to my mind of his face and his name, and I said, “I know who he is, also. It was———.”

She said, “Yes.”

You can imagine the warm rapport we felt between the two of us, knowing that the Lord was blessing us, knowing that he is interested in every single missionary. That is to say, every single missionary whether he is in the field or out of the field.

I was pleased to note, in the not too distant future, even though she lived in California and he lived in Idaho, that I received an invitation to the temple marriage, because they met at BYU. I have visited them since. They live in Boise, Idaho. They have a beautiful, happy home, in which I have dined. They have four beautiful children. He’s the bishop of the ward and a practicing lawyer.

Can you imagine the anchor they have because of that divine guidance they received from the Lord? It is the anchor to their marital life for eternity, knowing the Lord’s will had been manifested to them as to who they were to marry. Such guidance is so essential to us all of the time.

Some years ago as a seaman on the USS Bairoko, I had an experience that taught me the importance of having a reliable lifeline. Our aircraft carrier was operating off the coast of Korea in rather choppy seas. As one of the Corsair fighter planes was attempting a landing, the ship rolled sharply, and the plane bounced off the flight deck, flipped over, and landed upside down, dangling partly on the ship and partly in the water. The pilot was rescued by a team of men linked together by a lifeline that enabled them to make their way down the wing to the plane’s cockpit. It became necessary, however, to rig a large crane to retrieve the plane.
The boom, or arm, of the crane was stored in a cradle, or saddle-like device, approximately six to eight feet out from the side of the flight deck over the water. The rather dangerous assignment to release the boom was given to me.
I put on a life jacket, and a lifeline secured to a steel cleat on the deck was placed about my waist and between my legs. Three men stood on the flight deck holding on to the line to save me should I slip from my precarious position.
With my arms and legs straddling the boom, I inched my way along over the churning waters. The men holding the lifeline kept assuring me that they would not let me fall—at least not very far.
When I reached the cradle where the boom rested, the nut and key bolt securing it appeared to be somewhat rusted from months at sea. It appeared that a great deal of force would be needed to jar it free. This would be no small trick while I was sitting astride the slick, round boom. The lifeline team readied themselves, knowing that the push with my rigger’s spike might throw me off balance and cause me to fall.
With the spike in place, I leaned forward, making a quick, heavy thrust, expecting the nut to resist my effort. Unexpectedly, the nut spun free, and the force of the thrust sent me quickly off the boom. Surprisingly, however, rather than tumbling down into the water, I spun completely around and stopped atop the boom in an upright position. By grasping the steel cradle, I was able to steady myself. The men holding the lifeline had stood firmly in place, carefully managing the line, making my situation as guarded and safe as possible.
Soon the boom was rigged, the plane lifted aboard, and the crew returned to their regular duties.
Several days later we arrived in port in Kobe, Japan. Waiting to welcome me there was a letter from my mother. After words of greeting and family news, Mother had written: “We try not to worry too much about you, Rex. We pray for you every day.”
My recent harrowing experience at sea had made me grateful for the strength and support of a lifeline in the hands of strong and reliable men. My mother’s letter reminded me of the lifeline of the greatest security and trust, the gospel of Jesus Christ. That lifeline is secured in the hands of God. If I would hold to it and live by it, it would hold me secure to eternal life.

When I was young, I was overly dependent on my older sister. For example, I was a fussy eater, and when we went to visit our grandparents, I was constantly faced with being offered food I didn’t like. When the plate was passed to me, I would turn to my sister and ask, “Collene, do I like this?”
If it was familiar and she knew that I didn’t like it, she would say, “No, you don’t like that.”
If it was something we hadn’t eaten before, she would say, “Just a minute,” and taste it, and then tell me if I liked it or not. If she said that I didn’t like it, no amount of coaxing could get me to eat it.
Just as I needed to rely on my own taste buds and stop denying myself good food just because my sister told me that I didn’t like it, we must all feast on the fruit of our own testimony and not the testimony of another person. We also need to increase our ability to receive personal revelation.

I remember visiting a friend in southern India. This man worked as an accountant in a cement plant. His salary was meager. His house was small; it would fit into the front room of many homes. But his heart was large and overflowing. Out of a great love for others that came from his understanding of the gospel of Jesus Christ, he built a school with his own hands on a piece of ground he bought from his savings. It was a simple, rough building; but studying there were some 400 poor children, each being brought out of the darkness of illiteracy into the light of learning. What this act of love has meant and will mean in their lives is beyond calculation.
Through this one man’s efforts, there were established five small branches of the Church in the rural villages of southern India. The members constructed three or four little buildings, neat and clean. Over the door of each was a sign, in both English and Tamil, that read, “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.” The floors were of concrete and without benches where the people sat together as we met, shared our testimonies, and partook of the sacrament of the Lord’s Supper.
Someday, someone will write the story of the Church in India. That story will be incomplete unless there is a chapter on my friend who lost himself in the service of others.2

During my high school years, I played football and had a good friend named Ryan. I frequently offered him rides home from practice. Early one morning in February of 2003, my senior year, I was at school getting help from my math teacher. A girl walked in the door and announced the death of my friend Ryan. I was astonished and almost didn’t believe the words I had just heard. A good friend of mine, whom I had just talked to a week before, was now dead.
I made the decision to miss school the next week and attend the funeral services. Upon arriving, I noticed that the building was very beautiful and bore the logo of the church to which it belonged—The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The moment I walked in the door, I felt something different: a sense of peace, joy, and happiness—feelings that are not typically experienced at a funeral. As the services progressed, I noticed a new vocabulary, one that I had never before heard. The words gospel and Atonement entered into my mind for the first time. It was something new and unheard-of but, oddly enough, familiar. I listened attentively as Ryan’s mom spoke, and tears came to my eyes. Something was telling me that this “plan of salvation,” which she was speaking about, was true. I felt that the people in this chapel had something in their lives that I did not, and for some reason, I felt a desire to get it.
Now, I was not completely oblivious to Mormons. I grew up in Mesa, Arizona, where members of the Church come in great abundance. I knew two things for sure: first, many of my friends were members of the Church, and second, Church members believed in something called the Book of Mormon. I had a newfound desire to get my hands on this book and to find out what this religion was all about.
In March of 2003, one of my good friends, Bret, invited me to help with his Eagle Scout project. After school the next day we drove in his truck with another friend of ours, Camden, to where the project would be. Inspired by the Spirit, Bret directed Camden to a Book of Mormon situated in a holder in the passenger-side door. He told him to open to a verse he had recently read in the Book of Alma. My interest was sparked, and for the first time, I saw the book I wanted so very badly. However, I was too scared to say anything right then. Upon returning that evening, I worked up the confidence to ask Bret for the book. He happily gave it to me and told me to read it. That night I read nine chapters. From the moment I picked up the book, I fell in love with its message.
The next evening, I was sitting in Bret’s living room with his family and two young men dressed in dark suits, both of whom were named “Elder.” I learned these were missionaries for Bret’s church. We watched Finding Faith in Christ. I will admit that I cried during the movie and loved every bit of the lesson. I decided to continue investigating and to come to church. I eventually finished the lessons and accepted everything the elders taught me about being a member of the Church of Jesus Christ.
One night as I was kneeling in prayer after reading a portion of the Book of Mormon, I specifically asked if what I was learning was true. Overwhelming feelings of peace and joy came into my heart. I was feeling the Spirit, and it was answering my prayers. After that time, I knew without a doubt that the Book of Mormon was true. I felt it in my heart and had the knowledge given to me in my mind.
With this new knowledge, I knew what my next step would be. I was baptized on May 3, 2003. The following day, I was confirmed a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I will always remember my baptism, the Spirit I felt, and the covenants I made with my Heavenly Father.
My first year as a member of the Church was a long and difficult one, but also full of rewards. Being the only member in your family isn’t the easiest thing, and I also received much persecution from old friends. In May of 2004, I received the Melchizedek Priesthood and a call to serve in the Virginia Richmond Mission, speaking Spanish. I left my nonmember family in July of 2004, not knowing exactly what I was getting myself into or just what it was that I was leaving behind.
During the beginning months of my mission, I heard many things from many friends about the progress of my parents in the Church. They had been attending church off and on and had allowed the missionaries to come by every so often. I was always excited to hear news. Then one Saturday morning my mission president told me he had just spoken with my stake president about my parents. My parents had decided to join the Church. The gospel had now changed their lives for the better, just as it had mine only two years before.
I am so grateful for my Savior Jesus Christ and for the opportunity I had to serve Him as a missionary. I now understand more fully the plan of salvation. I know that this is the gospel and Church of Jesus Christ. Upon returning from my mission in July of 2006 I was overjoyed to enter the Mesa temple with my parents, where we were sealed as a family for time and all eternity. It’s a day I could hardly have imagined just a few years earlier.

By Mckenzi Ham
Growing up, I never felt any pressure to serve a mission. When I got to college, though, all of that changed. Suddenly I was in a whirlwind of young men and women whose entire futures revolved around serving a mission. Rather than a question of if, serving a mission became a when—even for me.
I wanted a mission to be right for me. I prayed. I talked to my bishop. I counseled with my parents. I read my scriptures. I received a father’s blessing. But I continued to feel anxious and overwhelmed about serving a mission. It wasn’t until I finally made the decision not to serve a mission that I found the peaceful feeling I had been searching for.
I had to just ignore all the voices and opinions around me trying to tell me what was best for me. The decision to serve or not was between me and Heavenly Father. Prayer was my greatest help in keeping the pressure off. As I turned to Him, all those voices seemed to fade away. Initially, I thought that my parents were pressuring me to serve, but when I really opened up and counseled with them, I realized that their love for me would always come first. They became one of my greatest supports.
At first, I absolutely felt judged for not serving a mission. But then I realized that a lot of that judgment was self-inflicted. As I prayed for peace and learned to be patient with myself, those insecurities slowly—so, so, so slowly—began to disappear. As I drew closer to Heavenly Father, I began to understand who I am and how much I’m worth in His eyes.
God put a lot of people in my path to help me grow. I started working and became really close with my coworkers. Most of them were a few years younger than me and were going through hard stuff at school and at home. I was able to be a friend to them, help them understand how much they mattered, and even uplift them spiritually. Even though I didn’t think I was doing much at the time—giving rides home, bringing treats to share—I see now how serving and loving them healed me spiritually.
The specifics of what Heavenly Father wanted me to do were fuzzy at first. But I knew that He loves me and wants me to be happy—to find joy and peace in life. I struggled for months with my decision because I didn’t want to decide. I wanted God to tell me what to do. But He loves me enough to let me choose for myself. To serve as a full-time missionary or continue serving right where I was were both righteous choices. Peace came after I prayerfully made my decision and presented it to Him.
The temple became my greatest source of comfort and peace. Eventually I even received my endowment. My temple experience brought me closer to my Savior and helped me to understand my divine self-worth. My temple covenants have blessed my life and made me feel His love even more. Ever since I received my endowment, I haven’t had any insecurities or felt any pressure about not having served a full-time mission.

Each week Melissa looks at the family home evening chart to see what her assignment will be. When it’s her turn to give the lesson, she likes to use the Friend magazine. “If I use the Friend, I don’t need any help from my mom or dad,” Melissa explains. She often invites a friend to share family home evening with her family. One of her friends enjoyed coming so much that she asked her parents if they could have their own family night.

It was almost time for the town’s annual Easter egg hunt. Children lined up along the edge of the lawn, waiting for the signal to begin hunting for candy that had been scattered everywhere. This year there were other prizes too. Brightly colored plastic eggs had been hidden in the grass, and whoever found one could redeem it for a big candy bar.
Eight-year-old Justin saw one of those eggs lying not far away. As soon as the signal was given, he ran straight for it. He grabbed the egg, then noticed another one close by. Quickly, he retrieved it too. He gazed down at his hands, each now holding a plastic egg. He was so excited. He was not only going to get one, but two delicious, gigantic candy bars!
Then he looked up and saw a mother with her two sons. He could see that the boys were blind, and their mother was holding their hands trying to help them find some treats. As Justin watched them, he noticed that before the mother could lead her sons to candy, another child would spy it and promptly scoop it up. This happened again and again. The hunt was almost over and the boys’ hands were still empty.
Once more, Justin looked down at his hands and his treasured eggs. Then he quietly tiptoed over to the boys, bent down, and placed an egg on the ground by each of them. The mother, with a tear streaming down her cheek, mouthed the words, “Thank you.” She guided her sons’ hands downward and they discovered the precious eggs. Their faces lit up with excitement. Justin got a big grin on his face. He didn’t get any candy bars that day, but he still felt like a winner.

Martha Cumming was born in Scotland in 1884. She reluctantly attended a meeting of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in Edinburgh in 1912, at the invitation of a visiting missionary cousin from America. When those present began to sing, “We Thank Thee, O God, for a Prophet,” she pressed her hands tight to her ears until they had finished.
Working as a domestic servant in a Presbyterian minister’s home in Edinburgh, Martha continued to have occasional contact with the Church. She prayed to be the means of showing them the error of their teachings.
After one meeting with the missionaries, she related, “When I got home that night, I laid there with the lights on pondering the many things pertaining to the gospel, even to the Prophet Joseph. I thought ‘Maybe I am wrong and there is only one way to find out — talk to my Heavenly Father.’ I got out of bed, got on my knees, and prayed. I felt that prayer did not reach further than the ceiling, so I got out of bed again. I felt very humble, so humble and sincere that my prayer was sobbed out — each word. I asked my Heavenly Father if Joseph Smith was really His prophet; I said I didn’t want a sign (as I had known most of my life it was wicked to ask for a sign). I told my Heavenly Father so, but I said, ‘How am I ever going to believe about Joseph Smith unless in your own way, Heavenly Father? Please won’t you tell me. And please forgive me if I am asking wrong’.
“By this time, I was shaking with sobs. I was talking to my Heavenly Father and asking for something that meant so much to me. I got into bed, the light still on, when all at once I heard the most beautiful organ music. Then a choir started to sing — all the parts were sung with the most beautiful voices I had ever heard on this earth. … They sang to me the first song I ever heard in the Mormon meeting in Edinburgh, Scotland when I stopped my ears so I could not hear the few people who were at that meeting singing the song I didn’t want to hear. Yes, it was ‘We Thank Thee, O God, for a Prophet’! That singing went on and on … I lay spellbound listening to every word with tears streaming down my face, my heart and soul rejoicing at every word I heard … Heavenly Father heard me, a humble young woman who earned her living in a minister’s home.”
Taken from the testimony of Martha Hunter Hurry Cumming Clark, as written to her granddaughter Carole Clayton Pulley in 1952. More information can be found at https://ancestors.familysearch.org/en/KWZN-FDZ/martha-hunter-hurry-cumming-1884-1963

Brother Mamin’ny Aina Rakotoarisoa had been hoping to serve a mission since his early childhood, but during his teen years, his desire lessened as he believed he was not worthy to be called. But when a member friend invited him to join a missionary preparation class, it changed everything.1 Despite many challenges, and with help from his bishop, he finally made it. Now, recently released from his two-year, full-time mission, he is planning to marry in the temple.

Thanks to these stories, the children January will have one day will know a lot about their great-grandmother. They will know, for one thing, that she loved animals. January laughed when her grandma told her about trying to take home a frightened little bat from the woods when she was five years old. “She wrapped it in toilet paper and took it to her parents,” explains January. “Then her parents freaked out and told her to put it back.”
She still loves animals. Though she has never had a pet bat, she now has at least 11 birds.