Gospel Story Finder

Illustration by Corey Egbert
One day my missionary companion and I were given a referral to teach a man who lived in a village called Tema, near the beautiful city of Accra, Ghana. The numbering of the houses in that village was not quite accurate, so we were given a written description to help us locate the house.
When we arrived in the village, we followed the directions but could not find the man because there seemed to be many houses that fit that same description. Feeling confused, we decided to knock on doors in the neighborhood to ask, but no one seemed to know the man we were looking for. I had the prompting to ask Heavenly Father for help.
After we prayed, I had the feeling that we would find the man we were looking for, so we intensified our efforts. Still, we did not find him. We got tired and decided to return to our proselyting area because we had other appointments. When we got to the taxi park, the taxi driver who had brought us to the village saw the disappointed looks on our faces and asked if we had found who we were looking for. Our answer was, of course, no.
He suggested we go inside a school that stood on the corner and ask there. We told him that was not the description we had been given, but he insisted. We got out of the taxi and headed to the school—not because we thought we would find anyone, but just to please our concerned friend.
As we started walking toward the administration building at the school, a little boy came running in our direction. He smiled and told us that he and his brother were the only members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints living in this area and that he could help us.
My companion and I looked at each other in disbelief. It was a miracle. The boy helped us find the man we were looking for, and eventually he accepted the gospel and was baptized.
This experience taught me that Heavenly Father answers prayers in His own time and in His own way. When we do not get immediate answers to our prayers, we can exercise faith in Him and learn to be patient.

Janelle could hardly wait until Trisha’s birthday party on Friday night. Trisha was turning 11. The invitation promised games, refreshments, and a video. It was the last party of the school year before Janelle’s friends went their separate ways for the summer.
Janelle was the first to arrive at the party. Once all the girls had arrived, Trisha led them to the family room. Crepe-paper streamers decorated it.
After they had birthday cake and Trisha opened her presents, she pulled out the video. “Look what movie I have. My big brother rented it.”
Janelle recognized the video as an R-rated movie. In family home evening, her parents had talked about the right and wrong kind of movies. She knew if she stayed to watch it, she would be going against the standards they’d tried to teach her and against the teachings of the prophet. President Hinckley had spoken out against seeing bad movies. Then she thought of the promises she’d made at the time of her baptism.
“I’m sorry,” she quietly said to Trisha, “but I can’t watch this. I think I’d better call my mom. She’ll come to get me.”
The disappointment in Trisha’s eyes nearly caused Janelle to change her mind. Then she remembered her parents’ counsel that if she ever felt uneasy or worried in a situation, she should call them and they would come for her. She found Trisha’s mom in the kitchen.
“Mrs. Powers, can I call my mom?” Janelle asked.
Mrs. Powers looked up from where she was putting plates in the dishwasher. “Is anything wrong?”
Janelle didn’t want to get Trisha in trouble, but she knew she couldn’t stay at the party. She explained about the movie. Trisha’s mom looked troubled. After she showed Janelle where the phone was, she hurried downstairs. Janelle called and told her mother what was going on.
“I’ll be there in 10 minutes,” her mother said.
Just then, Trisha and the other girls trooped upstairs. “We aren’t going to watch the movie,” Trisha told Janelle. “Please don’t leave.”
The rest of the girls nodded in agreement.
“I thought it’d be cool to watch that movie, but I knew it wasn’t right,” Trisha added, her face reddening. “We thought we’d play some games.”
Janelle grinned. “Let me call my mom back before she leaves and tell her I’ll be staying after all.”
“Thanks, Janelle,” one of the other girls said. “If it hadn’t been for you, the whole party would have been ruined.”
Standing up for what she believed hadn’t been easy, but Janelle was glad that she had.
Trisha threw her arms around Janelle’s neck. “Thanks for staying. The party wouldn’t have been the same without you.”
Janelle hugged her friend back.

That evening, Holly went to the LDS dance, which is one of the highlights of social life for young Latter-day Saints in Calgary. After the dance, she brought home many of her friends to meet her grandfather, who received them with graciousness and humor. He made them all feel like old and valued friends, and they also felt the powerful witness of the Spirit that they were in the presence of a beloved servant of God.

I often think back to my time with President Kimball. He would invite me to his family camping trips, picnics, and Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners. Even then I knew that he truly was an Apostle and prophet of the Lord Jesus Christ.
I met President Kimball one last time while he was very ill. But he still smiled at me and hugged me. He was my first LDS contact, and I knew he would never let go of me.

Isaac Stern, the world-famous musician-violinist, was asked by a television talk show host at what point in his life he determined to devote his energies toward a career as a concert violinist. Mr. Stern told of having given his first concert in San Francisco at a young age. Music critics were extremely impressed and predicted a fine future for the promising young talent. With this encouragement, Isaac Stern began preparations for another concert a year later in New York City. The critics were not so kind to him there. It would require a tremendous amount of work, they judged, if Isaac Stern were to achieve success as a soloist.
Dejected and discouraged, the young Mr. Stern boarded one of New York City’s double-decker buses and rode it up and down Manhattan a number of times. He was, in his words, “crying inside” as he tried to decide where he was going from there. Were his critics correct? Had he gone as far as he was capable of going? Should he now seek a profession as just another member of an orchestra?
After his fourth bus ride through the city, he returned to his apartment where his mother was waiting. He had made his decision. “I am going to work, mother—work at my music until it works for me.” Today Isaac Stern is acclaimed as one of the finest violinists in the world. Work is a principle with a blessing. Work builds us physically and spiritually. It increases both our strength of body and our strength of character.

At the same time I had an experience that was very important to me. I used to go down to a local gym to work out. One time when I was down there in the late morning, I noticed Elder Marion D. Hanks of the Seventy. We were the only two in the gym, and he struck up a conversation with me.
After a little small talk, I asked him if I could ask a question.
“Sure, please go ahead,” he said. He was very friendly, very warm.
“I’m trying to decide whether to go on a mission.”
He said, “What are the things that you are thinking about? What are the considerations?”
I said, “Really just one, and it is a question about the amount of time it would take.”
“What do you mean?” he asked.
At this point in time I thought I wanted to be a doctor. My father was a doctor, and I wanted to be a doctor. This was before I knew much about organic chemistry.
I said, “I’m 19 now and still have three years of college and then time as an intern and a resident. I expect to be drafted into the military (it was during the Vietnam conflict) plus a mission. You add all of these things up, I’ve got 14 or 15 years to go before I get to real life. If I do all of these things, I won’t get to real life until I’m 33 or 34 years old. That seems like a very late start.”
He said, “Well, that’s an interesting question. You should know that I did not serve a mission. I was in the military during World War II and was not able to serve a mission, but I’ll tell you how I think you should answer the question.”
He asked me, “How old are you now?”
I said, “I’m 19.”
“How old will you be in 14 years if you don’t do any of those things?”
I answered, “I’ll be 33.”
He again asked me, “How old are you now?”
I said, “I’m 19.”
“How old will you be in 14 years if you do all of those things?”
I said, “I’ll be 33.”
Then he asked me. “When you are 33, what would you rather have done? None of those things, half of those things, or all of those things?”
I saw immediately the wisdom of his response, and it just penetrated me. I saw how it fit with what I had seen in the returned missionaries on campus. I decided then and there I was going to serve a mission.

Growing up LDS was pretty normal to me. Most of my friends were LDS. We went to Primary together, played together, and then moved on to Young Women and Young Men together. I had my future planned by the age of 15: get married in the temple, go to college and become a fashion designer, start a family, and continue to live the teachings of the gospel. I was obedient to the Church standards.
But when I was 17, I started questioning the Church and became more relaxed in keeping my standards high. By my senior year of high school I had stopped going to church. I thought I was in love with a boy and felt that he was all I needed. I tore up my relationship with my family. That fall, after graduation, the boy and I split up, my heart was broken, and I fell in with the wrong crowd. I thought drugs and alcohol could fill the emptiness in my heart. For the next three years I wandered, spiritually blind. Occasionally I would have spiritual moments, but I either ignored them or was too proud to recognize that the Lord was there for me.
About this time my younger brother was preparing for a mission. I started to feel that something was missing in my life, but I couldn’t figure it out. I was still very lost until the night he was set apart as a missionary. That night as I sat in a room full of close friends and family, I could feel the Spirit’s presence. I started to feel the warmth of my Savior, and in my heart I could feel the fullness I had been missing. I felt a whisper in my ear as if to say “This is what you need.” I knew in that instant that the Church is what I needed.
Since then I have repented and firmly held on to the iron rod. It isn’t always easy, and I am often tempted, but because I feel closer to the Savior, I recognize the temptations now and shun them. Never have I understood the promptings of the Spirit so clearly in my life. The Spirit speaks so clearly when you’re listening. The Lord will always be there for you as much as you are willing to let Him into your life. And if you have strayed, He will still be standing near to offer a hand to help you repent and get back up and onto the right path.

Several years ago I heard Elder Gerald N. Lund of the Seventy describe a magazine article about rock climbing. The article discussed belaying—the fail-safe system that protects climbers. One climber gets into a safe position, fastens the rope in a fixed position, then calls to his or her companion, “You’re on belay”—meaning “I’ve got you.” The director of a climbing school, Alan Czenkusch, described his experience with belaying to the author of the article:
“Belaying has brought Czenkusch his best and worst moments in climbing. Czenkusch once fell from a high precipice, yanking out three mechanical supports and pulling his belayer off a ledge. He was stopped, upside down, 10 feet [3 m] from the ground when his spread-eagled belayer arrested the fall with the strength of his outstretched arms.
“‘Don saved my life,’ says Czenkusch. ‘How do you respond to a guy like that? Give him a used climbing rope for a Christmas present? No, you remember him. You always remember him.’”

Elder D. Todd Christofferson of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles shared a childhood experience that impressed upon him the importance of a loving family. When he and his brothers were boys, their mother had radical cancer surgery that made it very painful for her to use her right arm. With a family of boys, there was a lot of ironing, but as his mother ironed, she often stopped and went into the bedroom to cry until the pain subsided.
When Elder Christofferson’s father realized what was happening, he secretly went without lunches for almost a year to save enough money to buy a machine that made ironing easier. Out of his love for his wife, he set an example of nurturing within families for his boys. Of this tender interaction, Elder Christofferson said, “I was not aware of my father’s sacrifice and act of love for my mother at the time, but now that I know, I say to myself, ‘There is a man.’”4

On February 29, 1828, a baby girl was born in Petersham, Massachusetts. She was the seventh child of David and Diadama Woodward. Named Emmeline, the child soon showed a talent for writing and a desire to learn, so her parents enrolled her in grammar school. Even after Emmeline’s father died, her mother made sure that Emmeline attended school. Later Diadama remarried, and the family moved to nearby New Salem. This move benefited Emmeline greatly. There her mother was able to raise the money needed for tuition to send Emmeline to a good private school, the New Salem Academy.
While Emmeline was away at school, an elder from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints came to New Salem and converted several people. Among them were Emmeline’s mother, her two younger sisters, and a half brother. When Emmeline returned home from school, her mother encouraged her to join the Church too. Despite the objections of Emmeline’s friends and her older brothers and sisters, she was baptized in the Old Morse Creek on March 1, 1842.
After finishing school, Emmeline began teaching in Orange, Massachusetts, for $1.50 a week. However, her teaching career was soon cut short. Fearing that her daughter, standing alone, might not be able to withstand the persecutions against the Church, Diadama arranged a quick marriage in July 1843 between Emmeline and James Harris, a son of the local branch president. The youngsters were both fifteen years old at the time.
In April 1844 Emmeline left Massachusetts with her husband and his family for Nauvoo, Illinois. Upon their arrival in Nauvoo, Emmeline had the privilege of meeting and shaking the hand of the Prophet Joseph Smith, who was cruelly martyred just a few months later.
Times were hard for the Saints, and James’s parents wanted to leave the Church. They entreated their son and his pregnant wife to join them, but the young couple refused. Emmeline and James’s child, a son, was born in September 1844, but he died several weeks later. After losing their child, James left to find work and never returned.
Grieving and alone at the age of sixteen, Emmeline decided to remain in Nauvoo and teach school. She became acquainted with Bishop Newel Whitney, and on February 14, 1845, they were married. In 1848, Emmeline traveled with Newel and his family to Salt Lake City, Utah. Within two weeks of their arrival in the Valley, Emmeline gave birth to a girl.
After living in Salt Lake Valley for two years, Newel died. Once again Emmeline was left alone, and again she turned to teaching. She taught sixty-five children in a log house without desks, blackboard, or books.
Emmeline’s teaching career ended in October 1852 when she married Daniel H. Wells, a prominent Church leader, who later served as a counselor to Brigham Young for twenty years. Daniel and Emmeline had three daughters, and Emmeline was a devoted wife and mother. Secure in her marriage, Emmeline was able to use many of her talents, especially her writing. She wrote letters and poems to friends and relatives. Writing had become for her a “solace in times of trouble and sorrow, something to turn to for relief, and in a way a pasttime.”
Emmeline’s talent for writing soon led her to contribute to the Woman’s Exponent. Later she became its assistant editor and then editor in 1877. She served as an editor for almost forty years. This nationally recognized publication was the second woman’s magazine to be created in the United States and the first one in the West.
While editor of the Woman’s Exponent, Emmeline felt that its major purpose was to educate women about all subjects and to encourage them to be active in public affairs, particularly politics. Women were encouraged to write their thoughts down and to submit them to the magazine.
Through her work Emmeline became known to the national leaders of the suffrage movement. In Utah she was elected vice president of the Women’s Suffrage Association. Emmeline became a personal friend of Susan B. Anthony and corresponded with her regularly. She attended several conventions in Washington, D.C., and met several presidents of the United States, never passing up an opportunity to speak out for women’s right to vote. In an interview with the associated press in Washington, D.C., she said, “For one, I am proud of Utah’s record in dealing with her female citizens. I look forward with eager hope to the day when woman suffrage shall become universal.”
President Brigham Young also knew the power of the written word and the importance of women in the Church. In September 1876 he met with Emmeline in his office and said to her: “I want to give you a mission, and it is to save grain. … I want the sisters to save the grain and I want. … you to begin by writing the strongest editorial that you can possibly write upon this subject.”
In 1876 Emmeline’s first editorial encouraging all women to save wheat appeared in the Woman’s Exponent. A central grain committee was established with Emmeline as chairman. Money was raised to buy wheat, fields were gleaned, and wheat was saved. Children helped the sisters too. During the first year of the program over 10,000 bushels of grain were saved! In subsequent years the wheat was given to the poor as well as to people in southern Utah who suffered from a drought. Flour was sent to San Francisco after the earthquake and fire in 1906, and a year later China received help from the Church during a famine. During World War I, the Relief Society sold more than one hundred thousand bushels of wheat to the United States government.
Emmeline wrote several songs, including “Our Mountain Home So Dear.” In 1896 she published a book of her poems entitled Musings and Memories. She also wrote for the Deseret News, Juvenile Instructor, Millennial Star, and national newspapers and magazines. Emmeline founded two literary societies in Utah.
No matter what Emmeline was doing in her life she always felt that she was serving the Church. At the age of eighty-two Emmeline was called to be the fifth general president of the Relief Society. She served faithfully in that capacity for eleven years. In 1921, three weeks after her release as president, Emmeline died. For the first time in Utah, flags were flown at half-staff to honor a woman—Emmeline B. Wells.

“They told us that being in the series would strengthen our testimonies,” said Cyndi Andreason, who plays Lisa Parker, “but I didn’t understand how it would.” She was soon to find out. When they began filming, Cyndi was going through a period of questioning. “I was active in the Church and I did everything,” she relates, “But I had a lot of doubts. I wondered if it was really worth the effort.”

After working more than 300 hours on the series, Cyndi realized that it was, indeed, worth the effort. “I saw what can happen when you don’t follow the teachings of the Church, and I didn’t want that to happen to me,” she said. Cyndi is probably more like the cheerful, obedient character she plays than anyone else in the series, except maybe for Dan Wilcox, who plays the part of Benjamin Parker, Lisa’s cousin.

David had been playing on a children’s baseball team all season. More than anything else he wanted to be a regular member on the team, and he wanted to be a pitcher. He never missed a practice or a game. Whenever his dad or his older brother could find the time, he’d get them to throw the ball back and forth with him. Even when David watched television he would wear his baseball glove and pop a ball in and out of it almost automatically. Sometimes he’d forget to take the mitt off when his mother called him for meals, and then the family would have to wait while David put the mitt away, washed his hands, and came to the table.
Near the end of the baseball season the coach told all the little leaguers they should meet at the ball park on a certain Sunday morning to have a special practice and to have their pictures taken. “I can’t come on Sunday,” said David.
“You’d better,” said the coach, “because we’re going to talk about our team for next year after we have our pictures taken.”
Usually, David ran home full of excitement after a ball game or a practice. But this night he was late, and he hardly answered when his family spoke to him. He was unusually quiet all week, but on Sunday he didn’t go to the ball park. On Monday he was at practice and at every practice afterward. Finally the day came for the tests to see who would be on next year’s team.
“You’ll be one of our regular pitchers,” the coach told David, “but you’ll have to play whenever a game is scheduled. We need you, and that will mean sometimes you will play on a Sunday.”
“I can’t play ball on Sundays,” David said.
“Then you’ll have to be an alternate pitcher instead of a regular one,” answered the coach. And that is how it was all season. Sometimes David had a chance to pitch a game but more often he didn’t. The other boys on the team played on Sundays, but David went to Sunday School and sacrament meeting with his family.
In the spring when David was ten years old, the coach called the boys together to begin a new season and to make selections for the team. “We’ll need you for a regular pitcher this year, David,” he said. “But sometimes you’ll need to play on a Sunday.”
“I’ll have to think about it,” said David. That night he talked the problem over with his dad, and then he said a special prayer for help to have the courage to do what he knew was right. The next day he told the coach he’d have to be just a standby pitcher again. The coach only shook his head.
Several weeks went by and David was at every practice. One night the coach called the boys around him. He explained that David couldn’t play ball on Sunday even though the team often had a game on that day. “But I’d like him to be our pitcher anyhow,” he went on. “If you agree, we could let David be our regular weekday pitcher and have a standby pitcher for Sunday games. How about it?”
There was a moment of silence. David could hardly breathe. The team members hesitated only a minute, and then every little leaguer agreed wholeheartedly to the plan.
The coach smiled. “Then it’s settled,” he said. “David will be our pitcher.” David’s eyes filled with tears. He knew that Heavenly Father had helped him to do what was right.

The traffic signal changed to DON’T WALK just as the girls reached the corner. Carla stopped and lifted her sobbing sister up into the stone fence. She used a tissue to blot a trickle of blood from Pam’s knees and scratched hands. The dark-haired girl thought her little sister was more upset and angry than seriously injured. Still Carla was anxious to reach home and turn the problem over to their mother.
They had been playing at the park with friends when a group of older boys swaggered up to them and ordered the girls to leave the swings. The youths were too big for the play equipment but Carla and the others didn’t argue. The snickering boys were looking for trouble. As unfair as it was, the girls surrendered the swings.
Pam was too young to understand that it was best to avoid trouble and to leave the park at once. She had waited for her turn and she was determined to take it.
“Let’s go home, Pam. We can come back and play after supper,” Carla pleaded nervously. The other frightened girls had quickly left.
“No! They’re not playing fair,” Pam cried, looking stubborn. “It’s my turn and I don’t want to go home yet. You promised to swing me up high. I don’t want to play after supper. I want to swing now!”
“Pam, please! Let them have the swings,” Carla whispered. She tried to pry the little girl’s fingers loose from the chains, but Pam held on tightly.
“I’ll get that kid out of there!” the tallest boy boasted. He slapped Pam’s hands but she didn’t loosen her grip. The others laughed and shouted encouragement. Pam was frightened now and began to cry. One boy held Carla back when she tried to protect her sister. The tall one jerked and twisted the chains until Pam lost her balance and toppled out of the swing seat.
White with anger and fear, Carla fled with her wailing sister. The boys were scuffling over the swings and didn’t try to stop them.
Carla was busy trying to soothe Pam. She didn’t notice that a car had stopped at the curb until the driver called to her.
“Is the little girl hurt? Get in and I’ll take you home,” the smiling man offered, opening the car door.
Carla was so upset that she almost accepted the offer. She couldn’t stop Pam’s weeping, and the blood trickling down from her sister’s skinned knees frightened her. All she wanted to do was to get Pam home as soon as possible.
“Come on, honey, get in. Don’t be afraid. I won’t hurt you. All I want to do is help,” the driver said enticingly.
Suddenly Carla remembered repeated warnings about getting into cars with strangers. Her parents had told her never to accept a ride from anyone she didn’t know, no matter how nice the person seemed. She also remembered the lecture at school when a police officer had explained that some very sick people look normal but might be dangerous.
Something about the man bothered Carla. Most adults would have rushed to help a child who was hurt. But the florid-faced man didn’t really seem concerned about Pam’s injuries. He just kept inviting the girls into his car while glancing nervously into his rearview mirror. His darting eyes kept searching for anyone watching along the street.
Panic swept over Carla as she recognized a dented and rusted rear fender. She had seen the car before! The last two afternoons it had been parked near the play area at the park. The driver had stayed in it, apparently just watching the children.
Carla’s heart hammered with fear. “Thank you,” she stammered, “but we don’t need a ride. We live just down the block. We’re practically home now.”
It wasn’t true and the man sensed that she was not telling the truth. His eyes narrowed and he stopped smiling.
How can I run with Pam? Carla wondered. We’re over three blocks from home! Relief swept over her as she saw a neighbor’s car coming toward them. “Mr. Benning! Mr. Benning!” she shouted, waving frantically.
The stranger quickly slammed his open door and sped through a red light as Mr. Benning stopped his car and leaped out. Carla ran to him sobbing.
Later, with two police officers sitting in their living room, Carla felt embarrassed by all the trouble she seemed to be causing. Her parents were worried, and the policemen looked grim as one of them made notes.
“He didn’t really do anything,” she whispered shyly. “Maybe I was scared for nothing. Maybe he’s just a nice man who was trying to help us.”
“No, Carla. The man you’ve described isn’t a ‘nice’ man,” the tall officer stated flatly. “We know him. He’s suspected of being a child molester. If you and your sister had gotten into the car with him, you don’t know what might have happened. You were smart to remember all the warnings about accepting rides from strangers.”
Carla shivered and snuggled closer to her father. “I’ll always remember not to accept rides from strangers. And I’ll remind Pam and my friends too!” she said.
“Good,” the policeman said, smiling and closing his notebook. “The more children who remember, the easier my job will be. And don’t worry about any more trouble at the park. I’m going to talk to those older boys and their parents. When they understand that they may be banned from the park or arrested for bullying smaller children, they’ll stay at the ball diamond.” The officer smiled. “And none of you will have to miss your turns on the swings again,” he promised.

A boy called me a mean name at the end of a school day. It made me very sad. I felt like keeping it to myself, but that only made me feel worse. I felt like I should tell my mom. She talked to me and helped me feel a little better. Then I saw the January 2010 Friend on the kitchen table. I read the story “Words that Build Up.” The story made me feel happy inside. It helped me understand that it doesn’t matter what others think about you—it only matters what Heavenly Father thinks. I know I am a child of God. Knowing this helped me have courage to go to school the next morning.

“Mom!” Amy yelled. “Garrett hit me! Make him stop!”
“She started it!” Garrett yelled back. “Make her stop!”
“Kids, kids!” Mom said. “Time for the get-along bucket. Garrett, will you get it?”
Garrett frowned at Amy. But he brought the small plastic bucket to Mom.
“Thanks,” Mom said. “Amy, you pick.” The bucket had slips of paper inside. They had to pick one. Then do what it said. Together.
Garrett hoped they got something fun. Last time they had to wash a window together.
Amy closed her eyes. She pulled a paper from the bucket. “Play in the sandbox together.”
Garrett grinned. That sounded fun! He followed Amy outside.
They got to the sandbox. Amy grabbed a stick. She drew a line down the middle of the sand. “Stay on that side,” she said.
“OK,” Garrett said. He used a little shovel to dig some holes. He pushed some toy trucks around. He didn’t say anything.
A minute went by. He looked at Amy. She was poking holes in the sand with the stick.
“Hey,” Garrett said. “Want to dig a huge hole together?”
“OK!” Amy said.
Garrett handed her a shovel. Together they started digging. Garrett used his dump truck to move sand. Soon they made a big hole! They pretended it was a tunnel to the other side of the world.
“Remember when we washed the window together?” Amy asked. “That was fun too.”
Garrett remembered how they made smiley faces on the glass. Then they washed them off.
“Yeah,” he said. “That was fun. Maybe tomorrow we can play together—without the get-along bucket!”

Illustration by Emily Call
Ever since I was a young boy, I wanted to serve a mission. But in my second year of high school, I started to experience numbness in my feet, knees, and arms. Within weeks, I couldn’t walk, run, or climb stairs.
I started on some medications, thinking it would solve the problem quickly so I could go back to school and prepare for my mission. But instead, I kept getting worse. Soon I couldn’t do anything on my own—I couldn’t brush my hair or even stand up to pick up a TV remote.
I received multiple priesthood blessings, but the disease would not leave me alone. I was admitted to a hospital in Accra where experienced doctors worked on me, but they couldn’t figure out what was wrong. I started to think I would never walk again, much less serve a mission.
While I was in the hospital, the mission president and his wife came to visit me and my mum. He asked me if I would like to serve a mission. I told him I had wanted to, before I got sick. He said, “Don’t worry, you will serve a mission.”
The day after we got home from the hospital, I was sitting with my mum when I heard a voice tell me to stand up and walk. I was scared of falling, but I knew I had to try. I stood up on my own. Slowly, I was able to take my first step, which boosted my confidence. I continued taking additional steps. Even though I was shaky at first, I knew that because of my faith in Jesus Christ and the priesthood blessings I had received, I would be able to serve a mission now.
I went back to school, and immediately after finishing, I submitted my mission papers. I received my call some months later to serve in the Nigeria Lagos Mission. Serving the Lord and teaching His children about the restored gospel gave me so much joy. Though not everyone is healed like I was, I know the Lord will bless anyone, according to His will, when we have faith in Him.
The author lives in Ghana.

“Love your enemies,” challenged my Sunday School teacher one morning. “Do good to those that hate you. Then just watch what happens.”
At the time I received this challenge, my testimony was not yet firm, and I was skeptical about the practicality of this biblical teaching. It couldn’t possibly apply to my life. But I halfheartedly thought I might try it—that is, if I could think of an enemy.
After some thought, I concluded that I had no real enemies, so that took care of that. Then, suddenly, I remembered an incident. When we had moved into the end apartment of a row of four company-owned apartments, our outdoor water faucet wasn’t working. I asked the woman in the next apartment if I could hook my hose to her faucet to water my lawn. (There was no charge for the water.) She informed me that I certainly could not use her faucet and that, if mine was broken, I had better get it fixed and not bother her again!
Well! I would have no more to do with her! I was relieved some time later when she moved to the far end of our row of apartments. It would be just as well not to be next door to her anymore.
Now here was the challenge to love my enemies. She was the nearest person I could think of who would fit that description. Everyone else I knew was a friend. “I could try!” I thought.
Each day I hung out my laundry on the clotheslines at the end of the building, next to this woman’s apartment. She was always sitting on the porch alone. I had usually ignored her, but now I decided to prove whether or not loving my enemies would indeed work.
The next morning when I went to hang out the laundry, the woman was sitting on her porch as usual, drinking coffee and smoking a cigarette. I gave her a smile and said with a gay lilt, “Hi, there!” She glared at me and deliberately turned her head.
“That couldn’t hurt me,” I thought. “I’m just proving a point.” When I finished hanging out my clothes she had gone inside.
Each day after that, I merrily called out, “Hi!” as I passed her and never once got a smile or an answer. One morning, after about two weeks, much to my surprise, she walked over to where I was hanging wet clothes and exchanged a few remarks about the weather.
After that, each day when I came to hang out clothes, she came over and we said a few words—never anything personal. Sometimes we talked about the company both of our husbands worked for, sometimes the weather or a sale at a local store. I certainly never felt that we were friends in any sense of the word. She always seemed cold and reserved in her attitude.
Then one day my husband and I received word that we were to be transferred to a different locality. When I went out the next morning to hang my washing, the woman came to the clothesline as usual to talk. I told her that we were moving away. We passed a few comments about it, and I went back to my apartment.
About an hour after I had gone home, the woman appeared at my door. I was very surprised to see her. Neither of us had ever been in the other’s apartment. She had an odd, strained expression on her face. I invited her to sit down and we tried to talk a little. But there really seemed to be nothing to talk about.
Then, to my astonishment, she burst into tears, sobbing as if her heart would break. She said she couldn’t stand to have me move away. “You are the only friend I have in the whole world,” she said.
Me! Why, I didn’t even know her first name!
I couldn’t think of anything to say to my friend. I only knew that we weren’t enemies any more.
“Oh, Father,” I thought. “Forgive me for doubting your word. I didn’t really do anything for her. I only said hello and visited with her a little. What a flood of proof you’ve given me!”
I have found for myself—not only then, but many times since—that living the principles of the gospel in even the smallest way always proves them to be true.

Brother Artel Ricks tells an interesting story of an inspired Primary teacher. Artel was a little boy five or six years old. One night his family sat around the dinner table and talked about tithing. They told him “that tithing is one-tenth of all we earn and that it is paid to the Lord by those who love Him.”

He loved the Lord, and so he wanted to give the Lord his tithing. He went and got his savings and took one-tenth of his small savings. He says: “I … went to the only room in the house with a lock on the door—the bathroom—and there knelt by the bathtub. Holding the three or four coins in my upturned hands, I asked the Lord to accept them. [I was certain He would appear and take them from me.] I pleaded with the Lord for some time, but [nothing happened. Why would He not accept my tithing?]. As I rose from my knees, I felt so unworthy that I could not tell anyone what had happened. …

“A few days later at Primary, the teacher said she felt impressed to talk about something that was not in the lesson. I sat amazed as she then taught us how to pay tithing [to the bishop, the Lord’s servant]. But what I learned was far more important than how to pay tithing. I learned that the Lord had heard and answered my prayer, that He loved me, and that I was important to Him. In later years I came to appreciate still another lesson my Primary teacher had taught me that day—to teach as prompted by the Spirit.

“So tender was the memory of that occasion that for more than thirty years I could not share it. Even today, after sixty years, I still find it difficult to tell about it without tears coming to my eyes. The pity is that a wonderful Primary teacher never knew that through her, the Lord spoke to a small boy” (“Coins for the Lord,” Ensign, Dec. 1990, 47; “An Answer to Prayer,” Tambuli, May 1988, 28).

I was first introduced to FamilySearch indexing (see page 42) in one of my mom’s Relief Society meetings. I didn’t really understand what it was, but I thought it would be a terrific way to pass off a value project in my Personal Progress booklet. Luckily, my neighbor was able to help me get started.
At first, it was just about getting the 10 hours done. Little did I know that it would be so much more than that. It was so cool to see how old these records were and just have the feeling of helping people find their family history. Now, when I go to the temple, I get an even more powerful feeling than I did before. It makes me feel happy inside.
Indexing also affected my family. My father works in the Church’s Family History Department. When he saw me doing indexing, I could see a spark of excitement go through him. I learned more about his work, and we spent quality time together. Later, I taught my mom how to index and helped with workshops for ward members. After I had finished my 10-hour value project, I found myself still indexing. In about two and a half months, I was able to get over a thousand records done.

In December 1996 I found myself serving a full-time mission in the Mexico Monterrey North Mission. My companion was a young sister from Utah. It was my first Christmas away from home without my children and grandchildren, and I couldn’t stop thinking about what my children were doing and who was preparing dinner, since I wasn’t there to do it.
I was quieter than usual, so my companion gave me a hug and said, “I’m going to make a delicious dinner for you.” I looked at her lovely face and into her beautiful blue eyes that were looking back at me with so much love, the way my children and grandchildren look at me. I smiled at her.
The dinner she prepared was just a warm cinnamon drink, but for me it was a great delicacy. I was 46 years old, and she was only 21. Always I was concerned about giving, and I didn’t think about receiving. As missionaries we did not have any money to give, so we gave love and service instead. Without my companion knowing it, I had bought a pair of gloves and a scarf to protect her from the cold. That was my gift to her. But she gave me something that couldn’t be bought with all the gold in the world: love and service.
That night her gift taught me that Christmas is for giving the most beautiful part of ourselves, the feelings of our hearts. Very shyly I took out my gifts for my dear companion. I felt so humble to give her what I had bought, compared with her great love.
Every Christmas after returning home from my mission, I have shared with my children and grandchildren that wonderful Christmas. I will always be grateful to my Heavenly Father and to Jesus Christ for the holy season of Christmas and to my companion for her example of love.