Gospel Story Finder

She was sure it was late fall of 1993. At least that’s what Amy Westerby thought when she left Provo one morning to travel to Antelope Island located in the middle of the Great Salt Lake in Utah. Somewhere along the way, she seemed to go back in time 600 years before Christ.
Amy had been selected to play the character Susan in the new seminary videos where truths from the Book of Mormon are played out in modern scenarios. This day she was there to participate in the opening shots of the video called I Will Prepare the Way, where her character walks along a long, white sand beach. She was also going to get the chance to see Nephi’s boat being built.
According to Amy it was amazing to see a huge wooden boat being constructed before her eyes. And the men playing Nephi and his brothers were so realistically dressed. It felt a little like a time machine. “It was great just to be there,” said Amy, “and watch the whole thing happen.”

My grandparents used to take me to church while my parents stayed home, but that started to change the day the missionaries came to our house to visit my family. They taught my mom about the Church. When I turned eight, Mom and I got baptized on the same day. That was really neat. My whole family started going to church together. We started praying, paying tithing, having faith in Jesus Christ, repenting, and studying the scriptures.
My parents saw how the Spirit touched our lives. Mom and Dad had the desire to be sealed in the temple. They couldn’t wait for me and my brothers to be sealed to them. They went to the bishop to ask how they could do this. They worked hard to prepare for the temple.
We picked a day to be sealed in the temple. We invited Grandma and Grandpa and friends too. Grandma was so excited she cried. She told us that it is important to be reverent in the temple. She also told us we would all be dressed in white.
When we got to the temple, my three brothers and I went into a room where we sang songs and played quietly while we waited for Mom and Dad. I felt the Spirit there.
Then my brothers and I got dressed in white clothes and went to see Mom and Dad in the sealing room. They were dressed in white too. They looked so happy when they saw us. We all knelt together and put our hands on Mom’s and Dad’s hands. My baby brother, Caden, put his hand on the very top and smiled at us all. We were so happy at that moment. I could really feel the Spirit.
Mom said it was the most special day. It was my favorite day too because I knew we can be together forever. That made me feel happy.

From the day I was baptized until I graduated from high school, I was the only member of the Church in my school. My classmates would say, “You don’t smoke? You don’t drink? You aren’t a man; you’re a sissy!”
At the end of the school year when I was in 11th or 12th grade, some of my classmates brought alcohol to a party. They grabbed me, held me down, and tried to pour champagne in my mouth. They didn’t want to hurt me; they just wanted to make fun of me. Luckily, I was able to get away. I never regretted keeping the Word of Wisdom. Some of my classmates have since passed away, but I’m thankful to still be alive, healthy, and trying to serve the Lord.

Not long after we were sustained as members of the Sunday School general presidency this past April conference, President Roger Merrill and I were privileged to meet with a senior member of the Quorum of the Twelve regarding our new responsibilities. The third member of the new presidency, Brother William Oswald, was unable to join with us because he was still serving as president of the Russia Vladivostok Mission. Soon after we entered the office of this beloved apostle, he invited me to tell him about myself. Feeling overwhelmed but also sensing his kindness and support, I shared a 30-second “abridged version” of my life story. He urged me to tell him more, which I did.

After sharing more of my story and discussing various aspects of what I had said, this member of the Twelve looked me directly in the eye and said, “Brother Judd, thank you for sharing your story, but you have missed something.”

I responded by saying, “I’m sorry. Please help me understand what I have missed.”

He simply said, “You tell me.”

I soon realized that although I had mentioned my family, they hadn’t been the focus of what I had shared. He then asked me to tell him more about my family, including my ancestors, and afterward he provided counsel to Brother Merrill and myself that in all we did in our new callings and in our personal lives, we should always keep our families and the families of the Church a top priority. That is a lesson I will never forget.

I learned once upon a time to fly airplanes. The instructor was flying straight and level. On the horizon was a range of mountains. Then he did something like this [demonstration of snap roll and spin] and I saw the mountain rise up and stand on end. It turned upside down and then continued to its normal position. He put the plane into a spin, and as we were falling and gyrating, I looked below and saw the whole earth turning as if it were a huge wheel. The vision was vivid. It looked so real. I have performed these maneuvers many times since: the snap roll and the spin. If I were to do them today, I could no longer make the mountain turn over or the earth gyrate. Why? Because experience has taught me reality, and now I cannot be deceived.

After I was baptized and confirmed, my grandmother said, “You have the Holy Ghost now, and it’s important that you have a testimony of the prophet.” Soon I went to general conference for the first time—the October conference of 1949.
It was quite an adventure. I slept over at my grandparents’ house. I remember getting up very early on Saturday morning and riding the bus to downtown Salt Lake City with my grandmother. We walked over to Temple Square and stood in a line for a long, long time. When we got to the Tabernacle, we sat in the back corner.
Just before the meeting started, there was a hush and everybody stood up. Then President George Albert Smith (1870–1951) walked in. I could see President Smith and his counselors. I’ve never forgotten how I felt when I first saw the prophet. I felt something very, very special. I knew he was the Lord’s prophet.
That was a very important event. I feel the same way when I see the President of the Church now. I have served as a General Authority now with three Presidents of the Church. And when the President walks in, I still have that testimony: “He’s the prophet.”

Illustration by Dilleen Marsh
We were new in the Dunwoody Ward when we first met Billy. As sacrament meeting started, I noticed him sitting at the sacrament table.
After the ward partook of the bread, Billy began the sacrament prayer on the water, but he stuttered and struggled for each word. The often-normal distractions and sounds of small children died down. Everyone seemed to pause, waiting on Billy.
The words of the usually fluid and brief sacrament prayer came out slowly, each word drawn out and painstakingly pronounced. At first, I felt embarrassed for the young man. My heart filled with compassion for him.
Then everything changed.
As he finished the first phrase of the prayer—a prayer that I had heard a thousand times—a new feeling came over the room. An intense quiet settled over us, and we knew we were in a holy place. Billy was not just reading the words of the prayer but was sincerely praying to his Heavenly Father, who was answering with an overwhelming outpouring of the Spirit.
The feeling of God’s love for this young man was palpable, and we felt privileged to be part of this uniquely spiritual ordinance.
Billy continued and eventually completed the prayer. I didn’t want him to finish because I wanted that sacred feeling to continue. But the intense gift of the Spirit continued as the sacrament was passed to the congregation. It was a true renewal of covenants to repent, be better, and serve the Lord more completely.
At the end of the meeting I walked up to the sacrament table to thank the young man. I saw that he had Down syndrome. He stuttered, “You’re welcome,” with a great big smile.
Years later in a different ward, I still remember Billy. Sacrament meetings are more meaningful as I strive, like Billy, to reach out to Heavenly Father with simple, fervent faith and prayer.
The author lives in Florida, USA.

I met the angel who would become my wife at an institute party the second night I was home from my mission. Although Shelley and I grew up in Canada several hundred miles apart and had never met before, we got to know each other well over the following months. When I had proposed three times and been turned down because she was committed to serving a mission, she finally accepted my proposal after I promised her that we would serve missions together after raising a family. She accepted an engagement ring on December 22, 1976.

One of Sister Redd’s “jewel” times was at the birth of her first child, a son. But within three months the trials and tests of this life closed in. Both mother and child were afflicted with polio. Anxieties were high and prayers were intense. Brother Philip Redd, her husband and now area director of seminaries and institutes in Southeast Asia, was preparing within the month to begin his career as a full-time seminary teacher. “We felt we had really tried to do what was right and that we were doing what the Lord wanted us to be doing. We had faith that the Lord would bless us even in our afflictions.”

Our Father in Heaven has told us that his people must be tried and tested, even as Abraham who was commanded to offer up his only son (see Gen. 22:1–4; D&C 101:4). And so it was that this faithful couple was tested. Their prayers were answered, but only partially. Sister Redd was healed and left without any ill effects from the dread disease, but her precious child, her only son, was stricken with crippling paralysis in his leg, his arms, and his back. The brightness of a happy time had quickly faded. The scratches and bites of life became a painful reality. Brother and Sister Redd were forced to give up their child to the professional care of the children’s hospital over a hundred miles away where he could receive special attention. Even after a year he was still very weak and progress remained slow.

Three long, anxious years, and the concern for her child only increased. The divine nature of a true and righteous mother, with all of the pure emotions inherent in the sacred role of motherhood, swelled within her aching heart. “I wanted desperately for him to be well,” she whispered. “It was so hard not to be able to tuck my little boy in at night. His life was vital to us.”

One night at the very peak of her anxiety, this young mother rose from her bed, went into the other room, and talked to her Father in Heaven. She had remembered an incident in her own childhood. A great and noble woman had prayed in behalf of her afflicted husband and requested that, if the Lord were willing, she be allowed to carry her husband’s infirmities so that his service to the Lord would not be restricted. This sister, almost immediately, became stone deaf and remained so throughout her life, while her husband, miraculously healed, became a spiritual giant, a man of God, and a powerful leader in building the kingdom of God in that area. With the memory of this incident in her heart, this faithful mother supplicated the Father in her son’s behalf, asking if she might take her son’s infirmities upon herself. Of this incident she concluded, “I returned to my bed and went to sleep.”

Even though her baby remained in the hospital, there were still some happy, “jewel” times. Another little boy was born and then a little girl. In time the afflicted child became stronger and stronger, and he learned to walk with braces. Eventually he was able to leave the hospital for a time, allowing this little family to be together at home for Christmas.

While there were ample reasons for quiet rejoicing, the scratching, biting times were painfully evident. Gradually over the following months Sister Redd became aware that she was losing the feeling in her hands and her feet. While diapering her baby, she would often stick the safety pin into her thumb unknowingly. When she noticed the blood, her growing concern increased. She sensed a frightening paralysis creeping over her entire body. It was very difficult for her to handle her new baby and the responsibilities of her young family. As the months and years passed, there were both struggles and blessings. Braces were laid aside and her little son managed to make his way to school. The blessings were acknowledged with humble gratitude, deeply expressed. But suffering severe headaches and with no feeling in her hands or feet, the young mother of three cried out for help. The support of family and friends seemed not enough. “People were good, so very, very good,” she gratefully recalled. “But being restricted physically, not being able to take care of those you love, is difficult.”

At this time a team of specialists determined that it was probably multiple sclerosis that had afflicted her body, leaving her so painfully handicapped. The thoughts of her future gave cause for great anxiety. “That was years ago,” she said. Sister Redd, now a beautiful, healthy, and active woman, vibrant in countenance and testimony, radiates a spirit that has been purified through struggle.

She spoke of the day she and her devoted husband, seeking first the will of the Lord in all things, asked counsel from a friend who had been the supervisor of seminaries and was now a General Authority. “He told us that he didn’t think the Lord meant for me to give my life. He gave me a blessing, explaining that the Lord had accepted my offering in behalf of my child. He promised me that I would live. But it is not we who regulate the magnitude of our tests or determine the time of relief,” she explained. “We do not receive a witness until after the trial of our faith (see Ether 12:6), and our Father in Heaven will make that determination.”

The very hour one might expect relief may be the moment in which the Lord will take count of our endurance and our faithfulness. Following the blessing, Sister Redd’s condition worsened, and on the 25th of October she was confined to bed. She had to be fed, and “I couldn’t even brush my teeth,” she explained. “My good husband and I talked about the purpose of life and death, and we prayed that we could accept whatever the Lord had for us. At that time we felt that everything would be all right.” Drawing strength from each other, these young parents were tested and were found “willing to submit to all things which the Lord seeth fit to inflict upon [them], even as a child doth submit to his father” (Mosiah 3:19).

On the 20th of December Nedra Redd was flown to the hospital in Edmonton. There she received further tests. After two long, anxious days, the doctors confirmed the probability that it was not multiple sclerosis that had afflicted her entire body, but rather a very deep and serious brain tumor at the base of her skull. It appeared to be inoperable. In her weakened condition, the possibility of surgery was considered a high and frightening risk. But the doctors explained that she would have only two weeks to live if they didn’t remove the growth. It was seriously impairing her breathing and would soon cut off her rapidly diminishing flow of air. The situation seemed desperate. One doctor offered counsel, suggesting that if they wanted to risk surgery, they would surely want to wait until after Christmas. But Sister Redd reached into her reservoir of strength, filled in large measure by the blessing she had received from their friend the General Authority. Courageously this young couple made their decision. “Surgery was scheduled for Christmas Eve,” she said. “We felt our Father in Heaven was beginning to answer our prayers. On Sunday night my cousin, who was the stake president, came to give me a blessing. He told me later that when he gave me that blessing, he literally felt the strength flow from him.” The power of the priesthood was again activated in her behalf.

Anxious family and friends waited through the nightlong vigil following the surgery. Dawn broke forth; it was Christmas morning. The tumor had been removed. All was quiet as the moments ticked on in that hospital room. Her future hung in the balance. “I had a very special thinking time as I regained consciousness,” Sister Redd explained. It was in the twilight time between life and death that the gifts of life came back to this faithful woman on that Christmas morning. They returned one by one with enough space between each to allow time for cherishing and savoring. Such gifts, such jewels, such priceless jewels!

“I’m all right! I didn’t die in surgery! I’m alive!” was her first realization. “But everything was black, and I couldn’t hear anything. I tried to speak, and I couldn’t speak. I thought, ‘I’m blind. I can’t hear. I can’t speak. But I am alive.’ I can remember such a surge of gratitude that I was alive, and then I sank into unconsciousness again. When I realized later that I was conscious again and that there was a sort of grayness around me, I thought, ‘I am not totally blind. I can see some light.’ I can remember praying and telling my Father, ‘Thank you. I’m alive and I’m not totally blind.’ I couldn’t have lived in darkness. So I gave thanks again. Then I realized I could see Phil’s face. My husband was talking to me, but I couldn’t hear him. But,” she said with intensity, “I could see him. I was grateful that I could see his face.

“Soon I realized I could hear him speaking to me, so I prayed again and gave thanks that I could see and hear. I thought, ‘I can’t speak, but it’s enough. I can see and I can hear.’”

Sister Redd, reflecting on her deep gratitude for those precious gifts on that Christmas morning, shared the ecstasy of her final treasure. “The doctor was there. I had been trying to speak. I heard him ask my husband, ‘Can she speak?’ He shook his head just slightly. ‘I was afraid of that,’ the doctor said. ‘We had to destroy quite a bit of her vocal chords to get the tumor.’ I was afraid she would not be able to speak.”

With a happy tone in her clear, full voice, Sister Redd recalled her thoughts at that moment: “‘Oh, so that’s it,’ I thought. ‘I can’t talk. But I can hear and I can see.’ I had such a deep feeling of joy and gratitude. Then the doctor put his finger on the hole in my throat where the tracheotomy was and said, ‘Now try.’ I could make sounds! I knew I was not mute. It was such a good feeling. We knew the Lord had blessed us.

“It was Christmas morning. Phil had spent the night with me when I needed him so much. With my whole soul filled with gratitude and thanksgiving, I asked him to go home and be with the children. It was a wonderful Christmas.”

From the deep reservoir of faith and courage, carved out by times of trial and suffering, Brother and Sister Redd rejoice. “It is such a comforting feeling to know that there is nothing the Lord can’t do or won’t do for you if it is for your good.” They have made this discovery: “The Lord is in the everyday things, not just the eternal, glorious things. It’s like the comparison between the ‘Hallelujah Chorus’ and quiet background music. He is in both, and knowing that provides a continuous awareness of happily-ever-after times in all of life.”

Sometimes the Lord works in other ways. Sister Sampson-Davis of Ghana was inspired to translate the Book of Mormon into her native language of Fante before the Translation Division was even assigned the task. While growing up, Sister Davis enjoyed associating with Christians. As a youth, she was so impressed with and grateful for Christ’s sacrifice that she felt a strong need to do something for him. Almost forty years later, after learning English in the Netherlands and returning home to Ghana, where she joined the Church, she found an opportunity to accomplish her girlhood desire.
One night after attending sacrament meeting, Sister Sampson-Davis realized that some of the people in the congregation did not sing from the hymnbook because they did not know English. She felt impressed to translate gospel materials for the benefit of her people, and that night she translated “I Am a Child of God.” The translation of other hymns followed.
Encouraged by accomplishing these small works of translation, Sister Sampson-Davis felt led to the enormous task for which she had been prepared over many years—translating the Book of Mormon into Fante. When the Church’s Translation Division reviewed Sister Sampson-Davis’s translation of the Book of Mormon, they were astonished that this schoolteacher, with little or no professional translation experience, had produced an excellent translation with a high degree of accuracy.
Sister Sampson-Davis is an example of the quality and dedication of translators the Lord has prepared, and is preparing for use by the Translation Division. Currently, the Division is working on translating doctrinal material in at least one major language for every nation of the world. This project, approved by the First Presidency in 1986 and called the Every Nation program, will result in reading material in many additional languages over the next few years.
The “every nation” title of the program is derived from a 1978 talk by President Spencer W. Kimball in which he said:
“If we only make a small beginning in every nation, soon the converts among each kindred and tongue could step forth as lights to their own people and the gospel would thus be preached in all the nations before the coming of the Lord.” (Regional Representatives seminar, October 1978.)
Eb Davis, director of the Translation Division, says of the program, “The Brethren are inspired in their direction of this work. Initially, we thought that many of the languages of the Every Nation program were so rare that we would have difficulties finding translators, but we discovered that the way was prepared for us. For example, we found twenty members of the Church from the Seychelles—islands between India and Africa—who could help us. We have forty members from Uganda that we can call upon, and we located four people in the Salt Lake Valley who speak Ethiopian.”
Lowell Bishop, who oversees the work in African languages, says that most of the translators for these languages have been members of the Church for only as long as the Every Nation program has been operating. He adds that for almost every language the Division has worked with so far, a member has indeed “stepped forth” to do the translation.
As an example, Brother Bishop describes the members the Division found to translate materials into two of the languages of Zaire—Lingala and Tshiluba. Church materials are translated into Lingala by Alfonse and Maguy Muanda, in addition to their being actively involved as stake missionaries and operating their own business.
Tshiluba is the native language of Ambrose and Louise Massala, but in their college days they lived in an area of Zaire where Swahili is spoken, and that became their daily language. Shortly after they were married, Ambrose suggested that they go back to speaking to one another in Tshiluba. Louise thought the suggestion strange because by then they had been speaking Swahili for a number of years. However, they began using Tshiluba again, and their children grew up speaking Tshiluba at home. Surprised when they were asked if they would translate material into Tshiluba, Louise said she finally realized why Ambrose was inspired to return to using a language they had almost forgotten.
But whether the language be Tshiluba, Hmong, or any of the many other languages that the Church Translation Division is directed to work with, the message must be “translated” into the daily lives of the individual Latter-day Saint. Like Brother Kua Lo, once we have the gospel, we need to share it with family members, neighbors, and friends, so that together we might all speak the eternal language of the gospel.
The importance of sharing the gospel has often been emphasized by President Ezra Taft Benson. On one occasion he said, “We are required to carry the gospel of Jesus Christ to every nation of the world … This commission to take the gospel to every nation, kindred, tongue, and people is one of the signs by which believers will recognize the nearness of the Savior’s return” (General Conference, April 1984.)

As we drove to the old hotel on Main Street, Debbie asked, “What are your parents like?”
“They’re super-Mormons.”
“What does that mean?”
“My dad doesn’t do anything but take care of his business and work for the Church. No golf, no bowling, no country club bridge games. He’s either opening a new gas station or attending some Church meeting.”
We pulled into the parking lot along side the hotel.
“I remember a few years ago he took the family to Yellowstone Park where we lived in a trailer. ‘No phones, no meetings. A chance to get where nobody can get ahold of us,’ he told us. But about Wednesday he wandered over to the MIA they have there for the park employees. By the end of the week he was up to his neck in Church work again, showing them how to improve their home teaching.”

As Tim took one last swing at the pine tree, the ax resounded and a slow snapping sound sang through the small valley. “Look out!” Tim shouted.
Jeff sidestepped the falling tree, then he noticed Tim had lost his footing and was tumbling down the long, steep hill just beyond the fallen tree. Jeff slid to where his brother lay against a huge rock, his leg twisted into an unnatural position beneath him. “Tim! Tim! Are you all right?” But there was no answer.
Snow was beginning to fall in huge soft flakes, and Jeff fell to his knees to brush it off Tim’s face. “Wake up, Tim,” Jeff urged.
After a long moment, Tim slowly opened his eyes.
“Thank goodness!” Jeff said. “What happened?”
“I slipped trying to get out of the way of the tree,” Tim answered slowly.
“Can you walk?” Jeff asked as his older brother slowly rolled over and tried to sit up.
“Oh, boy!” Tim cried. “Something’s wrong with my leg. I can’t put any weight on it.”
“Maybe it’s broken,” Jeff said, afraid to think what that might mean. His heart felt as though it were made of lead. He and Tim had come to the mountains early to open the cabin and to cut a Christmas tree. Tomorrow would be Christmas Eve and the rest of the family wouldn’t arrive until then for the family’s traditional holiday in the mountains.
“I don’t know,” Tim replied. But the pain in his voice said more than the words.
Jeff looked across the white and green patchwork on the mountain. The sun disappearing on the other side meant that there was probably an hour left before total darkness settled over the valley. The cabin was about fifty yards away. Tim’s so heavy, how am I ever going to carry him there? Jeff wondered. And once we get there, then what? There’s no phone in the cabin and nobody around for miles. I’ll probably have to get to the main highway to find help and that’s ten miles away!
Tim must have been thinking the same thing. “Jeff, there’s no time to waste,” he said. “I think I can drag myself back to the cabin. If you take off now and hurry, you’ll make it to the highway for help just after dark. Think you can do it?”
“But I can’t leave you alone like this!”
Tim’s face was pinched with pain. “You have to, Jeff,” he urged. “I need help!”
Jeff hesitated, but only for a moment. “All right. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Then he turned and began to carefully make his way down the snowy mountain. When Jeff tried to go faster, he slipped and fell. Picking himself up he glanced back up the hill.
Tim had moved about fifteen feet. “Hurry,” Tim called. “I’ll be all right.”
Jeff zipped his coat up around his neck to keep out the snow and went on. Soon he reached a narrow winding roadway. The road wasn’t as steep or rocky as the mountain path so he started jogging. He looked back, but Tim and the cabin were out of view.
Dusk settling over the quiet valley gave the towering pines a spooky look. The snow muffled any sounds except the thud, thud, thudding of Jeff’s feet. “Faster, faster, faster,” he kept repeating, his breath looking like smoke in the cold air. And his feet did move faster and faster, even though they slipped and stumbled on the road. Then a pain in his side forced him to slow to a walk. The falling snow had covered the narrow road, making it hard to tell which way to go. And now Jeff realized the darkness was coming faster than expected. The whole valley was suffused in shadows and deadly silence, with the mountains towering on either side like giants. Jeff had never felt so alone, so helpless, so scared. “What if I don’t make it?” he whispered then stopped himself. “I can’t think like that,” he said to convince himself. “I have to make it. I will make it!”
The dark world around him became colder and more frightening, and there was no moon yet. But fortunately the snow had stopped and a few stars were showing through the cloudy black sky.
Jeff began to run again as he searched his mind for something to think about to keep away the fear. Suddenly a cracking noise stopped him. He listened intently but there was only silence. “Must have been a limb breaking under the weight of the snow,” he mumbled, looking around. In the darkness everything seemed huge and threatening. But the worst feeling was that of loneliness.
Quickly Jeff’s mind reached for a thought, any thought. Slowly some familiar words began to form in his head. What were they? Night … star … brightly … then he remembered. They were words from one of the songs he’d sung for the Christmas sacrament meeting program: “O holy night! The stars are brightly shining; it is the night of the dear Saviour’s birth. … ”
Jeff hadn’t thought much about the words then, but now in the cold darkness they were taking on new meaning. He looked up. There was only one star shining mistily through the clouds. As he stared at it, the song became more than mere words. And finally he began to understand what the words meant.
Slowly more of the song drifted through his mind. “In all our trials, born to be our friend … ”
It was starting to snow again. “This certainly is a trial and I sure need a friend,” he murmured.
He watched the snow, letting the thoughts float freely through his mind. “He was born and He died because He loved me so much,” Jeff whispered into the darkness. “He is my friend.”
A beautiful feeling of comfort replaced the fear and worry in Jeff’s heart.
“I’m not alone,” he said loudly, “and I know Tim is going to be all right.”
With snow falling again, Jeff dropped to his knees. “Heavenly Father, I thank Thee for Christmas and for Thy Son and for being with me. I know Thou wilt be with my brother too. Please lead me to someone who can help us …”

Imagine this scenario: Your friend hasn’t been herself lately. Usually she’s upbeat and fun, but now she doesn’t want to do things that she used to have fun doing. You were surprised when she decided to stay home rather than go to a dance last Saturday. Every time you see her now she seems sad, withdrawn, and irritable. And this has been going on for a while.
As you think about it, you realize your friend was always a good student, but last week she didn’t turn in her history paper for the third time in a row. It’s like she’s lost her motivation. She says she feels tired all the time but can’t fall asleep at night and mentions how she always feels sad but doesn’t know why. She’s been this way for a while, and you’re worried she might be depressed.

Amanda had been watching through the window for what seemed like hours. Finally the car pulled into the driveway. “Daddy’s home!” she shouted as she ran out the door. Before Daddy was even out of the car, Amanda was showing him her letter.
“Look, Daddy, I got a letter from Grandma! It came in the mail today. Mommy read it to me already, but I want you to read it again.”
Letters from Amanda’s grandma are especially fun to get because Amanda’s grandma and grandpa are missionaries far, far away in Paraguay (pah-rah-gwi). Almost everyone in Paraguay speaks Spanish, so Grandma and Grandpa have learned to speak Spanish too. They teach the people there about the Church. They also teach them how to sew and how to plant gardens, and they help them to build chicken coops and other things. Grandpa is even helping to build a meetinghouse there.
As soon as Daddy had a chance to get in the house and sit down, Amanda crawled up onto his lap. “Here, Daddy. Read my letter,” she said.
Daddy gave Amanda a big hug, then read this letter:
Dear Amanda,
We had so many interesting visitors at church last Sunday that I thought you would like to hear about them. Grandpa and I went to church in a little town called Itakyrú (ee-tahk-ee-roo). We are building a nice new meetinghouse there, but for now the members come to the home of the Ugarte (oo-gar-teh) family for church. There are two rooms in the house: a bedroom, where the whole family sleeps, and a kitchen, where Sister Ugarte cooks over an open fire. Between the two rooms is a covered area for the animals. There is a big box of corn there, and the dogs and pigs and chickens and ducks go in and out whenever they wish. The Ugarte family also has a little brown burro, a calf, and a pretty gray cat.
On Sunday, however, all the animals have to go out into the yard, and Brother Ugarte sets up benches for our meetings in the area between the two rooms. It is a very cool and pretty place to have a meeting.
Sacrament meeting last Sunday started out as usual. Then, after the announcements and opening song, we heard a strange munching noise. It was the little black calf. He had come in to listen and to eat some of his corn!
A little later, during the first talk, Grandpa leaned over and whispered in my ear, “Grandma, there is a little pig between my feet!”
“I know,” I whispered back, “and there is a little spotted dog under me.”
Just at that moment the little dog under me playfully nipped the little pig under Grandpa.
“Ooee! Ooee! Ooee!” squealed the pig, and it ran into the yard.
“Woof! Woof! Woof!” barked the dog, following the pig into the yard.
“Amen,” said the speaker as he finished his talk.
Everyone stood up to sing a rest song. The little brown burro, which had been very reverent in the yard the whole time, decided he would like to sing. Have you ever heard a burro sing? They don’t stay with the music very well, and they always forget the words!
The second half of the meeting was much quieter. The pretty gray cat fell asleep outside near the burro, and the only new visitors to church were some ducks and a mother hen that came to eat the corn that the calf had spilled on the floor.
Soon the new meetinghouse in Itakyru will be finished. Then the animals won’t be able to come to church anymore, which is really too bad, because they seemed to enjoy being there with us.
Grandpa and I are very glad that we can be missionaries in Paraguay. Maybe someday you can be a missionary too. Don’t forget to be a good girl for your mommy and daddy.
Love,
Grandma

“You know, this reminds me of something that happened to me about a year ago in the Netherlands.”
Great. An inspiring missionary story. I sighed and settled against my pillows to listen, resolving that nothing he could say would make me change my mind.
“One afternoon, my companion noticed we’d run out of milk, and since we had a really busy day ahead of us, we decided to pick some up at a small store on our way home from our last teaching appointment. We’d been walking everywhere all day long, and we were pretty tired by the time we bought the milk. The girl at the register rushed us through her line without really looking at us, and it wasn’t until we made it back to our apartment that I noticed we had more money than before we’d bought the milk.”
I lifted my eyebrows at him. “Really? How so?”
“Money in the Netherlands is called guilders. A five-guilder piece is about the same size as a 500-guilder piece, and they look alike, too. As part of my change, she should’ve given me a five guilder, but instead, she’d given me a 500 by mistake. So, in American terms, she’d given me five dollars back instead of five cents.”
“Wow. Of course, you took the money back, right?”
“I wasn’t going to. I mean, it was her mistake, not mine, right? It was late, we were both tired, and it was a good 15-minute walk back to the store. Plus, an extra five dollars would’ve helped us out that month. In fact, the more I thought about it, the more angry I became thinking about the position that girl’s thoughtlessness had put me in. I knew I wasn’t a dishonest person, and I hated feeling like I was one if I didn’t take back an insignificant 500-guilder piece.”
“It’s not fair.”
“No, Jenn, it’s not. Everything isn’t always fair. If it was, we’d never learn a thing. Realizing this, my companion and I walked back to the store, barely arriving before closing time. The girl was still there, counting the register’s money, rubbing her head and looking pretty worried. She looked up when we came in, both of us in our suits and nametags, and said, ‘You two were here before, weren’t you?’ I simply said yes, and put the 500 guilder on the counter between us. ‘We bought some milk today, and I think you gave us too much change.’ She looked so relieved I thought she was going to cry. ‘I’ve been trying to count my register’s money for almost an hour now, and I couldn’t figure out where I went wrong.’ She looked at us curiously then said, ‘You’re Mormons, aren’t you?’ I laughed and asked her what gave us away. She laughed, too, before saying that she couldn’t believe we’d come back. When I asked her why, she said, ‘Because no one here has ever done that before.’
“Later, the realization came to me that we may have been the first real contact she’d ever had with the Church, and even though we hadn’t taught her a discussion, we’d left her with the knowledge that Mormons are honest people, and that maybe it would help her become a little curious about our church.” He picked up my receipt and fiddled with it before continuing.
“One of the questions you’re asked during a temple recommend interview is whether or not you’re honest in all of your dealings. Honesty is a hard principle to live—harder than most people realize. There will be plenty of times in your life when being honest won’t leave you with a good, warm feeling at first. Often times, you may walk away feeling frustrated—even angry. Especially concerning financial matters, where every dime counts. Five-hundred guilders here, $150 there may seem insignificant. But little by little, something much more valuable is being lost: your integrity.
“Strengthening your integrity through honesty takes a lot of hard work—work that often goes unnoticed or unappreciated. But the payoff comes when you realize that each time you’re honest, it’s that much easier to be honest when the next challenge comes around. That’s when you know you’re building character, one of the most important works you can spend your time on. Your character and integrity are far too precious to sell for $150—or for 500 guilders.”

It’s about 9:45 Sunday morning in Solo, 585 kilometers southeast of Indonesia’s capital city of Djakarta. Brother Suwarno leaves his home and gets on his bicycle. Three of his seven children get on the bicycle with him. Three other children balance on another bicycle pedaled by big brother Andi. They are going to Sunday School. After he has taught the Gospel Doctrine class, Brother Suwarno will attend priesthood meeting for ten minutes or so and then return home in time to bicycle his wife to sacrament meeting.

What wonderful memories I have of BYU. I loved everything about it - my classes, my roommates and dorm life, my involvement in the Church and school activities. John mentioned our first date - it was to a “Priesthood Ball.” Later we enjoyed devotionals, concerts, forums, talking and walking down Campus Hill to an old swing. There are great times to be had without spending money! We both dated other people, but the more we got acquainted with others, the more we were drawn to each other.

When John left on his mission we agreed to write. So for three years I wrote “Dear John” letters while continuing a busy life that included studying, dating, graduating, then going on to teach school in California.

Letters played a significant role in our lives. Often a letter John had written months earlier would arrive at just the right time, sharing an experience or some counsel that helped solve a concern I had right then. I began measuring myself and others to the mark of what I could tell John was becoming, and I knew I wanted to be available when he returned. The Lord blessed us both to be patient and always added extra help.

During my senior year, I tried to think of something appropriate to send John for Christmas. I didn’t want to distract him from his missionary work, but I wanted to send something. My helpful roommates encouraged me to send a photo of myself. “Too presumptuous,” I thought, as he had never asked for a picture nor given me one of himself. My roommates persisted, and since I couldn’t think of anything else I could afford to mail, I sent him one. Never did I suspect it, but at the same time he sent a passport picture of himself to me! These two photos crossed in the mail and both did great amounts of good on the other end.

Was it coincidence that my picture arrived in Tonga on the very day it was needed to provide John a tangible form with which to reason with an otherwise unreasonable mother? I don’t believe so. And all the letters I received at just the right time saying just the right thing, were they coincidence? I don’t believe so.

When we strive to learn the Lord’s will, then do our very best to follow it, the Lord will work with us where we are, to help us get where we should be. He uses daily events and people in our lives to give us opportunities to keep our promises to Him. As we do all we can, He directs events, and magnifies our humble efforts until His purposes and promises are realized - both in our lives and in the lives of those we touch. That is how we experience true joy.

Mom was filling out a donation slip when David and Bresciana came inside for a drink of water.
“What are you doing?” Bresciana asked. “Are you paying your tithing?”
Mom smiled. “Not this time, honey. Today I am giving some money for the people who were hurt by the tsunami.” She explained to David and Bresciana that a big wave had hurt a lot of people. Many of them had lost their homes and did not have food, clean clothes, or water to drink.
“What will happen to the people who don’t have enough food?” David asked.
“The prophet asked the members of the Church to donate money to help,” Mom said. “If you want to help, you may. Your allowance for this month is on the counter.”
David and Bresciana ran to get their money—a dollar each—and gave it to Mom. They were excited to help the people. After Bresciana went outside to play, David sat down on the couch. He kept thinking about the children who didn’t have enough food or didn’t have a place to live anymore. It made him sad.
“I want to do more,” he thought. He went to his bedroom and opened his allowance box. There lay the money he had saved all year—$11. He grabbed the money and ran back into the kitchen. “Mom, I want to give this money to the people too.”
When Bresciana heard about what David had done, she decided to give the money she had saved too. Mom helped them fill out donation slips so they could give the money to the bishop at church the next day.
Later that day, David heard Mom on the phone telling Grandma about the money he and Bresciana had donated. When Mom got off the phone, David looked worried.
“David, what’s the matter?” she asked.
“I tried to do my best to help the people,” David said, “but I don’t think we can help all of them with our money. It’s not a lot.”
“Sometimes it’s more important how we give the money rather than how much we give,” Mom said. “Do you remember the story of the widow’s mite in the New Testament?”
David didn’t, so Mom told him the story. “When the people of Jesus’s time were donating money, many gave a lot of jewels and treasure. One woman was very poor. She only gave two small coins called mites. Jesus said that her sacrifice was worth more than the treasures because she had given all the money she had—just like you and Bresciana.”*
David felt better after that. On Sunday, he and Bresciana gave their donations to the bishop. The bishop shook their hands and thanked them. David was glad he and Bresciana could help.
After church, Mom told David and Bresciana some exciting news. “Grandma just called me. Yesterday I told her about you two wanting to help the people who were hurt by the tsunami. When she shared your story today with people at church, some of them decided to give more money than before. Your example helped more people than you thought it would.”
Bresciana had a big smile on her face. David felt happy too. “Mom,” he said, “our widow’s mite really did make a difference!”

March 20 of this year was a beautiful day. It was warm and the sun was shining. Some of the trees had started to bud, and early blooms were visible. I had been anticipating this day with great excitement and a good deal of apprehension from the time I received a phone call three months earlier asking if I would play the organ at one of the Provo City Center Temple dedication sessions. I had never dreamed I would have a chance to serve in this capacity, for I knew there were scores of talented and accomplished organists in our temple district, and I was also keenly aware of my own inadequacies.
Surprise and shock were some of the feelings I had when I got the call, but in the few seconds it took me to stammer out an acceptance of this assignment, I felt my Heavenly Father’s love. And even though I was very nervous, I sensed that this was one of His tender mercies.
I was to have an experience similar to one that my beautiful paternal grandmother, Ethel Taylor Robinson, had had, and this created a sense of connection to her that I had not felt before. I never met her, as she died in her early thirties, but I knew of her and of her many talents. My home teacher made sure of that. He repeatedly told me what a wonderful musician she was and how much she was loved and missed by our community.
In October 1927 my grandmother directed a stake choir that sang at the dedication of the Mesa Arizona Temple. Although four of the songs she performed with her choir in that dedication were different from the ones I played at the Provo City Center Temple dedication, we both performed the “Hosanna Anthem.” Realizing that we would both perform the same song in a temple of the Lord almost ninety years apart was a very sweet experience.
I had other sweet experiences while our choir prepared and rehearsed. Choir members shared their testimonies and tender feelings about the temple, the gospel, and our Savior both in words and song. Everyone was focused on offering his or her very best to the Lord.
In my personal practices I often felt inadequate and worried when I thought about performing in the celestial room, only a few feet away from the Lord’s apostles and in front of millions of viewers. I tried to calm myself with the feeling that if I put the time into my practice, the Lord would help me. I therefore practiced every day. The footwork with the organ pedals was my biggest challenge. I drilled the arpeggios and foot crossings over and over and over and over—slowly at first, and then I would attempt to speed them up to the performance tempo. Some repetitions went well, and I thought, “I can do this!” But on the very next repetition I would land on a note just adjacent to the one I was aiming for. So I would try again.
One day as I was going through this process, I remembered something I had learned in an acoustics class many years ago when I thought I wanted to be a music teacher. The thought that came into my mind as I was practicing is the subject I would like to speak about today.
Preparing for the temple dedication gave me the chance to work and practice so that I could offer the Lord my best, and even though my best wasn’t perfect, it was a beautiful experience. The gift I was given of being part of a wonderful choir, performing at the temple dedication, and having a special connection with my grandmother has increased my desire to be in tune with my Heavenly Father and Savior.

I live in Nairobi, Kenya, in Africa. We used to live in Austin, Texas, but my dad got a job with the United States Foreign Service, so now we live here.
After the first Sunday at church, I did not want to go to church anymore. I cried many times, wishing that all my Church friends were here. I could tell that I was losing faith. I told my dad my feelings, and he said to pray for understanding and to search the scriptures for the truth.
I did what he told me to do but did not feel any better. One night I prayed and sat waiting for something. Then I felt a warm feeling. I felt like Heavenly Father did not send me an answer the first time I prayed, because I already knew. He sent me an answer this time for reassurance.
I bear you my testimony that I really do know The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is true. I know that Jesus Christ died for us. I know that He lives and loves us. I love Him so much! I will always remember this branch and my experiences here. It may be a little different, but gospel principles are still taught here. I really like church now. The Primary leaders are great and very nice. I love being around them, and I can’t wait to go to church each week.