Gospel Story Finder

I would like to share with you a beautiful human experience that greatly helped me to answer that question.

Sharon Tennyson, a registered nurse, wrote the following during a sixteen-hour shift with a forty-year-old patient in very grave condition.
The room was quiet. . . . curtains pulled to reduce sensory stimulation. . . . the environment is a tense peace, if that is possible. A little Basque priest comes in making his usual rounds. He inquires quietly about my patient’s condition with real concern. I am touched as he walks to the bed rail, holds his hand—palm down—about twelve inches over this man’s head, and begins to pray silently. Minutes later he makes a sweeping slow cross over the top part of my patient, and quietly fades out of the room.
I am aware of tears in my eyes. Why does this touch the heart and soul within me so? This little priest, looking to be in his sixties, salt and pepper hair, no taller than five foot three inches, walks around the hospital comforting the grieving, encouraging the sick and praying for the dying. And here he is today, praying over and loving a sleeping man who doesn’t even know him or know he is there.
And this is his work in the world. He does it with great dignity and compassion. How many times are there those who are silently holding us in loving thought and prayer when it is completely unknown to us?
And my mind slowly comes back from its journey into timeless possibilities, to the bed of this beautiful man, and I take up where the little Basque priest left off, and am so touched and humbled by the possibility that we can enter into each other’s lives in this silent way.
[Gerald G. Jampolsky, Teach Only Love (New York: Bantam Books, 1983), pp. 73–74]

Make scripture study a part of your life—not only by reading regularly but also by relying on the scriptures to help you make important decisions. When I was a mission president in northern Germany, I had a very difficult problem. I had searched in vain for an answer for many weeks. One morning I was reading in the Book of Mormon where Nephi was commanded to build a ship: “And I, Nephi, did go into the mount oft, and I did pray oft unto the Lord; wherefore the Lord showed unto me great things” (1 Nephi 18:3). As I read that small passage, the impression came to me, “That is what I need to do.” I pondered and prayed, and finally the answer came, and I knew what I needed to do. I am grateful for that little window of inspiration that came—as I was searching the scriptures. As I received my answer, I felt that I was “standing in a holy place.” I know that you too can have similar experiences as you search, ponder, and pray about the scriptures.

In Auckland is the Panmure stake. And in that stake’s boundaries is Bucklands Beach, where Bella Aniterea and Nicolas Purcell live. This morning Bella, a Mia Maid, is giving a talk on prayer in sacrament meeting. There’s a good reason her dad, a member of the Howick Ward bishopric, asked her to give that talk. She says she has a testimony of prayer because she prays.
In preparing for her talk, Bella reread the story of Enos in the Book of Mormon. “He prayed for one whole day, and he prayed for his enemies,” Bella recounts. Although she had read the story before, she had never noticed that Enos prayed for his enemies. “I haven’t done that yet,” Bella says, “but I think I’m going to start today.”
And, if you look to the left of the pulpit where Bella bore her testimony of prayer, you’ll see Nicolas, a teacher, putting away the sacrament trays after the meeting.
It might sound strange, but Nicolas’s testimony of the priesthood began with a head injury. “I was Rollerblading down a hill with a mate, and I hit something and cracked the back of my head open.” At 10 inches, the “crack” was more like a canyon, and the doctors said Nicolas would not pull through or he would have severe brain damage. A priesthood blessing from his dad and others in the ward proved the doctors wrong. “That experience gave me quite a shining testimony of the priesthood,” Nicolas says. The Lord preserved his life through the power of the priesthood, and Nicolas plans to honor his priesthood by serving a mission.

The big shiny coin sparkled in the sunlight. Alvin twisted the coin this way and that, just to see the way the sun shone off it. A real silver dollar!

Alvin had worked almost the whole day at his neighbor’s farm to earn that coin. His overalls were dirty, and he was hot and sweaty. But it was worth it. He couldn’t wait to show Mother his coin. He was going to add it to his box of important stuff.

The creaky screen door slammed shut behind him as he ran inside. He found Mother sitting in the rocking chair, folding a pile of clothes from the clothesline.

“Look what Mr. Jackson gave me for working for him today.” He held up the big coin for her to see. “A whole silver dollar!”

“Oh, that’s wonderful, Alvin! You must have worked hard.”

“I sure did!” said Alvin. “I’m going to keep this dollar forever.” He rubbed the coin with his shirt to get off any smudges.

“Well,” said Mother, “make sure to pay your tithing on what you earned.” She added another shirt to the stack. “That might mean you have to get smaller coins in exchange for your dollar.”

Alvin looked down at his beautiful coin. He didn’t want a bunch of little coins instead of his first silver dollar. “But … I just want to keep it!” Tears pricked his eyes, and he ran out of the kitchen and down the porch steps.

He stomped through the high grass. “I don’t have to pay tithing,” he muttered to himself. He picked up a stick and swung it back and forth across the tall, dry weeds.

Suddenly Alvin stopped in his tracks. He knew tithing was important. He wanted to give tithing. But how? He didn’t have any other coins. All he had was his one silver dollar. How could he pay the 10 cents for his tithing?

Alvin sighed. He would just have to give up his coin. It was the right thing to do.

Alvin kept walking. Soon he heard talking and singing coming from near the bank of the river. He put up his hand to block his eyes from the setting sun. A family was camped by the river. He had met them before. Sometimes they traded things with his mother.

He looked closer. The dad and grandpa had their fishing poles out. Then Alvin had an idea. He took his stick and started digging in the wet dirt along the riverbank. He dug up 11 worms and walked toward the camp by the river.

The men smiled and waved at Alvin.

“Hi,” said Alvin. “Do you need any more worms?”

“We sure do,” said the grandpa. He pulled his empty fishing hook out of the water. “We just ran out.”

Alvin held out the 11 squirming worms. “Would you like some?”

“How much?” asked the dad. He reached in his pocket to get some coins.

“Just a penny each,” said Alvin.

“Well, that’s a bargain.” The man counted out 11 pennies. “You stopped by just in time for us to catch our dinner.”

“Thank you!” said Alvin as he collected his pennies. “Good luck with the fish!”

Alvin hurried back home and showed Mother his coins. “Now I have enough money to pay tithing for my silver dollar and for the money I earned from selling the worms!”

Alvin was grateful he got to keep his coin. But he was also proud of himself for deciding to pay his tithing, no matter what.

Juan Rodríguez is from the La Romana Stake in the Dominican Republic. He was baptized at the age of 13 and promptly took the action part of the gospel seriously. He enthusiastically shared the gospel message with the people in Mexico on his mission in 2014 and when he returned home, his passion for the gospel increased. For reasons of employment, he moved to a small community near Punta Cana called Verón, and there he likened the revelation given to Hyrum to himself when he was called to be the branch president. Juan knew that he and his counselors were being called of God to establish the cause of Zion in his hometown.
Together in prayer, with others in the area, they brought the Church out of obscurity through connecting with the community’s needs. They created activities like, Night at the Movies for the young single adults and International Day of Our Heritage as the community bonded together over delicious food. The youth also connected with the community on the International Day of Service as they cleaned a public school or did fundraisers. Through these events, the community became interested in the Church and the missionaries were kept busy teaching lessons and challenging friends to be baptized.
All this time, the members were meeting in a rented building that increasingly became too small for their growing group of Saints. Juan and his counselors believed, “If you will ask of me you shall receive; if you will knock it shall be opened unto you” (Doctrine and Covenants 11:5). So, they went to their stake president and asked how they could build a meetinghouse. Leaving the meeting with the Church guidelines to receive a meetinghouse for their congregation, they were filled with the spirit knowing that “A great and marvelous work [was] about to come forth among the children of men” (Doctrine and Covenants 11:1). Through faith and effort, they would fulfill scripture right there in Verón.
During a period of four years, the branch became a ward, the guidelines were met, and in April of 2022, land was purchased, followed by the groundbreaking ceremony on Jan. 20, 2023. The meetinghouse is anticipated to be completed early in 2024 and will be a monument of faith and hard work.

In our home we have what is now called the parable of the bicycle. It dates back to when my daughter Sarah, who was seven years old at the time, came in and said, “Dad, can I have a bike? I’m the only kid on the block who doesn’t have one.”

Well, I didn’t have the money then for a bike, so I stalled her. I said, “Sure, Sarah.”

She said, “How? When?”

I said, “You save all your pennies, and soon you’ll have enough for a bike.” And she went away.

A couple of weeks later I heard a “clink, clink” in Sarah’s bedroom. I asked, “Sarah, what are you doing?”

She came to me with a little jar, a slit cut in the lid, and a bunch of pennies in the bottom. She said, “You promised me that if I saved all my pennies, pretty soon I’d have enough for a bike. And, Daddy, I’ve saved every single one of them.”

My heart melted. My daughter was doing everything in her power to follow my instructions. I hadn’t actually lied to her. If she saved all of her pennies, she would eventually have enough for a bike, but by then she would want a car. I said, “Let’s go look at bikes.”

We went to every store in town. Finally we found it—the perfect bicycle. She was thrilled. Then she saw the price tag, and her face fell. She started to cry. “Oh, Dad, I’ll never have enough for a bicycle!”

So I said, “Sarah, how much do you have?”

She answered, “Sixty-one cents.”

“I’ll tell you what. You give me everything you’ve got and a hug and a kiss, and the bike is yours.” Then I drove home very slowly because she insisted on riding the bike home.

A few months ago I was having troubles with the commandments and keeping them. I found this scripture one morning as I was reading 1 Nephi 10:18–22. Verse 18 says, “The way is prepared for all men from the foundation of the world, if it so be that they repent and come unto [Christ].” That verse stood out and gave me courage I needed to meet with my bishop. One of my closest friends who was also struggling spoke with her bishop as well. A few weeks ago we were able to go to the temple. I know Christ loves us and that He did atone for our sins. I love Him and I’m grateful for this knowledge.

(Greg) Most of us know the scriptural teachings but May I share with you a modern day example of this principle. We had a missionary arrive in our mission with a very interesting story (I will not use his name because we were unable to contact him and ask his permission). He was a little older than most missionaries, having joined the church when he was in his 4th year of a 5 year law program at a prestigious university in Brazil. Since he was a young boy, he had wanted to be a lawyer like both his parents. When he joined the church, his parents reacted negatively and cut off all help for his education and kicked him out of their home. He had to leave college and during the next year lived with members of the Church. He was steadfast in his resolve to live the gospel and made it through the next year working odd jobs to survive. Even though he had only one year in the church when he entered the mission field, he had an amazing testimony and understanding of the gospel. In my first interview with this Elder he told his story as we wept together. I said to him, "What a sacrifice you have made to serve the Lord." And the Elder's reply was, "What sacrifice? It's true isn't it?"

(Jill) His story continues in an interesting way: Despite being rejected by his family, my husband asked this Elder to write his family every week but they had never responded to his letters. About a year into this young man's mission, his parents showed up at his missionary apartment. They had found it by the return address on his letters. They had come to Recife to take their son home. When they first met they gave him an expensive watch, told him they were willing to forgive him, pay for his school and give him a home if he would renounce his belief in this religion he had embraced. When this Elder called to ask what he should do, Greg invited both he and his parents to our home. We discussed his mission for nearly half an hour and as you can imagine the atmosphere in our home was tense. I have never felt such a dark spirit as I did during this meeting.

(Greg) At the end of the meeting, I asked him what he had decided. At that point he turned to his parents and told them he was here to stay and serve. They begged him to come home---they were determined and tried everything they could to persuade their son. They finally said, "Would you just come home and have a psychiatric evaluation so that we know you have not been duped into believing all this nonsense?" They were getting desperate at this point! This great young man said, "I love you mom and dad but I have made a commitment to serve the Lord and to obey my mission president. I will not leave unless he says I can leave." We were amazed at this Elder's resolve in the midst of great adversity. In a call to the Area president it was decided that the Elder should go home for two weeks. The parents could take the Elder to the doctor and have their evaluation if they agreed to have the whole family participate in the evaluation. It was agreed. In those two weeks, the Elder and his parents all underwent psychiatric evaluation. The doctor reported that the young man was fine but the parents needed help! The Elder returned and fulfilled his mission. He has continued to serve the Lord and has been a branch president in his branch in Brazil. Incidentally, his parents' hearts were finally softened and they helped him to finish his schooling. These are the blessings of obedience.

(Jill) Following the advice of his leaders and clinging to the path had resulted in a wonderful outcome for this great missionary.

My grandfather was a farmer. When I was quite young, I used to go to work with him at planting time. I loved to see him get the animals ready, put on their yokes, and hitch them to the harrow and plow. “Where are we going to plant today?” I would ask. “Down yonder,” he would reply. He knew well where the fruitful ground was.
I loved the moist, rich smell that rose from the ground when the tip of the plow broke the earth. As my grandfather prepared the furrows, I would bury the seed. “This ground is fruitful,” he would say. Later we would go back to the field to see the first green sprouts coming up. Soon the shoots became stalks, and then the grain would appear. The plants continued to grow until they were mature.
At harvesttime, the workers would cut the sheaves and take them to the threshing area, which consisted of poles wired together into a large circle. The sheaves were placed on the ground around the outside of this circle. Then the horses came and ran around the circle, trampling the sheaves, which loosened the grain from the stalks and crushed the kernels. Next, workers came with their tools to fan the chaff, separating it from the grain. After their labor was done, the workers sang and danced and enjoyed a traditional meal of roast lamb. It was a beautiful rustic celebration. The grain was stored in sacks and later processed into a variety of useful products.
And yet, despite all that we did to plant and harvest, the success of the whole process was primarily based upon the richness of the ground, the weather, and other conditions beyond our control. Without these conditions, the seeds would not have germinated, and there would have been no harvest.

Photograph courtesy of the author
My friend Laurie Wharemate Keung is Maori. I am of English descent. We have contrasting skin tones, eye color, hair color, and height. We couldn’t look more different. Yet one day while Laurie and I were serving children at a low-income school, a young Maori boy surprised us with a question.
“Are you two sisters?” he asked.
I chuckled, thinking his question was insincere. The boy, however, asked me again, “Are you two sisters?”
Realizing that he was sincere, I paused for a moment and wondered, “Could this boy not see the clear differences in our appearance and race?” Perhaps he did but thought it made no difference. He eagerly awaited my answer.
I told him we were not sisters, which disappointed him. But I added that we often felt like sisters as we served together. He seemed satisfied with that answer and ran off to his table.
This boy’s sincere question left an indelible mark on me. Why? Because his question spoke a truth to me—that family isn’t limited to genetics or appearance. My husband and I have been blessed to adopt two of our children. We love them, and love and service are an essential part of families.
After all, we are all children of our “one God and Father” (Ephesians 4:6).
I concluded that this boy must have been watching Laurie and me interacting. Maybe as he saw us helping or hugging each other, he assumed we were sisters. His question reminded me that children are always watching adults and forming opinions by what we say and do and how we treat each other. If this boy could assume we were sisters, then surely children across the world can assume we are all brothers and sisters if only we love and serve one another.
Our differences allowed Laurie and me to bring diverse strengths and perspectives to our charity work, making it more effective. Rather than let our differences divide us, we used them to do good and in turn form a close friendship. The young boy’s question can be a lesson for all of God’s children.

“I’m bored,” Mike said.
Mike’s mother looked up from the cake she was making. “I’m going to work in the garden while the cake bakes,” she said. “I could use a strong boy like you to help me.”
“That’s no fun,” Mike told her as he licked the spoon. “I want to do something fun.”
Mike followed his mother to the garden. He looked cross, even with cake batter on his chin. He ate some fresh peas, watered the corn, and watched a ladybug crawl along a bean leaf.
“How would you like to deliver some carrots to Aunt Annie?” asked his mother.
Mike started to grin. “I have an idea,” he said, running toward the house.
Mike cut out the bottom of an old shoe box. He found a red crayon and wrote three words on the piece of box. Then he got his skates and ran back to the garden. “Pin this on my back, please,” he said to his mother.
“Mike’s Delivery Service,” she read as she pinned it to his shirt.
Mike put on his skates and picked up the bag of carrots. “Vroom! Vroom!” he said as he started down the sidewalk.
Old Mr. Davis, who lived in the next block, was walking by. He had a bag of groceries in his arms, and his dog, Chip, on a leash. “Beep! Beep!” Mike shouted, skating carefully out around the old man. “Make way for Mike’s Delivery Service!”
“Yap! Yap!” barked Chip, jerking his leash.
Mike turned in at the house on the corner. He rang the doorbell and called, “Delivery for you, Aunt Annie!”
“Why, thank you, Mr. Mike,” said the smiling lady who opened the door. “Do you take return loads?”
Aunt Annie put a carton of eggs in Mike’s hands. She said, “This is a special delivery, sir. Please be very careful.”
Chip barked and pulled at his leash when Mike passed him and Mr. Davis again.
Mike’s mother met him at the door and took the eggs. “Thank you, sir. You have a very good delivery service.”
Mike sat on the step and ate a piece of warm cake. While he ate, he had another idea. “I have one more job to do, Mom,” he called. And Mike’s Delivery Service took off again.
Mr. Davis was sitting on a low wall, resting. Chip could hear Mike’s skates, and he pulled on the leash.
“Mr. Davis,” said Mike, “I’ll carry that bag for you.”
“Well, Mr. Delivery Service,” said the old man, “it has a jar of jam in it.” Then he winked and said, “If the glass broke, it could give your ‘delivery truck’ a flat tire. But you would help me a lot if you could take my dog!”
Mike took Chip’s leash in his hand. Chip barked and ran down the walk, pulling Mike behind him. “Slow down, Chip, before we get a ticket for speeding!” yelled Mike.
Chip and Mike were waiting when Mr. Davis got home. “Thanks, Mike,” said the tired man. “You made a fast delivery—but did you deliver the dog, or did the dog deliver you?”
“Chip delivered me,” Mike said. “And he liked it. Look at him.”
Chip was wagging his tail hard.
“You like to help, don’t you, boy?” asked Mike as he patted the head of the happy dog.
Mike felt happy, too, and not a bit bored.

All my life I was taught that there was no God. Little did I know how that would change when I applied to be a high school exchange student in the United States, representing the Czech Republic. When I filled out the application, one question was “What is your religious preference?” I knew most Americans were Christian, so that was what I wrote down. But I was a nonbeliever.
With anticipation, I awaited the outcome of my application. Where would I live?
I was assigned to the Grant and Jewel Hodson family, Latter-day Saints in Utah. Where is Utah? Mormons? Who are they? I looked up Utah in books, and I looked up Mormons too. The books said terrible things about the Church and especially about Joseph Smith. I spent my last night at home crying. I was terrified.
My mother assured me that everything would be all right, and if I didn’t like the family or Utah, I could come home or be assigned to another family.
When I arrived in Utah, Emily, one of the daughters, came to pick me up. She was 16 years old, wearing normal, casual clothes, and she was so nice. I thought, “Wow! This might not be that bad after all!” The whole family was warm and welcoming to me.
I experienced quite a cultural adjustment. I saw that my host family prayed before every meal and before they went to bed. They didn’t drink alcohol or smoke cigarettes. They lived moral lives. Everything was totally opposite of how the teenagers I had known lived.
And it seemed that almost everybody I met was a member of the LDS Church. I was impressed that when these people spoke about their church, they would say, “I know,” not, “I believe.” Never before had I heard such conviction in religious statements. If these people could know, I reasoned, there must be a way for me to know too. I was the sort of person who had to know, because if I accepted the teachings of the Church, I would have to make changes in my lifestyle and in my future plans.
With a strong desire to know for myself about the truthfulness of the Church, I watched the example of my host family. They didn’t proselytize, but the way they lived made me want to know what was behind their actions. I had never seen such faith.
I heard a Church leader say, “People will want to know Christ because they know you.” I wanted to know Christ because I knew the Hodsons. They were a great example to me of the way a family should live.
I began praying. I prayed for three weeks and nothing happened. I was a little discouraged. I thought that maybe I was not worthy to feel God’s love.
That same week I decided to join the Hodsons’ traditional family testimony meeting on the first Sunday of the month. The mother, Jewel, asked me if I would like to say anything. I said, “Sure.” But I thought, “What am I going to say?”
Since everybody had expressed appreciation, I thought I could at least express my appreciation to the Hodsons for all they had done for me. They had been so patient with me. They treated me as their own daughter and had never pushed me into anything. I would express my true gratitude.
I was the last to speak. I stood up and started saying how grateful I was for their kindness and patience and also for their desire to teach me about God. All of a sudden, a strong, overwhelming feeling came over me. The language barrier was gone; I had no problem speaking English. I was fluent for the first time! I had never felt anything like this before. I spoke as I was inspired. It was such a warm, beautiful feeling. I was quietly being taught, “You know what you are saying is true. You know I exist. You know.”
And I did know! With tears in my eyes, I sat down. I thought, “What was that?” Answering as though she had heard my question, my host mother quietly spoke, “What you are feeling is the Spirit.” All I could think was “Wow! It is true!”
With my parents’ permission, I asked my host father to baptize me into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. It was a happy day for me. I felt so clean and fresh! In addition to my host family, I was surrounded by many members from my ward who came to support me. I appreciated that so much.
When I returned to the Czech Republic from Utah, I was the only member of the Church not just in my town, Chrastava (population 8,000), but also in Liberec (population 120,000), a city about six miles (10 km) from Chrastava. I worked as a hotel receptionist and taught English in a private high school. I was desperately seeking to find my new place at home. I was close to giving up. Nevertheless, I continued to kneel every night and pray for a miracle that would bring me out of my despair. I also tried really hard to stay away from my old habits and friends.
Finally my prayers were answered. The missionaries came to Liberec, where I was teaching. (I later learned that Brother Hodson had contacted the mission president for the Czech Republic and told him about me. Now there is a growing branch of about 40 Latter-day Saints in my hometown.)
I have since attended Brigham Young University—Idaho and finished my fine arts degree at BYU–Hawaii. One of the highlights of being at BYU–Hawaii was playing on the volleyball team. On that special campus, my testimony grew.
I have now returned to my home in the Czech Republic. I want to spread the gospel message. At first, my father and mother thought I was totally crazy to have made such a conversion. Now they support me completely, and they are grateful for my education.
Maybe I can also have an influence as a teacher in the arts. The people here need the gospel, and they need the arts. I wish they knew what I know. I want to teach them the true plan of happiness. I know Heavenly Father wants my people to have the gospel and all the really good things in life. I know my Heavenly Father loves me and will help me to do my best, even though I have imperfections. I continue to desire to be guided by Him always.

After enjoying several days of exhilarating camp activities, 130 young women from the Sandy Utah Hillcrest Stake shared an evening of spiritual refreshment in their own homemade chapel in the woods. Upon being placed in charge of the project, the fourth year campers (Adventurers) chose a secluded area on the stake-owned campgrounds that was surrounded by a natural shelter of beautiful quaking aspens. With three giant pines as a backdrop, the spot seemed the perfect place for the meetinghouse. The girls spent one entire day clearing out the dense undergrowth, and the next two days sawing, hammering, lashing, and carrying logs to form benches and a pulpit. Gradually the natural amphitheater became what the campers called their “little chapel in the woods.” They were able to participate in two devotionals and one special evening there with the stake presidency and bishoprics before returning home for another year.

My brother was less-active for a while. I tried almost everything I could think of to get him back to church. My parents were trying as well. I was almost ready to give up when a thought came to my mind in the middle of sacrament meeting. I followed the prompting, and a few weeks later he started to come for only sacrament meeting. It made me feel wonderful that he was coming back. I know that my Father in Heaven had answered my prayers and was helping my brother and me along in this obstacle in our lives. I know that if you pray for guidance, then Heavenly Father will indeed help you. Just don’t give up.
Hanna M., 15, Denmark

When I was a little girl, I had a lot of daydreams. Sure, almost all children have fantasies. But these were not your ordinary, everyday, run of the mill, childhood dreams. I was not a normal child. Yet, what child is normal, and what fantasy is ordinary? Anyway, as I was saying, I had some extraordinary ideas.
First, and probably most unusual, I believed I was a blonde. Don’t ask me why; imagination usually doesn’t provide a “why” or a “because.” I believed the dark-haired, fair-skinned image in the mirror was someone else who had been hired to trick me into believing that I resembled Snow White more than Cinderella. I would stand in front of the mirror for hours on end trying to catch her blinking at the wrong moment or making some other false movement that would give her away. Apparently she had been trained well in the art of imitation, and I never caught her off guard.
Long flowing blonde hair reminds me of gold and sunshine. Angels have blonde hair, and so do all the beautiful princesses who live happily ever after.
There is something magic about blonde hair, and since I imagined I had blonde hair, there was something magic about me.
It’s funny some of the strange things a person can do when she’s magic. Dolls talk, elevator doors open when she waves her hand, and cardboard boxes become sleek new cars. I had traveled in parts of outer space where the shuttle flights hadn’t been. I could talk to bumblebees, make friends with warring natives, and even turn a single pink balloon into an entire birthday party.
Of course, being as magic and as beautiful as I was, I was naturally the center of the universe. When I skinned my knee, the whole world felt the pain; when my goldfish died, everyone mourned with me; when I played the harpsichord for the PTA in the second grade, the room was packed, and they had all come to listen to me.
It was a wonderful world I lived in. It was a good feeling knowing that everyone loved me and that the whole world was watching out for me. It is too bad that kind of fantasy can’t last forever.
One day, as I was looking in the mirror, I felt a strange sense of realization, and reality slowly filtered through the magic. That girl, standing there, staring back at me, was me. Those were my eyes, those were my eyes, those were my freckles, that was my skin, and that, like it or not, was my hair. It was not sunshine or gold. It didn’t shine or gleam or make me look like an angel. It was black.
I stared at the girl for a long time in one last futile attempt to discover her identity. She didn’t flinch. I moved ever so slightly to the left. She moved with me. I lifted my hand above my head, then suddenly jerked it back down. She did it also.
I went into my room and shut the door tightly. Then I lay down on my bed and thought.
I thought about all the people who went to PTA, but not to hear me play the harpsichord. I thought about all the people who were laughing the day my goldfish died. I thought about cardboard boxes and elevator doors. I thought about pink balloons and dolls. I thought about gold and sunshine and everything I could think of.
Then I got up and went back to my mirror. There I was—me—black hair and all.
A smile tickled the corners of my mouth and then leaped boldly to my lips.
Long flowing black hair reminds me of night and the manes of wild stallions, and there is something magically alive about night and wild stallions.

This story begins in 1842, in a Norwegian settlement near Fox River, Illinois.
Sarah Ann handed a bowl of soup to their guest.
“Thank you,” Mr. James said. “I can never repay you and your mother for letting me stay here to wait out this storm.”
Sarah Ann smiled. Many travelers had enjoyed the warmth of their home. Mother could never ignore a person in need, and Sarah Ann loved her for it.
“We’re glad you could stay with us tonight. This is the coldest night I can remember in Illinois,” Sarah Ann said, taking a seat at the table across from Mr. James. “Our family moved here from New York after Father died. He and Mother left Norway to escape those who wanted to punish them for being Quakers. When they arrived in America, Father worked hard to build a house.”
As Sarah Ann told the story, she could almost smell the fresh-cut maple wood again.
“One day, our home caught fire, and everything was destroyed. When Father returned from work and saw us standing in the street, he asked Mother if we were safe. She answered yes, and Father knelt down right there in the middle of the street and thanked God for protecting us.”
“Your father must have had a lot of faith in God,” Mr. James said.
Sarah Ann nodded, wishing her father were still with them.
Soon their visitor said good night and went to bed. Mother reached for his worn socks, which had been drying by the fire, so she could mend the many holes. This was a scene Sarah Ann had witnessed a hundred times. She kissed Mother on the cheek and went to bed.
When Sarah Ann awoke the next morning, Mr. James was gone. But the house was not quiet. There was a large crowd gathered in the road outside, and Sarah Ann leaned out the window to hear what was happening.
Two men were standing in the middle of the crowd. Sarah Ann recognized them as the Mormon missionaries who had arrived in the village last week. It was obvious that whatever they were talking about was important to them.
One of the men held up a book and said, “We testify that the Book of Mormon is true. We also testify that there is a living prophet once again on the earth.”
Sarah Ann suddenly felt a warm feeling fill her heart. It surprised her. She knew in that moment that what the missionaries were teaching was true.
Sarah Ann rushed to tell Mother about the experience and her desire to be baptized. Some of Mother’s friends were members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and even though they were good people, Sarah Ann could tell that Mother didn’t want her to be baptized.
“Sarah Ann, this is a big decision. If you still feel the same way when you are older, then you may be baptized,” Mother said.
Sarah Ann agreed. Over the next three years, she learned all she could about the Church. As she did, her faith in Jesus Christ and His restored gospel grew. No amount of time could take away what Sarah Ann felt about the gospel.
Finally, Sarah Ann was baptized. On her baptism day, Sarah Ann made a promise in her heart that she would always do whatever Heavenly Father asked her to do. She was about to find out what that would be.
(To be continued.)

Doug Goreas, member of the Royal Canadian Sea Cadets, recently completed a cruise aboard the HMCS (Her Majesty’s Canadian Ship) Mackenzie to Japan. Doug, 16, was selected along with 29 other cadets for this privilege.
Doug’s voyage first took him to Pearl Harbor and then on to Japan. After reaching the port of Kagoshima, Doug relates, “I would have to say that Kagoshima was one of the highlights of my trip. While on leave there, I happened to glance into a bookstore and saw two well-dressed, clean-shaven young men. They looked like Mormon missionaries. When they came out, I approached them, and they were just that. It was great to talk to them and find out about the Church in that area.
“They invited me to the youth group meeting the next night, and as I had leave I attended. I sat in on an English class and afterward played in a Ping-Pong tournament. Teenagers are the same wherever you travel. It was a wonderful experience.”
Doug’s next port of call was Kure, where he took a train trip to Hiroshima to visit the Hiroshima Peace Park, built as a reminder of the destructive potential of the atom bomb. After visiting the ports of Kobe and Yokuska, the HMCS Mackenzie cruised back to Canada.
A student at Kelowna Senior Secondary School, Doug is an assistant to the president of the priests quorum of the Kelowna Branch, in Kelowna, British Columbia, Canada. During the past four years he has won numerous awards, including the Kelowna Citizenship and Achievement awards.
Doug plays nine instruments and presently plays the tuba with the Kelowna Senior Secondary Concert Band. He attributes his interest in music to “the fine example and inspiration of the members of the Church.” Doug is looking forward to serving a mission and completing a university degree in music.

At age 15 I came to the realization that some of the religious traditions my parents had taught me did not agree with what I read in the Bible. I also realized I needed to leave behind activities that were wasting my time—and my youth. I determined not to do things just because others were.
I decided I needed to look for the Lord’s true Church. Fortunately my mother’s coworker invited us to attend a meeting of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints one Sunday. I was nervous, but when I got to the building, my feelings changed. The atmosphere was one of reverence, and I felt a spirit of calm in my heart. At church that day I learned to pray.
The following week my mother and I started receiving the discussions from two sister missionaries, and a month later we were baptized. Although I didn’t know all the doctrine of the Church before my baptism, I exercised enough faith to know that the Church is true and to receive a witness from the Spirit.

When Drew* was a young boy, he lived next door to the bishop of his ward, Bishop Philip T. Sonntag. The bishop’s son Mark was one of Drew’s best friends. One afternoon, Mark and Drew were playing in different parts of the Sonntag yard, when the bishop came outside looking for his son. “Drew, do you know where Mark is?” he asked. Drew knew that if he told the truth, Mark would have to quit playing and go inside. “No, I don’t know where he is,” Drew answered.
The bishop went back into his house, and Drew ran to the other side of the large yard, where Mark was playing. “Who were you talking to?” Mark asked. “It was your dad,” Drew answered. “What did he want?” “He wanted you to go inside.” “Then I’d better go in,” Mark said. He left, and Drew stayed outside. A few minutes later Bishop Sonntag came outside again. He told Drew that what he had done was not right and that he (the bishop) was disappointed that Drew hadn’t told the truth.
Drew felt terrible. He was nine years old. He had been baptized. He knew that he was accountable and that he had made a mistake. He walked home and went to his bedroom. He cried as he knelt beside his bed and asked Heavenly Father to forgive him. Then he went back to his friend’s home. When Bishop Sonntag answered the door, Drew said, “I just want you to know that I’m sorry about what I did.” The bishop put his arm around Drew and invited him to come inside.
Drew learned two valuable lessons from the experience: First, it’s important to tell the truth. Second, when we repent after doing something wrong, we feel better. Drew always remembered the outpouring of love he felt from his bishop upon correcting his mistake. He appreciated the bishop and felt that he had been forgiven.

One of the sweetest experiences I had in the temple was working with children who were being sealed to their parents. I once asked a little boy, “What are you doing here in the temple?”
He said, “I came with my parents to be sealed.”
I asked, “What does that mean?”
He said, “We will be a family forever.”
I said, “That’s a wonderful answer. You must have a good family if you want to be with them forever.”
His eyes lit up, and he said, “Yes, I do.” Children can feel the sacredness and seriousness of the temple.