Gospel Story Finder

Recently, Brother Shamola was thrilled to receive additional information about his ancestors from an oral interview that was conducted in his grandmother’s village in Homa Bay, on the western shores of Kenya.
The interview was given by a family member and recorded for future reference. It gave him information about seven generations of his family, and he was able to identify many ancestors of whom he was previously unaware. He has already submitted several of their names to the temple and plans to submit many more in the future.

As we strive to live the commandments of God, we become more confident that he will sustain us in our righteous endeavors. One sister, asked to help lead a hiking activity for the youth in her stake, felt anxious about the assignment. She had little experience with outdoor activities and was exhausted when she hiked the route in preparation for the activity. She prayed fervently for help, then began the hike. “The hike was not a hardship at all,” she said. “I had no doubt that I was blessed.”

When President George Albert Smith was young, his deceased grandfather George A. Smith appeared to him in a dream and asked, “I would like to know what you have done with my name.” President Smith responded, “I have never done anything with your name of which you need be ashamed.”
Each week as we partake of the sacrament, we covenant and promise that we are willing to take upon us the name of Christ, always remember Him, and keep His commandments. If we are willing to do so, we are promised that most wonderful blessing—that His Spirit will always be with us.
Just as President George Albert Smith had to account to his grandfather for what he had done with his name, someday each one of us will have to account to our Savior, Jesus Christ, for what we have done with His name.
The importance of having a good name is spoken of in Proverbs, where we read: “A good name is rather to be chosen than great riches, and loving favour rather than silver and gold” and “The [name] of the just is blessed.”
As I pondered these scriptures and the importance of having a good name, a flood of memories came into my mind about the good name and legacy my parents left my four brothers, my two sisters, and me. My parents did not have the riches of the world, nor did they have silver or gold. Nine of us lived in a two-bedroom, one-bath home with an enclosed back porch, where my sisters slept. When my parents passed away, my brothers and sisters and I gathered to divide their earthly possessions, which were few in number. My mother left a few dresses, some used furniture, and a few other personal items. My father left some carpenter tools, some old hunting rifles, and little else. The only things of any monetary value were a modest home and a small savings account.
Together we wept openly, giving thanks, knowing they had left us something much more precious than silver or gold. They had given us their love and their time. They had often borne testimony of the truthfulness of the gospel, which we can now read in their precious journals. Not so much by words but more by their example, they had taught us to work hard, to be honest, and to pay a full tithing. They also engendered a desire to further our education, to serve a mission, and most important, to find an eternal companion, be married in the temple, and endure to the end. Truly they left us the legacy of a good name, for which we shall ever be grateful.

Jenny brushed her hair until it was smooth, then held it in place with a bow her mother had made to match her new dress. She twirled in front of the mirror on her closet door, eager to go to school. Today was her ninth birthday. That meant that Mrs. Jordan would put her name on the board and her class would sing “Happy Birthday” to her. And, on birthdays, Mrs. Jordan always let the class play an extra fifteen minutes after lunch. When they were through playing games, Jenny would pass out the chocolate chip cookies her mother was sending to school with her.
Then, after school, her friends Carrie and Susie were coming home with her for dinner. They were going to have pizza and cake and ice cream.
Her mother opened the bedroom door and held her arms out for a hug. “Happy Birthday, Jenny.”
“Mom, it’s going to be a fun day.” Jenny hugged her mother hard.
“I know, honey.” Mom straightened the bow in Jenny’s hair and turned to leave the room. “Everyone else is eating breakfast. Hurry, or you’ll be late.”
Jenny grabbed her backpack and her jacket and carried them into the kitchen.
“Happy Birthday, Jenny,” shouted her sisters, Heather and Janie, and her brother, Joshua. Her father got up from the table and pulled out a chair for her just like he did for Mom when they went to a nice restaurant.
When Jenny went to her classroom, she carefully set the box of cookies and her backpack on her desk and turned around to look at the chalkboard. Written there was:
Mary and JennyHappy Birthday, girls!
The smile left Jenny’s face. She had not known that it was Mary’s birthday, too. Mary had been in the class only a couple of weeks. No one had tried to make friends with her. In fact, most of them whispered about her clothes, which always had torn places and were never very clean. Her hair looked as though it were never combed. Because she never tried to talk to anyone during recess and usually played by herself, everyone else felt that she was unfriendly and wanted to be left alone.
Jenny had felt uncomfortable about it, though, especially after last week’s family home evening lesson about trying to see good in others. Still, she felt as if her special day had been spoiled.
Mary was the next student to enter the classroom. Her hair was a little neater than usual. She sat at her desk and didn’t even look at the board.
Jenny could see that she didn’t have anything to share with the class for her birthday, so she asked, “Mary, didn’t anyone tell you to bring something to share with the class? We always bring something on our birthdays.”
Mary looked up. “I couldn’t. My mother is too sick to cook.”
Jenny looked at the blue box that held her cookies. She felt ashamed. What if her mother was sick? She wouldn’t have had cookies or a new dress. She went over to Mary’s desk. “My mom made cookies for me to share with the class after lunch. Would you like to help me pass them out when it’s time?”
Mary looked up at Jenny. “Are you sure?”
“Of course. It will be fun.”
“I’d like that. My mother has been sick for a long time.” Mary’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I probably won’t even get a birthday cake unless my dad buys one for me.”
Jenny couldn’t imagine a birthday party without a birthday cake. She suddenly had an idea. “Mary, you watch the cookies. I have to find Mrs. Jordan.”
Hurrying out of the classroom, Jenny saw her teacher at the end of the hall and ran to tell her about her idea. Mrs. Jordan gave her a note to go to the office to call her mother.
After explaining about it being Mary’s birthday, too, and about Mary’s sick mother, Jenny asked, “May I bring Mary home and let her share my birthday?”
“I’ll go see Mary’s mother and find out if Mary can come to dinner. When I pick you and Susie and Carrie up after school, I’ll let you know what her mother said. Now both of you have a nice day. And, honey—” Mom paused. “I love you.”
That evening four girls stuffed themselves with pizza, played games, and fixed each other’s hair. They giggled and told stories. Jenny had been afraid that Carrie and Susie would be mad at her for inviting Mary to her party, but after Mary had told them a story about her former school, Carrie leaned over toward Jenny. “She’s fun. I like her.”
“Me, too,” Jenny said, and she meant it.
“Girls, it’s time for cake and ice cream.
The girls followed Mom into the dining room.
“Oh, look!” said Carrie. “They’re beautiful!”
On the table were two cakes ablaze with candles. Mary’s eyes opened wide. “I’ve never had a cake with icing flowers.”
Jenny looked at Mary. She no longer looked like the unhappy girl who had been an outsider in their class for the past two weeks. Jenny hugged her mother and whispered in her ear, “Thank you for making both our birthdays special.”
The girls ate pieces of both cakes with big scoops of ice cream. Then Carrie and Susie begged Jenny to open the gifts they had brought her. Mom slipped her a gift to give to Mary.
The party ended with more laughter and singing. Jenny’s mother left the room and came back with Mary’s sweater and a cake box. “Mary, I promised your mother that I would have you home by seven o’clock. We don’t want her to worry.” She handed the box to Mary. “You can share the rest of the cake with your family.”
Mary set the box on the table and hugged Mom. “Thank you. It was the best birthday I’ve ever had!” She turned to Jenny and hugged her, too. “Jenny, thank you for sharing your birthday with me.” She paused a moment, then said in a soft voice, “You’re nice.”
Jenny thought that that was her best birthday present of all.

Annette Aagard was in the middle of a bad week. She felt overwhelmed. She did not need one more thing to do. Then why was she rushing off to become—of all things—a volunteer?
A couple of months earlier it had seemed like a good idea. She had signed up to donate a few hours each week to Great Oaks Village, a residential school for abused children in Orlando, Florida. She had been through orientation to assist girls between the ages of six and twelve. And now she faced her first assignment—all alone.
As soon as she walked into the dorm at Great Oaks, she heard someone say, “Hey, the new volunteer’s here!” Several anxious, wide-eyed little girls ran up to her and asked, “Are you our new volunteer?” And someone said, “Better be good or she won’t talk to you!”
By the end of that first evening in March of 1989, Annette knew why she had rushed off to become a volunteer. She learned that the word volunteer is like magic to these youngsters. It means that for a little while, someone has come to be family; someone has come to give love.

I thought of a recent family home evening lesson on baptism. Dad opened his scriptures to the Doctrine and Covenants and read, “And this is my gospel—repentance and baptism by water, and then cometh the baptism of fire and the Holy Ghost, even the Comforter, which showeth all things, and teacheth the peaceable things of the kingdom” (D&C 39:6).
“The Holy Ghost speaks to us in a still, small voice,” Dad explained. “And if we obey Heavenly Father’s commandments and listen to that voice, we will be happy.”
Inside the church, I changed into a white jumpsuit, and Mom put my hair in a braid so it wouldn’t float to the top of the water. Then we took our seats for the baptismal service. Everyone sat quietly while Sister Larsen played hymns and Primary songs on the piano. Even my baby sister sat still. After the opening prayer, my big brother Preston and Grandpa Larsen sang my favorite Primary song, “I Am a Child of God.”* As I sang I knew that Heavenly Father loves me. I was grateful that He blessed me with a family that loves me.
When it was Grandpa Ochsenhirt’s turn to give his talk, he spoke directly to me. “The Holy Ghost will help you learn what is right and wrong so that you can make the right choices,” he said. “He will also give you the strength to choose the right. And if you try to keep Heavenly Father’s commandments, the Holy Ghost will be with you as a constant companion.”
That made me think about school. Schoolwork is hard for me, and I get frustrated because I have to try harder than other students. Some of my classmates tease me when I don’t do well on tests, and I want to say mean things back. And since I don’t like being teased, sometimes I’m tempted to look at my friend’s paper and get the right answers. Could the Holy Ghost help me handle school better?
When it was time for me to be baptized, I walked down the stairs to meet my dad in the baptismal font. My heart felt large and warm. I glanced at Mom and saw that her eyes were filled with tears. Dad smiled at me, hugged me, and helped me stand the way he had shown me. Then he said the simple prayer and lowered me under the water. Afterward, Mom met me at the top of the stairs with a towel. She wrapped it around me and squeezed me tight.
“I have a great feeling inside, Mom,” I said.
She hugged me again. “That’s the Holy Ghost telling you that you’re doing the right thing.”
After I changed out of my wet clothes, the men in the family who hold the Melchizedek Priesthood laid their hands on my head. They confirmed me a member of the Church and gave me the gift of the Holy Ghost. I seemed to be surrounded by a peaceful glow.
For many weeks I felt clean and happy. I loved talking about my baptism and how my heart seemed to be growing. My family and Primary teacher reminded me often that the Holy Ghost would help me know what was right and wrong.
A few days ago I had to take a test in school, and I was really nervous. I kept thinking how easy it would be to copy from the girl sitting next to me. I knew that cheating was wrong, but I was desperate to get a good score. Then I remembered that the Holy Ghost would help me. I said a prayer in my heart asking for strength to make the right choice.
The rest of the day, I felt as happy as I had at my baptism. After school, I ran to our car and gave Mom a hug. “I got 100 percent on my test!” I exclaimed.
“That’s great!” Mom said.
“And I didn’t even cheat.”
Mom frowned. “You wanted to cheat?”
“Well, I thought about it,” I admitted. “But I had a feeling inside that it was wrong. So I prayed for help and just tried my best.”
Mom smiled. “I’m glad you listened to that feeling.”
I’m glad too. Really glad. I always want to be worthy of my companion—the Holy Ghost.

The wind and snow whirling outside the bakery became just a part of the baker’s beautiful dream of fortune, as he dozed contentedly next to the warm brick oven.
Suddenly the baker’s nose twitched. His eyes flew open. The front legs of the chair he was leaning back on hit the floor with a bang!
“Ach du Lieber!” (Oh, dear me!) he exclaimed. “My pretzels! They will be burned!”
He grabbed the long-handled baker’s peel (paddle) and hurriedly removed the pretzels from the oven. There was a different aroma coming from the little knotted pieces of dough he had so carefully prepared and put into the oven a short time ago. And the appearance was not quite like the breadlike morsels he was used to turning out for Mr. Schnitzel’s bakery.
“Ach! Ach!” moaned the little baker. “Mr. Schnitzel will be angry!”
Quickly he gathered the hard little biscuits into a basket and put them by the back door. Hastily he began knotting the remaining dough so that he could get another batch of pretzels out of the oven before closing time. Mr. Schnitzel would soon come in from the front of the bakery with his ring of keys and say, “Well, Hermann, did you earn your money today?”
Hermann had just begun cleaning the oven after taking out the new batch, when he heard Mr. Schnitzel at the back door. Oh, dear, worried Hermann. Why is he at the back door today? As expected, Mr. Schnitzel boomed, “Well, Hermann, did you earn your money today?” Before the baker could answer, the owner asked, “What’s this?” Mr. Schnitzel had noticed the basket of overdone pretzels. Anger colored his plump cheeks. “Maybe you forgot how to make pretzels after all this time? Or maybe you think you can improve on the old monks’ way?” (The first pretzels were made by monks as a reward for children who learned their prayers. The pretzels were soft and breadlike, and they were twisted to represent arms folded in prayer.)
Hermann had not meant to offend anyone. Completely miserable, he was certain that the price of the wasted ingredients would be taken out of his meager salary. He sputtered and stuttered and waved his hands about but could find nothing to say.
He watched Mr. Schnitzel turn a pretzel over and over with disdain, sniff it, and finally take a tiny bite. The crispy morsel broke apart in his hand. He chewed a piece, then another. “Hmmmmmm!” he said at last. “This is not bad, Hermann. Do you think you could make just one batch like this tomorrow? We will see how the customers like crunchy pretzels.”
Hermann nodded his head in disbelief as he watched Mr. Schnitzel fill his pockets with the toasty pretzels to take home to his wife and children.
As soon as the door closed, Hermann danced a little jig. His luck had turned! He had invented something!
Crispy pretzels became a great favorite with everyone, and today there is a wide variety of pretzel shapes and sizes and flavorings. The pretiola of the Italian monks has become a treasured snack the world over.

Valerie and Mama walked to the market. Valerie saw colorful fruits and silver fish. She smelled the beautiful flowers for sale. Valerie looked around. Where was Mama? Valerie was scared. She folded her arms and bowed her head. She whispered, “Heavenly Father, please help me find Mama.” Valerie waited. Then she heard someone calling her name. There was Mama! “Thank you, Heavenly Father,” Valerie whispered. Valerie was happy she could pray when she needed help.

Anchorage that night was across the bay from Miami. The skyline reflected beautifully in the water. Lobsters tasted better for having been caught by hand. With boats moored together, the combined crews held a testimony meeting, expressing their brotherly love and gratitude. The setting was spectacular and the spirit impressive. Almost everyone had expressed himself when Miguel, who had been quietly listening, asked if he could participate.

“Of course,” he was assured. He said that he felt a wonderful spirit, that he hadn’t felt anything like it since he had been active in his own Catholic Scout troop. He said he had been on cruises with many Explorer posts, but he wanted us to know he felt something special about our group. Everyone was deeply moved.

Once during a study session, I couldn’t keep my mouth shut. I asked in a friendly way if my classmates could change the subject. When they refused, I left. I had to do this at every break. Later, they did show some consideration and even some interest. I told them what the Church means to me. Now my classmates do not discuss inappropriate subjects in my presence.
Berendina Jantje Wachtmeester,Apeldoorn Ward, Apeldoorn Netherlands Stake

My mind tuned in and out as the teacher explained the finer points of perspective drawing. I tried to concentrate, but to no avail. My mind kept wandering.
My thoughts were interrupted by the girl sitting next to me. She was tapping my shoulder, wanting to borrow an eraser. I complied and watched my eraser terminate an entire line of notes from her drawing pad.
As she handed it back, I noticed the eraser. It was gray, made of kneaded rubber, malleable and stretchy. These erasers seem to be a bit of magic. They never wear out; they just keep cleaning up your mistakes, no matter how dark. They’re better than any kind of eraser I’ve ever used.
Then a forceful thought came to me: how this small, gray eraser paralleled repentance. I recalled the words to a scripture in Isaiah: “Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool” (Isa. 1:18). Perhaps Isaiah’s plea for repentance would have been more easily understood if it went, “Though your sins be as graphite …”
Well, maybe not, yet I imagined the pre-earth life; all of us going to earth at our appointed times, to the college of life to become artists. All of us needed to create some wonderful work of art. But upon arriving at the college of life, none of us knew the first thing about art. We had to learn to draw, and while learning we would all inevitably make mistakes. This is where the Savior came in; he made it possible for each of us to have our own eraser to correct our mistakes.
Suddenly I heard people moving around me. I came out of my meditation. Class was finally over. As I gathered my materials, I heard the teacher say: “The best artist is the one who can see his mistakes and correct them.”
The day’s lesson was well learned.

I knew I needed to go to the temple. I lived only a short car ride away from the nearest temple, yet I hadn’t been in months.
One night, I was reading Elder Neil L. Andersen’s talk from the October 2022 general conference. A sentence stood out to me: “As we enter the temple, we are freed for a time from the worldly influences crowding against us as we learn of our purpose in life and the eternal gifts offered us through our Savior, Jesus Christ.”1
I wanted to feel free from the world. Struck with a burst of determination, I scheduled an appointment to do proxy initiatories.
On the day of the appointment, I came home from work feeling tired and grumpy for no reason. I wasn’t in the mood to go to the temple.
But I remembered my past desire, even if I didn’t feel it in the moment. I went back out to my car and started driving.
Twenty minutes later, the temple came into view.
Tears sprang to my eyes. In that moment, my desire returned. The temple was the place I needed to be that night. I had to hold back more tears so I wouldn’t lose sight of the road.
The temple is a place of refuge from worldly influences and the struggles in our lives. President Russell M. Nelson has asked us to “establish a pattern of regular temple attendance.”2 As we do, we’ll enjoy the blessings of returning again and again to the house of the Lord.
Here are just a few of the blessings I noticed from attending the temple that day:
When I attended the temple that day, my bad mood was lifted. It was replaced by “the peace of God, which passeth all understanding” (Philippians 4:7).
The peace we find in the temple comes directly from God. We can connect to God anywhere through His Spirit, but the temple is set apart for us to commune directly with the Lord.
President Nelson taught: “[The temple] is His house. It is filled with His power. … I promise that increased time in the temple will bless your life in ways nothing else can.”3 Attending the temple allows us to feel God’s power. That power can come as revelation, as clarity of mind, or as a feeling of comfort.
Beyond feeling peace, I also remembered the covenants I had previously made. As I acted as proxy in the initiatory, I focused on the words of the ordinance. Those words reminded me that God would give me strength and would help me persevere through my trials.
When we return to the temple, we remember the promises we make to God and the eternal promises He makes to us.
Elder David A. Bednar of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles taught: “We do not build or enter holy temples solely to have a memorable individual or family experience. Rather, the covenants received and the ordinances performed in temples are essential to the sanctifying of our hearts and for the ultimate exaltation of God’s sons and daughters.”4
While we receive personal blessings in the temple, we should also remember the work we do for the dead. When we perform proxy ordinances, they are for the salvation of those beyond the veil.
The names of the people I helped were provided to me by the temple. I didn’t know any of the women I stood as proxy for that day. But I felt the sacred power given to them through the initiatory ordinance.
Our temple attendance helps further God’s plan for His children. In our own small way, we are participating in the work “to bring to pass the immortality and eternal life of man” (Moses 1:39). Elder Bednar taught, “As we become anxiously engaged in this sacred work, we are obeying the commandments to love and serve God and our neighbors [see Matthew 22:34–40].”5
For those of us who live near a temple, it may be easy to forget the blessings that come from temple attendance. As President Russell M. Nelson has promised, “Increased time in the temple will bless your life in ways nothing else can.”6 For those who live far from a temple, it may be hard to fit temple visits in our schedules. But the power of temple attendance is constant, and the blessings are real.
As we spend more time in the temple, we can find rest from our challenges and our hurt. We can commune with God and be part of His great work—for our own souls and the souls of all His children.

On June 2, 2002, my little granddaughter, Susan Melina, who was only seven months old, became ill, and her parents took her to the hospital. The doctors diagnosed her with a kidney infection. She also developed a serious bacterial infection that spread throughout her system, causing damage to her heart, liver, spleen, kidneys, lungs, and nervous and digestive systems. She was so ill she was admitted to intensive care.
The doctors advised her parents to prepare themselves because she could die at any time. She remained in intensive care for 26 days, during which time she was given antibiotics and many transfusions. Meanwhile, we, her family, fasted often and asked God for a miracle, for a complete healing—if it was His will. Two priesthood brethren anointed and blessed her.
When Susan Melina had been in the hospital for two weeks, her mother became ill also and had emergency surgery for appendicitis. This was a difficult trial for the whole family.
Twenty days after Susan Melina entered the hospital, she was no better. But because of the generosity of a person we didn’t even know, her parents were able to move her to a private hospital where she would receive better care.
One Saturday at noon I received a telephone call from my daughter, Susan Carolina. I was in the Guatemala City Guatemala Temple, where I work in a custodial position. My daughter told me that her baby’s condition had worsened and that the infection had now lodged in one of the ventricles of her heart. According to the doctors, it was hard to do anything to help her because she was completely malnourished. She was so ill that it was dangerous to hold her because it could cause internal bleeding. When I learned about the situation, I immediately began to pray to my Heavenly Father. Once again I fasted.
The next day, Sunday, my daughter called and told me that the bacteria had completely disappeared. The doctors were releasing Susan Melina on Monday because she was out of danger.
As we rejoiced in this great miracle, we realized that not every prayer of faith is answered so quickly in the way we desire. But I am infinitely grateful to Heavenly Father. I have no doubt that He lives and hears our prayers.

One Saturday when I was a bishop, I was preparing to go out with my family to the beach when the Spirit caused me to stop. My family asked what happened, and I responded that I couldn’t go with them because I had to visit a certain couple. I didn’t understand the reason, but I returned home and prayed and felt that I should take with me a copy of the Liahona. I did not know what message I would share, but as I arrived I felt I should talk about eternal marriage.
Later, the husband told me that God sent me there because they had been having a fight that stopped when I arrived. What that couple needed at that moment was the message I had brought.
It is very important that we have the Liahona in our homes because we don’t know when we will need it to solve our problems. I am grateful to always have the Liahona in my home. I feel the Spirit stronger when I read it and seek to apply its teachings.Marcial F. Lima, Brazil

Tina and her family went back to Orem, Utah, to see the little house where she lived as a child. “When we moved into that little house, the yard was run-down and full of weeds. We had to clear all the weeds and the rocks before we could plant lawn. It was the nicest lawn, and everyone came to play there. When we went back, we found it had all gone to weeds again. I was so sad. I remember how hard I worked.”

A few weeks ago our youngest son and his wife and family stopped to see us. The first one out of the car was our two-year-old grandson. He came running to me with his arms outstretched, shouting, “Gwampa! Gwampa! Gwampa!”
He hugged my legs, and I looked down at that smiling face and those big, innocent eyes and thought, “What kind of a world awaits him?”
For a moment I had that feeling of anxiety, that fear of the future that so many parents express to us. Everywhere we go fathers and mothers worry about the future of their children in this very troubled world.
But then a feeling of assurance came over me. My fear of the future faded.
That guiding, comforting Spirit, with which we in the Church are so familiar, brought to my remembrance what I already knew. The fear of the future was gone. That bright-eyed, little two-year-old can have a good life—a very good life—and so can his children and his grandchildren, even though they will live in a world where there is much of wickedness.

For a second profile, I turn from Mexico to a missionary at the Missionary Training Center in Provo, Utah, desperately struggling to become proficient in the German language, that he might be an effective missionary to the people of southern Germany. Each day as he opened his German grammar text, he noticed with interest and curiosity that the front cover displayed a picture of a most quaint and ancient house in Rothenburg, West Germany. Beneath the picture, the location was given. In his heart that young man determined, “I’ll visit that house and teach the truth to whoever lives within it.” This he did. The result was the conversion and baptism of Sister Helma Hahn. Today she devotes much of her time speaking to tourists who come from all over the world to see her house. She delights in telling them of the blessings which the gospel of Jesus Christ has brought to her. Her house is perhaps one of the most frequently photographed houses in the entire world. No visitor leaves without hearing in simple yet earnest words her testimony of praise and gratitude. That missionary who brought to Sister Hahn the gospel remembered the sacred charge: “Go ye therefore, and teach all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost” (Matt. 28:19).

David D’Arcy, 17, Adelaide. David was at a local shopping center when he and his mates were jumped by “some other blokes. We were fighting,” he says sheepishly. Suddenly the fight was broken up by the appearance of six men in suits, white shirts, and ties.
Later, a school friend introduced him to the missionaries—the same ones who had played peacemaker. David was baptized on his 17th birthday. “Those missionaries,” he says, “I love ’em.” Guess what David D’Arcy wants to be when he’s 19.

Upon returning to the university after my mission, I found that academic work was really tough for me. As a science and mathematics student, I seemed to have forgotten my basic knowledge of chemistry, physics, and mathematics while I was on my mission. Although my return to the university was hard initially, the things I had learned on my mission—such as researching to find answers—boosted my morale as I studied in school. I am glad that I placed the Lord first in my life and went on a mission. The article “On the Lord’s Team,” by R. Val Johnson in the March 2006 Liahona, confirmed these feelings.Aristotle Kyeremanteng Fokuo, Ghana

I have learned this truth through a personal experience that, though seemingly insignificant, left a lasting impression on me. At the age of 22, while serving in the French Air Force in Paris, I was thrilled to learn that Elder Neal A. Maxwell, an Apostle of the Lord, would be speaking at a conference on the Champs-Élysées. However, just before the event, I received orders to drive a senior officer to the airport at the exact time the conference was set to take place.

I was disappointed. But determined to attend, I dropped the officer off and rushed to the conference. After finding a parking spot, I sprinted down the Champs-Élysées to the meeting place and arrived breathless with only five minutes left before the meeting ended. Just as I entered, I heard Elder Maxwell say, “I will now give you an apostolic blessing.” In that instant, I had a beautiful, unforgettable spiritual experience. I was overcome by the Spirit, and the words of the blessing seemed to penetrate every fiber of my soul as though they were meant just for me.

What I experienced that day was a small yet powerful manifestation of a comforting aspect of God’s plan for His children: When circumstances beyond our control prevent us from fulfilling the righteous desires of our hearts, the Lord will compensate in ways that allow us to receive His promised blessings.