Gospel Story Finder

Imagine waking up to the smell of smoke, the sound of screams and gunshots, the sights of looting and beating. Imagine racially inspired violence so dangerous that schools close and curfews are imposed for days.
This tragic scenario might seem like something you’d see in a movie—the kind your parents and leaders would probably recommend you avoid—but during late April and early May this year LDS youth in the Los Angeles area actually lived it. They saw the rioting. They knew people who looted. They watched familiar buildings burn to the ground.
Yet even while the ashes were still smoldering, the Young Women of the Los Angeles area were busy putting the finishing touches on a long-planned multistake conference that would unite nearly 500 LDS young women of various ethnic backgrounds and affirm that the gospel offers peace to everyone.
The six-hour conference featured an address from Young Women General President Janette Hales. Her message focused on how the fundamentals of personal religious behavior, things like reading the scriptures, praying, and keeping the commandments, can get you through life’s trials and keep you close to Heavenly Father, no matter what is going on in the world around you.
The conference also included 15 workshops covering subjects like dating, preparing for a mission, self-defense, sign language, and baby-sitting. It was just what the doctor ordered for the girls after the tragedy of the weeks before. But the memories for some of the young women were still vivid.
“We went to the store before they burned it to get some food,” said Virginia Smith of the Inglewood Stake. “It was crowded. All of a sudden people were screaming and running to the back. Someone said there were people there with guns. So my mom said to get on the floor, ’cuz if they shoot, they’re not going to shoot down there. Then someone said they went out. The next chance we got, we headed for the door, got in our car, and left.”

A modern parable portrays a farmer who had a wheat crop that surpassed any he had known before. According to the account, he could think of nothing but the treasures he could buy with the money from his crop. Every day he would visit his fields, gloat over the wonderful sea of golden grain, and then come home and proudly tell his family how rich he would be.
This farmer had a little boy who was ill and who begged his father to take him to the fields so that he could see this vast expanse of ripening wheat. The father consented, bundled his son up, and took him out. Absorbed in the treasure that lay before him the father did not immediately notice that his son was no longer by his side. Some time passed before he noticed the child missing and began searching about in the wheat, which was taller than his boy. Not finding him, the frantic father rushed to the village to summon the help of his neighbors. All rallied to his call, formed a huge circle by joining hands, and walked slowly forward, trampling the dense stalks until the body of the boy was found. Brokenhearted, the father mourned over the death of his son who was so dear to him. He realized the greater worth of one individual over the worth of monetary possessions. (Sidney H. Alexander, Jr., “Today’s Crises,” Vital Speeches, 1 Jan. 1963, pp. 185–86.)

Dayra—a young woman from Nuevo León, Mexico—painted words of encouragement on rocks to give to neighbors.
Photograph by Melissa Sue Lara Garza

Melissa Lara from Mexico shared how her daughter, Dayra, set a goal to deliver messages of encouragement during the COVID-19 pandemic: “She decorated stones with phrases, distributed them in her block, and left them at the door.” At one house, an older woman opened the door and asked what she was doing. After Dayra explained her project, the woman asked what phrase Dayra had for her. Dayra told her, “You can keep moving forward. We are with you.”

Melissa said, “The lady with tears in her eyes says, ‘Thank you; those are the words that I needed to hear. I’m going through a challenge and prayed. Then you came to my door to bring me a message I needed.’ I’m grateful my daughter shared her testimony. She told me, ‘Mom, I didn’t know that what I was doing had that impact.’”

Jennie shivered and drew the patchwork quilt more tightly around herself. She snuggled close to Susan. Outside the wagon, the wind whipped fiercely across the prairie, snapping the white wagon cover above her. Frightened, she wondered if the big wagon could withstand the raging storm. Papa had said the wagon was to be their home on the long journey to the valley of the Great Salt Lake. But suppose the wind shatters this old wagon, she thought, then how would Susan, Baby Sarah, Mama and Papa, and I get to the valley?
Although the wagon was cold and uncomfortable, it did provide pretty good shelter from storms, and it was large enough to carry the things that Jennie’s family would need to start their new home in Salt Lake. Besides all of Papa’s tools, there was a heavy iron blade for a plow. Mama, too, had packed many things. Her beautiful dishes were carefully wrapped in bedding and linens to protect them from breaking as the wagon creaked and jolted across the land. She had also packed a sewing box of scissors, thread, and needles. Along with the grain and vegetable seeds there were tiny packets of flower seeds. Lovely flowers blooming in the yard would help make their new house a home. There had been no room to carry furniture, so Mama’s beloved carved dressing-table had been sold, as had Papa’s chest of drawers and Susan’s framework for her bed.
Jennie remembered their pleasant home in Nauvoo. It had been hard to leave it, but cruel men had forced them to go. Papa had promised her that someday they would have a new home in the Rocky Mountains where they would all be safe and happy. Now thunder rumbled loudly across the prairie, and the wind moaned through the night. Jennie buried her head in her pillow and wished that the days of happiness and safety would come soon.
“Sister Quigley! Sister Quigley!” It was Brother Olenslager’s urgent voice. The light of his flickering lantern could be seen through the canvas wagon cover. “Are you awake? You must come. My wife is having her baby!”
“Yes, Brother Olenslager, I’m awake and I’ll come at once.”
Jennie heard Mama hastily dressing in the cold darkness of the wagon box. Tonight Papa was gone, for it was his turn to guard the horses and cattle. Jennie suddenly realized that she would be alone in the big dark wagon with four-year-old Susan and Baby Sarah.
“Mama?” she whispered.
“Jennie, I must go to help Sister Olenslager. Please watch after the little ones if they wake up.”
“Yes, Mama.” Jennie’s throat was dry and she could scarcely speak. How she wanted to cry out, “Don’t go, Mama. I’m frightened!”
“If I’m not back before morning, Jennie, you must prepare breakfast and prepare the wagon to start moving at daybreak. The morning bell will signal when it is time to wake up.” Then Mama slipped from the wagon into the wet night and was on her way to Sister Olenslager.
BOOOOM! A frightening clap of thunder directly overhead split the night, jolting Susan from her slumber. “Mama!” she cried.
“She isn’t here, Susan,” Jennie explained, trying to soothe her frightened sister. “She’s gone to help Sister Olenslager with her baby.”
“I want Mama,” Susan began to cry. “I’m scared.”
Jennie hugged her younger sister and said softly, “Don’t be afraid. Everything will be all right. I’m here with you. It’s just that this noisy storm woke you up! Go back to sleep now.”
Jennie held the trembling little girl in her arms, concealing the terror that she herself felt. Uninvited tears rolled down her cheeks and onto Susan’s blonde hair. Oh, if only Papa were here! she wished. He always laughs at storms. Jennie believed that Papa’s booming laugh was louder than thunder and his muscled arms stronger than a fierce wind.
“Shhh …” Jennie whispered. “Be still, Susan.” But the little one, shivering beneath the patchwork quilt, was not easily quieted. Soon her sobs woke Baby Sarah, who began to fuss and whimper.
All the while the storm grew wilder, and the rain beat unceasingly against the canvas. Lightning crackled, brilliant and white, and thunder boomed and echoed across the sky. A cold knot of terror tightened in Jennie’s stomach. She could no longer bring herself to speak to her sisters or to comfort them. Mama had told her to tend the little ones, yet she, herself, was frightened. Oh, what can I do? she wondered pleadingly.
Then Jennie remembered something Papa had told her before they had left their home in Nauvoo. He said that there would be times in her life when she might be lonely or frightened and that during those times she might have to do things that she felt she could not do all by herself. But even though he and Mama might not be close-by, she need never be alone. He explained that Heavenly Father was anxious to help her in times of need. He was eager to comfort her when she was fearful, and happy to be near her when she was lonely. All she needed to do was pray and ask for His help and her prayers would be answered.
Controlling her fear, Jennie sat up and knelt beside her two sisters. Then she prayed with all her heart for Heavenly Father to bless her and Susan and Sarah and be with them during the storm. When she finished praying, she crawled back under the covers.
Soon both Susan and Sarah were sleeping soundly next to her. As she lay beside them, Jennie felt the cold fear go away from her own heart, to be replaced by a warm calm. And weary from listening to the roaring of thunder, she, too, fell into a peaceful sleep.

Last summer was one of setting and achieving many goals for the youth of the West Jordan Fifth Ward, West Jordan Utah Stake—not the least of which was a 100-mile bike ride to the Manti Temple pageant. Youth committees were called and meetings were held to make the necessary plans and physical preparations. Each person was challenged to ride one hour every day but Sunday, and Salt Lake County extension agents conducted workshops on physical fitness, nutrition, and bicycle safety and repair.
During practice rides, repair kits were always carried for those inevitable flat tires or loose spokes, and ice cream stops became a regular part of the bike riding on Mutual nights. Several trial runs were planned during the summer months, including outings to the Great Salt Lake, the Deseret Gym in Salt Lake City, Copperton Park (uphill all the way!), and the This Is the Place Monument.
Two days before they left, a bike rodeo was held where riding skills were tested, road skills were gone over, and every bike was checked for fitness by the teachers quorum. Finally the day of the trip arrived. Each bike was equipped with a water bottle and gaily colored flag. The only vehicles allowed to accompany the 26 bike-riders were the “water wagon,” which carried food and large cans of cool water to replenish empty water bottles; the bishop’s “tow truck” containing luggage and space for broken-down bicycles; and the Ashworth motor home where the exhausted could ride and meals were prepared. In addition, Brother Loosli followed the last bike all the way, his lights flashing to provide warning to approaching cars and protection for everyone.
Lunch and meal breaks, as well as two stops for swimming, gave everyone the energy to successfully complete the two-day trip. The last mile was straight uphill, and tears of pain, joy, and pride clouded the vision of the bikers as the beautiful Manti Temple came into view. Physically the young people were drained, but spiritually they were full with the sense of accomplishment and togetherness that comes from working together toward a common goal. After viewing the pageant they spent the night in cabins and returned home in automobiles the next morning.

One day I was listening to a talk given by a young woman who was preparing to go on a mission. In her talk she emphasized the fact that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ love us very much. Heavenly Father loves us so much that He gives us standards so we can be protected from the world’s damaging traditions and unhealthy habits.
When I got home from church that day, I wrote down in my journal what I had learned. What I didn’t know at the time was that this information would not only add to my conversion process but would also prepare me for a decision that would try my testimony. Two weeks later my dance coach showed us the costume for a certain dance routine, and to my dismay it was too immodest for me to feel comfortable wearing. I decided to ask my coach to either change the costume or take me out of the routine.
I hoped that because I did the right thing, Heavenly Father would soften my coach’s heart and everything would work out without major consequences. Unfortunately, my coach quickly took me out of the routine. I was devastated. Later, my parents reminded me that I had made the best decision. They supported me completely.
I’m glad that I was able to make the right decision and stand up for my values. Heavenly Father gave me certain values to live by because He loves me. Knowing this helped me learn that modesty is very important in ways that I may or may not yet understand. I am grateful to have this knowledge given to me to help me through adversity.

I was a boat ride away from home when I got the news that there had been a big argument in my family earlier that day. A very big argument.
My wife was angry. My kids were angry. Everyone was hurt. And I didn’t know what to do.
I had taken my work truck early that morning from my home island of Upolu, Samoa, and boarded the ferry to Savai’i, Samoa. This trip takes several hours in each direction.
After I talked with my wife on the phone and heard the anger in her voice, I admit that I had a hard time thinking about coming home to this situation. I wasn’t sure how I could help resolve so many hurt feelings in my family.
I pulled up to the wharf and began to pray. For the next four hours, I sat in my truck, praying about my family while waiting for the boat home.
After a long time in prayer, I received a clear spiritual impression. “Just show your love to your children. Show the love. Tell them, ‘I love you, and God loves you.’”
I’ve always gotten along with my kids. They know that I love them, and they know how much they mean to me. But I understood clearly, through revelation, that showing even greater love would be the only thing to bring my family close again.
When I arrived home late that night, my wife was still very upset. “What are you going to do?” she asked me.
I told her about the revelation I received. I told her that I felt we needed to show our love even more clearly to our kids. “I believe that will be the key to heal the pain everyone is feeling,” I said. We decided to give it a try.
Now, this was the normal night for our weekly family council. Because of the argument, however, most of my family wanted to cancel it that week. My wife and I decided we would hold family council anyway.
At first, nobody said a word. I could tell there had been a lot of tears and emotional pain in my family that day.
Then my wife began talking. “I just want you to know how much I love all of you,” she said. I watched the change in their body language. They had all been sitting on the edge of their chairs. But as soon as my wife started explaining how much she loved them, our children leaned back and relaxed. Soon they opened up as well. I also told them how much I love them and how glad I am that we are a family.
That solved the whole problem. It was incredible. All the anger was gone from our home, and we were able to fix what was broken.
Now, my family isn’t perfect. But we love each other very much. And we make time for each other. Whether it’s getting up early to read the scriptures together, going to church together, playing basketball together, sharing meals, or just listening to music together, we work hard to stay close.
Through it all, my wife and I know more than ever how important it is to show our love for our children.

My missionary companion and I were eating a quick dinner at a member’s house one Sunday evening in December when we heard a knock on the door. There were the youth from the branch singing. We were serving in the Joliet Illinois Second (Spanish) Branch. It was nice to see the youth serving and to hear them singing familiar Christmas carols.
Later that evening we were visiting with one of our investigator families when we heard a knock on the door. To our surprise, there stood the same group of youth singing Christmas carols for our investigators.
I was impressed that they would think not only to visit people they knew from the branch, but also to visit the people the missionaries were teaching. I thought it was a wonderful way for the youth to get involved in missionary work.
Our investigators were impressed for a very different reason, however. After the youth left, they told us how amazed they were that a group of teenagers would give up their Sunday evening to bring others some Christmas cheer. They commented on how many youth today seem selfish and would not do such a thing but that the youth in our Church were different. They wanted their children to be like these young men and women.
Soon after Christmas this wonderful family decided to be baptized, and I know one of the influences on their decision to join the Church was the members’ testimonies and examples. They could also see the light in the members’ faces. I know they saw it that night when those youth gave of their time to spread the spirit of Christmas.

To you comes a second question: “Whom shall I marry?” May I make personal application of this question? At a dance for the freshman class at the University of Utah, I was dancing with a girl from West High School when a young lady from East High School danced by with her partner. Her name was Frances Johnson: I didn’t know it at the time. I just took one look and decided that there was a young lady I wanted to meet. But she danced away, and I didn’t see her for three more months. Then one day, while waiting for the old streetcar at Thirteenth East and Second South Street in Salt Lake City, I looked and couldn’t believe my eyes. Here was the young lady whom I had seen dancing across the floor, and she was standing with another young lady and a young man whom I remembered from early school days. Unfortunately, I couldn’t remember his name. I had a decision to make, and I thought to myself: “This decision requires courage. What should I do?” I found in my heart an appreciation of that phrase, “When the time for decision arrives, the time for preparation is past.”

I stood up straight, gathered my courage, and plunged toward my opportunity. I walked up to that young man and said, “Hello, my old friend from my early school days,” and then he said to me, “I can’t quite remember your name.” I told him my name, and he told me his name. Then he introduced me to the girl who later became my wife. That day I made a little note in my student directory to visit Frances Beverly Johnson, and I did. That decision was one of the most important decisions that I have ever made. Young people who are at that particular time in their lives have the responsibility to make similar decisions. They have the important responsibility to choose whom to marry—not only whom to date.

Great! I thought sarcastically. I had to come up with a devotional for seminary on service, and I didn’t know any good stories to tell.
“What should I do?” I asked my mom when I got home from school and explained the situation.
“Well, your dad is going over to Grandma’s right now,” she answered. “Why don’t you go with him and ask Grandma for an idea.”
When we arrived at Grandma’s house, she greeted us with her usual smile.
“Do you have any good stories about service?” I asked. “I have to give the devotional in seminary tomorrow.”
“Stories?” Grandma said. “I have a bunch of them. Let me go get my binder.”
She returned, flipped the binder open and said, “Now, here’s one you could use. In fact, I feel like this one would be perfect.” She proceeded to recall the details of an experience she had had many years earlier.
“This happened during the Vietnam War, when we lived in Colorado Springs. Your grandpa, who was flying in Vietnam, was gone, and I was staying busy just trying to keep up with all the kids.
“I was singing in a chorus made up of officers’ wives at the Air Force Academy. During a break at one of the rehearsals, a friend told me about a service project she was doing for wounded servicemen who were recovering at the Fort Carson Army Hospital.”
Grandma explained how her friend would go regularly to read magazines and books to the servicemen. Some of them had birthdays coming up and she wanted to take cakes to them, but she was discouraged because she couldn’t find anyone to help her, and she couldn’t bake them all herself. Grandma volunteered immediately to help her bake some cakes.
The very next day her friend called and asked if she was really serious about helping and could she have one ready to go that afternoon.
Grandma told me, “I was pretty busy myself that day with family and Church responsibilities, but I felt like I should help. I made a chocolate cake from scratch and topped it with white frosting and chocolate swirls.” I knew exactly which cake she was talking about. She had made it before for family gatherings, and it was one of my favorites.
That afternoon Grandma’s friend came by to pick up the cake and take it to the hospital. Two hours later, she called and said, “I thought you would be interested in what happened with your cake. I took it to a 36-year-old sergeant, a veteran of many years in the army. He was recovering from wounds received in Vietnam. He looked like a typical, tough drill sergeant without a kind word in his vocabulary. When I took the cake into his room, handed it to him, and wished him a happy birthday, he looked up at me with a stunned expression on his face. Then the tears started rolling down his cheeks.”
The sergeant told Grandma’s friend that this was the first birthday cake he had ever had. Nobody had ever cared enough to bake him one.
As Grandma listened to her friend, she was amazed that one small act of service could have such an effect. Grandma closed the binder and said, “Tell your seminary class that I’m glad I took time to bake that cake.”
Seminary began as it usually did: we sang a hymn, recited the scripture-of-the-week, and said the prayer. Then I began telling Grandma’s story about service. As I spoke, I kept noticing my seminary teacher, Brother Olsen, in one of the desks on the back row. He looked really serious.
Great! I thought. I hope he’s not mad at me. Maybe this wasn’t what he had in mind when he asked me to do the devotional. I finished the story by saying, “I hope we can all take time to serve others like my grandma did, because we never know how much good one small act of service can do.” Then I quickly sat down in my desk.
My seminary teacher didn’t say anything. He just sat there in the back row. Everyone started looking at him.
“Man, I must have really blown it,” I thought.
Finally Brother Olsen spoke. “Lindsay, what is your grandma’s name?”
“Mary Lois Gunnell,” I answered. What was he going to do—call her and make sure I hadn’t made up the story?
Brother Olsen continued, “Do you know who that sergeant was? That was my sergeant while I was in the service myself, and I was very close to him.” Everyone in the class started whispering.
“No way!” said one of the boys. He thought we had planned this all out before.
“Really,” Brother Olsen said sincerely. “I knew him before he was wounded and after he recovered. He told me that same story himself and said how much that meant to him to have a stranger care enough to bake a birthday cake for him. He wanted to thank the woman, but never knew her name.” Brother Olsen looked right at me. “Lindsay, that cake wasn’t just a birthday cake. It was the beginning of a whole new life for my sergeant.”
I couldn’t believe it, and I couldn’t wait to tell Grandma.
“Class,” Brother Olsen continued, “I want you to know that Lindsay’s Grandma’s act of service literally changed that sergeant’s life. Before he was wounded, he was pretty mean. Every other word out of his mouth was a swear word. After he received that cake in the hospital in Colorado, he decided to change. He told me he was going to try harder to be a better person, and that’s just what he did.”
Until hearing about Brother Olsen’s sergeant, I never realized how much just one kind deed could affect another. My grandma sweetened a bitter man’s life with as simple a thing as a cake. Her story gives me hope that my small acts of service—a smile or a kind word—may also add richness to other people’s lives.

When Joseph Ahuna was attending BYU in the 1970s, he was a member of the performing group Young Ambassadors. As a college student, he traveled throughout the world performing with the group. His specialties were the Samoan fire dance and the hoop dance, popular in Native American cultures.

After he married, he and his wife, Janice, decided their children should learn these same dances. When the Ahuna children learned to walk, they also learned to dance. First came Joseph Jr., then Ruth and David and Angela, and finally Michael and James.

"I’ve been dancing since before I was born," says Ruth, 19. She’s smiling, and she decides she better clarify. "When my mom was expecting me, she started dancing hula with my older brother right up on the stage." Or so she’s told. Ruth doesn’t exactly remember her dancing "debut."

In 1883 the Widtsoe family immigrated to Logan, Utah, where young John later enrolled in Brigham Young College. A hard worker and bright student, he graduated in 1891, studied chemistry at Harvard University, and graduated with highest honors in 1894. While at Harvard, he met Leah Eudora Dunford. They married in the Salt Lake Temple in 1898 and became the parents of seven children, only three of whom lived to adulthood.

This time last year, I was sure that I had my summer figured out: after taking a few weeks of needed rest after the first year of my master’s degree, I would spend the summer months hiking with friends, being at home with my family, working as an intern for a landscape architect, and competing in a national flower show. Most certainly, it would involve me making the regular trip to the University of Nottingham to serve as a counsellor at For the Strength of Youth—an event that has become a summer staple for me, of a sort.
However, fast forward a few months, and my plans had changed entirely; with travel now prohibited and events cancelled or postponed, it was looking likely to be a very different summer. I’ll admit that it was initially hard not to feel disappointed, and I found myself wondering how this new normal would compare to what I had planned.
Enter the Rise and Reach programme, a summer initiative that brought together youth, young adults, and full-time missionaries across the UK as they participated in various online activities and performed acts of service. As part of this initiative, I was brought in as co-organiser and leader of a virtual choir, formally known as The Rising Generation Choir. I soon found that much of my summer was spent with other choir team members (a small group of five YSAs). We worked on arranging music, organising rehearsals, and creating promotional material to be distributed to wards and stakes across the country to encourage people to get involved.
Over just two months, the choir—now over 100 members strong—could rehearse, record, and perform multiple songs and group ensembles, which were broadcast during an evening of music through the Church’s primary social media channels in November. This feat—though incredible—was made more significant through the efforts and enthusiasm of those who participated.
Reflecting on those weeks, I can say that while it wasn’t the summer experience that I had initially wanted, the Lord had a perfect plan to give me the summer I never knew I needed: a summer of forming friendships, serving others, and strengthening testimony. Having the opportunity to participate in the Rise and Reach programme has strengthened my belief in the positive impact that service has in our lives; the Lord will bless and strengthen our efforts when we strive to do good.

I should like to conclude by relating one recent experience which had an impact on hundreds. It occurred at the cultural celebration for the Kansas City Temple, just five months ago. As with so much that happens in our lives, at the time it seemed to be just another experience where everything worked out. However, as I learned of the circumstances associated with the cultural celebration the evening before the temple was dedicated, I realized that the performance that night was not ordinary. Rather, it was quite remarkable.

As with all cultural events held in conjunction with temple dedications, the youth in the Kansas City Missouri Temple District had rehearsed the performance in separate groups in their own areas. The plan was that they would meet all together in the large rented municipal center on the Saturday morning of the performance so that they could learn when and where to enter, where they were to stand, how much space should be between them and the person next to them, how to exit the main floor, and so forth—many details which they would have to grasp during the day as those in charge put the various scenes together so that the final performance would be polished and professional.

There was just one major problem that day. The entire production was dependent on prerecorded segments that would be shown on the large screen known as a Jumbotron. These recorded segments were critical to the entire production. They not only tied it all together, but each televised segment would introduce the next performance. The video segments provided the framework on which the entire production depended. And the Jumbotron was not working.

Technicians worked frantically to solve the problem while the youth waited, hundreds of them, losing precious rehearsal time. The situation began to look impossible.

The writer and director of the celebration, Susan Cooper, later explained: “As we moved from plan A to B to Z, we knew that it wasn’t working. … As we were looking at the schedule, we knew that it was going to be beyond us, but we knew that we had one of the greatest strengths on the floor below—3,000 youth. We needed to go down and tell [them] what was happening and draw upon their faith.”

Just an hour before the audience would begin to enter the center, 3,000 youth knelt on the floor and prayed together. They prayed that those working on the Jumbotron would be inspired to know what to do to repair it; they asked their Heavenly Father to make up for what they themselves could not do because of the shortage of time.

Said one who wrote about it afterward, “It was a prayer the youth will never forget, not because the floor was hard, but because the Spirit melted their bones.”

It was not long before one of the technicians came to tell them that the problem had been discovered and corrected. He attributed the solution to luck, but all those youth knew better.

When we entered the municipal center that evening, we had no idea of the difficulties of the day. Only later did we learn of them. What we witnessed, however, was a beautiful, polished performance—one of the best I have seen. The youth radiated a glorious, powerful spirit which was felt by all who were present. They seemed to know just where to enter, where to stand, and how to interact with all the other performers around them. When I learned that their rehearsals had been cut short and that many of the numbers had not been rehearsed by the entire group, I was astonished. No one would have known. The Lord had indeed made up the difference.

“Why don’t you ever come with us?” the girl shouted. “Don’t you want to be a part of our group?”
It was the end of spring, and school was almost out. During breaks we played soccer outside, and I was the goalkeeper. As goalkeeper I was used to dodging and blocking oncoming attacks from the field. However, this game was different because I had to dodge and block attacks coming from the sidelines too.
In between the offensive assaults of the other team, I was being interrogated by a couple of girls in my class who were standing on the side of the field. To avoid their questioning, I would have welcomed the other team over for a free shooting contest, but I was not having much luck that day.
“So why don’t you ever come to our parties?” she continued. “Don’t you want to have a little fun?”
“A little fun!” I thought. Being at a party with my classmates, playing silly games, and feeling forced into uncomfortable situations was not my idea of fun. I’d rather stay at home.
“We’re all trying to get to know one another, and you are never there,” came another attack from the sideline.
“That’s right!” I said. And I would have explained why if I felt she and the others really wanted to understand. But I doubted it. How could they? I was the only Latter-day Saint in my school, and none of them understood much about the Church or its standards.
“Don’t you like any of the girls in our class?” she asked.
“It’s not about not liking them,” I said. “I’d just feel uncomfortable.”
“But why?” she poked.
My team had just lost the ball, and all the guys were now running in my direction.
“Why would you feel uncomfortable?” she poked again.
Everything seemed to move in slow motion as my eyes focused on the approaching ball. Her voice was the only thing I heard, and the constant “why,” “why” kept echoing in my head. My opponent was clear for the shot, and I could see that the ball was going to hit me hard. But I was ready. He kicked the ball, which bounced off my hands with a loud slap. “Yes! Another assault successfully frustrated,” I thought, grinning. I grabbed the ball and threw it down the field to my teammates and then turned to face my other opponents.
“So?” she said.
My heart was still racing from the excitement of the game. “The reason I’m not coming to your parties is …” I started, then paused, thinking for a moment.
“Is?” she repeated a little anxiously.
I looked down the field again to see the opposition approaching fast. My heart picked up a couple of beats, and I knew I had to finish what I started to say. “Is because I am saving myself for someone special!” I blurted out.
“What!” she exclaimed.
My opponents were upon me, and my attention was again fixed on the game. The ball whistled through the air, penetrating my defenses. The other team cheered, while the girls stood there laughing.
“Saving yourself for someone,” she said, giggling. “So what is her name?”
I felt embarrassed. Although I didn’t have anyone special in mind, I still knew that one day I would meet my future wife, and I needed to be worthy to take her to the temple. That’s why I didn’t go to their parties.
My hands still tingled and my heart continued to race as I walked home later, yet there was a slight grin on my face. I might have suffered humiliation on the field that day; however, I walked away feeling victorious.

Elder Soares: I met Sister Soares at a church dance six months after I had returned from my mission. She had also just recently returned from a mission.
Sister Soares: I could see you look at me, and something began to stir within me too. And as soon as the music stopped, you came over and asked me to dance.
Elder Soares: We continued as friends, but it was that night when our eyes were opened. We each saw a faithful young Latter-day Saint and the potential for a relationship. And two weeks later we began to date. That was 41 years ago.

Two years later, she met Simon, also a student. A week after they met, he proposed marriage to her. At first, Rostya was hesitant. “I told him that I wanted to have a career and that I was not interested in marriage or children. But he persisted.” They were married eighteen months later. Both graduated the same year, Simon in civil engineering and Rostya in Eastern European studies. Simon’s first job was in Scotland.

In my own lifetime I have been a witness to the miracle of the restored gospel. When I was a young girl my family moved to São Paulo, Brazil, where my father had been called to preside over the Brazilian Mission. It was an exciting time for me and a great place to grow up. A favorite game for my brothers and me was to dress up and pretend to be missionaries. We spent hours scribbling our own missionary pamphlets and “preaching” and “transferring” all over the yard. For five years the nightly conversations around our dinner table centered on missionary work, and I listened intently to stories of faith told by missionaries. Even at that age I knew I was part of a great work.
There were only about 3,000 members of the Church in Brazil when we arrived there. I remember being in a very small Primary with a few other children, singing the same five songs every week, as those were the only ones translated into Portuguese. Two of my favorite songs were “A Luz Divina,” or “The Light Divine” (Hymns, no. 305), and something about a bunny in the middle of the woods (see “The Little Rabbit,” Children’s Friend, June 1955, 257).
In many ways our experience was similar to the early pioneers. We had no hymnbooks or pictures or lesson manuals sent from the headquarters of the Church. Everything that was needed to teach the gospel in Portuguese was written and printed in our mission home. All of us, even the children, were pressed into service to help assemble mission newsletters and lessons. No one shipped the Church to us. The prophet did not send us stake presidents or bishops. He did not send Relief Society presidents or youth programs. The Church in Brazil was made from the same material that the pioneers started with. The material to build the Church was in the people.
During our years in Brazil, we saw great growth come to the Church. Thousands became Latter-day Saints. Soon the mission was divided, districts and branches were organized, and new chapels were built. The new members were enthusiastic, and they grew in faith and became more experienced in the manner of the gospel.

One day when our son Andrew was four years old, I invited him to sit on a kitchen stool and talk to me while I prepared lunch. As he sat there, I told him about Joseph Smith’s first vision. He listened intently. The next day when I began fixing lunch, he climbed on the stool uninvited and said, “Mom, tell me about Joseph Smith again.” This time, I elaborated more than the day before and felt almost as if I were bearing my testimony to him. The next day the same thing happened. This went on until Saturday.
That Sunday after church, his teacher asked me, “What have you done with Andrew?”
“What do you mean?” I replied. “Did he misbehave in class today?”
Tears began to slide down her cheeks as she told me how he had recounted the story of the First Vision in class—with greater feeling and detail than she had thought possible from one so young. His testimony had moved her to tears, and she had arranged for him to share the story in Primary next Sunday. “Please don’t help him prepare,” she asked. “I want him to tell Joseph Smith’s story just as he did in class today.”

Fabian is also helping with an elder’s quorum project. There is a sister in their branch whose husband died five years ago. Later she joined the Church. Her family disowned her and refused to help her and her two daughters. The branch is building them a home. Fabian helps work on the house with the elders. Sometimes the full-time missionaries and the young people in the branch also help. Fabian shovels sand to make cement, and under the direction of the elders, he helps with the building and cleaning up. He is happy when he is helping others.