Gospel Story Finder

My mom passed away when I was 12. That’s when I started to have questions about what happens to families after this life. The priest at the church I attended told me that when we die, we will not have families. He said I will see my mother again, but I will not recognize her as my mom, and she will not recognize me as her daughter.
That was not the answer I had hoped for. I continued attending church with my family, but my questions persisted. I also wondered, “Where are the prophets? Where are the Apostles?”
When I turned 14, I searched “Jesus Christ” on the internet. It led me to a website for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Not long after that, two missionaries knocked on my door. They wanted to share a message about Jesus Christ. I invited them in and asked my father to join us.
The first question the missionaries asked me was, “Do you know that families can be eternal?”
I replied, “No, they cannot.” Then I told them what I had learned from my priest. After our discussion, I found the elders on Facebook. I watched videos of them saying goodbye to their families. I wanted to know why they had left their families to come to my country and why they believed as they did. I called the phone number they had left me and said, “Elders, I need to go to your church on Sunday.”
For two years, I attended church and met with the missionaries. My family, however, was not open to the Church. When I turned 18, I told my family I wanted to be baptized. I tried to share the gospel with them, but they were not ready.
In 2015, I was doing proxy baptisms in the São Paulo Brazil Temple. While I was there, a man asked me if I was preparing to serve a mission. I said I hoped to serve someday. Then he said, “I think you need to prepare to serve a mission and speak French.”
I thought to myself, “Why French? I’m from Brazil. How will I serve a French-speaking mission?” Nevertheless, because of that experience in the temple, I started studying French.
A few months later, I was at a bus terminal in São Paulo reading the Book of Mormon in French. When the woman next to me saw the book’s cover, she started speaking to me in French. I had been studying the language for only a few months, but I understood her perfectly!
To my surprise, she knew about the Book of Mormon because she had met the missionaries in Paris, where she lived. She asked me many questions about the Nephites and the Savior’s visit to the Americas. Inexplicably, I was able to speak to her as if I were speaking in my native language. I gladly gave her my Book of Mormon.
At the beginning of 2020, I went to England to study English through an exchange program. I met a girl there from Morocco. Her questions about why I didn’t drink alcohol led to a discussion about the Word of Wisdom, the Church, and the Book of Mormon. I showed her my Book of Mormon in French, and I was again able to answer questions about the gospel in French.
I realized that people need to know about the gospel and this special book in their own language and that I could use the Book of Mormon to be an instrument in God’s hands to help others.
Inaê Leandro (right) with one of her companions, Sister Wongsin Elisaia, while serving on Temple Square in Salt Lake City, Utah.
Later, when I opened my mission call, I learned I was going to Temple Square in Salt Lake City, speaking Portuguese.
“Really?” I thought. “Everyone there already knows about the Church, and they don’t even speak French in Utah.”
When I told my family, my father asked, “You are leaving your high school teaching job, your home, your career—everything—for a mission? How much will they pay you?” He was surprised when I told him I would pay for my mission myself.
At first, I didn’t know why I was called to Utah, but Heavenly Father knew where I needed to be. At Temple Square, I quickly learned that if you know 10 languages—or only 2 or 3—you can teach in all 10 languages there. My companions and I gave tours in Spanish, Portuguese, and English at Temple Square and at the Humanitarian Center at Welfare Square. We also taught online in different languages through the ComeuntoChrist.org website.
I have experienced the gift of tongues for myself. When we have the desire and the enthusiasm to learn a language, and if we work hard, God blesses us in miraculous ways that help us speak and understand.
“When we have the desire and the enthusiasm to learn a language, and if we work hard,” says Inaê, “God blesses us in ways that help us speak and understand.”
I love reading the Book of Mormon in other languages. Doing so helps my language skills and grows my testimony and understanding of gospel principles.
Whenever I called home on preparation day, I shared details about mission successes and experiences. I focused on what I had in common with family members, and they shared their travels and things that were happening at home. They even told me how they fed the full-time missionaries pizza because they had heard stories of nice people in Salt Lake City taking care of my companion and me.
It has been 16 years since my mother passed away. That was a difficult day, but I know that families can be eternal. I know I will see my mother again. I know she will recognize me as her daughter. Many people don’t have this knowledge.
That’s why I served a mission. That’s why I learned new languages. And that’s why I still try to help others find gospel answers for themselves.

“It’s your turn to read, Papa,” Bernice said. She opened the scriptures. Maman and Papa sat next to her on the couch.
Papa read the first scripture. “I know that he loveth his children.”
“I know that he loveth his children,” Bernice repeated.
“Nevertheless,” Papa said, “I do not know the meaning of all things.”*
Nevertheless was a hard word. Bernice couldn’t read yet, and she didn’t know what all the words meant. But she loved repeating the words when her family read scriptures together.
The next day at scripture time, Papa had a surprise. “I have something special for you,” he said. He gave Bernice a book. It had a picture of people and a boat on the front.
“Is this for me?” Bernice asked. She hugged the big book in her arms.
“For you,” Papa said. “Look inside.”
Bernice opened the book. Her eyes got big. There were so many colorful pictures.
“What is it called?” Bernice asked.
Papa pointed to the words on the cover. “Book of Mormon Stories,” he said.
Bernice traced the words on the cover. “Book of Mormon Stories,” she said.
“It has the same stories we are reading about in the scriptures,” Maman said.
Bernice pointed to one of the pictures. “Who is that?” she asked.
“Hmm. Do you see the bow and arrows?” Maman asked.
Bernice nodded.
“Do you remember reading about someone who had a broken bow?” Papa asked.
“Nephi?” Bernice said.
“Yes, that’s Nephi,” Papa said.
Bernice smiled. “Thank you, Papa. Thank you, Maman. I love this book.”
Each night, Bernice read her scripture book with Maman and Papa. She pointed to the pictures. She learned to say some hard words. And she learned to read some easy words on her own!
Reading the scriptures made her feel happy. She was glad she could read them with Maman and Papa!
This story took place in the Democratic Republic of the Congo.
* 1 Nephi 11:17

Through my experience in Church service, I have witnessed great miracles and cherished memories that have helped me recognize the Father’s love and guidance. A few years ago, as a young bishop, I remember planning to visit some of my ward members with the stake presidency. On this particular occasion, I had a powerful impression to visit the home of a young man I had not met yet. I had just been called as bishop, and his family had not been previously attending.

When we arrived at the family home, the mother was overjoyed to see us. This was a family of two good parents, two daughters, and a son, who was a future Aaronic Priesthood holder. We introduced ourselves and told her that her son was a member of the quorum I presided over. After that visit, the family began attending church and following the covenant path.

As a family, they made covenants in the temple, the three children served full-time missions, and they continued to strive to live the gospel. I know that Heavenly Father knew them, loved them, and cared enough about them to send inspiration to a young, inexperienced bishop to find them and invite them back to the fold.

I stayed at school for the next few weekends taking midterms. The next weekend I was home, I was curious to see how Todd was doing. Mom said he still worked the fun house job and was still working in the nursery, along with Carlie Maxwell. I was amazed, especially since Jolene Sparks had moved back east in preparation for her first semester of college.

On Sunday, I peeked into the nursery just before church let out. Carlie was rocking a child who had fallen asleep. I saw Tara come up and swing her arms around Todd’s neck, planting a big wet kiss on his cheek. Todd was wearing a bunny hat and hopping around, and all the children had on paper bunny hats, too, with wildly scribbled ears.

The bell rang to dismiss classes, and parents started coming in. Paul Myerson started to cry. He wanted to stay with Todd.

Sister Jensen came in for her little boy, beaming at Todd.

“I don’t know what you’ve been doing, but keep doing it!” she said. “Tyler loves to come to nursery now. I’ve been able to get to my class and get set up to teach my lesson instead of being late all the time.”

Other moms and dads were similarly impressed.

The nursery emptied until there was just Todd, Scottie, and me.

“Wow,” I said, stunned. “You’ve done a great job with these children.” The toys were put up, and the floor and the table and tiny chairs were clean.

“This is the best calling I’ve ever had,” Todd said. “It’s a lot of work, but these little kids are worth it.” He tickled Scottie and swung him in his arms.

The name Rudger Clawson will, unfortunately, be unfamiliar to many of you. For forty-five years Brother Clawson was a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles and for twenty-two of those years served as the president of that quorum. But long before any of those responsibilities came to him, he had a chance to prove his faithfulness and demonstrate in his youth just how willing he was to defend his beliefs, even at the peril of his life.

As a young man Brother Clawson had been called on a mission to the Southern States. At that time in America’s history, well over one hundred years ago, malicious mobs were still in existence, outlaws who threatened the safety of members of the Church and others. Elder Clawson and his missionary companion, Elder Joseph Standing, were traveling on foot to a missionary conference when, nearing their destination, they were suddenly confronted by twelve armed and angry men on horseback.

With cocked rifles and revolvers shoved in their faces, the two elders were repeatedly struck and occasionally knocked to the ground as they were led away from their prescribed path and forced to walk deep into the nearby woods. Elder Joseph Standing, knowing what might lie in store for them, made a bold move and seized a pistol within his reach. Instantly one of the assailants turned his gun on young Standing and fired. Another mobber, pointing to Elder Clawson, said, “Shoot that man.” In response every weapon in the circle was turned on him.

It seemed to this young elder that his fate was to be the same as that of his fallen brother. He said: “I … at once realized there was no avenue of escape. My time had come. … My turn to follow Joseph Standing was at hand.” He folded his arms, looked his assailants in the face, and said, “Shoot.”

Whether stunned by this young elder’s courage or now fearfully aware of what they had already done to his companion, we cannot know, but someone in that fateful moment shouted, “Don’t shoot,” and one by one the guns were lowered. Terribly shaken but driven by loyalty to his missionary companion, Elder Clawson continued to defy the mob. Never certain that he might not yet be shot, young Rudger, often working and walking with his back to the mob, was able to carry the body of his slain companion to a safe haven where he performed the last act of kindness for his fallen friend. There he gently washed the bloody stains from the missionary’s body and prepared it for the long train ride home (in David S. Hoopes and Roy Hoopes, The Making of a Mormon Apostle: The Story of Rudger Clawson [New York: Madison Books, 1990], pp. 23–31).

I tell that story with some concern, hoping no one will dwell on the death of a young missionary or think gospel living brought only trials or tragedies in those early years. But I do share it for an ever younger and ever newer generation in the Church who may not know the gifts that earlier men and women—including young men and women—have given us in what our new film states simply in another single word—Legacy.

One morning I was walking up a steep hill on the south side of the Brigham Young University campus when I heard a crash behind me. I turned around and saw a young man lying facedown on the pavement, his bike several yards away in pieces. I stood in shock until he weakly tried to lift his head. Then I hurried toward him, along with four other people who had been walking up the hill.
The student who reached the biker first carefully turned him over, revealing severe cuts on the biker’s lips, nose, chin, and eyebrow. Another student called for help on his cell phone. A young mother standing next to me offered a piece of cloth, and the first student stanched the biker’s bleeding lip with it. A second woman and I stood by, anxiously waiting for paramedics to come.
The injured man’s eyes flickered open, and he looked in confusion at the faces around him.
“Where am I?” he said. “What happened?”
The student holding the cloth to his lips answered, “You’re on the south side of campus. You crashed your bike.”
The biker groaned. “It hurts,” he said. “Help me.”
The student said that help was on the way and asked the young man his name.
“David,” he said, sobbing softly. “Where am I?” he asked again.
An older man in a suit—likely a professor—approached and asked David if he wanted a blessing. He nodded gratefully.
The professor paused. “I don’t have any oil, though,” he said, looking around. Those nearby shook their heads. The injured young man groaned and feebly gestured toward his pocket. The student next to him reached inside it and pulled out a large key ring with a small vial of consecrated oil attached.
“He has some!” exclaimed the student.
The biker calmed down as soon as the professor and the male students laid their hands on his head and gave him a blessing. A feeling of calm came over me too as the professor promised the young man that he would recover, be at peace, and draw nearer to the Savior through this experience.
Soon the paramedics came and took the biker away. As I walked to class, I realized that he carried consecrated oil with him so he could use the priesthood to bless someone in need. This day, however, he himself was blessed. I left with a deep feeling of love for faithful men who live ready to bless others and for the Lord, who also blesses them.

Orson’s desire to learn grew out of his conversion. In November 1830, just a few months after his baptism at age 19, he met Joseph Smith at the home of Peter Whitmer Sr. in Fayette, New York. As with some other new converts, Orson desired to know the Lord’s will for him, and thus he asked Joseph for a revelation. Joseph invited him “and John Whitmer to go up stairs … [where] Joseph produced a small stone called a seer stone and putting it into a Hat soon commenced speaking and asked Elder P[ratt] to write as he would speak.” But Orson was “young and timid” and had little formal education. So he asked if John could “write it and the Prophet said that he could. Then came the revelation.”2
The Lord called Orson “to lift up [his] voice as with the sound of a trump, both long and loud, and cry repentance unto a crooked and perverse generation” and promised him guidance “by the power of the Holy Ghost” (Doctrine and Covenants 34:6, 10).
The Lord’s words changed Orson’s life. Orson remembered thinking that “unless the Lord shall pour out his Spirit upon me more fully than anything I ever yet experienced assuredly this [call to cry repentance] is something I never can perform.”3 The Lord did pour out His Spirit upon Orson. Not only did he preach in domestic and foreign lands, but he also worked diligently to educate himself. Perhaps as much or more than any other Church member, Orson used the spoken and written word to tell the world of the Restoration.

In April 2006, I married Teni Leavai in Auckland, New Zealand. Although we were both members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, we weren’t active at the time, so we had an intimate civil ceremony performed by my bishop. Then we began to make changes in our lives so that we could progress spiritually, more fully participate in the gospel, and embark on our journey together as a family.
Before we knew it, it was 2012. Teni and I had grown even closer and were deeply in love—it is an amazing feeling, being married to my best friend—but something significant was missing. For six years, I just couldn’t fall pregnant. I began to think I might forever be an aunt, but never a mum.
We felt so incomplete.
One evening, we received a phone call which would change our lives! There was news of an unborn baby boy and an expectant mother determined to find a good family for him.
On the night that Kahn Ui was born, his birth mother—tears streaming down her face—delicately placed him in my arms and whispered, “He’s yours now. Thank you for loving him as much as I do.”
Alert and curious, baby Kahn looked up at me, completely unaware of the miracle that had just taken place. He fit perfectly in my arms, and it is with that same ease and sense of familiarity that he also fit into our family.
My husband and I entered the wonderful world of parenthood together. We took turns feeding our baby throughout the night; we talked to him, sung to him, and shed tears of immeasurable joy as we got to know him.
We realised a profound truth in those early days. As much as Kahn needed us, we—his new parents—needed the Lord more than ever. We prayed for His guidance as we learned our new roles.
Little did we know, another miracle was in store for us.
When Kahn turned 4, we holidayed in our homeland of Samoa, where we reconnected with Kahn’s birth family. They welcomed us with open arms, and Kahn’s birth grandmother wept when she recognised him. “Your son is gorgeous,” she said. “He’s so active, and he looks like he enjoys his food, too.”
It was an emotional reunion. They thanked us for loving and nurturing Kahn—and then they asked if we had room in our lives for another child.
My husband and I were astonished.
We discovered that Kahn’s birth mother had another baby. Naree Alalafaga was 5 months old at the time and, again, her family wanted more for this child than they were able to offer.
My mother’s words echoed softly in my mind: you reap what you sow.
It wasn’t by chance we met our miracle daughter this way. The Lord knows our deepest desires, and what is best for us. So, when our reunion with Kahn’s birth family brought a precious addition—his baby sister—to our home, it just felt right.
We relocated our growing family to Australia and then, in September 2017, our family was sealed, for time and all eternity in the Melbourne Australia Temple. It was a powerful experience; one we will cherish forever.
With hearts bursting with love for our newly sealed family, how could we know Heavenly Father had yet another miracle surprise for us?
Imagine my shocked delight only three months later when we discovered I was pregnant. How could this be? We double checked the home pregnancy test—positive! We took two tests just to make sure. We both wept. I know the Lord was with me through every step of that pregnancy. I felt the love and strength of my parents, from the other side of the veil, assuring me that everything would be fine.
In the early hours of 12 August 2018, our precious little girl was born. My husband named her after his mother—Faaifomailelagi, which in Samoan means ‘sent from heaven’.
Motherhood is one of the most difficult things I have experienced, but it is by far the most fulfilling. To this day, our children continue to make us better people and better servants of the Lord. They teach us patience, forgiveness, humility and so much more.
I know that all my challenges have been for my good. When we endure our trials well and learn from them, we discover that it is never by chance that things happen, but by divine design and all in God’s timing.

Robert Louis Stevenson captured this constant struggle between good and evil in the classic novel about Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. The story tells us that in the beginning “Dr. Jekyll is a highly respected London physician, a good and kindly man, who in his youth had showed inclinations toward evil which, however, he succeeded in suppressing. Interested in drugs, the doctor now chances upon one which enables him to change his external form to that of a repulsive dwarf, the very embodiment of evil, whom he calls Mr. Hyde. A similar dose permits him to return to the form and personality of the benevolent doctor. Many times the doctor becomes Mr. Hyde, thereby giving this side of his nature more and more power. Jekyll finds it increasingly difficult to regain his virtuous entity and also finds himself occasionally becoming Hyde without the use of the drug.” In the character of Mr. Hyde, he commits murder, and when the drug will no longer restore him to the kindly Dr. Jekyll, the truth is discovered and Hyde kills himself. The misuse of drugs destroyed his life. So it can be in real life.

Mother had been at the hospital late that night with Daddy. She told us that the doctors didn’t know for sure what was wrong with him. There was nothing to do but wait and see what tomorrow would bring.
Before we went to bed, Mother telephoned the hospital to check on Daddy one last time. A nurse told her that they would call her back in a few minutes since they had an emergency to take care of. We didn’t know it at the time, but the emergency was Daddy.
When the nurse called back, she asked Mother to come immediately. My brother, Lewis, and one of my sisters, Rebecca, said they would go with her. Tired and worried, I dressed for bed, but when I lay down, the Spirit said to me, “Get up—you’ve got to go.”
I ignored the voice, but it came again, stronger this time, and I didn’t argue. When we arrived at the hospital, Mother said, “I’ll go right into the intensive care unit and check on Daddy. I’ll be back in a minute.”
After a long time, she finally came out and said, “I can’t let you see your father in his condition. It would break his heart if he knew you saw him like that.”
We loudly protested, but she stood firm, saying, “No. Remember him the way he was.”
Surely Mother couldn’t mean that Daddy was dying! I was frantic with fear. Then my eyes fell on the Bible lying on the table. I took it and started reading. As I read, my attention was drawn to one verse in particular:
“For I am in a strait betwixt two, having a desire to depart, and to be with Christ; which is far better” (Philip. 1:23).
When I finished reading, I knew Daddy must go. Lewis was now sobbing in the waiting room. My younger sister, Rebecca, was telling me how it hurt her to see Lewis cry, and how hard it would be to not see Daddy here in the hospital. My older sister, MaryAnn, and my two brothers, Karl and Michael, were still at home, anxiously awaiting news from Mother. Oh, what awful news to hear!
After shedding many tears, we all sat on a couch and drifted in and out of fitful, uneasy sleep. I remember thinking: It can’t end this way. Something has to happen to let us know he’ll miss us and to give us comfort in the years ahead.
When I drifted off to sleep, I dreamed that Daddy was standing in the doorway, dressed all in white. He was crying, but I knew he was happy. He raised his hand and whispered, “Bye-bye, kiddies.”
I didn’t want him to go, but I awoke suddenly and he was gone. He died later that night.
I woke up the next morning in my own bed, barely remembering that friends had taken us home from the hospital the night before. I sat up in my bed and looked around the room. I knew something was wrong, and then I remembered: Daddy died last night. I sank back down on my pillow, already damp with tears, and cried some more.
The days after the funeral were the hardest: setting the table with only seven plates, hearing my mother softly crying in the night, and seeing his chair—empty. Where was the father I loved so much? Then I remembered my dream of his tearful good bye, and the scripture, “Having a desire to depart, and to be with Christ; which is far better.”
Yes, he would be with us in spirit whenever we needed him, memories of him bringing us great comfort. Knowing that he was with Christ made it easier for me to bear my sorrow.

All young men over the age of 18 in Finland are required to serve in the military for 6 to 12 months. As I began my required service, I found that the opinions and attitudes of many of my army buddies conflicted with my principles. As a result, I took steps to stay close to the Spirit, praying at least twice a day and reading the scriptures.
At first I was nervous because I didn’t know how my buddies would react, but they didn’t seem to care, so I relaxed. After a while my bunk mates asked what I was reading. “The Book of Mormon,” I told them directly. Their next question, of course, was whether I was a Latter-day Saint. I told them I was, and for a while, they let the matter drop.
In time a few of my army buddies began to ask about the Book of Mormon—its origin, contents, and so forth. Later their questions ranged from the purpose of life to principles of the Church. My religion became a natural part of our discussions, and it popped up in almost any situation.
One fellow in a neighboring bunk asked if he could read from my Book of Mormon. Of course I said yes. On another occasion, after a roommate had returned from attending a funeral for a friend, he told me that the funeral had raised many questions in his mind about life and its purpose. He asked me what the Church believed about those things. We had a long discussion about the purpose of life, the Atonement, the Creation, and other gospel topics. Afterward, other roommates became interested in the Church’s teachings and standards.
During the rest of our time together, we had many discussions that always seemed to turn to the Church’s teachings. My roommates called these discussions “Ask the Mormon” sessions. Later, after we had graduated from our training, one roommate told me he had decided to quit swearing.
Throughout my time in the military, I noticed that the more open I was about my Church membership and the more faithfully I followed gospel teachings, the more open others were toward me and the more opportunities I had to share the gospel.
I am thankful for the blessings and opportunities I had to talk about the gospel during my army service. I testify that if we are bold in standing up for our values, we will be blessed with opportunities to do missionary work. And if we let the light of the gospel shine freely in our lives, we can protect ourselves from darkness and have a positive influence on the world around us.

When John Batty was eight years old, his family was taught the gospel by two missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. It was 1854, and the Battys lived in Pilley, Yorkshire, England.
A few years later, George and Encora Batty and their children joined the Church and applied for passage on a ship sailing from Liverpool to New York City. They were going to Utah to be with the Saints.
A few months before leaving England, eleven-year-old John was skipping up a dirt path toward his home. As he went along the hard-packed trail, he noticed a large apple orchard in a nearby field. He could see that the trees were covered with ripe, red apples. His mouth watered, and he decided to take an apple from the nearest tree.
There was only one problem. The trees did not belong to John, and his father and mother had taught him that being honest was the best way to live. “Never take anything that does not belong to you,” his father had told him many times.
Ignoring his parents’ teachings, John quickly climbed a tree next to the path and picked three large apples. Placing one in each of his pants pockets and one in his mouth, he quickly slid down the tree trunk and raced up the road toward home. Before he got there, he had eaten all three apples and his stomach had begun to ache.
“What gave you a stomachache?” his mother asked.
“I don’t know,” John replied, being dishonest again. He knew that if he told his mother about the apples, she would ask where he got them.
John was tucked into bed to sleep off his illness. As he lay on his straw tick mattress that night, he made a promise to himself: He would work and save enough money to pay for those three apples. And he would tell the owner of the orchard that he had climbed the tree and stolen them.
Before he could keep his promise, however, his family sailed for America. John thought about those stolen apples every day during the long weeks it took to sail across the Atlantic Ocean.
From New York, his family went by boat, stagecoach, covered wagon, and foot to Council Bluffs, Nebraska. There they bought a handcart and piled their belongings in it for the long walk to Utah. Young John Batty walked and helped push the cart all the way. He wore out the only pair of shoes that he owned.
When the Battys arrived in Salt Lake City in September of 1857, President Brigham Young asked them to move on to southern Utah to live among the Indians in a small settlement called Toquerville at “the head of the Ash Creek.”
Barefoot, young John Batty walked the three hundred miles to Toquerville. Every day he thought about the stolen fruit. His conscience was so hurt that he could not even eat an apple.
Thirty years later, long after he was grown up and married, John Batty was called on a mission. He was asked to return to England to preach the gospel to his former friends and family living in the Yorkshire and Nottingham areas of England.
Upon his arrival in Liverpool, John made his way by train back to Pilley. Walking along a path toward the edge of town, he passed the same orchard from which he had stolen the apples as a boy. Standing among the trees was a very old, stooped, white-haired man.
John called out to him, “Do you own this orchard?”
“Yes,” the man replied.
“Have you owned it for a long time?”
“Fifty years.”
Here was John’s chance to repent of stealing those apples. “Sir,” he said, “I used to live nearby when I was just a boy. One day before my family sailed for America, I climbed one of those trees and stole three apples from you. I have been sorry ever since. I would like to ask your forgiveness and also pay you for them.”
“Certainly,” the man said, “but they will cost you three times as much as they cost clear back then.”
“That is fair,” John replied with a smile.
With only a little change in his pocket, John paid for the three stolen apples and bought another one to eat. In his journal that night, he wrote, “That was the sweetest apple I ever tasted!”

Some years ago a faithful convert, Brother George McLaughlin, was called to preside over a small branch of 20 members in Farmingdale, Maine. He was a humble man who drove a milk delivery truck for a living. Through his fasting and earnest prayer, the Spirit taught him what he and the members of his branch needed to do to help the Church grow in their area. Through his great faith, constant prayer, and powerful example, he taught his members how to share the gospel. It’s a marvelous story—one of the great missionary stories of this dispensation. In just one year there were 450 convert baptisms in the branch. The next year there were an additional 200 converts. President McLaughlin indicated: “My job as branch president was to teach [the new converts] how to be Mormons. I had to teach them how to give talks and lessons in church. I had to teach them how to teach the gospel to their children. I trained the new members to become strong members.” Pretty simple.

Just five years later, the Augusta Maine Stake was organized. Much of the leadership of that new stake came from those converts in the Farmingdale Branch. Now we might ask why there was such great success in those days, and the answer may be because of the urgent need to strengthen the Church. Let me assure you that that same urgency in all units of the Church is every bit as critical today as it was then.

When I got baptized, it was a special time. I felt really good—I’d never had a better day. I learned more things than I ever had on a Sunday. I felt really different when I came out of the water. I knew all of my sins were washed away.
That day I was given a journal to write my feelings and thoughts in. I asked ward members to write in it, too. They wrote that they are happy to have me in the Church and that they are proud of me for choosing the right.
I chose to follow Heavenly Father’s commandments and be baptized. That made me feel happy.
Neil Cain, age 8Belle Fourche, South Dakota

Katie raised her hand. She had a very good question. Feeling OK to stray from the flow of the lesson, the teacher directed the class to a scripture that would help with an answer. Another hand rose with another question. Again, we turned the pages of the Book of Mormon for help with the answer. After the third time in this process, Katie raised her hand again. Almost before the teacher could call on her, she blurted out, “How do you know your scriptures so well? How can you find all that?”
The teacher thought for a moment. He said he was nothing special. He didn’t have a photographic memory, or even a very good one. And then he answered with another scripture: “By small and simple means are great things brought to pass” (Alma 37:6). The teacher testified that he read his scriptures often. He read them daily. And years of daily scripture study add up.

Even though Carrie Peters of the Newport-Gwent Ward, Cardiff Wales Stake, has struggled with poor health, she chose to use her projects to develop her abilities and the talents of others.
Carrie organized a ward entertainment night, attended by more than 100 people. The event turned out to be such a great missionary tool that she organized a show for the Tregwillym Lodge elderly home the next year.
Her performers delighted listeners with Broadway songs and ended the program with the hymn “I Believe in Christ” (Hymns, no 134). Carrie’s living testimony of this song touched many hearts that night. She had just been discharged from the hospital 48 hours before the performance. It’s no surprise Carrie has since been called as her ward’s cultural arts specialist.

On one occasion, I spent a few minutes with a young man who had left high school and entered the military. Now he was trying to decide what to do with his life. I encouraged him to return to finish high school.

I did not provide him with money; the Church had no school for him, not even a scholarship. In those few minutes, I simply taught him that self-reliance which is such a part of our way of life. Even though over age, he returned to finish high school, and now he provides for his family and encourages his children in their search for truth.

Charlie Hays died on January 30, 1997. He was 12 years old. On his first day of first grade, he was diagnosed with medullary thyroid cancer. It turns out he was born with this rare mutation. After the initial diagnosis, doctors gave 7-year-old Charlie only six months to live. They told his mother his windpipe would close because of the tumors between the esophagus and the trachea.
“Charlie lived five and a half more years,” his mother, Susan, said. “His first goal was to live until he could be baptized, which he accomplished. He was so excited on that day. At his baptism, the entire room at the church was filled to capacity. After Charlie was immersed in the water, the audience clapped because it was made up mostly of children. We all giggled because you usually don’t hear clapping in church. But the children were so happy Charlie had reached his goal. Then he went for the tougher goal, and that was to live long enough to become a deacon and to be able to pass the sacrament.”

I have a testimony that the things the bishop asks us to do will help us in our lives. The bishop asked the Primary kids this year to memorize the articles of faith. I memorized all of them. Later I was on the bus with my friend, and the conversation popped up about our beliefs. I told her that I read the Book of Mormon, and I didn’t really know what to say after that. And then the eighth article of faith popped in my head, and I recited it.
Allison H., age 9, Illinois, USA

An example of someone who took personal responsibility to become self-reliant is Cedrick Tshiambwe. Cedrick joined the Church in Luputa, Democratic Republic of the Congo, when he was 12 years old after reading and praying about the Book of Mormon. He wanted to serve a mission, so he developed a plan to save money to cover some of the costs of his mission. To earn the money, he purchased bananas from neighboring towns to take back to Luputa to sell. Using his bicycle, he found he could transport about four to six bunches at a time. Depending on the day, he rode as far as the neighboring town of Lusuku, some 29 kilometres away, to purchase the bananas. It took Cedrick four years, but he saved enough money to pay for his passport, buy clothes and scriptures and to be able to contribute to his mission in the Democratic Republic of Congo Kinshasa Mission.5