Gospel Story Finder

As a small child in Midwolda, in the Netherlands, I walked every Sunday to a little evangelical church in our village. My parents didn’t go to church or even speak of religion, but I loved to hear the minister’s beautiful stories about Jesus Christ. How I loved God! But I couldn’t understand the minister’s description of God—so great that he could be in all places at once, yet so small that he could live in my heart.
It wasn’t until I was seventeen that I heard a song that helped me understand the true nature of our Heavenly Father. I had just met the missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and my future husband and I had gone to our first cottage meeting in Amersfoort, where we then lived. There I heard the hymn “O My Father,” whose words would change my life:
O my Father, thou that dwellest in the high and glorious place,
When shall I regain thy presence, and again behold thy face?
In thy holy habitation, did my spirit once reside?
In my first primeval childhood, Was I nurtured near thy side?”
(Hymns, number 139.)
I would never forget that song and the loving Father that it described. However, my future husband’s father asked us to stop seeing the missionaries, and we were not baptized.
But three years later, married and living in Rotterdam, we found the missionaries at a street meeting and asked them to teach us in our home. In September of 1928, my husband and I were baptized. On our way home after the baptism, I felt like the happiest person in the world.
In the years to come, we had our share of hardships. But all our experiences showed us the goodness of our Heavenly Father and taught us of his personal care for us.
When our first child was about a year old, she became so ill that the doctors gave us little hope that she would survive. Through that agonizing time of watching her suffer, I felt so close to God that I could almost feel him. We had great faith in the priesthood, and our daughter recovered after she had received a priesthood blessing.
Even during the horror of World War II in the Netherlands—with my husband in hiding, bombs exploding, cold and hunger—the Spirit of our loving Father kept us close to God and close to the Saints. One day when I was serving as Relief Society president, I went with my ten-year-old daughter to visit an older sister who lived alone. When we arrived at Sister Smit’s small home she was reading. She told us she was so hungry that she had decided to read the Bible, because spiritual food could fill her, too.
In those days food was rationed, and in my pocket was a coupon for a loaf of bread for our children. I felt so concerned for this hungry sister that I gave my daughter the coupon and sent her to buy bread for Sister Smit. On the way home, I wondered how I would tell my children that I had given away the bread. I knew I had done the right thing, but now what was I going to feed them.
Upon arriving home, I found the answer. Some family friends in Zwolle had arranged for a letter to be hand-carried to us by their nephew. With the letter were three bread coupons.
Over the years, our Heavenly Father has continued to bless us in miraculous ways. In 1947 our daughter was called to serve a mission. Although we had very little money, and our family would greatly miss the income from her job, we agreed to support her. Never was our family so blessed as during our daughter’s mission. Occasionally someone would tell me that they wished their child could serve a mission, but that they didn’t have the money. I always told them that we didn’t have the money either, but that the Lord blessed us so that somehow we were able to support her each month.
As I look back over my eighty years, I feel that among my greatest privileges in life has been to know that I am a child of God, and that he will guide me through mortality if I will stay close to him. And if I am worthy, he will be waiting to greet me in his “holy courts on high.”

Some years ago, a friend of mine was doing some work one morning on his garage roof. He looked down and saw a load of cement being delivered to his nonmember neighbor. He could see that the neighbor could use some help. My friend came down from his roof and, without being asked, carried his own cement finishing tools across the street and began helping with the job. Because he had experience doing cement work, his help turned out to be most welcome. Although the neighbor had expressed a dislike for members of the Church, he showed genuine appreciation for this one by the end of the day. This was the beginning of a long and lasting friendship.

But Bishop Carvalho did not come from a close family, and joining the Church helped him learn how to be a better parent and spouse. “I didn’t understand my responsibilities as a father. Sometimes, when I came home from work, all I could think of was how tired I was,” he explains. “The gospel was like a light that showed me the way. I began to understand my purpose as a man and as a father.”
Now, Bishop Carvalho says, he could not handle his many work and Church responsibilities without the support of his wife and two children. He says it is a great blessing to have been called as a sealer in the Swiss Temple, because temple work is so important to him. He functions in the calling when he travels to Switzerland with Portuguese temple excursion groups.

Though Sig had never denied the existence of God or committed grave sins, religion was not a significant part of his life. But he couldn’t accept the philosophies of his atheistic and agnostic friends. Once, Sig had pressed one of the agnostics with the question, “If you were to join any church, which one would it be?” The man answered, “I would become a Mormon,” and cited the goodness of the Latter-day Saints as his reason.
In fact, it was the good example of the only Latter-day Saint he had ever known—“an example of a good man”—that persuaded Sig Verano to listen to the Latter-day Saint missionaries for the first time. What they taught sounded like the truth to him. The Word of Wisdom made enough of an impression that the young mechanic gave up his cigarettes and liquor and began to pray on his own. Nevertheless, it wasn’t easy for him to go to church because he had long since broken the habit of attendance. Soon, he stopped listening to the missionary lessons.
But the Verano children enjoyed Primary, which then was held one afternoon a week. Sig or Ana would drive them to the chapel for the meeting. One afternoon, the car wouldn’t start. “Well, it isn’t my fault,” Sig told them. “I guess you won’t be able to go.”
Back in the house, six-year-old Edison wouldn’t give up. “Let’s pray,” he pleaded. So they knelt in prayer, then went back out to the car. To Sig Verano’s surprise, it started immediately.
After this experience, the Veranos attended Church meetings for a time, but quit after a few weeks. During this period there were several “coincidences” that helped to keep the Church in their thoughts. Sig’s mother-in-law, visiting from Colombia, spoke favorably of the clean-cut young American missionaries whose meetinghouse was near her home. An old friend from Colombia, now a sailor in the merchant marine, came for a visit. At dinnertime, he asked if he could say a blessing on the food—and Sig Verano recognized from his prayer that he was a Latter-day Saint. The friend, a convert who studied the scriptures ardently during his long voyages, bore his testimony to the Veranos, not knowing they had been investigating the Church.
Earlier, Sig Verano had told one pair of missionaries that they could come to visit as friends, but not as teachers. Before one of them went home at the end of his mission, he and his companion stopped by to visit and to invite the Veranos to meet his parents at a small farewell gathering hosted by friends. The Veranos were so impressed with the loving Latter-day Saints they met that they began taking the missionary lessons again.
But Ana Verano, faithful to the traditions of her forefathers’ church, became stubborn when she realized her husband was serious about joining The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. She felt she didn’t need to be baptized again. So they reached an agreement: since the children liked the Church, he would take them there after his baptism. She would continue to go to her church.
But repeatedly during the week preceding Sig’s baptism, Ana dreamed of the Savior’s baptism by John in the River Jordan. She concluded that it was an indication, meant just for her, of the right thing to do.
Sigifredo and Ana were baptized in January of 1974. Their son Edison was baptized later that year, after his eighth birthday.
The Veranos’ struggles with faithfulness were not yet over, however, and neither was the loving work of others in fellowshipping them.
A fine home teacher, George Baker, helped keep them active in the Church, Brother Verano recalls. Unused to attending church meetings three times a day, beginning with priesthood at seven A.M., Brother Verano was ready to quit. The early meetings were difficult because he was working from midnight to six A.M. But Brother Baker, who could not go himself, arranged for someone to drive the Veranos to ward meetings, and kept them coming.
The Veranos’ spirituality grew as they faithfully attended meetings and obeyed gospel principles.
He was called as president of his stake’s Spanish-speaking branch, created in 1978, and was made bishop when, after five years, it became a ward.
The creation of that branch was a blessing also for Ana Verano. What little English she knew had made it difficult for her to participate in an English-speaking ward. In the Spanish-speaking branch, she could hold callings and grow in service as her husband had.
“My real testimony has come through working in the Church,” Brother Verano says. “Constant service is one of the things that strengthens one’s testimony.”
The first Spanish-speaking ward in their stake was divided shortly after its creation, and Sig was called to the high council. He now serves as stake executive secretary for the three Spanish-speaking wards in the Los Angeles California North Hollywood Stake. Ana serves in the stake’s English-language name extraction program.
Among the vocational courses Sig Verano completed in his wide-ranging studies was one in real estate sales. It led to a profitable new career—and to further strengthening of his testimony.
His sales career didn’t begin well. He was fired after only one week when the owner of the real estate agency learned the new salesman’s religion following Brother Verano’s refusal to work on Sunday.
“The gospel is so important in our lives that Sunday is empty if we can’t go to Church meetings,” he explains. But the owner of the real estate company said that the Mormons put too much time into Church service to be successful. Go work for a small agency where the owner will not care so much about sales success, he told Sig Verano.
Brother Verano took the dismissal as a challenge. He found a job with a larger agency, and, working only part-time in 1979, was its top salesman. He has consistently refused to work on Sundays; as branch president and bishop, he also devoted part of his Saturdays to Church service. Yet for several years he has been among the company’s top five salespeople.
In Church service, Brother Verano says humbly, he has gained knowledge that the Lord lives, that through him we can be redeemed, and that he has placed prophets on earth to help guide us. Those who only tentatively believe that the gospel is true can come to know of its truth with certainty as he has—by testing it in obedience and in service to others.
“When I was baptized into the Church,” he reflects, “I believed. But now I know.”

Ninety-nine-year-old Louise Allred has spent most of her life serving others, and recently she learned a new way to serve from her daughter, Mary Helen.
Three years ago, Mary Helen was not looking for anything specific when she signed on to JustServe.org. Browsing around, she saw a need for a nonprofit group of volunteers who turn donated wedding gowns into bereavement clothing for newborns who never leave the hospital.
Photograph courtesy of the author
With a conviction in her heart that she had found something she wanted to do, Mary Helen and her local Relief Society contacted the organization director. An activity was planned for the sisters of the ward, and 10–12 wedding gowns were taken apart at the service project. Mary Helen took the pieces home and created baby gowns from them.
As Mary Helen made each gown, she prayed for each parent and family who would use the gown she was making. It felt deeply satisfying to her spiritually, drawing her closer to the Savior by following His admonition to love one another (see John 13:34–35; see also 1 John 4:11). Very quickly, Mary Helen realized a one-time activity was not going to be enough for her. She found that JustServe.org would be a partner for many projects for her.
Photograph courtesy of the author
Mary Helen’s mother, Louise, also began helping. She takes apart the wedding gowns stitch by stitch. Everything is then washed, cut, pieced, and sewn to create the baby gowns, and then embellishments are sewn on by hand. Each baby gown takes about two hours to create.
Together, this mother and daughter produce over 100 gowns for deceased babies each year. Hospitals all over Alabama, USA, welcome these donations.
Mary Helen says she and her mother enjoy this time they spend together serving Heavenly Father’s little ones and their families as time permits. As President Russell M. Nelson taught: “Our greatest joy comes as we help our brothers and sisters, no matter where we live in this wonderful world. Giving help to others—making a conscientious effort to care about others as much as or more than we care about ourselves—is our joy. Especially, I might add, when it is not convenient and when it takes us out of our comfort zone. Living that second great commandment is the key to becoming a true disciple of Jesus Christ.”2
In addition to the joy this service brings, Louise loves the challenge and the feeling of accomplishment she experiences. Mary Helen says this bond between her and her mother has also become a most cherished shared experience.
“Anyone can serve,” Mary Helen says—you just have to find what works for you!

Rene, for example, lived in a nice apartment in Michigan, USA. But when she retired, her Social Security and pension weren’t enough to meet her expenses. Finances became such a worry that her children suggested she look into low-income housing.

She found a retirement residence and moved in. “I’m stress-free now because I have enough money to live on,” she says. “I like my new ward and neighbors, and this apartment is perfect for family parties.”

I was a directionless 16-year-old moving around the country when a pastor of a local church in northern California took me in. He gave me a roof over my head and my first exposure to Jesus Christ. I began to attend the local church’s youth congregation. After a few months, I was given free schooling at a youth ministry school, allowing me to become a youth minister over a group of 8–15-year-olds. Life seemed to be falling into place, but I still lacked a life plan. When my pastor suggested I enroll in the army, I realized it could help me gain the focus I needed for my life. Plus, I was excited to serve my country and knew it was a great opportunity to receive an education. So I enlisted.
I soon learned that even though there are a lot of tough things in life, basic training may be among the toughest. But on Sunday, all soldiers were given a small break to attend religious worship, which provided a much-needed rest—not just from the daily rigors of the army, but also from a stern drill sergeant as well. I eagerly accepted this opportunity and began attending a different faith’s worship services each week. When I attended The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, I told the members I was already a member so they wouldn’t try to convert me. I was surprised by how much I enjoyed the three-hour break, so I decided to go back the following week.
That time I took John, my training partner, with me to church. The first speaker was a woman who was graduating from basic combat training. She shared her conversion story and then sang the hymn “A Poor Wayfaring Man of Grief” (Hymns, no. 29). I glanced at John and noticed tears forming in his eyes.
“What is this feeling?” he asked. “I’ve got the tingles.”
As I replied, “It’s called the Spirit,” it struck me that something special was going on—something about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was different.
John and I soon met with the missionaries, and they gave us copies of the Book of Mormon. John readily accepted his copy; I was more hesitant. In basic training our only free time was the four hours we had for sleep, and I did not feel like we could waste a precious minute doing anything other than sleep. But John felt differently.
That night as I climbed into my bunk, I noticed a light coming from the bunk next to me. It was John reading the Book of Mormon instead of sleeping. The night guard for our barracks later approached and asked John what he was doing. John matter-of-factly replied, “I’m reading the Book of Mormon.” The guard responded, “Oh, John, you’re not reading those lies are you?” I grimaced on the top bunk. I knew I should defend John and the Book of Mormon, but I cowardly decided to roll over and act like I was asleep.
John climbed out of his bunk, stood up, and, addressing the guard boldly, stated, “This is another testament of Jesus Christ. You take that back.”
I lay in anguish all that night. I had failed to defend my God and my training partner. I felt like I had denied my Christ and denied my discipleship. I, who was a certified minister, had lain in bed, while John, after having the Book of Mormon for only a few hours, had bravely stood up to defend it. Overcome with shame and embarrassment, I knew that the only thing I could do was to read the Book of Mormon for myself.
As I began to read, it wasn’t long before I gained a testimony that the Book of Mormon is another testament of Jesus Christ. I was so excited and knew I had to share the good word with my adopted family. I wrote home to my pastor and eagerly explained what I’d learned. I was surprised, confused, and mostly sad when he wrote back telling me I could never go home to them again unless I stopped going to the LDS Church and reading the Book of Mormon. I wanted to remain close to my family, but by then I knew the Book of Mormon is true and that I would do everything in my power never to let God down again, even if it meant giving up my family (see Matthew 10:37–39).
So I did what I had to do. I got baptized.
About two years later, I was praying one night when a thought entered my mind: “What about a mission?” I dismissed the idea as impossible. After all, I had signed a contract and was enlisted to serve in the army for a set amount of time. The next night the same thing happened, and I shrugged it off again. But when the thought came back for the third consecutive night, I decided to ask Heavenly Father about it.
“If I really am supposed to serve a mission, help me know what to do,” I pleaded.
About 10 minutes later I was lying in my bunk when someone knocked on the door. It was my elders quorum president, looking a little uncomfortable.
Somewhat sheepishly he said, “I’m not exactly sure why, but for the past three nights the Spirit has prompted me to tell you that you are supposed to serve a mission. Tonight the prompting was so strong that there was no way I could ever think of sleeping without telling you.”
Illustration by Andrew Bosley
I knew my answer, and so I started to act on it. I knew it’s extremely hard to get permission to take a two-year break from the army, but after much effort and many small miracles, I was finally granted leave for two years to serve a mission. I received my call to the Alaska Anchorage Mission, where I’m now serving.
The Lord has blessed my life with so much. He brought the pastor into my life so I could learn about Jesus Christ and straighten out my life. Then He helped me find the Church and the restored gospel, and He cleared the way so I could serve a mission. I am so grateful that He trusts me enough to call me to share His gospel with His children. He knows each and every one of us, and if we have faith in Him, He will always prepare a way for us and guide us to the right places at the right times.

One of the experiences that Brother Ottley still laughs about occurred several years ago when the Tabernacle Choir was performing with the Utah Symphony Orchestra at the University of Utah commencement exercises. As he was conducting the two groups, he recalls, “Somehow my baton got away from me and flew clear over the orchestra and dropped down in front of the choir. We just continued with the performance, and I noticed my baton coming along the floor as orchestra members kicked it forward toward me. The principal violist picked it up to hand it to me but realized that at that moment he had to play so he dropped it. Then the concert master picked it up and handed it to me just at the time I was to cue the choir for a big entrance. It got us giggling to the point where we almost didn’t make the entrance.
“But that wasn’t the end of the story; that was only the beginning. The next day my brother, who had been at the commencement exercises, gave me a tube of glue and instructions on how to stick the baton to my fingers. Then a day or two later a choir member presented me with a glove with the index finger cut out of it so that I could slip the baton in through the hole. Several weeks later a lady member of the choir stopped us in the middle of a rehearsal (and you have to remember that our rehearsals generally have a lot of observers), walked down to me and said, ‘Brother Ottley, something must be done before we can proceed.’ On behalf of the choir, she presented me a package which I was forced to unwrap in front of everybody. In it was an archer’s quiver containing a whole bunch of batons so that if I lost one I could grab another one quickly.”

Recently, some members of my family determined it would be fun to bicycle from Bozeman, Montana, to Jackson Hole, Wyoming, in the United States. This 225-mile journey would take us three days, and we would cross the Continental Divide on three occasions. We determined that traveling through the mountain passes with good weather would be a wonderful experience that would help us appreciate God’s creations.

After careful planning and preparation, two of my sons and my only daughter and I set out on the first day to cycle to our overnight stop in Big Sky, Montana. The morning was perfect, and we expected a delightful journey. However, as we traveled along, dark clouds gathered and brought rain, which eventually became sleet and hail and made us extremely cold and wet and miserable. As we concluded day one of our journey and reached our overnight destination, I was reminded that life can be just like that day. Fortunately, we had prepared for all types of weather conditions; had we not done so, it would have been difficult to complete our journey that first day. At each stage of life’s journey, we should set out full of hope and optimism, but we should be prepared nonetheless to face opposition or hardship at some point.

I was wondering if The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is true. I prayed about it on Saturday night and didn’t get an answer that night. On Sunday morning I prayed about it again, and right when I said the words “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints,” my heart got very warm. I felt the Holy Ghost say to me, “Yes, it is the true church.”Audrey Jensen, age 8, South Euclid, Ohio

Brother Williams brings in the garbage cans for 28 of his neighbors. “We need to follow the Savior’s example and do good to people,” he says.
Photographs by Richard M. Romney
Every Wednesday, 81-year-old Ken Williams wears the same shirt and hat. Both the shirt and hat depict a well-known character, Oscar, who lives in a garbage can. That Oscar is known as a lovable grouch. Ken is just known as lovable.
Ken waits inside his front door and listens. He’s waiting for the sound of the garbage truck. Sounds are important to Ken because he’s legally blind. Couple that with the fact that he has undergone 14 years of chemotherapy, and yet he’s still willing to get out and help his neighbors—28 of them, in fact.
Ken is affectionately known by all of his neighbors up and down the street. He’s the man who brings in the garbage cans.
“We see the garbage truck pass,” says a neighbor, Laura Willes, “and the next thing we see is Ken, walking down the sidewalk with his white cane, going from house to house and pulling in the cans.”
“It keeps our community looking good,” says Ken’s wife, De Ann. “But it also keeps the roads clear. I don’t know if a fire truck could get down the street without knocking all of the cans out of the way.”
Laura says Ken’s trash can patrol also provides reassurance to people who have to be away from their homes, “so that it’s not obvious when no one is home.”
So how does Ken manage to move the cans around while walking with a cane? “The cane is more for stability than anything else,” he says, “and when I lean on the garbage can, that gives me stability too.” With the help of a special contact lens, he can see well enough out of one eye to find his way around. When there’s snow on the ground, he won’t go where he might slip and fall.
“If there’s a day when he can’t bring in the cans,” De Ann says, “I alert the neighbors.”
Ken didn’t start out by doing all of the cans up and down the street. It’s a role he grew into. “After the garbage truck would go by, he would go out to the houses right around us and push the cans back off the street,” De Ann explains. “It evolved slowly. He did one more house and then one more, until it has reached what it is today.”
And the Oscar nickname? “That came from our daughter, Collette,” De Ann says. “And it stuck.”
Ken has made friends with longtime residents and new move-ins, with grandparents, children, and grandchildren. “It’s funny how many people know him as Oscar,” Laura says.
Why does Ken repeatedly perform this small act of service? His answer is profound. “We need to follow the Savior’s example and do good to people. That’s what I try to do. It lets them know they have the opportunity to do good to other people too.”
Ken has, in fact, spent a lifetime helping others. As a consultant in the automotive business, he worked with dealerships to improve their operations. As a Church member, he has accepted callings and shared the gospel, “not by preaching to my neighbors but by showing them the joy that comes from following the Savior.”
De Ann recalls, “When Ken was in chemo, the nurses and one of the doctors told me he helped a lot of other patients get through their chemo, mostly because of his personality. He didn’t even know he was doing anything special; he was just being Ken.”
Ken is still dealing with four types of cancer, but he stopped receiving chemo four years ago. “The oncologist says Ken is a walking miracle,” De Ann says.
Every Wednesday, you’ll see him in his Oscar outfit, waiting for the truck to pass so he can help his neighbors. “I didn’t just decide to go and bring in the garbage cans,” Ken says. “I decided it was one of the few things I could still do. And as long as I can serve my neighbors, I’ll keep serving.”
The author lives in Utah, USA.

Despite the company’s progress, Brigham was often frustrated when he saw the actions of some members of the company. Most of them had been in the Church for years, served missions, and received the ordinances of the temple. Yet many ignored his counsel on hunting or idled away their free time with gambling, wrestling, and dancing late into the night. Sometimes Brigham woke in the morning to the sound of men arguing over something that had happened during the night. He worried that their quarrels would soon lead to fistfights or worse.
“Do we suppose,” he asked the men on the morning of May 29, “that we are going to look out a home for the Saints, a resting place, a place of peace, where they can build up the kingdom and bid the nations welcome, with a low, mean, dirty, trifling, covetous, wicked spirit?”8 Each of them, he declared, ought to be men of faith and sober minds, given to prayer and meditation.
“Here is an opportunity,” he said, “for every man to prove himself, to know whether he will pray and remember his God, without being asked to do it every day.” He urged them to serve the Lord, remember their temple covenants, and repent of their sins.
Afterward, the men grouped themselves together in priesthood quorums and covenanted, by uplifted hand, to do right and walk humbly before God.9 The next day, when the men partook of the sacrament, a new spirit prevailed.
“I have never seen the brethren so still and sober on a Sunday,” Heber Kimball noted in his journal, “since we started on the journey.”10

Several LDS groups invited my minister friend to speak on the topic of “loving our neighbor despite religious differences,” and she experienced a great deal of acceptance from those who attended. In turn, she invited several Latter-day Saints, including me, to speak to different congregations on the same topic. After the services, I found myself surrounded by congregants wanting to talk to me, hug me, and even shed tears of mutual love and understanding. In experiences like these, I have found Elder Holland’s conclusion to be true: “When we look beyond people’s color, ethnic group, social circle, church, synagogue, mosque, creed, and statement of belief, and when we try our best to see them for who and what they are—children of the same God—something good and worthwhile happens within us, and we are thereby drawn into a closer union with that God who is the Father of us all.”14

I hurriedly stuffed my “stripes” and whistle into my tote bag, dreading the long winter drive home. As the dressing room door swung closed behind me, I hefted the bag onto my shoulder and strolled out onto the darkened gymnasium floor. I glanced up once more at the still-lit scoreboard that read: Home 37, Visitors 41.
Only moments earlier five young men had been playing their hearts out, struggling to win their first and only victory at the end of a long, frustrating season. The crowd had filled every available seat and standing space in the small rural gym. They had yelled their throats hoarse, urging their sons and friends to perform at some superhuman level so that the memory of the season might not linger so disappointingly in their minds.
The burden of performance rested most heavily on a tall, square-shouldered farm boy. Even though he was notably the most talented of the small hometown squad, his and his teammates’ best efforts were not enough to achieve the victory that their hearts desired.
As I approached the exit on the far side of the gym, this same tall farm boy stepped from the crowd of somber teammates and school chums. I was somewhat apprehensive as he timed his stride to meet me at the door. Much too often in my 18 years of officiating high school basketball and football I had been approached by a disappointed fan or player wishing to release his frustration by verbally insulting my ability as an official or even my nonpartisan posture during the course of the game.
The young man had a hard, firm expression on his face as he blocked my exit. Suddenly he extended his hand and with a humble awkwardness blurted, “I would like to thank you, sir, for calling a good game. You know how much we wanted to win this one. We tried hard, but … anyway I know you tried to call just as good a game as we tried to play. Besides, it’s only a game.” He turned and melted back into the crowd of his friends. A warm feeling came over me as I stepped out into the harsh winter wind. This young man had achieved the greatest victory that could be won on the floor that evening. He had been a sportsman.
I’m not sure what ever happened to that young farm boy. I do know that he never reached any great level of athletic achievement. He doesn’t have any memories of state championships or come-from-behind victories. He was just a hardplaying young man who gave his best when he walked onto the court and understood that regardless of the outcome, “It was only a game.”

My father-in-law taught at BYU and loved BYU football but could not bring himself to watch their games because he was so nervous about the outcome. Then a wonderful thing happened—the VCR was invented, which made it possible for him to record the games. If BYU won, he would watch the recording with perfect confidence, absolutely certain of the ending! If they were penalized unfairly, injured, or behind late in the fourth quarter, he wasn’t stressed because he knew they would pull it out! You might say he had “a perfect brightness of hope”!

Time was very short as I dashed on to the train, thinking what I was going to study once I had found a seat.
The train was almost empty, but I spied a student seated at a table obviously returning to his university studies, with books piled high at his side, studiously burying his head in his desired subjects.
“Ah,” I thought, “This young man won’t mind one iota if I slide in at his table with my own pile of books filled with interesting material.” Our carriage was already filling up. The train then speedily left the terminal.
I had not been studying too long when I began receiving impressions from the Lord to open a different study guide. No, I obstinately pushed the thoughts out of my mind. But, again and again, the Lord was saying, “Read this one!”
After a while, I chose to be obedient, opening the ’Doctrines of the Gospel’ study guide. Not knowing why, I decided to read. Time passed with the miles fleeing by. Suddenly the student shouted very angrily, “Why, why do I have to go away and study? Why leave my family alone; I don’t understand.” Everyone in the carriage must have understood his distress. I imagined his darling wife back home, perhaps two tiny children, maybe crying as he had to leave them again for another long period.
“Why?” I thought. It came to me that maybe he might be a law student, on a course of study that takes seven long years! (My own brother had a hard time qualifying for his law degree to become a solicitor.) I thought, “Oh, his poor wife.”
I prayed for him in his embarrassed state. Then, “open the book” I heard the Spirit tell me. To the Lord’s entreaty, I opened the manual in a questioning way. Then, there in chapter 13, page 37, a large picture of Daniel in the lion’s den faced me. “YES!” I thought, “Yes I do feel like Daniel in the lion’s den right now.” I’d felt responsible for answering the student’s earnest question.
Above the picture of Daniel in the lion’s den were the words that could answer this student’s question. I was awestruck! The words were a quote from the teachings of Spencer W Kimball. It was so astounding; I was gobsmacked. I found a piece of paper and wrote out the answer to this student’s question, the words from a previous Prophet, and passed it to him.
The quote read, “It takes faith-unseeing, faith, for young people to proceed immediately with their family responsibilities in the face of financial uncertainties. It takes faith, for the young woman to bear her family instead of accepting employment, especially when schooling for the young husband is to be finished.”
The quote goes on to state other matters that I left out. But I went further into President Kimball’s remarks, “Know this—that all these [difficult life situations that require faith] are of the planting, while faithful devout families, spiritual security, peace and eternal life are the harvests.”1
I am thankful indeed, that I could answer his distress call that day. I had given him quotations so he could go on the internet later and look up the source material.
I am always happy to help others; those seeking learning and answers to questions about the meaning of life. He was being tested. Also, I was being tested, to see if I really care for my fellow ‘travellers’.
Oh, how I have looked back on that day when I testified and felt, as is stated in the Book of Mormon, “If he would believe in him that he could show unto him all things—it should be shown unto him; therefore the Lord could not withhold anything from him, for he knew that the Lord could show him all things” (Ether 3:26).
I love to travel about and share what I know to be true, with wonderful sons and daughters of God who are not aware of who they really are. I feel this is required of me as a sister missionary of his gospel, and I am blessed for it.

I grew up in what some of you might call a boring farming community: Virden, New Mexico, population 135. One summer night when I was a boy, my cousins, some friends, and I were looking for ways to create some excitement. Someone suggested we play a harmless prank on a neighbor. My conscience whispered it was wrong, but I didn’t have the courage to resist the enthusiastic response of the group.
After performing our mischievous act, we sprinted down the dark country road to make our escape, laughing and congratulating ourselves as we ran. Suddenly, one of the group stumbled, crying out, “Oh no, I kicked a cat!” Almost instantly we felt a very fine mist settle over us. It carried a horrible odor. What my friend thought was a cat was actually a skunk. It had sprayed us in self-defense. Very few odors are as nauseating as skunk spray, and we smelled terrible.
Dejectedly, we went home in search of a little parental comfort for our pitiful plight. As we stepped inside the kitchen door, Mom took one sniff and shooed us out into the yard. We were cast out of our home. Then she launched the cleansing process. She burned our clothes. Then, it seemed that every home remedy or concoction in the community was volunteered in our behalf. Among them, we endured a variety of baths: first tomato juice, then cow’s milk, and even harsh homemade lye soap.
But the stench remained. Even my dad’s powerful aftershave lotion could not overpower the stench. For days we were condemned to eat outside under a tree, sleep outdoors in a tent, and ride in the back of the pickup truck.
After a while, naively thinking the smell was gone, we tried to approach some normal-smelling girls. They would not allow us within yards, shattering our fragile teenage egos!
If I had responded to my conscience when it first whispered that the prank was wrong, I would have avoided the whole stinking ordeal.

The prophet has asked us to “love thy neighbor” as Jesus Christ did. My sister, Lynn, and I like to build tepees in our yard out of sticks and leaves. Our next-door neighbor likes building tepees, too. She took our sticks and said that they were hers. We argued about it.
We apologized for arguing, and she invited us into her yard. “But,” she said, “if you come into my yard, you have to promise that you will not take my sticks.” She wanted us to swear by Heavenly Father’s name. We told her we can’t do that because of our religion. We explained that we use Heavenly Father’s name reverently because we love Him.
She didn’t know what reverent means, so we told her. We promised in our own way that we wouldn’t take her sticks, and we’ve been friends ever since.

In 1951, the branch my family belonged to started building a chapel. It was the first chapel in Uruguay. We had never met in a Church meetinghouse like many of you go to every Sunday. In fact, I did not know exactly what a chapel was, but I knew that it was something very important.
There were less than one hundred members who worked with my parents to construct the building. There were no cranes or construction crews like those that build many chapels. All of the work was done by the members of the branch. I knew that it was an honor to help because of the way my parents talked excitedly about the building and because they spent so much of their time helping to build it. I wanted to help, too.
Some members mixed cement. Some members dug holes, and some hammered nails. There were not many jobs for a five-year-old, so they gave me the job of straightening out the nails. I took a hammer and pounded old nails, trying to make them straight. I loved the clang of the hammer and the challenge of getting the bends out of the metal nails. Most of all, I loved just having a job. My parents reminded me that the chapel could not be built without nails. I felt thrilled that I could serve with my family.
After three years, the chapel was finally finished. President David O. McKay came to Uruguay to dedicate it. Having the prophet visit was a very special event for the Uruguayan members of the Church. Everyone dressed up in their nicest clothes to meet him. I remember President McKay standing in the chapel, and I was thrilled that he could see the building I had helped create. He put the cornerstone in place and dedicated the building. His white hair made him look like he had come from heaven. He went around and shook everyone’s hand. When he came to me, he bent down especially to shake my hand. It was my first experience with meeting a prophet, and when he spoke to me, I had a warm feeling in my heart. I felt glad that I had helped to build the chapel.
Twenty years later, I became the bishop and served in the very building I had helped to build. The branch had grown in those twenty years, and so had I. As a child, I had relied upon my parents’ testimonies. I later gained my own testimony as I served others.

Richard and Carol had been married for 20 years. When they first came to see a counselor to resolve their marital difficulties, Carol complained that Richard was cruel, manipulative, thoughtless, and ill tempered. The counselor turned to Richard, expecting to hear a different story, and was surprised to hear him agree with Carol. He later learned that Richard had low self-esteem and compensated for it by trying to control Carol and their children. Richard acknowledged that he needed help and said that he was eager to change.
Over the next year, the counselor watched Richard gradually become kinder and more thoughtful. Happy with the changes he was making, Richard felt good about himself. Nevertheless, Carol filed for divorce. While it was true that Richard had treated Carol poorly in the past, he had repented and changed. But the hurt Carol felt ran deep, and she was unable to forgive him.
The story of Richard and Carol is not unusual. Many couples hold grudges for years, sometimes using the memory of hurts as justification for punishing each other. Their unwillingness to forgive stifles communication, and their interaction becomes strained.