Gospel Story Finder

When his mother invited him to visit a Christian church in 1995, O. Odgerel did not know she was already a member. Working at a public library, she was in charge of renting out its assembly room. Drawn by singing she heard from that room one day, she was invited to join the meeting. Later, she listened to the missionary discussions and was baptized and confirmed.

Odgerel had been born in Russia while his parents were students there and had been educated in Soviet socialism; it was almost his religion. But when the Soviet Union fell apart, what he had believed in was gone. He turned to drinking and partying, thinking the only purpose in life was to enjoy oneself before dying. He soon realized, however, that this lifestyle was a dead end and he ought to abstain from things that he could see were harming him.

Like many other Mongolians, he found it easy to accept the Book of Mormon when he read it. “Mongolian people may receive the gospel really quickly because they can see the good things in it easily,” Odgerel says. They “open their hearts to it very sincerely.” So it was with him. He had felt there was a Supreme Being. Through the gospel, he found a God and a way of life he could believe in. “That was my happiest moment,” he says.

Mongolian society could benefit from the reshaping that the gospel brings to people’s lives, he says. Drinking is a problem; so too is immorality. In Mongolia, there is only the worldly model, now strongly reinforced via television, to shape behavior. There is no strong religious tradition in the country to work against it. But through the gospel of Jesus Christ, Odgerel says, people find a righteous way to direct their lives.

Odgerel is president of the Ulaanbaatar Mongolia District, which has 11 branches and some 3,700 members. About 70 percent of the members are single.

Jamie opened his bank, and out tumbled a small pile of pennies and nickles and dimes and quarters onto his bed. He had been working very hard the past several months to earn enough money to add to his spacemen collection. Mrs. Bunday had paid him to carry her garbage cans to the street. He had run errands for his grandma. He had walked the neighbor’s dog. He had helped his dad wash the car, and he had collected and sold empty pop bottles and cans.
But tomorrow was Mother’s Day. I’d rather get something for Mom, Jamie decided, picking up his money and putting it into his pocket.
Let’s see, he thought. What can I get—a big box of chocolates? I’ll get caramel centers because they’re my favorite! Or maybe I’ll treat Mom to lunch at my favorite hamburger place! Or we could go to the pizza place—I love all the video games there!
But those things seemed a little selfish. Jamie thought of all the nice things that his mother did for him, such as mending his shirt when he tore it playing ball, making chocolate chip cookies just because he liked them so much, bandaging his cuts and scratches, and tucking him into bed at night and hearing his prayers.
Then Jamie remembered the special verse he had learned in Primary. He read it again from the bulletin board where he had tacked it: “God first, others second, myself third.” That gave Jamie an idea. “Hey, Dad!” he called. “Will you drive me to a flower shop?”
Later, while Dad waited in the car, Jamie went into the flower shop, laid his money on the counter, and said, “I want a big bunch of flowers for my mom for Mother’s Day.”
The lady counted the money and shook her head. “I’m afraid that there isn’t enough money for a large bouquet,” she said. “How about a small one?”
Jamie shook his head. “I want a big, big, BIG bouquet!”
The clerk thought a moment, then leaned over and quietly suggested something to him. Jamie nodded, paid his money, and walked out with a very small sack.
Later, in his room, Jamie dumped out the contents of his sack; then he went outside to complete his Mother’s Day present.
When Jamie woke up the next morning, he got out of bed quickly, grabbed his present, and ran to the kitchen. His dad and mom were sitting at the kitchen table, talking. “Happy Mother’s Day!” Jamie exclaimed, dumping four little parcels onto her lap.
Jamie’s mother was surprised and declared, “I wonder what these could be!” She opened the first tiny present—it was a package of sweet pea seeds. She opened the second present—it was a package of pansy seeds. She opened the third present—it was a package of carnation seeds. And the fourth package held daisy seeds.
“Now come with me,” Jamie said, taking her hand. “There’s more.” Jamie took his mom to the backyard. He proudly pointed to a piece of ground that he had weeded and dug up yesterday. “That’s where I’ll plant your flower seeds for you tomorrow. Then this summer you will have a big, big, BIG, bouquet!”

The sound from more than 700 barking dogs is deafening, but Kim Nahler enjoys the noise. And it’s a good thing, because during her summer vacation, Kim spends four hours a day listening to this canine chorus.
Kim, 14, is a member of the Kanab Utah First Ward and a volunteer at the Best Friends Animal Sanctuary in the heart of southern Utah’s red-rock country. The sanctuary houses more than 1,800 animals, including dogs, cats, birds, and horses. All the animals at the sanctuary are there because they have been injured, abused, or abandoned. Kim, along with the rest of the volunteers, helps care for and rehabilitate the animals until each animal can be placed in a permanent home.
“I like being around the animals,” says Kim, who has volunteered with the dogs for three years during her summer vacations.
Every morning Kim prepares food for the dogs and feeds them. Some of the dogs require special foods and medication, and Kim learns quickly which dogs need special attention. “It makes you patient,” Kim says. “When you feed the dogs, they all jump on you when you go into their cages.”
When Kim takes biscuits around to the dogs, she suddenly has hundreds of best friends. As a small pack of dogs, eager to eat a snack, jumps on Kim, she stays calm even though she doesn’t weigh much more than some of the anxious animals. Although the more aggressive dogs get their biscuits first, Kim makes sure that all the dogs gathered around her get an equal helping.
During the three summers she has volunteered at the animal sanctuary, Kim has gained a greater respect for animals. “Everything is God’s creation, and we should respect that.”
Kim takes her stewardship over animals seriously and is upset when she sees people abuse God’s creatures. Through her service, she shows by example how animals should be treated.
Although working with dogs every day can sometimes be tiring, Kim feels the service is worth her sacrifice. “Sometimes it’s a little bit hard because you have to wake up early in the morning. You know it’s your summer, and you want to sleep in a little bit. Other times it’s ‘Oh yeah, I get to go in to volunteer today.’
“Doing this is well worth my time. Afterwards I feel like I’ve done something,” Kim says. “The dogs need attention, love, and caring.”
As Kim walks past the dogs in the sanctuary, the crescendo of barking moves along with her. Although Kim volunteers with dogs, she loves all animals.
Kim’s service allows many animals to live in a caring environment, free from abuse. This service gives Kim the feeling that she is doing her part to care for God’s creations.

Painting the signs has helped Raegan and Rylyn through challenges. “When Kendall was sick, there were times we didn’t really want to be in the house because it was hard for us to see. So we decided to go and paint, and that lifted the load a lot,” Raegan says.
Kendall eventually passed away at age 16. Raegan says, “It was hard, but we knew that families are forever. We knew that even if we didn’t have much time with her, if we do our part, it’ll help us be closer to being with Kendall and Kallen again.”

As a teenager, Sister Kalombo Rosette Kamwanya from the D.R. Congo, now serving in the Côte d’Ivoire Abidjan West Mission, fasted and prayed for three days to find the direction God wanted her to take. In a remarkable night vision, she was shown two buildings, a chapel and what she now realizes was a temple. She began to search and soon found the chapel she had seen in her dream. The sign said, “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.” Sister Kamwanya was baptized and then her mother and her six brothers. Sister Kamwanya said, “When I received the gospel, I felt like a captured bird that had been liberated. My heart was filled with joy. … I had the assurance that God loves me.”9

There is another little sign in President Kimball’s office. This one reads: “Don’t quit.” We are all going to have hardships and setbacks. But Heavenly Father will not give us a hardship that we cannot overcome. Behind many Olympic champions are stories of incredible hardships that had to be overcome. Just this past summer, many of us had the opportunity to see an American win his country’s first gold medal in Greco-Roman wrestling. We saw this big guy crying tears of joy as he stood on that victory stand. Just two years before, he had undergone a serious operation for a rare form of cancer. He never gave up. Now he is an Olympic champion.

I had always seen God’s love when reading the Bible, but I could never find any church that taught it the way I understood it. When the missionaries taught me about the Restoration of the gospel of Jesus Christ, I felt so vindicated and a peace like I had never felt before. Finding the restored gospel of Jesus Christ was a long-awaited answer to my prayers to better understand God’s love for me.
God sent two angels in the form of two sister missionaries, Sister Hanah Otera Kershw (USA) and Sister Shelda Wandera (Kenya). They helped me understand my Heavenly Father’s love for me and to see myself as His cherished daughter with a divine identity.
When this truth sank deep into my heart, I was ready to make an everlasting covenant with Him. I got baptised on 17 March 2019. My love for God grew. I felt my Heavenly Father’s love through the missionaries.
I realised that everyone’s relationship with Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ is personal and unique. The restored gospel led me to have a desire to learn more about Them and Their character traits. I’ve learned that my Heavenly Father is kind and loving. He loves me completely and He knows me by my name and who I can become through faith in Him. I learned of the Saviour and of His willingness to do the will of the Father. Pondering His love and willingness to give up His life for me deepened my faith, my gratitude, and my own willingness to follow Him.
I know that as I show gratitude for all that Heavenly Father has done for me, it is one great way to allow Him to do more. Counting my blessings brings me joy and helps me to know how much Heavenly Father loves me. I’m grateful for my bishop, Rodgers Makosa, for his commitment to serve God. Not only did he teach me in word and example how to be a righteous disciple of Jesus Christ, but he also helped in giving me a vision of what I can become and helped me prepare for a mission and for the temple. I felt very humbled to receive my call in 2021 to serve as full-time missionary in the Ghana Accra West Mission.
This calling is a blessing to me, and it gives me more joy to participate in the work of salvation for all of God’s children and to share to others how the restored gospel of Jesus Christ has blessed my life. I know that when I read the Book of Mormon and pray, it helps me learn about who I am and who Heavenly Father wants me to become.
Sharing the restored gospel of Jesus Christ with others here on my mission has helped me to hear Him and has prepared me to be part of this great work and to help gather Israel as the Lord promised. Joseph Smith’s First Vision is evidence that God the Father and the Son Jesus Christ knows each and every one of us by name. When God the Father addressed and called Joseph Smith by name saying, “This is My Beloved Son. Hear Him” (Joseph Smith—History 1:17).
Oh, how grateful I am for the restored gospel of Jesus Christ.

One time I was conducting a conference in Salt Lake City and President George F. Richards of the Council of the Twelve was there. I invited him to speak, and he said, no, he didn’t care to speak but to go ahead. So I began to speak, and I told them that if they ever told a story about anybody, that story would stick to that person no matter how long he lived, and it would be believed by most people, and therefore they must not bear false witness.
While I was speaking, I felt a tap on my shoulder, and there stood President Richards right behind me, and he said, “I’ve changed my mind. I want to speak.”
He said words about like this: “Once upon a time I was a high councilor in a stake, and somebody made a serious accusation against a man. We debated whether to have him in and try him. Finally, the stake president decided he would talk to him privately, and apparently he did, and the man proved to the satisfaction of all of us that not only was he not guilty of the accusation, but he hadn’t even been in the country when it was supposed to have taken place. He was away somewhere, and he couldn’t possibly have done it.”
He said, “Forty years went by, and that man’s name came up for a very high appointment in the Church. In spite of myself, I caught myself wondering if the story told about the man was true, even though it had been proven false.
I had to get hold of myself to keep from voting negatively against that man on a false story told forty years before that was proved false.” Then he sat down, and I continued speaking.

In 2017, my goal for visiting Wales was to discover Margaret Rowland, the sister of Job Rowland, my great-great grandfather who immigrated to the United States in 1849. I had records that indicated that her husband, Morgan Thomas, had been buried in Pant Cemetery in Merthyr Tydfil, but nothing about her, and I was determined to suss out her information.
In March of 2017, my friend Sandra, my two brothers and their wives and I set out on a journey that would take us across the south of England, through Scotland and straight into our family’s history in Wales.
The day we arrived in Merthyr Tydfil, we went to the local history centre and spent a couple of confusing hours trying to decide how to begin our search. At a loss, we decided to pick up a few pamphlets and go to the Pant Cemetery where we were sure we could find the grave of Morgan Thomas, Margaret Rowland’s husband, or at least find someone who could guide us to the grave.
When we arrived, we were stunned, having been used to our western American cemeteries of limited size. Pant was huge! Hill upon hill of ancient gravestones in every conceivable state of disrepair. We all stood in disbelief as we stared at the task before us. We ultimately decided just to walk around a bit as we prayed to be guided in the right direction. After about 30 minutes of wandering, we met and determined that this would be a hopeless endeavor and somewhat discouraged, we left for dinner.
The next morning, we went to the Engine House (a genealogical repository and information center) in Merthyr to begin our research. It is there where the miracles began as we entered the Engine House and met miracle number one, Terry Jones.
My brothers Richard and Joe, Joe’s wife, Eileen, and I were downstairs learning about the history of the iron industry in the town when Richard’s wife, Sharon, and my friend Sandy went upstairs to wander and look for restrooms. There, they encountered a gentleman working on a computer and began a conversation with him about our quest. When they mentioned trying to find one grave amongst the 10,000 in Pant Cemetery he realized that we really did need some help. He introduced himself as Terry Jones and arranged for us to meet him at the cemetery office across the street where he introduced us to Deb, the keeper of records. Here we not only found Margaret’s grave site number, but others who were related and resided next to her. We were able to arrange with Deb’s husband, the caretaker of the cemetery, to meet later that day to see the graves.
Miracle number two occurred when we returned to the cemetery and realized that all six of us had previously stood very near the actual site of the graves at some point as we wandered the cemetery. The reason we didn’t see the graves was they were covered entirely by a huge tree that had completely swallowed them. We had previously photographed the tree because it was so immense and imposing, but for no other reason.
We returned later to cut away some of the lower branches so that Sharon could crawl inside and read the writing on the headstones, and we discovered that we had many more relatives buried in this plot than we realized.
Miracle number three came with a visit to the Colly Isaf farm upon which Margaret and Morgan Thomas farmed. It is no longer in the Thomas family, but the current owners allowed us to visit and to photograph the place where our family lived. We discovered the name of the farm listed on the back of a photograph found in material one of our aunts had given us.
Miracle number four occurred throughout the following year as Terry continued to do research for our family and discovered many more links in the family chain, but culminated with a discovery of John Thomas, a direct descendant of Margaret Rowland and Morgan Thomas.
John currently lives on Penrhiw farm which has been in the family since 1724 and he and his wife, Celia, were willing to meet with us. He sent us a lineage chart of all the siblings of Job who remained in Wales, adding much needed information to connect our family to those who had died. This discovery came about through another miracle, number five, that of Terry meeting Father Powell at St. Catwg’s Episcopal Church. While looking for Edward Rowland and Ann Miles, he mentioned John as a possible Thomas still living on the farm.
Miracle number six, cheap tickets to Wales even though it was at the time of the royal wedding. The window for these tickets was short, and directly after we booked them the price doubled.
Miracle number seven again involved Terry Jones who had looked for one year for the marriage of Edward Rowland and Ann Miles (Job and Margaret’s grandparents). Three weeks before we returned to Merthyr in 2018, he found it.
When we arrived in Merthyr, the scene had already been set by those who had been directing our lives for the past year. It felt as though we were in a giant genealogical chess game over which we had no control. Terry was beginning to feel the same forces in action as well. Every morning he would present us with a list of places we would visit that day. One day he showed us his list, which had two sides. He said that he created one list the night before and then this morning, for some unknown reason, he changed it and added a new place: Gadfield Elm Chapel in Gloucestershire. He said he didn’t know why he added it but thought it would be interesting for us to see. Of course, we acquiesced.
Miracle number eight: As we got to Gadfield Elm we discovered the reason. The first ownership of the chapel was given to Wilford Woodruff by the United Brethren, but it rested on or near brother Benbow’s farm. Many of the early members were baptized in Benbow’s pond. And Benbow was the maiden name of Terry’s wife. Terry was stunned. He kept saying he had no idea why he had changed the itinerary for the day, but we all knew why.
The next day we visited St. Catwg’s church and we were met by Father Powell and his lay reader Carolynn Corbin, who showed us around this very impressive 2,000-year-old building. While chatting, my brother Richard discovered miracle number nine that Carolynn was a Parry and quite likely a very close cousin of ours. We exchanged emails and discovered that we did indeed have a common ancestor. This led to a wonderful afternoon tea and the uniting of another branch of Welsh and American lines. After just a few minutes with this family we knew we had met before.
Miracle number ten: We discovered that we were not in charge in other ways as we went to Terry’s home for juice and to collect a book of remembrance that he had found when cleaning out the Engine House. He had asked Richard and Sharon to take the book of remembrance back to Logan where they live to find its owner. He showed Sharon this photo of a family reunion taken in 2004 (he had been doing research for the person who sent it to him), and she recognized someone. She immediately texted that person, and as a result, the connection was made between the photo and the owner of the book of remembrance.
There were more miracles during our visit that involved finding graves that were hidden in cemeteries, discovering writing on tombstones that were covered in lichen and moss, and potentially uncovering ancestors of whom we had no knowledge. If you ever doubt that the veil is thin or that there are others across that veil who wish their work done, let these experiences prove to you that you can be an instrument in their hands. If you allow yourself to be open to the impressions, the promptings, or urgings, as a member of this Church or not, the work of Elijah can be accomplished. Please always live so that you can be a vehicle in the work of redeeming your dead; so that when you meet them, they will encircle you with their joy and gratitude.

Christl Fechter faced this challenge and, with the Lord’s help, overcame it. As a young woman, she was forced by political upheaval to leave her home-land—what is now Czechoslovakia—for Germany. There she learned about the Church and was baptized. She later moved to the United States. While living in Utah, she was hurt terribly by someone and, for the first time in her life, felt hatred.
“I had been through all the terrors of the invasion of my country, but I had never before experienced the feeling of hate,” she says. “I knew this feeling was wrong, but I did not know how to change it.”
One day she read Matt. 5:43–44: “I say unto you, Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you; …
Christl felt that this passage was meant just for her. “I could not imagine myself praying for this person, but I wanted to do what the Lord said, and I knew I had to get rid of the hatred,” she says. So she knelt that night and prayed, through clenched teeth, that the Lord would bless the person who had hurt her.
She felt a little better. The next night she prayed again, this time sincerely, and she immediately felt the hatred leave her, never to return. She discovered that the Lord could pour out his Spirit upon her and teach her to love as he does.

Sweat trickled down Jake’s brow; he wiped it off with his hand. “Wow! A guy sure gets hot playing pirates!” “Yeah,” agreed Zack as he laid his homemade sword on the ground. “Hey! Let’s go get ice-cream bars down at the market! We have some money left from the aluminum cans that we turned in.”
The store’s freezer felt cool and soothing to the boys as they leaned against it to view the tasty confections through the glass. While Zack was deciding which flavor he wanted, he glanced at a display of Super Squirt Guns. His squirt gun wasn’t a very good one, and he always lost the shoot-out when he and Jake played cowboys. Maybe with a Super Squirt Gun he could beat Jake next time.
As Zack looked back at the mouth-watering ice-cream bars, he remembered how hot he was. He looked at the squirt guns again, knowing that he had only enough money for one or the other. Then he had an idea. I’ll buy the squirt gun and slip the ice-cream bar into my sock. No one will ever know. I’ll pay for it the next time I come here for Mom.
Jake opened the freezer and removed a frozen fudge bar. “What flavor do you want?” Jake asked.
“I don’t know yet. I’ll meet you at the counter,” Zack replied.
“OK,” Jake said as he walked toward the checkout counter.
As Zack watched Jake go, he didn’t see his Primary teacher, Brother Griffin, stacking shelves at the other end of the aisle.
Brother Griffin watched Zack take a fudge bar, slip it into his sock, close the freezer, grab a Super Squirt Gun from the rack, then hurry to join Jake at the counter. Sighing with disappointment, the grocer went to the counter to ring up the boys’ purchases. He was concerned for his young friend. He had never thought that Zack would be a shoplifter. How can I help Zack understand that stealing even a small item isn’t what Heavenly Father wants us to do? As he stepped up to the cash register, he noticed the boys’ swords, and they gave him an idea. “Good afternoon, boys. Why, you look like two fearsome pirates!”
“Hot ones, too,” Jake declared, digging his money out of his pocket.
As Zack placed the squirt gun on the counter, chocolate ice cream trickled into his shoe. He wished that Brother Griffin would hurry and ring up his purchase, but the grocer picked up Jake’s sword for a closer look, instead.
With admiration in his voice, he asked, “Did you boys make these fine swords yourself?”
“Yes,” Jake replied as he started to lick his ice cream.
Zack’s mouth watered as he watched Jake. Then his attention switched to his foot. It was getting stickier every minute that they stood there!
But Brother Griffin started talking to him. “You know, Zack, when I was a boy, I used to play pirates, too, and my friends and I made hats out of newspaper.” He fumbled under the counter. “Hey! I have some newspapers right here! Would you like me to show you how to make one?”
“Well, we really need to be going,” Zack said.
Jake shook his head. “No we don’t!” he countered, taking a bite of his ice cream. “That’d be neat, Brother Griffin.”
Zack wriggled his toes, and melted ice cream oozed between them. He looked at the squirt gun, still sitting on the counter, and rubbed the coins in his pocket with his fingers. Then he looked up at Brother Griffin happily folding a pirate hat out of newspaper for them. Zack didn’t feel good inside. In fact, he felt like his foot, cold and icky.
“There!” Brother Griffin announced as he completed the hat and placed it on Zack’s head.
“Can I try making my own?” asked Jake, finishing the last of his ice cream.
“Sure,” Brother Griffin responded. “Zack, too, if he wants to make another one.”
Zack shook his head, knowing what he had to do, instead. While Brother Griffin coached Jake on how to make his pirate hat, Zack put the squirt gun back on the rack. Returning to the counter, he took a deep breath and blurted, “Brother Griffin, I’d like to pay for my ice cream too.”
“But you didn’t get any ice cream,” Jake said.
“Yes I did—it’s in my sock,” Zack removed the dripping ice-cream wrapper from his soggy stocking, placed his coins on the counter for payment, and added, “I’m sorry that I was going to take the ice cream without paying for it. I was going to pay you later, but that still doesn’t make it right.”
“I’m glad that you chose to be honest, Zack,” Brother Griffin said as he rang up the sale. “You’re a fine young man.”

The Church also played a role for Brandi Hadfield, 17, of the Denver Colorado North Stake, in getting started in the theater. When she was younger, she participated in a ward road show. “I felt silly at rehearsals,” she says. “It was a silly part. But when the lights went up, my heart beat, and I did awesome. I loved that feeling, so I decided to try out for more.”

Since then she has performed in several school and community productions. And, she explains, she had a secret weapon that once helped her land a leading role in a musical—Primary. “They auditioned four different girls and looked for who was the most confident singing. I was picked for the lead, I think, because I had been singing for years in Primary.”

Because Shellee is always trying, people are drawn to her. For example, in ninth grade Shellee wanted to be a cheerleader. When it came time for tryout practices, she went but struggled trying to understand all the instructions. Luckily, her bubbly personality and eagerness to learn won her the admiration of the other girls and one varsity cheerleader in particular.
Michelle Shoell, then a junior, took Shellee home with her every night that week to practice with her. Shellee could do the moves; she just needed help combining the moves with the words. “She is one of the most sparkling people I’ve ever met,” Michelle says, “and I wanted to see her make it.”
Before the final tryouts, Michelle even told the coach, “I don’t really care if I make it as long as Shellee does.” Both girls made the squad.

Robert Rightenour, a 14-year-old teacher from the Seattle (Washington) First Ward, spent six months at a special sports training school in Trencin, Slovakia, one of the first Americans ever to attend the school. While he was there, Robert attended the tiny branch, which consisted of seven members and two missionaries.

When Robert wasn’t training with world champions in canoe racing and kayaking, he spent time as a home-teaching companion with the missionaries.

Robert also helped his family do their genealogy. Many of his ancestors came from Slovakia, and he has met several relatives in the nearby town of Svidnik.

After graduation Michael knew he wanted to prepare for his mission. His birthday was in December, so he decided to stay home from college and work to earn money for his mission. His dad helped Michael get a job with him working with a tugboat company. As the rookie, Michael got all the jobs no one else wanted—cleaning up, painting, picking up supplies.
Two more things Michael learned. Sometimes you have to put up with jobs you don’t like to earn the goal you do want—going on a mission. And as a bonus, Michael learned to take righteous pride in the kind of man his father is. Michael said, “Working around tugboats is a rough environment. There’s a lot of bad language. But Dad’s not different at work than he is at home. He always lives what he believes.”

I first finished Personal Progress right before the new value, Virtue, came out. My Young Women leaders encouraged me to wait to get my Young Womanhood Recognition until I completed the new value, so I agreed to do so. I had no idea what was in store for me. We received the new booklet, I completed the Virtue experiences, and then I saw the Virtue project: read the entire Book of Mormon. I hate to admit it, but I had never read the Book of Mormon cover to cover. This was my new challenge for the year.
Over the year, I read the Book of Mormon from beginning to end. When I completed my reading, my testimony had grown so much! The stories came alive, and reading the scriptures gave me a lot of spiritual advice. I encourage everyone to read it, discover for yourself the blessings, and help your testimony grow. It will change your life. Even if you just read for a set number of minutes every day, you will learn so much. After receiving my Young Womanhood Recognition, I decided I would wear my necklace every day to remind myself of the promises and covenants I have made with Heavenly Father and the many things I learned from reading the Book of Mormon. I am so thankful that my Young Women leaders encouraged me to complete the Virtue value. I hope you will take the challenge to read the Book of Mormon and let it touch your life.

Rosalie Lund began playing the violin when she was five. “I always liked playing. I always wanted to be a great violinist,” she says.
So why would she take 18 months off to serve a mission?
It’s a question Sister Lund became familiar with before she left in December 1996 to serve in the Canada Vancouver Mission. She was performing with an orchestra in Salt Lake City, and many nonmember musicians wondered what she was doing.
“Several of them thought I was crazy to go on a mission, especially in the prime time of my life,” Sister Lund recalls. “They were saying, ‘You’re going to do what?’”
“Knock on a lot of doors and tell people about the beliefs of my religion,” was her typical response. When the musicians talked about all the great things she could do musically if she stayed, she was quick to point out all the great things she planned to do as a missionary.
Sure it was the “prime time” of her life. And that’s why she decided to serve a mission.
“I had to do what I felt was right. I have had a very strong feeling that I needed to go on a mission. So here I am,” she says. “I’m learning and teaching about Jesus Christ. He is the source of everything good. If there is any truth or beauty in music, it comes from Jesus Christ. So in a way I guess I am still continuing my music study.”
Sister Lund remembers her last performance before she entered the Missionary Training Center. Everyone was talking about practice schedules and coming events, events she wasn’t going to be a part of. “I wasn’t very sad, actually. I knew I’d be missing out. But in a way I felt like they were missing out,” she says.
There were also the inevitable questions about the potential loss of skill while she is gone, especially since mission rules prevented her from taking her violin.
“I’m sure I’ll get rusty. I’ve had many friends—also violinists—who went on missions, and when they came back they were rusty. I guess if the Lord wants me to play the violin, I’ll be able to get back into it.”

“Minicraft 34 ready,” Maris said into the communication system in her space helmet as she prepared to be launched.
Just before her minicraft slid into the launching chute, Maris looked out of a small porthole. Around the edge of the launching pad she could see the huge banners rippling in the wind—GALACTIC JUNIOR DIVISION SPACE RACE. And beyond some high barriers a crowd of people watched. Maris knew her family was there among them.
Through the communications system she could hear the loudspeaker announcing her turn. “Contestant number 34, Maris Parker, representing Earth,” it blared.
She waved to her family. “Next time you see me,” she whispered even though they couldn’t hear her, “I’ll be someone you can really be proud of.”
If everything goes right and I win the race, I’ll soon be wearing the Space Princess crown! Maris thought to herself happily.
Her little spaceship took the launch smoothly and was soon orbiting the asteroid that was hosting the race. Ahead of her she saw numbers 32 and 33. All the other minicrafts were already out of sight, but that was all right. The race was being judged on accuracy as well as on speed.
Suddenly she saw number 32 wobble as it completed its first maneuver at checkpoint 1. Piloting number 32 was Rel, the quiet, silver-eyed girl from the asteroid Pallas.
Maris wished she could talk to Rel and tell her to make a small adjustment in her controls. But Maris knew that if anyone communicated after launching she lost points. That was the rule.
Rel finished the first maneuver awkwardly and shot off toward checkpoint 2. Minicraft number 33 moved into the first maneuver. Narda, the girl from the fifth moon of Jupiter, was the pilot. Narda was good, and she was as determined as Maris to win the race. She would be hard to beat.
Narda finished the maneuver perfectly and went on. It was Maris’s turn. She felt the minicraft respond instantly to her touch, and she knew she passed the first test.
The second checkpoint was harder and the third worse. Maris knew that she performed them well, but ahead of her she saw that Narda did them just as well. She wondered how Rel, who was out of sight now, had done.
At the third checkpoint Maris lost a little time because she had to repeat a turn around a drifting space buoy. I’ll have to pick up a little speed somewhere or Narda will win, she decided.
Maris sighed. It seemed as though she had always come in second or third or fourth in everything she did. But I don’t have to come in second; I can still win, she thought with renewed determination. So Maris speeded up her minicraft. She was right behind Narda now. And Narda made a mistake! She was supposed to make a figure eight at checkpoint 6, but she did a simple oval and had to repeat the maneuver. Maris did it correctly and was now ahead.
Her hopes were high as she headed for checkpoint 7. Just three more checkpoints and she could return to base. If I can just keep doing everything perfectly, I’ll be wearing the Space Princess crown within an hour, she mused.
Narda was nowhere in sight behind her as Maris approached checkpoint 8, the most difficult part of the course. At this checkpoint the girls had to orbit a wandering asteroid that flip-flopped through space, making sure their ships didn’t get caught in the asteroid’s weak gravity field.
Maris was halfway through her maneuver when she saw another minicraft ahead of her. She was ready to pass the spacecraft when she realized it was in trouble. For some reason its speed was cut down to the danger point.
Losing precious seconds, Maris guided her own spacecraft close enough to see the number on the faltering minicraft. It was number 32, Rel, the girl from Pallas.
“Rel!” Maris shouted into the communication mouthpiece, “what’s the matter?” Maris knew she was losing points for breaking the communications rule, but what else could she do?
“Oh, Maris! Thank goodness you’re close by.” Rel’s voice was charged with relief. “I’m having a fuel injection problem and it’s slowed me down, so I can’t get away from the asteroid’s gravity pull. Maris, I’m so scared. I may be forced to land.”
Land! Crash was a more accurate word if Rel had to go down on that asteroid. Its surface was an ugly array of jagged peaks and narrow valleys.
“Rel,” Maris said as calmly as she could, “you must stay up. And you can if you make your calculations so that you meet the least possible resistance.”
“But I can’t.” Rel’s voice was shaking now. “I’m not a very good pilot. I can’t do all that figuring.”
“Yes you can.” Maris made her own voice sound firm. “You are an excellent pilot or you wouldn’t be representing your asteroid in this race. Now, look at your charts and instruments.”
There was silence for a moment, then Rel spoke again. “I’ve tried to radio for help, but we’re in a dead space behind the asteroid. I can’t get through to the base. Will you send a rescue ship for me as soon as you get there?”
Yes, Maris thought. I could do that. I could go on and win the race, and then send help back. The Space Princess crown was still within her reach. She wanted so badly to continue, but she couldn’t. Not yet anyway.
“I’ll stay here with you for a while,” she told Rel. “I’ll contact someone else to send the rescue ship.”
Just then Narda’s minicraft came into view. “Narda,” Maris called over her radio, “you don’t have to answer and lose points. But please radio for the rescue ship as soon as you can make contact with the base.” Quickly she explained the problem.
Narda gave no sign that she heard. She just went on toward the next checkpoint.
For the first time Maris felt panic, for herself as well as for Rel. What if Narda doesn’t say anything and something happens so that Rel and I both crash on the asteroid? she worried. We might never be found!
Rel’s minicraft was slowly losing power and was drifting badly. Maris had no time to think about herself. She had all she could do to keep Rel calm and help her do the necessary figuring to keep from crashing. She tried not to let her fear show as she gave Rel instructions. Rel was calmer now and followed directions instantly. She was even thinking for herself.
The two spacecrafts were very close to the asteroid. Maris was studying it, trying to find a smooth place big enough to land if necessary, when she saw another minicraft approaching.
Number 33! Narda had come back.
“Narda,” Maris exclaimed. “I thought you would be wearing the Space Princess crown by now.”
Narda rolled her ship in greeting. “I thought about it. But crowns give me headaches. Besides, you’re so far off course now that if I didn’t hang around up here where the radio waves can get through, the rescue ship would never find you.”
Before Maris could say another word, Narda sent her minicraft out into space where it hung like a beacon, guiding the rescue ship to the stricken Rel.
Hours later, after the rescue ship had arrived and gathered Rel’s minicraft into its magnetic embrace, they all landed safely at the base. The competition was over—Melona from the planet Mercury had been crowned Space Princess.
Maris, Narda, and Rel hugged each other on the landing pad while their families cheered. But Rel’s silver eyes were troubled. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I made both of you lose your chances for the crown.”
Narda shrugged and said, “Don’t worry. There’ll be other races.”
Maris squeezed Rel’s hand. “I thought the crown mattered most, but it doesn’t seem so important now,” she said warmly.

I bear witness this day that we have been instructed by an inspired prophet of the Lord. I also know President Kimball loves each of us, and he loves particularly one of your sons whom I met recently in Korea.
We had stopped at an Army post exchange. Soldiers were milling around, and one of them recognized our Latter-day Saint chaplain. He came over to us with a cigarette partially hidden in his hand. When the chaplain introduced me as “one of the General Authorities,” he was so startled he nearly burned his hand trying to get rid of the cigarette. I put my arm around him and told him we were at the base for a brief meeting with our Church members, and hoped that he would attend. He made several excuses, but I said, “We will be honored if you come to our meeting. The Church cares about you. Come and join us. We’re your friends.” I think he could feel that I meant it. Before our meeting had ended that evening, he slipped in and joined us.

Emma did all she could to protect the plates and preserve a space for Joseph to translate. Thanks to the equine skills she learned from her brothers, Emma expertly rode a horse bareback for over an hour to warn Joseph about impending danger to him and the plates.7 Her older brother Alva, an elected Pennsylvania constable, came to Manchester to help Emma and Joseph move back to the Hale family home to escape increasing persecution in New York.8 Emma asked her brother-in-law, a carpenter, for a locked box to hold the plates, which they secured safely under their bed at night.9 She supplied a linen tablecloth to cover the plates during the day while Joseph translated. Emma felt the plates through the cloth as she moved them to clean: “They seemed to be pliable like thick paper, and would rustle with a metallic sound when the edges were moved by the thumb,” she said.10 Emma never physically saw the plates, but she was a witness of the sacred record.