Gospel Story Finder

I remember clearly my first experience with the sacrament. I had just been invited by the missionaries to attend church for the first time. Unfortunately I didn’t know anything about how the sacrament works or what it symbolizes, so the girls I was sitting with had to explain the whole process while it was happening.
Looking back on this experience has made me realize that it would have been helpful if I had tried to learn a little bit more about the sacrament beforehand on my own, but I was fortunate that the girls I sat with on that first day were more than willing to explain everything to me in the moment. Since then, a lot has changed in my life—including my knowledge of the gospel and the meaning of the sacrament.
There have also been many changes during the past general conferences. When President Russell M. Nelson closed the October 2019 general conference, he revealed some revisions to the questions asked in a temple recommend interview, and as he reiterated question 8, “Do you strive to keep the Sabbath day holy, both at home and at church; attend your meetings; prepare for and worthily partake of the sacrament; and live your life in harmony with the laws and commandments of the gospel?” (emphasis added).
I was struck by the word prepare.
I’ve realized that the sacrament isn’t something you prepare for just moments before the bread and water are passed. You can prepare for the sacrament throughout the week to help you feel the Spirit strongly and a sense of renewal every Sunday.
Since then, I’ve started preparing to take the sacrament throughout the week by:
Studying my scriptures through Come, Follow Me and thinking of ideas I can share with others and in the next Sunday School meeting.
Packing what I need for church on Saturday night for meetings in the morning (the joys of working the night shift!). I make sure I pack my scriptures and a notebook to take notes during sacrament meeting, and I pray to find answers during church about how I can improve myself throughout the next week.
Listening to spiritual music on Sunday morning before I attend sacrament meeting also helps me feel the Spirit and get in the right mindset.
Reading over the hymns we will sing in sacrament meeting and looking up the scriptures they refer to. This helps me fully realize the message and meaning behind the hymns and helps me ponder these things throughout the meeting.
Lastly, thinking about the reason for the sacrament before it’s passed. I remind myself that I need to always remember the “why” of the sacrament and its importance throughout the week—the Savior.
The purpose for the sacrament is to remember Jesus Christ and His atoning sacrifice for us (see Matthew 26:26–28). The sacrament also invites us to renew our baptismal covenant and to deepen our commitment to become more like Him, to remember Him, and to become better disciples. It also allows us to start the next week spiritually refreshed.
I’ve learned so much more about the sacrament since that first day at church. And I now feel so much joy every week as I walk into sacrament meeting, knowing that I am about to remember my Savior’s sacrifice for me and be more diligent in keeping my covenants. Preparing makes a positive difference in the Spirit you feel throughout the meeting. Before the sacrament was in my life, I often felt empty—like something was missing. I never knew that the missing piece of my life was an ordinance that is so simple, but so powerful at the same time. An ordinance that helps me deepen my love for the Savior and appreciate all He does for me.

I would like to explain what honoring the priesthood means to me. In this regard, I am like many other young men in the Church who are preparing to one day worthily enter the temple and to serve a mission.
I live in Tucson, Arizona, with my parents, my brother Stephen, my grandfather Juan, and my great-grandmother Maria. As a member of the Sonora Ward in the Tucson Arizona Stake, I have enjoyed many opportunities to magnify my callings in the Aaronic Priesthood. I have helped clean yards of the elderly and others unable to take care of their homes. I have also helped clean the church cemetery and ballpark. But what has helped the most in learning to honor my priesthood was an experience I had in helping my own family.
One summer my aunt and uncle left my four young cousins with my parents. I was asked to baby-sit them much of the time. During those months, I had the interesting experience of learning how to change diapers and fix lunches as well as figure out ways to keep my little cousins from getting into trouble. The first few days were hard on all of us, but by the end of the summer, we were all enjoying ourselves and doing well. I learned to appreciate what parents have to teach their children, and by the end of the summer, I felt a greater love for my cousins than I’d ever felt before.
I learned that one of the most important ways I can honor my priesthood is to obey the Lord’s commandments and to honor my parents. I once heard a speaker say, “If we love, we obey, for the Lord said, ‘If ye love me, keep my commandments’” (John 14:15). When I obey, I know that I am a worthy priesthood holder. The guidance that comes from my Heavenly Father is for my own good. He knows who I am and has a plan for me and for my salvation. I don’t always understand why I have to do certain things, but I know that there are eternal reasons for doing them.
There also have been times when my parents wouldn’t allow me to go places or do things I wanted to do. I have not always been happy about their decisions. But many times I have come to realize that they were right. For example, when I was younger, some of my friends were going to a “teen night” at a nightclub, and my parents wouldn’t let me go. I was upset and felt that my parents didn’t trust me. But after my bad feelings left, we talked about the temptations all around us and how my being at the nightclub would be opening the door to greater temptations. We also talked about my being worthy to pass the sacrament and about honoring my priesthood. I love my Heavenly Father and my parents, and I know that love and obedience go hand in hand.
I have been preparing myself to be worthy of the ordinances of the temple. One of the ways I have been doing this is by keeping myself morally clean. It is a major challenge in these times to be morally clean and respectful of ourselves and others. Some people think that being sexually active outside of marriage is acceptable, but the Lord has taught us that only by maintaining high moral standards will we be able to enjoy all the blessings he wants to give us. Being immoral is totally unacceptable to the Lord and to his church.
The pamphlet For the Strength of Youth gives simple guidelines that help teach us how to be worthy to one day enter the temple. My bishop challenged the youth of our ward to always keep this pamphlet with us. If he asked us to show it to him and we couldn’t, we would owe him a candy bar. I feel the pamphlet has helped us stay on the “strait and narrow path” (2 Ne. 31:18).
I began preparing for full-time missionary service when I was five years old. I remember going to church with my grandparents because my mom was not active and my dad wasn’t a member. One Sunday I came home and told my mom, “Next Sunday you have to go with me to church. My friend Juanito takes his mom and dad, and I don’t, so my friends are going to start thinking I don’t have a mom and dad.”
Well, when Sunday came, I had forgotten about it, and Mom wasn’t about to remind me. When she took me to my grandparents’ so they could take me to church, I reminded her that she said I could take her with me. She made some excuse and said she couldn’t go with me that Sunday—but maybe next Sunday. I know she said that so I wouldn’t bother her, and she probably figured I’d forget about it. But when Saturday came around, I reminded her that she had to go to church with me. I helped her pick out a nice dress to wear and took her to church that Sunday. She’s been going with me ever since.
We’ve come a long way since then. Shortly after my mom’s reactivation, we focused on converting my father. I know that missionaries in the field work in pairs, but in our home we formed a threesome: Mom, my brother Stephen, and myself. Dad didn’t have a chance! We used to talk about the children’s hymn we were going to sing in the car, and we kept reminding each other to bless our food and hold family prayer and set a good example. My dad did join the Church and is very active now. In March 1987, we were sealed as a family in the Arizona Temple in one of the greatest events of our lives. We are working hard on becoming an eternal family.
Besides working with my family, I know that I should keep the Word of Wisdom, because a full-time missionary needs to be physically fit as well as morally clean. I need to study the scriptures and attend seminary because it takes some ability to memorize discussions and scriptures and be prepared to teach the gospel. My parents have also taught me the importance of speaking more than one language because “every man shall hear the fulness of the gospel in his own … language” (D&C 90:11).
I think my greatest asset when I serve a mission will be my ability to make and keep friends. When you befriend someone, it is much easier to teach that person the gospel. I know that I need to prepare myself spiritually and physically by being obedient to my Heavenly Father and my parents so that I can have the Spirit as my constant companion. If we do these things, I know we can overcome the temptations of the world and honor our priesthood, serve missions, and enter the holy temple.

When Amy was three, her mother and father brought home her baby brother, Paul. They said Amy was a big sister now. But she didn’t feel any different. She still felt little.
Amy wasn’t sure she liked the baby. He didn’t do anything, even when she smiled at him. Then one day he smiled. “I taught my brother how to smile,” said Amy.
Sometimes Amy liked to shake a rattle in front of Paul. When Paul was three months old, he reached out and took the rattle from Amy and shook it. “I taught my brother how to shake a rattle,” said Amy.
One day Amy’s friend came over to play. They crawled on the floor and pretended they were dogs. Paul watched them. A few months later Amy saw Paul crawl. “I taught my brother how to crawl,” said Amy.
Amy liked to pretend that she was an acrobat on a high wire, walking very slowly, one foot in front of the other. When baby Paul was ten months old, he took his first steps walking very slowly, one step at a time. “I taught my brother how to walk,” said Amy.
Paul was growing big and tall. He didn’t always do what Amy told him to. Sometimes Amy forgot to be nice. She pulled his hair and made him cry. Then she felt bad and gave him a hug.
One day Amy would not share her book with Paul. He grabbed her hair. Amy rubbed her head and said tearfully, “I taught my brother how to pull hair.”
Paul held out his arms in front of Amy. Amy held out her arms, too, and they hugged. “I taught Paul how to hug,” said Amy. “I would rather hug than pull hair. From now on I will be very careful about what I teach my brother.”

Years ago there came to my office a young woman and her aging father. She had brought him several hundred miles to find a remedy for the guilt he felt. As a young man he had made a serious mistake, and in his old age the memory came back to him. He could not shake the feeling of guilt. He could not go back and undo the problem of his youth on his own, but he could start where he was and, with help, erase the guilt which had followed him all those years.
I was grateful that by teaching him principles from the Book of Mormon, it was as though a tremendous weight was lifted from his shoulders. When he and his daughter drove back home those many miles, the old man had left behind the guilt of the past transgression.

I mention one more example of the incorrect way to accomplish home teaching. President Marion G. Romney, who was a counselor in the First Presidency some years ago, used to tell about his home teacher who once went to the Romney home on a cold winter night. He kept his hat in his hand and shifted nervously when invited to sit down and give his message. As he remained standing, he said, “Well, I’ll tell you, Brother Romney, it’s cold outside, and I left my car engine running so it wouldn’t stop. I just came by so I could tell the bishop I had made my visits.”

President Ezra Taft Benson, after relating President Romney’s experience in a meeting of priesthood holders, then said, “We can do better than that, brethren—much better!” I agree.

A few years ago I visited a family with a teenage son who was looking at a copy of Preach My Gospel. I encouraged him to write in the margins of the book the impressions he felt while reading.
I recently received a letter from this young man who is now serving a mission. He wrote: “I’ve been in the mission field for six months and want to thank you for reminding me to write down my impressions. I’ve just been called to be a trainer, and I have a new missionary companion. When my companion saw my agenda and a small notebook under my pillow, he asked me why it was there. I told him what you taught me: if I would listen, God would speak to me, so I keep it there to write down the personal revelations He gives me.
“The next night at 2:00 a.m. I had an impression come to me, and I wrote it down in my notebook. My companion said, ‘Now I understand.’”

I remember as a youth walking with my mother up the dusty road to the bishop’s house in a day when we often paid tithing from our animals and produce. As we walked, I said, “Why do we take the eggs to the bishop?” She answered, “Because they are tithing eggs and the bishop receives the tithing of Heavenly Father.” My mother then recounted how each evening when the eggs were brought in, the first one went into a small basket and the next nine went into a large basket. I first learned the law of tithing from my beloved mother.

1 Eight-year-old Lou had mixed feelings. She was excited about her family moving to Arizona, but a little twinge of worry gnawed at her. She knew that only essential items could be taken in their covered wagons.
Will Annabelle be considered essential? she wondered. Will there be room for her?
2 Annabelle was a beautiful china doll, a special birthday gift that still filled Lou with wonder whenever she took Annabelle down from her place on Mama’s bureau, where the doll was safely out of the reach of her little brothers.
3 Lou asked her father if there would be room for Annabelle in the covered wagon. He promised to find a special place for her.
4 As the covered wagon was loaded, Lou kept a careful watch. When everything else was put into it, Lou could not see a safe place left for her doll.
5 The night before the start of their journey, Lou and her brothers took their last baths in their old home. Very little was left in their house; everything had been either packed in the wagon or given away to friends.
6 That night the family slept in beds made up on top of boxes in the covered wagon.
7 The next morning as they were getting ready to leave, Papa showed Lou a little hammock hanging from one of the wagon bows. Annabelle was inside. Papa had found a place where Annabelle could ride up high, out of the reach of her brothers and safe from bumps and jolts.
8 All during the long weeks of travel, Annabelle left her hammock only when Lou held her. When they arrived in Arizona, Annabelle was still with them, a treasured friend for Lou.

In our home we have what is now called the parable of the bicycle. It dates back to when my daughter Sarah, who was seven years old at the time, came in and said, “Dad, can I have a bike? I’m the only kid on the block who doesn’t have one.”

Well, I didn’t have the money then for a bike, so I stalled her. I said, “Sure, Sarah.”

She said, “How? When?”

I said, “You save all your pennies, and soon you’ll have enough for a bike.” And she went away.

A couple of weeks later I heard a “clink, clink” in Sarah’s bedroom. I asked, “Sarah, what are you doing?”

She came to me with a little jar, a slit cut in the lid, and a bunch of pennies in the bottom. She said, “You promised me that if I saved all my pennies, pretty soon I’d have enough for a bike. And, Daddy, I’ve saved every single one of them.”

My heart melted. My daughter was doing everything in her power to follow my instructions. I hadn’t actually lied to her. If she saved all of her pennies, she would eventually have enough for a bike, but by then she would want a car. I said, “Let’s go look at bikes.”

We went to every store in town. Finally we found it—the perfect bicycle. She was thrilled. Then she saw the price tag, and her face fell. She started to cry. “Oh, Dad, I’ll never have enough for a bicycle!”

So I said, “Sarah, how much do you have?”

She answered, “Sixty-one cents.”

“I’ll tell you what. You give me everything you’ve got and a hug and a kiss, and the bike is yours.” Then I drove home very slowly because she insisted on riding the bike home.

Having determined to become a bookkeeper, I immediately began to work to reach this goal. I well remember the amusement I furnished my fellow students. One remarked when looking at my books, “What is it; hen tracks?” Another said, “Has lightning struck an ink bottle?”

These remarks and others, while not made to hurt my feelings but in good-natured fun, nevertheless affected me deeply and aroused within me a spirit of determination. I resolved to live to provide an example for penmanship for all who attended the university, and to be the teacher of penmanship and bookkeeping in that institution. Having a purpose and also “the will to labor,” and agreeing with Lord Lytton that, “In the bright lexicon of youth there’s no such word as fail,” I commenced to use my spare time to practice penmanship, continuing year after year until I was referred to as “the greatest scribbler on earth.”

The result was that some years later, I got a job as bookkeeper and policy clerk in an insurance office. Although at fifteen, I wrote very well and it was all that was needed to satisfactorily fill the position which I then held, yet I was not fully satisfied but continued to dream and “scribble,” when not other wise occupied. I worked in the front of A. W. White and Company’s bank, and, when not busy, volunteered to assist with the bank work, and to do anything and everything I could to employ my time, never thinking whether I was to be paid for it or not, but having only a desire to work and learn.

Mr. Morf, the bookkeeper in the bank, wrote well, and took time and effort to assist me in my efforts to become proficient as a penman. I learned to write so well that I often earned more before and after office hours by writing cards, invitations, etc., and making maps, than the amount of my regular salary. Some years later, a diploma at the Territorial Fair was awarded me for the finest penmanship in Utah.

When I engaged in business for myself, there was a vacancy at the university in the position of teacher of penmanship and bookkeeping, and to fulfill the promise to myself, made when a youth of twelve or thirteen, that I would some day teach these subjects I applied for the position. My application was accepted, and my obligation to myself was thus fulfilled.

One time we went to watch a couple of movies at somebody’s house. My friends and I picked out one movie that was fine, and they also picked out another movie I knew was inappropriate. I mentioned something about not wanting to watch it, but everyone went ahead and rented it anyway. Will noticed I was quiet as we were driving away from the rental place.
“Hey, Jacob, is it really bothering you that we got that other movie?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said. “But it’s OK. I’ll just leave for that movie.”
Will didn’t think it was OK. He turned the car around and drove back to where we got the movie. Will and I went back and exchanged the inappropriate movie for something better that everybody still wanted to watch. I was always glad to have friends who helped me live my standards.

One Christmas morning I woke early. To my joy, the tree was surrounded with presents. The excitement of discovering what treasures waited inside the wrapping paper made up for the lack of snow.
We were quite poor, and most Christmases were meager. We lived on a farm and always had chores to do, even on Christmas Day. Right after we opened our gifts, my father left to do his chores.
I was praying that my mom wouldn’t make me stop playing with my new race car set to do my chores. When my dad returned, he told me he had done our chores for us. I was excited to spend the entire day in the warm house.
He then said something to my mother about Blanche, an elderly widow down the street who was looking for firewood. That was my dad, always caring for others. It seemed like everybody in town depended on him.
The next thing I knew my father was asking my brothers and me if we wanted to get some wood with him. I couldn’t believe it. On Christmas? I knew that wood was the only way Blanche could cook her food and heat her house. But couldn’t someone else get her firewood? Couldn’t we wait until tomorrow? Or couldn’t we just take her a little from our woodpile? Surely she had enough wood to last until then. But no. My father wanted to go into the woods and get a whole truckload. I complained, but it didn’t do any good.
My dad was very good at getting his boys to help him, and we each had our jobs. My dad would run the chain saw, Grant, my next-to-oldest brother, would split the wood, I would load it into the truck, and another older brother Ron would stack the wood in the back of the truck.
Eager to get back to our toys, we all worked hard. Dad had cut a big tree, and we almost had it loaded. I thought we had plenty of wood, but my dad cut into another big tree.
“This is going to take forever,” I thought. “I’m cold and tired and want to play with my toys, and he is cutting down another tree.”
When we backed up to Blanche’s house and started unloading the wood, I couldn’t believe what I saw. There wasn’t a sliver of wood anywhere in her yard. The only thing she had left to burn was the house itself. I had been worried about losing time playing with my race cars while she was worried about freezing.
As we were unloading the wood, she came out of her house. My dad looked up and said, “Merry Christmas.” She started crying, and my dad got down from the truck to console her. I couldn’t fight back a few tears myself. I tried hard not to let it show, but then I noticed a tear in my brother’s eyes, too. My presents didn’t mean anything to me now. Being able to keep someone from freezing on Christmas Day meant much more to me than all the toys in the world.

Joseph was almost to the edge of the park when he noticed something in the grass. “Maybe a bag of trash got scattered by the wind,” he thought.
As he got closer, a glint of light caught his attention. This wasn’t trash. Joseph saw a checkbook, keys, and a calculator lying near a purse. What cool stuff to find! Finders keepers, right?
Joseph was about to put the stuff in his pockets when he thought, “This isn’t mine. If I lost something, I’d want it back. Whoever this belongs to probably wants it back too.”
So instead he gathered up the scattered things, stuffed them in the purse, and carried it all back to Mom.
“Oh, dear,” Mom said, “It looks like someone’s been robbed.”
Together she and Joseph looked through the things until they found a phone number. Mom called the number while Joseph watched. When she hung up Joseph asked, “Who was it? What did they say?”
“The lady who answered was very excited when I told her what you found,” Mom said. “Her purse was stolen yesterday at the mall. We’re going to go there now to take everything back to her.”
When they walked into the mall, a woman hurried up to them. “Thank you, thank you!” she said. “Young man, you’ve answered my prayers!”
Joseph smiled and handed her the purse. “I’m sorry you got robbed,” he said.
The lady handed Joseph a 20-dollar bill. “This is a reward for your honesty,” she said.
Joseph shook his head. “I don’t need to be paid to be honest. I’m honest because I try to follow Jesus.”
“Then use this money for Jesus,” the woman whispered. Joseph could see tears in her eyes.
As Joseph took the money he looked at Mom. “Do we have a pass-along card?” he asked.
“We sure do,” Mom said, and she pulled one out of her purse.
Joseph gave the card to the lady. “If you call the phone number on this card, you can get a movie about Jesus,” he said.
“Thank you,” the lady said as she shook Joseph’s hand. “I’m very glad to have met you.”
As Joseph got back in the car, Mom asked, “What will you do with the money?”
“The lady told me to use it for Jesus. I guess that means using it for His Church,” Joseph said. “I’ll give two dollars for tithing, some for the Perpetual Education Fund, some for the Humanitarian Aid Fund, and the rest for my mission fund.”
As he told mom his plans, Joseph had a warm feeling in his chest. It felt good to be honest and to use his reward money for a worthy cause.

Downtown Salt Lake City was lit up like a Christmas tree. Shoppers laden with an abundance of bags of beautifully wrapped packages ran from store to store, purchasing this and that. Groups of carolers sang out the melodies of good tidings, welcoming in Christmas and the New Year to everyone. Snowflakes with many glorious patterns sprinkled like fairies’ dust over the city streets. There was a feeling of love towards everyone on earth.
I was walking with my dad on Temple Square, admiring the shimmering lights. Our family had planned to spend an enjoyable evening listening to the Mormon Youth Symphony and Chorus and looking at the lights. My mother, my two brothers, and my two sisters were already seated, and my dad and I were going to meet them. We arrived only eight minutes late, but the ushers wouldn’t let us in. We explained that half of our family was already seated, but “policy was policy,” and Dad and I were left out in the cold—the cold snow to be exact.
“Oh, Dad, we were planning on a family activity tonight,” I moaned with disappointment. “Now what are we going to do?”
“Let’s dash over to the visitors’ center,” he replied, with typical enthusiasm. “We’ll be out of the cold, and we can catch a tour while we wait for the others.”
By the time we made our way through the crowds and into the visitors’ center, the last tour had already begun, and the lady at the desk was announcing that the center would close in 15 minutes. Hungry, tired, and discouraged, I plopped myself on one of the benches and tried to tune out my dad’s effort at cheery conversation.
Moments later, my mom rushed in with my brothers and sisters, chattering about how worried they had been and how glad they were to find us.
“Okay, kids,” Dad announced, “we missed the concert, and the visitors’ center is closing, but such a lovely evening should not be spoiled; so I’m treating you all to burritos!
“Yahoo!” we shouted.
“Honey,” my dad said to my mom, “how much money do you have in your purse?”
“Uh, I didn’t bring my purse—not even my checkbook.”
“Oh, no,” I muttered, “my mom always brings her purse, and she had to forget it tonight.”
“Well, kids, I don’t have any money except for one dollar,” my dad said sadly, as he rummaged through his wallet. “Check your pockets for spare change.”
Between the seven of us we came up with an additional $1.37. How was our family going to eat out on two dollars and 37 cents?
“I promised you all burritos,” Dad announced, “and a promise is a promise. So, c’mon, I’ll race you all to the car!” The twinkle in his eye confused us all, but he had already set a brisk pace. We didn’t ask how or why; we just hustled along behind.
Curiosity and suspense mounted as we drove to the restaurant. How could a family of seven be going out to dinner with less than $2.50 and no credit cards?
When we arrived, Dad escorted us in, seated us at a table, and stepped up to the cashier to place his order.
“Are you sure that you only want one burrito?” inquired the puzzled cashier.
“That’s it,” answered my dad.
“Sir,” she asked, “are you positive you wouldn’t like any drinks?”
“Yup, only one burrito. I can’t afford drinks.”
Overhearing his conversation, we burst into giggles and imagined that everyone in the restaurant was staring at us. Giggles turned to hysteria as we watched Dad carry his order to the table as if it were a wedding cake on a silver platter. Carefully, he cut the single burrito into seven bite-sized pieces and presented one to each of us ceremoniously. Dad savored his bite of burrito as he would escargot and reminded us that it’s not what you get in life that counts—it’s how it’s served. Dad always has a mini-sermon to share, but this one we truly savored. He told us of a boyhood Christmas with only one orange but lots of love, of folks he knew with lots of money but poor health, and of friends with great material wealth but no family to share it with.
It took us less than a minute to devour our share of that single burrito, but somehow as we left, I felt full of appreciation for good health, a fun family, and a rather zany dad who taught me that sometimes a burrito Christmas outing can be the one you treasure most.

Sister Mabel Khumalo, a visiting teacher in Zimbabwe, Africa, was concerned when a sister she visited stopped attending church meetings because she was embarrassed by her inability to read the scriptures or Church manuals. Sister Khumalo and her companion helped the sister sign up for a literacy class available through the Church. “Sister Khumalo!” exclaimed the sister when she heard about the class, “A dream has come true!”

An active youth committee in Cache Valley made it their project to take care of the aged and shut-ins. Each week the girls would prepare suppers and the boys would prepare lessons or activities to take to the homes of the unfortunate, giving them plenty of tender loving care in a family home evening situation. What do you think that did for those young people to be involved in such a worthy, compassionate service? Their deep desire to be of service and to demonstrate their love can even benefit the bishop. In Sacramento, California, while the bishop was away on vacation with his family, the youth committee determined to paint his house. These young people had the time of their lives working together and anticipating the pleasant surprise of the bishop when he returned. A real bond of love was established between the youth and their bishop with such meaningful service.

I witnessed commitment when I visited with a sister in her home in the Philippines. She had nothing by the standards of the world. Her family of eight children lived clustered in a two-room nipa hut that stood on stilts. After climbing the ladder to the door, I was taken immediately to a corner where on a small table sat a portable sewing machine. This was not a new model with 320 stitches, bells, whistles, and a serger. It was a machine older than my mother’s! But she was not showing off a possession; she was sharing her commitment. For two years, she had sewn for others on that simple machine to earn the money to take her family to the temple so that they would be sealed together. The last child, she said with a smile, was born under the covenant.

I have seminary at 6 a.m., before school. I wake up really early to have time to eat breakfast, have family prayer, and walk to the church. But the more I go to seminary, the more I see that waking up early is worth it!
The teachers are really great and always teach with the Spirit. They are wise and know so much about the gospel, which made me excited to go and learn more.
Going to seminary each morning helped me be brave enough to share the gospel with two classmates and helped me explain the scriptures. Seminary also helped me be brave enough to stand up for my beliefs. I was listening to the radio one morning, and a man was saying Joseph Smith was a liar. I was really frustrated by this because I had gained a strong testimony of Joseph Smith in seminary and knew that what the man was saying wasn’t true.
I told my seminary teacher about it, and he suggested I write a letter to the man and share my testimony of Joseph Smith. I wrote the letter and bore my testimony about Joseph Smith and the Church. It helped me calm down and not be so frustrated. He never responded, but I felt a confirmation of my testimony while I was writing. It made me really grateful that I had gained such a strong testimony of the Prophet and the gospel in seminary.
Raquel B., Argentina

While working in the aircraft electronics shop at Ft. Lewis, Washington, I was in the habit of reading the classified ads in the Daily Bulletin. These ads often led to interesting bargains. Over the years they had provided us with the family car, a camping trailer, and various other items, both large and small. Little did I know that they would also provide us one of the greatest testimony-building experiences of our lives.
One day I came across an ad that said, “Guitar for sale. Contact Daniel Troxel.” Although I play the guitar, the ad itself was not what captured my attention. I already had a guitar. What did interest me was to see my surname (an uncommon one) in print. It was even spelled like mine. I decided that Daniel Troxel must be a relative, and so I made the first of what was to be many fruitless attempts to call and talk to him. He was on detail. He was in the field. He was on duty. He couldn’t be reached at that time. He was out. Would I please call back. It seemed that Daniel Troxel and I were not destined to meet. After several days of trying, I put the bulletin aside and forgot about Daniel Troxel.
Several weeks later I was surprised to see the same ad in the bulletin—“Guitar for sale. Contact Daniel Troxel.” With renewed enthusiasm I made another call and was again disappointed. But this time I was assured that if I would call later in the evening I would be sure to reach him as he was leaving the service and had to return to pick up his clothes. I carefully folded the bulletin and placed it in my pocket. When I arrived home that evening, I mentioned it to my wife for the first time. “Why don’t you call again now?” she said.
“All right,” I said. “Let’s try it one more time and see.” I called. There was a pause and a yell in the background for Troxel. He was there! I was elated. When he came to the phone, we talked of many things. I told him I was sure we were related. He agreed. He said it was lucky I called when I did because he had been discharged that very day and was leaving in the morning for his home in California. The only reason he was not leaving immediately was that a preacher was coming all the way from Alabama to speak and he just could not miss it. When I found that Daniel was interested in religion, I knew that I had to tell him about the true church.
“Daniel,” I said, “I have just got to talk to you. Can I meet you after your meeting?” I offered to pick him up, but he said he didn’t know how late his meeting would be. I let him know that I didn’t care how late his meeting was. I wanted to meet him and introduce him to my family. He must at least meet my lovely wife. He promised he would come to my house that evening no matter how late his meeting lasted. I gave him our address and explained carefully how to get there.
That evening the mealtime conversation was dominated by Daniel’s name. My wife became excited. Maybe we would convert Daniel. One thing was sure—Daniel Troxel would not leave our home without hearing our testimonies.
The evening slipped by—8:00, 9:00, 10:00. We began to become anxious, but at 10:30 the doorbell rang. My wife and I went to the door together. Sure enough, there was Daniel. He wore pinstriped bib overalls and radiated a simple country charm. He smiled broadly as we invited him in. We relaxed together around the fireplace, and the subject fell easily to religion as we discussed his meeting. He was greatly excited and talked enthusiastically of the preacher and the great religious revival he had just attended. There was a pause in our conversation, and I was moved to bear my testimony to him.
“Daniel,” I said, “you are here tonight because our Heavenly Father wanted you to be.”
“Yes,” he agreed, “I know that. If you hadn’t called exactly when you did we would never have met because today was my last day at the fort. I would already have been gone if it hadn’t been for the revival. Boy, you should have heard the speaker! He was really great!”
I agreed that he must have been, and then continued with my testimony. “Daniel, I want to tell you about the true church, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.” As I spoke the Spirit seemed to fill the room.
Daniel’s expression changed. He looked surprised. “Are you a Mormon?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said. “My wife Barbara and I are both Mormons. As a matter of fact, our whole family is Mormon.”
Then it was our turn to be surprised. “I’m a Mormon too,” Daniel said. “I’m a deacon in the Church.”
We found as we talked that Daniel did not have a testimony of the Church. His mother often wrote to him about the Church, but he always answered that when he got home he would attend many churches. We talked into the wee hours. We bore our solemn testimonies in love and gratitude that he was with us. We knelt in prayer, and as we prayed, the Spirit brought tears to our eyes and deeper sincerity to my voice as we asked our Father’s Spirit to enlighten Daniel’s mind and turn his understanding to truth. We shook hands, and Daniel promised to pray and study.
A year passed, and then I received a letter from Daniel and his mother. Daniel wrote: “After I got home from the army, I went back to the Church. It’s the best thing I could have done. I am now an elder, and my testimony is growing strong. I’m grateful for my army experience and especially for that last day at Fort Lewis when we got together.”
His mother added: “Dan certainly thought highly of you, and you must have set him a good example, because he is now very active in the Church. He is an elder, and I expect them to send him on a mission soon.”

Sisters!
“We’re going to get sisters!” 13-year-old Lara Bisgaard thought excitedly as she put the letter back down on the counter where she found it. “Just wait till I tell Christopher!”
“No way!” 15-year-old Christopher said when Lara told him about the letter saying her parents were trying to adopt four sisters whose parents had died in Mexico. After all, Lara was always bugging their parents for more kids. Four at once, though? That sounded crazy. “It’s just not true,” Christopher said.
But Lara was insistent. She’d seen a letter talking about adoption. She’d read it with her own eyes—held it in her own hands. So Christopher and Lara decided to confront their parents with it one night when they were eating dinner in a fast-food restaurant.
“Well, as a matter of fact, it is true,” their parents told them. “At least, we’re thinking about putting the wheels in motion. We didn’t want to get your hopes up until we knew how much of a chance we had.”
Chris and Sharon Bisgaard had written the letter after reading an article in the Los Angeles Times. It told how the wife of the American ambassador in Mexico had come across four young sisters whose mother had been killed in the earthquake in 1985. Now their father lay dying of leukemia, and he begged the woman to see that his daughters would be taken care of.
The article struck a chord within the Bisgaards. They had been unable to have more than two children, and they thought this might be the ideal opportunity to expand their family. But there must have been hundreds of people who read the article and wanted to adopt the girls. The Bisgaard’s initial letter just asked if they’d even be considered.
That night, over hamburgers and french fries, as the family discussed the project, they began to realize just how important this could be to all of them. Enthusiasm was kindled, and grew and grew. They decided they’d do all they could to bring the Torres Mendoza sisters to La Cañada, California, where they would be adopted into the family.
Applications were filled out, letters were written, interviews were conducted. Question after question was answered, and many prayers were offered, until finally, the non-LDS organization responsible for the sisters decided that the Bisgaards were the most qualified candidates for the adoption.
That was only the beginning. They still had miles of red tape to untangle to make certain that everything was absolutely legal. In the meantime, the family tried to prepare for the adjustments they’d have to make when the family doubled overnight. Lara would have to move out of her room into the guest room. Five people would have to share a bathroom. Their parents wouldn’t be able to spend as much individual time with them as they had before, and big family vacations would be curtailed.
There was also a degree of racial prejudice to cope with. “It’s funny,” said Lara. “When my friends at school heard I was going to get four sisters from Mexico, they thought it was pretty neat and decided they’d have to stop telling Mexican jokes. That’s good for them.”
On top of all that, they would be responsible for helping acclimate four Catholic Mexican girls who spoke very little English to their LDS, California culture. Would Christopher and Lara be able to handle it?
Handle it? They couldn’t wait! The sisters were allowed to come visit the Bisgaards for Christmas, and the family members all fell in love. They were frustrated to learn that it would take several months longer before the girls were able to come back and stay for good. “We were so excited about having them come, and the waiting hurt so bad,” said Lara. “We needed them to be with us, and they needed to be here.”
Meanwhile down in Mexico, Claudia, 13, Sandra, 10, Yvonne, 7, and Jennifer, 3, were waiting at an all-girls boarding school. They were happy that they’d be able to stay together, and while they weren’t exactly sure what it would be like in a new family, they were anxious for the paperwork to clear. They exchanged letters with the Bisgaards and lived on hope.
Family and personal prayers were especially intent during that waiting period.
At last the big day arrived. The Bisgaards drove to the airport in the van, dubbed “The Mormon Mobile” by Christopher and Lara, that they’d recently purchased to accommodate everyone. The girls arrived in the late spring and would have the whole summer to learn English so they could attend public schools in the fall.
The first week was hectic, to say the least. A lot of tears were shed, a lot of frustrations vented. In the beginning it was a great challenge to communicate, since the Bisgaards knew only schoolroom Spanish, and the girls’ English was limited to a few words and phrases.
There were eating habits to adjust to—scrambled eggs became the common ground. There were bathing habits to adjust to—at first the girls were wary of all the water, and then found it so much fun they wanted to bathe three or four times a day. Even dressing habits were different—the girls were shocked when they were asked to put on nothing more than a bathing suit and swim in public.
Religious habits weren’t similar either. “We found the Mormon church to be very different at first,” said Claudia. “In our church in Mexico, there were Saints and statues and things all over, but in the Mormon church there’s none of that. We liked it, though. Family home evening and family prayer are all very nice.”
It’s amazing how adaptable a family can be when they work together. Within a few weeks, Christopher and Lara knew that getting A’s in Spanish would be a breeze from then on, and their new sisters learned how to communicate in English with ease. Christopher hit on a universal form of communication—teasing. “Oh Christopher!” his sisters squeal as they roll their eyes in mock disgust after he’s told them some outrageous story. But the teasing sessions usually end up in hugs and smiles.
They all learned from each other. Christopher added stroller pushing to his sports repertoire, while his new sisters added American football to theirs. When they went to see Christopher play JV quarterback on his high school team, Claudia commented, “It’s a very strange sport.”
Lara had given up dolls for basketballs and volleyballs quite some time ago, but suddenly she found herself combing and braiding hair, dressing and helping feed her younger sisters. And she loved every minute of it. Well, almost every minute of it. It was only natural for her to occasionally miss the status of being the only daughter in the house.
But one of the best adaptations of all came when Claudia and Sandra announced, out of the blue, that they wanted to be baptized. The Bisgaards had not been pushing their religion on the new family members. After all, they had enough to adjust to at first. But they were always included when they wanted to be. The Spanish-speaking sister missionaries came by now and then, but they were there to translate more than proselyte.
“One day the missionaries told us they were going to a baptism, so we asked them about it,” explained Claudia. “When they told us that in this church they baptize children when they’re eight so they understand everything, we decided that we needed to be baptized now too. We wanted to be members of the Church.”
Their new parents made certain that they understood what they were doing before they were baptized. The girls took the missionary discussions and attended many Church meetings prior to their baptismal date. Brother and Sister Bisgaard wanted to assure that their new daughters didn’t feel pressured into their decision and had sincere testimonies of the truthfulness of the gospel.
As time goes on, more and more adjustments are made and the family becomes more unified. They’re not yet perfect. What family is? There are still occasional tears, but there’s also a lot of laughter. As far as the kids are concerned, the pros far outweigh the cons. “Four new sisters mean four times as much joy,” Christopher concludes, tugging Jennifer’s ponytail as she toddles by.