Gospel Story Finder

Still, in the 168 years between that first mission call and the creation of the first stake in Russia, Latter-day Saints from different backgrounds helped prepare the way to share the gospel with the people of Russia. In 1895, Swedish missionary August Hoglund arrived in St. Petersburg to teach Johan Lindlof, who had corresponded with the Scandinavian Mission and asked for missionaries after learning about the Church in his native Finland. Two days after meeting Elder Hoglund and talking with him through the night, Johan and his wife, Alma, asked to be baptized. On June 11, 1895, Elder Hoglund accompanied them to the banks of the Neva River. Unable to find a quiet, secluded location for the baptism, the group knelt in prayer to ask for the Lord’s help. Miraculously the boats and people began to leave the area. After the baptism, Sister Lindlof said, “I feel so happy! I know that the Lord has forgiven me.”3 Johan and Alma thus became the first converts to be baptized in Russia.

The heat was sweltering and the rain was coming down in torrents. Still, the missionaries continued down the road, a mix of perspiration and rain rolling off their backs and faces. To their left and right they passed the humble houses of the people of Hong Kong.
Knocking on the plywood doors of these homes, Elder Tavita Sagapolu seemed a giant. Standing six feet tall and weighing 265 pounds, the college-football-star-turned-full-time-missionary towered over most of the people in this city. And now, he discovered he towered over their homes too. The buildings only came up to his chin.
After approaching one of the houses, Tavita’s more experienced companion, who had been on his mission several months, turned to the young Samoan man and offered him the door. It would be Tavita’s first door since arriving in Hong Kong, an experience that would remain with him throughout his life.
Tavita shook with nervousness as he prepared to knock. “My mouth went dry and refused to open,” he recalls. Nonetheless, he mustered the courage to approach the door, a door so small he had to kneel down to knock.
“As I was kneeling there, I forgot how strong I was. I didn’t even have to knock—my hand was shaking so much that all I had to do was put my arm up to the door.” Before Tavita knew what was happening the door fell in under the weight of his arm. Panic swept through him as he tried to put the door back on its hinges before anyone came.
Suddenly, an elderly woman appeared at the door. When she opened it, it fell on her. She came out screaming. “I grabbed my companion and put him in front of me. I said ‘Here, talk to him!’ The memory of that little old woman’s face after the door fell down will always be with me.” Now, when he recalls the episode, Tavita chuckles.

I decided to pray about it. I asked the Lord if he could tell me why we were always fighting and if he could stick with me through it all, so I could be a better family member. Soon I was doing a little bit better. I controlled my temper. I gave more to other family members, and I tried to develop better relationships with them. You know, Heavenly Father is there whenever you need him.
Karen Thomas, 13Orem, Utah

I was only three when my parents got divorced, but I could still remember the guilt I felt when mom told me my father wasn’t going to live with us anymore. I thought it was my fault. I thought I’d done something wrong. For months I tried to be as perfect as I could, hoping that if I was a good girl he would come back, but he never did.
Then mom met Edward. I liked him immediately. He smiled a lot and brought me candy and tickled me to make me giggle. When he asked mom to marry him, I was happier than I had been for a long time. I even started calling him dad, a name I had stopped using for my real father long before. Edward wanted to adopt me and have me sealed to him and mom. I loved the idea. Then I overheard mom talking to Edward.
"It was my mistake," she said. "I should’ve talked to John before I said anything to Cathy. I don’t know how I’m going to tell her, but John simply refuses to let his daughter be adopted by another man."
I cried myself to sleep that night.
After that, I still called Edward dad. I waited outside the temple while he and mom were married. Edward baptized me and took me to all my daddy-daughter parties and treated me just as if I were really his own daughter. And when he and mom had children of their own, I was excited to finally have brothers and sisters. But every once in awhile, I would look at them and realize that they were a family—all of them sealed to each other. I wasn’t sealed to anyone, and it was all my father’s fault.

Another day the young people decided to take a walk up to the skiing slopes. It was a four or five mile hike—not much of a challenge in most places on a relatively warm spring day, but Punta Arenas is not most places. Here it meant struggling up and down hills against a wind so stiff that every step was the slow-motion shuffle of a man in a diving suit. With each step the trailing foot was pulled out of quicksand, pushed forward through molasses, and put down again only halfway to its goal. Wind-whipped eyes wept freely, and conversation was impossible above the wolf-howl roar of the wind. As the city sank below them, the young men and women admired the streams and the starkly beautiful landscape, alternately lashed with rain, dusted with snow, and blinded by sunlight. But mostly they just struggled to finish one more step before the wind took it away from them.
Why did they go to the trouble? First of all, they were young, and it was something to do. But most important was the view from the top—dark hills cascading down to the bright city, the dazzling band of sea, distance-pale Tierra del Fuego, and shafts of sunlight searching for the South Pole.
Going back was a pleasure. The wind was at their back, carrying their happy songs down to the city. After a while a passing oxcart gave a lift to one of them. A pickup truck took aboard several others, carrying them down to the warm city by the cold sea. About that time, a thin rain caught a slice of sunshine and hung a rainbow right over the roofs of Punta Arenas, over the chapel and the people and the warmth of hearts and homes. And over the bronze Patagonian Indian whose shiny toe was pointing faithfully toward the end of the earth.

Jarod wanted blueberry pancakes with puddles of melted butter and syrup on them for breakfast. He wanted to help Mommy squeeze the oranges for fresh juice. And he wanted a hardcooked egg that he could peel himself. But when Jarod got to the kitchen table and Mommy gave him a bowl of cold cereal and a plate of orange sections, he could tell that it was a rush-rush day.
Mommy said, “Hurry, please, Jarod. We have to go shopping and be back in time to tend Sister Miller’s kids while she goes to the doctor.”
At the grocery store Jarod hurried, but he really wanted to stop and look at the different kinds of vegetables and put his hand down close to the refrigerated shelves until it felt cold. He wanted to watch the butcher trim fat from the meat. And he wanted to count the different kinds of candy while his mother was at the checkout counter.
When they reached home, Jarod barely had time to get out his toys for Bobby and Kim Miller to play with. And as soon as their mother picked them up again, Jarod was rushed into the kitchen for a sandwich and a bowl of soup. Jarod hated rush-rush days.
His sisters were soon home from school, and Jarod and Mommy had to rush them to dancing lessons. Then he and Mommy rushed to the post office to mail a package to Jarod’s aunt for her birthday, to the service station to put more gas in the car, and back to the studio to get his sisters. Then they rushed home. Jarod wanted to slow down and watch a jet that was making white streaks across the sky. He wanted to sled down the big hill at the park. He wanted to go to the library and check out a book on rockets. But he didn’t ask Mommy to do any of those things. It was a rush-rush day.
While Mommy went visiting teaching, his sisters rushed to do their homework before supper. They needed the room quiet, so Jarod couldn’t watch cartoons. He couldn’t blast off in his pretend rocket because that would be too noisy too.
Daddy came home, but he couldn’t play with Jarod. He hurried to the kitchen and made a casserole with lots of noodles and hamburger. He made two because one was to go over to Sister Howard, who just had a new baby. Mommy came home and rushed the Howard’s meal over to them; then Jarod’s family all sat down together, and Daddy blessed the food. The funny-looking stuff tasted good, even on a rush-rush day.
As soon as dinner was over, Jarod was whisked off to the bathtub. He wanted to stay in the bathtub long enough for the water to wrinkle his skin, but he had to hurry so that his sisters could have their turn. Jarod was tired—tired of rushing and just plain tired.
Mommy looked tired, too, when she came to tuck him in. Rush-rush days were hard on everyone, Jarod decided.
“How about a story?” Mommy asked.
Jarod said, “It’s OK if you don’t have time.”
Mommy smiled. She got a book from his bookcase and read Jarod’s favorite story about a rocket trip to the moon. Mommy read the story slowly. She let Jarod study each picture as long as he wanted. Then they both sang a Primary song before his prayer.
“I always have time for you, even on a busy day.” Mother kissed Jarod and turned on the night light.
Jarod smiled and snuggled his chin under the covers. Even rush-rush days had nice-nice endings.

From the beginning, Abram wondered about the stories behind some of his discoveries. He tried looking in the library for information—nothing. He asked other people—no luck. His mom then called a professional archaeologist. Ron Rood, the assistant state archaeologist, came to Abram’s house. He was so impressed with nine-year-old Abram’s questions and notes about the discoveries that he invited Abram to a state dig site where he put Abram in charge of sketching. Abram has continued to work with Rood on other projects. This past summer, while working on a dig, Abram found a 1,000-year-old arrowhead. Now Abram regularly helps in Utah’s state archaeology lab.

When I was a teenager, I developed faith that marriage could be a wonderful and eternal experience. It was difficult for me to always believe, however, because the examples of marriage I had growing up were not strong ones, and I kept a fear of marriage in my heart. But I determined that failure and unhappiness didn’t have to be the rule and that Heavenly Father would help me know how to have a happy marriage.
When I was 26 years old, I married Sidnei in the São Paulo Brazil Temple. While we were still dating, we tried to prepare ourselves spiritually and emotionally for the most significant event of our lives. We decided what type of marriage we wanted, we established goals together, and we shared our thoughts—our testimonies of the gospel, our wishes and worries, and our dreams. We also read together the counsel of the prophets on marriage. We did everything we could to prepare, wishing to provide happiness and security to each other and our future children. We asked the Lord to give us wisdom to live a happy life.
Now we have been married for 18 years. During these years, we have continued to learn from the precepts of the gospel, the counsel of our leaders, and, of course, the Spirit. Some of the things we have done to have a strong, happy marriage are:
Pray together every day. When we pray at night, we thank Heavenly Father for our marriage, for the love we have for each other, and we ask that our feelings will be strengthened and that we can become strong individually in the face of the designs of the adversary, who works to destroy families.
Ask for forgiveness. We work to never allow pride to keep us from asking for forgiveness or admitting we are wrong. Love and unity are more important than who is right or who is wrong.
Never speak evil of each other. It is obvious that neither of us is perfect, but we don’t say bad things about each other, and when we’re with others, we speak positively about each other.
Defend the institution of marriage. Whenever we have a chance—and especially if we are around people who are criticizing the institution of marriage—we stand up for families and what we believe in.
Talk a lot and listen. We stop what we are doing to really listen when the other person is talking.
Treat each other with love and consideration. We do not insult, accuse, or criticize each other.
Continue to seek help and counsel about marriage from the scriptures and the words of modern prophets. We do not know everything. We are imperfect and prone to forgetting and making mistakes. We prefer not to wait for problems to afflict us, but instead we work to build a strong marriage before a situation can hurt us.
These things have been instrumental in strengthening the relationship between my husband and me. I know that if we share our lives and our feelings with Heavenly Father and seek counsel from Him, the Holy Ghost will inspire us and we will be able to become an eternal family, overcoming all difficult times. We also know that Heavenly Father will help us as we seek to know and do His will.

Although my father had been almost completely out of my thoughts up to this point in my life, soon after my marriage a desire to do genealogical work for my ancestors made me think of him more and more. My patriarchal blessing told me that the time would come for me to do the work for my ancestors through genealogy and temple ordinances and that “means and opportunities” would be provided for me to accomplish that work.
After I had joined the Church, my brother, who had moved by then to France, had informed me that my father had accumulated facts, names, and dates on the Ainsa family. I resolved to write to my father, hoping to gain the necessary information to tie my genealogy from my grandparents to my paternal great-grandparents. I sent him a letter asking for details.
His reply consisted of a letter with only general information—and a request that I not bother him again. I felt resentful and angry, but I continued to pray that the “means and opportunities” necessary to do my family history work would be provided.
Sometime in March 1986, while we were living in Arizona, my father wrote again during a family crisis in which my mother was losing her sight. I was comforted by the care and concern that my mother’s second husband showed her and was again offended at my father’s critical letter. I sent it back to him and indicated that if I couldn’t receive pleasant letters instead of criticism, I would rather not communicate at all. Within three weeks, my father answered the letter, telling me, “Your brother will inform you of my death when it occurs. I don’t intend to write to you again.”
Nine months passed after I received the letter. Again I prayed about the admonition in my patriarchal blessing. The answer came unmistakably from the Spirit—I felt I should apologize to my father. I consequently composed a five-page letter to him that detailed the events of the year and that included an apology for my erratic behavior in my previous letter. When I mailed the letter, I prayed that the Lord would soften my father’s heart.
More than two months went by with no answer. Then one day a registered letter arrived. In it, my father asked, “Would you spare ten to twelve days during your upcoming summer vacation to visit me? If you accept, I will send you the money to help meet the cost of your expenses.”
I called my brother in Paris, France, who suggested that I wait a year, since my father had waited thirty-five years to try to see me. But as I prayed with my wife, Angie, we both thought of my patriarchal blessing and knew that my ancestors had waited long enough. I would go this year. My mother’s husband offered to pay for Angie’s trip, as we couldn’t afford it ourselves. My mother-in-law offered to care for our four children in her home in California.
Everything went according to schedule—everything, that is, except for feelings of apprehension. I started worrying that my father might criticize my mother, my wife, or me. He had done it before. How would I handle it this time?
Only when two dedicated home teachers—to whom I will be eternally grateful—came to our home a few days before our departure and gave us a priesthood blessing, did I feel at peace. They blessed my wife that she would be a source of inspiration to me, and they blessed me that I would be receptive to the promptings of the Spirit and would know what to say. I then knew that everything would be all right.
When we arrived in Montevideo, Uruguay, I nervously looked for my father and saw him standing with his wife. He waved his cane at me in recognition. I waved back. Finally, the customs officer told me to proceed. As I walked through the customs door, my father eagerly came toward me. We embraced and kissed each other. As we left the airport terminal, the Spirit told me that the man walking beside me was a different person than I had imagined.
We spent the next few days getting acquainted with one another, laughing together, discovering what we had in common, and becoming friends. Angie and I asked him to record on tape his experiences in his youth and in courting my mother, and we discovered many things about his past. Then, one morning, Angie and I prayed that we would be blessed that day with the right words in asking my father to share with us the Ainsa genealogy and history.
It was my father’s eighty-first birthday. After opening presents at breakfast, he excused himself and came back with an object hidden underneath a towel. He handed me a box and said, “This is the least I can do after all these years. Somehow I feel that I have to make it up to you.” Inside the box was a beautiful watch.
Thirty minutes later, as we were upstairs sitting around my father’s oak desk, I inserted a blank tape into the cassette recorder and asked him to tell me about my ancestors. He talked for a few minutes, then stopped. “It’s a waste,” he said.
I panicked. “Lord, please help me,” I prayed. “I’ve been waiting for this moment for years.” Then I asked my father, “Why do you say it is a waste?”
“Because I have it in print,” he replied. My heart began to beat faster as he reached for a drawer in his desk, opened it, pulled out a folder, and handed me a sheet of paper with a list of names on it. “These are your ancestors on my father’s side,” he said, “and you’re welcome to this list.” I glanced quickly through it; it contained the names of his parents, grandparents, and great-grandparents, as well as those of distant relatives.
“What about your mother? Have you compiled a list on her side of the family?” I asked, my voice trembling.
“Your grandmother’s lineage is not important,” he muttered, brushing aside my inquiry. I replied that were it not for my grandmother, he wouldn’t be here, to which my father said, “Well, if it is that important to you, you can have it.” With that, he gave me an envelope containing names scribbled on several sheets of paper and said, “As a matter of fact, you might as well have everything.” He placed the folder in my hand.
I opened it and, as tears began to blur my vision, I read through several lists of names of distant relatives. Inside were pictures of my grandmother, my grandfather, and others. I wept openly. During the past twenty-one years, I had prayed on many occasions for this day. The Lord had heard my requests and had answered them at the appropriate time.
“Why are you crying?” my father asked.
“Because I am happy to be here,” I said.
At that moment, he, too, began to cry. He leaned his head on my shoulder and took my hand between his. “I am sorry,” he said. “I am sorry for what I did. I was wrong. I was never a father to you. During all those years, I never bothered to find out who you were. Will you ever forgive me?”
“Of course I forgive you—it is forgiven and forgotten,” I uttered between sobs. As I embraced him, the Spirit whispered softly, “I, the Lord, will forgive whom I will forgive, but of you it is required to forgive all men” (D&C 64:10). We were at peace. All the years of separation, loneliness, and turmoil melted away. He knew who I was. He had found a son. And I had finally found my father.

If you’re from “Big D” you inevitably do things in a big way. And the Scouts from the Dallas, Dallas North, and Ft. Worth Texas stakes are no exceptions.
For their LDS Regional Camporee, 131 boys and 32 leaders from 21 wards and branches filled two days competing in compass courses, fire building, trailing, knot tying, lashing, and physical fitness tests. They were also evaluated on camping expertise and campsite excellence.
The traditional Court of Honor was preceded by a not-so-traditional banquet—a chicken dinner Texas-style. The “dinner” arrived—a clucking, pecking, feathery bird—and the Scouts took over from there. Each Scout also received a specially designed regional camporee patch that featured a Bicentennial theme.
Fourteen Explorers, called by their stake presidents as staff specialists, directed the camporee. The Explorers, most of them Eagle Scouts, worked 18 hours a day and inspired just-a-little-harder work on skills from younger Scouts.
The comments of boys and leaders ran from “fantastic” to “the best thing that’s ever happened to our ward program!” The spectrum of opinions wasn’t very wide, but the smiles on the faces were. One Scout expressed what everyone seemed to be thinking: “This was neat! When are we going to do it again?”

I live in a village that has only one other family who are members of the Church. We take turns meeting at each other’s homes for church meetings. I turned eight years old in the winter, but because we do not have a baptismal font and all of the lakes are frozen solid, I was baptized in an inflatable swimming pool in my living room. The branch president and the district president flew in to help. I am glad I could be baptized so I can follow Jesus’s plan for me.

I had been a member of the Church for about a year when a missionary challenged me to subscribe to A Liahona (Portuguese). I had never read a magazine like A Liahona in my life. While reading the first issue of my subscription, I received a testimony that the things written in it were true. I was able to see what the gospel of Jesus Christ does in the lives of people. Now as I read the magazine I try to find counsel to apply to my own life.
Jeferson Carlos Nogueira da Silva,Aracati Branch, Mossoró Brazil District

I am sure every mother has thought her life would make a great television sitcom—either that or a good disaster movie. That’s how I felt one particular morning.
I had made hot cereal for breakfast, and my older children had gone to school with contented smiles on their faces. When my two-year-old woke up, I set him on a stool at the kitchen counter, put a bowl of cereal in front of him, and left the room for a few moments. Big mistake.
Some situations are so bad they defy a reaction—this was one of those situations. When I returned I saw that there was cereal on every inch of exposed surface from my son to as far as his spoon could catapult it. I stared in stunned silence. Still, I had to admire his thoroughness. I was amazed at the coverage he had achieved from one small bowl.
My gaze drifted to the clock on the stove. Through clumps of cereal I noticed the time and came to my senses. I had a meeting at my children’s school in less than an hour. Should I change out of my robe and slippers and hope this was a nightmare I would awaken from, or should I face reality and try to find my kitchen under its new textured coating?
I decided to remove the cereal while there was still a chance. With a withering look at my son—still perched on his stool, his hair spiked with granulated “mousse”—I rolled up my sleeves and slipped and slid to the sink. I retrieved a dishrag and started to clean.
After what seemed an eternity of scrubbing, I could see progress. I looked at my son again and realized this was the longest he had ever sat in one place in his life. Either he was getting an inordinate amount of pleasure from seeing me work so hard, or he was stuck fast to his seat with ever-hardening cereal.
He didn’t say anything, just looked at me. Then I saw it—something I had never seen before: remorse on the face of a two-year-old.
“Sorry, Mommy.” Big brown eyes glistened with unshed tears.
Why did he have to do that just when I was calm enough to scold him? I glanced at the clock and knew I had missed my meeting. So with a huff, I rinsed my rag and began to wash him.
When I had him clean enough to touch without getting stuck, I finally picked him up. He immediately slipped his chubby arms around my neck and snuggled into the fuzzy softness of my robe. With a sigh, I sat down and gently stroked his back.
My mind drifted to a dreamy world where the kitchen sparkled, few dishes were ever dirtied, the floor rarely needed to be swept, and cookies stayed in the jar for more than 15 minutes—where bathrooms smelled like pine forests, guest towels weren’t covered with greasy smudges, and the tub wasn’t full of assorted action figures. I pictured beds that were made, floors void of debris, and laundry that stayed in the hamper until wash day. How wonderful! Yet how sad.
No more little arms thrown around my neck or kisses planted firmly on my mouth. No unconditional hugs despite my temper. No bedtime stories or eager anticipation as new life nudged through the soil in a paper cup. No more homemade Mother’s Day cards or art projects. No clay toothpick holders wrapped in newspaper for Christmas.
That’s all it took.
Even though it was frustrating to have punch stains on the carpet, to constantly blaze trails through toys and dirty socks, and to remove crayon scribbles from the new wallpaper, I realized that these things were insignificant when compared with the magic my children brought into my life. I held my son tighter as I smiled and thanked heaven for messes, for they walk hand in hand with joy.

Sister Yanet Gómez is the living testimony of how great the love of our Heavenly Father is for each of His children, and she manifests the strongest faith and gratitude of a faithful servant.
Despite living with very particular health conditions, Sister Gómez maintains her active service as Young Women president of the La Vega District, in the Dominican Republic. She affirms that although she has lived through so many experiences that have led her to critical states of health, she could never deny the Lord or get angry with Him, rather she feels fortunate to go through all these situations and considers that the Lord allows her to have them so that she can help others.
Having been diagnosed in 2018 with antiphospholipid syndrome (APS), with congenital thrombophilia and dual pathways, conditions that currently have no cure, being alive has been considered a miracle by medical specialists, who affirm that Yanet is the only person who has survived so long after being diagnosed with this condition.
Science says that the congenital thrombophilia that affects Yanet is an inherited coagulation disorder, due to a reduction in the level of synthesis and/or activity of protein S and characterized by the development of symptoms of recurrent venous thrombosis, with the condition two-way, it causes your body to bleed and clot at the same time.
On the other hand, the antiphospholipid syndrome that she also suffers, occurs when the immune system mistakenly creates antibodies that make the blood more prone to clotting, causing dangerous clots in the legs, kidneys, lungs and brain and, in pregnant women, can lead to miscarriage and fetal death.
Doctors say that they do not know how to explain how she has been able to survive so long, while she, for her part, assures that “the Lord is the one who knows, He is the one who has the purpose in His hands.” Everything has been an experience to help her to understand life more clearly, to value people well, not to hurt anyone and to try to do what she can to help others. She considers that she truly has benefited greatly despite all this.
With great conviction, she says that she has never asked why, and that she does not feel unfortunate or sad about her health condition. In her own words: “God gives the wound and gives the cure. I do not know if the same gospel prepared me since I was a child to understand life in a different way from other people, because that is something that I am trying to understand a little bit, whether what happens to me is for myself or for others. I have seen that it has been reflected much more in other people than in myself.”
Yanet Gómez explains that her family joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints when she was 6 years old and two years later, she was baptized. Since then, she has served in various callings, including as the director couple of the For the Strength of Youth conference (FSY 2016 and 2017), among many others.
Less than three months after she was married, she was hospitalized for a thrombosis in her right leg, and, after several months in the hospital, her leg was in such a bad condition that the doctor determined that the only option to avoid further complications was to amputate it. At that moment, she felt desperate: “I was anguished, not because of myself, but because I felt it was unfair for my husband that when he was newly married, he had to go through having his wife in that situation.”
Asking the doctor for a day to think before the surgery, she wondered what they could do to find out if that was really the Lord’s will. She claims that something told her that she “had forgotten some things,” and she was inspired to ask her husband and her father to call some members of the Church to do a collective fast.
She was greatly surprised to see that many members joined this fast, and what surprised her even more was that she could see that the Lord performed a miracle. The next day, the doctor could not believe the great change in her condition, reversing his decision to do the surgery and allowing her to have her leg today, with no sign of the state it was in at that time.
It has not been the only moment of adversity in her life. She always dreamed of having a large family, but due to her health condition, she had already lost two pregnancies and her prognosis was that she might not be able to have children. However, during the dedication of the Santo Domingo Temple, she and her husband were able to greet Elder Richard G. Scott (1928-2015) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. Upon learning of their nearly four years of marriage and their difficulty having children, he assured them with a very penetrating and serious look that they would have a child very soon.
Sister Gómez not only had that child, but she also had a second, and although in both cases they were born at six months of gestation, they were born healthy.
For her second pregnancy, the doctor recommended performing an abortion before she was four months along; she flatly refused. After prolonged hospitalizations, the child was born without signs of life and without responding to neonatal resuscitation. But her husband, who is a doctor, “began to breathe on him with his mouth and to give him heart massages and I heard him say, ‘let’s go champion, champion up,’ and after a long time the baby screamed. It was a miracle, it really was a miracle,” said Yanet.
In search of other professional opinions, in November 1999 she traveled to Utah at the invitation of her sister who lives there, to be evaluated by specialists from that state. Surprised, the doctors could not believe that she, with her health conditions, was alive. At the time, the doctors told her that she might not survive three months.
“I kind of made a deal with the Lord at that time, and He granted it to me. I told him, let’s do something Lord, take me when my children no longer need me, when they can fend for themselves, and when they can understand many things in life. It has really been like that, they were young then, and now the oldest is 24 years old and the other is 23, and I’m here,” she says.
“Looking and going back, I feel like it perhaps is one of the purposes for which I came to earth, to help other people to endure certain situations in their life, to carry it in a lighter way, with more love, as perhaps the Lord wants. This year I have really had a lot of time to think about why the Lord allows certain things in our lives.”
With joy, Sister Gómez says that the gospel has helped her in everything in her life and has been the greatest blessing she has ever had. She understands that it is through Him that she has been preparing herself, continuing to learn, practicing, perfecting herself, and edifying herself, affirming that everything she is and the knowledge she has obtained is due to the gospel.
She says that through the movie that the missionaries played in their early days in the Dominican Republic, Man’s Search for Happiness, she understood that one of the purposes in our life is to be happy. She then continued learning in seminary, and she has made happiness a priority in her life. Nothing that comes to her makes her depressed. “I try to be happy as much as I can, if I can, I try to help someone else to be happy too.”

A true story from South Africa.
Aurora loved Sundays. She got to visit Great-Granny’s house.
Aurora wanted to play hide-and-seek. Mom asked if she would help bake a cake first.
Aurora knew Granny loved lemon cake. She wanted to help make Granny happy.
While they worked, Aurora told Granny what she learned in Primary.
Finally Aurora and Granny played hide-and-seek! “I love Sundays because I get a Sunday helper,” said Granny.
“How do I help you? We just played,” said Aurora.
“You help when you spend time with me and show me love!” said Granny.

I should like to share portions of a letter that came to my desk several years ago. I have changed the names to preserve anonymity and have somewhat abbreviated it, paraphrasing a few words in the process. The letter reads:
“Dear President Hinckley,
“When I met you in the elevator at the hospital I had the urge to write you and tell you of some of the things that have happened to me.
“When I was 16 or 17 I cared nothing for the Church and would not have anything to do with it. But a bishop who was concerned about me came over to see me and asked me to help build some scenery for a road show production, and of course I told him no.
“Well, about 10 days went by, and the bishop came back to ask me to build the scenery, and again I told him no. But then he went on to explain that he had asked others, and they had told him that they didn’t know how. He indicated that I was needed. I finally gave in and proceeded to build the scenery.
“When I got it done, I said, ‘There is your scenery,’ and decided I had done my part. But the bishop insisted that they needed me on the stage to move the scenery and make sure it got put up right and that it got moved carefully as the road show moved from ward to ward. So I finally gave in again.
“That bishop kept me busy for quite a while, and pretty soon I was involved and enjoying it. He then moved from our area, and we got a new bishop, and he picked up the challenge and kept after me.
“Bishop Smith had asked me to go on a mission, but I was undecided on that, and when Bishop Sorensen was put in, he asked me also, and I finally decided that I would go.
“Well, the bishop and I went to tell Mom and Dad about my decision. They told the bishop they couldn’t pay for it. Dad told the bishop that if I was really sincere about going that I should work and save and pay for the mission myself.
“My eyesight was not the greatest, as you know, and when I went places I had to be taken. When I became 16, I wanted to drive a car more than anything, and Dad took me to several eye doctors, all with the same result. The vision in my right eye was 20/800, and the vision in my left eye was 20/50, and I had astigmatism. So earning enough money to go on a mission was not an easy task. I worked in the sign shop at a department store for six to eight months to save some money. The bishop finally felt it was time for me to go, and we went to talk to my parents again. I had a thousand dollars saved, and the bishop told my dad that the elders quorum would support me for the rest. Dad sat there for a while and said if anybody was going to support his son, he would. I filled out my papers and got my call.
“I went to Japan, where I loved the people and the missionary experiences that I had there. My companions and I baptized several people into the Church. After I came home, I went to work again in the sign shop. During the time I worked there, whenever I went to lunch, I would see a young lady walking up the street, who evidently worked in the same general area. I knew I had met her somewhere before but could not place her.
“Well, one of my missionary companions came home, and after some time we ran around together. Of course, he did all the chauffeuring because of my eyesight. One night he called and wanted to go out on a double date, and so I frantically called around to find a date. Well, we went to a party, and guess who he took out. Right, he took out Sister Marilyn Jones, who also had been in Japan and whom I now remembered meeting briefly there on one occasion. She was the girl I had been passing on the street for several months and had not recognized.
“After this party, I went to California with my family for two weeks, and when I got home I found that my missionary friend had been dating the girl I had taken to the party. I thought I’d fix him, so I called Marilyn to go out on a date. You have to realize that it’s not easy to do that when you don’t drive, so my younger sister drove, and we had eight other youngsters accompany us to a ball game. That should have been enough to discourage any young lady from ever dating me again, but I tried again when my family went to the canyon to pick chokecherries.
“Finally came our date alone, and Dad had to drive me to pick up Marilyn, and then we drove him home and went out on our date and then back to our house to pick up Dad, who drove us back to her house, and then we went home. On the next date I asked her to marry me, and she told me no. Well, I went out with her some more and asked her to marry me a couple more times, and I finally got a maybe. I thought that was a step in the right direction and persisted. Six months after we started going together, we were married in the Salt Lake Temple.
“President Hinckley, I thought that I loved this young lady at that time, but 17 years later I find that I love her more than I could ever imagine. We now have five wonderful children.
“I have held many positions in the Church: music leader, everything in the elders quorum, assistant ward clerk, ward mission leader, executive secretary, and now I am a counselor in the bishopric.
“I am still working in the sign shop at the department store. I bought a small house about 13 years ago, and as my family got larger my house got smaller. I had to do something, so I added on to my house and made it twice the size. I started this a little over three years ago and have been working on it ever since. It is coming along really well.
“Now for the most amazing piece of news ever. Two years ago in June, I went to a new eye doctor who examined my eyes and asked me what restrictions I had on my driver’s license. I told him that I didn’t have a license. He said that my eyesight was probably acceptable.
“I sat there in shock, and my wife said, ‘Does this mean he could get a driver’s license?’ The doctor said, ‘I don’t see why not.’ The next day my wife had me signed up for a driver education course, and after I finished it I went to get my license and they checked my eyes. The doctor had written a note explaining my eye problem and that maybe I should not drive at night. The examiner put the letters up, and I read them right off. He went to talk to his supervisor and came back and approved my license with only a minor restriction.
“President Hinckley, the Lord has blessed me more than I can ever deserve. People say how lucky I am that my eyes have improved so much, but I know that it is the Lord’s doing. I feel it is because I have tried to serve the Lord and do what I can to build up His kingdom here on the earth. I am sure there are times He is disappointed in me, and I’m sure He should be. But I will try to do my best and be worthy of His blessings upon me and my family.”
He concludes with appreciation and testimony and signs his name. I have shared this somewhat lengthy letter because I feel it tells so simply and yet so eloquently what this work is all about.
If you will recall what I have just shared, this man, when he was a boy of 16 or 17, was drifting aimlessly and dangerously as so many young men do at that age. He was walking the broad way which leads to destruction. Noting the course he was taking, his bishop, a prayerful and dedicated man, recognized his creative talent as an artist and found a way to challenge him to use that talent in the service of the Church. That bishop was wise enough to know that most young men will respond to a challenge when they know they are needed. No one else in the ward was quite capable of building the kind of scenery the bishop wanted. This less-active boy was capable of this, and the bishop complimented and challenged him with a request that his service was needed.
Here is a great key to activation of many of those who have fallen by the wayside. Each has a talent that can be employed. It is the task of leaders to match those talents with needs and then to offer a challenge. The boy of this letter, whom I shall call Jack, responded, and he soon found himself moving in the direction of the Church rather than away from it.
Then came the challenge to go on a mission. Jack, who was now accustomed to saying yes rather than no, responded affirmatively. The father was not fully converted and responded that his son would have to earn his own funds. That was not all bad. There was something of good in the requirement that he develop self-reliance. He went to work, he provided much of what he needed, he saved his money, and when he had a thousand dollars, the bishop, again under inspiration, felt the time had come when he should go. Jack’s brethren in the elders quorum would assist, and that is proper. But the father, with an awakened sense of pride and of responsibility toward his own son, rose to the occasion, as men usually do when properly confronted.
I first met Jack in Japan when he was serving as a missionary there. I interviewed him on two or three occasions. That was before we had the Missionary Training Centers. Young men and women were then sent with no language training and simply plunged in to work at the task when they arrived there. I marveled that this young man, with serious eyesight deficiencies, was able to grasp that difficult language and speak it with power. Behind that was a great effort and a great sense of devotion, and above all, a certain humility and reliance on the Lord with anxious, prayerful pleadings for help.
I can tell you, for I witnessed it, that it was a miracle in his case as it was in the case of many others.
I also first met in Japan and interviewed on a number of occasions the young lady he was later to marry. She had a wonderful spirit, a deep faith, and a moving sense of duty. Their acquaintance in the field was nothing more than having seen one another on one occasion. They worked in widely separated areas. But out of their experiences had come a common touchstone—a new language in which each had learned to share testimony with others while laboring in the great and selfless cause of service to our Father’s children.
As he indicated in his letter, their marriage was performed in the Salt Lake Temple. Each knew that only in the Lord’s house under the authority of the holy priesthood could they be joined in marriage for time and for all eternity under a covenant which death could not break and time could not destroy. They wanted the very best for themselves; they would not be satisfied with anything else. Be it said to their credit that each has remained true to the sacred covenants they made in the house of the Lord.
Five beautiful and handsome children have graced that marriage. They are a family with love and appreciation and respect one for another. They have lived in a spirit of self-reliance. A small home which has been enlarged is a home in which father and mother and children gather together and counsel and learn one from another. It is a home in which there is a reading of the scriptures. It is a home in which there is prayer: family prayer and individual prayer. It is a home in which service is taught and exemplified. It is a simple home; it is an unostentatious family. There is not much of wealth, but there is much of peace and goodness and love. The children who grew up there grew “in the nurture and admonition of the Lord” (Eph. 6:4). The father is faithful in his service to the Church. For these many years he has responded to every call made upon him; the mother, likewise. They are good citizens of the community and the nation. They are at peace with their neighbors. They love the Lord. They love life. They love one another.
They have witnessed a miracle in the improvement of his eyesight. To a kind and gracious God goes the credit. This too is of the essence of the gospel, the power of healing and restoration, followed by acknowledgment and thanksgiving.
I do not know whether the two men who served as Jack’s bishops know what has become of him. If they know where he is, there must be sweet satisfaction in their hearts.

Ho Jik wanted to learn about many things, so in 1950 he went to Cornell University in New York State to study nutrition. There he met Oliver Wayman, a fellow student and a Church member. Ho Jik was impressed by Brother Wayman’s clean lifestyle—he didn’t smoke, drink, or do other bad things.
When Oliver gave him a copy of The Articles of Faith by James E. Talmage, Ho Jik read it within a week and eagerly asked for more information. Soon he had finished the Book of Mormon, too, and believed it to be the word of God. He started attending Church meetings with Oliver; he also continued to attend Presbyterian services.
On the day Oliver left the university, he stopped his Korean friend in a hallway. “I then bore my testimony of the gospel and told him that it was my opinion that the Lord had moved upon him to come to America … that he might receive the gospel and take it back to his people.” He also told Ho Jik that “if he refused to do the work the Lord had for him to do, another would be raised up in his place.”
Those words had a powerful effect upon Kim Ho Jik. He read the Book of Mormon again, and the Spirit again told him it was true. In July of 1951 he was baptized in the quiet waters of the Susquehanna River, near the place where Joseph Smith and Oliver Cowdery had been baptized. As he came up out of the water, a voice said to him, “Feed My sheep. Feed My sheep.”

Just before Don was released from military duty, he wrote to my wife and me.

“As you know,” he said, “I am the only member of the Church in my family. I had been saving part of my paycheck so that when I get out I would be able to pay cash for a new car. But now I’ve decided to use the money for something better—to support myself on a mission.”

Ken also decided to serve a mission. After their missions, both Ken and Don were married in the temple, and both have served faithfully in many Church callings.

“I don’t know how we’re sisters. It’s like we’re from two different planets,” I complained to my best friend as I saw my older sister walking away from me at school.
Catheryn and I were three years apart and had been best friends until she turned eight. I think she realized it wasn’t cool to be friends with your little sister, and we started making new friends.
When I was 17, I moved to Orem, Utah, where Catheryn had moved for college. We seldom saw each other. She left for a semester abroad, and I was busy finishing up my senior year of high school.
When she returned, however, things began to change. She never said anything about the two of us not being friends. Everything clicked, and we began to have a real relationship. It was more than just friends; we were sisters again.
We spent the next year and a half getting to know each other. We would talk on the phone, go shopping, have dinner together, and of course we loved to share clothes. It was my dream come true.
Then in November of 2006 Catheryn and her husband, Steve, were involved in an accident at a reservoir. They were both killed. In an instant my new best friend was gone, and I felt like a part of me was gone with her. I didn’t understand why Heavenly Father would take my sister away when I was just starting to get to know her again. “If only we had more time,” I thought.
Each day I prayed to understand the Lord’s plan and why Catheryn had died. I didn’t think I would ever feel whole again.
One night as I prayed, I felt completely surrounded by the love of God. His Spirit wrapped around me like a thick, warm quilt and filled the emptiness I had been feeling. I changed my bitter attitude to a thankful one. I was grateful Catheryn and I had become friends at all. And more than that, I was grateful to have a Father who answered my prayers and could understand exactly how I felt.

Just after 2:00 a.m. on October 26, 2003, Daniel Olsen, 17, hears his mother telling him that a wildfire is less than a mile away. “I jumped out of bed, but the power was out, so I couldn’t find my shoes,” he remembers. “My younger sister, Kelli, yelled, ‘What good are shoes if you’re dead?’” He grabbed his gym bag and ran out of the house barefoot.
Outside, Daniel can smell the smoke, see the oak trees silhouetted against the orange sky, and feel the ash in 50-mile-per-hour (80-km-hr.) winds swirling around him. “We started driving down Wildcat Canyon and said a prayer,” he says. “My mom honked the horn to wake others. I sang, ‘We are as the armies of Helaman’1 as loud as I could. It made me feel better.”
Daniel’s and Matthew’s houses were among the 2,232 lost during 11 days as this fire, named the Cedar Fire, burned more than 280,000 acres (113,300 ha) and killed 14 people, most of whom died in Wildcat Canyon. Twelve other fires were burning at this time in southern California, forcing more than 100,000 people to evacuate.
Daniel and Matthew, like other LDS youth affected by the fires, are emerging stronger as they learn that the gospel eases suffering during a crisis.
“Our relationship with the Savior survives everything,” says Daniel, who found comfort in the words “He that is righteous shall be righteous still; he that is happy shall be happy still” (Morm. 9:14).