Gospel Story Finder

I remember the day my tenth-grade English teacher announced she had some exchange-student applications. Though I had never considered applying before, it felt right. I was thrilled to learn I would spend a year in Denmark. My ancestors had emigrated to Zion from Denmark well over a century ago.
My new home was in Nakskov, on the island of Lolland. Unfortunately, the nearest ward was several hours away.
After two months in Denmark, however, I learned about a small group of Saints who met closer to my home. To get there, I would have to ride a private railway. The train fare was around 40 crowns, nearly all my spending allowance for the week. It was fast Sunday, and I scraped together all the money I had—about 43 Danish crowns. I figured it would be sufficient if I got the round-trip discount. There would not be any money left over for a fast offering, but I felt the Lord would understand why.
As the train moved away from the station, the conductor came by and said, “Two crowns.” My fledgling Danish had to be mistaken—I knew the trip cost more than two crowns. After offering him most of what I had, he took a bill and gave me change. The fare was only two crowns! I knew the Lord was watching out for me.
In a little attic apartment above a store was a tiny room containing a group of elderly women. One of them smiled, motioned me inside, and knocked on an adjoining door. I was greeted into priesthood meeting. There were about five older brethren and two young missionaries.
I couldn’t understand much of what went on, but some hymns were familiar. There were tears as testimonies were shared.
When I told the missionaries my train fare was only two crowns, they couldn’t believe it. I soon discovered the return trip was also just two crowns. I realized I could pay my fast offering after all. Later, I learned that in celebration of the centennial of the train system the fare had been reduced to two crowns for just that one day.
That was the beginning of my church experiences in Denmark. I was ordained a priest there, and the first time I ever blessed the sacrament was in Danish. As my language improved, I even spoke in church. Eventually, I was called on a mission to Denmark. I attended church with those members again, four years after my first visit. I watched as the man who ordained me a priest was sustained as president of the newly organized branch.
In Denmark I received spiritual depth, both as an exchange student and as a missionary. It began with my miraculous fast offering and a train ride to church one bright Sunday morning.

Richard Rancie, 14, Melbourne. Richard runs. Right now it’s competitive running (track) and his own neighborhood car wash business. Later, it may be in a political race. He wants to be Australia’s prime minister.
Richard doesn’t train or compete on Sunday. He gave up a place in the national cross-country championships because they were held on the Sabbath. He also took himself out of competition in the Victoria state championships in his best event, the 1,500 meter. Instead, he settled for competing in the 800 meter. “I didn’t expect to make the final,” he says, “but I won a bronze medal.” The great thing is, he doesn’t sound disappointed about missing out on the 1,500. He just feels blessed and compensated.

That difference also characterized several hundred members from the Riverton Utah North Stake, who averaged more than fifteen ordinances per family for their ancestors in the Jordan River (Utah) Temple in two days.

For the Riverton Utah North Stake, the challenge to take an ancestor to the temple came from the Jordan River Temple presidency. The stake presidency decided to use two days for the work—the youth would come on 29 December 1987 to be baptized for their ancestors, and the adults would come the following day for initiatory work, endowments, and sealings. That way, the temple would not be overly congested. The goal: that every temple recommend holder in the stake would do work for their kindred dead by the end of the year.

President Duane B. Williams says that they were actually fairly well prepared. “The main reason we were able to undertake this challenge successfully was because the stake and wards were already participating in the Church family history program. A couple were serving as stake family history specialists, and each ward had a couple as ward family history consultants. Furthermore, the ward Sunday Schools offered the family history class.”

The high priests group leaders and family history consultants attended priesthood quorum, Relief Society, and Young Men and Young Women meetings to discuss the challenge and to describe the program: how to fill out the records, when to submit them, and what the schedule would be on the stake ancestral temple days. The consultants also kept up personal contact with ward members, visiting them in their homes to help with the work.

The stake also held a family-history clinic one Saturday. The purpose was to provide hands-on experience in finding information and filling out forms.

The results were astounding. More than 160 families attended the temple on December 29 and 30. Stake members completed over 2,500 ordinances in two days—all for their kindred dead. The outpouring of the Spirit was immeasurable. Many Saints felt their ancestors’ presence during the ordinances. One woman, for example, recounted that she had felt the arm of one of her ancestors encircling her; she was nearly overwhelmed by a great outpouring of love. Many testified that they had never felt such complete peace before.

Because of the experience, many other members in the stake began to prepare to go to the temple. One bishop reported that at tithing settlement, one day after the temple excursion, two couples who had not had temple recommends for some time paid their tithing in full so they could once again attend the temple. They said they did not want to be excluded from the temple work they had heard so much about.

I play basketball. One day, I messaged the coach that I wouldn’t be able to play in any Sunday games.
He responded, “What do you mean? If you want to go professional, you have to put the sport first.” I told him that if I wanted to go professional, I had to put God first, and He would help me.
My coach said, “I am going to do everything possible for the games to be on Saturdays.” And that’s the way it’s been.
It might not always work out that way. But I’m glad my coach knows that for me, the sport doesn’t come first—my Heavenly Father does.
When I do things right, I feel that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ are proud of me. It’s a peace that no one can take from me, knowing that I’m trying and that They recognize my effort.
The sport doesn’t come first—my Heavenly Father does.

Like big, black feet, the truck’s tires trampled the asphalt, bouncing thunder off a stone wall across the street. At the bottom of the hill, a yellow light flashed in warning, and the truck’s brakes squealed. In response to a glaring red “Stop!” the truck then paused, trembling—almost sweating. At the first flicker of green it lurched on, slowly building speed again.
Standing on a Tokyo street corner where a group of young Latter-day Saints was gathering, watching—and listening—to the traffic, it was quickly becoming clear that this would not be one of the quietest places to talk. Even though the group was gathering in one of the calmer parts of the city, there isn’t any street in Tokyo where there isn’t traffic, more or less constantly, even on a Saturday afternoon. The street next to the Tokyo Temple was no exception.
Next came the whine. Low pitched at first, like a whisper. Then higher in vibrato, intensity, and volume. Whine, whine, whine, pause. Whine, whine, whine, pause. WHINE, WHINE, WHINE, WHIIIIIIIINE. Slick around the corner, slicing air like a sprinting cheetah—motorcycle.
The tape recorder’s level indicator jumped hard enough to bend the needle. Great. A dozen Young Men and Young Women from stakes all over Tokyo just beginning to show up for interviews, and all the microphone would register would be trucks and motorcycles.
One of the young men standing nearby, an early arriver, had been watching my growing frustration with the noise. He approached another member who was acting as an interpreter. He bowed, then quietly said something. The interpreter turned to me and also bowed.
“He suggests that perhaps it’s too noisy out here in the street,” she translated. “Maybe you would care to go to Arisugawa Park?”
We only had to walk down the hill and around the corner to the entrance, and the entire group was happy to stroll through the gardens looking at flowers, trees, and young boys fishing from bridges spanning a man-made pond. Above the foliage the temple tower shone white and gold, as though its spire marked the most important building in the land. And of course the park was serene, a perfect place to chat and share ideas.
Relocating the interviews seemed like a minor incident at the time, but the members’ actions typified two traits common in Japan: the ability to sense the needs of others and put them at ease, and the ability to find a quiet place amid the rush, a skill the Japanese have developed through generations of seeking tranquility in crowded circumstances.

When I was called as an Area Seventy in 2020 and assigned to the Birmingham coordinating council, I had a very strong impression that this would be a special time of growth for the Church in that area. Alongside the boundary changes to strengthen the Birmingham Stake, and the re-establishing of the England Birmingham Mission office there, my heart leapt when President Russell M. Nelson announced the proposed temple at the April 2021 general conference.
The recent announcement that the England Birmingham Temple is to be built on the site at Penns Lane in Sutton Coldfield has special meaning for myself, and for many others who have visited this site over the almost sixty years that it has been in use by the Church.
As a young boy, I frequently visited the mission home whilst my father served there—first as district president under the leadership of mission president George Cannon, and then as a counsellor to his successor, Clifford Johnson. I enjoyed the feeling of the Spirit there, as well as my first experience of the old missionary favourite, ‘Sloppy Joes’.
Fifteen years or so later, the mission home was converted into the meetinghouse for the Sutton Coldfield Ward, into which my wife, Debbie, was baptised in 1979. Thus, in 1984 we were married civilly in the chapel (the former mission home) before going to the London England Temple later that day.
By the early nineties, a new chapel had been built next door, and as a serving bishop by that time, I was able to conduct the marriage ceremony of my mother-in-law and then my nephew there.
This site already holds so many special personal memories. I am so grateful that what is already very sacred ground for me is now going to be a house of the Lord. As President Nelson said, “With the dedication of each new temple, additional godly power comes into the world to strengthen us and counteracts the intensifying efforts of the adversary.”
I am looking forward to the additional spiritual influence that this new temple of the Lord will have on those who visit it, and on the community around it who will be blessed by its presence.

Part of making the change into Relief Society means learning new skills. Probably one of the most important things all three girls learned right away was how to be a good visiting teacher—something none of them had done before.
“The first time I went visiting teaching, I had no clue what I was doing,” says Aubrey. “It was sort of hard to think of things to say, but now I really like it. It’s great to get to know people and help them out.”

Ruben Gapiz and Nenita Reyes were among the earliest Filipinos to join the Church. Nenita, who was baptized on 25 November 1961, was the fifth person to join the Church after missionary work began. She was a college graduate when her brother-in-law sent the missionaries to her home. Her response and the response of several family members was immediate and positive. Nenita was soon called to lead the music for the growing group of members in the Manila area. She has since served in the presidencies of the Young Women, Relief Society, and Primary.
Ruben Gapiz was interested in Nenita before he was interested in the Church. A talented guitar player, he was recruited to accompany Church members for an evening of Christmas caroling. Disappointed that he was not offered payment for his services, he was about to leave when he saw Nenita leading the singing. He stayed, eventually listened to the missionary discussions, and was baptized a year after Nenita.
Two years later, Ruben and Nenita became the first Filipino Latter-day Saint couple to marry. Almost everyone in the branch attended the ceremony and the celebration afterward. The Gapiz family was eventually blessed with four daughters.
Ruben accepted a number of callings in the Church, but he served with less eagerness than Sister Gapiz, although his testimony continued to grow. In 1975, however, Nenita says “the Lord tapped him on the shoulders and woke him up.” Ruben was diagnosed with cancer of the nasopharynx. He was not expected to live more than a few years. Nenita and Ruben’s oldest child was only 10 years old when the cancer was discovered; Ruben wanted badly to live and raise his family.
“In August 1978,” he recalls, “I received my patriarchal blessing from Patriarch F. Briton McConkie. My wife was in the room with me. … [The patriarch] did not have any prior knowledge of my affliction. Toward the end of the blessing he pronounced these words, which brought tears to my eyes and caused my wife to sob softly: ‘You will live your life to the fullest and will be called to serve in many leadership positions.’
“After the blessing was over, [the] patriarch … asked me the reason for my tears. I told him that I had been diagnosed with cancer, that I had only two years to live, and that the blessing he pronounced was almost too good to hope for. … I knew that day that the Lord had answered my prayers.”4
The blessing awakened his dedication to the gospel. “He became a different man after that,” Sister Gapiz says.
He has since worked tirelessly to strengthen the Church in the Philippines. Through the years he has served as bishop, stake president, mission president, and regional representative. He also served as chair of the committee that translated the Book of Mormon into Tagalog, the predominant native language. He currently serves as an Area Authority Seventy and Materials Management manager in the Philippines/Micronesia Area.

Being brought up in the Church, I was always told by my friends and family that this was the true church. I never really denied it, but I never really bothered to find out for myself either. I just assumed it was true because everything pretty much made sense and my parents and everyone else seemed so sincere about it.
I had always planned to go on a mission, partially because I felt I was expected to and also because I felt I needed to. After I had received my mission call and before I was about to enter the Missionary Training Center, I really began to think and wonder about the truthfulness of the Church. I had never prayed to my Heavenly Father about knowing the truth, and now I was so close to going on my mission I felt I didn’t have the courage to ask. It was as if I was denying the truth.
When I entered the MTC, I did so with high spirits and was happy to be there. I was enjoying the knowledge I was gaining, but in the back of my mind the thought still lingered. I needed to know for myself if the gospel was true, but I continued to push the thought farther back in my head.
One day my teacher finished giving a great lesson. He then bore his testimony and challenged each of us to find out and pray for ourselves. I was almost in shock, feeling the lesson was aimed specifically at me. That night after our companionship prayer, I knelt down and asked Heavenly Father to help me know that what I was doing was right and that the Church was true.
I finished my prayer and waited and waited. Feeling nothing, I became discouraged and went to bed.
A couple of days later, I was doing my daily scripture study when I came across this scripture: “Verily I say unto you my friends, fear not, let your hearts be comforted; yea, rejoice evermore, and in everything give thanks;
“Waiting patiently on the Lord, for your prayers have entered into the ears of the Lord of Sabaoth, and are recorded with this seal and testament—the Lord hath sworn and decreed that they shall be granted.
“Therefore, he giveth this promise unto you, with an immutable covenant that they shall be fulfilled; and all things wherewith you have been afflicted shall work together for your good, and to my name’s glory, saith the Lord” (D&C 98:1–3).
These verses really helped me understand the need for patience. A few days later at a fireside, we were talking about our prophets. I’m not the emotional type, but I’ll never forget that night. The Spirit was so strong in the room, and it was the first time I had ever felt the Spirit so strongly. Toward the conclusion, all the missionaries stood and sang “We Thank Thee, O God, for a Prophet.” While we were singing, they had a movie on the screen showing pictures of the prophets. I was overwhelmed, choked up, and warm inside. I knew the Holy Ghost was testifying to me the truth, and that the prophet was leading the true Church.
I recently returned from serving my mission in the Tucson Arizona Mission. I am so grateful for that special day in the MTC. I realized it’s never too late or early to pray about the truth. I learned patience while also learning the Lord will answer our prayers.

On my office wall is a quote from Anne Morrow Lindbergh: “My life cannot implement in action the demands of all the people to whom my heart responds” (Gift from the Sea [1955], 124). For me, it is a needed reminder. A few years ago, already weary, I foolishly went late one afternoon to two different hospitals to give blessings to three individuals who were dying of cancer. Not only was I worn out, but worse, the last person really didn’t get much from me. Things had not been “done in wisdom and order.” I was running faster than my supply of strength and energy on that occasion. Those blessings would have been better given over two or three days, and I would have had more empathy and energy.

Untreated mental or emotional illness can lead to increased isolation, misunderstandings, broken relationships, self-harm, and even suicide. I know this firsthand, as my own father died by suicide many years ago. His death was shocking and heartbreaking for my family and me. It has taken me years to work through my grief, and it was only recently that I learned talking about suicide in appropriate ways actually helps to prevent it rather than encourage it. I have now openly discussed my father’s death with my children and witnessed the healing that the Savior can give on both sides of the veil.

That could have happened to me. After graduating from college, I worked for a couple of years at a local nonprofit organization, where I was inspired by the skills of a new manager. I decided to pursue a master’s degree so that I could gain the kinds of skills he had.

Between the time I was accepted to the program and the time I was to attend, we learned that I was pregnant with our first child. Pregnancy is always a challenge, but due to some medical complications, pregnancies are particularly difficult for me. When I arrived to begin my master’s program, the heaviest question in my heart was whether I should be pursuing the degree at all. After all, I was now anticipating motherhood.

In my new ward, I was promptly called to be an assistant nursery leader. The counselor in the bishopric who set me apart for my new calling laid his hands upon my head and bestowed upon me all the usual authority, gifts, and admonitions attendant on a calling in nursery. Then, speaking to my most hidden fears and my deepest questions, he told me, in the name of Christ, to pursue and complete my master’s degree, that this was the will of God.

So I did.

Near the conclusion of my master’s degree, my husband received a good job offer in Washington, DC. I was preparing to be a stay-at-home mom to our then-one-year-old daughter. I felt unsettled by the move, and I wanted the confirmation of the Spirit to help soothe me. But the more I prayed, the more agitated I became. So my husband and I prayed, fasted, and attended the temple to seek guidance about whether or not to take the job.

The matter of our imminent move remained unresolved until the very last day of class in my master’s program. I felt a tremendous and unmistakable outpouring of the Spirit, and a clear, quiet, and calm voice spoke to my mind, telling me I would return for a PhD. I knew why I had been so uneasy about the move to Washington.

I didn’t tell my husband right away what my prompting had been—only that I’d had one and that I was at peace. We decided that when he had the same sense of peace, we could make a plan together based on our individual promptings.

Soon thereafter, he felt strongly that we should make a short-term move to Finland for an internship he had been offered. From Finland I applied for the doctoral program. In Finland my husband started his business.

I finished the doctoral program in about three years and soon found myself—most unexpectedly—on the full-time faculty at BYU. In addition to food, clothing, and shelter, our work has afforded us freedom, family time, fulfillment, challenges, and a great deal of happiness. We now have four children, and they are—individually and collectively—the central joy of my life. This was a future only God could see for me.

I remember telling this story to my friend Kris, who shared that her own story was very similar to mine but had resulted in almost the exact opposite educational path. Kris had always hoped to pursue a PhD. But when she inquired of the Lord, He led her in a different direction. Kris focused on raising her young children at home, finding fulfillment and joy in her decision and trusting the Lord and His guidance.

“Gramps!” Esther Sue ran toward the white-haired man, then stopped short, afraid to hug him. This was hardly the hard-muscled giant she had visited every summer at the farm. He looked like a small, wrinkled, worn-out imitation. So instead of greeting him with the usual bear hug, Esther Sue took his hand and guided him to the comfortable overstuffed chair in a corner of the living room. At least his hands were the same—big and sandpapery yet gentle from years of tending the soil.
“I’ll fix some lunch,” Mama said. “Then you might take a little rest, Papa.”
“A rest?” Gramps sneered at the idea. “All my life I worked from sunup to sundown, and I never needed a nap. I’d feel like some baby, needing a rest.”
Esther Sue patted his hand. “But the train ride must have been awfully hard, Gramps. Maybe you need a rest just this once.”
“Maybe so, little Susie. Or maybe I’m just not good for anything, now that I’m old. Having to sell the farm—I might as well have cut off my right arm, it pained me so much.”
“I know. I’m going to miss it something awful too.” Esther Sue remembered the long, happy days of previous summers, helping Gramps weed the melons and snapping beans under the shade of the crab apple tree. Now they would both be stuck in the city for the entire summer.
As the weeks went by, Gramps looked older and older, more and more tired.
“He needs something to do,” Mama said. “And he misses the open spaces and green growing things. You take him to the park, Esther Sue.”
So almost every day after school, even though it was still damp and chilly, Esther Sue and Gramps walked to the park. They passed rows of tall apartment buildings, the old vacant lot full of trash and dead weeds, and Murphy’s Market and Deli. Then they came to Bradley Park, just an empty patch of winter-brown grass and leafless trees at this time of year. Sometimes on the way home, Gramps stopped at the market and bought a couple of apples. He’d hand one to Esther Sue, and they’d chomp on them the rest of the way to the apartment.
“They’re not like the ones back home,” Gramps would complain. “They’ve lost all their crunch.”
As the weeks passed, Gramps and Esther Sue started looking for signs of new life. The vacant lot turned green with new weeds that almost hid the empty cans and broken glass scattered there. Little weeds sprouted between the cracks in the sidewalk too. And leaves started to pop out on the bare branches of the trees in the park. But Gramps looked more sad, more tired, more stooped.
“Sorry, Gramps,” Esther Sue said one afternoon. “I can’t go to the park today. I have to write a paper for school. It’s going to be a tough one.”
“That’s OK, little Susie. My arthritis is acting up, anyway.”
Esther Sue knew that he didn’t really care about going to the park. After years of walking on good black farm soil, Gramps didn’t like asphalt, and now that spring had come, he wanted to plant, not just look at trees and grass. So when he asked about her homework assignment, she was glad to give him a chance to think about something besides the home he had had to leave.
“I have to write an essay, Gramps: ‘What I can do to save the earth.’ The trouble is, there isn’t much one kid in the middle of Chicago can do.”
“Let’s see. You and your mama take all the old newspapers and cans to the recycling place, and you always write on both sides of a paper before you throw it away. That helps.”
“Oh, Gramps, I know those things are important, but everyone will write about recycling. I want to do something different.”
“Different like what?”
“Well, I read this article about a whole class who went out and planted trees, hundreds of them, to help reseed a forest. But that was in the mountains out west. A city kid can’t do anything like that.”
“No, I don’t suppose they want any more trees in that park of yours.” Grandpa scratched his head as he thought. Then he jumped up. “Come on, we’re going for that walk.”
“But what about my paper?”
“Come on. The fresh air will get your brain working.”
Esther Sue dragged along behind Gramps. What was he thinking? Why did he have to go today? Didn’t he know how important her paper was? But Gramps hadn’t been so lively in a long time. He even whistled as he walked along. When they got to the vacant lot, he stopped. “This is it,” he said. “This is your paper.”
She gave Gramps a blank look. What did this dirty old lot have to do with saving the earth? Gramps just stood there, staring at some vision, expecting her to see it too.
“Is it trees, Gramps? Do you expect me to plant trees here. I don’t think—”
“Not trees, little Susie—a garden! A garden with snow peas and eggplants and fresh red tomatoes. Maybe even a few pansies to pretty the place up.”
“A garden here? Oh, Gramps, do you think we could?”
“I know about gardens. There’s plenty of space and enough sunlight. We’d have to clean it up and see about getting some water, but I think we could manage that.”
“We’ll have to find out who owns the land and get permission.”
“We can go to city hall tomorrow.”
“I don’t think we can farm the whole lot, Gramps. It’s pretty big.”
“We’ll invite the neighbors to help. I can teach them.” The old man stood almost as tall as he had in the fields at the farm. “Just think, garden-fresh vegetables for the city folks here!”
“Just think, a garden right here in the middle of Chicago!”
“A place to dig.”
“It will be a great paper.”
“It will be a good summer.”
“I can make a difference, right here in the middle of Chicago.”
Both of them whistled all the way home.

On August 30, in the middle of Wyoming, the teenage driver received a special honor. Captain Joseph W. Young needed to rush ahead of his train to catch up with another wagon company, so he selected Zeb to drive him in a wagon pulled by mules. (Mules travel much faster than oxen.) Zeb drove as fast as he could for three days and then Captain Young, needing to travel even faster, hailed a passing stagecoach, boarded it, and left Zeb to travel alone.
Zeb liked the fast mule team which moved him 20 to 45 miles a day, double what wagon trains could cover. But driving alone on the hot, dusty trail and camping by himself at night had its lonely moments. So he enjoyed catching up to other travelers and visiting with them. Late on September 3 he overtook the Joseph Horne train “where I joined the people in that camp in a dance.” An injured man in the camp needed to be hurried to Salt Lake, so Richard Horne joined Zeb as a traveling companion, “and I was very glad of his company,” Zeb confessed.
Zeb, the teenage driver, put his mule-pulled wagon and injured passenger into Salt Lake City in near record time, arriving on September 7 at breakfast time. He beat his Joseph W. Young wagon train there by 16 days. In total, down and back, Zeb had been on the trail for 18 weeks.

First, I survived my early life, which started out in the humblest of circumstances. I was born on the dirt floor of my mother’s hut in Dessie, Ethiopia. Mom was the only relative I ever knew, and she built our eight-foot (2.4 m) dome-shaped hut by herself, using sticks and mud that she covered with grass and leaves. Our community had no running water and no restroom facilities. Illness and death ran rampant in our kebele, or neighborhood. Food was very hard to find and impossible for us to purchase. My mother and I never knew a day without hunger.
When I was four, my mother became deathly ill. With her last bit of effort, we trudged to a hospital, where my beloved, weary mom died. The hospital staff saved me from life in the streets and death by starvation by arranging for me to live in an orphanage in the city of Addis Ababa, Ethiopia’s capital.
The second miracle came as my life changed dramatically. In this orphanage I lived in a clean building, slept in a real bed, and ate all the food I wanted. Other orphans had also experienced the loss of a loved one, and they taught me how to deal with the loss of my mother. In the evenings we gathered to sing songs in English and pray in Amharic, our mother tongue. We prayed for each other and asked God to bless us to be adopted into “nice, kind, loving homes.” Both the music and the prayers impacted my life in a huge way. I never quit praying.
Third, I was introduced to the missionaries and the Church when I was eight. I was invited to see the dedication of the first LDS Church building in Ethiopia on Sunday, November 30, 2003. At the dedication I felt the powerful influence of the Holy Spirit, and the missionaries in attendance radiated joy, happiness, and that same powerful spirit. I remember thinking that I wanted to be just like them. But I had no idea how I could ever reach this goal.
The fourth miracle came soon after. A family in the United States adopted me. My new father picked me up from the orphanage and took me home. We started the process of becoming acquainted, and I began to settle into my new environment.
Numerous challenges surfaced immediately upon my arrival. Everywhere I went people laughed at my English. My limited education caused problems in school. I prayed for help, and then I worked harder and smarter to close the knowledge gap, especially with English. Once again Heavenly Father answered my prayers. Two years later I proudly skipped a grade.
Then my home life fell apart. Prayers to the Lord, high personal goals, and a deep desire to succeed carried me through that extremely tough time. Finally, with a social worker’s help, my father and I agreed to terminate the adoption. This was a time for prayer, patience, faith, and help from Heavenly Father.
Now 15 years old, I went to live with a foster family for about a year. That was when the fifth miracle came. While sleigh riding with two friends, I met an LDS family with two nice daughters. During the ride home, one of the daughters spoke up, saying, “I think the Lord wants us to adopt Ephrem Smith.” Remarkably, the other three members of the family had also received the same inspiration. The father worked with the Department of Social Services, and soon I moved to my new home. From the very beginning my amazing new father gave me agency. For example, he explained that their family goes to church on Sundays. He allowed me to choose to join them or stay home; he said that they still would love me if I chose not to attend church. I chose to attend church, and I have since made many other righteous decisions.
Miracle six came as I received a testimony of the gospel. One Sunday I sat in sacrament meeting singing “I Stand All Amazed” (Hymns, no. 193). Huge tears began running down my cheeks as I received a personal testimony that Jesus is the Christ and that the Church is His Church.
Finally, nine years later, I knew how to become like those missionaries! The missionary age was now 18, but my adoption had not yet been finalized. I waited seven long months until my adoption was completed. Finally, my missionary papers could be submitted. Four days later I received my mission call. In just one week the Lord blessed me with final adoption papers and a mission call. I treasure both papers exceedingly! They are my seventh miracle. Yes, indeed, it took many miracles along the way from that mud hut in Ethiopia to my treasured mission.

“What about family home evening? Aren’t we going to have it tonight?” my six-year-old daughter, Leilani, asked. A feeling of guilt flooded over me. My husband and I had been trying to hold family home evening, but with many claims on our time, we had fallen out of the habit. Leilani’s reminder made us recommit to not neglect family home evening for any reason.
As Leilani and her sister, Nadia, have gotten older, they have wanted to teach during family home evening what they have learned in Primary. They even draw their own visual aids to illustrate the principles they want to teach. We rejoice as parents to see them talking about the gospel and often can expand on the subject they have chosen.
“What about family home evening? Aren’t we going to have it tonight?” are words I am trying hard not to hear repeated. I know that when children are young is the best time to teach them. The world may exercise its influence, but if we work and grow alongside our children, we can reach our goal of raising men and women of principle.
Patricia Cárdenas de Prado, Guatemala

“I feel afraid sometimes, too,” Papa said.
Surprised, Maria looked up into her father’s eyes. “I didn’t think papas ever felt afraid.”
“Yes, we do. Today I felt afraid when the other doctors at the hospital were explaining some very technical procedures and I did not understand all their words.”
Maria asked, “What did you do?”
“I talked to my special friend,” Papa said.
“I didn’t know you had a friend here, Papa.”
“He was my special friend in Mexico, too,” her father replied.
Maria was puzzled.
Papa smiled and said, “My special friend, Maria, is Padre Celestial (Heavenly Father).”
“You knelt at the hospital and prayed to Heavenly Father?”
“We cannot always kneel when we need Heavenly Father’s help, but He hears prayers offered from our hearts too.”
“How did Heavenly Father help you today?” Maria asked.
“He sent peace to my heart so that there was no room left for fear. Then I could concentrate on what was being said instead of my fear. That helped me to understand what the doctors were saying.”

For my English GCSE exam (a qualifying test in specific subjects), I was required to plan and deliver a five-minute presentation on a topic of my choice. I chose to outline the Young Women programme of the Church and some of the standards I keep. I prayed that I would know if this was the right choice, and I felt that this would be the perfect chance for me to share some of my beliefs.
During my presentation I used lots of visual materials and shared the blessings I have received. The class seemed to genuinely enjoy my talk. My teacher also found it interesting and asked questions afterward. Not only did I get the grade I had hoped for, but more importantly, I was able to share the gospel with my friends.

Fifty years ago, Kathy and I met an impressive couple who had also been recently married in the house of the Lord. Life was promising. They had children. She was talented and full of faith. His work prospered. They kept their covenants.
Unexpectedly, the young woman developed serious health issues.
Their son recently shared these reflections with me:
“In my younger years, my sweet mom went through crushing periods of severe depression, bringing extended periods of difficulty in taking care of even her own needs. It was a new reality for both of my parents. Life would be different than they had anticipated.
“My dad had never experienced mental illness and sought the help of his Heavenly Father. I can’t count the number of times I walked in on him while on his knees, or the number of Sundays he was quietly fasting again. He served my mother—and served us—with incredible love, patience, and humility. He sought the influence of the Holy Ghost, hoping to love, act, and react as the Savior would.
“My mother was the love of his life. These seasons would be but a small moment. They were bound to one another forever. As they remained faithful, they would spend eternity together in health and happiness. That promise gave him a perfect brightness of hope.
“While many times my mother felt that her challenges created a burden for my dad, he saw it differently. He loved serving this incredible, precious daughter of God.
“As my mom bravely—and miraculously—overcame many of her health struggles, they experienced light and joy together: as a couple and as parents and grandparents.
“Later, in her 60s, she faced an entirely different set of trials, including breast cancer and neurological issues that impacted her ability to walk. Once again, she and my dad doubled down on their commitment to each other and their covenants with the Lord.
“They did it together through the final day of her mortal journey.”
Eternal marriage is an eternal journey.

Aaron’s experience at Sinai reminds me of a similar experience I had as the leader of a small group of men in my army platoon at Fort Ord, California.

Our platoon was preparing for a special inspection; after cleaning the barracks, the men went outside to clean their gear. The platoon sergeant called the four squad leaders into the barracks where he noted a few tasks that still needed to be completed. He told me to call some of my men in to do these jobs. So I opened a window and called out to three men in my squad, “Sergeant Carrington wants you to come in and do some more work!”

As I turned around, Sergeant Carrington asked, “What did you tell your men?”

“I told them you wanted them to come in and do some more work.”

“No,” he said, “I told you to call your men in to do the work. You know what to do.” In Sergeant Carrington’s language, “You know what to do” was an order to do one hundred pushups, right then.

I was frustrated and embarrassed at the time; but after a few hours, I began to appreciate what he was teaching me. I was the men’s squad leader, and I had the authority to order them into the barracks to do their jobs. Instead I had used Sergeant Carrington’s name and authority to try and impress the men to do their work.