Gospel Story Finder

Matthew Cowley was ordained an Apostle in 1945. As a young man he served a mission in New Zealand, and later he returned as mission president during World War II.
I had a little mother … in New Zealand. I knew her on my first mission when I was [young]. In those days she called me her son. When I went back to preside, she called me her father. …
Now, on one occasion I called in as I always did when I visited that vicinity to see this grand little woman, then in her 80s and blind. She did not live in an organized branch, had no contact with the priesthood except as the missionaries visited there. We had no missionaries in those days. They were away at war.
… She was out in her backyard by her little fire. I reached forth my hand to shake hands with her, and I was going to rub noses [in a Maori greeting] with her. And she said, “Do not shake hands with me, Father.”
I said, “Oh, that is clean dirt on your hands. I am willing to shake hands with you. I am glad to. I want to.”
She said, “Not yet.” Then she got on her hands and knees and crawled over to her little house. At the corner of the house there was a spade. She lifted up that spade and crawled off in another direction, measuring the distance as she went. She finally arrived at a spot and started digging down into the soil with that spade. It finally struck something hard. She took out the soil with her hands and lifted out a fruit jar. She opened that fruit jar and reached down in it, took something out, and handed it to me. And it turned out to be [a lot of] New Zealand money. …
She said, “There is my tithing. Now I can shake hands with the priesthood of God.”
I said, “You do not owe that much tithing.”
She said, “I know it. I do not owe it now, but I am paying some in advance, for I do not know when the priesthood of God will get around this way again.”
And then I leaned over and pressed my nose and forehead against hers, and the tears from my eyes ran down her cheeks.

During a difficult time in Melinda Trego’s life, she found hope by learning about an ancestor. She said, “I found that my great-grandmother had some similar experiences over 85 years ago! I had known my great-grandmother when I was a child, and she was always very cheerful and had a positive attitude. I never realized the hard things she had to do until I started to look at the information available about her life.

“I found a picture of her with her beautiful smile and put it where I could see her face,” she said. This helped Sister Trego find strength by remembering her ancestor’s life and example. The connection she felt helped her deal with her difficulties while maintaining a cheerful and positive attitude.

“I’m impressed with the five goals you scored in today’s game.” Collin turned around and realized the man was talking to him. “I’m starting a new soccer team and want to know if you would like to be on it.”
“Would I ever!” Collin thought. Collin was nine, and he enjoyed playing soccer. When he and his parents attended the first planning meeting for the new team, the coach explained that they would be playing in many tournaments on Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays. “Not on Sunday,” Collin thought.
After talking with his parents, Collin told the coach he wanted very much to be on the new team, but he would not play soccer on Sunday. He thought the coach would be mad and not let him be on the team. The coach paused for a moment and told Collin that he still wanted him to play. Collin felt peace in his heart and knew he had made the right decision. He was glad he had made the team. His parents reminded him that even if he had not been allowed to join the team, he had made the right decision.

Now 18, Kyle sprang into action at a very early age. It all started when he was in kindergarten and a U.S. jump rope team performed at his school in Bellevue, Washington.

“He came home with his eyes as big as saucers and said, ‘Mom, can we buy a rope?’” says Kyle’s mom, Chandra. He practiced and practiced and made it when he tried out for the team.

After winning his first international title when he was in second grade, Kyle and his team, Hot Dog USA, have gone on to win five grand-national titles, and they have won the world championships three times. Kyle was also named the most valuable player for the United States in his sport.

Some have thought it important to give a gift to the Savior at Christmastime. President Kimball relates one such gift he received that was earmarked for the Savior. I’d like to quote somewhat from his remarks.
“In one of the stakes of Zion lives a family who also believes in a birthday for Jesus. … They gave me a crisp fifty dollar bill [and] said, ‘Today is the Lord’s birthday. We always give gifts to our family members on their birthdays. We should like to give a gift to the Saviour. Will you please place this money where it will please the Redeemer most?’
“Two days later, Sister Kimball and I were on our way to Europe for a six-month’s tour of all the missions. As we made hasty and extensive preparations, we kept thinking about the birthday gift entrusted to us, and then the thought came to us that perhaps in Europe we would find the most appreciative recipient.
“For months we toured the missions, held meetings with the missionaries and Saints, and met many wonderful folks. There were numerous opportunities to present the gift, for the majority of the Saints over there could use extra funds. But we waited. Toward the end of the mission tour, we met a little woman in Germany. She was a widow; or was she? For she had been alone with her family of children for ten years. Whether her husband was deceased or not, she did not know. A victim of World War II, he had disappeared and no word had ever come from him. It was said that he was behind the Iron Curtain. The little folks who were but children when he was taken away were now near grown, and the son was a full-time missionary among his German people.
“It was nearing the time of the temple dedication at Bern, Switzerland. I said to this good woman, ‘Are you going to the temple dedication?’ I saw the disappointment in her eyes as she said how she would like to go, but how impossible it was because of lack of finances. ‘Here is the place for the gift’ was the thought which rooted itself in my mind. I quietly checked with the mission president as to her worthiness and the appropriateness of her going to the temple; and then I gave to him half of the gift, which he assured me would pay the actual bus transportation to Bern and return.
“A few weeks later we were in southern France. … We were one hour late for our meeting at Nice. It was a hot night. The building was filled to capacity. A woman sat at the piano, entertaining this large crowd until our arrival. For one hour she had played. I was embarrassed for our delay and so grateful to her for what she had done to hold the group and entertain them that I inquired concerning her. Her husband, a professor, had died not long ago and the widow was making a meager living through her musical talents. She was a rather recent convert. Her mission president and the elder assured me that she was worthy and deserving so I left with her mission president to be given to her the other half of the Saviour’s gift.
“We completed our mission tours … and finally returned to Bern for the dedication service of the Swiss Temple. The prophet of the Lord, President David O. McKay, was present with three of the apostles. After the glorious dedication meetings were over, the regular temple services were conducted in the various languages. As I assisted the French Saints in their session, I was conscious of the little musician; and she literally beamed as she was enjoying the Saviour’s birthday gift. She had used it to pay for her transportation to the temple. Her eyes shone with a new luster; her step was lighter; she radiated joy and peace as she came through the temple with new light, new hope. And I whispered to myself, ‘Thank the Lord for good folks who remember the Redeemer on his birthday.’”4

Reach out. I am grateful for the organization of the Church because there are people in the ward or branch who are responsible to minister to each one of us. We are not alone. If you are in need, humbly reach out. Speak up and let others know a way that they can help. So many struggles are not public knowledge and not shared, so it might be hard for others to know how to help you if you don’t tell them. One example is that we had a few unexpected treatment appointments come up, and we had not yet arranged childcare. I asked a few friends to have my youngest daughter over for playdates to help ease the burden on Grandma, who was primarily caring for her. They were so kind and willing but would not have known I needed that help if I did not ask.

One of the defining moments in my life happened for me at the age of 10 when I spent two weeks learning Catholic doctrine at the Loreto Roman Catholic Mission, about 20 miles (32 km) away from my rural home in Silobela, Zimbabwe. I have come to know and love the Savior Jesus Christ and to look up to the Lord through these early lessons and impressions.
While I was in the Catholic chapel, I saw paintings with scenes from the Savior’s life pasted on the wall: scenes of Jesus Christ’s birth, teaching in the temple, praying in the Garden of Gethsemane, carrying the cross to Calvary, being crucified at Golgotha, and His Resurrection. It really made me feel sad to see those nails and thorns. By the time I got to the painting of the Crucifixion, my eyes were filled with tears. And each time I would cry and say, “Hey, He really went through a lot, just for me.”
During the confirmation ceremony, one of the priests looked into my eyes and said, “You are the light of the world” (see Matthew 5:14). Then, pointing to a burning candle, he quoted the Savior’s words: “Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven” (Matthew 5:16).
As I learned more about Jesus, I began to want to be of service to others. For example, we would have to fetch our water five miles (8 km) away from our village. Often, women in the village, including my mother, would carry a 20-liter container on their heads filled with water. After my experience at the Catholic seminary, I often pushed a 200-liter (about 50 gallons) container of water to help my mother, and I also helped two other widows who were our neighbors. I remembered the good feeling I felt each time I helped others.
These experiences helped develop my faith in Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ and indirectly prepared me to accept the gospel of Jesus Christ when I was 22 years old.

A few years ago, I learned to index during a large indexing activity organized at the Les Abymes meetinghouse, led in part by Sabrina Bastien. It didn’t particularly captivate me as I found the documents difficult to read. Another time, I participated in an indexing activity on a Sunday with young people who had been called to serve as temple and family history consultants. I then began trying to do it alone at home, calling Sister Bastien for help when problems arose, and reading explanations on FamilySearch. I started indexing every Sunday afternoon. It became a way for me to help my family with their genealogy, as we are all part of our Heavenly Father’s family. If I find it easy to locate my close family, it’s because others have done work for me.
So, it’s my turn to return the favor. I noticed that by asking for help from our Heavenly Father, I could read certain writing more easily. This allowed me to have patience. During the first major COVID-19 lockdown, I indexed every day. And then every Sunday. I am happy to be able to help, through indexing, in bringing families together on both sides of the veil.
I used to index, but I stopped. This challenge encouraged me to resume service. [I found that] as soon as I engage in indexing, the Lord helps me stay calm, and patient, and I see difficult-to-decipher names light up. I feel joy in doing this service and want to do it over and over again. Thank you for the encouragement. Some of you (consultants) have the gift of motivating others to go further and contribute to this work. I am blessed and grateful to have you as brothers and sisters in Christ.

I recall, as an 11-year-old, being reverently escorted by my bishop into the chapel of our new ward building, where he sat with me in front of the sacrament table. He said, “You know, Larry, you will soon be ordained to the office of deacon in the Aaronic Priesthood. Do you realize what a special blessing and duty that will be?” He told me that I would have the sacred responsibility to act as the Savior did in providing the holy emblems of the sacrament to those in our congregation. I was overwhelmed with the magnitude of the priesthood calling I was to receive.
My bishop asked that I memorize the two sacrament prayers and think about how they fit into my life. He said I must strive to do the things the sacrament prayers ask each of us to do if I was to act for the Savior in providing the sacrament to others. After I returned home, my father helped me locate the sacrament prayers in both the Doctrine and Covenants (20:76–79) and the Book of Mormon (Moroni 4; 5). I read them carefully for the first time in my life. I listened closely as they were offered in church. I pondered the words as the bread was being passed, but the full impact of the sacramental covenant became apparent when I heard these words in the blessing on the water: “that they do always remember him.” I asked myself, “Do I always remember Him? What does always mean? How can I remember Him always?” Every time I hear those sacred sacramental prayers I am moved to reflect on these same questions.

“A [woman] walking along a road fell into a pit so deep [she] could not climb out. No matter what [she] did, [she] could not get out by [herself]. The [woman] called for help and rejoiced when a kind passerby heard [her] and lowered a ladder down into the pit. This allowed [her] to climb out of the pit and regain [her] freedom.

“We are like the [woman] in the pit. Sinning is like falling into the pit, and we can’t get out by ourselves. Just as the kind passerby heard the [woman’s] cry for help, Heavenly Father sent his Only Begotten Son to provide the means of escape. Jesus Christ’s atonement could be compared to lowering a ladder into the pit; it gives us the means to climb out.”10 But the Savior does more than lower the ladder, He “comes down into the pit and makes it possible for us to use the ladder to escape.”11 “Just as the [woman] in the pit had to climb up the ladder, we must repent of our sins and obey the gospel principles and ordinances to climb out of our pit and make the Atonement work in our lives. Thus, after all we can do, the Atonement makes it possible for us to become worthy to return to Heavenly Father’s presence.”12

Michael was going to Suzanne’s and Sara’s baptisms with Sister Ferguson. Sister Ferguson always invited her Primary class to the baptisms of their classmates. Michael was glad his family wasn’t going. Suzanne and Sara would be baptized by their fathers, and having his family there would remind him that his father would not be baptizing him.
He was going to be eight soon, but he felt more worried than excited about his birthday. Sometimes that made him angry. Wasn’t a birthday supposed to be fun?
The ride to church was nice because Sister Ferguson didn’t mention his birthday. She talked about Michael’s school and friends, his bike, and his cat.
Lots of people were at the baptism. Some were from the ward; others seemed to be Suzanne’s or Sara’s relatives. Michael recognized Primary leaders, home teachers, bishopric members, friends, and even the missionaries with some investigators.
It is nice they are all here, he thought. I wonder if they came just because it is part of their job. It seemed to Michael that parents cared the most about your baptism. And if one or both of your parents didn’t care, you felt all alone.
Michael listened to a sister talk about baptism. She said that Suzanne and Sara were making promises to Heavenly Father and that Heavenly Father was making promises to them. The sister said that it is comforting to have a Father who always keeps His promises. That made Michael feel a little better, but he was still sad and worried.
He got close to the font to watch the baptisms. Afterward, he watched Sara and then Suzanne receive the gift of the Holy Ghost and wondered if Suzanne and Sara liked having all those hands on their heads. Did they know all those men?
After the service, Sister Ferguson asked Michael, “Did you like being at the baptism?”
“Yes,” he said.
“Are you thinking about your own baptism?” she asked gently.
“Yes.”
“Why are you looking so worried?”
Michael stared at the floor. “Because I don’t have anyone to baptize me.”
Sister Ferguson gave Michael a hug. They walked over to a quiet place away from the others. “Do you remember hearing in the baptism prayer the words ‘Having been commissioned of Jesus Christ’?” she asked.
Michael thought a moment. “I think so.”
Sister Ferguson explained, “Being commissioned of Jesus Christ means acting for Him, using His power to do His will. Whoever baptizes must have His power, which is the priesthood. It doesn’t matter who actually says the prayer and puts you down into the waters of baptism because that person is acting for Jesus Christ, not for himself.
“We are all brothers and sisters, children of Heavenly Father. We’re family. All the people at this baptism are here because they are happy to see Suzanne and Sara obeying the Savior’s commandment to be baptized and making a promise to follow Him. All the men who helped confirm them want to share the love and happiness they feel as members of Christ’s Church. Any one of them would be honored to be a representative of Jesus Christ and baptize you. The important thing is for you to obey the commandment to be baptized and receive the gift of the Holy Ghost.”
Michael understood, but tears came to his eyes anyway. “But I want my dad to baptize me.”
“I know,” Sister Ferguson said. “I wish he could too. All I can do is tell you how much I love you and how much more Heavenly Father loves you. And you won’t be the only one who wasn’t baptized by his or her father. The Savior Himself was baptized by John the Baptist. Converts are often baptized by missionaries. Sometimes older brothers baptize their younger brothers or sisters. You can ask any worthy priesthood holder who has been ordained a priest or received the Melchizedek Priesthood to baptize you. Why don’t you talk to your mother about it when you get home?”
Michael nodded. Then he went to talk to his friends. He felt good knowing so many people really did care.

I really enjoyed the article “Michaela and the Marshmallows” (May 2009). I had a big argument with one of my closest friends, and I felt alone for weeks. When I sat down and read the article and this sentence: “Remember that no matter what you are going through, there will always be someone there for you,” my whole mind cleared up. Maybe nothing would change, but I knew things would get better.
Katherine S., Utah

A friend shared an experience she had as a small child in a branch of the Church where she was the only child of Primary age. Week after week, her mother held home Primary on the same day and at the same time. She eagerly anticipated sitting on the sofa with her mother and learning the gospel of Jesus Christ and how to live it. Minutes carefully recorded by her mother in a notebook revealed that the home Primary meetings always included prayers, songs, and a lesson.

The desire of this mother’s heart was for her little daughter to develop a testimony of Jesus Christ and to feel the joy of the gospel. She provided her daughter with what had been so important to her as a child. This little girl, now a woman of faith and covenant, looks back on her childhood with deep appreciation for her mother’s enthusiasm and commitment to teach her of the Savior. This mother’s diligence became her daughter’s delight—with an exclamation mark!

Marikina (pop. 120,000), a bustling town nestled between the heights of Quezon City and the foothills of the Sierra Madre mountain range in Rizal Province, had a bleak daybreak on August 9, 1975, a Saturday, as thick and dark clouds hung like a heavy pall over the valley and torrents of rain fell without let-up.
The dismal atmosphere dampened the will to start the day’s activities and kept many people indoors. At the far end of the main thoroughfare of Provident Village where a group was gathered under an improvised shelter, the situation was more appalling than elsewhere in the valley. That morning, at ten to be precise, groundbreaking for the third chapel of the Manila Philippines Stake was to take place—a predicament that made the guests and Marikina Ward members led by Bishop Roberto Cuizon restless as the appointed hour fast approached.
There were long breaks of silence as the group of Latter-day Saints kept track of time. Among them were Elder Smith Griffin (Regional Representative), Philippines Manila Mission President Raymond L. Goodson, former Philippines Manila Mission President Paul S. Rose and Sister Rose, Brother Frederick Samsel (Church building construction supervisor), President Ruben M. Lacanienta (2nd Counselor, Stake Presidency), and myself.
The rain kept falling without any indication of stopping for this very important Church affair, and it was decided that the symbolic groundbreaking be performed under the improvised shelter. The program, therefore, proceeded as scheduled.
Suddenly, after the speakers had finished and the shovels were about to be given, the rain stopped. An opening in the dark sky showed the face of the sun, and the morning became almost as bright as any sunny day. The ground-breaking ceremony started and was finished on schedule—and the rain started falling again immediately thereafter!—Augusto A. Lim

When COVID-19 hit in the spring of 2020, we all worried about how to continue the work. The African refugees are an extremely social and warm people, so the isolation was hard on them. Gone were the large group gatherings in homes of members and African friends alike. In May 2020, we held a ward fast and prayed that Heavenly Father would bless the lives of our African friends both temporally and spiritually and help them come unto Christ.
As was common throughout the Church, our missionaries began teaching online. They started a Facebook page about the Church in the Swahili language.
Our ward mission leader at the time, Brian McCann, said, “As we fasted for the Lord to help Swahili missionary work, in our minds we thought it meant Swahili missionary work in Spokane. But the Lord really showed us the use of technology during COVID-19, and all of a sudden the elders were showing up saying, ‘We’re teaching this person in Norway and this person in Uganda and this person in Kenya.’”
Sifa, an African refugee living in Norway, found the Facebook page and began taking the lessons very early in the morning, Spokane time. Sifa contacted her local missionaries, and together with the help of the missionaries in Spokane, she learned about the restored gospel. She and her son were baptized in Norway in December 2020. Sifa knew people in Uganda from her time as a refugee there, and soon we were teaching 20 people in a Ugandan refugee settlement.

Since I could not escape my newfound notoriety, I decided to create opportunities that would add laughter to potentially uncomfortable conversations. I took a chance and dressed up as a nametag-wearing missionary for Halloween (a costume holiday celebrated in October). I knew this was a risky endeavor as I could be completely ridiculed, but I had a feeling that doing so would show that I was sure of my beliefs.

The risk paid off. Walking around campus as a missionary made everyone smile and sparked lively role-playing sessions. I broke some stereotypes and made some new friends.

Stringy orange chunks went skittering across the road. Nothing was left of the carefully-carved pumpkin face except a lonely candle stuck in the pulpy mess near my feet.
“C’mon, throw yours,” Mike said, wiping his hands on his pants.
“Do it!” Jeff urged.
Kevin pushed my shoulder. “Hurry up! Smash it, and let’s get out of here.”
My friends stood in a circle around me. The pumpkin felt smooth and cold in my hands. It was heavy, even though the stringy insides had been pulled out and holes carved for a silly face. I remembered how long it had taken me to clean and carve my own pumpkin at home, scooping out the slippery seeds and carefully slicing out sections for its eyes, nose, and mouth.
But this pumpkin wasn’t mine. I had grabbed it off a porch tonight after trick-or-treating, then waited impatiently for house lights to blink off one by one. It wasn’t my idea to smash the pumpkins, but my friends said it was great fun. They had each swiped one too.
“Everyone does it,” Mike had said. “It’s a Halloween tradition. Nobody can see you—it’s too dark out. Just hold the pumpkin up as high as you can and smash it on the road.”
“It doesn’t hurt anyone,” Kevin added. “It’s just an old pumpkin. It’ll be rotten soon anyway.”
They were right. It was great fun. My pumpkin-smashing sent chunks flying farther than anyone else’s. I laughed out loud when some gooey pieces splatted on Jeff’s pant legs. Jeff pushed me backward into some pumpkin mess on the road. Mike grabbed a pumpkin chunk and plopped it on top of Jeff’s costume wig. Soon pumpkin pieces were flying everywhere.
A porch light switched on suddenly, and a man’s voice growled from the lit doorway. “Hey you boys! What’s going on out there?”
A small figure in pajamas, clutching a teddy bear, stood by the man’s side. “Daddy, where’s my pumpkin?” asked a tiny voice. “Did the boys break my pumpkin?”
We raced through neighborhood yards until we were safely out of sight, finally crouching behind shrubs to see if anyone was following us. “Watch out! Over there!” But it was only a tree shadow stretching its long black body over the ground toward us. The wind moaned and sighed. Clawlike branches scratched unearthly noises against rooftops. I gulped deep breaths of cold night air and tried to steady my trembling legs. This was scary—but exciting too!
We listened for police sirens or neighbors yelling for us to come out. A dog howled faintly in the distance. An airplane droned in the dark overhead. But there were no footsteps, no searching flashlights, no angry voices. We were safe. We laughed, patting each other on the back. This had been easy!
But something followed me as I walked home. Something invisible wrapped its long, icy fingers around my head and invaded my ears. It was sneakier and more chilling than any make-believe Halloween ghost.
It was a tiny voice crying over a pumpkin—the one I had smashed.
The voice chased me all the way back to my house. I quietly climbed the front steps and sat down in the dark shadows. My own pumpkin scowled at me from the porch railing as if it knew that I had smashed one of its relatives. For fun. Because “everyone did it.”
The front door opened, and Dad poked his head outside, whistling for our dog. “Hey, kiddo, did you have a good time trick-or-treating? Did you get any candy for your old dad?”
I handed him my bag full of treats. “Here. Take what you want. I’m not hungry.”
Dad sat down beside me. He pulled a sucker out of the bag, unwrapped it, and pointed it at my pumpkin on the railing. “You know, Son, in a way you’re a little bit like that pumpkin over there.”
“Sure, Dad,” I said. “I have an empty space where my brains should be.”
Dad rolled the sucker over his tongue. “There’s nothing wrong with your brain—when you use it,” he said, picking at some pumpkin goo still clinging to my pants. “I meant that there’s a ‘candle’ inside you, too—a bright spark that lights up your face and makes you who you are. It’s a pure, clear, beautiful light that’s inside every person. Maybe it shines a little less when they do something they’re ashamed of, but it never goes out completely.” He gently turned my face toward his. “Your light looks a little dim tonight.”
“It’s a wonder it didn’t go out like a smashed pumpkin,” I said. “A broken pumpkin just lying in the road, waiting for a car to run over it. A pumpkin that didn’t even belong to me.”
I stood up and walked over to the railing. My hands circled the perfectly-decorated pumpkin that had taken me a whole hour to clean and carve. I picked it up and started down the front steps.
“Where are you going?” Dad asked.
I turned to face him. “A little voice is calling me,” I choked out.
Dad studied his sucker. “A voice?”
“Of a little boy in pajamas.”
Dad smiled. “Follow that voice,” he said. “Your light is getting brighter every second.”

Allison Bowman of Chandler, Arizona, explains her way of saying no. “I don’t preach; I just say no. You can’t be rude or they’ll think you’re stuck up. I just let them know what my standards are, and that’s the way I am. They can’t change me.

“When I moved to Arizona, there were some older guys in my debate class who wanted me to ditch class and go out to lunch with them. I told them, ‘No, I don’t do that.’

“They used to ask me to go on dates too. Every time they’d ask me, I’d tell them, ‘No, I can’t date until I’m 16.’ I must have explained it 100 times. But now they kind of look out for me. We’re all still good friends.”

You’re Rosalie Pakiding, you’re 18 years old, and you’ve just graduated from high school. You’ve been accepted at the University of San Carlos in your native Cebu, Philippines, and you’ve decided you want to major in political science. You’ve got the world in front of you, and you can’t wait to tackle college. You’ve got big plans.
Then the next thing you know, you’re withdrawing from classes and telling your family and friends you’ve decided not to go to school for six months. Attending school right now just doesn’t feel right. You say it’s a feeling you have, but you really know it’s the Holy Ghost speaking to you. It doesn’t make sense to many people. But it does to you, and that’s all that matters.
So you’re left waiting for the second semester to start, which is still six months away. Half a year with free time on your hands. What do you do? You could apply for a job, so you check around to see what’s available. You’re offered a position working in a factory assembling parts to telephones. But working all day means you’d miss your institute classes, and since you enjoyed seminary so much when you were in high school, you turn the job down because, as you say, “Institute is more important.”
Then some things happen that help you understand why you had the feelings you did about going to school. It begins to make more sense.
You meet with Mrs. Itomay from your neighborhood. Her six-year-old daughter, Queenie Ann, is in kinder-one in school, but she has some troubles. She was born with a defect in her tongue that limits her ability to speak. Mrs. Itomay works all day, and she is worried. She knows Queenie Ann needs a tutor who can give her individual attention in the areas that are hard for her. But Mrs. Itomay doesn’t know who could provide that help. To compound matters, she doesn’t have much money to pay a tutor.
So you look at Mrs. Itomay and say, “I think I have an idea.”
You volunteer to be Queenie Ann’s tutor, and Mrs. Itomay is so relieved. What little money she does have she offers to you, but you turn it down. Although you could use the money you realize those seminary lessons about service really did sink in.
Suddenly you’ve got things to do, and life is going to be a bit different. It seems a little odd that instead of sitting in college classes as you planned, it’s you and this six-year-old working on the alphabet.
But you settle into a routine. You do your household chores in the morning and then pick up Queenie Ann. You have word exercises for her to do, you help her write her letters, and you take her to school. She’s a bit of a slow learner. But when she writes out a letter or says a word, you feel so good inside. You also discover she likes to sing. She’s shy around strangers, but you’ve quickly become her best friend. She sings to you a lot. Things are going so well that Queenie asks you if you’ll teach her more. You can tell she’s really learning. And she seems very happy. Whether you’re learning words or stopping for a soda pop break at a store outside the school, it doesn’t matter. She just likes being with you. And you know what? You like it too.
“I’ve learned to love her,” you say, not the least bit surprised by your response.
Taking a semester off, you also figured to have some free time when you weren’t with Queenie Ann. But then your ward, Mandaue II, is asked to produce a road show about the Book of Mormon for a stake activity. It’s a big project, and your bishop is looking for a person to serve as the scriptwriter. Everybody is so busy with school except you, so you volunteer for the assignment. Again, it just feels right.
There have been times when you wondered if you made the right decision, delaying school and everything. You’ve watched while friends progressed in school without you. You’ve asked your Heavenly Father for a confirmation that what you were doing was what he wanted and what was best for you. Eventually those feelings of doubt leave and you say, “I understand now.” And you really do.
Your testimony continues to grow, and you are so excited when you learn new gospel concepts. You’re a bit short on money, but that doesn’t seem to matter. “The knowledge I have learned from institute class cannot be exchanged for the money I could have earned if I had worked,” you explain when someone asks why you’re doing this. Then you continue. “I’m very happy about it.”
It’s then that you look down at Queenie Ann, who’s holding your hand. She looks up at you while squinting in the hot Philippines sun. She smiles, and as you smile back you realize that while dropping out of school for one semester would not be the right decision for most people, it was one of the best decisions you’ve ever made.

When Karl woke up, he jumped right out of bed. Usually he liked to stay curled up in the covers until his mother called him for breakfast, but today was special: today he started school. Karl could hardly wait to learn to read and write. And his friend Joey would be starting school too.
Karl put on a clean shirt and trousers and slicked his hair with water from the well. Then he took the milk pail his mother had packed his lunch in. He walked carefully along the dirt road so he wouldn’t scuff his shoes. When he reached the one-room wooden schoolhouse, he slid into a seat beside Joey.
The schoolmaster was a stern-looking man with bushy eyebrows. He called the classes up one by one to recite their lessons. Karl studied his primer so he wouldn’t make any mistakes. Soon he could read, “B-a, ba, b-e, be, b-i, bi, b-o, bo, b-u, bu.”
At lunchtime he and Joey ate beside the brook that ran by the schoolhouse and played with the other boys until the schoolmaster rang the bell to call them inside. When all the boys and girls were seated, the schoolmaster called out two names: “Karl Rytting and Joseph Hoagland, please come forward.”
Karl felt his insides churn. He hadn’t had time to study his afternoon lessons. What if he made a mistake? But when he and Joey reached the front of the room, the schoolmaster asked only one question. “I have been told that you boys are Mormons,” he said. “Is that true?”
Karl’s mouth was dry and his knees shook, but he looked right at the schoolmaster and said, “Yes, it is true.” Joey did the same.
“Then you must go home. We do not allow Mormons in our school.”
Karl fought back the tears as he picked up his coat and milk pail. As he and Joey walked back along the dusty road, he began to cry.
Soon Joey turned into the path that led toward his house, and Karl continued on toward his. When he walked in the door, his mother asked, “Karl, what’s wrong? Why are you home from school so soon? Are you sick?”
“No, Mother,” Karl answered. “The schoolmaster said Joey and I can’t go to school because we are Mormons.” He felt his tears welling up again.
“Oh, Karl, I am so sorry,” his mother said as she held him close. “We knew when we were baptized that some people would not understand. But the true gospel of Jesus Christ is worth anything we have to give up.”
“I know,” Karl said, crying into his mother’s skirt.
Then a voice came from the corner of the room. It was Grandfather Jansson, who had first brought the missionaries to their home two years ago. “You can still learn to read if you want to,” he said.
“How can I learn to read if I can’t go to school?” Karl asked.
Grandfather Jansson smiled. “I will teach you,” he said. “We will read the Bible together. Would you like that?”
“Yes, very much.”
Grandfather opened the Bible and beckoned for Karl to stand by his chair. His finger pointed at the words as he said them: “In the beginning was the Word” (John 1:1).
“In the beginning was the Word,” Karl repeated, looking at the letters. It was a good beginning, after all.