Gospel Story Finder

On one occasion I was trying to help a woman see her husband more truthfully and compassionately instead of so accusingly. I told her I would begin describing her husband and his situation as I saw them, and then I would ask her to take over and continue with her observations. I began by mentioning some of his problems and limitations, and then started listing his strengths. Then I asked her to take over. She described how good he was with the children, how helpful he was in the ward, how much he liked people generally.
Suddenly she looked at me with shock on her face: “Do you know what I see? I see the man I married!” I explained that he had been there all along, but that she had ceased to see his strengths because of her exaggerated attention to his weaknesses.
She then looked at her husband, and as her head fell onto his shoulder she sobbed, “I’m so sorry for the way I have blamed you and treated you all these years. Can you ever forgive me?”
She had come into that session feeling sorry for herself and for the way her husband had mistreated her. But she left sorrowing over the way she had treated him. As she admitted the truth to herself, her heart softened, leading her to a sincere desire to change.

Harold B. Lee learned to recognize the Spirit at an early age. One day he started toward some rundown sheds, but a voice called his name and told him not to go there. Harold obeyed. He continued to follow the Spirit throughout his life, such as when he led the Church Welfare Program. He also led the Church department that developed learning materials to help members recognize the Spirit in their own lives.

At first glance, Dusti Bills appears to be an average, confident 19-year-old who loves animals and Chinese food. You’d never suspect that she wasn’t expected to walk. Or that she didn’t cry until she was one. Or that she didn’t talk until she was three. Or that she has a disability that leaves her in almost constant pain.
Dusti was born with cerebral palsy, but she doesn’t let that stop her from doing the things she enjoys. And one thing Dusti loves is serving others.
Service is something Dusti, a member of the Riverton Utah First Ward, strongly believes in. When her brother was on his mission in Peru, he mentioned in one of his letters that some of the newly baptized members lacked appropriate clothing to wear to church. Dusti decided to help.
For one of her Value Projects, Dusti asked her friends to donate dresses that the Peruvian Saints could wear to church. When others found out what she was doing, clothing of all kinds began pouring in to the Bills’s home. After collecting and sorting, Dusti filled several suitcases to take with her family when they traveled to Peru to pick up her brother. The bags were crammed with everything from white baptismal clothes to suits for potential missionaries.
Dusti’s help didn’t stop there. Her new wheelchair had arrived a few days before she left Utah, so Dusti was more than willing to leave her old chair at the mission home in Lima. It would go to a woman who recently had a stroke and was no longer able to walk.
“I was just glad someone who needed it got to use it,” Dusti says.
Along with finding grateful Saints who were thrilled with their new clothes, Dusti found a little bit of herself, too.
“You could tell that the members were humble and they really believed in the Church and Jesus Christ. That made me think, I do know that the Church is the right one,” says Dusti. “I believe that Jesus Christ has a plan for everybody.”
Apparently Dusti thinks a big part of her plan includes service, as it is often the basis of what she does. For another Value Project, Dusti made arrangements for her ward’s Young Women group to volunteer at an elementary school for severely disabled children. Dusti had already spent countless hours there as a volunteer, and she wanted her friends to have the experience as well. Dusti feels a special connection with the children she works with, and is sensitive and understanding of their needs.
“I know the children are smart, and they’re thinking of stuff. They just can’t tell people,” Dusti explains.
Dusti’s first thought is to serve, but when she’s not organizing clothing drives or working with disabled preschoolers, she likes playing with her dog, Puck, and her bird, Kiwi. She also has two horses, two cats, a hamster, and a goat. She enjoys acting and playing bass clarinet, and she places high priority on getting things done.
Yet in the background, the surgeries, operations, and medication are a very real part of Dusti’s life. She tries hard to maintain a positive attitude.
Dusti remembers a time when she was 13 and came to terms with her condition. “I thought, Why am I in so much pain? Why does this have to happen to me? I just thought that it was part of the plan for me, and that I am going to know why some day.”
Dusti may not know now why she has to attend therapy sessions every week, or why she can’t go to the mall without her wheelchair. But she does know God has a plan for her life, and she knows that serving others is what brings her true happiness. She lives a life full of faith, determination, and service. And that’s anything but average.

It was the fifth period of my first day in high school. That meant biology, and as I sat down on my hard plastic chair, I recognized one of the boys at my lab table as Casey, the school’s best water polo player. I couldn’t believe I had a class with Casey!
The two boys on my left looked familiar too—I had seen them hanging around with the mob of baseball players during lunch. The last member of our little biology “team” was Mike, scholar-athlete of the year and an important contributor to both the volleyball and tennis teams. I felt like I was sitting among the who’s who list of our high school athletes.
I soon discovered that popularity and athletic prowess weren’t very good indicators of character. Surprise! The boys were nice to people, but the crude way they talked made me squirm in my seat.
At first I was rather timid, afraid to speak up to these “big men on campus,” but as the school year progressed I voiced my discomfort more and more often. They just laughed good-naturedly at my protests.
One day, out of the blue, Miles—one of the baseball players—turned his freckled face toward me and asked, “Kim, are you Mormon?” I was completely taken aback. Where had that question come from?
“Yes, why?” I asked. Miles just shrugged his shoulders and said matter-of-factly, “I don’t know. It’s just that you can always tell when a girl is Mormon.”
Now I was even more perplexed. I knew that I had the gospel in my life and that it set me apart from the rest of the world. But I didn’t think I acted noticeably different from any of the other girls in my class.
“How can you tell?” I asked, really wanting to know.
The other guys at the table were leaning forward, listening intently and murmuring in agreement. “I don’t know,” Miles said. “You can just tell when a girl is Mormon. They’re different.” All of the baseball caps bobbed up and down in unanimous assent.
Miles never said whether being able to tell a girl was LDS was a good thing or a bad thing—it was just a fact. I took it as a compliment that my behavior set me apart as a member of Christ’s church. From then on, I have tried to live my life so that people will realize there is something different about me because I’m a Mormon.

Inspired by a story in the June 1987 issue of the New Era, the youth of the Richmond Branch, Lexington Kentucky Stake, decided to build a garage as a service project and fund raiser.
In spite of sunburns, splinters, and smashed thumbs, over 20 teenagers spent two days in hot July weather framing and sheathing walls, raising trusses, and subroofing the structure. They not only raised the shell of the garage, but they earned a substantial amount of money for future activities. Because of their hard work the youth received a lot of coverage from the local newspaper and were featured on a Lexington television station.
The best reward from the project, however, was the sense of unity it gave the youth in this branch. Several less active youth and teenagers who had just moved into the area were involved, and one participant said the best thing about the project was that “it brought us closer together.”

Nadene Thomas, who leads the mission with her husband, shared one such experience. Two sister missionaries invited her to meet with Susi, because, like her own son, Susi’s son was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes.
Sister Thomas said, “I believe Susi moved her feet closer to God because of the heavy burden that she was now feeling daily, keeping her son alive. Susi knew when I looked into her eyes that I understood the gravity of her new caregiver responsibility. Diabetes never sleeps. We FaceTimed Zack who was diagnosed at age three and has grown into a strong and healthy young man. As he spoke of his zest for life and talked of future goals, Susi felt hope for the future.”
Sister Thomas continued, “We opened the Book of Mormon and I shared some of my favourite scriptures that carried me through the hardest years of my life. We cried together, we laughed together, and we felt the Spirit together. The words filled us because they are the Saviour’s words and we rejoiced that we are not alone.”

In January 2001 my husband, Peter, became unemployed, and shortly thereafter our third child was born. When Peter found a job 500 miles (800 km) away, we made a big move. And although he enjoyed the job, the year was very bad economically and we had barely enough money to pay for rent and groceries. Our small food storage quickly vanished, and Christmas was approaching. Then Peter’s employer gave us an unexpected “Christmas bonus”—all the employees in Peter’s department were declared unemployed for one month.
Thus, my husband was again out of work. But the Lord did not forget us. Peter was asked to help several members, and we were supported financially through this work. We were not forgotten for Christmas either. The sister missionaries rang our doorbell one day and presented us with a package on behalf of an anonymous family in our ward. When we opened it we found many lovingly wrapped gifts, each bearing the name of a member of our family. We also found an envelope containing extra money—as if the presents had not been enough!
On Christmas Eve the doorbell rang again. A package on the doorstep again contained nicely wrapped presents for each of us. We were very happy. I thanked our Heavenly Father for the little miracles He had provided. And I was grateful to the members who were so loving, even though we had lived there for only five months.
We do not know who helped us during those difficult times, and I can’t help but think of the Savior’s words: “For I was an hungred, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink” (Matt. 25:35).

I have a friend who served as a priests quorum adviser. The boys and the adviser planned a kayak activity at Flaming Gorge, Utah. After some initial planning, one of the quorum members quietly approached the adviser and said: “We better not plan a kayak trip. Mike won’t be able to go because he can’t paddle.” Mike was partially paralyzed on his right side. When he learned that the quorum was not going on the activity because of him, he told the boys, “I want to go. I can paddle.” The quorum adviser placed his hand on Mike’s shoulder and said, “OK, Mike. You’re my paddle partner.”

So from January to August, the boys built their kayaks. They departed to the reservoir in the first week in August.

Rhythm, togetherness, and teamwork are essential to keep a kayak in a straight line. Mike and his partner had more trouble than the others getting their rhythm and strokes coordinated. Mike had almost no stroke of consequence on his right side. His adviser had to compensate by paddling easy on the left and hard on the right.

After several hours of learning to work together, Mike said to his adviser, “You wouldn’t happen to have a Band-Aid, would you?” The adviser pulled his wallet out and gave Mike a Band-Aid. He placed it over a big water blister that had just popped in the crook of his hand between his thumb and his first finger. The hand and arm that was little used now had to help hold the paddle.

Several hours later, Mike turned again to his adviser, who was in the rear cockpit, and said, “Do you have any more bandages?” The adviser pulled out several and handed them to Mike. By now the crook between Mike’s right thumb and his first finger was becoming raw. Mike applied the Band-Aids and resumed paddling.

The next day the crew set out again. The adviser encouraged Mike to rest from paddling and let his hand have a respite. The words fell on deaf ears. Instantly, Mike was paddling as he had the day before.

This day found a usual midday and afternoon wind blowing directly at the flotilla of kayak paddlers. It required stronger strokes and took much energy and time. Wincing from the hurt, Mike continued to paddle. Each suggestion that he rest intensified his will to carry his load.

Throughout the week, Mike persisted in holding his own. Though his hand was as raw as hamburger and awful to look at, he would not give up.

During the week’s trip, the conversation with his senior companion often centered around his desire to go on a mission. Repeatedly Mike asked, “I hope they will let me go on a mission. Do you think my problem will prevent me from going?” Mike walks with a noticeable limp of his right leg. He has a firm handshake with the left hand, but his right hand doesn’t open up all of the way.

How many who have no visible blemish have a heart like Mike’s? How many young men with not a single cell out of place fail to soften their hearts and desire to serve the Lord? How many who have so much forfeit their blessings because of selfish desires or inability to set lofty priorities?

My adviser friend said, “Mike taught eleven others that though one may appear to be a little less physically capable, the heart makes the difference in those who choose to overcome many odds and set a standard for others to follow.”

Mike fulfilled an honorable mission to California and is now working in his hometown.

The gas shortage has a lot of people stalled these days, but Jeff Ricks, 19, of Rexburg, Idaho, is not one of them. He found his own solution to the problem by simply building a car that requires no gasoline.
Jeff’s electric car began as a 1959 sedan that he purchased for $20. He repaired the interior himself and sent the car to a local body shop for a paint job.
Then with the knowledge of electronics he possessed after a year of high school electronics, a semester of college electronics, and hours of research in the Ricks College library, Jeff set to work to equip his car with an electric motor. In the end he converted a generator into a traction motor because a surplus motor couldn’t be located. His family helped in the often frustrating search for the correct combination of electrical parts, and after much experimentation the first successful electric car in southeastern Idaho was born.
Jeff’s oil-free, gas-free, tune-up-free, pollution-free wonder is capable of traveling 30 miles at 30 miles-per-hour between rechargings. He estimates its present sale value at $3,000. “But it’s not for sale,” he is quick to add.
Jeff is an elder in the Rexburg Second Ward, Rexburg Idaho Stake.

And girls, don’t underestimate your influence on your brothers and your sweethearts. As you live worthy of their love and respect, you can help greatly to determine that they will be clean and virtuous, successful and happy. Always remember that you can go much further on respect than on popularity. I was reading the other day of a report of a conversation between two young prisoners of war in Vietnam. One said, “I am sick of war, bombers, destruction, prison camps, and everything and everybody.”

“I feel much like that myself,” said the other. “But there is a girl back home who is praying that I will come back. She cares, and it really helps me endure all these atrocities.”

The next series is long, but I have included it for two good reasons: first, we can learn much about life from someone who has faced death, and second, we can learn about writing journal entries from someone who does it so well. Because Bonnie has given us both event and feeling in her journal, we respond.
“October 12, 1974. Although I didn’t talk directly to them [her parents], the news I heard shocked me. … They were at Sunshine Terrace with my grandpa who had suffered a stroke. … He was in a coma and was partially paralyzed. I really didn’t think about death then, because Gramps had suffered from two strokes before, and I thought he would come out of it.
“Just the same, I think I felt the pain of death. For a split second I pictured a funeral, the viewing, the lines, the people, and a coffin. I quickly erased the thought from my mind, wiped the tears from my eyes, and tried to think of better things.”
“October 16, 1974. Chris [a sister who lives next door to her at school] and I called home today. We couldn’t wait any longer. Mom had just gotten back from Sunshine Terrace when the phone rang. Grandpa was getting steadily worse, and they didn’t see how he made it through the day. He was gasping for each breath, and his hands were turning blue. … The family had gathered that afternoon and had a prayer.”
“October 17, 1974. My Grandpa died last night. It seems strange to write those words, because the full impact hasn’t hit me yet. It was his birthday the day before—77 years old. … The viewing is tomorrow night, and we are planning on leaving right after classes. … I don’t think I see my grandfather gone yet, but when the time comes to seal the coffin and tell him goodbye, I will know. I am so afraid.”
“October 19, 1974. People kept pouring in, most of them elderly. Some had to be assisted in, and others hobbled in on their own. My Grandpa’s brother seemed to be taking it the hardest. He walked over to the coffin and laid his hand on Grandpa’s chest. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he bade farewell to his last living brother. He reminded me so much of Grandpa, it nearly killed me to look at him. His stiff, assured walk and the way he carried himself—the resemblance spoke for itself. …
“It was almost over. Tears fell freely, and as the mortician sealed the casket, I realized that I would not see him in the years ahead. I didn’t want to believe it. As they wheeled the casket into the chapel, I wanted to scream, ‘Bring him back,’ but the lump in my throat allowed barely enough room to breathe. …”
“October 20, 1974. Along the way back to school was the Lewiston Cemetery, so we decided to stop one more time. … We parked the car and hurriedly headed toward the grave. Leaves crackled under our feet and a slight breeze tossed others around. … As I walked around the grave my eyes spotted the temporary marker. ‘Hyrum Sidney Karren, Born October 16, 1897; Died October 17, 1974. …’ I’m beginning to understand a little better now about life and death. …”
“October 23, 1974. I’m getting over the shock of Grandpa’s death now, and only when I think too deeply does it become a reality again.
“What a week! I’ve never had so many tests in my whole life, and all at one time. … So ends another week of mid-terms, and school must go on.”
Bonnie MeyerSmithfield, Utah
She might have added, “and so must life,” for that is the understanding she comes to, and her journal captures that feeling.

In 1982, the second Christmas after we were married, Cleto and I decided to establish family traditions. Because we were the first members of the Church in our families, our former Christmas celebrations—though they brought us happy memories—lacked genuine compassion and service. Moreover, our first baby, eight-month-old Diego, was reason enough to improve ourselves in this way.
We were quite busy with university studies, household chores, Church callings, and our crash course in first-time parenthood, but we still devoted ourselves to preparing for a special occasion. We used each family home evening in December to make decorations and to come to a better understanding of the symbols and colors we saw everywhere. We also planned on preparing a simple dinner, and we thought up useful and inexpensive gifts. As we undertook a scripture study program, we realized that the true change in our manner of celebrating Christ’s birth would involve choosing a gift for the Savior.
We wondered, “What do you give someone who has heaven and earth at His disposal?” The scriptures provide the answer, declaring that anything we do “unto one of the least of these” (Matthew 25:40) we do unto Him. Because Christmas is a season of friendship and a time of love, we wanted to invite a member of the Church to experience the warmth and sweet spirit we felt in our home. We looked hard to find someone who needed some cheering up and whom helping could be our Christmas present to the Savior.
Each time we invited a ward or stake brother or sister to our home, we were happy to discover that the person was already involved in other activities. But Christmas Eve soon arrived, and we still had not found someone with whom to share our Christmas.
Resigned to our failure, we were getting ready for dinner when the doorbell rang. When I opened the door, I was elated to find a friend we had not seen for some time. Avelar had recently gone through the disappointment of an upsetting separation. He was sad and alone and had felt a strong desire to be with us.
We received Avelar with love, and he told us that he had found the environment he needed to be consoled in the midst of his trials. We told him of our preparations to serve and help someone in need so that he could recognize the Lord knew him and loved him.
For all of us, it was wonderful to realize that the Savior had sent us someone we could not find: our friend Avelar. We realized the overriding importance of relationships among Heavenly Father’s sons and daughters. For that reason, on subsequent Christmases we and our three children always remember that the purpose of the season is to strengthen bonds of unity, love, and friendship.

“Will you conduct the flag ceremony at the Blue and Gold Banquet, Kevin?” asked Sister Sandberg, the Cub Scout den leader.
Kevin chewed on his lower lip and lowered his gaze. “I—I d-d-don’t kn-know.”
Someone snickered. Kevin studied his shoelaces miserably, wishing that he could sink into the floor.
“That’s all right,” she said quickly. “You think about it and let me know at our next meeting.”
Kevin nodded.
“Let’s start making our invitations,” Sister Sandberg said. She handed out construction paper, scissors, and markers.
When Kevin got home that evening, he told his parents about the den leader’s request. “I d-don’t think I c-c-can do it,” he said.
His parents exchanged concerned glances. “I think Sister Sandberg’s suggestion to think about it this week is a good one,” Father said at last. “We’ll be happy with whatever you choose.”
Kevin did little else but think about it. He wanted to lead the flag ceremony. He loved hearing the Pledge of Allegiance. He could even say it—if he was by himself and taking his time. But he couldn’t lead a big group of people in saying it, could he?
During that week, Kevin prayed about it every night. The answer he received was clear: You can do it.
At the next den meeting, he told Sister Sandberg that he wanted to lead the flag ceremony.
“Good!” she gave him a quick hug. “I’m proud of your decision, Kevin.”
Kevin spent every moment he could practicing. He also asked his speech therapist at school to help him. They went over the words slowly and carefully until he felt confident saying them. By the night of the Blue and Gold Banquet, Kevin figured he had rehearsed at least a zillion times. He smiled, thinking that he could probably say the Pledge of Allegiance backward. Now, if only I can say it without stuttering, he told himself. That’s all that matters.
He knelt by his bed and prayed once more. When he rose from his knees, a warm feeling settled in his heart. He could do it! He knew he could! Heavenly Father wouldn’t let him down. He was smiling as he ran down the stairs.
“Are you ready to go, M-Mom?” he asked. “I d-don’t want to b-be late.”
His mother looked up from where she was helping his little sister zip up her coat. “You look happy.”
“I am,” he said. “T-Tonight is going to be awesome!”
“Just remember to take your time,” Mother said while straightening the yellow kerchief around his neck. “It doesn’t matter if you have to start over.”
“I won’t have to,” Kevin predicted. “I’ve p-prayed about it, and I’m sure that everything’s g-going to be all right.”
Kevin’s father walked into the kitchen. He hugged Kevin. “Good luck, son. We love you.”
“I know.” Kevin returned the hug, then hugged his mother and sister.
He didn’t eat much of the dinner at the banquet, even though he usually liked hot dogs and potato salad. He kept thinking about his part in the program. The warm feeling he’d received after his prayer had stayed with him.
Then the dinner was over, and the Cubmaster introduced Kevin and sat down.
Kevin stood and walked slowly to the stand. He wiped his wet palms against his pants. “W-Will …” He looked out at the audience with horrified eyes. He took a deep breath and started again. “W-W-Will …”
He saw his mother clasp her hands tightly in her lap. He knew she was silently praying for him. He tried again, and again the words stuck to his lips, refusing to come out. Why did it have to happen now? He’d worked so hard, practiced so long! In his prayer, he’d had a strong feeling that everything would be all right. And now he was stuttering worse than ever!
Eric got up and started forward, followed by David and Hyrum. Soon all the Cub Scouts except those carrying the flag were standing beside Kevin.
Eric slipped his arm around Kevin’s shoulders. “It’s all right,” he whispered.
Kevin cleared his throat. “W-Will the audience p-please stand?” He paused while the color guard posted the colors. “P-Please repeat the Pledge of Allegiance.”
The audience started reciting the words. “I pledge allegiance to the flag …”
Kevin faltered once or twice, but his friends were there, encouraging him. When he took his seat, Sister Sandberg gave his shoulder a squeeze and smiled at him. He smiled back at her.
The rest of the evening passed in a blur. He’d done it! He’d stood before a group of people and led them in the Pledge of Allegiance.
Before climbing into bed that night, Kevin knelt beside it and folded his arms. His prayer had been answered—not in the way he’d prayed for, but in a very special way, and he was eager to thank Heavenly Father for helping him.

When Brian Breshears and his friends started discussing religion and the purpose of life, they always seemed to come up short on answers. In fact, they often felt that things were way over their heads. But they knew somebody, somewhere, had to know the truth. That’s when the name Mickelle Thompson popped into Brian’s head. Of course, he thought, Mickelle has an answer for everything.
Several hours later, Brian and his friends met Mickelle and her friend Lindsey Miller at a local restaurant. At the time, this scene in Chesapeake, Virginia, made for an interesting picture: two clean-cut, LDS teenage girls with open scriptures on one side of the table. Three scruffy-looking boys, sipping coffee and smoking cigarettes, on the other side.
That picture, however, has changed. Today Brian is sitting on Lindsey and Mickelle’s side of the table.
Brian’s transition actually began several months earlier in drama class. As usual, Brian started his day with a glance at the call board, a bulletin board drama students at Great Bridge High School must check three times a day to note auditions and rehearsals. Usually it contains pretty run-of-the-mill stuff, but something different caught Brian’s eye that morning—a colorful flyer announcing that Mickelle Thompson was willing to answer questions about a recent 60 Minutes episode featuring her church’s prophet. Brian hadn’t seen the interview, but he knew Mickelle was LDS. All the kids in drama called her “the Mormon.” “I saw her at lunch that day and asked her about the interview,” says Brian. Mickelle gave him a videotape of the interview, and he watched it that night.
“I was a little bit curious and wanted to know more,” Brian says. His curiosity led to more questions—questions which Mickelle and Lindsey always seemed to know the answers to, no matter how or when Brian asked them.
Before the meeting at the restaurant, Mickelle had been the center of attention at a drama cast party. “Mickelle was sitting off to the side, and I started talking to her, and everyone started joking around about her being Mormon,” Brian says. “We asked her about anything. I remember she was so calm and collected with it; she answered our questions seriously.”
Then there were the conversations over lunch at school with other friends who had seen Mickelle’s note. “We’d sit by the wall, and I’d bring my scriptures every day and just talk about all sorts of things,” says Mickelle. “I would go home, and with my dad I’d stay up late at night and look up things in the scriptures to answer their questions.”
When Brian met up with Mickelle and Lindsey at the restaurant a couple of weeks later, he was once again impressed. “I had gone to a lot of churches before that and asked questions and they couldn’t really answer them. But Lindsey and Mickelle were quick to answer my questions.”
Brian revelled in their responses. “He just soaked everything in,” Lindsey says. And he did so for good reason. “At the time, mentally, I didn’t know who I was. I was totally lost,” Brian says. “I felt like I had hit bottom. I guess that’s when they came along. I didn’t know what I believed. I didn’t have anything to hang on to. They were there when I needed answers.”
School ended for the year, and slowly Brian started coming to church. He asked more questions and continued his friendship with Lindsey and Mickelle. For months he went to Sunday meetings and Wednesday night activities. “Things started to change in my life the more I went to church,” Brian says.
By the end of the summer, Lindsey knew that Brian was up to a bigger challenge—the early-morning seminary type of challenge. But getting Brian to wake up at five every morning wouldn’t be easy. So Lindsey made a deal with him.
She had six books to finish for a summer reading assignment, and she told Brian that she’d finish her homework in the last three days of their summer break if he’d go to seminary and be present 80 percent of the time.
Brian didn’t expect Lindsey to come through. “I said, ‘That’s an easy deal. I’ll take that one,’” Brian says. “But come the first day of seminary, I was sitting there.”
Eventually, Brian had asked almost every question possible, and Lindsey knew it was time for her to ask a question. Brian said yes, and soon the local missionaries, Elders Vasas and Chugg, taught him the first discussion.
They began at a normal pace. Then one night, the missionaries showed Brian a video about the early Saints and their struggles to build a temple. Brian had never asked much about the early history of the Church and was amazed at what he learned. “I was totally taken back by this video and the dedication shown by the Church through all these trials,” Brian says. “When the video was over, I said, ‘I want to speed the discussions up. I’d like to get baptized.’”
On November 6, 1996, the day before his birthday, Brian entered the waters of baptism. Thirty nonmember friends came to his baptism. New friends from seminary and church filled the chapel. Of course, Lindsey and Mickelle were there too. Just about everyone who had answered Brian’s questions in the past six months was there to see him make this covenant.
“My baptism day was the most awesome experience of my life because I had so much to be wiped clean,” says Brian. “It was the most releasing feeling I’d ever had to know that I could be forgiven.”
Brian’s future is looking up. So are Lindsey Miller’s and Mickelle Thompson’s. While Brian found the gospel, Lindsey and Mickelle found the joy that comes from sharing it.
“I’ve learned how to use the scriptures a whole lot more and share them with other people. It’s really not a hard thing to do,” Mickelle says.
Lindsey says, “When I got to know Brian, I didn’t really think he would be likely to join the Church. I don’t know how a person could have been in more trouble. He went from the very bottom to the very top. I’ve now learned that you can try to share the gospel with anybody.”
Right now Brian is waiting for his mission call to share the gospel with “just about anybody.” Already, he’s started serving the Lord through missionary work. He’s given a Book of Mormon to his parents. Lindsey and Mickelle marvel at the example he’s been to other youth in the area as they’ve faced struggles and temptations. “He’s the one setting the example now,” they both echo.
And nothing could be more true for the young man who once sat, full of questions, at a table with two bright girls who seemed to have an answer for everything. Now Brian sits with them and shares the joy that comes from knowing.
Editor’s Note: Brian Breshears is now serving in the Dominican Republic Santo Domingo West Mission.

Raish smiled as she walked out of the chapel. She heard piano music coming from down the hall. It was time for Primary!
“Choose the right way and be happy,” Raish sang with the other children. “I must always choose the right.”
After singing time, Sister Aquino stood at the front of the room. “Does anyone still have their CTR ring?” she asked.
Raish raised her hand. “I do!” she said. “I keep mine in my drawer at home.”
“That’s great, Raish,” Sister Aquino said. “I remember when I was young, my mom always told me, ‘Remember who you are and what you stand for.’ I hope all of you will do your best to choose the right.”
When Raish got home from church, she ran to her drawer and pulled out her CTR ring. She wanted to wear it more often to remind her to choose the right.
The next day at school, Raish carried her lunch to the table where her friends always sat. She always loved talking with Julia and Bituin!
Raish and her friends were laughing about their favorite show when a new girl walked over. She sat down next to Julia. “Hi,” she said quietly. “I’m Imelda.”
“Um, excuse me!” Julia said. “This is our table.”
Imelda stood up. “Oh,” she said quickly. “Sorry.” She looked down at the ground and walked away.
Raish scrunched her forehead. “Why did you say that?” she asked Julia. “We should be nice to her. She’s new, and she probably needs friends.”
“But it’s our table,” Julia said.
“Yeah,” said Bituin.
Raish looked down at her food. She felt bad for Imelda. But she was afraid to say anything more. What if Julia and Bituin got mad at her?
That night, Raish kept thinking about Imelda. She decided to say a prayer. “Heavenly Father, please help me know what to do about my friends. Help me to choose the right.”
As the week went on, Raish looked for Imelda every day during lunch. And every day, she saw Imelda sitting alone. Raish felt sad for her. She wanted to invite Imelda to sit at their table, but could she stand up to Julia and Bituin? Raish just didn’t know what to do.
One day Raish saw Imelda walk by their table. “Look at the new girl,” Julia said loudly. “Her lunch is wrapped in a banana leaf. Gross!”
Bituin laughed. “Her family doesn’t even have money to buy a lunchbox.”
Imelda bit her lip. She started walking faster.
Raish looked at the CTR ring on her finger. She did want to choose the right. Then something else popped into her mind. It was what Sister Aquino had said in Primary. Remember who you are and what you stand for. She wanted to always be kind and stand for the right.
Raish turned to her friends. “Please stop,” she said. “Imelda’s not doing anything to you. Just leave her alone.”
Julia gave Raish a mean look.
Raish stood up. “I’m going to sit with Imelda,” she said. She carried her food to the empty table where Imelda sat. Imelda looked surprised.
“Hi,” Raish said. “I’m sorry we haven’t been very nice to you. I want to be your friend.”
Imelda smiled. “Thanks,” she said softly.
Raish smiled back. She was glad she could be Imelda’s friend. And she was glad that she chose the right.

Old Jerusalem.
Narrow streets—barely wider than alleys—are crowded with people from all over the world: tourists in shorts and sunglasses, priests wearing vestments of various religious orders, young soldiers carrying machine guns, Jewish men and boys wearing skullcaps, and Arabs in flowing robes and shepherd headwear. Some women are dressed in shawls and veils; others are wearing business suits. Little children are darting through the crowd.
As we make our way through the souk (marketplace), the sound of bargaining is everywhere. And the choices are overwhelming. Shopkeepers advertise their goods by lining them out in the street in front of their stores. Wicker baskets are filled with nuts, fruits, and vegetables. Long embroidered dresses hang from overhead. Shelves are filled with religious statues carved from olive wood. There are rows and rows of brass cookware, copper and silver trays, glazed Armenian ceramics, and Persian jugs. And there is an endless array of gold and silver jewelry, sheepskin and leather coats, and exotic oriental rugs.
Someone is making falafel (a fried mixture of spicy ground vegetables); someone else is roasting shish kebab; the smell of fresh bread mingles with the aroma of strange spices. Merchants stand at their doors and invite us inside. Music from various cultures blares from radios.
My wife, Mary, and I stop in a small shop that sells religious items significant to Christians, Jews, and Muslims. As we browse, the shopkeeper—a short, thin Arab man—explains the meaning and use of several items. And he tells us about the Koran.
We decide on our purchase and begin the expected ritual of bargaining on the price. Hoping we’ve settled on a fair amount, we hand the man several crisp, new bills.
He counts them out and surprises us by handing one back.
“You gave me too much,” he explains. The new bills had stuck together. We had overpaid him.
“Thank you,” Mary says. “We appreciate your honesty.”
“Oh, I’m not being honest for you,” the man replies. “I’m being honest for me and my household. I will not buy food for my family with dishonest money!”
As we return to the noisy, crowded street, we realize that we got more than we bargained for—the memory of an Arab friend who wouldn’t sell himself for a crisp, new dollar bill.

I thought back to my first contact with Mormons. It was the summer of my second year in the junior high school, when President Kimball visited Sapporo. I had attended many other churches, but at that meeting, there was something new: a unity of all the members. It seemed strange at the time. At other churches, people came to meetings, sat and listened, and then returned home. At the Mormon church, they all seemed to be working at life, trying to love it and enjoy it in a way the Lord would want them to.
I thought of my second visit among the Mormons, too. That had been November 3 of the same year at the branch Thanksgiving party. My older sister invited me to tag along and told me all of the people there would seem like angels and we would be embarassed just to be in their presence. That’s exactly how they made me feel! I had never been part of such a spiritual, family atmosphere.
From then on I had attended church weekly and everyone welcomed me with outstretched arms and warm hearts. The missionaries taught me about restored gospel truths, and they taught me how to pray to know the truth for myself. No other church had taught me how to pray, but in this church even small children could pray. I read the Book of Mormon daily and prayed about it. Gradually I began to understand my purpose here on earth and what’s important in this life. But I did not feel, yet, that I had a testimony.
In April, the branch started a Young Women program. At first there was only one participant: me! Even when I didn’t go, the teacher would wait for me. That seemed strange, too. Why was she so patient? Why did she wait so long even when she wasn’t sure I’d show up?
About that time, the mission presidents changed and the Suzuki family came to Sapporo. There was a young lady in the family, Naomi, who was my age. We quickly became friends, since we were the only young women our age in the branch. She set a good example for me, and with her as a guide, I began to understand the patience of our teacher and the beauty of the gospel. Naomi’s example helped keep me going to church weekly and praying diligently. I was able to gain a small testimony and wanted from the bottom of my heart to be baptized.
I had talked to my parents once before about receiving that blessing, but they were against it. This time, armed with a tiny testimony, I tried again.
“Faith,” my father told me, “is not something that is grown in one or two days. It is the process of many years.” He felt that, to a student, school is more important even than religion, and he emphatically refused to give permission for baptism.
That had been a painful experience. But I got a grasp on myself, thought over what my father had said, and decided that one thing he had said was right. Religion should not be just a two-day spree, but a life-long adventure! I began attending seminary and studying the Old Testament in earnest. Fun lessons helped me gain insight into a subject that was new to me, and my knowledge of the gospel became fuller. However, I could not buy the home study manuals because that year was also the year for high school entrance exams, and my parents wanted me to spend time on school work, not religious homework.
I was overjoyed when the students in the class gave the manuals to me as a present! What could I give them in return? The best thing was to study those manuals hard. Even though my progress was slower than others, I was able to finish the manuals and turn them in to the teacher.
I also passed the high school entrance exams and felt relieved. My heart was lighter as I once again approached my parents about baptism, figuring I had proven I could be active in the Church and still succeed at school. Their response knocked me back into reality. “No,” my father said, “from now on school will be even tougher. You won’t have time for church and school too.”
My parents became increasingly upset by my diligence in attending Church meetings and would speak harsh words when I left the house on Sundays. After many months, however, they finally realized I wasn’t going to stop attending, and their resistance slackened somewhat. I continued studying seminary manuals, and my testimony grew more and more firm. But baptism still seemed impossible.
Finally, Naomi suggested that we should fast and pray about the situation. So every Sabbath day—for an entire year-we fasted. Naomi fasted and prayed right along with me. I could always feel God’s presence nearby, and my testimony became unshakable as we realized many other blessings that year. But my parents remained firm.—
Last of all, my thoughts drifted to the beginning of this school year-my last in high school, the year of preparation for the college entrance examinations. I knew I would not be allowed to join the Church until the exams were over. I also wondered if my parents would allow me to be baptized even after the tests. One thing was certain, though. If I failed the exams, my parents would say, “The reason you failed is because you spent so much time with that church!” I had to prove that what they were thinking just wasn’t right. Somehow I knew that passing those tests was the key to my baptism, but I couldn’t see how.
I studied harder than I ever had before. Schoolwork passed ahead of everything, even Church assignments. Seminary studies began to pile up, but I rationalized that in order to be baptized, it was worth neglecting seminary in favor of schoolwork. The lack of seminary study worried me, however, for it was there I had grown the most and felt the strongest testimony. Now that testimony seemed to be shrinking as 13 home study books cluttered my shelf. My conscience told me I wasn’t doing what was right, that even with school there should be time for Church work and seminary too. On February 25 I promised myself I would complete all 13 books by March 4, the day exams began. Sandwiched in between my other schoolwork, seminary workbooks became a welcome break. On March 2, I handed all of my assignments, completed, to my amazed seminary teacher.
“It’s time,” the teacher supervising the exam said. I looked at the clock and whispered a prayer. Like a squadron of robots, the college entrance exam candidates rose and entered the testing area. Reluctantly, I joined them.
I passed! I couldn’t believe it! I was so excited! But several days later, when the scores were posted, I was listed. I would be able to go to college! I rushed to my parents with the good news and also asked if now I could finally have my wish—to become a member of the Church.
“No,” my father said simply. He startled the words right out of my mouth.
But my mother, although she had never done so before, came to my defense. She reminded him that I had been true to my studies and true to my religion for four years. “That’s such a good church that I don’t think my daughter would be doing anything wrong by joining it,” she said. “It is such a good church. I can understand why my daughter wants to go to it all her life.”
The three of us talked for hours, and I slowly realized my parents weren’t against me but loved me. They were concerned for my welfare and didn’t want me doing something blindly. I’m grateful to have such wonderful parents. I think they realized, too, that I wasn’t joining the Church on a whim. They gave me permission to be baptized! I made that covenant and received that ordinance on the same day I graduated from the Young Women program. My friends from seminary helped plan the baptismal service, and most of my family attended.
Of the high school and college-age members of the Church in Japan, only about 5 percent have parents who are members. They may find that sharing the gospel with their families can be difficult and that parents of the Buddhist and Shinto faiths don’t always understand the joy that comes into someone’s heart through the knowledge of the gospel of Jesus Christ. But I truly believe that the Lord is mindful of us and will provide a way to help us. For me, it was through four years of patience that allowed my faith to grow strong.

One day when my companion and I went to visit a recent convert in Colombo, Brazil, the house was full of family members. It was crowded, but they still invited us to share a message. We were about to start when the convert’s brother came in. He was not a member of our Church and was not happy about our visit. He seemed to find any way he could to contradict us.
He had a notebook of all the members of his congregation and their sicknesses. He asked us if we believed in the gift of healing. “Of course we do,” we replied. “Well then,” he continued, “I’ve healed all the people in this notebook. How many people have you healed?”
We tried to explain the priesthood, faith, and how things happen according to God’s will, but after a few moments, we felt like we had been cornered and attacked.
Then “in the very moment” (D&C 100:6) we needed it, the Spirit whispered what to say. I explained that while we do believe in healing, our work as missionaries of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was to bring spiritual healing to those we taught, which healing is available only through accepting the Atonement of Jesus Christ through faith, repentance, baptism by immersion, receiving the gift of the Holy Ghost, and enduring to the end.
So while we believe in physical healing, we explained, the most important healing is spiritual healing. And that kind of healing was the kind we saw every day. It really didn’t matter if people were healed physically if they didn’t repent and change their lives to follow Christ.
As the Spirit guided us to respond in a calm manner, the tension in the room dispersed, the brother stopped trying to fight, and we were able to share our message.
How grateful I am that the Spirit prompted two somewhat trapped missionaries to remember our purpose was the saving of souls.

Trying to be a good example at all times is important to Aubrey, because “people are watching us all the time,” she says. “They notice that we have different standards from theirs. A boy in my biology class would always refer to me as ‘the Mormon.’ Then one time he said, ‘Aubrey, you’re always so happy all the time. It’s different.’ In band I’m nicknamed the ‘Mormon baritone’ because I’m the only Church member in my section. The others sometimes stop cussing when I’m with them, and sometimes they stop because I ask them to. But people are watching you all the time.”

As a boy, I lived next door to the bishop of our ward, Bishop Philip T. Sonntag. His son Mark was one of my best friends. One afternoon when I was quite small, Mark and I were playing outside his home and having a wonderful time. Mark was in a distant part of the yard, when his father came outside and said to me, “Drew, do you know where Mark is?” I knew that if I told him the truth, he would say that it was time for Mark to come inside, so I shook my head. “No, I don’t know where he is.”
Bishop Sonntag went back into the house, and I joined Mark again.
“Who was that?” Mark asked me.
“It was your dad,” I answered.
“What did he want?”
“He wanted you to go inside.”
“Then I’d better go in,” Mark said.
He left, and I stayed outside. A few minutes later, Bishop Sonntag came outside again. He told me that what I had done was not right and that he was disappointed that I hadn’t told the truth.
I felt terrible as I walked home and went into my bedroom. I remember crying, kneeling by my bed, and asking Heavenly Father to forgive me. Then I got up and went back to the Sonntag home. Bishop Sonntag answered my knock. I looked up at him and said, “I just want you to know that I’m sorry about what I did.” He put his arms around me, picked me up, and carried me into the house. We sat on the couch and shared a nice moment together.
That experience taught me at least two valuable lessons: One, it’s important to tell the truth. Two, if we repent after making a mistake, we will feel better. I’ll always remember the outpouring of love I felt from my bishop as I visited him, trying to correct my mistake.