Gospel Story Finder

I was born in Bogotá, Colombia. My parents taught me to believe in God, and for that I am very grateful. But like every human being, I made mistakes, and these mistakes slowly weakened my relationships with my family. Due to tension in my home and with the motivation of seeking a better life, I decided to take a vacation in Fusagasuga, a town close to Bogotá. While I was there, my problems continued.
One day I went out for a walk, wondering if I should seek help. Finally I asked God to help me; I felt that was the right thing to do.
After a few days I met a young woman who told me about the church she was attending. What she said made me curious and hopeful. I asked if I could attend one of her church’s meetings.
On arriving I was welcomed by kind people. They introduced me to the missionaries, who gave me the first discussion and a Book of Mormon.
At the end of my vacation I went back to Bogotá, where I was in an accident and injured my leg. Because I could not walk well, I started to read the book the missionaries had given me. It was then that I found answers to many questions I had about the purpose of life and the correct way to worship God. The teachings of Nephi and Mosiah and others gave me the desire to talk with the missionaries about this Church.
Because of my accident it was difficult to move about, but the desire to learn more was so great I went to Fusagasuga in search of the missionaries. When I found them, they gave me the address of some missionaries close to my home, and I returned.
The day the cast was taken off my leg, even though I still could not walk well, I looked for the nearest Latter-day Saint Church building. I found the missionaries there—as if they were waiting for me. Elders Castro, Mamani, and Duran answered my many questions and invited me to join the kingdom of God.
Every time we talked, I felt that this was the right road and that God had answered my pleas for help. Like many, I sought the truth on my knees; the nicest part of the gospel message was that I could know the truth for myself. Two months later, on 4 June 1994, I was baptized.

Fourteen-year-old Angela realized that their trip to Japan was more than just one performance after another, more than Polynesian and Native American song and dance. She discovered this one night when she looked out into the audience while the family was singing "Love at Home" in Japanese and several people were crying.

"When I performed, I didn’t realize that a lot of people were looking at me. I didn’t realize that we might touch them a lot. I’d always thought I was just performing to entertain them," she says. "But then it really brought out the message to them that families are forever and when we have a happy family, when we go to church, and when we keep the commandments, we will be happy."

As a bishop, I worried about any members who were inactive, not attending, not serving. Such was my thought one day as I drove down the street where Ben and Emily lived. They were older—even in the twilight period of life. Aches and pains of advancing years caused them to withdraw from activity to the shelter of their home—isolated, detached, shut out from the mainstream of daily life and association.
That day I felt the unmistakable prompting to park my car and visit Ben and Emily, even though I was on my way to a meeting. It was a sunny weekday afternoon. I approached the door to their home and knocked. Emily answered. When she recognized me, her bishop, she exclaimed: “All day long I have waited for my phone to ring. It has been silent. I hoped that the postman would deliver a letter. He brought only bills. Bishop, how did you know today is my birthday?”
I answered, “God knows, Emily, for He loves you.”
In the quiet of their living room, I said to Ben and Emily: “I don’t know why I was directed here today, but our Heavenly Father knows. Let’s kneel in prayer and ask Him why.” This we did, and the answer came. Emily, who had a beautiful voice, was asked to sing in the choir—even to provide a solo for the forthcoming ward conference. Ben was asked to speak to the Aaronic Priesthood young men and recount a special experience in his life when his safety was assured by responding to the promptings of the Spirit.
She sang. He spoke. Hearts were gladdened by the return to activity of Ben and Emily. They rarely missed a sacrament meeting from that day to the time each was called home. The language of the Spirit had been spoken. It had been heard. It had been understood. Hearts were touched and lives saved.

I remember a while ago, my companion and I were ministering in a family with people of various ages (at the time it was called home teaching). My companion would give the lesson from the First Presidency monthly message, and I would focus on the children, tailoring the lessons to their needs and level to make sure they understood. One day at the end of one visit, one of the parents expressed his gratitude for the fact these visits had a different meaning to their children—and even more meaning to the parents because we were meeting the needs of everyone in their home.

Katie wiped tears from her cheeks and waved goodbye as Mom drove away.
“I remember the first time I stayed at my grandparents’ house,” Grandpa said as they walked back to his porch. “I was seven, just like you.”
Katie swallowed a lump in her throat. She loved Grandma and Grandpa, but she’d never stayed here without Mom before. “What was it like?”
“Well, my grandpa gave me special jobs to do.” They sat down together on Grandpa’s porch swing. A soft breeze stirred leaves in the trees.
“What kind of jobs?” Katie asked.
“Oh, I fed cackly old hens and found their eggs. I pulled weeds and carried firewood. I had a great time.”
Katie smiled a little. It sounded fun to gather eggs. “Do you have any special jobs I can do?”
Grandpa grinned. “Oh yes! Last night’s windstorm left a lot of sticks and pecans to pick up.”
Katie looked around. Grandpa’s yard was like a big park with giant pecan trees growing around the edges.
“I’ll help!” Katie said.
Grandpa pushed his wheelbarrow around the yard while Katie picked up sticks and pecans. Something caught her eye. Under a large tree was a pile of pecans stacked up as neat as could be.
“Grandpa! Look over here!” Katie shouted.
Grandpa hurried over. “Well, look at that! How many are there?”
Katie knelt down to look closer. “… 10, 11, 12,” she counted. “Is an animal saving the nuts for winter?”
“Hmm,” Grandpa said. “Let’s leave them here and check again tomorrow to see if there are any more.”
Katie’s eyes grew large. She’d watch every day!
The next morning Katie ran to the big tree and got down on her hands and knees—11, 12, 13. There was one more! She checked around the yard. What animal would save up pecans one at a time?
As soon as Katie woke the next day, she ran to the tree—14! She couldn’t believe it. “Grandpa, is it a bird?”
“Let’s watch and find out,” Grandpa said.
They sat on the porch swing and kept quiet. Robins hopped around the yard, tugging earthworms from the ground. Warblers jumped from branch to branch. Woodpeckers hammered on tree trunks.
Squirrels picked up nuts, but they carried them to a hole high in a tree. No birds or squirrels came close to the pecan pile.
The next morning Katie helped Grandma and Grandpa bake puffy sugar cookies. Katie smelled the sweet vanilla as she put a pecan half in the center of each one. Once the cookies were ready, Katie grabbed some to nibble on while she hid by some bushes in the corner of the yard and watched the pecan pile.
Suddenly she saw Grandpa walking to the pile. Was he going to count the pecans? Then Katie’s eyes opened wide. Grandpa took something from his pocket and put it carefully on top of the pile.
“Grandpa! It’s you!” Katie shouted. She jumped out and rushed to hug his knees.
Grandpa raised his arms in the air. “I’ve been caught!” he laughed. “You solved the mystery!”
Katie jumped up and down. “It was you, Grandpa, saving up for winter!”
He nodded. “Yes, indeed. But we don’t have to wait for winter. Let’s surprise your mother tomorrow with a pecan pie.”
“Is she coming back already?” Katie asked in surprise. Grandpa’s mystery had made the time zoom by. “I can’t wait to come back and visit again!”
Next time, maybe she would be the one to come up with a mystery.

I had never struggled with my faith in the gospel of Jesus Christ until my older sister started telling me about how her views had changed. She had always had strong faith, so as I heard her words and saw that other friends were also leaving, I started wondering if the gospel really was true.
For the first time, I started to doubt what I had always believed in, and I was scared. I wasn’t sure where to turn. I would pray, read my scriptures, and seek guidance, but my faith truly felt shaken.
Soon, I had let myself drift away from the Spirit. I felt so far away from the Savior.
But seemingly out of nowhere, I was asked to organize a YSA conference for eastern European young adults and to serve as a counselor for FSY.
I was certain my stake president had chosen the wrong person—I was feeling so spiritually low. How could I uplift others when I was barely keeping myself afloat?
I didn’t want to, but I begrudgingly accepted the calling.
I learned a lot as I organized these faith-building events. What I loved most was reconnecting with young adult friends who helped me remember the faith I had before I was struggling to believe.
So many friends listened to my concerns and questions with compassion. They also shared their faith with me and kept reminding me how much my testimony had strengthened them in the past. They reminded me of how I once felt about the gospel, and I recalled profound spiritual experiences throughout my life.
I realized that while I had questions, I did want to have faith in Jesus Christ. I wanted to live the commandments, to attend the temple, to go to church, and to build and share my testimony.
When I was struggling, I had started believing that I didn’t need God. But my burdens have become lighter, and my path is much brighter as I’ve relied on Him and invited Him into my life again.
Accepting this calling was a blessing because I realized how much I had missed the Spirit in my life.

Even though Mom is a stay-at-home mom, it seemed like all of her time and energy was swallowed up by other things—church, Dad, and my two brothers, who always had games to attend and who needed extra help with their homework. It seemed like Mom never had time for me.
Usually that was OK, but then a big thing happened. We moved from a small southern town to this huge northern city. The weather is cold here, and my classmates seemed cold, too. I had a hard time making new friends. Everyone else already knew each other and invited each other over to their homes after school. No one invited me. They dressed differently than I did, too. I had the clothes I’d worn in the south; they dressed in blue jeans and sweaters. Whenever I said, “Yes, ma’am,” to the teacher, like everyone did in the south, the other students snickered. They usually just said, “Yeah” or “OK,” when the teacher talked to them.
No one invited me to play after school, or to eat lunch with them, or to be on their team at recess. I felt left out and lonesome.
One day I decided to do something about it. I thought I might make some friends by having a party. A party would be much more exciting than just inviting one person over after school. I tried to explain all this to Mom. I asked her first if I couldn’t please have a party. Then I begged. I even cried, though not on purpose.
“I can’t do it right now, Ann Kathryn,” Mom said. “Because of the move, I have too many other things that need to be taken care of first. Give it time. I’m sure you’ll make some new friends real soon.” Mom didn’t understand how important this was to me.
I gave it time and tried to be friendly at school, but nothing changed. One day seven girls from my class were sitting at my lunch table. Almost before I knew what was happening, I found myself saying, “I’m having a party Saturday afternoon … at … at two, and you’re all invited.”
I scared myself so much that I thought I’d fall through the floor. I didn’t have my mother’s permission, and yet I’d invited seven girls to my house for a Saturday afternoon party. How dare I? What was Mom going to say?
The girls looked at me like they saw me for the first time. “Is it a birthday party?” one of them asked.
“No,” I answered, “so you don’t need to bring presents or anything. It’s just a party.” I crossed my fingers and hoped it would all work out somehow.
The girls all got permission from their parents and told me the next day that they’d be coming.
Saturday came, and I still hadn’t told Mom. I spent the morning as usual, helping her clean the house. My job was dusting, and I dusted like my life depended on it.
Lunchtime came and went. How could I tell my mother? What would she say? I wasn’t excited anymore, only scared. I prayed in my heart that the girls would all call and say that they couldn’t come, but there were no phone calls. Next I prayed that they would come, but dressed in their regular clothes, like they just happened to drop by. I knew I was dreaming.
The hall clock ticked louder than it ever had, almost as loud as my heart. I almost passed out when the doorbell rang. I ran to open the door before Mom got there, but she was right behind me. Four of the girls, more dressed up than they would be for school, stood smiling at the door. “Hi,” they said. “Are we too early for the party?”
Mom, in her house-cleaning slacks, looked at them, then looked at me, and faded quietly into the kitchen.
The door bell rang again. The three other girls stood there smiling. This time my mother did not appear at the door. I could hear her bustling around in the kitchen. I guessed that she had decided to let me handle this mess on my own.
It was a strange party, but I did my best. We watched a new video my family had bought. Then we played games. I even gave away my new charcoal pencils to the winners. I began to have fun, and the girls laughed a lot and seemed to be having a great time, too.
After we’d played a few games, Mom called from the dining room, “Girls, it’s time for refreshments.”
Astonished, I led my new friends to the table. Our best dishes were out, and there were flowered napkins, a plate of Mom’s yummy cookies, and ice cream with chocolate sauce and nuts! Mom had changed into her best skirt and sweater. She was smiling! I couldn’t believe she was going to help me through this!
“It’s good to have you girls come over,” Mom said. “Ann Kathryn’s birthday is during the summer when we’re on vacation, so she doesn’t always get to have a party with her friends.” She smiled at me.
Everyone enjoyed the refreshments. The girls left soon after that, and I was alone with Mom. She didn’t say a single word. Not one. She just began clearing the table. I rushed to help.
My father and brothers came home from a ball game, saw the party stuff, and asked, “What’s going on?”
“Oh,” Mom answered, real calm, “Ann Kathryn and I had a little surprise party.”
That’s all she said. She knew that I knew that I’d done an awful thing. I didn’t need a scolding. I felt terrible inside, even though the party had been wonderful.
That night Mom came to my bedroom to say good night, as she often did. She sat on the bed and gently brushed the hair from my eyes. She looked at me real deep and said, “I’m sorry, Annie Kate. I didn’t know how much you needed a party.”
“Oh, Mom, I’m so sorry I didn’t get permission first. The invitation just kind of slipped out, and then I didn’t know what to do. You were so great! Will you ever forgive me?”
She kissed me on the forehead, “Of course, I do, darling. And do you forgive me for not understanding?” I nodded. “I think we both need to spend more time talking to each other,” she added. I smiled and she kissed me on the forehead, then left. I had done a dreadful thing to my mother, but she had understood and had forgiven me. Everything felt right again.
I sometimes just say the words when I pray, but that night I knelt and prayed with all my heart. I asked Heavenly Father to forgive me for not being honest with my mother, and I thanked Him that she was so understanding and forgiving. I went to bed that night knowing that all was forgiven, and that was the best feeling I’d had all day.

I met a young woman in California who told me this story. She started keeping company with a young man who was a member of the Church, but he wasn’t active. When he got serious and proposed to her, she said, “I will never marry a man who doesn’t honor his priesthood and do his duties in this church. I want to be able to say to my children, ‘You follow your father.’” He wasn’t willing to pay the price, so their courtship ended right there. She was an uncommon girl.

It’s game point, and the pressure is on. The volleyball soars over the net in a perfect serve, beginning what could be the final play of the regional championship game. Each team hustles for every return, prolonging the play and anticipation. Athletic battle rages on the court, every team member playing her heart out, desperate to end the game and win the championship.
One player places herself in position to hit a tricky shot—and misses. Game over. One team celebrates; the other is angry at their teammate who missed. They shoot nasty words to her and yell disparaging comments across the court to the other team. The victorious team retaliates, gloating and returning harsh comments.

Cameron watched from his home as the flames grew closer. An out-of-control forest fire had been burning for six days. Cameron and his dad used hoses to wet down the sides of their house. Smoke clogged the air, its thick haze stinging their eyes.
The next morning, they listened to the news on the radio. Cameron’s parents exchanged worried looks.
“We have to evacuate,” Dad said to Cameron and Mom. “Take what you can.”
They went through the house, gathering up family pictures, scriptures, and genealogy records. Cameron looked out the window and saw a line of trucks and cars coming toward their house. “Mom, I think I see the bishop’s truck,” he said.
His mother came to stand beside him. “You’re right.”
“How did they know we needed help?” he asked.
“They’re our friends,” she said, her eyes shiny with tears. “They must have been listening to the radio too.”
The bishop and others helped Cameron’s family carry out the boxes they had packed.
Their family stayed with friends that night. In the morning when it was safe, they returned to their home and gathered up more of their belongings. With the help of their friends from the Church, Cameron’s family stored their furniture in different homes and garages all over town.
Within the next few days, the temperature dropped and the wind died down. Cameron’s home remained untouched by the fire.
“I think the worst is over,” his dad said.
With the danger of the fire past, Cameron and his parents returned to their home. It was smoky inside, and a thick layer of soot covered everything. Cameron’s mother knelt down and motioned for him and Dad to do the same. “The first thing we need to do is offer a prayer of thanks,” she said.
Mom said the prayer, and all three remained on their knees for a few minutes afterward. Cameron quietly wondered why Heavenly Father hadn’t stopped the fire before it nearly ruined their house.
Mom rolled up her sleeves. “We’ve got work to do.”
Once more, their friends returned, this time with mops and buckets, soap and rags. They scrubbed walls, mopped floors, wiped down counters, and washed linens. Men carried in the furniture and arranged it in the rooms. Cameron worked alongside his dad and the other men, all the while watching and listening.
The workers took a break only once, when Cameron’s mother and some of her friends served lunch picnic-style on the floor.
“We don’t know how to thank you,” his dad said to their friends at the end of the day.
The bishop smiled. “You’ve already done it.”
“That’s right,” one of the other men added. “You would have been there if we needed you.”
For the first time in a week, Cameron and his parents sat down to dinner in their own home. After the blessing on the food, Cameron couldn’t keep his question to himself anymore. “Why didn’t Heavenly Father stop the fire before it got so close to our home and made everything so dirty?”
“Heavenly Father did stop the fire,” Mom said. “He also sent friends to help us. That’s how He works—through His servants.”
Cameron thought about how hard everyone had worked to help his family. He smiled. Though many years passed, he never forgot the example of service and friendship his Church family had shown him.

In a recent meeting, I told of a dentist in my ward who each year visits the Philippine Islands to work his skills without compensation to provide corrective dentistry for children. Smiles are restored, spirits lifted, and futures enhanced. I did not know the daughter of this dentist was in the congregation to which I was speaking. At the conclusion of my remarks, she came forward and, with a broad smile of proper pride, said, “You have been speaking of my father. How I love him and what he is doing for children!”

My parents were born in the Philippines, but both of them had Chinese ancestry. Like almost everyone else in the Philippines, they embraced the predominant faith of my native country. So, our family enjoyed a healthy mix of different family, ethnic, and religious practices and traditions that influenced our daily lives.
When my parents joined the Church, little did they know that they were embracing yet another set of values and traditions—even the gospel culture, based on the plan of salvation, God’s commandments, and the words of living prophets. Over time, as our family strived to fully embrace the gospel, my parents discovered that some of our well-loved traditions were not consistent with gospel culture. It became apparent to them that they needed to make a choice.
And so began the difficult undertaking of weeding our family of traditions and cultural practices that were contrary to gospel culture. You could just imagine the immense pressure they received from family and friends to hold on to certain traditions even though they were contrary to the gospel.
I am so grateful that my parents exercised faith and chose to keep their covenants. It was a long and difficult process. Even when I left to live on my own, they were still working on it. Although our family was still not perfect, we had come a long way. This experience taught me that embracing gospel culture simply meant keeping our covenants.

From the moment my feet hit the floor that morning, I could tell something was off.
Do you ever have one of those days—almost like a beat-yourself-up kind of day? I spent that entire morning criticizing myself for every single decision I had made.
As the morning progressed, I couldn’t seem to shake my feelings of inadequacy and failure. So I prayed to my loving Heavenly Father, begging for a change in attitude, the strength to get through the day, and opportunities to serve.
Afterward, the morning started to pick up pace. Before I knew it, I had completed almost all my duties for the day and was standing in my kitchen, preparing a yummy treat to give to my bosses for “Boss Day.” As I poured melted chocolate over rice cereal, an interesting thought came to my mind:
“You should give Sister Jones (name has been changed) some of your treat!”
I immediately pushed that thought aside. I counted off the people I had already dedicated a treat bag to and determined there wasn’t enough.
“I’ll send her a text and ask her how she’s doing,” I thought. “At least then she will know I was thinking of her!”
Well, as He often does, the Lord wanted me to do something I didn’t necessarily want to do. I finished making my treat and divided it evenly into just enough bags for the people on my list. As I arranged the treats, something made me pause. I counted and recounted the number of treats and was taken aback by what I found.
Somehow I had ended up with one extra bag. I smiled, knowing exactly who that treat bag was for.
But as I looked at my schedule for the rest of the day, I realized I just didn’t have time to deliver the treat.
“It will still be good tomorrow, or even the next day!” I thought. But suddenly, I felt this unexplainable urgency come over me. I knew I needed to go and deliver that treat, right then and there. So even though my hair was a mess, the meat for lunch still wasn’t defrosted, and this sister lived in a different town, I found myself looking up her address.
You know what is amazing? When you are on the Lord’s errand, you can truly feel His hand helping you. My hair never looked so good in so short a time, I was able to make a different meal for lunch, and it just so happened that my dad had filled up my car with gas a few days earlier. The Lord helped prepare the way for me to serve this sister.
But even with all that, as I headed down the highway, I thought of all the reasons this was the wrong idea. What if Sister Jones wasn’t home? What if she was home? What if she didn’t like chocolate? What if she caught me trying to covertly sneak it into her mailbox? What if an animal got it? Endless scenarios came charging through my mind, and honestly the only reason I stuck to the plan was because I was already over halfway there.
I finally pulled up to her house and mustered all my courage to go knock on her door. When there was no answer, I stuck the treat inside her doorway and raced back to my car.
Immediately, an overwhelming sensation of peace and happiness enveloped me. I felt so good! It was such a stark contrast to the dark mood I had woken up in, and I felt joy as the rest of the day sped by.
If you would have told me that adding a 30-minute trip into my crazy schedule would turn out to be a blessing, I would have laughed. However, that is exactly what it turned out to be.
Heavenly Father answered my humble prayer in a way I did not expect. He knew I needed an opportunity to serve so I could gain some perspective by putting someone else first. Honestly, I don’t think Sister Jones needed the treat; I, however, needed to give it to her. I cannot tell you how much peace came from that one simple act.

Today I want to tell you the story of a beloved ancestor.
Mary Price Howells Adams was my maternal grandmother’s grandmother.
She was born in England in 1833 just after the Church was organized in America. She was a twin, but her sister died when she was very young. As a youth she worked in a cheese and butter factory. While she was working there, she found the missionaries, and they taught her and her family the gospel. They believed the missionaries’ message and were soon baptized. They then began the difficult task of earning enough money to “come to Zion.” On March 28, 1857, Mary sailed from Liverpool on the sailing ship George Washington with a group of saints.
It must have been exciting for her to be on such a grand adventure, leaving her family and her native land behind—and having such high hopes of living with people who believed just as she did—but she tells us that she also felt lonesome among strangers while aboard the ship.
Here is what Mary did: she sought out the companionship of other young ladies who were on-board ship who were of her same faith. She writes that “as a result of this seeking, there grew an eternal love among Mary Howell, Sarah Cross, and Ann James which lasted throughout their lives and into eternity.”

“Hey, Mike, let’s run out to the silo,” Lance called to his younger brother as he ran past him.
“Wait up!” Mike ran as fast as he could to catch up.
The two boys lived on a big farm in the country with their mother and grandfather. They loved the fresh air, the open space, and the green fields that turned gold in the fall. But most of all, they loved the silo. To Mike, it looked like a giant soup can without the label.
As the boys got closer to it now, they could see its rusty patches, dents, and cracks. Once Mike had asked Lance about them. Lance explained, “You know how Grandpa’s face is kind of wrinkled and how he has brown spots on his hands? It’s because he’s old. Well, that’s how it is with the silo. I bet it was shiny and smooth when it was new.”
For two boys with active imaginations, the silo was all sorts of things. Some days it was an ancient castle. Sometimes they pretended it was a tall skyscraper or a pirate ship. Mike especially enjoyed standing in the center of it and yelling as loud as he could, then hearing his echo bounce off the curved walls.
When the boys reached the silo, Lance said, “Let’s play spaceship.” For the next twenty minutes, they pretended to soar through space and discover new planets.
They took turns climbing to the top of the steel ladder rungs welded inside and outside the silo, pretending that they were on the spaceship’s observation deck. Just as Mike spotted a new planet, Mother’s voice brought both space explorers back to earth.
“Mike! Lance! Time for supper.”
During supper, Grandpa asked the boys what they had been up to.
“We were playing spaceship in the silo,” Lance said.
“You boys sure enjoy that old silo, don’t you?”
“You bet,” Mike said. “Grandpa, can I ask you a question? Back in the old days, what was the silo used for?”
“Well, it was kind of like a big closet to store things in,” Grandpa said. “When this farm was in full swing, we needed somewhere to store all the feed for the cattle.”
Mike’s eyes grew big. “You mean you filled the whole silo with just feed? You must have had a lot of cattle!”
“We did. I remember when my papa had the silo built. I was just about your age. It was new and shiny, and one of the tallest things I’d ever seen.”
After supper, Mike cleared the table, and Lance helped Mother wash the dishes. When the dishes were done, Lance asked if he and Mike could go play.
“No,” Mother said. “I want to talk to you both. Let’s go into the front room.”
From the look on Mother’s face, Lance knew that she had something serious on her mind. The boys followed her into the front room and sat down.
“I know how much you enjoy playing in the silo,” she began, “but today I had a strong feeling. Right before I called you in for dinner, I felt that you shouldn’t play in it anymore.”
“But Mom, that’s our favorite place to play!” Lance cried.
“Yeah, Mom!” Mike frowned.
“I know you like playing there. But I can’t deny what I felt. You’ve learned about the Holy Ghost at church, and we’ve talked about Him at home. Mike, what does the Holy Ghost do?”
“He helps us figure things out.”
“Yeah, and He helps us know what’s true,” Lance added. “But what does that have to do with the silo?”
“And that’s how you feel about the silo?” Lance asked.
“That’s right. I can’t give you any other reason except that I strongly feel you shouldn’t play there anymore.”
Later that night, when they were both in bed, Mike asked, “Lance, do you really believe what Mom said about the Holy Ghost?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“How come?”
“I’ve never told anyone this, but do you know Bobby Morrison?”
“The tall kid with red hair?”
“That’s the one. Well, last year he and I planned how to cheat on a history test. I’m not going to tell you what the plan was, because I don’t want you trying a dumb stunt like that.”
“If it’s so dumb, why did you do it?”
“Well, I’m getting to that part. When the test started, it was like I could feel this voice. And it was really strong. It said, ‘You know it’s wrong to cheat.’ After that, I just couldn’t go through with it.”
“And that voice was the Holy Ghost?”
“Yeah. So I know that there is a Holy Ghost. If Mom says that He spoke to her, I believe her.”
“So you’re not even going to sneak over to the silo?”
“No.”
“Well,” Mike said reluctantly, “I guess I won’t either.”
The next few days were hard for the boys. They had to think of new games to play that didn’t involve the silo. One afternoon Lance said, “Let’s put a puzzle together.”
“Ah, who wants to do that?” Mike groaned.
“Do you have any better ideas?”
Since Mike didn’t, they set up a table on the porch and started working on a puzzle. But Mike had a hard time concentrating—his eyes kept wandering in the direction of the silo. The good old silo. “Too bad we can’t play there anymore,” he thought miserably.
“Hey, stop daydreaming,” Lance said.
Before Mike could reply, Mother came out with a pitcher of cool lemonade.
As the three of them drank from frosty glasses, they heard a low rumble. The ground trembled, and the puzzle pieces on the table started doing a crazy dance.
“Look!” Mike pointed at the silo.
It wobbled and leaned to one side. The rumble grew louder while another sound filled the air—the sound of metal scraping, grinding, and ripping. A great cloud of dust rose up as the silo crashed to the ground.
Grandpa came running out of the house. “What in the world?” Then he saw the silo. “Oh! Oh, my!”
That night Mike lay in bed awake. Mother really had been prompted by the Holy Ghost. He was glad that he and Lance had listened to her. He promised himself and Heavenly Father that he would live the kind of life that would allow him to hear for himself the Holy Ghost’s still, small voice.

“What are you making?” Jonas asked.
“I don’t know,” Sam told his little brother. “I’m just making it up as I go along.” They were at the learning center, waiting for their parents to pick them up. Sam had found a box of scrap wood by the craft table. He was busy gluing pieces of wood together.
“OK.” Jonas shrugged and walked away. Sam watched him join some kids at the game table. Then he went back to digging through the box of wood.
Sam found a purple block he liked. He carefully squeezed a line of glue along its side and pressed it against the blocks he’d already glued together.
He really liked his wood creation so far. He wasn’t sure what it was, but he didn’t really care about that. It just felt good to do something with his hands after the craziness of last week.
A week ago, a fire started burning in Sam’s town. His family had to leave their house in a hurry. Sam could still remember the white ash falling in the air like snow. There were even flames on the side of the road as they drove to safety. It was terrifying!
Sam’s family was OK, but their house was gone. It had burned in the fire along with most of the town.
It doesn’t feel real! Sam thought to himself. He kept thinking his family was just on a weird vacation and they’d be going home soon. But he knew that wasn’t true. They were staying with friends until they could find a new place to live.
Today Mom had brought Sam and his siblings to the learning center. It was a place for kids who lost their homes in the fire. Sam’s favorite was the craft table.
At the bottom of the wood box, Sam found a triangle-shaped block he hadn’t noticed before. That gave him a great idea!
When Mom came back to the learning center, Sam was excited to show her what he had made.
“It’s a temple!” Sam said. He handed it to Mom.
“I love it,” Mom said. “It reminds me of the wooden temple I used to have.”
Thinking about Mom’s wooden temple made Sam’s stomach drop. They had wanted to save it from the fire, but it had been left behind.
“I wanted to put it by your temple on our bookcase,” Sam said. “But … your wooden temple is gone. And so is the bookcase.”
“How about we make this the first decoration in our new house?” Mom said. “The temple is a place of peace. It can remind us that no matter what happens, we’ll be OK.”
Imagining his wooden temple on a new bookshelf helped Sam feel a bit better.
“I like that,” he said.
That night, Sam put his temple on the kitchen table in the house where they were staying. The kitchen was filled with his family’s bags of emergency supplies, but seeing the temple there made the room look happier.
A couple of days later, Dad and Mom called a family meeting. “Someone donated a camper trailer we can live in,” Dad said. “We’re really blessed to have a place to stay.”
Sam helped his family pack their things in the car. He put his wooden temple on one of the seats so it would be safe during the bumpy ride.
“You OK?” Mom asked. She handed him a box to load into the trunk.
“Yes,” Sam said. He didn’t want to move again, but he remembered what Mom had said about the temple. “No matter what happens, we’ll be OK.”

In my heart of hearts I wanted to serve a mission. But I was in love. Sure I know guys usually leave girlfriends behind, but Chris was different. She was a cheerleader in our high school, blonde, beautiful, with a clever personality, and not stuck-up. I had a crush on her when we went to high school in Nebraska but didn’t have the courage to ask her out until we met in college. She was a year older than I.
For a guy in high school to win an older woman is nearly hopeless. It gets easier in college where you can’t tell how old a guy is by the books he carries. So I asked her out. My heart raced when she agreed to a date. Friendship quickly blossomed into romance. I felt my life was now complete and nothing else much mattered, even a mission call.
Then we argued about something really important. I can’t remember what right now, but I know it was life-or-death because of how angry I felt about it. I did not sleep that night. I continued to sulk without relief. Something had to change, and I was pretty sure it was not me.
In a physics class the next day, as Professor Hill talked about light, I wanted to collapse with some distant galaxy into a black hole. Maybe light was what we had lost. Radiant, burning light. This is how I had felt in the beginning when I was with her—like stars exploding in the skies. But now I felt uncertainty, darkness even. For the first time I longed for what I had been hearing about in religion class—pure love, selfless but fervent caring. I thought of Christ and how he felt for the little children. I knew he was the source. And I knew prayer would help.
I had always said my prayers at night. It was a childhood habit. But, unfortunately, they had become routine. It was more like brushing teeth than communion with deity, a way to prevent spiritual cavities. Please bless … please bless … please bless. Night after night I had been describing to the Lord exactly how I thought my world should be ordered.
But that day in physics I realized my whole world was turned inward. I knew that to escape the confusion I must find a way to reach out to other people. But how? I could not even reach out to my girlfriend. Instead I had tried to annex her personality into my own, to possess it, to lock her up inside me. The problem needed more maturity and strength than I had. All of the routine prayers in the world wouldn’t be adequate. I needed a prayer of faith like Enos offered in the wilderness.
So there in the wilderness of 200 physics students, I looked down as if at my textbook, and with one hand shielding my eyes, offered a simple, heartfelt prayer. My idea was to prepare the Lord for what I would be asking later, to humbly and sincerely bring him up to speed on what I had been feeling. But as I opened my heart the feelings gushed out. I told him everything. Tears trickled from my chin and wet the book. Then, suddenly, a profound peace washed through me. And with it came light, illumination, an unmistakable understanding.
I knew missionary work was the key. I needed a mission more than the Lord needed me to be a missionary. I needed to put aside my own problems and help those who were wandering in darkness worse than my own. I had learned to pray about problems. But those who lived in the dark did not pray because no one had told them they could.
After class I called my bishop.
That evening I met Chris to study in the library. I felt calm as I explained the events of the day and my determination to go on a mission. She was supportive and complimentary. As I looked at her, I considered the real possibility that she would not be waiting when I returned. But peace replaced jealousy. I knew nothing could keep me from my mission.
For two years I wrote to her. Weekly at first, then less often. When I returned, we visited. I told her of the people I had met and the lives I had watched change. She told me about her studies of South and Central America. She had developed such a love for the people of those countries that she now wanted to serve a mission. It was the last time I saw her for several years.
The selfish emotions which had consumed me before were gone, replaced by a desire for service, a love for others, and a powerful new faith in the Savior.
Back in school, I met Julie. She was blonde, beautiful, clever, and someone who cared about other people. More surprising, she was attracted to me. We were married in the spring. I can say with conviction that the Lord knows better than we do how our lives should be ordered. The self-centered existence I would have chosen for myself cannot compare with the blessings that have followed obedience and service.

In this instance Elder Naylor and Elder Jensen greeted me warmly and immediately began sharing with me how the work was going. Early in our conversation Elder Naylor said, “President, the thing I really want to tell you about is this old man named Amos Singer. He has two very bright grandchildren who live with him. He asked us to teach them so they can join the Church and enjoy the blessings of Church membership.
“We were teaching them for the first time last Saturday, and the grandfather came in to listen to our lesson. We were talking about God, Jesus, the Holy Ghost, and prayer. After we were through he started telling us a few things that really amazed us. It was like all those stories I’ve heard about but never thought would happen to me. He told us he is 79 years old and had been trained to be a medicine man when he was very young (about 15). He was taught by his great-grandfather and has an incredible memory of very, very old Navajo beliefs. Most people don’t know the real old traditions.
“He talked to us about how he has studied the organization of many different religions. He says they are all different except the ‘Mormon Way.’ He told us the things we teach are the same things taught by the old Navajos, although the Navajo religion has changed lately. He talked about ‘eternal life’ and how the earth would be destroyed in the near future by fire and then be made new and would be a place of happiness and no troubles for the righteous. He said that when Christ comes again it will be in glory with angels singing all around him. His great-grandfather taught him the song the angels would be singing, and he even sang part of it for us. He said that as far as he knows there are only two people alive today that know that song. He told us of the legends of ‘ahix kee naa’aashii,’ the ‘two who walk together’ and how they would bring the gospel back to his people. He pointed at us and said, ‘You are what this is talking about! The two who walk together.’”
As Elder Naylor concluded telling me his story he was trying to blink back the tears.
“As you know,” I told them, “these things were all predicted in Book of Mormon prophecies. How does it feel to be out here fulfilling scripture?”
“Just think,” Elder Jensen responded, “what we would have missed if we hadn’t come on our missions.”

I’ve been on my mission for over a year now. Every P-day I’ve written two letters home. One to Mom and Dad and one to Gus. I’ve received a letter every week from Mom or Dad, but Gus has never written. Not one letter! I can’t believe it. We were so close. Mom tells me what he’s doing, but I want to hear from him. They say he hasn’t been to church since my farewell.
I tell them about my experiences, and I bear testimony of the gospel in each letter. Mom said Gus reads them.
That’s all there is to Gus’s story. I wish there were more to tell. I want it to have a happy ending.
I’m going to stop writing now. I feel a real need to pray. I’m a little discouraged. The Jones family won’t make a commitment, and Gus won’t write to me. They will both be in my prayers tonight.
I received a very special letter from Mom. She said she caught Gus crying as he read my letter about the Jones family.
I can’t believe Mom’s letter today!
She said she’s not sure, but she thinks Gus is actually reading the Book of Mormon (in secret of course).
I hope so. It would help him so much.
She also said she hasn’t found any cigarettes in his pockets when she washes his clothes.
If he could just stop smoking! He still doesn’t know we know.
A letter from Mom. No doubt about it—Gus has stopped smoking. But the secret’s still on.
Dad wrote. He invited Gus to go to church with Mom and him, like he always does, and Gus actually went! Only he insisted on following Dad’s car on his Harley-Davidson.
During Sunday School he didn’t know where to go for the Young Adult class, and the teacher for the 14- and 15-year-olds (about 4 boys and 3 girls) didn’t show up. Two of the boys had seen Gus drive up on the Harley D. and asked him to show it to them. Before long most of the class was out in the parking lot admiring the Harley D. He even flipped “wheelies” for them. He’s such a show-off.
The Sunday School president had a conniption when he caught them.
The kids all wanted to sluff sacrament meeting and go motorcycle riding, but Gus calmed them down and got them reverently into the chapel for the meeting. It’s great!
Dad wrote again. Last Sunday Gus was ready for church before he and Mom even woke up.
When they arrived at church (this time Dad made him leave the Harley D. at home), the panic-stricken Sunday School president confronted Dad and Gus and begged them to substitute teach the 14- and 15-year-olds because the teacher didn’t show up again. Dad accepted and was surprised to hear Gus accept.
When they got in the class, Dad couldn’t get the kids to pay attention, so Gus stood up and there was total silence.
Then Gus told of a certain friend of his (he gave no name) who had started smoking when he was 14 and who was completely addicted by the time he was 24. He told how his friend couldn’t stop smoking, no matter how hard he tried, until he went to the Lord in prayer. And then his friend was given the strength to quit. Then Gus bore testimony of the Word of Wisdom.
Dad said it was the best impromptu lesson he’d ever heard. The kids loved it. He said he’s proud of Gus.
Now I just wish Gus would write. What’s going through his mind?
My eyes are full of tears as I write this evening. I received a letter from Gus. It’s the very first since I’ve been out.
He began by apologizing for never writing. He confessed he used to smoke. He said he’s never told anyone but the bishop and me. He asked me to never tell Mom and Dad because they’d be so hurt. If he only knew.
He told me he has fallen in love with the ward and never misses church. He and the bishop have had many talks, and Gus feels he has found a new friend.
He announced he has read the Book of Mormon from cover to cover. He bore testimony of its truthfulness and expressed his appreciation for the gospel of Jesus Christ.
He says he’s trying to get his friend Rod to talk to the missionaries.
And the most special news is that my big brother Gus will be ordained an elder this coming Sunday by my Dad.
The Lord answers prayers.
Gus has shaved his beard and cut his hair! Mom sent me a snapshot of him. He looks so funny! I’d forgotten what a baby face he has without whiskers.
Another letter from Gus! He says even though he’s 25 years old, he thinks about serving a mission once in a while.
He said he would probably go anywhere in the world but Japan, because, though he loves the people and culture, he is still not sold on Japanese motorcycles.
I almost can’t believe I’m writing this! Gus talked to our stake president! The missionary papers have been submitted. He’s actually waiting for his call. He says he’s going crazy waiting. I can relate. I’ve been there.
He’s really going on a mission. Gus, a missionary!
A telegram from home! Gus is going to Japan. That’s about the funniest thing I’ve ever heard.
They’re not giving him much time. He enters the MTC December 3rd. I’ll barely miss seeing him. I don’t get released until December 20th. That’ll make four years before we see each other. Four years! I’ll go crazy. A guy could get married in four years! Kids, college, we’ll be strangers.
But you know what? I wouldn’t have it any other way.
A letter from Gus. He’ll sell his gas station and the great and irreplaceable Harley D. to pay for his mission. What a sacrifice! I’m so proud of Gus.
And get this! He says he’s going to try to save money so when he gets back he can buy a Kawasaki motorcycle. He calls it “cultural appreciation.”
Mom wrote. Gus’s farewell testimonial was great. She said at least 20 platinum blondes were in attendance.
His testimony brought tears to many eyes. What really humbles me is Mom says he told everybody he loved me and expressed thanks for my example.
Gus. His story is a miracle.

Since 1964, when missionaries first arrived in Bolivia, the Church has been helping Bolivian people make the transition from old ways to new. Carmen and Luis Molina were among the first to join the Church in Bolivia. “Two missionaries stopped at my door and invited me to Relief Society, which was held in a home,” explains Sister Molina. “I felt happy at the meeting. I went home and told my husband about it.” Luis was cautious at first, but the family joined the Church in 1965, and he became the first man to be ordained an elder in Bolivia.

“One of my earliest memories is of our family preparing for church,” recalls their son Rolando Molina, who today serves as president of the El Alto Bolivia Satélite Stake. “I loved Saturdays. We ironed; we prepared. And on Sunday we went to church. We walked slowly so all the children could keep up. It took an hour each way. I have fond memories of those walks together.”