Gospel Story Finder

The look on my mother’s face broke my heart. Shock. Dismay. Disappointment. All filled her eyes one after the other and then merged into one emotion—betrayal.
Despite her teaching me all my 15 years to honor Heavenly Father in word and deed, there I stood, guilty of letting a particularly offensive word slip past my lips.
I hadn’t meant to swear. Before that year, I had never used foul language. But that summer I had worked for Utah’s Fish and Game Department and picked up the habit from other boys working alongside me.
Our main job was cutting burdock off the side of state roads. We quickly decided that Arctium minus is a particularly evil weed. It grows in volumes just about anywhere, and it crowds out most other plants. Its burs stick to anything that comes near.
Shovels in hand, we battled that nemesis all summer to the point of exhaustion—and dirty language. At first I found my comrades’ language offensive. Then I tolerated it. Finally, I adopted it. By the end of the summer, swearing was sticking to my words as securely as burdock burs to dog hair.
My mother’s reaction to my slip of tongue, however, convinced me that I needed to change.
It wasn’t easy. Swearing is not just a choice of words. It is also a pattern of thinking. The conversations we allow into our lives, the words we read, and the images we view shape our thoughts. I soon learned that I needed to change what I invited into my mind if I wanted to change the words I used.
Thankfully, I was active in attending church and seminary. Swearing had crowded out higher thoughts, but being in an environment where I was exposed to those higher thoughts allowed them to take root again. I concentrated on reading the scriptures every day and praying. I stayed away from movies and television programs that reintroduced dark thoughts.
Gradually, I found my language improving. By the end of the year, I was free of my swearing habit.

Although Virgilio gave up his governorship to stay true to his testimony, he was able to pass on another legacy to the next generation: that of serving the people by establishing the gospel among them. He lived to see Wilson serve a full-time mission and then return to Guayacana to marry his wife, Ruth, and have children. Some years later, Virgilio died faithful in the Church. His wife, Maria Juana Apa, has lived to witness their son’s calling, in 2014, to serve as branch president in Guayacana.

Years ago when I was a young mother, my heart was broken when my husband left the Church, then left me. I pulled my two little girls close to me and centered our lives in the gospel.
I prayed for my children daily and involved them in wholesome activities. Home teachers and bishops assured me that these little ones would be mine in the eternities and would appreciate my sacrifices for them. I took comfort in the fact that because my children were born in the covenant, they would be heirs to promised blessings. Three years after the divorce, I married a faithful Latter-day Saint, and I felt sure all would be well.
But soon we began having severe problems with my younger daughter. She had been happy and full of energy as a young child, but as an adolescent she became demanding, defiant, and belligerent. She began smoking, drinking, experimenting with drugs, and shoplifting. She used vulgar language and became sexually active. She challenged all authority and eventually dropped out of high school.
This was as difficult a challenge as any I had faced. My husband and I desired for her to repent, gain a testimony, and feel peace in her life. I became despondent and inconsolable—I couldn’t bear the thought of “losing” another loved one.
We fasted and prayed, pleading with Father in Heaven not to allow this child to be lost. My husband and I counseled together and sought advice from our bishop. We put her name on temple prayer rolls. Although my patient husband was a great help to me, he was largely ineffective with my daughter because she refused to accept him as an authority figure.
During this time I received numerous priesthood blessings. I spent hours attempting to talk with my daughter. I read the scriptures and books on dealing with difficult children. I asked for advice, consulted with friends and family, and pled with youth leaders for help and influence.
I wondered, “Where is the joy in family life? When will these problems cease?” We feared almost every contemporary nightmare: teen pregnancy, sexually transmitted disease, drug addiction, death in a drunk-driving accident. Finding no resolution to the problem, I lost all confidence in my ability to be a good parent. I felt desperate, sorrowful, frantic, angry, and helpless.
Then, after several years of frustration, I began to realize that I needed to make changes in my own life. I began to see that in my efforts to help my daughter, I was acting out of terror, not out of faith. The way of the Lord is not frightened frenzy. Jesus Christ brings hope, not despair. Satan is the author of discouragement and unhappiness. I had been listening to the wrong voice.
I decided to go back to the basics of the gospel and build a stronger, more solid spirituality. I wondered when, for instance, I had last offered prayers of gratitude. Had I completely forgotten my many blessings? Had I actively looked for the good qualities of my struggling daughter? Did I appreciate the obedient members of my family? Did I acknowledge the joyful moments in my day? Did I enjoy a beautiful sunset or a soft rain?
I was ashamed. I had become so negative and unhappy that my thoughts and actions did not reflect my testimony of Jesus Christ. My countenance didn’t show my love for and hope in the Savior.
I chose to change. I concentrated on filling my soul with positive thoughts and feelings. I read uplifting books and stopped watching content-empty television programs. I became diligent in a personal exercise program, which relieved stress and lifted my spirits.
But most important, I changed my scripture study routine. My mind is most alert in the morning, so I began reading the scriptures early. Sometimes I read just a few verses, other times a few chapters. In my car, I turned off the radio and pondered what I had read that morning. The spiritual experiences I had right there in my car more than made up for the news and traffic reports I missed.
Amazing things began to happen. Impressions began to pop into my mind: I received ideas about how to handle day-to-day obligations and how to prepare for Church assignments. And I received inspiration about how to interact with my precious daughter.
One day I felt that my conversations with my daughter should turn to the positive things we had in common. Sure enough, our shared interests in music, art, and old movies provided us with nonthreatening topics of conversation. This change was a helpful first step in repairing our damaged relationship.
Another morning I felt a strong impression that continued over the next few months: Force is not the answer. I tearfully asked Heavenly Father to forgive me for forgetting that agency is a basic part of His plan. I realized that it is not appropriate to attempt to make someone do something, even if that thing is righteous. That was Satan’s design.
Change didn’t happen overnight. It was difficult, and I had to do a lot of it. I had setbacks, but I kept trying. As parents, we still had to set standards for what was acceptable in our home, but our daughter began to respond more positively because I was now more confident and less emotional.
The continuing spiritual impressions we received were a great blessing. Line upon line, the Spirit taught us what to do and when to do it. When we obeyed, we were blessed. When we struggled, we were gently reminded.
On one occasion, the Spirit reminded me that true conversion comes through the Lord. So instead of merely praying for my daughter to do what I told her, I began asking that she would be blessed with a change of heart. And I looked for moments to talk with her about the Savior. She agreed, for instance, that a violent world needs more of His gentle ways.
As the Spirit taught me, I began to recognize more of Christ’s great mercy in my own behalf. One day I thought, “Perhaps my experiences with straying family members can help me realize that I, too, stray when I don’t put my whole faith and trust in Him. Maybe our family’s struggles with this prodigal child can ultimately be for our benefit. Perhaps our weaknesses, though not as visible as hers, also need refining.”
As I began to think such thoughts, I became more grateful than ever for Christ’s Atonement. And as my gratitude increased, so did my faith in His ability to touch my daughter’s life. I developed a firm conviction that He will keep entreating her and trying to bring her back, for He loves her even more than I do! My role now is to be close to her and to strive to become the best example of the Savior I can be.
Today this daughter is still not active in the Church, but she has a good life. Recently she married a good man, and she is a responsible and capable worker in a good career. She and I have a great relationship, and I have a bright hope that she will someday return to the teachings of her childhood.
Through these difficult times I have learned that we have the right to inspiration in our own lives. I firmly believe the Holy Ghost can help us as we prepare ourselves to hear His promptings and act on them.
The experiences I have had with this daughter have also brought me closer to the Savior. They have taught me to search my own soul, to seek the Holy Ghost for guidance, to rely on the Atonement, to be grateful for what I have, and to hope for the future.

When I arrived, I joined a fraternity. A majority of the fraternity were also Church members, some of whom were returned missionaries. After a while I began to notice that the returned missionaries just seemed to “have their act together” in a way that the others, in my opinion, didn’t. I had not been raised with the notion of serving a mission, although as I got to be an older teenager my parents began to mention it. My father had not served a mission because of World War II. His medical school training went right through the war.
As I spent more and more time in Salt Lake and got to know the returned missionaries, somehow I was able to perceive that these missionaries had gotten more out of life and were further down the road in a very positive way than others of the same age. They were directed. They had goals. They had a feeling for who they were that others didn’t seem to have. In my view, they had social skills that I thought were an advantage. That was what got me started thinking about a mission. At first, it was entirely for the wrong reasons, for selfish reasons.
Even within this group there were some returned missionaries whose stories about their missions made me feel hesitant about service. Their stories were about how hard it was or how cold it was or how primitive the circumstances were. I was basically reluctant to do anything cold or difficult. But other returned missionaries took me aside and said, “Whit, let me tell you what it is really like, how wonderful it is.”
Nobody who was a returned missionary said, “Don’t go.” They all told me to go, but a few of them delighted in telling me the hard parts. I decided to listen to these others who said, “That’s just the way he talks. He had a great experience, and look what he became. You’ll have a great experience too.”
At the same time I had an experience that was very important to me. I used to go down to a local gym to work out. One time when I was down there in the late morning, I noticed Elder Marion D. Hanks of the Seventy. We were the only two in the gym, and he struck up a conversation with me.
After a little small talk, I asked him if I could ask a question.
“Sure, please go ahead,” he said. He was very friendly, very warm.
“I’m trying to decide whether to go on a mission.”
He said, “What are the things that you are thinking about? What are the considerations?”
I said, “Really just one, and it is a question about the amount of time it would take.”
“What do you mean?” he asked.
At this point in time I thought I wanted to be a doctor. My father was a doctor, and I wanted to be a doctor. This was before I knew much about organic chemistry.
I said, “I’m 19 now and still have three years of college and then time as an intern and a resident. I expect to be drafted into the military (it was during the Vietnam conflict) plus a mission. You add all of these things up, I’ve got 14 or 15 years to go before I get to real life. If I do all of these things, I won’t get to real life until I’m 33 or 34 years old. That seems like a very late start.”
He said, “Well, that’s an interesting question. You should know that I did not serve a mission. I was in the military during World War II and was not able to serve a mission, but I’ll tell you how I think you should answer the question.”
He asked me, “How old are you now?”
I said, “I’m 19.”
“How old will you be in 14 years if you don’t do any of those things?”
I answered, “I’ll be 33.”
He again asked me, “How old are you now?”
I said, “I’m 19.”
“How old will you be in 14 years if you do all of those things?”
I said, “I’ll be 33.”
Then he asked me. “When you are 33, what would you rather have done? None of those things, half of those things, or all of those things?”
I saw immediately the wisdom of his response, and it just penetrated me. I saw how it fit with what I had seen in the returned missionaries on campus. I decided then and there I was going to serve a mission.
That was the best decision I have ever made, because everything good in my life has come from that decision. I don’t believe my wife would ever have been willing to consider marrying me if I had not been a returned missionary. I think her decision to marry me was the best thing that has happened in my life. Our experience together across the years, raising a family and being involved in Church service, our community involvement, my professional involvement, all of those things have been influenced by that mission.
I am so grateful for the example of returned missionaries—for the way they dressed, for the way they talked, the way they worked, for the light in their lives, which was immediately evident to me. I could see the difference in the way they dressed, spoke, and carried themselves, in the way they behaved. It was discernible. I could see it, and I wasn’t looking for it. It was simply that I began to perceive something that I hadn’t noticed before, and I learned that the Lord blesses those who do the things He asks them to do. He blessed me, and He blesses everyone who goes on a mission and then stays in essentially a modified missionary lifestyle after that. I’m grateful for that.
Those two experiences—watching returned missionaries and having a chance (well, maybe not a chance) meeting with Elder Hanks. That was the turning point in my life. My parents wanted me to go on a mission and were delighted when I did. And I think it helped my younger brothers to see me go.
Young men, look forward to serving a mission. It is hard; it is work, but there is nothing about it that you can’t do. You’ll love the experience. Doing hard things is good for us, and missions aren’t so hard that you can’t do them. They just require something of you. You have to grow up a little, and I promise you that if you will prepare yourself for a mission in every way—intellectually, physically, and spiritually—keeping yourself clean and ready to go, you’ll have a tremendous experience, and you’ll be grateful.

In August of 2024, Samuel and members of his branch made the journey from The Gambia to Accra, Ghana. He was returning to the place where he began his missionary service so many years before, and where there is now a temple, so that he and his family could be sealed in the house of the Lord. They met their son Daniel there, who was returning home from his mission just in time for the sealing.
Besides the unspeakable joy of becoming an eternal family, Samuel experienced the additional sweetness and tender mercies of the Lord in a most special way. The president of the Accra Ghana Temple, who sealed Samuel and his wife and children, was John K. Buah, the very same missionary who had confirmed Samuel a member of the Church. And the incoming temple president, who will replace President Buah, is President Anthony M. Kaku, who baptized Samuel. According to Samuel, “God is the unfailing compass of our lives.”

Friday, March 11, 2011, 2:46 p.m.; K?riyama, Japan; K?riyama chapel, second floor.
Fifteen missionaries in the middle of leadership training begin to practice teaching about Joseph Smith. As the message of hope and peace fills the room, the windows begin to rattle. The noise intensifies. What began as vibrations escalates to booming.
The building jerks side to side, and the movement increases in speed and magnitude until it becomes one continuous jolting motion. Standing and walking are nearly impossible. Some missionaries try to take cover under the tables—until the tables are thrown across the room. The building, the city, even the whole province reel in commotion as if the earth will burst open. One thought prevails in my mind: “Get the missionaries out of here!”
As mission president of the Japan Sendai Mission, I had been teaching the missionaries and members for months to “turn to the Lord” (Mosiah 7:33). Now, as I turned to Him for divine guidance, inspiration came quickly: “Open the door—create an escape route.” I knew that I must open the door before the ceiling collapsed, trapping us inside. So I rushed to the door and opened it. “Get out of here!” I shouted.
The missionaries staggered along the shifting, rocking, heaving floor toward the open door; then they headed down the stairwell and out of the church. Once outside, we felt safer, although we were not yet safe from the elements. The weather had turned bitter cold, and snow pelted our faces.
Across from the church, headstones in a Buddhist cemetery toppled over; the wall of the cemetery had turned to rubble. A large fissure zigzagged up all 12 stories of an apartment building behind the church. Large chunks of concrete facade had crumbled off the walls of an adjacent elementary school. Windows had blown out, and broken glass littered the ground. On the opposite side of the road, a blue tile roof lay in pieces. I gathered the 15 missionaries in the parking lot of the church, and we gave our Heavenly Father thanks for our protection and asked for His continued help.

Recently I traveled to Mexico City with the Northern Wasatch Youth Orchestra for a series of concerts. While there we all stayed in one hotel. There was an intellectual, refined old lady who lived in the hotel alone, and each night she and a few others would come to the lobby and watch the funny, loud American kids. By the time the orchestra had been there a week, she said to my mother in broken English, “Oh, please take these young people all over our country so our young people can see how they behave, for before this we have had little but bad examples from the United States for our children to follow.” And she begged to learn where she could go to hear our symphony play.
After we played a concert with the Ballet Folklorico, some of the performers came to the hotel to visit and learn more about what they called “those clean-looking, talented American kids.”
Later as we came through customs at Dallas, Texas, at 3 A.M. on our way home, they informed us that every piece of luggage must be removed from the plane, including all the instruments—even the large percussion pieces—as many drugs were being smuggled into our country from Mexico. As tired as we all were, each one began helping others, calling out the names of suitcases coming down the belt ramps. Everyone cooperated and willingly lined up for inspection. While the plane was being unloaded and this was taking place, several of the customs inspectors stood together watching us, and suddenly the man in charge came over to some of our tour leaders and asked if we were LDS. He had noticed that no one smoked or used bad language, and when they told him that all but three or four of us were LDS, he said that he had great respect for the members of our church. He remarked to his fellow workers that kids who didn’t smoke wouldn’t be carrying marijuana. They opened very few of our cases after that and hurried us through with dispatch.

In 1831, Joseph and Emma traveled to Kirtland, Ohio. When they reached the Newel K. Whitney and Co. store, Joseph jumped out of the sleigh to greet a Church member he had never met.
Newel K. Whitney! Thou art the man!
You have the advantage of me. I could not call you by name as you have me.
I am Joseph the Prophet. You’ve prayed me here. Now what do you want of me?
Joseph had seen a vision of the Whitney family praying for him to come to Kirtland. He recognized Brother Whitney from the vision.
Joseph and Emma stayed with Brother and Sister Whitney for a few weeks.
At this time the Church had about 400 members. Most of them lived in Kirtland. Other members moved there to be near the Prophet.
This is the Prophet Joseph.
Joseph!
Joseph!
A few months later, Joseph and his family moved to Hiram, Ohio, so he and Sidney Rigdon could have a quiet place to work on the inspired revision of the Bible.
Joseph and his family lived in Hiram for one year. When Joseph returned to Kirtland, the Lord commanded the Saints to build a temple there. Joseph saw in a vision how the temple should look.
I have a plan of the house of the Lord, given by Himself.
The Saints worked hard and made many sacrifices to build the temple.
Finally, the Saints finished the beautiful temple. Joseph dedicated it on March 27, 1836.
We have done this work through great tribulation; and out of our poverty we have given of our substance to build a house to the Lord’s name.

Even before Robbie went on a mission, the impact of his example was not just on friends at school—it was also much closer to home. Robbie’s brother Scott, who is now a priest, decided to follow his brother’s example and made a plan to read his scriptures every day and to also keep a scripture journal. Scott wanted to experience the same kinds of blessings he saw Robbie enjoying. Scott faithfully reads from the Old Testament in the morning to match his seminary schedule, and then he reads from the Book of Mormon in the evening. Like Robbie, he says his Duty to God plans have helped strengthen him and bring him closer to the Savior.
“I can see a big difference in how I handle things throughout the school day,” says Scott. “I just feel happy, and I feel clean and pure. It gives me more assurance that I’m doing the right thing.”

From the pages of our missionary journal comes an event repeated often throughout the missions of the Church. John and Shirley Withers were successful advertising executives. They were on the fast track, indulging themselves in worldly pleasures. When contacted by our missionaries, they were impressed by their clean, sparkling countenances so unlike other young men they had known.
As the Spirit touched their hearts, the conversion miracle began. Their previous behavior became incompatible with gospel principles. A new set of priorities and values replaced worldly interests. Alcohol and tobacco habits became expendable, although with great effort. Modesty became the dress standard. Prayer, scripture study, and Relief Society and priesthood service became the focus. They were baptized and received the Holy Ghost.
As Sister Clarke and I, with some of our missionaries, assembled in the Salt Lake Temple, John and Shirley Withers, with their children, were sealed together as an eternal family. Their countenances reflected the resplendent beauty of the emancipation of the soul. We witnessed a spiritual rebirth as if from the grave.

I had the privilege as a general secretary of the Aaronic Priesthood one time of going to a home, and I thought about this visit. I wanted specific guidance. I didn’t want to shoot with a shotgun. I wanted this boy and he was the only one I was concerned about at this hour. And so as I walked up on the porch and knocked, here came a fine, sharp-looking fellow in a T-shirt. He was working in cement work and he was strong, a towhead in the sun, and as he stood there in the door, I said, “Duane, I have come to arm-wrestle you.” And he motioned to me to come in. And I want you to know I thought I had been had, but I went in anyway. He took everything off of the coffee table and we knelt down, and then we arm-wrestled. And I slowly put down his right arm, and he said, “Do you do it with the other arm?” And I said, “I do,” and so we arm-wrestled with the other arm, and I slowly edged him down. Then he said, “Do you Indian-leg wrestle?” I made a great mistake and said yes. We got down on the floor, and I don’t recall what happened after that. He rolled me over about three times to the fireplace. Then I made a second mistake and I said to him, “Do you do it with the other leg?” He said yes; then he rolled me back from the fireplace.

After this was over, I looked at him and said, “Duane, we need you over at church. We need your kind of person. Can you make it Sunday morning at priesthood meeting?” He looked at me for quite a while and said, “I will be there.”

When Great-Uncle Joe came down from up north to live on our farm, he brought his dog, Silver, with him. Uncle Joe didn’t stay with us in the farmhouse; he preferred to live in the old log cabin down by the pasture. It was just as well, for my six-year-old sister, Linda, was afraid of Silver—he was so big! Even Papa looked at the dog with suspicion. A touch of wolf in Silver’s mixed ancestry showed up in his howl.
Uncle Joe had so many stories to tell about the north woods that nothing could keep me away from the cabin. Gradually the dog came to accept me and even wagged his tail a little when I brought him a juicy morsel of meat.
Uncle Joe died the second spring after he came to live with us, and after his death, Silver attached himself to me. Though he looked like a German Shepherd, Mama could see only wolf in him, and she wouldn’t have him around the house. When Papa said that he’d give the dog away, I begged to keep him. “I’ll feed him at the cabin,” I said.
Papa hesitated, then gave the dog away on account of Mama. But Silver returned again and again. Papa was baffled.
One day in May when Linda and I were cutting across the pasture on our way home from school, Linda stopped to pick violets down by the stream. When we saw the bull, he was not much more than a stone’s throw away. It was Mr. Foster’s black monster!
Boy, was he a big one! He had broken through the fence into our pasture. The bull was a people-hater, and he’d gored Mr. Foster’s hired man and nearly killed him.
The bull saw us about the same time that we saw him. He took a few steps forward, then charged.
“Run!” I yelled, but Linda was so scared that she couldn’t move.
Suddenly Silver came racing into the pasture. He leaped at the bull and sank his teeth into his nose. I grabbed Linda’s hand, and we ran for the fence. Papa, who was plowing in the next field, heard my yells and came tearing down the hill. He leaped the fence and practically threw Linda and me over it to safety. The bull had shaken Silver off by then and was only a few yards from Papa when the dog grabbed his nose again, causing the bull to stumble as he threw Silver through the air. But the dog’s maneuver gave Papa enough time to scramble over the fence himself.
Silver, limping and bleeding from a gash in his hindquarters, crawled through the fence. I threw my arms around him.
Papa took Linda’s hand, and nobody said a word as we headed for the house. Silver followed.
When Mama saw him, she yelled, “Don’t let that dog in here. He has wolf in him.”
“That dog just saved the children’s lives—mine too,” Papa said unsteadily.
“What!” Mama really looked at us then. Shaken, she pulled Linda and me to her.
After Papa told Mama what had happened, I added excitedly, “Silver pulled the bull down by his nose! Uncle Joe told me that that’s how wolves get a moose.”
“That dog deserves a medal,” Papa declared.
Mama took a long look at Silver lying at my feet, licking his wound. “Maybe he would prefer a good meal.” She went inside and came out with a big bowl of scraps. “I guess he can stay here now,” she said.
Linda patted Silver. I was so happy that I turned cartwheels.
After that, Silver stayed around the house but never came inside; he was a bush dog. When I was outside, he followed me everywhere. He never lolloped around like most dogs, though; he had dignity. Each night before I went inside to bed, he gave me his paw to shake, then settled down in the woodshed.
Silver was my friend.

With an angry mob of more than 300 promising to destroy them in the morning, the group of Saints who made up Zion’s Camp was hoping and praying for a miracle.
Under Joseph Smith’s leadership, Zion’s Camp had been marching for weeks from Ohio to Missouri. These Church members were hoping to help the Saints who had been driven out of Jackson County, Missouri, USA, to regain their lands. But they faced threats and opposition throughout their march. And now, yet another mob was threatening them.
The miracle that the Zion’s Camp Saints prayed for would soon arrive. It came in the form of dark clouds gathering in the distance. A violent thunderstorm erupted on all sides and dumped massive hailstones. The storm stopped the mob in its tracks.
“It seemed as if the mandate of vengeance had gone forth from the God of battles to protect his servants from the destruction of their enemies,” Joseph Smith’s history explains. “The hail fell on them, and not on us, and we suffered no harm except the blowing down of some of our tents and getting some wet, while our enemies had holes made in their hats and otherwise received damage, even the breaking of their rifle stocks and the fleeing of their horses.”1
Destructive hailstones were just one part of the storm. Rain poured down so hard that Fishing River, the river separating the two groups, swelled to almost 40 feet (12 meters) deep. It had only been ankle deep in the morning.
The Lord promised the members of Zion’s Camp, “I will fight your battles” (Doctrine and Covenants 105:14). When that happens, there’s no doubt which side is going to win.

Steven Connell of the Silverdale Second Ward found himself turning to prayer for help. “There were many times when nothing seemed to be going right. I wanted to devote all my time to the play and not have to deal with anything else, but I couldn’t do that. There was homework, finals, and just everyday high shool life that demanded my attention. I had to pray that the production would be what Heavenly Father expected and that it would be a great missionary tool for the youth and the others in the audience.”

Kyle Hollenback of the Poulsbo Second Ward also learned that faith and prayer were just as important in their lives as they were in the story. “I prayed that I would receive the strength and confidence to somehow find the talent to sing and perform. We prayed as a cast and crew that we would be guided by the Lord and that all the little kinks in the play would get worked out.”

Abish’s testimony of Jesus Christ began “on account of a remarkable vision of her father” (Alma 19:16). She later had the opportunity to be courageous and bold in exercising her faith and bearing her testimony. Many of the youth also had the chance to catch their own personal visions of the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon as they saw the scriptures come to life and learned to relate to the people of long ago.

As Steven Connell worked on his charcter, King Lamoni became a very real person to him. During the scene in which Lamoni feels the weight of his mistakes and longs to have his sins forgiven, Steven was so overcome by emotion that he cried. “I really felt that through faith in Jesus Christ, we can change everything about our own lives and start over again to be new and better people,” says Steven.

Kyle Hollenback, who played Ammon, learned something not found by simply reading the Book of Mormon. “Sometimes people get in the mode of reading the Book of Mormon as a history book, but getting into our characters gave me a better understanding of the reality of this book,” he says. “I can relate to Ammon in that when called upon, I can be a little bold, like acting in this play.”

Kendra Hollenback shares her brother’s new understanding. “After Abish the Book of Mormon doesn’t seem like a history book anymore. It’s real. You can’t just expect to get a testimony without working on it. You have to read the Book of Mormon and pray about it.”

Abish’s message invites all to find and share the truthfulness of the gospel of Jesus Christ. Through her faith and courage she made it possible for many to hear the word of the Lord and become converted. Many of the youth chose to be bold like Abish in sharing their testimonies as they invited their friends to attend the production.

“There were so many people from school who came out of curiosity and have now been introduced to the Book of Mormon,” says Christina Willey of the Poulsbo Second Ward, who helped with stage management.

Those who came were touched by the spirit of the production. From his place in the orchestra, where he played the clarinet, Scott Daly of the Silverdale First Ward was able to see that the audience was affected by what was happening onstage. “There was one scene where the queen’s servants and family kneel to pray,” he says. “During this moment, the lights in the auditorium begin to fill the room with brightness. Then I could see every smiling and crying face in the audience. The play definitely strengthened my testimony of the Book of Mormon.”

Like most of the youth involved in the play, Abish herself was not necessarily a great leader. She was primarily a poor, humble servant who put her trust in her Heavenly Father and risked her job and her friends in order to bear her testimony. And she was probably a little scared.

Knowing that the play would be many people’s first introduction to the Church, Andrew Whyte of the Bainbridge Island Ward was nervous in his role as Abish’s father. But he was comforted and strengthened. “The Spirit helped me to put my trust in the Lord, comforted me, prompted me to pray and gave me the assurance that I would remember all my lines and sing my whole soul out,” he says.

As a dancer in the play, Stacie Brown of the Poulsbo Second Ward learned that many people can be inspired through Abish’s story. “Every time Miranda got up on stage and did a scene, it looked like she had been a member all her life. I know that I felt the Spirit each time she performed.”

Besides inspiring others, Miranda says she was able to witness firsthand what Latter-day Saints are really about. “I would never have traded that time in my life for anything else in the world.”

Want to know about women in the Bible? Read “For She Loved Much: Women in the New Testament” in this month’s Ensign, p. 40.

When Yukari was three years old, her preschool served milk with coffee in it. Because Yukari’s mother had taught her about the Word of Wisdom, Yukari would not drink the coffee milk. She would fill up her cup with water and drink that instead.
One day Yukari said to her mother, “I want to drink coffee milk like everyone else.” Her mother sat down with her and helped her understand that Heavenly Father loves her, that He doesn’t want her to drink coffee, and that it is a commandment. From that day on, Yukari was sure she never wanted to drink coffee. More than a year passed.
One day when Yukari’s teacher could not be there, another teacher came to the class. As usual, Yukari was drinking water. The teacher saw this and asked, “Why are you drinking water?” Yukari explained that she attended church and she had promised Heavenly Father she would not drink coffee. The teacher was impressed. From that time on, the preschool stopped serving coffee milk and served other drinks instead.

He hopped on one foot to the backyard. Scrunching down on the sidewalk, he looked to see if the birds had eaten the bread crumbs he had put out for them before breakfast.
“Oh, oh—ants!” he said. Ants were carrying off the rest of the bread crumbs. Then Kevin spotted a tiny ant trying to lift a bread crumb twice its size.
Backward and forward the ant staggered, clutching the crumb. And each time it dropped the crumb the ant picked it up again.
“C’mon, Ant, you can do it,” Kevin said.
At last the ant balanced the bread crumb just right and scurried off home with it.
“Good for you,” said Kevin.

The garage? These girls in Pennsylvania are flocking to a garage?
It might make a little sense to Lani Atkinson, 18, who secretly wants to be a mechanic.
But what about her sisters, Cory, 12; Arin, 14; and Nicky, 17? They come from a family of 11 children and work hard for everything they get. They have their own business that involves cutting and trimming lawns in many of the historical graveyards in the area. It requires a lot of time, yet midweek, at the appointed hour, no matter where they are, the sisters toss their weed whackers in the truck, drive the mowers onto the trailer, and head for the garage.
And what about Heather Hulings? You can often find her strolling around the lake next to her home with an admiring male friend. When it’s time, she’ll run back to the house, jump in the car with her sisters Stephanie, 16; and Darcie, 12, and head for the garage. If the young men are gathering and the male friend is interested, he can come along too. He usually does.
Then there’s Carrie Guskiewicz. She could be on deck in the seventh inning with two outs and the bases loaded, but if it was the right time, she’d drop her bat, race to the car, and have her mom drive her to the garage.
Beth Humphreys is the one who will really surprise you. She’s 19, has graduated from high school, and is on scholarship hundreds of miles away at Alford University in New York. Yet she still thinks wistfully of the garage, and heads there every chance she gets when she’s home on vacation.
What is it about a garage that entices these girls to drop whatever they’re doing and gather there for midweek activities? All right, so the Young Women’s room of the Indiana Branch, Pittsburgh North Stake, doesn’t exactly look like a garage any more. Members have worked hard to convert a small private residence into a church. Kind of gives the word meetinghouse a whole new meaning. Primary meets in the former living room; the chapel is in the basement. And the garage is now a finished room with white walls, and the Young Women’s room in the corner of it has your basic posters, folding chairs, even a window.
But it really isn’t what they find in the garage that pulls them there. It’s more what they bring with them. These young women share an uncommon camaraderie among girls so varied. They belong to a group in which everyone loves each other, the older girls look out for the younger ones, and nobody feels left out.
“There’s a special sisterhood-type thing we share,” says Arin Atkinson. “The girls in the branch are just as easy to talk to as my own sisters.”
Lani, Arin’s older sister, agrees. “All of us are really pretty different from each other, but whenever we get together, no matter what our differences are, we have a great time.”
“We meet in a small house, so we have to be close,” laughs Teri Gibbs, 18. “There’s nowhere else to go. It’s neat because the Laurels are close to the Beehives and the Mia Maids are close to everyone.”
Some of these girls seem to have about as much in common with each other as Christmas and Halloween. What is it that keeps them united? What is it that makes them want to drop whatever they’re doing and gather in the garage?
Sitting in the garage with them, you begin to see. These girls go to at least five different high schools. Most of them are outnumbered about a thousand to one, when it comes to a non-Mormon to Mormon ratio. The garage and the girls there form a sort of shelter—a respite. This is where they meet with others who feel the same way they do, and who never stop encouraging each other in their lives and beliefs.
Try to get them to tell you about themselves, and they’ll talk about their friends.
“Jenny (Snyder) makes all her own clothes and they’re beautiful—she’s going to design costumes for the theater someday.”
“You’ll have to hear how well Heather (Humphreys) plays the piano. She’s really great.”
“All the boys at school respect Teri (Gibbs) so much they say she’s the cookie jar up on the shelf that every one wants but is too high to get to.”
You might think that in a group this tight, it would be a little difficult for a newcomer. But not so. Just ask Amanda Curry, 16, who started attending the branch a few months ago. Amanda is pretty and talented—in many situations, girls would be jealous. But Amanda says they welcomed her with open arms. “The girls accepted me completely,” she said. “They treat me like a sister.”
Maybe that’s why so many non-LDS people in the area are comfortable visiting. Almost every girl has a missionary story to tell.
“I’ve had one friend who has known for a long time that we are Mormons,” said Stephanie Hulings. “But I was really taken aback when she asked if she could come to my youth group with us. I took her to a fireside, and now she comes to almost all the midweek activities.”
“I’m in sixth grade and the only Mormon in my class,” said Carrie Guskiewicz. “I found out that the missionaries are visiting my teacher at school—it makes me realize I have to be a really good example.”
The girls in the branch are great examples to the non-LDS boys they sometimes date. You’ll find a handful of those boys at every baptism, joint activity, fireside, sacrament meeting, and Sunday School lesson. Some even come when the girls who invited them aren’t in attendance. Their appetites may have been whetted by the young women, but once at church, they find there’s a spiritual banquet they’d never anticipated.
It seems the LDS girls greatly outnumber the LDS boys in the area, but that doesn’t bother the girls. “We don’t have any problems with guys who don’t accept our standards,” says Lani Atkinson. “We just don’t date anyone like that.” It’s that simple.
Truly living your religion is not such an unusual thing in this part of Pennsylvania. The Amish people have been here for years, and their religion has changed little. Their horse-drawn buggies, simple, homemade clothes, and avoidance of modern machinery make them stand out. The young women have an affection for them, knowing how difficult it is to avoid the ways of the world.
“As members of the Church, we definitely stand out here. There are just a few other Mormons in our school,” says Stephanie Hulings.
Her sister Heather agrees. “Since we stand out, there’s a lot of peer pressure from others to make us like them. They want us to smoke and drink, and a lot of drugs come out here from Pittsburgh, which is about an hour and a half away. At least, by being so different, though, we have a lot of chances to tell people about our beliefs.”
Other factors that unite these girls in the garage and help them ward off worldly influences? Music is a big one. These girls can sing! You’ll hear them spontaneously harmonizing at any hour of the day or night—while they’re driving to seminary, while they’re weeding the meetinghouse lawn, while they’re doing just about anything.
They look forward to girls’ camp because it means continuous days of nonstop harmonizing. Even those who aren’t musically gifted get a thrill out of being a part of such an angelic chorus. Visitors are mesmerized when these girls start to sing.
But when the music dies down, the talking has stopped, and the investigators have gone home, there is still something that binds these girls together. It would be there whether they met in a garage or in a massive, elegant chapel. For all their varied backgrounds, they have a basic core in common. They’ve all felt the true love of Christ. That love is so wonderful to them they do their best to make it work in their lives, and they want to share it with others.
“We have seen the greatest thing on earth, the love of Christ, light up the face of a lonely, elderly woman as the Young Women brought her dinner and sang to her,” says Teri Gibbs. “We have seen that love lift a frustrated mother’s heart as the Young Women baby-sat her children so she could enjoy a night out. It is through this that I have grown closer to Heavenly Father and to other youth in the Church. We strive to be more like Christ.”
That’s why the girls are so eager to get to the garage. It’s there that they can feel and nurture the love of Christ. In the garage, they help each other recharge their batteries; then they go out and share that energy with everyone else.

It was going to be a surprise day for the Harmon children. No one knew where they were going or what they were going to do, except their dad. “Hurry! Get in the car,” he said.
“I’m first,” said Julia.
“I’m second,” said Tony.
“I’m third,” said Jerry.
“I’m fourth,” said Cindy.
“I’m last,” said Herman as he crawled over Cindy to get in the middle.
Dad started the car and they were on their way. The children looked around excitedly—all except Herman. He was looking at something on the floor of the car.
“What’s in these boxes, Dad?” asked Herman.
“They’re part of the surprise,” answered Dad. “Now, all of you close your eyes and don’t open them until you feel the car come to a stop.”
Everyone closed their eyes tightly. They could feel the car moving down the street and around a corner. Finally it slowed down and stopped. All of their eyes popped open. They looked around. “Oh, Dad, the zoo!” they shouted all together. And they tumbled out of the car and dashed to the turnstile at the zoo entrance.
“I’m first,” said Tony.
“I’m second,” said Julia.
“I’m third,” said Cindy.
“I’m fourth,” said Jerry.
“I’m last,” said Herman, running under the turnstile.
“What would you like for a treat?” asked Dad.
“Popcorn!” “Peanuts!” shouted the children.
Dad bought three sacks of popcorn and two bags of peanuts.
They munched and shared and listened while Dad told them about the many different animals they saw. When they had seen all there was to see, Dad took them back to the car.
Herman remembered the mysterious-looking boxes. So did Dad. He took the smaller box out of the car and put it on the ground. He took the lid off, and the children looked inside. They saw a brandnew yellow kickball. Dad took them across the street to the sunny park to play.
“I’m first,” said Cindy.
“I’m second,” said Tony.
“I’m third,” said Jerry.
“I’m fourth,” said Julia.
“I’m last,” said Herman, skipping to the end of the line.
After they each had had several turns kicking the ball, Dad called them back to look in the other box. He put it on a bench while the children stood around and watched. He reached inside and took out potato salad, fried chicken, rolls, potato chips, and chocolate cupcakes.
“Hurray!” shouted the children. “We’re hungry.” Then they all hurried to sit around a picnic table. The children ate and ate until they could eat no more. Then they all helped clean up.
“It’s getting late,” said Dad. “We’d best be on our way home.”
Arriving home, Julia shot out of the car and shouted, “Last one in the house has a purple nose! And I’m first!”
“I’m second,” said Tony.
“I’m third,” said Cindy.
“I’m fourth,” said Jerry.
“I’m last,” laughed Herman, holding his “purple” nose.
They all hugged their mother and told her about the wonderful day they had had with Dad. Mother hugged them back and listened to each one of them tell about their day.
When they were through with their excited talking, Mother told them it was bedtime. “Get into your pajamas and get into bed.”
“I’m first,” said Julia, running upstairs.
“I’m second,” said Tony, running downstairs.
“I’m third,” said Jerry, running downstairs.
“I’m fourth,” said Cindy, running upstairs.
“And I’m last,” sighed Herman happily, snuggling on Mother’s lap as she gently rocked him to sleep.

One night I was kneeling at my bed, asking Heavenly Father if He would help me have more faith, remembering a New Testament scripture where a disciple asked Jesus Christ to “increase our faith” (see Luke 17:5). I had no idea that soon after this prayer, I would face some of the hardest of trials in my life. I’m so grateful that I was already seeking to increase my faith in the Savior when those trials hit, because I don’t know how I would have survived them without my Heavenly Father’s help.
A few days after that prayer, I had a terrible accident where I almost lost my left hand and had to get all my fingers on that hand amputated. Obviously my life was never the same again. Even though I felt the love of my Heavenly Father and of my family and friends through the long process of surgeries and therapies, it was so hard.
One day after my doctor told me that I would have to receive physical therapy for months, I went home in tears and asked Heavenly Father, “How long will I have to endure this?” Immediately, it was as if a tender and clear voice told me, “You can’t progress without trials. You still need even more.”
I couldn’t believe that I had received an immediate response to my prayer. At that moment, I was determined to move forward in faith. I decided to resubmit my mission papers and serve God, despite my challenges. A few months later I received my mission call to the Guatemala Guatemala City South Mission! But getting to that point wasn’t easy either. It took a lot of bravery and courage to accept my circumstances, forget myself, and invite others to follow Christ.
My mission was wonderful. I learned to value the principles of the gospel even more, and I found confidence in myself to share my testimony and bring hope to many people who didn’t know where to find it. I felt my heart being changed by Heavenly Father. I had never experienced what it felt like to love total strangers and be willing to give everything I had for them without hesitation until now—walking day in and day out, rain or shine, my feet tired and sore.
When my mission ended, all those experiences helped me stay hopeful in the chaotic and superficial world back home. I returned home at a very difficult time for my family and my country. There were many political and economic problems, and many families were emigrating to other countries because of the lack of employment and education opportunities. I couldn’t believe that things had changed so much in such a short time, even within my own family. Some of my loved ones and friends had also passed away. I felt so overwhelmed with all the difficulties surrounding me.
One day, feeling discouraged, I took out my study notebook and began to write about the feelings in my heart. I thought of the many experiences I had had while serving others on my mission. Recalling those special experiences was exactly what I needed to lose myself even more in His work, to serve and continue to develop the gifts that He has blessed me with. That day a very special phrase that my mission president’s wife always repeated to us stood out to me: “You can do hard things.” I have tried to remember that continuously, including while learning to use a prosthetic hand and trying to live a normal life.
Throughout the adversity I’ve faced, my testimony has grown—especially my faith in miracles. Miracles happen if we set out to do something with determination, consistency, and faith. Those who believe in Heavenly Father can have always have hope in any circumstances.
I know that the trials in my earthly life will continue, but I shouldn’t fear because trials can bring us closer to Heavenly Father, who can help us know how to progress. My accident and every difficult challenge I’ve been through since remind me to turn Heavenly Father for help. And He has helped me change for the better. I am so glad I prayed for more faith, and I know through my trials, I have been able to serve Heavenly Father and get so much closer to Him. Despite how my life has been altered by my trials, I’m truly happy and I’m so thankful to have come so far with Heavenly Father’s help. I can’t wait for the day when I am resurrected—when I’m able to see Him again and tell Him, “Thank you! Thank you for humbling me, thank you for shaping me, thank you for ‘increasing my faith!’”

A true story from Mexico.
“Time for bed,” Mamá said with a smile.
Logan went into his room. He said his prayers and crawled into bed. Then Mamá read him a story. He slowly closed his eyes. Soon he was asleep.
But Logan had a scary dream. He was alone in a dark place. He saw a big, spiky monster with huge teeth. It growled at him. Then it started running toward him!
Logan tried to run away. But he slipped and fell! The monster got closer and bigger until—
Logan woke up and sat up in bed. He wiped tears from his eyes and saw it was still dark outside.
He wanted to talk to his parents about the dream. But he didn’t want to leave his bed. The darkness made him feel like a monster was hiding somewhere. Every shadow looked scary. A dog barking outside sounded like a monster growling.
Logan pulled the sheets up to his nose. He was too afraid to move.
He wanted to fall back to sleep. But each time he closed his eyes, he saw the monster’s angry face and sharp teeth. He couldn’t stop looking at the scary shadows.
Then he saw a picture on the table by his bed. It was a photo of him, his two brothers, Papá, and Mamá outside the temple in Monterrey, Mexico. They looked so happy.
Suddenly, the words to his favorite Primary song popped into his head. “I love to see the temple,” Logan started singing quietly. “I’m going there someday. To feel the Holy Spirit, to listen and to pray.”*
While he sang, Logan thought about that day at the temple with his family. He had felt so peaceful. Because of the temple, he could be with his family forever.
Logan couldn’t hear the dog barking over the sound of his voice. He closed his eyes and kept singing. “As a child of God, I’ve learned this truth: A family is forever.” He felt a peace in his heart that made him smile. He knew there was no monster.
The room had been dark and scary. But now it was a calm, safe place. Logan leaned back on his pillow and fell peacefully asleep.
When he woke up, it was sunny outside. He got up and looked at the sunshine reflecting off his photo of the temple. He hummed his favorite song as he got ready for church.
On the way to church, he told his family about his nightmare and the song he sang. He listened to talks and sang hymns in the chapel. Then it was time to go to Primary.
Logan loved listening to the piano. And now he knew that some songs are powerful enough to make even scary monsters go away.
“Welcome to singing time,” said the Primary leader. “What song should we sing first?”
“I know!” said Logan, raising his hand high into the air. “Let’s sing ‘I Love to See the Temple.’”
Illustrations by Carolina Farías