Gospel Story Finder

Young Women in the Warner Robins First Ward, Macon Georgia Stake, had their last standards night at the beach. Well, okay, not exactly—but they did come with their beach towels and sunscreen, ready to learn and have a great time. The “beach” was actually a room at the meetinghouse where talks about how to stay in spiritually “safe water” were given by “lifeguards” who were actually their parents and leaders.
The standards night was based on an article in the October 1994 issue called “Swim between the Flags.” Each leader-lifeguard had a flag that represented a standard; principles like honesty, modesty, and chastity were discussed.
“It was a very positive night, and I received answers to some questions that I had,” says Mia Maid Sarah Harden.
Beehive Stefanie Papenfuss agrees, “The leaders talked about some things that I had never thought about, like making the right kinds of friends to help you keep your standards strong. The whole night was a lot of fun, and I learned a lot.”

I love cooking desserts and savory foods and playing the marimba. I sing and dance, and I am learning to play the flute, xylophone, and piano.
The bishop asked me to help lead the music in sacrament meeting. I didn’t expect it and thought they would choose somebody older. But I also felt loved and happy because I love music.
Sometimes I still get scared that I’ll sing something the wrong way and that people will hear it. But the Holy Ghost helps me to be comfortable in front of everybody. Now that I’m getting used to it, it’s actually pretty fun!
At first it was scary. As we were practicing, sometimes I forgot some of the words. So I practiced singing with my mom at home, and that helped a lot. When we practiced in Primary, I sang louder to help those who can’t read or didn’t know the words.
I felt excited when the day of the presentation came. Everything went beautifully. I felt peaceful and calm, and the words just came to me.
I learned that sometimes things don’t go perfectly, but it’s OK and you can learn from them. Leading the music in Primary also prepared me for my new assignment!
Sometimes it might be hard to serve in front of a lot of people, but the thing about us kids is that we can lead no matter our age or how short or tall we are. I would tell them that even though sometimes our fear might get us down, the Holy Ghost can help us feel peaceful. He will always help us get back up again.

In the summer of 1825, Lafayette, the great French general of the Revolutionary War, came to Washington. As a young man, he had been an able assistant to Gen. George Washington. Now sixty-eight, Lafayette accepted President John Quincy Adams’ invitation to stay at the White House.
Wishing to show their warm friendship for the French general, people across the country sent him presents. Boxes and crates of all sizes and shapes arrived. One special messenger brought a rare collection of Louisiana swamp creatures, including ten speckled frogs and one live alligator! A White House bathroom was quickly made into a small aquarium where the alligator had the privacy of his own spotless bathtub!

Mistolar had its beginnings in 1977. At that time, the Paraguayan mission president, Merle Bair, saw Walter Flores, a man from the deserts of the Chico in Paraguay, on a television program in Asunción. President Bair felt impressed to find the man and share the gospel with him. In 1980, the missionaries located Flores. He was very receptive to the gospel message, and was soon baptized. Brother Flores’ testimony was so profound and clear, he knew he had to share the gospel with his fellow Indians. Several hundred joined the Church.

“Dad loves to take his grandchildren on an imaginary lion hunt, where they all try to find a make-believe lion. First, they pretend to sit on the seat of a car. Then when they arrive at the airport, they climb invisible steps to get on the airplane. Once inside the plane, everyone fastens his safety belt and leans way back in his chair as the plane takes off. When the plane lands, everyone comes down the stairs and walks over to a jeep. They climb in and, because the jeep ride is bumpy, everyone joggles up and down.
“When the jeep stops, everyone jumps out and gets an imaginary rope and gun to put over his shoulder. They wade through long grass and reeds—swish-swish-swish. They come to a bridge and everyone crosses over it—clump-clump-clump. Then they come to the place where the lions are, and they throw their ropes up around a rock to secure them. They all climb up the rope to get into a cave so they can creep up on the lion. The lion roars—GRRRR!! All of the brave lion hunters run out of the cave, slide down the rope, go clumping over the bridge, run swishing through the reeds, take off their ropes and guns, get back into the jeep, and take the bumpy ride back to the airport. Finally they arrive back home safe and sound after a great trip!”

A true story of faith to become self-reliant that I find inspiring concerns a brother that I will call Didier (not his real name). Didier served in the Nigeria Calabar Mission at the time that I served there as mission president. When he completed his mission, Didier was serving as a zone leader. He was an obedient, quietly determined, and hard-working missionary. Both of Didier’s parents had passed away when he was young. At that point, he was taken into the custody of his maternal uncle, who raised him and introduced him to the Church. But before Didier completed his mission, his uncle was overcome by a terminal illness and passed away. Didier’s circumstances appeared bleak and desperate.

Returning home, and without any able members of his immediate family to turn to for help, Didier decided that he would continue to put his trust in the Lord who had sustained him up to that point. He decided to find out what he could do to move forward in his life. Through prayer, he got the impression to study what people who were self-reliant in his hometown were doing to sustain themselves. For several weeks, he walked the streets moving from shop to shop, observing the business that was going on, and how people were coming and going.

He reached the conclusion that he would likely live a reasonably good life as an electronics technician repairing TVs, radios, and other electronic equipment. The problem was that he had no skills, no money, and he did not know where to begin. Again, through prayer, he got the impression to ask the owner of one electronics repair shop, how he could get practical training to work as a technician. The man told Didier he could train him for about two years at a fee.

Excited, he contacted his ward self-reliance specialist and asked to be considered for a Perpetual Education Fund loan so he could get the money to pay the shop owner and obtain the training he believed would help him earn enough to meet his temporal needs. Then came his major disappointment. The specialist explained to him that PEF loans were only given for recognized training institutions, and loan money could only be paid directly to the bank account of the training institution. The shop owner was not a registered training institution and did not have a bank account. Didier was at a dead end.

But Didier had observed the goings on at the shop long enough to know that this was a good business if he would work hard. Moreover, he was drawn to the work and admired how a non-functioning TV could suddenly be brought back to life. In this moment of intense discouragement and apparent hopelessness, he again turned to the Lord in prayer. The impression came to go back to the shop owner, explain to him his situation, and offer to enter into an apprenticeship contract that he would pay for after he had completed his training and started working. He did not know how the shop owner would respond, but he decided to try. After deep reflection, the shop owner accepted his proposal on the condition that Didier provide a character reference, which he gladly did.

Two years later, Didier—now with his wife, another returned missionary, at his side—completed his practical apprenticeship as an electronics repair technician. He developed a strong relationship of trust with his trainer, who also became his mentor. Didier was a good student and an asset to the shop. The shop owner offered to hire him as an employee, which Didier gladly accepted. This gave him the opportunity to immediately start paying what he owed for his apprenticeship.

A year later, Didier felt that he knew enough to start his own business. With what he had saved from his employment earnings, he rented a small shed in another part of town. As he had become known to several good clients while working with his trainer and mentor, his business picked up steadily. After two years, he had saved enough money to buy a 40-foot container which was going for a bargain. He rented a plot where he placed the container and moved his repair shop to the new premises. In another year, he bought the plot on which his repair shop stood.

Didier was now his own man, feeling in full control of his life, and deeply grateful to the Lord for sustaining him as he waded through uncertain territory in his life.

My hope and invitation is that despite the gloom of the past 18 months, and of anything else the world might throw at you to try to destroy your hope, you will not let go of your faith. I hope that you will draw inspiration from the experience of Didier, a young man whom I came to know and who, under conditions that could have allowed despair to rule his life, decided to trust in the Lord and to go forward despite the overwhelming weight of his discouragements. Today, Didier serves as a stake high counsellor, and he and his family stand independent. He is confident that if he does his part, the Lord will see him through any challenge that he may face.

Sybil heaved a sigh of relief as she tucked her youngest brother between the clean homespun sheets and kissed him good night. As the oldest of eight children, she worked hard helping her mother care for the little ones. Usually she enjoyed getting them ready for bed, but tonight Sybil was bored. She paced back and forth before the open door of their home in Fredericksburg, New York.
“What’s the matter, Sybil?” her father asked, looking up from his work at his cluttered desk. “You seem restless.”
“I don’t know, Father,” she answered truthfully, “I just have a feeling … I want to do something—something important for a change.”
Her father smiled. “Spring fever,” he consoled her. “You’re a young girl, and you’re impatient. That’s understandable. And as for doing something important, why don’t you go help your mother with the mending?”
“I don’t want to do mending. I’m always doing mending. And besides, Father, I’m not a young girl. Mother was already married to you at fifteen, and I’m sixteen!”
Colonel Ludington smiled again sympathetically and turned back to his work. When Sybil was in one of her headstrong moods, it was hard for her to patiently do ordinary, but needed, tasks.
Suddenly they were both startled by the sound of pounding hooves in the cool spring night. Seconds later an exhausted messenger burst through the door, dripping with perspiration and barely able to stand. Sybil could see his lathered horse tethered outside.
“The British!” the man gasped. “They’re raiding Danbury! They’re burning the town and sacking our supply center. The Continentals can’t hold out. You’ve got to muster your militia, Colonel, and drive the British back!”
Colonel Ludington leaped to his feet. Rural New York was sparsely settled in 1777, and his volunteer militiamen were scattered in farms and villages over a wide area. Someone would have to rouse the men and tell them to meet at the Ludington home prepared to defend their young country against the British. But who could go? This messenger and his horse were too tired to go any farther, Colonel Ludington knew, and he himself had to remain to organize the men as they gathered there.
“Father, I’m going to go,” Sybil spoke up determinedly.
The messenger looked at her in surprise as her father sputtered, “Y-You? I won’t allow it! It’s late, and the roads are narrow and dangerous.”
Sybil’s eyes flashed as she grabbed her coat and declared, “I can do it, Father. Star is a good horse, and I know the way. My country needs me.”
There was little time for argument. Colonel Ludington looked hard at his oldest child and said softly, “All right, Sybil”—she was halfway to the barn to saddle Star before he could finish the sentence—“but be careful!”
Grabbing a stick to pound on the doors of the sleeping soldiers, she was off. The night was dark, and a chilly breeze whipped through her hair as she and Star sped on their desperate mission. As the girl passed each militiaman’s house, she pounded on the door with her stick and shouted, “Wake up! The British are burning Danbury! Go to the colonel’s prepared to fight!”
Sybil stayed only long enough at each house to insure that the militiaman was awake. Then she was gone.
She rode to Carmel, past Mahopac Falls, over the treacherous rocky path to Kent Cliffs. At times the moon’s faint light was obscured by drifting clouds, and the path was plunged into eerie darkness. Once Star tripped on an outcropping of rock and fell to his knees, but Sybil clung to the saddle and urged him up and onward through the night. Finally a very weary Sybil reached the last tiny settlement, Stormville, and rapped with her stick on the doors there.
Her job was finished.
Star was limping as they returned to the brightly lit Ludington home, and Sybil was slumped in the saddle with fatigue. The courageous ride had taken hours. The first gauzy rays of the sun were just visible over the horizon as she groomed the exhausted horse and brought it fresh water and feed.
“You did a fine job, Star,” she praised him before she went into the house.
Most of the volunteer militiamen were already there, and the small parlor was strewn with muskets and horns and flasks of gunpowder. Sybil caught her father’s eye, and the room became silent.
“This young woman,” Colonel Ludington said, his eyes shining with pride, “has proven herself a patriot!”
The soldiers stood in a silent tribute to the courage and gallantry Sybil had shown by calling them out in the dead of the night.
Colonel Ludington’s forces were able to join General Wooster at Ridgefield, a town near Danbury, in time to drive the British back to their ships in Long Island Sound. Sybil’s “spring fever” had brought success to the Continental Army. A statue of her astride Star stands by Gleneida Lake in Carmel, New York, not far from the very path she rode on that desperate night over two hundred years ago.

President Hunter has always had a special love for the Holy Land. The First Presidency assigned President Hunter to spearhead two special projects in Israel. One was to work with Elder LeGrand Richards in raising money to build the Orson Hyde Memorial Garden, which was dedicated in 1979. The other was to negotiate for a site for a center to house the Brigham Young University semester-abroad program, which had started ten years earlier. Sites in Jerusalem were at a premium, and when at last a choice one was found and a lease obtained, the representative of the land authority received the lease payment and said, “This is a lot of money.” Joseph Kokia, the Church’s distinguished Israeli attorney, responded, “Yes, it is a lot of money, but my family has lived in Jerusalem for fifteen generations, and the property that you have is beyond price.” Upon that special site the magnificent Jerusalem Center for Near Eastern Studies was built, despite much opposition. President Hunter’s close personal relationship with Mayor Teddy Kollek and other leaders helped make possible the building of the center. President Hunter dedicated the Jerusalem Center on 16 May 1989.

Valerie Walters and Becky Warnick, dressed in white robes with sparkles in their hair, were participating in an angel choir, singing about the birth of Jesus Christ. Seated between Valerie and Becky was Chelan Feller, also dressed as an angel. Chelan needed the comforting shoulder of Becky and the kind touch of Valerie to be able to participate. Chelan attends the American Fork Special Education Seminary, and she, along with 40 of her fellow students, were participating in the first of what they hope will be their annual Christmas pageant. Serving the American Fork Training School in Utah, the seminary has classes geared to the levels of their special education students.
Valerie and Becky, 18, were just two volunteers from the Alpine Utah 11th Ward who volunteered to help the Special Education Seminary stage their pageant. Each special needs teen was assigned a helper to assist in putting on costumes over everyday clothes, to be by the sides of the students as they spoke or sang their parts, and to accompany them as they entered and exited.
It turned out to be an exciting evening. With parents and families crowding the seminary building, the age-old story of the Savior’s birth was presented. But more than the story, the example of kindness and unselfishness that represented the Savior’s life also filled the room.
Becky said, “Many of the students can’t bear their testimonies in words, but when I look into their eyes I see that they know Christ.”

My bedroom is like many other teenage boys’ rooms. Yes, there are school books piled up to the ceiling. And yes, there are posters all over the walls. But next to these posters is a picture of the Savior. Now I have been in my room when friends have looked at that picture and asked, “So what does Jesus have to do with all of this?” Of course, I know why that picture is there.
It all stems from a talk Elder Richard G. Scott of the Quorum of the Twelve gave at general conference.
Elder Scott counseled us to do three things: (1) place Christ at the center of your life, (2) realize that happiness comes from what you are, not what you have, and (3) always stay morally clean. These three points, if applied, can form the basis of the strength which we need to be strong in a world such as the one we live in.
The first point, about placing Christ at the center of our lives, is the reason I have that picture of Christ in my bedroom. When I awake in the morning, I look at that picture. Because of my testimony of the Savior I consciously make a decision to honor his name during the day. Of course when I make mistakes, I look at that picture and wonder how I could have let him down.
If we do place the Savior at the center of our lives we certainly will be different to those around us. We will, as the scriptures say, be a “peculiar people” (Deut. 14:2).
Take my name, for example. I love the name Ronan because it’s unusual. But I hope I’m peculiar, not because of my name, but because I’m a representative of Jesus Christ and his gospel. I don’t think many of us are as peculiar as we need to be.
The second suggestion is that we should realize that happiness comes from what we are, not what we have. I am as guilty as anyone of the “I want” syndrome. I know I must try to ignore my peers and seek only to please God. I need to recognize the things I do have: my testimony, my family, and the many other blessings I enjoy.
The third item is to stay morally clean. In a broad sense, this means to be moral, to be righteous, and to be true. Of course, more specifically, it means to obey the laws of chastity. I was once invited to a party which I knew would be morally suspect. At first I rationalized, thinking I would be strong enough to resist whatever temptations might be around me. Fortunately, I decided not to go. I later learned about the alcohol that was consumed and the moral iniquities that took place there. I realized that was not the kind of place for a Latter-day Saint to be. If I had gone to that party, I could in no way have looked at that picture of the Savior in my room and felt at ease.
I’m glad for that picture and I know I’m going to try my best to always place the Savior at the center of my life.

I go to a school run by one of the churches in my country. Sometime back I was chosen by my classmates to be our class counselor. One day as I was planning what to teach, I came across a Church booklet about the law of chastity. I decided to teach my classmates about chastity and asked the full-time missionaries for booklets, which I gave out during the lesson.
After my lesson, many students wanted to know more about the Church, so I taught them and gave them more Church materials, including the Book of Mormon. I did not know that this was not approved by the head teacher.
One day she called me to her office and asked me which church I went to. When I told her, she asked why I was giving out the Church’s “Bible” to the students. I told her that I gave them only to those who asked for them.
After a long talk about the Church, in which she made it clear that she believed it was not the Church of God, she told me, “I know that you have no parents, but I am very sorry—you will have to leave my school because you will convert many of my good students to that church of yours.” She told me to choose between the Church and my education.
She called an assembly and told the school that I was not allowed in school anymore because I belonged to the Mormon Church and that any other students following me would have to leave.
After the assembly, she asked what I had decided: my church or my education. I felt the Spirit telling me to stand for what I know: that the Lord has restored His true Church. I shared my testimony with her as I was leaving. She told me to return the following week to pick up a letter showing that I no longer went to the school.
When I came the following week, she had changed her mind! She wasn’t making me leave the school anymore. I was very happy, mostly because I had stood for what I knew to be true.
This experience taught me to always stand for what we know to be true. The Lord will always be there for us. If I had denied the Church, the students would have said that what I was teaching them was not true, but now they know that I know the truth.

I was searching for truth, so I started meeting with the missionaries. After taking most of the lessons, I knew I needed to get baptized. But as the day of my baptism approached, we held a lesson that was hard for me to hear. That lesson was on the Word of Wisdom.
That lesson was hard for me because I drank a lot. My work environment was tough. Everyone I worked with drank, and so I did too. I would often go out drinking after work and come home late at night.
But the missionaries did a great job. I still love them for it. They taught me that God wants us to be strong and that He gave us the Word of Wisdom to bless us. Obeying this law was really hard for me, but slowly, I started to keep it. I remember calling the missionaries every day, updating them on my progress, and telling them that I did not drink that day. They were so happy with my progress.
With their help, I got baptized and entered the fold of Jesus Christ. I felt the Spirit that beautiful day! But I was alone when I joined the Church. I wanted my family to be with me.
When I talked to my wife, Clirime, about the Church, she would not listen at first. Her grandfather belonged to a different religion, and she wondered why The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints had even come to Albania. I knew that the only way I could bring her into the gospel was through my example. Through our actions, people can see who we really are.
Clirime noticed changes in me as I gave up alcohol and started coming home early from work. Because of the changes I was making, she started to feel the Spirt of God as I told her about the Church. I cannot describe the happy feeling I had when she told me that one day she would also get baptized. Soon she began taking the missionary lessons, which I helped the missionaries teach. I was especially happy when she set a date for her baptism, six months after I was baptized.
With her baptism, and the baptism of our two children when they each turned eight, I felt that we could become an eternal family. But baptism was just the beginning. To prepare to go to the temple, we knew that we had to follow God to the end of our lives, keeping the commandments, going to church, partaking of the sacrament, serving in callings, reading the scriptures, and learning more about covenants and the plan of salvation.
The day we were sealed as a family in the Frankfurt Germany Temple was another beautiful day. In the temple, I came to understand more about the plan of happiness our God has for us, and I felt His love.
I still remember the promises Clirime and I made in the temple. Whenever something goes wrong or we are having a hard time, my mind goes back to those promises.
As a family we try to live in harmony with each other because that is what we felt in the temple. Every time I think of the temple, I feel happy and blessed. I know that God is real and that He loves us and wants us to be happy.

A convert was ministered to by personal example. As a young man, he said he spent his days lounging at the beach. One day, he said, “I saw an attractive girl in a modest swimsuit.” Amazed, he went to ask why such an attractive girl would wear such a modest swimsuit. She was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and asked with a smile, “Would you like to come to church Sunday?” He said yes.

Elder Sill uses stories, scriptures, poetry, and personal experiences to make the principles of leadership understandable and exciting. He gives the example of Mohandas Gandhi, a great leader in India, a “self-remade man.” In his youth Gandhi had considered himself a coward, a man of low self-control with a bad temper, but through determination and commitment he was able to master these weaknesses. He believed strongly in the importance of commitment to principle. Because his mother felt that eating meat was wrong, he made a pledge to her to remain a vegetarian all his life. Many years after his mother had died, when Gandhi became very ill, the doctors tried to persuade him that if he would drink a little beef broth it might save his life. But Gandhi refused, saying, “Even for life itself we may not do certain things. There is only one course open to me—to die, but never to break my pledge.”
Elder Sill comments, “Just think what would happen to the Church if every one of us had that kind of integrity and self-control. Since the development of strength in one area quickly extends itself into other areas, by a practice of this kind of self-discipline we could make ourselves stronger than anything that can happen to us.” (P. 167.)

A few years ago, right before Christmas, I had a stake conference assignment in California. On the flight back to Utah, I decided to take a short nap. My seat was C, near the aisle. Just before the cabin door closed, a beautiful lady in her mid-70s stood beside me and said, “May I have my seat?” I said, “Yes, ma’am.” That was the end of my nap. She loved to talk.
She said, “I don’t know why I should have to fly to a cold place like Utah at Christmastime to visit my grandchildren. I hate to leave sunny California.”
She went on to say, “Besides, there are strange and weird people in Utah. They call themselves ‘Mormons.’ My daughter married one of them.”
I said, “I am sorry, but before you go any further, I should tell you that I am one of them.”
Then she said, “I am sorry—I didn’t mean that.”
I said, “Oh, you really meant that, didn’t you?”
Our conversation went on until we were above Provo. We knew we would soon be landing in Salt Lake.
“Patti”—that’s her name—“you have been talking for most of the flight. I feel like I have known you from the pre-earth life. Before we land in Salt Lake City, I’d like to ask you a few questions if I may.”
I asked her sincerely, “Patti, your deceased husband—do you know you can see him again?”
She said, “Oh, is that possible?”
“Do you know your deceased son, Matt, who died as a baby—you will see him also in the future?”
Her eyes became moist, and her voice was shaking. The Spirit of the Lord touched her. I sensed she had missed them so much.
Then I prayerfully asked her, “Patti, do you know you have a loving and kind Heavenly Father, who loves you so dearly?”
She said, “Do I?”
“Patti, do you know your Heavenly Father has a special plan for you and that your family can be forever?”
“Can we?” she replied.
“Have you ever heard the plan before?”
She said, “No.”
Very sincerely I asked her, “Would you like to know about it?”
“Yes, I would,” she responded.
The Spirit of the Lord touched her deeply. And the Lord promises us, “For mine elect hear my voice and harden not their hearts.”
He also said: “I am the good shepherd, and know my sheep. … My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me.”
Nephi desired to see father Lehi’s dream—the tree of life—and he did. Then Nephi also saw the beautiful baby Jesus. And the angel asked, “Knowest thou the meaning of the tree which thy father saw?”
Nephi replied, “Yea, it is the love of God, which sheddeth itself abroad in the hearts of the children of men; wherefore, it is the most desirable above all things.”
Before we came to this earth, our Heavenly Father gently and peacefully placed in our bosoms “the love of God.” In Heavenly Father’s eyes, you are a very special child. My friend Patti has the spark of divinity in her soul. When Patti heard the word of Heavenly Father, she was touched deeply and she responded to His voice.
We were total strangers, but the Lord placed one of His precious daughters quietly next to me. I was praying earnestly, that the Spirit of the Lord would touch her and speak to her.
The missionaries taught Patti. Three weeks later, while she was staying in Utah, Patti called me: “Brother Kikuchi, this is Patti. I am going to be baptized. Would you come to my baptism services?”
My wife and I went to her baptism. Many members were kindly fellowshipping her. Oh, I shall never forget her joyful countenance as she came out of the water!
I shall never forget her sweet tears at the sacred altar in the Salt Lake Temple a year later. I remember her peaceful and celestial glow when she was sealed to her deceased husband and son and living daughter who had become a member of the Church. She now knows her family is forever in the Lord. My friend Patti Louise Donaldson found the Lord Jesus Christ. Now she lives in Utah.

When I was deciding if I should serve a mission, I was called to serve as a digital missionary in my home ward. In this calling, I was asked to share the gospel on social media by posting uplifting messages about Jesus Christ. I wanted to do my best, so I posted conference quotes, scriptures, and gospel insights on Instagram every day.
On most of my posts, I got likes and comments from people I knew, but there were also times when I would get likes and comments from people I didn’t know. One time, I shared part of an address by Elder David A. Bednar of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles about the principles of Jesus Christ’s gospel. A girl I didn’t know saw the post and reached out to me. Her name was Emma (name has been changed). She was a college student in England and had been searching for truths and more meaning in her life.
When Emma saw my post, she searched for and read the full talk by Elder Bednar and felt a deep desire to learn more. So, she started messaging me to ask questions about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and what I believe as a member. We had some insightful discussions as she expressed her interest in the gospel.
Over time we continued to reach out to each other and get to know each other. Eventually she became more and more interested in the Church, and I explained how she could get in touch with missionaries in her area. Soon she was meeting with them often!
After a few months of being taught, Emma accepted the invitation to be baptized, and she became a member of the Lord’s Church. She struggled for a while with difficult family relationships because of her desire to join the Church, but I was amazed by her courage and faith to keep moving forward with hope in Christ. Today, she loves the gospel and is so thankful for the effects it has had on her life.
Before I became connected with Emma, I had been contemplating serving a mission but had felt so uncertain and insignificant. I didn’t feel that my efforts to share the gospel would make a difference for anyone. But seeing how much Emma’s life changed simply because a stranger like me posted a message about Jesus Christ on social media, I was filled with hope that my desire to share the light of Christ as a full-time missionary and as a disciple of Jesus Christ could truly change people’s lives and bring them to Christ.
Emma and I continue to encourage each other and are now both serving full-time missions.
I know that Heavenly Father inspired me to post that original message from Elder Bednar on social media. The message was small and simple, but that’s all it took for Him to work a miracle.

“No school today!” came the magic words from the radio.
Remembering last night’s house-shaking blizzard, Dave thought that a holiday from school was a beautiful bonus.
“I wish Dad weren’t out of town,” said Mother, briskly beating pancake batter. “Something always happens when he’s gone.”
A sudden gust of wind rattled the windows. Dave peered out. He could hardly tell where the road was. It looked like a white river with waves whipped up by the wind.
“Being snowed in isn’t so bad,” he said happily. “Nothing can get through, not even a school bus.”
During breakfast, the radio broadcast several weather-related stories: A forty-mile-an-hour wind had roared all night, blowing three feet of snow into massive drifts. Semitrailers had jackknifed, and cars and buses had slid into ditches. Some snow-plows were still stuck on major highways. “The worst of the storm is over,” the announcer concluded, “but some areas might not be plowed out until tomorrow.”
The phone rang. It was Dave’s best friend, Tim. “Tough about school, huh? Think we can handle it?”
“Maybe if we get together for moral support,” Dave replied.
“Glad to help a buddy out,” Tim said cheerfully. “Be right over.”
Tim lived only two blocks away, but by the time he got to Dave’s house, he was covered with snow. “The Abominable Snowman himself!” he laughed.
“I know a perfect place to build a snow cave-fort,” Dave suggested, pulling on his ski jacket, snow bib, boots, hat, and mittens. He felt as if he was outfitting for a polar expedition.
“Snow’s sticky enough,” agreed Tim.
“Build it where I can see you from the house,” Mother warned. “And be careful.”
“Sure,” the boys said in unison.
Outside, the wind punched them in the face, and snowflakes as thick as feathers swirled around them. Sinking deep into the drifts, they plodded toward the garage, where Dave pointed to a high snowbank.
“It is perfect!” Tim said. The giant snowbank blocked the wind and had plenty of raw material for their cave-fort. They set to work tunneling into the base of the big drift, shoveling out the snow and packing the sides as they dug.
Two houses away their friends Jeff and Brian were piling up snowballs.
“We just have to get our fort done before they start a snowball fight!” Tim exclaimed. They worked all morning, then stopped only for lunch and to change their wet mittens.
“How’s your fort coming along?” Mother asked, dishing up tomato soup and handing them grilled cheese sandwiches.
“It’s the best ever,” bragged Tim. “It’s the biggest and highest—”
“And strongest, I hope,” Mother put in, looking worried.
“We’ll find out in the snowball showdown!” replied Tim, gulping down his soup.
When they went out again, they saw that Jeff and Brian had started to build a fort too. Dave wondered how much ammunition they had stockpiled.
Dave and Tim’s fort was shaping up. They widened the entrance, enlarged the inside, and sloshed water onto the sides to ice them firm. Finally, pushing out a big snow chunk, Dave grunted, “We’re just about done.”
“If you clear the doorway,” said Tim, “I can finish up inside.”
Dave crawled out and started shoveling out the entrance. He looked at the fort looming high above him. It seemed strangely quiet. The wind had died to a whisper. The snow had stopped. Nothing moved. It was like a movie that had stopped, frozen in one frame. He shivered.
Then, without a sound, the snow roof slowly slid inward, collapsing the fort and burying Tim. This can’t be happening! Dave agonized, and he flew at the crumpled white mound with his shovel, flailing away furiously. “Tim! Tim!” he yelled. But there was no sound. “Cave-in!” he shouted to Jeff and Brian, and they came running with shovels. “Tim’s under there!”
Dave’s mother came running out of the house. “I called an ambulance, but nothing can get through. The roads are still blocked!” She frantically started scooping at the snow pile with her bare hands.
Dave’s heart sank. “Please, God,” he murmured desperately, “help Tim.” Shoveling furiously again, he shouted, “Hang on, Tim! We’ll get you out!” Finally, his breath coming in great gasps, Dave stopped shoveling. Looking at the huge pile of snow and at the very little that they had uncovered, a wave of despair swept over him.
Suddenly a story flashed through his mind, one that he’d read long ago. It was about an avalanche, a boy who was buried, and his friend who kept poking a broom handle deep into the drifts until he found him.
Dave tore off his mittens. He wanted to feel with his fingertips. Plunging his arm deep into the snow, he jabbed down in different places, calling, “Tim! We’re coming, Tim!” over and over. Tim had to know that help was on the way, so that he could hold out longer.
I must hurry, Dave told himself. There’s so much snow to cover. Am I reaching deep enough? Again and again he thrust his arms into the snow—reaching, reaching.
Suddenly he thought that he felt something way down deep. Was he imagining it? His arm pushed through the snow again. There was something there! “Dig here!” he yelled.
The diggers scooped out snow with their shovels and then with their hands until they had uncovered Tim’s arm, hanging limp. Quickly they uncovered Tim’s head. His face was ashen, but he opened his eyes and mumbled something. In just minutes he was freed, carried into the house, stripped of his wet clothes, and wrapped in blankets.
It wasn’t until then that Dave was conscious of his own red, throbbing hands. He soaked them in tepid water, but they hurt for a long time afterward. A small price to pay, he thought.
Meanwhile, everything around him was a blur … people coming, Tim’s mother talking to the doctor on the phone: “He just wants to sleep,” she was saying, her voice shaky. Dave’s thoughts focused again when she told him, “The doctor wants us to question Tim. If he makes sense, he’s probably all right.”
Dave went with her into Tim’s bedroom. Tim’s face was still pale, but he was breathing steadily. His eyes were closed. “Tim?” Dave asked softly.
Tim opened his eyes. “Thanks,” he said, trying to smile. “You saved my life.” His eyes closed again.
Dave swallowed hard. “Tim, did you hear me calling your name?”
Tim shook his head. “I didn’t hear anything.”
“Not even the yelling?” asked Dave.
Tim’s voice was low. “I just kept thinking, ‘Don’t panic. It uses up more oxygen.’” Then he fell asleep.
He makes sense, all right, Dave thought, relieved.
Tim’s mother turned to Dave. “You’re a hero,” she said, her voice soft with tears.
But Dave knew that he couldn’t take all the credit. It was a miracle. It had to be. Why else would he have remembered that long-ago story? Why else was he able to find Tim in time? God was looking out for us, Dave thought. Miracles are never a one-man show.

Some years ago a young “Korean boy took his weekly allowance and bought newspapers with it. Then he and some friends sold these on the streets of Seoul, Korea, to raise money to help a fellow student who did not have sufficient funds to stay in school. This young man also gave part of his lunch to this boy each day so that he would not go hungry. Why did he do these things? Because he had been studying the story of the Good Samaritan and didn’t just want to learn about the Good Samaritan but wanted to know what it felt like to be one by doing what a Good Samaritan would do. … Only after careful questioning by his father about his activities” did he admit, “But, Dad, every time I help my friend, I feel I’m becoming more like the Good Samaritan. Besides that, I want to help my classmates who aren’t as fortunate as I. It’s not that big of a thing I am doing. I read about it in my seminary manual and felt it was the thing I ought to do.” The boy did not ask, “What’s in it for me?” before performing this kindness. In fact, he did it without any thought of recompense or recognition.

From the back patio of my home in Hawaii, I could see the outdoor basketball court in the corner of the playground of Laie Elementary School. Lengthwise, the rough asphalt court was regulation size with standard ten-foot baskets at each end. Two shorter courts, each with lower eight-foot baskets, ran across its width.
Most afternoons, players of all ages, sizes, and colors jammed the court. But they didn’t play on the regulation baskets. They played on the eight-footers. With the shorter court and the lower standards, their fast breaks often ended in twisting two-handed slam dunks.
I wondered why so many kids would choose the lower hoops over the regulation ones, and this reason stood out: Who wouldn’t prefer a slam dunk over a jump shot?
I have to admit that I’ve played on that same court a few times myself, driving around my ten-year-old son to swoop down on the low basket with a rim-rattling dunk. Jonathan would be duly impressed by my leaping ability. And for a fleeting moment playing above the rim made me feel a little like Shaquille O’Neal or Patrick Ewing.
It was a good feeling.
But then we’d move to the ten-foot hoops, and I became a grounded bird; the rim seemed miles over my head, far, far out of range. All my shots would be off, ricocheting from the rim in weird angles. I’d have to play on the regular baskets for quite a while to get my shooting eye back. But no matter how much I played on the regulation hoops, I never did feel like an NBA giant. I just felt like a regular guy, hoping a combination of luck, wind currents, and my aim would guide the ball through the hoop.
Even though it was a blast skying over the eight-foot baskets to stuff in shots or snatch rebounds right off the rim, playing on the lower standards always hurt my ability to play on the standard baskets. Eventually, I wised up. Whenever Jonathan managed to get me to shoot around with him at the school court, I ignored the lower baskets, knowing that even though they might be fun, in the long run, they wouldn’t do my meager basketball skills a bit of good.
The funny thing is, I’ve known that since junior high school. I can still remember our coach warning us against playing on eight-foot baskets. “The game you guys are preparing for uses ten-foot standards. The lower baskets will only foul you up. So don’t you mess with them.” And if he ever caught any of us playing a lunchtime game on the low baskets, we’d get extra running at practice as a reminder of what was good for us.

Some years ago while visiting in Australia, I accompanied the mission president on a flight to Darwin to break ground for that city’s first Latter-day Saint chapel. We stopped for refueling at the small mining community of Mt. Isa. There we were met at the terminal by a mother and her two children of Primary age. She introduced herself as Judith Louden and mentioned that she and her two children were the only members of the Church in the town. Her husband, Richard, was not a member. After four years as Church members, they had never lived where there was an organized branch of the Church. We held a brief meeting, where I discussed the importance of holding a home Primary session each week. I promised to send from Church headquarters the home Primary materials to assist them. There was a commitment to pray, to meet, to persevere in faith.
Upon returning to Salt Lake City, I not only sent the promised materials, but also a subscription to the Friend.
Years later, while attending the stake conference of the Brisbane Australia Stake, I mentioned in a priesthood session the plight of this faithful woman and her children. I said, “Someday I hope to learn how that home Primary succeeded and to meet the nonmember husband and father of that choice family.” One of the brethren in the meeting stood and said, “Brother Monson, I know Richard Louden, the husband of that good woman and father of those precious children. Prayer and Primary brought him into the Church.”