Gospel Story Finder

Elizabeth: That’s an exciting concept to me because of an experience I had last year. I was attending a college where I was the only Mormon. My roommate knew me both before and after I became active in the Church and had even investigated the Church once herself. During this time I was trying very hard to live the way I was supposed to, and so I stayed home a lot of times when my friends were out at parties, R-rated movies, etc. My roommate never said very much to me about the Church or the way I had changed my life, but when I left that school and came to BYU, I received a letter from her. She told me how much she had appreciated the example I had set and that she hadn’t realized the friend I had been to her because of it. But the best part of all is that she also decided to reinvestigate the Church.

Jandi and Alison, who are also Laurels, wanted to make a meaningful contribution to camp too. Jandi’s mom, Glenda, is the camp director, so she had plenty of things they could do to help out, including setting up camp and helping organize and execute a fund-raiser. They also put together binders for each girl containing information about each day’s activities, words to campfire songs, and camp certification information. Even with a relatively small group coming to camp, it was a big job.
“We worked right up to the last minute,” says Jandi. “The day camp started, we were still putting some of them together. We finished just in time!”

When it was time for the final softball game to determine which team from our stake would go on to regional play, the contest was between us and the neighboring ward. After a hard-fought game during which they heckled us relentlessly, they won. How disappointed we were! We had tried so hard and felt at that moment of defeat that all our practice, all our efforts, had been in vain.
Our misery abated slightly as one of the girls noticed Baur Dee and her husband Glen lifting a large tub containing two watermelons in ice from their car trunk. We hurried over to partake of our consolation prize. Before we could, however, Baur Dee suggested that we invite the winning team to share the watermelon with us. Protests arose immediately. Why should we share with those who had not only beaten us, but who had been so unkind about it?
The look of disappointment on Baur Dee’s face was obvious. As she turned to cut the melons, she said, “I’m leaving it up to you.” We stood silent for a moment, knowing what we should do but not wanting to do it.
Finally one of the girls spoke up, “Well, there’s Matthew 5:44 [Matt. 5:44]. I guess we’d better invite them.” We did so, and before long each one of us felt that sweet joy which comes when the hand of fellowship is extended, conflicts are resolved, and we know that we have done something good. It was an unforgettable lesson.

While growing up, Isaac Nii Ayi Kwei Martey was introduced to the Hindu religion by his father. He came in contact with The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints while he was staying with his uncle in Cape Coast. He met LDS missionaries as they were rescheduling an appointment with a neighbor. He approached them and consented to listen to the restored gospel. Isaac had in mind to thwart the message of the restored gospel. When the missionaries visited with him, they gave him the Book of Mormon and he loved the teachings he found there. He genuinely wanted to learn more.
He decided to take the challenge of praying about the Book of Mormon. He persistently prayed to know if it was true and he got his confirmation three weeks later. After the witness of the Holy Ghost, he was faced with a new challenge.
He informed his mother about his desire to get baptized and join the LDS Church, but she threatened to disown him if he ever did. All his relatives were against the idea of him joining the Church. Isaac had been admitted to study for his bachelor’s degree at Kwame Nkrumah University of Science and Technology. Isaac told the Cape Coast missionaries of his plan to attend church at Kumasi without the knowledge of his family. Isaac had studied with them for a little over a year without getting the opportunity to attend church. While in Kumasi, he looked for the LDS Church but could not find it. A student colleague directed him to the LDS Church about a month later. Isaac again met with the Kumasi missionaries. They were impressed with his knowledge of the restored gospel, but this was no surprise, as he had been taught much by missionaries while in Cape Coast.
The missionaries fixed a baptismal interview date with Isaac. He agreed and got baptized on October 16, 2010. However, he kept all this from his family. Isaac had the privilege of performing a proxy baptism in the temple when he came to Accra for Christmas vacation. He shared his experience in the temple: “When I got to the temple, I felt so much about being different and I remember reading a talk in the waiting room by President Monson. ‘Dare to be a Mormon; Dare to stand alone. Dare to have a purpose firm; Dare to make it known’ (“Dare to Stand Alone,” Liahona, Nov. 2011, 61).” This impression compelled him to inform his mother about his newfound Church membership and the blessings he had acquired. Breaking the news, his mother was furious initially, but subsequently, she began to understand and accept his decision to be a Latter-day Saint. However, his extended family was unforgiving of his decision.
Isaac’s faith in the gospel began to enlarge, even to extent of desiring to serve a full-time mission. He decided to save some money toward such ecclesiastical ambition. His mother pleaded with him against it while his other relatives warned him to rescind his decision when he told them about his desire to serve the Lord for two years. Isaac stood firm and proceeded to work toward his mission goal rather than heeding to whims and caprices of family members.
He submitted his missionary forms and received the call to serve in Nigeria Port Harcourt Mission. Seven days after arriving at the missionary training center, he was informed that his mother had passed away. Having already lost his dad as a 15-year-old, his mother’s death made him an orphan. It was a really difficult time for him, and he was faced with the choice to either return home or continue with his mission. He prayed concerning this and sought counsel from his leaders. He finally decided on continuing his mission. He informed his family about his decision, and as expected, it was not well received. An uncle told him that if he went ahead with his mission, he should not consider himself as family to him. Even though he had the option to return home for his mother’s burial, he resolved to keep serving the Lord after he had read few passages in the scriptures:
“And another also said, Lord, I will follow thee; but let me first go bid them farewell, which are at home at my house.
“And Jesus said unto him, No man, having put his hand to the plough, and looking back, is fit for the kingdom of God” (Luke 9:61–62).
He served his mission faithfully and extended for a few more weeks before returning. Even though he hasn’t been accepted by his extended family, Isaac firmly believes that the Lord is mindful of the little things we do on this earth and the unending blessings we gain as we obey His commandments. “We all have different challenges, and the Lord has prepared our backs to these challenges that we face. … All He requires from us is a broken heart and a contrite spirit,” he says. Even though he is unsure of what lies ahead for him, he knows that if he relies on the Savior, he will be able to achieve all things.

My father’s name is Jean de Dieu Nsanzurwimimo. He was born in Rwanda’s Western Province. He married my mom, Emmeline Mukamusonera, in 1981, after they met in Kigali, Rwanda’s capital city.
My parents came from very different backgrounds; my father was a member of Rwanda’s majority ruling Hutu tribe, and my mother is from the Tutsi tribe. In Rwanda when they were growing up, there was an extended civil war and a long-simmering conflict between the two tribes. This animosity led extremist groups of Hutus to promote the ideology that all the Tutsi people living in Rwanda should be killed.
I was born in 1994, just four months before a series of events led to a catastrophic genocide of Rwanda’s Tutsi population, led by Hutu extremists who took over the government. During a 100-­day period from April 7 until mid-­July, nearly one million Rwandans were brutally killed, including as many as 70% of the Tutsi population.
Even before the 1994 Tutsi genocide, many leaders of the Hutu tribe taught that a Hutu man married to a Tutsi woman should be required to kill her and all her family to show his allegiance to his tribe. Because of those teachings, and to better protect his family, my father moved his wife and children to a small village near Cyangugu, in the far southwestern corner of Rwanda. Even in that small village, the majority of Hutu villagers spurned and rejected my mother because she was a Tutsi. But my father continued to protect us. In 1993, when the tension and genocide ideology increased, she was pregnant with me and caring for my three older sisters. Because it was known that she was a Tutsi, our family didn’t have many friends and it was dangerous every time she had to fetch water or go to the market. It was a very difficult time for her, but always my father was on her side, protecting her and taking care of his family.
During this time, there were constant meetings in the community where the locals were given machetes and guns and trained on how to kill the Tutsis. Every week they had a community meeting. In March 1994, my father attended a town meeting where it was announced that Hutu men married to a Tutsi woman would be required to kill her and all their children. It was a hard time for them. Some of the men and some of the women who were Hutus did kill their children.
In a meeting in early April, my father was ordered to kill my mother and his four daughters. When he came home from the meeting around 6:00 p.m., it was very dark because there were no street lights at the time. He immediately took us to a small island located in the southern part of Lac Kivu, a large lake dividing Rwanda and Congo. He told my mom that the villagers had determined that we were supposed to die, so we should hide in that place; he was going back home to find a safe place for us. He told her that if she saw any boats, she should ask them if they would carry us over to Congo, where we would be safe from the Rwandan genocide. She was able to find someone willing to take us across to Congo, where we spent the next five months, until peace was restored in Rwanda and it was safe to return.
All the while in Congo, and after we came home, we didn’t know what had happened to my father. When we came back we didn’t see anything; they didn’t allow us to enter the house where we had lived, and we were told everything that belonged to my father had been sold. It was a very hard time for my mom. We didn’t have a house to stay in. We didn’t have anything to eat. We went to the Seventh-­Day Adventist chapel, where we slept for a whole week. After that my mother carried all of us to town where she learned we could get small help from the new government.
In 2003, nine years after the violence ended, the government created a reconciliation program called “Gacaca” to help resolve the hard feelings from the killings. As part of the process, people who had killed others during the genocide confessed and asked for forgiveness. Through gacaca, we came to know that my father’s family members, after they looked everywhere for us and could not find us, had killed him. My mother and my eldest sister attended the hearing where my father’s family asked for our forgiveness, and they forgave them. They told my mother that they had thrown his body into the river after killing him, so we were never able to locate his body. Because I was so young at the time he saved us, I have no recollections of my father; I don’t know his face.
When I met with the missionaries, it was hard for them to tell me how God loves me and that He is my Father in Heaven. I did come to understand that because of the plan of salvation, I will meet my father once more. Because of my faith in the plan of salvation and the Atonement of Jesus Christ, I was baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-­day Saints in 2013.
My mother continued to struggle to raise the four of us herself. She had many health and stomach problems and for much of the time she suffered. She was not able to go to the hospital because she was a Tutsi. She finally passed away on June 16, 2016, from what was discovered to be cancer. She knew I was a member of the Church of Jesus Christ. She believed that I had become part of a big family. She blessed me and said I was doing the right thing. She always taught me and my sisters to love one another and to serve one another. She said our father suffered himself to allow us to live. She said we should always work hard; it would make our father happy.
I know this gospel is true. I know I will see my family again. I know my father sacrificed his life to allow me to have this life today and I am very anxious to meet him once more and thank him for his wonderful sacrifice.
I was thrilled to receive the privilege to serve as a missionary, starting in August 2017. My mission allows me to teach the joy of the gospel to families around me. One of the greatest blessings the Lord has given me since I have been on my mission is that two of my sisters have joined the Church. One of my greatest ambitions after I complete my mission is to do the temple work for my parents so that our family can be sealed for eternity.
The plan of salvation can bring happiness in this life and eternal joy in the life hereafter. I know this to be true, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

The hours that followed were a blur—our phones constantly ringing with calls or pinging with texts from concerned friends and family, most of which we were unable to answer.
In the midst of it all, I felt an urgent need to call my aunt, whom I’ve probably called five times in my entire life. But every time I see her, she always seems to say something that my soul needs.
When she answered, I was surprised by her upbeat and confident response. “Noelle,” she said, “this is a miracle! You got out!” She continued, “This is only the first of many miracles. Watch and see what the Lord has in store for you. He will lead you to where you need to be.”
I wanted to believe my aunt—to believe in Him. But the grief was real, and the tears were many. The problems seemed too complex to solve, and our hearts seemed too broken to mend. There were times when I would crumble beneath the weight of trying to rebuild an entire life from scratch. I wondered quietly, and desperately, “Will He really lead us now? What will we do if He doesn’t come?” But during the weeks and months following the explosion, we watched in amazement as my aunt’s faithful prediction proved true, and our broken hearts were bound up again and again. I did not know that extreme grief and profound gratitude could co-exist.
My aunt promised, “Watch and see what the Lord has in store for you. He will lead you to where you need to be.”

But as the excitement grew, the group’s harmony was invaded by discord. Newspapers and television spoke against the Church. Missionaries were physically abused. Rocks were thrown through the windows of the mission home and the mission office. One night the whole front of the mission office was painted with obscenities.
As the anti-Church sentiment grew, the manager of the Moscow Hotel began to worry about the possible consequences of allowing the Church to hold a Christmas program in her hotel. Less than 36 hours before the program was to begin, she notified the mission office that the members would not be able to use their reserved room after all.
Some of the members were devastated by the news, believing that the Christmas program would have to be canceled. President Warner was more trusting.
“Heavenly Father knows where we are and how much we need to have this program,” he said. “Let’s leave it in the Lord’s hands.”
The Lord heard their prayers. When the assistants to the mission president, Elder Trent Murray and Elder Hannon Ford, returned to the Moscow Hotel to get the mission’s money back, the manager explained why she was reluctant to allow them to use the reserved room on the main floor and led them to a room on the second floor.
“If you can promise that your people will come in the back door instead of the front door, go up the back stairs, and not use the lobby, you can use this other room,” she said, opening the door to a much larger ballroom. It was two and a half times larger than their reserved room, and it had a wonderful grand piano. It even had a Christmas tree and other holiday decorations.
On a cold Saturday afternoon in Sofia, missionaries met the members and investigators arriving for the program and directed them to the back door, where they entered the hotel inconspicuously. More than 400 guests crowded into the ballroom. Even the dour faces of the spotlight technicians, who were unhappy to be working on a holiday, could not spoil their festive spirit.
The 150 choir members sang beautifully, and the audience joined in for a sing-along. By the time a young couple placed their baby in the manger for the final scene, the room was filled with joy and music. Even the spotlight technicians were singing and clapping along with the others.
The Spirit was so strong that no one wanted to leave. But like every performance, the Christmas program had to conclude. The same child’s a capella solo that had opened the program—her “Silent Night”—ended it. As the audience and the participants returned home, echoes of their experience—their “Joy to the World”—reverberated in their hearts and warmed the chill in the Bulgarian air.

Last summer I climbed a mountain. A group of friends and I started at 1:00 a.m. at the base, with the goal of reaching the summit to watch the sunrise. The first four hours were miserable. We walked in the dark, plodding onward, one foot in front of the other. It was too dark to see the top of the mountain outline, our goal, so I kept my head down, using my headlamp to light the way.

As I climbed the mountain last summer, I experienced a gradual change. As the sun came up, my mood lifted. I could see more clearly; I felt more purpose as my goal came into view. When the sunlight finally fell directly on me, I felt like a changed person. The warmth reinvigorated me, and I found myself happy, talkative, joyful, and full of energy.

In a similar manner, dwelling on questions in the dark can sap our gospel energy. During the first half of the hike, I felt hopeless and exhausted. It seemed like I would never reach my goal. When I was walking in the light, I felt energized and optimistic, even though I still had a long way to walk. Choosing to search for answers while coming closer to Jesus Christ and moving into His light can fill us with His Spirit and help us remain hopeful as we move toward further understanding.

When I was about 14, my mother and father were divorced. There were seven children left at home. Little or no child support was ever paid. I watched my “champion” mom put on heavy shoes with metal toe protectors, dress like a workman, and go out to Garfield smelter to work so she could earn enough money to support our family. The poor woman would get ready for work at about 9:30 P.M., catch a bus at 10:00, work all night until 7:00 A.M., return home, and be there about the time we got up to go to school. During the day she would wash and iron, bake bread, fix meals, clean the house, and always be up when the children were home. I don’t know how she did it.
Now some of you will never have to experience conditions like that in your home. But let me say here, one of the highest places I have ever walked is in the shadow of a great mom who forgot her embarrassment and womanly image to simply support a large family until they came of age. I saw an older brother who grew up fast and was able to go to work at age 14 in the Bauer Mines near Tooele because he was large of stature. He became the masculine image to all of us who were his younger brothers and sisters.
It is no wonder that I love work. My wonderful mother taught me how to work, and when I did get a job, I knew the family was depending on me to hold it.

Q. When did you first become involved in music?
A. My parents always had music around the house, and some of my relatives had been professional musicians. But I started taking legitimate piano lessons when I was seven.
Q. Did you immediately take to it?
A. No! I hated practicing. But taking lessons and practicing was something I was expected to do, with no other options. It turned out to be a smart thing.
Q. When and how did you make the switch from hating to play to loving to play?
A. I think it began when I started getting attention for playing. Aunt Violet would come over, and I’d be asked to play for her, and I enjoyed the attention. What kid doesn’t? Oh, and I started liking it better when I started creating.
Q. How did you start creating?
A. My teacher was great. She would give me a piece by Bach and have me learn it the way he meant it to be played, but then she’d let me improvise. I’d make it a bit jazzier here and there. I guess that was composition in embryo. She’d even let me play it both ways in recitals. That’s when piano started becoming fun.

It was one of those warm summer afternoons, the kind of soft and lazy day that seems to envelop the mind in daydreams and push out thoughts of work or study. While I’d been on my mission, this had been the hardest kind of day to keep my mind on the work. Now it was the same way with school. Since before noon I’d been up in the foothills east of campus collecting root samples. My lab partner and I had been collecting them for a botany project. It had taken us about twice as long as it should have, because we spent as much time chasing butterflies as we did collecting plants. After we had finally completed our collection, my lab partner had given me a lift back to civilization, and I’d caught a bus for home. It was Friday afternoon, and with the quiet spell of the early summer day still tugging at my brain, I decided as I rode along to dedicate Saturday to sunny beaches and cool water.
I was beginning to envision the day in a little finer detail when the air brakes gave a familiar hiss and I noticed a small Chicano boy getting on at the front of the bus. The bus was only about half full. There were several empty seats between the front and myself, so I paid little attention. Gazing back out the window, I let my mind drift again to my imaginary weekend.
But just as I was getting back to my daydream, I caught sight of that boy again out of the corner of my eye. He had passed two empty seats and seemed headed straight for the one next to me. He was about nine or ten, dressed in well-faded but clean jeans and a red-checkered shirt. The shirt seemed a little too big, probably a hand-me-down. As he approached, I stared determinedly out the window, hoping he’d pass by my seat in favor of one of the empty ones behind. No such luck.
“Hi, mister,” he said, plopping down next to me. He had a smile so big it seemed about a size and a half too wide for his face. I didn’t want to smile back, but his grin was too contagious; I couldn’t help myself.
“Hello,” I answered, trying to regain my stern composure.
“Nice day, huh?” he said.
“Yes,” I answered, “nice day.” This time I managed not to smile, and I looked back out the window hoping that would end the conversation. It was a day too well suited for daydreaming to waste talking to some little kid about the weather. There was silence for a moment, and I began to relax again, conjuring up visions of playing volleyball on the beach.
“Hey, mister, you married?”
“What?” I asked, turning back to the boy. His smile, if possible, seemed even a little wider than before.
“You married?”
“No.” I answered coldly, hoping he’d take the hint.
“Oh,” he said, looking down disappointed, his smile fading. I seemed to have momentarily caught him off-guard. He was thinking. Then in an instant he looked up again, his eyes brighter than ever. “But you’re going to get married, right?”
I tried not to smile, but his eyes and that row of teeth made it impossible. “Yes,” I said smiling back, “I guess I will.”
“And when you get married, mister, are you going to love your wife?”
Now he had caught me off-guard. The question seemed out of place coming from someone so young. I felt like he was leading up to something, but I wasn’t sure what. “Of course,” I answered cautiously, “of course I will.”
“And when you love somebody, you always want to be with them, don’t you, mister, even after you die?”
Suddenly it hit me! He was asking me a Golden Question. He was a Mormon. I sat there looking at him. I didn’t answer; I didn’t know what to say. How many times had I asked almost that same question? How many times on the buses and streets of Brazil while I was on my mission? But that was my mission; that was then, not now. It seemed inconceivable that those same words were being repeated to me here, at home, by a ten-year-old boy. The bus was slowing rapidly and the boy stood up, taking something from his back pocket and handing it to me.
“Hey, mister, I got to get off here. Take this. It’s got the name of two of my friends on it. If you want to know more, give them a call. Good-bye, mister.” And he was gone.
I sat staring at the pamphlet he had given me. It was folded in half and a little tattered at the corners. I unfolded it and read the title, “The Plan of Salvation.”
I’d come home from my mission almost two years ago. I’d brought home my missionary journal, color slides, souvenirs, and a lot of memories. But I’d left my mission behind. How many people had I told about the Church in the time I’d been home? How many Golden Questions had I asked? How many nonmembers did I know who might be interested if only I’d bring up the subject? I’d just been taught a lesson about missionaries that I hadn’t learned in the whole time I’d been on a mission, and it had been taught to me by a young boy with nothing but a testimony and a smile.
The bus was filling up with people now. We were near the center of town and it was almost 5:00. A young man in a business suit sat down next to me. Self-consciously I stuffed the pamphlet in my shirt pocket and looked down at my feet. I was still thinking about that boy; as young as he was, he was still more of a missionary than I’d ever been. I glanced up again. The man next to me was looking out the window, probably daydreaming.
“Nice day, isn’t it?” I said without thinking.
“Yes,” he smiled back, “a very pretty day.”
I sat for a moment, fingering the pamphlet in my pocket. Then, mustering my biggest smile, I asked, “Say, are you married?”

When you are 12 years old, life is hard enough. Caught between being a child and being a teenager, you struggle to really know who you are. I was in the middle of that struggle when my parents announced we were moving to the small town over the hill. The move was only a few miles away, but to me it was a world away.
I grew up in a suburban town of 30,000. I walked to school. The playground and the youth center were a block from home. And I went to the movies every Saturday.
Our new home was different. It was a rural town of 6,000—and planned to stay that way. I was a mile and a half (2.4 km) from school and had to ride the bus. My playground would become the woods and hills nearby. Saturday matinees would become only an occasional treat.
The move itself wasn’t so bad. I was adventurous and loved exploring. But I had a hard time fitting in at school. The other students had all grown up together, and I was the outsider. To make matters worse, I didn’t hide my emotions and was an easy target for bullies.
One of the biggest bullies I had to deal with was Tracy. That wouldn’t have been so bad, except Tracy is a girl.
I had dealt with boy bullies before. You either faced them or learned to avoid them. But Tracy seemed to be everywhere: in the hall, at lunch, in my classes. She had a way with insults that just chopped you to pieces. I dreaded seeing her anywhere.
Since it seemed I couldn’t avoid her, I had to face her, but I didn’t know how. A talk I heard at church changed all that. I don’t remember who was speaking, but I remember what was said. The speaker was talking about dealing with difficult people. He said, “If you can’t beat them, try loving them to death.” He got a laugh out of the congregation, but I thought about it for some time. I finally decided what to do with Tracy. I would “smother her with kindness.”
I started looking for Tracy the next day. When I saw her, I said, “Tracy, you look nice.” She looked shocked and stammered a thank you as we passed in the hall. I kept it up. Every time I saw her, I would pay her a compliment before she had a chance to say anything. The insults stopped, and my life gained a little peace.
A few months later, the school year was coming to a close. One of the closing activities was a dance in the gym during school hours. I went to it but didn’t feel like asking any girls to dance. Frankly, I had never asked a girl before. But then a girl came up to me and asked me to dance.
I was shocked to see that it was Tracy. I said yes, and we went out onto the floor. When the song was over, I said, “Thank you,” and Tracy went on her way.
I never did see her again. She moved somewhere else that summer. I hope she fit in at her new school more easily than I had. But I learned that day that my plan had worked. Where I had an enemy, I found a friend.

I remember a young man in my third area who was very passionate about serving the Lord and zealous in his effort and contribution to missionary work. He once tried to call a friend on phone but instead dialed a wrong number. The number belonged to a young lady who had been prepared to receive the gospel. They interacted for a few minutes and soon discovered they lived in the same area.
The meetinghouse was not too far from her home, and my young friend introduced himself and his faith and expressed interest in meeting her. The young lady’s name was Vivian. She was welcoming and friendly. She had a listening spirit. We acted promptly, and I soon met the strongest convert I will ever have on my mission.
What amazed me the most about Vivian was her readiness to act and keep commitments. She attended all Church meetings, usually arriving even earlier than the branch presidency on Sunday and earlier than everyone else on other meeting days within the week. She asked important questions that increased her knowledge of the gospel deeply. I was moved by her profound character and was inspired by her love for the Lord and for missionary work.
After her baptism, her voice became a powerful third witness to my later converts in the area as she spoke the language of the heart and with not many, but a few words, communicated passion for Christ, His righteousness, and the restored gospel unlike any other. To this day, I remember fondly the lovely experiences we had with her while walking in the sun, teaching and testifying to all those who would listen. She became an inspiration to the young men and women, and she helped us teach. It was a difficult area to work in but Vivian, with her light, made the hardest times the most memorable.

As time passed, I inclined more towards God. I was diligent in reading the scriptures, attending church, and doing prayers. However, my fiancé, who was a recent convert, requested that I visit the Mormon Church. With lots of struggles in my life as well as being a longtime investigator, I finally became a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Later, we got married in the Hong Kong China Temple. Today, I am blessed with a happy family with a wife and two beautiful children.
We always try our best to follow the teachings of the Church. My parents used to observe us. After a while, I invited my parents to come to church with us. Following many discussions, my mother became a member of the Church.

Mary Carmen said, “I first learned about the Church when two missionaries came tracting through our block. We were very active in another church, but we couldn’t feel the Spirit of the Lord the way we can feel it now. The day before the missionaries came, my mother had been praying that the gospel might enter our home more fully, but she certainly didn’t expect it to be delivered by two Mormon missionaries! I know that the Church is true. I have no doubts. I feel I am the happiest person in the world. I love every person here today because I know that you are all my brothers and sisters. I want the whole world to be happy.”

I will be forever grateful to my mother, who taught me the importance of the temple. For years, she prepared us for the temple by having pictures of many beautiful temples hanging in our home. We also had family home evening lessons about temples. All of this was in anticipation of the long-promised visit to the temple after reaching the age of 12.
The words of the song my mother sang, often at the breakfast table before family prayers, still ring in my ears.
I love to see the temple.
I’m going there someday
To feel the Holy Spirit,
To listen and to pray.
For the temple is a house of God,
A place of love and beauty.
I’ll prepare myself while I am young;
This is my sacred duty.
(Children’s Songbook, 95)
For each of us five children, Mother’s present for our 12th birthday was a trip to the temple. The closest temple—Johannesburg—was a long trip, a 16-hour, nonstop drive, and it cost a lot of money. It meant leaving at 4:00 A.M. and arriving after 8:00 P.M.—tired, hot, and sticky.
Yet my mother always made sure money for the temple trip was first in the budget, along with tithing. Each year, we made the journey to the temple to do work for the dead. By sacrificing so much, my mother helped me understand the beauty of the temple and the importance of the work done there.
When I think of my mother, beaming proudly, as she presented her two children, my sister and me, to the temple president and showed him our recommends, I am reminded of Hannah bringing Samuel to Eli in the temple and dedicating her son to the Lord. Although I didn’t fully understand the importance of the temple at first, each successive temple trip left an indelible impression on me. My love for the temple grew each year as my mother sacrificed so much for our experiences there. To see her children in the temple, dressed in white and doing the Lord’s work, meant more to my mother than anything she could have bought with the money she saved.

Being brought up in the Church, I was always told by my friends and family that this was the true church. But I never really bothered to find out for myself. I just assumed it was true because everything pretty much made sense and my parents seemed so sincere about it.
I had always planned to go on a mission, partially because I felt I was expected to and also because I felt I needed to. After I received my mission call, I really began to wonder about the truthfulness of the Church. But I had never prayed about it, and now that I was close to going on my mission I didn’t have the courage to ask.
While at the Missionary Training Center, I was in high spirits. I was enjoying the knowledge I was gaining. Still, in the back of my mind the thought still lingered. I needed to know for myself if the gospel was true, but I continued to push the thought away.
One day my teacher finished giving a great lesson. He then bore his testimony and challenged each of us to find out for ourselves that the Church was true. I felt the lesson was aimed specifically at me. That night, I asked Heavenly Father to help me know that what I was doing was right and that the Church was true.
I finished my prayer and waited and waited. Feeling nothing, I became discouraged and went to bed.
A couple of days later, I was studying the scriptures when I read: “Verily I say unto you my friends, fear not, let your hearts be comforted; yea, rejoice evermore, and in everything give thanks;
“Waiting patiently on the Lord, for your prayers have entered into the ears of the Lord of Sabaoth, and are recorded with this seal and testament—the Lord hath sworn and decreed that they shall be granted.
“Therefore, he giveth this promise unto you, with an immutable covenant that they shall be fulfilled; and all things wherewith you have been afflicted shall work together for your good; and to my name’s glory, saith the Lord” (D&C 98:1–3).
These verses helped me understand the need for patience. A few days later at a fireside, we were talking about our prophets. I’ll never forget that night. It was the first time I had ever felt the Spirit so strongly. Toward the conclusion, we stood and sang “We Thank Thee, O God, for a Prophet.” I was overwhelmed. I knew the Holy Ghost was testifying to me; I also knew that the current prophet was leading the true church.
I recently returned from serving in the Tucson Arizona Mission. I am grateful for that special day in the MTC. I learned it’s never too late or too early to pray about the truth. The Lord always answers our prayers.

One morning a call was received at the Kendall chapel. A lady explained that she understood the Church had a group of people who were going out to patch roofs and windows to keep the rains out. She was told that this was true, and she left her address. She was told that volunteers would be out soon to do whatever they could to assist. She then asked if she had to come and pay first and also whom should she pay. She was told that there would be no charge, at which she began to cry uncontrollably, finally managing to say, “I can only thank God for you people, for I have no means of paying anything.”

Interfaith Scotland collaborated with Edinburgh Women’s Interfaith Group to organise their annual summer trip. A diverse group of 45 women from various faith backgrounds recently embarked upon a journey to the Kagyu Samye Ling Monastery in Scotland, a renowned Tibetan Buddhist Centre known for its peaceful environment and spiritual teachings.

The women departed from Edinburgh by bus and travelled the winding roads and through the beautiful green countryside that surrounds the River Esk before arriving at the location. They were joined by women from Glasgow and Ayrshire.

Located in the Scottish Borders, Samye Ling offers a perfect setting for reflection and introspection. Founded in 1967, Kagyu Samye Ling was the first Tibetan monastery in the West and it has expanded over the decades to include not only an impressive shrine room, meditation rooms, butter lamps and prayer wheels, but also monastic quarters, a tearoom and shop. The attendees, some of whom had never visited a Buddhist monastery before, engaged in a range of activities to foster understanding, mindfulness and spiritual growth. The women shared lunch in the shining sun and enjoyed each other’s company before taking a tour of the monastery’s stunning grounds, vegetable and flower gardens.

The highlight of the trip for many was attending the Mahakala prayers inside the temple. Mahakala prayers are often chanted to invoke blessings, protection, and guidance. The temple gleamed with ornate furnishings, bright paintings and vivid hues of red, yellow and gold.

Throughout the trip, the women shared their personal spiritual journeys, exchanged insights on common values such as compassion and respect for all beings, and discussed the unique challenges they face within their own communities. These candid conversations transcended religious boundaries and highlighted the universal quest for inner peace and understanding. As the trip concluded, the women left with renewed inspiration to continue interfaith dialogue with one attendee summarising the day as: “A wonderful day in the company of interfaith friends that was both educational and peaceful.”

Our daughter Mary had an experience that taught her about making good choices. Mary was an excellent soccer player. She was in a league that played its games on Saturdays. But one year when she was in her early teens, her team kept winning and made it to the championship game, which was to be played on a Sunday. Mary knew that the Sabbath was a special day for going to church and learning about the gospel, not a day for recreation. But because she was a key player on the team, and it was the team’s first time in a championship game, Mary received a lot of pressure from her teammates, coaches, and even from other parents.
Mary was unhappy about the situation and asked us what she should do. After thinking and praying about it, my wife and I knew that our daughter was ready to take the responsibility for her own decision. We encouraged her to think about it and pray about it, and told her that we believed she should make this decision on her own.
After a few days of pressure from her friends, Mary made the decision that she would play in the championship game. But when the game ended, Mary slowly walked off the field. “Oh, Mom,” she said, “that felt awful. I never want to feel that way again! I’m never playing another game on the Sabbath day.” And she never did.
She continued to play sports in her school and her community, but she never again let pressure from these teams move her from the path she knew was right. She had learned for herself how important it was to her Heavenly Father to keep this commandment, and she never forgot this lesson.