Gospel Story Finder

When I was young, I didn’t get to spend a lot of time with my dad. He went to college all day and worked most of the night. It was really wearing him out, but he had himself, my mother, and four children to support.
I used to play with the wooden toys my dad made for us. He made such things as blocks, wooden animals, and puzzles when he had time. But my favorite was the little knife he carved for me from a small piece of wood. It wasn’t using the knife to fight an imaginary foe that intrigued me so much. It was the fact that my dad had made it himself, just for me and no one else.
I was so proud of my dad. I thought there was nothing better than someone who could turn an ordinary piece of wood into something as magnificent as my little knife. I would just sit and hold it in my hands, looking at it and thinking about the time he spent making it for me.
Years later, when my dad was out of school and had a good daytime job, I was able to spend a little more time with him, but the value of that knife never lessened.
One day I walked outside and what I saw sent a flood of memories into my mind. My dad was sitting on the steps, a pocketknife in his right hand, and in his left a piece of wood slowly taking the shape of a little knife. I could see little slivers of wood fly as he whittled and whistled a happy song. He turned to me and smiled.
Before I knew it, I was sitting right next to my dad, a pocketknife in my right hand and a piece of wood in my left. Twice as many little shavings of wood flew as my dad taught me how to carve a little knife by myself. Mine didn’t look nearly as good as his, but it was okay. My dad was sitting next to me, and that was all that mattered.
Every once in a while, I looked up at him, all smiles, to compare my knife with his, as he kept carving the wood and whistling his songs. Once he caught me looking at him and gave me a big smile and winked at me. That made me feel good because he would wink at me when he was really happy. I winked back.

The best illustration is a great real-life example. Wilfried Vanie, his seven siblings, and his mother joined the Church in Abidjan, Ivory Coast, when he was six years old. He was baptized at eight. His father, the main provider in the family, died when Wilfried was eleven.

Though saddened by the family situation, Wilfried decided to continue in school, with his mother’s encouragement and with Church support. He graduated from secondary school and served a full-time mission in the Ghana Cape Coast Mission, where he learned English. After his mission, he went on to the university and obtained a diploma in accounting and finance. Though it was hard to obtain employment in this field, he found work in the tourism and hospitality industry.

He started as a waiter in a five-star hotel, but his passion to improve pushed him to learn more until he became a bilingual receptionist there. When a new hotel opened, he was hired as the night auditor. Later, he enrolled in BYU–Pathway Worldwide and is currently studying a course to obtain a certificate in hospitality and tourism management. His desire is to one day become the manager of a high-end hotel. Wilfried can provide for his eternal companion and two children, as well as help his mother and his siblings. He currently serves in the Church as a member of the stake high council.

For many youth, the reward for finding out so much about their ancestors was taking their names to the Snowflake Arizona Temple to do baptisms and confirmations for the dead.
“It was the neatest experience to go to the temple and do baptisms for the people in my family I had worked so hard to find,” says Janalie Wilkins. To complete her Individual Worth Value Project, she spent time at her local family history center learning how to use the Personal Ancestral File (PAF) computer program and researching her relatives on the Internet.
“At first, it seemed overwhelming,” admits Janalie. “But then I remembered the scripture about baptisms for the dead: ‘They without us cannot be made perfect—neither can we without our dead be made perfect’ (D&C 128:15). I have a testimony of that now. Doing genealogy work is very important and helps us grow closer to Heavenly Father.
“And it’s not just for old people,” she adds with a grin. “There are millions of people waiting for their work to be done.”

When I discussed this concept with one of my sisters who had been a student here in the 1960s, she mentioned that she had a roommate at BYU named Carolyn who had had a personal goal to make a new friend in each of her classes. At the beginning of the semester, Carolyn would survey each classroom and choose someone she could make her friend. During the remainder of the term, Carolyn would take the time to become acquainted and get together. Her classmate would eventually become part of her circle of friends. I wonder whether any of those befriended by Carolyn during those years would today confess that she was one of the few friends they had during college.

Everyone’s done it. You go for a Church interview and find yourself waiting with time on your hands. The Mia Maids of the American Fork 15th Ward, American Fork North Stake, decided to put something else in their hands while they’re waiting. They tie quilts.

Every month they have a personal progress interview with their adviser, and before and after their interviews, they tie lightweight quilts on a frame set up in the adviser’s living room. Ward members donate the materials. The quilts are then finished and donated to the residents of a local rest home. Actually, delivering the quilts is the best part, according to the girls. The residents are very appreciative—so much so, in fact, that the girls have decided to continue the project indefinitely.

I found the Church twelve years ago and was touched by the message that the missionaries gave about the Book of Mormon.
For more than a year after joining the Church, I was seriously ill and was hospitalized. I truly came to appreciate the Seito No Michi (Japanese) magazine and the Book of Mormon. Their stories comforted me and helped me to feel the Spirit throughout the trial of my illness. I am well now, and I am grateful for my good health. Thank you for strengthening my testimony.
Reiko NakayamaKichijoji Ward, Tokyo Stake, Tokyo, Japan

She had just finished caring for her precious flowers one morning in ’59 when she received a phone call telling of an accident at her husband’s work. Two weeks later, father and son lay side by side for what she believed would be forever.

It had been hard after that accident that took her husband, but with help from the older children who were married and gone, she had managed to keep the house and property from becoming real estate owned by the Peoples City Bank.

Justina sat extra tall in her seat. She placed her new pencils right at the top of her desk. Today was the first day of school. She’d met her classmates and drawn a fun picture.
Then Mrs. Werner said, “Time to work on writing!” Mrs. Werner handed out papers to the class. “You have 30 minutes to work on this. Then we’ll go to recess.”
Justina gulped. “Oh no. Writing already?” she thought.
Last year Justina had a hard time with reading and writing. All of her friends seemed to like it. It wasn’t so hard for them. What if this year was like last year all over again?
Justina picked up her pencil. She looked at her paper. Her stomach sank. All the other students were writing. Except for her.
She wanted to talk to Mrs. Werner. Would she be mad that Justina was having trouble? Even if she was, that still sounded better than writing.
Justina walked to her teacher’s desk. “Mrs. Werner? This is harder than what I did last year. I don’t think I can do it.”
Mrs. Werner didn’t look upset. She smiled at Justina. “Do what you can. You might be surprised at what you can do! You can’t always choose what you’re good at. But you can always choose how hard you try.”
Justina walked back to her desk. She thought about what Mrs. Werner said. “I can choose to try.” That was like what she learned in Primary. Her class read a scripture that said we are “free to choose.” That meant we could make our own choices. Heavenly Father trusts us to make good choices. He promises to help us when we make mistakes.
Could school be different this year? Maybe she could choose to make it different! Justina picked up her pencil. She looked at her paper. Her stomach relaxed. “OK. I’m going to do this,” she thought.
The recess bell rang. Justina wasn’t finished yet. But she was more than halfway done! She raised her hand. “Can I stay and keep working? I’m so close to being done!”
Mrs. Werner smiled and nodded.
Justina finally handed in her paper. Her hand ached a little bit. Even her brain hurt! But she was smiling. She had never worked so hard on writing before.
The next day the class worked on reading. Mrs. Werner asked everyone to read for 20 minutes. Justina tried again. She opened her book and sounded out the words.
Justina started making choices every day. She chose to read. She chose to write. Maybe reading and writing weren’t so bad!
She even chose to go to the library. She checked out books. Last year she would have never done that. Soon she was reading all the time. And it was actually fun! And the more she read, the better she got at writing.
When Justina got older, she was glad she chose to work hard in reading and writing. Because now those were some of her favorite things to do.

Cheery music plays on the radio. Colored lights twinkle on our Christmas tree, and lighted candles gleam in the kitchen. The smell of homemade pizza slowly fills the house.
I feel like jumping and squealing, but Mommy asks, “Will you please set the table?” So I set seven places—one each for me, Mommy, Daddy, Great-Grandma, Uncle Phil, Heather, and Stacie. Tonight they are coming for dinner. After we eat, I can play with my cousins until bedtime. I can’t wait to show them my favorite dolls!
Soon the doorbell rings. Uncle Phil helps Great-Grandma through the door. “What are you doing up so early?” he teases in his loud, jolly voice. I giggle. He always says this, even when it’s late. Great-Grandma kisses me on the cheek and says, “Hello, sweetheart.” She always says this too.
I sit between my cousins, and Daddy asks a blessing on the food. We eat and laugh, and I am happy that Mommy has saved me five whole olives. I put them on my fingertips, then eat each olive one by one.
After dinner, I tug Stacie’s arm. “Do you want to play dolls?” She shakes her head and follows Uncle Phil into the living room. “Will you play dolls with me?” I whisper to Heather. But she follows Stacie.
“Let’s sing Christmas carols!” Mommy says, pulling back the piano bench. Laughing and clapping, we sing “Jingle Bells” as loud as we can. We sing “Hark the Herald Angels Sing” and “Deck the Halls.” I don’t know all the words, so I hum and clap until I’m tired.
“Do you want to play dolls now?” I ask Stacie.
“No,” she says. “I want to keep singing with Great-Grandma.”
My throat feels tight. Soon big tears roll down my cheeks.
“What’s the matter?” Daddy asks, leading me away from the piano.
“I want to play with Heather and Stacie,” I cry. “I’m bored!”
“But, sweetie,” Daddy says, “Great-Grandma would be bored without you.”
I frown and wipe my eyes.
“See how happy she is,” Daddy says. “She loves you. She likes spending this special time with us, singing her favorite songs.”
I watch Great-Grandma sing. She smiles at me, her eyes shining like twinkling Christmas lights. I walk over to the couch and snuggle next to her. “Hello, sweetheart,” she whispers, putting her arm around me.
Mommy starts playing “Silent Night,” and I sing along.
I don’t want to jump and squeal anymore. But I don’t want to cry either. Playing dolls doesn’t sound as fun as I listen to our reverent voices. I feel calm, happy, and warm—like gleaming candles on a winter night.

Sunday dinner was over in the Salt Lake avenue home. The fast had been prayerfully broken, and Ruth was in the kitchen with her mother. Washing dishes for the family was a daily task for her since her three brothers weren’t old enough to be of any real help. Besides, she really enjoyed that private time with her mother. But tonight was special. Brother Tracy Y. Cannon, one of the Church’s most outstanding musicians, had come to dinner. He and her father, T. Fred Hardy, were in the living room—discussing Ruth.

It was about her possible career in music. By the time she was 12, she had already demonstrated an unusual talent and desire to be a musician. She would often get up at 4:00 A.M. and sit for hours at the piano. Her difficulty was stopping, not starting, her practicing. She disliked scales but knew they were vital to her skill, so she invented a way to add interest to her practice: she would pick a book she wanted to read and set it where the piano music should have rested. While reading, she would run through all her exercises with proficiency.

Brother Cannon knew of Ruth’s skill and promise, and of course, her family was aware of the potential in their daughter. But it wasn’t until Leopold Godowsky (one of the world’s greatest pianists) heard her play and strongly recommended that she be sent to the best schools to pursue a career in music that any real consideration was given to special training for Ruth.

The final decision was her father’s. Her mother had offered the prayer as the purposeful fast was ended. Ruth had been consulted and talked with in depth, and Brother Cannon had been asked to share his concern and deep experience. Ruth very trustingly and willingly submitted to her father’s decision: No—the life of devotion to music was not the Lord’s plan for her.

From then on, music took a new focus in her life—it was never lost, only redirected. And the experience she had with her kind and caring father proved to be a foreshadow of many events to be guided by the hand of the Lord and directed through the priesthood bearers in her life.

Just twenty-four hours after my call as an Apostle last June, I left for a Church assignment in southern California where, in due course, I found myself standing by the bedsides of Debbie, Tanya, and Liza Avila. These three lovely sisters, aged thirty-three, thirty-two, and twenty-three, respectively, each developed muscular dystrophy at age seven. Since that tender age, each has had her rendezvous with pneumonia and tracheotomies, with neuropathy and leg braces. Then came wheelchairs, respirators, and, finally, total immobility.
Enduring the longest period of immobility of the three sisters, Tanya has been on her back for seventeen years, having never moved from her bed during that period of time. Never once in seventeen years has she seen the sun rise or set or felt the rain upon her face. Never once in seventeen years has she picked a flower or chased a rainbow or watched a bird in flight. For a lesser number of years, Debbie and Liza have also now lived with those same physical restrictions. Yet somehow through it all, these sisters have not only endured, they have triumphed—earning Young Women personal achievement awards, graduating from high school (including seminary), completing university correspondence courses, and reading the standard works over and over and over again.
But there has been one other abiding ambition these remarkable women were determined to see fulfilled. They rightly saw themselves as daughters of the covenant, offspring of Abraham and Sarah, Isaac and Rebekah, and Jacob and Rachel. They vowed that somehow, some way, someday they would go to the house of the Lord to claim those eternal promises. And now even that has been accomplished. “It was the most thrilling and fulfilling day of my life,” Debbie said. “I truly felt I was home. Everyone was so gracious and helpful with the innumerable and seemingly insurmountable arrangements that had to be made. Never in my life have I felt more loved and accepted.”
Of her experience, Tanya said: “The temple is the only place I have ever been where I felt truly whole. I have always felt I was a daughter of God, but only in the temple did I understand what that truly meant. The fact that I went through the experience lying horizontally with a respirator took absolutely nothing away from this sacred experience.”
Elder Douglas Callister, who, along with the presidency and workers in the Los Angeles Temple, assisted these sisters in making their dream come true, said to me, “There they were, dressed in white, long black hair falling down nearly to the floor from their horizontal position, eyes filled with tears, unable to move their hands or any other part of the body except their heads, savoring, absorbing, cherishing every word, every moment, every aspect of the temple endowment.” Debbie would later say of the experience, “I now know what it will be like to be resurrected, surrounded by heavenly angels, and in the presence of God.”

Recently I watched as a 13-year-old young man was set apart as deacons quorum president. Afterward the bishop shook his hand and addressed him as “president,” explaining to the quorum members that he “addressed him as president to emphasize the sacredness of his calling. The deacons quorum president is one of only four people in the ward who hold keys of presidency. With those keys, he, with his counselors, will lead the quorum under the inspiration of the Lord.” This bishop understood the power of a presidency led by a president who holds and exercises sacred priesthood keys. (See D&C 124:142–43.)
Later I asked this young man if he was ready to preside over this great quorum. His response was: “I’m nervous. I don’t know what a deacons quorum president does. Can you tell me?”
I told him he had a wonderful bishopric and advisers who would help him become a successful and powerful priesthood leader. I knew they would respect the sacred keys of presidency he held.
I then posed this question: “Do you suppose the Lord would call you to this important calling without giving you direction?”
He thought, then responded, “Where do I find it?”
After some discussion, he realized that he would find direction from the scriptures, the words of the living prophets, and answers to prayer. We determined to find a scripture that would be a starting place for his search to learn the responsibilities of his new calling.
We turned to the 107th section of the Doctrine and Covenants, verse 85. It mentions that a deacons quorum president is to sit in council with his quorum members and teach them their duties. We noted that his quorum is not only a class but also a council of young men, and they are to strengthen and edify one another under the president’s direction. I expressed confidence that he would be an outstanding president who would rely on the inspiration from the Lord and magnify his sacred calling as he taught his fellow deacons their duties.
Then I asked, “Knowing you are to teach the deacons their duties, do you know what those duties are?”
Again we turned to the scriptures and found:
A deacon is appointed to watch over and be a standing minister in the Church (see D&C 84:111).
Because the family is the basic unit of the Church, the most important setting in which an Aaronic Priesthood holder can fulfill this duty is in his own home. He provides priesthood service to his father and mother as they lead the family. He also watches over his brothers and sisters, the young men of his quorum, and the other members of the ward.
A deacon assists the teacher in all his duties in the Church if occasion requires (see D&C 20:57).
We determined that if a deacon is to assist with the teachers’ duties, he needs to know their duties. We looked in the scriptures and quickly identified over a dozen duties for the office of teacher (see D&C 20:53–59; 84:111). What a powerful experience it would be for every young man—and his father, advisers, and all of us—to do exactly what this young man did: go to the scriptures and discover for ourselves what our duties are. I suspect that many of us will be surprised—and inspired—by what we find. Duty to God contains helpful summaries of Aaronic Priesthood duties and is a great resource for spiritual development. I urge you to consistently use it.
Deacons and teachers are also to “warn, expound, exhort, and teach, and invite all to come unto Christ” (D&C 20:59; see verses 46 and 68 for priests).
Many young men think that their missionary experience starts when they turn 19 and enter the missionary training center. We learn from the scriptures that it starts long before that. The Lord wants every Aaronic Priesthood holder to invite all to come unto Christ—beginning with his own family.
Next, to help this young president understand that he and he alone was the presiding officer in the quorum, I suggested he read three times the first duty listed in Doctrine and Covenants 107:85. He read, “Preside over twelve deacons.” I asked, “What is the Lord telling you personally about your duty as president?”
“Well,” he said, “several things have popped into my head as we have been talking. I think Heavenly Father wants me to be president of twelve deacons. There are only five of us who come, and one comes only sometimes. So how do we get twelve?”
Now, I had never interpreted this scripture the way he did, but then, he held sacred keys that I did not have. I was being taught by a 13-year-old deacons quorum president about the revelatory power that comes to those with the sacred keys of presidency regardless of their intellect, stature, or age.
I answered, “I don’t know. What do you think?”
And he said, “We need to figure out how to keep him coming. I know there are two others who should be in our quorum, but they don’t come, and I don’t know them. Maybe I can become close friends with one and have my counselors work with the others. If they all came, we would have seven, but where do we get five more?”
“I don’t know,” was my answer, “but if Heavenly Father wants them there, He knows.”
“Then we need to pray as a presidency and quorum to find out what to do.” He then asked, “Am I responsible for all deacon-age boys in our ward, even those who are not members?”
In awe, I said, “In the Lord’s view, does your bishop have responsibility for only the members of the ward or for all who live within its boundaries?”
This young “standing minister” got it. He recognized the role of every deacon, teacher, and priest in watching over the Church and inviting all to come unto Christ.
My thoughts turn to a scripture as I think of our wonderful young men and women of the Church—a scripture that Moroni quoted to Joseph Smith, saying that it had “not yet [been] fulfilled, but was soon to be” (Joseph Smith—History 1:41)—“And it shall come to pass afterward, that I will pour out my spirit upon all flesh; and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, … your young men shall see visions” (Joel 2:28).
What “popped into” this young president’s head was a vision of what Heavenly Father wants his quorum to be. It was the revelation he needed to strengthen the active members of his quorum, to rescue those who were struggling, and to invite all to come unto Christ. Thus inspired, he made plans to carry out the Lord’s will.
The Lord taught this young president that priesthood means reaching out to serve others. As our beloved prophet, President Thomas S. Monson, explains: “The priesthood is not really so much a gift as it is a commission to serve, a privilege to lift, and an opportunity to bless the lives of others” (in Conference Report, Apr. 2006, 60; or Ensign, May 2006, 57).

We need not worry about knowing the right thing to say or do when we get there. The love of God and the Holy Spirit may be enough. When I was a young man I feared that I would not know what to do or to say to people in great need.

Once I was at the hospital bedside of my father as he seemed near death. I heard a commotion among the nurses in the hallway. Suddenly, President Spencer W. Kimball walked into the room and sat in a chair on the opposite side of the bed from me. I thought to myself, “Now here is my chance to watch and listen to a master at going to those in pain and suffering.”

President Kimball said a few words of greeting, asked my father if he had received a priesthood blessing, and then, when Dad said that he had, the prophet sat back in his chair.

I waited for a demonstration of the comforting skills I felt I lacked and so much needed. After perhaps five minutes of watching the two of them simply smiling silently at each other, I saw President Kimball rise and say, “Henry, I think I’ll go before we tire you.”

I thought I had missed the lesson, but it came later. In a quiet moment with Dad after he recovered enough to go home, our conversation turned to the visit by President Kimball. Dad said quietly, “Of all the visits I had, that visit I had from him lifted my spirits the most.”

President Kimball didn’t speak many words of comfort, at least that I could hear, but he went with the Spirit of the Lord as his companion to give the comfort. I realize now that he was demonstrating the lesson President Monson taught: “How does one magnify a calling? Simply by performing the service that pertains to it.”

“A daughter made this comment: “Dad is a practical joker. I recall a story he relates about the time he and three other boys arrived at school early one morning. (Those were the days when everyone sat around one big stove in the room to keep warm.)
“The teacher was quite superstitious so the boys decided to play a little joke. They climbed up into the attic before school started. When all the others were assembled around the stove, one of the boys in the attic called down through the stovepipe in a ghostly voice, ‘I am the ghost of thy father come to haunt this room indefinitely.’ Well, needless to say, everyone ran from the room and the scene was one of total chaos.
“Later when the boys came down from the attic covered with dust and dirt, they were taken to the principal. He asked them some questions but couldn’t help laughing at their prank and their appearance.”

After the First Presidency’s announcement that the groundbreaking for the Neiafu Tonga Temple would be held on September 11, 2021, everyone who had a part to play went to work immediately under the wise guidance of our leaders from the Pacific Area and Church headquarters. It was not smooth sailing, but we witnessed the hand of the Almighty God guide us. From working on the building permit, to negotiating the environment internal assessment fees required by law, to the final preparation of the site, and to the actual temple groundbreaking ceremony, there were challenges.
An excerpt from a report prepared by Brother Tukia and Sister Linda Havea, the temple groundbreaking organizing committee coordinators, best explains this faith-promoting and miraculous sacred event.
On the night of September 10, 2021, the members were trying to complete the preparation of the temple groundbreaking site. It was raining nonstop. Even into the wee hours of the morning, it continued. However, the Saints awoke as this was the day that their forefathers had envisioned, prayed, and sacrificed for. They hurriedly flocked to Saineha, synonymous with the sun, a source of energy and spiritual healing. This was the site of the new temple.
What a great calming feeling. It was so serene that many wept silently in humility and gratitude. The Saints were seated to the right of the royal shelter. All members, choir and church leaders in the program were exposed to the elements with no shelter. The sound of the Tabernacle Choir certainly settled all despite the menacing and cumulonimbus clouds looming above. The program proceeded as planned without rain, for the clouds had receded. The wondrous moments occurred as Elder Kupu began the dedicatory prayer for the groundbreaking; the sun shone through, bathing the site with its brilliance, enhancing the Spirit that was abundant and prevailing. All wept for joy in admiration for the Omnipotent who had wondrously and gloriously revealed to ALL present that this groundbreaking was indeed, a heaven-sent undertaking!
Glory be to the Almighty, who is a “God of miracles.”5 I testify that if we allow Him, who is without beginning of days and end of years to prevail in our lives, we will continue to witness the workmanship of His hands,6 just as I have witnessed for myself His miraculous power and intervention during the sacred groundbreaking of the Neiafu Tonga Temple.

Several weeks after we broke up, I returned to school late one spring afternoon. I searched through the mess in my locker and soon found what I was looking for. The little black paperback was slightly dog-eared but still readable. Maybe it would answer some of my questions. I glanced around to make sure no one saw me carrying an LDS book, tucked it inside my jacket, and went home.
When I got home I hurried upstairs with my secret bundle and hid it in my desk drawer. I knew my parents wouldn’t approve of me reading Mormon “propaganda.”
Two weeks passed before I had a chance to be alone with the book. When I had the opportunity, I took the book out of my desk, stretched out on my bed, and started to read.
I opened the book, A Marvelous Work and a Wonder, and skimmed its pages. A section about the Joseph Smith story caught my eye, so I read it carefully. As I read the story of Joseph Smith’s vision, I knew that it was true. I also knew that if his story was true, then the church he founded must also be true.
A little later I agreed to take the missionary discussions, and I rapidly gained a testimony of the principles of the gospel. After the discussions, I knew that I should join the Church, and after much fasting, praying, and soul searching, I was baptized. Liz was there. She cried.
A little more than a year after I was baptized, Liz and I again visited the temple, this time to be married for time and all eternity. That was 13 years ago. Today, and every day, as I watch our family blossom and grow, I’m grateful for the strong testimony of that cute little Mormon girl. I’m thankful that she was courageous enough to refuse to compromise on an issue that meant eternal happiness for her, and eventually, for me too.

The next year, when I finished high school, I went to the city to attend a university. The family I stayed with turned out to be members of the Church. On Sunday morning they invited me to come to church with them. Since I’d heard a lot about this Church, I decided that I would try going once.
I ended up attending church many times. I couldn’t help but feel peaceful every time I was there. People there were nice, always shaking hands with me. The Church was different from what I had thought. Soon I started taking discussions from the missionaries. I met with the missionaries for almost two years.
I knew I wanted to be baptized, but my baptism had to be postponed because of my struggles with the Word of Wisdom. It was difficult for me, but eventually I was ready for baptism. I was fortunate to be baptized by my older brother, who had returned from his mission only months earlier. When I remember that moment now, I cry sometimes. It was the happiest moment of my life.

Giovanni closed the front door softly so that he wouldn’t wake his family. Though early in the morning, it was already warm in Sicily, the large island at the “toe” of the Italy “boot.” The air felt heavy and moist like a damp blanket. The street was quiet except for the sound of the boy’s footsteps as thoughts of last night’s family home evening swirled in his head.
Mama had read from her new Book of Mormon that was already showing signs of wear, “‘Bring ye all the tithes into the storehouse, that there may be meat in my house; and prove me now herewith, saith the Lord of Hosts, if I will not open you the windows of heaven, and pour you out a blessing that there shall not be room enough to receive it.’”* She’d stopped reading and stared blankly at the page.
Giovanni had looked down at his hands and said quietly, “Ever since we were baptized and started paying tithing, it seems like we’ve just gotten more problems.” His mother turned toward him, a look of surprise in her eyes, but he could not keep the words inside any longer. “Paying tithing didn’t keep Papa from losing his job, and it hasn’t given us the money we need. What good is paying tithing?”
The room was silent for a long time. Finally Papa spoke. “Giovanni, what if every time you obeyed a commandment, someone gave you a reward?”
“It would be easy to choose the right.”
“Too easy,” Papa added.
“But Heavenly Father wants us to choose the right so we can live with Him again.”
“Yes, He does,” Papa said. “But we must want to live with Him again, too—enough to choose the right even if we aren’t rewarded right away. And enough to avoid evil, even if it seems profitable. Heavenly Father won’t solve all our problems for us. But He will help us as we work to solve them.”
A dog barked from behind a wood fence, startling Giovanni as he walked, interrupting his thoughts. “I wish this problem would have been solved before I had to spend my summer looking for work,” he muttered to himself.
Jobs were scarce, especially for a boy. Everyone he asked had answered the same: “No.” Only one person would hire him—Tomaso. He had a reputation for never smiling—and for never keeping a worker more than one day.
Giovanni heard the bell tower’s deep bong. It was six o’clock, and Tomaso had been very clear that he was to arrive by six o’clock. Giovanni ran the last block to the Mercato Aperto (open air market). He found Tomaso already setting up under the dusty canvas canopy. He was a short, wiry man, though what he lacked in height, he made up for in his hands. Giovanni had never seen bigger hands. Tomaso easily hefted two full crates onto the rickety table.
“Finish these,” he said, motioning with his head.
Giovanni unloaded the crate of sanguinelle (blood oranges). They looked like any other orange on the outside, but on the inside, the fruit was a beautiful ruby red. Giovanni took a deep breath. The sweet, tangy odor mingled with the aroma of pollo allo spiedo (roast chickens) across the street and the pungent smell of olives floating in vinegar in the booth next door. Already people were milling about and vendors were shouting their wares in noisy competition for customers.
“Arancie, mille lire (oranges, a thousand lira),” Giovanni joined in.
“Due chili” (two kilos), answered a woman.
Giovanni placed a bag on the scale and began to fill it. Suddenly his eye caught the glint of something shiny among the oranges. He picked it up. It was a 500-lire coin, with silver edges around a brass center. He glanced around quickly. The woman was searching her purse for money. Tomaso was busy helping another customer. Giovanni slipped the coin into his pocket. He finished filling the bag and handed it to the woman.
The customers came one after another all morning long. Giovanni forgot about the coin until another gleam caught his eye. This time it was two 500-lire coins! That made 1,500 lire, half of what Tomaso had promised to pay him for a day’s work! Giovanni remembered what his father had said at family night, “Heavenly Father will help us as we work to solve our problems.” This must beHeavenly Father’s way of blessing us for paying tithing, he thought. But as he slipped the coins into his pocket, he felt that something was not right.
“That’s all for today,” Tomaso said shortly. “Let’s clean up.”
Giovanni tried to ignore the knot in his stomach as he boxed the remaining oranges and helped collapse the tables. He wished Tomaso would pay him so that he could get away.
“Three thousand lire,” Tomaso said gruffly, holding out three bills in his hand.
Giovanni reached for the money, then stopped. His father’s words echoed in his mind, “… avoid evil, even if it seems profitable.”
He slid his hand into his pocket and pulled out the three coins. “I found these today among the oranges. I don’t know who they belong to, but they do not belong to me.”
Tomaso stared at the coins for a moment. Then a smile began to turn up the corners of his mouth. “Thank you, Giovanni,” he said, taking the coins from the boy’s small hand with his large one. “I thought I had lost them. They are part of my brother’s coin collection. They are not worth much beyond their face value, but they give my brother much pleasure. He is ill and has few pleasures, so I was distressed at losing them.”
Tomaso turned and put some oranges into a sack. He handed it to Giovanni with the lire bills. “You are not only a hard worker but honest. All the other boys I hired stole oranges from me. You not only returned my brother’s coins, but you also did not steal any fruit. I cannot afford to pay you more money, but I can give you this.”
Now it was Giovanni’s turn to smile. The terrible knot in his stomach had disappeared. He took the three bills and the sack Tomaso held out, and turned to go.
“Giovanni,” Tomaso said, “come again tomorrow—six o’clock sharp.”

An act of service on the part of my neighbors taught me a memorable lesson on the importance of identifying others’ needs and helping to meet them.
As a single mother of three children, I had learned to be rather self-reliant in caring for my family. However, in the spring of 1989, changes in my circumstances brought new challenges. My older son, a returned missionary, was married and serving far away as a United States Navy officer. My daughter and younger son were preparing to leave within two weeks of each other for missionary service. For the first time, I would be alone.
Well, I would not be completely alone—there was Mischa, our large, beautiful Samoyed dog. One of the children took her for a walk every day, but now that they would all be gone, this task would become mine. The problem was, I was scheduled to undergo surgery for bone spurs in my heel, and walking would be extremely painful for at least several weeks.
During one of the last walks my younger son took with Mischa before leaving for the Missionary Training Center, he was stopped by our neighbor. The man said he would walk our dog every day until one of the children returned home.
The first evening our neighbor came to walk Mischa, she would not go with him because he was a stranger. So he stayed and just played with her for about 15 minutes. He came the next night to play with her and make friends, but she still refused to go for a walk. Finally on the third night, she was willing to go, and soon she was waiting impatiently for her new friend each night.
Long after my foot had healed from the surgery and I could have taken over the responsibility, my neighbor continued to walk Mischa. When a night job kept him busy three nights a week, his wife took over. For a year and a half until my daughter returned, these wonderful neighbors walked my dog for at least one hour every night except for three nights when they apologetically took a brief vacation out of town. That totaled more than 547 hours of service!
I am convinced my neighbors were in touch with the Spirit, and I am grateful they identified my need and responded to it. It was not something I would have asked them to do. But given my responsibilities at that time, no other service would have been of greater help to me. Following Alma’s admonition “to bear one another’s burdens, that they may be light” (Mosiah 18:8), these neighbors set an example of loving service that will always remain with me.

It was then that I moved to Kinshasa to commence my studies in law. Once I arrived in 2007, I enrolled at the University of Kinshasa. In my first year in 2008, we experienced a total strike at the University of Kinshasa. During the strike, I left the neighborhood where I lived to go to the commune of Masina to stay with my older brother.
And once in Masina, during the strike, I discovered The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in the neighborhood where I lived with my older brother.
I made the decision to go to a meetinghouse of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints on a Sunday. When I arrived at the building, a brother greeted me at the door and invited me to come inside. I then participated in the Sunday service and afterwards I was placed in contact with the full-time missionaries.
I took the missionary lessons for two weeks. After being taught, I had a strong desire to be baptized.
However, this was the beginning of strong opposition from within my family and my older brother who was like a guardian to me. He told the village to inform everyone that I wanted to become a member, that it is a bad church, and that no one should support me or contribute money to support my academic studies.
Consequently, I dropped out of law school and began preparing for a full-time mission. Thanks to Bishop Mutambay’s advice and direction, I remained a member of the Church despite opposition and began preparing for my full-time mission. I served in the Lubumbashi DR Congo from June 2013 to June 2015.
After serving as a full-time missionary, I came home and was fortunate to find the Church’s inspired Perpetual Education Fund program which allowed me to achieve my goals in completing my law studies through this program instituted by President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008).
Today, I am a lawyer. My wife, Mireille, and I are parents of four children: Ross Power Kongo Kongo, Ron Cross Kongo Munemeka, Blacke Prestones Kongo Ibula, and Brian Lesser Congo. I accepted adversity by relying on my faith without knowing what was going to happen to me when I was abandoned for having chosen the restored Church.
I know that God is our Heavenly Father and despite difficulties and opposition He is there to help us. I will never be disappointed with the path I took and my decision to join His church.
I know this was the best decision I ever made. I will be forever grateful. Joseph Smith is the prophet of the Restoration, and I am grateful to be in the Church of Jesus Christ.