Gospel Story Finder

When I turned 17, all my friends were gone. They had moved far away, were serving missions, or had just stopped being my friend. Even though I had my family, I still felt alone. I felt I had no support outside of my home, and I couldn’t fit in with others even when I tried.
One day the new missionaries assigned to our ward showed up at our house to introduce themselves. They asked how they could help us. I didn’t care about what they were saying because I was thinking only about how sad and lonely I was. Then the missionaries said they would love my help in teaching some of their lessons. I was surprised! Why would they ask for help from someone who clearly wasn’t in the best emotional state?
I agreed anyway, and I went to some lessons with them. The missionaries not only helped the people they were teaching but were also a good influence on me.
When one of the elders was transferred, I realized my life had been getting better since I started spending time with the missionaries. I had a lot in common with the next elder who came to the area, and I continued to spend time with the missionaries. They encouraged, taught, and supported me. They helped me feel better on difficult days. Despite the language barrier and their busy schedules, the missionaries made an effort to help me. The missionaries helped me realize that I was not alone. Heavenly Father and His Son, Jesus Christ, were watching over me and helping me through others.
When that new elder left, I thanked him for being an instrument in the hands of the Lord to rescue me. I am grateful he came to that particular mission because he was a blessing to me.
Before this time, I had almost no desire to serve a mission, but as I watched these missionaries, my desire to serve grew. I will leave for my mission soon, and I hope to give my all to the Lord as those missionaries did.

The assignment to the Huntsville Second Ward road show committee was a challenging one: In just a few weeks, put on a great road show. And don’t spend a lot of money doing it.
“Our total budget consisted of $20 to $30,” said Becky Worthington, who was called as ward road show specialist.
It seemed like an impossible assignment. Costumes can cost a lot. Lumber and hardware for sets can cost a lot. Even tempera for painting cardboard can cost a lot. Some wards spend $30 or more just for a cast party.
“But we knew that if the youth of the ward got involved, they could make it work,” Sister Worthington said. She called a meeting to discuss the road show theme, “Future Fantasy.”
Someone suggested that the story take place in a city underneath the sea, and the idea caught on quickly.
“We could use strips of old sheets to look like waves.”
“At the space museum they’ve got a light that shines through water so you see waves projected on the wall. Maybe we could do that.”
“You could have a sea horse and an octopus.”
“We still need a plot. What’s the conflict?”
“How about pollution?”
“You could wear slime suits or something like that.”
“Here comes the slime! You could run off all the Primary kids with that.”
Sister Worthington had to whistle to get everyone to stop talking and pay attention.
“Okay. We’ve got some good ideas for the script. We know who the characters will be. Now let’s talk about costumes. We’ve only got $20 to spend.”
After more discussion, the group dismissed. But based on their ideas, costume making began right away. And by the time the script was finished and rehearsals were underway, costumes were ready. A Chicken of the Sea wore scuba fins, goggles, and a beak made of cardboard. Starfish dressed like movie stars and carried sunglasses with paper stars pasted on them. Girls with cardboard oyster shell hats carried white balloons for pearls. Cast members dressed like cowboys rode brooms with poster board sea horses taped on them. A fish net and some shells, borrowed from members who used to live in Hawaii, were pinned to curtains as a backdrop.
But perhaps most ingenious of all were the octopus costumes, made from black plastic trash bags and paper egg cartons.
“Everyone helped out and donated paper, fabric, paint, tape, and time,” Sister Worthington said. “But mostly the costumes were made out of things we had on hand. We tried to keep it simple. You can do a lot with a little if you think and plan.”
When the stake road shows were presented, the Second Ward won a superior rating, an award for best actor, and the award for best costumes as well. And the price tag? Just 23 dollars and 50 cents.

My name is Chrislaine Da Silva Brasil. I’m 12 years old. I live in a town called Itacoatiara in northern Brazil. (Yes, my family and my country share the same name.) Itacoatiara is on the Amazon River, just below the equator. It’s very hot and humid here in the summer, and it rains heavily in the winter.
The Amazon River is very important to people in my town. Some men make a living catching and selling the many different kinds of fish in the river. My mom cooks great fish dinners that we eat with rice, beans, and salads. We have a lot of fresh fruit to eat as well.
The river is also like a highway. People travel on it in boats of all sizes. My family planned to take a special boat ride on the river in December 1993. With other members of the Church, we were going south all the way to the temple in São Paulo. Mom and Dad were going for their own temple work and to be sealed together in marriage for time and eternity. Then, they, my younger sister, Joyce, and I were going to be sealed together as an eternal family.
We started planning for the trip many months ahead. It costs a lot of money to travel to the temple. We saved by not buying many of the things we like, even our favorite soda pop.
As the time came closer to leave, we became very excited.
And then I had to make a big decision!
I was in grade school and would soon graduate. But first I had to take final exams for the year—and when the dates for the exams were announced, they were for the same time that we were to go to the temple.
Mom told my teacher that I would be absent for ten days because our family was going to São Paulo. The teacher said that if I left school then, I would not be able to take the exams and graduate. I wanted to graduate, but I also wanted to go to the temple.
That night before dinner we had a family council. Mom explained what had happened and then said, “Chris, you need to make a decision. Either we stay while you take the exams and graduate, or we all go to the temple.”
I prayed to Heavenly Father to help me make the right choice. Tears ran down my cheeks as I said, “Let’s go to the temple.” At that moment I felt the warmth of the Spirit, and I knew that things would work out.
And they did!
For some reason, the final exams were held earlier than expected, and I was able to take them and graduate before we left on our trip.
We were on a boat for three days, then traveled by bus for another three days. We had meals on the boat and at special bus stops along the way. In São Paulo, we stayed at the Missionary Training Center, where we cooked our own meals. We spent a few days in São Paulo going to the temple and visiting the city, then made the long journey back home.
This wonderful experience helped me understand that Heavenly Father answers prayers when we try to do what is right. I’m grateful that I was able to graduate. But I’m even more grateful that we can be a family together forever.

Third, the Master Healer can comfort and sustain us as we experience painful “realities of mortality,”13 such as disaster, mental illness, disease, chronic pain, and death. I have recently become acquainted with a remarkable young woman named Josie who suffers from bipolar disorder. Here is just a little of her journey toward healing as she shared it with me:
“The worst of the darkness occurs on what my family and I have deemed ‘floor days.’ It begins with sensory overload and acute sensitivity and resistance to any type of sound, touch, or light. It is the apex of mental anguish. There is one day in particular that I will never forget.
“It was early in the journey, making the experience especially frightening. I can remember sobbing, tears racing down my face as I gasped for air. But even such intense suffering paled in comparison to the pain that followed as I observed panic overwhelm my mother, so desperate to help me.
“With my broken mind came her broken heart. But little did we know that despite the deepening darkness, we were just moments away from experiencing a mighty miracle.
“As a long hour continued, my mom whispered over and over and over again, ‘I would do anything to take this from you.’
“Meanwhile, the darkness intensified, and when I was convinced I could take no more, just then something marvelous occurred.
“A transcendent and wonderful power suddenly overtook my body. Then, with a ‘strength beyond my own,’14 I declared to my mom with great conviction seven life-changing words in response to her repeated desire to bear my pain. I said, ‘You don’t have to; Someone already has.’”
From the dark abyss of debilitating mental illness, Josie summoned the strength to testify of Jesus Christ and of His Atonement.
She was not healed completely that day, but she received the light of hope in a time of intense darkness. And today, supported by a bedrock understanding of the doctrine of Christ and refreshed daily by the Savior’s living water, Josie continues on her journey toward healing and exercises unshakable faith in the Master Healer. She helps others along the way. And she says, “When the darkness feels unremitting, I rely on the memory of His tender mercies. They serve as a guiding light as I navigate through hard times.”15

Seminary student Girly Mbuli explains how her faith and love of the scriptures saved her from a terrible situation.
“One day my friend Tiny Gugu and I had to go to Zondi to take some books to another girl. On our way back we saw a gang of boys. Gangs here rape girls, steal cars, do everything horrible. We started to run, but it was too late.
“The boys faced us. They had weapons. They made us go up on a hill and meant to do awful things to us. On the way up the hill, I was saying a prayer to my Heavenly Father. I don’t remember which scriptures I tried to say, but I kept thinking of them. I asked for help to be calm and not afraid. I felt peace come into my heart.
“When you are on top of that hill, you can see everything. The boys looked down and asked where I was staying. I pointed to Jabulane and something told me to say I was with my grandmother and my friend Lindiwe.
“The leader looked at me and said, ‘You are not afraid. Let them go!’ I later found out the brother of my friend Lindiwe is the boss of this gang, and he stays in the house of my grandmother. That is why they let us go free.
“When I tell this story to people, they refuse to believe we survived. But I know I did and I know why. It was because of my faith in Heavenly Father. I know that Isaiah 1:18 can be true for those guilty gang boys, if they will repent: “Come now, and let us reason together, saith the Lord: though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be white as snow.” [Isa. 1:18]

It was a cold, blustery Sunday afternoon. I was away from home serving in the South African army, and the 10 men of our section had gathered in our tent to visit and relax after having just completed some chores. Unfortunately, much of the conversation became crude, as often happens among young men in such circumstances.
I was uncomfortable and thought about leaving. My eyes turned toward the tent door, which was flapping wildly in the wind and failing to hold back the chill of winter. The sight immediately convinced me it would be foolish to leave, so I decided to remain inside and read my scriptures. Although it had not been uncommon for me to read from them in the presence of these men, on this day it would prove to be difficult. The discussion soon took a turn for the worse as my friend, something of a ringleader in the group, began telling some dirty stories.
My immediate impulse was to object out loud. However, I was checked by the thought that others might consider me self-righteous and accuse me of trying to spoil their fun. After a few troubling moments, I decided to do the only thing I thought possible under the circumstances: shut my ears and concentrate on my reading. This approach worked somewhat. Yet I could not shrug off a feeling of uneasiness.
Time has a way of clouding our memories, and within a few weeks I forgot about the experience. Then, two years later, my friend did something that brought the memory of that day back into focus. We were in the presence of a number of soldiers who were drinking beer. In the group was a man I didn’t know. He began teasing me for not joining them in drinking a little alcohol. My friend rose to my defense and added with an earnestness that surprised me, “Chris Golden is the only true Christian in our group.” Others who knew me joined my friend in defending me, which silenced my critic.
Later, as my friend and I walked back toward our foxhole on a gray, half-moonlit night, he suddenly stopped and looked at me with a seriousness I had not been accustomed to during our friendship. He recalled the event of earlier that evening and said, “I meant what I said. In fact, I have never met an individual who has been more true to his faith in God than you, Chris!”
This was unexpected. Even though I had always tried to live the gospel, I felt I had not done more than many Latter-day Saints would have done in similar circumstances, and I had always tried to do it without drawing attention to myself.
Still, he had more to say: “You have let me down only once.” My shock at his matter-of-fact accusation was matched only by the speed with which my mind raced through all of the events we had shared together. I finally remembered that blustery, cold Sunday two years earlier. My friend’s words exposed painful memories of a day I would rather have forgotten.
He continued, “Do you remember that cold Sunday afternoon when we were sitting inside our tent and telling stories, some of which I now feel quite embarrassed about?”
I nodded a little numbly in acknowledgment. Standing opposite him, I hoped that the shadows of the night hid my discomfort.
He said, “While I was talking, I had been silently praying that you would ask me to stop telling those dirty stories—but you did nothing.”
During the long silence that followed his stinging condemnation, a deep sense of disappointment welled up within me. I had let not only him down, but I had failed the Lord—and myself.
Ever since that day, I have tried not to make the same mistake. I was taught an important lesson about the true meaning of the Lord’s command to “let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven” (Matt. 5:16). Observing that “no man can serve two masters” (Matt. 6:24), the Savior counseled us, “Seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness” (Matt. 6:33).

On the night of July 4, 2002, my friend and I attended our Book of Mormon institute class. We stayed after class talking until we noticed that it had gotten late. We began walking home around 10:15, and when we got to the place where we were to split up, we stopped and continued to talk.
Two men passed by and asked us what time it was, but we were so involved in our conversation that we barely heard them. Suddenly they came back. One of them threw his arms around me, putting a knife to my neck. Then he let me go and threatened my friend. The other man asked us for money, and when we said we didn’t have any, they were furious. They demanded our jackets and backpacks.
I had wanted this jacket for a long time and had finally been able to buy it a month before. And I loved my backpack, which my older brother had given me. My friend had homework assignments in her backpack that she needed to turn in. I was really scared—almost frozen in place. It was the first time I had ever been robbed.
Without hesitation we gave them our things. But suddenly I said, “Wait! Please let me take out my Book of Mormon! It’s the only thing of value I have.” The thief gave me a strange look and let me take it out. Then they fled.
I hugged the book and didn’t care about anything else. I felt peace because I had rescued this precious book from two criminals.

Our family wasn’t especially gifted in music. Oh, yes, we loved music, but that didn’t mean we could sing. My mom couldn’t carry a tune even if she were singing “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.” I sort of played the piano, but it was hardly good enough to be called music. My dad had had piano lessons when he was a boy, but he never played anymore. At one time my mom played the accordion, but the poor instrument hadn’t been played for so long that its keys stuck. I’d had the usual Suzuki violin series in the third grade but all to no avail.
On family home evening nights we tried to sing something that slightly resembled a hymn while I plunked it out on the piano.
I thought it would be neat if our family could sing for the family presentation on fast Sunday, but we always ended up having the congregation sing a song pertaining to the theme.
I encouraged my family to sing in the car when long trips became boring. We tried, but it seemed like I was the only one who knew the words, and the only songs my little brother knew were “Book of Mormon Stories” and “We Are a Happy Family.”
I longed for a musical family. It seemed to me that families that sang together were so much closer.
My dream started coming true one day when I had an argument with my little brother. I got mad at him and left the room to finish my homework, which included typing practice. But as I began my homework, I started to feel quite bad about our disagreement, so I decided to type my brother a note. It read something like this:
Eric,You are very special to me.
I’m glad you’re my brother.
You have the cutest smile.
I love you,Becky
He was delighted and wrote a note back to me. The next day he wrote one to my mom and dad, and they wrote back to him. A few days later I wrote to Eric again, and my mom and dad wrote to me, and I wrote back to them. Soon it was not unusual to find a note almost every day—a sincere note that made you shiver with the spirit of love. They turned up everywhere. They were found in very unusual places like on your pillow, in the fridge, on your mirror, in your book, or in your lunchbox.
Our family had composed its own music. We had developed a very special harmony that can only abound where love is. I suddenly began to feel no need for a musical family. I came to understand that it isn’t the music that brings families closer, it is the love behind the music. Well, we have both—love and our special music, “love notes.”

I recall a young man who, as a boy of thirteen, led a successful rescue of such persons. He and his friends lived in a ward where many poor, elderly widows lived. I was their bishop. The boys had been saving and planning for a glorious Christmas party. They were thinking of themselves—until the Christmas spirit prompted Frank, their leader, to suggest that they use their money not for the planned party, but rather for the benefit of three elderly widows who lived together. The boys made new plans.
With the enthusiasm of a new adventure, the boys purchased a giant roasting chicken, potatoes, vegetables, cranberries, and all that would make a Christmas feast in the United States. To the widows’ home they went carrying their gifts of treasure. They knocked on the door, then in the unmelodic voices characteristic of thirteen-year-olds, began to sing, “Silent night, holy night; all is calm, all is bright.” They then presented their gifts. Angels on that glorious night of long ago sang no more beautifully, nor did the three wise men present gifts of greater meaning.

With sweat pouring down his face, Australian rugby star William Hopoate keeps his eye on the ball. His team, the Blues, representing New South Wales, is facing their rival, the Maroons from Queensland, in the biggest match of the year. After the first 20 minutes, Will’s team is behind and has to catch up quickly. Will has a lot to prove because this is his first match with the team. He is also the youngest player on his team and the second-youngest player ever to play in the State of Origin series.
Will watches as the ball is passed to his teammate and then thrown toward him. He jumps up to catch it. Caught! With the ball in hand, Will sprints toward the goal line. With the defense right beside him, he hurtles down the field. Just a few more yards. At the very edge of the field, between landing the goal and going out of bounds, Will is nearly out of time. He pushes himself forward, leaps toward the goal with faith, and slams the ball on the ground. Everyone pauses for a moment. Did he make it? Then he hears the audience erupt into cheers!
When Will was 4 years old, his parents enrolled him in the local rugby club. That may seem young, but even then Will loved “footy” (slang for “rugby”). By the time Will was 12, rugby had become more than a game for him and he was chosen to play on a junior league team. By age 16 he was playing for a junior professional league team.
In Australia, when players turn 20, they are old enough to play professionally in an adult league. Even when Will was 18, offers came in left and right. He was a prime recruit. One team offered him a contract worth 1.5 million Australian dollars—an offer not made often to players his age. But that wasn’t what Will saw in his immediate future. Will had decided to serve a mission.
When Will had to announce whether he was going to serve a mission or accept a rugby league contract, the decision was easy for him. “I set a mission in my mind and heart while I was in my youth, and I promised myself that I wouldn’t let the worldly desires take over me,” he said.
The world may ask, What about the money? the contracts? getting to play rugby professionally—his lifelong dream? How would his life have been different had he accepted a professional contract? “It would have helped out my family financially. It would have set my future as well for the next few years,” he admitted.
So why didn’t he accept the offer? “A mission is something the Lord requires of me, of young males in the Church,” he said. “It’s a way to say thanks to the Lord for everything He has done for me in my 19 years here on earth. And at the end of the day, I don’t think I would have been as happy if I had stayed. I made the choice to serve a mission because footy will always be there.”
Will’s announcement confused and shocked many. In speaking of his nonmember friends, he said, “They don’t understand the real reason I’m going; they just see me walking away from the game for two years.” Will told them, “I’m teaching people about Jesus Christ and serving others. It’s something that I want to do.” After hearing Will’s explanation, his friends became more supportive.
Will recognized that just wanting to serve a mission wasn’t enough. He knew it was important to prepare. One thing he did was go to teaching appointments with the full-time missionaries. “When the missionaries asked me to respond to questions, words seemed to come that I didn’t know could help the investigator understand a bit more,” he said. “And a few of the investigators they were teaching—whom I helped teach—have recently been baptized. It’s been a blessing for me to see that.”
Will is now serving in the Australia Brisbane Mission, but he didn’t leave rugby behind entirely. Even though he is not able to play, he serves as a missionary with the same fervor he has for rugby. Before his mission he said, “The same passion and motivation is there in playing rugby and serving the Lord. In sports you’ve got to work hard to find success. You can relate that to missionary work because I am working hard trying to find people who want to hear the gospel.”
Whenever a sports star leaves the scene for any amount of time, and especially for two years, people wonder, what will happen when he comes back? Will knows that by serving a mission, he could be giving up a lot, but he also knows he’s giving it up for something better. “I think it’s a great sacrifice, but it’s one that I’m willing to make,” he says. “Anything can happen, and two years is a fair break from the sport. Personally, I would like to come back and play footy.”
Even though playing rugby professionally has been his lifelong dream, Will recognizes the eternal blessings that come from serving a mission. “In rugby league, there’s always joy in winning and scoring, but that joy only lasts a few weeks or a few days. You can only cherish it for so long,” he explained. “Whereas a friend or investigators coming into the Church and seeing that the gospel can bless their lives forever can put a smile on your face forever.”

José sat straight and solemn in his seat as he looked around at his classmates. He was lonely and homesick for the beloved land of his heart—South America. It seemed to him he could almost smell the fragrant air and see the colors of the dazzling tropical flowers around the Jesuit mission (now part of Argentina) where he had been born. He longed again for the sunny days of play with his brothers and sister and their Guarani Indian friends in the rich fruit orchards that bordered the banks of the great Uruguay River.
He remembered the friendliness of the boys in Buenos Aires, Argentina, where he had gone to school briefly. But now his father had been transferred to Madrid, Spain, and he had been enrolled in a school attended by boys from rich and influential families. Every day he felt more an outsider, more the disliked Creole son of a poor family.
None of his classmates, nor José himself, could have known that this shy, silent boy from South America would one day become one of its greatest leaders! Even though he was only seven years old, José vowed that someday he would return to the land of his birth. Twenty-six years later he did. Between that promise he made to himself and its fulfillment, José prepared well for all he had to do.
When he was only eleven he was accepted into the Spanish army, where his three older brothers were already serving. Three years later he was sent with an infantry battalion to Africa to defend a fort against the Moors. There he fought in bloody battles, the heat was exhausting, and an earthquake shook the town to pieces.
Records show that José was cited often for heroism, that he was an unusually capable young officer, and that he soon became a respected and honored colonel in the Spanish army. Then, after more than twenty years of service, José learned that the South American colonies had broken with Spain. The year was 1811.
José resigned from the army, and with a group of eager young men he set sail for the land of his birth. Soon after their arrival in Buenos Aires, they became friendly with other young men who were anxious to fight for freedom. José de San Martín became their leader; they were glad to be his followers. He was a soldier of worldwide experience, young enough to be on equal terms with his men, and one who was firm but always fair.
He once gave an order that no one could enter the munition lab wearing military boots or spurs, for fear that a spark struck by the iron might cause an explosion. A guard was stationed at the door to enforce the order.
One day José appeared wearing both boots and spurs. The guard stopped him. “You cannot pass, my general,” he said.
“I was the one who gave the order,” answered José, “so I can change it.”
“True,” replied the guard, “but up to now the order stands. You cannot go in.”
The next day José came back but again the guard refused to let him enter the lab wearing his boots and spurs. José left and later returned wearing a pair of sandals.
In a few minutes the guard was summoned to the general’s office. José de San Martín put out his hand in greeting and said, “I have brought you here to congratulate you. It is always good to know a man who obeys orders.”
Even more amazing than José’s dependable fairness was his total unconcern for personal glory. He had the officers and men under him agree on rules of conduct and then enforce these rules themselves. On the first Sunday of each month José called a meeting to urge them to keep high standards and to rededicate themselves to liberate South America.
This group was successful in winning battles in Argentina, and then José began to plan to free Chile. In order to do so, it was necessary to take his army of 3,500 men across the rugged snow-topped mountain ranges of the Andes. The Andes have an average width of 150 miles and an average height of 12,000 feet. The only roads were narrow, steep, and dangerous paths that wound around deep gorges and over jagged peaks.
Even the women and children in and around Mendoza, Argentina, where the march began, participated in the final preparations. The women brought their precious jewels to José to be exchanged for food and equipment. The children went from door to door collecting blankets, clean rags, and whatever could be used for bandages or for protection against the intense below-zero cold of the Andes.
One man had room in his saddlebags for nothing but the medical supplies for José, who was almost always ill with asthma, rheumatism, stomach ulcers, and various other ailments. But neither impassable mountains, severe illness, lack of money, lonely separation from his young wife and little daughter, nor other obstacles could stop this man whose dream was to free the people of South America from what he believed was the unfair government of Spain.
Finally all was in readiness. The night before the army left Mendoza, mule packs and oxcarts went through streets that had been strewn with flowers, as everyone gathered to hold special prayers and to pledge again their dedication to freedom.
The army made an unbelievable crossing of the Andes despite storm, cold, illness, and other hardships. This march prepared the way for the establishment of independence for both Chile and Peru.
In the meantime another great general, Simon Bolivar, was successfully leading an army that was fighting for the freedom of Spanish colonies in the north. José felt that the armies should join together and arranged a meeting of the two leaders. He offered to give up his command and serve under Bolivar. Both men were sincere patriots, but they had very different ideas. San Martín’s only desire was to free the people; Bolivar had ambitions to rule after the military victories were won. José decided he must avoid any possible conflict that might hurt the cause of freedom. During a party given in honor of the two generals, he slipped quietly away. As soon as he could, he resigned from all command and invited Bolivar to carry on his work.
José’s lovely young wife had died while he was away. José took their little daughter, Mercedes, and went with her into exile in Europe. She became the joy of his life. He planned what he must teach her, just as he had always planned his battles. On a chart he wrote his ideals for her:
To make her kind and gentle.
To make her love truth and hate lies.
To inspire her with a feeling of confidence and friendship.
To arouse in her a charity toward the poor and unfortunate.
To arouse in her respect for other people’s property.
To accustom her to keep a secret.
To inspire in her a respect toward all religions.
To teach her to speak little and to speak accurately.
Her father was Mercedes’ great example.
During his lifetime José de San Martín refused salaries, promotions, prizes, and honors. The government of Chile once gave him money that he immediately returned for a public library. A farm he was given was used as a hospital for women. He died in Boulogne, France, a poor and almost unknown man. He knew that others with whom he had fought were enjoying fame and fortune, but he cared only for the freedom of the people of South America.
In the past few years the world has come to know José de San Martín and to honor him as one of the great men of all time. Statues have been raised to his memory and many public buildings have been named for him. With special love and gratitude the people of the countries of South America that he helped to free refer to him as the “Saint of the Sword.”

In Brisbane, Australia, a seven-year-old boy pleaded with his father to join the Church so his father could baptize him. While his father had attended church for several years and had good experiences there, he had not taken the step to be baptized. When I met with them, I extended a bold invitation to the dad to accept his son’s loving request. He gently declined. And yet the love remains. The invitation remains. The agency remains. Sometimes the seed is planted long before it breaks the soil.

For some kids one night a week of Mutual is enough, but not for Claudine Miller of Sandy, Utah. Besides going to her own Mutual night on Wednesday, Claudine also volunteered to help with her region’s handicapped Mutual every Thursday night.
One of Claudine’s most memorable times with the girls was on “Cinderella Night,” she says. The Mutual girls dressed up in fancy dresses and learned how to put on makeup and fingernail polish. “It really helped them feel pretty,” says Claudine.
Another great experience came when Claudine helped the handicapped Mutual do baptisms for the dead in the Jordan River Temple. “It was really neat,” she said. “The Spirit was so strong!”
Her service project ended up lasting two years, but the time flew by for Claudine. “It made my testimony grow so much to feel their spirit and hear them say thank you and express their love for me,” she says. “When I serve I feel like I’m doing it for Christ, and it makes me feel really good.”

Teresa and Reiner met in a hospital. She was visiting a friend, and he was working his way through college as an orderly. When he walked into her friend’s hospital room, Teresa remembers thinking, “Boy, this guy is tall.” Standing six feet herself, she was aware of height. Reiner is six-foot-eight. “He remembered my phone number when I gave it to my friend and called me,” said Teresa. They were married a year later. It was while the couple was stationed in Germany, fulfilling an ROTC obligation in the army, that Shawn was born. After finishing his schooling as a medical technologist, Reiner moved his young family back to Teresa’s hometown of Castle Dale, Utah. They wanted a small-town atmosphere for their children.

Over time we brought in more friends, including Cameron, a member of the Church from California who joined the group a few months after we started. Cameron and Josh clicked immediately, which accelerated Josh’s interest in the Church. By summer, there was no question he would join the Church. That only strengthened our dedication to meet week after week, as we understood intuitively what Elder Gary E. Stevenson of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles would say in general conference less than a year later: “By sharing our positive experiences in the gospel with others, we take part in fulfilling the Savior’s great commission [to ‘teach all nations’ (Matthew 28:19)].”2
By July, Josh had set a baptism date, so Cameron flew across the country to Massachusetts to baptize a man he had only previously met on Zoom. It was also wonderful to see Eddie and Jack show up to witness the ordinance. “Of course I’m coming,” Jack had said earlier in the week when I asked him if he planned to go. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.” Jack, a college kid with lots of other things on his mind in the waning days of summer, left home in southern Connecticut by 7:00 a.m. to support his new friend in an adventure neither of them could have described a year earlier.
Eighteen months after his baptism, Josh—now Elder Keaton—is proudly serving a mission in Sacramento, California.

“Lisa, you should take seminary,” Ashley mentioned casually. Before us were folders displaying lists of class choices for the next school year, when we were starting high school.
I looked vacantly at my friend, finally managing a smile. I hated to tell her, but seminary was the furthest thing from my mind. I was then a less-active member of the Church, as I had been for most of my life. Over the years, I had grown vaguely aware of the gospel but hadn’t received a strong testimony of its truthfulness.
As I went home after school that day, the prospect of seminary began to intrigue me. Ashley, as well as my other friends, all seemed very excited to become a part of it. I had a desire to do what my friends were doing, even if I didn’t understand what they were doing or why they were doing it. After discussing my plan with my parents and getting their permission, I decided to take seminary my first year of high school.
I didn’t know what a profound impact that simple act would have on my life. My first year of seminary changed my life as I began to see myself and others as children of God, loved and cherished. I began going to church on Sundays, despite my family’s inactivity.
I have now finished high school, but I will always be grateful for seminary. During that hour each day, I had my prayers answered and my testimony strengthened. Seminary helped me prepare for a temple marriage and encouraged me to strive to be a better person.
I know that God cares for each of us. I know that seminary is a blessing that helped me build on a firm foundation in Jesus Christ. I would encourage you to enroll in seminary. It will change your life too.

Ever since Jeff had moved to St. Anthony the beginning of their freshman year in high school, Jeff and Brett had been friends, almost brothers. There had been a bit of animosity in the beginning when they had both ended up on the football team vying for the same position. Both had had dreams of being great quarterbacks, but there could only be one starter and both of them were too good as athletes for a team like St. Anthony to allow one of them to sit on the bench. The conflict was solved when Brett finally decided to be a tight end. Suddenly this daring duo became the hope of the small town of St. Anthony. From the time Jeff and Brett Baker were juniors until they graduated, St. Anthony never lost a football game.

Their friendship wasn’t restricted to the football field. They were in the same ward. Those who didn’t know them well, just assumed that they were brothers, since they both had the same last name. But blood couldn’t have made their friendship more solid. They had dreamed together. They were both going to go to a semester at Ricks, where they had both received scholarships to play football, and then they were going to leave on missions. That was just the beginning. After that their whole lives lay before them.

“We not only had little money or food, we didn’t have much clothing either. I had a pair of shoes with soles that were worn clear through. I’d cut out pieces of cardboard and slide them inside the shoes to cover the holes. When I went to church, I would sit with both feet flat on the floor—I didn’t want anyone to see ‘Quaker Oats’ through the bottoms of my shoes.

“Everything was fine until those shoes wore out. It was Saturday, and I didn’t know what to do. I thought, I have to go to church. They really care about me there. Finally I got out the box of old shoes some neighbor had given us. The only shoes that fit me were a pair of nurse’s shoes. I thought, How can I wear these to church? They’ll laugh at me. I decided I wouldn’t go to church.

“The next morning I knew I had to go to church, even if I had to wear the nurse’s shoes. I decided to run over to the meetinghouse early and sit down close to the front before anybody got there. I thought, I’ll put my feet back under the pew so that no one can see them, and then I’ll wait till everyone leaves before I go home. Well, I dashed over to church half an hour early, and nobody was there yet. I put my feet back under the bench. Everything went just as I’d planned—until the Sunday School superintendent announced, ‘We will now separate for classes.’

“I had forgotten we had to go to class! The ushers came down the aisle, and as they came to my row, everybody stood up and left. I just sat there. I couldn’t move. But the whole meeting seemed to stop and wait until I moved, so I had to move. I got up and followed my classmates.

“In our classroom the teacher had us sit in a big semicircle. Each of my shoes felt like it was two feet in diameter. I can’t tell you how embarrassed I was. But not one of those eight- and nine-year-old children in that class laughed at me! No one pointed at my shoes. My teacher didn’t look at them. I was so busy watching everyone to see if anyone was looking at me that I didn’t hear a word of the lesson. When it was finally over, I dashed home. I thought, Thank goodness, nobody saw them. I know now, of course, that they saw those nurse’s shoes that I wore. But they were kind enough not to laugh or call attention to them.”

A short time after her baptism, Kirsten Edsberg got cancer. As the disease progressed, Soren and his sister became disturbed. Their mother’s patriarchal blessing promised that she would live to fulfill her life’s mission. But she had not yet had her children sealed to her, nor had she had opportunities for church service.
When at last the doctors felt that she would die within days and had withdrawn all medicine except for pain killers, the elder Brother Edsberg called on Soren to give his mother another blessing. After several days of fasting and praying, says Soren, “I felt I had permission to tell the disease to obey the priesthood and to leave so my mother would be able to complete her mission in this life.” Kirsten Edsberg recovered and was able to go to the Swiss Temple to be sealed to her family. She was also able to serve as a Primary teacher. Then, a year after her healing, she became ill again and passed away.

Way back in 1969, I was in South America. I flew from Argentina to Santiago, Chile. The Andes mountains were dry. There was no snow. The grass was burned. Chile was in the midst of a devastating drought.
The people pleaded for help in bringing moisture.
We dedicated two new buildings on that visit. In each of those dedicatory services we pleaded with the Lord for rain upon the land. I have the testimony of many who were in those meetings that the heavens were opened and the rains fell with such abundance that the people asked the Lord to shut them off.