Gospel Story Finder

Elder Perry: President, you’ve carried those scriptures around with you. Every time I’ve been with you, you’ve had those scriptures. You told us the story one time of how they were in the water, and that only helped them because you could turn to them faster.
President Packer: Well, I was studying outside on the lawn and was called away and left my scriptures open on the little table—I forgot them, as old men will do—and the sprinklers went on. I came out in the morning and thought, “Oh, my scriptures that I’ve marked up for 50 years are gone.” I found out it just loosened the pages. I think if I had to get new scriptures, I’d put them out in the rain before I started using them.

This story took place in the USA.
It’s too hot. I think I’m going to melt!
Don’t worry, we’re almost there.
The wind feels nice.
This is much better!
Grandma, do you love Jesus?
Yes! I love Jesus a lot.
Me too. I just wish I could see Him. Then I’d know He’s real.
Oh sweetheart, Jesus is very real. He’s a real person, like you and me.
But how do you know? Have you seen Jesus?
No. But I feel Him every day.
Do you remember the wind we felt while we were walking?
It felt so good! I was really hot, but the wind was cool.
We can’t see the wind. But we can feel it. And even if we haven’t seen Jesus, we can still feel His love.
How can we feel Him?
I feel His love when I look at His beautiful creations. I see His love in the flowers.
I see His love in the rivers He created.
And I see His love when I look at you!
Can I help you look for Jesus again tomorrow?
Of course!
Illustrations by Pauline Gregory

“We didn’t expect any help when we got to Utah,” Fredrick said. “But that’s not what happened.”
“The first person we met made us feel welcome,” Esperance recalled. “She came with her family to visit our apartment. They saw how we ate, how we slept, what we worried about. It was the first time someone was concerned about how they could help.”
“She and her husband were like parents to us,” Fredrick said. “They helped us learn about the customs of this new country. They helped us find work.”
“We could tell they were Christians, and we were Christians, too,” Esperance said. “We asked if we could learn about their Church.”
And learn they did. Soon they were meeting regularly with the missionaries. “Each teaching made sense to us, especially what they called the great plan of happiness,” Esperance said. “I cried and cried when they told us we could be together as a family in eternity, and that we would see Patric again. We knew it was true.”
Fredrick and Esperance were baptized and confirmed. Joshua was baptized when he turned eight. And Joshua and Patric have been sealed to their parents, giving them the opportunity to be together when this life is through. Other family members are still learning about the gospel.

The Savior’s love, which shines through this Christmastime experience of President Thomas S. Monson, First Counselor in the First Presidency, can brighten our lives all year long.
One winter day as Christmas approached, I thought back to an experience from my boyhood. I was eleven. Our Primary president, Melissa, was an older and loving gray-haired lady.
One day at Primary, Melissa asked me to stay behind and visit with her. The two of us sat in the otherwise empty chapel. She placed her arm about my shoulder and began to cry. Surprised, I asked her why she was crying. She replied: “I don’t seem to be able to encourage the Trail Builder [now Blazer] boys to be reverent during the opening exercises of Primary. Would you be willing to help me, Tommy?”
I promised her I would. Strangely to me, but not to Melissa, that ended any problem of reverence in that Primary. She had gone to the source of the problem—me. The solution was love.
The years flew by. Marvelous Melissa, now in her nineties, lived in a nursing [home] in the northwest part of Salt Lake City. Just before Christmas, I determined to visit my beloved Primary president. Over the car radio, I heard the song “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing.” I reflected on the visit made by wise men those long years ago. They brought gifts of gold, of frankincense, and of myrrh. I brought only the gift of love and a desire to say “Thank you.”
I found Melissa in the lunchroom. She stared at her plate of food, teasing it with the fork she held in her aged hand. Not a bite did she eat. As I spoke to her, my words were met with a blank stare. I took the fork in hand and began to feed Melissa, talking all the time I did so about her service to boys and girls as a Primary worker. There wasn’t so much as a glimmer of recognition, far less a spoken word.
Two other residents of the nursing home gazed at me with puzzled expressions. At last they spoke, saying: “She doesn’t know anyone, even her own family. She hasn’t said a word in all the time she’s been here.”
Lunch ended. My one-sided conversation wound down. I stood to leave. I held her frail hand in mine, gazed into her wrinkled but beautiful countenance, and said: “God bless you, Melissa. Merry Christmas.”
Without warning, she spoke the words: “I know you. You’re Tommy Monson, my Primary boy. How I love you.” She pressed my hand to her lips and bestowed on it the kiss of love. Tears coursed down her cheeks and bathed our clasped hands. Those hands, that day, were hallowed [made holy] by heaven and graced by God. The herald angels did sing. Outside the sky was blue—azure blue. The air was cool—crispy cool. The snow was white—crystal white.
How silently, how silently
The wondrous gift is giv’n!
So God imparts to human hearts
The blessings of his heav’n.
No ear may hear his coming;
But in this world of sin,
Where meek souls will receive him, still
The dear Christ enters in.*
The wondrous gift was given, the heavenly blessing was received, the dear Christ entered in—all through the doorway of love.
(See Ensign, October 1996, page 7.)

With the trusting nature of a child, four-year-old Chitalu Kennedy from Lusaka, Zambia ran into the open arms of Jesus! The moment was later captured on canvas by Latter-day Saint artist Liz Lemon Swindle in a heartwarming painting entitled Worth of a Soul. Since 2008, this painting has found a place in our hearts. We see the Savior draw this young, trusting child to Him. As we look into this young child’s eyes it may really be ourselves that we see. If we allow the Spirit in, it will testify that it is really each one of us that is cradled in His arms.
Kennedy was orphaned when both parents passed passed away from undiagnosed diseases just a couple of months apart. They left behind eight cherished children, the youngest just three weeks old. The lives of Kennedy and his brothers and sisters were forever changed. The emptiness and loss robbed him of hope. That feeling would follow him for many years. His Spirit craved acceptance, love and belonging.
Two years after his parents’ passing, on a sunny day in Lusaka West, Zambia at the Mothers Without Borders Children’s Center, where Kennedy and some of his siblings were being cared for, a man portraying the Savior arrived with the artist and a photographer where an environment was created with the desire to photograph African children with the Savior so that a much-needed painting could be created.
Kennedy was then four years old. With the innocence of a child, and fully believing this man to be the Savior, he broke loose from the grip of his sister Bridget’s hand and ran toward him. He jumped into his outstretched arms. Throughout the day, Kennedy rarely left his side. Was the Spirit whispering to him that something here was familiar?
As a young orphan, Kennedy depended on others for survival. Prior to being brought to the children’s center, he and his siblings were scattered among relatives. As with most experiences in life, some of the times were good, some desperate. Throughout it all, and despite separation from each other, the siblings remain bonded together. His older brother Bwalya was ever present in his life and took on the role of father and protector even though he was only two years older than Kennedy.
Kennedy was introduced to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints when he was nine and became a baptized member at the age of eleven. Five siblings were also baptized.
As a young teenager, life became difficult for Kennedy when no funds were available for his continued housing, food and much desired education. It was at this time that BJ Warnick, Sandra Peters, and Anthony Mulenga—who had all known Kennedy since he was four—were able to take him into their care. Through their Heart to Hands Foundation, he and Bwalya were immediately adopted into their flock. While it was obvious that Kennedy needed the basics required for daily survival, what he really needed was hope and love and they had plenty of that to offer. Kennedy said while he was not officially adopted, it was even better. He now had two moms. With his new family’s help, he was able to complete grade twelve, obtain a driver’s license and complete auto mechanic school. Again, he was wrapped in the arms of his Savior, but it was through the acts of others. Kennedy remarked, “I don’t know who I would have become without the continual love of my enlarged family and friends who have dedicated so much time to me.”
It was a year ago that Kennedy made the decision to serve a mission and to become those arms of the Savior for others. His ‘better than adopted family’, his brother Bwalya and his determined Bishop Michael Simbeya in the Libala Ward helped him prepare. While at the Ghana MTC, before departing to the Kenya Nairobi mission, miracles occurred and he was able to attend the temple and take part not only in his father’s ordinance work, but also to participate in the sealing of his parents and finally his sealing to them for time and all eternity.
Now, as Elder Chitalu, in the mission office he met Sister Stacie Sturt, mission leader for Kenya Nairobi West Mission. She captured this beautiful photo of Elder Kennedy Chitalu standing in front of the picture of his much younger self, cradled in the arms of his Savior. Now he wears a name tag as a representative of Jesus Christ. It is his turn to wrap his arms around others and help bring them to Christ. He testifies: “I know and stand as a solemn witness that Jesus Christ is our Savior, and I know that His Atonement has healing power for all kinds of afflictions”.

Years ago, I felt a lot like young Joseph. I was confused by the “war of words and tumult of opinions” (Joseph Smith—History 1:10) coming from many different churches in Fiji. When I first met the missionaries, I had so many questions. Some have teased that I am a slow learner because I spent eight years investigating the Church. My conversion began through understanding the name of the Church.

During His mortal ministry, Jesus Christ established His Church. Over time, the doctrine and priesthood authority of His Church became lost. In our day, Jesus Christ restored through the Prophet Joseph Smith the same church He established when He lived on earth (see Articles of Faith 1:6). He also commanded through revelation, “For thus shall my church be called in the last days, even The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints” (Doctrine and Covenants 115:4).

The Church bears the name of Jesus Christ because it is His Church! After eight years, this truth resonated in my mind and heart. I was baptized at age 27 and soon called as a counselor in the ward Young Men presidency and an early-morning seminary teacher. Along the way, my testimony continued to grow.

My life transformed as I taught seminary, attended sacrament meeting, and listened to general conference. I also felt the soothing, comforting, and inspiring influence of the Spirit as I read the Book of Mormon—a tangible evidence and manifestation of the Restoration and the prophetic call of Joseph Smith.

When the Lord called Joseph “and spake unto him from heaven, and gave him commandments” (Doctrine and Covenants 1:17), He showed that He “does inspire men and call them to his holy work in this age and generation, as well as in generations of old” and that “he is the same God yesterday, today, and forever” (Doctrine and Covenants 20:11–12).

The Restoration that began with Joseph continues today. As Latter-day Saints, we are called to speak in the Savior’s name so “that faith … might increase in the earth,” His “everlasting covenant might be established,” and “the fulness of [His] gospel might be proclaimed by the weak and the simple unto the ends of the world” (Doctrine and Covenants 1:21–23). We are blessed to be able to help build up the Church and prepare the world for that day when Jesus Christ returns.

Elder and Sister Wakolo (far right) were endowed and sealed in the Nuku’alofa Tonga Temple in August 1995, a year after Elder Wakolo joined the Church. They are shown here with the temple presidency.

A year after my baptism, my wife, Anita, and I traveled to the Nuku’alofa Tonga Temple to be sealed for time and all eternity. My testimony of the Restoration made going to the temple so meaningful. The restored gospel of Jesus Christ truly means everything! My heart is filled with gratitude for the blessings it has brought to me and my family.

These precious blessings have come to the world through “Joseph Smith, the Prophet and Seer of the Lord, [who] has done more, save Jesus only, for the salvation of men in this world, than any other man that ever lived in it” (Doctrine and Covenants 135:3). We must be ever grateful for—and never lose sight of—what we have been given through the prophet of this last dispensation.

When President James E. Faust informed my wife and me that we would be transferred to Lima, Peru, we had no clue that on August 15, 2007, only a few days after our arrival, we would witness a devastating earthquake. More than 52,000 houses were destroyed by its sheer strength. Worse yet, it left more than 500 dead. Nine of them were members of the Church. Members in the Ica and Pisco stakes and the Cañete and Chincha districts suffered the brunt of the tremor’s aftermath.
The Church provided immediate relief to its members and those of other faiths. The morning after the quake, our members in the disaster area were receiving food and clothing, and before noon the Church was donating humanitarian aid to the nation’s civil defense. Many members who were left homeless were sheltered in our meetinghouses. Despite how unexpected the catastrophe was, the priesthood organization functioned very well to bring relief to those less fortunate.

When Harold B. Lee was seventeen, he became a teacher. He taught in a one-room school near Weston, Idaho. Some of his students were older than he was!
The pot-bellied stove in the middle of the room sometimes fell apart, filling the school with smoke and soot.
Harold: Quick, help me put the stovepipe back on!
Student: Yes, sir!
A year later, he became both the principal and a teacher at nearby Oxford School. The students there liked to play tricks on him. While he was busy talking to someone, they hid his horse.
So he had to walk several miles to get home.
Harold: I must keep better control of my class. I want them to be my friends.
One day, he decided to join his students during their lunch break.
Harold: Mind if I play with you? Whose team can I be on?
Students: You can be on ours.
Student: Wow! Great shot!
His plan to befriend his students worked. Joseph Gibby, one of his students, later said, “He made a place in my heart through his love and understanding that caused me to regard him, next to my own dear father, as the best friend I had on this earth.”

In the Personal Progress book, one of the requirements is to get closer to a family member and write kind letters to them for two weeks. I was having a hard time getting along with my brother, so I decided to give it a try. In the first note that I sent, I explained to him that I didn’t like the way we were treating each other and that I would like to work harder on trying to be nicer to one another. Right after the first note I sent, I found a note from my brother explaining that he felt like that too. After that our friendship got a whole lot better, just from a simple loving note.
M’Lynn Y., 13, Idaho

“The princess is here!” cried the innkeeper. “We’ll soon be rich!”
“The princess is here!” cried the innkeeper’s wife. “We’ll soon be famous!”
And at that instant, into the inn walked the princess followed by four of her servants.
Days before, it had been announced that the princess, who was traveling between her castles, would be stopping at this particular inn for her noonday meal.
So now, as the wife scuttled to the kitchen, the innkeeper stepped briskly toward the door.
“Your Highness,” he said, bowing deeply, “what an honor this is to have you stop at our humble inn. Please follow me. Your meal is ready.”
With practiced charm, the innkeeper seated the princess. He scowled, however, when her four servants sat down at the same table.
The innkeeper’s wife whisked into the room, carrying a bowl of steaming stew.
“A rich, thick, savory stew, Your Highness,” she announced, setting the bowl before the princess, “prepared especially for you.”
The princess nodded graciously, picking up her spoon.
The innkeeper and his wife watched anxiously. Everyone knows what delicate and refined tastebuds a real princess has. One kind word from her about their stew, and people would come from far and wide to taste their famous fare.
But the princess paused before even tasting it. “And what about my servants?” she asked. “What are they to eat?”
“What’s this? The servants?” muttered the innkeeper to his wife as they exchanged angry glances. They hardly wanted to serve mere servants.
“Please understand, Your Highness,” replied the innkeeper in sugary tones. “We are poor. It would be a great hardship on us to feed everyone here.”
The princess made no reply. Instead, she raised her spoon and took a taste of the stew. The innkeeper and his wife leaned forward to catch any complimentary word that she might utter.
Slowly the princess licked her lips with the tip of her tongue. “This stew,” she said, at length, “needs salt.”
Salt? “We’ll add salt at once, Your Highness,” said the innkeeper, clicking his heels together. Retrieving the bowl, he and his wife rushed to the kitchen.
A moment later they returned with the salted stew.
“Oh, dear. Oh, my,” the princess said, puckering her lips. “I’m afraid that it’s too salty now.”
Too salty? Adding salt was easy. But removing salt was impossible. The innkeeper and his wife could do only one thing. Taking the stew back into the kitchen, they poured it into a large pot. Quickly they added carrots, onions, potatoes, and broth.
“That will dilute the saltiness,” said the innkeeper. “Yes, the stew will be perfect,” said his wife, tasting it. Both of them smiled at the thought of the fame that the stew would bring them.
When the stew was set once more before the princess, she took another taste. “It’s better, much better now. But,” she added, “a tad more salt would make it perfect!”
The innkeeper and his wife were delighted. Surely they were close now! In the kitchen they added the smallest dash of salt to the stew.
But, alas, when the princess tasted it this time, she wrinkled her nose. “Oh, my!” she said, reaching for a water goblet. “What have you done! This stew is far too salty.”
Back into the kitchen rushed the innkeeper and his wife. They poured the stew into an even larger pot and added more carrots, onions, potatoes, and broth.
“Oh, how famous and rich we’ll soon be!” the wife and the innkeeper whispered happily to each other.
Soon the princess was tasting the stew again. “Almost,” she said, taking her fifth delicate taste. “It needs more salt, however. Just a touch perhaps.”
Ten grains of salt were all the innkeeper and his wife added to the stew this time. But as before, the princess took one tiny taste and said, “Too salty. Much, much too salty.”
“This princess and her fickle taste buds are going to drive me crazy!” cried the exasperated innkeeper as he added more carrots and potatoes to the pot.
“But once we get the combination right,” replied his wife, “we’ll be rich and famous. We’ll call it ‘Princess Stew,’ and everyone will come to our inn to eat it!”
Once more the princess tried the stew, … took a second taste, … then another! The innkeeper and his wife were overjoyed. Breathlessly they waited for her to speak.
“Innkeeper,” the princess said, after another spoonful, “I believe that by now there should be enough stew in your pot to feed my servants.”
The innkeeper and his wife exchanged glances. These were not the words that they had expected to hear! But after all the vegetables that they had added to the stew to dilute its saltiness, they couldn’t claim that there wasn’t enough to serve the servants, after all.
As everyone ate, the innkeeper and his wife waited and waited for a good word from the princess. But the princess finished her bowl of stew without saying another word!

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

After the closing prayer, while everyone is mingling and cleaning up, 17-year-old Chilton Sisinio Tutor, Jr., sitting in a wheelchair, shares his story. “I’ve been a member now for six years. First my mother was baptized, but it took me a year to decide. The missionaries always seemed happy. There was something different about them. I wanted to know more about the gospel.
“We hadn’t been very religious up to that time, because before my father died we spent every Sunday at the beach. When he died, we moved here. I was 12. Like Joseph Smith, I wondered what church was right.
“I haven’t been handicapped all my life, but I was only six months old when I got polio. It’s fairly common here. As I learned about the gospel the bitterness about my disease melted. It’s all gone now. Sometimes I think I’d rather be like this than able to walk. Maybe this has been a blessing in disguise, because it’s helped me to think about the Church more, to think about life more.”
He smiles and laughs. “When I first started coming to the ward, there were only 16 people. Now there are more than 600. The Church is growing fast here in the Philippines.” Then he talks about how Church activities have helped him develop reading and speaking skills. He just won first place in the stake speech contest.
“I’ve had lots of good examples in my life,” he continues. “But the man I admire the most is Joseph Smith. He had strong faith and courage to ask which church is true. I think he showed a lot of people how important it is to ask God.”
For the young Latter-day Saints in Quezon City, Makati, Cainta Taytay, and Angono, life in the Philippines is a life of contrasts. They know that in the tops of remote outer-island mountains some aborigines still live in tribes, while in the tops of modern office buildings in Manila executives plan international marketing ventures. In the streets, flashy motorcars and horse-drawn kalesas (carriages) travel down the same lanes. In private conversations 87 dialects are spoken, but in public, English and Tagalog (ta-GAL-ag) unite the people.
In the city, brightly painted jeepneys (taxi buses) rush commuters to businesses and markets where thousands of people crowd the streets. In the provinces, a farmer plowing behind a carabao (water buffalo) might spend the whole day without seeing another person, and by the ocean a beachcomber can wander for miles all alone.
The Saints here have seen contrasts in life, too. Chilton knows that his father’s death led his family to move to the area where they met the missionaries and found a new life. He is convinced that his childhood affliction has molded his character and helped him to rely on the gospel. Myrna has known the frustration of groping in ignorance and the joy of learning by the Spirit. Raoul doesn’t like to get up early but loves to go to seminary. Susie misses Mexico but loves her new home.
They live in a land where summer sparkles and winter brings monsoon rains. It is a land where wars and occupation once thwarted a people who love freedom and peace. It is a land that has bred a people full of optimism and courage, who firmly believe difficulties are only opportunities looked at from the wrong direction.
The Philippine Islands are a land of sunshine and rain, a land that hopes to weather storms and challenges to arrive at a bright tomorrow. Young Latter-day Saints who live here know that by living the gospel and sharing it with their friends, they will lead the way.

After not being able to go to church and then experiencing an earthquake in our city, we decided to sing Primary songs to older people in our neighborhood. It was like Christmas caroling but in spring! We knocked on their doors and stood back from the house with a sign saying that we loved them and that they didn’t need to invite us in. They were so surprised and happy to hear us, and it was fun! It helped us feel better when we felt scared.
Emily and Lily D., ages 8 and 4, Utah, USA

It had been one week since school started, and I was very discouraged. I had so many things to do. I wanted to be a cheerleader, and I wanted to take voice lessons. I was planning to take private flute lessons, as well as playing in the band. I was taking piano, and I had a big part in a play. I also had lots of homework each night. On top of that I was trying to maintain a decent social life. Every single day from September to the middle of November was booked solid. I could not fit in everything I needed to do.
The day of our annual family breakfast in Waterton, matters really came to a head. After climbing the usual mountain, we left for home with seven tired brothers and sisters cooped up in a small car. That is enough to make anyone depressed, but in addition to that I was thinking of all the things I had to do. I could not think of any way possible to accomplish it all. When we got home I was not only discouraged—I was cranky. My heart was screaming, and life didn’t seem worth living. When I get like that, I often retreat to my bedroom and read my patriarchal blessing.
As I was reading it this particular time, I thought about the day I had received it. It had been a very spiritual experience for me, and I had felt the power of the truthfulness of the gospel. I had felt so good and peaceful that day. I wanted to feel that way again.
After I finished reading my blessing, I prayed sincerely. My heart was still crying. I needed answers. I was so confused. What about school? How would I ever find time to study or do homework? What about all the things I want to do? Where will I find the time? What about piano—when will I practice?
The answer came, but not in the way I expected. I remembered the words I had read in my blessing: “Remember your father is the patriarch in your home. You can go to him for counsel, for direction, and to receive blessings for …”
I read over and over the words from my blessing. Finally I got the courage to ask my father for a blessing.
I invited my mother to listen, and my father began. “Charlotte Marie ZoBell, by the power of the Holy Melchizedek Priesthood which I hold, I lay my hands upon your head to give you a blessing. …”
The words which my father spoke answered the questions I was struggling with, calmed my aching heart, and gave me hope. I felt the same spiritual feeling that I had experienced the day I received my patriarchal blessing, and I felt good and peaceful inside. It was indeed a blessing given by God, for only God and I knew the questions that needed to be answered. It was God’s blessing given through my father.

A friend of ours (and most of us were recent converts) was getting into the drug culture with all its wrong attitudes and acts. Some might say we shouldn’t have kept this kind of friend, but we did. (Later he said that he had felt he was losing us even so, but this was because he had been failing to keep his part of the relationship.) At any rate, we didn’t throw him out of our lives for taking drugs, or for any of the other sins, small or great, that it led him to. Then we saw him turn to paths of repentance, and when he finally asked, we helped him climb back. The day of his temple marriage was a day of deep joy to us all.
Sharon DequerMunrovia, California

This story took place in Italy.
Amir held Mom’s hand as they walked through the Rome, Italy, airport. They had just flown from their home in Greece. They were going to the temple to be sealed as a family! His older sister had even come from far away so she could be sealed to them.
“Where’s Grandma?” Amir asked, looking around. He bounced on his toes a little. He was so excited!
“We’ll find her,” Mom said.
“Grandma” wasn’t really Amir’s grandma, but he liked to think of her that way. She was like his missionary angel! She had helped his family learn about the gospel. And now she was helping them go to the temple for the first time!
“There she is!” Amir shouted. “Hi, Grandma!”
Amir waved his arm. Sister Bush waved back with a big smile. She walked over and gave Amir a hug. “Are you ready?”
“Yes!” Amir said.
Sister Bush called a taxi to drive them to the temple. Amir climbed in next to his sister. Soon the taxi turned a corner, and Amir could see the temple. It was so big and wonderful.
“It looks even better than the pictures!” Amir said.
Amir and his family walked around the temple grounds and took some photos. They had dreamed of this day for so long.
When it was time to go in, Amir felt like he was walking into heaven. The inside was clean and bright. The temple workers were so nice. Amir felt like Heavenly Father was watching over him. He felt safe.
Amir waited while his parents and sister went into a different part of the temple. Two kind temple workers waited with him and gave him white clothes to wear. They showed him a video about Jesus Christ. He felt peaceful.
When it was time, the temple workers led him upstairs. Amir looked for Jesus in the paintings. It made him happy to know he was in God’s house.
The room they entered was beautiful. A big, sparkling light hung from the ceiling. Two big mirrors faced each other on the walls. His family was already there waiting.
Mom and Dad knelt at an altar covered in soft fabric and held hands. A temple worker asked Amir and his sister to kneel at the altar with them. It felt like they were joining together after being apart for a long time.
Amir cried happy tears. His family looked happy too. He knew the warm feeling he felt was the Holy Ghost. He was glad they could all be there together.
When it was time to go back to Greece, Amir hugged his older sister goodbye. He was sad they had to leave. But he knew that because of the temple, someday they would together always.

I was attending a track meet, and there were about a dozen fellows who had qualified to represent their schools in the mile run at this invitational. As the gun was fired, those young men, who had trained hard for this vigorous race, took off. Four of them were running in a bunch so close together that it looked to us as if they might trip each other. Suddenly one fellow spiked the shoe of the boy running in front of him. As the spiked runner went to take his next step, his shoe flew off.
I wondered what this boy who had been leading the race would do. He had several choices: He could have grabbed the boy who had spiked him and done something to get even. He could have run over to the coach and yelled, “So this is what you get. I’ve trained half my life for this, and now on the big day, look what happens!” He could have said to his mom and dad, “Look what that guy did to me!” Or he could have sat down and cried.
But he didn’t do any of these things; he just kept running. This happened on the first lap, and I thought he would quit after that lap. But he kept running every step of the way. The cinders came up through his sock into his foot, but he said nothing. He just kept running. He finished the race, and I thought, “What a boy!” He said nothing. He simply finished the job he had to do.

The closest branch in what was then the Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia was in Zagreb, Croatia—three hours away from Albin’s home in Slovenia. He later learned there was a branch a little more than an hour away, in Klagenfurt, Austria. For more than a year he attended the branch in Austria every Sunday, even though his ability to speak German was limited. “The branch president and all the members were very friendly and kind,” he says. He received the Melchizedek Priesthood and served in his first Church callings in the Klagenfurt Branch. And his girlfriend, Boza, often went with him. Sister missionaries taught her the gospel.
“It took me almost six months to get my own testimony,” says Boza. “The Book of Mormon had not yet been translated into Slovenian, and it was difficult for me to read it in Croatian. One Sunday in 1990 I went to a nearby grove to pray for the answer, just like Joseph Smith did. The answer came in the middle of the prayer as an exceptional warmth around my heart. I thought at first that this warmth came from the sun—but the sun had already gone down, and the warm feeling was still there. I felt peace and knew from that moment on that God wanted me to accept His gospel.” Albin baptized her in the Klagenfurt Branch in March 1990.

Putting the Lord first has proved vital for another student with opposition of a different sort. Right through school, Neil Withington, now living in Southampton, battled with dyslexia. “I had a lot of basic reading and writing problems. At 14, during a teacher’s interview about future final exams, I was told I would not pass any of them. I had the intelligence, but there wouldn’t be enough time to read and understand questions, let alone write out answers.
“Then I began attending seminary. I took up the challenge of putting scripture study first. Whereas most of the class would complete a week’s booklet in two hours on a Sunday afternoon, I had to arise at 6:00 A.M. and spend two hours on just one day’s work (four days to a booklet). I soon realized that on days beginning with seminary I did really well at school. On days minus seminary, the opposite happened.
“Dyslexia gradually disappeared. I passed seven O-level and two A-level exams. I failed the English language exam twice, but after completing a mission, I had another try and achieved that too. I now have a good job as a management consultant, involving plenty of reading and writing. I feel that without seminary, none of this would have happened.”

Having recently completed basic flying instruction in Phoenix, Arizona, I had certified after a few hours of solo flying to take my first solo flight across the state. This would entail a two-hour route from Phoenix to Tucson and back to Phoenix.
Excited by the anticipation of flying by myself 10,000 feet (3,000 m) above the earth and viewing the beauty of the clouds, mountains, valleys, and desert, I thought little of my inexperience and any possible dangers that might await me.
I checked the weather, filed my flight plan, and gathered a radio, compass, and basic flight instruments. As is common at this stage of flight instruction, I still lacked training in the use of advanced instruments. But the older plane I would be flying had none of the sophisticated instruments that would allow a pilot to fly without visual cues.
I was a little nervous taking off by myself in my small yellow single-engine monoplane, but the flight from Phoenix to Tucson went well. I was thrilled with my new aerial skills.
Elated and confident and with only 120 miles (190 km) to go, I took off from Tucson for Phoenix late in the afternoon. However, after I was barely airborne, I unexpectedly experienced strong wind currents that made it difficult to control the altitude of my plane. A dust storm suddenly engulfed me, and I could no longer see. Tossed side to side, I lost control and became frantically disoriented and afraid, realizing that I was dangerously close to the Catalina mountain range.
In a panic I thought of my life. I was engaged to be married the following month in the Mesa Arizona Temple. I had served an honorable full-time mission. I had always tried to obey the commandments and listen to the promptings of the Holy Ghost. If I ever needed divine guidance, it was now. Almost despairing, I uttered a silent prayer. The Spirit immediately whispered to me, “Rely on your radio, your compass, and your instrument panel, and drop your altitude.”
I quickly descended several hundred feet. Visibility was still poor, but below me I could make out a highway and railroad tracks. By using my instruments and following visual landmarks, I was able to finally land at the airport in Phoenix after a harrowing two-hour experience.
I will always be grateful for the promptings of the Holy Ghost and the promise in Psalms: “In the shadow of thy wings will I make my refuge” (Psalm 57:1).