Gospel Story Finder

Rosie had two pairs of shoes. She had a shiny black pair with a pretty bow for church and parties. And she had a fuzzy, brown, tie-up pair for school and play.
Rosie loved her church shoes. They made her feet pretty and light. But her school shoes were dull and scuffed and dirty. Even when she cleaned them, they looked dirty. She felt like she was wearing bowling balls.
Rosie wanted to wear her church shoes every day, as some of her friends at school did. Did her mother let her?
No, she did not.
“Church shoes are for church and parties,” Mother said. “School shoes are for every day.”
It isn’t fair! Rosie thought.
One morning while getting ready for school, Rosie noticed her church shoes sitting at the back of her closet. An idea flashed into her mind—her first “good idea.” She would take her church shoes to school in her backpack and put them on at school! Would Mother miss them from the closet?
No, she will not! Rosie decided.
So Rosie put her school shoes on and slipped her church shoes into her backpack. She went downstairs to breakfast and then walked to school. Just inside the school yard, off came her school shoes and on went the church shoes. How they shined! How light and pretty her feet felt in them! What a good idea! she decided.
But when Rosie had changed her shoes again at the end of the day and walked home, Mother met her at the door with a frown on her face and her arms folded.
“Give me your church shoes, young lady. I’ll keep them on my closet shelf until next Sunday.” Did she like Rosie’s first “good idea?”
No, she did not!
Rosie’s second “good idea” came as she was stomping home from school in the rain the next week. It had started raining during the day, so she didn’t have her boots on. Now a huge, muddy puddle was in her path. If she walked through it, her school shoes would be spoiled. Did she walk around the puddle?
No, she did not!
She walked right through the deepest part of the puddle and squished the rest of the way home.
When Mother saw the muddy shoes, she was most unhappy. Rosie had to wipe the mud off her shoes and brush them with a stiff brush when they were dry. Her school shoes looked worse than ever. Would Mother let her wear her church shoes to school now?
No, she would not.
Then Rosie had her third “good idea.” She was playing hide-and-seek with her friends on Friday afternoon. As she lay on her back in her hiding place under the bed in the spare room, she saw the springs holding up the mattress, and the wires holding up the springs. What a great hiding place for shoes! she thought. Rosie took off her shoes and pushed them way up into the springs next to the mattress.
On Saturday morning the whole family had to look for Rosie’s shoes before they could go grocery shopping. Did anyone think to look under the mattress in the spare room?
No, they did not.
So Rosie wore her church shoes to the store. But she had to take them off as soon as she was home.
On Sunday, she wore them to church, but still she had to take them off as soon as she got home. Once again the whole family searched the house for Rosie’s shoes. Nobody found them.
On Monday morning, Mother had no choice but to let Rosie wear her church shoes to school. Rosie tried not to look happy, but it was pretty hard to do. Now she would be just like the other girls! She skipped happily to school.
It was seven blocks to school. By the time Rosie got to the school yard, her left heel was starting to hurt. By the time she got to the classroom door, it was hurting pretty badly. Her right heel was starting to hurt too. At recess, both heels were hurting a lot, so she sat on a swing the whole time. Did she get off to let any of her classmates take a turn?
No, she did not.
Walking home after school was even worse. Rosie tried walking different ways to see if her feet would stop hurting. She walked backward. She walked on the sides of her feet. She tried pushing her toes way into those church shoes, but that only made her toes hurt too. She sat down and rested every block and had lots of time to think about what she had done. She was very late getting home. Mother was worried.
As soon as Rosie got home, she sat down on a kitchen chair and took off her shoes. She started to cry even before she saw the big blisters on her heels. And that was not all. Now her church shoes were all scuffed up from skipping to school and walking funny on the way home. They didn’t look beautiful anymore.
Rosie watched as Mother washed and bandaged her heels. Mother wasn’t angry, but she had a strange, sad look on her face, as if she wanted to say, “I told you this would happen.” Did she say it?
No, she did not.
After dinner Rosie crept up to the spare room and knelt beside the bed. She told Heavenly Father she was sorry, then pulled her school shoes out from the springs of the bed. She put them back in her closet. Did she wear them to school the next day?
No, she did not.
Because of the blisters, now even her school shoes hurt her feet. She had to wear her slippers and get a ride to school. And stay inside at recess. Rosie had learned her lesson. She told her parents how sorry she was for not obeying them and for all the wrong things she had done. She promised to take care of her shoes—both pairs—to listen to her parents and do what they said, and to do extra chores for three whole weeks.
And as soon as her feet healed, did she wear her school shoes for school and play, and save her church shoes for church and parties?
Yes, she did.

During my early days in the church, I remember hearing about one Brother, who was the only member of the Church in his family and faced much opposition when he decided to serve a mission. His parents, siblings, and relatives all strongly criticized his decision as a sign that he was discarding his identity for an alien faith. His parents were so disappointed and heartbroken that they disowned him the night before he reported to the mission office.

As a new convert, hearing stories like this Brother’s really made me wonder if the gospel of Jesus Christ really was as foreign and alien to Chinese beliefs as some tend to think.

Some of our most stalwart and faithful members have suffered a challenge to their faith for a season. I love the true account of W. W. Phelps, who had forsaken the Church and testified against the Prophet Joseph Smith in a Missouri court. After repenting, he wrote to Joseph, “I know my situation, you know it, and God knows it, and I want to be saved if my friends will help me.” Joseph did forgive him, put him back to work, and lovingly wrote, “Friends at first are friends again at last.”

“I can’t take another day of the rowdiness and disrespect of those young people on our tour!” The American woman introduced herself as she sat down across the table from me.
“I don’t know what has happened to this younger generation. They have absolutely no regard for the beautiful or the sacred. We have some teenagers in our group who sit in the back of the bus smoking, drinking, and disrupting our whole tour with their rowdiness.”
We arose and walked through the rose garden behind the hotel, viewing the Holy City across the Kidron Valley. She continued: “Only yesterday in Bethlehem the obscenity and vulgarism of their language was a desecration of those sacred shrines.”
As she spoke, I thought of the eight young people who made up nearly a fourth of our tour group.
“What do you do with all those teenagers you have with you?” she asked. “I noticed that you have quite a number of them with your group. How do you control them?”
I thought of the way Melvin Bushman and Bonnie May Hiatt had been so concerned about Mrs. Foster as we all ascended the narrow, age-polished stone steps to the “Upper Room,” which tradition identifies as the site of the Last Supper. And wasn’t it Carolyn Bushman and her cousin Virnell Bushman who had made sure that Mrs. Turley wouldn’t miss the view from the minaret? Diane Hess was the very essence of sunshine and cheerfulness, always a bright spot in our group. And Shelley Crane, quiet and somewhat shy, was always concerned for others before herself.
Then there were Jerome and John Horowitz. Jerome was a typical 17-year-old and as typically unpredictable. I was a little annoyed when he appeared so zealous to board the plane that day when we didn’t have seat assignments, but a few moments later I realized that he was trying to reserve seats for some of the older members of our group.
“What do you do about them when you are visiting these sacred sites?” she asked.
“We take them with us, or rather they take us, and we share in their enthusiasm. You see, we’re Mormons, and—”
“Oh yes, I’ve heard about your church and the marvelous programs you have for young people,” she interrupted. “You have some sort of youth activity program, don’t you?”
I explained that the quality of our young people is the result of more than just activities and programs; the gospel is a whole way of life. It is the influence of the gospel of Jesus Christ and his priesthood in the lives of Mormon young people that makes the difference. Because of their own feelings for their Savior, their own spiritual strength and testimonies, and in many cases, their own sacrifices, this journey to the Holy Land meant as much to the young people of our tour group as it did to the adults.
My conversation with this lady came back many times during the subsequent events of our tour, events that vindicated my defense of LDS youth.
We found Athens hot and humid when our group arrived there. Without air conditioning, the bus trip left us tired and bedraggled. But it didn’t take long before the light-hearted quips and personal concern of the young people had the rest of us forgetting our discomfort. It was Carolyn who decided we needed some singing, and Virnell, Shelley, Bonnie, and Diane soon joined in.
As usual, Melvin was the first to help with the luggage when we reached our hotel, checking the number of pieces and helping the ladies with their heavier bags.
“How do you control them?” the lady had asked.
It was just past noon when we returned from a spectacular tour of the Acropolis and Mars’ hill where Paul preached to the Athenians. The young people had assisted their not-so-young associates along the rugged terrain among the ancient ruins, not only giving their physical strength, but sharing their excitement and wonder as well. When we returned to the hotel, we were stunned by the news that Greece was at war with Turkey. Cyprus had been invaded by Turkish troops. All of the Greek men between the ages of 18 and 45 were to be mobilized within the next few hours. Suddenly the streets were filled with people. Young men carried small tote bags; neighbors gathered for brief farewells; a woman stood in her doorway weeping as she saw the men leave. She told us her children were too young to go, but she had five brothers who would have to fight.
This was not just a disruption of the afternoon-scheduled tour to Corinth. This was not just the temporary inconvenience of having no other bus at our disposal. Greece was at war! Greece’s borders were sealed. Her harbors were closed. Her airports were shut off. No commercial transportation was allowed in or out of the country. With the shortage of help in the hotel, we were informed that we would receive no further clean linen, there would be no room service, and the waiters from the dining room were gone. Making our own beds would be no problem. Hanging our towels to dry was no inconvenience. But what kind of chaos would the dining room be in without anyone there to help?
Dinner time arrived, and we walked into the dining room. To our delight there seemed to be plenty of help. John seated me at our table, and Jerome filled our water glasses. Carolyn was serving the rolls to other hotel guests, while Virnell followed up with butter. Bonnie was laughing and joking with some of the tourists as she and Diane served them cool beverages. Shelly was clearing dirty dishes from the tables and refilling glasses with ice. Melvin did anything that might have been overlooked—clearing tables, bringing a salad where one was forgotten, or resetting tables for the next group. They had not been asked; they had volunteered. For the duration of our stay in Athens, their service made the dinner hour something to look forward to.
With the tension of the war mounting, rumors of a military coup circulated throughout the city. Tanks were brought in, and armed police platoons became numerous on the streets. The U.S. Embassy warned us to remain in our hotel until further notice. Thus confined, we were threatened with boredom. But again our young people came to the rescue; they would have nothing to do with boredom. At our sacrament meetings our priests, Melvin and Jerome, prepared the sacrament and were assisted by John in passing it. Virnell and Carolyn served as chorister and organist. By recalling our experiences of the previous week in the Holy Land, our sacrament hymns were even more meaningful to each of us. We followed the admonition that “the song of the righteous is a prayer unto me.” (D&C 25:12.)
In the days that followed, the strain of being in war-inflicted Greece, our evacuation from Athens, and many long delays between planes were all made lighter by the humorous good nature and thoughtful consideration of the young travelers in our group. The lives of all those who traveled with them were made richer by their influence. Our LDS youth serve as an ensign, proclaiming the spirit of the gospel to all the world.

The Bridge Dancers Maisie’s mother has gone across the dangerous old footbridge to help a woman who’s about to have a baby. Maisie and her sister, Callie, have been forbidden to go on the bridge, and Maisie is grateful because she is afraid of it. But when Callie has an accident, Maisie must cross the bridge. You’ll have to read this slim paperback to see how she succeeds after turning back from the bridge in fear.Carol Saller8–11 years

I am grateful to Kristie for her introduction. I recognized her goodness and her loving heart within the first few minutes after I picked her up for our first date and began to get to know her. After we dated for a couple of months, she left to come here to BYU–Hawaii to attend school. It didn’t take me very long after she left before I realized that if I wanted any chance of being with her forever, I needed to take some action. In addition to the countless emails and phone calls, I recruited my brother and my auntie to come to Hawaii with me to visit Kristie, and then later that same semester I came again with her family for Thanksgiving.
It was on that second trip that we got engaged and I somehow convinced her to leave this place which she had grown to love, and to come back to Utah where we were married. We have been married now for more than 22 years, and she is my best friend. A constant source of strength and encouragement to me and to our family.

Another time—it was the Sunday before Thanksgiving, about 1943—I went to priesthood meeting where a member of the bishopric said: “This Thursday is Thanksgiving. We ought to all have family prayer in our homes.” Then he said, “Let’s put on the blackboard the things we are grateful for.” We did, and he said, “Include these things in your Thanksgiving prayer.” I got sick to my stomach, as we never had a prayer or blessing.
That night at 6:30 we went to sacrament meeting. At the end of the meeting, the bishop stood up and was very tender. He told about the young men from our ward who had been killed and wounded in World War II. He talked about our liberty, our freedom, our flag, and this great country, and our blessings. Then he said, “I’d hope every single family would kneel and have family prayer on Thanksgiving Day and thank God for His blessings.”
My heart ached. I thought, How can we have family prayer? I wanted to be obedient. I wanted to have a prayer for Thanksgiving. I even thought I would say it if someone asked me, but I was too shy to volunteer. I worried all day Monday, and all day Tuesday, and Wednesday at school.
Thursday we all got up. There were five boys and two sisters. We skipped breakfast so we would have a real appetite for Thanksgiving dinner. I kept thinking, Please, Heavenly Father, let us have a prayer.
Finally at 2:30, my mother called us to come and eat. We cleaned up and sat at the table. Somehow Mom had managed to have a turkey with all the trimmings. She put all the food on the table, including the turkey. I thought my heart would burst. Time was running out. I looked at my father, then my mother. I thought, Please, now, someone, anyone, please can’t we have a prayer? I was almost panicky; then all of a sudden everyone started to eat. I had worked hard all morning and afternoon to work up an appetite, but I wasn’t hungry. I didn’t want to eat. I wanted to pray more than anything else in this world, and it was too late.

Natalie thinks that it’s great to be sixteen and to go on dates. But I’m only seven, and I went on a date! Your girl-friend Melissa took me to a movie. She said that you wouldn’t mind. When we got home, Kelly’s car was at our house. I saw her outside with Mom, but Melissa didn’t. I told Melissa that I’d buy her an ice-cream cone, and we walked to the ice-cream store. That was a close call! I think that having girl-friends is hard work!

He blames it on a short attention span, but it’s more likely the spirit of missionary service that doesn’t allow Brandon Fields to sit still. He’s always wanted to go on a mission, but just wanting to go wasn’t enough. He needed to prepare. When he was 16, the constant urgings of full-time missionaries and a talk he had to give on missionary service in sacrament meeting prompted this Seattle, Washington, priest to do some thinking.
Brandon thought, You know, I should probably start praying for missionary experiences, because that’s what I’m going to be doing for two years, so why not start now? He hasn’t sat still since. And his prayers for missionary experiences have definitely been answered. Between visiting the less-active families in his ward, going team teaching with the missionaries, attending school, and working, it’s a wonder this first assistant to the bishop even has time to breathe. He says he’s able to fit it all in because he just never stops moving.
Brandon’s momentum started to build when he and his best friend, Steve Wells, started to go teaching with the missionaries in their area. “We volunteered a couple of times, and it turned out we were the only priests who could go. So it was us for five months.” Now that he’s only six months away from his mission, Brandon is still helping the missionaries, but he does get a break every once in a while, since there are now a few more priests to help out. Steve is now on a full-time mission in the Philippines.
The gospel is like a favorite recipe, Brandon says, because you want to share it with everyone. “I share it because it makes me happy. And why wouldn’t you want to share what makes you happy?” His enthusiasm is contagious, says Marti Grisham, Young Men president of the Federal Way Washington Stake. “He’s got a real missionary attitude about him.”
But missionary work can sometimes be discouraging, and Brandon says he knows that. Team teaching with the missionaries helps him to overcome, or at least grow accustomed to, occasional setbacks. “It’s showing me how they get disappointed—like appointments not showing up. Just seeing that will help me be able to cope like the full-time missionaries do.” He’s learned to laugh, even when people slam doors in his face. “I’m usually pretty calm and just let stuff go.”
Though his attitude during hard times may be calm, his outlook on missionary work is pure excitement. Brandon has taught discussions with the missionaries a few times and is working hard to memorize as many discussions as he can before he goes into the Missionary Training Center. His study habits need some work, he says, but he hopes to improve with time and practice. “It makes you feel the Spirit and strengthens your testimony when you teach,” he says.
One of Brandon’s best experiences teaching the gospel happened when he was teaching with a full-time missionary. They were teaching a woman who was addicted to drugs and who was reluctant to live the lifestyle of Church members. One night she would not let Brandon and the missionary into her home to teach her, even though she had listened to discussions before and been receptive to their message. They wouldn’t give up on her; so they stood outside her house and sang hymns. Finally, she came out to listen to them. She was baptized a short time later. “I loved seeing the change she made and seeing her baptized,” Brandon says.
“We come to know Christ by following Him,” Brandon says as he teaches a part of the first new-member discussion to Armand Nicholas, 22, who has just joined the Church. Brandon had previously taught Armand the fifth missionary discussion. Brandon flips to scripture after scripture about Christ as if he were in a seminary scripture chase. “He knows his scriptures,” says Elder Mithona Seng, one of the missionaries with whom Brandon works.
After teaching Armand, Brandon and the missionaries visit a young man who had seen a documentary about the Prophet Joseph Smith and wanted to know more about the Church. Brandon helped the missionaries teach the first discussion with the aid of some study cards he had made.
You might think all this future missionary does is race from house to house sharing the gospel. But he also finds time to earn money for his mission, working as a floor supervisor at a movie theater. When movies arrive at the theater, the film is on a few small reels. Brandon “builds up” or combines the smaller reels into one big reel and adds the movie previews. Normally, he might have to watch many R-rated movies as part of his job, but, he says, “I build up the movies, and you’re supposed to watch them. But the people I work with know I don’t, so someone else comes and does it.” And when he puts on his uniform at work, the mantle of member missionary remains firmly in place. He still tries to tell the people he works with about the gospel and has given copies of the Book of Mormon to some of them.
Although he has to get outside his comfort zone, he says trying to be a good example comes more easily when you don’t worry about what others think of you. “Yes, a mission is hard, but it’s fun, because the missionaries have fun. … Just try teaching with them and pray about it. It’s not like Heavenly Father’s going to say no, because we’re supposed to go.” Brandon says he’ll keep sharing his favorite recipe—for happiness that is—the gospel of Jesus Christ.
“A most significant evidence of our conversion and of how we feel about the gospel in our own lives is our willingness to share it with others and to help missionaries find someone to teach. The likelihood of lasting conversion greatly increases when a nonmember has a friend or a relative who radiates the joy of being a member of the Church. The influence of members of the Church is very powerful. I believe that’s why President Hinckley asked us to see that everyone has a friend” (Ensign, Nov. 2000, 75–76).—Elder M. Russell Ballard of the Quorum of the Twelve

Throughout my life, there have been several moments when my testimony and convictions were put to the test. One such experience occurred while I was attending a business conference in Poland. At the end of the first day, the event’s host invited a small group of guests to a private dinner at a fancy restaurant. As we took our seats, the host asked the waiters to serve each guest a very expensive alcoholic beverage as a gesture of appreciation.

When the waiter approached me, I politely explained that I do not drink alcohol and that I would be happy to have any other beverage available. The waiter seemed somewhat confused and explained that this was a quite expensive drink and had been offered to all the guests as an honor. He added that refusing it might risk offending the host. As I continued to explain my reasons, the attention of the room suddenly turned toward me, and several guests began chanting, “Drink it, drink it.” In that moment, my mind was flooded with thoughts of who I was, the covenants I had made, and the blessings I could lose if I gave in to peer pressure.

I simply smiled and calmly told those around me that I appreciated the gesture but would remain with my non-alcoholic beverage. In the end, the host was not offended at all. And later that evening, one of the other participants approached me and thanked me for staying true to my convictions.

It was a cold December day in 1988 in San Luis Obispo, California. Stricken with a rare disorder, I struggled with rigid muscles in my abdomen and legs. The cold aggravated my symptoms, making walking difficult and painful.
After our children left for school, I hobbled out to the mailbox to send some letters. In the box I found a damp, crumpled envelope. I glanced at the address.
To my surprise, scrawled across the front was “To Santa, From Sarah.” Sarah, our nine-year-old daughter, was a sensitive and loving child who cared deeply for those around her.
The thought occurred to me that this might be my chance to discover what she really wanted for Christmas. I opened her envelope and read: “Dear Santa, I am nine years old and all I want is this. My mother has been very sick and has not been able to walk, and I am hoping you can get her better for Christmas. That’s all I want. Love, Sarah.”
Icy raindrops blended with the tears on my cheeks. I thought my heart would break, for there was nothing I could do to give Sarah what she wanted for Christmas, and I regretted that her belief in a generous Santa would have to be shattered on Christmas morning.
As I prayed about what to do, I realized I had never prayed to be made well. I had let hopelessness seep into my soul, and despair had replaced my faith.
After a great deal of prayer, I composed a letter from Santa to be delivered to Sarah on Christmas morning. I explained that Heavenly Father has reasons for why things happen as they do and that if she would just believe in Him and keep on praying and doing what she could, things would work out for the best.
Sarah learned that Christmas in 1988 that Santa could not make her mother well but that Heavenly Father could one day, if it was His will. Our daughter quietly transferred her belief in Santa to faith in a loving Heavenly Father.
During the following years, Sarah never ceased praying that I would be made well. After more than six years, a breakthrough in medical technology placed me soundly back on my feet and eliminated my need for either a cane or a wheelchair. Sarah knelt in prayer to express her deep gratitude to Heavenly Father.
Years ago as I opened Sarah’s letter to Santa, I thought I was going to deepen her belief in a fun Christmas tradition. Instead, her selfless request taught me to have childlike faith in a kind Heavenly Father, and that lesson turned out to be my most precious gift of all.

One day when I was in fifth grade, my best friend and I went downtown. Afterward, we stopped at a convenience store. A man came to a window of the van and asked my friend’s mom for money to catch the bus that was leaving soon. She handed him the money and smiled.
While this was happening, I spotted a poor, lonely man watching us. He came up after the first man had left and asked for money because he was hungry. My friend’s mom turned around, looked at both of us girls, and took some food from our snack boxes. She handed it to the man.
He looked at her, puzzled and amused. She said, “Have a nice day,” to him, and we started back home. We asked her why she hadn’t just given him money, too. She said, “I think he just would have gone and bought beer or cigarettes, and I know he’s better off eating carrots and juice.”
This experience made me realize how much love she had for these two men.
My friend’s mom has passed away and is with Heavenly Father now, but this story lives in my heart and mind forever. I want to be just like her and Jesus Christ and love other people and serve Heavenly Father.

Worthy music also has the power to persuade. We learn this lesson from the writings of John Jaques. He was born in England in 1827, a son of Wesleyan Methodist parents. In his youth John earnestly sought the true religion. He studied intensively with Latter-day Saint missionaries and, at the age of 18, became a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
John’s austere father, upset upon hearing this news, wrote: “I wished you . . . to attend the Wesleyan Chapel. They [the Mormons] do not teach you . . . [to] honor and obey your parents. I . . . hope you will give up the idea of belonging to such a party. . . . It is fiction.”
John’s reply, written March 14, 1847, when he was but twenty years of age, included these words: “Dear Father: I would pray . . . that I may understand the things of the Kingdom of God and carry my ideas to you. . . . Since I [joined the Church] my eyes have been opened, and I have been able to understand the truth. I can bear testimony to the truth . . . of the doctrines . . . in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
Three years later, at age 23, John Jaques wrote the words to this hymn that we know and love:
Oh say, what is truth? ’Tis the fairest gem
That the riches of worlds can produce,
And priceless the value of truth will be when
The proud monarch’s costliest diadem
Is counted but dross and refuse.
Yes, say, what is truth? ’Tis the brightest prize
To which mortals or Gods can aspire.
Go search in the depths where it glittering lies,
Or ascend in pursuit to the loftiest skies:
’Tis an aim for the noblest desire.
The sceptre may fall from the despot’s grasp
When with winds of stern justice he copes.
But the pillar of truth will endure to the last,
And its firm-rooted bulwarks outstand the rude blast
And the wreck of the fell tyrant’s hopes.
Then say, what is truth? ’Tis the last and the first,
For the limits of time it steps o’er.
Tho the heavens depart and the earth’s fountains burst,
Truth, the sum of existence, will weather the worst,
Eternal, unchanged, evermore.
John stood firm in his conviction of the truth. He remained true and faithful and ultimately served as assistant to the Church historian from 1889 until his death on June 1, 1900.

In October 2024, Eliza was diagnosed with Stage 3 Parapharyngeal Synovial Sarcoma—an extremely rare and aggressive cancer. Her diagnosis was a miracle in itself, confirmed only after two nearly impossible biopsy operations. Surgery wasn’t an option due to the tumor’s location, leaving chemotherapy and radiation as her only treatments. Despite completing seven cycles of high- dose chemotherapy and 36 radiation sessions, the cancer progressed to her bones and eventually her brain. She underwent 10 more rounds of radiation under palliative care. Through it all, Eliza showed remarkable courage and unwavering faith, facing even her final days with peace and trust in the Savior.
Eliza’s faith was nurtured in many ways. She loved Strive to Be music, which helped her feel close to the Savior. She looked forward to temple visits and attended church meetings whenever possible. Her time at FSY 2025 strengthened her testimony and deepened her love for the Savior. She bore her testimony from the pulpit—not from a wheelchair—during Testimony Sundays. Even when hospitalized and unable to see or move, she sent a voice recording to her bishop. Her patriarchal blessing reminded her of her divine identity and gave her peace, even in moments of great pain. In her final weeks, she stayed awake to be fully present with us, showing love and courage without relying on heavy medication.
On June 18, 2025, Eliza returned to our Heavenly Father. That day shattered our hearts, but amid the grief, the Spirit whispered that her earthly mission was complete—and that our story with her was far from over.

For a young man named Prophet living in Ghana, setting the goal in Children and Youth to learn how to play the piano was only the beginning. “It’s my goal to also help other people know what I am learning,” Prophet says.

Even though he’s not yet an instructor, his goal has already grown into something much bigger than he ever imagined. There are now 50 students taking piano classes at the meetinghouse alongside Prophet. And just who is teaching Prophet and those other 50 students? Alexander M. and Kelvin M., both age 13. “We want to show acts of kindness to other people,” Kelvin says.

Three days a week the two youth teach basic piano lessons for free to all who come to learn. There has been an added benefit to the piano lessons. Several of the students introduced to the Church through piano lessons later studied the gospel and decided to be baptized.

“John, I can see it’s time I tell you the story.” Grandpa reached over to shut the engine off. “When your dad was ready to go on a mission, almost twenty-five years ago now, your grandmother and I couldn’t afford to send him. We’d always tried our best to live the gospel, and we knew we could depend on the Lord, so we prayed that He would help us make enough money to send our boy on a mission.”
“Were your prayers answered, Grandpa?”
“Yes, John. Heavenly Father answered them in a surprising way. This little piece of land came up for sale, and your grandma and I felt inspired to buy it. It was a small field, nothing to rave about. But we had read in the scriptures that from small things great blessings come. So Grandma and I hoped that if we remained faithful and hard-working, the Lord might see fit to turn this small field into a great blessing.”
“Did you get your blessing, Grandpa?” John asked.
“Did we ever!” Grandpa answered, beaming. “We received enough money from our first crop to send your dad on his mission, and for as long as he was serving in England, we had a bumper crop. When he came home from England, the field’s production returned to normal, but as each of our three sons served missions, it thrived again. To this day, Grandma and I call it our mission field. Why, this very field is helping support Mark on his mission right now.” Grandpa smiled, giving John’s shoulder a healthy squeeze.

During the BYU centennial celebration in 1975, I worked in the administration of the university. One of my responsibilities was to organize and manage a march from the old lower campus (now the Provo City Library) to a centennial convocation to be held in this building. President Spencer W. Kimball and his wife, Camilla, led the parade. We organized the march because, in the early days of this institution, Karl G. Maeser took the students on Founders Day to old buildings where classes had once been held and then marched behind class banners to the newer location where the academy’s classes were then being taught.

The reenactment of Maeser’s march was a people parade. We left the lower campus, came across 800 North, and then marched up Temple Hill. I maneuvered among the vehicles and participants so that when we got to the Maeser Building, I could watch the parade as it rounded the hill and headed north.

While standing there watching President Kimball and President Dallin H. Oaks and alumni from the various years go by, I felt the presence of the past presidents of BYU. I had the distinct feeling that Karl G. Maeser and other presidents and notables who pioneered BYU’s progress all seemed to be present there on the lawn between the Maeser Building and what was then the President’s Home. I did not see them, but I keenly felt their presence. It seemed to me that they were being allowed to view the celebration of the very existence of the university they had individually done so much to shape. Their efforts, sacrifices, and achievements were indeed being recognized as the university reached its 100-year mark.

During my world literature class one day, I felt the Spirit prompt me to leave and go to the restroom. I was in the middle of taking a test, and since it was only the second day of school, I didn’t want to make a bad impression on my teacher. But the longer I sat there, the more I felt I needed to leave. So I got a pass to go to the restroom. Several girls were there, including my friend Kelsey. As I was washing my hands, I saw a girl about my age with tear-stained eyes standing in the corner. No one seemed to notice her.
I smiled at her, and all of a sudden I could feel exactly what was wrong. "Is everything okay?" I asked.
The girl gave no answer. I knew immediately what to say, almost as if the Spirit were there saying it. "You’re new, aren’t you?" I asked.
Almost instantly she sobbed and nodded but still didn’t say anything. The Spirit told me she was having a hard time making friends. "Are you having a hard time making friends here?" I asked.
Then she spoke with relief that someone actually cared enough to notice her. My friend Kelsey and I quickly introduced ourselves, and Kelsey invited the girl to sit with her at lunch.
This made me realize the truth of the scripture, "I will not leave you comfortless: I will come to you" (John 14:18). The Lord always knows when we need Him, but sometimes it’s through other people that He comforts us.

This year when I changed to a new school, I cried a lot because I didn’t want to leave my old friends. I told myself I would never like my new school and felt like I would be betraying my old friends if I made new ones.
All week, I kept a frown on my face. I didn’t talk to anyone. There were some girls who tried talking with me, but I wasn’t looking to make friends with them.
One day, I realized I didn’t want to be alone. I saw that I needed to be more open. While watching a television series about Jesus Christ, I was inspired to think about how He made friends. Even He didn’t please everyone, but for most people, He changed their life.
Because of Christ’s example, I decided to try to make new friends, even with the fear I had. I was afraid because I was shy and worried that people would make fun of me. But I had the thought, “You have a Father in Heaven who will help you. Even if everyone rejects you, He will be there.”
Now looking back, I can see that the one Friend who never left me during that time was the Savior. Because of the hard experiences I went through, I got so much closer to Him. He loves us so much that He gave His own life for us. And He gave us the scriptures so we can know how to be like Him. You can always count on Jesus Christ to be your Friend.
Rebeca C., age 13, Ceará, Brazil
Enjoys playing volleyball, reading, and drawing.

When I was a mission president in South Africa in 2005, I felt a very strong prompting by the Spirit to move our Norwegian missionary, Elder Joseph Henriksen, all the way across the mission—in between normal transfer dates—to replace a missionary who needed to have surgery. I had just interviewed Elder Henriksen in Queenstown, a two-hour flight plus a two-hour drive away from Cape Town, and on the flight home the Spirit kept telling me that he was the one who needed to move into the Strand Branch and replace the elder needing surgery.
As soon as we returned to the mission home, I called Elder Henriksen and asked him to pack his bags. . . . We picked him up [the next day] and talked to him about his new area, where they hadn’t had a baptism for 18 months. I explained to Elder Henriksen that he was the one the Lord had selected to be there and to make a difference in that branch. We introduced him to his new companion, who drove him another hour to Strand, a beautiful beach area on the Atlantic Ocean, about 50 miles south of Cape Town.
The first week in his new area, Elder Henriksen was thumbing through the area book and found a referral that hadn’t been contacted in the seaside town of Hermanus, another hour south of Strand, but in their assigned area. There was a small branch in Hermanus with about twenty active members, but he and his companion were the closest missionaries. Not wanting to waste time, but feeling prompted to contact the referral, he and his companion looked up the addresses of all the members in Hermanus so they could visit them as well as contacting the referral. Then they set aside a day to visit Hermanus.
When that day came, Elder Henriksen and his companion taught a first lesson in the home they were referred to, then began visiting the members. They knocked on the door of a member lady who expressed great surprise at seeing elders at her door. “I didn’t think we had missionaries in Hermanus anymore!” she exclaimed. Then she told them it was the greatest day of her life. She had just received in the mail a 300-year history of her ancestors. She was excited to be able to do temple work for hundreds of family members who had gone on before. Then she told them that her only problem was that she couldn’t understand any of it because it was written in Norwegian.
Elder Henriksen looked at her, smiled and said, “I’m Norwegian!” What a tender mercy for the Lord to inspire a mission president to suddenly transfer the only Norwegian missionary on the African continent to the area where this dear sister lived and needed a Norwegian translator. While he served there, he was able to visit her once a week and complete the translation. This experience strengthened the faith of everyone involved.
But the story doesn’t stop there. Because of what Elder Henriksen saw and felt in Strand and Hermanus, he telephoned one morning and said, “President, if you will leave me here six months, I promise you we will have twenty baptisms in the Strand Branch!” I reminded him that they hadn’t had baptized anyone in that branch in a year and a half. But I felt inspired to leave him there for the six months. Well, he didn’t just baptize 20 people, he baptized 21 in just six months! The Strand Branch grew so fast that it soon became the Somerset West Ward in the Cape Town Stake with three sets of missionaries, and there were soon two full-time missionaries in Hermanus as well, where they had several baptisms in that small but growing branch. The Lord truly knows how to make sure the right person is in the right place at the right time.