Gospel Story Finder

With greasy fingers from succulent fried chicken and over-salted but perfectly deep-fried French fries accompanied by the chilling gulp of a milkshake during what should have been math class, I was introduced to a new religion I hadn’t heard of through a close friend—The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Little did I realize that I was being divinely guided, meeting people and having experiences that Heavenly Father had perfectly planned for me.
I had developed a belief in God early, being raised Catholic. But as I entered college, I distinctly remember having the thought that I wanted to know more. I wanted an even closer relationship with God. That very thought and openness to the Lord allowed for my friend to introduce me to the gospel and invite me to church.
When I attended The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints for the first time, I was a little shy, but I felt warmly welcomed because everyone was so kind, inviting, and genuine. Though I had never met these people, I was treated like family. I started going regularly, and after a lengthy investigation and a life-changing priesthood blessing, I joined the Church. But after a solid five months of being active and involved in Church activities, my faith was to be tried. I was guided to go back home.
Back in my home city, I attended my new ward and was even given callings. I tried to remain active, but everything in life felt like it was against me, resulting in my dwindling church attendance.
I continued along on a crazy rollercoaster ride through life but never lost faith in what I believed in. I knew that the Church held the fulness of the gospel of Jesus Christ and everything I needed in life.
I had occasionally attended different wards during those years of being less active and saw the difference between being welcomed and being unnoticed. Fortunately, missionaries bridged the gap and ministered to my needs until I finally came back to church. My home ward truly welcomed me home. I felt like I belonged the moment I stepped through the doors. Because of those welcoming members, I continued to attend and enjoy all the blessings of the gospel.
I believe you should attend church for yourself and not for the people. But it infinitely helps when you are lovingly welcomed. Luckily, there are things you can do to make yourself and others feel more welcome at church.
How you can help yourself feel welcome:
Attend institute, service projects, and Church activities. Though daunting at first, especially not knowing anyone, putting yourself out there opens up doors to meeting new people and making lifelong friendships.
Surround yourself with like-minded people. This is especially important when you’re a convert or returning member. Surrounding yourself with people who are like-minded means you not only won’t be compromising yourself but you can also learn a lot from them and gain good support.
Attend the temple. Striving to attend the temple means you are making choices that align with the Lord’s will. You will find you become strengthened in obedience.
Remember who and why. Who are you doing this for? Who is important to look toward, and why are you here? It can help you put into perspective what is beneficial for your progression.
How you can help others feel welcomed:
Show love. Be a genuine friend. We are all on different journeys. Getting to know others will help you find the best way to support them. Inviting them to activities, keeping them in the loop, and introducing them to new people at church will help them make connections and new friends.
Listen to the promptings of the Spirit and trust in the Lord’s timing. I strongly believe that Heavenly Father guides us and places people in our paths intentionally. Doing your best every day will bless you and allow you to bless others.
Heavenly Father truly does know us and love us individually. I hope that you are able to feel His love but also that you are able to see yourself—and others—as He does. I hope you will share the love He has for you with others, especially visitors, new converts, and those who are returning to church. I know I am so grateful for every single person who reached out to me, and I now look for opportunities to do the same.

Marco sat with his parents in the bishop’s office. He had just moved to Young Men, and now the bishop wanted to talk to him. He felt nervous.
“We’d like to give you a calling, Marco,” Bishop Díaz said. “Would you be willing to serve as a family history consultant?”
Marco raised his eyebrows. “What does a family history consultant do?” he asked.
“Great question,” the bishop said. “They set an example by doing family history and temple work. And they help others do their family history too.”
“OK.” Marco nodded. He still felt a bit nervous. But he was also kind of excited. “I haven’t been to the temple yet. But I’ve done a little indexing.”
“No problem,” said the bishop. “Sister Sánchez has a family history calling too. She can help you learn more.”
A few weeks later, Marco had a video call with Sister Sánchez. She was really nice. She helped Marco set up an account on FamilySearch.org. Then she taught him how to find his family tree.
Marco liked learning about his family. He liked seeing his grandparents and great-grandparents on his family tree. Sister Sánchez taught him how to add photos of family members. He also learned how to add people that weren’t on FamilySearch yet.
One person Marco added to FamilySearch was his aunt, Tía Mirna. She had died last year from cancer. Marco missed her a lot. He missed her cheerful smile. His tía had always made him feel loved.
With Mamá’s help, Marco typed in the date Tía Mirna was born and the date she passed away. He added photos of her. He even typed in some memories about her.
Tía Mirna hadn’t been baptized. But at the temple, Marco’s sister, Lizerya, could be baptized for her. So Marco and his family planned a time to go to the temple. Marco found other family members on FamilySearch who had died years ago. He could be baptized for them too.
Now that Marco knew more about family history, he was excited to help others. He shared his testimony of family history at a Church activity. And he invited other youth in their ward to come with his family on their temple trip.
Finally it was time for Marco’s first temple trip. Marco was excited! It was special to be there with his family and the other youth. But most of all, Marco was excited that Lizerya could be baptized for Tía Mirna.
After they changed into white clothes, Marco watched Papi and Lizerya step into the baptism font. Marco felt warm inside as he watched Papi baptize his sister for Tía Mirna. Mamá wiped away happy tears.
Then it was Marco’s turn. He stepped into the water to be baptized for other family members.
Marco smiled. He was glad he had tried something new by doing family history. The family history calling had turned out to be great after all!
This story took place in Peru.

You will not always be young and handsome or young and beautiful. There will come a time in life when instead of growing taller you will begin to shrink. I recall recently sitting down at the dinner table with my wife. I looked across the table at her hands, once so beautiful, now gnarled and wrinkled. I found myself with tears in my eyes. Pictures of the days of her young womanhood flooded my memory. I saw her when the children were small and she was young and strong, taking them everywhere and looking after their every need. She cooked and sewed, she washed and kept house, she went to their performances, she read books and attended concerts, she served in the Church in a variety of positions, and she was so very bright and beautiful and happy.

We have now been married for more than 62 years. That is a long time. We have grown old and wrinkled. But our love and respect and loyalty one for another have remained undimmed. Our children have grown. We have grandchildren who are grown, and we have great-grandchildren who are well on their way. I could not wish for any of you more than I have had in my companionship with my beautiful wife.

Somewhere in the pages of the journal Sharla kept during her junior year in high school, the handwriting becomes difficult to read. It looks a little like Sharla was keeping her journal while riding in a car or making a trip on a plane during a bumpy ride. That year, Sharla did both of those things many times. But it wasn’t the shaking of a car or plane that made her handwriting look funny.
Her hand shook because she was undergoing an intensive round of treatment for acute lymphoblastic leukemia—which was diagnosed just a few days after Sharla discovered an unusual lump on her neck. Her treatment started in El Paso and involved visits to several specialists. Then she and her mom flew to Houston, where she could receive a new kind of treatment not available in El Paso.
Sharla was spending all her time in a hospital bed, too weak to do schoolwork, see friends and family, or even speak above a whisper. It might not seem like the kind of thing that anyone would want to remember. But Sharla wanted to record it, not only to ensure that her journal would be historically accurate, but also because of the many spiritual experiences she has had as a result of her challenge. Sharla received numerous priesthood blessings. Her family held a special fast. She even had the opportunity to give a Book of Mormon to one of the nurses in the hospital where she was staying.
For a time, Sharla was too weak to even pick up a pencil, but she didn’t let that stop her from maintaining her habit of keeping track of important events. Sharla softly whispered to her mother (because she was too sick to speak in a normal voice), who took short notes about what Sharla felt was significant. Later, when Sharla felt a little better, she used the notes to help her remember what she wanted to write.
Sharla says she owes her life, in a very real way, to her family. Her journal is full of stories about how her mother sat by her bedside, helping her eat, dress, and take medications. She has also written about how grateful she is for her father and sister and brothers for keeping things running at home. But Sharla’s not the only one in the family who keeps a journal.
Life is much more normal for Sharla now, but it will be quite some time before she finishes her last treatment. It will be even longer still before her cancer is declared in remission.
Although she is much better than she was, the road ahead could be a difficult one. But if things get tough, Sharla can look back at her journal and remember that she’s made it through hard times before. She’ll also be able to see that, mixed in with the rough stuff, there were moments of happiness and laughter. Times when she could forget herself and focus on others. Days when she felt so grateful for her blessings she could hardly remember what her challenges were.
Because she’s been so diligent about keeping a journal, Sharla will never forget the good that has come from this experience.

When my mom and I were shopping, she said I could buy something with my own money. I had 10 dimes. I found a bottle of bubbles and was excited to buy it. When we got to the checkout my mom paid for everything, even the bubbles. I didn’t give the dimes to my mom, and she didn’t ask for them. Later that week my mom asked me to do some extra chores. I did them, and my mom gave me two quarters for doing a good job. When I went to put away my new quarters, I saw the 10 dimes. I took them out of my bank and gave them to my mom. I told her they were for my bubbles she bought at the store. I felt good inside for choosing the right by being honest, and doing what Jesus would want me to do.

I couldn’t believe my eyes. There he was, standing at the pulpit. I had never seen Brother John at church before, let alone heard him bear his testimony. A month later he came to church and bore his testimony again.
It all started one Sunday morning in priesthood executive committee meeting. I was serving as Young Men president. We had just read from the Church Handbook of Instructions, and the bishop was sitting quietly, pondering. Then he looked up and said, “I want our Aaronic Priesthood brethren to begin collecting fast offerings from less-active members.” He asked us to involve the teachers and priests.
I was surprised. In Cape Town, South Africa, most members live far from each other. It takes about 35 minutes to drive from one side of our ward to the other. The young men had never collected fast offerings before because they couldn’t walk to members’ homes—the distance was too great, and we were concerned about their safety.
As a committee we came up with a plan as we discussed how we might overcome these obstacles. The elders quorum agreed to assign brethren to take the young men to several homes on the Saturday before each fast Sunday. We split the ward into areas and assigned each companionship to visit a few active families and a few less-active families. We realized that our plan would be a good opportunity for the brethren to get to know the youth and for the youth to receive counsel from the elders.
When we presented the plan to the young men, they were eager to try it. We reminded them to wear Sunday clothes and that this was part of their sacred responsibility to watch over the ward.
I was assigned to take my younger brother, Andrew. The following Saturday we visited everyone on our list, but most people weren’t home. The last member we visited was Brother John, whom we didn’t know well.
Andrew got out of the car, knocked on the door, and waited. He was just about to return to the car when the door opened. Andrew shook Brother John’s hand and said, “Hello, my name is Andrew, and I’m from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Tomorrow is fast Sunday, and the bishop has asked us to visit members to receive any fast-offering donations they wish to make.”
He handed Brother John an envelope. Brother John was surprised, but he walked inside with the envelope. After a few minutes he emerged from the house with a smile. He politely thanked Andrew and handed the envelope to him. I got out of the car, and we three chatted for a while. As we were leaving, Brother John waved good-bye and said, “Make sure you come next month.” Andrew was excited all the way back to the chapel, where we turned in our envelopes to a member of the bishopric.
The next month we made sure to visit Brother John. Again he was friendly. After a few months he began attending church on fast Sunday. Our Saturday visits reminded him of his Sunday meetings, and he would come the next day.
We were excited when Brother John became active in the Church. We felt a special bond with him. Words cannot express the joy that came to us because one soul had returned to the fold. Within a few months, he was attending regularly, and soon he was called to serve in the elders quorum presidency.
For us, the highlight of this experience came when Brother John was asked to speak in sacrament meeting about tithes and offerings. At the end of his talk he spoke about Andrew’s first visit.
With moistened eyes he said: “Andrew, you will never know the impact you had on my life that Saturday morning when you came to my door with that blue envelope. You may have thought it was a waste of time, but blessings came into my life because you provided me with an opportunity to pay my fast offering. Your service is one reason I am here today.”

“What’re you doing with my ball?” Rodney Sims growled at me as I stood under the huge sycamore tree at the park, admiring the new football I’d found on the grass. He stomped toward me, his face red and sweaty from playing ball in the sun.
I nodded at my friend Frank. “We were just riding past on our bikes and spotted it lying here. I figured somebody lost it.”
“Well, I left it here,” Rodney barked, snatching the ball from my hands and tucking it under his arm. “It isn’t lost, and I don’t need anybody ripping it off, either.”
“I wasn’t trying to steal it,” I said, climbing back onto my bike. “It sure is a nice ball, though. If it were mine, I’d write my name on it so I wouldn’t lose it.”
“Hey, kid, you want to buy it?” Rodney’s tone was suddenly friendly. Surprised, I turned to face him. “I have another one.” He nodded at the guys who were still playing football. “If you like this one, I’ll sell it to you.”
I laid my bike down again and took the ball, a red and gold San Francisco 49ers ball. It fit my hand perfectly. I had seen some just like it at the Sports Haven, a big sporting goods store downtown. The 49ers were my favorite pro football team, and I had wanted a ball like this one, but it cost ten dollars.
“I like it,” I said, gripping the ball tightly, cocking my arm and pretending to throw a pass. I shook my head and handed it back to Rodney. “But I don’t have ten dollars.”
Rodney studied the ball as he rolled it in his hands. “I’ll sell it to you for five.”
“Five dollars?”
“I have my other ball, and I’m a Dallas Cowboys fan, anyway.”
My mind began to race. I had four dollars at home in my drawer, and I could borrow a dollar from my little sister, Stephanie. I licked my lips and grabbed the ball again, searching for flaws. There were none.
“I’d have to go home for the money,” I explained, picking up my bike. “It’ll take me fifteen or twenty minutes.”
“I’ll be here. But the price is five dollars. And no refunds or returns.”
I sped home so fast that Frank had a hard time keeping up with me. Stephanie agreed to lend me a dollar until my next allowance. I snatched the other four dollars from my drawer.
“You’d better think about this,” Frank warned as I crashed out the front door and leaped for my bike. He was still straddling his bike in the driveway.
“What do you mean, think about it? I’ll never get another deal like this! Five dollars, Frank, for a ten dollar ball! And if I bought it at the Sports Haven, I’d have to pay tax too. I can’t pass this up.”
“Something’s fishy, Joshua,” he cautioned me again. “Has Rodney ever been nice to you?” I thought a moment and shook my head. “So why’s he suddenly doing you this great big favor?”
“He has an extra football and he doesn’t like the 49ers. I’m just helping him out,” I answered defensively.
“Something has to be wrong with the ball. Maybe it has a slow leak. Have you thought of that?”
“I checked the ball out really well, Frank. It’s brand new. Nothing’s wrong with it.”
“I wouldn’t buy it if I were you, Joshua.”
I stared at my friend. “You’re just jealous because he’s not selling it to you. I’m getting that ball before Rodney changes his mind.”
Rodney was waiting for me under the sycamore tree with one of his buddies. The others had left. He had the new 49ers ball and another one that was a bit scuffed up. I held the money out, and Rodney snatched it. As soon as he was sure it was all there, he handed me the football. “You just bought yourself a ball, kid.” He laughed and slapped his friend on the shoulder. “Come on, let’s head out of here.”
Holding the ball, I watched the two run off. They were smirking as they glanced over their shoulders in my direction. An uneasiness stirred inside me. I thought of Frank’s warning. Maybe there was something wrong with the ball. I tossed it around a bit. It felt good. I squeezed it to see if it was losing air. It seemed firm enough. If there was anything wrong with the ball, I sure couldn’t tell what it was.
For the next two days, my friends and I played with my 49ers ball. It was everybody’s favorite. It didn’t have a slow leak, either. It was brand new, just like it looked. I kidded Frank about being worried and asked him if he wished he had come up with the five dollars. He shook his head, but I still figured he was jealous.
One afternoon as I sat on the front steps, tossing my ball in the air and catching it, he rode up on his bike, looking serious. “I found out something about your ball,” he said.
I grinned. “Are you still worried about this ball, Frank?”
Frank didn’t smile. “My brother Derek runs around with one of Rodney’s friends. According to him, Rodney ripped that ball off.”
“What do you mean ‘ripped it off’?”
“Rodney stole it from the Sports Haven. A couple of his friends covered for him, but he was the one who sneaked it out of the store. That’s why he wanted to sell it.”
It felt as if Frank had punched me in the stomach. I looked at the football. “Maybe this isn’t the same ball,” I argued, feeling myself get angry.
“Rodney stole a 49ers ball the same afternoon you bought it from him. This is the one, all right.”
“Well, I didn’t steal it,” I snapped at Frank. “I paid for it, so it isn’t my problem. And I didn’t know it was stolen when I bought it from Rodney. He’s the thief, not me.”
Frank shrugged and turned away. “I just figured you ought to know.”
I was angry at him for telling me about Rodney’s stealing, because I liked that ball and I wanted to keep it. “Are you going to tell anybody?” I shouted after him. He turned back and stared at me. Slowly he shook his head.
After he left, I put the ball away. When Stephanie asked me to play catch, I said no. I kept telling myself that the ball was mine, fair and square, and that I hadn’t done anything wrong. But I still didn’t feel good about having it. I didn’t even want to play with it anymore. And I sure didn’t want to tell Mom and Dad what Frank had said. They hadn’t been happy about my borrowing the dollar from Stephanie in the first place, but they’d only suggested I pray about it and left it up to me.
The next day I went looking for Rodney. He was riding his bike over in the school parking lot with a couple of his buddies. Walking up to him, I handed him the football. “I want my five dollars back!”
He looked at the ball and then at me. “I told you—no refunds and no returns. Besides, I’ve already spent most of the money. And,” he added, nodding down at the ball, “it doesn’t even look new, anymore.”
“You stole this ball,” I hissed.
The grin disappeared from his face. Jumping off his bike and letting it clatter to the pavement, he grabbed the front of my shirt and jerked me toward him. “Who told you that?”
“There are guys who know,” I rasped. “And I don’t want a stolen ball.”
“Don’t you go blabbing around that I stole that ball, kid, or you’re going to be in a bunch of trouble. Nobody can prove that I stole it. Besides, it’s your ball. You paid for it.”
“I don’t want it now.”
“That’s your problem. If you don’t want it, go throw it in the trash.” He gave me a hard shove, climbed onto his bike, and rode off with his friends.
My feet dragged as I left the parking lot, carrying the football that until yesterday had been such a prize. Now it was a cold, hard reminder of dishonesty. I saw the garbage dumpster in the corner of the parking lot. I considered throwing the ball away. But I couldn’t. I’d paid five dollars for it, and I still owed Stephanie a dollar. I couldn’t just get rid of it.
I tried telling myself that I hadn’t done anything wrong. I hadn’t known the ball was stolen when I bought it. I hadn’t been the one to take it. I had tried to give it back to Rodney. What else was I supposed to do? Was I supposed to lose my five dollars because Rodney had done something wrong?
I shook my head. All my excuses wouldn’t make the sick, guilty feeling go away. I thought of the Sports Haven. I had always liked going there and looking around. Now every time I even passed by, I thought of the stolen football. And even though I hadn’t been the one to steal it, the Sports Haven was still missing a ball. And I had it. I knew what Dad and Mom would say, and I knew I wouldn’t feel good again until I did it.
I walked home, climbed onto my bike, and rode downtown. It was tough walking into the Sports Haven. I asked for the manager, Mr. Turley. One of the clerks took me to his office in the back of the store.
“Well, hello, Joshua,” Mr. Turley greeted me as I stepped into the office. “How can I help you?”
I set the football in the middle of his desk and stared at it. “This ball was stolen from the Sports Haven,” I announced quietly. “I didn’t steal it, though,” I quickly added. I told him the whole story.
“So it’s not my ball,” I finally ended. “You might not want it, either, because it’s been used and I wrote my name on it in black marker.”
Mr. Turley leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his head. For a long time he thought without saying anything. Finally he leaned forward and took the ball from his desk and rolled it around in his hands. “Joshua, first of all, I want you to know that I’m happy that you had the courage to come in. I don’t expect that that was very easy.” I shook my head without looking at him. “It’s not always easy to be completely honest. In this case, it cost you five dollars. And you weren’t even the one who stole the ball. But being honest is more important than this football or the money you spent to buy it.”
Mr. Turley smiled at me. “I’m going to try to make being honest this time a little easier for you. You’ve already paid five dollars. I have some work around here that you could do to earn the other five. Then the ball would be yours.”
“You mean I could keep it?”
Mr. Turley smiled. “You just be here tomorrow morning.” Grinning, I turned and started for the door, the sick, guilty feeling gone. “Hey, Joshua,” Mr. Turley called out. I turned. He laughed and tossed me the ball. “You’d better take that with you, or someone might walk off with it.”

How do we develop desires? Few will have the kind of crisis that motivated Aron Ralston, but his experience provides a valuable lesson about developing desires. While Ralston was hiking in a remote canyon in southern Utah, an 800-pound (360 kg) rock shifted suddenly and trapped his right arm. For five lonely days he struggled to free himself. When he was about to give up and accept death, he had a vision of a three-year-old boy running toward him and being scooped up with his left arm. Understanding this as a vision of his future son and an assurance that he could still live, Ralston summoned the courage and took drastic action to save his life before his strength ran out. He broke the two bones in his trapped right arm and then used the knife in his multitool to cut off that arm. He then summoned the strength to hike five miles (8 km) for help. What an example of the power of an overwhelming desire! When we have a vision of what we can become, our desire and our power to act increase enormously.

When I was away from home attending the university, I received a letter on Mother’s Day from my own mother recounting this tender experience:
“This Mother’s Day is extra special because I am thinking now that I have been ‘Mother’ to you for 21 years, and what a privilege it has been. We felt you were special to us. We named you Mary. We wanted you to remain pure and kind, as the name implies.
“Your aunt with the same name loved you very, very much and made you a beautiful, tiny dress to be blessed in, [sewn] mostly by hand, so that you could have a name in the very first sacrament meeting after you were brought home—still so very tiny.”
As I read this letter, I realized my mother’s greatest hope was that I remain pure and virtuous. Virtue “is a pattern of thought and behavior based on high moral standards” (Preach My Gospel [2004], 118). My mother knew that life would be difficult and that to remain virtuous would be a lifelong challenge. She wanted me to have the blessings of the gospel to guide me and help me meet that challenge.

Stake leaders have felt inspired to begin a number of programs to help support the members, and the youth are a big part of making these programs work. Apart from the boat, there’s a greenhouse, a group of new welfare farms, and even some livestock. And the youth in Navatuyaba love helping.
One sound you don’t hear much in Navatuyaba is the low rumble of industrial farm equipment. That’s changing now that the tractor owned and operated by the stake is being kept in the village.
The 17 youth in the branch are grateful for the tractor. Without it, the Navatuyaba members would have to find a way to till two acres (0.8 ha) manually. But the tractor doesn’t do all the farm work. The members all work together planting, weeding, and harvesting crops such as taro and tapioca.
“We all help on the farm,” says Kuli Qaravanua, 15. “The youth weed and plant or bring refreshments when the adults are working.”
“I like working on the farm,” says Maca Baikeirewa, 14. “It helps my family in many ways.”
The blessings of the farm aren’t just about having food to eat. The youth are learning a lot about growing food and working hard.
“I think that working on the farm has brought the youth of our branch together,” says Tulia Tinaimolikula, 18. “It has helped us learn about each other.”
But, as Kuli says, “the tractor and farm especially help us have peace of mind. I don’t have to worry about what I will have to eat tomorrow.”

I play baseball. The coach had practices on Sundays. I remembered My Gospel Standards and told the coach I could not come. Unfortunately, my coach was not understanding. During the season I batted twelfth in the lineup because I missed Sunday practices. This made me sad, but my parents told me to work hard at the other practices and games. By the end of the season I was batting sixth in the lineup. I know Heavenly Father blessed me for keeping the Sabbath day holy. My team made it to the semifinals, but the game was on Sunday. I again chose to miss the game. My team lost, but I knew I had done the right thing because I felt good inside.
Joseph P., age 11, Alabama, USA

Even though Rachael Eucker, 15, is a city girl, she and her friends and Young Women leaders from the Lindsay Ward, Val Vista Arizona Stake, had just planted an acre and a half of corn by hand. It was part of their Experiment upon the Word project for the Young Women. At the beginning of the year, Rachael and the Young Women in her ward agreed to take on a challenge. They would read the Book of Mormon and devote two Saturdays a month to a Gardening for Humanity garden. These gardens use empty lots in city areas to raise food for homeless shelters and food banks. Rachael committed to read the Book of Mormon. Then she went the extra mile and committed to help in the garden every single time her ward went.
The day after planting corn, Rachael was stiff and sore, but she knew that the good feelings she got from service would last longer than the pain. She was also able to compare her repeated days in the garden to the scriptures. “We had talked about the lasting effects of service and how you feel the effects of what you do for a long time after. That made sense to me. I was thinking that it was like when you read the scriptures and feel the Spirit. Eventually that feeling goes away, so the only way you can keep having that feeling is by going back and reading more and more.”
Then the corn didn’t grow. It had been bad seed. Again the girls were able to draw a conclusion when they heard that all their hard work was wasted. Lynn Allred, the Young Women president, told the girls, “Even though we did all we need to do—we watered it, nourished it—it didn’t grow because it was bad seed.” Now Alma 32:32 will always be vivid to them.
After spending a Saturday morning thinning carrots, Elizabeth Lassetter, 16, said, “I think the gardening we are doing is completely connected to what we are doing with the scriptures. Everything is related to how the Lord teaches through nature.”
The corn was replanted, and the melons were starting to form in another plot. The girls were busy helping to keep the weeds under control, watering daily, waiting for the day they could harvest. Again the lessons in the garden compare to the scriptures. Becky Payne, 15, said, “When we do the work, we can harvest. With the scriptures, you have to work hard to get results. You have to be consistent and put constant effort into it.”
The day for the harvest would come, and the girls would pick the fruits of their work and donate to those who are hungry. As for themselves, with their reading, the harvest is one of faith. They will “pluck the fruit, … which is sweet above all that is sweet, … and ye shall feast upon this fruit even until ye are filled, that ye hunger not” (Alma 32:42).

When 21-year-old Elie Monga of Kolwezi read the Book of Mormon in 1987, he was impressed. “I strongly felt,” he later said, “that that’s what I need.” Monga traveled the 300 kilometers to Lubumbashi to meet with the missionaries. After only one discussion, he decided to be baptized. After his baptism, with encouragement from missionaries, he held Sunday School meetings in his home. “We started gathering and teaching our friends [and family],” he said, “bringing them the message of hope through the restored gospel.” A large group was soon meeting in Monga’s home. When the first baptismal service in Kolwezi was held the next year, it took more than three and a half hours for Monga to baptize the 82 converts who had accepted the gospel. It was one success among many: in 1990, just four years after the Church received government recognition, branches and districts were thriving in Kinshasa, Lubumbashi, and many other cities throughout the country.

Relief Society sisters in Billingham Stake came together to sort items for the Somewhere Else charity in Stockton. Assisted by missionaries, Elder Bevan and Elder Landers, the sisters enthusiastically transported bags of pasta, washing-up liquid, flour, stock cubes, and other items to fill care packages. A group of members and missionaries went to the Somewhere Else premises to complete and finish off the care packages ready for distribution. Carole Le Darcy, a member of Billingham Ward, founder and CEO of the charity Somewhere Else, recalls: “I was delighted with the offer of help to purchase much-needed items for our beneficiaries and overwhelmed with the response from church members who came together to sort and package in preparation for distribution. ...It was wonderful to have the missionaries and church members come to our building, and with a little help from some of our beneficiaries, the project was complete. We are so grateful for all the church has done to support our charity, I only wish that you could see the joy and gratitude in the faces of the recipients.”

Brandi Horsley of the Nampa First Ward, Nampa Idaho Stake, wrote this about a service project she completed for Young Women.
“For my service project I took two cats, two rabbits, and my old pony, Nugget, to the nursing home for a visit. The nurses let me take the pets into each resident’s room.
“When I took Nugget into one man’s room, he started to laugh. As he kept laughing different staff members came into see what was going on. They had never heard him laugh before.
“One lady wanted a ride. She had horses when she was little, and Nugget brought back happy memories. When someone would get hold of a cat or a rabbit, it was hard to get them back. I think they would get their fur petted off if they lived there!
“Most of the people living in the nursing home were raised around livestock and pets all their lives. When they entered the home, they lost this. I know how much my pets mean to me, and I would hate to be without them.
“It is so easy and so very rewarding to spend a little time visiting the nursing home. It makes me happy to know I can make someone else’s day a little brighter.”

I remember a day when I was only three years old and my family was living in a humble two-room home with a dirt roof. My father was in bed, delirious with scarlet fever. There was a heavy storm outside, and my mother, four-year-old brother, and I were putting out pans, cans, and buckets to catch the water dripping through the roof. My little sister slept in a cot near my father.
When the pans, cans, and buckets were in place, Mother called my brother and me to her side and had us kneel in prayer. I am sure she had helped me pray many times before, but on this occasion it was different. I remember her helping me with the words of the prayer. They went something like this: “Heavenly Father, we really need Thy help. We need our dad to be made better. Please bless him to get well. We need our roof to stop leaking so he doesn’t get wet and cold and become more ill. We love Thee, Heavenly Father, and we always want to serve Thee.”
There must have been more said in that prayer, but those words of faith from my dear mother in the tender childhood years of my life have never left my memory. I learned the principle of prayer and its value in the home through the example and teachings of my faithful, obedient parents.

When I first visited Czechoslovakia, long before the people there had freedom, I was met by Jiri Snederfler and his wife, Olga. I went to their home, which is where the Prague Branch of the Church met. On the walls were picture after picture of the Salt Lake Temple. I said to Sister Snederfler, “Your husband must truly love the temple,” and she said, “I, too; I, too.”
She brought out an album of pictures of the missionaries who were serving there in 1950, when their government made the mission there close. As she held up each photograph, she said, “Wonderful boy, wonderful boy!”
Brother Snederfler has always been willing to stand up for the gospel. When the Church wanted the Czechoslovakian government to again recognize it officially, the Communist leaders told us, “Don’t send an American or any other foreigner. Send a citizen of Czechoslovakia.” That was frightening because to admit then that you were a leader of any church meant that you might be thrown into prison!
Brother Snederfler was the one chosen to go to his government. He later told me that he had asked for the prayers of the branch members. Then he went to Olga and said, “I love you. I don’t know when—or if—I’ll be back. But I love the gospel, and I must follow my Savior.” With that spirit of faith and devotion, he went to his government leaders and told them that he was the leader of the Church there and that he wanted them to again recognize it officially.
Meanwhile, Elder Russell M. Nelson of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles had been working very hard to get the needed approval. It came: “Your church is again recognized in Czechoslovakia.”
Brother Snederfler eagerly went to tell Olga and the other stalwart members of the Church there that once again missionaries could come to their country and that they could again worship Heavenly Father in freedom. It was a happy day.
Jiri and Olga Snederfler are now the president and matron of the Freiberg Germany Temple, where faithful members of the Church in Germany, Czechoslovakia, and nearby countries attend. They are happy to find themselves each day in the Lord’s house, which they so dearly love.

I was born in India and have 19 siblings, and I love them all like crazy! In Savior of the World, I had lots of fun wearing unique and interesting clothes along with the pounds of stage makeup. I played a resurrected being in the Resurrection scene, which was special for me since I lost two little brothers and thought about how great it will be when we get to see them again when they are resurrected. Being in Savior of the World broadened my understanding of the Savior, His life and what He did for us.
Olivia W., 17, Missouri, USA

When Sister Burton and I were first married, we lived in the southeast part of the Salt Lake Valley. On occasion, as we bought groceries from a small neighborhood store, we saw President and Sister Joseph Fielding Smith in the same store, making their purchases. I finally mustered the courage to ask President Smith why he traveled all the way from downtown, past a dozen grocery stores, to shop at this one. Looking over the tops of his glasses, he declared, “Son! Sister Smith and I patronize establishments (shop at stores) that keep the Sabbath day holy.”

Forrest Michaelson showed up in my homeroom the Wednesday after Easter vacation. It had been a typically wet April morning, and he had on jeans, a T-shirt, and cowboy boots. An ankle-length, buff-leather, oilskin slicker made him look like he’d blown into town out of a Clint Eastwood western. He gave Mr. Riegert a form from the office. Raking his fingers through his tousled, black hair, he gave the rest of us a bemused look as Mr. Riegert shuffled us about so he could reseat us alphabetically.
But the thing that struck me most was how totally unself-conscious he was. His whole demeanor said: Whatever’s going on here, I’m not getting uptight about it.
“Shophead,” sniffed Linda Matthews, who sat behind me.
That said it all. But as Mr. Riegert read the roll to make up a new seating chart, I couldn’t help noticing how Forrest Michaelson paid close attention to each name as it was called out. And when Mr. Riegert called my name and I said, “Here,” our eyes met momentarily. He had sharp, clear eyes, and he winked at me, like we had something in common.
I turned away sharply to tell him he was wrong.
But after the bell rang, he caught up with me in the hall.
“Heather Mastrioanni?”
I nodded.
“Kinda new here, you know. Direct me to D-wing? Room 104.” He pointed to the first class on his schedule. I almost gaped. Auto shop, of course, but he was also signed up for AP calculus.
I said, “First room on the right past the cafeteria.”
“Thanks.” He ambled off down the hall.
After civics I went to the cafeteria and sat down at my usual place. When Forrest Michaelson put his tray down right across the table from me I didn’t notice him. Well, Rob Herndon had just walked in with Linda and I was thinking it would be nice if he ever wanted to eat lunch with me. I looked up and nearly choked on my tuna fish sandwich.
“Thought we should get to know each other better,” Forrest said. “It seems that we constitute a minority of two.”
“What minority of two?” I finally said.
“Mormons,” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “At least in the senior class. That’s what I gathered from your father.”
Of course. I nearly smacked myself on the side of the head. The Michaelsons. Monday, Mom and Dad had gone over to help a family who were just moving into the ward. But I never connected them with this Forrest Michaelson.
Forrest read my reaction with a smile. “Initial impressions can be misleading.” He glanced around the cafeteria. “So, how about a tour of the student body? Beginning with the pack of jackals over there, for example.” He nodded to where Rob and his teammates were sitting.
“That’s Rob Herndon,” I said, coldly. “He’s on the wrestling team, and he’s a nice guy.”
“If you say so.”
“Initial impressions can be misleading.”
“Touché,” he said, touching his forehead in a kind of salute.
He always sat with me during lunch. There wasn’t anything I could do about it, and I knew as long as Forrest was sitting there, no one else would dare to.
“You know, Forrest,” I finally said to him one day, “I don’t know why you think you have to sit with me. We really don’t have anything in common.”
That provoked a raised eyebrow. “I would have thought we had most everything in common. We sure don’t share the same taste in fashion, but we believe the same things, and that makes us pretty even.”
“Oh, really? What about those shophead friends of yours? I’ve got a lot more in common with Rob than you do with them.”
“No, you don’t. Okay, maybe my friends don’t believe the same things I do, but they don’t pretend they do, either.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“The people who hang around guys like Herndon, they want to think he’s their friend because they want to pretend they’re his friends.”
I didn’t pretend to understand what he had just said. I just laughed. “You expect me to believe he’s such a terrible person just because you don’t get along with him?”
“I really don’t worry about getting along with Herndon or not, Heather. But I don’t laugh at his jokes or marvel at who he goes out with, so that kind of counts me out, doesn’t it? Every school I’ve been in has a pack of them. And they come on to you depending on what kind of a person they think you are.”
“He’s always been nice to me,” I protested.
“He’s as nice as it takes.”
The worst thing about these arguments was that they convinced everybody that Forrest and I were a serious thing. Even Linda was convinced. Linda would ask me about him, about us, and about other things as well, which was a total shock, because before Linda hardly said two sentences to me. We became pretty good friends, though. She even got me on the publicity committee for senior class night at Jumpin’ Jacks drive-in.
Friday I stayed late cleaning up in art class and missed the bus. I was standing at the front entrance debating whether to call Mom or wait for the late bus when Forrest walked up.
“Miss your bus?”
I hesitated a moment too long.
“Be right back,” Forrest said and jogged off to the student lot. He drove up and got the door for me.
“So what’s this big deal at Jumpin’ Jacks?” he asked.
“It’s the drive-in across from the park by the river marina. The Friday before Memorial Day is senior class night. Nothing formal. Just a chance to have a good time before the Regents exams begin.” I waited as long as I thought I could before I felt I had to ask him the obvious question. “I don’t expect you’d want to come?”
“I thought I might.”
“Really? I didn’t think you’d be interested in that kind of thing. After all, Rob Herndon and his friends will be there.”
“Ordinarily I wouldn’t be. But if you’re going to be there …”
“I don’t need a chaperon, Forrest.”
He pulled into our driveway. I got out and slammed the door to show just how grateful I wasn’t for the ride and stormed up the steps and into the house.
Mom was in the kitchen preparing dinner. “Forrest drive you home?”
I sat down at the kitchen table and folded my arms and didn’t answer.
Mom wasn’t impressed by my attitude. “Forrest taking you to Jumpin’ Jacks tonight?”
“Mom!” I exploded, “Why does everybody think I’m dating Forrest Michaelson?”
Mom looked at me quite innocently. “I didn’t think you were dating Forrest. It just seemed reasonable that he would give you a ride, if you’re both going.”
“I wouldn’t go out with him if he were the last man on Earth,” I stated. “He’s stubborn and opinionated. He always thinks he’s right.”
I could tell by the way Mom reacted that she didn’t like my choice of words, and I cringed inside at the anticipated correction.
“Well, yes,” Mom said, after giving it some thought, “but it’s more than that.”
I looked at Mom, amazed. She was actually agreeing with me.
“I think, like most teenagers, he can’t bring himself to be just another slice of bread. But he’s smart enough to know what’s important. So it’s his way of proving what the Church means to him without having to come out and say it. The same way you wouldn’t respect a lion if it barked like a Chihuahua. He’s protecting what he respects.”
“He’s determined to protect me as well,” I said glumly. “He’s got an opinion about all my friends, whether I ought to be associating with them at all, whether they’re really my friends. Like it’s any of his business.”
Mom laughed. “Young men like Forrest suffer from being taken too seriously too much of the time. I think humoring him would go a long way.”
“Then he’s going to have to be humored at a distance.”
It was only a short walk through the park to the drive-in. Someone came up behind me and I turned around. It was Forrest.
There were tons of kids there already. We crowded into line. It was great food but pretty expensive. I had eaten dinner so I wouldn’t be tempted, but Forrest ordered a seafood platter that made my mouth water. When we sat down and Forrest said, “Have a shrimp,” I couldn’t refuse.
“So where’s Linda?” Forrest asked.
I didn’t know.
A moment later he said, “Speak of the devil.”
Rob drove up and he and Linda got out. She looked flustered, a bit disheveled, and a little scared. Rob just looked angry.
After they ordered, Linda brought her plate over to our table. I couldn’t believe she knew what she was doing. I could tell Rob was hating it.
“Don’t mind, do you?” Rob said icily.
“Not at all,” Forrest said. “In fact, I was just leaving.
“Yes,” I said, almost without thinking, “we were just leaving.”
The rest of the jackals then crowded around the table, pushing us out of the way.
“Are you really leaving?” Linda asked quietly. She tried to laugh and stood up. “I guess I don’t care much for the company of some of my friends,” she said as she began to follow us.
“I don’t care much for the company of some of your friends, either,” Forrest said.
Rob stood up and looked around. “Hey, Linda, where are you going? Get over here. C’mon, the night is still young.”
I heard the jackals laughing. I used to think it was funny, the way Rob talked to Linda, but I felt cold and sick inside.
Then Rob grabbed for her. Linda shied away. “Quit playing hard to get, Linda.” He reached for her again, and Forrest caught Rob’s wrist like a vice grip. Rob’s mouth dropped open in surprise. “You got some kind of problem?”
It suddenly got quiet.
“No problem,” Forrest said. He stepped to the side and let go of Rob’s wrist. Rob immediately lurched forward, thumping Forrest hard on his shoulders. Forrest backed away, showing the palms of his hands.
“Let’s go, Linda,” I said quietly.
Rob stood, flushed and angry. Forrest, facing him, looked like he had just solved a math problem too simple to bother with in the first place. When we reached the sidewalk, he turned and walked away.
“That’s right, chump!” Rob shouted. “Go ahead, walk away!”
“I’m sorry,” said Linda, when Forrest joined us.
Forrest simply shrugged.
We walked through the park, then up Lakeside Avenue to the Michaelsons’s house. It was reassuring to have Forrest with us. So I did have more in common with him than Rob Herndon, a lot more. But I could live with that. When you’ve been in a den of jackals, you come to appreciate the pride of lions.