Gospel Story Finder

One woman I know had a father who was often angry and easily upset. She said, “For many years, I saw Heavenly Father the same way I saw my own—someone who for the most part kept his distance and was easily disappointed.” This impacted her ability to truly understand Heavenly Father. However, she shared that Heavenly Father helped her learn that “He is slowly walking me out of fearing Him and into the saving power of His love.” She began to see the real Him.

Charleston and Columbia South Carolina Stakes
Charleston County (South Carolina) school superintendent, Chip Zullinger, figured Chicora Elementary School received $100,000 worth of help, help that is hard to come by because of lack of funding.
When youth from the Charleston and Columbia stakes volunteered their time to fix up the school for the beginning of classes, teachers, administrators, and students were grateful. In a true student-helping-student effort, the LDS teens scraped paint from peeling walls, repaired damaged ceiling tiles, and did general cleaning throughout the building.
“It was fun making the school look nicer for the little kids,” said Rachel Bonitz.

A true story from the USA.
Kaci smiled as she took her seat in Primary. Today had been the children’s sacrament meeting presentation. It had been scary to say her part, but she did it!
Sister Dench, the Primary president, stood up front. “Good job in sacrament meeting today!” she said. “I know you each worked hard to learn your parts.”
“Except for Kaci,” one of the older boys said. “No one could tell what she said.”
Sister Dench frowned at the boy, then turned to smile at Kaci. “You did a wonderful job.”
Kaci tried not to cry. She’d done her best to learn her part. But sometimes her words didn’t come out right.
On the way home, Kaci couldn’t stop the tears any longer.
“What’s wrong?” Mommy asked.
“One of the boys made fun of me. He said I didn’t say my part right.” She started crying harder.
“You did a good job. Daddy and I are proud of you,” Mommy said. “Do you know who else is proud of you?”
Kaci shook her head.
“Heavenly Father,” Mommy said. “He knows you did your best.”
Kaci felt a lot better. She wanted to use her words to help other people feel happy too.
At school, Kaci told her teacher that she was doing a good job teaching.
At home, Daddy was fixing a shelf. Kaci told him he was doing a good job making their house nice.
Outside, Kaci and her brother played ball together. Kaci told him that he was doing a good job throwing.
Telling people they were doing a good job made Kaci feel good inside. When she saw others smile, she knew that her simple words made a big difference!
Watch a video of this story at friend.ChurchofJesusChrist.org.
Illustrations by Greg Paprocki

I can still remember my mother speaking softly to me one Saturday afternoon when, as a little boy, I asked her for permission to do something I thought was perfectly reasonable and which she knew was dangerous. I still am amazed at the power she was granted, I believe from the Lord, to turn me around with so few words. As I remember them, they were: “Oh, I suppose you could do that. But the choice is yours.” The only warning was in the emphasis she put on the words could and choice. Yet that was enough for me.

Her power to warn with so few words sprang from three things I knew about her. First, I knew she loved me. Second, I knew she had already done what she wanted me to do and been blessed by it. And third, she had conveyed to me her sure testimony that the choice I had to make was so important that the Lord would tell me what to do if I asked Him. Love, example, and testimony: those were keys that day, and they have been whenever I have been blessed to hear and then heed the warning of a servant of the Lord.

1. Bobby knocked on his sister Alicia’s door. “Will you help me button my white shirt? I want to look just like the bishop.” Alicia smiled as she helped him. “You will look just like the bishop,” she said.
2. Bobby went to his brother Chris. “Will you help me tie my tie? I want to look just like the bishop.” Chris tied Bobby’s tie and said, “You will look just like the bishop.”
3. Bobby saw his sister Sarah fixing Laura’s hair. “Will you help me tie my brown shoes?” Bobby asked. “I want to look just like the bishop.” Sarah tied his shoes. “You will look just like the bishop,” she said.
4. “Don’t forget your suit coat,” Laura said. She helped him put his arms in the sleeves of the coat. “You will look just like the bishop.”
5. Bobby saw Mom looking in the mirror. “Mom, will you comb my hair? I want to look just like the bishop.” Mom sprayed Bobby’s hair with water and combed it. “You will look just like the bishop.”
6. Bobby stood at the front door. “Are we ready to go?” Bobby asked. “I want to be on time, just like the bishop.” “Don’t forget your scriptures,” Dad said. “You will need them to look like the bishop.”
7. Bobby picked up his scriptures. “Am I ready?” he asked. “You look just like the bishop,” Dad said.
8. At church, Bobby sat reverently as he waited for sacrament meeting to start. Then he saw a hand stretched out in front of him. It was the bishop! The bishop shook Bobby’s hand. “Is that you, Bobby?” the bishop asked. “I thought it was me!”

In a high school not far from here, a young mentally handicapped student we will call Frank wanted so much to be accepted by the popular crowd. He would follow them around, always on the outside looking in, hoping to be included but never achieving it.
One day in the cafeteria, some of the more popular boys and girls encouraged Frank to get up on the table and dance. Thinking he would please them, he did it. In his awkward way, he twisted and twirled. The group yelled, clapped their hands, and laughed. They were laughing at him, and Frank thought they were laughing with him.
A few tables away, Dave was eating lunch with a friend and watching it all. He courageously leaped up, faced that crowd of tormentors, and through clenched teeth said, “I’ve had as much of this as I can stand!” He helped Frank down and said, “Frank, you come and have lunch with us.”
The Savior is counting on you to be a champion of those who need you, and they are all around you—in your school, in your neighborhood, in your family.

I knew Shannon couldn’t help being talented and intelligent. It wasn’t her fault that she always came home with straight A’s and that she had a natural talent for music and art. It also wasn’t her fault that her hair flowed softly over her shoulders and that she had the long willowy body of a model. But none of these things helped me any.
It was the summer before I was to enter high school. Everytime I looked in the mirror there was another freckle until they were all over everywhere, even on my toes. I was plump and dumpy, and I had hair that would only go the way it wasn’t supposed to go. I marveled that our parents’ genes could play such a dirty trick. How could one child turn out so lovely, enchanting, and full of grace, and the other turn out to be a homely little 16-year-old nobody.
That summer things were at an all-time, record-breaking low for me because I was to enter Jackson High School in September. I wasn’t looking forward to it. I begged my parents to let me transfer to another school, but they could see no sense in it. It made perfect sense to me. Shannon had been junior prom queen and secretary of her class and had sung the lead in the big musical just the year before. How could I follow in those footsteps? I also got nauseated at the thought of hearing those words again—the words I had heard all through Everest Elementary and Weston Junior High: “Is Shannon your sister?” (with the accent on the your). “Why she’s so beautiful … so talented …” (so everything you’re not). I knew I would hear those words dozens of times. They would bring tears of anger to my eyes. Yet how could they help being amazed? It wasn’t anyone’s fault.
Even though I knew no one was to blame, certainly not Shannon, I took my unhappiness out on her. There are subtle ways to persecute a sister. I knew them all. When she was trying to take a nap, I turned up my radio. When she tried a new recipe, I refused to eat it because it looked “funny.” I slipped into the shower just as she was getting ready to take one. I borrowed her shoes without asking. And I hurt her in thousands of more painful psychological ways.
But, Shannon never complained. It was always “Good morning, Janet.” Her cheerfulness made it worse, and I tried to think of more ways to make her angry. Nothing I did, however, seemed to stir her quiet grace. I guess the worst way I hurt Shannon was when I tuned her out of my life. I stopped telling her things, stopped sharing secrets, and stopped listening. When she came into my room just to talk, I would cut her off with “I’m busy right now.” She would walk out of my room sadly, and pretty soon she quit coming in. Our communication deteriorated to one- and two-word sentences. That summer we stopped being close because I wanted it that way.
Then it happened. It was just two weeks before school would start, and I had a date with Robert Bates. It was only the second date I had had all summer, and Robert was a pretty super guy. I had no idea why he had lowered himself to asking me out unless it was because we had had some fun times during roadshow rehearsals. I was excited and nervous, but I knew we’d have a good time because we got along pretty well. We doubled with Jill Quigley and John Turnbine and the date turned out to be even more fun than I had anticipated. In fact, I hadn’t had so much fun all summer.
Afterwards we stopped at my house for ice cream, and then we all sang around the piano. Jill could play the piano almost as well as Shannon.
“All I can play is the bass viol,” I proclaimed. No one believed me, so I went upstairs to get it. I had taken up the bass viol because I knew Shannon would never try to play one. She wasn’t the bass viol type.
The wall between our bedrooms is thin, and I was puzzled to hear Shannon in her room because I knew that she had had a date with Jack Smithson. I liked Jack because he was nice to me, and I set great store in a man who can be nice to his date’s little sister. The next thing I heard puzzled me even more. It was the sound of subdued sniffling. Shannon rarely cried. What did she have to cry about? My first reaction was curiosity, but I forced myself not to speak. I didn’t want to get involved.
Picking up my bass, I started toward the stairs. Getting it down the stairs was always the most difficult part. I had gone only a few awkward steps when I heard another sniffle. I wanted to just pretend I hadn’t heard: I could just go down the stairs and no one would know I had heard Shannon crying. Well, except me. I leaned my bass against the wall, walked back to Shannon’s door and knocked.
“You okay?” I didn’t get an answer and my duty was done, so I turned back toward the stairs, but there was another sob.
“I know you’re in there. Now, what on earth is the matter?” My voice was icy.
“Nothing. Just leave me alone,” she squeaked. “Just please, please, leave me alone.”
“Well, I’ll be back.”
I showed the group my bass viol and played for them. I think Robert was impressed even though I made a couple of bad mistakes. It was getting late, however, and everyone was tired, so they left—but I knew Robert would call me again.
When I went back upstairs, Shannon was sitting by her dressing table brushing her hair, pretending that nothing was wrong. I must say she didn’t look beautiful. Her skin was blotched and her aristocratic nose was swollen and red.
“What is it? Can I help you?”
“What?”
“Can I help?” I was as surprised as she was that I had said it. I guess it was because she looked so pitiful sitting there trying to pretend nothing was wrong. The shock of my concern set her off again, and she began sobbing like smooth, collected Shannon had never sobbed since we were small. It affected me so much that I put my hand on her shoulder and patted it.
“Come on. Come on. Things aren’t that bad, are they? Does it have something to do with Jack? You can tell me if you want to. I mean I’d like to hear if you feel like telling me.”
“You would?” I was ashamed at her amazement.
“Yes, I would.”
“Are you sure you don’t mind? Oh, Janet, I’m so miserable.”
“Come on; tell me about it.”
She sobbed again, gulped, and got control of herself.
“I’ve wanted so much to tell you about Jack. He’s all I’ve been able to think about for weeks. I can’t explain what it is about him. He’s different from the other boys I’ve dated. He’s so good-looking and intelligent and a good athlete, but it doesn’t seem to affect him. None of that has gone to his head. He’s always courteous and kind to people, even little children. Now I’ll never see him again.”
“What happened?”
“Oh, it was just awful. I couldn’t think of anything to say. I was nervous and jittery, and my stomach was all twisted inside. I was a bore. Finally I asked him to take me home early. I knew he was having a lousy time.”
“Oh, come now, Shannon. It’s all your imagination. Things couldn’t have been that bad.”
“They were. They were.” She began crying again. Then suddenly she blurted out some words that took me entirely by surprise.
“And it’s your fault.”
“My fault?” I couldn’t imagine what she meant. “What do you mean my fault?”
“I guess I might as well tell you what ruined the date. Just as we were going out the door, you had to come in and do one of your cute little routines. You always do that when I go out with someone—come in and show off your personality. Then, on the way out to the car, Jack said, ‘Wow, your little sister is sure a little firecracker. What a personality!’ After that the whole date was ruined. I couldn’t think of anything to say. I was like a dead battery. If I could have been like you, he would have liked me. You can always think of funny, witty things to say, and you always remember jokes and sayings. I get sick of people saying, ‘Is Janet your sister? Why she’s so bubbly and so full of energy!’ What they’re really saying is that I’m a bore.”
I was so stunned that I just sat there on her bed in a stupor. “Is she your sister?” I had almost hated her for those words. Then I began laughing, but I was crying at the same time.

When I was in the sixth grade, my class went to the Marin Headlands (California) State Park for a weeklong field trip. After a long drive on the bus, we unpacked our belongings and settled in to our bunk beds. We started talking excitedly about what activities lay ahead of us over the next week. Slowly, the conversation changed, and somehow the subject of religion was brought up. One person after another briefly stated what faith they belonged to. I didn’t want anyone to know that I didn’t go to church and was different from them. However, they noticed that I wasn’t participating in the discussion.
“What are you?” my friend asked curiously.
“I don’t go to church, so I guess I’m nothing.”
“You can’t be nothing. You have to be something!”
I decided to ask my mom what she was, because I thought that whatever she was, I must be the same. “Mom, everyone in my group at camp goes to church except me. They told me what religions they were and when they asked me what I was, I told them that I was nothing. I’m nothing, right?”
“Yes, I guess that’s right,” my mom said assuredly.
“But they said I have to be something,” I complained.
My mom repeated herself, “If you don’t belong to a particular church or religious group, then you are no religion at all.”
Two years went by, and I didn’t think too much about religion or the religious discussion we had had until my best friend invited me to attend a camp with her during the summer. After getting my parents’ approval, I excitedly told my friend that I could go. There were a lot of fun activities but also classes about principles and stories in the Bible that were brand new to me. I enjoyed learning about them, and I learned how to look up scriptures in my new Bible given to me by my friend. By the end of the week, I was “saved.” I wasn’t sure what that meant, but there were other people that were “saved” too.
I asked my parents if it was all right if I went to church with my best friend’s family every Sunday. They agreed. Unfortunately, something came up the next Sunday, and I wasn’t able to go. One week after another went by, and for one reason or another I did not go to church. The good feelings from camp slowly faded away. My freshman year of high school began, but my best friend and I drifted apart. Now I knew there was no chance of going to church with her family.
“Mom, can we go to church?” I asked several times, but I never really got the answer I was looking for. One day was different. Instead of the usual reply, she answered, “Well, I do know of a church we can go to. I know that they teach good things, because I used to go when I was little. I can take you to that church—The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.” That was the first time I learned she ever went to church, even though I knew my grandparents went to church.
I was more than satisfied with this answer. I was finally on my way to becoming something.
My mom, sister, brother, and I were finally going to church! My grandmother helped by locating which church building to attend in the area where we lived. Looking back, I do remember feeling welcomed.
Over the next few Sundays, I was welcomed like a friend that hadn’t been seen for some time. When people noticed that I was new, they smiled and extended their hand to greet me and introduced themselves. I went to Young Women with the girls. I was 15 and belonged to the Mia Maid class. I quickly made friends despite my shyness. Everyone made me feel comfortable. My sister was in the Beehive class. Being four years old, my brother went to Primary. He didn’t like going by himself, so he always made my mom go with him. I think she enjoyed it. She sang children’s songs and relearned stories from when she was younger.
The missionaries came to our house and taught us the lessons. I was delighted when they came over. Even though they were around 20 years old, they knew a lot about the scriptures and the gospel of Jesus Christ. They had a special presence and a warm glow about them. I soon found out that other members of the Church had that glow as well, including my Young Women teacher, who always let me know how happy she was to have me in her class.
I became good friends with a girl named Julia. We decided to be “buddies” at girls camp. Even though I don’t like camping or hiking very much, I really enjoyed the entire experience. There was a different feeling at this camp. Our counselors made a special effort to see that we were having a good time and that everyone was included in all the activities we participated in. During the week, we had devotionals, a nature walk to learn about different plants, a first-aid class, and campfire skits. There was also a service project that everyone in the camp happily participated in. In fact, the service project table was always crowded with volunteers. All through the week there was a sense of organization, cooperation, and friendship.
On Saturday morning, the last day, everyone got together around the campfire, and whoever wanted to stood up and told the others of their testimony of the Church and expressed their gratitude for their family, friends, and what a great and memorable experience they had at camp. Most of them cried while they talked, and I cried along with them. I was surprised to see my sister go up on stage. She said how happy she was to come to this Church and how thankful she was for her family, especially me. That was one of the first times she had ever expressed her love for me as her sister. Once she sat down, I got up and sat next to her. I told her how grateful I was for what she said, and we cried together. We really made a special connection.
We continued going to church and taking the missionary lessons. As the weeks went by, I learned much more about the Church. I wanted to do the right things. I began reading the Bible and the Book of Mormon, praying, eating good food, dressing modestly, and trying to live a Christian life. After trying all these things, I felt good about myself.
My mother, who had not wanted to go to church, continued to participate in the missionary lessons and continued to take us to church every Sunday. We made the decision to be baptized, and my mother, sister, and I became members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints on June 3, 2000. This was a decision that has changed all of our lives. My brother was too young to be baptized, and my stepfather did not share in our beliefs, but he always supported all of us in our Church-related activities and meetings.
We now have numerous friends that we would not otherwise have if we had not gone to church. We participate in many community service projects and have become happier people. I went on to receive my Young Women in Excellence award and attend community college. After high school, I became active in the single adults ward, where I met a wonderful returned missionary. We were married and have now had our first child.
Through all these experiences in the Church, our family has grown closer, and we are striving to become an eternal family. Seven years after our baptism, both my stepfather and my little brother made the decision to join the Church and were baptized together on January 20, 2007.

In the 1950s my mother survived radical cancer surgery, but difficult as that was, the surgery was followed by dozens of painful radiation treatments in what would now be considered rather primitive medical conditions. She recalls that her mother taught her something during that time that has helped her ever since: “I was so sick and weak, and I said to her one day, ‘Oh, Mother, I can’t stand having 16 more of those treatments.’ She said, ‘Can you go today?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Well, honey, that’s all you have to do today.’ It has helped me many times when I remember to take one day or one thing at a time.”

I wanted to be alone, to think, to meditate. There was something wrong, but I couldn’t tell what. Finally I arrived at the subway station; then digging into my pocket, I pulled out a quarter. I rode up to Park Street Station; a hundred blank faces rode with me. I didn’t know where they came from or where they were going; they didn’t know where I came from or where I was going. We didn’t care. The subway pulled into the station, and everyone pushed and shoved his way off. Something still haunted me. All the way home I did not see a single person although the streets were full of people. I was too involved in thought.
At home I was greeted by warm feelings. I have never felt fear or emptiness there. I was more quiet than usual at dinner. I watched as my wonderful and beautiful parents ate; I could tell, just by their actions, that they loved life and, more importantly, the gospel. What was it that made them radiate?
The following day I was in another “thinking mood.” As I walked to Longfellow Park, I thought of that great writer and the inspiration and influence he brought to so many people. Why could he do this? I was then reminded of my questions of the night before. As I thought, I remembered a little button the missionaries wear on their coats as a missionary tool. They’re red and white buttons and say, “I Care.” That was it! That was why my parents, and the missionaries, and Longfellow radiated and inspired others so much. They cared about people. That had been my problem; I didn’t care about the people I didn’t know. I decided to try it their way—I would try to care about people I didn’t even know.

1 “Stop it!”
“Stop it!”
Andrew stomped his foot and stuck his tongue out at his little sister. She did the same to him.
2 “Mom, I can’t take it anymore. Please make Sarah stop copying me.”
3 “I don’t know if we can stop Sarah from doing everything you do. Right now she is learning from your example and doing the things you teach her to do.”
“I didn’t teach her that.”
“Yes, you did. Sarah loves you and thinks you are a great big brother. She watches what you do and tries to do the same.”
4 “I still don’t like it when she copies what I do. It gives me a headache.”
5 “Remember, Jesus set a good example for us by showing love and being kind to others. You can show Sarah a good example by doing what Jesus did.”
6 Andrew thought about what Mom said. He decided he would try to be a good example. Andrew looked at Sarah and smiled.
“I love you.”
Sarah smiled back at him.
“I love you too.”

Now, I wish to move to a different matter. I spoke of this same thing many years ago. I repeat it because those who heard it then have long since forgotten, and those who did not hear it need to hear it. It concerns President Joseph F. Smith, who served as President of the Church from 1901 to 1918, altogether 17 years.
Joseph F. Smith was the son of Hyrum Smith, who was the brother of the Prophet Joseph and was martyred with him in Carthage. Joseph F. was born at Far West, Missouri, on November 13, 1838. He came out of Missouri as an infant. As a lad not yet six years of age, he heard a knock on the window of his mother’s home in Nauvoo. It was a man who had hurriedly ridden from Carthage and who told Sister Smith that her husband had been killed that afternoon.
When he was 9, he drove an ox team with his mother across the plains to this valley. At the age of 15 he was called on a mission to Hawaii. He made his way to San Francisco and there worked in a shingle mill to earn enough money to buy passage to the islands.
Hawaii was not a tourist center then. It was populated by the native Hawaiians, who were, for the most part, poor but generous with what they had. He learned to speak their language and to love them. While serving there he experienced a remarkable dream. I quote from his narrative concerning this. Said he:
“I was very much oppressed [when I was] on a mission. I was almost naked and entirely friendless, except [for] the friendship of a poor, benighted … people. I felt as if I was so debased in my condition of poverty, lack of intelligence and knowledge, just a boy, that I hardly dared look a … man in the face.
“While in that condition I dreamed [one night] that I was on a journey, and I was impressed that I ought to hurry—hurry with all my might, for fear I might be too late. I rushed on my way as fast as I possibly could, and I was only conscious of having just a little bundle, a handkerchief with a small bundle wrapped in it. I did not realize … what it was, when I was hurrying as fast as I could; but finally I came to a wonderful mansion. … I thought I knew that was my destination. As I passed towards it, as fast as I could, I saw a notice [which read B-A-T-H], ‘Bath.’ I turned aside quickly and went into the bath and washed myself clean. I opened up this little bundle that I had, and there was [some] white, clean [clothing], a thing I had not seen for a long time, because the people I was with did not think very much of making things exceedingly clean. But my [clothing was] clean, and I put [it] on. Then I rushed to what appeared to be a great opening, or door. I knocked and the door opened, and the man who stood there was the Prophet Joseph Smith. He looked at me a little reprovingly, and the first words he said: ‘Joseph, you are late.’ Yet I took confidence and [replied]:
“‘Yes, but I am clean—I am clean!’
“He clasped my hand and drew me in, then closed the great door. I felt his hand just as tangible as I ever felt the hand of man. I knew him, and when I entered I saw my father, and Brigham [Young] and Heber [C. Kimball], and Willard [Richards], and other good men that I had known, standing in a row. I looked as if it were across this valley, and it seemed to be filled with a vast multitude of people, but on the stage were all the people that I had known. My mother was there, and she sat with a child in her lap; and I could name over as many as I remember of their names, who sat there, who seemed to be among the chosen, among the exalted. …
“[When I had this dream,] I was alone on a mat, away up in the mountains of Hawaii—no one was with me. But in this vision I pressed my hand up against the Prophet, and I saw a smile cross his countenance. …
“When I awoke that morning I was a man, although only [still] a boy. There was not anything in the world that I feared [after that]. I could meet any man or woman or child and look them in the face, feeling in my soul that I was a man every whit. That vision, that manifestation and witness that I enjoyed at that time has made me what I am, if I am anything that is good, or clean, or upright before the Lord, if there is anything good in me. That has helped me out in every trial and through every difficulty” (Gospel Doctrine, 5th ed. [1939], 542–43).
The core of that meaningful dream is found in the reproof given by Joseph Smith to young Joseph F. Said the Prophet, “Joseph, you are late.”
Replied Joseph F., “Yes, but I am clean—I am clean!”
The result of that dream was that a boy was changed into a man. His declaration “I am clean” gave him self-assurance and courage in facing anyone or any situation. He received the strength that comes from a clear conscience fortified by the approbation of the Prophet Joseph.

In late spring this year, I met such a one in California whose faith and testimony stirred my soul. She was slight and soft-spoken and described herself as a boat person. She had learned English and qualified for scholarships to attend college after she arrived in the United States. In addition to her studies in chemical engineering, she married, joined the Church, and had four children. Her capacity to read was a significant tool in meeting her many challenges. She described her great effort to interpret her college texts in a language different from her native tongue. She told how her reading of the Book of Mormon had deepened her understanding not only of scriptural truths but also of her exacting studies of mathematics and chemistry.

Sometime after she graduated, her husband left her and their children without support, and she found it necessary to seek employment. She felt that she was hired at a laboratory because of the advantage of her minority status, but she had no experience and did not know the procedures that others there found routine. As she had only the Lord to turn to, she began to sequester herself at work to pray for help. She also discovered that while reading the Book of Mormon, her mind would become clear, and she found herself with effective ideas of how to implement her assignments. Her progress has been such that now when other lab workers are stymied with a project, they come to her for clarification and direction.

She testified of her sure knowledge of God’s reality and particularly of his love. Her struggles for her family require all of her physical and spiritual strength. Now, on Saturdays, she often takes her children to market to buy food which they prepare together and then take to a homeless shelter. She greatly desires that her children gain an understanding of what her life was like when she had nothing. She is teaching them to understand God’s love by helping them exercise charity.

I wanted to invite those blessings into my life, so when I returned home from my mission, I spoke to my bishop about becoming a temple worker. I was eventually called to serve in the Washington D.C. Temple for a few months while I was working to save money for school.
I served in the temple during the 6 p.m. shift every Friday night. This schedule required me to leave my job early and travel for two hours. It was a big and sometimes tough commitment to keep every week.
At the time, I was working long hours doing lots of physical labor, so I was usually pretty tired for my temple shift. I was also mentally exhausted most of the time with preparing to go back to college and figuring out what I was going to do for the rest of my life.
But during my shifts, I was always excited to learn more about the ordinances. And despite my constant fatigue and endless to-do list, I somehow found peace in the temple. I always left feeling grateful for the chance to serve the Lord there, and I felt spiritually renewed at the end of each shift as I focused on the Savior. The peace I felt also helped me find direction and answers for my life.

Paul’s counsel, “Be thou an example of the believers,” applies equally to members. Most have not been and may never be full-time missionaries. But all can be member missionaries. That statement reminds me of a report of a humorous event. On a large playing field at a missionary training center, a sign was posted. It read, “Missionaries Only!” People who also wanted to play on that field posted a new sign of their own. Their sign read, “Every Member a Missionary!”

Each member can be an example of the believers. Brethren, as followers of Jesus Christ, each of you can live in accord with His teachings. You can have “a pure heart and clean hands”; you can have “the image of God engraven upon your [countenance].” Your good works will be evident to others. The light of the Lord can beam from your eyes. With that radiance, you had better prepare for questions. The Apostle Peter so counseled, “Be ready always to give an answer to every man that asketh you a reason of the hope that is in you.”

Let your response be warm and joyful. And let your response be relevant to that individual. Remember, he or she is also a child of God, that very God who dearly wants that person to qualify for eternal life and return to Him one day. You may be the very one to open the door to his or her salvation and understanding of the doctrine of Christ.

After your initial response, be ready to take the next step. You may invite your friend to attend church with you. Many of our friends do not know they are welcome in our Church buildings. “Come and see” was the Savior’s invitation to those who desired to learn more about Him. An invitation to attend a Sunday meeting with you or to participate in a Church social or service activity will help to dispel mistaken myths and make visitors feel more comfortable among us.

As a member of the Church, reach out to those you do not know and greet them warmly. Each Sunday extend a hand of fellowship to at least one person you did not know before. Each day of your life, strive to enlarge your own circle of friendship.

You can invite a friend to read the Book of Mormon. Explain that it is not a novel or a history book. It is another testament of Jesus Christ. Its very purpose is “to the convincing of the Jew and Gentile that Jesus is the Christ, the Eternal God, manifesting himself unto all nations.” There is a power in this book that can touch the hearts and lift the lives of honest seekers of truth. Invite your friend to read the book prayerfully.

The Prophet Joseph Smith said “that the Book of Mormon was the most correct of any book on earth, and the keystone of our religion, and a man would get nearer to God by abiding by its precepts, than by any other book.” The Book of Mormon teaches of the Atonement of Jesus Christ and is the instrument by which God will fulfill His ancient promise to gather scattered Israel in these latter days.

Many years ago two colleagues of mine—a nurse and her doctor husband—asked me why I lived the way I did. I answered, “Because I know the Book of Mormon is true.” I let them borrow my copy of the book, inviting them to read it. A week later they returned my book with a polite “Thanks a lot.”

I responded, “What do you mean, ‘Thanks a lot’? That’s a totally inappropriate response for one who has read this book. You didn’t read it, did you! Please take it back and read it; then I would like my book back.”

Admitting that they had only turned its pages, they accepted my invitation. When they returned, they said tearfully, “We have read the Book of Mormon. We know it is true! We want to know more.” They learned more, and it was my privilege to baptize both of them.

Another way that you can share the gospel is to invite friends to meet with full-time missionaries in your home. Those missionaries are called and prepared to teach the gospel. Your friends, in the comfort of your home and with your constant reassurance, can begin their journey toward salvation and exaltation. The Lord said, “Ye are called to bring to pass the gathering of mine elect; for mine elect hear my voice and harden not their hearts.”

Scripture tells us that “there are many yet on the earth … who are only kept from the truth because they know not where to find it.” Isn’t that your opportunity? You can become their own disciple of discovery!

Now in this day of the Internet, there are new and exciting ways you can do missionary work. You can invite friends and neighbors to visit the new mormon.org website. If you have blogs and online social networks, you could link your sites to mormon.org. And there you can create your own personal profile. Each profile includes an expression of belief, an experience, and a testimony. Because this is a new feature, most of these profiles are available in English. Profiles in other languages will follow.

These profiles can have a profound influence for good. Two months ago a young man named Zac—a freshman in college—saw an ad for mormon.org on television in Baton Rouge, Louisiana. He connected with the website and was intrigued by the profiles of Church members. At our website he found the link that informed him where he could attend church. The next Sunday, dressed in a white shirt and tie, he attended church, was introduced to members of the ward, and enjoyed all three hours of meetings. He was invited to a member’s home for dinner, followed by his first missionary lesson. In less than two weeks, he was baptized and confirmed as a member of the Church. Welcome, Zac! (He is listening.)

Each exemplary follower of Jesus Christ can become an effective member missionary. Members and full-time missionaries may walk arm in arm in bringing the blessings of the gospel to cherished friends and neighbors. Many of them are of Israel, now being gathered as promised. This is all part of the preparation for the Second Coming of the Lord. He wants each of us truly to be an example of the believers.

I know that God lives. Jesus is the Christ. This is His Church. The Book of Mormon is true. Joseph Smith is its translator and the prophet of this last dispensation. President Thomas S. Monson is God’s prophet today. I so testify in the sacred name of Jesus Christ, amen.

I turned the corner of the street just in time to see the bus pulling up to my bus stop. I ran as fast as I could, running between pedestrians, and leaped onto the bus just as it began pulling away.
Buses in Manchester, England, were always crowded at this time of night, but I didn’t mind. As an American student at the Royal Northern College of Music, I didn’t have very much free time to meet the British people, so I looked forward to my crowded bus rides as opportunities to make new friends.
I finally found a seat next to a lovely young woman who was deeply involved in reading a pamphlet. I sat down quietly, trying not to disturb her, but I couldn’t help looking at what he was reading. It was a religious pamphlet that had the title, “Believe in Christ and Be Saved!” Further down the page I read the words, “We are saved by faith alone.” I looked up to find the young woman smiling at me curiously. “Oh, excuse me,” I said, “but I couldn’t help noticing your pamphlet. Are you interested in religion?”
“Oh, no!” she said in a strong, contented voice. “I’m already saved! I’m just reading this for fun. And what about you?” she asked. “Are you saved?”
I had never been asked the question in that way before, and I stammered with my answer, “Well, I’m … I’m … I’m trying! I am a Christian.”
“Hallelujah! Praise the Lord!” she shouted in a loud voice, making several of the other passengers on the bus turn around to look at us. Then, a little more softly, she asked, “What is your church?”
“The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I’m a Mormon.”
“Oh, no!” she whispered, leaning away from me with fear in her eyes. “Oh, I know about Mormons! You’re not Christian.”
“Yes, we are!” I said.
“No,” she said again. “No! I remember two Mormons came to my home once and told me that they had a message for me about Jesus Christ. I let them in to talk about Christ, and all we talked about was some man named Joseph Smith. I don’t believe in him, and they didn’t tell me about Christ. Your church isn’t Christian.”
She was so sure of her opinion that I didn’t know what to say in return. But then I heard myself talking about Joseph Smith and explaining why he was so important to the restoration of the true gospel. I told her about continuing revelation and bore my testimony of a living prophet on the earth today.
She listened politely for some time, then apologized as she stood up, “I’m sorry, but this is where I get off. It’s been nice talking to you, but I still say Mormons aren’t Christian.” With that, she got off the bus and left me staring after her.
I worried all the way home, and for the rest of the evening I couldn’t stop thinking of the young woman and her incorrect belief that Latter-day Saints didn’t believe in Christ. What could I say, if I ever met her again, to convince her that I did have a testimony of Christ and that I believed that I belonged to his church?
I turned to my scriptures, hoping to find some kind of answer or at least some comfort. I picked up my Book of Mormon, and in 2 Nephi I began to read the beautiful and plain words testifying of the Savior.
“And we talk of Christ, we rejoice in Christ, we preach of Christ, we prophesy of Christ, and we write according to our prophecies, that our children may know to what source they may look for a remission of their sins” (2 Ne. 25:26).
Since I had been studying in England, I had told many people on my bus about the Church. I had talked about Utah and Brigham Young University, about pioneers and prophets, about families, about developing talents and storing food. I had talked about Joseph Smith and the restoration of the gospel, and about missions and the scriptures. But had I ever “talked of Christ”?
In my prayers that night I gave sincere thanks for Jesus Christ, the reason this gospel and church are true, and the source we can look to for a remission of our sins. I also prayed that I would see again the young lady I had talked with on the bus, so that I could tell her about the most important part of my testimony, my belief in Christ.
I did see her again, the very next day on the same bus. She seemed happy to see me, and we chatted about the weather and my music classes. As we got closer to her stop, I turned to her nervously and said, “I forgot to tell you something about my church yesterday.”
I began to talk of Christ. The words were not eloquent or powerful, but I bore my testimony of Jesus Christ as our Savior and as the head of our church. “My church teaches its members many things,” I said. “Sometimes we get so caught up in these wonderful truths that we forget the most important truth we have, that Jesus is our Savior and is at the center of our church. I’m sorry I didn’t talk about him sooner.”
I talked about the scripture in 2 Nephi [2 Ne. 25:26] and told her that I knew the Book of Mormon was another testament of Christ.
The bus had stopped and people were pushing their way off. Without looking at me, the young woman got up and joined them. But as she got off the bus, she looked up at my window and called, “Thank you!”
I never saw her again. I don’t think she ran home to call the elders and ask to be baptized. But she did leave that bus knowing that I believed in Jesus Christ and that I knew The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is his Church and worships him.
How grateful I am for the powerful words of Nephi that reminded me of what it is we always ought to be teaching our brothers and sisters. In talking about the many wonderful blessings of our church, I hope I never again miss the opportunity to show, through words and actions, that at the center of our belief is Christ.

“There’s dry wood here,” Henry said. “Let’s build a fire to frighten the wolves away.”
Henry and Wilford quickly built a roaring bonfire, and the wolves retreated.
The missionaries had walked nearly 60 miles that day, so they lay down by the fire and tried to sleep. The night grew quiet. It began to rain. A yip, yip, yip sounded through the trees.
“That’s a dog!” Wilford said.
“It’s a wolf,” Henry said. “Go back to sleep.”
The night grew quiet again. Then a bell tinkled.
“That’s a cowbell!” Wilford said.
“Let’s investigate,” Henry said.
Each man lit the end of a thick stick in the fire to light his way and scare off wolves. Soon they found a small cabin with a tattered blanket for a door. The missionaries looked inside. A woman, some children, and several puppies slept on a bed in the corner. A man slept on the floor with his bare feet by the fire.
“Hello,” Wilford whispered, but the man snored on.
Wilford stepped inside and put his hand on the man’s shoulder. Suddenly the man jumped up and ran around and around the room.
“Calm down!” Henry said. “We are friends.”
The man sat on the floor, panting. “I shot a panther yesterday, and I thought you were its mate come to kill me,” he explained.
“No,” Wilford said. “We are missionaries who need a place to sleep and a bit of breakfast.”
“You can sleep on the floor, but unless I shoot something, none of us will have a bite to eat,” the man said.
“We’re grateful for the roof and the fire,” Wilford and Henry said as they lay down with their tired feet toward the warm coals.

Recently I went to an Alzheimer’s care facility in Salt Lake City to visit a long-time friend, Mayre Nielsen, who is 97 years of age. I was escorted by a young woman attendant to Mayre’s bedside. As I greeted her, she looked at me with glistening eyes but did not speak a word. I said to her, “Mayre, do you remember when we first met?” Still there was no answer. I continued, “It was long years ago, when you were a member of the Primary General Board and accompanied Sister Monson and me to an assignment in Sydney, Australia.”
Without uttering a sound, Mayre watched me carefully as I continued. “You will recall, Mayre, that you were to stay at the home of the stake Primary president, Sister Beryl Lord. You had learned, however, that Sister Lord was married to a nonmember who was indifferent toward the Church. For this reason, you were concerned about staying in Sister Lord’s home and asked if you could stay at a local hotel instead. I told you I felt we should wait until we met Sister Lord and her husband and then decide where you should stay. You asked how you should act, were you to stay in their home. I told you to act as a Latter-day Saint, to be yourself, to offer the blessing on the food and to offer your evening and morning prayers.
“Do you remember, Mayre, that when we arrived at the airport in Sydney, Australia, the stake Primary president, Sister Lord, welcomed you and said, ‘I hope you are going to stay at our home’?
“You looked at me pleadingly, Mayre, obviously hoping I would suggest you stay in a hotel. However, I was impressed to suggest otherwise and told you I thought you should stay at Sister Lord’s home and meet her husband and family. I asked Sister Lord where her husband was, and she pointed to the lobby of the airport and indicated that he was standing behind a pillar, out of view. We met Frank Lord, and then you departed with them to an unknown fate.”
I paused in my narrative. Mayre Nielsen still had not spoken to me, and yet her eyes remained fixed on me. I continued speaking. “Mayre, just over a year later,” I said, “I returned to the Sydney stake to divide it and create the Sydney South stake. Following the conference, a man I recognized approached me with tears in his eyes. He told me he was Frank Lord, husband of the stake Primary president, and that just a few months earlier he had entered the waters of baptism and had become a member of the Church. I asked him how he had gone from being one who was indifferent toward the Church to one who had become a member. Mayre, he told me that it was your example and your sweet spirit when you stayed in their home that had prompted him to commence his study of the gospel and to become a member of the Church. He asked if I would be sure to thank you for the profound influence for good you had on him.
“When I returned home from attending that conference, Mayre, I telephoned you and expressed to you Brother Frank Lord’s great gratitude that you had stayed in his home and had had such a powerful effect on his life. I recall that you, too, were most grateful for the inspiration which directed that you stay with the Lord family.”
I continued speaking: “Shortly after that, Brother Lord served as a counselor in his ward bishopric and then was called to the stake high council. Since there was no temple in Australia at that time, Brother and Sister Lord journeyed to the New Zealand Temple for their endowments and sealing. Over the years Brother Lord’s testimony has remained strong. He has filled many Church positions and continues active to this day.
“Mayre Nielsen, thank you for having the truth, living the truth, and sharing the truth.”

Let me conclude by sharing with you a recent episode in the life of Elder Anguiano, a young Mexican-American who prepared for a Spanish-speaking mission, only to be called by the prophet to serve in Christchurch, New Zealand, of all places! Imagine a young man with Spanish as his prime language being sent to a country where the Spanish language is spoken very rarely, if ever!

As President Philip Sonntag waited at the airport for his one lone missionary to arrive, his mind was seeking for divine help in the proper placement of a young man with Spanish language ability in a mission where only English was understood. As the passengers started deplaning, President Sonntag spotted his new elder immediately. Maybe it was his gleaming, new white shirt that seemed particularly white compared to the other holidaying passengers. His sparkling attitude set him apart as being very special. He was one of the Lord’s anointed. His steps quickened as he neared the terminal building. He was obviously eager to start his mission. As he approached his mission president, it was with outstretched arms for a warm Mexican abrazo. This was his background, this was his custom even in faraway New Zealand. And then he spoke his first words: “President, I have come here to baptize.”

Now, mission presidents don’t usually release one of their assistants to be a trainer for a new missionary, but when the Spirit prompted President Sonntag for the third time, he was convinced, and Elder Keung, an outstanding young man of Chinese and Maori parentage, was made available to form this “League of Nations” companionship.

Would you believe that not more than three weeks later President Sonntag was informed that the two had contacted what was perhaps the only family on the south island of New Zealand who could speak nothing but Spanish? This Chilean family, newly arrived in New Zealand, needed the Church. They needed Elder Anguiano, and the Lord answered that need through a living prophet. Not only that, but word has now come that more than one hundred other families from Chile are currently in the process of immigrating to New Zealand, and Elder Anguiano is anxiously waiting with his newly baptized family to start the friendshipping and teaching process.

Almost three decades have passed, but the day I met Atiati is still vivid in my memory. As a young missionary serving in Samoa, I had already learned much, but nothing had prepared me for Atiati.

My companion, Elder Matagi, and I had visited the village of Sasina many times but had enjoyed little success. As we entered the village this particular day, we saw no adults, only children. The children told us that most of the villagers had gone to the next village for a wedding. Atiati was the only adult around, we were told.

We had never heard of this man before, so we asked the children where Atiati lived. They gave us directions and then followed in a curious little group as we walked there.

Located on the outskirts of the village, Atiati’s fale (house) looked forbidding as we approached. It was a sunny day, but all the polas (shades) were drawn. When we asked the children why, they started to giggle. “Go in and find out for yourself,” they replied.

As we walked up to the fale, I called out. I heard a noise as though someone were in pain. One of the older boys darted forward, pulled aside a pola, and shouted, “Atiati, the Mormons want to see you.” The children then ran off quickly.

Reluctantly, Elder Matagi and I entered the fale. When my eyes became accustomed to the darkness, I noticed a bed in one corner of the fale. On the bed lay an unshaven, unkempt, distorted figure. I felt so uneasy that I would have bolted out of the house except that Elder Matagi was holding tightly onto my arm. When we calmed down, we noticed that the figure, a man, was trying to speak. I moved closer, and he asked if we would raise the polas so he could see us in the light.

As light streamed into the fale, we could see that Atiati was crippled from the neck down, his limbs misshapen. At his invitation, we sat down and introduced ourselves. He asked us questions about the Church and our beliefs, and we taught him the first discussion. We ended with our testimonies and then prepared to leave.

I was touched when Atiati asked if we would pray with him before we left. What a pleasure to have someone ask us to pray! Humbled, Elder Matagi and I knelt and prayed. As we left, we promised Atiati that we would visit him again soon.

Heading home that evening, my companion and I discussed our new friend’s condition. Atiati had contracted polio 22 years earlier, and the disease had left him without the use of his arms and legs. The only part of his body he could move was his neck, and even that movement was limited. What if he were converted? Could he be baptized, being so completely disabled? We knew very little about assisting a man with disabilities, and we felt awkward. Finally we agreed that to avoid any embarrassment for Atiati, we would not visit him as missionaries; we would visit him only as friends.

The next day we set out again for Sasina. We had several people we wanted to see. However, when we arrived in the village, everyone seemed too busy to listen to us. After several hours of fruitless tracting, we decided to see Atiati before heading home.

Upon entering Atiati’s fale, I sensed a change immediately. Atiati was still lying in the same position in which he must have lain for the past 22 years, but there was something different. The Atiati with whom we had spoken the day before had no will to live. He had spoken in a whisper and had been unkempt in his appearance. The man now lying in the bed had a smile on his face. In a clear voice, he invited us in and asked us to sit next to his bed. He was clean-shaven, and his clothes were fresh.

Seeing our confused expressions, Atiati told us that he had paid someone to shave and bathe him. He had even had his bedding changed. “Today,” he said, “I begin to live again, because yesterday my prayers were answered and you came to me.”

Looking directly into my eyes, he continued. “I have waited for more than 20 years for someone to come and tell me that they have the true gospel of Christ. I want you to know that for over 20 years, I have done nothing but lie here and read the Bible. If what you tell me is really the true gospel of Christ, I will know and recognize it.”

Teaching Atiati was an experience I will never forget. He could quote many parts of the Bible almost word for word. His questions were sincere, and he understood concepts quickly. We talked about principles of the gospel in detail, including the priesthood. Atiati knew nothing of this power because the Samoan version of the Bible did not mention it. We showed him several references in the King James Version of the Bible that included the word priesthood, and then we pointed out to him that when the Bible was translated into Samoan there was no Samoan word for priesthood, so those who did the translation omitted the word and the meaning.

Soon, Atiati was converted. He wanted to be baptized. He wanted to receive the priesthood. Now it was up to us to baptize him.

A day was set, and the site for the baptism was selected. Atiati asked us to fast with him that he would have strength to endure the physical ordeal of the baptism. We asked the district leader and his companion to assist us. Some of the villagers were scornful of a church they did not yet understand, and some even ridiculed Atiati because of his disabilities. For these reasons, very few people in his village were told of the baptism; we did not want to attract a scoffing crowd.

The baptism was scheduled to take place at the chapel in Fagamalo, a village about eight miles distant. The baptismal font, located in front of the chapel in the middle of the churchyard, was open to the view of passersby. Anyone wishing to observe could do so from the road.

The day arrived. To avoid attracting a crowd, we left early to pick up Atiati. However, by the time we arrived, Atiati’s house was surrounded by people.

At first, I thought something terrible had happened to Atiati during the night. But when we got out of the car, someone cried, “Atiati, the Mormons are going to drown you.” Laughter filled the air. The villagers had somehow learned of Atiati’s baptism and had come to mock and ridicule him.

The laughter continued as we carried Atiati to the waiting car. We were discouraged, but Atiati’s faith didn’t falter. As we drove to Fagamalo, we all wanted to forget the incident in Sasina, and conversation was light. Upon our arrival, however, we were horrified to see the road packed with mocking people.

As we carried Atiati past the insulting crowd and into the chapel for the service, I fought feelings of anger and frustration. Our district leader, sensing our mood and the mood of those milling outside to view the spectacle, shared a stirring and spiritual testimony of the importance of baptism. When he finished, we picked up Atiati and carried him out to the font. When we emerged from the chapel, the taunting began again.

“Atiati, you foolish old man, don’t you know that the Mormons are going to drown you?”

“Hey, Atiati, can you swim?”

“Go ahead, Mormons, sprinkle him since he can’t be immersed!”

We all felt the forces of evil surround us as we prepared for this, one of the most sacred of all gospel ordinances. Atiati had asked me to baptize him. I entered the water and turned to assist the elders in carrying Atiati into the water. As I reached up toward him, he looked at us and said, “Please, put me down.”

My heart sank. I feared that Atiati, steadfast and unwavering throughout all the weeks of our sharing the gospel with him, was now giving up. We hesitated, and again he requested that we put him down.

The crowd was aware that something was happening, and their taunts and laughter increased. Our faith in Atiati wavered.

Atiati, guessing the reason for our hesitation, smiled and said, “This is the most important event in my life. I know without a doubt in my mind that this is the only way to eternal salvation. I will not be carried to my salvation! I will have faith in the Lord and his help.”

We lowered Atiati to the ground. Those who came to mock felt rewarded. To them, it appeared that Atiati was refusing baptism and that the Mormons had failed.

Atiati asked us to raise his hands so he could take hold of the railings. Exerting mighty effort, he attempted to pull himself up. The laughter faltered and began to die down. With his body shaking and perspiration breaking out on his forehead, Atiati stood. We all ached to reach out and assist him, but no one dared move. We were witnessing a miracle. A man who had lain in bed, twisted at every joint, unable to walk or even raise his arms, was now standing.

The crowd stood silent and astounded. No one moved or spoke.

Slowly, one trembling step at a time, Atiati descended into the water. Overwhelmed by what was happening, I couldn’t even remember the words to the baptismal prayer. It took a few reassuring words from Atiati before I regained my composure and was able to perform the sacred ordinance. After I baptized him, Atiati asked to be carried from the font to the chapel, where we confirmed him a member of the Church and bestowed on him the gift of the Holy Ghost.

Atiati continued to be an inspiration. With the use of a cane, he quickly regained the ability to walk unassisted. The closest branch of the Church was three miles up a steep hill in the village of Aopo. Atiati left home at 4:00 A.M. each Sunday in order to arrive before the 10:00 A.M. meeting began.

On my final visit with Atiati, I asked him how he had known he would be able to walk on the morning of his baptism. He said, “Elder Peters, the Bible teaches us that faith can move mountains. Since faith can move a stubborn mountain, I had no doubt in my mind that it would mend these limbs of mine.”