Gospel Story Finder

During the final months of our mission last year, we experienced an event that taught once again this profound principle that each of us is known and loved by God.
Elder Neal A. Maxwell was coming to New York City for some Church business, and we were informed that he would also like to have a mission conference. We were so pleased to have this opportunity to hear from one of the Lord’s chosen servants. I was asked to select one of our missionaries to provide the opening prayer for the meeting. I might have randomly picked one of the missionaries to pray, but felt to ponder and prayerfully select one whom the Lord would have me ask. In going through the missionary roster, a name boldly stood out to me: Elder Joseph Appiah of Accra, Ghana. He was the one I felt the Lord wanted to pray at the meeting.
Prior to the mission conference, I was having a regularly scheduled interview with Elder Appiah and told him of the prompting that I had received for him to pray. With amazement and humility in his eyes, he began to weep deeply. Somewhat surprised by his reaction, I started to tell him that it was all right and he wouldn’t have to pray, when he informed me he would love to offer the prayer, that his emotion was caused by the love he has for Elder Maxwell. He told me that this Apostle is very special to the Saints in Ghana and to his own family. Elder Maxwell had called his father to be the district president in Accra and had sealed his mother and father in the Salt Lake Temple.
Now, I didn’t know any of what I just related about this missionary or his family, but the Lord did and inspired a mission president on behalf of one missionary to provide a lifelong memory and testimony-building experience.
At the meeting, Elder Appiah offered a wonderful prayer and made a humble contribution to a meeting where Elder Maxwell taught the missionaries of the attributes of Jesus Christ. All who were there will never forget the feelings of love they experienced for their Savior.

The decision by Nephi and his brothers to place their trust in the things of the world proved to be no more successful than leaving it to chance. I was talking to a father while attending a stake conference. He was telling me about the pressures on his teenage daughter to follow the ways of the world, and how she had made the decision not to allow those pressures to influence her life.

She was the only member of the Church in her class in school. She was a popular young lady with the boys, and had many opportunities to go out on dates. The boys in her class did not live by the standards she had been taught in our Church. She made the decision to tell every boy who asked her for a date what standards she lived by. If she were to date them, they would be expected to conduct themselves in accordance with her standards. She would get such a commitment from them before she accepted a date. One day the big campus football hero came up to her before the most special dance of the year and said, “You know, I would ask you to go to the dance with me if you would lower your standards just a little.”

There was no hesitation in her voice as she replied, “If I would go out with you, I would be lowering my standards.” Be strong enough to make your decisions to not follow worldly ways.

"I speak now of immodest, casual, or slovenly dress and grooming that in particular times and places mocks the sacredness of what is taking place or of the place itself. Let me give you an example. A while back a young woman from another state came to live with some of her relatives in the Salt Lake City area for a few weeks. On her first Sunday she came to church dressed in a simple, nice blouse and knee-length skirt set off with a light, button-up sweater. She wore hose and dress shoes, and her hair was combed simply but with care. Her overall appearance created an impression of youthful grace.
"Unfortunately, she immediately felt out of place. It seemed like all the other young women her age or near her age were dressed in casual skirts, some rather distant from the knee; tight T-shirt-like tops that barely met the top of their skirts at the waist (some bare instead of barely); no socks or stockings; and clunky sneakers or flip-flops.
"One would have hoped that seeing the new girl, the other girls would have realized how inappropriate their manner of dress was for a chapel and for the Sabbath day and immediately changed for the better. Sad to say, however, they did not, and it was the visitor who, in order to fit in, adopted the fashion (if you can call it that) of her host ward.
"It is troubling to see this growing trend that is not limited to young women but extends to older women, to men, and to young men as well. Some say dress and hair don't matter--it's what's inside that counts. I believe that truly it is what's inside a person that counts, but that's what worries me. Casual dress at holy places and events is a message about what is inside a person.
"It may be pride or rebellion or something else, but at a minimum it says, 'I don't get it. I don't understand the difference between the sacred and the profane.' In that condition they are easily drawn away from the Lord. They do not appreciate the value of what they have. I worry about them. Unless they can gain some understanding and capture some feeling for sacred things, they are at risk of eventually losing all that matters most. You are Saints of the great latter-day dispensation--look the part."

In 2024, when my wife and I arrived on our mission in Tahiti, we were delighted to see her again—and even happier to learn she had returned to the Church two years earlier. She shared what prompted her return:
“You have to know that throughout my time away from the Church, I kept my testimony of the gospel and had a deep desire for my daughter, Kahaili, to grow up as I had—in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I wanted her to know that God lives, that He loves her, and that He has a plan for her to return to live with Him and her family if she kept His commandments. Yet I didn’t want to return to church myself. Quite contradictory, wasn’t it?
“Kahaili occasionally attended meetings with my mother, but this sporadic attendance wouldn’t adequately prepare her for baptism. In 2022, when Kahaili was six and a half, I realized we only had a year and a half to prepare. I say ‘we’ because this process meant I would have to become involved personally, not relying on my mother or anyone else.
“I asked her, ‘Kahaili, do you want to be baptized when you turn eight?’
“Without hesitation, she replied, ‘Yes, Mom, I want to be baptized!’
“Her enthusiasm amazed me, and in that outpouring of fervor, I found the courage to make the sacrifice and return to church.
“We attended that first Sunday alone. But soon after, my husband, Cyril (although not a member of the Church), joined us, feeling his place was with us. When Kahaili expressed her desire for her father to baptize her, I responded with a forced smile, ‘Well, ask your daddy. You never know!’—not believing for a moment it could happen. Her father replied, ‘If I can, my daughter, I will.’”
The Lord then intervened in Cyril’s life. His conversion came through reading Ether 12:4: “Wherefore, whoso believeth in God might with surety hope for a better world, yea, even a place at the right hand of God, which hope cometh of faith, maketh an anchor to the souls of men, which would make them sure and steadfast, always abounding in good works, being led to glorify God.”
This scripture about hope becoming an anchor resonated deeply with Cyril as he recalled nearly drowning in the Tuamotus lagoon years earlier. While he was fishing, his boat had drifted away when its anchor came loose. Despite swimming desperately to catch up, he grew exhausted. Miraculously, the boat’s anchor caught on a coral formation, stopping the boat so he could reach it. Cyril still describes this as a miracle that saved his life.
Like a rebirth, Cyril was baptized on March 28, 2024—his 50th birthday. The following month, he baptized Kahaili. The crowning moment came on April 12, 2025, when Sophronia, Cyril, and Kahaili were sealed in the Papeete Tahiti Temple. We had the privilege of attending this sacred ceremony.
I share this story to testify that there is always hope when family members stray from the Church. Even if it takes a quarter century, through faith in Jesus Christ, a miracle is always possible.

Patricia Holland
Jeff is kidding you. We really have a perfect marriage. My father told me we would have even when we were dating. Just a few nights before we were to be married, we had some kind of a little lovers’ quarrel, and I was really upset with Jeff and said, “Please take me home.” He brought me home and I ran into the house, slammed the door, ran into my father’s bedroom, woke him up out of a dead sleep, and said, “Daddy, you’ve got to call this wedding off. This marriage just won’t work.”
My father in all his wisdom sat up in bed and said, “I will not call this marriage off. This marriage was made in heaven.” When I stopped crying long enough to find out why, he said, “Because the rocks in Jeff’s head will fill the holes in yours.”

I remember reading the account of a man who, just after the passing of his wife, opened her dresser drawer and found there an item of clothing she had purchased when they visited the eastern part of the United States nine years earlier. She had not worn it but was saving it for a special occasion. Now, of course, that occasion would never come.
In relating the experience to a friend, the husband of the deceased wife said, “Don’t save something only for a special occasion. Every day in your life is a special occasion.”
That friend later said those words changed her life. They helped her cease putting off the things most important to her. Said she: “Now I spend more time with my family. I use crystal glasses every day. I’ll wear new clothes to go to the supermarket if I feel like it. The words ‘someday’ and ‘one day’ are fading from my vocabulary. Now I take the time to call my relatives and closest friends. I’ve called old friends to make peace over past quarrels. I tell my family members how much I love them. I try not to delay or postpone anything that could bring laughter and joy into our lives. And each morning, I say to myself that this could be a special day. Each day, each hour, each minute is special.”

I didn’t want to admit it, but no one else was going to. Even though I barely knew how to play five hymns, I was the only one in the whole seminary class willing to admit that I played the piano. It was my senior year, and I’d never had to play in class before because there was always someone else who volunteered, but not this semester. The title of official piano player gave me some confidence in my small talent—until I realized no one seemed to care.
With my new seminary responsibility, I worried that the class would get tired of singing the same songs over and over, so I tried to stumble through the top hand notes of songs I hadn’t played before. I soon stopped struggling to keep the melody going when I realized few were singing. Daily I became more and more reluctant to play. I purposely came late, hoping I’d miss that part of the devotional. I felt learning to play hymns was a waste of time, and I was ashamed to have to get up in front of the class every day.
Then one day, when I’d particularly struggled through a song I’d never practiced, my attitude changed. As I returned to my desk after playing, I found a note on my scriptures. At first, I thought it was a prank. Nevertheless, I opened it. On a paper torn from a day planner was written, “I appreciate you for playing the piano for our class. Music that you play brings a good spirit.”
I realized then my responsibility as the class piano player wasn’t just playing a song. I was inviting the Spirit of the Lord into the class. I began learning and practicing as many hymns as I could. I paid attention to the feelings they created, and I gained the confidence to play them with meaning.
I don’t know if many people noticed the improvement in my playing, but I know I helped at least a few people praise the Lord through song, even if it was only me and the person who wrote that encouraging note.

I close with a wonderful story of what I consider to be a true convert of the Lord Jesus Christ. This story was shared by President Gordon B. Hinckley at General Conference:

"I met a naval officer from a distant nation, a brilliant young man who had been brought to the United States for advanced training. Some of his associates in the United States Navy, whose behavior had attracted him, shared with him at his request their religious beliefs. He was not a Christian, but he was interested. They told him of the Savior of the world, Jesus Christ, born in Bethlehem, who gave his life for all mankind. They told him of the appearance of God, the Eternal Father, and the resurrected Lord to the boy Joseph Smith. They spoke of modern prophets. They taught him the gospel of the Master. The Spirit touched his heart, and he was baptized."He was introduced to me just before he was to return to his native land. We spoke of these things, and then I said, 'Your people are not Christians. What will happen when you return home a Christian, and more particularly, a Mormon Christian?'"His face clouded, and he replied, 'My family will be disappointed. They may cast me out and regard me as dead. As for my future and my career, all opportunity may be foreclosed against me.'"I asked, 'Are you willing to pay so great a price for the gospel?'"His eyes, moistened by tears, shone from his handsome brown face as he answered, 'It's true, isn't it?'"Ashamed at having asked the question, I responded, 'Yes, it's true.' To which he replied, "Then what else matters?"[41]

As one who is striving to be a fully converted disciple of Jesus Christ, I declare that there is nothing else that matters but to stand boldly and nobly in defense of truth.

Along the road, perhaps nearly half way from the mouth of Parley’s Canyon to the city, I … saw a bright-colored, dainty, charming little girl approaching me in the middle of the street. It was a strange meeting, we two. My hair had grown out somewhat. But three months’ journey over the plains and through the mountains without hat or coat or shoes for most of the way had wrought havoc with my appearance. My hair stuck out in all directions; the freckles seemed deeper and more plentiful and the features less attractive than when the journey began. Shirt and trousers barely clung to my sturdy form, and my feet were black and cracked. …

But try as I would, the shock of hair was unmanageable, and so no wonder the dainty little lady was somewhat timid in approaching me. She had on her arm a basket of luscious fruit, peaches, plums, and grapes. These she extended to me, the “ugly duckling” of a boy from the plains, and asked me if I would have some peaches. The answer was to gather up several which I strung along in the crook of my arm, and as soon as I had obtained what I supposed a reasonable portion, I wondered how I could get this fruit so wonderful back to Polly [his sister, Mary] and … turned back as best I could to the wagon where Polly was concealed under the wagon cover because of her being a little ashamed of her appearance. Running behind the wheel ox and climbing up on the tongue of the wagon, I called to my sister, handed to her the fruit . …

… Across the way on Temple Square block, the foundations of the temple rose above the general level of the surrounding ground and seemed to be an object of interest to nearly all the emigrants, many of whom were permitted to go within the wall, and view it. By and by there were numerous meetings in various groups of people, friends of the emigrants, parents and sweethearts, and perhaps in some instances wives of the teamsters that had returned. There seemed to be an air of cheerfulness in all this meeting of people on the arrival of this large emigrant train of Saints.
Mary and I seemed to be so little part of this excitement and joy, because nobody seemed to come for us. Mary remained concealed under the wagon cover, and I lonesome and heartsick sat upon the tongue of [the] wagon, my chin in my hands and elbows upon my knees, thinking “Zion” was not so much after all, if this was all of it. …
Presently, however, approaching from the west gate, I saw a woman in a red and white plaid shawl. … She seemed to be daintily picking her way, and there was something in the movement of her head as she looked to the right and to the left that seemed familiar to me. The woman was moving in my direction, and the closer she came the stronger the conviction grew upon me that there was my mother. …
I stood until she came nearly parallel to where I sat; then sliding from the tongue of the wagon, I took a few steps, which brought me near to her and, plucking her gown, I said: “Hey Mother,” and she looked down upon my upturned face. Without moving she gazed upon me for some time and at last said, “Is this you, Harry? Where is Polly?” Of course Polly was in the wagon, and I led my mother to where she was hiding, and when mother and daughter met, there was a flood of tears on both sides. At last I joined them, making the trio of the united family. It seemed difficult for our mother to realize that we at last were her children after more than four years of separation, but once in a while, a smile would break through the tears and she seemed to be extremely happy. A neighbor of hers … had driven her from Bountiful to the city to get us children, and it took but a short time to leave the remaining emigrant teams and people to find this wagon and make the start for home, Bountiful.
There was one thing remembered in this reunion, and that was on my part. I felt that I had arrived, that I belonged to somebody, that somebody had an interest in me, and these were the thoughts that were in my mind as I sat in the wagon on the drive home to Bountiful. I had heard incidentally that my mother owned her house, and that, of course, for English people, who among the poorer classes were all renters, meant a great deal to me. Now I was going to my mother’s home—her own house.
As the wagon drew near to Bountiful, … we came to the site of a log house with a dirt roof on one part of it and another part adjoining on the south that had been built up to the square with logs unchinked without a roof, and this, my mother turned to explain to me, was her home. But soon mother and children climbed out of the wagon and went into the house. …
No one was at home when the little group entered, much to the disappointment of the mother as to the children, for, of course, we were anxious to meet our other sister, “Annie,” who was remembered lovingly by us. Our mother seemed annoyed, for she had expected her other daughter at home, perhaps with supper ready. It was only a short time, however, until “Sister Annie” came in and what a charming thing she was—bright, blue-eyed, fine long hair combed back from her face. Everything about her seemed so perfectly clean and wholesome, and to my eyes she was beautiful too, and spritely. She seemed to be everywhere about the house at once, and the meal that our mother had expected was soon under way. …
… What was left of the day was the wonderful meal prepared by Annie. Not much variety of food, for our mother was desperately poor, but what there was, was fit for princes—just white light buttermilk biscuits with butter, clear water from the creek, and dark, sweet, sticky fluid called “Molasses.” It was heartily enjoyed, Mary and me furnishing the principle appetites. How long the talk of the reunion lasted is not remembered, but it must have been far into the night. With the awakening of the next day, my life in Utah had begun.

“If choosing the right is supposed to bring you blessings,” I thought to myself, “then why am I sitting alone in the hall of my new junior high?”
I didn’t know many people in my new school. My music class was where I felt most comfortable because I like to sing. After weeks of being the new kid, it was nice to feel like I fit in. Today, however, was different. Mrs. Wyler (name has been changed) had brought a recording of a popular Broadway musical, one my stake president had cautioned us to avoid. Mrs. Wyler turned to the class: “Any comments before we start?” she asked.
I squirmed in my chair. Everyone was looking eagerly toward Mrs. Wyler, the disc in her hand. I thought perhaps I could sing Church songs in my head to drown out the lyrics she would play, but I knew that would be hard for me in this situation. I looked at Mrs. Wyler as my hand slowly went up in the air.
“Yes, Jill?” she said as she inserted the disc into the player. I couldn’t think of what to say. I couldn’t say that my stake president told me not to listen to this musical, because she wouldn’t know what a stake president was. I had no idea how to explain, especially in front of the entire class.
“I have religious objections to this musical,” I said, knowing it sounded lame. The class was now watching me in silence.
“Oh,” said Mrs. Wyler, glancing at the clock, “Why don’t you just take your chair and sit in the hall this period.” As the door swung shut I could hear the wave of laughter as the music began. Sitting in the hall was miserable. “So much for making friends in this school,” I thought.
A couple of weeks later in English class, my teacher passed out copies of some new poems. One student raised her hand. “I have religious objections to these poems,” she said. I glanced over at her quickly, thinking she was making fun of me, but she looked back at me and smiled a real smile.
Instead of having people think I was stupid for having standards, it became the popular thing to do. Sometimes you have to show where you stand by where you are willing to sit.

After I finished high school, I worked at a meat market to support myself and help support my family. The Korean War was going on, and each ward could send only a certain number of young men on missions. One day while I was working at the market, I sat down to rest for a few minutes. I was alone, and the Spirit came over me and told me that it was time for me to commit to serve a mission. The next Sunday I told my bishop that I wanted to do so. He said that the quota for missionaries from our ward had just been increased by one. I was that one. Because I listened to the Holy Ghost, I was able to serve a mission, and my mission was the turning point that has led to everything else good in my life.

At the end of eighth grade, I was having a really hard time. It seemed like nothing was going my way.
I never saw my mom. She worked a night shift and took care of my aunt who was dying of cancer. My dad had died a year earlier. I felt very lost and alone, like I had no friends or family to comfort me. At school I was quiet and didn’t open up much. I quit hanging out with my friends. At the time, I didn’t think I was acting that differently. I tried to be myself and be as happy as I could. Now I look back and realize I was feeling down and falling even further.
A friend who I had just started hanging out with had a very strong testimony. She was in one of my classes, and one day, out of nowhere, she handed me a letter. In it, she described her hardships and expressed her testimony, which was one of the strongest testimonies I had ever read.
At the end of the letter there was the scripture, John 14:18: “I will not leave you comfortless: I will come to you.”
I felt as though God was telling me through my friend that I was not alone, even though I felt as though I had no friends or family. Now I know I will never be alone because I can go to my Heavenly Father through prayer. He will always be there.

Lindsey Lawrence (below right) wanted to meet Jamie Gregory. Lindsey had seen her in the halls at school in her home in Woodstown, New Jersey, but wasn’t sure how to approach her because Jamie is deaf, and all Lindsey knew was finger spelling. Communicating was a potential problem.
“And I didn’t want to approach her because I didn’t want her to think I was stupid if I messed up or something,” says Lindsey.
Eventually she did approach Jamie, she learned American Sign Language, and now Lindsey and Jamie are fast friends.
“Jamie’s a good example for me. I’ve always felt close to her. When I first saw her, I knew she was one of those people you’re going to absolutely love.”

When I opened my mission call and learned I would serve an English-speaking mission in America, I was relieved. I struggled in vain to learn a language in high school, and I was glad I wouldn’t have to deal with that again in the MTC.
During my mission I served in a Samoan ward. Most of the members spoke English as well, so we could easily work with them.
Then my companion and I began to teach a part-member family who had been raised in Samoa and had just moved to America. When one of the girls asked me to perform her baptism, I felt impressed to learn how to say the baptism prayer in Samoan. I knew my weakness in learning other languages, but my love for her and her family overcame my fear.
That night I went to another member’s house so he could teach me how to say the prayer in Samoan. Despite 30 minutes of practicing, I left discouraged and frustrated because I had not gotten very far. That night I asked the Lord to bless me with the gift of tongues if He wanted me to say the baptism prayer in Samoan.
When I practiced the next morning, I quickly found I was not only able to say the baptism prayer, but also recite it from memory. The day of the baptism came, and I was able to say the baptism prayer in Samoan nearly perfectly. I felt the Spirit work through me. I know the Lord can work miracles for us if we have the faith and allow Him to work through us.

Keite de Lima A. Ahmed and Viviana Torres Noguera struggled to make ends meet even though their husbands worked hard for their families. For both, the PEF was a great blessing.
Less-active members of Keite’s family expressed doubts, however, when she registered for an 18-month safety-technician program. But she excelled in her studies and was offered a full-time position in her field in 2007.
“The fund did more than just help me receive training and employment; it also helped me feel better about myself and grow more confident in my abilities,” says Keite, one of the first women hired to conduct safety inspections, training, and implementation by a company in São José dos Pinhais, near Curitiba. “This inspired program has brought our family greater happiness and stronger testimonies,” she says.
Keite’s parents and siblings, impressed with her performance and determination and with how the PEF blessed her family, have returned to activity in the Church. “They were reminded that the Church lifts people and helps them grow in many ways—not only spiritually but also in all important ways that make for a full life,” she says.

Photograph by Richard M. Romney
“Join in the jubilee,” the hymn says. “Mingle in song” (“Thanks for the Sabbath School,” Hymns, no. 278). Every Sunday for more than three years, a group of youth in Utah have done just that. Not out of assignment or obligation, but out of love for sacred music and a desire to serve, they show up each Sunday at a local care center to sing hymns.
Like many others, Kaden G., 17, started singing at the care center when a friend invited him to join in. “At first I thought, ‘I’ll do it because it’s service,’” he says. “But I found it builds your testimony to sing the hymns. Hymns invite the Spirit. They have a huge influence on people.”
“I love seeing people smile when we sing for them,” says Allie G., 17. “I love seeing how much they appreciate it when we come, and I love the good feeling we have when youth get together to do something good.”
One of the residents, Nadine Taylor, has responded to the kindness of the teenagers by making pillowcases. “They’re personalized for each of us,” Allie says. “Nadine pulled me aside and asked me what my interests are.” Because Allie loves music, including composing songs, her pillowcase features musical notes. “It’s so detailed and stitched so perfectly,” she says. “It’s awesome to receive a personal ‘thank you.’”
“Mine has a soccer player on it,” Kaden says. “It has my jersey number and color from when I used to play.” Nadine obtained that information from some of the other teens. “I was really surprised,” Kaden says. “It means a lot.”
“I’m grateful that these young people are so dependable,” Sister Taylor says. “They come every Sunday, and their singing makes us feel loved.”

The four-wheel-drive pickup bumped carefully along the twisted mountain road leading into Chulac, a plantation built among the mountains of the Central Highlands in Guatemala. Rain suddenly spilled from the dark clouds and lashed the windshield as the truck arrived at the central house of the 23,000-acre plantation.
At the wheel was Cordell Andersen, president of the Guatemala Cobàn District. Seated next to him were two missionaries to the Kekchi Indians, Elder Bringhurst of California and Elder Rios-Lazo of Costa Rica. Riding under the canopy were President Andersen’s oldest daughter, Julie, 17, and her two Provo (Utah) High School friends, Leslie Ann Knight and Ann Gardner. The fourth occupant was Gustavo Ramirez, a 73-year-old convert to the Church. Brother Gustavo was an itinerant dentist.
The full-time and member missionaries had come because the cooperative manager, who lived five hours away in San Cristobal, had met the missionaries and become interested in their message about the book of his ancestors and the religion of his forefathers.
The missionaries in San Cristobal then met with the plantation’s board of directors, each of whom purchased a copy of the Book of Mormon, and invited the missionaries to visit the plantation. President Andersen arranged to take a set of missionaries on an overnight visit to Chulac.
It was at the end of a workday on Friday when they finally pulled into the large courtyard of the central house and sought shelter from the drenching rain. Several workers, holding torn pieces of plastic over their heads, raced across the courtyard to meet the visitors. They took President Andersen and the two missionaries to the plantation office where arrangements were made for meals and lodging.
Meanwhile Brother Gustavo, who’d been let off under an overhang by the plantation store, was telling a number of workers that he would be willing to pull any infected teeth. He also gave an introduction to the Book of Mormon and said there would be a meeting after dark for those interested.
By the time arrangements for lodging were made, the rain had let up. Two workers brought over a box and set it on edge for Brother Gustavo. The itinerant dentist pulled out his bag and arranged his tools along the hood of the truck as his first patient took a seat on the box. He took out a bottle of novocaine and filled a syringe.
After the tooth had been pulled, the visitors unloaded a portable generator and a slide projector. They carried the equipment and an extension cord with a light bulb into the warehouse where the meeting was to be held. Later, along with President Andersen, they visited several families nearby.
President Andersen explained that wages at the cooperative averaged $1.25 a day, with a two-week bonus at Christmas. From surplus profits the workers had purchased a marimba and several other musical instruments the previous year.
Many of the Indians lived in improved dwellings. Although these homes had no floors, they were larger than the unimproved dwelling and were usually sheeted with galvanized roofing rather than thatched.
“Under the cooperative rules no one who drinks can be a member,” President Andersen explained. “This was their own decision.”
That night 175 people assembled for the meeting. One of the cooperative leaders, who was also a lay leader in his own church, apologized for the lack of a crowd. “It is too bad you can’t stay tomorrow night,” he said. “There would be a much larger crowd.”
President Andersen started the generator. By the light of the single light bulb Julie, Leslie, Ann, and the other visitors sang an opening song.
Brother Gustavo followed the song with a prayer in the Indian dialect, and President Andersen, speaking in Spanish, explained the origin of the Book of Mormon. Brother Gustavo translated. Elder Bringhurst then talked in Kekchi to the 175 people. After he concluded, he and Elder Rios-Lazo sang “I Am a Child of God” in Kekchi.
When the meeting was concluded, few got up to go. Instead, they gathered into small groups. Those who spoke only Kekchi talked with Elder Bringhurst and Brother Ramirez. Those who understood Spanish asked Elder Rios-Lazo and President Andersen several questions.
The district president then explained that although they had to leave in the morning, Brother Gustavo was remaining for the rest of the day to extract teeth and to answer gospel questions. This member-missionary had only a one quetzal note (equivalent to $1) in his pocket from pulling the tooth earlier, but he was not worried about getting back home.
“Perhaps I’ll pull enough infected teeth to get a bus ticket and to buy some food,” he said with the confidence of the recently converted.
After breakfast the next morning, the visitors said good-bye and started home. As they drove along ridges and cliffs, past cattle, scattered Indian homes, and a mine, President Andersen explained that the secret in the Central Highlands, as in the rest of the world, is member-missionary work.
“It’s people like Brother Gustavo who really help the work go forth. There just aren’t enough full-time missionaries to go around,” he said, “especially here where the people live in a scattered condition.”
During the following weeks and months the missionaries and President Andersen continued visiting the people at the Chulac Plantation, telling them more about the book of their ancestors. This missionary work bore fruit when one Saturday 20 people entered the waters of baptism. Among them were seven couples, the ten-year-old daughter of one of the couples, and five teenage boys. One hundred and fifteen of their neighbors were on hand to witness the sacred event.
The next day the converts and 12 other adults bore testimony in their native Kekchi dialect to the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon and the benefits of living gospel principles.
President Andersen later wrote, “Add to the adults their children who have been blessed and it comes to 37 new members of the Church.”
Less than a year after the people of Chulac first heard the gospel, serious plans were being made to organize a branch in that remote area of the Central Highlands of Guatemala.
For those people, the missionary adventure has just begun.

A third fundamental in this exciting challenge of reclaiming the inactive is that of timing. The scripture rightly says:
“To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:
“A time to be born, … a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted.” (Eccl. 3:1–2.)
My stake missionary friend had another convincing experience that taught him never to regard people as unchanging or unchangeable. They are neither stones nor stars. They are in constant motion.
A doctor rebuffed my friend in his attempts to serve as a home teacher. This doctor was a Church member in name only. His door seemed to be permanently and tightly closed to representatives of the Church. Then one evening my friend was visiting the hospital and was surprised and saddened to find in one bed the intractable doctor. He humbly and courageously asked, “Wouldn’t you like us to give you a blessing?”
“That, above all things right now, would help me most,” affirmed the doctor, weak and dispirited. And that, said my friend, was what it took to reactivate this heretofore inactive brother. It seems that for everyone there is a time—if only the Spirit of God sensitizes our hearts to the action we should take!

It’s game point, and the pressure is on. The volleyball soars over the net in a perfect serve, beginning what could be the final play of the regional championship game. Each team hustles for every return, prolonging the play and anticipation. Athletic battle rages on the court, every team member playing her heart out, desperate to end the game and win the championship.
One player places herself in position to hit a tricky shot—and misses. Game over. One team celebrates; the other is angry at their teammate who missed. They shoot nasty words to her and yell disparaging comments across the court to the other team. The victorious team retaliates, gloating and returning harsh comments.

When my son had his first tooth come in and when he took his first step, I wanted to call my mom. Tell my dad. Text pictures to my brothers. But I can’t. And I never can.
My parents and two of my brothers passed away seven years ago. I still remember it as if it were last week. I remember finding out that they were gone, coming home from my mission, and having to plan a funeral. But even after everything was over, my journey of grief was just beginning. This traumatic event released emotions that were more intense than I knew were possible to experience.
Feelings of anger, sadness, numbness, anxiety, and depression became regular emotions that I suddenly had to learn to cope with. It would be easy to assume that all grief progresses linearly, ending in a state of well-being. However, feelings don’t always happen in a set order. These feelings come and go over the course of a lifetime.
Sometimes, when grieving, we feel pressure—even subconsciously—to only portray the positive. In my experience, people understood that I would need to grieve, but as time went on, I felt I wasn’t allowed to honestly say how I was feeling. There was an expectation for comfortable answers—“I’m fine,” “I’m OK”—rather than the honest answer that I was still struggling.
The plan of salvation gives us the promise that as we “press forward … and endure to the end, … [w]e shall have eternal life” (2 Nephi 31:20). We “press forward” by exercising faith—doing things like reading our scriptures, attending the temple and Church meetings, and fulfilling callings. But sometimes in the middle of grief, it can feel like we’re failing at having faith in God’s plan if we show others our emotions.
Many people in the scriptures experienced confusion or questioning during times of trauma. While imprisoned in Liberty Jail, the Prophet Joseph Smith prayed in agony, “Oh God, where art thou?” (Doctrine and Covenants 121:1). After his father, Lehi, passed away, Nephi asked, “O Lord, wilt thou redeem my soul?” (2 Nephi 4:31). And Job, after so many awful trials, wondered why he’d even been born (see Job 3:11). The scriptures teach:
“To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: …
“… A time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up;
“A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance” (Ecclesiastes 3:1, 3–4).
Heavenly Father understands that during times of intense suffering or loss, we will struggle. He knows that there will be moments when we mourn and experience sadness. We need those experiences in order to move forward with our lives.
But even though Heavenly Father has prepared “a time and season” for grief, we still sometimes feel pressure to move on or be happy right away. If Heavenly Father is patient with us during our struggles, shouldn’t we be patient with ourselves?
When navigating your own season of grief, here are a few things I have found to be helpful:
Give yourself permission to feel things in your own way and time. Cry when you need to.
Reach out to others for help, and be honest about your feelings.
Don’t feel bad for experiencing moments of sadness, even long after the loss has happened.
Always remember that because of God’s plan, we can feel peace. Our struggles won’t last forever.
The Savior was the perfect example of mourning with those who mourn. He healed the sick and lifted the afflicted. He taught, listened, and loved others regardless of their struggles. He even navigated His own season of grief while He suffered in the Garden of Gethsemane.
Grief is a difficult life transition to face. To the person who is grieving, know that it’s OK to not have all the answers. To the person who is trying to help, it’s OK to not know what to do. The Savior extends this relief to all: “Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest” (Matthew 11:28).
Elder Ulisses Soares of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles reminds us: “We must acknowledge that He is aware of each of us and of our needs. … The Lord’s timing is different than ours. … We need to trust the Lord enough to be still and know that He is God, that He knows all things, and that He is aware of each of us.”1
As we come unto Him in our grief, we can find peace in the hope that “all things shall work together for [our] good” (Doctrine and Covenants 90:24).