Gospel Story Finder

Mozambique. The name, for some, conjures images of exotic wildlife, lush green vegetation, or white-sand beaches. More likely, it will send the average person scrambling for a map to discover its location in southeast Africa. But for Maria da Conceição, it means home. And thanks to the efforts of members in the Inhamízua Branch and a few missionaries, Maria now has a place in Mozambique to call her own.
Maria is a tiny woman with a gigantic spirit. Abandoned by her husband and oldest daughter, she was left to rear two small children on her own. Crippled by a debilitating disease she has had since birth, Maria struggled to pay the rent each month. In a country that has high unemployment, work and money are nearly impossible to come by. Yet Maria managed to make a meager living and do the best she could.
I was a full-time missionary in Mozambique. When I first met Maria, I was impressed by her positive attitude and zest for life. She worked relentlessly in her machamba (large garden) to provide for two children and herself and to pay rent on a small mud house.
Church members helped by providing food and medical care. Tragically, Maria’s two children died within three weeks of each other due to disease and no access to the right medical facilities. Death and suffering are common in Mozambique.
Serving as the branch president for our tiny branch, I was extremely concerned for Maria. Both the youth and adult members of our isolated branch did everything they could to help Maria. Some worked in the machamba, others offered food, and a few even helped pay the rent; but she needed a permanent answer.
Late one night, while I was pondering and searching for an answer, inspiration came to me in the form of an idea for an ambitious youth project: building a home for Maria. My companion, Elder Bis-Neto, and I proposed our idea to the younger members of the branch, and they jumped at the chance to help build Maria a house. There was little money and a great deal of work to be done, but with many willing hands and a vision of a traditional African mud-and-stick house, a plan took shape, and the youth went to work.
Everyone got down to business immediately. First job: get wood.
A trip into the African jungle to gather wood for building a home is not a job for the fainthearted. The youth and missionaries made many two-hour trips through thick, swampy savannas, endless rice fields, dense overgrown jungles, and waist-deep mud to find the perfect trees with which to build Maria’s house. Using machetes, we hacked down the slender trees and then organized them into bundles for the journey back. Some of the youth used tall wild grass to quickly weave hats to help protect their heads from the rough logs.
The most difficult leg of the journey now began. Carrying a heavy load on our heads, scratching our way through the dense undergrowth, and battling the scorching African sun, we hauled our loads back. As we walked, the youth sang hymns of Zion, with smiles on their faces.
Alves Elídio Eguimane Razão, 18, says, “It was a lot of hard work, and we loved every minute of it!”
The wooden frame went up stick by stick, with care given to ensure a sturdy and lasting structure. Many generous hands constructed the roof by laying down strips of plastic, which were secured with mats of woven weeds. This roof would need to repel the violent storms of the annual rainy season.
From mud walls to mud floors to mud pies, mud was the menu for most building days. Barrel after barrel of rich brown dirt was hauled in and then drenched in water. Dozens of youth and other branch members turned out to help hand mix the mud and cover the frame house. The exterior was done first, followed by the interior walls and partition. After we had packed the walls with several inches of strong, dried mud, the house started to take shape. To jazz up the interior, a special layer of mud was carefully applied to create the floor and solid water-resistant surfaces.
These days were full of hard work, but the atmosphere abounded in good humor and many smiles, not to mention the surprised eyes of the neighbors as they watched missionaries and youth carrying large bundles of sticks and gallons upon gallons of water and slinging handfuls of mud.
Finally the door was hung, a lock installed, and the house was done. After more than 1,000 service hours, given by more than 40 members and a number of missionaries, Maria da Conceição had a beautiful home of her own.

President Kimball’s visit to Australia was the second official visit of a president of the Church. The first was President David O. McKay in 1955. When President McKay was in Brisbane, Australia, the mission president one day took him out to see the city. During the course of the day they were looking across the Brisbane River into a new suburb which was known as Chermside. President McKay said to the mission president, “Do we have any missionaries in that area?” The mission president said, “No.” President McKay said, “Send the missionaries in, for the people are ready.” Missionaries were sent into the area and they enjoyed tremendous success. Today Chermside is part of the Brisbane Fourth Ward of the Brisbane Australia Stake.

“Hi, Mom,” Max called as he walked into the kitchen and set his backpack down.
“Hey, buddy.” Mom pulled Max into a big hug and ruffled his hair. “Wow. I can hardly see you under there! I think you need a haircut.”
Max grinned. “I was thinking the same thing. And I know just how I want it cut. You know that haircut where it’s shorter in the back and on the sides and longer on the top?” A lot of boys in Max’s class had that haircut. And so did Max’s favorite comic book character—Sam Slate, kid superspy.
“I’m not really an expert hair cutter, but I think I can do that,” Mom said.
“I’ll grab the clippers.” Max raced to the bathroom as fast as he could. He couldn’t wait for his awesome new haircut!
When Max got back, Mom was ready with a towel, a chair, and a hand mirror.
“How short do you want it in the back?” she asked. She showed Max the clipper sizes, one through eight. “The smaller the clipper number, the shorter it cuts the hair.”
“Hmm.” Max sorted through the different clippers. “Maybe a size two on the bottom and a seven on top?”
“All right. Have a seat. World’s best haircut coming up!” Mom draped the towel over Max’s shoulders and turned on the clippers. Max listened to the buzzing sound as she trimmed around his ears. The falling hair tickled the back of his neck. Max tried to picture how he’d look when Mom was done. He could already feel himself transforming into Sam Slate.
Max’s younger sister, Emma, came in through the front door.
“Hi, Mom! I’m home.”
“We’re in the kitchen, honey,” Mom called.
Emma poked her head through the doorway. “Oh! Looking good.” She came in and dropped her backpack on the table. “I’m starving!”
“Me too,” Max said.
Emma peeked into a cupboard. “Can I make peanut butter crackers, Mom?”
“Sure. Can you make Max some too?”
“OK.” Emma stood on her tiptoes to reach for the peanut butter on the top shelf. “It’s too high. Mom, can you help me?”
“Good timing. I just finished with the back.” Mom switched off the clippers and went to help Emma. Then she came back and stood in front of Max. “OK, now for part two.”
Max was so excited that he wanted to jump out of his chair. But he sat very still. Mom made the first cut. Then she gasped.
“What’s wrong?” Max asked.
Mom bit her lip. “Max, I am so sorry! I forgot to change out the clippers for the top.”
Max’s heart sank. He slowly picked up the mirror.
“I can cut the rest of your hair short to match,” Mom said. “But that’s the best I can do.”
Max stared at the big chunk of missing hair. He definitely didn’t look like Sam Slate. He looked like a disaster! For a second, he wanted to shout or maybe cry. But instead, he took a deep breath. Mom was just trying to help. After a minute, he felt a lot calmer.
“It’s OK, Mom. After all, hair grows back, right?” he said with a smile.
Mom gave him a hug. “Right. And when it does, I’ll triple-check the settings so you can have the world’s best haircut.”
Mom finished cutting Max’s hair. It wasn’t the cool style Max wanted, but it was OK. Max smiled as he looked in the mirror again. He had followed Jesus by choosing to be kind. And being like Jesus was even better than being like Sam Slate.

When I was called as president of my Beehive class, the responsibility of representing my class at the monthly Bishopric Youth Committee meeting really scared me. I was worried about speaking in front of the whole group. I was afraid I wouldn’t know what to do or what to say, and I was afraid of being the youngest one there, but there was no way out.
The night before the meeting I sat in my room worrying, until I remembered my teachers saying that the answer to any problem could be found in the scriptures. I grabbed my scriptures, but I had no idea where to look, so I checked the Topical Guide under “fear.” There I found a verse that seemed to save my life. It was the last part of Doctrine and Covenants 38:30: “… if ye are prepared ye shall not fear.” [D&C 38:30]
No scripture has ever had such a powerful impact on me as that one did. I thought to myself, “Am I prepared?” Yes, I was. I knew what we would talk about, and I knew my adviser would be there to help me. I knew the Lord would be with me, and I didn’t need to fear, because I was prepared.

When I think of what respect for others looks and feels like, I think of an experience from the life of President James E. Faust. On one occasion after he had been called as a General Authority, then Elder Faust, his wife, and two family members decided to attend a session at the Washington DC Temple. His son recalled that after they had arrived and entered the temple, his father
presented his recommend, which [was] a special one issued to the General Authorities and look[ed] somewhat different. The gentleman who was checking recommends did not know what it was and told my father he wouldn’t be able to enter the temple. Rather than embarrassing the man by telling him who he was, Dad politely excused himself and we all left. [Marcus G. Faust, quoted in James P. Bell, In the Strength of the Lord: The Life and Teachings of James E. Faust (Salt Lake City: Deseret Book, 1999), 188]
I am moved by the deep respect that President Faust showed to the man at the recommend desk. President Faust acknowledged and respected him, letting him do his duty as he had been instructed. Because of that respect, President Faust would rather not go in the temple than cause the man embarrassment in front of others. So, as a fellow disciple, President Faust did the respectful thing: he thanked the man and left.

It was a tradition in our family to cross-country ski to our cabin each winter. My dad left for the cabin early with my two sisters. The weather was good, and they had no trouble skiing. The next morning when the rest of us started, weather conditions had changed.
Heavy snow was coming down. Large wet, sticky flakes were piling up fast. I was helping all I could as we pulled the sleds with kids and food on them behind us as we skied. With the new snow, the sleds were heavy and weren’t sliding along as they usually did. It only took a little while for us to see that we wouldn’t make it alone. Mom told me to go ahead to the cabin to find Dad.
I started out and was soon alone in the swirling snow. I came to a place where the path through the trees went two different directions. I started one way, but soon didn’t recognize the area. I went a little farther but soon felt frustrated because I wasn’t sure where I was.
I fell down crying, yelling for help. No one heard me and the flakes seemed to be coming down even harder. I remembered a talk I had heard in church from a college student home for Christmas. She said that when she needed help she would read her scriptures and pray. Soon her problems became easier to deal with and understand. She told of how when we need help in our lives, we should pray. I decided to try her advice. I knelt down there in the snow, folded my arms, and prayed.
When I’d explained the problem to Heavenly Father, I got back up and stood for a few minutes until I felt a strong feeling that I should turn around. I started heading back to where I had taken one of two paths. From there I went the other direction and felt comforted. I soon found our cabin.
I told Dad what had happened, and he followed my tracks back to find the others struggling in the storm.
Though perhaps not as dramatic as when Brigham Young sent men out to rescue the pioneer handcart companies, Dad said that was what came to mind when he found Mom and the others. Their suffering had not been as great as the pioneers, but it had been real enough and their joy in being rescued was just as genuine.
We were all glad to get inside the cabin where it was warm and safe. I prayed again and thanked Heavenly Father for comforting me and guiding me to the right path and giving me the strength to go the distance. I will always remember to turn to my Father in Heaven when I feel lost.

Nancy Ashby of Draper, Utah, tells the following experience: “I was having my doubts about the Church. Was it really true? Was it really worth all the effort? Wouldn’t it be all right to marry outside of the Church (which I was seriously considering at the time)? After this life is over, is there really anything else?

“Then my mother asked me to do some typing for her. It turned out to be genealogy sheets. She also handed me an article on genealogy that included the statement:

“‘It matters not what else we have been called to do, or what position we may occupy, or how faithfully in other ways we have labored in the Church, none is exempt from this great obligation. It is required of the apostle as well as the humblest elder. Place, or distinction, or long service in the Church, in the mission field, the stakes of Zion, or where or how else it may have been, will not entitle one to disregard the salvation of one’s dead.’ (Joseph Fielding Smith, Doctrines of Salvation, vol. 2, pp. 148–49.)

“I decided to do something about all this, considering the words of the Savior: ‘If any man will do his will, he shall know of the doctrine, whether it be of God, or whether I speak of myself.’ (John 7:17.) I found that genealogy can be fascinating and fun—and for me it has resulted in a firm testimony and conviction of all the other principles of the gospel of Jesus Christ. It changed my life.”

Much of my early testimony was formed through music. I adored bouncing up in “Jesus Wants Me For A Sunbeam”. I popped along to “Popcorn Popping”. I could perform “Book of Mormon Stories” in my sleep. But it wasn’t just fun. I distinctly remember learning “Love Is Spoken Here”, and becoming emotional as we sang it in Primary. Music hadn’t affected me like that before—I didn’t understand how I could be crying whilst being happy. It wasn’t just the lyrics—the melody itself, the voices of all my friends—it shocked me.
I realised that these songs had power. As I’ve gotten older, I still often turn to these songs when I’m in need. The second verse of “How Firm A Foundation” has been my companion through any scary experience, even if it was just venturing downstairs in the middle of the night for a glass of water.
“Fear not, I am with thee; oh, be not dismayed, / For I am thy God and will still give thee aid.”1
Singing these lines has always brought me comfort. I truly feel Heavenly Father’s presence in those moments. The effect wouldn’t be the same if I just spoke the words—the act of singing aloud, a musical prayer, brings me the most comfort.
As an adult, music still plays a part in my testimony. I was lucky enough to see a concert of Rob Gardner’s Lamb of God a few years ago, as my sister Lauren was part of the choir. Individual performers, a choir, and an orchestra come together to recount the Saviour’s last days on earth. In the song “Gethsemane”, a narrator tells of the Saviour entering the garden of Gethsemane. The choir sings in Aramaic as the music swells. Of course, the effect of this cannot be accurately portrayed in writing—it is absolutely beautiful and brought me to tears. Now, when I think of Him, suffering so much in that garden, I hear that music. He suffered for us, out of the purest love. It is beautiful and mournful, awe inspiring and heartbreaking. “Gethsemane” helped me tap into those emotions at a slightly deeper level, as I tried to empathise with what our dear Saviour went through.
Music is another tool we can use to help strengthen our faith. It helps us to understand things in a different way, and sometimes in a deeper way. I feel spiritually enriched when I am able to listen to such music—for a brief moment, I am able to truly cast other things aside and just reflect on the gospel. It’s a blessing that I often forget I can use.
In October 1936, President J. Reuben Clark stated “We get nearer to the Lord through music than perhaps through any other thing except prayer.”2
As I teach my daughter those same Primary hymns I enjoyed years ago, I am happy to know that they can be a guide and a comfort to her. They certainly have for me. I am truly grateful for all the ways Heavenly Father has provided to bring us closer to Him, and to feel His presence in our daily lives.

For a long time when I was growing up, I didn’t pray on my own. Then one day I had a problem, and I thought, “I don’t know what to do. I can’t make this choice on my own. But I know Heavenly Father can help me.”
Now praying makes me feel closer to my Heavenly Father. Sometimes I pray just because I want to talk to Him! Even if I don’t have some big question or problem, I want to talk to Heavenly Father. I know He’s not looking down on me and getting mad at me for my mistakes—He’s my Father, and I want to have a relationship with Him like I have with my earthly father.

After the discussion, Mother began to read the books they left and to pray about what she should do. It wasn’t long until she decided to be baptized. She was worried though about telling my grandmother.
Finally, however, Mom got the courage to call Grandma on the phone and to tell her that she was going to be baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
There was an empty, cold silence on the other end of the line. At last my grandmother said, “I’m heartsick and disappointed in you,” and then she hung up the receiver.
It was a long time before Grandma would talk to any of us on the phone or answer our letters; so you can imagine how happy my mother was when Grandma called one day and said, “I’ve been thinking about your baptism and I’ve decided that it’s all right for you to be a Mormon, dear, as long as you’re happy.” And Mom really was happy.

“Hmm, let’s see,” Jared muttered to himself as he nibbled on the end of his pencil eraser. He unconsciously ran a weary hand through his black hair and sighed. Straightening the glasses that were perched crookedly on the end of his long nose, he cocked his head to one side in deep thought.
“If the molecular formula of triphosphorous pentanitride has a net electrical charge of …”
“Ring! Ring!” The reverberating sound of the telephone penetrated his thoughts and broke his concentration. Letting the pencil fall from his hand, Jared sighed again, pushed his books aside, and stood up. Maneuvering around the masses of cluttered junk on his floor, he stumbled to the hallway.
“Ring! Rinnnngggg!”
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” he mumbled. “I’m almost th—” He hit the carpet with a thud as his German shepherd pounced on his chest and knocked him to the floor, greeting him with an enormous wet tongue.
“Oh, Wolf! I can’t play with you now!” He pushed the dog off him and rushed to the phone. Waving a scolding finger at Wolf, who still tugged playfully on his shirt tail, Jared reached for the receiver and breathed out a tired “Hello?”
The voice on the other line laughed. “Little out of breath, Jared? What have you been doing? Running a marathon?”
“Not like the one you just ran,” Jared replied as he struggled to keep the cord slobber-free. “Congratulations! It’s just that I’ve got my hands full at the moment.”
“Oh,” Ryan said in mock disappointment. “Well, if you’re too busy—”
Jared’s laughter interrupted him. “Don’t be crazy! It’s just Wolf.”
“Good,” Ryan said with an exaggerated sigh of relief. “I thought you were actually doing something important, like polishing your trombone or something.”
“Ha, ha. Very funny.”
“I try.”
“Hey, that was a great game last night. What did you have? Five, ten points?”
Ryan coughed uncomfortably. “Well, um. Actually it was 35.”
“What?” Jared teased. “Only 35? Do you think you could put a little effort into it next time?”
Ryan was speechless until Jared burst into laughter. “I’m just kidding! Congratulations. That’s a career high, isn’t it?”
“Thanks. Yeah, it is.”
“And state champs for the fourth time! That’s amazing! Have you had any more offers?”
“Yeah, I have,” Ryan said softly.
Jared recognized the solemn edge in his voice. “Ryan,” he asked, “what’s wrong?”
Ryan was quiet. “Could I come over or something? I need to talk to you.”
“Sure.” Jared was puzzled. “I’ll be here.”
“Okay, thanks. I’ll be over in 10 minutes.”
As Jared hung up the phone he was worried. It wasn’t like Ryan to sound so discouraged, and especially after winning the state championship. Basketball was Ryan’s life.
Jared wondered what could possibly be bothering Ryan. Whatever it was, Jared was determined to help him work it out.
Ryan cleared an empty spot before plopping down on Jared’s bed.
Jared looked sheepish. “Sorry my room’s such a mess,” he apologized as he gathered dirty clothes to toss in the hamper. “I was going to clean it, but …” He stopped when Ryan raised a questioning eyebrow.
“But what?”
Jared laughed. “Okay, so I wasn’t planning on it.” He wadded up a towel and threw it at Ryan. “You know me too well.”
Ryan rolled the towel into a ball, took aim, and shot it into the open hamper.
“Nice shot.” Jared cleared the books off his desk chair and moved it over by the bed. “Now. Tell me what’s wrong.”
Ryan was quiet for a minute. “It’s the offer I’ve received.”
“What’s wrong with it?”
Ryan placed his hands behind his head and fell back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. “Nothing. That’s the problem. It’s perfect.”
Jared was clearly puzzled. “I don’t understand. Who’s it from?”
“Oh … just the team ranked number one in the nation.”
“North Carolina?” Jared jumped out of his seat and danced around the room. “North Carolina! Ryan, that’s terrific!”
“Yeah, I know. They’re offering me a full-ride scholarship. If I accept, I’ll probably start next season.”
Jared sat back down and whistled. “Wow!”
Ryan sat up excitedly. “That’s exactly what I thought! Man, to think of me playing for a team like North Carolina. It’s just unreal! But …”
“But what?” Jared asked, thinking he already knew the answer.
Ryan was hesitant. He leaned forward and looked at his friend. “This is something I’ve wanted to do my whole life. And I’d do it, in a second, if it weren’t …”
“It’s your mission, isn’t it?” Jared said knowingly.
“Yeah,” Ryan admitted. “I always said that I’d serve a mission. But it seems like everything’s changing now.”
“I see.”
Ryan continued. “Before, playing basketball beyond high school was, I don’t know, a dream that I never thought would happen. But you’ve seen me, Jared! I’m playing better than ever before. I’m at the top of my game, and now I have a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I can’t pass it all up, can I?” He paused and looked away.
Jared asked softly, “Are you willing to sacrifice your mission for a dream?” He sat quietly for a long time before asking, “Why do you play basketball, Ryan?”
Ryan shrugged. “Because I like to, I guess.”
“And because you’re good at it?”
“It makes it more fun, I suppose.”
Jared seemed dissatisfied. “Is that all?”
“I like the way it makes me feel.”
“And how’s that?” Jared gently prodded.
Again Ryan leaned back and studied the ceiling. “It’s hard to describe. It makes me feel good to know that I’ve achieved something, and that I was able to do it because I’ve worked hard.”
Jared nodded in approval. “Well, then you’re playing for the right reason.”
Ryan sat up and rolled his eyes. “You’re not helping me any, Jared!”
Jared laughed. “I’ve known you for a long time, Ryan. Unfortunately,” he added teasingly. “I know that you’ll make the right decision.”
“You’re right,” Ryan sighed as he stood up. “Thanks for talking to me, Jared. I’m going to go shoot a few hoops and think.”
“Hey, Ryan,” Jared called as he leaned out his door to find his friend battling with Wolf in the hallway. “Just one more thing. You can do the right things, but you need to do them for the right reasons.” Ryan looked up from scratching Wolf’s head.
“Yeah, I guess,” he said.
“Hello?”
“I’m going,” Ryan announced.
“Going where?” Jared asked as he pulled the shoe from Wolf’s mouth.
Ryan was impatient. “To the moon and back.”
“Right,” Jared said sarcastically.
“No, Jared, be serious. I’ve made my decision.”
“And …”
“And, I’d really rather tell you in person. Can I come over?”
“If you think you can get past the slobbering bodyguard in the hallway, go right ahead.”
Ryan laughed. “I think I can manage.”
Jared shook his head. “I can’t believe it! Well, yeah I guess I can. But what made you decide to give up North Carolina’s offer? I thought it was everything you ever wanted?”
“I thought so too. At first. But then I changed my mind. It wasn’t that hard of a choice I guess,” Ryan admitted.
“Well, what took you so long then? It’s been a whole week since I’ve seen you. I thought you’d fallen off the face of the earth or something.”
Ryan smiled. “Deep down I knew that serving a mission was the right thing to do,” he looked up at Jared. “But I just had to be sure I was doing it for the right reason.”
“And are you?”
“Absolutely.” When Ryan saw Jared’s puzzled expression he laughed and explained further. “I guess I have you to thank for it. It had something to do with what you said about sacrificing my mission for basketball. I like the way basketball makes me feel, but I love the way the gospel makes me feel even more. Making a basket is a great feeling, but it’s nothing compared to the feeling I get when I read my scriptures, or go to church, or help someone. I mean, like last summer, when I baptized my little sister—that was the greatest feeling in the world.” He smiled at the memory.
“The prophet said all worthy young men should serve a mission. I’ve thought about that all my life. It isn’t up to me to decide whether I should serve a mission. It’s just up to me whether I’ll answer the call.” He paused for a moment, then continued.
“I’ve been so blessed to have the gospel in my life, and I want to share it with everyone I can.” He shook his head. “I almost passed up the opportunity to serve the Lord, and then I realized that I’d be passing up way more than that. All the experiences I’d have, all the people I’d meet, and all the wonderful feelings I’d get knowing that I was doing the Lord’s work. Basketball’s just not worth all that. Besides,” he added with a grin, “there’s always P-days.”
He looked up to see Jared studying his face intensely. “Do you mean to tell me that you, Ryan Wilson, Basketball Star, will be satisfied playing basketball only on P-days?” Jared looked suspicious. “Who are you and what have you done with my friend?”
Ryan laughed. “I’m going on a mission, Jared. I’ve got an appointment to see the bishop for a mission interview. He has a better offer.” He punched Jared’s shoulder. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s go polish your trombone.”

Valerie Walters and Becky Warnick, dressed in white robes with sparkles in their hair, were participating in an angel choir, singing about the birth of Jesus Christ. Seated between Valerie and Becky was Chelan Feller, also dressed as an angel. Chelan needed the comforting shoulder of Becky and the kind touch of Valerie to be able to participate. Chelan attends the American Fork Special Education Seminary, and she, along with 40 of her fellow students, were participating in the first of what they hope will be their annual Christmas pageant. Serving the American Fork Training School in Utah, the seminary has classes geared to the levels of their special education students.
Valerie and Becky, 18, were just two volunteers from the Alpine Utah 11th Ward who volunteered to help the Special Education Seminary stage their pageant. Each special needs teen was assigned a helper to assist in putting on costumes over everyday clothes, to be by the sides of the students as they spoke or sang their parts, and to accompany them as they entered and exited.
It turned out to be an exciting evening. With parents and families crowding the seminary building, the age-old story of the Savior’s birth was presented. But more than the story, the example of kindness and unselfishness that represented the Savior’s life also filled the room.
Becky said, “Many of the students can’t bear their testimonies in words, but when I look into their eyes I see that they know Christ.”

Ammon Arvidson and Brooke Noble, two youth from the Maitland Ward, Newcastle Australia Stake, were chosen to represent Port Stephens, Australia, at the first World Child Summit, held in Kushiro, Japan, last summer. The theme was “The Natural Environment and Our Future.” To be chosen, they each had to present a 10-minute speech on the environment of Port Stephens, the problems facing the habitat, and their role in protecting the natural beauty of the world.
“It was so amazing to see another part of the world,” said Brooke, 15. “The people there were so kind, and it helped me to see my Heavenly Father’s love for us.” Brooke added that being so far away from home also strengthened her testimony of the gospel: “It really helped me to know that the gospel goes with you wherever you go. It was such a comfort to be able to kneel down and pray to my Father in Heaven.”

“Good morning,” Mom greeted Kim cheerfully. “Breakfast is almost ready. Would you finish setting the table for me?”
Kim put silverware and a glass at each plate, pulled out a chair, propped her head in her hands, and stared at the flower pattern on her plate.
“Are you excited about your all-day picnic,” Mom asked as she laid a plate of homemade bread on the table in front of her.
“No,” was Kim’s glum reply.
Mom pulled out the chair next to her and sat down. “Did you and Carrie have a fight?”
“Oh, no, Mom,” Kim was quick to answer. “It would almost be easier if we had.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, Carrie and I have been planning this picnic for weeks. We have a bag full of our favorite picnic food all ready. I checked out two books I’ve been wanting to read, and Carrie is bringing her dolls and a big quilt for us to spread out under the tree in the east field. I thought it was going to be a perfect day.”
“It sounds perfect to me,” Mom agreed.
“Something smells terrific,” Dad said, sniffing the air hungrily as he entered the kitchen. He leaned over to kiss Kim on the forehead. “How’s my girl this morning?”
“Not too good. I have everything ready so that Carrie and I can leave right after breakfast. But every time I think about the picnic, instead of feeling excited, I get this thought in my head: Don’t go to the field today.
“Last month when you confirmed me in sacrament meeting, you said the Holy Ghost would speak to me in my thoughts to help me know what I should do. When I think I shouldn’t go, I get the same warm feeling that I had while your hands were on my head. But when I start to think of all the reasons I want to go, the feeling starts to fade away. What should I do?”
“We could kneel down and pray together about it,” her father suggested. “If it is a warning from the Holy Ghost, you’ll know when we pray.”
Kim pushed back her chair and knelt beside it. Her father and mother joined her.
“I’d like to offer the prayer,” Kim said.
“That would be best,” Dad agreed.
Kim thanked Heavenly Father for the pretty day, for the beauty of the earth, for her friend Carrie, and for her parents. Then she thanked Him for being able to be baptized a member of the Church and have the gift of the Holy Ghost. “Please help me to know if the Holy Ghost is warning me to stay away from the east field today.” As she finished her prayer in the name of Jesus Christ, she felt a warm tingle spread through her, starting at her head and flowing down her whole body. She knew what she must do.
Before knocking on Carrie’s door, Kim took a deep breath and offered a silent prayer to Heavenly Father to help Carrie to understand. She thought, She’s not a member of our church, but Dad said the Holy Ghost can still help her to not be mad at me.
“Cookies!” Carrie greeted her as she threw open the door and displayed a plateful of Kim’s favorite kind, peanut butter. “Fresh from the oven. Mom and I spent the morning making them for our picnic. I’m just about ready to go. Hold these while I get the quilt.”
Kim had stepped into the living room before Carrie noticed that she was empty handed. “Where’s the rest of the picnic?” she asked. “Did you forget it?”
“Not exactly,” Kim said slowly. “It’s … well—I don’t think going to the field is a very good idea today.”
“Why not? Did your mom change her mind about letting us go for the whole day? We could come back early.”
“No, it doesn’t have anything to do with my mom. I just have a feeling that it wouldn’t be a good idea. I don’t really know why. Do you understand?”
Carrie was silent for a few moments. “OK,” she agreed, shrugging her shoulders. “What do you want to do instead?”
Kim said a quick thank-you to Heavenly Father in her heart. “I knew you’d understand!” she said. “My dad set up the tent in our backyard before he went to work so that we could spend the day out there if we wanted to.”
“OK. I guess we’ll still need the quilt.”
“And the cookies!” Kim laughed.
Kim was sprawled out on her stomach in the tent, reading a story to Carrie, who was styling her doll’s hair, when Jake, Carrie’s little brother, came barreling in. “Fire!” he yelled.
“Where?” Kim asked, jumping to her feet.
“Down the street,” Jake continued between gasps. “The east field. The whole thing is in flames! Mrs. Dodd already called the fire department.”
Kim and Carrie raced the three blocks to the edge of the street going along the field, with Jake trailing behind them. Tongues of fire leaped and danced across the yellow field. Sirens announced the arrival of the fire trucks. As the flames came closer to the street, the children retreated to Mrs. Dodd’s lawn and watched the firefighters battle the blaze. When the last fire truck pulled away, all that was left was black stubble dotted with pools of water. Even the bark of the lone tree in the field was scarred black.
Carrie, Kim, and Jake walked back to Kim’s yard in silence. “How did you know?” Carrie asked Kim.
“The Holy Ghost warned me,” Kim explained. “It was a gift I was given when I was baptized and confirmed. I was promised that the Holy Ghost would help me know what I should or shouldn’t do if I learned to listen to Him.”
“Does He talk to you?”
“Sort of,” Kim explained, “but not the way you and I talk to each other. He makes me think things. That’s probably why it’s called the ‘still, small voice.’”
“Then I think He was telling me not to be mad at you when you said we shouldn’t go to the field,” Carrie whispered.
There it is again, Kim thought as a warmth filled her until she felt as though she’d overflow with happiness. It’s strange how such a still, small voice can give you such a big feeling, but I’m sure glad that it can!

This story happened in Ghana.
I am a child of God, and He has sent me here …
You have a loud voice, Eric.
I think it’s a nice voice.
Thanks! I want to learn to sing better.
The next week …
I have a gift for you. It’s a hymnbook so you can learn more Church songs.
Wow! Thank you.
Teach me to walk in the light of His love …
Hope of Israel, rise in might! With the sword of truth and light …
Sister Kaku just called. She asked if you two wanted to sing in the choir for stake conference.
Yes!
We’re so happy you are in our choir!
Thanks!
We love to sing about Jesus.
You did a great job.
Singing makes me happy. I think it makes Jesus happy too!
“For my soul delighteth in the song of the heart; yea, the song of the righteous is a prayer unto me” (Doctrine and Covenants 25:12).
Illustrations by Jared Beckstrand

Saturday morning, when Dad said he had to cut Brother Ballard’s hay, I told him that I could take care of things at home. Ever since I had turned nine, I had been bragging that I was almost a man and could handle things on the farm about as well as Dad could. “I’ll be all right,” I insisted as Dad headed for the tractor. “Just let me look after the farm.”
“What about taking the cows and the General to the meadow?” Dad asked. “Can you do that all by yourself?”
I swallowed hard. The cows were no problem, but I’d forgotten all about ornery old General.
“I can help Jacob drive the General down the lane to the meadow,” Mom spoke up from the steps. She knew I was a little afraid of our big roan steer, and she’d always been the one to drive him to the meadow when Dad wasn’t around.
“I don’t need any help,” I insisted. “A man doesn’t need his mom herding the cows for him.”
“The General isn’t mean or anything,” Dad pointed out, “but he does have a mind of his own.”
I nodded. I knew all about the General. I was the one who had practically raised him. I’d fed him from a bottle and later taught him to drink out of a bucket. And when he got older, I brought him lots of grass and grain. What he liked best, though, was carrots, so I often got a handful of carrots from the cellar and let him eat out of my hand. He’d close his eyes and munch on those long, crisp carrots like they were orange candy bars.
When the General was still a calf, he even let me ride him. But then he grew to be almost a thousand pounds. …
I still liked him, but I liked him from a distance, and I always wanted a fence between him and me. Even so, I said, “I’ll be able to handle the General.”
Dad nodded. “I know you can do it. You’re a good worker.” He started the tractor, then called to me, “Now, remember, Jacob, after you take the cows to the meadow, make sure that you close the gate at the top of the lane. I don’t want those cows in the alfalfa. They’d bloat for sure from eating it, and we could lose every one of them.”
“I know,” I said.
I fed the calves their grain and hay. I carried slop to our three pigs, Dandy, Pandy, and Mandy. I gathered the eggs from the chicken coop and gave the chickens their grain. I scattered fresh straw in the shed so that the cows would have a soft bed that night. Then I opened the corral gate so that I could herd our seven milk cows and the General to the meadow.
About that time the General decided that he wanted a drink from the water trough, so every one of those old cows decided she wanted a drink too.
Those cows always did everything he did. I yelled at them and waved a stick and threatened to throw a rock at them, but they didn’t care. They just followed the General. I had to just wait until that stubborn old steer decided he wanted to go to the meadow.
He sniffed at every clump of grass, every fence post, and every rock between the corral and the lane. And what did the cows do? Why, they sniffed at every clump of grass, every fence post, and every rock too.
Since I couldn’t hurry those cows and the General along, I started day-dreaming. Then a big old green frog came jumping through the tall grass and landed right in front of me. Well, I never let a good frog get away, so before long I had it in my hands.
I was looking for something to put my frog in, when right there, sunning itself on a flat rock, was the biggest water snake I’d ever seen. I dropped the frog and grabbed the snake right behind its head. It wrapped itself around my arm and stuck its red forked tongue out at me, but I just smiled and headed back to the barn for a bucket to put it in. The General and the cows were starting down the lane toward the meadow, so I decided to look after my snake then and close the gate later.
I didn’t think I was gone very long. I did stop for a drink at the water trough and let my snake take a swim, and I checked on our cat and her four kittens. That just took a few minutes, though. But when I got back, that ornery old steer had decided that he didn’t want to go to the meadow after all. Partway down the lane he’d turned around and headed toward the alfalfa field, and the seven cows had followed.
When I saw the General out wandering, I dropped the bucket. My snake slithered out of it and off through the grass, but by then I was galloping for the gate.
I was too late. The General and the cows were through it and wandering along the ditch bank that led to the alfalfa field. Luckily he wasn’t in a big hurry. He’d sniff at fence posts, munch clumps of grass, and swish the flies from his back with his tail. I knew, though, that if he ever made it to the alfalfa field, he’d never leave. He’d stay until his belly was clear full; then he’d lie down and bloat. And those silly cows would eat and bloat right with him.
I found a big stick and filled my pockets with rocks. Then I circled around in front of the General. I waved the stick over my head and stomped my feet. I tried to shout to get his attention, but my throat was so tight that all I could do was squeak.
Digging into my pocket, I pulled out a good throwing rock, reared back, and let it fly. It hit that old steer right on the nose. His head jerked up, and he shook his stubby horns and blew angrily through his wet nose.
I didn’t figure there was any need to get myself killed trying to keep those crazy cows out of the alfalfa. I dropped my stick, jumped the ditch, sprinted to the fence, flopped on my belly, and scrambled underneath the bottom strand of barbed wire.
When I finally opened my eyes, I expected to see the General on the other side of the fence, snorting and pawing. But he wasn’t anywhere around! He was still along the ditch bank, ambling closer and closer to the alfalfa field.
I thought of running to the house to ask Mom to help me, but after telling Dad that I was man enough to take care of things around the place, there was no way I could do that.
Then I thought about praying. Heavenly Father would help me out! I dropped right to my knees and asked Heavenly Father to get that stubborn steer straightened out and headed back to the meadow so that he and the cows wouldn’t bloat in the alfalfa field.
When I finished my prayer, I figured I’d just wait until Heavenly Father had a chance to get the job done. When I thought I’d waited long enough, I looked toward the meadow. There wasn’t a single cow in it. I looked up and down the lane. No cows. I looked along the ditch bank. And there they were, moseying along toward the alfalfa field behind that ornery steer.
I couldn’t believe it. Hadn’t Heavenly Father heard me? Wasn’t He going to help me out? Maybe I prayed for the wrong thing, I thought. I dropped to my knees again. This time I prayed that Dad would finish Brother Ballard’s hay and get home before the cows were bloated and dead.
It was a pretty long prayer. I wanted to make sure that I didn’t leave anything out. When I finished, I waited on my knees and counted to two hundred to give Heavenly Father plenty of time to get the message to Dad.
As I got to my feet, I listened for the growl of Dad’s tractor, but I couldn’t hear anything. And all I could see coming down the road was a truck. I waited and waited, but Dad didn’t come. And the General and the cows were almost to the alfalfa field.
Tears were running down my cheeks as I ran past the barn, looking for a place to hide so that I wouldn’t have to watch the General kill himself. There was only one place I could go—I dashed down the cellar steps.
Once more I knelt down. This time, though, I just prayed that Heavenly Father would help me to know what to do and to be brave enough to do it.
When I finished praying, I sat down on a sack of carrots to think. I pulled one of the carrots out of the sack and absent-mindedly wiped it off on my pants and started chewing on it. Then it came to me—I could turn the General around with carrots!
I hurriedly emptied the rocks from my pockets and stuffed carrots in their place. With my arms full of carrots, too, I raced up the cellar steps, past the barn, and over to the ditch. The General was still munching along the ditch bank a little way from the alfalfa, and the cows were munching right behind him.
I said one more quick prayer, then marched right up to the General and dropped the biggest, fattest, orangiest carrot under his nose. That old steer didn’t even look up at me. His big long pink tongue just wrapped around the carrot and popped it into his mouth. That carrot gone, he looked to me for another one. I held one out and started walking backward toward the gate in the distance. The General watched me slowly walk away. At first he didn’t move. Then he took a long look at the alfalfa field and a long look at me, and then he came.
My heart was thumping a hundred miles an hour, but I kept moving closer to the open gate and dropping a carrot every few steps or so. Like always, those silly cows stayed right behind the General.
I don’t know how long it took me to get to the lane, but by the time I got there, I was so worn out that I could hardly walk. As soon as the seventh cow went through the gate, I dropped the last two carrots and ran and closed it and even tied it with a piece of wire. Then I knelt right there and thanked Heavenly Father.
That night at suppertime, I didn’t brag about being the man of the house and taking care of everything. In fact, I just sat quietly and ate. When Dad asked me how things had gone that day, I mumbled something about getting along pretty well, then asked for another slice of bread to change the subject.

Because paying my tithing was so important to me, I set up a bank account and put my tithing in it each month. I needed the Lord to know that even though He couldn’t take my tithing now, I still wanted to pay it. I was single at the time and raising my three teenage daughters, and I felt that I needed those blessings of showing the Lord my willingness to pay tithing, even though I couldn’t. I have no doubt we were extremely blessed because of it.
I was rebaptized a little over a year after my excommunication. What a relief it was to come up out of the water knowing that Jesus was now my advocate, my partner. He had paid for my sins, and I was again in a covenant relationship with Him. I was filled with gratitude!
I received the gift of the Holy Ghost again. I felt once again a tangible presence: my dear friend was back to stay! I wanted to try so hard not to offend Him again so that He wouldn’t have to leave me.
I closed out the account with my tithing in it, wrote the check, and excitedly gave it to my bishop.
Five years later I was able to have my temple blessings restored. I felt so relieved and grateful. Once again I was covered in love and protected with the power of the covenants I had made in the temple.
I am now sealed to a man who adores me, and I him, and together we are actively working to establish our sealing as a covenant relationship that will last through the eternities.
In the 20 years since, I have sometimes felt a sense of deep guilt wash over me and cause me great unhappiness and worry. I wondered if I had done enough to repent and whether I was truly forgiven. As recently as just a few years ago, my feelings matched those of Alma the Younger, described in Alma 36:12–13:
“I was racked with eternal torment, for my soul was harrowed up to the greatest degree and racked with all my sins.
“Yea, I did remember all my sins and iniquities, for which I was tormented with the pains of hell; yea, I saw that I had rebelled against my God, and that I had not kept his holy commandments.”
One day I knelt down in prayer and asked, “Father, have I done enough? I will do whatever I need to, to have this taken from me.” Then I waited and listened with my heart.
The answer came very clearly: “You have done enough.” I was overcome with pure joy. I couldn’t stop smiling, and happy tears flowed. All that day I found myself giddy with joy. All the shame and guilt was gone for good.
Again I reflected on the experience of Alma the Younger:
“I could remember my pains no more; yea, I was harrowed up by the memory of my sins no more.
“And oh, what joy, and what marvelous light I did behold; yea, my soul was filled with joy as exceeding as was my pain!” (Alma 36:19–20).
My journey to regain my membership in the Church and my covenant relationship with the Savior was heart-wrenching and tender. I came out of this trial knowing that the Atonement of Jesus Christ is most precious. It has taken me almost all of these 20 years to get past the shame and guilt of my excommunication and to find the strength to share my experiences with others. I hope my experience inspires others to find courage to change and to reach out to those who want to change. I can stand and testify without a doubt that the Atonement of Christ is real. His power can change your life not only for the better but for the very best.
I love my membership in the Church dearly. It is a priceless gift and an incredible blessing in my life. I never want to be without it again.

When I became too sick to continue my mission, I knew that God wanted me to go home, but that was the exact opposite of what I wanted. I was also distressed by the sudden loss of my health, which later proved to be the beginning of a chronic, disabling condition.
While adapting to my illness, I felt I had lost my purpose. I needed so much help and felt I had nothing to offer. But I knew I needed to continue exercising my faith, so I kept studying, praying, and trying to follow the Spirit. While studying the New Testament one day, I came upon a painting by James Tissot entitled Jesus Commands the Apostles to Rest. This depiction of Mark 6:30–31 immediately soothed me. As I saw Christ watching over His resting servants, I felt how much He loved them. And me.
Eventually, I learned that the expectations I had for myself were not the same expectations that God had for me. In some ways, His were more personally challenging, but they were much more attuned to my needs. I’m so grateful for the way He teaches me to more fully accept His help and His perfect love. His faith in me gives me the hope I need to keep going.
Sabrina Maxwell, Utah, USA

We needed these testimonies to remain strong in the Church, for we faced many trials. My mother would not allow us to be baptized, but she did not stop us from going to church. We faithfully attended church and seminary. I also suffered persecution at school from people I thought were my friends. It was difficult, but these experiences strengthened my testimony.
After seven months a missionary challenged us to fast with him for the purpose of being baptized. When we ended the fast, the missionaries came to my house and spoke with my mother. To our great joy, she gave her permission for my brother and me to be baptized.
Trials make us strong.

My friends and I were really into video games. The games we played were not driving games or sports games. We spent most of our time playing violent games that tried to show us what war was really like. My mother had been trying to get me to stop playing them, but the games were fun, and I thought she just did not understand the amazing things that the computer could do. I never realized that my behavior had changed until President Gordon B. Hinckley gave us the six Bs (see “A Prophet’s Counsel and Prayer for Youth,” New Era, Jan. 2001, 4).
I started to notice that after playing those violent games, I could not be nice to people. One time, after playing a game, a friend asked me if he could get something out of the refrigerator. I responded to him very rudely. I thought I was joking, but he didn’t. I felt horrible for being mean to him and making one of my best friends feel bad. I never wanted to hurt anyone after that.
I could not “be smart” or “be humble,” as the prophet has told us. These games distracted me from studying. I spent all of my free time playing these games so I could be better than everyone else. Playing these games built up a lot of pride in me, and I could not control myself from making fun of the people I had beaten. After a few weeks of feeling horrible after playing games like these and feeling horrible about the things they influenced me to do, I resolved to never play a violent game ever again. It didn’t matter if the game was just a little violent or a lot; I would never play a game with violence in it.
I have tried this for a while now, and I see blessings for doing so all around me. Giving up these games has allowed me to do so much more. I went from having no job to having a full-time job, from starting to lose friends to making more. I can spend more time on school and my studies. I have even started to write a short story that I enjoy.
I have found that listening to your parents and the prophet can save you a lot of heartache. The simple phrases “be humble” and “be smart” have made me a new person. I believe that as I continue to stay away from violent games, I will be blessed.