Gospel Story Finder

Faneva looked out the window at the busy street outside his house. He could see people pulling carts of vegetables, rice, cloth, and other goods to sell. He could hear car horns honking and dogs barking. Then he heard another sound.
“Mama, someone is knocking!” Faneva called out. Mama opened the door. Two young men wearing white shirts were on the doorstep. Faneva had never seen anyone dressed like that in his neighborhood in Madagascar before.
“We are missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints,” one of them said. “We teach people about Jesus. Can we share a message with you?”
Faneva was excited when Mama invited them inside. The whole family gathered to hear about Jesus Christ and how His Church was on earth again.
After that day, the missionaries visited Faneva’s family many times. They brought a book called Book of Mormon Stories. Faneva loved reading it with his family!
Someday I will be a missionary and share the Book of Mormon with others, Faneva said to himself.
Another time when the missionaries came, they taught Faneva’s family how to pray. Faneva learned that he could talk to Heavenly Father anytime, anywhere.
Someday I will be a missionary and teach people about prayer, Faneva thought.
One day the missionaries had an important question.
“Will you follow the example of Jesus Christ and be baptized?” one of them asked.
Faneva felt happy in his heart. “Yes!” he said.
“Yes!” his brother and Mama said.
Papa said that he wasn’t ready to be baptized yet. But he was OK if the rest of the family was baptized. And so they were! Faneva was baptized by one of the missionaries who had taught him about Jesus.
Someday I will be a missionary and help people get baptized, Faneva thought.
One of the best parts of being a member of the Church was going to Primary. Faneva loved the activities and meeting new friends. But his favorite thing of all was singing Primary songs. One Sunday in Primary, they were singing songs about sharing the gospel.
“I want to be a missionary now,” Faneva sang. “I don’t want to wait until I’m grown.”
I can start doing missionary work now, Faneva realized. I don’t have to wait until someday!
From then on, Faneva looked for ways he could share the gospel. He tried to be a good example. He invited people to church. He helped his neighbors. After a few years, he was old enough to go with the missionaries to teach people in his city. In a few more years, he served a mission himself—meeting new people and sharing the gospel, just as the missionaries had shared with him.

After the gospel was restored, 12 Apostles were called to be special witnesses of Jesus Christ to the world. Two Apostles, Heber C. Kimball and Brigham Young, were called to England. They had very little money, but every time Elder Young opened his trunk, he always found enough for their journey. After they got to England, a local minister sent a constable to arrest Elder Woodruff for preaching. Elder Woodruff explained that he had a license to preach and invited the constable to stay. The constable ended up getting baptized! The minister sent two clerks to spy on Elder Woodruff. They got baptized too!

When we went back to Boston we took with us an eight-year-old daughter. Our other two were attending Brigham Young University, and we left them here. We went from a family of five to a family of three in one evening, never again to be brought together as a family because both of my older daughters married while we were on our missions. That’s a great experience, but here now my little eight-year-old became an only child overnight—quite a frustration. And then, to top it off, we moved to a new area; and she was lonesome for her friends and her acquaintances at school.
We signed her up in the Russell School in Cambridge. The Russell School was built in 1888; and it is not a very imposing looking school, except to an archaeologist. It had lots of weeds in the yard, and a terribly musty smell greeted one as he entered the building. The floorboards buckled, and you got an eerie feeling as you walked the halls.
We tried to prepare this little girl for her first day at school just as soon as we arrived. Because it was a long way off, she didn’t panic; but as the day drew closer her concern increased. We took her shopping for new school clothes, had a family evening organized around how to adjust and what to do and how to turn yourself out to adjust to the new environment. She could handle that all right, because it was still theory. And then the night before, we planned a special program around helping her for the special day. She retired to her bed all right but seemed quite restless.
The next few hours passed, and then she suddenly appeared at the door where I was studying. She was rubbing her stomach. She said, “Dad, I’m sick.” Now, you know what kind of sickness she had, don’t you? Not physical, not mental, but emotional. “Can’t sleep, sir.”
Well, I invited her over, put her on my lap, and we chatted for a moment. Then I put on some music that we liked to listen to together and rubbed her tummy. She finally drifted into never-never land and seemed pretty well under control. I took her body, with its dangling legs, upstairs and put her back to bed. I turned to go out, got as far as the door, and she said, “I’m still awake.” I went back and lay down on the bed and stroked her head for a few moments, and she finally went to sleep.
The next morning while I was at breakfast she came down dressed only in her slip. She said, “Dad, I just thought you ought to know I don’t think I’ll go to school today.”
I said, “Why not?”
She said, “I think I’m going to throw up.”
Now, you know what she’s trying to tell me, don’t you? “I’m nervous. Will my teachers like me? Will I be accepted?” Oh, she was not capable of asking those kinds of questions, but these were the concerns of her heart. She was lonely; she didn’t know how to fit in. She was concerned about making new friends.
And I said, “Well, you know the answer to that, don’t you?”
“Yes, sir, I guess we’re going.”
I said, “How would you like your mother and me to drive you over?” She liked that, so we did.
We got in front of the school, and the tears started to well up. The warning bell sounded; I got her out of the car, and she grabbed hold of my leg like a tackle I hope we’ve got this year for BYU. I had to drag her, literally, to the door. The door opened, and now she clung to both legs. I shall never forget the expression on the face of that eight-year-old. She looked at me, and she said, “Dad, if you really love, if you really do, you won’t send me in there.”
I said, “Honey, this may sound like a strange philosophy: it’s because I do love you that I am sending you in there.”
We went in. The tears really came now, without shame. Then it happened. Then the little miracle. Around the corner came the only other Latter-day Saint in the whole student body. Thank God, another eight-year-old girl. And she had seen her a couple of times at some stake functions. And this little girl was an extrovert’s extrovert. Even though only eight, she had learned to lose herself in the interest of others. She came around the corner, and she said, “Oh, Kellie! How are you? Gosh, it’s good to see you! What’s your home room number?” And Kellie told her. “Great! That’s mine, too. Come on, I’ll show you where.”
And before Kellie knew it, she had let go, got about ten paces out in front of me; and then I’ll never forget this lesson. She turned and said, “Oh, Dad, you can go now. I don’t need you anymore.”

Lee was a member of his high school track team—he both sprinted and high-jumped. During the 1968 Summer Olympic Games held in Mexico City, the world became enamored with a little-known high jumper named Dick Fosbury. He had experimented with a new high-jumping technique that involved sprinting diagonally toward the bar, then curving and leaping backward over the bar. It came to be called the Fosbury flop.
Like many others, Lee was intrigued by this new technique, but until the new school year started, he didn’t have a place to practice it. I came home one evening to find him practicing the Fosbury flop in our basement. He had set up two makeshift standards by stacking chairs, and he was jumping over a broomstick set on the chairs, using a sofa to cushion his landing. It was very clear to me that the sofa would not hold up under such treatment, so I called a halt to his indoor high-jumping. Instead, I invited him to go with me to a sporting-goods store, where we purchased some foam padding to use for landing and high-jumping standards so he could move the activity out of doors.
After experimenting with the Fosbury flop, Lee decided to return to the western-roll technique that he had used previously. Still, through the end of the summer into the fall, he practiced high-jumping for many hours in our backyard.
One evening as I returned home from work, I found Lee practicing his jumping. I asked, “How high is the bar?”
He said, “Five feet, eight inches.”
“Why that height?”
He answered, “You must clear that height to qualify for the state track meet.”
“How are you doing?” I asked.
“I can clear it every time. I haven’t missed.”
My reply: “Let’s raise the bar and see how well you do then.”
He replied, “Then I might miss.”
I queried, “If you don’t raise the bar, how will you ever know your potential?”
So we started moving the bar up to five feet, ten inches; then to six feet; and so on, as he sought to improve. Lee became a better high jumper because he was not content with just clearing the minimum standard. He learned that even if it meant missing, he wanted to keep raising the bar to become the best high jumper he was capable of becoming.

I saw him riding the bus every day on my way home from the university. He always wore the same baggy T-shirt, worn-out tennis shoes, and big smile. And he always sat by himself. He was a special passenger, though, because he was mentally challenged.
Every day the Spirit prompted me to say hello to him. Every day, however, my pride stopped me. I was afraid that someone might see me associating with someone different from everyone else. After all, I had a reputation to keep.
One winter afternoon, when the Spirit was especially strong and my courage was a little greater, I got on the bus, saw him in his usual spot, and sat down next to him—not too close in case I chickened out. When I was almost to my stop, I closed my eyes, said a silent prayer, and turned to him.
“Hi,” I said in an insecure but friendly voice, “I’m Ashley.”
When he smiled at me, my fear and pride immediately melted away.
“I’m Lenny,” he shyly replied.
With those few words, we began a bond of friendship.
The next day I sat next to Lenny again, but it was easier—we were friends. As I sat down, he reached into his backpack and pulled out a handmade Valentine’s Day card. It was addressed to “The pretty girl I see on the bus every day.”
Valentine’s Day was long passed, but Lenny had made this special card for me and had been patiently waiting for the opportunity to give it to me. I couldn’t keep the tears from trickling down my cheeks. How grateful I was that the Spirit hadn’t given up on me and that I had finally put aside my pride and faced my fear of talking to Lenny.
Now he comes to Sunday dinner every week and has become like another member of my family. Every day Lenny helps me remember the blessings that come from forgetting pride and having courage to do what is right. Seeing him every day reminds me of 1 John 4:18: “There is no fear in love; but perfect love casteth out fear.”

It has been one year since I was baptized. During much of that year I have been in the hospital. Today I received the latest issue of the New Era, and in spite of extreme pain, turned through it. I want others to know how much of a blessing this magazine can be to those who are ill. It has been wonderful for me, as have the members of the ward who help to look after my needs.
Cheryl Ann TrumbullWilmington, Delaware

I have been blessed to have a mother who has spent her life preparing to meet God. She understands the principles of creating, learning, and serving in this life. Her motto has been “Welcome the task that makes you go beyond yourself, and you will grow.” Let me tell you a few highlights from her adventure-filled life. In her youth she lived in the wild Uinta Mountains, where her father worked. She learned to cut tall trees, fish, and camp in the outdoors. During the winter she attended school in the city, played on a basketball team, and learned to play the trumpet. She went to the university and became a nurse. After she was married, she went on a mission with her husband to Brazil, where she learned to speak Portuguese. She has traveled to many countries and has taught the gospel to thousands. She studies the scriptures daily, has written several family history books, works in the temple, keeps track of 62 grandchildren, and can cook 600 doughnuts in one morning!
My mother has stayed in the Savior’s path with unshaken faith in Him (see 2 Ne. 31:19) all the days of her life. She wakes up every day looking forward to new adventures. For her, life is so interesting, and she still has so much to learn.

Jackson stayed close to Mom as they walked into their neighbors’ storage room. It was dark in there. Something brushed across his face, and he jumped.
“Just a little cobweb, Jackson,” Mom said. She bent down and picked up a cardboard box. “Here it is.”
Inside were Mrs. Karras’s wreath and a small nativity set. Jackson helped set them out for her every year while Dad and Grandpa put up the Christmas lights outside.
Jackson carried the box upstairs. He saw Mrs. Karras sitting in her wheelchair in front of the window. Careful not to trip on the cords from her oxygen tank, Jackson placed the box at her feet.
Mrs. Karras made a tiny noise in her throat and pointed outside. Carter and Kennedy, Jackson’s little brother and sister, were rolling in the snow and throwing snowballs at their big yellow dog. Madison, Jackson’s older sister, was handing a string of lights to Dad.
“This would be fun,” Jackson thought, “if it didn’t take all day.”
Not sure what he should say to Mrs. Karras, he put on his hat and mittens and went out to help.
“Jackson, grab me that step stool from the truck,” Grandpa called to him.
“Can you bring me the electrical tape off the front seat?” Dad asked.
“And then come hold these lights for Dad,” Madison ordered.
“Next the dog will be bossing me,” Jackson thought. But he got the stool and the tape, and he took the lights from Madison so she could go warm up inside.
Soon Grandpa walked over and handed him another string. “Even more lights this year than last year,” he said. “It’s going to be quite a display.”
“Why does Mr. Karras keep buying more lights?” Jackson asked.
“Well, he knows they make his wife happy,” Grandpa said, nodding in the direction of the window. “Since she is sick, he does all he can for her.”
Jackson looked to the window and saw that Mr. Karras had pulled a chair next to his wife. He seemed to always be sitting by her and talking to her, even though she couldn’t talk back.
When the last light was strung, Jackson carried the empty boxes back to the storage room. Walking back, he heard Mom telling Mrs. Karras about one of their Christmas traditions.
“On Christmas Eve we sit around the tree, with all its pretty lights, and we share stories about how God’s light has touched us, and the ways we feel and share His love.”
Jackson smiled. He was glad to help Mr. and Mrs. Karras.
That evening after dinner, Dad said, “Time to make sure all those lights came on.”
The family got into the car and Dad drove through town to the top of a hill. In the darkness below, the Karrases’ house was easy to spot.
“Wow,” Jackson whispered.
Lights wrapped around the large pine tree, traced the roofline of the house, and twinkled along the fence. Every bush and every window shone.
“I bet Mrs. Karras is looking out right now, just smiling and smiling,” Madison said.
“I think so too,” Mom agreed.
All at once, Jackson knew what he would talk about when they sat around their tree on Christmas Eve. It seemed to him that all those little Christmas lights were glowing in his heart.

Eric’s father had a tiny farm out in the country. He had taken the family to work on the farm, but Eric remained at home in his shed, alone. Meanwhile, his sores enlarged to huge wounds and infection entered into his bones, a life-threatening condition called osteomyelitis.

When he was 18, Eric saw his friend Emmanuel Ofosu-hene speaking English with an obruni (white man). The obruni was a Mormon missionary, Elder Old. “I only spoke Twi, but Emmanuel interpreted for me: ‘I am so sick I think I will die. Can you help me know what to do so I can go to heaven?’

“Elder Old and his African companion sat with me and taught me. For some reason, they started with the Word of Wisdom. I knew they were speaking the truth because I already knew coffee and tobacco were bad.” They also gave Eric a brochure about the restored gospel of Jesus Christ and invited him to church.

“When I went, I saw this Church was different,” he says. “It was reverent.” Even though it took him an hour to push himself to church in his wheelchair, Eric loved the meetings. “I wanted to go up front and be with people,” he says. “But I stayed at the back because I knew I smelled bad.”

Eric told the missionaries, “What I am learning is true.” He also told them he wanted to be baptized, but doctors had warned him not to get his wounds wet. “I will rely on God to provide answers,” he said. He attended church for about a year and then became too ill and weak to wheel himself there.

Eric’s mother, Lucy, met the missionaries, studied the gospel, and was baptized in 2015. But because her broken leg had never been properly set, it was painful for her to walk. Attending meetings was a challenge for her, as well.
Eventually, Eric was taken to the hospital again. In Ghana, patients have to provide their own water, food, bedding, medicine, and bandages. If they have no money, they are not treated. Eric’s mother and sisters did what they could. Eric received food and medical attention infrequently, so he grew weaker.

Then Eric received some unexpected visitors. Missionaries, Sister Peprah and Sister Nafuna, had seen his photograph at the church and came to see him in the hospital and brought him food. It had been a year since he had been to church, but he told them he still wanted to be baptized.
A few days later, Eric’s sister visited him and found him very ill. She ran home and told their mother. Though their mother had suffered permanent leg damage in the accident with Eric, she walked to the hospital, wincing with every step. “You must come home,” she told Eric. “If you’re going to die, I at least want you near.”
The next morning, the sister missionaries came to the house. “You weren’t at the hospital,” Sister Peprah said. “So we came here.” With them were Elder and Sister Wood, senior missionaries from New Zealand. They took inventory of needs and promised to return.
A few days later, Eric’s father took the family back to the farm—except Eric, who found himself alone again and without food or water. When Elder and Sister Wood returned and discovered Eric alone and hungry, they brought him food and water. They returned the next day and noticed fluid running down his leg and found a huge open ulcer on his thigh. They immediately took Eric back to the hospital.
The Woods learned of a medical humanitarian team from the United States that would be coming to Ghana. The team would perform surgery for Eric without cost. The surgeon treated the ulcer on Eric’s leg. But when he saw the severity of Eric’s wounds, as well as the osteomyelitis, he determined he could not do all the necessary procedures in Ghana. Based on his recommendation, the humanitarian organization initiated a process that would eventually bring Eric to the United States to receive additional treatment and permanently close his wounds. In addition, a shelter in Winneba, Ghana, run by members of the Church, agreed to have Eric live there when he returned so that he could attend school and complete his education.
While in Utah for surgery, Eric visits the reflecting pool near the Salt Lake Temple. Eric says he loves the feeling of peace he finds at the Salt Lake Temple.
Elder Wood, an engineer by profession, rebuilt Eric’s hand-pedal tricycle. He performed a similar overhaul on his wheelchair. He also counseled with President Cosgrave of the Ghana Kumasi Mission, a medical doctor. They felt Eric could be baptized if proper precautions were taken.
Eric shows his tricycle to his mother and siblings after senior missionaries repaired it.
“Elder Wood wrapped my body in plastic, with tape around the plastic,” Eric explains. “Then he carried me into a font filled with water treated with disinfectant. I was baptized on June 26, 2016.” Eric had relied on the Lord, and the Lord had provided a way.
Today, Eric is studying to become a computer technician. But also feels he can influence others through music—he likes to rap in Twi. His upbeat message talks about how God rescued him. One of his favorite scriptures says, “Look to God and live” (Alma 37:47). And he still says, “I see God in everything.”
He adds, “I don’t want anyone to think the way Heavenly Father has blessed me is identical to how He will bless them. But He will bless those who trust Him. When you have to deal with hard things, pray and trust God.”
Eric looks forward to a bright future. He’s studying to be a computer technician and also feels he can inspire others with music.

When my son Joseph was twelve years old, he traveled with me to Kenya in east Africa. We flew into Nairobi, which is the capital city, then traveled by four-wheel drive vehicle into the area inhabited by the Masai—a friendly, happy, beautiful people.
When we arrived in the village, Joseph suddenly found himself surrounded by thirty or forty Masai children his own age. The children were laughing, a smiling, and talking to him, trying hard to overcome the enormous cultural and language barrier.
Our guide explained that we were in a remote area, and that although these children had seen white men before, Joseph was probably the first white boy they had ever seen.
I could tell Joseph wanted to be friendly, so I handed him a chocolate bar.
“Give them a piece of candy,” I said.
He opened the package and broke off a square. He tried to hand it to a boy who seemed about fourteen years old. I will never forget the reaction of that boy. He looked at the chocolate and drew back. He didn’t want to have anything to do with it.
So I said, “Show them that you eat it.”
Joseph put a square of chocolate in his mouth, then handed another square to this same fourteen-year-old boy. The boy looked at it and held it. He was suspicious as he friend to understand it. Then he took the first, tiniest little bite, then a larger bite; then he put the whole piece in his mouth. You could see the joy come over his face as he tasted chocolate candy for the very first time.
Then we handed out pieces of chocolate to all the other children, and they weren’t afraid to try it because they’d seen someone they knew eat it and he had enjoyed it. There was something wonderful about that chocolate.
Later in our trip, we came back to that same village. As soon as we arrived we were surrounded by the same group of children, and we didn’t need a translator to know what they wanted. They wanted more chocolate, more of something wonderful and sweet.
I would like to compare the taste of that chocolate bar to the taste of the gospel of Jesus Christ. Although the gospel tastes sweet and wonderful and good, sometimes other people don’t understand it, and it’s hard to get them to take just a tiny bite. But if they’ll take that bite, and then a larger bite, they will arrive at a marvelous moment when they place it in their mouths and taste the wonderful sweetness.
I think that we, as members of the Church, are much like my twelve-year-old boy was, surrounded by a world of people who want more of something they don’t even understand. I believe that many of the prayers of the people on this earth can only be answered by the members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The Lord has given us the mandate to take the gospel to every nation, kindred, tongue, and people. We can’t say, “They might not understand.” We must help them. There is nothing that will be sweeter to them than the gospel, nothing that will bless them more than the knowledge of the truth.
We have something wonderful and sweet, something much more vital than a chocolate bar, something that affects everyone for all eternity. We have tasted the gospel, and we know it is good. We cannot and we must not ignore the opportunity to help others taste it, too.

In the early 1990s when I met the missionaries, I was interested by all that they taught me. However, I was particularly fascinated by the teachings about the temple. I used my best efforts to deepen my knowledge of the house of the Lord on earth. I shared with the missionaries my desire to go to the temple, and they taught me how to prepare myself for this goal. At that time, there were no temples yet in the Caribbean Area.
Thus, I began my full-time mission in Haiti without having had the opportunity to receive my endowment in the house of the Lord. I found a picture of the Salt Lake Temple in a Church magazine, and I carried it with me wherever I served in the mission field. I always put it in front of my desk and wrote under it, “I want to get married in the temple.”
I was filled with joy when the Santo Domingo Dominican Republic Temple was dedicated in 2000. I have been given the opportunity to be sealed with my wife in the house of the Lord. Later in the April 2015 general conference, I felt even more blessed when President Thomas S. Monson (1927-2018) announced the Port-au-Prince Haiti Temple. The public open house and the dedication of the Port-au-Prince Haiti Temple has marked my life and deepened my understanding of the importance of the temple on earth. In response to my question “How would you describe your experience in the temple?” a visitor said, “I have no words to describe it, I certainly have been in a celestial location,” and a journalist replied, “I don’t know what to say, but in the celestial room, I had a strange feeling that I have never had before.”

When the full-time missionaries started teaching us, I was skeptical and my husband was contentious. We didn’t really want to hear the gospel, but they were so determined to teach us that we knew they wouldn’t give up.
One Saturday night my husband, Javier, and I attended a party that lasted late into the night. Because we were up so late, we slept in and forgot about the invitation from the missionaries to attend church with them the next day.
When we heard them knocking on our door Sunday morning, Javier and I said to each other, “Let’s pretend we’re still asleep and ignore them.”
But the missionaries kept knocking. Finally they called out, “Brother and Sister Vasquez, we know you’re there. If you don’t open the door, we might just jump over your wall and help you get ready for church!”
We knew they were joking, but we decided to get up, open the door, and pretend we hadn’t heard them. We came out rubbing our eyes as if we had just woken up. They knew we were faking it, but they didn’t say anything.
“As soon as you’re ready,” they said, “we’ll go to the chapel.”
We got ourselves and our two children ready, and off we went. At church that day we were touched by the Holy Ghost. From then on, we never missed a meeting. The day we were baptized, October 17, 1976, was the happiest day of our lives. Becoming members of the Church totally changed us.

When President Thomas S. Monson was a boy, people called him Tommy. Tommy loved to play baseball with his friends and his brother Bob. They didn’t have a grassy field for their games, so they used the dirt alley behind their homes as their ball diamond. The area worked as long as the hitter hit the ball straight to “centerfield.” But if he hit the ball to the right, it was headed for disaster.
Mrs. Shinas lived in a little house near “first base” of the ball field. She would watch from her kitchen window as the boys played. Every time a ball landed near her porch, Mrs. Shinas would hurry out of her house, limping because of her stiff leg. She would grab the ball and take it inside.
Finally the boys gave up playing ball in the alley—they had run out of balls. But the conflict continued when some of the boys picked Mrs. Shinas’s home for their pranks.
One day, Tommy decided to bring the conflict to a halt. As he did his daily chore of watering his family’s front lawn, he noticed that Mrs. Shinas’s lawn was dry and turning brown. He took a few more minutes and turned the hose on her lawn as well. He continued this all summer. When leaves started to fall, Tommy also raked Mrs. Shinas’s lawn.
Not once that summer or fall did Tommy see Mrs. Shinas. But he kept up his friendly gesture of watering her yard.
Then one evening Mrs. Shinas opened her front door and beckoned to him. She invited him into her living room and brought out a plate of cookies and a glass of milk. Then she left the room and came back with a large box filled with baseballs—several seasons’ worth.
“Tommy,” she said, “I want to thank you for being kind to me.” For the first time, he saw Mrs. Shinas smile and heard in her voice both kindness and gratitude. The two became friends.
But more than that, Tommy learned one of the most important lessons the Savior taught: that we should do unto others as we would have them do unto us (see Matthew 7:12).

In the summertime, Elder Asay and his brothers spent some time with their father on the mountain range. He was a forest guard with the U.S. Forest Service each summer, and the boys loved to go with him. This was another ideal time for teaching and training. “We spent a lot of time in the canyons and the parks, repairing, painting, clearing trails, and doing other things for the Forest Service. It was great to be together out in nature,” Elder Asay recalled.
One such learning opportunity took place one day in a park where they were all working together, repairing some tables and benches at one of the camp picnic facilities. “My brother, who was about twelve at the time, found a full pack of cigarettes. And Dad must have seen him stealthily put it into his pocket. He called us together and asked him what he had picked up. My brother pulled the cigarettes out of his pocket. Dad said, ‘Open the pack.’
“Dad instructed each one of us to take one, saying, ‘Put it in your mouth and see how it tastes.’ Very quickly he had four spitting boys on his hands. Dad asked if any of us had liked the taste. We all said no. Then he told us to remember this experience, and added, ‘Tobacco doesn’t taste good, it isn’t good for you, and it isn’t in accord with God’s law.’
“We made a pact then and there that we would never touch cigarettes again.”

I will forever be grateful for a person who had the eyes to see a young, somewhat immature, recently returned missionary sophomore as something more than just a struggling first-generation college student. Having recently returned from my service in the Taiwan Taipei Mission in 1992 and while taking my first real statistics and mathematics classes, I found myself inside the office of our unofficial department advisor, Shauna Kuykendall. Shauna had an abundance of the gift to see the best in each individual with whom she came in contact. I remember talking with Shauna about classes in which I struggled, tests that went badly, and doubts about my abilities. Shauna kept telling me that she could see me someday becoming a faculty member at BYU. I remember thinking that was impossible! Faculty members were smart—and that wasn’t me. Despite my protests, Shauna confidently reiterated what she saw in me. And I could tell that she meant it.

All of us sometimes need someone with a bolder vision for our future than we have for ourselves. And we also all need to reciprocate that blessing—to cultivate the gift about which President Monson spoke of seeing in others and helping others see what they might yet become!

My mom never accepted the gospel in her earthly journey, even though I had prayed for her and felt she would accept it someday. She was a strong woman who sacrificed throughout her life to support our family after the Korean War. On the one-year anniversary of my mom’s death, my wife and I went to the Los Angeles California Temple to perform her baptism and confirmation. The strong Spirit in the room confirmed to me that my mom gladly accepted the gospel and the ordinances.

Illustration by Mark Robison
Before Christmas my parents bought a box full of copies of the Book of Mormon to give to people. That was when I had the idea to take some to school and give them as presents to three of my teachers.
When I got to the music classroom, I saw my music teacher and thought, “Go ahead, Sophia. Give one to her!” I walked slowly up to my teacher. But I didn’t have the courage to give her the book.
I went to a corner of the room and prayed very quietly. “Heavenly Father, I ask Thee to help me give this book to my teacher.” When I finished my prayer, I felt very strongly that I should give the book to her. Suddenly I had courage.
I went up to her. She looked at me, and I gave her the Book of Mormon and said, “Teacher, I love you from the bottom of my heart, and I want to give you this Book of Mormon!”
She took it and looked at the cover. “Look inside!” I said. She saw that I had written a few words.
She hugged me and said, “Oh, Sophia, thank you for giving this to me!”
After I sat down, she said to the class, “Look what Sophia gave me. I am going to read it during the holidays!”
When I got home, I ran to my mother and said, “Guess what! I gave my teacher a Book of Mormon.”
She smiled and said, “That’s wonderful! You’re a great example to me, Sophia.”
We decided to pray to thank Heavenly Father for giving me the courage to give my teacher the Book of Mormon.

“What about family home evening? Aren’t we going to have it tonight?” my six-year-old daughter, Leilani, asked. A feeling of guilt flooded over me. My husband and I had been trying to hold family home evening, but with many claims on our time, we had fallen out of the habit. Leilani’s reminder made us recommit to not neglect family home evening for any reason.
As Leilani and her sister, Nadia, have gotten older, they have wanted to teach during family home evening what they have learned in Primary. They even draw their own visual aids to illustrate the principles they want to teach. We rejoice as parents to see them talking about the gospel and often can expand on the subject they have chosen.
“What about family home evening? Aren’t we going to have it tonight?” are words I am trying hard not to hear repeated. I know that when children are young is the best time to teach them. The world may exercise its influence, but if we work and grow alongside our children, we can reach our goal of raising men and women of principle.
Patricia Cárdenas de Prado, Guatemala

At our multistake youth conference, we all received a Book of Mormon and were invited to give it to someone. I wanted to give mine to my favorite pop singer.
When I found out he was giving a concert in my city, I thought this would be the perfect opportunity. Each of his concerts has a random drawing that selects 15 fans to go backstage and meet him. It’s nearly impossible to be selected, but I entered anyway.
A few weeks before the concert, I wrote my testimony in a Book of Mormon and prayed. I explained to Heavenly Father that the odds were against me and that I needed His help.
As soon as I said “amen,” my cell phone rang with a call from the singer’s office. I had been selected!
Backstage on the day of the concert, I presented the singer with the book. He opened it and read my testimony: “I spent a lot of time thinking of a valuable, useful present for you. I realized that I needed to give you something that was valuable because of what it contained and not because of its price. This is the Book of Mormon; it is the most precious thing I have. It will be for you too if you read it.”
He gave me a hug and said he would read it. I couldn’t hold back my tears!

On another occasion while recording a CD with the Budapest Symphony Orchestra I witnessed many somber and cautious Hungarians who I knew were well acquainted with tyranny and who, in most cases lived a meager existence. The thought flooded my mind that we in America are often spoiled-having too much and giving too little." Our blessings from God are too numerous to mention.

But, He will continue to bless us in abundance if we remember that 'Because we have been given much, we too, must give.'