Gospel Story Finder

Born in Pennsylvania, USA, in 1798, Rebecca Swain was the youngest of 10 children.2 When she was about nine, her family moved to Niagara, near the United States–Canada border. They were close enough to Fort Niagra that they could hear the gunfire when the fort was attacked during the War of 1812. Even as a young girl Rebecca showed her fearlessness. Once, while traveling alone through the woods, she met a bear face-to-face on the trail. Having a parasol in her hand, she opened and closed it several times in the bear’s face, and it ran away.3

A summer rain in the Sierra Mountains usually lasts only a few hours, so I wasn’t worried when the rain began. I told the boys to pack up and we’d hike during the rain to the high secluded lakes in Bench Valley that promised good fishing. We were unaware, after four days of camping and hiking, that Tropical Storm Norman was lashing at California. In a rage of rain, wind, and ship-shoving waves, “Storming Norman” would make itself felt across the state. But that first Monday in September, we merely enjoyed the cooling rain.
A week in the Sierras had become an annual trip for me as bishop and the Explorer-aged boys in my ward. I had been on many hikes in the Sierra Mountains as a teenager. Now as bishop I felt the hikes brought me close to the boys as nothing else could. This was my sixth trip as a leader and one of my easiest so far. In the first place, two other adults, Brother Rich and Brother Christiansen, were helping me. Secondly, seven of the boys had been with me before. Only two 14-year-olds were on their first Sierra hike. Steven Knight had planned on this since his brother Jim came back a year before with enthusiastic accounts of the fishing, camaraderie, and glories of nature. He and Kurt Moody, the other first-timer, were excited. I found their inexperience creating the usual slight problems any beginner presents. They made occasional mistakes. They complained about the difficulties of backpacking and suffered from sore ankles and stiff muscles. But generally, we all enjoyed the 11 kilometer hike that day. We crossed several small streams, walked through one large meadow, and managed a stiff climb into Bench Valley.
“Don’t set up camp yet, boys,” I instructed. “We don’t want wet tents if we can help it. Stay under your ponchos and wait for the storm to end.”
I still thought the rain would soon stop, as it had every other time I had been there. But when the rain hadn’t stopped by midafternoon, we set up our camp.
“Split some logs for dry wood and let’s start a fire,” I instructed.
“Won’t the rain just put it out?” Jim asked.
“Build the fire next to that rock face. It will provide a little protection from the rain. We’ll keep the fire big enough to burn in spite of the rain.”
After a wet but warm supper, we went into our tents to wait for the end of the storm. The wind began blowing. And the rain came down.
“Bishop Brown!”
I woke up. It was still night, and it was still raining. Steven was standing outside my tent, shivering and wet.
“Our tent leaks. I’m all w-w-wet and freezing.”
I got Steven in with Steve Rich, who was sharing my tent. I didn’t know that Steven had left his own tent flap open. For the rest of the night the rain came in on his tent-mate, Kurt.
Several hours later I awoke again, with a feeling of wet suffocation. The wind had pulled the tent stakes out of the ground which was too wet to hold them. One end of the tent had collapsed, dumping its load of water on us. I struggled out and reset the stakes. While I was up, I built up the fire again. By the time I got back to my tent, the other end had blown down. I put it back up and got back in. It took a long time before I felt warm again.
Dawn came, showing a very wet camp. Keith and Mark Nelsen woke to find a pond forming next to their tent, within 15 centimeters of them. A new stream ran between two other tents. The rock overhang used to protect the packs had sheets of water flowing down it, soaking the packs. Most of the boys had wet sleeping bags. The rocky cliffs surrounding us were covered with waterfalls pouring water into the valley. It was spectacular. It was also frightening.
“We’d better leave here,” Brother Christiansen said. “We might get trapped by some flooding.”
Aren’t we up pretty high?” Steve Young asked. “This rain could turn to snow. We might get trapped in a snowstorm.”
They were both right. We decided to start going down for more shelter and less cold. We hurriedly packed our camp equipment.
“How much of this food should we take? We don’t need to carry it all back out do we?” Steve Rich asked.
“No, let’s just take what we need,” I agreed.
“Let’s go all the way out to the cars today. I’m sick of this rain,” Cornell Hansen grumbled.
The boys all loudly agreed. But I wasn’t sure.
“I don’t know if we can hike the full 32 kilometers today in all this rain,” I said. “We had better take food for four meals in case we’re delayed.”
“Oh, bishop, do we have to?” “We have to. Now let’s start.”
The hike soon became a nightmare. Our fears of flooding were well-founded. Small streams we had walked through without wetting our pant cuffs became turbulent rivers, tearing at us and trying to pull us under. Waterfalls were everywhere. The trail itself became a stream and difficult to follow. The wind whipped branches in our way. We missed our turnoff and went down the longer trail to Maxon Meadows. I remembered a Ranger cabin in the meadow from last year. Maybe we could take refuge there. We walked slowly on through the chilling wind and rain. When we finally reached a spot where we could look over the meadow, we stopped in dismay.
“Look, it’s a lake!”
Yes, the meadow was covered knee-deep in water. The cabin looked like some sort of strange ark. The rising water was lapping at its base. We hiked through the lake and kept going.
The trail was now often waist deep in water. We were all cold and miserable.
“Just keep going, boys,” I encouraged. “Then we’ll be out of this mess.”
But I hadn’t taken into account Fall Creek. It was a small creek we had waded through on the way in. Then it had been about 3 meters wide and 30 centimeters deep. Now it was a raging torrent of churning water 30 meters wide and well over our heads.
We had to cross the river. Our situation was becoming critical. We were wet and chilled, with no way to dry shelter, and all the wood was soaked or underwater. It was hard to comprehend the quantity of water around us.
We had to cross the river. But we couldn’t cross the river. It was too deep to wade, too rough to swim, and too wide to bridge. Upstream, the river came down a deep gorge between cliffs. We couldn’t cross there. I prayed to our Heavenly Father that, like Moses, I could somehow part the waters. We started downstream, hoping to find a way across.
After hiking about 400 meters Brother Rich discovered a huge pine tree that “happened” to span the river. We had often seen pines crossing streams before, but never one the dimensions of this huge patriarch. While it didn’t reach from shore to shore, both ends were on ground high enough that we could reach them by wading waist deep.
Brother Rich started across first to test if it was safe. As he climbed on the pine, it bobbed in the water, but stayed where it was. Carefully he made his way safely to the other side. There he climbed off and waded out of sight through the trees to higher ground.
I was the third one to attempt the crossing. I had gone only a few steps when I stopped. I had a feeling that the two younger boys would not be able to get across without help. I turned around, but others were on the log behind me.
“Keith,” I called. The big blond boy looked up. “Cross with Steven and help him if he has trouble.” He nodded in agreement.
“And, Jeff, you go with Kurt.”
“I will do that,” Jeff answered.
Keith and Steven started across the slippery tree. Branches, twigs, and other debris washed down by the flood were trapped by the tree. The fallen tree’s own branches impeded their progress.
“Step there,” Keith instructed.
Steven stepped, but he had misunderstood Keith’s directions. The branch disappeared under the foaming water. Steven followed it. His pack pulled him down, completely under the water. The current started pushing him under the log. He was in danger of being trapped and drowned. Acting quickly, Keith reached in and grabbed Steven’s pack. With one strong pull, he pulled him back onto the log.
Scared, but with no other choice, they continued across the tree. But danger wasn’t through with Steven yet. He stepped on some branches that snapped underneath him. Again he went in over his head and started being pulled under the huge tree. Again Keith reached in and pulled him out.
By now, Steven was afraid to take another step. Keith helped him off with his pack and carried it. Without its added weight, Steven made his precarious way to safety:
When Steven reached solid ground he began shaking. He was thoroughly chilled and apparently in shock as a reaction to his near drowning.
“Let’s get you some dry clothes,” I said heartily, trying to get his mind off his past peril. I gave him the shirt and dry wool sweater I was wearing. One of the boys gave him some dry pants from his pack.
While he was changing, the rest of the boys came across the tree.
“Be careful,” Jeff told Kurt. “You’re bigger than Steven and I’m not sure I can lift you.”
They began to carefully walk across. But the slippery tree moved—Kurt lost his balance and fell in, He caught himself and didn’t go completely under. However, with the force of the current and the weight of his pack, he couldn’t climb back on the tree and Jeff couldn’t lift him. They struggled futilely for several minutes. Jeff almost lost his balance himself. Finally Jeff helped Kurt off with his pack. Now Kurt was able to get back on the tree and continue across the river.
A new danger was now apparent. Kurt was soaked after his icy bath, I had given up my own dry clothes, and Steven was still shivering. In spite of his dry clothes, he was shaking so hard he couldn’t speak. I knew we had to get warm, but I didn’t know how.
Everything—equipment, clothes, wood, ground-everything was wet. The temperature was dropping, and the wind was adding to the chill factor. The only thing I could think to do was to keep on moving. Brother Rich and Brother Christiansen, agreed. We had to get out. But the rain was falling and the rivers were rising.
We hiked on. I was becoming very chilled. I was having a hard time thinking clearly. I recognized this as a symptom of a lower than normal body temperature, and I was becoming frightened. As the body temperature drops, the body loses its ability to warm itself. It’s a very real danger for wet hikers and I wasn’t sure if the two younger boys would be able to get out all right.
I sent a couple of the older boys ahead to look for dry wood and ground up out of the water. And I prayed.
About 15 minutes later we got to them. They had found a fallen log.
“We managed to split it,” Jeff said. “We dug some dry wood from the middle, but none of our matches will light.”
“Here,” I said as they moved aside. “I’ll use my lighter.”
I flicked the lighter. Nothing happened. Flick. Still nothing. Flick. Flick.
“Maybe it’s out of fuel,” someone offered.
“It can’t be. I bought it just for this trip.” I flicked it again and again. It wouldn’t light.
I got out my matches. Thank goodness they were still dry. I struck one. It wouldn’t light. Another. It still wouldn’t light. One by one I struck them all. Not one would light.
“Oh, Father,” I prayed, “thou knowest we need help. I am afraid these two boys will die if they don’t get warm. If we have to spend the night wet in this rain and wind, I may die too. Please help us light a fire to warm ourselves. We need thy help!”
We tried everyone’s matches. We didn’t get one spark.
“Why, Father why? I am their bishop, and we need thy help. Why are my prayers unanswered? We need thee. Please don’t turn away.”
The only answer was the blowing rain.
“Lord, it depends on you now. I don’t know anything else to do.”
We hiked on. I was shivering violently now. The trail was sometimes chest deep in water on the boys. Only the marked trees kept us on the correct trail. I knew we couldn’t hike all the way out. The younger boys were slowing down. There was another river ahead. It was bigger than all the others. It would surely be unpassable.
“What will I tell their mothers?” I worried. “Will this end all camping trips for Church teens? How will my wife manage our seven children? Little Melanie’s only two weeks old. I’ll never know her.” My mind continued on its frightened course. I continued praying, hard and constantly.
Almost in despair, we hiked on, leaning into the rain. We walked wearily around a bend. There was a cabin. It took a moment for us to realize it was real. A cabin! A cabin with smoke coming out of the chimney. Other than the inundated one on Maxon Meadows, it was probably the only cabin within 32 kilometers. Pacific Gas and Electric Company kept it to measure winter snowfall.
Inside the cabin were four other hikers who had taken refuge from the storm. A fire was burning hotly. There was a huge stack of firewood, trashcans full of wool blankets, and ample food supplies. We were safe.
When we were all warm and dry, I thanked God for his mercy. I realized that had we been able to light a fire, we would still be out in the storm, fighting for our lives.
“Thank thee, Father, for not answering my pleas for fire. Help me remember, when I complain and wonder why, that I do not know what shelter is is around the next bend.”
I tried my lighter. It flicked its merry little flame on the first try.
The storm forced us to stay for two and a half days. Then, with snow on the ground, we hiked out.

During her work on both the YWMIA general board and the correlation committees, Sister Funk came to know Sister Hortense H. Child, now her first counselor. Sister Child tells the story of the time she needed to give an important report on short notice. Before coming to the office that day she had forgotten to change from an old pair of gardening shoes. She just traded shoes with Ruth and carried on with her usual poise. But Ruth got even: she was asked in one meeting by the president of the Church to play the piano for an opening song, but she had forgotten her glasses. She just got up from her seat in the audience, and when she passed Sister Child, who was sitting on the aisle, she took off Hortense’s glasses as she swished by, put them on, and read the music without a flaw.

On a recent trip to Hermanus, South Africa, I learned the importance of agency. This small coastal town is about a 90-minute drive from Cape Town and is one of the many beautiful beach towns along the coast. The waves were rolling in as I headed down to the beach to surf with a friend.
Once we had off-loaded the surfboards, I stood in the warm white sand and stared at the beach, squinting at the sun in disbelief. The lifeguard had already put up the swimming zone flags, but they were less than 50 meters (165 feet) apart! The beach was several hundred meters long, and all the good waves were outside the swimming zone. How was anybody supposed to swim between those two red- and yellow-striped flags? Was he just being lazy because he didn’t want to watch all the way down the beach?
My friend and I are pretty good swimmers, so we decided to head out to the right of the flagged area. As I walked out through the white water, I could feel the strong pull of the water washing past my legs, but I could still stand against the current, so I kept going. When I was in deep enough, I got on my board and paddled out to the unbroken swells. The waves kept coming, and we surfed for a while, enjoying catching the waves and watching each other catch the waves.
I turned around to look at the beach and suddenly noticed that I was rapidly drifting away from where I had started—the flags were far away! What I didn’t know about and couldn’t see was a large sandbar on the ocean floor, and as the tide was coming in, the water was washing over the sides of the sandbar, creating a powerful wash on both sides of the flagged area. The lifeguard knew that; he had been sitting there the whole day watching the water, so he knew where it was safe to swim.
I turned my board around and began paddling back towards the swimming zone. I paddled my hardest, but there was no way I could swim against the strong current. I was drifting farther out to sea! Panicking, I got off my board and tried to walk. My feet just touched the ocean floor, and I felt my toes dragging in the sand beneath. I could not hold myself against the thousands of tons of water moving past me, so I had to get back on my board. I lay there, powerless and drifting. I waved to my friend to help, but he was caught by the same current.
“Would the lifeguard still rescue me, even though I had ignored his warning?” I wondered. I had made the decision to swim in the no-swim zone and now had to accept the consequence—loss of control. I was being pulled by forces much stronger than I was. My only hope was to catch a wave back to the beach before I was pulled into the sharp rocks at the end of the beach. Eventually, a wave came, and I managed to ride it back to shore as did my friend.
We sheepishly walked back to the swimming zone and enjoyed the rest of the day surfing between the flags. Each time one of us began drifting too close to the edge of the swimming zone, we would warn each other to come back.

The story is told of a professional driver who applied for a job driving high level government officials to their various destinations often on dangerous winding mountain roads. The interviewer asked each applicant the following question: “How close can you drive a car to the edge of a dangerous mountain road and remain safe?” The first applicant responded, “I can get within ten centimeters and still be safe.” The second said, “I can get on the edge and still be safe.” The third driver stated, “I can get one wheel over the edge and still protect the passenger.” Finally, the last driver said, “I will stay as far from the edge as possible.” It is he who got the job.

Dear Brother and Sister Heath,
You do not know who I am, yet I am deeply indebted to you. Because you followed President Benson’s counsel to “flood the earth with the Book of Mormon,” my life has been changed forever. You see, your testimony is on the inside cover of the Book of Mormon given to me by two missionaries in August 1988. You wrote, “It will touch your life as nothing has before.” How little did I realize on that August day just how true those words would become for me. I want to share my story with you.
My name is Randi Spurling and I was raised an active member of my church. However, gradually I fell away from my beliefs. When my husband deserted our family in February 1988, he took all the money and left me with many bills. The only solace I found was in attending church every week. I felt I needed the church, but just attending the meetings once a week wasn’t spiritually fulfilling.
One evening during this turbulent time in my life, I heard a knock at my door. I opened it to find two clean-cut young men in crisp white shirts, and dark suits. They said they were from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and asked if they might speak with me. Since my good friend and neighbor, Lorrie, was a Mormon, I decided to listen to them, if only to help me better understand Lorrie’s beliefs.
As I watched those two young men, I recalled a conversation I had had with Lorrie a few months earlier. She had asked me if I had ever considered getting married again. I had emphatically said, “No!” Because I knew that if I ever decided to remarry, I would want a man who didn’t drink, didn’t smoke, didn’t cheat on his wife, who went to church, was honest, didn’t swear and who loved his family more than material goods. “Men like that just don’t exist,” I told her. “I could be looking forever.” Lorrie smiled and explained that most of the men she knew were just like that. I had only laughed.
Now, I stood looking at those two missionaries and I was curious. So, I asked them to return.
A few days later Elder Walker and Elder McAllister presented the first missionary discussion to me and it went wonderfully. They gave me a Book of Mormon and asked me to read it and pray about it. Brother and Sister Heath, that Book of Mormon contained your testimony and your photograph. I was very touched by your message.
On the missionaries’ second visit, I had a problem accepting the missionary discussion. They seemed to be challenging all of my religious beliefs. For example, they asked me how I felt about baptism. I told them I had already been baptized. When they explained that it was necessary to be baptized by immersion, I thought they were crazy. We discussed the subject for what seemed like an eternity. Then Elder Walker quietly asked if I would kneel with them and pray. I had never pictured any man on his knees praying, especially praying in my behalf. We knelt and prayed together.
Pondering on what the missionaries had told me, I became emotionally upset. To believe in their message would mean my life would have to be changed—and I didn’t want to change. I liked my life as it was.
At that moment I decided I would never again open that Mormon “book” and I would never again allow the missionaries into my home. But, that night before going to bed, I succumbed to the Spirit, opened the Book of Mormon and read until I could no longer keep my eyes open.
As I drifted off to sleep, I saw myself wandering, lost in total darkness. I kept clawing at my eyes, because I felt as if they were blinded by sand. If only I could find a way to clear them. I was overjoyed to find a pool of clear water. I entered the water and submerged myself so that I could fully wash the sand away. As I came out of the water, I was surrounded by the most radiant light. At last I could see clearly! How happy I felt!
As I awoke, I felt a sudden fear. The missionaries were right! Now what was I going to do? How could I admit to them that now I believed baptism by immersion was necessary? I resolved not to tell the missionaries of my experience, but as we met for the next discussion, the Spirit took control and excitedly I described my dream to them.
We continued with the discussions and I hungered for the knowledge that the Book of Mormon contained. Many, many nights I read until I was exhausted. On two occasions I simply held the book and wept, feeling unworthy to be allowed to read such precious truths. I knew that what I read was true, but I still could not make the commitment to change my life. Yet, a loving Heavenly Father continued to provide the opportunity for me to learn more.
For example, I attended church meetings and activities with Lorrie; listened to the words of the prophet during a broadcast of the annual General Women’s Meeting; attended a fireside presentation on the Doctrine and Covenants; visited Relief Society homemaking meetings; and became so familiar with the Book of Mormon that I began to recognize quotations from it when they were used in talks or magazine articles.
I was beginning to make friends with many of the people I met at Church meetings and activities and I developed a special relationship with the missionaries. But, I was scared. I was afraid to let go of my “old” life. I told myself I had to break away from these people now before I became any more involved with them and their beliefs.
When the sixth and last discussion was over, I felt so relieved. Now I could just go on with my life and not have to think about things that I did not want to worry about. But I underestimated the missionaries and the members. These were people who lived the principles of their religion day after day. What was their secret?
I found the answer in November when I was invited to a baptism. Nothing was really out of the ordinary until the moment Elder McAllister entered the font to baptize a young man. I could not stop the tears. I was so touched by the Spirit that I had no doubt in my mind which church I needed to belong to.
Two weeks later the missionaries invited me to a Christmas program on Temple Square in Salt Lake City. As I watched and listened I realized that I couldn’t live the rest of my life as a non-Mormon who reads the Book of Mormon believing it to be the word of God, or be a non-member believing that Latter-day Saints led the most Christ-like lives of anyone I knew. As I looked around me, a still, small voice said, “These are your people. Go to them.”
The next day I contacted the missionaries. I told them I needed to set a date for my baptism. I wish I would have been able to record the joy I heard in their voices. I hope to remember it forever.
I was baptized 11 December 1988.
I am grateful to the missionaries, to Church members I met, and to you, Brother and Sister Heath, for sharing your testimony and providing me, a stranger, with the precious Book of Mormon. President Ezra Taft Benson said, “I have a vision of flooding the earth with the Book of Mormon.” Thank you for sending the flood my way. It didn’t drown me, it buoyed me up. I am more alive now than I have ever been before.
Your sister in Christ’s Church,Randi Spurling

Jeremy John was a wiggler. When he sat on the front row in Primary, he wiggled. When it was singing time, he wiggled. Even when he listened to his Sunbeam teacher, Sister Cardon, give a lesson, he wiggled.
“Jeremy John,” his teacher would say, “please stop wiggling.”
He tried to sit still. He really did. But then his legs would start swinging back and forth, back and forth. And before he knew it, he was wiggling again.
Then one Sunday, Sister Cardon said, “Boys and girls, I have a special Book of Mormon story to tell you.”
Jeremy John liked stories. He scooted his chair a little closer to his teacher.
“This story is about Jesus Christ visiting the Nephites,” she said.
Jeremy John really loved stories about Jesus, so he scooted his chair even closer.
“Jesus Christ taught the Nephites many wonderful things,” Sister Cardon said. “The people loved to listen to Him. And they loved to be near Him.”
She held up a picture of the Savior blessing the children. “He had all the children come to Him,” she said. “He took them one by one, and He prayed for them and blessed them.” Jeremy John could see that his teacher’s eyes were shiny with tears as she said, “Jesus Christ loves every child. He loves you.”
Jeremy John felt cozy and warm inside just like he felt when he snuggled up in his fuzzy green blanket. How he wished he could have been there with Jesus!
He looked at the picture again. There, sitting beside Jesus, was a little boy about the same age as Jeremy John. The boy was sitting very, very still, looking up at Jesus.
I could do that, Jeremy John thought. I could sit still if I were sitting by Jesus. All of a sudden, he knew how to stop being a wiggler.
Now whenever he sits in Primary, he imagines that Jesus is sitting right beside him. And Jeremy John hardly wiggles at all.

Education is helping Christina Augerea from Hula, Papua New Guinea, accomplish her goals. Ever since she was little, she has had a love of reading and the goal of attending university. Her love of reading is what led her to the Church.

“When I was in fifth grade, we didn’t have books at my school,” she says. “My teacher was a Church member. She didn’t have other books, so she gave us the Book of Mormon.”
Years later, Christina served a mission in the Philippines and then started attending Brigham Young University–Hawaii, where she is working toward law school with a double major in political science and business administration and a minor in Mandarin.
Christina’s story came full circle after the COVID-19 pandemic forced her to return home. One day while visiting her village, she learned that the library at her primary school was infested with termites. With the help of local organizations and the Church, Christina oversaw the construction of a new library, with systems in place that will keep it running for many years.
As happy as she is that she was able to help her community, Christina explains that it took a lot of faith and work to get where she is now. “I know how it feels when you don’t have anything but you want to study,” she says. And through all her experiences, she has learned a lot about the value and purpose of education.
Our Church leaders often teach that it’s important to seek whatever education we can. “The Lord and His Church have always encouraged education to increase our ability to serve Him and our Heavenly Father’s children,” taught President Henry B. Eyring, Second Counselor in the First Presidency.2
But, as Christina shares, education is more than just sitting in a classroom. “One of my professors told us that learning is not just about getting grades, a certificate, or eventually a job. It’s about understanding concepts.” And in order for education to really make a difference in your life, what you learn has to become a part of you. “You have to love learning,” Christina adds.
There are many ways we can become educated. “We don’t just learn in school,” Christina says. “We also learn in the Church. We learn at home. We can learn everywhere.” As we take advantage of opportunities to expand our knowledge, we become more educated, and the process of learning becomes more central to our lives.
Christina testifies that knowledge is key to helping each of us “prepare to meet God” (Alma 34:32). “We can grow and reach our potential by learning,” Christina says. As we humbly seek knowledge, we become more like our Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ and prepare to live with Them again.
By unlocking our personal potential, education also increases our ability to serve others. President Russell M. Nelson said, “Education is the difference between wishing you could help other people and being able to.”3
This is one of the biggest blessings that Christina has seen from education. “Education gives me the confidence to know that I can teach skills to others,” she says. “Even teaching in the Church is a lot of responsibility. So having confidence to be able to teach the young women or youth is amazing.”
Gaining an education takes persistence and strength—but it’s possible. At first, Christina didn’t know how she would accomplish her goals. “I didn’t know where I would get the money,” she says. But Christina found that when you trust in God and seek His help, He will help you accomplish what He needs you to do.
“With all my dreams and plans, two things that I always asked Heavenly Father for was to teach me what I could do and how I could do it. And He never left me. He knew that there was something better for me, and He guided me. I knew all those times that Heavenly Father was with me and that He still is.”
And as we seek Heavenly Father’s help, He will bless us with opportunities to gain more education and knowledge.
Christina knows that gaining an education is worth the effort. “I would tell people who think that they can’t do it to remember the huge potential God has given us. We can unlock that potential by believing that He has given it to us.”

In 2011, the First Presidency and the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles gave approval for the first-ever British Pageant. During an audition for a role in the pageant, Matt P., 12, from Lincolnshire, England, met a man who had faith in these servants of the Lord. Because of his testimony of the Apostles, the man told Matt, “I know this pageant is the work of God.” The man then explained that because of that knowledge, he wanted members and nonmembers from South Wales to attend the pageant and learn more about the restored gospel, so he booked and paid for three buses to take them.
“At that time, five months before the pageant,” Matt explained, “no one knew how the pageant would turn out.” The cast was made up of people who aren’t professional actors, and it took a true leap of faith to believe that the cast could put together a professional production with just a few weeks of practice. However, the man Matt talked with knew that the messages of truth in the pageant would touch the audience’s hearts—and he wanted others to have a chance to attend.
“His faith, above all other spiritual experiences at the pageant, touched me the most,” said Matt. “I never learned his name, but if I could, I would like to tell him thank you.” It was a moment that showed how you can find many ways to help others receive messages of the gospel—messages of truth.

I recall visiting a college campus where I heard the usual, commonplace complaining of youth: complaints about the pressures of school—as if it were a burden rather than an opportunity to partake of the knowledge of the earth—complaints about housing and about food.
I counseled those youth that if the pressures of school were too heavy, if they felt to complain about their housing and their food, then I could suggest a cure for their problems. I suggested that they lay their books aside for a few hours, leave their rooms, and go visit someone who is old and lonely, or someone sick and discouraged. By and large, I have come to see that if we complain about life, it is because we are thinking only of ourselves.

In 1952, Elder Benson was astonished to receive a telephone call informing him that U.S. President-elect Dwight D. Eisenhower, a man he had never met, wanted to talk to him about becoming U.S. Secretary of Agriculture. Farm leaders had recommended Ezra Taft Benson as the best man for the job. With Church President David O. McKay’s blessing and President Eisenhower’s assurance that he need never endorse a policy that he did not agree with, Elder Benson became Secretary Benson. The Benson family returned to Washington, D.C., for the eight years of the Eisenhower administration.

In that period, controversy was raging about how to stabilize supply and demand in an uncertain farm economy, and Ezra Taft Benson’s face appeared on the covers of national magazines as he dealt with the problem. He spoke forthrightly, without regard for how popular his opinion might be. Speaking to farmers and politicians, he dared to suggest that the solutions to economic and political problems are based on spiritual and moral principles, without which no nation can have prosperity or peace. In Washington, Elder Benson instigated the practice of opening Cabinet meetings with prayer, and the Bensons presented a family home evening program to the Eisenhowers.

Actually, for Elder Benson, the time in Washington was not really an interruption in his service to God. He was a patriot who found in the Book of Mormon answers for his country’s needs. He loved the choice land where the gospel had been restored, he revered its Constitution, and he took very seriously his responsibility to help preserve it. Twenty years later, one of the choicest assignments of President Benson’s life was to review the St. George Temple records showing ordinances performed there for the founding fathers of the United States.

My Grandma Fischer died when I was ten, and the only knowledge my children have of this great-grandmother is what I relate to them. One of the special things I remember about Grandma Fischer is her cooking. She loved to cook and loved even more to share her cooking. She joined the Church in Germany along with her fiance, my grandfather Fischer, and came to the United States. She brought with her many of her mother’s and grandmother’s favorite recipes from the old country. A Christmas tradition in the Fischer family is stollen, a sweet, fruited and glazed bread.

Most families have favorite recipes that have been passed down from one generation to the next. Christmas, Thanksgiving, birthdays, and other holidays often have cherished foods associated with them. But family favorites don’t have to belong just to holidays. Maybe an uncle bakes blueberry muffins every Saturday morning. Or a grandmother makes her version of sugar cookies when she knows her grandchildren are coming to visit. These are family traditions too.

What are some of your family’s traditional recipes? Find out by asking your mother and grandmothers, your aunts and cousins, either in person or by telephone or letter. Don’t just ask for the recipes, though. Ask about the cook who first used the recipe too. You may discover fascinating things about your family and its history that you didn’t know before!

Make a collection of the recipes and include a short history or some interesting facts about each contributor. If possible, include a photograph. Have copies made and distribute them at the next family reunion, put them in a family newsletter, or simply send them to interested relatives. And they will be a treasure to hand down to your own children later.

After many promptings during his young adult years, Elder Larry S. Kacher began to recognize a greater power guiding him in his life. At age 19, sensitivity to the Spirit led him to the gospel of Jesus Christ—a change that has made all the difference.
He was born on February 12, 1952, the second oldest of the five children born to Albert and Elaine Kacher; he grew up in Bloomington, Minnesota, USA.
After high school he went to Europe to ski, and after more than six months there he felt he needed to return home. Once home, he felt like he needed to go somewhere else but didn’t know where. A childhood friend planned to move to Utah, and Elder Kacher decided to move with him. While in Utah, Elder Kacher enrolled at Brigham Young University, learned about the Church, and was baptized.
“As the missionaries taught us, I felt it was true,” he says. “As I prayed, I felt that the Church was true.”
He decided to serve a mission and was called to the Tahiti Papeete Mission in 1973. After returning home, he went back to school at BYU, where he met Pauline Miller. They were married in the Manti Utah Temple on October 29, 1976, and are the parents of six children and the grandparents of 11 grandchildren.
Elder Kacher earned a bachelor’s degree in psychology and a master’s degree in organizational behavior—both from BYU. His career involved consulting to large companies nationally and internationally.
Prior to being sustained on April 5, 2014, as a member of the Second Quorum of the Seventy, Elder Kacher served as a branch president, elders quorum president, bishop, and stake president’s counselor. He presided over the Switzerland Geneva Mission from 2000 to 2003. A few years after his return from Switzerland, his work took him to Abu Dhabi, United Arab Emirates, where he was called to serve as the first Area Seventy in the Middle East.

At one time and at great sacrifice, my mother and I went to the temple. There we said many prayers for our family, especially for my younger brother who had not been active in the Church for five years. On our return home, we discovered that at the very moment we were praying in the temple, my brother was asking the full-time missionaries to help him and his friend live better lives. In time, he was able to baptize his friend, and now both of them are preparing to serve missions.
Celeste Mongi, Los Olmos Branch, Villa María Argentina District

Ghana is a country with great potential for development, yet it is struggling to find the needed financial resources. Although there are too few jobs to go around, the abundance of small businesses shows that Ghanaians are willing to work hard at any available opportunity.
Latter-day Saint businessman Kweku Anno of Accra gestures toward the men working under the metal sheds of his manufacturing enterprise. “Every one of them has a cousin or a brother who needs to be trained.” If he sent out word that he wanted 10 workers, Brother Anno says, there would be 100 outside his gate before the day ended.
A mechanical engineer, he designed the simple, sturdy concrete block- and brick-making machines built in his shop. Brother Anno estimates that each machine will provide jobs for four people. His own business enterprises support 52 people.
Bishop Holbrook Christian MacArthur of the Cape Coast First Ward estimates that 80 percent of the members in his ward are either unemployed or under-employed. Some 30 percent of the men are out of work—mostly younger men who have not yet established themselves in vocations or careers. Like Latter-day Saints elsewhere in Ghana, members of his ward have banded together to organize cooperative businesses ranging from construction work to selling food products made of cassava, an important Ghanaian crop.
Their perseverance in spite of setbacks is a manifestation of the faith of Ghanaian Latter-day Saints, the bishop says. Sometimes in interviewing members, he learns of problems that would be daunting to others. “But just give them a little encouragement, and they will ignite. They will look up to their God. They have a faith that God works in his own due time.”
This kind of faith gives Ghanaian members confidence that their Father in Heaven watches over them. One day, Beatrice Ashon withdrew five million Ghanaian cedis (about US $4,500) from her bank in Accra for use in her business enterprises. Apparently, someone was watching. That night, a gang burst into her home, fired several shots, tied up a relative, and locked a group of visiting children in another room. The gang demanded Sister Ashon’s money and also stole some household goods. But no one was hurt. Police learned later that this same gang had killed victims in other incidents. Sister Ashon believes everyone in the home was protected by the power of God.
After the robbery, her businesses failed because of the loss of the money. “That was a very big test,” she says, “but we are happy.” She is persevering in the gospel and looking for ways to begin again financially.

For some, there will come the temptation to dishonor a personal standard of honesty. In a business law class at the university I attended, I remember that one particular classmate never prepared for the class discussions. I thought to myself, “How is he going to pass the final examination?”
I discovered the answer when he came to the classroom for the final exam on a winter’s day wearing on his bare feet only a pair of sandals. I was surprised and watched him as the class began. All of our books had been placed upon the floor, as per the instruction. He slipped the sandals from his feet; and then, with toes that he had trained and had prepared with glycerin, he skillfully turned the pages of one of the books which he had placed on the floor, thereby viewing the answers to the examination questions.
He received one of the highest grades in that course on business law. But the day of reckoning came. Later, as he prepared to take his comprehensive exam, for the first time the dean of his particular discipline said, “This year I will depart from tradition and will conduct an oral, rather than a written, test.” Our favorite trained-toe expert found that he had his foot in his mouth on that occasion and failed the exam.

Fabian is also helping with an elder’s quorum project. There is a sister in their branch whose husband died five years ago. Later she joined the Church. Her family disowned her and refused to help her and her two daughters. The branch is building them a home. Fabian helps work on the house with the elders. Sometimes the full-time missionaries and the young people in the branch also help. Fabian shovels sand to make cement, and under the direction of the elders, he helps with the building and cleaning up. He is happy when he is helping others.

Years ago I took a young man, 20 years of age, into the waters of baptism. My companion and I had taught him the gospel. He was the first in his family to hear the message of the restored gospel. He asked to be baptized. The testimony of the Spirit made him want to follow the example of the Savior, who was baptized by John the Baptist even though He was without sin.
As I brought that young man up out of the waters of baptism, he surprised me by throwing his arms around my neck and whispering in my ear, tears streaming down his face, “I’m clean, I’m clean.” That same young man, after we laid our hands on his head with the authority of the Melchizedek Priesthood and conferred on him the Holy Ghost, said to me, “When you spoke those words, I felt something like fire go down from the top of my head through my body, all the way to my feet.”

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

A few years following her husband’s untimely death, the mission president of Japan felt inspired to encourage the Japanese members to work toward attending the temple. The mission president was an American veteran of the Battle of Okinawa, in which the Okinawan sister and her family had suffered so much. Nonetheless, the humble sister said of him: “He was then one of our hated enemies, but now he was here with the gospel of love and peace. This, to me, was a miracle.”
Upon hearing the mission president’s message, the widowed sister desired to be sealed to her family in the temple someday. However, it was impossible for her, due to financial constraints and language barriers.
Then several innovative solutions emerged. The cost could be reduced by half if members in Japan chartered an entire plane to fly to Hawaii in the offseason. Members also recorded and sold vinyl records entitled Japanese Saints Sing. Some members even sold homes. Others quit their jobs to make the trip.
The other challenge for members was that the temple presentation was not available in Japanese. Church leaders called a Japanese brother to travel to the Hawaiian temple to translate the endowment ceremony. He was the first Japanese convert after the war, having been taught and baptized by faithful American soldiers.
When the endowed Japanese members living in Hawaii first heard the translation, they wept. One member recorded: “We’ve been to the temple many, many times. We’ve heard the ceremonies in English. [But] we have never felt the spirit of … temple work as we feel it now [hearing it] in our own native tongue.”
Later that same year, 161 adults and children embarked from Tokyo to make their way to the Hawaii Temple. One Japanese brother reflected on the journey: “As I looked out of the airplane and saw Pearl Harbor, and remembered what our country had done to these people on December 7, 1941, I feared in my heart. Will they accept us? But to my surprise they showed greater love and kindness than I had ever seen in my life.”
Upon the Japanese Saints’ arrival, the Hawaiian members welcomed them with countless strands of flower leis while exchanging hugs and kisses on the cheeks, a custom foreign to Japanese culture. After spending 10 transformative days in Hawaii, the Japanese Saints bid their farewells to the melody of “Aloha Oe” sung by the Hawaiian Saints.
The second temple trip organized for Japanese members included the widowed Okinawan sister. She made the 10,000-mile (16,000-km) journey thanks to a generous gift from missionaries who had served in her branch and had eaten many meals at her table. While in the temple, she shed tears of joy as she acted as a proxy for her mother’s baptism and was sealed to her deceased husband.
Temple excursions from Japan to Hawaii continued regularly until the Tokyo Japan Temple was dedicated in 1980, becoming the 18th temple in operation. In November of this year, the 186th temple will be dedicated in Okinawa, Japan. It is located not far from the cave in central Okinawa where this woman and her family sheltered.
Though I never met this wonderful sister from Okinawa, her legacy lives on through her faithful posterity, many of whom I know and love.