Gospel Story Finder

“We learned about commitment when he told us about receiving his mission call. His parents had both recently passed away and, after their burial, left him with a few debts to pay. When the bishop talked to him about going on a mission, he mentioned these debts to the bishop and said that it would take him six months to pay them if he saved everything that he could.
“At the end of the six months, the bishop returned and asked if the debts had been paid. My father said yes, but that he didn’t have any money left, adding, ‘But I’ll go, even though I don’t have a nickel to my name.’ So he went to the bank, where, because of his reputation for integrity, he was able to borrow enough money to support himself on his mission. When he returned from his mission, he worked and paid the money back.
“I don’t remember how old I was when he first told me that story, but I have remembered it all my life. It helped me understand that you do what you’re asked to do.”

The youth from the Victoria Ward in Hong Kong and from the English-speaking branch in Taiwan combined in making a trip to the Taiwan Temple to do baptisms for the dead.
The group started their excursion with a trip to the peaks of Alishan, part of the central mountain range in Taiwan. The location is popular because of the spectacular sunrises. At 4:00 A.M. when the wake-up call came, the sleepy youth hiked to the highest part of the summit. They were issued cardboard sunglasses with darkened lenses to protect their eyes while they were watching the sunrise. They were not disappointed. The neighboring mountains rose out of the mist, and the sun burst above the final jagged peak. It seemed to set a theme for the trip: “The day dawn is breaking, the world is awaking,/ The clouds of night’s darkness are fleeing away” (Hymns, 1985, no. 52).
Arriving at the temple and performing baptisms was the highlight of the excursion. Garrett Povar of Hong Kong said, “I had a very special feeling in the temple—a feeling of calm and reverence.”
Jennifer Rasmussen said that doing baptisms in the Taiwan Temple added to her testimony. “Being in the temple is a testimony to me that Heavenly Father’s work is going on in different parts of the world. I can see that the worth of a soul is great in the sight of the Lord. I know this because the Church is concerned with the salvation of all.”
The youth had a four-day retreat from the world and from their daily routines. They had fun together, laughed together, and served together.

It started when I lost the Book of Mormon “my” missionary, Sister High, had given me more than five years earlier. I knew I could obtain another one, but my copy was full of my own markings and cross-references. Tucked between its pages were cherished quotes, a heartwarming note from a friend, and a copy of my patriarchal blessing. Although I looked and looked, the book was nowhere to be found. I couldn’t believe I had been so careless.
Shortly after this incident, I was let go from one of my jobs. My income was now cut in half. I had promised my parents I would pay my own way through college. How was I going to afford to keep going to school?
I had been keeping the commandments to the best of my ability; why were things going so badly? Friends at school didn’t pass on the chance to rub it in. One said, “You should cut back on how often you attend church. You can save bus fare.” Another said, “Why don’t you take a break from church for a month or two? You might find out that you don’t notice much of a difference.”
For a moment, their comments made sense. I started to wonder if my life would be better without the Church.
I went back to my dorm room, where I saw a picture of my family taken during Chinese New Year. I thought about how much I love them and how happy they make me. And I thought about my Heavenly Father, whom I love and who loves me. I realized maybe I needed to focus on what I had rather than what I lacked. Still, I wondered how I was going to get through these trials.
A short time later, I confided my feelings to my institute teacher, Sister Ou, who said, “Many members have experienced a phase when the ‘all is well’ period of being a new convert ends and you begin to face the trials of faith. The scriptures say, ‘Nevertheless the Lord seeth fit to chasten his people; yea, he trieth their patience and their faith’ (Mosiah 23:21).”
“So what should I do?” I asked.
“Study the scriptures even more diligently, and pray even more earnestly,” she said. “True faith comes when you have trials and pain. Your faith will grow, you will progress, and your testimony will be strengthened.”
I decided to follow her advice and put my faith in God. I tried to do as Alma 38:5 teaches: “As much as ye shall put your trust in God even so much ye shall be delivered out of your trials, and your troubles, and your afflictions, and ye shall be lifted up at the last day.”
As it turned out, I found another job—one that was better than my previous one. Better yet, I found my copy of the Book of Mormon.
I learned that our disappointments, sorrows, and dark hours are to help us grow. They can lead us to much joy if, as Sister Ou taught me, we put our faith and trust in a loving Heavenly Father. How grateful I am to have a reaffirmed testimony that the Church and gospel are true.

One day I was waiting outside the First Presidency boardroom. I had been invited there to take part in a meeting to discuss temple matters. I sat quietly outside the room, alone. I thought the First Presidency was already meeting and that I would be invited to join them in a few minutes.
As I sat there, I could hear someone walking down the hall whistling. I thought to myself, “Someone doesn’t understand proper protocol. You don’t go walking around whistling outside the office of the President of the Church.”
A moment later the whistler walked around the corner—it was President Monson. He was happy, and he was positive. He greeted me warmly and said, “I guess we’ll start the meeting in a couple of minutes.”
Even with the weight of the whole Church on his shoulders, he is an example of happiness and he always has a positive attitude. We should be that way.

We shouldn’t have a problem with masturbation. I know one fine father who interviewed his 11-year-old son and he said, “Son, if you never masturbate, the time will come in your life when you will be able to sit in front of your bishop at age 19, and say to him, ‘I have never done that in my life,’ and then you can go to the stake president when you are interviewed for your mission and tell him, ‘I have never done that in my life.’ And you would be quite a rare young man.”

The father again interviewed the young man, who is now 18 years old, and he asked the son about masturbation. The son said, “I have never done that in my life. You told me, Dad, that if I didn’t do that, I would be able to sit in front of the bishop and stake president and tell them I had never done it, and I would be a rare young man, and I am going to be able to do it.”

About two years ago my son and I watched a nationally televised basketball game. The BYU Cougars had just won the Western Athletic Conference championship and were being congratulated by sports broadcasters. As they talked with different members of the team, a sophomore by the name of Devin Durrant was interviewed about his plans for the coming year. My son, who was ten at the time and very sports minded, watched intently as Devin told of his decision to fill a mission first and play basketball later. At that moment I was thankful for a young man who knew the importance of making such decisions before the moment to decide. Like the engineer, he knew what to do when the time came. My son and I saw a young man who had set goals, made decisions, and been true to those decisions.

Two members of the St. Niklaas Branch, Antwerp Belgium Stake, demonstrate what it means to keep these gospel covenants. Jeanine Craet joined the Church about 25 years ago. Her faithful service, even in times of extreme trial, became a beacon for many, including her neighbor Paula Buysse, who was baptized after Sister Craet shared her testimony with her. Years later, Sister Craet was stricken with a brain hemorrhage and fell into a coma. Sister Buysse, who was serving as Relief Society president, spent hours at her friend’s side, talking, reading, and singing to her. When Sister Craet finally emerged from her coma partially paralyzed, Sister Buysse helped nurse her. Sister Craet slowly regained her ability to speak. During her first Sunday back at church, Sister Craet bore her testimony. While confined to a wheelchair, she thanked the Lord for His blessings and asked Him to help her recover—so she could continue to serve Him.

“Is this seat taken?” I asked.
The old lady next to the window reached over and unenthusiastically moved the bag to the floor by her feet. I sat down, made myself comfortable, and settled in for the three-hour trip to Newcastle. I was already starting to get anxious. It was like returning home again.
The clickity-clack of the wheels kept me company as I relaxed in the otherwise quiet compartment and watched the green hills of Scotland pass by. I wished that the old lady at my right would change seats with me so that I could see out better. She kept nodding off and then jerking awake, so I was sure that she wasn’t enjoying the view. But then she hadn’t been too pleased about having to move her shopping bag, and I was sure she would be less happy about moving herself.
I looked around at the other passengers. As usual in Europe, the car was divided into compartments seating six people each. I was in the middle seat, facing forward; to my right was the old lady. The man on my left was in his 30s. He was reading a magazine. Judging from the few words that had passed between them at the start of the trip, I assumed that the woman across from him was his wife. She was also reading.
“A typical middle-class English couple heading home after a holiday in Scotland,” I thought to myself.
The elderly gentleman directly opposite me was the picture of a Victorian adventurer. He was tall and thin with a mustache, the kind of man who might wear formal dinner attire in the middle of the jungle. Very British! Next to him, by the window, was a thin, middle-aged woman in a blue dress.
“The governess type,” I decided.
Now, every country has its own travel etiquette and in Britain the rule seems to be, “Never fraternize with fellow travelers.” It’s not that the British are unfriendly. In fact, they are very warm. It’s just that on such a crowded island, everyone has learned to guard his own independence and to respect the privacy of others. As a foreigner, I could have initiated a discussion. The British accept “Yanks” as being outgoing. But I was tired after touring Edinburgh all morning and didn’t really feel like striking up a conversation just to talk.
No one spoke for nearly an hour. Then the woman in blue looked straight at me and said, in a distinct Scottish accent, “You’re an American, aren’t you?”
I was somewhat startled by this breach of the usual rule. That I was an American was obvious, so I took this to be a conversation opener rather than a question. Anyway, I was getting bored, so why not talk for a while?
“Yes, I am,” I answered. “I’m over here on vacation.”
The woman seemed very friendly. We chatted about the countryside, the marvelous weather we were having, and the crowded condition of the train. I told her about my travels during the summer, and she, in turn, told me of her planned visit to London and the relatives who would meet her there.
After a while the old gentleman interjected a few remarks, and my suspicions about his past were confirmed when he started telling us about monsoons in India and how bad the flies are in Kenya in the summer. It was all very friendly and very polite.
Then, out of nowhere, the woman in blue said, “You know, we have a lot of Americans over here as Mormon missionaries. And right bonnie lads they are too.”
The couple on my left looked at her, then at each other, and then went back to their reading. The old lady at my right, awakened by all the talk, let out with a verbal “Humph!” which I took as an indication of disapproval.
The woman in blue was not deterred. She went on to say that two missionaries lived with a friend of hers, a widow, and she told how they always assisted around the house whenever they could. “They’re wonderful lads; I don’t care what anyone says!”
The old gentleman broke in: “I met two of them on the ferry between Kowloon and Victoria on my last trip. I was quite impressed with them, especially when I learned that they spoke fluent Cantonese. Why, I know British administrators who have lived in Hong Kong for years and can’t speak the language as well as those boys.”
The two of them went on for a number of minutes about what “fine people Mormons are,” while I sat there with a smile on my face. After all, unsolicited praise is not very common in Britain. Finally I announced, “I’m glad to hear all that because I’m a Mormon.”
Instantly five pairs of eyes were staring at me.
“I know I should have spoken up sooner,” I confessed, “but I wanted to know what you would say. I’m glad to hear that you have such a high regard for us because a lot of people over here don’t really give us a chance and we have a lot to offer.”
I then told them about my mission in Northern England two years earlier and that the main purpose of this trip to Newcastle was to visit Church members there, especially those whom I had baptized. As I talked, I thought back to my mission. When we had gone tracting, it often seemed as though no one wanted to listen to what we had to say. How different this was. The old gentleman and the woman in blue were full of questions and eager to learn. They asked me about all kinds of Church-related things, and with every response they seemed more impressed with the Church and especially with its growth in England. They were becoming as enthused as I was, and we barely noticed as we passed the English border town of Berwick and sped southward along the North Sea coast.
I have always enjoyed a good religious discussion, and this one was getting better all the time. But I wished, somehow, that everyone might join in. After all, three people hadn’t said anything, though they were obviously listening. How could I include them? Suddenly a breakthrough.
The man on my left put his magazine down, waited for an opening in the conversation, and asked, “Is it true that Mormons don’t drink tea? How can anyone in England join a church that forbids tea?”
Another “Humph!” from the old lady.
I explained the Word of Wisdom and related a number of anecdotes about English people I had known and their successful efforts to give up tea. In fact, the matter of health received a complete going over, with the four of them finally agreeing that Mormons were among the most healthy people in Britain.
Then something very unusual began to happen. The couple by the door unpacked their lunch, and the wife started to make sandwiches for everyone. The woman in blue passed around a bag full of apples, and the old gentleman donated a package of biscuits. Soon we were having one big picnic and everyone was having a great time. I would not have believed it could happen. The British generally do not converse, much less share, with total strangers, yet somehow the spirit of the gospel had brought us together. Only the old lady by the window did not join in.
As a missionary I had learned a lot about tradition and prejudice and I had a fair idea what was bothering the old lady. The stories of how young English girls were captured and sent off to Salt Lake sound absurd, but I knew that a lot of old people still believed them. So I decided to tackle the problem head on.
“A lot of people don’t seem to understand us very well. Some people even think that we still practice polygamy,” I said, “which we don’t.”
Yet another “Humph!” from the corner.
Then I went on for close to an hour giving an outline of Church history and doctrine, with emphasis on modern revelation as the only means of knowing religious truth. I don’t think that I dumped the apple cart, but I did present the better part of the first and second missionary discussions. Everyone listened attentively. Past Alnwich and Morpeth I continued my discourse, hoping to plant enough seeds so that each one might someday seek more knowledge about the Church. I talked as fast as I could, hoping to say something that would spark some interest in each person.
As the train slowed at Longbenton, I started pointing out streets I had tracted and members’ homes that were near the tracks. My companions seemed as happy about my return to this lovely old city as was, and although I was glad finally to reach my destination I was also sorry that the trip was ending.
I thought to myself, “At least I’ve made four friends for the Church even if I lost one. If only I had another hour, perhaps I could win her over too.”
The train gave a little rock backward as we came to a stop in Newcastle station. I put my suitcase out in the passageway and then returned to shake hands, first with the couple, then the old gentleman, and finally the woman in blue. I thanked them for listening to me for so long and extracted a promise from all four that when missionaries knocked on their doors, they would listen.
Lastly, I held out my hand to the old lady. She looked at it and then up at me, then reached out and took my hand.
“I was brought up to hate Mormons,” she said, “and I’ve never had nought good to say ’bout them. But in two hours I’ve realized that everything I thought I knew was wrong. I shan’t forget this trip.”
There were tears in my eyes as I walked down the platform. What would be the final result? Would any of them ever join the Church? I would never know, but I would never forget that trip either.

Everybody’s doing it! And the nice thing about it is that nearly everybody can do it. I’m talking about cross-country skiing or ski touring.*
The basic technique is fairly simple, it comes fast, and the satisfactions are immense. If someone had suggested to me two years ago that I should trade a Saturday of Alpine skiing for something called ski touring, I’d have said, “Sorry, no way.” But then one late spring day, on our final run, I took the ill-fated little fall that turned into months in a cast and strict orders to stay off the slopes for a year. In desperation I bought a pair of those skinny little touring skis, found someone to show me the basics (it took about 30 minutes), and I was off and running. Remembering my early days of Alpine skiing (about the first ten years or so), I kept expecting some agony. But there wasn’t any. I could do it right off the bat. The only thing that has proved any problem at all has been deciding on where to stop for lunch—and how to stop, period. Straight striding and running is a snap, if you don’t mind working a little.

When Colby was old enough to start seminary, a scheduling conflict had to be dealt with. Fishing began at 5:00 a.m. and lasted many hours. Seminary was at 6:00 a.m. He couldn’t possibly be in two places at once … or could he?
Colby started joining seminary on a video call each morning at 6:00 so he could fulfill both his fishing duties and further his spiritual education. “I always felt I was starting the day with a big spiritual boost,” he says. “I loved being on the water for seminary. It was calm and peaceful, and I felt the Spirit of the Lord out there.”
He’d listen and ponder, read the scriptures, and participate in the discussion with his teachers and classmates. Then, at 6:45 a.m., he’d get back to fishing.
Sure, seminary on a fishing boat wasn’t always ideal. The engine noise was loud and distracting. The water was often choppy, and the boat was bustling with early morning work. Sometimes stormy weather would prevent Colby from having a good connection to join his video call. “Attending seminary on the lobster boat was hard,” he says. “It would have been easier not to do it. But I’m so glad that I took the time each day to participate in seminary.”
When Elder Merryman reflects on his seminary experience on the fishing boat, he says it “has made a difference on my mission.” His seminary class taught him “many valuable stories from the scriptures.” Those stories and lessons have, in turn, prepared him to teach the gospel by the Spirit. “Every day I use the lessons I learned in seminary.”

In the middle of her tenth summer, Cassie decided to have a Great Adventure.
“A Great Adventure? What’s that?” Morgan, her best friend, asked.
“It’s like when my big brother does things with the Boy Scouts,” Cassie said. “They work and save money and then do really fun things, like boating or camping or horseback riding.”
“Wow!” Morgan exclaimed. “What will you do?”
Cassie thought for a moment. “I think I’ll spend a whole day at the amusement park, ride on every ride, and have all the cotton candy I want.”
“Sounds great—can I come, too?”
“Sure. We can have a Great Adventure together. But you’ll have to help earn the money for it.”
“OK. What can we do to earn money?”
“Lots of things. Let’s make a list.” Cassie took out a piece of paper and a pencil. “Let’s see—we can mow lawns, baby-sit, and collect aluminum cans.”
“Walk dogs, sell lemonade, and weed gardens,” Morgan added.
“That’s probably enough ideas to get started,” Cassie said. “Let’s meet at my house every Saturday and see how much money we earned during the week.”
“Great!” Morgan’s eyes gleamed. “I can almost taste the cotton candy already.”
On Saturday Cassie brought out a big glass jar and set it on the kitchen table. “OK, Morgan, let’s see what you have.”
Morgan reached into her backpack and brought out a bag of homemade cookies.
Cassie looked puzzled. “What are those for?”
“That’s what I made this week,” Morgan said quietly.
“What?”
“Mrs. Burke gave them to me for mowing her lawn. I couldn’t ask her for money. She can’t even afford to fix her old lawnmower.”
“All right,” Cassie said. “I understand. Here’s my haul.” She dropped a handful of coins into the jar. “I made it recycling pop cans. I did have fifty cents more, but the lady at the recycling center looked so hot that I bought her a cold drink.”
Morgan sighed. “That’s OK.”
Cassie smiled. “We’ll do better next week. You’ll see.”
The next week Morgan dropped a few dollars into the jar. “I opened my lemonade stand,” she said.
Cassie laid down some wilted flowers. “They weren’t wilted when Mr. Jeffries gave them to me,” she explained. “I got them for weeding his flower patch.”
“That’s nice,” Morgan said without enthusiasm.
The next week Morgan plopped a big zucchini onto the kitchen table. “Don’t tell me,” Cassie said. “You weeded someone’s garden.”
“Uh-huh. Mom’s going to make zucchini bread to sell at my lemonade stand. I’ll make tons of money. What do you have?”
Cassie slowly pulled from her pocket a ten-dollar bill.
Morgan’s eyes lit up. “That’s terrific! Where did it come from?”
Cassie frowned. “I walked Mrs. Peterson’s dog every day this week. But I hated to take her money. Her dog is sick, and she can’t even afford to buy its medicine.”
“Maybe it’ll get better with all the exercise you gave it,” Morgan suggested hopefully.
Cassie shrugged. “Maybe.”
The next week Morgan brought thirteen dollars from her lemonade stand, and Cassie made fifteen dollars baby-sitting.
Morgan grinned. “Now the money’s really rolling in!”
“But not fast enough,” Cassie pointed out. “It’s almost the last week of summer vacation, and we don’t have nearly enough money for our Great Adventure.”
“We could still buy all the cotton candy we could eat,” Morgan said.
“Or we could avoid a stomachache and do something better with our money.”
“Like what?”
“Like pay for a sick dog’s medicine.”
“Do we have enough?” Morgan’s eyes got big.
“I think so. Let’s count it up.”
They were still several dollars short.
“We have to earn more,” Cassie said. “My brother is going to Scout camp this week and said he’d pay me to do his paper route.”
“I’ll ask my dad if I can wash the car and clean out the garage,” Morgan said.
“Great! See you next week.”
The next Saturday, when Cassie and Morgan counted up their money, they were excited to find out that they had more than enough for the medicine. They hurried right over to Mrs. Peterson’s house and gave her the money. Mrs. Peterson got tears in her eyes and hugged them again and again. Then she gave them some homemade cookies.
As they walked down the street, Cassie said, “Isn’t this where it all began?”
“Whu whub beguab?” Morgan asked, her mouth full of cookie.
“Our Great Adventure. It really started when someone gave us cookies instead of money.”
“Oh, yeah.” Morgan thought for a minute. “What should we do with the extra money? Still want to get cotton candy?”
“No.” Cassie bit into a cookie. “These are much better than cotton candy. I was thinking we should save our money.”
“For what?”
“For next summer’s Great Adventure.”
“Next summer?”
“Yeah. I thought maybe we could cross the ocean on a cruise ship.”
“Or maybe get Mrs. Burke’s lawnmower fixed?”
“That would also be a Great Adventure.” Cassie grinned. “Don’t you think so?”
Morgan nodded. “I can hardly wait.”

It would be safe to say that the bassoon is not one of the more common instruments for a teenager to play. But for Mike Munson, a 16-year-old priest in the Augusta Ward, Augusta Maine Stake, the bassoon has been a part of life for several years and a key to rewarding experiences.
Mike plays several instruments, among them the piano, bassoon, tuba, and organ, but it was because of his talent with the bassoon that he was invited to play with the Navy Band for one performance.
“They chose high school musicians from the Kennebee Valley area,” Mike explained. “But it was still a surprise for the bassoonist in the Navy Band when he saw me. ‘A bassoonist!’ he said. He told me they run into a few here and there, but he seemed glad to see me.”
Mike began playing the bassoon after several years as a pianist. Now he performs with the Augusta Symphony Orchestra, and the Brunswick Regional Youth Orchestra and also plays the piano in a jazz band. He is also involved with several musical groups, including a brass quartet, at Cony High School.
He practices several hours every day, a double duty because he must practice both bassoon and piano. “Schoolwork comes first,” he said, “and with rehearsals and school sessions I play almost every day. I try to practice at home daily, too, but I can’t always do it. I try to squeeze in enough time.”
The practice has paid off in awards. Mike has earned high ratings in regional and state high school competition for both bassoon and piano. He has also been a member of the all=state orchestra and band and been highly rated at the Solo and Ensemble Festival at the University of Maine at Orno.
Mike is a ward organist and is also often called on to play the piano at Mutual. He says his involvement with music has provided a way for him to talk to people about the Church.
“It usually surprises people when they find a Mormon in Maine,” he said. “But through talking about music and sharing ideas in that area, they usually are willing to share my ideas about the gospel, too.
“Music is a means of sharing with others. People receive joy from any type of art, and musicians enjoy sharing what they create,” Mike said.
“You have to have a great desire to be a musician,” Mike added. “If you don’t, you won’t make the necessary effort.” He should know. He’s worked long, hard hours to make himself good.

“You’re going where?” The Mexican official seemed genuinely amused.
“Quitovac.”
“But nobody goes to Quitovac,” he laughed. “There’s nothing there.”
“We’re going to the school. To see friends.”
“Okay,” he said, shaking his head. “Go ahead. But if I were you, I’d go to the beach instead.” He was still chuckling as we left.
Americans do come down this way from Tucson, Arizona, across the Tohono O’odham Nation (Papago) Indian Reservation to the Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument, through Lukeville, then over the border into Sonoita. Mostly the Americans are tourists or university students on break, looking for the sun. They find it on the beaches of the Gulf of California, which aren’t far away.
But nobody goes to Quitovac. Nobody.
That is, of course, unless you have friends there. And the LDS youth of Tucson have friends in Quitovac, more than 70 of them.
The friendships began, as many good things do, at Christmas. And even though right now the sun was beating down, the five young people and two leaders headed to Quitovac today were quick to tell their Christmas story.
“Brother Rehm got things going, I guess,” said Brian Simmons, 18, referring to Norbert Rehm, a high councilor in the Tucson Stake who previously served as branch president on the Indian reservation. Through that association, Brother Rehm became aware of the Alberque School in Quitovac, a school in need of help.
“It’s a boarding school where parents who can’t afford to raise their children send them to live,” Brian explained. “The government built the school for the Indians, but it’s funded only by donations.”
Conditions are tough. The dormitory is a barracks-like structure with concrete floors and broken windows. There is no running water. Showers from a bucket are allowed once a week. Two small bathrooms serve all 70 children. Toilets don’t flush unless tanks are filled with water carried from half a mile away. Electricity is available only when a generator is working—twice a year. Sometimes food runs out.
“To keep warm, the kids sleep two to a bed” (four to a bunk bed), said Danyel Colvin, 15, also of the Tanque Verde Ward. “In the winter, the cold wind blows right in.”
The LDS youth wanted to help. With Brother Rehm acting as go-between with the school and the Mexican government (there are strict limitations about who and what—like glass for windows—can cross the border), a campaign was launched to gather supplies the school could use. Youth in the Tucson 17th Ward gathered and prepared clothing and toys. Canned food, some basic medical supplies, and vitamins were also collected. When the ward was divided to form the Tanque Verde and Bear Canyon Wards, both units kept the project going.
The day after Thanksgiving, about 30 young Latter-day Saints and their leaders (one dressed as Santa Claus) headed to Quitovac. “We got our first look at the village,” Danyel said. “Many houses were built only of sticks. There were no trees or bushes, no roads. Just dirt and some buildings.” The school yard—an administration building, a study building with two classrooms, a covered pavilion for outdoor assemblies, and the dormitory—was also set in a barren landscape.
“Then we met the children,” Danyel continued. “There were lots of kids with no shoes. It was cold and windy, but they were wearing shorts and T-shirts.”
“We started by handing out some candy,” said Michael Walston, 14, of the Tanque Verde Ward. Then, with help from school officials, shoes and clothing were distributed. And toys.
“I helped one boy put together a toy,” Michael’s sister Susanne, 17, remembered. “He kept talking and talking. He knew I didn’t understand Spanish, and he didn’t understand English. But it was like I was his best friend. We didn’t have to speak the same language. We could communicate without saying anything.”
That was typical of the magic that happened. Teenagers and young children paired up like they’d known each other forever. There was a Christmas program, there were lots of hugs, and there was a lot of joy in Quitovac that day. But the thing Susanne remembers most is how eager the children seemed just to have someone take an interest in them.
“Sure, they were glad we brought some things,” she said. “But more than that, they wanted to share with us, even if all they could share was a smile.” That was what made the memory pleasant. That was what made a return to Quitovac worthwhile.
And now, here we were.
We turned from one dirt road to another, came over a small hill, and there, in the middle of nowhere, was the village. Now, months after Christmas, would the children even remember the earlier visit? Now, when the sun was hot and winds calm, would the friendship still be there?
The answer was quick in coming. The dust from our arriving vehicles had hardly settled when we were mobbed by children. Yes, we brought some supplies, some candy, some food. But again what mattered was the sharing. Children who didn’t speak English guided teenagers who didn’t speak Spanish around their school, their classrooms, their playground. Kids watched Brian, who brought along a tool kit, fix a broken swing and re-attach fiberglass panels on the pavilion.
Michael and Susanne organized volleyball and basketball games. Danyel gave piggyback rides. Crystal Smith, 15, of the Sonora 18th Ward, Tucson Stake, became an instant celebrity with school officials because she speaks Spanish and could act as an interpreter.
We were shown the school’s new hand-operated mimeograph machine. A flag ceremony and school assembly were held in our honor. And the principal presented a letter of thanks to the LDS youth.
But it was Walt Stone, a seminary teacher who accompanied the group, who summarized what meeting with the children of Alberque School taught us. “These kids have dignity,” he said. “Everything they own fits on the half of the bed they sleep in. But they share whatever they have.”
An example: “One boy brought out his bag of marbles—the only marbles in the school,” Walt said. “A bunch of us joined him in a game. Nobody argued about winning anything; they just had fun. And when the game was over, the marbles went back in the bag, and he put them back on his bed. He knew they would be safe.”
Many times we saw older children looking out for others, making sure the youngest (some are little more than one year old) weren’t neglected. If anyone tripped and skinned a knee, others were instantly there to help. When teachers asked students to do something, it was immediately taken care of. Students marched, stood at attention, posed with us for a school photo, hugged us over and over again, and literally clung to the teenagers when it was finally time to leave.
All the way home, the youth talked about their day in the sun.
“That was great, even better than Christmas,” Brian said.
“What you never forget are their faces,” Danyel added. “There’s such joy in their faces. Designer jeans and worldly things don’t really matter down here. What’s important is to enjoy life, and to share your joy with others.”
Nobody goes to Quitovac, the Mexican official said. But he was absolutely wrong. Friends come to Quitovac. And their friendship shines all the brighter when they leave. The tourists and the students who drive to the beach seeking the sun take the wrong road. The brightest light is found where people help each other. It’s the light of Christlike service, and it’s a light that shines brighter than any sun.
The friendship with Quitovac didn’t end with just two visits. As this story was being prepared for publication, we learned that the youth from the Rincon Stake had been to the Alberque School again.
They brought quilts they had made, one for each child at the school. An LDS dentist came along to check the children’s teeth. And they also brought a foot-powered sewing machine, with the promise that a Relief Society sister would soon be along to teach villagers how to sew.
“When we arrived, the children lined up on the left and right of the road, clapped their hands, and saluted us,” Brother Rehm said. “We played the same games, had the same fun, left with the same feelings.”
And, he noticed, the school was cleaner. The students all had shoes and proper clothing. And even though there were still some broken windows in need of repair, it seemed like there was a brighter, happier feeling in this place in the sun.

One day after a particularly hard shift in the hospital’s pediatrics unit, I was tired and grumpy. As I walked to the security desk, I noticed some beautiful flowers. When I commented to the person at the desk how beautiful they were and how good they smelled, she told me I could have them.
I was so happy! I thought that surely Heavenly Father wanted me to have the flowers to brighten my day.
Walking out of the hospital, I found myself behind a woman in a wheelchair. I grew impatient with her but finally was able to pass her as we exited the building. As I passed, she lifted her head and said, “Oh, what beautiful flowers.” I thanked her and hurried toward my husband, who was waiting in our car. I was excited to show him my flowers.
Suddenly I felt the Holy Ghost tell me that the woman needed the flowers more than I did. I was reluctant to give them to her, but I followed the prompting. When I asked if she would like them, I hoped she would say no.
“Oh, yes!” she replied. “I would love them. They are beautiful.”
I handed them to her, but as I turned to leave, she began to sob. When I asked if she was all right, she told me that her husband had passed away several years ago and that it had been more than a year since any of her children had visited her. She said she had been pleading with God to show her a sign of His love.
“You are an angel sent from God to give me my favorite flowers,” she said. “Now I know that He loves me.”
My heart broke. I had been so selfish. This woman needed a loving word, and I didn’t even want to talk to her. I was no angel. As we parted, I also started to cry.
When I reached the car, my husband asked what was wrong and why I had given away my flowers. He seemed confused but then relieved as I related the story.
“I sent you roses today. I felt that you needed them,” he said. “I was worried you had just given them away. If those weren’t the flowers I sent you, where are they?”
It turned out that the floral shop had forgotten to deliver the roses, so we drove to the shop. My husband went in and soon came out with a beautiful bouquet.
I couldn’t help but cry again. Heavenly Father had asked me to sacrifice those flowers, knowing that there was something better waiting for me and also that His lonely daughter needed a reminder of His love.

One such was Edward Ojuka of Uganda. He met the missionaries in Perth, Australia, when he went there to attend college. After studying the gospel for four months, Edward was baptized. But when he talked to his wife, Grace, she was not interested; she was happy in the church they had been in. “I didn’t press the issue,” Edward says, “because I knew without a doubt that one day she would understand it.”

When Edward finished his master’s degree in 1987, he returned to Uganda. Then he decided to pursue a doctorate at Brigham Young University. Through a “chain of miracles” he received the necessary scholarships, and in 1988 he, his wife, and their three children moved to Provo, Utah. Three months later Grace was baptized, and a year after that their family was sealed in the temple.

“The Church’s power is based on the truth that it carries,” Edward says. “My desire in life is to serve. If I can use my learning and my education both secularly and in the Church to help, that would be my heart’s desire.”

After that, missionaries and Church leaders frequently traveled to visit the Torales family. The family also shared the gospel with neighbors, some of whom were baptized. Finally, because of the great distances and sacrifices involved, a branch was created at the Torales home in 1986, with Brother Torales as branch president.
Every Sunday, the porch between the two rooms of their small home becomes a chapel as folding chairs and a pulpit are set up. The sacrament is blessed and passed to the members. Classes are held under a tree or over by the flower garden. “We are happy having our meetings here,” says Sister Torales. “We don’t need anything more.”
“We feel the Spirit of the Lord here with us,” President Torales says.
A couple of nights each week, family members visit neighbors and teach them the gospel. “We walk far to reach them,” says 22-year-old Zulma. “Many people receive us. They all know us.” Baptisms take place in the nearby river.

Returning What Was Stolen
Many years ago when I was practicing law in California, a friend and client who was not a member of our faith came in to see me and with great enthusiasm showed me a letter he had received from an LDS bishop of a nearby ward. The bishop reported that a member of his congregation, a former employee of my client, had taken materials from my client’s work site and had rationalized that they were surplus. But after becoming a committed Latter-day Saint and attempting to follow Jesus Christ, this employee recognized that what he had done was dishonest. Enclosed in the letter was a sum of money from the man to cover not only the cost of the materials but also interest. My client was impressed that the Church through lay leadership would assist this man in his effort to be reconciled to God.
Elder Quentin L. Cook of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles

A true story from Puerto Rico.
Miguel opened his piano music and stared at the black notes on the page. His teacher had just given him a new song to play. It looked really complicated! This one would take a while to learn.
He placed his fingers on the keys and started looking for the right notes on the piano. Plink, plink, PLUNK. Again and again he kept hitting the wrong keys as he played.
Why couldn’t he get the notes right? This song was a lot harder than the Primary songs he loved to play. He was so frustrated! He pounded his hands down on the piano keys. Blonk!
“Miguel?” Mamá called. “Everything OK in there?”
“Yeah.” Miguel sighed. “This song is just hard.”
Mamá walked into the room. “I’m sorry you’re frustrated. Did you pray before you started practicing?”
“No.” Miguel hadn’t thought of that.
“When I’m learning something new, I like to say a prayer before I practice. Heavenly Father is here to help us. It doesn’t matter if you are playing sports, giving a talk in church, or playing the piano. We can always ask Him for help, because we can’t always do it on our own.”
Could prayer really help him learn his new song on the piano? He decided to give it a try.
The next day Miguel sat down at the piano again, ready to practice. But before he started, he remembered to pray.
“Heavenly Father,” he said, “help me to learn my new song. It’s hard to learn, but I know I can do it with Thy help.”
Then he finished by thanking Heavenly Father for his blessings. His arms relaxed, and he was ready to practice.
Slowly he started finding the notes on the keys and playing them one after another. He kept on practicing. Before he knew it, he could play the beginning of the song! He didn’t even notice how long he had been practicing.
Mamá popped her head into the room. “Wow, Miguel. It’s sounding great!”
“Thanks!” said Miguel. “I think saying a prayer before I practiced helped me be patient and learn a little bit at a time.” He flipped through the pages of the song. “It’s better than trying to learn it all at once.”
“You’ve got a good start!” Mamá said with a smile. “Before you know it, you’ll learn the whole song.”
Miguel smiled back. Then he put his hands on the keys and started to play.
“Pray, he is there; Speak, He is list’ning. You are His child; His love now surrounds you.”
“A Child’s Prayer” (Children’s Songbook, 12)
Illustrations by Tracy Nishimura Bishop

For the first time in History, on 7 January 1984,, a premier of the People s Republic of China was about to visit the United States of America. As his helicopter hovered over the little community of Laie, Hawaii, hundreds of diplomats, reporters, military officials, and interpreters waited among the palm trees of the Brigham Young University—Hawaii campus. When the helicopter landed, a tall, silver-haired man stepped forward from the crowd. He was the man delegated to greet Premier Zhao Ziyang on behalf of the president of the United States. The man was Elder Marvin J. Ashton of the Quorum of the Twelve.
To Elder Ashton, meeting the premier of China was more than anything else an opportunity to make a new friend. “I learned that he is proud of his family,” Elder Ashton recalls. “I found him to be a man of dignity, warmth, and a naturalness that made us comfortable together.”
Later in the day, a magnificent reception was held for the premier in the Royal Hall in Honolulu. As the premier passed by, he saw Brother and Sister Ashton standing quietly behind three rows of guests, left the reception line, and shook the Ashtons’ hands. Before departing, Premier Zhao commented to Elder Ashton, “I don’t know what I will experience in my travels to the United States and Canada, but I want you to know this visit here with you will be the highlight.”

An experience I had some years ago emphasized this. A young woman approached me in a city far from my home and came under some pressure from her husband. She admitted to me that she had committed adultery. She was a bit hard and unyielding, and finally said: “I know what I have done. I have read the scriptures, and I know the consequences. I know that I am damned and can never be forgiven, and therefore why should I try now to repent?”
My reply to her was: “My dear sister, you do not know the scriptures. You do not know the power of God nor his goodness. You can be forgiven for this terrible sin, but it will take much sincere repentance to accomplish it.”
Then I quoted to her the cry of her Lord:
“Can a woman forget her suckling child, that she should not have compassion on the son of her womb? yea, they may forget, yet will I not forget thee.” (Isa. 49:15.)
I reminded her of the Lord’s words in our dispensation to the effect that whoever repents and obeys God’s commandments will be forgiven. (See D&C 1:32.) My visitor looked bewildered but seemed to be yearning as though she wanted to believe it. I continued: “For all but the unpardonable sin forgiveness eventually will come to that transgressor who repents sorely enough, long enough, sincerely enough.”
She remonstrated again, though she was beginning to yield. She wanted so much to believe it. She said she had known all her life that adultery was unforgivable. And I turned again to the scriptures and read to her the oft-repeated statement of Jesus:
“All manner of sin and blasphemy shall be forgiven unto men: but the blasphemy against the Holy Ghost shall not be forgiven unto men.
“And whosoever speaketh a word against the Son of man, it shall be forgiven him: but whosoever speaketh against the Holy Ghost, it shall not be forgiven him, neither in this world, neither in the world to come.” (Matt. 12:31–32.)
She had forgotten that scripture. Her eyes lighted up. She reacted joyously to it, and asked, “Is that really true? Can I really be forgiven?”
Realizing that hope is the first requirement, I continued by reading many scriptures to her, to build up the hope that was now awakened within her.
On the occasion I am recalling, this woman, who was basically good, straightened up and looked me in the eye, and in her voice was a new power and resoluteness as she said: “Thank you, thank you! I believe you. I shall really repent and wash my filthy garments in the blood of the Lamb and obtain that forgiveness.”
Not long ago, she returned to my office a new person—bright of eye, light of step, full of hope as she declared to me that, since that memorable day when hope had seen a star and had clung to it, she had never reverted to her sin nor any approaches to it.