Gospel Story Finder

One of those moments came as Michelle and I began our service as mission leaders in Redlands, California. After about a one-hour orientation, the former mission leaders gave us the keys and the cell phone, wished us well, and went on their way. As they went out the door, I wanted to run after them and tell them to come back and tell us how we were supposed to do this job!

On the next day, my family all left to explore our new city, and I was left alone. I felt anxious and overwhelmed. I laid down on my bed, paralyzed—wondering how I could do what the Lord had called me to do. As I lay there, wallowing in my own self-doubt, I received a prompting to go to my computer and read the emails that were pouring in from our missionaries.

As I read their words of welcome and love and got a sense of their commitment to Jesus Christ and to their missionary purpose, the Holy Ghost filled my soul with deep love for them. A clear thought came to my mind: “This is not your work; this is mine.”

This reminder that the battle is the Lord’s and that we are His instruments changed everything. I couldn’t wait to start! I was ready to commend myself and our family to God.

I once found myself late at night on an airplane bulging with passengers going north from Mexico City to Culiacan. The seats in the plane were close together, and every seat was taken, mostly by the gracious people of Mexico.
A young woman came down the aisle with four small children, the oldest of which appeared to be about four, and the youngest a newborn. She was also trying to manage a diaper bag, a stroller, and some bags. The children were tired, crying, and fussing. As she found her seat in the airplane, the passengers around her, both men and women, literally sprang to her aid. Soon the children were being lovingly and tenderly comforted and cared for by the other passengers, who passed them between one another all over the airplane.
Settling down in the caring arms of those who cradled them, the children soon went to sleep. The mother was freed from the care of her children for most of the flight. The only thing that I felt bad about was that no one passed any of the children to me!

More than 35 youth from the Austin Texas Stake recently joined forces with other youth from the Austin area to complete a beautification project at Pioneer Farms, a living history museum. As part of a service project organized by the stake, the teens planted 116 trees and shrubs and cleared away seven tractor-trailer loads of brush and debris.

“The teens worked hard and kept asking what more they could do to help,” said Angela Walters, the museum’s volunteer coordinator.

“It really felt like we helped to transform the farm,” said Rachael Long, a Laurel from the Pflugerville Ward who worked to plant trees. “After we planted the trees, it really changed the look of the park. It was hard work, but really fun at the same time.”

Sister Margaret Easthope, Young Women president of the Pflugerville Ward, said the youth had a good time working together and were excited to see the difference their efforts made. “The youth gained a greater appreciation of what hard work means, and what it takes to plant so many trees!” Sister Easthope said.

It was autumn of 1997 and Gabin Mendene had just passed the baccalaureate examinations at his high school in Libreville, the capital city of Gabon. This was a great personal achievement, and he looked forward to a continuation of his studies at the university level. He was hoping to take advantage of a scholarship program that years before had been created by the government of this French-speaking African country. The program sponsored college-eligible students who were accepted at a public or private university anywhere in the world.
Gabin had applied to, and had been accepted at, L’institut Supérieur Industriel à Mons, a technical university in the southern Belgian city of Mons. The government’s scholarship would provide tuition, supplies, housing, and food assistance. He also received a one-way airline ticket for the 8,000-mile journey from Libreville to Brussels. The return ticket would be sent to him after graduation.
For the next four years he studied in an electrical engineering program and upon his graduation in 2002, Gabin prepared to return to Libreville. His program of study was finished, and he had received the last of his scholarship funds. He communicated with the program office in Gabon about his return airline ticket and was surprised to learn that due to bureaucratic complications, funding for his return airfare would be delayed. Gabin was crushed and felt completely stranded in a very difficult situation. He had no money, no place to live, and no prospect of finding even a temporary job since he was living in Belgium with a student visa.
It was during this period of struggle that he met two young men, Elder Roueché and Elder Marin, in Charleroi, Belgium. They taught him about the Book of Mormon and about the gospel of Jesus Christ. “These were some of the craziest ideas I had ever heard—angels, gold plates, and prophets living in our modern times,” Gabin recalls. After a few lessons, the missionaries invited him to go to the Charleroi Ward with them. Gabin protested, “I did not want to go to church with them.” But he finally told the missionaries that he would go to church once, and then he wanted them to leave him alone.
The following Sunday, they met on the sidewalk in front of the Charleroi chapel and walked through the front door. To this day, Gabin remembers the moment when his feet touched the carpeting inside the building. He heard a voice—more of an electrified feeling, really—telling him that this was a place where he belonged. After church services were over, he told the elders that he wanted to be baptized. This happened not long afterward.
Meanwhile, Gabin’s return ticket to Libreville remained undetermined. Fortunately, the kind-hearted Havrenne family, members of the Charleroi Ward, invited Gabin to live at their home in Erquelines, a small town near Charleroi, while his situation in Gabon was being resolved. After several weeks, his hosts insisted that he stay and proposed to have him help with the gardening around the house. “It was a difficult time in my life,” Gabin recalls. “Here I was, a trained electronics engineer with no money and no job—stranded in Belgium, pruning bushes and pulling weeds. But through it all I learned humility and this experience was one of the best lessons in my life.”
By 2005, Gabin still worked for his room and board as a gardener—and he was still struggling with the government of Gabon to organize his return. His Belgian student visa had long-since expired. In limited correspondence with his older brother in Libreville, Gabin learned that his family was very discouraged by the situation and desperately wanted him to return home.
By this time, he had received the Melchizedek Priesthood and had been ordained an elder. He also received his patriarchal blessing. In separate interviews, his bishop and stake president asked if he might be interested in serving a full-time mission. Gabin responded, “Yes, I would.” A missionary application was completed and submitted—and a few weeks later Gabin received his mission call from Salt Lake City. He was instructed to enter the missionary training centre on 20 June 2006—and then report to the Brussels Belgium Mission—a mere 60 kilometers from where he was then living.
Missionary preparation began in earnest and Gabin went to The Hague Netherlands Temple where he received his endowment. He was anxious to serve the next two years as a full-time missionary, but after having informed his family in Libreville of his plans, they became angry with him. They could not understand why he was interested in running off on a mission. “You must return home”, he was told. “After all, we supported you and it is selfish not to return home to help out the family.” Gabin became conflicted and during this personal struggle, he met with President Kevin S. Hamilton, who at the time was President of the Brussels Belgium Mission and who was to become his mission president. He asked for advice and counsel. President Hamilton, told him, “Trust in God—things happen for a reason. Everything will turn out all right, but in unexpected ways”.
A few days before his departure—and in a twist of fate that can only be understood by going forward in time to several years later—Gabin received two official letters in the mail. One, from the government of Belgium, indicated it had recently discovered that he was living in Belgium on an expired student visa and ordered him to be immediately deported back to Gabon. The second letter was from Libreville—and included his return airline ticket.
The stake president recommended that Gabin fly home and then he would work with the missionary department in Salt Lake City to get things sorted out. So, in the spring of 2006—nine years after first having left his family in Libreville—Gabin was finally going home. He packed a suitcase, and among his personal possessions were two copies of the Book of Mormon, his mission call, DVDs of both 2004 general conferences, his patriarchal blessing, a few tithing slips, and some temple garments.
Over the next few weeks, the stake president in Charleroi worked with the missionary department in Salt Lake City to resolve this unusual situation. Things became even more complicated because in 2006 the Church was not officially recognized by the government of Gabon and no ward or stake was organized in the country. Gabin, now living in Gabon, had no local priesthood leader. The Belgian government was not prepared to issue a missionary visa due to the expiration of the student visa. Finally, a decision was made to cancel his mission call. Gabin was home to stay.
He moved in with his older brother, and during that year, found a job as an electronics technician in a local business. The dreams of his higher education were beginning to come true.
With no organized Church unit in Libreville, Gabin held unofficial meetings on Sundays and family home evenings on Mondays at his home. Some friends and a few family members attended with interest. Gabin would teach from the Book of Mormon and they would watch 2004 general conference sessions.
Throughout this time, Internet services inside Gabon were unreliable and costly—and accessing websites outside the country was almost impossible. From time to time, Gabin was able to access Church websites and download a general conference talk or two. These he would print out and add to his Sunday “lesson plans”.
In 2008, he met Fleur and fell deeply in love. Gabin remembers, “I found a girl!” Fleur had a daughter, Eve, and he fell in love with her, too. Fleur and Eve usually attended a local Protestant congregation, but throughout their courtship, he taught them missionary lessons. They started attending his Sunday meetings and family home evenings on Mondays. Gabin and Fleur were married in 2013 in a civil ceremony.
At the beginning of 2014, Gabin found an article online reporting that Elder David A. Bednar, of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, had a few months earlier been in Libreville. It was just after the Gabonese government had officially recognized the Church and had permitted the beginning of missionary activities. Elder Bednar had dedicated the country of Gabon for the preaching of the gospel and he had organized the Libreville Branch. Gabin was stunned. For more than eight years he had likely been the only endowed member of the Church living in Gabon and suddenly there was a branch organized in his home city.
Using an email address found in the article, Gabin wrote to the Africa Southeast Area office, asking questions about the Church situation in Libreville. Elie Monga, president of the Brazzaville mission in the Republic of Congo, was informed and a few days later, while at work, Gabin received a visit from Elder Michael Moody, the first senior missionary to serve in Gabon.
After their initial greeting, Gabin said to Elder Moody, “I have a few questions. First, where can I pay my tithing?” For more than eight years, Gabin had carefully kept his tithing money in a small box.
“Second,” he asked, “Where can I buy new temple garments? Eight years ago, I brought a few to Libreville, and every night since I have been carefully hand washing them.” Elder Moody went to the car, opened his suitcase, and gave Gabin a brand-new pair of garments that he had been prompted to pack in his travel case that morning.
The next Sunday, Gabin, Fleur, Eve, Gabin’s nephew Yann, plus Annaïck and Pauline, Fleur’s nieces were six of the ten people sitting in the Libreville Branch sacrament meeting. Fleur was taught the missionary lessons and shortly afterward was baptized and confirmed a member of the Church. And so were Eve, Yann, Annaïck, and Pauline.
In 2015, Gabin adopted Eve. And later that year the three of them—Gabin, Fleur, and Eve—flew to Johannesburg, South Africa, where this unlikely story concludes with significant eternal consequences. Fleur received her endowment, she and Gabin were sealed together, and Eve was sealed to them both in the Johannesburg South Africa Temple.
In 2016, Elie Monga, president of the Republic of Congo Brazzaville Mission, travelled to Libreville to preside over a division of the Libreville Branch. Gabin Mendene was called to serve as president of the Libreville 2nd Branch. Shortly afterward, while attending district conference, Elder Kevin S. Hamilton—former Brussels Belgium mission president and now a General Authority Seventy and president of the Africa Southeast Area—looked out from his seat on the rostrum. And sitting there in the middle of the congregation was someone he had not seen in ten years—a patient man with an extraordinary conversion story and a church pioneer in Africa—Gabin from Gabon.

Illustrations by Elise Black
Kate jumped out of bed.
“Good morning!” Mom said. “Today is a special Sunday.”
“Why?” Kate said.
“We’re blessing your baby sister today.”
“Is Susie sick?” Kate asked.
“No,” Mom said. “This is a different kind of blessing. It’s for babies after they’re born. When you were a baby, Daddy gave you a special blessing too.”
Kate didn’t understand. She thought blessings were just for people who were sick. She ate breakfast and got dressed. Then it was time to go.
Kate looked at her baby sister in the car. She was in a beautiful white dress.
When Kate got to church, Grandma and Grandpa were there! So were Aunt Mindy and Uncle Tim. And Kate’s cousins!
Kate was happy to see her family. She usually only saw them on holidays. This must be a special day!
The meeting began. “Today we’re going to bless a baby,” the bishop said.
Kate watched Dad, Grandpa, Uncle Tim, and the bishop go to the front of the chapel. They stood in a circle, holding baby Susie. Everyone else folded their arms and bowed their heads. Kate listened carefully and heard her dad’s voice.
Dad blessed Susie to know that her family loved her. He blessed her to have faith in Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. He blessed her that she would be baptized. And he blessed her that someday she could get married in the temple and have her own family.
“In the name of Jesus Christ, amen,” Dad said. Kate opened her eyes. She watched Dad hold Susie up for everyone to see.
“That was special,” Kate whispered to Mom.
“You’re right,” Mom said.
“I’m glad Susie could have a blessing,” Kate said.

As a new missionary in Japan, I had a hard time understanding anyone, let alone getting to know them. It was difficult to learn to love people I didn’t even know, especially when I couldn’t understand what they were saying. But I made an effort to show my love for them, and I appreciated their efforts to reach out to me.
Each week, my companion and I received a loaf of homemade bread from a sister in the ward named Sister Senba. She showed her love for the missionaries by baking homemade bread and writing small but heartfelt notes.
I was touched that someone cared about me. I felt impressed to show my gratitude to her in some small way. I wrote her a note expressing how grateful I was for her and the sacrifices she and her family made to help the missionaries. We became friends, and I began to think of her as my “mother away from home.”
Months passed. Early one Wednesday morning I received a call from my mission president, who asked me to transfer down to Okinawa. When I hung up the phone, I was filled with the most bittersweet feeling. I dreaded having to say my good-byes. Each phone call to tell members of the ward I would be leaving on the following day made my heart hurt. Saying good-bye to the people I had come to love so much was more difficult than I had imagined it would be.
As I finished these calls, I noticed that the only one who had not answered the phone was Sister Senba. I was sad I would not be able to say good-bye to a member who had become so close to my heart.
The next morning two other missionaries and I left for the airport. When we arrived at the ticket counter and tried to buy tickets, the workers told us that our cards had been declined. We did not have any money to pay for the tickets, and the flight was leaving in 10 minutes! The three of us were in a panic. We were about to miss the flight and be stranded at the airport for the day.
But all of my panic turned to comfort when I turned around and saw Sister Senba walk into the airport. I was shocked that she was there because she hadn’t known what time our flight was. As she scrambled over to us, she smiled and gave us all bread to bring onto the plane.
Truly the Lord uses small means to bring about His work.
As we explained to her that we were going to miss our flight, she became saddened. None of us knew what to do. Then Sister Senba began rummaging through her purse, looking for something that could help us. She jumped happily into the air when she found a small envelope in her purse in which, weeks ago, she had placed ¥50,000—the exact amount of money we needed. She gave us the money, and we were able to get our tickets in time. We thanked her with every ounce of gratitude our souls could muster, said good-bye, and rushed onto the plane.
After the plane took off, my fellow missionary turned to me and said, “Isn’t she amazing?! That was a miracle!”
I then realized how truly miraculous it really was. He then said, “What does your note say?” I saw he was reading a note that was with the bread Sister Senba had given him. As I realized I had one too, I pulled out the note and read a small piece of paper personally addressed to me, which immediately made my eyes swell with tears. It said, “I love you! Please don’t forget me! I will never forget you!”
At that moment I felt the Spirit more strongly than I ever have before. Sister Senba’s example taught me how important it is to follow the promptings of the Spirit—no matter how small or strange the prompting might seem. Through these promptings we have the power to change lives for the better. I know it was not a coincidence that she came to the airport. It was a miracle.
Truly the Lord uses small means to bring about His work. How blessed we are as members of this Church to have His influence in our lives. Let us all remain worthy to receive these promptings and bless the lives of the children of God.
Editors’ note: Sister Senba was promptly reimbursed by the mission.

A dramatic change occurred in the life of Howard W. Hunter on 9 October 1959. He and Claire had gone to Salt Lake City to attend the October general conference, and Howard received a note saying President David O. McKay would like to visit with him. President McKay informed him: “Tomorrow you’re going to be sustained as a member of the Council of the Twelve.”

After his name had been presented in general conference and he had been sustained, President Clark invited him to take his place with the Twelve on the stand. He recalled, “My heart increased its pounding as I climbed the steps. Elder Hugh B. Brown moved over to make room for me and I took my place as the twelfth member of the Quorum. I felt the eyes of everyone fastened upon me as well as the weight of the world on my shoulders. As the conference proceeded I was most uncomfortable and wondered if I could ever feel that this was my proper place.”

This calling came, of course, as a great surprise, and it brought great changes into the lives of Elder Hunter and his wife, Claire. After twenty-five years in Los Angeles, they left their business associates, Church members, and cherished friends in California. But the decision itself was easy because Elder Hunter had long ago established a hierarchy of values upon which his personal, professional, and spiritual decisions were based. Service to God ranked highest of all on his list of priorities.

When traveling on assignment in Africa I met many of our brothers and sisters who have very little in the way of this world's goods. Some families live in humble one or two room dwellings, eating mainly the food they grow and living a very simple life. But never have I heard more sincere and grateful prayers or met with happier people.

I have a clear memory of a training meeting in Kenya. A member of the Jinja Branch opened the meeting with prayer. He began each sentence by addressing Heavenly Father with the most sincere and simple expressions.

"Father, we thank thee we could all come to this meeting.Father, we thank thee we are strong enough to walk here.Father, we thank thee it did not rain so the roads are dry.Father, we thank thee for sending leaders to teach us.Father, we thank thee we have fresh water to drink for our bodies and our souls.Father, we thank thee we have received the truth from thy messengers."

This good brother went on for several minutes with the most sincere and happy expressions of thankfulness. He was not multiplying words but rather his heart was overflowing with gratitude and he joyfully expressed it. And it was clear to everyone present that he knew Heavenly Father was listening.

My name is Hailey Achter. I’m eight years old, and I live in Layton, Utah. When I was baptized by my dad and received the gift of the Holy Ghost, I felt happy and clean. I knew I was doing what Heavenly Father and Jesus wanted me to do. So I knew it was wrong a few days later when I looked at my friend’s paper.
We had been doing a worksheet that was very hard. I had figured out most of the questions but found some that I didn’t know the answers to. My friend was sitting close by, and her answers were in plain view, so I quickly wrote the ones I needed on my paper.
Then the bad feelings began. I knew what I had done wasn’t what Jesus would have wanted me to do. The bad feeling lasted until I got home. I decided to tell my mom and dad. They were sad at what I’d done but proud that I had told them. We all talked about it for a long time. Dad talked to me about the steps of repentance; then Mom said I should probably tell Mrs. Taylor, my teacher. I cried. I loved Mrs. Taylor and didn’t want her to think I was bad.
Dad told me he was sure that Mrs. Taylor would be as proud of me as they were. I was not so sure, but we decided that I would talk to her the next morning and that Mom would go with me.
It was a long night.
The next morning I was really scared, so as we were driving to school, I said a prayer. It was a long walk to my third grade classroom. I was glad Mom was there. We met Mrs. Taylor in the hall, and Mom told her that I needed to talk to her alone. I told her what I’d done.
She put her arms around me and gave me a big hug. “Hailey,” she said, “I’m sorry that you did that, but I’m proud of you for telling me!” She hugged me again. “I’ll give you another paper to work on to make up for your mistake. I’m so glad you came to me, Hailey! You are a special girl!”
Wow! I felt so much better! I loved Mrs. Taylor, and she still loved me, even though I’d made a mistake. I finished the paper she gave me then and had a really good feeling inside again.
I’m glad I have the Holy Ghost. I know He helps me do the things Jesus Christ would want me to do. I hope I can always listen to Him and do what I should. This feeling is much better than the other one!

My best friend Brad and I sat in his front yard, lost in conversation. He had just found out that his parents were getting a divorce, and we had spent the last several hours talking about the problems he was facing.
Then I looked down at my watch. It was past 1:00 A.M. “Oh no,” I said as I jumped to my feet, “I was supposed to be home by midnight. My dad’s gonna kill me.” I wished Brad luck in the coming days, said good-bye, and jogged the five blocks to my house.
The front porch light was still on—a bad sign. It meant Dad was waiting up for me.
I opened the front door cautiously and stepped inside. “Do you know what time it is?” boomed his voice from the living room.
“Dad, I’m really sorry. See, Brad just found out …”
“It’s after 1:00. Didn’t I tell you to be home by midnight?”
“Yeah, but …”
“There are no ‘buts’ about it. You’re more than an hour late.” He was shaking with anger. “You won’t be going out for a while, young man.”
I didn’t like being convicted without a trial. “That’s not fair. At least give me a chance to explain.”
“There’s nothing to explain,” he snapped. “You’re late. That’s all there is to it. Now get to bed.”
“C’mon,” I argued, “it’s not fair.”
Our conversation deteriorated from there as Dad and I traded accusations. He never listened, I said. I had no respect, he said. And so it went.
By the time I finally did go to bed, I was too upset to sleep. I was worried about Brad, and I was frustrated that I couldn’t talk to my dad about it. I wished things were different, that I could have come home and told him about Brad’s parents. But instead of talking, we only argued about my curfew for the hundredth time.
I really wanted to be able to communicate with my dad, and sometimes I sensed that he felt the same way, but for some reason, we were never able to connect.
I wish now that I had handled that incident with my dad regarding my curfew a little differently. He was so angry at the time that it was fruitless for me to argue with him that night. But I could have approached him later, when we were both feeling less emotional, and tried to explain my feelings to him.

Miguel Arrellano looked out the window of the tar-paper shack. Thunderclouds had opened up, pouring forth torrents of rain. Such storms were not unusual in his small village set in the mountains of Colombia.
Normally Miguel did not mind the rain. It watered the crops that the family depended upon for a living. Today, though, he prayed for the rain to stop.
It was a special day—the day he and his parents would be baptized members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
He remembered when the two missionaries had found them. Elder Berger and Elder Santos, dressed in dark pants and white shirts, had appeared at their door. They wore small, black, name badges proclaiming that they represented the Church.
Elder Berger was tall, almost two meters. He came from Utah in the United States of America. In Colombia, men are rarely so tall. Papá was only a few centimeters taller than Miguel. Elder Santos was a native missionary and even shorter than Papá.
Miguel had practiced saying Elder Berger’s name. The syllables sounded strange upon his tongue. They laughed together as the American missionary tried to say Arrellano.
The elders told the family the story of Joseph Smith and the Restoration. When Elder Berger bore his testimony of the truthfulness of the gospel, tears streamed down his face. He and Elder Santos both testified that Joseph Smith had been a prophet and that Gordon B. Hinckley was now the prophet. Though Miguel was only eleven, he knew that he was hearing the truth.
Mamá had cried when the elders had spoken of families being together forever. “Always, we search for something,” she had said. “Now I know we have found it.” She’d placed her hand on her heart. “I feel it. Here.”
The rain continued to fall in sheets and showed no signs of letting up.
Miguel looked from Mamá to Papá. “We must go. We told Elder Berger and Elder Santos that we would be there.”
Papá pointed to the flooded road. “There will be no bus today.”
The family had no car and had to rely on the bus. They had to change buses twice to reach the church. Each week, they carefully counted out the coins necessary to buy the bus tokens for Sunday. This week, they had taken money from their small food budget to pay for the extra trip to the church.
Papá worked very hard, but there was never enough money. Mamá had saved a little and made them new clothes. She had sewn Miguel and Papá shirts and herself a blouse. Miguel thought that she looked pretty in the bright yellow color.
He remembered the picture of President Hinckley the two young elders had shown the family. The prophet would not give up. He would find a way to get to the church, Miguel decided, and so will we.
“Señor Tomás,” Miguel said, glancing out the window and seeing their neighbor. “He goes to the city every day. Maybe he will give us a ride.”
Miguel ran across the muddy yard to their neighbor’s humble home. Señor Tomás nodded agreeably as the boy explained the situation. Miguel and Papá climbed into the back of the truck; Mamá rode in the cab with their neighbor.
They held on tightly as the old truck bounced over the rough roads. When they arrived at the small meetinghouse, they were wet and very tired, but happy.
The elders greeted them. Their clothes were wet and wrinkled, too, but the smiles on their faces were the brightest Miguel had ever seen.
“We weren’t sure you could make it,” Elder Berger said. “We’ve had problems here, too.”
They shared stories. Elder Santos explained that the pipes that carried water to the chapel had burst so that the baptismal font could not be filled. After praying, the elders had filled buckets with rain water and carried them inside the church to fill the font.
Miguel and his parents explained how they had found a ride with their neighbor.
“It’s a miracle you made it,” Elder Santos said.
Papá looked at the baptismal font and said, “We have many miracles today.”
“And much to be thankful for,” Mamá added.
Miguel and Papá changed clothes in a small dressing room while Mamá changed clothes in another one. Miguel touched the crisp white shirt and pants the elders had given him. They felt strange against his skin.
The water was so shallow that the elders had to kneel to perform the baptisms.
Miguel waited while his parents were baptized. When the time came for his own baptism, he felt a warmth come over him, even though the water was cold.
After everyone had changed into dry clothes, Elder Berger and Elder Santos confirmed Miguel and his parents members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Miguel hugged his parents, then Elder Berger and Elder Santos. He would never forget this day or the baptism miracles.

Westminster Abbey is an elegant stone cathedral situated in London not far from the banks of the River Thames. It has been a religious and cultural center for more than 900 years. All but two British monarchs since A.D. 1066 were crowned there, many were married there, and many are buried there.
When I finished serving a mission in England, I visited this celebrated place. I wandered through the main worship hall and down side corridors. As I strolled and marveled at the building’s immensity and beauty, I happened upon several burial vaults. I looked at the names and was surprised by their familiarity: Queen Elizabeth I, Sir Isaac Newton, Charles Dickens. There were others—famous statesmen, lauded thinkers, and British royalty. Their names resounded from my history textbooks.
I was particularly taken by the graves of the kings and queens. They ruled the British Empire; they had earthly power few can fathom; they were among the most influential people on earth during their time.
But I couldn’t help wondering where their power was now. They have returned to dust. “If you slid aside the stones on top of their tombs,” I thought, “you would find their mortal remains.” And I wondered, “What influence do these kings and queens have today?”
Then I thought of the King of kings. His tomb is empty. There were no mortal remains when the stone was rolled away. He is risen in immortality, and He lives.
“Where is His influence today?” I thought as I reflected on my last 18 months teaching the people of northern England—not about Queen Elizabeth, not about Charles Dickens, but about Jesus Christ. I thought about the building I was standing in, which, even without the fulness of the gospel, was built to proclaim the Savior’s teachings. I thought of my own feelings for Him.
At that moment I understood the Resurrection in a way I had not before. His tomb is indeed empty. He is indeed risen. He does indeed live. And His influence continues to change hearts, minds, and lives in a profound and everlasting way.

I was born in 1961 in Brazil and learned about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints when I was six years old. My childhood was immensely happy, but my family’s life began to change at Christmastime in 1970, when I contracted a very rare disease.
At one point I was admitted to the hospital for a year, and the doctors didn’t know what to do. Several times the Lord saved my life after my father placed his hands on my head and pronounced a powerful priesthood blessing. I recall one occasion when a team of doctors was amazed upon seeing my fever of 106 degrees (41° C) instantly abate when my father took his worthy hands from my head. Such miracles went on for about four years while the disease was at its worst.
One day there was a conference in our city. My parents were excited and grateful when they learned we would have Elder Marvin J. Ashton (1915–94) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles among us.
On the day of the conference, the chapel was overflowing. My mother could not get close to Elder Ashton. When my six-year-old brother saw my mother’s despair, he managed to get through the human barrier and reach him. He asked Elder Ashton to bless his brother who was very sick and insisted that he come to where we were. But Elder Ashton couldn’t come at that moment. We prayed for an opportunity to meet him at the end of the conference.
To our surprise, at the beginning of his talk Elder Ashton said, “When I got here, a little boy asked me to bless his brother who is gravely ill, and I would like to say to all within the sound of my voice that your brother will get well and fulfill his mission here on earth.”
For my parents, this was the balm they had prayed for, a relief from their days of pain and sadness. We began a new treatment, and with confidence in the power of Elder Ashton’s promise, I found my life changed completely.
When I turned 19, I went into the mission field in partial fulfillment of the promise I had received and to satisfy my heart’s desire to serve the Lord by sharing His wonderful gospel. I served in the Brazil Recife Mission, where elect families were placed in my path and I was able to serve as an instrument in the hands of the Lord in bringing souls to repentance.
When I returned from my mission, I married a beautiful young woman I had grown up with in the Church. When our first child was born, however, the Lord took it unto Himself. I couldn’t believe this new tragedy in my life, but I knew my testimony and confidence in the Lord were still being molded.
Today my wife and I have a beautiful family of five children. Our oldest son is preparing to serve a mission. I have served as bishop of my ward. The symptoms of my previous illness have disappeared.
My life and my testimony are based on a belief in the power of the priesthood, the eternal nature of the family, and the teachings of the 23rd Psalm, in which David says:
“The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
“He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters.
“He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.
“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.
“Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.
“Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.”

When I moved to Utah, I was instantly greeted by Jenny. She welcomed me to the ward and introduced me to others in the room. Jenny radiated love for others.
Each week, she searched for those who were a bit lost at church. They would be quiet, often sitting in the back or in a corner in meetings. She hugged each one and engaged them in conversation. It didn’t matter who they were—no one escaped Jenny’s embrace. She glowed with Christlike love and acceptance.
Elder Patrick Kearon of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles described what can happen when we minister out of love: “We will serve not because our service is being counted and measured but because we love our Father in Heaven and are motivated by a higher and nobler pursuit—helping our friends find and stay on the path home to Him. We are loving and serving our neighbors as Jesus would if He were in our place, truly trying to improve people’s lives and lighten their burdens.”
President Jeffrey R. Holland, Acting President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, spoke of the “poor in spirit” who struggle and shared his deep testimony of the power of Christ’s love: “There can and will be plenty of difficulties in life. Nevertheless, the soul that comes unto Christ, who knows His voice and strives to do as He did, finds a strength, as the hymn says, ‘beyond [his] own’ [“Lord, I Would Follow Thee,” Hymns, no. 220]. The Savior reminds us that He has ‘graven [us] upon the palms of [His] hands’ [1 Nephi 21:16]. … When He says to the poor in spirit, ‘Come unto me,’ He means He knows the way out and He knows the way up. … He knows the way because He is the way.”
Each of us can share Christ’s love with those around us who are feeling “poor in spirit.” From testifying to encouraging to simply wrapping our arms around them and saying, “Jesus loves you!,” we can find many ways to share His love with those who desperately need reminding.
Each of us can invite others, say hello to them, pray for them, search for them, and share Christ’s love with those who struggle. This work of ministering can unite us all with bonds of charity as we do Christ’s work among our brothers and sisters.
The author lives in Utah.

Such kind deeds of generosity are not a rarity, but are frequently found. Situated beneath the heavily traveled freeway which girds Salt Lake City is the home of a sixty-year-old single man who has, due to a crippling disease, never known a day without pain nor many days without loneliness. One winter’s day as I visited him, he was slow in answering the doorbell’s ring. I entered his well-kept home; the temperature in save but one room, the kitchen, was a chilly 40 degrees. The reason: not sufficient money to heat any other room. The walls needed papering, the ceilings to be lowered, the cupboards filled.
Troubled by the experience of visiting my friend, a bishop was consulted and a miracle of love, prompted by testimony, took place. The ward members were organized and the labor of love begun. A month later, my friend Lou called and asked if I would come and see what had happened to him. I did, and indeed beheld a miracle. The sidewalks which had been uprooted by large poplar trees had been replaced, the porch of the home rebuilt, a new door with glistening hardware installed, the ceilings lowered, the walls papered, the woodwork painted, the roof replaced, and the cupboards filled. No longer was the home chilly and uninviting. It now seemed to whisper a warm welcome. Lou saved until last showing me his pride and joy: there on his bed was a beautiful plaid quilt bearing the crest of his McDonald family clan. It had been made with loving care by the women of the Relief Society. Before leaving, I discovered that each week the Young Adults would bring in a hot dinner and share a home evening. Warmth had replaced the cold; repairs had transformed the wear of years; but more significantly, hope had dispelled despair and now love reigned triumphant.
All who participated in this moving drama of real life had discovered a new and personal appreciation of the Master’s teaching, “It is more blessed to give than to receive.” (Acts 20:35.)

Across from me a woman sat sobbing. With tear-filled eyes, she told me, “I don’t know what I believe anymore.” She spoke of having struggled and prayed many days to know how to make a vitally important decision in her life, without success. She anguished, “I don’t know what to do. If you’ll tell me what to do, I’ll do it.” With her hand on the scriptures, she said, “God told us He would help us. He answers everybody else’s prayers. Why won’t He answer mine?”

Then one day my father dropped another bombshell. He’d decided to leave BYU—Hawaii to take a position at the University of Wisconsin. My heart began to thud. How could he? How could he be so cruel as to take me to a state only a lake away from Michigan? There wasn’t a dry eye among us when we boarded the plane.
But here I was in Wisconsin—my sobs and pleas had fallen on deaf ears. I shot the mirror another grim glare and turned away resolutely. No, this time I wouldn’t start a new junior high with secondhand clothes and expectant smiles. I’d grown up a lot since Michigan and knew better than that.
My ploy worked. I didn’t look or act like a nerd and found friends instantly—of the wrong variety. This was the crowd who had an ever-present cigarette on their lips and an expletive to fit every occasion. They were happy to draw me into their circle.
“Wanna drag?” became a phrase I was to hear repeatedly that year as someone in the crowd lit up and offered to share their nicotine.
Did I want a drag? Of course I did. More than anything in the world I wanted to fit in and be a part of this crowd. But I couldn’t—I was a Mormon. And that made me mad. It wasn’t cool to be a Mormon. There were only three Mormons at my junior high, including myself and my brother. I was okay, but in my estimation, the other two didn’t have a chance of being accepted. I didn’t want to be connected with either of them in any way. I kept my religion squashed as far under a bushel as I could. When kids offered me a cigarette I didn’t say, “No thanks, I’m a Mormon and we don’t smoke.” I said, “No thanks, I don’t smoke.”
“Why not?” they often asked.
“I don’t know,” I’d mutter uncomfortably. “It’s bad for your health, I guess.”
“You’re smart,” they’d respond thoughtfully, happily continuing to puff. I looked on in misery.
This crowd loved dancing to the music of Jimi Hendrix and “The Doors” and so did I. They also liked having parties in kids’ basements when their parents weren’t home. The lights were dimmed, the cigarettes glowed, and kids paired off. I wandered around pretending to fit in.
How I longed to do what the others were doing so I could truly belong. I clung to the memory of those happy years in Hawaii, marching barefoot down Moana Street to the beach with a slew of friends surrounding me. In Michigan it was different. I hadn’t fit in because my clothes were outdated and I looked like Popeye’s Olive Oyle in cat glasses. But that wasn’t the problem here. Now I was an identical clone of my Wisconsin friends, and I still wasn’t one of them. Outwardly we looked alike, but inside we were miles apart. I was like one of those Idaho Spud candy bars my dad loves so much—dark and rough on the outside, but full of fluffy, white, squishy marshmallow on the inside. I was a good kid trying to look bad. It wasn’t much fun.
I didn’t want to give up my friends, but how was I to fit in when I didn’t smoke, drink, swear, or pair off? Although I wanted to participate, I could never bring myself to that point. Something always stopped me. Still, the daily contact with these friends took its toll.
My parents watched me change from a cheerful, studious eighth grader to a belligerent, hostile ninth grader. I refused to attend early-morning seminary and Mutual activities—when I could get away with it. In our family, missing Sunday meetings wasn’t an option, or I would have done that, too. Because I was exposed to so much crude language, swear words came involuntarily to my mind each time something bad happened.
Like a brand, I carry the memory of the day one of those words found its way out of my mouth. I was strolling home from school with several friends when a male acquaintance snuck up behind me and playfully yanked my long hair. Shocked and angry, I whirled around to face him. The word popped out before I had a chance to think. Everyone used that word in such situations, but my friends stared at me in disbelief. I tried to pass it off, but inside I was terribly ashamed and made sure it never happened again.
My report card suffered when I figured out it wasn’t cool to get good grades. I’d always been very competitive and at the top of my classes. Now it was an embarrassment to admit I’d earned an A on a test. I became lazy and sloppy.
I don’t like to think what might have happened if my father hadn’t dropped another of his now famous bombshells—this time a happy one. He’d taken a position in higher education in the San Francisco Bay area, and we would soon be on our way to California! It wasn’t as good as announcing that we were returning to Hawaii, but the prospect of becoming one of those California girls the Beach Boys were always singing about appealed to me. I had no regrets about leaving Wisconsin. I was growing weary of the pretense. I’m not sure how much longer I could have kept that scowl on my face and in my heart without snapping.
It was a good move, and I found friends both in and out of the Church with solid values and morals. I’ve reflected many times since on that year in Wisconsin. I’m grateful I’ve never again been so sorely tempted and wonder what kept me from becoming as dark and rough on the inside as I was on the outside.
Maybe it was the 15 years of gospel teachings I’d internalized at home and church that I knew deep down were true. Maybe it was knowing how disappointed my parents would be if they found out I’d done something wrong. Maybe it was because I knew they trusted me. Maybe it was their righteous and sincere prayers in my behalf. Maybe it was because somehow I always knew I wasn’t like those kids.
I’m not proud of my behavior and attitude, but in any case, I weathered the year without any terribly serious mistakes.
Meanwhile, I’ve decided that while living the gospel can seem at times a chore and a bore, if I can hang on and trust what I’ve been taught is true, I’ll be grateful—sometimes rather quickly. In my case I’ve found I don’t have to wait until I die (like I used to think) to be glad I made good choices.
A year later, away from the influence of those friends, I was profoundly grateful I hadn’t given up important gospel standards. In fact, I’ve been grateful all my life.

In the Salt Lake Valley, the sisters continued their ministrations—sometimes in dramatic ways—as Sister Lucy Meserve Smith, wife of Elder George A. Smith, recalls in her Reminiscences. News of the approach of a handcart company came to President Brigham Young as he was conducting October conference in the old Tabernacle. She stated:
“President Young and others were [so] excited and anxious for fear those companies would be caught in the snows in the mountains [that] they could not go on with the Conference. The president called for men, teams, clothing and provisions. … The sisters stripped off their petticoats, stockings, and every thing they could spare, right there … and piled [them] into the wagons to send to the Saints in the mountains.” (Reminiscences of Lucy Meserve Smith, MS, 1886, Historical Department, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, Salt Lake City.)

Cesar Aedo is a mime, rapidly becoming well-known in Europe. A former pupil of French master Marcel Marceau, he has performed publicly and on television in Germany, France, and Switzerland, as well as in several countries of South and Central America. In May of 1984, he made his American debut. Now he has signed a contract with one of western Europe’s top circuses, Circus KNIE.
On and offstage, he seems energetic, spontaneous, intense. It becomes apparent in hearing him talk of his background that the intensity he puts into performing is typical of the commitment he has put into all the other things he considers worthwhile in life.
Brother Aedo is a returned missionary, a native of Lima, Peru. It was a struggle for his father, a tailor, to provide basic necessities for his large family. But young Cesar was very eager to obtain an education, and to obey the prophet’s counsel that he should go on a mission. He knew it would require his own effort to enjoy these blessings. So—as the story was told in a 1982 Primary manual—he worked washing and polishing cars near his school to pay for his own schooling and, afterward, for the mission. The mission meant so much to him that he would not allow a bout with appendicitis to keep him down for long. Five days after surgery, he was back teaching and tracting. “I have work to do. I am a missionary,” he explained matter-of-factly.
After his mission, he studied sociology at Villareal University in Lima. But his first love was the performing arts, so he studied those too. In fact, his study of performing had begun much earlier, at age six. He faithfully attended religious instruction classes in the church to which he then belonged because afterward there were old movies for the youngsters, and he was enthralled by the silent film comedy of Buster Keaton, Charlie Chaplin, and Harold Lloyd. Cesar was nine when missionaries brought the gospel to his family. By eleven, he was performing in his LDS branch’s talent shows.
After studying at Villareal University, Brother Aedo wanted to go to Europe for more advanced schooling in political science. He worked his way through several South and Central American countries performing as a mime until he had saved enough money to fly to Europe. “I went to Europe on my talent, nothing more,” he recalls.
A series of events he considers providential prevented him from enrolling immediately. He spent several weeks in late 1979 and early 1980 visiting with his sister in Geneva, Switzerland—long enough to determine that instead of political science he wanted to study mime with the man who is widely recognized as the master. Brother Aedo knew that through his faith it would happen, if he persevered. So he returned to Paris and was persistent enough that he was finally able to see Marcel Marceau and become one of his pupils.
He spent three years studying with Monsieur Marceau—not only the art of mime, but also dramatic art, classical and modern dance, acrobatics, and fencing. He was one of the few pupils able to earn his tuition and expenses through weekend performances and summer touring. Now he is studying with the man who taught the master, Monsieur Marceau’s eighty-six-year-old mentor, Etienne Decroux. He is also continuing his study of classical dance.

At first, I thought Personal Progress was just more “work.” Then one day, my Young Women leader challenged us to do Divine Nature value project 5, which invites us to try to strengthen our relationship with a family member. I chose to do this with my mom. Every morning I left a sticky note for her to tell her how awesome she is. I began to enjoy doing nice things for her, and I loved the great spirit I felt in doing it. After I completed that value project, I was hooked on the spirit I felt and I could tell my testimony had grown. My advice is to focus on how it helps you grow in testimony and in feeling the Spirit.
Amber P., 18, Florida, USA