Gospel Story Finder

For many years, I dreamed of serving a full-time mission. But when I returned home after university graduation, I saw how badly my family needed me. My father’s health was challenged, and the family needed financial help. As the eldest of four children, I felt I should stay home and help. Heavenly Father blessed me with a decent job. Though it didn’t pay much, it was enough to get by.
Whenever I was asked about serving a full-time mission, I answered that I would. Every time I said this, however, my mother would look at me with a mixture of excitement and sadness in her eyes. I knew that if I asked to go, she would say yes and quietly keep in her heart her apprehension of losing family income.
A few years passed, and a worthy priesthood holder asked me to marry him in the temple. I said yes, and we were later blessed with three children—two girls and one boy. One of our greatest joys was when our son left for his mission. A spirit of comfort and peace filled our home. It seemed to me that a portion of my longing to serve a mission had been filled.
I was excited when my eldest daughter said she also wanted to serve a mission. Every week in the mission field, she sent me stories of her work. Her testimony inspired me and filled me with the missionary spirit. I prayed for missionary opportunities every day.
One day, I was inspired to ask a friend through a private message on social media if she would be interested in meeting with the missionaries. She said, “Yes!” I filled out an online referral form on LDS.org, and soon the missionaries began to teach her. In three months she joined the Church. Her children followed a few months later. As the Spirit directed me, I invited other friends to listen to the missionaries. When my daughter came home, I too felt that I had completed 18 months of missionary service.
Heavenly Father knew the desires of my heart and what was best for my family and me. I am grateful He granted my desire to serve as a missionary, which had dwelt in my heart for so long.

“My parents were both musical, though untrained. While we had no musical instruments at home except my father’s ukulele, the family enjoyed singing together. I was in my teens when my parents first acquired a record player. And I remember what a great experience that was and how much we all enjoyed it. When I was older, the family did acquire a piano, and some of the younger children took lessons. My wife was a music major, and that was one of the things I enjoyed about her when .we were dating. I loved to sit and listen to her play the Bach Inventions.
“The name Poelman is a Dutch name,” Elder Poelman explained. “My paternal grandfather was born in Holland, and as a young man in his teens, he left Holland and went to South Africa. There he married my grandmother, a Scottish girl. She was working at the time as a governess for an English family living in South Africa. My grandparents had one child born in South Africa, then they went back to the British Isles. Another child was born in England, and they moved to Glasgow, Scotland, where my father was born. It was to their home in Scotland that the missionaries came tracting, and my grandmother answered the door. They were on the third floor of an apartment house with only cold running water in the working-class section, and a man named A. Z. Richards was one of the missionaries. He stayed close to our family until he died, and I have always been very fond of him.
“Subsequently, I was called to serve as a missionary in Holland, as did all three of my younger brothers. My father also served a mission in Holland. That missionary experience was a valuable one for me, because I had an opportunity to meet some of my grandfather’s brothers and sisters, and I was able to learn the language.”
I asked Elder Poelman what message he wanted to share with the children of the world, and he replied, “Your Father in heaven knows who you are and loves you unconditionally. Even when you do things that are bad, He loves you. It makes Him sad, of course, but it doesn’t mean that He stops loving you. I would encourage you to pray to our Heavenly Father often, knowing that no matter what you’ve done or how you feel about yourself, Heavenly Father will listen to you.
“Sometimes we may think that the Lord loves us only if we keep His commandments and that if we disobey His commandments, He loves us less. That isn’t true! This is something Satan would like us to believe because then we feel estranged from our Father in heaven. Remember, He loves you all the time wherever you are and whatever you are doing.”

Youth in the Saskatoon Saskatchewan Stake know what it means to stand on solid ground. Their youth conference theme this year was “Like a Rock,” and every activity centered on the idea of having a firm foundation by living the gospel.
A highlight of the conference was a mini-food drive in which the youth hit the streets of the city of Prince Albert and collected canned and packaged food for the local food pantry.
“As the food drive started, spirits were pretty low because we weren’t getting many donations,” says priest Scott MacDonald. “But as the day went on, food collection picked up.”
Other conference activities included workshops, dancing, and an impromptu basketball tournament. Most of the youth agree that all the activities helped to make their friendships—and their testimonies—rock solid.

Over 120 young single adults from the Kasoa Ghana Stake celebrated Valentine’s Day at the house of the Lord. Many of them entered the temple for the first time. Some brought family names, some received their own endowment, and everyone participated in gathering Israel. They felt the love of the Lord as they made covenants for themselves and their ancestors. The trip included devotionals and social activities at the Cantonments institute campus, a tour of the MTC, and a visit to the area office to see the Gathering Place displays. Ideas were shared on how to build capacity in the kingdom of God. It was a spiritually uplifting and testimony strengthening trip. The YSAs hope the Valentine’s Day visit to the temple will become an annual tradition.

I remember one evening driving straight from work to visit one of the sisters I ministered to. It had been a rough day, and I wasn’t feeling particularly well. I felt like I had nothing left to give and didn’t feel entirely charitable. I felt to say a little prayer with faith in my heart as I drove that this sister would somehow be blessed with what she needed despite my lack. As my companion and I talked with this sister about her family, her busy life, and what we could do to help, I felt the Lord’s love pour into me. I felt of His love for her, for her family, and for me.

We played with her little children as we visited. And I left that night feeling like a different person. I knew I had energy and strength given to me. I knew I had felt a bit of heaven in that home. We all felt lifted by His love.

I found joy in loving this sister and in bringing her the Savior’s relief. Our experiences leading up to ministering aren’t always convenient or joyful. Just like anything that is important, there are usually some hurdles. But when you do minister, you don’t regret being His hands and ears. You don’t regret bringing His love and relief.

In a western city a young man had been preparing for 18 years to go on a mission. He was excited, his parents were excited, his girlfriend was also, and he was ready.

One evening at the city swimming pool, he and some friends were diving from the highboard. The second he hit the water, he knew his approach angle had not been good. He was in trouble. His head pierced the water and struck the bottom of the pool with a sickening thud. He was immediately knocked unconscious. He was brought carefully to the poolside and then rushed to the hospital. After weeks of medical attention, he was finally told that he would be paralyzed for the rest of his life from his neck down. He couldn’t move a finger or a toe, an arm or a leg. He would now lie in bed forever. His body would become a useless thing, and unless something unusual happened, so would his spirit.

A wise bishop recognized the problem. After talking with the boy’s parents and the doctor, the bishop gave him an assignment. It was unbelievable, unreal, impossible! The assignment: would he please write a letter each month to every missionary and serviceman from their ward? Was the bishop just not thinking or was he inspired? How could the boy write with no hands or fingers to assist? Some had learned to use their toes in such an emergency, but he couldn’t move his. Having faith in their bishop, the boy and his parents started to work on the assignment. It took days, weeks, and months of effort and discouragement. In time, it began to happen.

By putting a pencil between his teeth and moving his head, he learned to make a mark, then a word, next a sentence, and finally a page. He wrote and wrote.

For over 20 years he has been writing beautiful letters. He has inspired thousands. The side benefit is that his own spirit, simply stated, is magnificent. Is it worth the effort to follow our leaders’ counsel no matter how hard or how difficult? He thinks so. So do I.

Steve Pollei, a young Latter-day Saint from Salt Lake City, Utah, has been elected National President of the Explorer Council at a Washington, D.C., convention to which he lead some 152 post presidents from the Great Salt Lake Council.
But Steve’s finest moment wasn’t found among the cheering delegates in the nation’s capital. The new president reports that the highlight of the experience came upon his return to Salt Lake when he had the opportunity of meeting and talking with President Harold B. Lee and his counselors about the gospel and the Explorer program.
The honor was earned with a lot of hard work. Campaign strategy was planned, a platform prepared, and preparations for good floor demonstrations mapped out long before the convention met.
On the second day of the convention Steve was elected Chairman of the Western Region. This was a critical step in becoming president, because the six regional chairmen become the candidates for National President.
The prospects didn’t always look promising. For example, when the candidates drew for speaking order, Steve drew the last number and had to speak to the convention at a very late hour.
But he was sustained by a very well organized campaign. An official who had been present at the National Republican Convention said that Steve’s floor demonstration was bigger and better organized than President Nixon’s in 1968.
The primaries were held, and Steve was swept into the finals by a solid vote. His opponent was a young lady named Beth Caruso. Steve’s organization made a great effort to get everyone out to vote in the final election, regardless of whom they supported.
Steve was elected by a fairly close vote, and he gives a lot of the credit for his victory to the approximately five hundred Mormon delegates at the convention.
Steve will have many challenges and opportunities as president of the National Explorer Council. He will travel over 50,000 miles in the U.S. and overseas with his adviser. He will direct his cabinet (made up of the regional chairmen) in leading the Explorer program. He will also work with the executive committee of the Boy Scouts of America to develop programs and activities for Cub Scouting, Boy Scouting, and Exploring.
Steve feels that his biggest challenges will be to involve the young people from ages fourteen through twenty-one in the Explorer programs and to iron out the bugs in some of the existing programs. He would especially like to see some advances made in the area of inner-city Exploring.
His personal goal is to set an example as a Latter-day Saint, to show the spirit of the Lord in all that he does so that the Lord will be pleased.

I discovered file-sharing software as a college freshman, and, however innocently, I quickly got caught up in the world of free downloads. I thought that since it was so easy, and seemingly without penalties, it was harmless. Before long, my hard drive was jammed with almost 1,000 of my favorite songs.

Then I started to wonder about the collection of songs on my computer. Every time I listened to them, I felt guilty for enjoying something I hadn’t paid for. As much as I loved my music, I just couldn’t feel right about keeping it. I finally deleted the software.

A few months later, I heard rumors that the record labels were filing lawsuits against people who used the same file-sharing software I had just removed. Some people were being fined more than $100,000! I couldn’t believe it.

After the shock wore off, I realized just how serious music pirating is. Fortunately, I had removed all my files before the legal battles began, so I didn’t have to worry about paying monetary damages. But I realized that I hadn’t gotten away without damaging my spirit. I had known stealing was wrong since I was a child, and yet I had convinced myself that somehow this was different.

It is a good thing I did, for a similar event occurred in my life with our youngest son, Clark.
Clark has always liked animals, birds, reptiles—anything that is alive. Sometimes that resulted in a little chaos in our home. One day in his boyhood he came home from Provo Canyon with a water snake, which he named Herman.
Right off the bat Herman got lost. Sister Monson found him in the silverware drawer. Water snakes have a way of being where you least expect them. Well, Clark moved Herman to the bathtub, put a plug in the drain, put a little water in, and had a sign taped to the back of the tub which read, “Don’t use this tub. It belongs to Herman.” So we had to use the other bathroom while Herman occupied that sequestered place.
But then one day, to our amazement, Herman disappeared. His name should have been Houdini. He was gone! So the next day Sister Monson cleaned up the tub and prepared it for normal use. Several days went by.
One evening I decided it was time to take a leisurely bath; so I filled the tub with a lot of warm water, and then I peacefully lay down in the tub for a few moments of relaxation. I was lying there just pondering, when the soapy water reached the level of the overflow drain and began to flow through it. Can you imagine my surprise when, with my eyes focused on that drain, Herman came swimming out, right for my face? I yelled out to my wife, “Frances! Here comes Herman!”
Well, Herman was captured again, put in a foolproof box, and we made a little excursion to Vivian Park in Provo Canyon and there released Herman into the beautiful waters of the South Fork Creek. Herman was never again to be seen by us.

He loves being around the Prague full-time missionaries. One day he was playing softball with them, and an elder accidentally hit him in the head with a big metal baseball bat. The elders wanted to take Lukáš to the hospital, but he refused and said he just wanted to go home. He felt certain that if he prayed, Heavenly Father would make him better. As soon as he prayed for help, his head stopped hurting. He knew that Heavenly Father had answered his prayer.

The area of Peru where my family lived was particularly troubled by violence. During the afternoon of 20 April, a band of terrorists came into town with guns and dynamite. They began rounding up people—including my mother, my brother, and me—threatening to kill us. Silently I prayed that, if I had to die, I would go to paradise.
The terrorists tied up all those who had stones, sticks, or any other weapon of self-defense in their possession and shot them with machine guns. Women wept for their husbands, brothers, and sons. My mother wept, too, for my brother was among the dead.
Exactly one month later, the terrorists returned at 1:00 A.M. looking specifically for my father. He was a leader in the town, and rumor had falsely accused him of organizing the town against the terrorists. This time they took my parents and several other people from their homes and murdered them. Had my brothers and sisters and I not been sleeping at our aunt’s house, we would most likely have also been killed. But we were able to flee into the hills.
Early that same morning, we were pounded by a hailstorm, but as soon as it was light, I began running to the town over the hill to get help. Suddenly I realized that some of the terrorists were also hiding in the hills and that they were coming after me. As I started down the hill, which was very slippery with hail, I pleaded with the Lord to help me. Miraculously, I was able to escape.
As soon as I was out of danger, I knelt to give thanks and to ask for protection. As I finished my prayer, I felt a wonderful peace, as if nothing bad had happened. My legs had been shaking violently. Now they felt renewed, and I had the strength to continue running. My fear completely disappeared. I had just lost my parents, but I felt a strong assurance that I had a Heavenly Father who loved me.
With help from the people in the town I fled to, I was able to get the rest of my family to safety.

BOOM! BOOM!
It was three o’clock in the morning, and the city was being bombed. One minute Grace had been asleep in her bed, and the next, Dad was telling everyone to get under cover. Now Grace was huddled under the kitchen table with her dad, mom, and younger brothers, Heber and Alvin. She could hear the rumble of explosions and glass shattering outside. It was so loud!
“What’s going to happen to us?” Grace asked Dad.
Dad stroked her hair. “I don’t know,” he said. “But let’s say a prayer.”
The Vlam family held each other close.
“Dear Heavenly Father,” Dad prayed, “please keep our family safe.”
After a while, the noise quieted down. There were no more explosions. They were safe!
Mom took Grace’s hand and smiled at her. “Remember when we were sealed in the temple?”
Grace nodded. When they had moved from Indonesia to Holland, they were able to stop in Utah and be sealed in the Salt Lake Temple.
“Whatever happens, God will take care of our family,” Mom said.
The next day, Grace heard air-raid sirens when she was outside on the city plaza. She looked up and saw planes above her head, with little black things falling from them. She stood there, staring, her mouth wide open.
A man started shouting at her. “Run! Those are bombs!”
Grace raced home, her heart pounding as she finally made it safely through the front door.
A few days later, the Nazis—who were the government leaders of Germany—officially took over Holland. Sometimes they took people who had been military officers as prisoners. Because Dad had been an officer in the Dutch military, the Nazi officers watched him carefully.
“But that won’t happen to Dad,” Grace thought. “We’re members of the Church, and Dad is a leader in the mission presidency. God will protect him.”
After the bombings, the Vlam family had to leave their city. One day at her new school, Grace heard other students whispering.
“Some people were taken prisoner today!”
“Will they ever come back?”
Grace was scared. Was Dad OK? She ran home as fast she could. As she burst through the door, she saw Mom in the hallway.
“Is it true?” Grace asked. “Is Dad gone?”
Mom didn’t say anything, but Grace knew from Mom’s sad eyes that Dad had been taken away. He was a prisoner of war. Grace leaned against the wall. She was too afraid to even cry.
“What do we do now?” she thought.
At that moment, Grace heard a voice say, “You will see your father again.” The voice was calm and clear. Grace knew it was the voice of the Holy Ghost. It made her feel a little better.
She didn’t know exactly what would happen, but she did know that Heavenly Father would take care of her and her family.
To be continued …

For the longest time in my life, I felt as if I was all alone. At first, loneliness was a new feeling for me, because I come from a family of five, so as a kid, I always enjoyed the crowd and noise around me at home. I knew I wasn’t alone.
Sadly enough, in my teenage years, my parents split up. After that, I really started to feel alone. I tried to figure out what to do, going out of my comfort zone to make friends at school. I was hoping I could enjoy the familiarity of lots of people at school, like I used to at home. But even though I was surrounded by people, I still felt alone. This feeling lessened a few years later when I found the Church.
One day the sister missionaries knocked on my door and my mother answered. I remember her telling them, “Well, I am not interested, but my daughter would be. Wait, I will get her.”
When I started to talk to them, I could feel the Spirit telling me to listen. After a few months of listening and learning, I knew that this was what I had been looking for. Even though it didn’t feel like it to begin with, my decision to be baptized helped me to come not only closer to the Lord and but also closer to ending my ongoing battle against loneliness.
When I decided that I wanted to be baptized, my family wasn’t really excited about it. Although my mother and one of my brothers attended my baptism, other family members rejected me because we no longer shared the same religion.
In the beginning, this was quite hard, and I felt more alone than ever. But after a while, one of my cousins decided to become a devout Hindu, which was also different from what the rest of our family practiced. He respected my choice to join the Church because he had made a similar one. Because of his example of love towards me, some of my other family members stopped shunning me.
At school, I realized that I didn’t really fit in anymore. And at work, people looked at me in an odd way when I told them I had gotten baptized. I did not feel ashamed—my decision wasn’t wrong, and I knew that from the bottom of my heart—but my friends didn’t understand my lifestyle changes, and most of them decided to stop being friends with me.
Through all these difficult experiences, I kept praying, and I could feel the comfort I was promised by the Spirit in a priesthood blessing I had received. One day I dared to ask the question, in prayer, “Why do I feel so alone?” And I received an answer or, rather, a promise—that I would make new friends, friends who would understand me.
And I did! I made new friends, some who aren’t members of the Church but who still respect and love me. I also made friends in the Church who have become like family to me.
Being an introvert and having to talk to people wasn’t the easiest thing for me. Most of the time I let people approach me, but in high school there weren’t a lot of people who wanted to talk to me. So I was happy that I remembered this old trick I had learned—I smiled. The more someone smiles, the more approachable that person will become. I realized the more I smiled at people, the more they would start talking to me and the easier it became for me to become friends with them.
A better answer to my prayer was President Thomas S. Monson’s (1927–2018) talk “Dare to Stand Alone” (Liahona, Nov. 2011, 60–67). Over time, this talk has taught me one very essential thing about loneliness: you never stand alone when you stand with the Lord.
There are still days when it is hard for me to stand with Him. The fear of other people mocking me and my beliefs is hard. There have been people telling me that any religion is nonsense and that I am being led like a dumb sheep. After finding out about my religion, some people have treated me as if I had a terrible infectious disease. All of these experiences made me feel a little insecure and lonely. It is a daily battle, but it’s one I win every day, over and over again, with the help and full support of the Lord.
On a daily basis, I try to follow the Spirit. Whenever I listen to the Spirit and talk with people, inspiration from the Spirit enables me to serve others. It gives me an opportunity to remember that I am not alone. Most importantly, listening to the Spirit always gives me the chance to share my testimony. I have realized that sharing my belief this way helps me to be less scared and more understood by others. Before I realized it, I was not alone—talking to whomever I was talking to at that moment—I was standing with the Spirit. With the Spirit on your side, you can never be alone.
Throughout many years and moments of feeling lonely, the Lord has told me repeatedly that I am His beloved daughter and that He loves me. How can I ever feel alone if I have my Father standing with me? How can I feel alone if He is just one simple prayer away?
In my daily battle against loneliness, I call on my Heavenly Father not just to stand by me but to help me always stand by Him. I know that He has never left me to battle anything alone and has always stood by me, loving me.

There is a better gift, but it will take effort now. My dad, when he was a boy, must have tackled the rowboat problem, and lots of others. That was part of the equipment he needed to become a scientist who made a difference to chemistry. But he also made a difference to me. Our family room didn’t look as elegant as some. It had one kind of furniture, chairs, and one wall decoration, a green chalkboard. I came to the age your boy or girl will reach. I didn’t wonder if I could work the math problems; I’d proved to my satisfaction I couldn’t. Some of my teachers were satisfied that was true, too.
But Dad wasn’t satisfied. He thought I could. So we took turns at that chalkboard. I can’t remember the gifts my dad wrapped and helped put under a tree. But I remember the chalkboard and his quiet voice and even his not-so-quiet voice as he built up my mathematics, and me. It took more than knowing what I needed and caring. It took more than being willing to give his time then, precious as it was. It took time earlier when he had the chances you have. Because he spent it then, he and I had that time at the green board. And because he gave me that, I’ve got a boy this year who has let me sit down with him. We’ve rowed that same boat up and down. And his teacher wrote “much improved” on a report card. But I’ll tell you what’s improved most: the feelings of a fine boy about himself. Nothing I will put under the tree for Stuart this year has half the chance to become a family heirloom that his pride of accomplishment does.

I met Paulo on a hot day in southern Brazil. Church meetings had ended, and the meetinghouse was almost empty except for a few members sitting in the hallway. My husband, then serving as president of the Brazil Curitiba Mission, was meeting with Edson Lustoza Araújo, the district president from Guarapuava, in Paraná.
“Sister Paulsen,” said Brother Jason Sousa, who was serving as a counselor to my husband, “did you notice the brother sitting in the hallway with mud on his boots?”
Many roads in southern Brazil are made of red dirt, so mud on shoes is common.
“You mean the thin, dark-haired man in his late 20s?” I asked.
“Yes, his name is Paulo Tvuarde. He walks to church almost every Sunday, except when the mud is so thick that he can’t make it. He’s been doing that for 14 years—since he was 15.”
“How far does he walk?” I asked, unprepared for Brother Sousa’s response.
“Oh, 40 kilometers,” he said matter-of-factly. “He leaves at 3:00 a.m. to make it to church on time. It takes him eight hours.”
Quickly converting kilometers to miles, I realized that Brother Tvuarde walked 25 miles to attend church in Guarapuava!
“Why would he do that?” I asked incredulously.
“Because he believes that the Church is true.”
“Well, of course,” I said, a little embarrassed at the obvious answer. “What I meant was, why does he have to walk that far?”
Brother Sousa explained that Paulo lived in the country, taking care of the family farm so that his 74-year-old mother, who had a heart condition, could live in Guarapuava, where she received medical attention. President Lustoza was her cardiologist.
“Paulo lives by himself, plows the fields, and feeds the few animals that they have,” Brother Sousa said. “There is no electricity or running water. The farm is eight kilometers from the nearest bus stop. Worse than that, the bus doesn’t run on Saturdays or Sundays. So he walks to church.”
President Lustoza, who had entered the room with my husband, said Paulo usually attended three out of every four weeks. “He doesn’t miss unless the roads are impassible,” he said. “He stays overnight on Sundays so he can take the bus back on Monday.”
If Paulo attended church three out of every four Sundays, then he spent more than 300 hours walking nearly 1,600 kilometers (1,000 mi) each year just to attend church!

I had always believed that Church callings come from our Heavenly Father and that they help us progress spiritually. But I really didn’t have a testimony of this until I had a special experience several years ago.
I had just spent a year in Utah as a high school exchange student. After I returned to Japan, I received my first calling in the Church—president of our Mia Maid class. In a letter to my host family in Utah, I wrote about my calling.
A couple of weeks later I received a letter from my host “father.” He wrote:
“I didn’t tell you then, but one month before you left for home, our bishop told me, ‘We want to assign Kazuko to be class president of the Mia Maids. How long will she be here?’
“I told him that you would be leaving the following month. So they didn’t give you the calling.”
I found it remarkable that the same calling the bishop in Utah had been inspired to extend to me was given me when I came back to Japan. It made me realize that God knows about me no matter where I am—in Utah or Japan or anyplace else. I believe he knew that particular calling was what I needed then in order to grow.
I have received various callings since then. When I look back on them, I am amazed to find that each calling was somehow necessary at that time in my life to strengthen a weakness.
I have learned to accept any calling that comes to me, even if it seems difficult. I know that it comes from Heavenly Father, who knows me.

Some have thought it important to give a gift to the Savior at Christmastime. President Kimball relates one such gift he received that was earmarked for the Savior. I’d like to quote somewhat from his remarks.
“In one of the stakes of Zion lives a family who also believes in a birthday for Jesus. … They gave me a crisp fifty dollar bill [and] said, ‘Today is the Lord’s birthday. We always give gifts to our family members on their birthdays. We should like to give a gift to the Saviour. Will you please place this money where it will please the Redeemer most?’
“Two days later, Sister Kimball and I were on our way to Europe for a six-month’s tour of all the missions. As we made hasty and extensive preparations, we kept thinking about the birthday gift entrusted to us, and then the thought came to us that perhaps in Europe we would find the most appreciative recipient.
“For months we toured the missions, held meetings with the missionaries and Saints, and met many wonderful folks. There were numerous opportunities to present the gift, for the majority of the Saints over there could use extra funds. But we waited. Toward the end of the mission tour, we met a little woman in Germany. She was a widow; or was she? For she had been alone with her family of children for ten years. Whether her husband was deceased or not, she did not know. A victim of World War II, he had disappeared and no word had ever come from him. It was said that he was behind the Iron Curtain. The little folks who were but children when he was taken away were now near grown, and the son was a full-time missionary among his German people.
“It was nearing the time of the temple dedication at Bern, Switzerland. I said to this good woman, ‘Are you going to the temple dedication?’ I saw the disappointment in her eyes as she said how she would like to go, but how impossible it was because of lack of finances. ‘Here is the place for the gift’ was the thought which rooted itself in my mind. I quietly checked with the mission president as to her worthiness and the appropriateness of her going to the temple; and then I gave to him half of the gift, which he assured me would pay the actual bus transportation to Bern and return.
“A few weeks later we were in southern France. … We were one hour late for our meeting at Nice. It was a hot night. The building was filled to capacity. A woman sat at the piano, entertaining this large crowd until our arrival. For one hour she had played. I was embarrassed for our delay and so grateful to her for what she had done to hold the group and entertain them that I inquired concerning her. Her husband, a professor, had died not long ago and the widow was making a meager living through her musical talents. She was a rather recent convert. Her mission president and the elder assured me that she was worthy and deserving so I left with her mission president to be given to her the other half of the Saviour’s gift.
“We completed our mission tours … and finally returned to Bern for the dedication service of the Swiss Temple. The prophet of the Lord, President David O. McKay, was present with three of the apostles. After the glorious dedication meetings were over, the regular temple services were conducted in the various languages. As I assisted the French Saints in their session, I was conscious of the little musician; and she literally beamed as she was enjoying the Saviour’s birthday gift. She had used it to pay for her transportation to the temple. Her eyes shone with a new luster; her step was lighter; she radiated joy and peace as she came through the temple with new light, new hope. And I whispered to myself, ‘Thank the Lord for good folks who remember the Redeemer on his birthday.’”4

Grace W., 15, of Alabama, USA, loves family history. So she was delighted when, on vacation, she was able to visit the Church’s Family History Library in Salt Lake City, Utah, USA. Little did she know that her visit to the library would later become the subject of a report at school.

“At the end of the year, my English teacher gave us an assignment to do a creative report on a subject of our choosing,” Grace explains. Family history immediately popped into her head.

She remembered that her interest in family history began when ward leaders challenged each of the youth to bring a family name to the temple for baptisms for the dead. But Grace went beyond just finding names. “I think it’s really cool that you can learn where your ancestors are from, what they’ve done, things like that,” she says. “And then to be able to offer them the opportunity to receive baptism and confirmation is incredible!”

Grace was fascinated with old family photos, so she began by gathering some from a variety of sources—parents and grandparents, family history sites, and scrapbooks. She decided she would project family photos onto a screen as a video background during her oral report. The final report included:
Research that shows 60 percent of Americans are interested in family history.
A quote from President Russell M. Nelson: “People throughout the world, once little concerned with family history, now search for the roots of their ancestral heritage using technologies unavailable a century ago.”1
Her personal experience visiting the Family History Library, plus an invitation to visit it someday.
Information about FamilySearch.org and the resources and information available there, with an invitation to go online and discover something about your ancestry.

“I listed a lot of websites you could use, where all you have to do is type in your name, and it will help you get started,” she said. She talked about how family history helped her in her history class too. “By knowing where your ancestors lived, you can see how history affected them.”

The report went well. “A lot of my classmates thought it was cool that you could figure out who your ancestors were, what kinds of jobs they had, or who you can link to, like fifth cousins,” she says. Several classmates expressed interest in learning more, and so did her teacher.

“At first, I was afraid people would think that family history is complicated or boring,” Grace says. “But I found out we can help other people see that family history isn’t a mystery,” she says. “And it’s a way to let them know a little bit about the Church too.”

Question: “If thou hast run with the footmen, and they have wearied thee, then how canst thou contend with horses?” (Jer. 12:5).
Answer: “Thus saith the Lord unto you, Be not afraid nor dismayed … ; for the battle is not yours, but God’s” (2 Chr. 20:15).
It was one of those days during my mission when I felt I could not take even one more door slammed in my face. From my junior companion’s weary glance, I could tell she felt the same. We crossed the street to a huge grain field. I climbed up on a high ditch bank and raised my voice to the captive audience of dirt clods and tall, yellow stalks of grain nodding affably in the wind.
I preached the sermon to that field that I longed to teach to the living harvest spoken of in section 4 of the Doctrine and Covenants [D&C 4]. I yearned to harvest souls for the Lord. Had we not thrust in our sickles with all our might? And yet it seemed we were barely keeping up with the footmen, while our unreached goals raced beyond us like horses. The scripture in 2 Chronicles gave us new and comforting perspective as it reminded us to whom the battle belonged. The Lord’s harvest is imminent, and the winners in the battles and the races of mortality are not determined by mortal measurements.

Easton’s first sacrament meeting in Germany had just ended. He thought it would be really different, but it was a lot like church where he used to live. Only here he got to wear headphones to listen to the talks being translated into English.
Mom and Dad were talking to the family sitting behind them. It looked like they had a boy his age!
“These are the Finottos,” Mom told Easton. “GianMarco will be in your class at school.”
“Cool!” Easton smiled at GianMarco. His name sounded kind of like “John” and “Mark” squished together—with an “o” at the end. “So where are you from?”
GianMarco smiled back. “We’re from Italy. But we just moved here from China.”
“Wow!” said Easton. “I’ve never been to China.”
The next day Easton went to his new school. He was a little nervous. But then he saw GianMarco waving at him from across the classroom. At least he had one friend already. There were kids from all over the world in his class. Maybe he would like this school.
“Good morning!” The teacher smiled at everyone. “I’m Ms. Albano. To start off, can anyone tell me what identity means?”
A girl raised her hand. “It means who you are—what’s most important to you.”
“Exactly!” said Ms. Albano. “So let’s get to know each other. What are some things that are part of your identity? What things make you you?”
“I like video games!” said a girl in the front row. Ms. Albano smiled and wrote hobbies on the board. “What else?”
GianMarco raised his hand. “I’m from Italy.” Ms. Albano nodded and wrote down country.
Easton tried to think of something to say. “I go to church,” said a boy in the back.
That’s a good one! Easton thought. I should’ve said that.
Someone laughed. And then some other kids started laughing. Easton looked at GianMarco, confused. GianMarco looked confused too. Why would they laugh?
When he got home, Easton told Mom what happened.
Mom nodded. “Some people don’t understand why church is important. They think it’s silly.”
“Oh,” said Easton. He didn’t think church was silly at all.
A few weeks later, Ms. Albano asked the students to do a presentation with a parent about their family’s identity.
“What should our project be?” Mom asked as they set the table for dinner.
Easton thought about how the class had laughed. “I think we should do it about the Church,” Easton said.
Mom smiled. “That’s a great idea.”
“And could GianMarco and Sister Finotto do it with us?”
“I’ll call them after dinner to find out.”
The next day GianMarco and Sister Finotto came over. First they all talked about what they thought was most important about the Church. Mom wrote down all their ideas in a notebook. Then they got poster boards and found pictures of Jesus and prophets and temples to glue onto it.
When it was time for the presentation, Easton stood with GianMarco and their moms at the front of the class. He took a deep breath.
“We are members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints,” he began. They each took turns explaining things about the Church. GianMarco talked about scriptures. Mom talked about prophets. Sister Finotto talked about family home evening. Easton talked about baptism.
Easton felt pretty good when they were done. Nobody laughed—the kids actually seemed to like it! He was glad he could share something so important with his class. He smiled. He knew his identity. He was a child of God!