Gospel Story Finder

As the Church grew in Bulgaria, so did the idea of a public, Christ-centered Christmas program. President and Sister Warner asked Zlatina Biliarska, a retired journalist and member of the Church, to compose the script for the program. Zlatina was hesitant.
“I don’t know if I can do that,” she told Sister Warner. “I have no idea how to do such a program. It is too difficult.” Sister Warner encouraged Zlatina to think the assignment over before rejecting it completely.
The next morning Zlatina contacted Sister Warner. “I went home and started thinking about it,” Zlatina said. “It came to my mind what the program should be.” The following day she handed Sister Warner the draft of a three-part program that she had worked on all night.
“It was absolutely beautiful,” Sister Warner said. “It was perfect. She had truly caught the vision of Christmas.”
With the help of Sister Warner and Sister Leslie Davis, a missionary, Zlatina completed the final draft. The program was not simple. It involved three separate scenes—a traditional Bulgarian scene, a secular Western European scene, and a simple Nativity scene. It contained 28 songs—many of which would need to be translated into Bulgarian. It called for elaborate scenery and costumes and for a cast and choir of more than one hundred people. The prospect of the members putting on such a production was truly daunting.
Sister Evanka Pashinova, who had been an opera singer before she joined the Church, orchestrated the production. She translated unfamiliar songs into Bulgarian and organized the choir. Despite the distances members had to travel to rehearse (as long as two hours’ travel each way), choir members were enthusiastic and committed. They never missed a rehearsal. The musical portion of the program began to come together.
Several individuals blended their talents to create the costumes and scenery. Elena Shtilianova, a fine seamstress, made or found the costumes for all three scenes. An investigator who is an actress with the National Theater arranged for the Father Christmas costume. Another sister who is an artist painted exquisite backdrops. In a country where rolls of paper are often not available, she somehow found the materials needed to create the scenery. The investigator who had provided the Father Christmas costume also borrowed spotlights from the National Theater—as well as the union technicians who came with them.
As the complexity of the production and the number of participants and guests outgrew the meager facilities of the mission office, a banquet room at the Moscow Hotel in Sofia was reserved with funds from the mission office. Although it had only a small stage, an upright piano, and very limited space, it was the best that could be found. The choir members laughed about “standing room only” and offered to stand offstage when they weren’t performing so everyone could squeeze in.
The work took on a rhythm of its own as the weeks of rehearsal went on. The members’ excitement crescendoed into confidence, and everyone began to look forward to the chance to sing of the birth of the Savior and of his place in their hearts.
But as the excitement grew, the group’s harmony was invaded by discord. Newspapers and television spoke against the Church. Missionaries were physically abused. Rocks were thrown through the windows of the mission home and the mission office. One night the whole front of the mission office was painted with obscenities.
As the anti-Church sentiment grew, the manager of the Moscow Hotel began to worry about the possible consequences of allowing the Church to hold a Christmas program in her hotel. Less than 36 hours before the program was to begin, she notified the mission office that the members would not be able to use their reserved room after all.
Some of the members were devastated by the news, believing that the Christmas program would have to be canceled. President Warner was more trusting.
“Heavenly Father knows where we are and how much we need to have this program,” he said. “Let’s leave it in the Lord’s hands.”
The Lord heard their prayers. When the assistants to the mission president, Elder Trent Murray and Elder Hannon Ford, returned to the Moscow Hotel to get the mission’s money back, the manager explained why she was reluctant to allow them to use the reserved room on the main floor and led them to a room on the second floor.
“If you can promise that your people will come in the back door instead of the front door, go up the back stairs, and not use the lobby, you can use this other room,” she said, opening the door to a much larger ballroom. It was two and a half times larger than their reserved room, and it had a wonderful grand piano. It even had a Christmas tree and other holiday decorations.
On a cold Saturday afternoon in Sofia, missionaries met the members and investigators arriving for the program and directed them to the back door, where they entered the hotel inconspicuously. More than 400 guests crowded into the ballroom. Even the dour faces of the spotlight technicians, who were unhappy to be working on a holiday, could not spoil their festive spirit.
The 150 choir members sang beautifully, and the audience joined in for a sing-along. By the time a young couple placed their baby in the manger for the final scene, the room was filled with joy and music. Even the spotlight technicians were singing and clapping along with the others.
The Spirit was so strong that no one wanted to leave. But like every performance, the Christmas program had to conclude. The same child’s a capella solo that had opened the program—her “Silent Night”—ended it. As the audience and the participants returned home, echoes of their experience—their “Joy to the World”—reverberated in their hearts and warmed the chill in the Bulgarian air.

It wasn’t until she attended preschool that Alba first started learning English. Even though she was very young, she remembers how frustrating it was at times. But she picked up the language quickly.

When kindergarten started, Alba’s teacher knew she was bilingual, so she assigned her a seat next to a boy who couldn’t speak any English. She asked Alba to translate basic phrases for him such as “write your name here.”

One day, a mother who couldn’t speak any English stopped by the office. The staff could not find anyone in the whole school to interpret for her. When Alba’s teacher learned of the dilemma, she immediately recommended her five-year-old interpreter. From then on—from parent-teacher conferences to phone calls—the school asked young Alba for help whenever they needed an interpreter.

“At least three times a week they would call me out of class,” she says. “It was exciting for me. I felt special,” she said with a laugh, “and I could get out of class.”

Amanda Higbee was frightened. Papa had warned her about the wicked men who hated Mormons. The previous May Papa had baptized her, and it had been the happiest day of her life. Today was the worst, or so Amanda thought. Papa should have come home last night, but he hadn’t. Mama said not to worry, but Amanda was afraid some of the wicked men had caught him.
In the next room a door slammed, and Amanda rushed out. But instead of it being Papa, it was her brother Josiah, yelling, “Ma! The mill’s on fire! Walker’s barn is burning, and they’re heading toward the Robison’s!”
“Who are ‘they’?” asked Ma as Josiah tried to catch his breath.
“A mob of Missourians. They had guns and torches and everything! I heard them say that they were going to burn all the Mormons out of Jackson County.”
If Ma was frightened, she didn’t show it. Instead, she gathered her children about her and said, “Children, your father warned us that this might happen. I’m afraid it won’t be long before they’ll be here. Listen carefully. This is what you must do …”
After listening to Ma’s instructions, the children quickly obeyed. Mary gathered up the bedding, while Josiah brought the wagon around. After handing Joseph a bag of grain, Amanda helped Hannah with the cooking gear. In the distance, a reddish glow lit up the sky, and Amanda could hear men shouting. A few pieces of furniture were loaded into the wagon, and then the Higbees were off, with Josiah driving.
On the road ahead they saw several of their friends and neighbors. The Robisons and Walkers had escaped in time, as well as the Stones and Ewells. Amanda waved to Elizabeth Robison, but Elizabeth just stared past her. Wondering why, Amanda turned around and saw wagonloads of people coming from every direction. Behind them were burning farms and houses. Amanda started to cry. It was too much: Papa was lost, their home was gone, and now they were fleeing for their lives!
“What’s this?” Ma said, turning around. “Tears, Amanda? Hannah, you too? What you need is a good story.”
Amanda didn’t think a story would help, but Ma continued anyway. “Did you know that we are just like the Nephites in the Book of Mormon?” she asked.
“We are?” Josiah asked, “I don’t remember anything like this happening to them.”
“Oh, yes, Josiah,” Ma replied. “The Nephites were driven from their homes many times. Like us, they believed in a prophet of God, and because of their belief, they were often persecuted and sometimes put to death.”
“Did they have a prophet named Joseph Smith, too?” sniffled Hannah, wiping away her tears.
“No, Hannah. But there were many other prophets. Let me tell you about a prophet named Abinadi. When he preached to a certain king by the name of Noah, the wicked king refused to believe Abinadi’s words. He ordered his men to bind Abinadi and kill him by setting him afire.”
“Did they really burn him?” asked Amanda.
“Yes. But one of the king’s men, Alma, believed what Abinadi had taught. When Alma tried to save him, King Noah became even angrier, and he ordered his men to kill Alma too. Luckily Alma escaped from the king’s guards and hid.
“Alma repented of his sins and preached privately among the people the things that Abinadi had taught. Every day more and more people came to listen to Alma. In time over two hundred believers were baptized.
“One day,” continued Ma, “King Noah heard about Alma’s success and sent out an army to destroy Alma and his followers. However, when King Noah’s army reached the forest near the Waters of Mormon where Alma and his people had been gathered, no one was there. Heavenly Father had warned Alma, and everyone had escaped.
“After traveling in the wilderness for eight days, Alma found another beautiful place for his people to live. There they built houses, planted crops, and were very happy. They lived in peace for several years. Then a group of Lamanites and apostate Nephites found them. They were as bad as King Noah. They made Alma and his people slaves; they beat them for believing in Jesus Christ, and if any of Alma’s people were discovered praying to the Lord, they were to be put to death.”
“You mean the Nephites were killed just for praying?” gasped Mary.
“How would the Lamanites know if they were praying—did they have spies?” asked Josiah.
“I don’t know, Josiah,” Ma replied. “But the Nephites were brave people. They outsmarted the Lamanites by praying in their hearts. Heavenly Father heard their prayers and said to Alma, “Thou shalt go before this people, and I will go with thee and deliver this people out of bondage’ (Mosiah 24:17). Then He caused the Lamanites to fall into a deep sleep. While the Lamanites were asleep, the Nephites escaped. Soon they found a country with a good king, Mosiah, and they lived there in peace and prosperity.”
“I liked that story, Ma,” said Amanda. “Please tell us another.”
Everyone agreed, and soon their mother was telling them about Alma and his adventures in the city of Ammonihah. While her mother explained how Alma and Amulek escaped from prison, Amanda realized that she had forgotten all about her own problems.
When nightfall came, the Higbees looked for a place to spend the night. Rain had started to fall, so they decided to camp in the shelter of an overhanging bluff. Some of their friends camped near them, and for a while everyone felt safe. Then, about two o’clock in the morning, the rain turned into a raging storm, and a small stream near the camp became a roaring river. Amanda watched in horror as trees and bushes were swept away. Grabbing her belongings, she joined the rest of the family as they raced for shelter. Earlier, Josiah had spotted a cave near the top of the bluff, so they headed toward it.
Because Ma had become very ill during the night, Brother Carr offered to carry her to the cave. Walking next to them, Amanda felt like crying again. And when she saw that the cave was filled with wild hogs, she was terrified. But she, Mary, and Josiah decided that the family needed the cave more than the hogs did. So, grabbing sticks, the children attacked. The hogs fled.
Ma was carried in as soon as the cave was cleaned out as well as it could be. Too sick to lie down, Ma spent the rest of the night sitting in her chair. Amanda curled up between Mary and Hannah. Sharing a wet blanket, they tried to sleep as lightning crackled, thunder boomed, and babies cried.
Morning came, and with it the sunshine. A familiar voice awakened them. “Hello! Anybody up there?”
Amanda ran from the cave, shouting, “Papa! Papa! You’re safe! You found us!”
Behind her came the rest of the family. Soon everyone had been hugged and kissed. Then Papa explained how he had found them. After hiding for several days, he had returned home to find it burned and his family gone.
“Did you cry, Papa?” asked Amanda, snuggling closer to him.
“Yes, Amanda. I cried, and I prayed. Then this morning I rode into camp and heard about some crazy kids who had chased wild hogs out of a cave so that their mother could get in out of the rain.” The children smiled proudly, and father finished by saying, “Do you realize you probably saved your mother’s life?” He picked up Ma, and they all worked their way down the hill, a complete family once more.
Later that day the Higbees stood near the bank of the mighty Missouri River, where many of the Saints were lined up, waiting to cross over. These people had just fled fire, flood, and mobs. However, hope was in their hearts, for ahead of them was a new land. Like the Nephites, they would again plant crops, build houses, and live in peace for a few years. Their hard times were not over, but for now they were safe and happy to be alive.
The Higbees’ turn on the ferryboat came, and they began the crossing. Looking at the brown waves slapping against the sides of the boat, Amanda felt sick. Oh, Heavenly Father, she silently prayed, help us.
Heavenly Father did help them. They made the trip safely—all except Ma. She was nearly unconscious when Papa carried her up the bank. Some women, seeing her condition, rushed over to help. Within minutes a tent was put up, and Ma was carried inside.
“Is Ma going to die?” asked Hannah fearfully, trying to peek into the tent.
“No,” replied Papa. “Your mother’s baby is ready to be born.”
And sure enough, at that very moment they heard the cry of a newborn baby.
“Yippee!” yelled Josiah. “We just got us a brother.”
“It could be a girl,” Amanda reminded him.
But Josiah was right. Cradled in Ma’s arms was a beautiful baby boy.
“Look at his little fingers and toes,” Hannah whispered.
“Hello, baby!” said Joseph.
“His eyes are so big,” sighed Amanda.
“What’s his name?” asked Josiah.
“Let’s call him Alma,” Ma suggested, and everyone agreed.

If you had met Elder Jason Brown just twenty months ago, you might have described him as a quiet, shy and camera-averse young man. But today, those who know him witness the remarkable transformation that has come through his dedicated service as a missionary.
Spend even a single day with Elder Brown now and you’ll see a bold disciple of Jesus Christ—sharing his testimony with strangers at bus stops, on public transport and on the street. His journey is a testament to the power of missionary service to shape character and strengthen faith.
Elder Brown is a member of the Dudley Hill Ward in the Leeds England Stake and serves in the England Leeds Mission. His family plays an active role in missionary work—welcoming teaching missionaries into their home, helping at open houses, and supporting Elder Brown’s mission by studying the Book of Mormon with him regularly, often daily.
His mother, Tracey Brown, recalled learning about service missions in a joint Relief Society and priesthood meeting. She immediately recognised it as a wonderful opportunity for her son. When the call came for Elder Brown to serve as a service missionary, she shared:
“He was shy about his new assignment, but he knew it was what the Lord wanted him to do and where the Lord wanted him to be. So, he just stepped up—because he knew the Lord was with him.”
Elder Brown has fulfilled a number of impactful service assignments. He has contributed hundreds of gravestone transcriptions to the BillionGraves website, aiding individuals around the world in their family history efforts. He volunteers weekly in two local charity shops, where he has become a valued team member and has also served at the Thackray Medical Museum, where he frequently shares gospel messages with those he works alongside.
One of Elder Brown’s museum supervisors, Ross, was particularly influenced by these conversations. Ross now has the Gospel Library app on his phone and has even visited the Preston England Temple grounds—an experience inspired by his time with Elder Brown.
Elder Brown has also volunteered at For the Strength of Youth (FSY) conferences and looks forward to returning again this summer.
He was called to serve as a district leader among the service missionaries, a role in which he prepared agendas, conducted meetings, assigned responsibilities and contributed meaningful ideas to improve district council meetings.
Since the integration of service and teaching missions in January 2024, Elder Brown has forged lasting friendships with full-time teaching missionaries. He cherishes time spent with them during preparation days, zone conferences and collaborative missionary efforts.
Initially, he lacked confidence in finding and street contacting, but that changed after a simple but powerful moment with one of the assistants to the president, Elder Ferrel, who encouraged him: “You can do it, Elder Brown.”
That phrase stuck—and Elder Brown embraced the challenge. Today, finding, contacting and teaching are some of his favourite parts of missionary work.
He often shares what he calls “Joy Moments” in his zone’s online chat, recounting spirit-led conversations he’s had with strangers. He shares gospel principles, his testimony of the Book of Mormon and the love of the Saviour, Jesus Christ. He extends invitations to attend church or meet with missionaries, often recording names and contact information and ensuring follow-up by teaching missionaries. One of the individuals he invited even attended his home ward—and Elder Brown had the opportunity to help teach him a lesson, an experience he describes as thrilling.
Elder Brown is due to complete his two-year mission in September 2025, but he has said he would gladly serve another year if given the opportunity.
His life is a powerful example of the growth that comes from trusting the Lord, stepping into inspired callings and serving with love and faith. Elder Brown shows that no matter where we begin, the Lord can shape us into instruments in His hands.

“Urgggg … this can’t be happening!” Ryan said to himself in the mirror. He looked at the floppy ends of his tie. He had half an hour to figure this out. How hard could it be?
Mom knocked on the bathroom door. “Ryan?” she said softly.
“Come in,” he moaned.
Mom smiled at him as she opened the door. “How’s it coming?”
“Not so good,” he said. “I wish I could get it to look like Dad’s.”
A small frown passed quickly over Mom’s face and disappeared. Ryan wished he hadn’t said anything about Dad, but he couldn’t help it.
Mom flipped the ends of the tie around. “Do you think we could figure it out from the Scouting handbook?” She went to find it.
It seemed ridiculous to Ryan that he had lived to be 12 without learning how to tie a tie. Dad used to tie it for him. But now Mom and Dad were divorced, and Dad lived across town.
Mom reappeared with the book opened to a page. “Can I try?” she asked.
“Sure,” Ryan said, trying to be nice. Mom was smart, but she wasn’t exactly known for her knot-tying expertise.
Mom tied something that looked like an origami project and then undid the silky fabric and started over. After another failed attempt, she sighed heavily.
Suddenly, Ryan’s older sister Katie rushed into the bathroom. “Ryan! What’s wrong with your tie?” she asked, as if his tie were a mutant life-form.
“Nothing!” Mom said, pushing the fabric into shape. “Everything.”
“I’m going to be late,” Ryan said, trying not to sound upset. But he was upset. This was his first day to pass the sacrament since he had been ordained a deacon, and his tie looked awful.
“Well, you can’t pass the sacrament looking like that,” Katie said.
Mom gently pushed Katie out of the bathroom and then came back in. “I have an idea,” she said.
Ryan looked at her doubtfully.
“What if you run over to the church early and ask the bishop to do it?”
The bishop? How embarrassing! Ryan thought he would rather stay home than walk into the chapel with his tie in his hand and walk up to the bishop in front of everybody.
“I bet he helps Peter do his tie all the time,” Mom said.
Peter was the bishop’s son. “I doubt it,” Ryan said. He frowned into the mirror and pulled at the tie.
When Ryan got to the doors of the chapel, he felt a red-hot humiliation fill his face. What would the other boys think if they saw him ask the bishop? Why couldn’t his mom do it for him? He thought about turning around. Then something quiet but strong told him to go into the chapel and it would be OK.
He took a deep breath and walked through the doors. He was early, so the chapel was nearly empty except for the organist and a few people sitting at the front. And there was Bishop Anderson with his head down, quietly reading his scriptures. Just then the bishop looked up at Ryan. He put his scriptures down and walked down the aisle. He held out his hand.
“Welcome, Ryan. Are you excited to pass the sacrament today?” he asked.
“Well, I have a little problem,” Ryan said.
“Don’t worry. Everyone’s nervous the first time. I stepped on a lady’s foot when I was your age. It all turned out all right.”
“No,” Ryan said, holding out his tie.
“Oh. Come with me,” the bishop said.
The two of them stepped into the foyer. The bishop showed Ryan how to loop the fabric, and before Ryan had time to think about it, he had a normal-looking tie. Bishop Anderson didn’t make fun of him or act like he should know how to do this already. He didn’t act like he felt sorry for Ryan either.
“I appreciate your asking me to help you with that,” Bishop Anderson said as they walked back into the chapel.
Ryan nodded. He was still embarrassed but not nearly as much now that his tie was on.
The bishop put his hand on Ryan’s shoulder. “This ward is like a big family, and I always feel better when the people in my family are taken care of.” Then he walked up to the front of the chapel.
As Ryan passed the sacrament, he saw familiar, smiling faces. He thought about what the bishop had said. This ward was like a big family, and it was a family he liked being a part of.

To celebrate the rededication of the Laie Hawaii Temple, more than 2,000 youth gathered in November to present a program titled “The Gathering Place.” At the beginning of the event, the youth stood shoulder to shoulder in the Cannon Activity Center of the BYU–Hawaii Campus as they heard President Thomas S. Monson speak.
“Today will be a night you will never forget,” he said.
The participants danced, sang, and presented a visual display of island history and culture. It also celebrated Laie, Hawaii, as a “gathering place” for early Church members and others.
“It was the most amazing thing,” said Briana Garrido, 15, of Wahiawa, Hawaii. “I have never been so thankful.”

David was taught well by his parents, but as a teenage farm boy he desired his own personal witness of the reality of God and His Work.
“One day in my youth I was hunting cattle. While climbing a steep hill, I stopped to let my horse rest, and there, once again, an intense desire came over me to receive a manifestation of the truth of the Restored Gospel. I dismounted, threw my reins over my horse’s head, and there under a serviceberry bush I prayed that God would declare to me the truth of his revelation to Joseph Smith. I am sure that I prayed fervently and sincerely and with as much faith as a young boy could muster.
“At the conclusion of the prayer, I arose from my knees, threw the reins over my faithful pony’s head, and got into the saddle. As I started along the trail again, I remember saying to myself: ‘No spiritual manifestation has come to me. If I am true to myself, I must say I am just the same “old boy” that I was before I prayed.’”
He had learned a great lesson. A young Latter-day Saint does not get conviction merely by asking the Lord, but by combining that asking with work, service, sacrifice, and obedience to God’s commandments.

My dad is not a member of the Church. Since my mom, brothers and sisters, and I are all active in the Church, we are sometimes at odds with him. There was a time in my life when my father and I just couldn’t seem to get along because he was unkind about my beliefs and I was angry at him for not agreeing with me.
In an effort to smooth things over between us, my mom tried to help me see things through Dad’s eyes. “How would a person without the gospel see this situation?” she asked me gently.
Since that time, I have thought a lot about what she said. I have tried to be more patient and forgiving, and I am trying to improve my relationship with my father.
It has helped me to know that Heavenly Father will not give me anything I can’t handle. It has also helped me to know that my earthly father loves me, even though we may not always agree.
I still pray for my father to join the Church, but he now knows that I love and respect him no matter what.

Illustration by Katy Dockrill
Growing up, I never really doubted the truthfulness of the gospel. As I reached my teenage years, however, I questioned whether I truly had a testimony or simply accepted what my parents and friends believed. I prayed that I might know that the gospel is true.
Despite my struggles, a young woman I met at my community college told me she sensed that I understood my purpose and direction in life.
“Do you believe in God?” she asked me.
I told her I did and that my church teaches our relationship with God and the purpose of life. I also told her about the Prophet Joseph Smith and the Restoration. She listened carefully.
The next Sunday at church, I picked up pamphlets about Joseph Smith and the plan of salvation for my friend. After she read them and began reading the Book of Mormon, I took her to church.
Later she told me she had been very close to her older brother. He had been a stunt pilot who performed in local air shows. Sadly, the summer before we met, he had been killed while flying in a show. She was devastated by his death and was concerned about him because he professed to be agnostic. She had been praying to know what his state and standing were before God.
As she shared her concerns, a sudden rush of understanding came over me. It was a sensation of pure truth and light. I understood that our meeting had not happened by chance. Rather, God had heard and responded to the sincere prayer of this brokenhearted young woman.
I was humbled to know that Heavenly Father was aware of me and would consider me worthy to be a tool in His hands in answering her prayer. I understood His great wisdom in using this experience to also answer my prayer to know that the gospel is true.
After preparing, I packed my bags for the best two years of my life. Meanwhile, my friend took the missionary lessons with her sister. Both of them joined the Church and subsequently served missions. After my mission, my friend asked me to perform temple ordinances for her brother.
I know that God hears and answers sincere prayers, though sometimes in a manner or time frame we do not expect.

A sister in Mexico City was 16 years old when the missionaries came to her door. She says that as they taught with the Spirit, “it seemed like they had taken the bandages off my eyes and that the Lord was clearing my understanding. … The word of God and my prayers strengthened [me] to overcome my next trial, to face my father. When I met rejection from my family because of my baptism, the Spirit of the Lord strengthened me by whispering: ‘Keep on. Go on. Some of your relatives will become members of the Church.’”

Ashley P., 16, attended church in another faith for the first six or seven years of her life. Then her parents stopped going. Still, they taught her about Heavenly Father and the power of prayer, so she grew up believing in God. Throughout her early teen years, she attended various worship services with friends.
Just before her sophomore year of high school, Ashley was struggling, so she looked for answers through prayer. “I prayed that I would be able to be happy in high school. I asked Heavenly Father, ‘Please help me find something that will make me truly happy.’”
Within a few weeks, she started to get to know a classmate, Katie J., in orchestra class. Because they shared a music stand, talking happened easily.
“One day after school in the orchestra room, several of us started talking about our faith,” recalls Katie. “Religion is a big thing for a lot of kids in orchestra—most of the kids have strong beliefs and high standards, so those kinds of discussions happen a lot. Talking about the Church wasn’t scary for that reason—people are open to other people’s opinions and are generally accepting.”
“Katie started telling us about her church,” Ashley recalls. “I asked her a lot of questions after that discussion, and she suggested I go with her to church. And I found that I really wanted to.”
A few days later, Katie told Ashley about the Book of Mormon and showed her a copy. She had written her testimony in it and told Ashley she wanted to give it to someone, but she wasn’t sure whom. “I wanted that book,” says Ashley, smiling. “But I didn’t want to just come out and say, ‘Can I have that?’ As it turned out, she gave it to me a few days later.”
Shortly after that, Katie repeated her invitation to Ashley to attend church with her and her family, and Ashley accepted. That pattern continued for the next two months. “I loved church!” says Ashley. “I loved that families worshipped together—sacrament meeting was for both parents and children. That is what church should be about—being there with your family.
“But I also loved that there were lessons specifically for different groups. Young Women strengthened me so much—I felt so accepted by the young women there. I have made lifelong friends.”
In time, Ashley began meeting with the missionaries. “I had questions about things I had wondered about since I was a kid,” Ashley says. “The missionaries answered my questions perfectly, especially when it came to the plan of salvation. It all made sense. And as I prayed about it, I got answers.”
Although Ashley’s parents initially asked her to wait until she was 18 to be baptized, they later told her that if she really felt that she needed to be baptized, she could. Shortly after that, her family began praying together at dinnertime. And a month after Ashley’s baptism in June 2010, her brother, Josh, was baptized. The whole family even joined in one of his meetings with the missionaries. “My family situation regarding the Church totally flipped,” Ashley says.
“I have learned that Heavenly Father will bless us and help us if what we want is righteous,” Ashley says. In addition to helping her find good friends and true happiness, she says, “He helps me with other things too. I pray every day, and He always finds ways to comfort and bless each of us.”
Ashley points out that sometimes that comfort and those blessings come through other people, as they came to her through Katie. “You never know who you are going to touch spiritually,” she says. “Don’t be afraid to try. You never know if they are struggling with something hard in their life. They might really need to hear your testimony or learn about the Church. Don’t hold it in.”
Katie agrees. “If you feel a prompting to say something, don’t doubt it—go for it! If you doubt your testimony, people will see that. But if you are an example of what you believe in, they’ll see that too.
“Take the opportunities you find,” she continues. “If there is a religious discussion at school, you don’t want to miss that kind of chance. Be open and honest about what you believe in. Explain it to the best of your ability. It can change your life—and the life of a friend.”

When we watch television, we probably don’t think about what a “fool” idea TV was once thought to be. We just take it for granted that it pulls pictures out of the air and then converts them into images that we can see on our TV sets. Little thought is given to how marvelous this means of communication is.
But the way it was invented is marvelous indeed.
Not widely known is the fact that television was actually invented by a fifteen-year-old boy, and if it were not for the urging of his high school teacher, the boy might never have gotten the patent for it.
It all began in the early 1920s in Rigby, Idaho, when a teacher, Justin Tolman, recognized a student’s genius. He saw a very rare potential in young Philo Farnsworth and did all he could as a teacher to encourage and develop the youth’s scientific talent.
Although Phil, as he was called by his family and friends, was busy with school and other activities—he played the violin in the school orchestra and taught himself how to play the piano—his inventive mind traveled far beyond the limits of the classroom and his community.
Most people who listened to Phil’s ideas weren’t able to understand the boy’s advanced concepts. And they didn’t put much faith in his theory that pictures could be sent through the air and instantly received and seen on screens hundreds, even thousands of miles away.
Phil’s teacher, Justin Tolman, was truly amazed at the youngster’s grasp of electronics and his ability to solve problems with innovative solutions. He watched for hours after school as Phil expertly drew diagrams on the blackboard, illustrating his television theory. Tolman was sure that, given the equipment to conduct experiments, the boy could produce this wonderful invention. But where could such elaborate equipment be found? Certainly not in the high school lab!
It wasn’t until several years later, when Phil was married and attending college, that he was able to get the financial backing he needed to perfect his television. Then, when he applied for a patent on his invention in 1927, he discovered that a man named Vladimir Zworykin, who worked for RCA, was applying for a similar patent. Which of these inventors should the patent be awarded to was a real problem for the United States Patent Office. From the documents his backers provided, it appeared that Vladimir had had the idea first.
But if Phil’s high school teacher, Justin Tolman, could be found, it was possible that the teacher could vouch for Phil’s claim of having had the concept for television first. Tolman was found, and the patent office asked him to appear before them. Assured that Tolman had no chance to talk to Phil beforehand, the patent authorities questioned Tolman at great length, and his memory proved to be excellent. He described in detail all the diagrams that Phil had drawn on the school blackboard as a student so many years before.
Impressed with Tolman’s clear description of Phil’s television, the patent office awarded the patent to the young inventor.
Philo Farnsworth, who died in 1971, had lived a very productive life and had been awarded a great number of patents in the field of electronics.

I was baptized in 2012 and attended a branch in the Ipoméia Brazil District. Since 2014, I have been really engaged in family history. It started with the invitation from Elder Neil L. Andersen of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles at RootsTech to do baptisms for my own family names. I felt really committed to do family history, knowing that if I “knocked,” it would be “opened” (see Matthew 7:7).
Now I have many more generations, pictures, documents, and, most important, more family stories, which is awesome. Having this information, I wrote a book with pictures and dates from my family history. This project helped me contact my nonmember family members and gave me the opportunity to share my testimony that families can be eternal.
This work has helped me stand in holy places, stay active in the Church, and accept the calling to serve the Lord on a mission.
I have a testimony that the work of salvation done by this Church on both sides of the veil is true and inspired by our Heavenly Father. Before my mission, I had the opportunity to do baptisms for my ancestors, and now as a missionary I have the opportunity to baptize people who are alive and want to change their lives forever.

Nobody was a stick-in-the-mud when everyone got stuck in the mud at the annual Lethbridge young adult football game. Part of one of Rex Brandley’s fields on his farm in Raymond, Alberta, Canada, was flooded in anticipation of the “Mud Bowl,” and everyone wanted to play.
At the kickoff there were two opposing teams. But soon jersey colors were obliterated by a covering of goo. It was hard to tell one squad from another, let alone find the ball or execute a play!
Some of the players did score a first down or two, but whether or not there were any touchdowns is still being debated. A few hats and boots remain buried in the quagmire.
Following the battle, irrigation canals and the main irrigation ditch in the center of the town served temporarily as wash sites for the grungy gridders, who then topped off the afternoon with a barbecue.

Despite the occasional need for tests, most lessons are aimed at stretching and unfolding the students’ knowledge. Many teaching moments have happened at the very instant they were needed most. Like the week two young ladies became angry with each other on the way to seminary. They sat down and the meeting began. Their faces were preoccupied and gloomy. The scripture discussed in Scripture Mastery seemed to apply to them. In Doctrine and Covenants 64:9–11 they learned about how to truly forgive. [D&C 64:9–11] By the end of the meeting both girls were back to normal.

When the Fayette Branch of the Church moved to Kirtland, Ohio, Porter went with them. However, his stay there was short. Porter was sent with the first group of Saints to Jackson County, Missouri, the intended central gathering place for members of the Church. The elders often met at Porter’s home to discuss ways of protecting the Saints from the lawless Missouri mobs who were persecuting them.
While he was in Missouri, Porter became a crack marksman with a gun. And he made several trips to Liberty Jail to take food and comfort to Joseph Smith and his counselors when they had been illegally jailed.

I started going to my new ward a little at a time. I just knew if someone asked me how I was doing, I would fall to pieces. I desperately wanted to go to church, but I didn’t want to talk to anyone, much less make eye contact. I wished with all my heart that I could be invisible. More than anything, I just wanted to rip this all-consuming pain out of my chest!
I have no idea what the sisters in Relief Society thought of me, and at the time I didn’t much care. I was too busy just trying to breathe! I’m sure I gave off the impression that I wanted to be left alone, for none of them bothered me. They did, however, occasionally give me a warm smile that I found a little comforting—just the exact small dose to keep me from running out the nearest exit, which was a constant thought.
Time is a healer. It doesn’t erase events, but it allows gaping wounds to slowly close.
That fateful Thanksgiving Day was in 2011, and it took me a few years to realize just how much I was helped by my brothers and sisters in the Church. I felt like I was carried off the battlefield after having been critically wounded. I was nursed back to health and cared for until I could stand on my own.
Countless blessings have come my way, in a variety of ways. My testimony has grown to near full maturity. I know now what it feels like to be held in the loving arms of our Savior.
So to answer my friend’s question, “How did the Church help you through this ordeal?” I say, “They didn’t help me. They saved me.”

“Although the pageant was cancelled last year, we still had auditions and a workshop. I loved being part of the community of the pageant, it really felt as if we were one big family sharing love and faith. Living on the temple grounds was fantastic and I felt the Spirit very strongly. We camped on a site nearby, until one night we got flooded out and were blessed when local members asked us to come and stay with them.
“The directors are amazing; it’s not all about speaking with the perfect accent, flawless singing, absolutely perfect dancing—although it is all very professional—it’s more about the feeling. The people whom we depict in the pageant story knew what they were doing. The miracle was that ordinary people were transformed into a supportive community of faith and love, and that is what has been reproduced as the cast members come together to depict this awe-inspiring story. We too are ordinary people meeting together, often as strangers in the beginning, and creating a community of faith and trust.”
Lizzie will play the part of Sarah Ashton, the eldest daughter of the main character, Arthur Ashton. In the story he loses his wife, and the pageant tells of his journey of doubt, belief and faith. Lizzie explains that like many people, she has experienced grief in her family, but has been uplifted by focusing on the promises of the temple, finding comfort in the knowledge that families can be together forever, which Lizzie calls the linchpin of her faith.
“The story is about the hope that the temple gives, and it is wonderful to be a part of this special event; I can’t wait!”

I helped take care of Grandma Pinegar a few Sundays ago. Grandma is 99 and very frail. She is blind and quite deaf, and recently it has become difficult for her to talk in more than a whisper. Her little body is so bent over that there is not much room in her lungs for air.
I leaned close to her and asked, “Grandma, tell me how the gospel has blessed your life.” She whispered softly and shared her gratitude for the promptings and guidance she had received from the Holy Ghost.
When her second child, James, was 18 months old, he and his older brother were playing outside and she was watching them from the window. Suddenly, she couldn’t see him and ran from the house calling and searching frantically. There was water in the irrigation ditch that shouldn’t have been there, and she searched along the edge of the ditch and could see nothing. She ran for the hired hands to come and help and ran back to where the ditch went through a long culvert. Running to the other end of the culvert, she saw two little shoes, and pulled on them. When she had her son in her arms, she was prompted to clasp her hands together and place them under his stomach and carry him in front of her in this way, using her knee to hold some of his weight. She ran toward the road crying for help. The promptings she received to carry him in such an unnatural manner saved his life.

Every year since he was three years old, Tommy Tipana had gone into the wilderness with his grandfather, Utak, for a short period of time to learn the old ways of his people. Tommy’s father, however, was a modern Eskimo who lived in a sturdy wooden house and had a snowmobile. He did not approve of the old ways, but he allowed Tommy to learn what he could from Utak.
The year Tommy was ten, Grandfather Utak invited him to go on a trip through Anaktuvuk Pass by dogsled. So, early one morning Tommy waved good-bye to his parents, then snuggled down under a bearskin robe on his grandfather’s sled. Utak cracked the long whip that sent the dogs bounding toward the snow-covered tundra, and the journey began.
At the end of the day, Utak and Tommy stopped the dog team and fed them strips of caribou meat. Afterward Utak tapped on the snow with his ayoutak (long stick used for probing), and they listened for a deep, resounding squeak. “A good spot,” Tommy said, pointing.
His grandfather smiled and nodded. “Yes, the snowdrift is firm and deep here, Grandson. It will make a good igloo. You learn well.”
Together they cut out blocks of snow and stacked them. Then they packed the joints and cracks with loose snow, leaving only a small doorway for them to enter. They built a fire, and all was warm and cozy for the night. Next they cut a hole in the ice and fished for arctic charr. As Tommy and Utak ate their meal, Utak smiled in the light of the fire, for he was pleased with his grandson. “It is good that you learn the ways of our people,” Utak said encouragingly. “Soon there will be few who remember, and the new ways are wrong.”
“Father lives the new ways,” Tommy said, bewildered. “How can they be wrong?”
“Your parents go to the store to buy their food and clothes. They have forgotten how to fish and hunt and tan hides and sew. They have no dogsled, but ride on a snowmobile. All that we need is outside our igloo, Tommy, if we know how to use it.”
Utak slept, and Tommy sat curled in his bearskin, watching the fire. Outside, he could hear the whistling snow as it covered everything with a white blanket. He wondered which way was best—the old way or the new way. Tommy liked them both.
Early in the morning, Tommy and Utak ate and dressed quickly, for the fire was low. Tommy coiled thongs of caribou skin around his boots to make them skid proof. Pulling the hood of his fur coat closely around his face, he crawled out into the blazing whiteness of the new day. The dogs, shaking the snow from their coats, barked and strained at their tethers while Tommy threw them strips of frozen whale blubber. When they were through eating, Tommy helped them into their traces and waited for Utak. But Utak did not come out of the igloo.
“Grandfather!” Tommy called, kneeling at the doorway. “The dogs are ready.”
“Tommy, come here,” came his grandfather’s faint answer.
Tommy crawled back into the igloo. His grandfather sat leaning against the wall amid their belongings. His hand was massaging his chest.
“Grandfather,” Tommy whispered, “are you ill?”
Utak motioned for Tommy to come closer. “You must leave me here, Tommy. I am a sick old man, and it is the old way to deal with sickness.”
“I cannot leave you!” Tommy cried. “You are my grandfather.”
“Adjornarmat (that is life),” Grandfather said, shaking his head slowly. “Now do as I say! Leave me here. Take the sled and return to your parents … but do not forget the old ways.”
“I will not leave you, Grandfather,” Tommy replied. “There is much I do not know yet, and you are the only one who can teach me.”
Tommy hurried outside to get a wide strip of baleen (whalebone) from the sled and bring it into the igloo.
“Here, Grandfather, let me help you.”
Tommy helped Utak onto the baleen, then pulled his grandfather to the sled. Slowly Utak climbed onto the sled, and Tommy wrapped him in bearskins. Then Tommy packed their few belongings and turned the dogs toward home. His grandfather slept.
The dogs knew Utak was not driving them, and they growled, refusing to pull. Finally, Tommy lifted the heavy whip and commanded them as his grandfather had done so many times before. The whip cracked sharply in the frozen morning air; the lead dog growled one more time, then began to pull. They had a new master now, but he had learned much from their old master.
Back along the frozen tundra the sled raced, mile after mile, without Grandfather to guide it. Nevertheless, the boy remembered all he had learned and drove the sled in a straight line. Late that night, they arrived home.
The next morning Utak awoke in a hospital bed with white sheets. There were curtains at the windows. A nurse was leaning over him.
“Your grandson saved your life, Mr. Tipana,” she said, smiling. “Would you like to see him?”
Utak nodded, and Tommy walked into the hospital room, followed by his parents. He bent and hugged his grandfather gently. “Thank you, Grandfather,” he whispered.
“You saved my life and yet you thank me?” Utak was puzzled.
“For the old ways,” Tommy said and smiled. “If I had not known them, I would not have been able to bring you to the new ways that have saved your life.”
Tommy’s father frowned. “Utak! You must give up the old ways—the new ways are better and safer.”
Tommy simply smiled to himself as his father and grandfather argued about the old and new ways. He wondered why they did not understand as he did that both ways were good. Tommy knew he would live somewhere between them, for he had learned to love them both.