Gospel Story Finder

The missionaries taught us about the Book of Mormon and left a copy for us to read. This was during the summer, and I was on vacation for a couple of months after finishing my first year at the university. So I took the book that afternoon after the discussion and started to read it.
Page after page I read and read and read, and I couldn’t stop. There was this magic that came from the book. I love reading and had read many books, but this was different. I was captured by the book, and after I had read for several hours, my mother said, “Juan, turn off the light! Your brothers want to sleep.” And I said, “Yeah, just a moment, just a moment,” and I continued reading. Even after many hours of reading, I had no hunger, no thirst, and no desire for sleep.
Illustration by Brian Call
Before I finished the book, I knew that something special was in it. I had a testimony because of three things that I experienced as I was reading the book for the first time.
The first thing that happened to me during those hours was a profound feeling of peace that was different from anything I had experienced before. This feeling of peace was with me for several hours.
The second thing I experienced as I was reading was a feeling of joy. It was not the happiness I was used to having when I was with my friends or when I bought something I really liked. It was not a feeling of happiness; it was a feeling of joy. As I was reading, I began to cry and I realized, “Wow, I like this!”
And the third thing that I experienced was enlightenment. When I first started to read, it was difficult to understand because there were words like Nephi and Atonement that were unfamiliar to me. But after a few hours of reading, my mind was opened, and it was like there was light in my mind and I could comprehend more and more as I continued reading the book.
I learned later that those three experiences are some of the ways in which the Spirit manifests to us.

It was at this point, just two months after my first visit to the mission home, that I met my future husband. He was a freelance American photographer and writer traveling in France. The missionaries told him about me, and he decided to interview me for a possible article for the Church magazines. After talking with me about the Church, he asked if I had ever considered joining. I shrugged my shoulders and said, “I’m really just curious.”
But as an afterthought, I reflected, “There is something unusual about your church. I always feel a sense of peace when I come to the mission home. Actually, I welcome reasons to come back.” Still, I insisted that my interest was only academic curiosity.
A few months later I decided to continue my thesis research by visiting the famous genealogical facilities in Salt Lake City. I arrived in Utah the day before President Joseph Fielding Smith’s funeral, and I went to the public viewing with an LDS girl I had corresponded with while I was in France. I was impressed by the lack of despair at the services.
During this time, the photographer I met in Paris returned to Salt Lake City, and we became reacquainted. I asked him to help proofread my thesis, and as time went on, he noticed my comments in the thesis becoming more and more positive—starting with “the Mormons believe …” and later expressing, without my realizing it, “We believe …”
One evening, he asked if I would like to take the missionary lessons. I hesitated and gave my former response, “I’m only curious.” But there was less certainty in my voice, so he suggested, “What have you got to lose?”
I smiled and said, “Well, nothing, I guess. OK.” Three weeks later, I was baptized, and the wagon wheels turned again as I became a pioneer myself—the only member of the Church in my family. Soon I would be privileged to give many of my ancestors the opportunity to choose to become members of the Church of Jesus Christ.
A year and a half after my baptism, the photographer and I were married in the Salt Lake Temple. Little did he know when he met me how the wagon wheels shown in a French documentary would affect his life.
Now it is 1997, the 150th anniversary of the pioneers entering the Salt Lake Valley, and as I tell my story I truly do feel the jar of the wagon wheels as they crunch the rocks and churn the dust in a deeply rutted trail. It is a day like many others, and I am pulling a handcart as part of the 1997 Sesquicentennial Mormon Trail Wagon Train on the old historic pioneer route near Big Sandy Crossing, Wyoming. During this reenactment, I am playing the part of an actual pioneer girl from France who joined the Church in Italy and came to Zion in the 1850s. It seems incredible that I am walking the same trail, breathing the same dust, and hearing the same sounds as she and so many other pioneers did so long ago.
As I walk, I remember the documentary I saw when I was a young girl in France, and I can feel the presence of the many Latter-day Saints who lived and died along this trail. However, the part I am playing is not just a story from our pioneer past, it is also my story—for I am a pioneer, too.

When Jacinta Mauafu left her office late one night after completing some urgent and important work, she rushed home to attend to her very sick husband, Maeli Maika Mauafu. Her manager at the time repeatedly counselled Jacinta to put the work of the Lord first, and then she would be blessed. Jacinta believed that if she was doing the Lord’s work, her husband would be okay. So, it came as a huge shock when Maeli died just half an hour after she arrived home.
Unable to reconcile this experience in her heart and in her mind, Jacinta spoke of the deep hurt she felt at the loss of Maeli, and to be frank, she felt betrayed because the Lord had not blessed her, even though she consistently worked many hours to accomplish the translation work for the Church by the deadline. Instead, the Lord took her husband.
Too sad and too angry at the unexpected outcome, Jacinta decided never to return to work—it had cost her dearly. After Maeli’s funeral, people kept calling Jacinta to find out when she would be back in the office. Jacinta’s help to proofread a curriculum manual on the teachings of President Joseph F. Smith (1838–1918) was urgently needed. Eventually, Jacinta told them she wasn’t coming back to work permanently. However, given the nature of that curriculum work, she agreed to return, but only to complete that one project. While editing the text, Jacinta learned of the heartbreak the prophet had experienced. His wife Julina had been desperately ill and although President Smith wanted to stay at her bedside and attend to her, she insisted he leave and go and do the Lord’s work. A short time after, while delivering a talk in a church meeting, someone came into the room and handed President Smith a note—it informed him that his wife had passed away.
Tears spilled down Jacinta’s cheeks as she realised the Lord had not abandoned her! He had given her 30 minutes to be with Maeli before he died. That was her blessing! She’d been given 30 minutes. As heartbreaking as her experience had been, Jacinta mourned for President Smith who didn’t get this same blessing of 30 minutes with his wife.
Today, Jacinta speaks humbly of her relationship with Heavenly Father. She feels He is always there for her—and looking back, she can identify the many ways He supported her and strengthened her.

The Prophet’s mother shared also in his sorrows, sufferings, and persecutions. One time a mob took Joseph and his brother Hyrum prisoner and threatened to shoot them. The two brothers were confined under a cloth cover in a wagon. Their courageous mother risked her life and forced her way through the hostile mob to comfort her sons. Joseph and Hyrum could not see their mother and could only extend a hand from under the confining cover. As Lucy’s hand and the hands of her sons touched, the wagon drove off, literally tearing the sorrowing mother from her two sons.

“No fair!” Rachel yelled. “I don’t want to watch your show!” She grabbed for the remote control.
But her big sister Brianna was faster. She held the remote above her head.
“I just sat through your cartoon,” she said. “Now it’s my turn to watch my show.”
Rachel scowled and jumped off the couch. “You’re being mean!”
“I am not!” Brianna said. “It’s my turn!”
After more arguing, Rachel heard Dad’s footsteps coming down the hall. Uh oh. Dad always had the same solution when it came to fighting over the TV.
“Time to turn it off,” he said. He pushed the power button on the remote. The screen went black.
“But, Dad!” Brianna said. “I didn’t get to watch my favorite show.”
Before Dad could say anything, Rachel heard herself blurting out, “That’s because it’s boring!”
“No, it’s not!” Brianna said.
Rachel put her hands on her hips. Her insides felt hot and bubbly, like a volcano. “It’s the most boring-est show in the universe.” She would rather watch weeds grow than watch Brianna’s show. Her sister liked the weirdest things.
Dad stepped between them. “All right, cool it. Maybe you two need some space from each other.”
Brianna gave Rachel a mean look that made Rachel’s stomach twist. Brianna hadn’t ever looked at her like that before.
“Fine!” Brianna snapped. “I’ll be in my room. Away from her.”
Dad put a hand on Brianna’s shoulder. “You know,” he said, looking at both of them, “I wish you two would be nicer to each other. You could be best friends.”
Brianna stomped to her room, and Rachel heard her slam her bedroom door. The twisty feeling in her stomach got worse.
Rachel went outside to ride her scooter. Maybe it would help her forget the way Brianna had looked at her.
The sky was warm and sunny. But no matter how hard Rachel tried, she couldn’t stop worrying about the argument with Brianna.
Her favorite show really is boring, she thought. It’s boring-er than dirt. But … maybe I should have let her watch it anyway. She kept riding her scooter in circles. Then she noticed someone walk toward her. It was Brianna!
“Hey,” Brianna said. She looked happy.
Rachel stopped her scooter. Why was Brianna smiling? “Um, hi,” she said back.
“So, I thought we could use a sister date,” Brianna said. “My treat. How does the Fun Center sound?”
That was Rachel’s favorite place! “Really?” she answered. “That sounds awesome! Let’s go!”
And it was awesome. The two of them skated around and around the rink. Brianna even brought money for the arcade games. They won tickets and traded them for goofy glasses with fake mustaches.
Rachel giggled while Brianna made funny faces with her mustache. Then she remembered the fight they had earlier.
“I’m sorry I didn’t let you watch your TV show,” Rachel said. “I wasn’t being very nice.”
Brianna put her arm around her. “Neither was I. I’m sorry too. Besides, this is the kind of stuff I’d rather do with you anyway.”
Rachel smiled her biggest smile. “Me too! Because we’re best friends, right?”
Brianna gave her a big-sister hug. “Best friends,” she agreed.

Many years ago I heard a story which I’ve always remembered. Perhaps I heard it when I was running around as a young barefoot boy.

A poor, old French woman was walking along the banks of the Seine River. On her stooped shoulders was draped a threadbare shawl. Suddenly she stopped, leaned down, picked up something that sparkled brightly in the sunlight, and put it under her shawl. A policeman observed her actions and hurried over to her. In a very gruff voice he said, “Let me see what you are hiding under your shawl!” The old woman drew out from the folds in the shawl a broken piece of glass, saying, “It is only a sharp piece of broken glass. I picked it up so some barefoot boy might not step on it and cut his foot.”

The policeman was doing his duty, but he was more than willing to convict the woman of a misdeed before he could learn that she had acted with the nobility of a caring soul.

Sometimes I wanted immediate blessings from Heavenly Father. I thought He’d bless me with fewer panic attacks just because I went to church. But I’ve learned that it doesn’t work that way. I often have to push through the attacks and attend church before I can see His blessings.
Now I’ve realized I can also ask for help from my parents and medical professionals. I still have bad days, but they don’t control me. Instead, they help me prove to my Heavenly Father that I love Him and that I’ll fight through this challenge with His help.

Or the time I attended an Especially for Youth conference. I had heard rumors of girls dancing every dance with boys from all over the country. Knowing there would be a dance at the beginning, middle, and end of the week, I was ready to have the time of my life! The fact that there were two or three girls for every boy at my session that year left my hopes shattered when I went home having only been asked to dance once the entire week.

“I’ve wanted to fly airplanes for as long as I can remember,” 17-year-old Lamar F. says. When a friend from his wheelchair racing days told him about a British charity that helps people with disabilities learn to fly, Lamar was eager to try.
He signed up for two of the charity’s programs. One of them, the Junior Aspiring Pilots Program (JAPP), was created especially for youth between the ages of 12 and 18. These programs and other solo lessons are all propelling him one step closer to his big goal—getting his Private Pilot License.
Part of his inspiration comes from his family. Lamar’s foster dad was the first person to get him hooked on flight, taking him to airshows every year. Later, after he was adopted by another family at age four, Lamar’s interest in aviation continued to thrive as he watched his adoptive father pursue a pilot’s license. “He’s my inspiration for wanting to be a pilot,” Lamar says. Now Lamar’s dad can ride with him in the single-propeller, five-seater airplanes Lamar is learning to fly.
Lamar’s parents (pictured here on either side of him) are some of his biggest supports.
On Lamar’s first flight in a real aircraft, he was feeling nervous about remembering everything. “I said a quick, silent prayer before I went up, and I was fine,” he says. Now when he struggles to remember something in the air, those small, silent prayers help him do what he needs to do. Even when his dad isn’t in the back seat, Lamar knows he always has his Father in Heaven with him.
Flying isn’t the only thing that keeps Lamar’s spirits soaring. “I’ve always been a big fan of the British military, everything from a royal coronation to a funeral,” he says.
“Because of my disabilities, I can’t join the military myself,” Lamar says. But one of his former Young Men leaders who used to be a soldier has encouraged Lamar. “He’s always reminded me that I don’t have to be in a worldly military because I’m already in the Lord’s army,” Lamar says. “Being in the Lord’s army makes me feel that no matter what life throws at me, no matter what anyone does to me, I have Jesus Christ on my side.”
Brother Bayliss, Lamar’s Young Men leader, inspired him to join “The Lord’s Army.”
At the special-needs college he attends, Lamar tries to help other people his age join the Lord’s army as he shares the gospel with them. “A lot of the time, I get ignored,” he says, “but some of the time, I get interest. Because of some of my needs at the moment, serving a full-time mission soon is not an option. But I see it like this: I don’t need a name tag to be a missionary.”
With so few youth in his ward, most of Lamar’s friends aren’t members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. That isn’t always easy at school, especially when there are, as Lamar puts it, “absolute loads” of temptations. “There’re lots of students talking about inappropriate stuff and listening to inappropriate music. Basically, whenever something like that happens, I just leave and go to a room where that isn’t going on.”’
When temptations come or others aren’t interested in hearing about the gospel, Lamar holds his favorite scripture high: “But as for me and my house, we will serve the Lord” (Joshua 24:15).
“This scripture has helped me stay strong in the faith of Jesus Christ,” he says. This is especially important to Lamar in his own family. When Lamar was 10, his father stopped coming to church. “I was younger then, so I didn’t fully understand,” he says. “I tried to convince him to come back. But I’ve learned it’s not about that. You give them time.”
Lamar still has a close relationship with his dad and shows him love in everyday ways, like telling him what happened at church or spending time with him. “He’s always taught me that no matter what you go through, you’ve got to stay strong.” To any youth with family members who aren’t active in the Church, he adds, “Stay strong. Hold on to your faith. Don’t give up, no matter what.”
Lamar has also found courage in Christ in other personal ways. “I suffer with quite bad anxiety sometimes,” Lamar says. “I guess the ultimate person to give me courage to carry on is Jesus Christ Himself. He went through so much, yet He carried on with His mission.”
When Lamar is having a particularly bad day, he often imagines the Savior encouraging him, saying, “You can do this. You can get through anything.”
He also draws strength from his mom and dad, his friends, and other people who are close to him. “There was a time where I kind of got led down the wrong path,” Lamar says. But thanks to a good support system, he was able to adjust his course and strengthen his testimony of Christ.
“I’m still developing my testimony,” he says, “but it’s wonderful to be part of the Lord’s army and in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. It’s something that I love.”
His journey may have ups and downs, but Lamar knows what keeps him flying high. “No matter what trials or problems you go through, Heavenly Father will be by your side because He cares about you and loves you.”

There are those who are ready now, but there are not enough. I know of one lovely woman who is ready. She had been injured in the accident which took her husband’s life, leaving her a widow for the second time in her young life. She had not fully recovered from the mishap and had a family of young children to raise. Yet she paid tithing on the insurance settlement for her husband’s death. The clerk said to the bishop, “Sister So-and-so needs this money much more than the Church does. Don’t you think we should return it?”
The bishop asked me. I answered his question with a question: “What does Sister So-and-so need more than the blessings that come from paying tithing?” Imagine how the Lord will open the windows of heaven for this young mother because of her faith and devotion.

While I prepared for my mission I found comfort and strength within my ward family. They did an amazing job of helping me adjust to the lifestyle changes that come with being a Church member, and they gave me support in coping with the opposition of my family. I found it easier to persevere despite the frustrations by immersing myself in the Church through callings, activities, and going on exchanges with the missionaries. Also, I lived close to Palmyra, New York, so I often found myself sitting in the Sacred Grove, pondering my situation and seeking peace.

I remember as a child listening to the testimonies given by adults in my ward. Those testimonies entered my heart and inspired my soul. Wherever I go throughout the world—no matter the language, no matter the culture—I thrill to hear the testimonies of the Saints.
Recently, I received a letter from our grandson who is a missionary. He wrote that members “who are reading scriptures and praying are more willing to share the gospel.”
I believe he’s right. The more we study the scriptures and pray, the more likely we can enthusiastically share our testimonies of the gospel with others.
Remember, Church members who receive a testimony of the gospel are under covenant “to stand as witnesses of God at all times and in all things, and in all places.” It is clear we have a sacred obligation to obtain referrals for our missionaries. Witnesses have a special knowledge and are to bear testimony of “that which they have seen and heard and most assuredly believe.” We make simple, clear, direct statements that we know with certainty and surety that the gospel is true because it has been “made known unto [us] by the Holy Spirit of God.” In bearing such a testimony, speaking by the power of the Holy Ghost, we are promised that “the Holy Ghost shall be shed forth in bearing record unto all things whatsoever [we] shall say.” We are blessed personally when we so testify.
President Boyd K. Packer said: “A testimony is to be found in the bearing of it. Somewhere in your quest for spiritual knowledge, there is that ‘leap of faith,’ as the philosophers call it. It is the moment when you have gone to the edge of the light and step into the darkness to discover that the way is lighted ahead for just a footstep or two.”
Making a determined and confident public statement of your belief is such a step into the unknown. It has a powerful effect in strengthening your own convictions. Bearing testimony drives your faith deeper into your soul, and you believe more fervently than before.
To those who faithfully bear testimony, the Lord said, “Ye are blessed, for the testimony which ye have borne is recorded in heaven for the angels to look upon; and they rejoice over you, and your sins are forgiven you.” I have tried to follow this counsel to bear testimony.
May I tell you how I gained a testimony of the truth and divine nature of this great latter-day work? I’m afraid my experience isn’t very dramatic. It is not a story of heavenly hosannas or thundering shouts. It is not a story of lightning, fire, or flood.
But I have always known the reality and goodness of God.
From my earliest memories it was there—a sure and abiding testimony of this great work. Sometimes that assurance comes when we feel the love of the Savior when we meet His servants. I remember when I was just five years old and my family moved into a new ward. That first Sunday, Bishop Charles E. Forsberg, who was born in Sweden, came up to me and called me by name. I knew then.
During the cold and gray days of the Great Depression I remember a wonderful servant of the Savior by the name of C. Perry Erickson. Brother Erickson, a contractor, had a difficult time finding work. He could have shut himself up. He could have become bitter and angry. He could have given up. Instead, when I was 12 he was my Scoutmaster. He spent countless hours helping me and others my age to learn, to grow, and to approach every difficulty with confidence and optimism. Without exception, every one of C. Perry Erickson’s Scouts received an Eagle award. I knew then.
Yes, the testimonies of priesthood leaders and faithful ward members helped me to know.
I remember the words of my mother and father. I remember their expressions of faith and love for their Heavenly Father. I knew then.
I knew the reality of the Savior’s compassion when, at the request of my father, the bishop of the ward, I delivered food and clothing to the widows and poor of the ward.
I knew, when as a young father, my wife and I gathered our children around us and expressed our gratitude to our Heavenly Father for our many blessings.
I knew last April, when I heard from this pulpit the words of our prophet, President Gordon B. Hinckley, who called Jesus his friend, exemplar, leader, Savior, and King.
President Hinckley said: “Through giving His life in pain and unspeakable suffering, He has reached down to lift me and each of us and all the sons and daughters of God from the abyss of eternal darkness following death. He has provided something better—a sphere of light and understanding, growth and beauty.”
Now, I would like to bear my testimony—I know that Joseph Smith saw what he said he saw, that the heavens opened and God the Father and His Son, Jesus Christ, appeared to an unlearned youth reared in the backwoods of New York.
As a special witness of the name of Jesus Christ in all the world, I promise you that if you seek the Lord, you will find Him. Ask, and you shall receive.
I pray that you may do so and testify to the ends of the earth that the gospel of our Lord and Savior is restored to man! In the name of my friend, my exemplar, my Savior and King, Jesus Christ, amen.

Rochelle moved to a modest duplex in an affluent area in the western United States after spending time in a homeless shelter. Divorced and caring for several children, she worked at two jobs, sometimes three, to be able to afford food and rent, and had been less active, off and on, since her conversion.
“Even though just about everyone in my new ward seemed better off than I was,” she explains, “they reached out to me and accepted the way I dress. Everyone really cared.”
Although under significant financial pressure, Rochelle never resented others for their easier circumstances. “I want to be more secure, definitely, but I never looked at my neighbors’ houses and felt that God had left me behind,” she recalls. “I could feel Him walking beside me even through my poor choices.”
Although Rochelle’s work schedule has been a challenge at times, ward leaders and friends ultimately helped her fulfill a yearning to attend the temple. “Going to the temple regularly helps me be grateful for how far I’ve come,” she observes. “I don’t worry that others might seem ahead of me.”
Rochelle admits that she and her daughters struggle and “are not a perfect LDS family.” Yet she also recognizes that “everyone has problems and no family is really perfect,” a perspective that liberates her from looking sideways at others instead of focusing on her relationship with God.
“My daughters can see what a difference the gospel has made in my life,” she says. “I can feel the difference too and am busy enough with work, family, and Church that I don’t have time for comparisons. I’m just happy to be on the right path.”

“I’m bored,” Mike said.
Mike’s mother looked up from the cake she was making. “I’m going to work in the garden while the cake bakes,” she said. “I could use a strong boy like you to help me.”
“That’s no fun,” Mike told her as he licked the spoon. “I want to do something fun.”
Mike followed his mother to the garden. He looked cross, even with cake batter on his chin. He ate some fresh peas, watered the corn, and watched a ladybug crawl along a bean leaf.
“How would you like to deliver some carrots to Aunt Annie?” asked his mother.
Mike started to grin. “I have an idea,” he said, running toward the house.
Mike cut out the bottom of an old shoe box. He found a red crayon and wrote three words on the piece of box. Then he got his skates and ran back to the garden. “Pin this on my back, please,” he said to his mother.
“Mike’s Delivery Service,” she read as she pinned it to his shirt.
Mike put on his skates and picked up the bag of carrots. “Vroom! Vroom!” he said as he started down the sidewalk.
Old Mr. Davis, who lived in the next block, was walking by. He had a bag of groceries in his arms, and his dog, Chip, on a leash. “Beep! Beep!” Mike shouted, skating carefully out around the old man. “Make way for Mike’s Delivery Service!”
“Yap! Yap!” barked Chip, jerking his leash.
Mike turned in at the house on the corner. He rang the doorbell and called, “Delivery for you, Aunt Annie!”
“Why, thank you, Mr. Mike,” said the smiling lady who opened the door. “Do you take return loads?”
Aunt Annie put a carton of eggs in Mike’s hands. She said, “This is a special delivery, sir. Please be very careful.”
Chip barked and pulled at his leash when Mike passed him and Mr. Davis again.
Mike’s mother met him at the door and took the eggs. “Thank you, sir. You have a very good delivery service.”
Mike sat on the step and ate a piece of warm cake. While he ate, he had another idea. “I have one more job to do, Mom,” he called. And Mike’s Delivery Service took off again.
Mr. Davis was sitting on a low wall, resting. Chip could hear Mike’s skates, and he pulled on the leash.
“Mr. Davis,” said Mike, “I’ll carry that bag for you.”
“Well, Mr. Delivery Service,” said the old man, “it has a jar of jam in it.” Then he winked and said, “If the glass broke, it could give your ‘delivery truck’ a flat tire. But you would help me a lot if you could take my dog!”
Mike took Chip’s leash in his hand. Chip barked and ran down the walk, pulling Mike behind him. “Slow down, Chip, before we get a ticket for speeding!” yelled Mike.
Chip and Mike were waiting when Mr. Davis got home. “Thanks, Mike,” said the tired man. “You made a fast delivery—but did you deliver the dog, or did the dog deliver you?”
“Chip delivered me,” Mike said. “And he liked it. Look at him.”
Chip was wagging his tail hard.
“You like to help, don’t you, boy?” asked Mike as he patted the head of the happy dog.
Mike felt happy, too, and not a bit bored.

I helped with a project at school to make “bottles of love,” which are plastic bottles filled with single-use plastics. These are items that are used once and thrown away, like plastic bags. Each family made bottles of love and took them to school. The bottles were sent to an organization that made them into plastic bricks. The bricks could be used to build outdoor benches and houses for people in need.
I realized that my family uses a lot of plastic daily, which is a real environmental problem. I wanted to start caring for the environment. But I couldn’t do it alone. So I decided to ask people at church to help too. I spoke with my leaders and the bishop of the ward. He asked me to talk about the project in a meeting. Many people joined the project. After a few months, we collected more than 100 bottles of love!
The project continues today. When I collect a lot of bottles, I go with my family and Primary friends to the drop-off area. We leave the bottles there to be turned into building materials.
I like this project. It makes me feel that I can really help this world that God created for us. It helps me value and respect nature and animals. Taking care of nature is one way I can follow the Savior. I also like that it’s a way to help others.
Sometimes it’s not easy to take the time to make the bottles of love. But I feel that we can change and choose to do small, good acts daily. I also learned that to do something “big” we need the help of others. We can impact others and help them join the change. I believe this is an important part of the gospel of Jesus Christ: to change, help others, and do good in the world.

Family prayer and scripture study are also important preparation. Each morning when the parents wake up the children, they all gather on the parents’ bed. There they sing a hymn, kneel and pray, and take turns reading scriptures aloud before having breakfast and getting ready for school. They talk about the principles in the scriptures.

“It’s really a challenge to get everybody up so early,” says their mom. “But since we’ve been studying the scriptures every morning, the children are understanding them better. When we didn’t do it, we felt we were sending our children out to school unprotected. But now they are going out into the world more prepared. We hope that during the day they might think of something we read about.”

“Eight, nine, ten. Hooray!” I cheered as I counted my last dollar. “Mom, I’ve finally earned enough money to buy the space shuttle.”
“That’s great, Jacob,” Mom said. “You’ve worked hard, and you’ve wanted that model for a long time.”
She was right. For the last month, I’d been mopping floors, watering plants, taking out garbage—and thinking about the space shuttle model. It had cool flag stickers for the wings and booster rockets that snapped off.
“Can we go to the store now?” I asked.
“It’s almost dinnertime,” Mom said. “Then it will be time for family home evening. But we could go tomorrow after school.”
“OK,” I said. One more day wouldn’t hurt.
After dinner, Dad spread out 10 pennies, 10 dimes, and 10 one-dollar bills on the living room floor.
“Tonight we’re going to talk about tithing,” Dad said.
“What’s that?” asked my four-year-old brother, Willy.
“It’s money we give to Heavenly Father,” Dad said. “It’s one-tenth of what we earn.”
“What’s one-tenth?” I asked. I knew it was a fraction. But in second grade we had only learned about halves and thirds.
“There’s a simple way to remember,” Dad said. “It’s a dime from a dollar, a penny from a dime.”
“What happens to our tithing?” Tod asked.
“It helps the Church grow,” Dad said. “Some of it is used to build new church buildings and temples.”
We practiced paying tithing with the dollars, dimes, and pennies on the floor. It was fun to play with all that money.
But then I thought of my own dollars. I had a sinking feeling. Did I owe one of those dollars for tithing?
“Do I have to pay tithing on my space-shuttle dollars?” I asked. But I didn’t really want to hear the answer. I was tired of mopping floors.
“Well,” Dad said, “one of those dollars you earned belongs to Heavenly Father. But no one forces you to pay tithing. It’s something you choose to do.”
For the rest of the night, I thought about doing the right thing—that is, when I wasn’t thinking about the space shuttle. Would it hurt to skip tithing this time? Surely one dollar wouldn’t make much difference to the Church.
The next day I raced home after school. “Let’s go buy the space shuttle, Mom,” I called.
“OK,” she said. “Get your brothers, and we’ll be on our way.”
In the car I wondered if I was doing the right thing. I wanted to pay tithing, but I really, really wanted the space shuttle.
At the store I went straight to the model aisle and grabbed the box. For some reason, though, holding the box didn’t feel as good as I thought it would. And the longer I held it, the worse it felt.
Holding the dollars in my other hand didn’t feel right either. Maybe it was because I knew one of them didn’t belong to me. Last night Dad said one-tenth isn’t very much to give to Heavenly Father when you think of everything He gives to us.
“Mom,” I said quietly, “are there any jobs I can do to earn some more money?”
“There are always lots of jobs,” Mom said.
“Maybe I should buy the space shuttle in a few days. Can we come back?”
“Sure,” Mom said.
On the way home, I held nine dollars in one hand and one in the other. I felt a little disappointed. But I didn’t wonder if I was doing the right thing. I knew I was.

And Felipe has had people telling him to stay. Many people in his extended family aren’t members of the Church. “They don’t understand that serving a mission has more value than becoming rich and famous. I just try to teach the gospel when those moments happen,” Felipe says. And one of those moments led to a powerful missionary experience.

Felipe’s cousin had recently passed away, and Felipe’s uncle was grieving his son’s death. Felipe told his uncle about the plan of salvation. Afterward his uncle hugged him and apologized for telling him not to go on a mission. “He told me that I had the gift of touching people’s hearts and that I needed to serve,” Felipe remembers. “It was a special moment for me when someone who had no idea what a mission was understood its real purpose.”

The next morning, Sunday dawns warm and sunny, with a sky full of puffy white clouds. Buenos Aires is a beautiful city of broad, tree-lined boulevards—think of it as Paris with palm trees. Later in the morning, sidewalks and parks will fill with people out for a stroll. For now, some of the busiest places are the LDS chapels, like the one in the suburb of Belgrano. Here you meet young people like Federico Casco. His dad was going to the United States on business, and Federico had the chance to go along and visit Disneyland. Instead, he stayed home so he could have four years of perfect attendance at seminary. Now he’s graduated, and he says, “It was a light in my life. It helped me obtain a stronger testimony and helped me decide to go on a mission.”

Going on missions is not easy for Argentine youth. The economy is just starting to improve after years of high unemployment and super-high inflation. There are very few jobs available for young people under 18, so saving money is tough. On the bright side, without part-time jobs, friends have more time for each other and for Church service.

Mauro Berta is first counselor in his ward Sunday School and an assistant to the bishop in the priests quorum. Florencia Gomez is Young Women’s secretary and teaches the Stars in Primary. And Guillermo Pitbladdo is Sunday School president. Sunday night finds them at the Pacheco chapel with other friends from their stake.

These are not just recent converts, clinging to seminary to learn about their new faith. Many of them come from second- and third-generation Latter-day Saint families. They have been taught the gospel in their homes. But Diego Griffith says, “Everything I had not learned during the fourteen years that I have been a member of the Church I learned in four years of seminary. That’s where I started to become more familiar with the scriptures and where I learned about the promises of the Lord.”

Besides, as Debora Walker points out, when you are a teen, there seem to be lots more temptations around, and without seminary “it would be much more difficult to resist those temptations.”

Maybe Juan José Zopetti sums it up best: “Seminary helps me primarily to increase my testimony of Jesus Christ—his love and his mission.”

That restored knowledge of Jesus Christ—his mission and commandments—that’s the gospel. That’s what Elder Ballard sent rolling forth across a whole continent nearly 70 years ago. And here at the center, where it began, LDS youth are making sure the wave is still building.

“At the beginning of middle school, I met another member of the Church who was very spiritually strong. He was an Aaronic Priesthood holder and seemed like a good example of someone who lived the gospel. We became good friends and talked a lot about the Church. As we got older, his self-worth and ability to uphold his standards started to deteriorate. Though we were still somewhat friends, he associated with others who were not very good influences. I would hear him curse frequently and joke about immorality and other inappropriate things. Several of his friends were atheists and would talk rudely about ‘Mormonism.’ Later, he became addicted to tea and, at age 13, got a girlfriend.
“I didn’t know what to do. I tried telling him in a friendly way of my concern for him several times, but he brushed me aside. Still I didn’t give up. I upheld my standards and tried to be an example for him. I didn’t want to stop being his friend, but as things got really bad, that path started looking better and better. Eventually, I got on my knees several times in prayer for his safety.
“Then his father got a job in another state. This upcoming move caused my friend’s eyes to be opened to all he had done. All I had tried to tell him for three years, he suddenly understood. During the next few weeks, he worked hard to undo his past as much as he could. When I spoke to him, he thanked me for my example and willingness to not give up on him. He was the happiest he had been in years and truly understood what it means to be a Latter-day Saint.
“For any friend who falters, I think it’s best to alert him of his actions. But if, like my friend, he won’t listen, don’t give up. This is probably when he’ll need a real friend the most. Keep your standards, even if he tempts you to do otherwise. Pray for him. I know that you can gain strength through this, and that you won’t be alone in your efforts. It’s easy to feel weak and out of place when we stand for good. But through the weak, the Lord will do a mighty work.”
Collin Z., 16, Wyoming, USA