Gospel Story Finder

The tardy bell rang just as I ran through the front door of the seminary building. Quickly, I slid into my seat, the third desk back on the first row, expecting another ordinary day in fifth period and not the memorable experience I was about to have.
“I’d like to welcome you all here today,” our teacher began. He said that every day, but we all knew he meant what he said. He was affectionately known as Brother C., and it was his genuine concern for each of his students that made this class of impatient ninth graders put aside their important conversations and daydreams to listen to him.
“Today we’re going to do something a little different,” he said. “I’ve prepared a special lesson centered around a concept President Kimball taught, and it starts with a very important question.
This should be a good change, I thought. I wonder what this important question is.
“Okay. Here is the question. What is the most important word?”
I sat up with a start. I knew someone was going to say boys, girls or something else ninth graders think about. I heard Brother C. call on someone.
“Kathy, what do you think is the most important word?” he asked.
“Um … um … boys!” she said, as the entire class became swallowed in laughter. Someone had to say that.
“All right, quiet down,” Brother C. said. “Let’s be serious.” Slowly, Tony raised his hand and said he thought families was an important word.
“That’s a good answer. Any other ideas?” questioned Brother C., as he sat down on the corner of his desk. “Let’s hear some response.”
David said, “I think love is the most important word because if we all love each other, then we’re happy.”
I liked his answer, and I was fascinated by the question. The class hour sped by as people were called on to tell what they thought the most important word was. Each time an answer was given, Brother C.’s kind voice said, “That’s a good answer, but it’s not the word I’m looking for.”
We went through what seemed like a thousand words: love, family, scriptures, prayer, faith, Christ, priesthood, prophet, resurrection, temple, and eternity. I began to wonder if there was really an answer. Finally, Brother C. looked at the clock.
“You’ve all given wonderful answers,” he said. “But the word I was looking for encompasses all of the beautiful words you’ve mentioned. The most important word is remember.”
“If you remember,” he said, “you won’t forget to pray. You won’t forget to serve or love. You will remember to read the scriptures. You will not forget your family and friends. You will remember to obey the prophet. You’ll keep in your heart the knowledge that Jesus Christ sacrificed his life for us, and you will love him as he loves you. You will remember why you came to this earth. And you will remember you are sons and daughters of God. You can return home to him if you remember to keep his commandments and live your lives the way he has asked.”
Then he bore his testimony and told us how much he loved us. We knew he did. I felt his love for me when I saw the twinkling smile in his eyes as he came over and shook my hand. I knew he loved me when he asked, “Will you remember?”
I almost told him yes, but just then the bell rang—but I remembered.
Most of the things I learned in seminary haven’t remained as vivid in my mind and heart as that lesson. But that lesson, and that day, I did not forget.
When temptations came, I remembered to get on my knees and pray. When I was discouraged and felt alone, I remembered that families can be forever. And no matter what crisis came, I remembered. I knew my Father in Heaven was near, and I knew he loved me.
But more important than anything else, I remembered who I was and why I was on earth. It kept me trying when I wanted to give up, and it helped me remember things like giving, learning, scriptures, and love.
Now, when I think of those important gospel truths which have become so precious to me, I also remember that day I ran in late to seminary. I am grateful for a caring, loving seminary teacher, and in my mind I see the twinkling smile in his eye as he shakes my hand. I hear him ask me if I remember, and I do. Will you?

A few years ago, Sister Nelson and I visited Samoa, Tonga, Fiji, and Tahiti. Each of those island nations had heavy rains for days. Members prayed that their outdoor meetings would be protected from the rain.
In Samoa, Fiji, and Tahiti, just as the meetings began, the rain stopped. But in Tonga, the rain did not stop. Yet 13,000 faithful Saints came hours early to get a seat. They waited patiently through a steady downpour. They then sat through a very wet meeting.
We saw great faith at work among each of these islanders—faith to stop the rain and faith to keep going when the rain did not stop.

After the closing prayer, while everyone is mingling and cleaning up, 17-year-old Chilton Sisinio Tutor, Jr., sitting in a wheelchair, shares his story. “I’ve been a member now for six years. First my mother was baptized, but it took me a year to decide. The missionaries always seemed happy. There was something different about them. I wanted to know more about the gospel.
“We hadn’t been very religious up to that time, because before my father died we spent every Sunday at the beach. When he died, we moved here. I was 12. Like Joseph Smith, I wondered what church was right.
“I haven’t been handicapped all my life, but I was only six months old when I got polio. It’s fairly common here. As I learned about the gospel the bitterness about my disease melted. It’s all gone now. Sometimes I think I’d rather be like this than able to walk. Maybe this has been a blessing in disguise, because it’s helped me to think about the Church more, to think about life more.”
He smiles and laughs. “When I first started coming to the ward, there were only 16 people. Now there are more than 600. The Church is growing fast here in the Philippines.” Then he talks about how Church activities have helped him develop reading and speaking skills. He just won first place in the stake speech contest.
“I’ve had lots of good examples in my life,” he continues. “But the man I admire the most is Joseph Smith. He had strong faith and courage to ask which church is true. I think he showed a lot of people how important it is to ask God.”
For the young Latter-day Saints in Quezon City, Makati, Cainta Taytay, and Angono, life in the Philippines is a life of contrasts. They know that in the tops of remote outer-island mountains some aborigines still live in tribes, while in the tops of modern office buildings in Manila executives plan international marketing ventures. In the streets, flashy motorcars and horse-drawn kalesas (carriages) travel down the same lanes. In private conversations 87 dialects are spoken, but in public, English and Tagalog (ta-GAL-ag) unite the people.
In the city, brightly painted jeepneys (taxi buses) rush commuters to businesses and markets where thousands of people crowd the streets. In the provinces, a farmer plowing behind a carabao (water buffalo) might spend the whole day without seeing another person, and by the ocean a beachcomber can wander for miles all alone.
The Saints here have seen contrasts in life, too. Chilton knows that his father’s death led his family to move to the area where they met the missionaries and found a new life. He is convinced that his childhood affliction has molded his character and helped him to rely on the gospel. Myrna has known the frustration of groping in ignorance and the joy of learning by the Spirit. Raoul doesn’t like to get up early but loves to go to seminary. Susie misses Mexico but loves her new home.
They live in a land where summer sparkles and winter brings monsoon rains. It is a land where wars and occupation once thwarted a people who love freedom and peace. It is a land that has bred a people full of optimism and courage, who firmly believe difficulties are only opportunities looked at from the wrong direction.
The Philippine Islands are a land of sunshine and rain, a land that hopes to weather storms and challenges to arrive at a bright tomorrow. Young Latter-day Saints who live here know that by living the gospel and sharing it with their friends, they will lead the way.

My name is Kathryn Fifield, and I live in Moscow, Idaho. I’m eleven years old, and I think temples are wonderful! I know a little bit about them because when I was eight, I got to go inside the Portland Oregon Temple.
When the Church leaders announced that a new temple would be built nearby, everyone was very excited. My parents were especially happy because they knew that they could go to the temple more often.
We drove to Portland when the temple was being built. It was standing in the middle of a grove of fir trees. The trees were so tall that I had to lean way back to see the tops. But the temple spires were just as tall! The spires were only metal cages then, but to me they looked like arms reaching to heaven, and I knew that this temple would be a holy place.
Finally the workers finished putting marble on the outside, and it really looked like a temple. My mom and dad said that when it was all finished, we would get to go inside. There would be an open house so that anyone who wanted to could see the inside of the temple. After that, there would be a special meeting called a dedication that worthy members were invited to. After the dedication, only members of the Church who had recommends from their bishop/branch president and stake/district president could go inside.
I felt really special to be able to go to the open house. My family drove to the temple on Saturday morning. When we arrived there, we had to stand in a long line that went halfway around the building! I guess a lot of people wanted to see the temple. I know that most of those people in line didn’t know what a temple was, because I heard them asking each other questions. Some of them thought that we went to church every Sunday at the temple.
It wasn’t too hard to wait in line, because all along the way there were television screens set up for us to see. A program on them told about what temples are and how we use them. I guess those people learned that we don’t use the temple for our Sunday meetings.
When we finally reached the door, some helpers put white paper booties over our shoes. That was to keep the new carpets clean and to show respect.
Inside the temple it was very quiet. Nobody talked or even whispered. There were special guides to show us where to go, but they didn’t talk to us. They just smiled as we walked by. We looked, and we read the information on the signs that explained what each room was, but we didn’t say anything.
When we walked through the big chapel, we heard soft music being played on the organ. The tour included the baptismal font with the sculpture of twelve white oxen holding it up (that was my favorite). We also saw the sealing rooms, where people get married for eternity. Inside the sealing rooms were mirrors on opposite walls. When I looked in one mirror, I could see my family going on forever.
The most beautiful room was the celestial room. It was all white and gold, with pretty couches and chairs. In the middle of the ceiling was a huge, sparkling gold chandelier. It had gold “arms” with tiny light bulbs surrounded by pieces of crystal. I thought it looked like sunshine sparkling through icicles.
The thing I remember most about the inside of the temple is how reverent I felt. I didn’t want to go back outside, because it felt so nice to be in that beautiful, quiet place. It made me feel warm and happy to walk through the rooms of the temple. After we were outside again, I heard a man say it made him feel like he was already in heaven. I felt that way too.
A few weeks after the temple open house, Mom and Dad and I went to the dedication. I was eight years old, and I had been baptized, so I was old enough to go.
We sat on chairs in the hall right by the celestial room. There were people in nearly every room in the temple. Television screens were put in them so that the people could watch the meeting—we wouldn’t have all fit into the celestial room, where the prophet was seated. The choir sat in front of us, and when it was time for them to sing, they walked around a little wall and went into the celestial room, where President Benson was. It was exciting to think that President Benson was just on the other side of the wall from me!
I watched the meeting on the video screen and listened carefully to the talks. When the choir sang, the music made me happy all over. When President Benson talked, he told us that he loved all of us. I wanted to tell him that I loved him, too, but I didn’t say anything. I just smiled all over.
During this meeting, I felt even more reverent than I’d felt at the open house. After the special prayer, the temple was God’s house and not just a building anymore. I felt that Jesus and Heavenly Father were right there with us.
When I’m twelve, I’ll be able to go to the temple to do baptisms for the dead. I can hardly wait until then! But if I try really hard, I have that special reverent feeling in other places too. If I find a quiet place to pray and really think about Jesus and Heavenly Father, I feel that way. In church, when I try my hardest to listen to the speakers or to my teacher, I feel that way. I can even feel reverent when I walk in the forest or sit under the tree in my backyard. I’m practicing being reverent now so that when I go to the temple again, I’ll know just what to do.

After he became president, Abraham Lincoln was asked about his childhood. “What happy memories do you have of your early years?” asked one newspaper reporter.
President Lincoln sat back in his chair. “We had little money in our home,” he answered, “but there was much joy and love. My kind and loving sister Sarah and I shared many wonderful adventures. Her years upon this earth were few. Yet my happiest memories are of the little time we had together. She was truly a loving sister and a very special friend.”

On a dark December night 36 years ago, a Lockheed 1011 jumbo jet crashed into the Florida Everglades, killing over 100 people. This terrible accident was one of the deadliest crashes in the history of the United States.
A curious thing about this accident is that all vital parts and systems of the airplane were functioning perfectly—the plane could have easily landed safely at its destination in Miami, only 20 miles (32km) away.
During the final approach, however, the crew noticed that one green light had failed to illuminate—a light that indicates whether or not the nose landing gear has extended successfully. The pilots discontinued the approach, set the aircraft into a circling holding pattern over the pitch-black Everglades, and turned their attention toward investigating the problem.
They became so preoccupied with their search that they failed to realize the plane was gradually descending closer and closer toward the dark swamp below. By the time someone noticed what was happening, it was too late to avoid the disaster.
After the accident, investigators tried to determine the cause. The landing gear had indeed lowered properly. The plane was in perfect mechanical condition. Everything was working properly—all except one thing: a single burned-out lightbulb. That tiny bulb—worth about 20 cents—started the chain of events that ultimately led to the tragic death of over 100 people.
Of course, the malfunctioning lightbulb didn’t cause the accident; it happened because the crew placed its focus on something that seemed to matter at the moment while losing sight of what mattered most.

Some may ask why some of us occasionally have dreams that have a spiritual purpose. In general conference, Elder David A. Bednar of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles shared an experience having to do with dreams. He spoke of an inspired priesthood leader who was prompted to learn the names of all the youth in his stake. Shortly after the leader had learned all their names, the Lord revealed truth through a dream.
“One night the priesthood leader had a dream about one of the young men whom he knew only from a picture,” Elder Bednar said. “In the dream he saw the young man dressed in a white shirt and wearing a missionary name tag. With a companion seated at his side, the young man was teaching a family. The young man held the Book of Mormon in his hand, and he looked as if he were testifying of the truthfulness of the book. The priesthood leader then awoke from his dream.
“At an ensuing priesthood gathering, the leader approached the young man he had seen in his dream and asked to talk with him for a few minutes. After a brief introduction, the leader called the young man by name and said: ‘I am not a dreamer. I have never had a dream about a single member of this stake, except for you. I am going to tell you about my dream, and then I would like you to help me understand what it means.’
“The priesthood leader recounted the dream and asked the young man about its meaning. Choking with emotion, the young man simply replied, ‘It means God knows who I am.’”1

by Shirley F. Berlin
It was the night of the annual basketball game between the “Young Men” and their “Old Men” church leaders in the 30th Ward, Ogden Utah East Stake. In the stake center bleachers, ward members, families, and friends excitedly shouted encouragement to both teams.
Bob Blair of the Old Men had just connected, closing the Young Men’s lead to one point at 16–15, with 4:41 left in the second quarter.
“We’re going to walk away with it—take it from the coach,” Darold Rawson, Sr., of the Young Men said confidently.
The competition had begun five years before when the youth were planning a fund-raising project. They challenged their priesthood leaders to a game of basketball, certain that they could easily beat such out-of-shape old folks. But the Old Men won! A surprised group of Aaronic Priesthood boys immediately planned a comeback. They would have another game next year, and the next, and the next.
Over the years, the boys had grown stronger and taller, and their leaders had grown … well, older. The Young Men had won three times, and their leaders had won twice. This one could be anyone’s game.
Earlier in the evening, the excitement started as the Young Women introduced the players on each team with words from original songs. The Old Wives Cheerleaders waved their pom-poms. Dressed in jeans rolled to mid-calf, with shirts emblazoned with big “O’s”, they were poised for the grand entry of their husbands.
As the Old Men burst energetically through their “We’re the Greatest!” banner, the crowd went wild.
Then, all eyes turned to the opposite corner where the Young Men were eagerly waiting their turn behind the banner reading, “We’re #1.”
Unexpectedly, Zan Treasure casually tore an opening through which the boys stepped with dignity, one at a time. Then Mike Ward ceremoniously placed some steps a few feet from the basket and stood at attention. Suddenly, Jim Berlin streaked past and went up for a spectacular slam dunk. The fans roared as the Young Men sprang into action. Following the tip-off, Darold Rawson, Jr., quickly scored the first point.
Bishop Arlo Ward, who has played in all the games, said, “They’ve been highlights for me. They are an opportunity for the Young Men to really get the best of their leaders. They haven’t always done it, but as they have prepared and developed, they have given us a challenge. The games bring out a closeness that you don’t always get.”
When asked how many practices the Old Men had before the game, Bishop Ward smiled. “Zero. But we’re so good we don’t need any.”
However, his counselor Gary Saunders didn’t sound so confident. He admitted that when the Old Men heard that the game would be played on the large stake center floor instead of the small one in the ward cultural hall, “We decided to play with two teams—one defense and one offense so we wouldn’t have to run up and down that big court.”
The Young Men hadn’t had many more practices than their elders. Term papers, final exams, jobs, and dates interfered. However, some mornings at 5:30, the more eager ones jogged. On moonlit nights they played ball in the driveway of the home of three participating brothers. But even when the boys weren’t actually practicing, they were “psyching up.” In fact, one night after the youth had been boasting in the Elliott Berlin living room, Brother Berlin commented, “There’s enough hot air in here to dry a corn field.” But they won anyway.
All of the original Young Men will be on missions, married, or will have “graduated” to Old Men status by the next game. New loyalties will have to be formed as rivals become teammates. A different group of hopeful young players will challenge their leaders, and an enjoyable tradition will carry on.
Visitor Brenda Gilbertson summarized the feelings of many when she said, “I’m really impressed with your ward. You do such fun things. I can see why your boys stay active.”
Indeed, the 30th Ward surely demonstrates that a ward that plays together stays together.

Susan awoke to the smell of sausage frying. Saturday! That’s the only day Mom cooked sausage. She sat on the edge of her bed and stretched. A familiar rattle outside drew her to the window. Uncle Gordon’s brown pickup truck drove into the driveway in a cloud of dust.
Susan quickly straightened the bed covers and tucked them in. She slipped into her blue jeans and lavender gingham cowboy shirt. Then she grabbed her cowboy boots and pulled them on as she ran down the hall.
“Good morning, Kate,” she heard Uncle Gordon greet her mother. “Is Susan up yet this morning?”
“Here I am, Uncle Gordon,” she called. “Did you get the new horses?”
“Well, now, I like that,” he teased. “I haven’t seen you since school started, and all you can think of is horses.”
“I’m glad to see you too.” Susan grinned. “How are you? Did you get the horses?”
“That’s better,” he laughed. “Yes, I did. I picked up two yesterday.”
“What do they look like?” she asked.
“They’re both mares and as black as the root cellar at midnight,” he told her. “I’m having a hard time figuring out what to call them. In fact, that’s why I’m here. I was hoping your mother would let you spend the day at the ranch with me. Then you could have the job of naming them.”
“May I please? I’ll do my chores before I go,” she promised.
“It’s fine with me if your father doesn’t need you today,” Mom agreed.
The kitchen door opened wide, and Dad entered with pail of fresh milk. “Good morning, Gordon,” he said. “I’d shake your hand, but Kate doesn’t allow us to have milk shakes before breakfast.”
Susan grinned. She liked her father’s sense of humor. “May I go home with Uncle Gordon?” she asked. “He has two new horses, and he needs me to name them. May I, please?”
“Hold on just a minute, young lady,” her father said. “You can’t go anywhere without breakfast. How about joining us, Gordon?”
“I was hoping you’d ask,” he admitted. “No one makes biscuits like my sister-in-law.”
“Susan, will you get the pitcher of orange juice while I finish setting the table?” her mother asked. “Then we can eat.”
“The men will go wash up,” Father said.
“Don’t forget the raspberry jam,” Gordon whispered to Susan as he headed to the bathroom.
After breakfast, as Susan and Uncle Gordon drove from Pleasant Heights to Middleton, Susan studied her uncle. He looked a lot like her father, only much younger. He’d only been home from his mission a few years. He was medium in build and had strong arms like her father’s from throwing bales of hay. Both had brown arms and faces from a summer in the sun. The strong jaw and high cheekbones were the same too. But Dad’s hair was dark brown touched with gray. Uncle Gordon’s was blond.
“Why don’t you get married, Uncle Gordon?” Susan asked.
“Because I haven’t met someone just like you yet,” he laughed.
Susan blushed at his joke. Deep down she didn’t want Uncle Gordon to get married right away. He would have less time for her if he did. But she knew that someday she would have to share him.
Grandpa had been ill when Uncle Gordon returned from his mission to Brazil. Uncle Gordon had taken over the ranch and cared for Grandpa until he died last summer. At first, it was hard for Susan to go to the ranch after Grandpa died. She loved the horses, but everywhere she went, she expected to see him. Uncle Gordon understood how she felt. He knew when to make her laugh and when to let her think about the emptiness she felt without Grandpa.
When they arrived at the ranch, Uncle Gordon pointed to the pasture by the barn. “There they are,” he told her. “You go over and get acquainted.”
“Are they broke?” she asked.
“One of them is, and one isn’t,” he said, “so be careful. I have a truckful of grain to unload. I’ll be back in a little while to see how you’re getting along.”
Susan leaned against the top rail of the fence and watched the two horses grazing side by side. They look just alike from here, she thought. Still, being around horses all her life taught her that no two horses were ever exactly alike. I’ll find the difference, she told herself.
She climbed the fence and walked slowly around the edge of the pasture until she could see their faces. The closest horse whinnied and tossed her head. Susan saw a brief flash of white. There must be a small blaze under her forelock, she thought. The mare tossed her head again. There was the blaze! It’s like the moon hiding on a cloudy night.
The second mare cocked her head to one side and studied Susan. Then she sauntered over to her and nuzzled at her jean pocket.
“What are you looking for?” Susan asked. “Do you have a sweet tooth?”
She reached into her pocket and pulled out a sugar cube. The horse carefully put its lips around the cube on the palm of Susan’s hand, then nudged again at her pocket.
“You’ve had enough.” Susan pushed her nose away. “The other one is for your friend.”
The second mare continued to nuzzle at her, letting Susan scratch her behind the ears. “You’re pretty friendly, aren’t you, girl,” she said, stroking the horse’s slender nose. She’d keep her distance more if she was wild, Susan reasoned. Well, there’s one way to find out if she’s broke or not.
Uncle Gordon’s rule was if she could catch, saddle, and bridle it, she could ride it, so Susan headed for the tack room of the barn. She shut her eyes tightly for a moment when she entered the barn, to help her eyes adjust to the dim light. The saddles rested on sawhorses against the wall of the tack room; the bridles hung on the wall above them. She chose her favorite saddle from the farthest sawhorses, and the bridle closest to the door.
Talking softly, she approached the mare. The horse stood steady as Susan slipped the bit into her mouth and the leather strap over her ears. After putting on the saddle blanket, Susan paused for a moment. The mare acted indifferent to the blanket, so Susan slung the saddle onto her back too. She pulled the cinch tight, lifted her left foot into the stirrup, swung her right leg over the mare’s back, then took the reins and clucked her tongue. “Come on, girl,” she coaxed. “Let’s take a little walk.”
At first they swayed gently back and forth together. Then the mare went crazy. She ran full speed toward the fence. Just when Susan was sure that they would hit it, the mare turned with a jerk that nearly snapped her rider out of the saddle. Susan grabbed the saddle horn tightly with one hand and pulled back on the reins with the other. “Whoa, girl!”
But the mare just continued her wild dance. She stiffened her legs and bounced across the pasture. Each jolt forced the air out of Susan’s lungs. The horse spun around several times, then ran full speed toward the open barn door! Susan knew that the top of the door was only about a foot taller than the mare’s back, but she didn’t dare roll to the ground—the horse might suddenly turn back and trample her. Heavenly Father, help! she prayed silently.
“Lie down!” the thought pushed through her fear.
She lay back until her head rested on the horse’s rump just as the mare lunged over the threshold of the barn. The top of the door frame missed Susan’s nose by inches.
Once inside the barn, the horse stopped as though she had come in from a leisurely trail outing. She pulled a mouthful of hay from the manger and was chewing innocently when Uncle Gordon came running into the barn. “Are you all right, Susan?”
Susan was still lying on the horse’s rump, catching her breath. Her heart pounded against her ribs. “Yeah, I’m OK,” she replied sheepishly between breaths. “I guess I got the wrong horse.”
“You got the right one if you’re training for the rodeo,” he laughed. “I couldn’t have paid for a better show than the two of you put on.”
Susan sat up, swung her right leg over the mare’s back, and slid to the ground. Uncle Gordon put his arm around her and walked her to the house. They sat on the porch steps and listened to a meadowlark calling. Susan sat on the top step, and Uncle Gordon sat two below her. It made them eye level.
“Did you come up with some names for me?” Uncle Gordon asked at length.
She nodded. “I’d call the one in the pasture Moonlight for the small blaze hidden under her forelock. And you can call the one in the barn Nightmare!”
“What great names,” he laughed. “Do you think you’ll take up breaking horses?”
“It was exciting,” she assured him. “But I think I’ll leave that to you. I did learn one thing, though—next time I’m going to ask Heavenly Father if I made the right choice before I get on a horse.”

In the life of Florence Chukwurah, the miracle of change has been gloriously visible. She was born into a life of poverty in Onitsha, Nigeria. Her father, who worked at sea on a ship, was rarely at home. Florence’s mother was not educated and worked hard to feed the family.

As Florence approached young womanhood, she began to realize just how poor her family was. By the time she was about 11 years old, a steadfast resolution had formed in her mind: She would escape from poverty. What made this more than a childish wish was that she also made several powerful commitments. These, she felt, would help her find a better life. First, she recalls, “I determined to break from poverty by seeking God earnestly.” Besides this fundamental decision, she made three practical resolutions. “I decided to be obedient to my parents and to older people. I decided to be serious with my schoolwork. And I made up my mind to work hard with my hands.”

Hard work had long been a constant fact of Florence’s life. She hauled water for the family from the public taps or from a stream. She fetched firewood from the countryside and cut it up for cooking fuel. And she helped her mother with the laborious preparation of the cassava root—the family’s staple food.

After school, there were younger children to tend and feed and schoolwork to do. On Saturdays, there was laundry to wash at the public taps. Even on holidays, Florence bought and sold vegetables to help pay her school fees.

All this Florence could do with a willing heart because of the decisions she had made as an 11-year-old girl. “I was happy doing these things as a way to demonstrate my love for my family and also to honor my father and mother,” she explains.

Florence Chukwurah has a special understanding for children from poor backgrounds—especially those who feel shy because of poverty or lack of education. Visiting the branches of the Ghana Accra Mission as the mission president’s wife, Sister Chukwurah carried a special message to such young people. “We were visiting a small branch,” Sister Chukwurah recalls. Many of the young people could not read, and many were not coming to church. “The Spirit said, ‘Tell them the story of your life.’ So I told them that I grew up in similar circumstances. I told them that I was able to overcome my shyness by studying and by obeying my parents and teachers.”

As a young girl, Florence deepened her commitment to schoolwork when she noticed neighbors who were educated. The parents of several of her girlhood friends were teachers and headmasters.

Florence became interested in nursing partly because she liked the way nurses dressed. Taking care of her brothers and sisters had also developed her natural interest in helping others. Her father had borrowed money from a moneylender to pay for her secondary schooling, a debt which Florence later repaid. But she could not afford to attend a university or teacher’s college. The government would subsidize her in nursing school, however. So at age 16, Florence traveled six hours away from her home to begin her training as a nurse.

The year Florence graduated from her training at Queen Elizabeth Hospital, she was given the Florence Nightingale Award for best nurse of the year. She continued her education, finishing her training as a midwife five years later, in 1970.

In Romania I met Raluca, a 17-year-old young woman who had recently joined the Church. Her baptism was a happy event because, among other things, her whole family attended. Her mother and sister felt the Spirit there and wanted to have the missionary discussions too. This concerned the father, for he felt he was losing all of his family to this unfamiliar church. So he did not allow it, and for a time there was a feeling of discord in their family. However, Raluca remembered that she had made a baptismal covenant to take upon her the name of Jesus Christ. She tried to hold up His light by doing in her home the things He would do. She was a peacemaker. She was an example. She was a teacher. She was a healer.
Eventually her father’s heart softened, and he allowed the others to learn more about the Church. Then they too were baptized. And finally, much to everyone’s joy, the father of the family also joined the Church. At his baptism he spoke and said that for a time their family had been as two hearts beating at a different rhythm in the same household. But now they were of one faith and one baptism, with their hearts knit together in unity and love. He gave thanks to the missionaries and members who had helped them. Then he paid a special tribute to his daughter Raluca for being so Christlike in their home during that difficult period, for being the peacemaker, the healer, the teacher, the example, and the light that eventually brought their entire family to the Church of Jesus Christ.

I had been so heavily drugged in the hospital that even though I knew why I was there, I hadn’t been able to focus on any one thought. But now I was off all medication. For the first few nights at Cal’s, I was afraid to go to sleep. I felt I had such a slight hold on life that I might not wake up in the morning. While lying awake at night, I would start to think about the horror of what had happened and about my injuries. I realized that I could have been killed or permanently damaged physically.
On those nights when I became frightened, I would turn to the Lord for help. Almost immediately, my mind would be filled with peace and with an awareness of the many blessings He had given me. A great calm would envelop me, and I would fall asleep. At such times I felt overwhelmed by Heavenly Father’s goodness and love.

Once I was awakened by a call from an anxious mother. Her premature child was not expected to survive the night. She asked for a priesthood blessing. As I approached the suffering child, the mother stopped me, looked into my eyes, and asked, “Are you worthy to bless my child?” That was an appropriate question. One never feels completely worthy, but we must do our best to be so. There came a strong prompting to bless the child to recover. The worthy mother continued professional treatment and exercised her faith. The Lord responded with the additional blessing needed. And the child recovered.

Donovan Sorensen was born with muscular dystrophy, a condition where the body doesn’t produce enough protein to rebuild the muscles. He was diagnosed at age 7. “I was able to walk until I was 11,” says Donovan, “but then I became wheelchair-bound.”
It takes Donovan much longer to do normal things like getting out of bed, getting dressed, or preparing meals.
“I’ve de?nitely learned to not take things for granted,” says Donovan. “It also gives me an appreciation for others who maybe have a harder time with these things than I do.”
Donovan’s mom says, “Despite his physical limitations, he has never let his condition deter him from accomplishing anything he sets his mind to. He demonstrates amazing courage in the face of constant uncertainty. He possesses a quiet self-con?dence and is OK being di?erent.”
Donovan participated in the Scouting program.
Enjoying a Washington ferry ride!
“Well, originally a full-time proselyting mission was pretty much o? the table,” says Donovan. “And I was OK with that. I’d accepted it.”
But then Donovan and his family heard about service missions.
“We contacted our area service mission coordinator. We told him what I would be able to do,” said Donovan. “He helped me to ?nd the right opportunity. From there, he worked with my stake president and bishop to ?nish the process.”
It wasn’t long before Donovan was submitting his papers. Soon he received his call to serve a mission in the Seattle Washington Temple. He was set apart and worked in the temple ?ve days a week after that.
“At ?rst I was a little nervous. We met with the temple president and the recorder a week before I started. I was set apart as an ordinance worker, and the recorder showed me some of the things I would be doing. So that calmed my nerves a lot. And once I started, it was nothing to worry about. I’ve loved every minute of it.”
But his service doesn’t come without sacri?ce and challenges.
“Waking up is one challenge, but I just make sure I don’t go to bed too late. I’m usually able to get up pretty easily and get to the temple and do everything they need me to do.” But waking up early is just the beginning. Next it’s the bus stop, where Donovan navigates public transportation to and from the temple, traveling approximately three hours a day and sometimes more, depending on the weather.
“He doesn’t see any of it as a sacri?ce,” says his mom. “He goes, rain, snow, or shine. He doesn’t want to miss a day, because he knows people are counting on him and he knows how important his service is.”
“He knows people are counting on him and he knows how important his service is.”
“I like helping people feel welcomed,” says Donovan. “I’ve had a lot of people thank me for my service, and even though I’m doing something any other ordinance worker could do, it makes me feel good knowing that I could help make them happy.”

Before I left on my mission, I gave a colleague a subscription to A Liahona (Portuguese). Three months later she was baptized and today is a faithful member of the Church.
As a missionary, I always try to share something from the magazine with our investigators. They are always interested in the articles, and they feel the Spirit very strongly. The magazine is a great missionary tool—if we will use it.
Elder Gevezier,Brazil Recife Mission

Like any couple, my husband and I have had disagreements during our marriage. But one incident stands out in my mind. I no longer recall the reason for our disagreement, but we ended up not speaking at all, and I remember feeling that it was all my husband’s fault. I felt I had done absolutely nothing for which I needed to apologize.
As the day went by, I waited for my husband to say he was sorry. Surely he could see how wrong he was. It must be obvious how much he had hurt my feelings. I felt I had to stand up for myself; it was the principle that mattered.
As the day was drawing to a close, I started to realize that I was waiting in vain, so I went to the Lord in prayer. I prayed that my husband would realize what he had done and how it was hurting our marriage. I prayed that he would be inspired to apologize so we could end our disagreement.
As I was praying, I felt a strong impression that I should go to my husband and apologize. I was a bit shocked by this impression and immediately pointed out in my prayer that I had done nothing wrong and therefore should not have to say I was sorry. A thought came strongly to my mind: “Do you want to be right, or do you want to be married?”
As I considered this question, I realized that I could hold onto my pride and not give in until he apologized, but how long would that take? Days? I was miserable while we weren’t speaking to each other. I understood that while this incident itself wouldn’t be the end of our marriage, if I were always unyielding, that might cause serious damage over the years. I decided it was more important to have a happy, loving marriage than to keep my pride intact over something that would later seem trivial.
I went to my husband and apologized for upsetting him. He also apologized, and soon we were happy and united again in love.
Since that time there have been occasions when I have needed to ask myself that question again: “Do you want to be right, or do you want to be married?” How grateful I am for the great lesson I learned the first time I faced that question. It has always helped me realign my perspective and put my husband and my marriage before my own pride.

Perhaps there are other groups that would help me enjoy sisterhood, womanhood, talents, and learning, but for me, in one final area of influence—renewed spiritual zeal—no other group compared with Relief Society.
When I first attended college I had lived away from home and learned about Sunday morning Relief Society, I was reluctant to participate because I felt it was just for older women. Before the year was over, however, one of the things I missed most on my weekends at home was the spiritual lift I received from attending Relief Society. I really learned to fast and pray and feel close to the Lord, especially when I prepared my lesson.
Now when I do not feel in tune with the Lord, I remember those days and am comforted to know that I can be close to the Lord again if I try. Relief Society is organized, planned, and carried out through inspiration. Weekly attendance helps me live God’s laws and receive his help.

I have had the honor of working with the missionaries of the Church for over three decades, and I know that a great many of them were able to get through those first shaky minutes and hours and days of their mission because of their fathers or mothers. I remember one experience of a fine young man who spent his life on the ranch, just as his own father did. When the boy got into the mission field, it was all strange: too many people, not enough open spaces. He wanted badly to go home. Finally, the mission president had the young missionary call his father. The father listened patiently as his son said how homesick he was, and then the father spoke in terms that his son could understand, and as I heard about this, it brought a smile to my face. He said with firmness but love, “Son, you’re just going to have to ‘cowboy up.’” The boy knew exactly what that meant, and he is hanging on as the spirit of his mission begins to come. He knows his father will not give up on him.

Shortly after my baptism in August 1984, I heard about a fun activity with music and barbeque not far from where I lived in Kwekwe, Zimbabwe. My friends and I were excited to go, but it was on Sunday. My friends were not members of the Church.
I told them, “I’ll go to church but sneak out after sacrament meeting and join you.”
My friends, who knew my weakness, said, “If you do that you will miss out. By the time you come, the barbecue will be over.”
I had a decision to make. Do I go to church or the barbecue? I chose the barbecue but found out Sunday morning that it had been canceled. By that time, it was too late to go to church, so I just stayed in my little rented room.
Early that afternoon, I heard a voice: “Does Eddie Dube live here?”
It was my branch president, John Newbold, with his wife, Jean. I wanted to hide under my bed! But before I could do anything, they stood by the curtain that separated my room from the rest of the house.
“Oh, Eddie,” they said, “we missed you at church today.”
We talked a while, and after they left, their kind words, “Eddie, we missed you,” continued to go through my mind. I am grateful for John and Jean Newbold. Since that day, I have been blessed because they helped me see, in a personal way, our Savior Jesus Christ’s love and concern for the one.
To this day, I am still in touch with John and Jean Newbold. Over all these years, I feel joy because of the love they extended to me. And they have felt joy in seeing me progress in the gospel. This is what can happen when we minister—we and those we serve become closer to one another and more connected with the Savior.

Kelly and her mom walked up to the church building and looked around. It was beautiful, with palm trees swaying outside. The sign on the building said, “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints” in two different languages—Malay and Chinese.
Kelly didn’t know much about Jesus Christ. And she had never been to church before. Her mom’s friend, Liza, went to church here. She had invited Kelly and her mom to come with her.
As they went inside, people smiled and said hello. Everyone was so nice. Kelly and Mom followed Liza upstairs to a big room. Liza said it was called a chapel.
Kelly sat down next to Mom and Liza in a row of chairs, and soon church started. She listened to the music. She liked how it made her feel, even though she didn’t know the words.
At the end of the meeting, a woman got up to say a prayer. Kelly looked around as everyone else folded their arms and closed their eyes. She still felt something really good inside. What was it? It felt different than anything she had felt before!
As they left the church later, Kelly told Mom about the feeling she’d had during the prayer.
“Well,” Mom said, “I didn’t really feel anything special.”
But Kelly kept thinking about how she’d felt at church. She had liked the prayer. And she had liked hearing about Jesus.
“Can the missionaries teach me?” Kelly asked Mom. “I want to learn more.”
“That should be fine,” Mom said.
The missionaries taught Kelly how to pray and how to read the scriptures. They taught her about Jesus and how He loves us. They gave her a small picture of Jesus to help her think about Him. Kelly liked what she was learning.
One day the missionaries gave her a special challenge. “Will you try to pray during the week?” they asked.
Up until now, Kelly had only prayed with the missionaries. But she wanted to try it on her own. She knew Heavenly Father was always listening, and He wanted to hear from her.
“I’ll do it,” she promised.
The next day at school was a special one. Kelly was going to sing in a competition! She had learned a beautiful new Chinese song. Learning all the notes and tones had been hard work! She had practiced and practiced and practiced.
Now that it was time to perform, Kelly was nervous. She pulled out the picture of Jesus she had put in the pocket of her school uniform that morning. She decided to say a prayer, like the missionaries had shown her. “Heavenly Father, please help me let go of my nervousness,” she prayed. “In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
Then Kelly stepped out onto the stage. She stared at the audience and the judges. She thought about the picture of Jesus in her pocket and felt a little bit better. She took a deep breath and started to sing.
She sang all the words just like she’d practiced. As she sang the last note and took a bow, Kelly knew Heavenly Father had heard her prayer and helped her.
With a smile, Kelly walked off the stage. She couldn’t wait to tell the missionaries about what happened! She wanted to keep praying every day.