Gospel Story Finder

In October 2011, while serving a full-time mission in South Africa, I received a phone call from Sister Catherine Wood, our mission president’s wife. All merry and bright, she told me that President Thomas S. Monson had just announced the construction of a temple in my home town, Kinshasa. I remember shouting—with joy with tears flowing down my cheeks—in gratitude to the Most High for the blessing of having a temple in my country.
Eight years later, having married and been sealed to Rachel Tshimungu in the Johannesburg South Africa Temple in 2014, I am the father of two children. Together as a family we have witnessed the fulfillment of this great miracle—not only in our country, but also and especially in our own lives. We watched as the temple rose from ground level until, finally, the Kinshasa Democratic Republic of the Congo Temple was dedicated on Sunday, April 14, 2019 by Elder Dale G. Renlund of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles.

One Sunday morning, an email from FamilySearch arrived in my inbox. It spoke of my great-great-grandfather, Thomas Jefferson Thurston. I learned that he was buried in St. George, Utah, USA, where I was serving as a historic-site missionary. Exploring further on my family tree, I discovered that Thomas moved to St. George in 1880 at the age of 75 to be close to the St. George Utah Temple. I also learned that Thomas built one of the first pine homes in St. George. I was excited and intrigued because these details were all new to me since I was familiar with Thomas only by name.
I wanted to find his headstone the next day. Early in the day I said, “Let’s wait to go after we have served at the Jacob Hamblin House” (one of the historic sites where I served). A short time later I felt prompted to say, “Let’s go now.”
Having seen a picture of Thomas’s headstone on FamilySearch.org, the headstone was surprisingly easy to find. While standing beside the headstone I noticed a lady hurrying toward me. At the headstone of our ancestor, we discovered we were third cousins once removed. We hugged, laughed, and took pictures together. I felt that I was guided by the Holy Ghost, especially in timing, to arrive at the cemetery before Susan, my newfound cousin, left the cemetery.
I left the cemetery with excited anticipation to go directly to the address listed on FamilySearch where my great-great-grandfather had lived. There stood his home. It had been 140 years since he’d begun construction on the home. Seeing his house, I felt unanticipated emotions of connection and love for my great-great-grandfather.
A plaque at the front of the lot confirmed that this was the home he built. As I was reading the plaque, the owner of the home drove out of the driveway. He stopped and I said I was a great-great-granddaughter of the builder of this home. The man kindly offered to show me the home. I was able to see and touch the home of my great-great-grandfather who was born in 1805.
I walked on the original pine floor in the living room. I looked through original windowpanes. I walked up steep historic steps to the second level. In the quiet, I imagined my ancestors eating, sleeping, and learning the gospel in this home. If I had arrived minutes later, I would not have been invited into the home where Thomas had lived. My Heavenly Father was in the details as I visited the home of my great-great-grandfather and felt a closeness to him beyond anything I had imagined.
I thought of the words of Elder David A. Bednar of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles: “Our desires, faithfulness, and obedience invite and help us to discern His mercies in our lives. … Each of us can have eyes to see clearly and ears to hear distinctly the tender mercies of the Lord as they strengthen and assist us in these latter days.”1
In just over 24 hours, I had connected with my Great-great-grandfather Thurston. I learned of his obedience, sacrifices, and accomplishments. FamilySearch was my source to learn about him, but the whisperings of the Spirit connected me to my heritage. The love my Heavenly Father manifested to me strengthened me and will remain in my memory forever. I know the series of events and the details of my day were blessings from the Lord.

Jamie was looking forward to the garage sale. She helped her mother sweep the driveway and set up the long folding tables. Then she printed a large GARAGE SALE sign to display at the end of their street.
“Do you think we’ll have lots of people?” Jamie asked.
“I hope so,” Mother answered. “The newspaper ad should help.”
A broken toaster, some mismatched dishes, and outgrown clothing lined the tables. Jamie was fascinated by the people who came to browse through the collection of old items.
“Why would anyone pay fifty cents for an old blue bottle?” Jamie asked after an elderly lady had left with her purchase.
“Why, she’ll put some pretty silk flowers in it and think it’s the world’s greatest treasure!” Jamie’s mother explained. “People like to have unusual things without having to pay a lot for them.”
“Do you think someone will want to buy my old high chair and crib?” Jamie asked.
“Yes, I’m sure someone will,” replied Mother. “They’re almost like new.”
“I don’t like to think of my things being in someone else’s house,” Jamie said with a frown.
“Well, we certainly can’t use them anymore!” Her mother laughed. “You’re a big girl now. I’ll bet if you looked through your room, you’d find some things to get rid of too.”
Jamie went to her room to look for something she could sell. Her bookshelf was lined with books about giants and kings and clowns. This one used to be my favorite, she thought as she looked through the pages of How to Tell Time. I can’t sell it! she decided.
Inside her desk she found a set of plastic letters and numbers that she’d used in first grade. One of the Cs was missing, and the 8 was bent. I might need these to play school the next time Andrea comes over, Jamie thought. Finally, after thinking about everything in her room, Jamie decided to sell her blocks. They had been stored in the farthest corner of her closet for a very long time.
Back outside, Jamie told her mother, “I’m going to sell my blocks for two dollars.”
“Two dollars is rather high,” Jamie’s mother said as Jamie placed the box of blocks on the table. “You may want to lower the price.”
None of the adults were interested in the two-dollar box of blocks. Jamie began to think she’d keep them after all. Then an old blue car pulled up in front of the house. A young woman, followed by three small children, walked up the driveway.
“Your ad said you had a high chair and crib for sale,” the woman said.
“Yes, we do,” replied Jamie’s mother. “They’re right over here on the lawn. As you can see, they’re in very good condition.”
“They are nice,” the woman said. “The ones we have at home are worn-out.”
“Yes, I can imagine,” Jamie’s mother said, smiling at the three active children.
Jamie noticed that the dress the little girl was wearing was much too small for her. One of the little boy’s shoes had a hole in the toe, and his shirt was too big. The baby wasn’t wearing shoes, and Jamie thought his feet must be cold.
“My name’s Anne,” the little girl told Jamie. “I’m going to be in first grade this year!”
“Oh, that’s nice,” Jamie said. “How old are your brothers?”
“Marty’s four, and Alex is almost two,” Anne told her. “We’re going to have a new baby pretty soon!”
Marty spied the box of colorful blocks sitting at the edge of the table. “They’re pretty!” he said. He picked up a purple block and turned it around and around, looking at all its sides. “Bet I could build a real high tower with all of these!” he boasted.
“How much are the blocks?” Anne asked.
“Two dollars,” Jamie said. “They’re really good blocks. I haven’t used them very much.”
“Oh.” Anne sighed. “We won’t be able to buy them, Marty.”
“I have some money!” Marty declared. “Eighteen cents from my piggy bank!”
“I know,” Anne whispered to him, “and I have thirty-five cents. But even together it won’t be enough.”
“Maybe we can ask Mother for the rest,” Marty suggested.
“No,” Anne said. “She only has enough for the baby furniture.”
Jamie watched Marty’s freckled face sag into a sad frown. She watched his little fingers place the purple block back into the box. Then she thought about how useless the blocks had been sitting in her closet.
“Two dollars is probably too much for them,” Jamie admitted. “They do have some scratches. I think eighteen cents is a fair price!”
“You do?” Marty grinned. “That’s great!”
Marty counted out his dime and eight pennies. Jamie put the coins into the money box.
“Thank you,” Marty said, clutching his new treasure.
“I have some other things I don’t need anymore,” Jamie said. “If you’ll wait a minute, I’ll bring them out!”
“I don’t think we have enough money to buy any more,” Anne said.
“Wait until you see if there’s anything you like before you decide,” Jamie said as she hurried inside.
Jamie got How to Tell Time from the shelf. One of the clock hands on the cover was slightly bent, but that wouldn’t matter. It could still help a six-year-old learn to tell time. She gathered all the letters and numbers from her desk, put them into a shoe box, and then hurried outside.
“I’m too old for these things now,” Jamie said with a smile as Anne looked at the toys. “And they’re only thirty-five cents.”
“But aren’t these worth more than that?” Anne asked.
“No, thirty-five cents is just right,” Jamie replied. “You’ll have a lot of fun playing school with them.”
“I can’t wait to tell time!” Anne cried. “Thank you!”
As the old blue car pulled away from the curb, Jamie could see three excited faces looking back at her. Jamie waved. The coins she clutched in her other hand were forgotten. Inside, Jamie had a zillion dollars’ worth of happiness.

My mother’s sister is not a member of the Church, but she had come to the temple for our sealing. Afterward, she shared an experience she had after visiting the temple grounds. She had a dream that she was again at the temple for our sealing, but this time all my family members (including those I had performed baptisms for) were with us. “Your mother was also there,” she said, “but she kept saying, ‘I can’t see my son. Why can’t I see my son?’”
I sobbed after hearing this, and I knew why my mother could not see me. She had passed on in 2002, and I had been procrastinating having her ordinances done for her in the temple. I resolved to do this as soon as possible. Soon I was privileged to perform her baptism and say her full name as I baptized the young woman who was acting as proxy for my mother.

The New Era has brought such a change in my life! I started receiving the magazine in June 1990. I’ve enjoyed each issue. Some made me cry, some made me laugh, but with each article I felt the Holy Ghost and Heavenly Father’s love.
The stories of the youth who live the gospel inspire me so. I finally realized how far I had let myself slip off the path. I started to pray sincerely, to study the scriptures, and to clean up my act. I had missed the Spirit so much. I broke up with a boy who had different ideas and morals about dating. I’ve stopped drinking and swearing, and I feel good.
Keep the good articles coming. I’m sure there are others like me who need the lift and encouragement they bring. The New Era has helped me start a new life!
Name withheld

During a combined priesthood and Relief Society meeting in 2009, our high priests group leader explained our stake presidency’s desire for every adult to take a family name to the temple within a year. He introduced stake and ward programs to help members achieve that goal. As he concluded, he gave an authoritative promise by virtue of his responsibility for the family history program that if we would try to achieve the stake’s goal, we would succeed.
After the meeting my wife and I discussed the promise and agreed that it could not apply to me; we had already spent 40 years investigating every branch of my family tree. My ancestors were difficult to find, and we had made no significant progress for several years. We believed nothing more could be done. Nevertheless, the group leader’s promise echoed in my mind for the next few days. I decided to take him up on his promise. Staring at my pedigree chart, I tried to think of what I could do.
After three days of careful thought, I felt inspired to look in a specific place for information about one of the end-of-line people on my chart. In less than half a day of research on the Internet, I discovered that another man had researched that family name in an English parish. One of the most recent names he’d located was my end-of-line person. Using his data, I was able to extend my line another five generations—back to 1650—and include the maiden names of several women in my line and the names of several brothers and sisters. My wife and I were stunned and delighted.

At that time, my mother was getting older and had difficulty caring for Custodia. She decided to go to a care center. Custodia went to a facility that cares for people with disabilities. That’s when we started to pick her up and have her stay with us every weekend. We did this for about four years.
Just before my mother died, my husband and I visited her. She held our hands and told us she trusted us to take care of Custodia. We told her we would. For the last 15 years, my sister has lived with us and we have cared for her.
Of course it was hard in the beginning. I had to leave my job to take care of my sister. But it has been a blessing. When Ulisses and I were first married, we discovered we couldn’t have children. Custodia is like a child sent from God for us to take care of. In many ways, she helps fill the void we feel being childless. She’s loving and caring. She loves to laugh and loves going to church. She is a joy.

When I was in junior high, I was honored by the school administration when I was asked to become a member of the student hall patrol. On the days we were assigned to be on hall patrol, we were instructed to bring our lunch to school and eat it together. It was always a special treat, and there was always a lot of competition to see whose mother had prepared the most desirable lunch. Often we traded lunch items among ourselves.
One day when I was assigned to be on hall patrol, I forgot to tell Mother that I needed a lunch until I was almost ready to leave for school. An expression of concern came over Mother’s face when I requested a lunch. She told me that she had just used up her last loaf of bread for breakfast and would not be baking until that afternoon. All she had in the house to make a lunch was a large sweet roll left over from the previous night’s supper. Mother made delicious sweet rolls. She always arranged them in a pan so there was one large one across the top of the pan and then rows of smaller ones down the length of the pan. Only the large one remained. It was about the size of a loaf of bread in length but, of course, not in thickness. I was embarrassed to take just a sweet roll for lunch when I imagined what the other patrol members would have, but I decided it was better to go with the sweet roll than go without lunch.
When it came time to eat lunch, I went to a far-off corner so I wouldn’t be noticed. When the trading of lunches started, my friends wanted to know what I had. I explained what had happened that morning, and to my dismay, everyone wanted to see the sweet roll. But my friends surprised me—instead of making fun of me, they all wanted to have a piece of the sweet roll! It turned out to be my best lunch trading day of the entire year! The sweet roll that I thought would be an embarrassment to me turned out to be the hit of our lunch hour.

Let me share with you a pointed letter which came from a resident of Minnesota. It was addressed to Brigham Young University:
“Gentlemen:
“Beginning December 22, I made a bus trip from southern Minnesota to Florida via Des Moines and Chicago and points south.
“There was a large group of young men and women traveling the approximately same route from Des Moines. These fine young people were students from Brigham Young [University] going home for the holidays.
“They were all very polite, well-behaved, articulate young men and women. It was a pleasure to travel with them—to know them—and it gave me a new hope for the future.
“I realized that the university cannot do this. Young men and women of their caliber are the product of fine homes. The credit is due the parents. I cannot reach the parents, so my appreciation must go to the school.”

It wasn’t so much that I doubted. It was just that I didn’t know.
There I was, seventeen years old and an “active” member of the Church all my life. Baptized at eight. Ordained a deacon at twelve. Now in my fourth year of seminary. And I still couldn’t say “I know.”
For my good buddy Gary, it seemed so easy. We often sat side by side at the sacrament table. Almost every fast Sunday I would sense him squirming beside me. And almost without fail he would rise to his feet before fast and testimony meeting ended to bear his testimony. His voice quavered, and his eyes would fill with tears as he told how wonderful it was to feel the Holy Ghost.
I envied Gary, but at the same time I felt uncomfortable. His tears made me feel a little embarrassed for him. Still, I wished that I had the kind of testimony he had. I guess I just didn’t want it badly enough then. So I continued to drift comfortably.
Then came that final year of seminary. Subject: The Book of Mormon. Focus: Moroni, chapter 10, verses 4 and 5 [Moro. 10:4–5]. Our challenge was to read the Book of Mormon from cover to cover and to pray for a witness that it is true—in other words, to apply Moroni’s promise.
At first I didn’t make much of an effort. But as the school year wore on, I began to read the Book of Mormon every night, the last thing before I went to bed. And after reading, I would kneel beside my bed and ask for a witness that the book—and the Church—are true.
And still nothing happened.
Constantly in the back of my mind was Gary’s fervent testimony. Also, there was the scripture in Doctrine and Covenants 9:8 [D&C 9:8], where the Lord told Oliver Cowdery, “I will cause that your bosom shall burn within you.”
So night after night I knelt on the small braided rug beside my bed, said a pleading prayer, and climbed into bed to wait for that burning witness. Then, one night, I stopped in the middle of my prayer and asked myself, “Do I know if it’s true yet?”
And then it happened. There was no pillar of light. No voice. Not even the burning sensation that I had been looking for. Instead, a simple realization came into my mind.
Suddenly, I knew that I knew. And that was it. Calm and peaceful and seemingly unspectacular, it was all I needed at the time. I knew that I knew.
Since that time, I have become more aware of the Lord’s words to Oliver Cowdery in the sixth section of the Doctrine and Covenants: “If you desire a further witness, cast your mind upon the night that you cried unto me in your heart, that you might know concerning the truth of these things.
“Did I not speak peace to your mind concerning the matter? What greater witness can you have than from God?” (D&C 6:22–23, italics added).
Many times would follow when I would feel that burning in my bosom. Many times I would feel the joyful swelling in my heart that Alma describes. (See Alma 32:28.) But for the time being, that quiet realization was all I needed, all I had to remember. The Lord had spoken peace to my mind.

What should we do for our next activity?
We could play soccer again!
Or do another craft night!
I’ve been thinking. You know Sasha?
Yeah. I haven’t seen her in a while.
I heard she just got first place in the science fair. I have an idea she might like. Here’s what I’m thinking …
… sounds fun! And then …
… invite the young men too? …
… markers to decorate …
Sounds like a plan. Let’s do it!
The week before the activity, at Sasha’s house …
We have this activity idea.
Sure, I’ll help!
Sasha’s going to teach us how to make rockets. Do you guys want to come?
I’ll invite my quorum. Can we bring snacks?
The day of the activity …
Do you think anyone will come?
Sasha says she’s on her way!
Let’s get started!
“A sense of belonging is important to our physical, mental, and spiritual well-being. Yet it is quite possible that at times each of us might feel that we don’t fit in.…Belonging comes not as we wait for it but as we reach out to help one another.”
Elder D. Todd Christofferson of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, October 2022 general conference (Liahona, Nov. 2022, 54–55).
Learn how to make an air-powered bottle rocket on the Gospel Living app!

Sixteen-year-old Kimberli Lingard left for work one afternoon last summer, having no idea that in a few hours she’d come face-to-face with a killer and be shot twice and left for dead. After what should have been a fatal event, a series of miracles occurred, and now Kim is living proof of God’s blessings in her life.
Kim worked at a laundromat in Grantsville, Utah, a tiny town where everyone knows everyone, and few people lock their doors. The town is located near a major freeway, and in early June 2004, an angry gunman on the run from the police pulled off the freeway into this quiet town. He looked around at local shops for an easy place to rob until he found the laundromat where Kim was working alone.
The man took what little money was in the cash register, shot Kim in the head and shoulder, and fled. With Kim lying on the floor and losing blood fast, time was precious. A woman—only the second customer to come in during Kim’s shift—entered just minutes after the shooting to discover Kim lying in a pool of blood. The woman raced to a nearby restaurant and called the police.
Uncertain if the shooter had left the premises, a brave man from the restaurant rushed to find another priesthood holder, and they gave Kim a blessing. Kim was soon flown to a hospital and immediately underwent seven hours of surgery to remove bullet fragments from her brain.
Kim can’t remember any of this. The last thing she remembers was being alone at work. But her family has a clear recollection of everything after the shooting. They remember turning immediately to the Lord. Her younger sister Rachel says, “I was really scared. I came downstairs and knelt down beside the couch and said a prayer that she’d be okay.”
The 45-minute drive to the hospital was tense, but her little sister Jenessa says, “I just sat there praying the whole time.”
Kim’s friends at school started calling other friends to ask them to fast and pray for their dear friend.
Many hours and prayers later, Kim was stabilized. Three days after being shot, she woke up in the hospital to see her older sister Nicole leaning over her with a tear-stained face. Kim wanted to know what was wrong but couldn’t ask. Her vocal chords had been partially paralyzed from the shooting. Kim couldn’t talk, eat, walk, blink, or smile.
She couldn’t move her right arm or hand, and the doctors weren’t hopeful that she would ever fully recover from her wounds.
Even with Kim’s future uncertain, her family drew comfort from the Holy Ghost and remained positive. The Lingards say there was a special feeling in Kim’s hospital room throughout her stay. Her youngest sister Kristin explained: “When I came into Kim’s room, I didn’t want to go because I felt the Holy Ghost so strongly that I wanted to be in the room more.” This feeling helped the family to be calm and hopeful.
Kim wanted more than anything to be able to play the piano again and wrote a note asking the doctors if it would be possible. She says, “They just got this look in their eyes. They wanted to say yes, but they couldn’t. And from then on, I wanted to prove them wrong. I was going to get well.”
She received another priesthood blessing that she would heal quickly, and with faith and hard work, Kim made astonishing progress.
Kim’s family stayed by her bedside for weeks while she was in the hospital. Every day, her sisters would massage her hands so the nerves might begin to work again. And Kim worked hard to exercise her hand.
Eventually Kim’s voice came back, and she regained movement in her face. Then one day her family came in and found her moving her fingers—something the doctors never expected to see. Kim’s stepmom, Karen, says, “Every day seemed like a week’s worth of recovery. You’d see her the next day, and she’d be doing something they said she may not ever be able to do.”
Kim’s condition improved at a remarkable rate, and she became eager to leave the hospital. Just over three weeks after the shooting, she went home—in time for her 17th birthday. The only obvious change in her appearance was that her hair was shaved short from the surgery.
Still, Kim faced weeks of voice and hand therapy. Although her rehabilitation was difficult and painful, she didn’t complain. Her father, Craig, says, “Her testimony is stronger because she sees how her Heavenly Father has blessed her.”
Kim’s family are no strangers to loss. Her mother died of lung cancer only three years earlier, leaving behind a family of 11 children. And now this challenge. But Kim doesn’t feel the need to ask questions. She simply says, “The Lord knows a lot more than we know.”
The Lingards count their blessings. Brother Lingard says, “I knew that if the Lord preserved her life, we could live with whatever else we had to live with.” Kim’s family was calm as they relied on the Lord for strength.
Kim says, “I think about how the Lord hears our prayers. I know that the Lord knew I could do this. I know that He lives and that He’ll help me, and I’m so glad it was me and not someone else.”
Kim’s testimony left her with a good attitude and peace throughout her struggle. And because of that, Kim says, “I was able to forgive the shooter. I know that he is a son of God, too. He made serious mistakes in his life, and I feel sorry for him.”
From the looks of the half-inch round scar the bullet left on the back of her neck, it seems impossible that anyone could live through such an injury. But these days Kim is driving, painting, playing the piano, and laughing with her sisters. Kim has several lasting effects from the shooting, including weakness in her right arm, no right jaw socket, and total deafness in her right ear.
“The doctors didn’t know if I would ever be able to live a normal life.” But Kim was at school the first day of her senior year, just 11 weeks after the shooting. She graduated with her senior class and is now a freshman at Brigham Young University—Idaho.
Kim has few regrets about what happened. “It just amazes me how aware the Lord is of us. The Lord knows all things. We just need to learn to trust in Him. There are good days and bad days, but He is there for us when we need Him.”

“No one sits alone” also means no one sits alone emotionally or spiritually. I once went with a brokenhearted father to visit his son. Years earlier, the son was excited to become a new deacon. For the occasion, his family bought him his first pair of new shoes.
But at church, the deacons laughed at him and his shoes. His shoes were new, but not fashionable. Embarrassed and hurt, the young deacon said he would never go again to church. My heart is still broken for him and his family. …

I have always enjoyed nature and the outdoors. I grew up in Boise, Idaho, and one of my favorite things to do when I was out of school in the summer was to go to my aunt’s ranch. There I herded cows, rode horses, swam in the canal, and often slept in the haystack under the stars.
Oh, how I admired the boys and girls who lived on ranches and farms! They had opportunities that those of us who were raised in the city never had.
However, within a half mile of where I lived in Boise was a river that ran through the city. There was a wooded area there that I loved to go to after school or on Saturdays. My dog was my pal, and we went there together and sailed boats or made whistles out of willows. We watched the beavers make dams and the fish swim in the water. We watched the birds build nests and hatch their young.
As I grew older, I joined the local Boy Scout troop and enjoyed hiking and camping in the summertime with my friends. Many of these boys were in Primary with me. My mother was Primary president, and my younger sister, Dorothy, and I were regular attenders.
My father, however, was not a member of the Church, and when I had my eighth birthday, I was not baptized.
I did have a testimony, though. I knew that God lived. My mother had taught me to pray and to thank Heavenly Father for all the things that I enjoyed. I often thanked him for the beauty of the earth and for the wonderful times that I had at the ranch and by the river and with the Scouts. I also learned to ask him for the things that I wanted or needed.
I went to all the Church meetings and activities, but it wasn’t until I was twelve that I really missed not being baptized. By that time, all my friends had been ordained deacons. Because I wasn’t an official member of the Church, I wasn’t able to do many of the things that they did. Passing the sacrament and building a fire to warm up the meetinghouse were only two of the responsibilities that I watched my friends do without me.
So my sister and I began coaxing our father to allow us to be baptized. We also prayed that he might say yes. We were overjoyed when he finally gave his consent, and I was baptized when I was thirteen years old. A whole new world opened up to me as I learned the responsibilities of being a member of the Church and holding the priesthood.
I’m grateful for the influence of the Church in those early years and for my mother’s teachings. Even though I wasn’t baptized until later than many children, I knew that God loved me and listened to me.

It sometimes happens that the happiness we seek in many ways and in many places is to be found where we least expect it. So it was with me. I had happiness within my grasp all the time, but for years I did not recognize it.
I was 24 years old in 1981 when I was baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. My husband was baptized with me. At the time, our daughter, Juliana, was two years old. Our branch in Tucuruvi, Brazil, was so small that we met in a home on Avenida Nova Cantareira. For some reason, after attending meetings for less than a year, we left the Church.
By the time we moved to Guarulhos in 1983, we had no desire to return to the Church and had lost complete contact with Church members. This was a time of great difficulty for us. One day while I was sweeping the house, my husband and I decided to throw all of our old Church books in the garbage. Among the books was a copy of the Book of Mormon.
In all the time I had owned the book, I had never opened it. I considered the book of no value. But as I went to place it in the trash, Juliana, who was four years old at the time caught sight of the figure of the angel Moroni on the cover and said, “No, Mama, don’t throw that book away!” I thought of throwing it away anyway, but I looked at my husband and he looked at me. We decided to honor our daughter’s request.
And so the book remained in our home.
In 1987 I gave birth to our third child and experienced some difficult health problems. I began seeking the truth, trying to find some answers to why I was so unhappy. In despair, I began to believe there was no salvation for me.
One day in 1989, the Lord prompted me to pick up the Book of Mormon. I started to read it—and found I could hardly stop. Each day I waited eagerly for the dawn so I could continue reading. The Spirit was so strong within me that I cried. I finally understood how much I had lost by leaving the path of the Lord I had once been on.
I resolved to find the Church. Searching our telephone book, I found the Church’s name and called the number listed. We started attending meetings again and have remained active ever since. My husband and I have now been to the temple, and we are sealed as a family for eternity.
I know that the Book of Mormon is true and that if we study it constantly, we will find the strength to overcome any obstacle. I thank Heavenly Father both for my blessings and for my trials—and for prompting our daughter to keep us from throwing the Book of Mormon away. I know that had I thrown the book away, with it I would have thrown away my happiness.

Seminary began as it usually did: we sang a hymn, recited the scripture-of-the-week, and said the prayer. Then I began telling Grandma’s story about service. As I spoke, I kept noticing my seminary teacher, Brother Olsen, in one of the desks on the back row. He looked really serious.
Great! I thought. I hope he’s not mad at me. Maybe this wasn’t what he had in mind when he asked me to do the devotional. I finished the story by saying, “I hope we can all take time to serve others like my grandma did, because we never know how much good one small act of service can do.” Then I quickly sat down in my desk.
My seminary teacher didn’t say anything. He just sat there in the back row. Everyone started looking at him.
“Man, I must have really blown it,” I thought.
Finally Brother Olsen spoke. “Lindsay, what is your grandma’s name?”
“Mary Lois Gunnell,” I answered. What was he going to do—call her and make sure I hadn’t made up the story?
Brother Olsen continued, “Do you know who that sergeant was? That was my sergeant while I was in the service myself, and I was very close to him.” Everyone in the class started whispering.
“No way!” said one of the boys. He thought we had planned this all out before.
“Really,” Brother Olsen said sincerely. “I knew him before he was wounded and after he recovered. He told me that same story himself and said how much that meant to him to have a stranger care enough to bake a birthday cake for him. He wanted to thank the woman, but never knew her name.” Brother Olsen looked right at me. “Lindsay, that cake wasn’t just a birthday cake. It was the beginning of a whole new life for my sergeant.”
I couldn’t believe it, and I couldn’t wait to tell Grandma.
“Class,” Brother Olsen continued, “I want you to know that Lindsay’s Grandma’s act of service literally changed that sergeant’s life. Before he was wounded, he was pretty mean. Every other word out of his mouth was a swear word. After he received that cake in the hospital in Colorado, he decided to change. He told me he was going to try harder to be a better person, and that’s just what he did.”
Until hearing about Brother Olsen’s sergeant, I never realized how much just one kind deed could affect another. My grandma sweetened a bitter man’s life with as simple a thing as a cake. Her story gives me hope that my small acts of service—a smile or a kind word—may also add richness to other people’s lives.

To introduce people to the Church, the São Paulo Brazil Stake celebrated its 30th anniversary in 1996 with a missionary open house showing what the Church has to offer families. Those who attended were able to experience Relief Society, Young Women and Young Men, or Primary lessons; in the Primary section, for example, visitors learned to sing “I Am a Child of God” and created a picture to take home.
Stake mission president Norberto Carlos Lopes, a dynamic man who was on crutches at the time because of a leg injury, says the event literally kept him hopping from place to place. Some 616 people were introduced to the Church at the open house, and for several weeks afterward missionaries averaged one baptism per day. Brother Lopes says the many members who brought guests or helped with the event typify the perseverance Brazilian Saints show in sharing the gospel with others. “We can’t quit working with people,” he says, “because we never know the day someone’s heart will be open.”

My family and I moved to Layton, Utah, from Georgia during my senior year in high school. As a black teenager, I hated the thought of moving. I liked it in Georgia where I fit in quite well with my peers. The idea of attending a different school in a very white community didn’t appeal to me, even though I was a member of the Church. When I arrived in Utah, adjusting to life there took a great deal of time, and I only managed to make a few friends.
One night I was paired up with a guy my friend and her boyfriend set up with me. I would have enjoyed the night more if my date hadn’t said his parents would freak if they knew he was out with a black girl. His words hurt, but I hid it well. I’ve hid a lot of my feelings.
After graduation, I began to hang around three girls who weren’t LDS. As our friendship grew, I started smoking. I felt like life had no meaning, so I didn’t care that what I was doing was wrong. I couldn’t understand why I was on the earth, and figured I was probably better off dead. After a while, we went our separate ways and I vowed I would never smoke again. But many of my other feelings didn’t change.
I knew I wanted to marry in the temple and raise a family but wondered if I would get the chance. It was rather annoying when people I knew would become engaged, leaving me to question if I would ever get a date in this lifetime.
I wanted to blame the way I felt on something, so I blamed it on the color of my skin. It was stupid of me, I know. But I figured it was the only reason I didn’t have many friends.
By the time I was 20, I wanted to change. I decided to fix my appearance. I lost a little weight and bought new clothes and glasses. I found it helped me feel better about myself. But the actual change started when I began attending the single-adult ward and decided to go to college. This gave me the confidence that I could do things I had been too shy or scared to do before.
One day in sacrament meeting, my bishop spoke about the importance of attending church, the importance of paying tithing, reading scriptures, and praying. I felt the Spirit so strongly that I had no doubt the Church was true. It was at this time I decided to read the Book of Mormon.
For a month, I read my scriptures every night. Afterward, I would pray. I continued to pay my tithing and attend church, and I received a calling in the ward. My life couldn’t have been happier.
One day I looked in the mirror and stared at my reflection. “I’m pretty,” I said to the image before me. Tears welled up in my eyes that suddenly seemed to be looking at things differently. I saw myself, but it was as if I were looking at the face of a stranger. The fact I saw myself differently filled me with a happiness I can’t describe.
Without warning, the color of my skin no longer mattered to me. I’m Jennifer, a child of God. If God can love me, then I can learn to love myself, I thought. I now understand why they say you have to love yourself before you can show love to others. Today I can say I’m proud to be black. Four years ago I couldn’t even say it, much less mean it.
My promise now is to live the gospel and put my trust in God. After all, he’s given me the thing I needed most—a sense of my own worth.

“Tryouts will be held soon for our annual school Christmas play,” said Mrs. Humphreys to the class. She smiled at Molly. “We’d love to have each one of you come and try out.”
Molly decided she’d audition for the part of Mary. Being Mary would be better than anything! Well, except maybe for finding a friend. That would be the best thing of all.
After several months in this new big-city school, Molly still didn’t have a single friend. Whenever she tried smiling at the girls in her class, they would only giggle and whisper to each other.
The leader of the girls in her class was Julia, a smart, pretty girl who always seemed to do everything right. One day Molly took a chance and walked up to her.
“Hi, Julia. Could you please help me with my homework?”
“Sorry,” Julia said. “Don’t have time.” Then she ran off to play with her friends.
Molly sat down at lunch, alone again. What could she possibly do to get the girls to like her? Then she remembered the Christmas play. If she got the part of Mary, maybe somebody would want to be her friend.
Audition day arrived. Molly had practiced hard. When her turn came, she sang her audition song with almost no mistakes.
The next day when Mrs. Humphreys announced the parts, Molly crossed her fingers. “The part of Mary will be played by Julia,” Mrs. Humphreys said, “and Molly will play the part of the first angel.”
Molly’s heart sank. Julia would get to play Mary? Julia, who was already so popular? It wasn’t fair! Molly blinked away hot tears.
Over the next few weeks, Molly worked hard at learning her part. She knew the angel was still important, even if it wasn’t the lead role.
On the night of the Christmas play, Molly felt like butterflies were fluttering in her stomach. She’d never been in a play before. What if she made a mistake or forgot her part?
When the music began, Julia walked to the stage to sing her solo. The audience got quiet as the pianist played the opening line. But Julia didn’t start singing.
Molly was confused. Had Julia forgotten to start? She peeked over at Julia. She could tell that Julia was trying to sing, but nothing was coming out.
The pianist started over. Molly held her breath as Julia opened her mouth. The only sound that came out was a tiny squeak. Julia’s lips began to tremble.
Molly had never imagined Julia might feel scared too. But she was—and in front of all those people too.
“Start over again,” whispered Mrs. Humphreys loudly from behind the scenery.
The pianist started over a third time. Molly made a quick decision. She knew what it was like to feel all alone. Nobody should have to feel that way.
She took a couple of shaky steps onto the stage and put her arm around Julia’s waist. Molly started to sing. As soon as Julia realized she wasn’t on her own, her face broke into a smile. This time her voice worked! Molly thought they sounded wonderful singing together.
After the song ended, the audience clapped and clapped. When Julia went back on stage to take a bow, she grabbed Molly’s hand and pulled her out for a bow too. Then she gave Molly a big hug right on stage.
Molly grinned ear to ear. Yes, finding a friend was definitely better than any part in a play.

Switch channels with me to a scene on a Saturday night in a ranch home, where a boy who has just answered the telephone nervously approaches his mother. “Mom,” he says, “Bob is on the phone. He and his dad and Tom and his dad are going snowmobiling and shooting tomorrow morning, and they want to know if I can go with them.”

The mother seems startled and uncertain. She is strongly tempted to respond sharply, reminding her boy that he has duties on Sunday morning, that in their family they go to church together, and that when Dad returns later that night he will not consider such a thing. But, instead, she says, “Richard, you are twelve years old. You hold the priesthood. I am sure Dad would want you to make up your own mind and answer Bob yourself.”

The boy goes back to the telephone, and the mother goes to her room and prays their son will give the right answer. Nothing more is said. On Sunday morning the boy and his parents go into town to church, park in the lot across the street, and are crossing, arm-in-arm, when a pickup truck passes. Two men and two boys wave to Richard as they pass. He pauses a moment and says, “Gee, I wish …” The mother catches her breath; then Richard finishes: “I wish I had been able to talk Bob and Tom into coming to priesthood meeting this morning.”

The mother, telling the story, thanks the Lord for this choice boy and his personal decision to do the right thing. Then she weeps as she explains how important that was to all of them. You see, their son was killed in a farm accident that week.