Gospel Story Finder

My sister danced around the kitchen in her lion costume, with black whiskers stuck on her face.
“Come on!” I hollered at her. “You’re supposed to help me set the table.”
“I’m practicing,” she said, spinning around perfectly on the linoleum floor. “My stomach is too wiggly to eat, anyhow.”
“It’s only a skating show,” I said. “It’s no big deal.”
“It’s the ‘Wizard of Oz,’” Laura declared, “and I’m going to be the lion. Come and see me.”
“I have plans,” I told her. I knew that the guys were going bowling, and there was no way that I was going to sit and freeze just to watch a bunch of seven-year-old kids skate. I finished setting the table by myself, and everybody sat down to eat.
“What’s for supper,” I asked Mom as she set a pot on the table.
“Mystery casserole,” she replied with a wink.
“Oh, great,” I mumbled. Mystery casserole was what Mom made when she was in a hurry and threw leftovers into a dish and baked it.
“We have to hurry tonight,” Dad said. “Laura has to be at the ice show in an hour. Are you coming with us, Son?”
“No,” I answered. “I already have other plans.”
“Fine,” Mom said. “You do what you think is important.”
I hate it when my mom says stuff like that. She makes me feel like I’m doing the wrong thing at the same time that she says to go ahead and do what I want. Besides, I’ve already spent the best years of my life watching Laura.
It all started when Mom began working part-time and I had to begin baby-sitting full-time. I gave Laura her snacks when I got home from school and her breakfast early Saturday morning, a real sacrifice on my part. I helped her put on her clothes and carted her around on my bicycle to baseball games. I even took her to one of my Boy Scout meetings. Then there had been that summer when Roger had invited me to go camping at the lake with his family for two whole weeks! Did I get to go? No! I had to watch Laura because Mom couldn’t find anyone else to do it. I had to stay home and build baby puzzles with Laura and help her tie her shoes. I had definitely gone above and beyond the call of duty as far as Laura was concerned.
Of course, I had been reimbursed for baby-sitting, and I liked Laura—most of the time. She was OK for a sister, but enough was enough.
The first game I bowled was lousy; I didn’t even break one hundred. The guys razzed me and asked me if I needed a handicap. I blamed it on the bowling ball and went to pick out a different one. I didn’t do much better the next game. I couldn’t seem to concentrate. Instead, I kept watching the clock. I knew that the skating show would be starting in thirty minutes, and I wondered if Laura would be skating first.
“Come on, Michael,” Roger said. “You’re up.”
I picked up my ball and carefully stood in our lane, mentally counting my steps: One, two, three. I stepped forward and rolled the ball—right into the gutter.
The guys laughed. They thought that it was hilarious, and I knew that I’d be hearing about this game for the next week, at least. I looked up at the clock again. The ice show started in fifteen minutes. I tried to tell myself that I didn’t care and that I was just having an off night bowling. Then I told the guys that I had to leave and go to my sister’s ice show.
They said that I was lucky that I didn’t have to finish my game, because I’d set a new world record for the worst game ever bowled.
The ice arena was cold. I pulled my hat over my ears and stuffed my hands into my pockets. The place was packed, and I gave up looking for Mom and Dad. I found an empty seat by the door where all the skaters stepped out onto the ice.
Laura was easy to pick out in her tawny lion costume. I cheered extra loudly for her and held my breath while she did her loops and one last spin. She had almost finished when her skate tip caught the ice and she went down in a heap. She leaped up quickly and kept going like a real trooper, but I could see that her shoulders were sagging.
I waited by the dressing room door after the show, and she came out with her skates draped over her shoulder and her lion whiskers dangling crookedly.
“Did you see me?” she asked.
“Yeah,” I said. “You did a great job.”
“I fell.”
“You got back up,” I told her, “and that’s what counts. Just wait till next year—you’ll be leaping through the air! I can tell.”
“I’m glad that you came,” Laura said, and she grabbed my hand.
“Of course I came,” I told her. “I couldn’t let you skate without your own private cheering section.”

Almost four years ago, I went to live with my father, a faithful member of the Church for 20 years. I had not been attending church at all and knew little about the gospel.
Gradually I began going to church. Then one Sunday at stake conference, I heard Elder Adelson de Paula Parrella, an Area Authority Seventy, give a talk about tithing. Although I didn’t understand much about this law, Elder Parrella spoke with such confidence, faith, and spirit that I decided to pay tithing from that day forward.
When I began to pay tithing and offerings, something marvelous began to happen in my life. The Spirit began to fill my heart, and like the prodigal son, I was guided to return to the true gospel path. The Lord even blessed me so greatly that I was able to serve as a missionary in the Brazil Fortaleza Mission.
I know that when we are faithful in paying our tithing and a generous fast offering, the Lord can bless us temporally and spiritually.
Rafael Barcellos Machado, Parque Pinheiro Ward, Santa Maria Brazil Stake

I had an experience when I was in the southern states that helped me to realize what I think the Lord meant. I received a letter from a good brother from Phoenix, Arizona. He was quite an elderly man. He said that his grandfather was one of the first converts in the state of Mississippi back in 1840. He said, “Since that time my father and his descendants have given over 100 years worth of missionary service to the Church.” There were then 15 in the mission field, and we had three of them in our mission.

I told that story in a missionary meeting after I was appointed Presiding Bishop in 1940—just 100 years after the grandfather joined the Church. His grandson happened to be in that meeting and I didn’t know it. He came up to me after and said, “Brother Richards, it is now 165 years of service.” When you get to adding 10 to 15 years at a time, it doesn’t take long to add another 100 years.

This was my thought: If that missionary who waded through the swamps of Mississippi back in 1840, when they traveled without purse or scrip and many of them contracted malaria fever, had only brought that one man into the Church, he might not have thought that he had done much. But in 100 years there was 165 years of missionary service from that one man and his descendants, without counting all the converts he had made and all the converts they had made. How can you “lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break through nor steal” (Matt. 6:20) in any better manner than by performing a service like that?

A coach of the East St. Louis, Illinois, High School took a group of young men and turned them into champions. A St. Louis Post-Dispatch sports editor wrote:
“This is a story Hollywood wouldn’t believe: kids growing up in America’s biggest urban disaster, slugging it out, year after year. No money, no fancy facilities, just a coach who still believes pride and hard work can mean something.”
The coach told his players, “Life isn’t always fair, but we can still expect excellence from ourselves.”
He insisted on hard work from all of his players, the stars included. His team won more than many championships. (See Eugene H. Methrin, “The Stuff of Champions,” Reader’s Digest, Oct. 1991, p. 83.)

Another guide, a professed atheist, on about the third day really warmed up to the group. Sitting up near the front of the bus, she became a little intimate in her conversation; and she confided in us that not quite a year ago her husband had committed suicide. She told us how depressed she had become, how immersed in total despair. She even contemplated taking her own life, but she did not, perhaps for the sake of her little child.

Then Sister Simpson, who was sitting by her, said, “Well, what do you think of death?”

Her face grew somber and she said, “Darkness. Blackness. It’s nothing; it’s the end. I’m afraid of it.”

Sitting across the aisle was Dennis Seeley, returned from the Taiwan mission; and he said, “Did you know that your husband still lives?”

For the next twenty minutes, Dennis Seeley explained to her the plan of salvation. He would have stopped at any moment had she expressed resentment or any disinterest; but instead we saw a young lady with her mouth open, with tears on her cheeks; and we heard this young lady say, “I have never heard anything like this before. You don’t know what you’ve done for me.” She will never be the same again, and it happened in the front of a bus as we rode through this Communist bloc of nations.

Our ward has spent the past several months working hard to educate our young women about the importance of modesty. We started with an evening devoted to fashion. Our Young Women leaders showed us clothes that cover but still look good and flatter us, and we were told where to shop for modest clothes that are cute and fun. They also taught us how to get a more natural look with our makeup.
One Young Women leader surveyed some of the members of our stake, asking their opinions about how girls dress. For example, one of the young men surveyed said, “I don’t respect girls who dress immodestly.” Another said, “I don’t care about girls who dress like that [in revealing clothes].”
One comment from a priest spelled out what most of the young men seemed to feel. He said, “There’s a line between suggestive and attractive. A lot of young women try to play the line, not just in their clothes, but in their makeup and attitude, too. It’s unattractive when they look suggestive and act stuck up.”
The young men’s responses consistently showed they were unimpressed by and uncomfortable around young women who wear revealing clothes.
At the end of the evening all of the young women signed a modesty oath card.
Each time we dressed modestly for a Church function, we got a check mark on our cards. After the 12th check mark, we got a gift certificate for a juice smoothie, which really gave us something to look forward to. We keep the cards with us now as a reminder to stay modest.
A couple of weeks after our modesty night, one of our Young Women leaders set up a photo shoot for our Young Women activity. It was so much fun! She took pictures of us, and we got to show off our modest attire. It is exciting to look at all the fun pictures we took and the cards we completed and to know that we accomplished our goal.
You may be wondering how well we have been doing with our modesty program. Well, I can say we are sticking strong to staying modest. All of the girls in my ward have completed their oath cards, including one girl who isn’t a member of the Church yet. Though we’ve finished the program, we continue to dress modestly, even at school, which is amazing since my school has no dress code. The students can wear whatever they want. But our girls choose to dress modestly and stand as witnesses at all times and in all things and in all places.

Finally, let me tell you about a missionary who, I believe, is a true disciple of Christ. Let me do so by reading a President’s Letter he wrote to me one week during his mission. I believe you will see why I feel his discipleship is real.

Dear President Kinghorn,
Today in Fier, two little beggar boys would not leave us alone. They wanted money. We told them no. They still wanted money. We told them no again . . . but they still wanted money. It hurts me to tell them no [because] the more you do it, the easier it becomes. [It’s so frustrating.]

My answer to these turmoiling [feelings] has always been to [increase] my fast offerings–the Lord’s welfare system. I believe, President, that I will never be a rich man . . . but I want to (and plan to) give all my excess to the church. If I don’t need it, surely the Lord knows someone who does. I want to give and give and give.

Today I don’t feel that’s enough though. True, he who gives money gives much. But I have more than just money. I have time. I can serve my fellow beings. I can try to bring light to the eyes of these children. I can share my talents. I can love the unloved. I can hold the abandoned baby close. I can spread hope through time spent in service.

Ultimately, I can give my whole self. All I am and want to be, I want to give away . . . Abundantly giving of [my] all. I will want for nothing.

I made the covenant [to live the Law of Consecration.] I plan to keep it . . . I may not be able to give the beggar my 20 lekë piece today or tomorrow, but I plan on giving my life and my all for the remainder of my days. [I] want to consecrate [my] performance unto the Lord. [I] want to give my all to this work. [I] may not give riches in coin or check, but [I can] give the eternal riches of happiness and peace found in gospel living. President Kinghorn, I love being a missionry. It is a joy to spread this message.

Brothers ands Sisters, his desire to “give his all” exhibits true charity or “loving as Christ would love.” He is truly becoming a true disciple of Christ because of his desire to give his all.

Let me share with you a personal experience from my own youth about the power of righteous motives.

After the turmoil of the Second World War, my family ended up in Russian-occupied East Germany. When I attended fourth grade I had to learn Russian as my first foreign language in school. I found this quite difficult because of the Cyrillic alphabet, but as time went on I seemed to do all right.
When I turned 11 we had to leave East Germany overnight because of the political orientation of my father. Now I was going to school in West Germany, which was American-occupied at that time. There in school all children were required to learn English and not Russian. To learn Russian had been difficult, but English was impossible for me. I thought my mouth was not made for speaking English. My teachers struggled. My parents suffered. And I knew English was definitely not my language.
But then something changed in my young life. Almost daily I rode my bicycle to the airport and watched airplanes take off and land. I read, studied, and learned everything I could find about aviation. It was my greatest desire to become a pilot. I could already picture myself in the cockpit of an airliner or in a military fighter plane. I felt deep in my heart this was my thing!
Then I learned that to become a pilot I needed to speak English. Overnight, to the total surprise of everybody, it appeared as if my mouth had changed. I was able to learn English. It still took a lot of work, persistence, and patience, but I was able to learn English!
Why? Because of a righteous and strong motive!

Recently, a man sent me a book. He is a doctor of philosophy in a great university. He told me that reading that book had become a significant experience in his life. I read it. It is the story of a boy in Paris who, in an accident, was blinded at the age of eight. It is an account of how when darkness surrounded him, there came a new light into his life. When he was 16 or 17, the Germans conquered France and German soldiers marched into Paris. This blind boy, a brilliant student, organized a resistance group. He and his associates ran an operation for getting information and circularizing it with a little newspaper they printed on a duplicator. The effort grew until they were distributing more than 250,000 copies an issue. Then he was betrayed by a member of the group, arrested, and sent to Buchenwald. There in filth and despair he lived with similar victims. He could not see, but there was a light within him that rose above the tragedy of his circumstances. He survived as a leader among those in that foul camp. The little newspaper he started became a great newspaper. I read that book and was lifted and strengthened by the story of that remarkable young man. If you cannot find good heroes and heroines for your children on television, help your children find them in good books.

A few weeks ago, I was heavily swamped with several personal activities happening in my life. A prior commitment to help a sister with a need she had was approaching in the middle of all I had to do already. I found myself thinking almost despairingly, “How can I find joy in this service?” Immediately another thought occurred which caused me to reframe my perspective, “how can I find joy in His service?”
As I reframed my perspective, I was reminded that despite my less-than-ideal circumstances, my willingness to serve others and focus on Jesus Christ would bring me joy.

One of my most memorable days included a 13-mile hike, great scenery, and some one-on-one time with my dad. The day started early as we headed off to hike the west rim of Zion National Park in southern Utah. After we hiked for a while, we stopped to take a break on a large boulder overlooking the gorgeous canyons.
In that tranquil moment my dad related to me the story of the Creation. I sat there listening to him and basking in the beautiful workmanship of my Heavenly Father’s hands. Dad finished the story and told me to really look at the masterpiece in front of me.
He then explained that no matter how wondrous and beautiful this place might be, I was God’s greatest masterpiece. I am His daughter, and He loves me. He made this world for me, for all His children, and gave us dominion over it (see Gen. 1:26–28; Moses 2:26–28). So, my dad told me, in those moments when I was discouraged, when I felt I had no worth, when I didn’t want to go on, I needed to remember how much I am loved.
Dad’s little sermon couldn’t have come at a better time. I had been so blue and so discouraged. As I walked down the trail, I was filled with a sweet peace and a sure knowledge of my Heavenly Father’s love for me. That day I gained a greater appreciation for this world, a deeper love for my dad, and a stronger testimony of the love of my Father in Heaven and our Savior, Jesus Christ.

I had a young missionary come in to visit with me as he returned from the Argentine. I knew his people back in Washington, and he had been kept over to help train some of the other missionaries, until he had been away from home for three years. And I said, “Craig, do you feel like it was a waste of time to be in the mission field, that you ought to have been home getting your education and getting ready to settle down?” He said, “Now listen, bishop, if the Brethren want to make me happy, just let them load me on the plane in the morning and let them send me back to the Argentine.” You can’t put that kind of feeling in the hearts of young people with money. The Lord who creates the feelings of the human breast is the only one who can put that kind of faith into the hearts of his people.

Mother couldn’t help noticing the serious, thoughtful look on Eric’s face as they drove home from church. “How was Primary today, Eric?”
“Fine.”
“What did you learn today?” Mother asked.
“We talked about choosing the right in our class, and Sharing Time was about temples.”
“I can’t think of anything more special to talk about than temples,” Mother cheerfully replied. But she noticed that the faraway look was still in Eric’s eyes as they pulled into the driveway. “After you change your clothes, would you please help me set the table for dinner?” she asked.
As they were setting the table, Eric asked, “You and Dad were married in the temple, weren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“So that means I’m sealed to you for eternity?”
“Right again,” Mother replied.
“I won’t get to go inside the temple until I’m grown up, will I?”
Mother reminded Eric that his brother, Nathan, who was twelve and a deacon, had gone to the temple the month before and had been baptized for the dead, and how he, Eric, could do that, too, when he was twelve and held the Aaronic Priesthood. She also told him that when he was nineteen and ordained an elder, he could go through the temple for his own endowments before leaving on his mission.
Eric smiled at Mother, “I’m really looking forward to doing both of those things, but it’s not the same as what Joey did. When Sister Jones asked today in Sharing Time if anyone had a special experience to tell about the temple, Joey told about the missionaries teaching his family and about their baptism. He said that a year after they were baptized, they went to the temple as a family and were sealed together. He told about how beautiful the temple is inside and about how special it was to be dressed all in white and kneel down by the altar with his mom and dad and brothers and sisters.
“Mom, that sounds so exciting! I wish I had a story about the temple that I could share.”
Mother’s eyes sparkled. “You do, Eric. I’ll tell you all about it after dinner.”
Mother always fixed someone’s favorite dinner on Sunday, and of course the best part was dessert. Today, though, Eric was anxious for a different kind of after-dinner treat. It made his day when his older sister, Angie, and Dad volunteered to clean up the dishes so that Mother could tell him the special temple story right away.
They went to the family room, and Mother pulled her book of remembrance from a shelf and turned to a picture of a man with white hair and a white beard. She told Eric, “Welcome Chapman was my grandmother’s grandfather. While still a young man, Welcome heard rumors of a Joseph Smith, who was living in western New York, and who claimed to have a golden book that was given to him by an angel, and to have had visions and revelations. He also claimed that he had seen Jesus Christ and Heavenly Father. He said that They had instructed him to organize a new church.
“After thinking a lot about it, Welcome decided to find out for himself whether what he’d heard was true. Against the wishes of his parents, he saddled his horse and rode two hundred miles to New York.
“When he found the Prophet Joseph Smith,” Mother continued, “he discovered that they were about the same age. Welcome heard a complete account of all that had happened to Joseph, including how he obtained and translated the records on the golden plates, and was very much impressed with the Prophet and his wonderful experiences.
“He stayed two weeks at the home of the Prophet, learning all he could of the gospel. Convinced that this was the true religion, Welcome was baptized. Because of his activities in the Church and the esteem Joseph Smith had for him, he was made one of the Prophet’s bodyguards.”
“Wow!” Eric exclaimed. “He had an important job, didn’t he?”
“Yes,” Mother said, “but sometimes it was dangerous, not only for him but for his family. One time while he was away on guard duty, a mob went to their home and told his wife that if there was anything in the house that she wanted, to get it out before they burned the house down. Sick at heart, she got everything out while the mob looked on. The cupboard was so heavy that she couldn’t move it alone, so one of the men helped her get it out. Then, while she and the children watched, the mobbers burned the house to the ground.
“Welcome and his family passed through many of the trials, persecutions, and other hardships that fell upon the Church and its members at that time.”
Eric had heard stories about the pioneers before, but he had never imagined that his very own grandparents had been some of them. It was exciting to picture Grandpa Welcome with the Prophet Joseph Smith. He also felt bad for their losing their home and having been treated cruelly. But he wondered what Mother told him had to do with the temple.
“You see,” she continued, “Welcome was a stonecutter, so when he was living in Kirtland, he was called to cut stone for the Kirtland Temple. Later, when the Saints were building the Nauvoo Temple, he cut stone for it. And it was in the Nauvoo Temple that many Saints, including Welcome, received their endowments.
“The Saints were driven out of Nauvoo in the early spring of 1846, and they began their long trek westward. Welcome and his family spent the first winter at Winter Quarters. That next spring, Welcome was appointed captain over the fourth company, which arrived at the Salt Lake Valley in the late summer of 1847.
“In 1849, Chief Walker, the Ute Indian chief, met in council with President Brigham Young. He requested the Mormon leader to send colonists to settle on their land. Welcome and his family went to help settle the town of Manti in the Sanpete Valley.
“On July 27, 1854, Welcome was sustained as the Manti Stake president. That afternoon, as they were baptizing some settlers who had been converted, a large crowd gathered. Among them was Chief Walker and many of his people. Welcome asked the chief if any of his people would like to be baptized. The chief replied that he did not know but would ask them. That day many Indians were baptized there.
“After serving as Manti Stake president for eight years, Welcome was called by President Young on a mission to cut stone for the Salt Lake Temple, which he did until he was seventy-five years old.”
Eric looked up at the picture on the wall of the Salt Lake Temple with a new feeling of reverence. He felt proud that one of his ancestors had cut stone for the beautiful temple. He also felt proud as he thought of the good and faithful life Welcome had lived.
Eric gave Mother a big hug and kiss and thanked her for telling him about Grandpa Welcome. “You know, Mom, not only do I have a temple story to share, but I also have a neat Grandpa that I didn’t know about before. I want to live my life like Grandpa Welcome did and do what Jesus wants me to do so I can go to the temple someday too.”

When do we teach this principle? When we become alert to situations which point the need for its application. On an occasion when a small boy got angry at a playmate, he came into the house stating that he would never play with that boy again and would not ever let him into the house. The mother—a wise woman—stopped what she was doing, not later, but that very moment, and said: “Son, we need to go into the bedroom and kneel down and talk to Heavenly Father.” There she explained that the boy needed to learn how to forgive and told him he should pray about it. She prayed first and then helped him to start. When they came from the bedroom, the boy looked up at the mother and said: “I guess I’ll play with him again. I think he can come here.” You might say, answer to prayer. Yes, but it was also the beginning of that boy’s hearing the voice of the Lord, and that’s important.

The house was a raging inferno.

“It’s no use,” the fire chief muttered, watching the flames leap high into the air. “Pull back!” he shouted. The fire crew moved back from the searing heat.

“Help!” a girl suddenly cried out from a second floor window.

“Oh no,” the fire chief mourned.

The girl’s parents, who had just returned from a movie, were quickly ushered over to the fire chief.

“Help me!” the girl shouted.

“Please save our daughter,” the mother pleaded.

“I can’t ask any of my men to go into that tinder box now—it’d be suicide.”

Randy stepped from the crowd. “Don’t worry, I’ll save your daughter.”

Before anyone could stop him, he ran toward the house, paying only slight attention to the crowd’s horrified gasp as he rushed into the flames.

It’s a good thing I’m wearing this action jacket, he thought as he kicked the door down. Inside, the stairs were still intact, although fire was licking through several of the steps. He covered his face with the jacket and bounded up the stairs.

On the second floor landing, because the jacket was still over his face, he tripped over a tricycle in the hall, but quickly recovered and hurried to her room.

He opened the door and saw her. She was in one of his classes in high school. She had long hair and nice eyes, although for some reason he couldn’t make out any details of her face. Maybe it’s the smoke, he thought.

She threw her arms around him. “I knew you’d come,” she cried.

A loud crash shook the house.

“What was that?” she cried.

“The staircase caving in,” he said calmly.

“How will we ever get out?”

He thought for a second then said, “I have a plan.”

Running to what was left of the hall, he grabbed the tricycle and hurried back to the room. He pulled an adjustable wrench from his jacket pocket and undid the front wheel. Then he kicked out the rubber from the wheel, leaving just the metal rim.

“Anyone else in the house?”

“No—my brother is spending the night at our uncle’s house.”

He hurried to the window and kicked out the screen and looked out. Just as he had noticed earlier—a telephone cable ran from the street pole to within a foot of the window. He leaned out, placing the rim of the wheel over the cable, then asked her to hand him the rest of the tricycle, which he refastened upside down onto the wheel again, the forked brace holding the wheel rim in place on the cable.

It was ready. He motioned for her to climb next to him on the window ledge. Putting one arm around her waist and holding onto the handle bar with the other, he jumped out into space.

They rolled gently down the telephone cable like a miniature cable car, leaving the house just before it broke apart. The crowd below roared its approval.

“Oh, Randy, you’re wonderful,” she sighed, hugging him.

A minute later they were on the ground, surrounded by a TV news crew and several newspaper reporters.

A newsman from the TV station stepped forward, microphone in hand, and asked the question on everyone’s mind.

“Hey, kid, whataya think you’re doing?”

That’s not the right question, Randy thought.

He looked again at the reporter. Somehow he had changed into a store clerk.

…

As he walked home, he began to think.

The house was a raging inferno.

“Help!” Michelle cried out from a second-floor window …

When I was a Mia Maid, I noticed a less-active girl in the same class as I was. I sometimes saw her at school in the hallways, at Mutual activities, church, and even at girls’ camp. It seemed no matter how often I would see her, she looked unhappy. I knelt down one night and prayed for the strength to somehow help her.
The next day, I told myself I would greet her with a friendly “Hello!” But something inside held me back. So I passed her by and said nothing. As the days stretched on, the desire to help her increased. I knew I had to say something to her, and I wanted to do it soon.
I prayed several times in the early morning to gain the courage I needed. As I saw her walking down the hallway one day, I knew I had to act fast! I was afraid if I didn’t say something now, I would not be able to later. With a turn of my head, I faced her and said, “Hi!”
The instant results surprised me. Her face immediately lit up like a candle. I decided that from then on, I would make an honest effort to say kind words to her. Months went by, and I found she became one of my best friends.
I know that Heavenly Father was sending me a message the day I got the courage to go up and say “Hi!” We need to reach out to others and forget ourselves. We can pause for a moment to offer a kind word. We can ask, “How can I help someone smile today?” Heavenly Father will help. Don’t be afraid to ask. He will guide you and direct you in the path you should go.

I had been playing the violin for three years before I started taking private lessons. My teacher, Robert Stoyanov, had emigrated from Russia some years before I was born and was a well-respected member of the Colorado Symphony Orchestra. Mr. Stoyanov enjoyed chatting. Occasionally, he would tell me stories about his childhood in Russia, and he often questioned me about how my family was doing and asked about school.
One time, the conversation turned to religion, and I told him I belonged to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. When he gave me a puzzled look, I said, “Most people know us as Mormons.” He then told me of several LDS students in the past. In future lessons, he would occasionally inquire about what we believe, and I would explain to the best of my ability.
One day he asked about something, which led to something else, which led to something else, and for 20 minutes, I was in a question-and-answer session. It was then that I started thinking about giving Mr. Stoyanov a copy of the Book of Mormon.
I had my doubts, of course. Mr. Stoyanov was a professional, well-educated man. I wondered if he would be receptive to the Book of Mormon at all.
I resolved to give him a copy of the book at my next lesson. My mom suggested we find a copy in Russian. We looked for a couple of days with no success and had almost given up when a good friend provided us with a copy she had purchased when her son was called to serve a mission in Ukraine. I wrote a quick note, wrote down the nearby missionaries’ address, slipped in a pass-along card about eternal families to mark Moroni 10:3–5, and went to my lesson.
I presented him with the gift and waited anxiously for his reaction. “This a present for me? Oh, thank you! Thank you so much. Your family are such wonderful people! God bless you.” He said this very fast and in a heavy Russian accent. Mr. Stoyanov had many more questions, which I answered as guided by the Spirit.
On my way out, he told me I was as well-grounded as all of his other Mormon students had been.
Later I started thinking about this remarkable experience and realized his acceptance of that priceless gift was not due to my example alone. Each of his Latter-day Saint students before me had planted seeds of faith. Each had left a small impression on him, and these impressions gradually prepared him to receive the Book of Mormon with enthusiasm. Never again will I think that no one is watching my actions. Someone always is.

Although I had not found what I was looking for, we took the time to visit all the places my mother talked about. I was able to get a feel for what life must have been like in the early days of the twentieth century living in a sugar cane industry town. This gave me renewed faith in continuing my search for more information.

As I continued to search further back through my grandparents’ lines, I found many wonderful treasures. I found that my family line in Puerto Rico dates to early explorers in the Caribbean. Some had served as governors in the Dominican Republic. Some were sea captains, farmers, and businessmen. Some were maids, seamstresses, and some of nobility. I was able to do the temple work for many there in the Santo Domingo Dominican Republic Temple where we volunteered as ordinance workers once a week. I was beginning to feel a closeness to my ancestors that I thought I would never experience. My excitement and joy in the work I was doing carried me through times of disappointments. I knew that if I kept looking, I would be able to find many more, and I did.

The Davis County Sheriff’s Department received 100 teddy bears. Captain Simpson said it is policy now for a paramedic or a sheriff on a call to give any child involved under the age of ten a bear. However, young children have not been the only recipients. The paramedics gave a bear to an 80-year-old woman who suffered a stroke. “It was the only thing that calmed her down,” said Captain Simpson. “She wouldn’t let go of the bear.”

Gose and Arouma decided to serve a senior mission for the Church of Jesus Christ after President Russell M. Nelson visited Australia and spoke about missionary service. They were called to serve in 2020 as welfare and self-reliance missionaries in the Australia Sydney Mission.
Although COVID affected the world during that time, they were able to continue their mission in Sydney. They learned to teach via video calls and taught English Connect as a pilot program.