Gospel Story Finder

Photographs courtesy of Kayleena N.
Kayleena N., 17, of Washington, USA, loves testimonies. She loves bearing her testimony, she loves listening as others share them, and now the testimonies from nearly 200 of her friends and relatives help keep her warm at night. “I feel really blessed that I know so many people who know the gospel is true,” Kayleena says.
For years, Kayleena has wanted to create a large patchwork quilt. However, she didn’t want merely a colorful blanket. She wanted an heirloom she could show to her children and grandchildren. And she wanted the whole thing tied together with testimonies.
After planning her design, Kayleena contacted friends and family to ask if they’d be willing to write their personal testimony on one of the 192 pastel squares of fabric she planned to use in the quilt. Her own testimony is on a square as well.
The final quilt required the help of many friends and over 200 hours of work. Yet she doesn’t regret a single minute. “It’s my favorite thing ever,” Kayleena says. “Anytime I’m not feeling happy, I can read the testimonies and it lifts me up. It’s more than a warm blanket. It’s a comfort to my soul.”

In the middle of the night, my husband and I both awoke and felt an evil presence in our home. Just as surely as I had felt the Holy Ghost in the bishop’s office, I now felt the adversary. As I lay in bed, I realized I had made Satan very unhappy by returning to the Church. I prayed with all my heart, and in time I felt the presence go away.
My husband and I didn’t have a chance to talk about the experience until the next evening, when I picked him up in a town about 48 kilometers from our house. During the ride home, he asked, “What happened last night?”
Because my husband believes that when a person sins it is between that person and God and should not be the concern of other people, I had told him the previous night that I was only going to a Church meeting. Now I told him all about what had happened in the bishop’s office, the feelings of love and comfort, and my return to full fellowship. I bore my testimony of the system Heavenly Father has set up to enable his children to repent and get their lives in order. I told him I felt the adversary was very unhappy with my actions, and that is why we had felt his influence during the night. I told him I wished I had the priesthood in my home, but I knew Heavenly Father would watch over our family. As I finished, I felt strongly that I should close in the name of Jesus Christ, so I did.
My husband didn’t say anything until we were pulling into our driveway. Then he said, “I think you’re right.”

Elder Holland: Matthew 7:16 says, “Ye shall know them by their fruits.” For example, even when our children were very young, they could recognize their mother’s devotion to the gospel and the role that a woman plays in it. They were often with her as she served her Relief Society sisters. Sometimes they had to pray that our old car would start. They saw her in an old coat trudging through the snow to care for Relief Society sisters in New England. They were only little, but they’ve never forgotten that. They saw their mother’s sacrifice and faithfulness, and as a result our daughter is a Latter-day Saint woman deeply committed to service, and our sons have deep respect and admiration for the commitment and devotion of our daughters-in-law. It is clear from their mother’s example that our children know the crucial, exalted place of women in their lives and in the kingdom of God.

“My father had a dairy products business and five or six horse carts. Sometimes I used to help him with the deliveries.
“I remember one of the first songs I learned in the Church was ‘Jesus Wants Me for a Sunbeam.’ I used to sing that song every day; in fact, my father got tired of hearing that particular song.
“One day I went to deliver two bottles of milk to a customer. The lady of the house heard me singing that song and came out and asked, ‘What are you singing?’
“‘I’m singing, “Jesus Wants Me for a Sunbeam,”’ I answered.
“‘What is that?’ she inquired.
“‘One of the songs we sing in my church,’ I replied.
“‘What church is that?’
“‘The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.’
“‘Well, I don’t know them. Do they have another name?’
“‘Yes, the Mormon Church.’
“‘Why don’t you tell me something about your church?’”
Elder Abrea concluded his experience by saying that after two weeks, the lady and her family began attending the Latter-day Saint Church. This was his first missionary experience.

In March 1989 I was seriously ill in a hospital in Wismar, in what was then the German Democratic Republic. At the age of ninety-four, I felt completely helpless and had lost all desire to live. In my prayers, I constantly asked God to take me home.
Seeing my pain, my daughter visited me from Hamburg. On each visit, she tried to give me new hope, encouraging me to hold on. Eventually, she and my son-in-law checked me out of the hospital and brought me into their home.
I had always admired my daughter’s strength and confidence. When I asked about her strength, she said that it came from attending church every Sunday. She had joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints years before, but I had not felt any interest in her new religion. I didn’t want to abandon my Protestant church.
Now that I was in her home, my daughter began telling me about the Church and reading to me out of the scriptures. She also invited two lady missionaries to tell me more. I enjoyed the visits of these sweet sisters, and through our discussions I eventually gained a conviction that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints is indeed the only true church.
So I let myself be baptized on 27 August 1989. There I was—ninety-four years old and born again!
The change I felt was immediate and wonderful. I knew that I would still have to suffer pain but that I could ask the Lord to help me stay faithful to the end. I also knew that our Heavenly Father knows when we will return to him. It was his will that I make the baptism covenant with him in this life.

By following her parents’ counsel, Makena, who is the oldest in the family, is also setting an example for her younger sister and brothers to follow. For instance, she has taken to heart what she has learned about personal prayer.

“I like to pray,” she says. “That’s a good thing. I like to be able to pray wherever I am, in any situation.” Prayer even works in school, she says. Once she was intimidated by a history teacher who would ask questions and assign homework if you gave the wrong answer. “I prayed she wouldn’t call on me or that I would know the answer,” says Makena. She wasn’t called on, but more importantly, she says, “I felt peace.”

Youth of the Lehi Utah West Stake took King Benjamin’s words seriously by helping both God and man during their conference entitled “Called to Serve.”
Starting early Friday morning, they were divided into groups and sent to various locations to do things like repainting an old shed, weeding an elderly couple’s garden, clearing an irrigation ditch, planting a welfare corn field, taking the graffiti off a large cement wall, working on a float for a parade, painting two large corral fences, and tying four quilts for Deseret Industries. All totaled with the adults who helped, they estimate about 500 hours of service were given from one ward alone.
The conference also included swimming, camping, hiking, and some inspirational speakers. Everyone was amazed that they could have so much fun for just $5.00 apiece. They discovered that youth conferences don’t have to be expensive and extravagant after all.

“Christmas bells, ringing, singing,”* James sang out with gusto. Alan and his friends laughed, covering their mouths to smother their chuckles so that they wouldn’t get into trouble. Alan poked his friend Trevor to get his attention, then pretended that he was James. He held one hand in the air and dramatically mouthed the words to the Primary song as if he were an opera singer.
James was the loudest singer in Primary. That might not have been so bad, except that he could not sing on key. His voice wavered up and down like a sick bird, never matching the notes being played on the piano.
Even the Primary chorister had hinted that she wanted everyone to blend their voices as they prepared for their ward Christmas party. Every year, the Primary children dressed up like people in ancient Bethlehem and sang Christmas carols at the ward dinner.
“Mom,” Alan complained when he got home, “I’m tired of singing in Primary. I’m almost twelve, and I don’t want to stand in front of everybody with a piece of sheet on my head and pretend that I’m a shepherd.”
“This is the last time you’ll have an excuse to wear a sheet on your head,” Mother joked. “Besides, it’s supposed to be fun!” She grabbed her basket of clothes and hurried into the laundry room before Alan could complain any more.
“Fine. Just leave me here to suffer alone,” Alan moaned. “How can I get out of this?”
During the week, Alan came up with a plan. On Sunday morning, he found the Primary chorister setting up for Singing Time. “Sister Harmon, I was wondering if I could help with the Christmas party in another way.”
“Another way?” Sister Harmon asked, a little puzzled. “What do you mean?”
“Instead of singing, I thought that maybe I could open and close the curtains.”
“With all the musical preparations, I didn’t think about the curtains,” Sister Harmon admitted. “I think I’ll take you up on your offer.”
Alan was relieved. Now all he’d have to do was show up, pull some curtain ropes, and then dine on the Christmas feast.
Friday evening came, and the Primary children met an hour before the program. The Young Men and Young Women were busy preparing and decorating the tables, and the Relief Society sisters were finishing the food preparation. Alan entered the cultural hall in his school clothes as the other children fidgeted with their costumes. He found his place behind the tall, orange curtain and peeked out at all the bustle. He felt a little guilty that he wasn’t doing all that he could to contribute to the program. But at least I am helping out with the curtains, he thought.
Alan watched Sister Harmon arrange the Primary members according to height. His two buddies were placed between James and Stephen. Poor Trevor, Alan thought, he has to sing next to James. He should’ve brought earplugs. He chuckled out loud at the thought.
Then Alan noticed Stephen calling to Sister Harmon. Stephen was in their Valiant class, and even though he was blind, he could do almost everything the other Valiants did. Alan watched him talking to Sister Harmon now and wondered how he did everything so well.
Sister Harmon spoke to Stephen a moment and then started rearranging the line. She moved Trevor one spot over and placed Stephen next to James. What’s she doing? Alan wondered. Did she notice us laughing at James before?
Alan watched from behind the curtain as people filtered into the cultural hall. They shuffled down the rows of tables until all the seats were filled. When the lights dimmed, Sister Harmon motioned for Alan to open the curtains. He pulled on the cords, using the whole weight of his body until the curtains brushed to a stop at the end of the rail. That was a lot harder than I expected, he thought.
The Primary choir began singing. As usual, James was loud and out of tune. As the program continued, a few of the Primary children took turns going to the microphone between songs. They each shared something they had learned in Primary about the Savior during the year. From the side, Alan noticed that most of them were very nervous.
When Stephen, the oldest Valiant, went to the microphone, he wasn’t at all nervous. “This is my last year in Primary, and it’s been the best because I’ve learned more about the Savior than ever before,” he began. “I have learned that Jesus Christ suffered my pain, but that He also feels my happiness. I feel a kind of happiness that maybe no one with sight can feel. Others help me all the time. I can’t see these acts of service, and I know that other people usually aren’t watching and don’t see them, either. But that is how Jesus served others—without any thought of reward.
“Each year on Christmas day, we celebrate Jesus coming to the earth as a baby. But I especially celebrate and look forward to the day when He will come again. After He does, I will be perfected if I have lived righteously. And I will see Him.” Stephen almost whispered the last two words.
Alan watched Stephen walk to the back of the choir. As he reached his spot, James grasped Stephen’s hand. When Sister Harmon raised her arms to lead the children in singing, James gently squeezed Stephen’s fingers, telling him when to begin singing through touch, just as Sister Harmon told the rest of the children through sight.
Alan continued to watch. The older children read the song from papers. Stephen couldn’t read those kinds of papers—he stood next to James and “read” James’s voice. James’s loud singing guided Stephen’s own.
Alan, still crouched behind the curtain, began singing. Loudly.
Suddenly Alan stopped. He didn’t sound a bit like James. He sounded as if he were trying too hard to be heard.
He looked around. No one was laughing at James now. They were all watching Stephen and James sing together. Alan felt something warm inside him. James wasn’t just being loud; he was helping Stephen.
Alan thought of the times he had laughed at James. He remembered Stephen’s words about serving without any thought of reward. Then he opened his mouth and sang with all his heart, trying to blend his voice with the others.
By the end of the program, Alan felt different. He no longer cared that he had to sing in Primary. He had learned that everyone had something to offer, even James, whose voice could help Stephen sing. And he knew that next year, if he were asked to sing again, he would do it gladly.

That’s when I really got to know my Mormon friend, Walt. When everybody else was partying, he and I would find something better to do. Walt made it easy for me to be good because I knew he didn’t drink or smoke, so I never felt any pressure to either.
Walt didn’t swear, and he was always correcting me when I did. He was polite and well mannered (most of the time), and when I was around him, I felt I should try to act a little better myself. He was a serious athlete, as I was, but he also took his studies just as seriously. He studies hard and got good grades (something I did only occasionally). Being friends with Walt didn’t make me perfect, but it showed me how I could improve.
Of course, Walt also put a little friendly peer pressure on me about his church. “Hey, Chris,” he’d say, “you might as well be a Mormon—you don’t drink, smoke, or use drugs. You’re practically a Mormon anyway.” As we became better friends, we talked about his church a lot, and I started to meet other Latter-day Saint youth.
One of them was Walt’s girlfriend, Liz. She was an attractive, cheerful Mormon girl whom I used to tease unmercifully. Liz was the perfect lady, and as we got to know each other better, her good influence began to change me. I stopped swearing. And, most important of all, I became interested in the Church.
It wasn’t easy for me, a Catholic, to consider changing my religion, but good friends like Walt and Liz made it easier for me to investigate the Church. Liz encouraged me to seek out the truth and to do what was right. And when I had gained a testimony, she and Walt gave me the strength and courage I needed to go through with my decision to get baptized.
I know much has been said about how bad peer pressure can be, and it can be very bad. But when I look back on the friends I’ve enjoyed associating with, I’d say that peer pressure can be very good too. My friends have helped me to become a better person than I would have been without them.

Sister Allred was smiling wistfully when I looked at her again.
“What are you thinking about, Sister Allred?” I asked.
“Oh, I was just thinking about my son, Todd. When we had our farm, he was the best milker of all. I always told him that he’d grow up to be a great missionary.”
“What’s milking got to do with missionary work?” I asked.
“Milking a cow is pretty impossible unless she’s ready to let down her milk. Usually a cow will let down her milk when she’s contented and calm—maybe after a little grain feeding or someone washing her udder or when there’s a little soft music in the barn. Todd was gentle and patient not only with the cows but with everybody. I knew that he would be such a gentle, loving missionary that people would naturally let down their barriers against believing the gospel. Todd was gaining a strong testimony of the gospel too.”
“So where did Todd go on his mission?” I asked.
Sister Allred replied quietly. “One day when Todd was just about your age, he and his dad were delivering a load of cattle to a farmer. On a steep grade, the cattle suddenly shifted to one side, and the truck veered on the icy road and rolled into a ravine. Todd and my husband both died.”
“Oh!” we said together. Then we were silent, listening to the soft sounds of the last of Betsy’s milk filling the bucket.
“When I started teaching you,” Sister Allred continued, “I thought that maybe I’d be helping prepare some missionaries, after all.”
No one said a word until I asked, “Sister Allred, why did you say today was a special day for you?”
She smiled. “Today is Todd’s birthday. He would have been nineteen.”

It seemed like any other ordinary Sunday morning. It seemed like most other deacons quorum meetings of previous weeks. But what was to happen during the next 15 minutes was extraordinary to me, a 12-year-old boy who was still reeling under the effects of what had happened the preceding Thursday.
Motivated by an enthusiastic mission leader who had spoken about the Book of Mormon in sacrament meeting, I had felt impressed to present a copy of the Book of Mormon to my best friend and school classmate. The decision had not been an easy one. What if my friend didn’t accept it? What if he did take it but rejected its message? And worst of all, what if he felt that the gift was a sign of religious fanaticism that would threaten our friendship?
Nephi’s fervent testimony regarding obedience had given me courage: “I will go and do the things which the Lord hath commanded” (1 Ne. 3:7). I had been taught that every member should be a missionary. So the next day I had presented the book during lunch break, complete with my testimony that the book was true, that it contained the account of Christ’s appearance to an ancient people right here in America, and that it would lead to an even greater understanding of the Bible. My friend had received the book with appreciation and with a promise to read it. It had been a normal exchange between two young friends who shared a mutual trust and understanding.
Two days later the book had been returned. “Have you read it already?” I had asked.
“No, and I am not going to read it.”
“Why not?” had come my anxious reply.
“Because my parents won’t allow it and, after what happened last night, I agree with them.”
“What happened last night?”
“If you will meet me after school,” he had said, “I’ll show you.”
After school he had led me straight to the public library, then to that section of the library marked “Religion,” the same place he had been taken the night before by his parents. Reaching up, he had brought down the largest volume of all—Religions of the World. Turning to the front pages, he had first shown me the list of authors. Each contributor had many letters after his name indicating his qualifications. There must have been at least a dozen prominent educators, theologians, and scholars listed. One couldn’t have helped but be impressed. Surely this was a well-documented and authoritative compilation of the world’s best-known religions, written by those who were qualified.
My friend had then turned to the section entitled “Mormonism.” After reading it for just a few seconds, I had been shocked beyond belief to find such ideas as “The Book of Mormon is a fraud,” “Joe Smith was misguided and given to hallucinations,” and “The entire story about the restoration and the Book of Mormon was made up of falsehoods, deceit, and counterfeit ideas.” I had been totally devastated by what I read.
Had my parents tried to shield me from something through the years? Had my bishop and Sunday School teachers failed to tell me the whole truth? I had stood there feeling that I had lost the very foundation of my life, for I loved the Church. I had felt strongly about the Aaronic Priesthood that had been conferred upon me just a few months before. The Church, which had become the very foundation of my life, now seemed to be crumbling in just a few minutes—after all, it had been the largest book on the shelf and the background of the authors seemed beyond reproach.
I hadn’t told any one about the deep hurt inside—not even my parents. I had to think about it for a few days. But I had let my Heavenly Father know about my concern and frustration, for He was the center of my boyhood faith. I had even thought back upon the Prophet Joseph Smith when his adversaries tried to demean his remarkable experience in the Sacred Grove. He had said: “I knew it, and I knew that God knew it, and I could not deny it, neither dared I do it; at least I knew that by so doing I would offend God, and come under condemnation” (JS—H 1:25).
On Sunday, three days following my disturbing hour at the public library, I sat in what seemed like an ordinary deacons quorum meeting. But what happened during the next 15 minutes was extraordinary to me.
Following the opening prayer, we were introduced to Brother Corbridge of the stake high council. Brother Corbridge told us that he and his family had just returned from a wonderful vacation trip that included a visit to the Hill Cumorah and the Sacred Grove near Palmyra, New York. Then he related in great detail his family’s experience while in the Sacred Grove. An unmistakable manifestation of the Spirit had come to them to confirm beyond question the truth of what had happened there on that early spring morning of 1820.
Then, in answer to my urgent but humble prayers, the inspiration of the Holy Ghost began to flood into my mind as Brother Corbridge spoke to us with emotion about his family’s experience. I marveled that a well-dressed, successful businessman would stand unashamed with tears in his eyes and share his innermost feelings to a group of young deacons. I know now that he had been sent by the Lord to say something that was meant especially for me, a 12-year-old Aaronic Priesthood boy who had been praying earnestly and who needed help urgently.
Brother Corbridge’s experience in the Sacred Grove became my experience. The gift of the Holy Ghost manifested itself to such a degree that even to this day, 60 years later, I can bear witness as though I had actually been there and observed firsthand that remarkable experience we call the First Vision and I can testify that the Book of Mormon is indeed the word of God.
Yes, Heavenly Father does hear the prayers of His young people, and He very often sends us our answers through His appointed priesthood leaders and other good people. May we listen well as they speak to us. May our thoughts and actions be such that we might invite the confirming Spirit of the Holy Ghost to enter our hearts and minds. I shall ever be grateful for the sustaining influence that came to me as a young man holding the Aaronic Priesthood.

After lunch on Saturday, Sara asked, “What should I do now?”
“What would you like to do?” Father asked. He was at his desk, opening his stamp album.
“I don’t know,” Sara replied. “Everyone else has a hobby to work on.”
“You could start a recipe collection,” Mother suggested. Mother liked to cook new things. She was scanning the newspaper for recipes to clip.
“Quilting is a nice hobby,” said Grandmother, who was cutting small squares of material for quilt blocks.
“Go leaf hunting,” Sara’s sister, Grace, said. She held a leaf in one hand and a book about trees in the other.
“Rocks are more interesting than trees,” Sara’s brother, Glen, argued as he sorted small stones.
Sara didn’t know what to say. Dad’s stamps were colorful. Mother’s meals were delicious. Grandmother’s quilts were beautiful. Grace’s leaf collection was pretty. And Glen’s rocks were interesting. But Sara didn’t want to do what anyone else was doing. She wanted a hobby of her own.
“Thank you for the ideas,” Sara said sadly. She sat on the sofa and looked out the window. Jake, the family’s dog, was in the backyard burying a bone. Even he has something to collect! Sara sighed. She thought about how her family had tried to help. Suddenly she had an idea. “I know what I’ll collect!”
“What?” Father asked.
Sara smiled. “It’s a surprise,” she said. “I’ll show you next Saturday.”
On Monday, Sara’s school class visited a limestone quarry and watched the big machines load rocks onto trucks. Sara picked up one of the small stones scattered on the ground and put it into her pocket. When she got home, she put the stone into an empty box.
After school on Tuesday, Mother told Sara, “A letter came for you.” She handed Sara an envelope.
“I’ve been hoping for this!” Sara tore open the envelope. Inside was a letter from her friend in Sweden. Sara read the letter three times.
Then Sara looked at the envelope again. With a pair of scissors she carefully cut off the corner of the envelope that held the stamp. She had seen Father do this many times. My collection is growing, she thought as she dropped the stamp into the box.
After dinner Wednesday night, Sara came downstairs carrying a worn-out dress. “May I have this for my collection, Mother?”
“Yes,” Mother replied, looking at Sara curiously.
Sara spent the rest of the evening cutting parts of the worn-out dress into small squares. By bedtime she had a large stack of squares to put into the box.
Thursday, during recess, Sara looked closely at all the trees in the school yard. Some of the leaves were golden. Sara pulled a leaf from a tree, put it between two pieces of paper, and slipped it into her math book. Later she laid it gently in the box.
Mother shopped for groceries every Friday night. Glen, Grace, and Sara took turns going with her to help. Sara was glad it was her turn. Before leaving for the store, she took some coins from her wallet.
At the meat counter, Sara found a beef bone wrapped in plastic. She put the bone into their cart and handed Mother the coins. “I would like to buy this for my collection.”
“Are you sure?” Mother looked surprised.
Sara just smiled and nodded.
On Saturday Sara had lunch with her friend Hana Clark. Mrs. Clark made a pie filled with cheese and tomatoes. It was the main course.
“This pie is very good,” Sara said. “May I have the recipe?”
“Of course,” answered Mrs. Clark.
After lunch, Hana read the recipe to Sara, who printed it on a piece of paper. When she got home, she put the recipe into the box.
Saturday evening Sara took the bone from the refrigerator and put it into the box.
“Are you going to show us your collection?” Glen asked when Sara brought her box to the dinner table.
Sara nodded. She set the box on the table and took off the lid. Father, Mother, Grandmother, Grace, and Glen peered inside. They all looked puzzled.
“What a strange collection!” Glen said.
“It is different,” Grace agreed.
“Sara, what is your hobby?” Father asked.
Sara didn’t say anything. She just handed the recipe to Mother, the stamp to Father, the fabric squares to Grandmother, the leaf to Grace, and the stone to Glen. “The bone is for Jake,” she explained. She unwrapped it and set it outside the back door.
When she came back to the table, she saw smiles on everyone’s face. “I’m collecting smiles,” she said. “Now I have five smiles for my collection. If you count Jake’s wagging tail, I have six.”
“Yours is the best hobby of all,” Grandmother said. Then she kissed Sara on the nose.

This year I was invited to take part in a student-led group that looks out for the well-being and mental health of the students at our high school. As soon as I received the invitation, I felt as if the Lord was directly telling me to join this class. But in order to take this class, I would need to drop my favorite class, weights. At first, I thought, “That doesn’t seem as fun as weights. What do I get out of this?”

But as I thought about it, the Spirit guided me and told me, “Nick, it’s not about what you can become. It is about what you can help others become.”

I now absolutely love this group at school, and I feel as if the Lord has led me every step of the way. I am so grateful for Him and His guidance. I testify that His guidance always leads us down the right paths!

Nick S., 17, Idaho, USA

First, in a basketball game when the outcome was in doubt, the coach sent me onto the playing floor right after the second half began. I took an in-bounds pass, dribbled the ball toward the key, and let the shot fly. Just as the ball left my fingertips, I realized why the opposing guards did not attempt to stop my drive: I was shooting for the wrong basket! I offered a silent prayer: “Please, Father, don’t let that ball go in.” The ball rimmed the hoop and fell out.

From the bleachers came the call: “We want Monson, we want Monson, we want Monson—out!” The coach obliged.

I never was a basketball star. What timing—to be a freshman at the University of Utah when All-Americans Arnie Ferrin and Vern Gardner dominated the boards.

I fared much better at fast-pitch softball. My most memorable experience in softball was a thirteen-inning game I pitched in Salt Lake City on a hot Memorial Day. The game was scheduled for just seven innings, but the tied score could not be broken. In the last of the thirteenth, with two men out and a runner on third, the batter hit a high pop fly to left field. The catch was certain, I thought. And yet the ball fell through the hands of the left fielder. For thirty-eight years I have teased my friend who dropped the ball. I have promised myself I will never do so again. I’m not even going to mention his name. After all, he, too, remembers. It was only a game.

On another occasion, while pitching a game at Pioneer Park, I was absolutely stunned to see that the other team had placed a one-armed batter at the plate. Now how does a pitcher deliver the pitch to such an opponent? I tossed a gentle lob over the plate. To my amazement, the batter knocked a single, right over the second baseman’s head. My temper flared. The next batter was a returned missionary from Mexico, Homer Proctor, six foot two and about 210 pounds. I pitched him fast, high, and inside. On the first pitch, he lifted the ball right out of the park for a home run. I shall ever remember the smile of that one-armed runner, Bernell Hales, as he passed second and third and gleefully streaked for home. I felt like crying, but I broke out laughing, as did each player on both sides. We had a wonderful time.

“I’ve wanted to fly airplanes for as long as I can remember,” 17-year-old Lamar F. says. When a friend from his wheelchair racing days told him about a British charity that helps people with disabilities learn to fly, Lamar was eager to try.
He signed up for two of the charity’s programs. One of them, the Junior Aspiring Pilots Program (JAPP), was created especially for youth between the ages of 12 and 18. These programs and other solo lessons are all propelling him one step closer to his big goal—getting his Private Pilot License.
Part of his inspiration comes from his family. Lamar’s foster dad was the first person to get him hooked on flight, taking him to airshows every year. Later, after he was adopted by another family at age four, Lamar’s interest in aviation continued to thrive as he watched his adoptive father pursue a pilot’s license. “He’s my inspiration for wanting to be a pilot,” Lamar says. Now Lamar’s dad can ride with him in the single-propeller, five-seater airplanes Lamar is learning to fly.
Lamar’s parents (pictured here on either side of him) are some of his biggest supports.

Another important quality to emulate is humor in the face of challenge. Hannah Cornaby, another member of the 1853 migration, wrote:
“It was three years, to a day, from that memorable first of June … , when our oxen having arrived, we left Keokuk. I wish I could afford a page to a description of our starting. The oxen were wild, and getting them yoked was the most laughable sight I had ever witnessed; everybody giving orders, and nobody knowing how to carry them out. If the men had not been saints, there would doubtless have been much profane language used; but the oxen, not understanding ‘English,’ did just as well without it. But it did seem so truly comical to witness the bewildered look of some innocent brother, who, after having labored an hour or more to get [an ox] secured to one end of the yoke, would hold the other end aloft, trying to persuade [the other ox] to come under, only to see [the first] careering across the country, the yoke lashing the air, and he not even giving a hint as to when he intended to stop.”

Growing up, living the gospel felt simple. I trusted my parents and leaders, and they guided me and helped me make good choices.
But as I’ve reached young adulthood, I’ve learned that we can often face difficulties and challenges in life that will test our faith.
When my grandmother passed away unexpectedly, my family and I faced one of these difficult times. It made me stop and question, “If God is good, why would He take someone good from our lives?”
My grandma was our pillar. She was kind, caring, and charitable—a mother to everyone. She welcomed everyone into our home. Neighborhood kids who played in the street in front of our house would eat dinner with us because she had a plate of food for everyone.
So when she died, I struggled with my faith.
Amid all my grief, even though I wasn’t looking to find answers in the gospel or in God, I still prayed every day. At first, my prayers were monotonous. I asked for the same things. I was grateful for the same things.
But as time passed, there was one question in my heart that I finally asked Heavenly Father:
“How can I find peace?”
A friend was the answer to that sincere prayer.
Thanks to him, I started attending church again. He invited me to come with him, and I agreed to go, just because he was my friend. I wasn’t interested in participating.
But little by little, just because I was there, the gospel messages began to enter my heart. I saw that Heavenly Father has a plan for us. President Russell M. Nelson taught:
“Eternal perspective provides peace ‘which passeth all understanding.’ (Philippians 4:7.) …
“Life does not begin with birth, nor does it end with death.”
Though I still mourn for my grandma, the gospel of Jesus Christ provides me with peace and the reassurance that we will one day be reunited.
I also learned that it takes constant and daily effort to remember my baptismal covenant and listen to the guiding voice of the Spirit. I began to treasure the gift of the Holy Ghost in my life. I know He is always with me, through every difficulty I face.
I’m so grateful for a friend who noticed I was pulling away from the gospel and reached out to support me. As I continued attending church, institute, and other young adult activities, I grew closer with more young adults in my area who were all seeking to love one another and live the gospel of Jesus Christ.
President Nelson also taught:
“Latter-day Saints, as with other followers of Jesus Christ, are always looking for ways to help, to lift, and to love others. They who are willing to be called the Lord’s people ‘are willing to bear one another’s burdens, … to mourn with those that mourn; … and [to] comfort those that stand in need of comfort’ [Mosiah 18:8–9].
“They truly seek to live the first and second great commandments. When we love God with all our hearts, He turns our hearts to the well-being of others in a beautiful, virtuous cycle.”
Helping me bear my burdens was exactly what my fellow disciples in my ward did for me and what they continue to do for one another. I sincerely love those in my ward! We get together often, we support each other, and we minister to one another. When someone needs a job, we help each other look for opportunities. When new people visit our Sunday meetings, we welcome them and try to make them feel included.
Good friends have helped me grow strong in the gospel, and together, we are strong against the trials and temptations of life.
And just as good friends supported me when I needed it most, I now have the opportunity to be that friend to others. At times when I’ve noticed people I love are struggling or have been distancing themselves from the Church, I do what I can to keep supporting and inviting them—to remind them that the Lord loves them and is waiting for them to return to the covenant path.
I know I wouldn’t be where I am today without my wonderful friends and ward members who helped me have the courage to stay faithful when I was feeling so much grief.

On February 29, 1828, a baby girl was born in Petersham, Massachusetts. She was the seventh child of David and Diadama Woodward. Named Emmeline, the child soon showed a talent for writing and a desire to learn, so her parents enrolled her in grammar school. Even after Emmeline’s father died, her mother made sure that Emmeline attended school. Later Diadama remarried, and the family moved to nearby New Salem. This move benefited Emmeline greatly. There her mother was able to raise the money needed for tuition to send Emmeline to a good private school, the New Salem Academy.
While Emmeline was away at school, an elder from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints came to New Salem and converted several people. Among them were Emmeline’s mother, her two younger sisters, and a half brother. When Emmeline returned home from school, her mother encouraged her to join the Church too. Despite the objections of Emmeline’s friends and her older brothers and sisters, she was baptized in the Old Morse Creek on March 1, 1842.

My family lived in São Paulo, Brazil. On the other side of our street, there was a forest of mangrove trees. Mangrove forests have rivers crossing through the trees. The ground is very muddy.
Many people built houses on that muddy ground. They put huge logs in the mud. Then they built their house on top of them. But when it rained, the river overflowed. The water got into their houses. Then the people had nowhere to sleep at night.
When that happened, my father would invite all of them into our home. Sometimes there were as many as 15 people! He brought them into our living room and gave them blankets. Mom made them something to eat. Then they slept in our house until the next day.
This happened at least three or four times. I remember thinking, “Not very many people would take strangers in.” My father was letting people we barely knew sleep in our house! But then I thought, “They have nowhere else to go.”
My parents always did things to help people. But their service was more than just helping and giving. It was showing love to our neighbor, even when our neighbor was somebody we didn’t know well.

“Nai Nai’s on the phone!” Mom’s called out. Tom leaped from the couch and ran to find Mom. He took the phone from Mom’s outstretched hand and cradled it against his ear.
“Wei? Hello?” Tom said, a large grin on his face.
Nai Nai was Tom’s grandmother who lived overseas with Tom’s grandfather, Ye Ye. Tom loved getting calls from them, even though he didn’t speak Chinese very well.
“Tom! We miss you,” Nai Nai said in Chinese.
“I miss you too!” Tom said. “Are you OK?”
“Yes! We are OK,” Nai Nai answered.
Tom didn’t know how to ask about the thing he was worrying about. He wondered how to say “coronavirus” in Chinese. Tom had heard all about the coronavirus on the news. He knew that many people all over the world were sick and that most countries were asking people to stay home to keep the virus from spreading.
“Nai Nai, are you sick?” Tom asked. He hoped Nai Nai would understand. He has spent a lot of time worrying about his grandparents.
“No!” she answered. “Hen hao! Very well!”
Tom smiled and breathed a huge sigh of relief. After a few minutes of chatting with Nai Nai, he passed the phone back to Mom. Soon Tom heard Mom say, “Hao, zai jian! Goodbye!”
After Mom hung up the phone, she turned to look at Tom. “Nai Nai says the stores where she lives have already run out of face masks. She asked if I could check the store here to see if there are any masks left. If we find any, we’ll send them to Nai Nai and Ye Ye.”
“Can I come too? I want to help!” Tom ran and put his shoes on. He couldn’t be with Ye Ye and Nai Nai right now, but he could at least do something small to help!
At the store, Mom pushed the shopping cart toward the pharmacy. They were very careful not to touch anything they weren’t buying and to not get too close to other shoppers. When they reached the pharmacy, Mom found the right shelf. There weren’t very many masks left. Mom put one box of masks in her cart. Tom spotted a bottle of green hand sanitizer and showed it to Mom.
“What about this? They could use it to help keep their hands clean!”
“Great idea,” Mom agreed. Tom set it in the cart.
Later, at the post office, Mom chose a red mailing box with spring blossoms. Tom helped put in the masks, the hand sanitizer, and a few packages of cookies. Mom closed the box with tape and brought it to the counter to buy postage.
Tom watched the mail worker take the package and get it ready to ship far away to Nai Nai and Ye Ye. Tom was still worried about his grandparents, but doing something to help made him feel a little better already.
“I’m glad we were able to help Ye Ye and Nai Nai somehow,” Tom said. “I really hope they don’t get sick.”
“Me too,” Mom agreed.
Tom thought about how happy his grandparents would be when they got the package. “They might even be able to share the masks with their friends,” Tom said.
“That’s right! Even when scary things happen, there is always a way we can help.”
As Tom left the post office with Mom, he felt warm all over. He knew that helping others was what Heavenly Father wanted him to do.