Gospel Story Finder

My grandmother and I went to a pizza place to get a pizza for us and my brother and my grandfather. There was a candy machine there, so I asked for a quarter so I could get some candy.
My grandmother said no. We went to fill the car with gas on the way home, and I saw a quarter in her car. I took it and put it in my pocket. Then I had a bad feeling, so I put it back. I had promised to choose the right when I was baptized, and I’m glad I did.
Crystal Moffat, age 8Fresno, California

Matthew is a very good example of Christlike love. He is very loving to his family, and he is a good example to the teachers and other students in his kindergarten class. His teacher says that he has no enemies, and he sticks up for others if he thinks that they are unfairly treated. He isn’t afraid to stand up for the right. Last year when terrorists attacked, Matthew raised his hand and said, “We need to remember that they have babies, too. Just because some of them do something bad to us doesn’t mean that we need to do something bad back.”

Until I joined the Church, I had never seriously disappointed my family. When I joined, I knew they felt betrayed, and I felt horrible for hurting them so much. I continued in the Church because I knew in my heart that it was what the Lord wanted for me—and for them.
I was not living close to home at the time. Whenever I visited, I was met with accusations and insults. The situation worsened when I decided to serve a mission. My grandmother had tears in her eyes when she said, “Annie girl, if you serve this mission, you will break my heart.” I told her that a mission was something I had been prompted to do, and if I didn’t serve, I would be disobeying Heavenly Father.
While I prepared for my mission I found comfort and strength within my ward family. They did an amazing job of helping me adjust to the lifestyle changes that come with being a Church member, and they gave me support in coping with the opposition of my family. I found it easier to persevere despite the frustrations by immersing myself in the Church through callings, activities, and going on exchanges with the missionaries. Also, I lived close to Palmyra, New York, so I often found myself sitting in the Sacred Grove, pondering my situation and seeking peace.
Although I had support from my ward, I still felt frustrated and misunderstood by my family. Everything they knew about the Church they had learned from outside sources, and they would not accept anything I told them. I tried to discuss the gospel with them and correct their misconceptions, but I never seemed to succeed in reaching common ground. The gap separating me from my loved ones was widening, and I did not know how to narrow it. By the time I left on my mission to Virginia, I had almost lost hope that my family would ever show interest in the Church.
Through my letters home, I continued my efforts to share the gospel. I remember inviting my father to meet with the missionaries. He said frankly that he was not interested. Reading his response was one of the hardest experiences of my mission, but it gave me a greater drive to work hard and share the gospel with anyone willing to listen. I came to realize that everyone is someone’s family member and that by helping one person I might be answering someone else’s prayers. I strive to continue in my efforts in sharing the gospel, even though I am no longer a full-time missionary.
When Elder Henry B. Eyring of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles got up to speak at the April 2005 general conference, I felt a strong impression that I needed to pay close attention to what he was about to say. He started his talk with these words: “My message is to those who are converts to the Church. … You are not the exception in the Church. To you I wish to say how much the Lord loves you and trusts you. And even more, I wish to tell you how much He depends on you.”1
He spoke of how converts should never stop trying to share the gospel with their families. He then explained that another important aspect of missionary work within the family is temple work.
Elder Eyring’s words inspired me to make goals about temple attendance and family history work. I have found much fulfillment in taking family names to the temple and have received some amazing, unexpected blessings in the process. It has greatly increased my connection with those on the other side of the veil. I have seen miracles as I’ve tried to find their names, and I have felt their presence while performing their ordinances.
Another blessing came when I saw my grandmother for the first time after my mission. She gave me a list of names to take to the temple. She also talked about how she wanted to read the “Mormon book” because she remembered her father reading it. She now calls me every week to talk about what she has learned from the Book of Mormon.
Prior to leaving on my mission, I had felt an impression that my grandmother’s husband—who died in 1996, before I joined the Church—was striving to help soften her heart. While I was in the Missionary Training Center, the elders in my district did his temple work. Sitting in the celestial room, I was overwhelmed with the idea of my entire family being there together. I like to think that my grandfather is doing all he can to help our family accept the gospel.
My mom came to pick me up from my mission, and it happened to be October general conference weekend. She watched three of the conference sessions with me and enjoyed them so much that she asked for them on DVD for Christmas. To me, this was a miracle to let me know that I need not lose hope.
At the present time, no one in my family has shown much interest in joining the Church, but I feel it will happen one day—whether in this life or the next. Our relationship has improved so greatly that I know it was not through my own efforts but through the workings of the Spirit. Heavenly Father blesses us with miracles and the righteous desires of our hearts when we are striving to do His will. I have felt His strength and support to move forward, and I know that I will never be alone in His true Church.
Find comfort and strength in your ward or branch family.
Seek peace and direction through prayer.
Share the gospel with others. Remember that everyone has a family, and you may be the answer to someone else’s prayer.
Participate in family history and temple work.
Never give up hope that your family may some day accept the gospel.

I looked around the chapel for the people whose names had just been read by the bishop as he welcomed a new family into the ward. I resolved to introduce myself and get acquainted right after sacrament meeting.
I thought about Sister Shaw’s parting testimony at an earlier sacrament meeting. “This is my last Sunday here,” she had said. “Before I leave I feel impressed to share an experience with you.”
Sandy Shaw had lived in our ward during the past year while her husband attended school. I’m not sure when I first noticed her, but she seemed to have a special friendship with Neva Gillman, the Spiritual Living teacher in our ward.
I thought about the story Sister Shaw told.
“I felt loved and secure in my home ward,” she had said. “I had lived there all my life. When my husband and I moved here, I was terrified to attend a strange ward, and didn’t want to go for several weeks. But soon I felt a great emptiness in my life and vowed to attend the next meeting.
“I entered the church with great fear. As people went to their classes, I hoped someone would introduce himself or herself and show me the way to go. I knew I should say something to someone, but my tongue wouldn’t work. People walked by, visiting with their friends. Some even smiled at me. It wasn’t long until the doors were closed and the halls were empty. Crying in despair, I turned and left.
“That night I turned to the one person I knew I could count on: Father in Heaven. ‘Dear Father,’ I pleaded. ‘I have always been active, but I’m afraid to go to a strange ward. I can’t do it alone.’
“The next morning I opened my door to a nervous stranger who said, ‘Hello. My name is Neva Gillman. I really don’t know why I’m here, but I had the strongest impression to come by and ask if you would like to come to Relief Society with me.’
“Smiling through my tears, I invited her in.”
Sister Shaw’s testimony had made me take a good look at myself. How many times had I seen new people come to church, and, because I didn’t know what to say, walked by them or smiled and said only “hello”?
Never again!

I didn’t know which was louder—my footsteps in the big, silent house, or my pounding heart. I hurried through the darkness and down the stairs to my parents’ room. I tried to step softly so the stairs wouldn’t creak.
Our hundred-year-old house often creaked and popped at night. Dad said it was the sounds of the old wood and adobe settling as the night cooled down. But it still sounded scary.
Dad was out of town for work, and I felt bad waking Mom up, but I had to talk to her. I stood in the doorway. The moonlight shone through Mom’s white curtains. I felt a little less frightened already.
“Mom?” I called softly.
She turned over. “What’s the matter?”
“I had a bad dream again.”
“Oh no. Come snuggle with me, OK?”
Relieved, I climbed into the big bed. The sheets felt cool and soft. Mom hugged me tightly. “Do you want to tell me about it?”
“It was the dream with the giant shark.”
“You’ve had that dream before,” Mom said. I nodded and tucked my head under Mom’s chin. “Well, you’re safe, sweetheart. Sleep here with me until morning. After school tomorrow, we can talk some more.”
All day I wondered what Mom would say after school about my scary dreams. The shark dream wasn’t the only one. Sometimes I dreamed about a prickly monster. One night I even dreamed that my family was in a car accident.
My dreams really bothered me. Sometimes I screamed and cried in the night. I even felt afraid to fall asleep.
After school, I sat down with Mom. “Are you still thinking about the giant shark?” Mom asked.
I nodded.
“What do you think you’re going to do about those scary dreams?”
“Mom, they’re dreams. I didn’t make them start. I don’t think I can make them stop.”
“Probably not by yourself,” Mom said. “But there’s someone I ask for help when I have a problem I can’t solve by myself.”
“You mean Heavenly Father!” I said.
“Right! You can ask Heavenly Father to help you sleep well at night, with no bad dreams.”
“In my prayers before bed?”
“Then, and any other time you’re thinking about it. I know He will listen to you and help you.”
“How do you know?” I asked.
“I ask Heavenly Father about problems a lot, and He helps me. Just this morning I asked Him what to do about your scary dreams.”
“Did He help you?”
“Yes. I had the idea that you should pray about your dreams, and when that idea came to my mind, I felt the Holy Ghost telling me it was a good thing to do.”
“How did it feel?”
“I felt warm and happy, and I felt sure everything would be OK,” Mom said. “Do you know what I mean?”
“I think so,” I said. And then I noticed that I felt warm and happy inside. “Mom, that’s how I feel right now!” I said.
“That’s the Holy Ghost telling you that what you’re learning is right,” Mom said.
That night, and every night for a long time afterward, I prayed that I could sleep well with no bad dreams. My bad dreams didn’t come back. Heavenly Father answered my prayer.

Here is a story about my friend Mariam who woke up one morning feeling all tingly and excited, but she didn’t know why. Then she remembered. It was the day of the Easter fete.
She jumped off the straw mattress, put on her school dress and thongs, helped her mother carry firewood to the three stones where they cooked, and tidied up the case (adobe house with a thatched roof). Then she rolled up her pagne (colorful cloth wraparound skirt), tucked it under her arm, reminded her mother to come for them at two thirty, and walked to school with her brother Hervé.
Finally they arrived at school. “There’s Zié and Eric and Souleymane and Loukou,” said Hervé.
At last it was time for the mothers and fathers to come. When they were all sitting and waiting, they heard singing and the schoolchildren came marching in. Then they sang another song, did their drill, and marched away still singing.
After that the dancers came on the stage. They sang an African song which went like this:
Belé belé, bedio, belé belé.
Belé belé, bedio. …
This was the dance that Mariam was in. The girls brought their pagnes for costumes to dance in.
After this skits were performed by the other grades. The skit Hervé liked best was “The Teacher and His Students.” It was very funny because the teacher was smaller than his five boy students.
After the fete was over everyone talked and had something to drink and then went home. As Mariam and Hervé walked home, they talked about what a good day it had been.

My youngest daughter and her husband spent several years earnestly seeking the best medical direction and the latest scientific assistance to have a baby. They fasted, they prayed, they hoped.
At last the long-desired result was achieved, and she is expecting their first child. Recently, the doctor scheduled an intensive examination to determine the soundness of the pregnancy. My daughter approached the exam with much anxiety. As the appointed day drew near, she found that her husband could not accompany her, and she asked if I would go with her. She said, “Mom, after all we’ve been through, if anything is wrong, I am going to need someone with me.”
I was delighted to get a preview peek at someone I am going to love and treasure through eternity. I wanted to reassure her that everything was all right, but in my heart I too worried.
After the doctor reviewed the technician’s video, he came in to discuss the findings with us. His first words were, “I wish every baby could look this perfect!” I could hardly contain myself. As we got to our car, I could not hold back my feelings any longer and I began to cry. So many feelings just came spilling out. I wept, wishing every expectant mother could hear those words. I cried for every woman who wanted to have a baby but couldn’t. Tears flowed for all the women who want children but have not found a husband. Finally, I shed tears of gratitude with an overwhelming desire that our family will provide a home worthy of this baby.

I am an 18-year-old exchange student in Mexico, and I really have to thank you for the New Era. I always get it on time—in more ways than one, come to think of it, because it always answers a current problem or doubt.
Practically everything in the September issue held a special meaning for me. The Mormonad inspired me to share the gospel with some friends, especially some other exchange students who were starved for English reading material. Soon my New Era began making the rounds, closely followed by tracts and visits to the local LDS chapel.
Needless to say, October’s missionary issue really came in handy. One special friend has continued attending Church with me regularly and taken the missionary discussions.
November’s article “Self Denial” was extremely appropriate since it was a big temptation to spend Sunday afternoons going to parties or picnics with my friends instead of going to Church.
December’s issue taught me with new clarity what living the gospel means. It’s not something to be thought of once a year but an integral part of our lives. That issue really helped me through the Christmas season. I’ve thanked Heavenly Father hundreds of times for the New Era and my mother for the subscription she was inspired to send me here in Mexico.
Edna F. GuzmanSaltillo, Coahuila, Mexico

Gracie smiled as she closed her science book and slid it into her backpack. Having her homework done meant she could read the next chapter of her Nellie Clue mystery! She grabbed her book and plopped onto her bed. She couldn’t wait to read what happened next.
Wait, Gracie thought. I need to read a few pages of the Book of Mormon first.
For her baptism, her grandparents had given Gracie her own set of scriptures. Her goal was to read the whole Book of Mormon before her next birthday, and that was only a few months away. Nellie Clue would have to wait.
Gracie said a prayer and opened her scriptures. She liked reading, but the chapters in the Book of Mormon took her a bit longer than the chapters in her Nellie Clue books. Gracie frowned as she flipped through all the pages she hadn’t read yet. Would she ever be able to finish?
It was hard to read the scriptures by herself. Mom and Dad helped her sometimes. But Dad worked long hours at the hospital, and Mom was usually busy with the younger kids.
Gracie had only read a few verses when Mom called from the other room. “Gracie! The phone’s for you!”
“Coming!” Gracie said as she ran down the hall. Mom was helping her little brother into his pajamas as she passed Gracie the phone. “Hello?”
“Hi, Gracie girl,” said a familiar voice.
“Grandma!” Gracie loved it when Grandma called. Even though Grandma lived far away, talking to her always made her feel close.
Gracie told Grandma about her last soccer game and the songs she was learning on the piano. Then she told her how frustrated she felt about her Book of Mormon goal. “I’m trying so hard,” Gracie said. “But I don’t think I can do it.”
Grandma was quiet. Then she said, “I have an idea. What if we read together on the phone?”
“I would love that!” Gracie said.
“Me too,” Grandma said. “I’d love to read with you.”
Grandma helped Gracie plan out the number of pages they would read each day. Then every night after dinner, Gracie called Grandma and read out loud to her. New words and chapters that were hard for Gracie to understand made more sense when she talked with Grandma. As the weeks passed, their calls got longer as they shared what they were learning and feeling. Sometimes, Grandma and Gracie even ended up reading more pages from the Book of Mormon than they planned to.
A week before Gracie’s birthday, they finished the very last chapter. A warm, grateful feeling filled Gracie’s heart. “Thanks for reading with me, Grandma,” she said.
“Thanks for letting me read along. I’ve learned so much from you.”
On Gracie’s birthday, Mom made a special cake. It was covered in candles and had a Book of Mormon made out of frosting! But the best part of the day was opening presents. Gracie reached for the package Grandma sent in the mail, pulled open the box, and ripped off the tissue paper. It was a picture of the temple to hang on her wall. Gracie smiled as she read what Grandma had written on the card: “This is to help remind you of the other important goals in your life. I love you, Gracie girl.”
Gracie hugged her picture of the temple close. She knew that setting goals and trying hard was helping her become more like Jesus. And with people like Grandma to help her, there was so much she could do.

Sometime after our mission, we felt prompted by the Spirit to leave our home in Minnesota and to move to Utah. There, I started a new business with two of my friends. We decided to buy some land to develop into lots for homes that we could sell. It had been an excellent real estate market. We were quite happy with how the business was going. But it was short lived. The great recession came. Land values crashed. We were in debt and I had no good way to resolve the situation except to go back to my old field of consulting. It was not a good time as the whole economy was in deep trouble.
I was not sure what to do. But I had learned in my life that I could turn to my Heavenly Father for guidance, no matter what the situation might be. Not long after, an opportunity came to me to move to Abu Dhabi in the Middle East. I did not want to move there, but it seemed that it was the only way out of my current difficulties. We took the opportunity and left Utah. Just before departing, I was called to be an Area Seventy in the Middle East. Once again, though I did not understand at first, I was grateful to have kept trusting the Lord—to let Him prevail in our lives.

I once had a visit from a young Catholic priest. I asked him why he had come, and he replied, “I came to see you.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Well,” he said, “I have been searching for certain concepts that I have not been able to find. But I think I am finding them now in the Mormon community.”
That led to a half-hour conversation. I told him, “Father, when your heart begins to tell you things that your mind does not, then you are getting the Spirit of the Lord.”
He smiled and said, “I think that’s happening to me already.”
“Then don’t wait too long,” I said to him.
A few weeks later I received a telephone call from him. He said, “Next Saturday I am going to be baptized a member of the Church, because my heart has told me things my mind did not know.”

I would like to tell you children of the Church to be worthy to receive miracles in your lives. Every day I remember a miracle that came to my family in 1973.
My wife, Mary, and I and our two daughters were living in Colombia, South America. We had joined the Church in 1968. There were no temples in South America then, but we wanted to be sealed in the temple. We could not afford to buy airline tickets to go to one, so a friend of mine asked the owner of a travel agency to give us a five percent discount on our airfare. The travel agency owner was not a member of the Church and was not even a religious person, but when he found out why we needed the tickets, he gave us a pass that could be used to go to any city in the United States. Mary and I were able to be sealed in the Salt Lake Temple. The following year, our daughters, Maritza and Liana, were sealed to us.

From the time she was a young teen, Emilie struggled with substance abuse. Experimentation led to habit, and habit eventually hardened into an addiction that held her captive for years, notwithstanding occasional periods of wellness. Emilie carefully concealed her problem, especially after she became a wife and mother.

The beginning of her deliverance did not feel like deliverance at all. One minute, Emilie was undergoing a routine medical exam, and the next, she was being driven by ambulance to an inpatient treatment facility. She began to panic as she thought of being separated from her children, her husband, her home.

That night, alone in a cold, dark room, Emilie curled up on her bed and sobbed. Her ability to reason diminished until finally, overcome with anxiety, fear, and the oppressive darkness in that room and in her soul, Emilie actually thought she would die that night. Alone.

In that desperate condition, Emilie somehow summoned the strength to roll off the bed and onto her knees. Without any posturing that had sometimes been part of previous prayers, Emilie completely surrendered herself to the Lord as she desperately pleaded, “Dear God, I need You. Please help me. I don’t want to be alone. Please get me through this night.”

And immediately, as He had done with Peter of old, Jesus stretched forth His hand and caught her sinking soul.11 There came over Emilie a wondrous calm, courage, assurance, and love. The room was no longer cold, she knew she was not alone, and for the first time since she was 14 years old, Emilie knew everything would be all right. As she “awoke unto God,”12 Emilie fell asleep in peace. And thus we see that “if ye will repent and harden not your hearts, immediately shall the great plan of redemption be brought about unto you.”13

Emilie’s healing and ultimate deliverance took a long time—months of treatment, training, and counseling, during which she was sustained and sometimes carried by His goodness. And that goodness continued with her as she entered the temple with her husband and children to be sealed together forever. Like the people of Zarahemla, Emilie now gives thanks as she reflects on the immediate goodness of God and His power in delivering her from bondage.

He told us about Edward Ashton, a grandfather several generations back. Edward grew up in England, where the missionaries taught his family the gospel. His father then wanted to move the family to America, so they sailed across the Atlantic to New Orleans. A few years later they moved to Iowa. When Edward grew to be an adult, he trekked to Utah as a member of the Willie and Martin handcart companies. Like the other pioneers in that group, he endured snowstorms and near-starvation on his way to the Salt Lake Valley, but he pressed on in spite of it. Once he got to Utah, he became a missionary himself.

As my future wife and I prepared for marriage, we began looking for wedding rings that would symbolize our union. None we looked at seemed right until we decided to wear CTR rings. These rings, we believed, would remind us always to choose the right and to raise our family in righteousness.
One day, shortly before our marriage, I noticed my ring had lost its luster. I asked several people what to do and was told to polish it with substances like toothpaste, fine cotton, and grease. I tried them all. Nothing worked. I finally gave up, even though the lost luster bothered me.
After we were married, life seemed to get more complicated. I became so busy with work and Church callings that my wife was left alone to do much of the work at home. Gradually, the joyful feeling in our home ebbed away. Unsure of the reason for the change or of how to resolve our concerns, we prayed for guidance.
In time, our first son was born. My wife spent a great deal of time caring for our son. I was grateful for all she was doing and decided that I would make hand washing the diapers my task.
Several weeks after I began washing the diapers, I was surprised to see that my wedding ring had regained its luster. It occurred to me that washing diapers every day had done what none of the recommended polishing techniques could do.
It also occurred to me that since I had been so busy with duties outside my home, I had failed to fulfill my most important duties as a husband and father. Like my ring, our marriage had lost its luster. But once I chose the right—as my ring suggested—and made my family my top priority, both began to shine once more.

Dear Mom, Jane wrote.
She paused and tapped her pen against the table. She looked at the fridge, where the newest picture of her and Mom hung. They both had the same chin, the same dark hair, and the same wide smile.
What could she say? Jane wanted to sound happy and strong for Mom, but nothing came to mind. Her heart hurt so much that it was hard to write anything at all.
Jane, Dad, and her siblings had come back from visiting Mom two weeks ago. Mom was in prison, and they had to drive for almost a whole day to see her. Because of the long drive, they didn’t get to see her very often. Mom had been in prison for over a year, and they had only seen her twice.
This time, when Jane had visited, Mom had suggested that they become pen pals. But Jane didn’t want to be pen pals. She just wanted Mom to come home.
Mom’s first letter to Jane had arrived yesterday, written in neat pencil. At the bottom, she had drawn a picture of the two of them having a party together when she got home.
Jane wrote a few lines, then scrunched up the paper. She put her head on the table and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to hold back tears.
Dad came in with the groceries. “Jane, are you OK?”
Jane shrugged.
Dad sat down and put his arms around her. Jane leaned into his chest.
“How much longer?” she asked.
“Until what?”
“How much longer until Mom can come home?”
Dad was quiet for a long time. Then he said, “It’ll probably be at least three more years, Jane.”
Jane thought her heart would explode. Three years! The last year had been so long and hard. How could she live for three more years without Mom?
“Every single day, I wish your mom was here,” Dad said. “It’s really hard with her gone, isn’t it?”
Jane nodded.
“It’s OK to feel sad,” Dad said. “Sometimes it helps me to remind myself of what I’m grateful for.”
Jane sniffed a little. “Like what?”
Dad smiled. “Like how we get to call Mom every week. And we’re able to send her supplies she needs—and letters.” Dad patted the paper pad on the table. “And … ?”
“And …” Jane thought about it. “I have lots of teachers and friends I can talk to. And Ashley’s mom took me to a Mother’s Day activity. And I’ve been learning to be a better friend and help others.”
“Yes, you have,” Dad said. “How about if we say a prayer, and then you can keep thinking about what you want to write?”
Jane folded her arms. She thanked Heavenly Father that she had been able to see Mom and that they had driven home safely. Then she asked Him to help her know what to write.
She sat at the table, thinking and thinking. Then she started writing something she didn’t expect: a list of things she was grateful for. She listed all the things she had talked about with Dad, plus a few more, like her siblings and her neighborhood.
When she finished, Jane drew a picture of herself and Mom playing board games together. Her heart still hurt a little, but she had one thing to look forward to—for the next three years, she would be the best pen pal ever!

In a western city a young man had been preparing for 18 years to go on a mission. He was excited, his parents were excited, his girlfriend was also, and he was ready.

One evening at the city swimming pool, he and some friends were diving from the highboard. The second he hit the water, he knew his approach angle had not been good. He was in trouble. His head pierced the water and struck the bottom of the pool with a sickening thud. He was immediately knocked unconscious. He was brought carefully to the poolside and then rushed to the hospital. After weeks of medical attention, he was finally told that he would be paralyzed for the rest of his life from his neck down. He couldn’t move a finger or a toe, an arm or a leg. He would now lie in bed forever. His body would become a useless thing, and unless something unusual happened, so would his spirit.

A wise bishop recognized the problem. After talking with the boy’s parents and the doctor, the bishop gave him an assignment. It was unbelievable, unreal, impossible! The assignment: would he please write a letter each month to every missionary and serviceman from their ward? Was the bishop just not thinking or was he inspired? How could the boy write with no hands or fingers to assist? Some had learned to use their toes in such an emergency, but he couldn’t move his. Having faith in their bishop, the boy and his parents started to work on the assignment. It took days, weeks, and months of effort and discouragement. In time, it began to happen.

By putting a pencil between his teeth and moving his head, he learned to make a mark, then a word, next a sentence, and finally a page. He wrote and wrote.

For over 20 years he has been writing beautiful letters. He has inspired thousands. The side benefit is that his own spirit, simply stated, is magnificent. Is it worth the effort to follow our leaders’ counsel no matter how hard or how difficult? He thinks so. So do I.

The example of a faithful pioneer sister illustrates this truth. Mary Lois Walker was married at age 17 to John T. Morris in St. Louis, Missouri. They crossed the plains with the Saints in 1853, entering the Salt Lake Valley shortly after their first anniversary. On their journey they had suffered the privations typical of other Saints. But their sufferings and adversity did not end when they reached the Salt Lake Valley. The following year Mary, then 19, wrote: “A son was born to us. … One evening when he was two or three months old … something whispered to me, ‘You will lose that little one.’”
During the winter the baby’s health declined. “We did all we could, … but the baby grew steadily worse. … On the second of February he passed away … and so I drank the bitter cup of parting from my own flesh and blood.” But her trials were still not over. Mary’s husband was also stricken, and three weeks after losing her baby, he died.
Mary wrote: “So was I, while yet in my teens, bereft in the short period of 20 days, of my husband and my only child, in a strange land hundreds of miles from my blood kin and with a mountain of difficulty before me … and I wished that I too, might die and join my loved one[s].”
Mary continues: “One Sunday evening I was taking a walk with my friend. … I was reminded of [my husband’s] absence and my intense loneliness, and as I wept bitterly I could see, as it were in mental vision, the steep hill of life I should have to climb and felt the reality of it with great force. A deep depression settled upon me, for the enemy knows when to attack us, but our [Savior, Jesus Christ,] is mighty to save. Through … the help given of the Father, I was able to battle with all the force which seemed to be arrayed against me at this time.”
Mary learned at the tender age of 19 that the Atonement gives us the assurance that all things that are unfair in this life can and will be made right—even the deepest sorrows.

My companion’s shoes had worn out, and as a result of our street contacting, his foot had developed many blisters. One day we had to return to the house early for lunch to change his shoes. When we left our house after lunch that day, I expected that we would walk to an area nearby because of his blistered foot. But instead my companion felt impressed to tract in a distant area.

As we were walking along a riverbank, a woman and several children ran toward us. The woman screamed, “Please help! My child is drowning!” He had fallen into the river, and they were not able to find him because the water was so muddy. We watched the river for a few minutes and finally saw something floating on the water. My companion dived into the dirty water and was able to catch the child and pull him out. The child’s lips had lost their color, he wasn’t breathing, and he appeared dead.

Our attempts to revive him had no effect. When at last the paramedics arrived and tried resuscitating him, the child finally threw up some water and started breathing again. By then many people surrounded us, and when they saw him breathing, they were moved to tears.

This experience was a great lesson for me. The Lord taught me that missionaries do for people’s spirits the same thing my companion had done for this boy physically. It was our calling to save people spiritually.

Such cruelty is a mystery to Adjoa. Her own heart is tender toward all suffering or sadness. She was already comforting those who stood in need of comfort before she ever made baptismal covenants. And if she can’t help someone personally, she fasts and prays for him. When her younger brother, Dominic, who had been living with her aunt and uncle, was taken to live with his grandmother in London, Adjoa was worried about him. She fasted and prayed for him and was comforted.

Adjoa dreams of being a wife and mother someday, but she is also preparing herself to be a businesswoman until that day comes. Whatever happens, she won’t forget the real reason she came to earth. “Heavenly Father sent us here to get a body and be tested and then return to Him. He gave us a Savior who died on the cross to save us from our sins. I love Jesus. I love Heavenly Father.”

One of Ghana’s most important crops is cacao, from which yummy chocolate is made. But Ghana’s future depends on something sweeter than chocolate. It rests with children like Adjoa whose love and goodness will call down the powers of heaven on behalf of their people.

Note: Since this story was written, Adjoa has been reunited with her parents and three brothers.