Gospel Story Finder

One night as I was watching the news, something caught my attention. I recognized the reporter as a college classmate. She had achieved her dream of being a newscaster!
“What about me?” I asked myself. “What have I achieved?” I looked at the baby asleep in my arms and thought about the events of the past three years.
I had always thought I would have a career, but when my husband, Charles, and I had our first daughter, Chevy, my priorities changed. I quit my job to care for her. We had faith in Jesus Christ that as long as we paid our tithing and obeyed the commandments, everything would be OK.
Things were going smoothly until, one day, Charles was laid off from his job. We had faith we’d be all right, but we knew we needed to act. We decided I should get a job too, so Charles and I started job hunting. After a few weeks, I was hired at a call center. I hated leaving my nine-month-old with a babysitter every day, but it was our best solution.
Just a month into my job, I found out I was expecting. Fortunately, Charles soon found a job. It didn’t pay much, but it would help. For a while we felt relieved.
My pregnancy became very difficult, and I had to quit my job. At my monthly checkup, we were shocked to discover I was having twins. Charles and I were scared, but we trusted Heavenly Father.
About three and a half months into my pregnancy, I woke up bleeding. I thought I was having a miscarriage, so I went to the hospital. The babies were OK, but the doctor put me on bed rest for the rest of the pregnancy.
Things were becoming so complicated. The hospital bills left our bank account empty, and Charles’s meager income was not enough to provide for our needs. I felt worthless. I could not help earn income or take care of Chevy. I sometimes forgot that I was carrying two special spirit children. I pleaded every day and night with my Heavenly Father for relief. I was terrified of what else could go wrong. But one thought kept returning to my mind: Heavenly Father lives and He knows our needs.
Charles was struggling too, but he stayed strong. He assisted me and cared for Chevy on top of his job. His priesthood blessings comforted me, and his love strengthened me. We were scared, but we faced this new test together.
I did my best to accept the situation. Instead of moping around, I read the scriptures, Church magazines, and good books. I sang hymns too—“How Firm a Foundation” (Hymns, no. 85) in particular made a huge difference. I came closer to my Savior. I realized how much I did have to be thankful for despite our circumstances.
As days went by, we felt God’s hand work in our lives. Big and little miracles popped up everywhere. Our families and friends paid for some of our expenses. I felt their love and concern for our family. The Relief Society presidency assigned one or two sisters to visit me each day. They brought groceries, cooked and cleaned, took care of Chevy, shared spiritual thoughts, and cheered me up. They prayed for my recovery and the continued safety of the twins. We never went hungry. These sisters didn’t know how much their service helped me carry my burden. When the time came, Heavenly Father made my delivery very easy, and both girls were healthy.
Years have passed since that challenging time in our lives, but there hasn’t been a day when we haven’t felt God’s love. Our financial situation is much better now, and our children are growing up to be smart and talented. We are stronger and better prepared for future challenges because we know that Heavenly Father blesses His children in His own time and will never leave them helpless or comfortless. Life is not an easy journey, but God will always be with us and guide us.

His first months in the Scottish conference, where he was assigned, were not easy, as they are not for many missionaries. He describes this discouraging time and its resultant renewal of his commitment to the Lord in these words:
“I was homesick and a little discouraged on this day. A Scottish woman had said, when I gave her a tract, ‘Better gae to your home, ya canna have any o’oor lassies!’
“I did not want any of their lassies. I had left a sweet one at home. But it made me discouraged to think of the ill will which they had towards the Mormons. What misconceived notions they had of our purpose among them!
“I had just left school. I loved school and I loved young people. I loved youth. And then to go over there and feel that antipathy and prejudice gave me the blues.
“I was with Peter G. Johnston, one of the truest friends in all the world. He was from Idaho, an experienced, wealthy man, a lover of all things beautiful. I was fortunate to have his companionship. …
“As we were coming back into town, I saw on my right an unfinished dwelling, over the front door of which was a stone on which there was a carving. That was most unusual, so I said to Elder Johnston, ‘I’m going to see what that is.’ I was half way up the graveled walk when there came to my eyesight a striking motto as follows, carved in stone: ‘Whate’er Thou Art, Act Well Thy Part.’
“I repeated it to Elder Johnston as we walked in to town to find a place for our lodgings before we began our work. We walked quietly, but I said to myself, or the Spirit within me, ‘You are a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. More than that, you are here as a representative of the Lord Jesus Christ. You accepted the responsibility as a representative of the Church.’
“Then I thought what we had done that forenoon. We had been sightseeing; we had gained historical instruction and information, it is true, and I was thrilled with it, for we had just finished studying the ‘Lady of the Lake’ at the university. However, that was not missionary work.
“That afternoon, by the time we found our lodgings, I accepted the message given to me on that stone, and from that moment we tried to do our part as missionaries in Scotland.”

One day when I was 17 years old, I was washing the family car in anticipation of going on a date that evening. My father came out of the house to observe what I was doing. He criticized me to the extent that I felt as if I was doing nothing right. Finally I said something like, “Dad, get off my case. Don’t you understand this is the first time I have ever been a teenager?” He looked at me and said, “Pal, don’t you know this is the first time I have ever been a father?” I grew wiser that day because I realized we all are learning together within a family. We cannot expect our parents to be perfect any more than we can expect ourselves to be perfect.

One hot summer day, Reesey and Cheyenne invited Zara over to play. Mum made a snack. The girls sat at the table to eat.
Mum sliced mangoes from their mango tree. She put apple slices and grapes on a plate. Reesey looked at the delicious food. She remembered to say a prayer before eating her snack. She asked Zara, “Do you pray at your house?”
“What’s that?” Zara asked.
“Like this,” said Cheyenne. She folded her arms and bowed her head. She asked a blessing on the food. When she was done, she said, “See? Like that. Easy!”
“We don’t do that at our house. We just eat,” said Zara.
Reesey had never thought about not praying. “Mum,” she said, “can we stop saying prayers?”
Mum smiled as she carried cups of ice water to the table. “We like thanking Heavenly Father for what He has given us. We’re going to keep saying prayers. But it’s OK if other people don’t.”
Reesey knew Mum was right. She was happy when her family prayed. Maybe praying would make Zara happy too. “You could try it,” she said to Zara. “Prayers are good.”
“I like it when we pray,” said Cheyenne.“It makes me feel like a smile all over me inside.”
Zara smiled. “Maybe I will,” she said and ate a slice of mango.
Reesey and Cheyenne were happy they could tell their friend about praying. They all finished their snacks and ran back outside to play.

Abel had an interview with the bishop to talk about receiving the Aaronic Priesthood. “I’m grateful for my bishop and other leaders who guide me,” he says. Abel and his family recently attended a Priesthood Preview. All the boys turning 12 during the year were invited to attend the program with their parents and families. They heard talks and testimonies by leaders, teachers, and one of the boys. Abel and some of his friends stood up in front and sang “A Young Man Prepared” (Children’s Songbook, 166–67), a song about the priesthood. Parents gave letters to their sons encouraging them in their preparation. “I felt the Spirit there,” says Abel.

I had always seen God’s love when reading the Bible, but I could never find any church that taught it the way I understood it. When the missionaries taught me about the Restoration of the gospel of Jesus Christ, I felt so vindicated and a peace like I had never felt before. Finding the restored gospel of Jesus Christ was a long-awaited answer to my prayers to better understand God’s love for me.
God sent two angels in the form of two sister missionaries, Sister Hanah Otera Kershw (USA) and Sister Shelda Wandera (Kenya). They helped me understand my Heavenly Father’s love for me and to see myself as His cherished daughter with a divine identity.
When this truth sank deep into my heart, I was ready to make an everlasting covenant with Him. I got baptised on 17 March 2019. My love for God grew. I felt my Heavenly Father’s love through the missionaries.

Third is an Attitude of Courage. I have seen courage in the military. I have witnessed courage in the classrooms of learning and the factories of industry.
Never have I observed its beauty more radiant than reflected from the service of a missionary. Often I am called upon to interview missionary candidates who have physical impairments. In considering the recommendation of one such candidate, the bishop of the ward had written:
“Brother (blank) is badly scarred due to an automobile accident. However, if courage will help, he’ll lead the lot.”
I made an appointment to visit with the lad. My initial reaction upon meeting him was one of overwhelming compassion.
“Son,” I explained, “if you were in the mission field, there would be those who would reject your message and you might feel that they were rejecting you. That would be unbearable.”
“Brother Monson,” he replied, “I have become used to that problem. It doesn’t bother me anymore. I so much want to serve the Lord and to preach the gospel. Please let me be called.”
The courage of his spirit bore witness to me of his faith. He received a call.
After two years of outstanding missionary activity, his president wrote, upon the occasion of his honorable release:
“The bearer of this letter has served in this mission for two years. He has been one of the finest missionaries in our mission over the whole time that he has been here. He has been effective as a leader, as a proselyting missionary, as the liaison between the mission office and the several stakes in which he has served, and in all respects his performance has been without flaw.
“He has handled his personal problem, his severe scarring, in a way that has discouraged or affronted no one. It has been on a basis that ‘this is my problem; don’t worry about it.’
“We love him dearly. We are grateful for his service; and if you have any more just like him, send them along.”

When I was in the first grade, one of my classmates kept asking if she could copy off of my paper. I said, “Stop trying to copy off my paper. I am trying to work.” Later that day, I told my mom what happened. I said, “She was trying to cheat, and that is the same as lying.” During the school year, I tried to help my classmate with her work because I knew she wouldn’t learn anything by cheating. It made me feel good knowing I had done the right thing.

On March 27, 1836, Joseph dedicated the Kirtland Temple. Only two years later he and other faithful followers were forced to flee to Far West, Missouri, because of persecutions.
When the Saints first arrived at Far West, they were accepted by the local citizens. But as their numbers and political influence grew, mobs persecuted the Saints and burned some of their homes. Governor Boggs sent thousands of troops to Far West with instructions to kill all of the Saints if necessary to restore peace. The Saints were forced to give up their guns, and mobs entered Far West and ransacked their homes. The Saints were then told to leave the state before the next spring or be killed.
Meanwhile Joseph and several other Church leaders had been taken prisoner. After spending about six months in various jails without being legally charged with any offense, the guards allowed them to escape. They fled to Quincy, Illinois, where many of the Saints had gone after being driven out of Far West.

For many, the seeking requires sacrifice. “After my conversion, I had to wait half a year to be baptized,” recalls Olga Kovárová of Czechoslovakia. “Because we had no baptismal font, we needed to wait until summer when we could be in the woods and not be noticed.” When they reached the reservoir on the night of the baptism, they saw many fishermen. “We waited, and the time dragged on,” she said. Finally, a brother suggested that they pray and ask Heavenly Father for help. “This was my first miracle with a priesthood prayer. Within a few minutes of our quiet prayer, most of the fishermen left the river’s edge. … You can imagine my feelings of joy as I came up out of the water.” Olga was the first young woman convert in Czechoslovakia in almost forty years. When she was confirmed, she was told that through her, “many people would come to the Church.”

When John Lewis, the Frederick Stake Young Men’s second counselor, was thinking about what his stake should do for its 1993 youth conference, this thought hit him: Let’s build some houses. Let’s show the youth what their limits are and prove to them that they can accomplish more than they believed possible. He was enthusiastic. He pitched the ideas to other stake leaders. They were enthusiastic. He contacted the Chester Valley Habitat for Humanity, a Christian housing ministry that helps provide decent housing for low-income families in the northern part of the state. They were excited to get the LDS youth involved. Now all Brother Lewis had to do was convince the kids—all 180 of them—that building two houses is what they should do for youth conference.
“When I found out we were going to build a house for youth conference, I was, like, ‘There’s no way. Not in two days,’” said 16-year-old Lindsay Meyers.
Yes way.
Last July, the Frederick youth arrived at the two job sites—located about a block apart from each other—and found the foundation poured for each home. That was it. The materials—the nails, shingles, plywood, two-by-fours, siding, doors, windows, showers, and plumbing equipment had been delivered to each house. Installing it all was up to them.
The youth assigned to each house were separated into 15 different groups, with an adult build-team leader delegated to each team. Each house site also had a professional builder serving as foreman to oversee the project. Everyone was asked to bring a hammer and a pencil. And to control who was doing what, each team wore a different colored T-shirt. Everything was set. Then the weather decided it wasn’t going to cooperate.
For the first time in several decades, three consecutive days in Chestertown were over 100 degrees. Throw in some intense humidity (the 90–95 percent variety), and things heated up considerably.
Nicole Spencer, a Laurel in the Mt. Airy Ward, noticed the heat but didn’t mind it. “Being able to work and drive nails and stuff kind of makes you forget about how hot it is,” she said. “When I first heard what we were going to do, I was kind of excited we were actually going to build a house.”
Edward Rice, 17, and Samantha Gabriel, 15, both got their day started by holding pieces of wood together so it could be measured for door and window openings. Rick Orchard, 15, did his part by moving wood closer to the job site. “Yeah, I’ve been sweating. I also get the feeling that I know what I’m doing is right. I can feel the Spirit with me,” he said.
As for Lindsay, by the time the first day was complete, she was a believer. “I had a few doubts in my mind whether we could accomplish it. Not now,” she said. “Seeing what you’ve made, and accomplishing a goal and seeing a finished product makes it fun. I think the main reason it’s worth it is we’re helping somebody. I feel like this is totally worth my time. Being in the heat and sweating doesn’t matter.”
Working alongside the Frederick youth were several members of the two families who would move into the homes once they were completed. One girl, 16-year-old Chalita Rochester, was excited about the project and enjoyed working alongside the LDS youth. “I didn’t know any Mormons before this. To get kids to go out and build a house is great,” Chalita said. “They could be just sitting home watching TV, but they’re out here doing it. They are very active teenagers.”
With 90 kids on each job site and plenty of adults helping out, it’s amazing how fast a house can go up. One day it’s a barren lot with only a foundation in the middle of it. Twenty-four hours later a house is being built along with testimonies.
“I’m grateful for the opportunity to be here. Every time I come to a youth conference, a piece of my testimony grows. These last two days I have really gained a testimony of service,” said Brooke Sattley, a Laurel in the Damascus Ward.
“The fact that we’re all doing this for the service and not getting paid makes me feel good inside,” said Nicole. “And it means a lot more to me because we’re doing this for someone we have gotten to know.”
Nicole had no trouble keeping busy. One of her first jobs was to help install joists, the horizontal beams running from wall to wall to support the floor. Theron Virgin, a priest in the Monocacy Ward, helped work on the subfloor once the joists were in place. Dawn Rowzee, 16, took some two-by-fours and helped build the frame for the wall, while Jay Wahlquist, 16, helped nail in the support beams before the floor went in. With sweat pouring down his face, Jay sincerely said, “You can have fun doing this, and I have really enjoyed myself the last couple of days. I was able to start new friendships and strengthen others. But the greatest thing was the service that we did. And it isn’t the kind of service we sometimes do because we’re forced to do it. This has really strengthened my testimony.”
By Saturday night, it was time to clean up for a testimony meeting held at a nearby Methodist church. Both sites looked considerably different. Two houses were now standing, where 48 hours before all the youth could look at was a blueprint of what was hoped would be built there.
Everybody was grimy and extremely tired. But the youth of the Frederick Maryland Stake were smiling. They had provided in volunteer labor the equivalent of one man working full time for 18 months. They did that in two days. They built 75 percent of two houses. The remaining 25 percent was completed by other Habitat for Humanity volunteers. Those volunteers included many of the LDS youth, who made the two-hour drive back to Chestertown a few days later so they could help finish what they had started.
“This whole project depended on our attitude,” said Cassie. “We could have sat here the whole time and not worked. But that wouldn’t have been any fun. It’s a really good feeling to know we can do things like this.” Adds 14-year-old April Hough, “This has taken more time and more work, but it has been so useful because we’re helping someone who is less fortunate.”
Maybe Jay said it best. “Ignorance is sometimes good because when you don’t know how hard it is to do something, you don’t think of it as being hard when you do it. Heavenly Father has given me a chance to see things in a wonderful way and to live in a church that gives us so much.”
This youth conference was a chance for these young Latter-day Saints to give something back. The two houses in Chestertown, Maryland, will always stand as testaments to that.

One time when I was young, my friend and I had climbed up on top of a concrete water tower. It was probably ten or twelve feet tall, and the ground below it was covered with huge boulders to prevent the soil from eroding. As I was playing, I stepped over the edge. I felt myself being lowered to the ground, and I wasn’t hurt. That was one of the first inklings I had that there is Someone watching over us.

“You’re it!” Mandy said. She tagged her little brother and then swam away. Mandy’s family was staying in a motel until they could move to their new home. It was fun eating ravioli warmed up in the microwave for lunch. And they got to swim in the motel pool almost every day!
But there was one not-so-good part about the motel. The motel manager’s office was right under their room, and the manager thought Mandy and her brothers and sisters were too loud. “How can I rent rooms when it sounds like a herd of elephants are over my head?” he asked Dad.
After lunch Mandy’s little brother Aaron jumped off the bed and hit the floor with a thump. Mandy winced and looked up at Mom.
“No jumping. Tiptoe, please,” Mom said.
But it was too late. The phone rang.
Uh-oh, thought Mandy.
Mom picked up the phone. Mandy could hear her apologizing to the manager.
Mom’s shoulders sagged as she hung up the phone. “Edward and Mandy,” she said, “I need to put Aaron and Emily down for a nap. Will you please take Kristine and Daniel for a walk?”
As they started across the motel parking lot, Mandy spotted something small and brown on the ground.
It was a wallet. And it had money in it!
“Look, Edward!” she said, holding the wallet up high.
“We need to take this to the manager’s office right away,” said Edward.
Mandy felt her stomach clench. Why did they have to take it right now? Couldn’t Mom or Dad return it later?
But Mandy knew the right thing to do.
The children opened the office door and timidly stepped inside. The manager frowned. “Um, we found this wallet in the parking lot,” Mandy said. Her hand shook as she set the wallet on the counter.
A man was standing at the counter, looking worried. “You found it!” he said when he saw the wallet. “Thank you, kids!”
Mandy looked up at the manager. His frown was gone, and his eyes were twinkling.
After they left the office, Daniel asked, “Was that wallet magic?”
“Why do you think it’s magic?” asked Edward.
“Because it made the grumpy man happy!”
Edward shook his head. “The wallet wasn’t magic,” he said. “He was happy because we did the right thing.”
Mandy had a warm feeling inside. She never knew choosing the right could make people so happy.
A few days later, Mandy and Dad went to pay the week’s bill. The manager smiled at Mandy. He had only called once since they found the wallet—and just to thank them for being honest. Mandy felt like they’d made a new friend.
Choosing the right really is magical, Mandy thought. She waved goodbye, and the manager waved back. And he really isn’t so grumpy after all.

During my sophomore year at Brigham Young University, our ward bishopric signed the ward up for a Sub-for-Santa program, through which we would provide Christmas presents for a family in need.
Our ward name, however, kept disappearing from the list of volunteers. As Christmas neared, we still had no family to help. Then one of the bishop’s counselors told us of a family that might be able to use our help instead. When we learned about this family, we all felt certain that we should focus on them.
Linda (name has been changed), who had several sons ages 9 to 15, had fought a grueling battle with breast cancer. During the stress of that illness, her husband had left her. She had just moved from another state to take a job in Provo, Utah, but the job fell through, and she was left with no income.
When we met Linda, we immediately took her into our hearts. We were blessed to see her the way the Savior did—as a great and noble spirit who had overcome many difficult challenges. She was never a project to us; rather, she was an eternal friend. Every member of the ward contributed something to help her and her boys. We were all young college students and poor in our own right, but we gladly gave because we loved her.
Linda came to our ward Christmas party, during which several ward members went to her apartment and filled her cupboards and refrigerator with food. They decorated a Christmas tree and surrounded it with presents for the whole family. They also left her four new car tires and paid her rent for several months. I’m not sure how our meager contributions managed to accomplish all that, but I knew that Heavenly Father had used our sacrifices to bless her.
A year later I was in another student ward, but I returned at Christmastime to visit my previous bishopric. I learned that Linda’s husband had returned to the family and that their finances had stabilized. But then her cancer had returned and claimed her life. I realized that we had helped give Linda her last Christmas.
In feeling “the pure love of Christ” (Moroni 7:47) so strongly through that experience, I learned that real charity is a priceless spiritual gift that propels us to act in the Savior’s place.

This truth gives me so much hope for the future. It also confirms the strength I have been feeling since my father passed away. One day, I saw a little boy and girl run up to their dad and give him a big hug. My heart dropped. I wanted my dad so badly. At that moment I wanted to give up and cry forever.
After I pondered this for quite some time, my heart was turned to someone for comfort: Jesus Christ. I had to learn to have faith in Jesus, rely on Him, know that He has suffered, and know that He helps me if I allow Him to. I exercised faith by remembering that He knows how to help me, and I need to do everything I can to be closer to Him so I can more fully feel of His love. The only way to true happiness is having faith in Him and knowing that He will never leave you (see John 16:33).

Abby P., 12, of Utah, USA, has witnessed such respect and love firsthand as her family has mentored a refugee family from the Democratic Republic of the Congo that came to America after living in refugee camps in Burundi and Tanzania, Africa.
She’s also been impressed at how young women in her ward have rallied around four refugee teenagers.
“The family we’re friends with has a sister in high school and a younger brother, Alimasi M.; a sister; and a cousin, all in junior high,” Abby says. “We wanted them to be ready for school and for winter, so we organized some events to help them prepare.”
First was an opportunity for the refugees to meet young people their own age. Abby’s family organized a party “where we served food that you might see in Tanzania, like mshkaki [skewers of roasted meat and vegetables].” They also played games familiar to Americans, like tag. “Mostly we just introduced our refugee friends to everybody, so they could have friends when they started school,” Abby explains.
They also learned that their new friends had never experienced winter, so they organized a clothing drive to gather coats, boots, pants, and stockings. And they learned that the refugees’ younger brothers and sisters were homesick, “so we found some videos in French and Swahili [languages they understand] and put them on a flash drive so they could watch them with their siblings.”
When someone asks Abby why she helps refugees, she says, “They’re nice people, and they shouldn’t be left to suffer.” Then she shares the Bible story of Mary and Joseph fleeing to Egypt with two-year-old Jesus to escape Herod’s soldiers, who were murdering innocent children (see Matthew 2:13–23).
“The Savior was a refugee, too,” Abby says. “I think He must have a soft spot in his heart for refugees.”

One day a few years ago, after taking care of matters at the office, I felt a strong impression to visit an aged widow who was a patient at a senior care center in Salt Lake City. I drove there directly.
When I went to her room, I found it empty. I asked an attendant concerning her whereabouts and was directed to a lounge area. There I found this sweet widow visiting with her sister and another friend. We had a pleasant conversation together.
As we were talking, a man came to the door of the room to obtain a can of soda from the vending machine. He glanced at me and said, “Why, you are Tom Monson.”
“Yes,” I replied. “And you look like a Hemingway.”
He acknowledged that he was Stephen Hemingway, the son of Alfred Eugene Hemingway, who had served as my counselor when I was a bishop many years ago and whom I called Gene. Stephen told me that his father was there in the same facility and was near death. Gene had been calling my name, and the family had wanted to contact me but had been unable to find a telephone number for me.
I excused myself immediately and went with Stephen up to the room of my former counselor, where others of his children were also gathered, his wife having passed away some years previous. The family members regarded my meeting Stephen in the lounge area as a response by our Heavenly Father to their great desire that I would see their father before he died and answer his call. I also felt that this was the case, for if Stephen had not entered the room in which I was visiting at precisely the time he did, I would not have known that Gene was even in that facility.
We gave a blessing to him. A spirit of peace prevailed. We had a lovely visit, after which I left.
The following morning a phone call revealed that Gene Hemingway had passed away—just 20 minutes after he had received the blessing from his son and me.
I expressed a silent prayer of thanks to Heavenly Father for His guiding influence, which had prompted my visit to the care center and led me to my dear friend Alfred Eugene Hemingway.
I like to think that Gene Hemingway’s thoughts that evening—as we basked in the Spirit’s glow, participated in humble prayer, and pronounced a priesthood blessing—echoed the words mentioned in the hymn “Master, the Tempest Is Raging”:
Linger, O blessed Redeemer!
Leave me alone no more,
And with joy I shall make the blest harbor
And rest on the blissful shore.

Some years ago, I was traveling in the Democratic Republic of the Congo with other Church leaders. We had been driving in complete wilderness when we suddenly hit a big bump in the road. Our driver struggled to steady the truck, but it landed on its side.
After we pulled ourselves from the wrecked truck, we said a prayer of gratefulness that no one was seriously injured. Then we set out on foot to find help. We came to a small village and explained our predicament. The villagers told us that sometimes it was possible to make a call on a cell phone by climbing one of the tall anthills nearby.
We climbed one of the anthills, but there was no signal. We tried again with the same result. Finally, on the eighth or ninth anthill, we were able to detect a small signal by raising the cell phone high in the air. We were able to get help.

When I was 17, living in West Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, USA, the missionaries taught my family about Joseph Smith’s First Vision. Young Joseph’s desire to communicate with God and know His will resonated deeply with my own desires.
As the missionaries taught us about living prophets and apostles, I asked, “There are Apostles today? Where are they?” They showed us a picture of President Spencer W. Kimball (1895–1985), his counselors in the First Presidency, and the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles in 1980. This strengthened my sprouting testimony that God, who is the same yesterday, today, and forever, still needed prophets and apostles to guide His children in modern times.
Over time, both my parents and all 10 children were baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Since coming to know living prophets and apostles, my testimony of their sacred calling and keys has only grown stronger.

When Heather decided she wanted to go out for baseball, she didn’t think twice about the fact that there are no girls’ teams in her area. Today the petite 15-year-old with long dark hair and bangs is the only girl playing on boys’ teams in her league, and she’s doing pretty well.
The Drummonds are not the most outspoken kids in the world. They’re doers rather than talkers. But they will open up if you ask. Heather, for example, will tell you that she doesn’t feel short-changed by not growing up with a mother. “I’ve lived with guys all my life, so I do the things they do,” she says. “But I also do girl things. My best friends are girls. I don’t think growing up only with guys has hurt me.” Heather has her own ways of asserting her femininity. In the dugout, for example, even though she tucks her long brown hair up under her cap and wears a bulky uniform like the rest of the players, you can’t miss her because she’s the one wearing pink lipstick. And sometimes, when the other players lose their tempers and start swearing, they’re quickly reminded that a girl is present when Heather tells them, “Hey—watch your language!” And, she says, “They usually apologize.”
“Some of the guys I play with are kind of mean,” says Heather. “They say the only reason I’m on the team is because the coach doesn’t know how to cut a girl. I have to play extra hard to overcome that. I’ve been tempted to quit, but when I am, I just tell myself I have to stick in there, because everyone would think I can’t handle it. I can handle it,” she says with conviction, and you don’t doubt her.