Gospel Story Finder

Anyway, the first day of school Mrs. Dawson was a little disorganized and kept us a couple of minutes late in drama class. I grabbed my books and ran as soon as she let us out.

I raced into chemistry just as the bell rang, which earned me a dirty look from The Embalmer, but he didn’t say anything. He had just started to tell us about how often we would have labs when the door opened and in came Danny.

Mr. Palmer’s eyebrows knitted themselves together in the middle and he said, “Well, if it isn’t the ten o’clock scholar. You’ll have to do better than that if you want to pass this class.” And then he sort of laughed, like it was a big joke, but I didn’t see anything very funny about it. You could tell Danny didn’t either. He limped over to an empty desk and sat with his head down all through class.

We talked about it at lunch, and we couldn’t figure out how come the school board would let a guy with no more feelings than that teach school. Joe Nelson said that his dad said that the school board are a bunch of bozos, so we figured that must explain it.

One bright, warm Saturday morning, gangs of teenagers invaded the little town of Guadalupe, Arizona. They were all dressed alike. They were spraying paint, breaking up concrete, hanging out at the park, and having a loud, noisy time.
Of course, they were also laying sod, repairing mailboxes, cleaning up empty lots, building handicapped ramps, landscaping homes, restoring the median in the middle of the main road, interviewing residents for town and family histories, furnishing some temporary homes, and, in general, doing good wherever they went.
Persuading more than a thousand teens to donate their muscles and their time on a Saturday was due to the efforts of the East Valley Youth Service Committee, an organization combining youth in Gilbert, Arizona, from St. Anne’s Catholic Church with the youth from five Gilbert LDS stakes.
The whole idea of interfaith service projects got started when Father Doug Lorig of St. Anne’s Catholic Church wrote a letter to Salt Lake City asking how the youth in Gilbert of both the Catholic and LDS faiths could become united. The answer came through President John Lewis of the Gilbert Arizona Stake. The youth could become united as they served together.
But where? Who needed lots and lots and lots of helping hands?
The town of Guadalupe was the answer.
Guadalupe is the name of a major road that runs through the towns of Tempe and Gilbert, Arizona. Everyone knows Guadalupe Road. It’s a major thoroughfare lined with fast-food restaurants, gas stations, churches, and neighborhoods. But most teens didn’t know what is at the end of Guadalupe Road, right where the street ends. At that spot, just a little over a mile square, is the tiny town of Guadalupe.
Several members of the East Valley Youth Service Committee were assigned to do some calling. Their quest, to find some places that needed service. One young woman contacted Mary E. Hoy, the assistant town manager of Guadalupe. “She called and said, ‘We’d like to do a project in your town. What would you like us to do?’” said Mary. “I had a couple of pages of things that needed to be done because we have so much need here.”
To Mary’s great surprise, instead of picking one or two items off her list, the report came back that the committee had anticipated being able to do almost everything on her list. “The town has been very excited,” reports Mary. “They love the idea of these teens coming to help.” With nearly 1,500 teens and their adult leaders attending, the town’s population doubled for that one day.
Mary’s list included turning a flood retention basin into a park, painting a mural on a noise wall, replacing or repairing all mailboxes, building ramps for houses of handicapped residents, hauling rubbish from the lots of elderly residents, painting homes and repairing roofs, interviewing families for the town’s historical record, beautifying the town’s center street median, and collecting furniture for and landscaping around emergency housing.
The first meeting was at a public auditorium, when the whole idea of working together in service, in addition to gathering support and donations from the community, was presented to anyone interested. Chad Heywood, 16, of the Freestone Park Ward in the Gilbert stake, said, “I’ve had a lot of kids come up to me and ask how they can get involved in it. It’s a fun thing to do now.”
Jennifer Barger, the adult volunteer supervisor from St. Anne’s Catholic Church, said, “I think the more they got involved, the more eager they were to participate. It’s a growing thing, with each other and with the town. It’s been quite a neat experience.”
As the planning for the project progressed, the teens involved started to discover a change in their attitudes. Aubree Wright, 17, of the Gilbert Ninth Ward, Gilbert Val Vista Stake, said, “The first couple of meetings, I was not feeling like I wanted to go. The more I went, it just became such a neat thing. I was looking forward to it. I’ve seen it in other kids too. You can tell that it’s starting to touch them.”
You might not think that getting together on one Saturday and hauling sod or painting a house would do all that much for world peace. But each action, each person doing one good thing, can begin to change the world. Standing shoulder to shoulder with shovels and rakes in hand with God’s children of other beliefs and cultures can make a difference. Melissa Geiger, 19, of St. Anne’s Catholic Church, was asked to be a youth representative on the planning committee. She said, “It sounds like an enormous task, making peace in the world. We can start small and meet on a common ground of service. That was our basis.”
Whether it’s spending four hours at a cannery, packing boxes at a food bank, or getting your hands blistered while raking gravel, service improves most those who give it.
The youth of Gilbert, both Catholic and LDS, now know each other a little better. And with each opportunity to serve, they will learn a little more what it means to live a Christlike life.

Summer vacation had always been a wonderful time for spiritual growth. It seemed I could feel the Spirit more when I had more time and didn’t feel the pressures of school.
But this summer was different. A strange emptiness filled me, and I felt confused. I had always heard that Heavenly Father communicates with his children through the scriptures. So I sat on my bed with the Book of Mormon in my hands and began to pray. “Father in Heaven, I thought I was doing everything right. I make good choices so the Holy Ghost will find me worthy of constant companionship, yet this emptiness fills me. Father, let me know what I have done wrong.”
Then I opened my scriptures to Alma 37. The answer to my prayers began in verse 39. Alma was speaking of the Liahona: “And behold, it was prepared to show unto our fathers the course which they should travel in the wilderness. …
“Nevertheless, because those miracles were worked by small means it did show unto them marvelous works. They were slothful, and forgot to exercise their faith and diligence and then those marvelous works ceased, and they did not progress in their journey” (Alma 37:39, 41).
It was as though a voice had spoken to me. Heavenly Father was not angry with me. He knew the desires of my heart were good and pure. But I had become a little slothful in my efforts to maintain my spirituality and to keep my testimony strong and growing. This lack of diligence was slowing my progress “in [my] journey.”
Since my study of the scriptures had not been very focused, I decided to start there. After all, the scriptures are our modern-day Liahona. How grateful I am for a Father in Heaven who cares for us so much that he speaks to us through the scriptures.

After investigating for years, Grandpa joined the Church. He faithfully served and was stalwart and filled with integrity. Before we had stakes in Norway, he served as a counselor in the Young Men presidency for all of Norway. He was serving as a counselor in the Stockholm Sweden Temple presidency when he passed away in 1986.
In his talks, Grandpa shared his thoughts and feelings and the struggles he faced investigating the Church. He had to humble himself to pray about joining the Church. He received an answer and acted on it.

During college, I had served as a Relief Society president twice and had held other callings in my various wards that allowed me to frequently help others. I was a psychology major and spent a lot of my time helping those who struggled with varying mental illnesses and disabilities as well.
I was used to serving, not being served.
Then one night I found a marble-sized lump on my chest. I ignored it for a few weeks until one evening when my roommate Rachel, who had also been my mission companion, came home. She was sitting on her bed across from me, and I remembered that her grandmother had passed away from breast cancer.
Since finding the lump, I had been in denial that anything was wrong; no one in my family ever had health issues, let alone cancer. Even if I wanted to have the lump looked at, I had no idea where to even start with hospitals and doctors. But this particular evening, I felt like I should say something to Rachel.
She immediately hugged me and cried with me. She then helped me find a doctor who could look at the lump for me. But she didn’t stop there—she even came with me to my appointment so that I wouldn’t have to be alone. She was honoring her covenants by exemplifying the counsel in Mosiah 18:9 to “mourn with those that mourn; yea, and comfort those that stand in need of comfort.”
Through subsequent doctors’ visits, I found out that the lump I was feeling was one of four tumors in my chest. And it was the smallest one. This was one of the most shocking experiences of my life, and it was especially hard because I was also trying to balance school and Church callings.
Although I found out later that the tumors were benign, I thought a lot about that experience and how much my friend had blessed me. She opened my eyes to the importance of allowing others to serve me.

It was a calm night in the North Atlantic, but Captain David Brown awoke with a start. What a strange dream! His ship’s crew, the mates, and even he himself, all were being baptized into the Mormon faith! What did it mean? And why had the dream occurred right after he had fallen asleep while kneeling in prayer? He arose and got into bed, pondering both this strange experience and the singular spirit of the Mormon company then aboard his ship the International.

This crisis caused the priesthood to gather below deck where they supplicated God to still the waves. Almost immediately Captain Brown came down to announce a sudden improvement in the weather. The hatches were again opened. But that night the International sailed into an even worse tempest. “Again our boxes were knocked about,” wrote one, “and many of our pots and tins were smashed, and many articles lost.” The scene was even more terrifying than on the preceding night. No cooking fires were allowed, and women and children could not leave their berths. For nearly fifteen hours the storm raged. Finally, about mid-afternoon the next day, the weather had eased enough so that the hatches could be reopened. It was on that night, after having seen his ship safely through two days of near disaster, that the exhausted Captain fell asleep while praying and had his remarkable dream.

While the International sped west toward port, the Mormon ranks continued to grow as predicted in Captain Brown’s dream. Just before the April 6 festival, the captain’s cook was baptized. On April 8 President Arthur’s sixteen-year-old daughter, Mary Ann, and a Negro crewman were baptized. The second mate, three sailors, and Christopher Arthur, Jr., were baptized the next day. As the International slipped between Cuba and Florida a week later the first mate joined the Church, as did three sailors and one emigrant the next day. Even 110° heat on April 17 did not squelch the Spirit, for the Saints held “first-rate meetings during the whole day; in the evening the ship’s carpenter, captain’s cook, and two sailors bore testimony to the truth of the work.”

Captain Brown’s spirit was troubled as the conversions continued. Some of his feelings were revealed when he gave landing instructions on April 18 and confessed his attraction to Mormonism: “He had crossed the seas many times,” one diarist reported in quoting him, “but never felt so happy with any people as he had with the Latter-day Saints.” He added that “his pride prevented him from immediately becoming a saint but he felt he soon should join us and come to Great Salt Lake City.” Following his remarks two more passengers were baptized. At testimony meeting the next evening six sailors bore testimony and afterwards one sailor was baptized.

Three days before the voyage ended, and as the blackness of night was just starting to lighten along the eastern horizon at 4:30 A.M., Captain David Brown was baptized by President Arthur. That evening he and two others were confirmed members of the Church. Then, as a fitting climax to the International’s conversion story, the captain and ship’s carpenter were ordained as elders, the first and second mates became priests, and the cook a teacher. As part of this service, at which the captain, the carpenter, and several crewmen bore testimony, a Swede and a Negro crewman were the final baptisms aboard ship.

The report credited the workings of the Spirit coupled with the Saints exemplary conduct for the remarkable number of conversions made on the high seas. He proudly wrote:

“I am glad to inform you, that we have baptized all on board except three persons [the steward and his wife, both staunch Catholics, and the third mate, ‘a very wicked fellow’—. We can number the captain, first and second mates, with eighteen of the crew, most of whom intend going right through to the valley. … The carpenter and eight of the seamen are Swedish, German, and Dutch. There are two negroes. … The others baptized were friends of the brethren. The number baptized in all is forty-eight, since we left our native shores.”

Captain David Brown’s prophetic dream of six weeks earlier had been 94 percent accurate.

Illustrated by Mike Eagle
The McKay family loved music and learned to play instruments. President McKay’s son Lawrence played the violin beautifully.
President McKay: What a beautiful song.
Years later, when Lawrence became a husband and a father, he sold the violin to help make ends meet.
Lawrence: Mildred and I need the money, Father, but how I hated to give up my violin! Playing it often comforted me when I was far from home.
President McKay didn’t hesitate to solve the problem.
President McKay: I understand my son recently sold you this violin. I’m here to buy it back—I prize it too greatly to let it leave our family.
President McKay composed a poem about how much he valued his son’s musical talent and the memories they had made playing music together. A few months later, he put the violin and poem in the mail.
Lawrence: Look, Mildred, a package from my father. What do you think it is?
When Lawrence recognized his beloved violin, tears streamed down his face. He played all of his favorite songs late into the night and vowed never to part with his father’s precious gift again.

Some bore tender testimonies. Let me share just two. Sister Guadalupe, a nonmember, lost everything. Then in the shelter of a little room in our chapel, she gave birth to a baby boy. She stated that the Lord had helped her escape. She learned that everything of the world is temporary and can be lost. She thanked the branch and the Church for opening its doors to her and for the assistance she received.

Marisol Pedraza Espinosa, now Sister Pedraza, was 26 years old when she received a life-altering diagnosis of ovarian cancer. A young woman from Tizayuca, Hidalgo, Mexico, she dreamt of completing a master’s degree in tourism business management and starting her own travel agency. However, her aspirations were put on hold when she experienced severe pain in her right ovary, leading to a medical consultation that revealed a 15-centimeter tumor requiring immediate removal.
After undergoing various tests and surgery to remove the tumor, she thought the worst was over. Unfortunately, that was not the case. “Twenty days after the surgery, when I received the pathology results, the doctor informed me that the tumor was malignant—a high-grade cancer with only one year left to live,” she says with tears in her eyes.
The bleak prognosis sent Sister Pedraza searching for a second opinion at several hospitals, only to receive even worse news. “They told me that during the tumor removal, there was a problem, and the cancer had metastasized. They had to perform another surgery to remove my right ovary and uterus, so I underwent many additional tests before the new surgery.”
Confused, devastated, and terrified by this new reality, Sister Pedraza was on the verge of losing hope. She thought, “Why me? No one in my family has ever had cancer. I’m too young to die, and I won’t be able to have children anymore!’”
During this difficult time, her family’s unwavering support became her refuge. “My mother accompanied me to all my medical appointments, and my brothers and father kept an eye on me.”
In the midst of her struggle, Sister Pedraza’s life took an unexpected turn when she met Keyth Suderio, a former missionary. Keyth taught her that through the priesthood in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, she could receive a blessing of health. Although she wasn’t entirely clear about what they were offering, she was willing to try anything to regain her health.
“Sidney Suderio, Keyth’s dad, gave me the blessing; his wife, Rosangela Ribeiro, and daughter, Keyth Suderio were there. I sat in the middle of the room, he placed his hands on my head, and I felt so much peace. As I listened to every word that came out of his mouth… I felt hopeful that everything was going to be okay,” she says.
A few days later, as she prepared for her upcoming surgery, the gynecological oncologist delivered astonishing news: her medical tests had shown no signs of cancer in her body. Overwhelmed by the good news, Sister Pedraza cried with gratitude when she saw the miracle that was happening in her life.
It’s been two years since Sister Pedraza has been cancer-free. Seeing God’s hand in her life made her interested in learning about the Church and she joined a year and six months ago. “I wanted to thank God for a new life and decided to get closer to Him and to serve Him,” she says with great emotion.
“It wasn’t in my plans to become a missionary; however, I felt a strong impression to leave everything behind and go out and invite people to come unto Christ. To let them know that Heavenly Father loves all of us and to share my testimony that miracles do not cease. I want to help people strengthen their faith and remind them that we have a loving Heavenly Father who wants the best for us.”
That’s how she came to serve in the Dominican Republic Santo Domingo West Mission.
“I know that Jesus Christ lives, I know that He healed me, and I know, without any doubt, that through the blessing of health that I received by priesthood power, the cancer disappeared. I know that my Heavenly Father loves me and gave me a new chance to live,” she concludes, with a twinkle in her eyes and strength in her words.

One time when I was on the Priesthood Missionary Committee of the Church, I traveled to a conference with President Marion G. Romney, who at that time was a member of the Quorum of the Twelve. Between conference sessions we walked around the parking lot of the Pocatello East Stake Center. It was a cool, blustery day. He stopped and put his arm through mine, and then he said, “Brother Featherstone, do you think the brethren of the priesthood will ever come to understand that they were born to serve their fellowmen?” And I ask you, brethren, do you think we will?

Before Elder M. Russell Ballard was an Apostle, he had an unusual experience on an airplane. He was flying to Salt Lake City on a very foggy day. The small plane held only four people. When they got close to the airport, the pilot radioed the control tower.
“We’re about to close the runway because the fog is so thick,” the air traffic controller told the pilot. “But I can talk you through the landing.”
The pilot asked Brother Ballard and the other passengers, “What do you want to do? The controller can guide us down. Or we can turn back and wait for the weather to clear in a day or two.” They decided to try to land in Salt Lake.
The controller could see the plane on his radar. He told the pilot when to lower the plane and when to turn. The pilot watched the plane’s controls carefully. He followed the controller’s directions exactly.
Finally the man in the front seat shouted, “I see the runway!”
They looked out the window. The runway was directly ahead. The nose of the plane was right on the centerline! They were so grateful that the controller guided them safely to the ground.
Brother Ballard thought about how this flight was like our lives. We can’t see or understand everything, so Heavenly Father has given us ways to get help. The prophet is like an air traffic controller. He gives us directions to return safely to Heavenly Father. We also have the Holy Ghost, the scriptures, and leaders and parents to guide us safely home.

When I was seven, I learned one of the greatest lessons of my life. We were studying the environment in school. We discussed pollution and ways we could help decrease its terrible effects on the world. We talked about the oceans and how, even in little ways, we could change some of the things we do at home to make the world safer for all creatures.
I was still pretty young then, but I really took what we had been learning to heart. To me, the environment is a very important thing. The more I learned about why we should conserve our natural resources, the more I wanted everyone else to know the same things and think they were just as important as I did. I became a seven-year-old warrior fighting in the everyday battle to save Mother Nature.
One day, I came home from school having just finished drinking a soda. We had a recycling bin, which we used regularly, and with my newfound enthusiasm for caring about the environment, I went straight to toss my empty bottle in.
“Stop,” my mom said over her shoulder. “Our recycling company doesn’t allow us to recycle green plastic.”
I was shocked. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. The recycling companies were supposed to be the heroes; why would they say we could recycle some things and not others? It didn’t make any sense to me. Disappointed, I dropped my bottle in the trash and headed back toward my room.
At that moment, I had an impression I’d never had before. Coming from a family that was not very religious, we had never had family prayer or even knew what prayer was, other than what we had seen on TV. But right then that was exactly what I felt I needed to do: get on my knees by my bed and pray about it. So I slipped into my room and, not really knowing how to begin, gave it a simple try.
“God,” I started quietly, “this is Ace. Thank you for the environment. Please let us recycle green plastic bottles in this area. It’s really important.” I closed with an “amen” and waited. I didn’t know what to expect. Although I wasn’t visited by angels or struck by lightning, I did feel something I had never felt before. As I sat there, I felt good. I felt like I wasn’t alone in the room anymore, although there clearly wasn’t any other person I could see. Something told me that what I had just done was right.
Life continued the same as it always had. In fact, by the next afternoon I had been so involved in usual things at school that I had mostly forgotten about the green bottle episode and the prayer.
When I got home, I went back to my room, but before long my mom called my name and asked me to come to the kitchen. When I did, I saw that she had a letter in her hand. She explained that it was from the recycling company stating that now we could recycle green plastics in addition to other things.
She handed me the letter. I looked it over, but I couldn’t believe it. The same feeling I had had the day before came rushing back to me. It was an answer.
That was an experience that has never left me. Every time I think about it, I’m still amazed that it could have happened at all. And it was this experience that, three years later, helped me to feel the truth of the gospel when the missionaries came knocking at our family’s door. It was the same feeling.

Remember names. One youth leader said: “I attended a youth fireside with a guest speaker from outside our stake. I was impressed to see the speaker mingle and visit with the youth before and after the talk. He asked the young people their names and called them by name. He made each individual feel included and important. I decided that if a visiting speaker could make an effort to learn names, I could certainly try harder.”
This youth leader set a goal to learn the name of every young person in his ward and at least a few others he saw regularly at stake functions. “I tried some memory techniques but didn’t find them as helpful as simply writing down names inside the folder I always take to church,” he said. “Then if I forgot a name during the week, a quick glance at my folder would refresh my memory.”

When Jean’s senior year began, she started her first journey through the refiner’s fire. Our mother and stepfather were divorced, and Mother drifted further and further from the Church. She no longer cared whether or not Jean even went to sacrament meetings much less all her other activities. Jean trudged on with the help of her friends and the support and sympathy of her bishop’s family. Her testimony grew stronger still, and she continued in all of her activities.
At graduation time, Jean learned that her trials had only begun. Mother remarried and moved far away. Jean had no choice. She had to go live with our father in rural Georgia. He lived in a tiny, isolated town where he was the minister of the only church.
Our father had always been bitter toward the Mormons, and that bitterness had turned to hatred when all three of his daughters had been baptized. Jean was his baby, his special pet, and it cut him to the quick to see her not only in a religion different from his but as a Mormon and a devout Mormon at that. He looked upon her move to his house as an answer to prayers. Now things would be different. Now he would be able to show her the error of her ways.
Although I live more than 200 miles away, I came as often as possible during the summer and took Jean to my home in Columbia. However, the summer soon ended, and Jean had to start commuting to college. Jean had a car to make the drive back and forth to school but not for her personal use on weekends. The nearest branch was 30 miles away, and even if she could get there, Dad wouldn’t let her go. There wasn’t an institute at her small college, and it just seemed that there was no way for her to have any contact with Church members.
Days turned into weeks, and then months had gone by since she had attended a meeting. She read her scriptures, wrote daily in her journal, and spent hours on her knees. As she grew closer to her Heavenly Father through earnest prayer, Jean’s testimony of the gospel grew. She began to realize how often she had taken the opportunity to attend meetings and functions of the Church for granted, how she had even wished meetings would hurry and be over. During this time, Dad made every effort to break her testimony. He quoted scripture after scripture, but Jean’s seminary scriptures stood her in good stead. She was able to parry with scriptures of her own. Sometimes he threw things at her that she couldn’t or, to stop an argument, wouldn’t defend. While her testimony wasn’t harmed, it did make Jean weary as she faced each day on the defensive, knowing that everything she loved and considered holy would be denounced in her father’s booming voice at mealtimes, in discussions with her stepmother, or in his verbal prayers.
Some nights only hours on bended knees kept her from total despair. She fought back the desire to rage against her Heavenly Father for deserting her. Soon even the scriptures she loved were difficult to read because they produced such a terrible longing for her old friends, teachers, and bishop. Often she lay in bed at night with tears streaming down her face trying to remember that she wasn’t the only Latter-day Saint in the world. She tried to be strong, but she was young and alone and there had been no contact with members for so long.
One night in January, Jean reached rock bottom. Her father and stepmother had baited her and prayed aloud for her soul until she was ready to scream. No one understood the trials she was going through. Her sisters sympathized, but we were too far away to be any help. Finally Jean knelt by her bed and poured her heart out as she had so many times in the past. She told her Heavenly Father that she knew he loved her and that he had promised no burden heavier than she could bear. She begged for some sort of help because the burden had grown so heavy that she could not bear it any longer.
When Jean left Natchez, her records had been sent to the nearest branch. Once the records were received, she was assigned home teachers. However, as no one had ever met Jean and she lived so far away and had never attended a meeting, the home teachers didn’t visit her. In their minds, she was probably someone who had joined the Church at age eight but had never been active. Someone in the branch had heard that a Mr. Swilley in Egypt, Georgia, was the Baptist preacher there, and this Jean was probably his wife. No way were they going to drive all that way to get a door slammed in their faces!
In a small branch, the work load is heavy for each member. The home teacher lived 15 miles on the other side of the town where the branch was located, a total of 45 miles one way on country roads from Jean. Months went by, and each month his home teaching report was complete except for Sister Swilley. Being a good and conscientious man, this bothered him. He decided to go at least once just to see what sort of circumstances she was in.
The night came when he couldn’t rest until he had made the effort to see this sister. He called his companion, a young boy of 16, and they began the long drive. As they drove farther into the countryside, they began to be uneasy and wished they could turn around and go home. Yet something urged them on. Little did they know that at that moment, Jean Swilley was on her knees begging her Father in Heaven to throw her a lifeline. As her prayer ended and she dried her tears, Dad knocked on her bedroom door. “Jeanie, there are two men outside, and they are asking for you. They are Mormons, and I won’t ask them in, but you can go talk to them on the porch.”
Jean flew through the house and onto the porch. She stood on the steps, and tears fell again as the older of the two men stretched out his hand and said, “We are your home teachers …” He didn’t have to say anything else because Jean fell into his arms and cried out all the pain and loneliness that was there. Finally someone had come. God had indeed heard her prayers.
As Jean told her story to these wonderful men, I know that their hearts were touched. They expressed sorrow for not having come sooner and promised to make the branch president aware of her situation. They prayed with Jean and told her to call them when it got too hard and left with the most beautiful words Jean had ever heard, “You aren’t alone anymore.”
Jean is still not allowed to go to church, but her spirit is so much stronger now that she knows her Father in Heaven is aware of her needs and answers her prayers. Dad said the home teachers could keep coming as long as they had a talk with him first. When Jean explained the situation to the home teachers, they told her that they would talk with him and do it gladly.
Jean’s home teachers had every excuse in the world not to visit her. It was inconvenient—one and a half hours just in driving time. She had expressed no interest in seeing them. They did not think she would welcome them, and they were busy with other church responsibilities. Still, they obeyed the promptings of the Holy Spirit.
Those home teachers will never know just how happy they made my sister nor will they know how thankful they made me for a Heavenly Father that heard my sister’s prayers. How can they know what will come of their talk with my dad? Or that Mother, who had drifted so far away that she denied the Church on every opportunity, would cry when told that her baby girl wasn’t quite so wretched anymore and why. How could they have known that Mother would say through her tears, “I knew He would take care of her and hear her prayers.” I know that more good will come because those two men listened and obeyed. I hope that I will learn to listen and obey. I hope we all will.

After learning about the new Fulfilling My Duty to God booklet in a fireside last year, Aleks Miller—deacons quorum president of a ward in the Vancouver British Columbia Stake—was eager to get started. He and his father set up a schedule to meet each Sunday to work on a section of the booklet together.
“My dad and I, every week, sit down and look through a section of the book,” says Aleks. “We start with a prayer, and then we learn the stuff and read the scriptures. We answer the questions in the section and then write down how we can implement what we’ve learned.” Aleks often shares with his mother what he and his father are working on. “I talked with my mom about the sacrament and the meaning of the sacrament prayers and wrote down some ideas about how I, as a deacon, could help make the sacrament more meaningful for her.”
After only a few weeks of these Duty-to-God-with-Dad meetings, Aleks noticed it was making a difference in his life. “It makes me feel really good,” he says. Sitting down with his father is not always the first thing Aleks wants to do on a Sunday afternoon, “but once we start learning and reading together, I’m a lot happier and I feel better about doing it.”
Aleks has set new goals and is gaining a greater understanding of the gospel as he studies and learns with his father. “One of the sections in Fulfilling My Duty to God suggested we study five topics in For the Strength of Youth and then write down a goal for each one so that you can do better,” explains Aleks. “I chose honesty. So one of my goals was to let my parents know when I do something wrong instead of just keeping it to myself.”
Another topic Aleks chose was education. “My goal was to go an entire month in school with no messing around in class and finishing all my work so I wouldn’t have any homework. It’s going pretty well, and now I have a lot of extra time.”
Now Aleks is encouraging all the deacons in his quorum to work on fulfilling their duty to God. And he offers the same advice to any other young men who are thinking about opening their booklets and getting down to work: “Just do it,” he says. “If you can’t seem to get started on your own, do it like I do and ask your dad to do it with you.”

One man I met lived simply in a tiny, little town in the middle of the Amazon. After being baptized with his family, he could hardly wait to complete a year’s membership in the Church so he could take his wife and children to the temple. The São Paulo Brazil Temple is very far from the Amazon. It usually takes four days by boat and four days by bus to get to the temple—about a week’s travel. This man was a cabinetmaker. How could he save enough money to pay for himself, his wife, and his children? Although he worked hard for many months, he made very little money.

When the time came to go to the temple, he sold all his furniture and appliances, even his electric saw and his only means of transportation, a motorcycle—everything he had—and went to the temple with his wife and children. It required eight days of travel to reach São Paulo. After spending four glorious days in the temple doing the work of the Lord, this family then had to travel seven more days to return to their home. But they went back home happy, feeling that their difficulties and struggles were nothing compared to the great happiness and blessings they had experienced in the house of the Lord.

Over the years I have had problems that I have not been able to overcome by myself. Once when I had such a problem, I remembered President Benson’s challenge to read the Book of Mormon. I took the book from the shelf and began to read. I was surprised! The answers to my problems were there in the scriptures.
From that time on, the scriptures have become very special to me, and I have learned to consult the scriptures whenever I have a problem. The Lord gave us the scriptures for our instruction and to comfort us when we are feeling low. They guide us along the right path.
Gilbert F. Ceniza, 19Tetuan Ward, Zamboanga StakePhilippines

I had just started my first job, and I loved it. On a particular day, not long after I started, a co-worker and I heard the bell telling us a customer had come in the door. It was a man, about 50 years old, who looked just like anyone else. The man walked about half the distance to our counter from the door before he pulled out a knife. He then walked very quickly to us and demanded money from the till.
Fortunately, he just took the money and ran. Even before he was out the door, I began to call the police. After hours of questions we finally left the police station. I thought about what had just happened as I drove home. I had been scared, but all I could think was, What happened in this man’s life that made him resort to breaking the law and putting innocent lives in danger? I wondered what his life was like.
The strangest part was that I kept wishing I could help this man. I kept asking myself if there was someone who could have helped him, who could have led him to think more about his choices in life. Then I began to think about all the people I knew. I wondered if there might have been someone who needed me, but I had not listened to the Spirit long enough to know it.
As all this was going through my mind, I had an overwhelming feeling. I prayed, first to thank my Heavenly Father for protecting me, but then to ask Him to bless the man who robbed our store. I asked Him to help the man find the happiness I have in my life. I knew Heavenly Father was the only one who knew how to help this man.
At that moment I realized how truly blessed I was to have the gospel. No matter what happens, I know I can turn to my Father in Heaven and He will help me. The gospel was a very special gift I had been taking for granted all my life.
I wanted to find the man who robbed the store and tell him about prayer and about the gospel. I wanted to tell him of the Atonement and of God’s plan for us. But I especially wanted to share my testimony of God’s love for all His children.
Even though this man put my life in danger, he is a precious child in Heavenly Father’s sight. He is one of His lost sheep. I felt then, and even now feel, a love for this man I do not know.

When I was 12 years old, my father took me hunting in the mountains. We woke up at 3:00 in the morning, saddled our horses, and set out up the forested mountainside in total darkness. As much as I loved hunting with my dad, at that moment I felt a little nervous. I had never been in these mountains before, and I couldn’t see the trail—or much of anything else, for that matter! The only thing I could see was the small flashlight my dad was carrying as it cast a faint light on the pine trees ahead of us. What if my horse slipped and fell—could he even see where he was going? But this thought comforted me: “Dad knows where he’s going. If I follow him, everything will be OK.”
And everything was OK. Eventually the sun came out, and we had a wonderful day together. As we started toward home, my dad pointed to a majestic, sloping peak that stood out among the others. “That’s Windy Ridge,” he said. “That’s where the good hunting is.” Instantly, I knew that I wanted to come back and climb to Windy Ridge someday.
In the years that followed, I would often hear my father talk about Windy Ridge, but we never went back—until one day, 20 years later, I called my dad and said, “Let’s go to Windy.” Once again we saddled our horses and started up the mountainside. I was now an experienced rider in my 30s, yet I was surprised to feel the same nervousness I had felt as a 12-year-old boy. But my dad knew the way, and I followed him.
Finally we made it to the top of Windy. The view was exhilarating, and the overwhelming feeling I had was that I wanted to come back—not for me this time but for my wife and my children. I wanted them to experience what I had experienced.
Over the years, I’ve had many opportunities to lead my sons and other young men to mountaintops, just as my father led me. These experiences have prompted me to ponder what it means to lead—and what it means to follow.

A lot of people are thankful to Shawn for their introduction to the gospel. One of his favorite activities is helping the missionaries. When invited, he sometimes travels across four or five states on an airline or in his own plane to tell an assembly of investigators about rodeoing and the gospel. He explains some of the finer points of bronc riding and then winds up the meeting telling them why the gospel is so important. After a recent trip to an Indian reservation where he explained about the gospel and how to ride broncs, he said, “I guess this approach has helped opened a few more doors for the elders.”