Gospel Story Finder

Even though I no longer planned to attend the military academy, serving three years as a soldier was still required for all young men. I had already served one year in the Korea Busan Mission when I received orders from the Korean government to report for military duty. I served three years in the army, and after I was discharged, I wanted to finish my mission. I was then called to the Korea Seoul Mission and served another year there.

The bell rang on Friday afternoon, and everyone quickly filed out of the school. Finally, my school week was over, and it was time to have some fun with my friends. We threw our backpacks into the trunk of my car and hopped in.
I was the first of my group of friends to have access to a car, so I was usually the driver. I was also the only Latter-day Saint in the group and, even though I had good friends, their standards were sometimes different from mine.
As we drove that day, my friends used swear words to dress up their stories. As in times past, it bothered me. So I thought about how I could cut down on the swearing and make the language of our group better. I knew my friends were aware and respectful of my values, but would they get mad if I expected them to uphold one of those values? I decided to try an idea.
“Hey, I’m trying out this new rule in my car where there’s no swearing allowed,” I said. They all gave me funny looks, but they went along with it. The result was amazing! Our conversations were hilarious because, instead of using swear words to express strong emotions, everyone found funnier ways to say things. It made our experiences in the car so much more enjoyable, and our friendships were strengthened as we kept the rule during car rides together.
I was so glad my friends were receptive to that no-swearing rule and were willing to uphold it in my car. It made me feel good to know I could stand up for my values and have my friends respect them. Best of all, it really made a difference in our friendships and helped us all to better appreciate the effects good language can have on people’s lives.

The sun was just going down behind the mountains when Annie and her two brothers set out for the sheep pasture. Since the sheep hadn’t been in for water that day, Dad was worried that something had happened and they were lost. Annie and her brothers were often asked to follow the fence along the pasture and check for any holes that would allow the sheep to escape. This time was the same as any other time, except that night would soon be upon them.

“I wonder if the sheep went through the same hole in the fence as last time,” Annie said.

“I doubt it,” Karl told her. “Dad fixed it really good. I know because I helped him.”

“Then did they make another hole?” Lewis asked.

“Probably,” Karl said. “Maybe they were chased through the fence by that pack of stray dogs that has been running loose.”

The threesome said nothing more as they hurried around the fence. Annie was sure that her two brothers were thinking the same thing she was: It would be dark soon, and if the sheep hadn’t gone through the familiar hole, it could take a long time to find where they had gone. Stray dogs could have chased them far away by now.

At the old hole in the fence, their fears were realized. It was patched well, and there were no tracks showing that the sheep had escaped that way.

“We won’t have time to find them tonight,” Lewis said. “We better go tell Daddy.”

“If we go back without having any idea where they are, it could take Dad a long time to find them. We better finish walking by the fence and see if we can find where they escaped,” Karl said.

As Annie walked near the fence behind her brother, a Primary lesson she once had came to her mind. It was about Jesus and His sheep. Her teacher said that Jesus would look for even one of His lost sheep. Maybe He would help them with theirs.

“Hey!” Annie exclaimed. Her two brothers jumped at her sudden outburst. “Why don’t we pray and ask Heavenly Father to help us find our lost sheep like Jesus finds His lost sheep?”

“Why would He want to find our sheep?” Karl asked.

“He looks for lost sheep all the time,” Annie told him. “He can help us find our sheep.”

“He looks for sheep?” Lewis asked with a confused look on his face.

Annie nodded. “My Primary teacher told me that He does. And if we pray, He will help us find our lost sheep.”

The two boys agreed, and the children made a tiny circle and bowed their heads in prayer. As soon as the prayer ended, the children heard the sound of a bleating sheep.

“It worked!” Annie cried happily. “Heavenly Father answered our prayer!” The children rushed toward the sound, barely finding their way in the growing darkness. Karl began calling for them, and soon the sheep crossed through a hole in the fence and hurried back to the water trough.

“How did you find the sheep?” Dad asked the children when they arrived home. Annie explained how she remembered her Primary lesson on Jesus being the Good Shepherd and that Heavenly Father helped them find their sheep, just like Jesus looks for His sheep.

“And do you know who His sheep are?” Dad asked.

Annie shrugged her shoulders.

Dad chuckled, but his eyes filled with tears. “All of Heavenly Father’s children are Jesus’s sheep,” he explained. “If there are any that are lost or hurt, He does all He can to bring them back to the flock where it’s safe.”

“You mean Jesus’s sheep aren’t really sheep?” Annie asked in surprise.

Dad nodded and a tear slid down his cheek. He sat in a chair and lifted Annie onto his lap. “Jesus used this parable about sheep to teach us about caring for others. You had great faith that Heavenly Father would help you find your sheep. And now you might know a little bit about how Jesus feels when one of His sheep is lost.”

Annie sat on Dad’s lap thinking about what she had just learned. After a while, she said, “Daddy, I want to help Jesus find His sheep too.”

“I know you do, sweetie,” Dad said. “We all want to.”

“How can I?” she asked.

Smiling, Dad explained, “Pretty much the same way you found our sheep today. You have to look for them and lead them to water.” At her questioning look, he continued, “Jesus is the Good Shepherd, but He is also called the Living Water because He feeds us spiritually. By sharing your testimony with your friends, and living as a good example, you can lead them to the Savior.”

Annie clapped her hands. “I get it now. That’s what my Primary teacher meant when she talked about the sheep following Jesus to green pastures and pure water.”

“Yes,” Dad agreed. “The scriptures say, “‘He shall feed his flock like a shepherd.’”*

“He who sees all things, whose love is endless, … knows what the sheep need at every moment. By the power of the Holy Ghost, He can tell us and send us to them.”Elder Henry B. Eyring of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, “‘Watch with Me,’” Ensign, May 2001, 39.

Forty-five years ago I worked with a man named Sharman Hummel in the printing business. I once asked him how he came to receive his testimony of the gospel.
He responded, “We lived in the East. I was journeying by bus to San Francisco. In Salt Lake City a young girl entered the bus—a Primary girl—who sat next to me. She was going to Reno, Nevada, for a visit with her aunt. As we journeyed westward, I noticed a billboard: ‘Visit the Mormon Sunday School this week.’
“I said to the little girl, ‘I guess there are a lot of Mormons in Utah, aren’t there?’
“She replied, ‘Yes, sir.’
“Then I said to her, ‘Are you a Mormon?’
“Again her reply: ‘Yes, sir.’”
Sharman Hummel then asked, “What do Mormons believe?” And that little girl recited the first article of faith; then she talked about it. Continuing, she gave him the second article of faith and talked about it. Then she gave him the third and the fourth and the fifth and the sixth and all of the Articles of Faith and talked about all of them.
Sharman Hummel said, “I was profoundly impressed. When I arrived in San Francisco, the very first thing I did was to look through the yellow pages for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I called the mission president, and he sent two missionaries to where I was staying. I became a member of the Church, my wife became a member, all of our children became members.”
The entire Hummel family remained active in the Church. Each of the daughters has been to the temple. Countless are those who have been brought to a knowledge of the gospel by the members of this family—all because a young child had been taught the Articles of Faith and had the ability and the courage to proclaim the truth.

Have you ever asked yourself any of these questions? Are you entertaining any of these questions now? If you are, rest assured that most people have contemplated these very questions, including me. Let me illustrate by sharing with you the following tragic event that happened to me when I was three or four years old. It happened on a peaceful day when my older brother and I were milling around the backyard, looking for something to do. My brother came upon the idea of exploring my father's cupboard in the garage that was, by the way, strictly off limits. I reluctantly followed my brother into the garage and watched as he climbed upon the workbench and pulled the stick from the latch on the cupboard.

As he opened the cupboard door, he quickly located the test tubes of chemicals that my father kept there. I began to feel very uneasy and ran for the back door of our house. Unfortunately, the back door to our house was difficult to open. And weighing a mere 40 or 50 lb., there wasn't a chance that I was going to get it opened. I cried out to my mother while pounding on the door, but she, at that very moment, was vacuuming the floor and was not able to hear me.

After a few moments, I resolved to return to the garage to see what my brother was doing. He had, while I was away, secured a test tube, climbed down from the workbench, and removed the tube's lid. He motioned for me to come and smell its contents. I reluctantly moved forward. As I drew near to him, he--not knowing the bottle was filled with dangerous acid--threw it on me. I was badly burned and rushed to the hospital. I still vividly remember the ambulance ride. My mother later said that she had never heard a child scream so loudly. I ended up spending many days in bed, wrapped in white bandages. And I still carry the scars of those burns to this day.

That was a traumatic experience in my life, one that was followed by a number of others. Time will not permit me to relate those. Nevertheless, it is sufficient to say that I seemed to be a magnet for tragic events. And many times I have had the occasion of crying out to Heavenly Father for comfort and for answers. Let me share with you some of the things I have learned. I hope that you will find them helpful.

I will conclude with a true story that happened not long ago. The story begins with a BYU-Idaho student (I will call Jane) inviting her boyfriend into her bedroom. This happened more than once. Her roommates knew what Jane was doing, but she told them, "We just need a place to talk."

Most of the roommates ignored what Jane was doing, but one of them, Mary, talked to Jane. Jane was upset with Mary and told her it was none of her business. Mary did not let it go. She followed Matthew, chapter 18, verses 15-17, and eventually persuaded Jane to go with her to the Student Honor Office.

Jane went, but she was really upset with Mary. Jane met with a Student Honor administrator. He could tell that Jane was very angry with Mary for bringing her in, and so he asked Jane a really interesting question: "Which of your roommates do you think loves you the most--the ones who turned away or Mary who brought you here?" Jane dropped her head and began to cry. She said in her tears, "Mary is the one who loves me the most."

That moment of tears and recognition was for Jane the beginning of "coming to herself" and turning to Christ. Many years from now when Jane is a wife and mother she will look back on the love of her roommate with overwhelming gratitude. She will think of her temple marriage, of her husband and her children, of her deep and abiding testimony of the gospel; and she will thank Heavenly Father for His plan of salvation, for the Atonement of Jesus Christ, and for a roommate who reached out to her in a moment of great need.

But Brother Ng’s search for truth had started years earlier. His grandmother, a Buddhist, had begun attending Christian churches shortly before her death, and Brother Ng often accompanied her. “I was looking for a god who was different than the one I’d been taught about while growing up,” he remembers. “But the pastors and preachers at those meetings were difficult to approach, and they were more concerned with donations than with answering my questions.”
Brother Ng’s questions went unanswered until he met the missionaries. “From the beginning, I learned about our Father in Heaven and his son, Jesus Christ. The missionaries taught of our relationship to these beings. And they continually talked of being children of God,” he remembers.

I can remember one day at recess we had the whole second grade playing a lively game of Red Rover. The boy I liked more than any other boy in the whole class was it. He stood surveying the situation for a moment, and then he called, “Red Rover, Red Rover, send Gay on over.” I took off running as fast as I could. I had to try to make it over to the other side without his catching me. I ran faster than I have ever run before; I guess I learned at an early age to play hard-to-get. This boy came really close, but I ran from one side of the field to the other without being tagged. Success! Unfortunately, I was running too quickly to stop, and I ran right into a barbed-wire fence. It is important that in our lives we do our best and work our hardest to achieve our goals, but we must be certain that the outcome leads us to where we want to be. Our goals must be directed to the future, to happiness, and to perfection. “Happy is that people, whose God is the Lord” (Psalm 144:15).

A friend of mine, Michael Koerber, discovered these principles when he was studying the gospel. Initially he didn’t take the lessons too seriously. He said that he was stubborn and did not read the Book of Mormon. However, due to a singular spiritual experience he and his wife, Audrey, had with the missionaries, he realized that he had to make more than a casual commitment. He committed to read the Book of Mormon.

One morning while on vacation he was reading the Book of Mormon. He reported his experience in these words:
I was reading in Alma somewhere. I remember ­having come to the end of my reading for that morning and coming to a very clear and undeniable realization of the truth of the Book of Mormon. It is indescribable. All I know is that it is as though every cell of my body rang out or sang out or shouted out, “This is it! This is true! Here it is! Look no further! You have the answer to your prayers!”
I remember getting up and walking over to my wife and saying to her, “We are joining this church.”
Audrey then asked, “Why now? What changed?”
I answered, “I don’t know. But I do know that this book is true. And if this book is true, then it was translated by a prophet of God. And if it was translated by a prophet of God, then I am joining this church.”

My Grandma Fischer died when I was ten, and the only knowledge my children have of this great-grandmother is what I relate to them. One of the special things I remember about Grandma Fischer is her cooking. She loved to cook and loved even more to share her cooking. She joined the Church in Germany along with her fiance, my grandfather Fischer, and came to the United States. She brought with her many of her mother’s and grandmother’s favorite recipes from the old country. A Christmas tradition in the Fischer family is stollen, a sweet, fruited and glazed bread.

Most families have favorite recipes that have been passed down from one generation to the next. Christmas, Thanksgiving, birthdays, and other holidays often have cherished foods associated with them. But family favorites don’t have to belong just to holidays. Maybe an uncle bakes blueberry muffins every Saturday morning. Or a grandmother makes her version of sugar cookies when she knows her grandchildren are coming to visit. These are family traditions too.

What are some of your family’s traditional recipes? Find out by asking your mother and grandmothers, your aunts and cousins, either in person or by telephone or letter. Don’t just ask for the recipes, though. Ask about the cook who first used the recipe too. You may discover fascinating things about your family and its history that you didn’t know before!

Make a collection of the recipes and include a short history or some interesting facts about each contributor. If possible, include a photograph. Have copies made and distribute them at the next family reunion, put them in a family newsletter, or simply send them to interested relatives. And they will be a treasure to hand down to your own children later.

Isaac Ernsten pulls on a pair of rubber gloves while one of the other young men in the quorum helps tie a hospital gown over his white shirt and tie. They all put on surgical masks and make sure they have both the sacrament trays before they walk into the hospital room. The man in the bed is one of many who has requested that the young men bring the sacrament to him.
Each Sunday, patients in the Salt Lake Regional Medical Center who can’t make it to church have church brought to them by the young men from the Salt Lake Emigration Stake. During the months of January and July, it’s the responsibility of the young men from the 21st North Ward.
“In church, some people take the sacrament just because it’s a part of the sacrament meeting,” says Isaac, a priest who helps bring the sacrament to hospital patients. “These people have to request that the sacrament be brought to them. I think it means a lot to them. Some of them are so happy to see us when we get there. I can tell that they really want the sacrament.”
Most of the young men will admit that sometimes it makes them a bit nervous to be around people who are seriously injured or dying, but they feel it is their duty, and they enjoy doing it. And even though the man in the hospital bed does not feel well, he is happy to see them come in.
The stained glass windows around the small chapel glow with the bright light from outside. The hospital branch uses a chapel that was built by the Catholic Church when the hospital was known as Holy Cross Hospital. More than half the congregation is made up of the young men from the 21st North Ward, and there are fewer than a dozen of them. Others in attendance include the branch presidency, Relief Society presidency, a few patients who feel well enough to leave their beds, and some hospital staff.
It takes one deacon only a few minutes to pass the sacrament to everyone. Then the young men put on the sacrament meeting program. They give the talks, offer the prayers, and fill in wherever else they are needed.
“In our home ward, preparing the sacrament can sometimes become routine,” says Abe Daris, a priest who has helped prepare, bless, or pass the sacrament at the hospital since he was a deacon. “Not that it should be routine, but here it is something more. It makes me realize how important the sacrament is. Even if there are only one or two members who show up, it’s still important enough for a whole quorum to help out a branch president and conduct a sacrament meeting. It’s important that members renew their covenants every week and feel the Spirit.”
After the meeting, the young men visit the individual rooms of people who have requested the sacrament. “That’s my favorite part,” Abe says. “It makes me realize how important the sacrament is to people. When we come with the sacrament, they just light up, and they’re so excited.”
All of the priesthood holders can remember specific people and experiences in the hospital that strengthened their testimonies. Abe remembers a woman who was very ill. “She had a lot of trouble breathing,” he said. “She couldn’t talk at all and could barely move. Even though we couldn’t communicate verbally, we could see in her eyes that she was happy to receive the sacrament. We smiled at her, and she smiled back. We could feel the Spirit and knew she appreciated it. It’s hard to explain. You had to be there.”
One of Abe’s brothers, Jeremiah, a teacher, remembers helping a woman who couldn’t move to take the sacrament. “I had to hold the sacrament water out and pour it into her mouth,” he says. “That was probably one of the more memorable experiences. I was helping someone who couldn’t do it for herself. She was really happy to get the sacrament. I’m sure she was glad I was there.”
Before they bless the sacrament and pass it to the patients, Simon Williams, one of the teachers, enjoys visiting. “There are all sorts of people there. Sometimes we visit new mothers, and sometimes we visit older people,” he says. “When you are in a hospital, I think you have a lot of time to think about life. People start thinking about what they’ve done in the past and start thinking more about Heavenly Father and the gospel. I think taking the sacrament for the people in the hospital can mean more for them than for many people because a lot of the people in the hospital are going to have some pretty big changes in their lives.”
Each week as the young men give service in the hospital, they receive something themselves. One thing they all agree on is that their assignment has given them a greater understanding of the importance of the sacrament. “A lot of times in my home ward I don’t really take the chance to think about what the sacrament means because I’m focused on passing it,” Simon says. “Sometimes we take the sacrament for granted. But it really stands for something amazing.”
The youth feel it is their duty to serve others. But no matter how much they give, they say they are the ones who are rewarded most. “We have such a good time doing it that it’s not really like it’s a sacrifice,” Abe says. “When you’ve been given so much, you have to serve and help other people. This has just been another way for us to give back, and not only to help other people, but to grow ourselves. Our duty to God is to serve Him by serving other people.”

The story is told of a group of men who were talking about people who had influenced their lives and to whom they were grateful. One man thought of a high-school teacher who had introduced him to Tennyson. He decided to write and thank her.

In time, written in a feeble scrawl, came this letter:

“My Dear Willie:
“I can’t tell you how much your note meant to me. I am in my eighties, living alone in a small room, cooking my own meals, lonely, and like the last leaf lingering behind. You will be interested to know that I taught school for fifty years, and yours is the first note of appreciation I have ever received. It came on a blue, cold morning, and it cheered me as nothing has for years.”

At a young age, Elder L. Whitney Clayton learned to love work and family. Early every Saturday, his father, a physician, would leave to attend to medical duties. Before he left, he would write on a chalkboard a list of all the chores to be done that day. When he returned he would join his sons and work side by side with them. From his father, Elder Clayton learned a work ethic that has blessed his life.

This was not a traditional prom night in Fort Wayne, Indiana. It was September (instead of springtime). The prom was held at the Ossian Health Care Center (instead of a ballroom). The hosts were teenagers (typical), and the guests were elderly and handicapped residents of the care center (not so typical). The chaperones were the children of the guests.
This nontraditional but very special prom was hosted last year by the youth from the Fort Wayne First Ward and Decatur Branch, Fort Wayne Indiana Stake. Turning the dining room at the care center into a “Seniors’ Prom,” they decorated with balloons and crepe paper. They provided dance music, special entertainment, and refreshments. And each guest was presented with a corsage or boutonniere.
A prom is not complete without a royal couple. So a committee of four young people took turns interviewing the guests during the early part of the evening. Later, Ricky Scheumann and Helen Anderson were crowned prom king and queen.
The youth were the dancing partners for those attending from the care center. And even wheelchairs didn’t stop anyone from taking to the dance floor. “It was a wonderful success! We’re looking forward to it next year,” one of the residents exclaimed.
The spirit of this group of young women and men from Fort Wayne, Indiana, can be summed up in the words of one of the youth leaders, Vickie Houseman: “When we are serving others, we feel we are showing love for our Heavenly Father.”

The air was biting cold and damp. The pungent odor of smoke from coal fires stung our nostrils as we breathed. The fog and the darkness of the evening made it difficult to see. It was a typical winter night in England.
I was a new missionary of two months. My companion and I were hurriedly riding our bicycles to a nearby town to meet the lady missionaries. On the telephone the sisters seemed anxious and concerned. A member in their area needed help.
Arriving as quickly as we could after the phone call, we accompanied the sisters to the member’s home. We knocked at the door and a woman answered, inviting us into a very small room with a fireplace at one end. In the dim light I could see the woman’s face. She had puffy cheeks and sad, tired, reddened eyes. Her eyelashes were wet and matted. More tears streaked her face as she gestured toward a small crib near the fireplace. Sobbing, the mother said, “My baby is sick. She can’t breathe and the doctor says she will die.” Bronchitis and pneumonia kill many babies during the harsh British winters.
The mother asked us to administer to the tiny, three-week-old baby. Tenderly she lifted the baby from its crib and held it gently and protectively in her arms. Tears fell from her eyes onto the clean linen in which the baby was wrapped. There was hardly enough room on the tiny head for my two comparatively large hands. As I placed my hands on her soft little head, I could feel the delicate tufts of hair.
It was the first time in my life that I had administered to a sick person. Somehow I managed the correct words. “Sonja Holbert, in the name of Jesus Christ and by the power of the Holy Melchizedek Priesthood …” At that moment I could feel a surge of power within me. It was something unique and unusual. I knew without a doubt that I was acting as an instrument in the hands of Almighty God himself to heal that little baby.
This experience merged into others as the time went by until the memory of it was dimmed. Almost two years later near the end of my mission, I was assigned to work in the town where the mother and the little girl lived. As we tracted down a street, one of our contacts told us that a member of our church lived around the corner. We found the house and knocked at the door. English row houses look much the same, and I was not immediately aware that this was the same house I had visited nearly two years before. The woman invited us in. As we entered the same small room, a pair of bright, blue eyes stared up at me. I sat down in a chair, and a beautiful little girl climbed into my lap. As I patted the blond ringlets on her head, a flood of memories returned to me—the dreary night, the tearful mother, the infant gasping for every breath, and the unmistakable power of the priesthood. “Thank you, Father,” I murmured silently, “for the privilege of using that power to help this little girl.”
I was strengthened by this experience. I knew then the reality of what it meant to say, “I know that the priesthood has been restored in this day, and I bear testimony that God lives and loves us. I know great blessings can come to pass through righteous exercise of his priesthood.”

Like some of you, I know what it is to face disappointment and youthful humiliation. As a boy, I played team softball in elementary and junior high school. Two captains were chosen, and then they, in turn, selected the players they desired on their respective teams. Of course, the best players were chosen first, then second, and third. To be selected fourth or fifth was not too bad, but to be chosen last and relegated to a remote position in the outfield was downright awful. I know; I was there.
How I hoped the ball would never be hit in my direction, for surely I would drop it, runners would score, and teammates would laugh.
As though it were just yesterday, I remember the very moment when all that changed in my life. The game started out as I have described: I was chosen last. I made my sorrowful way to the deep pocket of right field and watched as the other team filled the bases with runners. Two batters then went down on strikes. Suddenly, the next batter hit a mighty drive. I even heard him say, “This will be a home run.” That was humiliating, since the ball was coming in my direction. Was it beyond my reach? I raced for the spot where I thought the ball would drop, uttered a prayer while running, and stretched forth my cupped hands. I surprised myself. I caught the ball! My team won the game.
This one experience bolstered my confidence, inspired my desire to practice, and led me from that last-to-be-chosen place to become a real contributor to the team.
We can experience that burst of confidence. We can feel that pride of performance. A three-word formula will help us: Never give up.

In the distance we can hear voices descending through the mountain trees. Looking up the rocky slope, we see three Italian girls, arm in arm, singing and walking toward us. Gradually we recognize the song—a favorite among LDS young women—“I Walk by Faith.” As Iris Cartia, Annalisa Brandonisio, and Stefania Ferrazzano come closer, they all begin talking at once—part in English, part in Italian, and part in French, with a lot of hand gestures. Then Stefania starts to sing a popular Italian song for us, accompanied with dancing and good-natured laughter. Soon, the girls get serious again and sing several LDS hymns. These girls, who range in age from fifteen to seventeen, come from widely different areas and backgrounds in Italy, but it is obvious that they enjoy each other.
Three short whistle blasts—the call to supper. The three girls hesitate for a moment, but supper can wait while they finish sharing expressions of testimony and friendship. After a few more songs from these unpretentious girls, we all reluctantly and slowly return to camp.

One day I was working at the kitchen table and I had a feeling to check on my little brother. I looked up and saw him in his walker heading for the stairs. I ran over and pulled him away before he could fall. I know that the Holy Ghost whispered to me so that I could help keep my brother safe. I am thankful that when I was baptized I was able to receive the gift of the Holy Ghost.Spencer D., age 9, Arizona

As a young man I came across a Mormonad that really struck me: “Adversity can make you strong.” I never imagined I would later find in this phrase the strength to go forward during challenges of my mission.
The town in the Argentina Buenos Aires North Mission where my companion and I were working was filled with people who viewed two boys in white shirts and ties with distrust. We knocked on many doors, with no result.
On one particularly hot and difficult day, when our tired bodies felt like they could go no further, it began to rain. Mud developed and stuck to our shoes, making tracting even more difficult.
We wanted to return home, but then I remembered the phrase from the magazine and told my companion, “Come on, Elder. All this adversity is going to make us strong.”
We offered a prayer and felt we should look up an old referral we had never been able to find.
We arrived at the house, and again the woman was not there. But another woman, Anita, was. We gave her a Book of Mormon, and she promised to read it. We felt great happiness because we knew the Spirit had led us to her.
As we began to teach Anita, she accepted all the principles. However, when it was time for the fourth discussion, she told us she didn’t want to be baptized and asked us to leave. My companion and I were disappointed, but we were prepared for opposition. We invited Anita to ask Heavenly Father if she should be baptized, and trusted she would receive an answer.
When we went back the next day, Anita had indeed received an undeniable answer of peace in her heart. Ten days later, she was baptized.
I have since learned that one year later, Anita made covenants in the temple and became a source of referrals for the missionaries and a great example to the members of her community.
I value the opposition we had because that was how we found the strength to serve the Lord in the best way we could. Even now that I’ve returned home to Chile, I don’t become discouraged with problems because I now know how adversity can strengthen us.

“Just meet me at 6:30 tomorrow night,” she tells her friends, being purposefully vague about what she’s planning. Aarika has invited 20 nonmember friends to participate in something she promises “will get you into the Christmas spirit.”
That something is a night of caroling to people in a rest home and a visit to the Los Angeles Temple grounds. Aarika thought this would be a great missionary tool to help introduce her friends to the Church.
It isn’t her first missionary experience, and it certainly won’t be her last. If there’s one thing Aarika knows, it’s how to tell people about the gospel. Then again, she’d never done anything like this with this many people.
So Aarika went to work. A week before Christmas she arranged for her friends to meet at the home of Bruce and Kathryn Ghent. He is Aarika’s stake president, and Sister Ghent volunteered to prepare a light dinner in her home.
Of the 20 friends invited, 12 came, and none of them knew what they’d be doing. They showed up because they were curious and because they liked Aarika.
“I had prayed before I did this. I was scared to death,” Aarika recalls. “You have to know how scared I was to do this. I had fasted and prayed that the girls would feel the Spirit, so I knew I needed something to get them in the spiritual zone.” That’s where the caroling came in.
After dinner, the group drove to a rest home to sing to the residents. But instead of “Jingle Bells” and “Winter Wonderland,” Aarika borrowed hymnals from her ward, and the girls sang Christmas hymns about the Savior’s birth. “Some of my friends had never been caroling. We sat with the people; we sang to them. And my friends were saying, ‘I love this.’”
Aarika was too.
After the rest home visit, it was time to go to the Los Angeles Temple to see the grounds decorated with Christmas lights. Aarika gave a short explanation about why the Church has temples; then she took them into the visitors’ center to watch The Lamb of God.
The group also saw another short film, Luke 2, followed by a walk around the temple while drinking hot chocolate and looking at the lights.
“My friends asked me tons of questions and kept asking me, ‘What am I feeling? I love this feeling.’” It was then that Aarika took the opportunity to bear her testimony.
“The best part was seeing my friends look at the Church in a different way. I think that night they actually felt why I love the gospel so much,” she says. “We grew close that night, and it strengthened my testimony.”