Gospel Story Finder

A group of young members with recommends were going to the Salt Lake Temple to be baptized for the dead. One of them was hesitant because she felt that she didn’t really understand what temples were about. Her teacher said, “If you don’t feel that you’re ready for this experience, maybe you’d be willing to help a young lady in a wheelchair. Would you go with her, help her dress, help her into the font, and take care of her?” The girl said that she would.
In helping the young lady in the wheelchair, whom she hadn’t even known before, this girl became close to the Spirit of the Lord. She was so touched that she asked for the privilege of doing baptisms herself.

One day at school before I was eight, they were inspecting our hands and nails to see if they were clean, and the principal saw my CTR ring (“HLJ” in Spanish). After the principal checked the rest of my row, she came back to me and said, “Rebeca, come with me to the principal’s office.” Then she said to my teacher, “Can I take Rebeca for a while?”
In her office, she asked me what the ring meant. I said, “Choose the right.” I explained that at church they teach us to do good, pray, and read the scriptures. She asked which church I went to, and I said, “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.” Then she asked me what that church was about, and I told her about Joseph Smith going into a grove to pray and seeing the Father and the Son. I told her about going to the temple to be sealed to my parents and that I would be baptized when I was eight. She said, “You can tell me more later.”
Later I took the principal a copy of the Book of Mormon with my testimony inside.

In my hand I hold a letter received two days ago from a faithful, brokenhearted father whose son, about the same age as the others, took his own life, notwithstanding the efforts of loving parents and a fine, wholesome family. I wish there were time to read a description of how hard these marvelous parents have tried. This is a missionary family, a committed family, a stay-together family; yet this boy, convinced of his own worthlessness, that he was a failure and that the mistakes he had made were disqualifying, took his own life. His father sent a copy of the note he left, and asked me to make such use of his letter and this letter as judgment and my feelings suggested.
I read you just a sentence from the letter left by the boy who ended his own life: “I have no hope, only dreams that have died. I was never able to obtain satisfactory interpersonal relationships. I feared the future and a lot of other things. I felt inferior. I have almost no will to achieve, perseverance, or sense of worth, so goodbye. I should have listened to you but I didn’t. I started using acid last summer. It’s purgatory.” What a tragic story!

When I was a young man I lived in a small community close to the mountains. I was a lifeguard and did lots of swimming. We used to go tubing down rivers and all those crazy things that advisers worry about but guys get excited about. We went swimming at a place called East Canyon, a beautiful man-made reservoir. The dam is in a narrow neck of the canyon between sheer rock walls.

None of us had boats, so we couldn’t water ski, but we would do what we called cliff diving. We’d climb up those rocks and dive into the reservoir. We’d always wear tennis shoes because the rocks were so sharp. We used to have a wonderful time. I guess I didn’t realize how really dangerous it was.

After we’d been there several times and pretty well knew the rocks, cliffs, and the water depth, two or three of us hard-core East Canyon divers got into the inevitable teenage contest of raw courage. One guy climbed up to where we always dove from and yelled down, “Hey! I’ll bet I dare dive higher than anybody here!”

“Ah, go on!”

So he climbed up to the top of the dam. The dam was about 50 feet off the water. Diving into the air he arched into the water, and like a bunch of sheep we crawled up the rocks, out onto the dam, and all of us dove off. I don’t know if you’ve ever jumped 50 feet—it’s a long way. I could only think that, after all, the water was 70 feet deep and couldn’t hurt all that much.

Well, that didn’t satisfy my friend, and so he said, “All right, I’ll do one better!” He climbed 60 feet up the side of the cliff. And not wanting to be outdone, I climbed up by him. After all, everyone was looking at me. I had a great suntan, and I was sure everyone expected me to do what he was doing. He swallowed hard, buried his fear, and from trembling knees arched his back, and floating through 60 feet of air into the water.

I was grateful nobody was watching me as I prepared for my dive. When he’d cleared and seemed to be all right, I took courage, and I made my dive. By now the other members of our diving contest had backed down, figuring it was a little high. But not my friend. He climbed on up to about 70 feet and once more prepared to dive. From below I could barely see him. Seventy feet is a very long way up on the rocks. I said to myself, “I hope he doesn’t do it because if he does it, then obviously I’ve got to do it, and I really don’t want to.” About then I saw a pink body float through the air and splash into the water not far from me. He came up laughing, rubbing his shoulders and his eyes, and said, “Well, Merrill, are you going to do it?”

“Of course, I’m going to do it!” Everybody on the shore said, “Yeah, of course he’s going to do it!”

And so I swam back to the shore and climbed up the rocks. I knew I only had the courage for one more jump. I knew if I jumped at 70 feet, he was going to go higher, so I thought, “Well, I might as well go up to the very top where there is no way he can go higher.”

I scrambled up 80 feet to the very top of the cliff. As I turned around and looked down, I saw that the cliffs were back away from the water at that height. I had two challenges: to fall 80 feet and to get enough clearance to avoid hitting the rocks at the bottom. Everybody was egging me on in a negative way. “You’re chicken, you’re chicken!”

I stood there all alone, everybody waiting down below. The water was so far away it looked like crinkled tinfoil in the sun. I was just terrified. I was committed, but I had not even based my decision on what I wanted to do or what I felt was right. I had based it on about a half dozen guys whose names I don’t even remember who were yelling, “Hey, chicken, are you going to do it?”

I realized that in order to make the jump I would have to run a distance to get enough momentum to carry me over the rocks below. So I backed up and ran as hard as I could toward the edge. I found the mark I had carefully laid at the edge of the rock and sprang out into space. I don’t know how long it takes to fall 80 feet, but for me it took about a week. On the way down I remembered distinctly how my parents and teachers had taught me to be careful when making decisions because I could kill myself with a wrong one. I said to myself, “You have done it; you have killed yourself, because when you hit the water you’ll be going so fast that it might as well be concrete.” And when I hit the water, I was sure it was concrete. I don’t know how far down you go when you jump from 80 feet, but I’ll tell you, I was a grateful lad when my head finally popped above water. I took a quick inventory to make sure that the throbbing pain in my right thigh didn’t designate the loss of anything important.

Well, why did I jump? Did I prove myself to the guys? You think they cared? You think they’re sitting at home tonight saying, “Remember old Merrill, brave old Merrill, jumping off the. …” They don’t even remember! They don’t care! But for me that moment was as important as my life. I made what could have easily been a fatal decision. Through the grace of a very patient Heavenly Father I wasn’t killed. I didn’t land on the rocks; I missed by only a few feet. I didn’t drown, and I didn’t have a concussion or a number of other things that could easily have happened because of such a stupid decision.

I was subjected to pressure that was hard to withstand, the pressure of friends expecting things of me that I didn’t want to do because I knew better. But I yielded to the pressure. I was living in the world, and at that moment I was of the world because I was not in control of myself. I was not making decisions about my own life. The world made the decisions for me. I was of the world, and had barely avoided being in the world about six feet deep.

We had a strong group of young men in our ward, but our son Matthew gravitated to a nonmember who shared his love for cars and anything mechanical. Unfortunately, this young man came from a family that did not value religion. His parents allowed drinking and smoking in their home and didn’t believe that being morally clean was important.
Matthew had earned the top rank in Scouting, but he did not participate in the awards meeting because he had stopped living Scouting standards. I gathered all his Scouting awards and made a display case. Then I put it away, hoping that one day it would be of value to him. By the time he was 16, Matthew was smoking, drinking, and doing drugs. He dropped out of school and moved in with his girlfriend. For a couple of years, we rarely saw him.
We were devastated. We didn’t know if he would ever return to his family and faith, but we decided to follow Alma’s example in dealing with his wayward son. Alma continued to love his son and prayed with faith that he would “be brought to the knowledge of the truth” (Mosiah 27:14).
We prayed constantly that the Lord would intervene in Matthew’s life, and we took every opportunity to express by word and action how much we loved him. When he would come home, we did not say anything he might interpret as criticism or judgment. We simply expressed our joy at seeing him.
One day Matthew came home and said he wanted to talk. He said he had met a girl at a party who had questions about the Church. Before he could tell her that he no longer knew the answers, words started coming out of his mouth. He found himself answering her questions as fast as she asked them. Matthew said he did not remember having learned the things he spoke, but he knew his words were true. He wondered why he was living as he was when he still believed the gospel.
After three days of soul-searching, he decided to leave behind the life he had been leading. He had come home to ask for help in starting over.
Matthew called a cousin in another state who had overcome similar difficulties and asked if he could stay with him. His cousin agreed, and Matthew began attending Church meetings with him and met with the bishop to get help with the repentance process. He felt love and support and became active in the Church.
In time he met a lovely, righteous young woman. They fell in love and were married in the temple.
When their first child was born, I came for a visit and brought the display case I had made of his Scouting awards. He was thrilled and proudly hung it in a prominent place in his home.
An angel did not appear to our son, as had happened to Alma the Younger. But Matthew’s return to the truth was just as miraculous.

Members in the stake find a variety of ways to serve, sometimes very close to home. Miriam García is first counselor in the Relief Society presidency of the Otavalo Ward, but attends the Latin Branch. In a shop behind her house, several electric looms weave stockings that are sold in Ecuador, Peru, and Colombia. Her profits go in part to support her brother, who introduced her to the gospel before he was called to serve a mission in Guayaquil.
“I believed in God before I became a member, and I believed that Christ would come again. But I didn’t know how to prepare myself,” she says. She is grateful now for her knowledge of the gospel plan and for the spiritual support of her Heavenly Father. She is grateful, too, for temporal blessings that make it possible for her to send money to her brother in Guayaquil.

A single friend of ours who lives alone broke her shoulder and needed help. Word soon spread throughout her ward, and ward members brought dinners by the dozen so that she had to tell them to stop because her refrigerator was overflowing. One of them was a nearly blind sister who crossed a busy street with a hot dinner on a tray. Another sister volunteered to help clean her apartment. Seeing our friend’s reluctance, she countered, “How else can I show you that I love you?” Another sister who helped with grocery shopping saw the bright side of our friend’s accident as she pointed out, “This opportunity has brought us close to each other again!” These sisters all had the vision of the work the Savior had in mind for them to do.

Kali walked into the lunchroom and looked around. All the other kids were running straight to their friends and sitting down at tables. The room was noisy with excited voices and happy laughter. It was only the second day of school, but it seemed like everyone had someone to sit with but Kali.
She squeezed the handle of her lunchbox and walked to one of the tables. “Can I sit by you?” Kali asked.
A girl with a long, brown braid looked up. She huffed and shook her head. “No. It’s taken,” she said.
“OK.” Kali moved to another empty seat and set down her lunchbox.
“You can’t sit here! I’m saving that seat,” a boy in a red-striped shirt said. He pushed Kali’s lunchbox onto the floor. His friends all laughed.
Kali bent down and picked up her lunchbox again. She walked across the lunchroom and sat at an empty table. She saw someone from her neighborhood and waved, but he looked the other way. Kali frowned. Why didn’t anyone want to be her friend?
Kali looked down at her food. She didn’t feel like eating anymore. She wiped her eyes, closed her lunchbox, and walked outside.
Everyone was already playing with their friends. Kali sat by herself on a bench and watched the other kids having fun without her. Then Kali noticed a boy about her age sitting alone on the grass. He was wearing a stained yellow shirt, and his hair stood up in the back.
Kali looked away. She saw a group of girls from her class playing foursquare. She wished they would invite her to play with them.
Kali looked at the boy again. His head was hanging down, and he was picking the grass around his feet. Kali remembered something Mom sometimes said: Look for the kids who are lonely.
Kali frowned. She was lonely too. Nobody was trying to be her friend!
But then Kali thought about when she got baptized last year. She promised to listen to the Holy Ghost. Maybe the Holy Ghost was helping her remember what Mom told her. Maybe the Holy Ghost was trying to tell her to play with the boy in the yellow shirt.
Kali got to her feet. A warm feeling spread in her heart. She walked over and sat next to the boy in the grass.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hi,” he mumbled back.
“What’s your favorite color?”
“Um … green.”
“That’s cool. I like pink,” said Kali. “Do you have a favorite animal?”
The boy sat up a little straighter and looked at her. “Yeah. I really like dinosaurs.”
“Oh, me too. My favorite is a triceratops.”
The boy smiled.
Soon the bell rang. Kali got to her feet and waved goodbye to the boy. She smiled as she walked back to her classroom alone. She might not have a best friend, but she felt happy knowing she had made someone else’s recess a little better too.

Exactly forty years ago this fall, in a steamy little missionary apartment in Tonga, suffering from culture shock, an identity crisis, unbearable homesickness, discouragement with the Tongan language, and self-doubt, I knelt weeping before the Lord, asking to be rescued from my despair. I had plead for this with humility and desperation for several weeks. The result was the first, unmistakable divine communication of my life, unforgettable in its sweetness and power. There was no vision or thunderclap, but it was as if I was enfolded in Heavenly Father’s love, and his promise of support was impressed indelibly upon my mind. All of those promises came to pass.

My parents had nine children—eight sons and a daughter. The only girl died as a small child in World War II during the battle of Okinawa. Following the war, my father established a successful automotive repair shop in Nago, located in the northern part of the main island of Okinawa. In 1954, when my youngest brother was 2 and my oldest brother was 17, our father died, and my mother became a widow at the age of 40. Mother could not accept Father’s death. Sometimes, in her sorrow, she wanted to follow after him, but she had eight boys she could not leave behind.
Up until that time, my mother, Haru, had relied upon our father to be the breadwinner; but having lost him, she was now forced to work. She tried to forget her sorrow by working and then coming home and caring for her children. She struggled to raise her eight rowdy boys alone. When I was old enough to understand, I realized I never knew when my mother got up or when she went to sleep.
Ten years after the death of my father, as if guided by the Spirit, Mother left Nago amid the opposition of friends and relatives and moved to Naha, the capital of Okinawa. A few years later, about 1967, the missionaries knocked on our door. At that time our house was isolated and surrounded by sugarcane fields and a graveyard. The road to the house was in poor condition, and few people ever called on us. The missionaries were Elder Jackson and Elder Fuchigami, a second-generation Japanese-American from Hawaii. The missionaries asked, “May we speak with you about God?” Mother had been concerned about her sons’ education and thought we might learn something good from the missionaries, so she invited the elders in and said, “Please teach my children about God.”
Mother found peace as she learned about the gospel. She was impressed that the missionaries paid their own way and that Elder Jackson was serving a mission, even though he had lost his parents in an automobile accident when he was younger and had struggled along with an older sister. As she listened to the missionaries, Mother shed tears for the first time since my father’s death. She felt the Lord’s love and the Spirit through the discussions. She knew that this was the church our family had been searching for.
To set an example for her sons, Mother was baptized first. She was touched by the missionaries’ message and by their loving, kind behavior. She began to think that the greatest education she could give her children would be for us to learn the gospel and become missionaries. Mother always told the missionaries, “There are eight boys in our family. Please come to our house and teach the gospel to them. When they are all converted, there will be eight more priesthood holders at church. And they may be missionaries in the future.”
Most of my brothers and I were influenced by our mother and joined the Church one after another. As we attended church, our lives changed through the gospel and the help extended to us from the brothers and sisters at church. We became better sons and brothers. We started helping one another more and found life to be enjoyable. Four of us later preached the gospel as missionaries in various parts of Japan. When one of my older brothers, who had moved away from Okinawa, saw the fine stature of one of his younger brothers who was serving a mission, he said, “I can’t believe this is my younger brother who used to be so wild.” Then of his own initiative, he sought out the Church and was soon baptized and confirmed.
Before another of my older brothers was baptized at the age of 27, he had no idea how to live. He was troubled and would drink and party. He caused his family and the people around him much grief. When this brother learned about the purpose of life through the gospel, he was baptized and confirmed and eventually married a wonderful woman in the Church. He found joy in life and began feeling a purpose in being alive. He shared the gospel with friends and was a good influence to many. My brothers who were on missions could hardly believe it when they heard that this brother had joined the Church.
As missionaries, my brothers and I received assistance from our mission presidents and companions as well as Church members and the Lord. We worked hard, and with the help of the Spirit, we were able to baptize and confirm many people. Among those converted, one is now serving as a stake president, some are high councilors, and some are bishops. Those families have been sealed in the temple, and their children are now serving as missionaries. Through the service we were able to give, gospel seeds have been planted all around Japan and are starting to bloom. Mother’s dream to have her children be missionaries came true.
Through serving in callings, my brothers and I have grown spiritually. Each brother who has joined the Church has been sealed in the temple and is now raising a happy family. Mother was sealed in the Laie Hawaii Temple to our father and sister and those of us who have been converted. She was able to realize the fulness of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ as she received the blessings of the temple. She later visited relatives, diligently seeking for information that would help her with her family history work. My mother has served in the Relief Society and Young Women programs and as a seminary teacher.
The Kina family now includes daughters-in-law, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren: a total of 66 family members. Of these, 51 are members of the Church and 10 are returned missionaries. Grandchildren and great-grandchildren will continue going out on missions as they become of age. We feel that it is the duty of those who have received the blessings of the gospel to do so.
Kina family members have served or are serving in the following callings: two in the stake presidency (or district presidency), three as high councilors, seven in bishoprics (or branch presidencies), four as high priests group leaders, eight in elders quorum presidencies, six as mission leaders, and seven in Relief Society presidencies. We feel blessed that we have had these opportunities to serve others.
Mother received a strong testimony as she watched her children’s lives change for the better through the gospel of Jesus Christ. She had a desire to share the gospel with those she loved. She introduced friends and relatives to the missionaries and often held family meetings at home. Through this she was instrumental in bringing many into the Church, including 50 of her relatives.
Mother, now 90, once bore the following testimony: “As a mother, I would gladly sacrifice myself so that my children could return to their Heavenly Father. How can one leave any child he or she loves so much and still go to Heavenly Father? My most important mission here upon the earth as a mother is to return the children I received from Heavenly Father back to Him.”
We sons are now of the age that we have children and grandchildren and can understand and appreciate our mother’s testimony.
The gospel is true, and truth changes people. Through the gospel we have come to know God’s love and mercy. We have made many friends with the wonderful brothers and sisters in the Church and are grateful for the changes we have experienced through their examples. We will go forward as instruments in God’s hand here in Okinawa and preach the restored gospel, build churches and temples, and help to establish Zion.

On Sundays my mom usually woke me up so I could get ready for church and get there before the meetings began. But one Sunday my mom didn’t wake me up. I woke up by myself and noticed that I didn’t hear the usual noise of my family getting ready for church. I nervously looked at the clock and realized I was half an hour late for church. I had missed the sacrament. I probably would miss Sunday School too.
I felt confused and abandoned. Why didn’t my mom wake me up this morning? She always woke me up. But then it hit me: It wasn’t my mom’s responsibility to wake me up so I could get to church on time—it was mine. I had made my own covenants with Heavenly Father, and it was my responsibility to keep them.
Later that day my mom commented on not waking me up for church. She said that she wouldn’t wake me up again. She told me that I should put in my own effort and gain my own testimony.
During that week, I found myself thinking about how I couldn’t live on my parents’ testimonies forever and how I should try harder to strengthen my own testimony. Since then, I have worked hard to wake up early every Sunday so that I can make it to church on time and take the sacrament. I am learning to be spiritually self-sufficient.
Lia A., Ceará, Brazil

Several years ago, a friend of mine who was serving at the time as a stake president was out of work. He struggled hard to find employment, without success. Part of the problem was that he was nearly fifty years old, and many potential employers turned him down as qualified but too old. After several fruitless months, job interviews fell away to zero. After nearly a year out of work, the family’s savings were exhausted and their supply of food and other essentials was nearly all used up. My friend’s self-confidence had eroded to the vanishing point. Finally, he got another job interview. It went well, but the interviewer was undecided, influenced as others had been by my friend’s age. Finally, a senior partner in the firm intervened. “Hire him,” he declared. “He’s a Mormon stake president; he won’t steal from us.” Integrity is the jewel in the crown of character!

One of my most joyous memories began during the summer of 1981. We had walked the city streets all morning talking to businessmen about the Church. By noon we were hot and tired and ready to take a break. We decided to walk through a nearby park, and as we did so, we could see off to the side a group of young people. We decided to see if they would listen to our message.
As we approached, they looked at us with some suspicion. We told them we were missionaries of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. They laughed a little and made a few mocking comments. It seemed obvious that they didn’t want to listen to us. But there was one young man in the group who looked at us with a sincere interest. So we focused our attention on him. He had a guitar. We asked, “Would you play something for us?” He smiled, lifted his guitar, and began to play.
When he finished, we told him more about ourselves and our message. He told us his name was Jose Manuel. We talked for a few more minutes and then ended the conversation by asking if we could talk to him another day about our church. He replied he would be glad to listen to us and that we could find him in the park most every day taking his dog for a walk or playing his guitar.
As we left, we couldn’t imagine this young man ever being baptized. A few days later we were in that same area. To our pleasant surprise, there he was. We asked if he would listen to us. He consented, and we pulled two park benches together, and my companion and I sat on one and he sat on the other. We looked into Jose Manuel’s eyes and told him about Jesus Christ. Near the end of our message we told him about the Book of Mormon and that Jesus Christ had visited America after his resurrection. We challenged him to read about this great event. He said he would. We left the book, yet we had our doubts if Jose Manuel would ever even open it.
A few more days went by, and we decided to see how he had done on his reading assignment. To our surprise, he told us that he had read the part in the Book of Mormon that we had assigned him. He explained that he had told his friend about what he had read. His friend also wanted to read the book, so Jose Manuel had given it to him. He asked us if he could possibly get another copy. We told him that we could probably work something out.
After that we continued to teach him the gospel. We saw him change his appearance and his heart. He wanted to be baptized.
Nearly three years have passed since we first met Jose Manuel in that park in Madrid, Spain. He is now a member of the Church. A few months ago he, like you and me, had a decision to make. He had to decide whether or not to serve a mission. Jose Manuel had every reason in the world not to go. He was just a recent convert. His knowledge of the gospel wasn’t that extensive. He had lost his father a few years before, and his mother didn’t want him to go. Other family members didn’t want him to go either. He didn’t have the finances to be able to serve for eighteen months. He also had to complete his military service before he would be able to even think about serving a mission. Everything was against his going on a mission.
Every one of us, as we think about a mission, can find a number of reasons why we shouldn’t go. We must each look beyond those reasons. The key is to look for reasons to go. And Jose Manuel had some reasons to go. He knew that Jesus Christ was the son of God and the Savior of the world. He knew that Joseph Smith had seen a vision. He knew that the Church was true. He knew that it had changed his life, and he wanted to go out and share that knowledge with others.
Jose Manuel had a desire to serve. He was called to the work. With the help of the Lord, he was able to work things out. That always seems to happen. He overcame the obstacles, and he’s now serving in the Spain Barcelona mission.

Numerous individuals and couples have served both international and local welfare missions. The variety and scope of their service grew to span both the globe and the range of human need. As they have served on projects including instruction and practical help on food security, medical aid, sewing, clean water projects, and literacy to help for the disabled, welfare missionaries have followed the Savior’s example to care for those in need. Their reports show the spiritual dimension of this temporal service. Sister Connie Polve and her companion, both nurses serving welfare missions in Paraguay, treated an infant suffering from a severe skin infection. She reported, “I distinctly felt the Spirit of the Holy Ghost descend upon me and I knew that I was no longer operating under my own direction, but was indeed being a literal tool in the hand of the Lord to do a work for Him upon the earth.” The infant recovered, and the family—once “lost, timid people”—radiated “strength and [the] light of Christ [in] their countenances.”11 Today, over 11,000 missionaries care for those in need in 188 countries.12

I recently received a letter from a woman who reported having endured great suffering in her life. A terrible wrong, which she did not identify but alluded to, had been committed against her. She admitted that she struggled with feelings of great bitterness. In her anger, she mentally cried out, “Someone must pay for this terrible wrong.” In this extreme moment of sorrow and questioning, she wrote that there came into her heart an immediate reply: “Someone already has paid.”

I served a mission for the Lord in the Wisconsin Milwaukee Mission, and my first area was in the heart of Milwaukee. Living in a city like Milwaukee was a new experience for me. I spent a handful of years leading up to my mission living in the smaller town of Pleasant Grove, Utah. One of my first experiences with public transportation occurred within the first few weeks of my mission. I was with my trainer traveling on a city bus. We had done a lot of walking one day and decided to finish off the late afternoon riding the city bus. I remember I was tired and still a little overwhelmed with the whole mission experience. We did not have a lot of success contacting people that day, and I remember sitting down exhausted and spent on that cramped city bus.

Soon after we settled in, the person in front of us turned around and started talking to my companion and me. At first we were very hopeful and excited that someone actually wanted to talk to us. We let him know we were missionaries for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and that we taught people about Jesus Christ.

It soon became apparent that this individual was not looking for sincere conversation; instead, he was looking to pick an argument. Also, instead of engaging my trainer, he started to engage me with conversation. After a few rounds of questioning, he asked me directly "How many books are in the Bible?" I felt this question was not that relevant to anything-plus I didn't know the number-so I tried brushing him off, but without success. He became fixed on this question and started asking it in a louder voice. He could tell that I did not have the answer and was going in for the attack.

Other people on the bus started paying attention to the conversation and it started turning into a public display. He asked again, "How many books are in the Bible?" and added "How can you teach about Christ if you don't even know the Bible?" I started singing the seminary song in my head-Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, and Numbers-and counting at the same time. I learned I can't sing a song in my head and count at the same time because I kept losing count early in the Old Testament. I started to feel nervous because I was representing the Lord, and the attention on the bus was drawn towards me. I was concerned that I wasn't being a good elder or a good servant and that people would walk away believing that Latter-day Saint missionaries didn't know the Bible. I looked to my trainer for help but this man would not let my companion answer the question. He could sense the "greenie" target on me and was honing in on it. I vividly remember him pointing his finger at me saying, "I am talking to you, not him." Also, my trainer gave me a look suggesting I could handle this.

I remember praying that this conversation would end and that the man would turn around. As I did so, I remember being prompted to bear my testimony of who the Bible testifies of: Jesus Christ. I explained that I did not know how many books are in the Bible; however, I know what is in the Bible. I testified of Jehovah in the Old Testament and of Jesus Christ in the New Testament and that they are one, our Savior. I remember feeling the Spirit and the power of the Lord as I bore my testimony. And something powerful happened: the man stopped. He let go of the issue and turned around without challenging my testimony. It was apparent he wasn't interested in further sincere dialogue. I said a silent prayer the entire way home and expressed thanks to the powers above for help. And when I got back to my apartment, guess what I immediately did? I pulled out my scriptures and counted how many books were in the Bible. There are 66 just in case you find yourself in a similar situation. I remember thinking that if the only thing you know about the Bible is the number of books it has, you don't deeply understand and are missing out on so many of its teachings.

Preston Ward had a devotional with a tenor in Tabernacle Choir at Temple Square, Rick Olsen.
In the Zoom question-and-answer type devotional, he shared some of his experiences in six years of singing in the choir.
Growing up, Brother Olsen played the trombone—the only choir he participated in was the missionary training center choir and that was a spiritual experience to him which inspired his participation in the Tabernacle Choir at Temple Square.
His two daughters, who are also involved with the choir, shared their experiences as well. The three of them and Brother Olsen’s wife also played instruments and sang a few songs for the Preston members.
Brother Olsen’s wife, Sister Olsen said, “It really is a blessing to have a member of the Tabernacle Choir in our home.”
“They come home with good stories and a good feeling, a feeling that comes with performing with the choir and it spreads. Plus, we get to watch them perform in the wonderful performances the Church does.” She added.
One of Brother Olsen’s daughters, Marie, who plays the violin in the Orchestra at Temple Square, said, “The orchestra is a lot less demanding. It’s professional. We don’t attend general conferences which are always busy for the choir. We also don’t require so much practice as the choir does.”
One of the Preston members asked which of the two locations at Temple Square is nicer to sing at, The Olsens agreed the old Tabernacle building is better for its history, and acoustics are better in the Tabernacle but they all said the Conference Center is an “awe-inspiring” place to perform. “The crowd is better in the Conference Center,” “When 21,000 people sing a hymn back at you, it’s quite the experience.” Brother Olsen said.
“Choir directors say they are coming home when they are at the Tabernacle though.” Brother Olsen also added.
Another member asked how many languages the Olsens have sung. The Olsens listed Latin, Spanish, French, German, Jewish, and one said they usually have a returned missionary from the country somehow in the choir when they are learning something new, which is amazing in itself.
Brother Olsen said the most memorable experiences in his opinion are not just how close they are to the Church leadership in their performances, but the most memorable are the people, the friendships made during tours, etc., because Brother Olsen admitted, “we can’t speak too much with one another, but we can sing together.”
COVID-19 has affected the world, but from Brother Olsen’s perspective, the choir is missing one another. He told the Preston members that in the choir Facebook group, “I get the feeling there’s going to be a lot of tears when we get back together and sing again.”
He added that the last time they had sung all together normally was, “We Thank Thee O God, for a Prophet” in German. A recording was done for the April 2020 General Conference. The Olsen’s assured the Preston members that they love to serve with their musical talents and are very blessed to have music be used as a powerful sharing tool and expressed love and anticipation for when the choir can visit the United Kingdom.

I don’t like to admit this, but there were many times I found myself in a situation where I was stuck. It happened while driving tractors, trucks, motorbikes, and even while I was walking. When I found myself in this situation, I would call out to my father and say, “Dad, I’m stuck.” No matter what he may have been doing at that time, he would come and help me get unstuck. I knew I could always ask for and get help from my father when I needed it. The same is true for our Father in Heaven. We can always turn to Him to help us build and maintain our burning testimonies.

Last summer, I was playing on the sidewalk when a neighbor boy was teasing a good friend of mine. At first, I didn’t say anything. After a while, I started to tease my friend, too, and I hurt her feelings. I knew what I had done was very wrong.
I went home and talked to my mom. She helped me clean up and fix my hair. Then I got dressed in my Sunday clothes and picked some violets from our flower garden. We went to my friend’s house, and I gave her the flowers and told her I was very sorry.
I felt much better after I apologized, and I smiled all the way home.
Austin Hamon-Poulsen, age 6Hillspring, Alberta, Canada

“Well, it all started when my brother and I went with our father to a cattle auction thirty miles from home. We went by horseback and only planned to be gone a few days, but my father soon realized we’d need to be away longer. He was afraid that Mother would worry, so he asked me to head home the next day.
“I told him that I’d go but was nervous about going alone. He put his strong, work-worn hands on my shoulders and said, ‘Jonathan, you can use a compass as well as any man I know. You’ll be just fine.’
“Early the next day I started homeward, and by the time I made camp that night, I felt foolish about being so nervous. I was more than halfway home, and nothing had gone wrong.
“The following morning, as I got ready to leave, I thought about the delicious homemade rolls my mother baked every Thursday. I could imagine the steam rising from them as she took them out of the oven. I was so busy thinking about those rolls that I didn’t notice how large and gray the clouds were getting. It wasn’t until a sharp wind blew through my jacket that I realized I was heading right into a storm.
“The longer I rode, the bigger and blacker the clouds became, until it looked like I could reach up and touch them. When the storm broke, it wasn’t too bad. I figured if it didn’t get any worse, I’d make it home with no problem, and I started to relax.
“Just then, a loud roar sounded in my ears, and sheets of ice and snow hit me so hard I was nearly swept out of my saddle. I knew that if my horse and I were going to survive, I had to get us to safety quickly, The problem was that I didn’t know how to do it. We were in the middle of nowhere, and the snow was coming down so hard I could barely see my horse’s head.
“That’s when I started using my second compass, Jeff. The one that’s in here.” he tapped his chest. “I’d tried using it before, but not like I tried then. This was an emergency, and I needed the Lord’s help right away.”
A cold shiver passed through me as I asked Granddad what he did next.
“I reined in my horse, bowed my head, and offered a heartfelt prayer. I asked the Lord to spare my life and to help me find a way out of the storm.
“We moved forward again, straining against the icy wind until my horse refused to go any farther. I got down, took the reins in my hands, and began walking. Five steps later, I ran into a fence.
“I felt impressed to find out where it led, so I tied my horse to a fence post and walked until I came to a shed. Working my way around to the front, I opened the door and found a small herd of sheep. Generally I don’t care for the smell of sheep, and bunking down with them sure wasn’t what I had in mind when I prayed. But I knew that the Lord had answered my prayer, and I was truly grateful.
“Going back for my horse, I led him into the shed and made him as comfortable as possible. Then I waded right into the middle of those sheep. Fortunately someone had just put a new batch of straw down, and it was dry and warm.”
Laughing, I asked Granddad if he thought the sheep minded him climbing into the middle of them.
“They weren’t exactly pleased about it. In fact, they made it real hard for me to wedge my way in,” Granddad said with a chuckle. “But I kept pushing and pulling, and pretty soon I had enough room to lie down.”
“How long did you stay there? Were you able to keep warm? Did you go to sleep? Did—”
“Whoa, Jeff,” Granddad said. “Give me a chance to answer. I’m not sure how long I was there. I slept so soundly that I didn’t wake up until the sheep started moving around the next morning.
“Not wanting to overstay my welcome, I jumped up, thanked them for keeping me warm, and led my horse out of the shed. Three hours later I arrived home, safe and sound.”