Gospel Story Finder

Our Young Women leaders decided that an overnight trip was just the thing to get us ready for camp. They chose the banks of the San Pedro River in southern Arizona, USA, to set up our practice camp.
After rolling out the sleeping bags, the other girls and I wanted to explore and get into the water. The leaders thought some discussions on safety and first aid should come first. So we all sat in a shady spot near the river for the lesson.
Paying attention wasn’t easy when we could see the river shining in the sun. The breeze was playing in the cottonwood trees as Sister Brown* talked. We had all heard the lesson before, and I just couldn’t understand why we needed it now. We knew all about putting pressure on a wound to stop the bleeding, but there she was telling us again.
Before they let us go, the leaders repeatedly told us not to go in the river without shoes. “You never know what’s in there, and you’ve got to protect your feet.”
As I got to the edge of the river, some of the other girls were already splashing in the water. The water was brown with mud. It was less than a foot deep all the way across, and I couldn’t believe that it was dangerous.
I decided to take off my shoes. I had brought only one pair, and I didn’t see the sense in getting them wet and having soggy shoes all day. My two best friends, Martha and Elizabeth, both reminded me of what the leaders had said. I took my shoes off anyway and explained my reasons. Martha took hers off too. Elizabeth was more hesitant. I waded out into the water and with a sarcastic tone said, “Keep them on if you want to.”
She sat down, took off her shoes, and ran into the water. After about five steps she stopped, turned pale, and calmly said, “Oh, no.” When she pulled her foot out of the water, I could see blood streaming out of a cut. She had stepped on a broken bottle.
The sight of blood made my brain go numb. Even though I had just been listening to a lesson on first aid, I had no idea what to do. I decided to run for help. Two others helped her out of the water.
I found Sister Brown and told her what had happened. She thought I was kidding. But when she saw Elizabeth sitting in the trail with blood gushing from her foot, she ran toward her shouting, “Put pressure on that cut!”
The lesson of 10 minutes before began to sink in. The girls, who had been standing around Elizabeth and watching her bleed, elevated her foot and put pressure on the wound.
Elizabeth was taken to the hospital, where she was told that she had almost cut her foot in half. It required numerous stitches and would take a long time to heal. The next time I saw her she was using crutches.
I never thought I could or would ever convince my best friend to do something that would hurt her that badly. I had never seen myself as a bad influence before.
Now I’m trying to be a better example to my friends, and I’m more willing to listen to my leaders. They know what they’re talking about.

Within 10 years of their arrival in the valley, the Saints built the Endowment House, where they could receive some of their temple blessings. As Brigham Young explained, “In consequence of our having been driven from our homes, and because of our destitute circumstances, the Lord has permitted us to do what we have done, namely, to use this Endowment House for temple purposes.” It was dedicated May 5, 1855. Here Elsie Ann, the daughter of John and Jane Akerley, was sealed for time and all eternity to her husband, Henry Jacob Faust, on April 2, 1857.

I would like to express my deep gratitude to you for your article on being a nanny. Hopefully it will open the eyes of many girls thinking about it.
My first three months as a nanny were spent being interrogated and degraded, being made to feel worthless in any task I tried. As the phone bill rose to over $200 a month I was told I was immature and needed to count on myself, not my family or friends. I had no other means of support or companionship and had to grow up or get out. I couldn’t be a “quitter,” so I promised myself I’d make it through my entire term.
I’ve been here over 11 months. It has taken its toll on me spiritually, emotionally, and physically. At times I didn’t know if I was going to explode or go crazy. I was ready to cry at any moment. I’ve put on over 20 pounds. My total self-image has been shaken.
K. Malaine MarolfStone Mountain, Georgia

I recall a very troubling conversation I had years ago with a young man in a South American airport, where we were both delayed by late planes.
His hair was long and his face bearded, his glasses large and round. Sandals were on his feet, and his clothing such as to give the appearance of total indifference to any standard of style.
He was earnest and evidently sincere. He was educated and thoughtful, a graduate of a great North American university. Without employment and sustained by his father, he was traveling through South America.
What was he after in life? I asked. “Peace—and freedom” was his immediate response. Did he use drugs? Yes, they were one of his means to obtain the peace and freedom he sought. Discussion of drugs led to discussion of morals. He talked matter-of-factly about the new morality that gave so much more freedom than any previous generation had ever known.
He had learned in our opening introductions that I was a churchman; and he let me know, in something of a condescending way, that the morality of my generation was a joke. Then with earnestness he asked how I could honestly defend personal virtue and moral chastity. I shocked him a little when I declared that his freedom was a delusion, that his peace was a fraud, and that I would tell him why. …
Can there be peace in the heart of any person, can there be freedom in the life of one who has been left only misery as the bitter fruit of indulgence?
Can anything be more false or dishonest than gratification of passion without acceptance of responsibility? …
No family can have peace, no life can be free from the storms of adversity unless that family and that home are built on foundations of morality, fidelity, and mutual respect. There cannot be peace where there is not trust; there cannot be freedom where there is not loyalty. The warm sunlight of love will not rise out of a swamp of immorality. …
Is there a valid case for virtue in our world? It is the only way to freedom from regret. The peace of conscience which flows therefrom is the only personal peace that is not counterfeit.1

The bell rang out across the playground. Recess was over. Alvin put away his basketball and walked to the classroom.
“Please sit down and take out your math books,” his teacher, Mrs. Hall, said.
Alvin slid into his seat and reached into his school bag. Then he heard a knock on the classroom door. Mrs. Hall answered it and started talking with another teacher.
Just a few desks over, Blake and Jared started whispering.
“Pssst! Look what I found!”
“Whoa!”
“Wanna try it after school?”
What’s going on? Alvin wondered.
He could just barely see Blake and Jared out of the corner of his eye. It looked like one of them was pulling a little plastic bag out of his pocket.
Wait, were those drugs?!
Alvin’s heart beat faster. His parents had talked with him and his siblings about drugs before. He knew that drugs were against the Word of Wisdom and that they could hurt your body and brain. He also knew it was dangerous to take medicine that wasn’t yours.
What should I do? Alvin thought. He glanced around. Those drugs could hurt someone! None of the other kids seemed to be paying attention. Should I tell someone? Or just pretend I didn’t see it?
Alvin had trouble concentrating during math. He couldn’t focus during reading time. By lunchtime, he felt like a rock was sitting in his stomach.
“Are you OK?” his friend Mitch asked.
Alvin shrugged.
“What’s going on? Tell us,” his friend Hazel said.
So Alvin told them about what he had seen. “I think I need to tell Mrs. Hall.”
“But what if they find out it was you?” Mitch said. “They might be really mad at you.”
Alvin agreed. But the yucky feeling in his stomach wouldn’t go away. Finally he made a decision. He was going to tell their teacher.
“I’ll go with you,” Hazel said.
Alvin and Hazel found Mrs. Hall in her classroom.
“Mrs. Hall?” Alvin asked. “Can we talk with you in private?”
“Of course,” Mrs. Hall said. “How can I help you?”
“Um … ,” Alvin said. Mrs. Hall smiled kindly. That made him feel brave. “I saw Blake and Jared with drugs in class today. I felt like I needed to tell you.”
“You did the right thing,” Mrs. Hall said. “You can always come talk to me when you see a problem. I’ll take care of it.”
Alvin let out a big sigh. The heavy feeling had disappeared.
That afternoon, the principal’s assistant came to their room and called Blake and Jared to come out in the hall.
The boys didn’t come back to class for three days.
When they finally came back, Alvin was nervous to see them again.
What if they figured out I was the one who told the teacher? he thought. What if they’re really mad at me?
But they just sat and joked with each other, like usual.
“Where have you been?” another classmate asked them.
“Oh … uh … we got caught with something bad at school,” Blake said. “So we got sent home.”
Everyone kept talking, and eventually Alvin relaxed. He was glad he’d spoken up about the drugs to help keep others safe. He wanted to make good choices to keep his body safe and healthy.

Perhaps I was influenced too—as have been countless thousands of others—by the words of Charles Dickens as he wrote that immortal classic, A Christmas Carol. We recall the habitual response of “Bah! Humbug!” that Ebenezer Scrooge gave to any Christmas greeting. On one such occasion his cheerful nephew replied: “I have always thought of Christmastime … as a good time; a kind, forgiving, charitable, pleasant time … and I say, God bless it!”
Then you will remember Scrooge’s dream when the Ghost of Christmas Past appeared and said to him: “I wear the chain I forged in life. I made it link by link … and of my own free will I wore it.”
Thus Scrooge was reminded of his own neglect of his fellowmen and his heart began to soften. By the time of the appearance of the Ghost of Christmas Present, he was able to say, “Tonight, if you have aught to teach me, let me profit by it.”
Then when the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come appeared, Scrooge said: “I am prepared for what you have to say to me … with a thankful heart.”
As he was shown the sad fates of some he had failed to help and foresaw his own lonely death, he pleaded, “Assure me that I yet may change … [and] I will honour Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year.”
He was overjoyed when he awakened and found that he was still alive and had time to make amends, which he promptly set about to do.

I can remember many occasions when my perception has crumbled and additional knowledge has wiped away judgment. During my college years I looked at a fellow student, whom I will call Roy, in amazement. Why was he so conceited? His need to be recognized and praised was never ending. Every conversation he had with anyone always centered on his recent achievements and the projects he was now involved in that would ensure his fame. He was underappreciated and let everyone know it. His name became a joke. We came to the conclusion that he was an obnoxious egomaniac who sounded his own praise from morning until night.
One day I learned that one of my friends knew his family. She began to tell me some things. “Roy’s father was an alcoholic. Did you know that?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Oh, yes. He made their life just miserable. He was a crazy man. Once, when Roy was about five, he walked in the kitchen and saw his father attempting to kill his mother. It was a terrible scene and Roy was there to watch it all.”
The impact of this information on my conscience was instant. All my perceptions, all my judgment shattered, and I saw past the facade into the reality. I saw past the obnoxious adult to the traumatized little boy that I wanted to take in my arms and comfort. I never looked at Roy the same again. I knew his secret, one of his secrets, and I understood.

One Thursday evening at a branch meeting at the Missionary Training Center, Provo, Utah, a large group of Primary children came and sang about being in the army of Helaman and hoping to be called on missions.
When the children finished singing, they remained standing. The elders and sisters stood to sing “Called to Serve,” the hymn which has become a missionary anthem. The missionaries had been so moved by the children’s songs that many were close to tears. As they sang I noticed the children. They were not looking at the floor or at each other. They were gazing intently into the faces of the missionaries whose song bore testimony of faith. The children believed the words they heard, and they knew the missionaries believed them too.
Both missionaries and children were witnesses to a demonstration of faith that is almost miraculous, and both accepted it as they would a more normal event. Yet, in that group of missionaries were individuals who had saved for years to serve a mission. All of them were willing to go where and when they were asked. Most had received a letter from someone they had never met which informed them they were going to a place they had never been, to meet people they had never seen and learn languages and discussions they did not know. Most were going at their own expense or were helped by other equally faithful people who made contributions.

In their pack’s Pinewood Derby race, Peter’s car won first place, by a fraction of a second, over Aaron’s car! Peter and his dad worked together to make a spaceship car, and Aaron and his dad designed his car to look like a knife. At the district Pinewood Derby race, Peter won third place overall, and both boys received design awards.

As you ponder what the Savior did for you, you’ll have a desire to share this feeling with others, and not only will your testimony grow, but you’ll touch the hearts of others. I had an investigator who was not too sure about baptism. During fast and testimony meeting, he was touched by the testimony of a sister and decided to be baptised. She had been an instrument in the Lord’s hands.
Elder George Kissi, 23England Manchester Mission

As a boy, he was determined to have perfect attendance at church. One Sunday he surprised his family by going to church, even though he didn’t feel well.

We have always learnt about the importance of serving a mission and being a missionary even if we have not had an opportunity to labor full time in the mission field. What a great privilege it is to watch our children learn about the Savior and to develop a willing heart to serve in the Lord’s vineyard. “And all thy children shall be taught of the Lord; and great shall be the peace of thy children” (Isaiah 54:13). Fulfilling this command, recently, the New Delhi India Stake Primary presidency organized a fun-filled activity for Primary children where they could learn about the process of becoming a missionary.
These beautiful children aged between 4–11 were welcomed to the activity by stake Primary leaders and were given individual missionary name tags and a letter extending a call to serve in the “Vasant Vihar Mission” for four hours. The children then boarded an airplane. They were served a snack and informed that they would be landing at the missionary training center soon. At the MTC the new missionary force was divided into companionships and received instruction which included games emphasizing missionary rules, specifically to stay close to and cooperate with their companions.
After lunch, President and Sister Ramakrishna reviewed the first principles and ordinances of the gospel of Jesus Christ with the senior Primary children and practiced their door approaches. Each companionship had the opportunity to knock on a door and share a brief lesson with “investigators.”
Meanwhile, the junior Primary children enjoyed movies and a coloring activity. The activity was wrapped up by making handwritten cards for the missionaries serving in New Delhi.
Jaden John, an eight-year-old Primary child said that this was the best activity he had ever attended. “I learned the four principles of the gospel, “he said, “and how to be a missionary.” Vivek Kumar said he learned, “that we have to follow the principles that God has given us.”
These young minds were nourished and nurtured by good instruction. Every child seemed to be saying, “I hope that I can share the gospel with those who want to know the truth. I want to be a missionary . . . And serve the Lord while I am in my youth.”
Indeed, these children are like the army of Helaman who are being taught in their youth to be the Lord’s missionaries and to bring the world his truth. Let us be comforted to know that there is no better work to be involved in than missionary work.

Zeb didn’t need anyone to remind him that it was Saturday as he came into Mumma’s warm kitchen with an armload of firewood for the stove. The beanpot, burbling gently in the oven, gave off a tantalizing aroma of molasses, pork, and beans. The boy sniffed in anticipation as he dumped the sticks into the woodbox. Twelve-year-old Zeb enjoyed the traditional Maine Saturday night baked-bean dinner.
Hattie, his older sister, pulled a kettle of water to the front of the stove. “The water’s boiling now, Mumma,” she announced.
“OK, Hat, I’m ready,” Mumma declared, coming in from the pantry with two covered cans full of brown-bread batter. She eased the cans into the kettle for their steam bath, then looked out the window toward the cove where the seawater washed onto a rocky beach. “Zeb, did you hear Daddy’s boat when you were outside?” she asked.
“Well, no … I didn’t,” the boy replied sheepishly. “I was playing my trumpet in back of the barn. With Daddy and Bubba gone lobstering, I figured it was a good chance for me to get in a few licks of practice. The band’s going to have a concert at school Tuesday. You know, Mumma, Daddy and Bubba don’t seem to appreciate my music.”
Zeb and his mother shared a wry smile. But Hattie, arms akimbo, said indignantly, “Why, Zebadiah Beale! I never once heard Daddy say a hateful word to you about that trumpet, although everybody knows that you can make more racket with that horn than a cat with its tail caught in the door.”
Zeb shook his head. “I see you have no ear for music either.” He darted in back of Hattie and gave her apron strings a tug. While Hattie fussed and retied her apron, Zeb escaped to the pantry and fished a doughnut out of the brown crock. Munching contentedly, he eased back into the kitchen as Hattie was saying, “It looks like we’re going to have company. Here comes Effie Nash.”
Zeb watched with interest as a figure in a plaid coat came up the steps. She must be about Mumma’s age, he thought, but she doesn’t act like any adult that I know. People said Effie was “lacking,” but Zeb thought her way of thinking made about as much sense as anyone else’s. He remembered seeing Effie in town one day with her shoes on the wrong feet. When someone had pointed the fact out to her, she’d said, “Why, I find they wear longer if I change them around once in a while.” Maybe shoes do last longer by switching them around, Zeb mused.
Hattie opened the door, and Effie came in. She was wearing her shoes on the proper feet today. Getting right down to business, she announced, “Ma said to tell you to save three lobsters when Matt gets back. She wants them for dinner tomorrow. Ahh-choo!”
“Good gracious, Effie,” Mumma said, handing her a handkerchief, “how did you catch such a cold?”
“I’m sure I don’t know—SNIFF—unless it was because I had a hole in my mitten when I was hanging out the wash yesterday morning.”
Hattie had a sudden attack of coughing, and Zeb gave her a warning poke. Mumma said hurriedly, “We’ll be sure to save the lobsters for you, Effie. Won’t you sit down and stay awhile?”
“No, thanks. I have to get back home. Ma’s waiting for me to help her with supper.”
The door banged shut behind Effie, and she trudged down the path toward the road.
Mumma looked out the window and drew in her breath sharply. “Oh, my! Look at that fog coming in off the ocean.”
Fog! Zeb felt a hard knot of fear form in the pit of his stomach—Daddy and Bubba were still out there somewhere! When great fog banks rolled in from the sea without any warning, small fishing boats sometimes got lost because the fishermen couldn’t see the shore or any familiar landmark.
Mumma, Hattie, and Zeb grabbed their coats and ran outside and down to the edge of the cove, anxiously listening for the sound of a motorboat. As the fog thickened, blotting out even the outlines of the spruce trees behind them, all ordinary sounds were muffled into an eerie silence.
Mumma cupped her hands around her mouth and called, “MATT? BUBBA? … MATT!” But the fog seemed to wrap her cries in dirty cotton wool and drop them into the cold gray water near her feet. Putting her arms around her children Mumma sighed, then took a deep breath and turned to Hattie and Zeb and said, “Our voices aren’t going to carry far enough to be heard, so let’s build a bonfire on the beach. Maybe Daddy and Bubba will see the glow from it. You two go up to the shed and start lugging firewood. I’ll get some brush together. Don’t forget to bring matches back with you.”
“I’ll get the matches from the kitchen, Zeb, and be right back,” Hattie panted as they scrambled up the path toward the woodshed.
Zeb nodded and began pulling sticks off the woodpile. Hattie was back in a minute, shoving a box of wooden matches into her coat pocket. They worked quickly, and soon both had as much wood as they could carry. “C’mon, Hat! That’s enough for the first trip,” Zeb cautioned as Hattie seemed intent on loading herself like a pack mule.
They stumbled back down the path to the edge of the beach, hardly able to see where they were going. When they reached the rocky shore, they peered uneasily through the thick mist, trying to find Mumma.
“Is that you, kids?” Mumma’s voice sounded as hollow as a ghost’s, until she finally emerged in front of them. “I’ve piled a lot of brush near the edge of the water. Follow me, and we’ll get some wood on it.”
Walking single file, they approached the heap of brush, where Zeb and Hattie dropped their loads. Zeb arranged a few sticks loosely on top of the tinder, then lit a match to it. The fog and the sea air had dampened the once-dry brush, but it finally crackled and flared and caught fire.
“Mumma, you keep it going. Hat and I’ll go back for more wood.”
Zeb and Hattie were clambering up the path when they heard footsteps. Zeb, leading the way, almost bumped into a tall heavyset figure wearing oilskins and gum boots.
“Hold on there, Zeb. I don’t aim to be trampled to death,” Mr. Nash’s voice boomed out somewhere over the top of Zeb’s head.
“Daddy and Bubba haven’t come back yet, Mr. Nash,” Hattie blurted out. “We’ve built a bonfire down on the shore, and we’re going to get more wood.”
“Let me give you a hand,” Mr. Nash said, turning back up the path with them. “Effie said your Pa wasn’t back when she was over at your house. When the fog came in, I thought I’d check on you. It’s going to take a lot of wood to keep that fire going. Hattie, why don’t you scoot over to Peavys’ and tell them what’s happened. Those two Peavy boys can help carry wood too.”
“Oh, that’s a good idea,” Hattie said gratefully. She turned down the road toward the Peavy house, while Zeb and Mr. Nash plunged on up to the shed. Zeb felt better in the comforting presence of this big man, who seemed to know just what to do. The tight knot in his stomach loosened up a little as he listened to Mr. Nash’s matter-of-fact voice.
When they brought their wood back to the shore, Mumma was standing by the fire. “Well, Bertha,” Mr. Nash greeted her, “any sign of them yet?”
Mumma shook her head. “Not a sound.” She shivered and hugged her coat closer around her.
“It’ll take time for them to get to the cove here after they spot the fire,” Mr. Nash said. He threw more wood onto the fire. As it blazed higher, Zeb saw several figures coming toward them out of the fog with Hattie in the lead. They all carried armloads of wood. Zeb blew a sigh of relief.
But afternoon wore into evening, and in spite of the enormous bonfire, no one could hear the sound of a motorboat. It’s no use! thought Zeb in despair. They can’t see the fire through the fog. What else can we do? …
And then Zeb knew!
He charged through a knot of people coming down the path and bolted up to the house. “Hurry! Hurry!” he muttered to himself as he clattered upstairs to his room. Grabbing what he had come for, he sped back to the shore. On the rocky edge of the cove, Zeb raised his trumpet to his lips.
Out across the water, cutting cleanly through the vapor banks, the clear notes of a Sousa march pealed forth. Hardly stopping for breath, Zeb played through all the music he’d practiced for the band concert. With a stamina he never knew he had, he played on, switching to the old songs he’d known all his life. He was in the middle of “God of Our Fathers, Whose Almighty Hand,” when Mumma’s hand tightened on his shoulder.
“Listen! Do you hear it?”
Zeb lowered his trumpet, and from out of the mist came a faint throb of a boat engine. Then silence. Everyone strained to listen. There it was again, a faraway motor!
“Keep playing, boy, keep playing! You’ll guide them in!” roared Mr. Nash, pulling off his moisture-laden hat and slapping it against his leg.
Zeb lifted the trumpet to his swollen lips and began the old familiar hymn again, playing it as a joyful processional. The put-put of the motorboat grew louder. Suddenly a boat loomed out of the fog, lighted by the bonfire on shore.
Mumma was the first one out onto the dock, her racing feet barely touching the wooden planks. Hattie and Zeb were close behind her.
Matt and Bubba were quickly up on the dock, hugging Mumma and Hattie. Then Zeb, still holding his trumpet, was grabbed in a bear hug by his father, while Bubba pounded him on the back.
Daddy’s eyes were bright as he said only half-teasingly, “I’m sure glad to find you at the end of that trumpet, Son, instead of the Angel Gabriel!”

Oliver and Albert, Friends Forever, by Jean Van Leeuwen, illustrated by Ann Schweninger. Albert is the new boy at school. He can’t kick or catch, so his classmates don’t want him on their kickball team. But Oliver discovers that Albert is good at other things and that two people don’t have to be exactly the same to be friends.

Members were also blessed with dedicated leaders such as Rey L. Pratt. Called as president of the Mexico Mission in 1907, he served in that calling until his passing in 1931. He loved the history, culture, and people of Mexico and gained their love and trust as they worked together to strengthen the Church’s foundation there. President Pratt’s efforts to build up native Mexican Church leaders proved especially important in 1926 when the Mexican government began enforcing the law that prohibited nonnatives from presiding over congregations in Mexico.6 During this time a group of members formed what was called the Third Convention and began calling their own leaders and building meetinghouses.

Just the other day, after President Hinckley called my wife and me, I was reading in the book of Deuteronomy and found a verse in the 12th chapter that came to mean a lot to me. It’s put in the form of a commandment. The Lord says, “Thou shalt rejoice before the Lord thy God in all that thou puttest thine hands unto” (Deut. 12:18). We are grateful for this privilege to rejoice in the Lord at this new opportunity.

Much like another young man, whom I will mention later, I was 14 when I started to question religion and my faith. I attended the church of another denomination close to my house, but I felt the desire to visit many different churches.
One afternoon, I noticed two young men in dark suits and white shirts entering my neighbor’s home. These young men looked—special.
The next day I met my neighbor, Leonor Lopez, and asked her about those two men. Leonor explained that they were missionaries for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. She joyfully told me that her family was baptized into the Church a year earlier. Seeing my interest, Leonor invited me to meet the missionaries and learn about the Church.
Two days later, I joined the Lopez family to meet the missionaries. They introduced themselves as Elder John Messerly from Ogden, Utah, and Elder Christopher Osorio from Walnut Creek, California. I will never forget them.
Since I was only 14, Elder Messerly insisted we go next door to my home so that my mother could know what they were teaching me. There, he kindly explained that they came to share a message about Jesus Christ and asked for her permission to teach me. Mother agreed and even joined us while they taught me.
The missionaries first asked Leonor to offer a prayer. This touched me very deeply because her prayer was not a repetition of memorized words but an expression from her heart. I felt she was really talking to her Heavenly Father.
The missionaries then taught us about Jesus Christ. They showed a picture of Him that impressed me because it was a picture of the resurrected, living Christ.
They continued, teaching us how Jesus established His Church in ancient times, with Him at the head joined by twelve Apostles. They taught us about the Apostasy—how truth and Christ’s authority had been taken from the earth after His Apostles died.
They told us of a young 14-year-old boy named Joseph Smith who, during the early 1800s, visited different churches searching for truth. As time went on, Joseph became even more confused. After reading in the Bible that we can “ask of God” for wisdom, Joseph, acting in faith, retired to a grove of trees to pray and ask which church he should join.
One of the missionaries read Joseph’s account of what happened as he prayed:
“I saw a pillar of light exactly over my head, above the brightness of the sun, which descended gradually until it fell upon me.
“… When the light rested upon me I saw two Personages, whose brightness and glory defy all description, standing above me in the air. One of them spake unto me, calling me by name and said, pointing to the other—This is My Beloved Son. Hear Him!”
During that lesson, the Spirit confirmed to me several truths.
First, God listens to all His children’s sincere prayers, and heaven is open to all—not just a few.
Second, God the Father, Jesus Christ, and the Holy Ghost are three separate beings, united in Their purpose “to bring to pass the immortality and eternal life of man.”
Third, we are created in the image of God. Our Heavenly Father and His Son, Jesus Christ, have bodies of flesh and bones like us, but They are glorified and perfected, and the Holy Ghost is a personage of spirit.
Fourth, through Joseph Smith, Jesus Christ restored His gospel and true Church to the earth. The priesthood authority conferred on Christ’s Apostles 2,000 years ago is the same priesthood conferred upon Joseph Smith and Oliver Cowdery by Peter, James, and John.
Finally, we learned about another testament of Jesus Christ: the Book of Mormon. Written by ancient prophets, it tells of the people who lived in the Americas before, during, and after the birth of Jesus. From it we learn of how they knew, loved, and worshipped Christ, who appeared to them as the resurrected Savior.
The Spirit moved me profoundly as I learned of the Savior’s declaration to them: “Behold, I am Jesus Christ, whom the prophets testified shall come into the world.”
The missionaries gave us our own copy of the Book of Mormon. We read and accepted the invitation found at the end of the Book of Mormon, which reads:
“And when ye shall receive these things, I would exhort you that ye would ask God, the Eternal Father, in the name of Christ, if these things are not true; and if ye shall ask with a sincere heart, with real intent, having faith in Christ, he will manifest the truth of it unto you, by the power of the Holy Ghost.
“And by the power of the Holy Ghost ye may know the truth of all things.”
It has been almost 45 years since my mother and I first learned the joy and power of having faith in Christ. It was because of their faith in Christ that the Lopez family shared their new faith with me. It was because of their faith in Christ that these two missionaries left their homes in the United States to find my mother and me. It was the faith of all these dear friends that planted a mustard seed of faith in us that has since grown into a mighty tree of eternal blessings.
During these blessed years, we have known, as President Russell M. Nelson declared: “Everything good in life—every potential blessing of eternal significance—begins with faith. Allowing God to prevail in our lives begins with faith that He is willing to guide us. True repentance begins with faith that Jesus Christ has the power to cleanse, heal, and strengthen us.”

Andrew G., age 6, Pennsylvania, USA
I needed some help delivering my school captain speech because I was really nervous. So I said a private prayer. I ended up delivering my speech well and was voted school captain!

One of the most remarkable stories is about my great-grandfather, who was Liberia’s first doctor. His mission was to bring healing and hope to those in need. He was later transferred to the deep forests of what is now the Nimba region, where he was granted vast lands to establish his medical mission.
This land became the foundation for a legacy of service and family. My great-grandfather had 24 wives and many children, and from generation to generation, his family grew. My grandfather, Samuel J. Mentee, was among them, and he continued the family legacy. By the time of his passing, he left behind an incredible record of 170 grandchildren, of which I am one.

Since ward basketball teams can only involve five players at a time, there are often many participants waiting impatiently on the bench for an opportunity to get into the game. The Pleasant Grove 13th Ward, Pleasant Grove Utah Stake, has alleviated this situation with the organization of a ward basketball league. Organized as a fellowshipping and service project by the priests quorum, the league consists of eight teams. Seven of the teams include five or six adults plus one priest, teacher, and deacon. The eighth team is a bishopric team.
The ward plays four 45-minute games each Mutual night, two before and two after classes. The rules stipulate that an Aaronic Priesthood member must be on the court at all times. This has significantly added to the camaraderie and success of the team, according to priests quorum adviser Dell Young. One of the young men was leading scorer with 26 points during a game early in the season. Members of the priests quorum serve as scorekeepers, statisticians, publicity chairmen, and referees.
Because of the unity and fun that this ward has experienced through. their basketball league, they are now considering forming leagues in softball, volleyball, swimming, tennis, and any other sport that would be popular. Leagues for the women and girls are also on the drawing board.