Gospel Story Finder

Shortly after I had returned from my mission, I married a wonderful young woman named Wendy. A little over a year later, we experienced the pure joy of welcoming our precious daughter, Aubrey, into the world. Life felt full of promise. However, just shy of our two-year anniversary, everything changed in an instant.

On our way to my grandmother’s funeral, a driver ran a stop sign and crashed into our car. In the harrowing hours that followed, my world was shattered. Wendy passed away, leaving me alone to care for our seven-month-old daughter. The grief was unlike anything I had ever experienced. It tested my faith and resilience in ways I could never have imagined.

Some people wondered how I found the strength to trust God rather than curse Him for what they perceived as a terrible injustice. That answer lies in the Lord’s tender mercies—those quiet, undeniable moments when His hand had prepared me for what was ahead. One such moment had occurred just prior to Wendy’s passing, during an unexpected journey.

Just before the tragic accident, I had joined a close friend and recent BYU graduate on a whirlwind two-day trip to move his family’s belongings to California prior to him starting a new job. His wife was enduring a difficult pregnancy, and he was deeply anxious about her health and the health of their unborn child. My friend felt an urgent need to complete this trip and return to Provo quickly to be by his wife’s side before their baby arrived.

As we drove through miles of open road, our discussion gravitated to an unusual topic. We began to discuss what either of us might do if our wife were to pass away. For hours that was all we talked about—how one might cope with such a devastating loss, how faith in Jesus Christ could provide strength, and how understanding God’s plan might carry us through even the darkest moments.

On that journey I thought I was offering solace and perspective to my friend. I never imagined that just days later I would be standing in a hospital looking at the lifeless body of my wife. As the weight of Wendy’s passing crushed me, I suddenly realized that God, in His infinite kindness and understanding, had been preparing me for this moment. That conversation with my friend was not a coincidence—it was a tender mercy from a loving Father.

Through those hours of discussing grief, faith, and His plan, Heavenly Father had knowingly and tenderly been preparing my heart and mind to face the unimaginable. When the time came, the Spirit whispered to me that death—including Wendy’s passing, as heart-wrenching as it was—is part of a greater plan, a plan guided by a loving Heavenly Father who knew my pain and who would not leave me alone in it.

That understanding strengthened my faith in the Lord immeasurably. I learned in a most poignant way that He is aware of every detail of our lives and is constantly working to prepare and sustain us. It was an assurance that I would lean on heavily in the coming years. Through my friend’s need for help, I had been given a sacred gift: the assurance that God’s hand was in my life, even during my most devastating trial.

After 11 years of school I enrolled in a two-year technical college. I was 16, active in a singing group, and had lots of friends, but somehow I could never fit in. I wouldn’t smoke or drink with my friends, and their language upset me. I didn’t like to hear what they did late at night after their dates. They were my friends, but as I looked at them, I couldn’t help thinking, “What’s wrong? Why is the world this way?”
As if responding, my friends would ask me, “Why don’t you start living? It’s human nature to do what we do.” I told them the person in my dream could not have meant human nature to be that way. Their response was usually the same: “You’re crazy, Anna! You belong to another world!”
Often I prayed to my Heavenly Father, asking him to help me find people who thought as I thought or, as my friends put it, who were of “my world.”
Turning on the television one afternoon as a break from my studies, I saw a group of boys singing. I’m a serious-minded person and have never had a pop music “idol,” but something about these boys made me stay and listen. They were dressed in white, and as they sang, “Is the answer up above?” my heart responded, “Yes!” I learned they were the Osmonds and that they were Mormons. I decided to read some books about the Mormons, but I couldn’t find any.
One afternoon as I was upstairs studying, I heard a knock at the door. My mother answered it, and I could hear her talking to two young men. As I went downstairs, I heard mother try to give them some excuse and turn them away, but I said I wanted to talk with them. She let them in, closed the door, and went back to her work. The missionaries gave me the first discussion that very afternoon, and I began to get the same feeling I had experienced as a little girl as I ran into the arms of my Heavenly Father.
A week later they came to give me the second lesson, but my mother met them and told them they were not to come again. She told me later the missionaries were only after my money. That night I heard my parents arguing about the Church, and I decided I would not see the missionaries again.
Just before I turned 18 I finished school and decided to go visit one of my friends. She had married my uncle, and they had moved from England to Switzerland. The week I arrived in Switzerland, two Mormon missionaries knocked on their door.
I eagerly asked them to teach me and decided to be baptized after only three visits. Two weeks after my 18th birthday I was baptized. I had found my people, my world, and was in the arms of my Heavenly Father again.

Thursday was a terrible day for Jeramie. She was in junior high school, and her homework was hard. When she got home from school, the calculator she used in math was missing, and she was sure that one of the little kids had gone into her room and grabbed it. She was about to yell at her mother to punish “the little brats,” when she looked up and saw the picture of Jesus. She was still plenty mad, but she just didn’t feel like yelling anymore. She went quietly to find Mom, who reminded her that she had done her homework in the den last night. Sure enough, her calculator was in her father’s desk, where she had left it.

Years ago, when our four-month-old son had an operation, I felt forsaken and alone in a hospital waiting room. Another mother there was particularly comforting to me. She took me down the hall to meet her twelve-year-old daughter, who was suffering from leukemia. I found her to be like her mother, peacefully and cheerfully accepting this fatal illness. The girl was busy knitting dishcloths for her nurses. Her brightness helped me put my own concerns temporarily aside.
A few days later, our little one, now at home, was much better. I received a note from this mother. The affliction had taken my new young friend back to her Heavenly Father, but before she died, she asked her mother to send me a hand-knit dishcloth.
What a beautiful example they were to me of “good cheer” even in such a difficult circumstance. They had learned to accept those things they could not change and remembered the Savior’s words, “Be of good cheer, and do not fear, for I the Lord am with you, and will stand by you” (D&C 68:6).
I, too, remembered the Savior’s words, “They who have endured the crosses of the world, … shall inherit the kingdom of God, … and their joy shall be full forever” (2 Ne. 9:18).

When an eighteen-month-old Bolivian boy, Danny, was flown to Primary Children’s Medical Center in Salt Lake City for corrective surgery on his feet and hips, Relief Society sisters devotedly cared for him during his three-month recovery period.

Holladay Utah North Stake Relief Society president Sharon Kasteler reports, “The sisters who cared for Danny have the heart of the gospel in their lives today because they have shared and given.”

Jessie stopped at a flower shop on her way home from school and asked the price of a dozen long-stemmed roses—the kind Dad had always given Mom on special occasions before he died. Jessie looked at the two dollars and seventy-three cents in her coin purse. She couldn’t even afford the sweetheart roses that the florist suggested as a less expensive alternative. Mother’s Day was only three days away, and there was no way that Jessie could earn enough money before Sunday to buy the flowers that she hoped would make her mother smile again.
As Jessie walked home from the florist’s, she passed the site of a new housing development. But even all the fascinating construction equipment couldn’t get her mind off the flowers. Then she noticed that near the foundation of what had once been a house were a number of lilac bushes about to fall victim to a hungry bulldozer parked nearby.
A few years before, Jessie had mowed a neighbor’s lawn in exchange for a bouquet of lilacs. Jessie had given the flowers to her mom. What was it Mom had said? Then Jessie remembered: “Heaven must smell like this. I wish we had a lilac bush of our own.” That was it! She could give Mom something that she had always wanted, it wouldn’t cost a cent, and a lilac bush would last lots longer than cut flowers.
Jessie hurried home and returned with some small garden tools for digging up the bush. When she got back to the housing development, she began searching for a healthy, sturdy bush that wasn’t too large to move. Finding one, Jessie worked until her hands ached and started to blister and sweat poured down her face. But the ground was too hard.
In desperation she hurried home and came back with a quickly scribbled note: “Please save this lilac bush. I want to transplant it for my mother.” Feeling helpless, she stuck the note onto one of the bush’s branches, then headed for home.
After school the next day, Jessie raced to the construction site. She stared delightedly at what she saw. Although the bulldozer had leveled the remainder of the land, her chosen bush stood unharmed. As Jessie let out a whoop of joy, two workmen came up. “You must be the one who wrote the note. We saw how hard you had tried to dig around the bush, so we loosened the ground around it a bit and left it for you.”
Jessie thanked the workmen, then ran home and returned with a wagon and a spade. This time the broken ground easily yielded the bush. She pulled it home in the wagon, wet it down with the hose, and hid it behind the garage.
Late Saturday night Jessie planted the bush in the backyard. Later, when Mother was fixing breakfast before church, she happened to glance out the window. Then she looked again.
“Where did that lilac bush come from?”
When Jessie had finished telling her mother how she had gotten the bush, Mother smiled and said, “Thank you, Jessie. If you had spent a fortune, you couldn’t have given me anything that would have pleased me more.”
“I just hope that it will grow—that I planted it right,” Jessie said.
Mother put her arms around Jessie and, still smiling, said, “Don’t worry. You planted it just right. Long after you’ve grown up and left home, I’ll see that lilac bush whenever I look out the window and I’ll remember that you planted it with love.”

For many years our family has enjoyed the annual tradition of camping high in the Uintah Mountains of northeastern Utah. We travel 20 miles (32 km) over a rocky dirt road to arrive at a beautiful green valley with towering canyon walls and through which runs a river filled with cold, clear water. Each year, hoping to reaffirm the value of gospel doctrine and practices within the hearts of our children and our grandchildren, Susan and I ask each of our six sons and their families to prepare a short message on a topic they feel is an important element in the foundation of a Christ-centered home. We then gather for a family devotional in a secluded place, and each presents their message.
This year our grandchildren wrote the topic of their message on stones and then, one by one, buried them next to one another, representing a sure foundation upon which a happy life is established. Woven among all six of their messages was the immutable, eternal truth that Jesus Christ is the cornerstone of that foundation.

Jackie Biggs, 17, from the Syracuse First Ward, said the discussions at the conference had helped her understand ways in which she could improve her relationship with her parents. “Sometimes it seems like lessons don’t apply, but this one did. Sometimes I forget my parents are human, too.”

Jackie’s sentiments reflected feelings a lot of others shared, both during a testimony meeting and during an early morning seminary session.

“After the seminary lesson on parent-child relationships, my mother (who, as stake Young Women president, was at the conference) told me that she loved me,” Sherry said. “My back was to her and I didn’t hear her for sure. I thought maybe I was just wishing. Then turned around and saw her.”

True in his faith, Napela was one of the first to arrive in Laie. Remote and desolate, Laie became the new gathering place in the islands after the sad end of the Palawai settlement. Here in Laie, Napela and Kiti settled once again into a new life with the saints. During his first year here, Napela demonstrated how sugar cane could flourish on this side of the island. Soon plantations in Laie and Kahuku expanded and a new means of support took root. Here is a photo of one of the first sugar mills in Laie, and industry on the North Shore that can be traced back to Napela's first crop of sugar cane in his field near Haaula. In the 1870's Laie did not possess the remarkable beauty we now enjoy. The land was barren, vegetation was limited, and water was scarce, yet 6,000 acres was purchased for new gathering place. During this time, Napela received permission from the Kingdom of Hawaii to travel to Salt Lake City where he met with former missionaries and where he received his endowment. Not long after his return the Napelas faced another crisis. In 1872, it was discovered that his wife, Kiti, had contracted leprosy, a scourge of the islands affecting nearly every village in the Kingdom.

Contracting leprosy meant that under law Kiti must be taken to reside in the colony on Molokai to remain until the disease would disappear or until the end of her life. Unwilling to be separated from his wife, Napela volunteered accompany Kiti to Kalaupapa, there to care for his wife and to serve the settlement the assistant to the director of the colony. For a period of time life on Molokai for the Napela's achieved a kind of normalcy. There are records horseback riding, fishing, picnics, and many social activities. Their only child, Panana, was sent to the Big Island to live with relatives. There, Panana married Samuel Parker and together they became the parents of nine sons and daughters, two of whom are pictured here. Meanwhile, Napela served as the local branch president, conducting meetings sometimes out in the open or under a hut made of woven fibers like the ones shown here. In 1877, Napela contracted leprosy.

Very likely the appearance of the Napelas would resemble these former residents of Kalaupapa. The disease first took hold in Kiti while Jonathan showed less evidence of leprosy. However, these conditions changed quickly. When visiting Kalaupapa near the end of Napela's life, Elder Henry Richards stated that the disease had taken Napela beyond recognition. Prior to his death, Napela was permitted to visit Laie once again, attend conference, and bid farewell to his beloved friends and saints living here. His final days, despite pain and disfigurement, were filled with exceptional service to the local saints in the colony. He continued to care for Kiti and willingly assisted members of other denominations with the basic care and comfort necessary to survive under unimaginable difficulties. Napela, preceding his wife Kiti in death, in August of 1879. The graveyard in the crater near Kalaupapa is the final resting place of Jonathan Napela.

As the memory slowly faded from her mind, Kari returned to the reality of the swing and the broad oak tree that spread overhead. For some reason she thought of the first time she had sat there. Her brother Thomas had hung the swing for her before he left on his mission. Thomas called her his “shadow,” and they shared many secrets as they were growing up. He left her one last secret the day they said good-bye.
He was dressed up in his new brown suit, ready to leave for the MTC. He leaned over her as she sat on the swing. The smell of his cologne mixed pleasantly with the aroma of the freshly cut hay that lined the fence across the lane.
“Kari,” Thomas said, looking intently at her, “There is nothing like swinging to put life into perspective.”
He spoke with the new authority his voice seemed to hold since the mission call.
“Tom, there you go again, talking way over my head. My ‘Dear Abby’ is going on his mission and leaving me with only a swing to talk to.”
Thomas held his tears of good-bye back as he stopped the swing and took Kari’s hands in his. Kari was surprised that his hands had grown as large as Father’s. He pulled her off the swing and gave her a hug. Kari could feel the newness of the brown suit.
“Just remember, little Sis—the higher you swing, the farther you see. Things look different when you can get above them.”

Last July I visited the Church’s Polynesian Cultural Center in Hawaii. Before the evening show of dancing and music from various island cultures, I went backstage to thank the performers. I arrived during those frantic moments before the show began. Scores of performers were hurrying through the last-minute tasks required to coordinate their efforts in a fast-moving performance. I wondered how the director would bring this turmoil to order in preparation for my brief remarks.

It happened as if by miracle. On signal, one strong voice began, and the strains of “We Thank Thee, O God, for a Prophet” quickly swelled into a beautiful chorus as the uniquely talented young people brought their thoughts into harmony with the Lord.

We had a similar experience in our family. Last spring some of our children and fourteen of our grandchildren had a family outing in the mountains. One of our activities was a meeting to share experiences and testimonies. We gathered at the appointed time, but the little people were only gathered in body. The large spirits in those little bodies were clamoring for more of the exciting outdoor activities they had been enjoying. The cabin where we met was too small to contain them, and it seemed as if a dozen restless children and their outcries were ricocheting off the walls in every direction. Grandparents will appreciate the apprehension I felt at trying to sponsor something serious in that setting.

Suddenly the instinctive wisdom of young mothers rescued our efforts. Two mothers began to sing a song familiar to the children. Others joined in, and within a few minutes the mood had changed and all spirits were subdued and receptive to spiritual things. I offered a silent prayer of thanks for hymns and for mothers who know how to use them!

One of the greatest joys of my life is becoming acquainted with and inspired by members of the Church all over the world who are living exemplars of faith in Jesus Christ and His gospel. They have strong personal foundations that allow them to withstand seismic events with steady understanding, despite their heartache and pain.
To display this on a more personal level, I recently spoke at the funeral of a beautiful, vibrant young wife and mother (also a family friend of ours). She was a scrappy Division 1 soccer player when she met and married her dental student husband. They were blessed with a beautiful, precocious daughter. She valiantly battled with various forms of cancer for six challenging years. Despite the ever-present emotional and physical distress that she experienced, she trusted in her loving Heavenly Father and was often quoted widely by her social media followers for her famous saying: “God is in the details.”
On one of her social media posts, she wrote that someone had asked her, “How do you still have faith with all the heartache that surrounds you?” She replied firmly with these words: “Because faith is what gets me through these dark times. Having faith doesn’t mean nothing bad is going to happen. Having faith allows me to believe that there will be light again. And that light will be even brighter because I have walked through the dark. As much darkness as I have witnessed over the years, I have witnessed far more light. I have seen miracles. I have felt angels. I have known that my Heavenly Father was carrying me. None of that would have been experienced if life was easy. The future of this life may be unknown, but my faith is not. If I choose to not have faith then I choose to only walk in darkness. Because without faith, darkness is all that is left.”
Her unshakable testimony of faith in the Lord Jesus Christ—in her words and in her actions—was an inspiration for others. Even though her body was weak, she lifted others to be stronger.

My father isn’t active in the Church, and that is the cause of conflict in my home. I work really hard to set a good example for him, and I know he can see the difference in my life.

But sometimes I have felt like there was someone trying to undo all the good things I did at home. It was really discouraging. One Sunday after church, I talked to my sister about it and we agreed to start doing secret acts of service in our home. Each week we chose someone in our family and tried to spend time with that person. We left notes of encouragement and did little things like making sure a sister’s dress was pressed for church or a brother’s soccer uniform was washed.

It didn’t take long for our family to realize who was providing the service, but now everyone joins in and does something. We can see the love in our home now—it is in everything we do.

It was the last day of school. The sun was shining. The temperature was perfect. Everyone had fun playing softball, running races, and eating hamburgers. But now it was time to go home, and for Jena, it wasn’t fun anymore.
This was her last day at Buckingham Elementary. This was her last day to see her teacher, Miss Wilson. This was her last day to be a fifth-grader and have recess. This was her last day to see many of her friends. Most of them were going to Pilot Butte Middle School next year. She was going to High Desert Middle School.
Jena cried when it was time to get on the school bus. All her friends cried, too. They hugged each other over and over. The deep noise of the bus engine started up, but the driver waited patiently. Finally, after more tears and hugs, she and her friend Randy boarded the bus. Jena lowered the bus window and yelled, “I’ll call you this sum—”
Jena never finished her sentence. She remembered that she couldn’t call anyone this summer. She was going to live with Grandma Hunt while her parents took summer classes at the university.
“This is going to be the worst year of my life,” Randy choked out. And even though everyone else on the bus seemed happy and excited, she slumped down in her seat and cried. “We probably won’t get to see our friends from Buckingham any more, and we won’t even see each other all summer.”
Jena wanted to say something to make Randy feel better, but she didn’t know what to say. She knew that if she tried to talk, she’d cry, too.
Just before the bus came to her stop, Jena turned to Randy and gave her a hug. “Write me,” she said. “I’ll write back. I promise.”
The first night at Grandma Hunt’s, Jena thought about Randy. She wondered if Randy was as lonely as she was.
“How about a good game of Irritation?” Grandma Hunt asked as she got out the board game.
Normally, it was Jena’s favorite game. But she didn’t feel like playing this time.
“You really miss your family, don’t you?” Grandma asked.
“Yes. I can’t quit thinking about them and my friends back home. Most of my friends are going to a different school next year. It won’t be any fun without them.”
“It’s true that we have some friends for just a short time and some of them longer. But they each make a difference in our lives forever. So each friend is to be treasured. And new experiences should be fun because they give us a chance to meet new friends.”
“If you say so, Grandma,” Jena faltered.
“Jesus Christ was the perfect example of a good friend. He served His friends. He fed the people, He visited them when they were sick, and He shared the gospel with them. He did things for all of us that we can’t do for ourselves.”
“Their lives were happier because He was their friend,” Jena said.
“That’s right. Their lives were different, better, because of what He did. Our lives are better because of what He did for us. You should look forward to going to your new school and meeting new friends. Be excited about it. You will have experiences you’ve never even dreamed of, experiences that can make you a better person. Just make certain that the friends you choose are trying to do what is right. Now, let’s play this game!” Grandma declared. “In the morning I’ll take you to visit one of my very good friends. I treasure her friendship. I hope you will, too, even though you’ll probably know her for only one summer.”
“Could we take the Irritation game with us and ask her to play?” Jena asked.
“She’d like that.”
The next morning, Jena and her grandma stopped at a store and purchased four large red marbles and four large yellow marbles.
“June B., that’s my friend, just got out of the hospital. She was in a terrible car accident and broke about all her bones, it seems to me,” Grandma explained. “She’s also partially blind from the accident, so these large, bright marbles might be easier for her to use.”
When they got to the house, June B. was sitting in a wheelchair. Her left arm was in a cast, and her right leg was in a cast. Her head was bandaged, and so was her nose.
“Come in, come in,” she called. “It’s so nice of you to come.”
“I brought my granddaughter, June B.,” Grandma said. “This is Jena.”
“I’m glad to meet you, Jena. Thank you for coming.”
“I brought a game.”
“I love games! Sit right here and we’ll play it.”
Jena played three games of Irritation with June B. while her grandmother cleaned the house and prepared some lunch. The games took time because June B. had to bend way over the board to see where each of the marbles was and make a decision where to move.
“There you go,” June B. said when she won the third game in a row. “You’re nice to let a blind lady win.”
“But I didn’t let you win.”
“I know—I’m just more ‘irritating’ than you. Would you help me take a bath now?”
“Well, I, ah …”
“There’s a bucket in the bathroom. Fill it half full of warm water and bring me a washcloth and the soap. I sit right here and scrub most of me. I only need help with my back and feet.”
Jena helped her grandma in the kitchen while June B. bathed. When she needed help, she called to them.
Grandma Hunt gently washed June B.’s back. “Would you like to bathe her feet?” Grandma asked.
“Well, I, ah … sure.”
Jena couldn’t believe her feelings as she knelt and gently lifted June B.’s left foot into the bucket. Ever so carefully she rubbed soap onto her hands and then rubbed the lady’s foot and toes. She lowered the foot into the water again and rinsed it carefully. Then she dried it with a towel.
Before Jena was halfway through, she started crying softly. Now she knew what Jesus Christ must have felt like when He helped others. And now she understood that Heavenly Father wanted her to meet many new friends. She could help them. And they could help her.
“Can I come and play a game with you tomorrow?” Jena asked softly.
“I’d love that!” June B. said. “And I promise, I won’t be so ‘irritating’ tomorrow.”

I guess I was about seven when Mom told me that Heavenly Father hears and answers prayers. Maybe she had told me earlier, but I don’t remember that. (I was very young when I was born.)
“So, if I really want something, and if I’m a really good boy, and I ask for it—Heavenly Father will give it to me?”
“That’s right, son. If your faith is very strong, and if it’s for your own good, he’ll give it to you.”
That hot summer night in 1944 I lay in bed thinking about what I wanted most from Heavenly Father. Another brother? Maybe. A new baseball? I’d probably get one for my birthday anyway. How about an end to the war and my dad coming home? Yes. But Mom was working hard on that one with her prayers.
And then it came to me—the one single, most critical, most desirable, most longed for, most important thing in all the world to my seven-year-old heart: I wanted to fly … like a bird.
And why not? Birds flew. Bats flew. P-51s flew. Kites and paper airplanes and bugs and butterflies flew. Why not me?
How the other kids would envy me! How Miss Gamble would gasp with astonishment and admiration! And wouldn’t Joey Hirschberger next door just turn bright green with envy?
Taking care not to wake my little brother, Lynn, I slid out of bed and dropped to my knees. I folded my arms (like Mom), and squeezed my eyes shut (unlike Lynn). Then I clenched my teeth (a sure sign of great faith) and scrunched up my face (for intensity), and uttered my first all-alone-by-myself, out-loud prayer:
“Heavenly Father, I want to fly. I really, really, really want to fly. Won’t you please bless me so that I can fly? I’ll be a really good boy if you’ll help me to fly. Honest. Amen.”
Then I got off my knees, pulled my chair to the center of the darkened room, and climbed up on the chair. Extending my arms out wide, I whispered it again: “Please, Heavenly Father, help me to fly. Mom said you could do it. I know you can do it.”
With this, I began to flap my arms furiously. Up and down, up and down, faster, faster.
You can probably guess what happened: My arms got tired.
I sat down and thought about it. Maybe I was missing something important. Maybe what I needed was to jump off the chair while I flapped my arms.
I climbed back up on the chair. This time I flapped my arms really hard and then jumped off the chair, upward, outward.
And downward. Thump! Soon Mother appeared at the door, wondering what had caused all the noise.
The next day I pondered the problem until I thought I had it figured out: Heavenly Father must be testing my faith. Maybe the secret was to pray for several nights in a row and to grit my teeth harder and to scrunch up my face tighter while I prayed.
I tried it. Each night for a week I prayed and prayed, my faith and fervor growing. By Sunday night I was sure that I was ready.
Back up on the chair, arms extended, I once more whispered my plea to the Lord, absolutely sure that he would hear and answer my prayer and grant me flight.
My arms began to flap up and down, faster, faster. I jumped upward and outward.
And downward. Thump! Again I was questioned about the loud thump from the upstairs bedroom.
What was missing? I had gritted my teeth and scrunched my face. Why hadn’t it worked? Why hadn’t I soared from the chair and flapped around the room? I lay in bed for a long time thinking, wondering.
The next day I was down in the foxhole-fort-dugout-clubhouse on the shady side of the garage when I heard Mom calling me.
Blackberries. I had promised to pick the berries from the huge wild blackberry bush behind the garage. But it was hot, and I didn’t feel like fighting the vicious brambles and thorns of August to ensure jam next January.
Just for a moment, I pretended I hadn’t heard her. That’s when the inspiration came: How could I expect the Lord to give me flight if I couldn’t give Mom a few minutes for an errand?
From that moment, I became an errand boy possessed. I not only picked blackberries, I chopped kindling wood. I filled the wood box. I swept the porch. I set the table and went to the store. And then I picked more blackberries until my arms and hands were scratched and bleeding from the thorns.
I wore Mom out with demands for more and more errands. How could the Lord deny me now? I had prayed with all my might for two weeks, had exercised enormous faith, had filled my days with good works and gallon buckets of blackberries. Surely, my first flight was now at hand!
That night I mentioned all of this to the Lord in my prayer, then climbed back onto the chair in my darkened bedroom. This time … This time … This time it will work!
It didn’t work. The upward, outward curve again continued into the downward curve, ending in the by now familiar thump. Sure enough, Mother soon appeared at the door, warning me not to awaken Lynn.
I was stumped. For all my prayers and all my faith and all my good works, I remained as earthbound as Joey Hirschberger or Jimmy Johnson. What could be missing?
Without ever mentioning my desire to fly, I put the problem of unanswered prayers to my Sunday School teacher. What followed was a lesson on how to pray and how Heavenly Father answers prayers. And there was the answer. I marveled that I had missed it: I had failed to trust utterly and completely in the Lord.
Up until now, I had jumped off a low chair—a chair low enough that if the flapping didn’t work, I at least wouldn’t break my neck. The Lord must be waiting for me to show real faith by jumping off of something high enough that failure would hurt. That would prove my faith!
And beyond that, I had always made my attempts in the privacy of a darkened bedroom. Next time I would prove real faith by jumping off of something really high—and with an audience and in broad daylight.
All the next week I prepared. The faith, the prayers, the endless helpfulness to Mom continued. By Saturday afternoon I was ready.
Down in the fort I explained my project to Lynn and Joey Hirschberger and Jimmy Johnson. I explained about faith and good works. I explained about the kind of prayers where you grit your teeth and scrunch up your face. I explained about having to risk yourself to show that you trust the Lord absolutely.
And then I started up the ladder to the roof of the garage. Lynn and Jimmy and Joey remained in the fort watching and wondering.
Joey said he thought I was crazy. But what did Joey know about faith and works and prayers?
And now I was on the roof of the garage, looking down. It seemed farther from the roof to the ground than it had appeared the other way around.
Directly below me was the terrible blackberry bush. It looked higher and wider than it ever had from the ground. Great long guard brambles covered with vicious thorns reached up almost to where I stood.
I fought down the doubting thought: “What if it doesn’t work? What if I don’t fly? What if I land in the blackberry bush?” But one mustn’t doubt! The entire effort might fail if one doubted!
For doubt is the opposite of faith. Simple logic dictated that if one removed his protection from the awful blackberry thorns that would prove absolute, unshakable faith.
Off came the shirt. Joey said he thought that was the dumbest thing he’d ever seen, and he was going to tell my mom.
I told Joey to sit down and be quiet, but he left to tell Mom anyway. Now I had to hurry!
I closed my eyes and reminded the Lord about how he answers prayers of faith and how if someone wants something badly enough and is a good boy and helps his mom and goes to Sunday School, his prayers will be answered.
That done, I began to flap my arms, faster and faster. Then, eyes still closed tight, I jumped upward and outward from the roof of the garage—upward and outward over a huge wild blackberry bush—with no shirt on.
Before I opened my eyes, I knew I was lying on my back on the kitchen table. Doc Nichols was just leaving, saying something about how you couldn’t possibly break a bone jumping into an overgrown “pillow”—even if it was covered with stickers. I could feel the cool washcloth as Mother continued washing the blood from my dozens of scratches and cuts.
After Doc Nichols left, Mom chased out all the small, wide-eyed spectators, and I opened my eyes. I saw that my mother’s arms and hands and face were covered with dozens of scratches—and realized the price she had paid to rescue me.
She smiled her special tender smile and held me close in her arms. “For injuries sustained in battle, I award you the purple heart,” she said quietly, “and maybe a bronze star for bravery.”
“Do you have a medal for dumbness?” I asked. “I feel so stupid!”
“I suppose we all feel that way sometimes,” Mother replied. “We make mistakes, we learn from them, and then we go on.”
There was a long pause before I asked the question: “You said Heavenly Father answers prayers …”
Mom finished the sentence: “And now you’re not really sure if he does answer prayers.” Somehow Mom always knew what I was thinking.
“Of course he hears and answers prayers,” she said—and I could tell she really meant it. “Only sometimes we pray for things that aren’t good for us. Sometimes we forget to say, ‘Thy will be done.’ And sometimes his answer is a quiet, firm no. But no is an answer, too, isn’t it, son? He can’t always say yes, can he? Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“I guess so. But, Mom, I wanted so much to fly! And I tried so hard!”
“Someday, son, when your dad comes home from the Navy, you’ll have the answer to your prayers. You and Dad can go to the airport and pay for a half-hour flight. There are many ways Heavenly Father could give you a yes answer to your prayers for flight. But it won’t come through flapping your arms and jumping off garages into blackberry bushes.”
By now all the bleeding had stopped, a small bandage over each cut and scratch. As she turned to tending her own wounds, Mother smiled at me and pretended to be stern, “And speaking of jumping off of garages into blackberry bushes: Young man, if you ever do that again, I’ll take away your purple heart and give you a dishonorable discharge!”
A voice interrupted my daydreaming. “We are on our final approach to Hamburg International. Please fasten your seat belts.”
Funny about that childish prayer for flight all those years ago. For a while it had seemed that Heavenly Father didn’t really answer prayers. My answer hadn’t come just then when I had wanted it so badly. It had come later—flying over Portland in a biplane with Dad. And with the other Scouts in pursuit of a merit badge. And then aboard a huge jet en route to the Germany Hamburg Mission. Funny how the answers always seem to come—though not always at the time or in the way we expect.
I fastened my seat belt and let a little prayer run through my mind: “I thank thee, Father, for hearing and answering the prayer of a seven-year-old boy. I thank thee for giving me flight.”

I remember as a young man receiving in my home two young men. (Strangely enough, they had the same first name: Elder!) They showed our family the Book of Mormon, a divine evidence of the Lord’s care and love for his children. They declared to our family the message of the restoration of the gospel, the divine sonship of Christ, the divine mission of Joseph Smith, and the divinity of this church. Their message and their willingness to follow the prophet’s call changed our lives.

Godson Adjetey couldn’t have known the impact a change of location would have on his life when he moved to the small community of Penyi in the far southeast corner of Ghana. His interest was in finishing his education at a good school. But it was because of that move that Godson became acquainted with The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and on October 30, 2025, Godson will become the first missionary to serve from the Penyi Branch.
Godson was born in Accra, Ghana, in September 2004. Along with his family, he moved to the Volta Region and spent the next 18 years there. He attended Wisdom Junior High School at Aqbozme, where he was a good student. After completing his schooling there, he wanted to finish senior high school and study business at a good school, so he came to Penyi to stay with his uncle and go to school there. Godson recognizes now that the Lord’s hand was clearly guiding this move.
His uncle, a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, owns the building where he was staying, and it was also the building where the full-time missionaries, Elder Wood and Elder Layton, were living. It was only natural for his uncle to introduce Godson to the missionaries, and they began to teach him about the scriptures and the Restoration of the gospel. Godson, who had always been religious after growing up attending a Pentecostal church with his parents, felt his spirit was ready for the fullness of the gospel. He gladly accepted their invitation to come to church and began attending the small and recently organized Penyi Branch.
Godson related that as he listened to the missionaries, the message resonated deeply with him. “I felt the Holy Ghost’s love as I learned we are God’s children. I realized Jesus loves us and gave His life for us,” he said. He felt at home in the branch of about 160 members—many of them youth or young adults who are the only Church members in their families. Godson fit right in and enjoyed coming to church.
His proximity to the full-time missionaries was instrumental in his conversion. As he felt the Spirit testify of the truths of the gospel, he was motivated to associate more with them. That association began with simply helping them find food and navigate the streets of their community, but soon he was not only showing the missionaries where members and friends were located but also staying with them and assisting as they taught others the gospel—all before he himself was baptized.
He attended Church meetings for about one month before being baptized at age 17 on August 23, 2021. He was excited to become a member of Jesus Christ’s Church. The members of the branch showed great love toward him, and he found a special sense of belonging. He particularly liked partaking of the sacrament each week because he understood it was essential for renewing his baptismal covenants. He understood that the path to salvation is a covenant path, and he had a true desire to make sacred covenants.
As he faithfully attended his meetings, served in callings, and participated in various Church activities, his desire to serve the Lord continued to grow. The experience he had had assisting the full-time missionaries before he became a member provided invaluable training and ignited his own desire to serve. “Living by and assisting the full-time missionaries who have served in my village inspired me to be a missionary too,” Godson said.
But the application process to serve a mission seemed a bit intimidating to Godson. As though an answer to a prayer, in July 2024, Elder and Sister Campbell, senior member and leader support missionaries who had recently arrived in the Dzodze Ghana District, met Godson at the Penyi Branch. When these good missionaries learned of Godson’s desire to serve, they enthusiastically began helping him prepare his application and worked diligently to help him complete all the required steps to serve.
They learned a lot together as they helped him obtain his birth certificate, passport, police report, medical documents, and vaccinations. “Preparing to serve a full-time mission was more complicated than I expected,” Godson acknowledged. “But the effort was worth completing the months-long process.”
A pivotal spiritual step in his preparation was the opportunity to receive his own endowment at the Accra Ghana Temple on September 2, 2025. He felt a powerful spirit confirming that the temple was the house of the Lord, a special place for sacred ordinances. “That experience solidified my faith in Jesus Christ, and I felt Christ’s love there,” he said, noting that the temple workers showed great love to him from the moment he arrived.
Godson received a call to serve in the Nigeria Benin City Mission starting on October 30, 2025. Godson wanted to serve a mission so that he could share the restored gospel with others. He looked forward to experiencing life in Nigeria, learning about the people’s beliefs, and sharing his powerful testimony with the people of that land.
Just as importantly, Godson Adjetey is setting a faithful example for the other young people in the Penyi Branch. As its first missionary, he is a pioneer, proving that any barrier can be overcome with faith and support. He is lighting a path that many youth in this vibrant, young branch will now be inspired to follow.

In the mid-1960s, missionaries working in the Magdalena section of Lima, Peru, enjoyed stopping at Teresa Gai’s small store for a cold drink and cheerful chat. The little bodega occupied less than 75 square meters, and the shelves on its walls were stocked with a limited variety of canned and packaged foods. To its owner, the visits of the gregarious missionaries brought back memories of happier times.

Before World War II, Teresa’s family had enjoyed a comfortable living in their native Italy. For a year, Teresa had been the equivalent of today’s Miss Italy. But the government confiscated the family’s properties, and they were forced to flee their beloved homeland. Teresa eventually found her way to Peru, where she was married and bore a son. In time, Teresa’s husband passed away, and her only son married and left home.

Teresa busied herself by operating her bodega, with its modest two-room apartment in the rear, from early morning until late in the evening seven days a week. She welcomed the opportunity to befriend and offer moral support to the missionaries, who were far from their homes. And the missionaries welcomed the opportunity to share their gospel message with Teresa.

As the missionaries began to teach Teresa, she felt the spirit of their message. But she was troubled about whether she could keep the Sabbath day holy. Sunday, after all, was a big day for her little bodega. The missionaries encouraged her to attend church with them, but she resisted, not wanting to commit to closing her business on Sunday. After much thought, she promised, “I will go to church with you next Sunday.”

A few days later, much to her distress, Teresa realized she had promised to close her bodega and go to church the day before New Year’s—her biggest, most profitable business day of the year! She had already planned to close on New Year’s Day, which meant her store would be closed for two profitable days, only to open on Tuesday, her least productive day of the week.

She wondered how she could get out of her commitment, but to Teresa Gai, a promise was a promise. She closed the store and went to church with the missionaries. She enjoyed the services but couldn’t help thinking about the people going elsewhere to buy food for their New Year’s Eve gatherings.

Sunday afternoon and evening, from her little apartment in the rear, she could hear her customers knocking on the steel roll-down door over the front of her store. It was hard to ignore them. People depended on her. Would they understand? Would they ever come back to her bodega? With no income for two days, where would she find the money to restock her shelves that week?

With considerable apprehension, Teresa opened her bodega Tuesday morning. To her amazement, she had sold more goods and taken in more money by the end of the day than she had on any other single day since opening her store. She felt strongly that the Lord had blessed her because she had kept his day holy. Teresa never again opened her bodega on Sunday.

Partway through a worn notebook of Teresa’s daily sales, a heavy line is drawn across the page. Daily totals after the line show a significant increase.

“That line marks the day I was baptized,” Teresa said years later through tears. She was especially grateful for her testimony of the restored gospel and the many spiritual blessings that enriched her life after she joined the Church.

Following her baptism, Sister Gai immediately plunged into Church activity with her characteristic enthusiasm and willingly accepted callings to serve. In the gospel she found great joy, which she radiated and which buoyed the spirits of those around her, including the missionaries who served in her section of Lima. Considering all the treats she gave the missionaries, it is a wonder she stayed in business.

In 1986 Sister Gai attended the dedication of the Lima Peru Temple. The temple gave her one last opportunity to give unselfishly to others. Sister Gai, then nearly 80 years old, gratefully accepted a calling to be a worker in the beautiful new temple.

Many years ago my husband became very ill with a rare disease. As the weeks went by and the sicker he became, the more I became convinced that he was dying. I told no one of my fears. We had a large, young family and a loving, eternal marriage, and the thought of losing my husband and raising my children by myself filled me with loneliness, despair, and even anger. I am ashamed to say that I pulled away from my Heavenly Father. For days I quit praying; I quit planning; I cried. I finally came to the realization that I could not do this alone.

For the first time in many days, I knelt down and poured out my heart to my Father in Heaven, pleading for forgiveness for turning away from Him, telling Him all of my deepest feelings, and finally crying out that if this was what He really wanted me to do, I would do it. I knew He must have a plan for our lives.

As I continued on my knees to pour out my heart, the sweetest, most peaceful, loving feeling came over me. It was as if a blanket of love was flowing over me. It was as if I could feel Heavenly Father saying, “That was all I needed to know.” I determined never to turn away from Him again. Gradually and amazingly, my husband began to get better until he made a full recovery.

I had a new coat and was eager to wear it to school the next day. I couldn’t wait for my friends to see it.
While I was playing outside for recess, a boy laughed at my new coat and made fun of it. At first I was really angry and hurt and wanted to say something mean back to make him feel bad. But then I remembered the lesson I had in my Primary class. My teacher taught us that in Old Testament times, the law was an eye for an eye. But when Jesus Christ came to earth, He taught about love and about how important it is to forgive someone when they do something mean or bad.
After I remembered my Primary lesson and thought about what Jesus would want me to do, I decided to just turn around and walk away. I know it was better to forgive the boy than to say something mean back. I felt good inside because I had made the right choice.