Gospel Story Finder

I was back in Omaha, Nebraska a few years ago on Church assignment to attend the groundbreaking exercises of the Mormon Memorial Bridge over Winter Quarters. I met a man there who was a district president in the mission area. He had lived in Salt Lake City, Utah for 17 years, and had worked in the Union Pacific Railroad office until it was transferred to Omaha. He did not join the Church in Salt Lake. When he moved to Omaha, he met the missionaries. I asked him, “Why didn’t you join the Church in Salt Lake?” He said, “No one ever invited me to.”

When Gary Stevenson was about 11 years old, his father took him hiking. “I was jumping from rock to rock in front of my father,” he remembers. “I intended to climb a large rock and look down. As I clambered toward the top of the boulder, he grabbed me by my belt and pulled me down.
“‘What’s the matter?’ I said, and he replied, ‘Don’t climb on that rock. Let’s just keep on the trail.’ A moment later as we looked down from higher up the trail, we could see a rattlesnake on top of the rock, basking in the sun.
“‘That’s why I pulled you back,’ my father explained.
“Later as we were driving home, I knew he was waiting for me to ask the question: ‘How did you know the snake was there?’ He said, ‘Let me teach you about the Holy Ghost.’ We had an impromptu lesson about the roles the Holy Ghost can have in our lives: protector, comforter, and one who testifies. ‘In this case,’ my father shared, ‘the Holy Ghost was protecting you through me. He warned me to pull you away.’”
This experience, though simple, helped Elder Stevenson to understand that when promptings of the Spirit are received, they should be accepted and acted upon. It was one of many lessons gleaned from his father.

Graffiti would soon disappear if those who spray it on had to clean it off. I still remember an experience during my first year in high school. I was eating lunch with some other boys. I peeled a banana and threw the peeling on the ground. Just at that moment the principal walked by. He asked me to pick up the banana peeling. I say he asked—there was a certain steely firmness in his voice. I got off the bench on which I was sitting and picked up the banana peeling. I put it in the trash can. There was other litter around the can. He told me that while I was picking up my own trash, I could pick up the trash of others. I did it. I have never thrown another banana peeling on the ground.

The moon was big and round and bright, just as it should be on the night of the Moon Festival. I held my glowing paper lantern higher, hoping that the Old Man in the Moon would see me amid the other children. The whole park gleamed with brilliant Chinese lanterns.
I dashed up the hill to where my parents and sisters sat on a blanket, nibbling moon cakes. My eldest sister, Mei Lai, was gazing at the moon. I knew that she was probably dreaming about that boy who took her to the dance last Saturday. That’s a girl for you! I thought. I’m glad that I’m not a girl.
Not that Mei Lai didn’t have a right to think about love tonight. Everyone thought about love during the Moon Festival, or Mid-Autumn Festival, the proper name that my sister preferred to call it. On this night the Old Man in the Moon supposedly wove an invisible red thread around couples who would one day get married.
Even I was thinking about love. But not that kind. I was thinking about how I could love my neighbors. My Primary teacher had told us last Sunday that we should, and ever since then, I had been wondering how I could ever do it. I couldn’t think of any neighbors in our apartment building that I even liked—especially not that new boy down the hall! Why, he didn’t even speak Chinese! The first time I saw him, I just kept looking at his eyes. I had never seen such blue eyes, except maybe on TV.
Once I had tried talking to him in the English that I was learning in school. “Where are you from?” I asked.
Looking at me oddly, he lifted up his nose and declared, “I’m an Aussie.”
Whatever an Aussie was, I certainly didn’t know. I went home and asked Mei Lai, who knew English well.
“An Aussie is someone from Australia,” she told me.
My mother’s voice interrupted my thoughts. “Sun Ling, it will soon be time to go home.”
“Oh, let me run once more through the park.”
“Well, you be careful with that lantern. Remember that you have a lighted candle in it.”
“I will.” As I sprinted down the hill, I looked up at the Old Man in the Moon to see if he was still watching me and my glistening paper lantern. I ran and ran, with my eyes turned upward toward the beautiful full moon.
Suddenly—CRASH! Was it a wall? No, it was a body. Another person and I tumbled over and over each other. It was the Aussie. When we finally stopped, we raised our tousled heads and looked at each other. I blurted out, “What are you doing here? This is a Chinese holiday!”
It was a good thing that he couldn’t understand my Chinese. I indignantly grabbed my lantern, which miraculously lay unharmed on the grass. In my mind I grumbled, Even if I wasn’t looking where I was going, it wasn’t really my fault. After all, he’s the one who doesn’t belong here.
A sizzle and a flare made us both jump up. His colorful paper lantern was in flames. My mother’s words flashed through my mind, “Be careful with that lantern.”
I looked at him. Then I cocked my head in amazement. Out of those blue, blue eyes tears were dribbling! It had never occurred to me that an Aussie could cry too.
The boy’s lips began to quiver, and he said, “My dad gave me that lantern.”
I didn’t understand all his words, but I understood what he meant. And I felt awful! I tried to remember how to say I’m sorry in English, but all my words came out in Chinese.
Suddenly, in Chinese, he said, “I’m sorry too.”
I blinked with surprise. Why he knew some Chinese words after all. He smiled at me. I smiled back.
The next day I strode into the house, banging the door happily behind me.
“What’s that huge grin for?” Mei Lai asked as she stirred vegetables and pork together in the wok.
“Oh, I’ve been learning to love my neighbor. Jim’s my friend now.”
“Who’s Jim?” she asked
“He’s the Aussie I told you about,” I replied, peering over the sizzling wok. I perched on a tall stool. “Do you know what? Before he came here, Jim had never even heard of moon cakes. So I gave him one with an egg-yolk center. When he bit into it, he sort of shriveled up his nose and tried to smile. I could tell that he didn’t like it.”
“So, do you think he’s still your friend?” Mei Lai laughed.
“Well, I did let him try a lotus-seed moon cake after that, and he ate every bit of it and smacked his lips.”
“I’m glad that you gave him something he likes,” said Mei Lai.
“I did give him one other thing that I hope he likes. I gave him my Book of Mormon.”
“Your Book of Mormon!” exclaimed my sister. “Whyever did you do that?”
“Well, because it’s the most special thing that I could share with a friend,” I answered.
“But how do you expect him to read it?” she said. “He doesn’t even read Chinese.”
“Joseph Smith translated the characters of the Book of Mormon from another language. Maybe God will give Jim the gift to translate too.”
“Look,” Mei Lai explained, “Joseph Smith was a prophet. Not everyone receives the gift to translate another language.”
I looked at my sister intently. “Mei Lai, I’m still glad that I gave the Book of Mormon to him.”
It was the week before Christmas. Someone knocked at our door, and Mei Lai opened it to blond-haired Jim. My friend didn’t see me sitting in the corner, so he spoke in English to my sister. “I read your book,” he said, holding up a blue book with Chinese characters of the Book of Mormon engraved on it.
“You read it!” she gasped. “But—but you don’t know Chinese, do you?”
“No. What I meant to say,” Jim explained, “was that my tutor read it to me. He comes every day to teach me Chinese, and so we have been reading it together. In fact, my tutor was wondering if he could get a copy of his own. Also, would it be possible to get a copy in English for my father?”
My sister finally closed her mouth from her astonishment. She smiled, motioning to me.
Jim turned and saw me. “Oh, Sun Ling,” he said in halting Chinese, “this book you gave me is very interesting. I am curious to find out more about it. Can you help me?”
“I’ll be happy to help you,” I replied slowly to make sure that he understood my words. “I can think of no better way to love my neighbor from Australia.”

Last year, when the end-of-year exams were coming, I felt very anxious. As a person who worries a lot, I couldn’t manage my emotions. Deep inside, I kept telling myself, “I will not succeed. I will fail.” My mind was full of doubt, and I started to feel lost.
But I worked hard—I spent a lot of time studying and preparing—and more importantly, I placed my trust in Christ. It was something I will never regret. Because I put God first, I received something greater than success. I received peace.
My parents have been married for 35 years, and my brother has now been married for five. He even introduced the gospel to his wife and baptized her.
But even though my brother and I were raised in the Church, we could not rely on the testimony of our parents. We had to obtain our own faith through our own experiences, especially during the trials of life. And for me, one of those experiences came through my exams.
As the exams came closer, I could feel the stress growing inside me. If I had followed my “natural man” way of thinking, I would have told myself, “You will fail. You cannot do this.” I wanted to be calm, but I didn’t know how.
At first, I focused only on studying, revising, and learning as much as I could. But I knew that would not be enough, so long before the exams arrived, I prayed on my knees, I fasted, and I studied the scriptures, keeping my vision higher than the things of this world.
Little by little, I felt my heart change. I no longer felt drowned by my fears. Instead, I was filled with peace and strength.
At the same time as I was preparing for my exams, we were studying the Old Testament in seminary. This was a great blessing because I found many answers to what I needed. One scripture that helped me was Proverbs 3:5–6:
“Trust in the Lord with all your heart; and lean not on your own understanding.
“In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.”
That is exactly what I did. Instead of relying on my own strength, I let God guide me. And I realized that He already knew my potential—He knew that I could succeed.
Another thing that brought me peace was receiving my patriarchal blessing. When I read it, I felt the love of my Heavenly Father, and I knew that He was watching over me. My blessing gave me comfort, strength, and courage to move forward.
There were moments when I still felt doubt trying to come back, but each time, I reminded myself of the promises in my blessing. I held onto them, and they became an anchor for my faith. With God, I knew I could do anything.
Finally, the day of the exams arrived. But instead of being full of fear, I felt something else—calm. I didn’t worry about my results. I had done everything I could, and I had left the rest in God’s hands.
When the results came out, I was happy to see that I had done very well, even above average! But more than my success, I was grateful for everything God had done for me throughout the year, for the strength He gave me, and for the peace I never thought I could have.
It was then that I understood something important: letting God prevail in our lives does not just help us to succeed—it helps us to move forward with peace and confidence.
Looking back, I realize that this experience was more than just a test at school—it was a test of faith. I learned that when I trust in the Lord, He strengthens me. Just like it says in Philippians 4:13, “I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me.”
But the most important thing I learned is that God truly cares about us. He sees our efforts, He knows our worries, and He wants to help us. Sometimes, we don’t see our own potential, but He does. Doctrine and Covenants 18:10 reminds us, “Remember the worth of souls is great in the sight of God.” This includes me and you.
Because I put Him first, He guided me, gave me peace, and helped me succeed. And I know He will always do the same for anyone who trusts in Him.

On April 1 of 2024, Air Marshall Islands (AMI) held a surprise ceremony for Captain Albon “Al” Jelke at Amata Kabua International Airport in Majuro to commemorate his final flight as chief pilot for the national airline.
Brother Jelke, a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, was the longest-serving pilot in AMI’s history, with over 43 years of flight service. US Federal Aviation Administration regulations prevent pilots above 65 from flying commercially, a milestone Brother Jelke reached in April. He will remain with AMI as general manager, a post he’s held for over two years.
Strong emotions were displayed by his fellow employees at the ceremony on April 1, including president of the Marshall Islands, Hilda Heine, who honored Brother Jelke for his commitment and service. The admiration expressed by AMI employees and people on social media attests to his friendly nature and dedication.

As Kevin sat resting his chin on his fist, he saw a little gray spider starting a web in the corner of the porch. The spider swung out from one wall on a tiny silken thread, but the thread didn’t quite reach across to the other wall.
Gathering up its thread, the spider started again. One, two, three, four times the spider missed, dangling from its own thread.
“C’mon, try again!” Kevin coaxed the spider.
At last, the little creature spun out far enough to attach its thread to the opposite wall.
“Good for you,” said Kevin, getting up from the step.

Last year was different for me with ballet because I struggled with some medical challenges. It was really dangerous for me to be dancing because my heart was weak. I needed to rest and recover.
That time was very discouraging. Not only could I not dance, but I was advised to stay away from any physical movement in general, including stretching, strength training, or even walking more than was absolutely necessary. As a dancer, taking a break seemed impossible. Even if I take a break for one week, I return feeling really tight. I couldn’t imagine taking more than a month off.
I was hopeful I would be back to dancing when the new school year came around in the fall. But when it came, I was still healing. In September, after praying a lot, I made the very scary decision to go to a clinic to help with my health.
I also started attending seminary. It was a great way to start my day, immersed in the gospel. I had never had good scripture study habits. Having that hour set aside each day to just dive into the scriptures helped me build a much stronger relationship with God.
Before my medical challenges, I had spent so much time dancing that a lot of my identity was wrapped up in it. Not having it to fall back on during this hard time left me feeling lost and like a piece of me was missing. But I noticed the more I went to seminary, read my scriptures, and surrounded myself with other youth doing the same, the more I started to strengthen my identity as a child of God. After feeling lost for so long, this really helped me find hope and meaning.
One concept that continued to come up during my seminary class helped me a lot. This concept was how Christ strengthens us during our trials. Each class, my seminary teacher encouraged us to write sticky notes about something that “stuck with us.” Looking back, all of my sticky notes focused on Christ being there for me and blessing me in my trials. It felt like I was receiving a daily reminder that Christ was there to help me.
After six long months, I was finally medically cleared to return to dance. At first, I was really nervous because I felt like I had lost all my strength. I kept working, praying, going to church, and hoping that if I tried my best, the Savior would help me. When I returned, although I wasn’t as strong as I used to be, my teacher complimented my strength. She said she was proud of me and my progress.
Even though I struggled a lot, I am thankful my medical challenges gave me the chance to strengthen my relationship with Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ and find my identity as a child of God.
To anyone going through something hard, know that you always have people around you supporting you, whether or not you can see them. You are a child of God. Even though we can’t see Jesus Christ or Heavenly Father, They are watching over us and protecting us. Heavenly Father has a plan for us. Sometimes you might not experience what you want, but your trials can help you get stronger.
I have a testimony that if we pray and establish a relationship with God, He’ll be there to guide us, help us, and strengthen us.
Ellie J., age 15, Oregon, USA
Loves ballet, hanging out with family and friends, and doing service.

Andrew pulled out a pen and opened his journal. Today, I am coming home from my mission, he wrote.
He smiled and looked out the train window. He had spent the last two years in Denmark, the country where he was born. It was also where his family was baptized. They moved to Utah, USA, when he was a teenager. And soon he would be with them!
Andrew turned the page and kept writing. He liked to write. He also liked learning about Church history. He had read all he could about Joseph Smith. He even memorized all the important dates in Joseph Smith’s life.
Soon Andrew was home with his family. Every day he helped them work on the farm. He plowed. He planted. But he wanted to do more. He wanted to read and write and travel.
So Andrew prayed. He thought a lot about what he should do. Then he had an idea! He started to translate some of Joseph Smith’s history into Danish.
And that was just the start. Andrew kept writing, reading, and translating. He started working for the Church as a historian. He went to different places in the United States. He gathered stories and important papers.
One day, Church leaders asked Andrew to do something even more exciting. They asked him to go to different countries. He would write stories about the Church members he met. Andrew could not wait!
Andrew said goodbye to his family. Then, with his passport in hand, Andrew was off! He traveled by ship. He traveled by train. Sometimes he traveled by carriage or even by horse or camel.
Wherever he went, Andrew talked to Church members about their lives. He talked to them about their faith. He wrote their stories down so other people could read them. To Andrew, everyone’s story was important.
When Andrew came home from his trip, he put the stories into a book. He taught others about writing things down and keeping them in a safe place.
Andrew was happy doing the work he loved. But sometimes he wondered if he was really making a difference. He decided to pray about it.
“Heavenly Father, why haven’t I been asked to do more important things?” A clear answer came to Andrew’s mind. God has inspired you to do the work you have done.
Andrew smiled. He knew he was doing what God wanted him to do. And he would not stop!
Andrew saved the stories of more than 15,000 people. We can follow his example by writing down our own family stories. Everyone’s story is important—including yours!

Lisa loved to dance. Twice a week she went to Mrs. Joulé’s ballet school for lessons. But no matter how she worked, Lisa felt she would never be as good as Susan or Jody, the class leaders. The proof was in the mirrors that covered one whole wall of the huge ballet practice room.
Oh, those knees! thought Lisa as she stared at her reflection. Why do they have to stick out when everyone else’s are straight? Lisa worried because her toes didn’t point as gracefully or her legs kick as high as the rest of the girls’. She also believed that she was the only one who ever fell down while doing turns across the room. Lisa wanted to be in the first line, where all the best dancers were, instead of the second or third line. If she became good enough, Mrs. Joulé would move her up, but that seemed impossible.
One afternoon when Lisa reached into her bag for her pink ballet slippers, they weren’t there. She had left them at home. “Mrs. Joulé,” she called, “may I borrow a pair of slippers, size 3C?”
“Of course,” her teacher replied, and she brought in a big cardboard box full of slippers that she kept for such emergencies. Each pair was folded neatly and held together with a rubber band.
After sorting through a few pairs with Mrs. Joulé, Lisa found a nearly new pair of pink slippers that were held on with satin ribbons instead of strips of elastic as her own were. They were exactly her size! “How about these?” she asked.
“Fine,” Mrs. Joulé responded, adding, “I remember these shoes. They belonged to Eileen Webster, who’s with a big ballet company now. I’m proud to say she’s one of their best dancers.”
Lisa slipped the shoes on and tied the smooth satin ribbons around her ankles. How comfortable they were. In fact, Eileen Webster’s shoes felt wonderfully special. And so did Lisa. She daydreamed about being a great ballerina until someone shook her shoulder. “It’s time for class,” Susan said.
That afternoon Lisa danced better than usual. She did every step the very best that she could. She wanted to be another Eileen Webster, and the shoes were helping her. The mirrors reflected a new Lisa. Mrs. Joulé even called on her to demonstrate a particular step. For once, Susan and Jody were following her, and Lisa was careful not to make any mistakes.
After class Lisa went up to Mrs. Joulé and asked, “If I give you my old shoes, do you think I could keep this pair?”
“If you’d like,” replied Mrs. Joulé. “Do they feel all right?”
“They’re perfect!” said Lisa.
The next time she went to class, Lisa exchanged her own worn slippers for Eileen Webster’s almost new ones. As time passed, she started coming early so that she could practice before class. Sometimes she stayed later with Susan and Jody to work on different kinds of turns. And she was soon moved to the front line. She was also the first student to do two turns in place instead of just one.
“That was really good!” Susan said sincerely.
“Thanks,” said Lisa. She couldn’t tell Susan that it was the shoes that made her dance so well. That had to be a secret. There wasn’t another pair like them. They helped her leap higher, land more softly, arch her feet more gracefully, and twirl like a top.
As recital time drew near, Lisa’s class met more often to rehearse their dances. Lisa noticed that her shoes were showing signs of wear. The once-smooth leather looked wrinkled, and the soft pink color was not so pink anymore. The ribbons came unstitched and were resewed again and again. But because the shoes were so important to Lisa, Mrs. Joulé did not insist that she get new ones for the recital. “Clean them up the best you can,” she said.
Shortly before the show was to start on the first night, Lisa was practicing her solo when she felt the bare floor against her foot. The sole of one of her shoes had torn, leaving a big hole! She had to find Mrs. Joulé.
“Oh, dear,” sighed Mrs. Joulé. “It’s a good thing I brought the box of extra shoes. You certainly can’t wear these. Not only do they look terrible, but this torn one is dangerous. Lisa, these shoes are worn-out.”
“Mrs. Joulé,” cried Lisa, her eyes wide with panic, “I have to wear them! Oh, please try to fix them. I’ll never be able to dance without them!”
Lisa’s stomach felt queasy. Without those slippers, I’ll dance like the old Lisa. I’ll make mistakes and embarrass everybody. She shivered at the thoughts going through her head.
“All right, Lisa,” said Mrs. Joulé. “I’ll see what can be done. Now go get dressed. I’ll bring your shoes to you.”
Lisa went to the dressing room. Nervously she touched her hair that was pulled into a tight bun at the back of her head. Where, she wondered, is Mrs. Joulé? She did several fast turns to see if her hair would stay in place. It was fine. What’s keeping Mrs. Joulé? Her classmates were chatting and helping each other with their costumes and makeup. Lisa slipped into her white tutu and checked the hall for her teacher.
“Relax, Lisa,” said Susan. “She’ll be here.”
A few minutes before show time Mrs. Joulé hurried down the corridor. “Here are your shoes, Lisa,” she said breathlessly. “Now hurry! You girls are on first.”
Lisa put the slippers on quickly. “Oh, thank you,” she said, and gave her teacher a hug. “Everything will be fine now.”
Lisa hurried into line between Susan and Jody, and one by one they danced out onto the brightly lit stage as the audience clapped.
The whole show went smoothly. Lisa’s class received extra applause for some of the harder steps they did. When they danced the “Waltz of the Flowers,” the audience oohed and aahed at the fluffy white costumes with the colorful, flowing scarves, and they applauded loudly after each girl’s solo. Lisa had never danced better. She knew her family was proud of her!
When it was all over, Lisa and her parents went to say good night to Mrs. Joulé.
“Thank you again for fixing my shoes,” said Lisa. “I couldn’t have done it without them.”
“But you did,” said Mrs. Joulé as she held up Eileen Webster’s tattered shoes. “I couldn’t tell you before because you were so sure it was the shoes that made you dance well. Now you see it wasn’t the shoes at all. It was your own hard work, and you made me very proud tonight.”
Lisa stared at Eileen Webster’s worn-out shoes.
Mrs. Joulé continued. “You may keep her shoes if you like, but please, from now on, wear your own. I sewed ribbons on them for you.”
Lisa pulled the ballet slippers out of her bag and saw her initials printed on the inside of each one. They’re the very ones I exchanged for those of a ballet star! she marveled to herself.
“Did you hear that?” she said to her mother as they walked to the car. “It wasn’t the shoes. It was me all the time, and I didn’t even know it! Just wait until tomorrow night. I’ll do even better!” And she waltzed all the way across the parking lot.

Earlier this year I was greatly moved as I participated in a meeting in Lagos, Nigeria, in a building with spare concrete walls and a heavy, flat tin roof. Relief Society leaders with their priesthood advisers had been counseling together there for more than two hours. We had worked together to better understand the ways that could be employed to give strength to their important callings, to build their faith, and to help conquer the tribulation that surrounded them in that sprawling city.
As we finished the closing hymn and said an amen to a heartfelt prayer, a thunderous roar filled the room. It was rain. The deluge on the tin roof made any parting conversation impossible. Water was already coursing through the streets and splashing immediately against the door. Our meetings had been scheduled in the afternoon so that most could be home by dark. Now, as we sat waiting and wordless because of the din, it was obvious they not only faced the heightened dangers of darkness, but they would be thoroughly drenched as they returned to their homes. I thought of Alma as he waded through tribulation (see Alma 8:14–15), and then I remembered the blessing that came to him. I was struck for the moment with the somewhat similar conditions in Ammonihah for Alma and for our Saints in Lagos, Nigeria. An angel had said to Alma, “Lift up thy head and rejoice, … for thou hast been faithful in keeping the commandments of God from the time which thou receivedst thy first message from him” (Alma 8:15).
There were those in that clattering room who were going forth, as Alma did, to teach and help save others through the power of their faith. When the rain did not yield, they rose, one by one, two or three at a time. We embraced or shook hands solemnly, and they went forth. They were confirmed in their new knowledge that God’s matchless power, His mercy and long-suffering, prevented their being cut off and consigned to endless misery and woe (see Hel. 5:12). They had new courage to face, with hope, their immediate journey and their eternal future. They gave me courage too.

David O. McKay was also warned in youth of his future responsibilities. As a young missionary he had been homesick and dejected. Discouragement was about to overcome him when he reached a turning point in his own life. During one missionary meeting, an especially rich outpouring of the Spirit of the Lord had been evidenced. The presence of angels had been detected in the room by the mission president, and by the spirit of prophecy he testified to young Elder McKay, “Brother David, Satan hath desired to have you that he may sift you as wheat, but God is mindful of you.” Then he added, “If you will keep the faith, you will yet sit in the leading councils of the Church.”
This was all, but it came at the end of a long and vital search on the part of young David, and it was enough of a warning to the missionary in his early twenties that it was sufficient to buoy him up and help him during periods of discouragement in his life. Eventually, like the others, he was chosen as spokesman for the Lord.

In the distance we can hear voices descending through the mountain trees. Looking up the rocky slope, we see three Italian girls, arm in arm, singing and walking toward us. Gradually we recognize the song—a favorite among LDS young women—“I Walk by Faith.” As Iris Cartia, Annalisa Brandonisio, and Stefania Ferrazzano come closer, they all begin talking at once—part in English, part in Italian, and part in French, with a lot of hand gestures. Then Stefania starts to sing a popular Italian song for us, accompanied with dancing and good-natured laughter. Soon, the girls get serious again and sing several LDS hymns. These girls, who range in age from fifteen to seventeen, come from widely different areas and backgrounds in Italy, but it is obvious that they enjoy each other.
It was the summer of 1990, and the occasion was Torchlight 90, a multi-stake LDS Young Women camp in Italy. More than 130 girls attended this week-long camp in the rugged mountains near L’Aquilla, about fifty miles from Rome.
Quite by accident, we just happened to be in Trieste, Italy, the day before the Young Women of the ward there were to leave for the camp. Rita Schina, the Young Women leader in the Trieste Ward, invited us to accompany the group. We had other plans, but a whisper in our hearts told us to go to the camp instead, so we heeded the prompting. We have been thankful ever since that we did.
There was something about the girls we met at the camp that touched us spiritually. Perhaps it was their vibrant glow and the excitement they expressed about their ideals. Or maybe it was their respect for their leaders. Certainly, much of it was their love for each other, which grew deeper every day they were together.
As the years have passed, we have corresponded with some of the girls that were part of Torchlight 90 to see if the extraordinary spirit we witnessed had continued in their lives. We have been pleased to find that it has.
The camp was divided into seven individual campsites, each representing one of the seven Young Women values. At every campsite, the girls were mixed from several stakes or districts so they could develop friends from other areas of Italy. The campsite was located on Rocco di Mezzo plateau, surrounded by rugged mountains and dotted with scattered tents full of talking, laughing girls.
Three short whistle blasts—the call to supper. The three girls hesitate for a moment, but supper can wait while they finish sharing expressions of testimony and friendship. After a few more songs from these unpretentious girls, we all reluctantly and slowly return to camp.
Every morning, all the girls gather for a flag-raising ceremony, then engage in games. This morning, there are clouds overhead and the mountain winds blow cold. The girls make a semicircle in front of the flags. As the sun gradually blossoms over the mountain peaks, everyone stands quietly for the opening prayer. The sounds of birds and crickets lightly pepper the soft whisper of the wind. This is a special morning, because Brother Christian Euvrard, a regional leader in the area, is speaking to the girls. He talks about the Young Women program as a guide for planning the future. When he finishes, he picks up a stick and breaks it as a symbol that the ceremony is over. Now it is time for games. And that’s when something unusual begins to happen.
As the girls join together in various groups, one of the groups appears isolated from the others. It is a small group of American girls whose parents work or are stationed temporarily in Italy. They don’t speak Italian, and they are not familiar with some of the everyday customs that come naturally to the Italian girls. They feel awkward. The Italian girls huddle together, then walk over to the Americans and tell them about an experience they had at a Church-sponsored event in Florence last year. “One of the members of our group did not speak Italian, so we decided to go through a whole day without speaking, using only hand signs. When the day ended, we all felt much closer to each other.” Soon both Americans and Italians are talking and singing together. It is a beginning.
The American girls’ Young Women leader, Linda Black, still lives in Verona, Italy. She wrote to us that several of the American girls became close friends with some of the Italian girls and have continued to write to them.
Annalisa Brandonisio, from Venice, wrote us, “Even though our language and customs were different, I felt united to the American group because of the strong influence of the Spirit of the Lord that was with us.”
Telling us about the camp, she said, “It was often hard for me to sleep at night, because my heart was so filled with emotion and feelings for that special week in the mountains. Torchlight 90 helped me to realize that I can get closer to God by having the right kind of friends.”
Annalisa is nineteen now. She is a stake missionary and a visiting teacher in the Modena Ward, in the Venice Italy Stake. She plans to serve a “mini-mission” this summer and a full-time mission when she is old enough.
Sonia Plescovich, from the Genoa Third Branch, Torino Italy District, wrote: “Torchlight 90 will remain in my heart for the rest of my life. Though we were many girls from many places, we all had the same ideals, the same thoughts and beliefs. Even though we had never seen each other before, it was as if we were friends from birth. I learned to love those girls as much as my own family. Because of the example of some of them, I learned to read the Book of Mormon every night. Being there and feeling the love of everyone in the camp, I felt closer to God than I have ever felt before. It seemed that the veil that divides us from God didn’t exist for a time.”
Sonia, now twenty, is the first counselor in the branch Relief Society presidency, a visiting teacher, and the branch choir director and organist. She is planning to begin a full-time mission sometime this year. In her most recent letter, she commented: “I saw some of the girls I met at Torchlight 90 at one of our latest Young Adult conferences, and we talked of the wonderful memories we have of the camp. I still have special feelings for the girls I met at Torchlight 90.”
Iris Cartia from the Vimercate Branch, Milan Italy Stake, wrote about her feelings toward the girls she met at the camp: “The Church is not spread widely in Italy yet, and even the members within a branch or ward often live far from each other. So I cherished the opportunities to get together with girls who share my beliefs and feelings. Those were special moments in my life. And from them I drew the strength to go on and be different from the world, to be a light for those around me. I know that neither time nor distance can prevent those who love the gospel from meeting together with joy, no matter where they come from.”
Shortly after the camp, Iris had written to us, “This experience helped me concentrate on the important things, like planning my life so I can go on a mission and get married in the temple someday.”
Three years later, those goals are still important to Iris. She is now nineteen and serves as the branch organist, director of the Relief Society choir, and a visiting teacher. She served a “mini-mission” in Torino, Italy, and corresponds with a 73-year-old woman she contacted as a missionary there. She plans to go on a full-time mission.
Iris continues to feel the influence of the camp in her life: “Torchlight 90 gave me an ideal and example that still lives in my heart. The example set by the leaders at the camp guides my leadership style considerably.”
Stefania Ferrazzano from the Foggia Branch, Puglia Italy District, wrote about the camp: “Being in the mountains without modern conveniences made me realize how much I took for granted and how much the Lord has blessed my life. It helped me to know that my life depends on God and that the gospel is my anchor and my guide. At the camp I learned that we have to work for the things we want to achieve, but if we do our part, the Lord will do the rest.”
Stefania is twenty now and is ready to go on a full-time mission when she turns twenty-one. Her sister is currently serving a mission in Milan. Stefania is the first counselor in the branch Relief Society presidency, branch librarian, and assistant clerk. She has also served as a Sunday School teacher for young people from twelve to eighteen. She tells us, “Even after three years, Torchlight 90’s influence on my testimony is still present.”
The Young Women gather in a “campfire circle” that has no fire—it is not lawful to have a large open campfire in these mountains. The excited conversations race back and forth, and there is vivid hand-waving as one girl or another tries to emphasize a point. All this is mixed with smiles and laughter and an occasional tear of understanding.
The girls continue to laugh and talk noisily until Sister Adele Peloni, a Young Women leader from the Venice Italy Stake and one of the camp leaders, stands, ushering in a stillness that amplifies the soft sounds of the mountain breezes. “Remember the standards of Young Women. … Be true to yourself,” she tells them.
The camp theme, “From the top, upward,” and the camp theme song, “I Walk by Faith,” reflect the ideals of the Young Women program all over the world. The girls have heard these concepts before, but somehow, in this setting, with the mountains so near and new friends by their sides, the girls feel exhilarating energy in the words that instill deeper feelings of love for one another and a greater desire to be close to the Spirit.
As the sun sets behind the towering mountains, leaving a gray cold, the girls huddle in their tents and talk about their experiences at the camp—putting up tents in the wind, making tables from wooden poles and ropes, and cooking without modern conveniences. They laugh about the games and the tricks they played on each other. Then, as the night closes in, they get more personal, and the girls share their feelings and hopes. Often these thoughts turn toward the gospel and what it means in their lives.
We had to leave the camp before the final night, so Tiziana Rossato, one of the leaders from the Venice Italy Stake, wrote to share with us that night’s experience: “In the final testimony meeting, the girls and leaders formed a big circle, hand in hand, and sang a goodbye song. They started with strong voices, but ended in tears and sobs, then total silence for a long time after the closing prayer.”
We attended the camp to see if such an experience could change the lives of young LDS girls. Now we realize that the experience changed our lives as well. The joy the girls felt in living simple gospel standards, and the unpretentious love and respect they showed to us and to each other, have been lasting influences in our lives.
We still receive letters from the girls, and they often recall for us their special feelings for the camp and for the people they met there and how their lives have been changed because of Torchlight 90. One of the girls summed up the feelings of all who attended the camp: “The Spirit of the Lord works like magic in our Young Women camps; it can touch your heart for a split second, but change your life forever.”

When I joined the Church at age nine, I already believed that the Church was true, so I thought it was unnecessary to ask God if it is true. After being a member for several years, I began to doubt. Then during a sacrament meeting, as I listened to the hymn “Joseph Smith’s First Prayer” (Hymns, no. 26), I prayed and asked Heavenly Father if the Church is true and if Joseph Smith had really seen Him and Jesus Christ. The thought came to my mind that yes, the Church of Jesus Christ is true, and yes, Joseph saw God the Father and Jesus Christ. My eyes filled with tears, and I felt the Holy Ghost burn in my heart.
Today I can affirm that the Holy Ghost testified to me of the truthfulness of this Church. I know that Joseph Smith saw Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ, and I cannot deny it. This testimony gave me the courage to share my testimony with others.

Gregory Evan Francis, 16, attended the National Science Federation Summer Institute at Northern Arizona University in Flagstaff, Arizona, this past summer. Only 25 of the most outstanding high school students in the nation were chosen to attend.
Gregory was the only LDS student at the institute, where he studied the Navajo and Hopi languages among other subjects.
Gregory attends John F. Kennedy High School in Guam. He has a 4.0 (A) average in his high school work and won the math and foreign language awards and ten other academic awards last year. His father is a lieutenant-colonel in the air force stationed in Guam.
Gregory plans to study medicine after graduation from high school.
He is an Eagle Scout and is very active in the Church. He especially enjoys youth missionary work. He goes out with the full-time missionaries whenever he can, dropping whatever else he is doing, even his schoolwork, when they need his help. By talking to his fellow high school students about the gospel he has also been able to give the missionaries many referrals.
Last summer was no different. The first Sunday at the institute Greg took ten of his fellow students to Sunday School. Five of them have received all the missionary discussions and one has committed himself to be baptized. Others are awaiting parental approval.

Many years after my first mission and while I served as mission president, an elder came to me and said that he did not know the Church was true. Because of that he wanted to return home. I pleaded with him to not do so stating, “You can’t learn the Church is true if in the back of your mind you’re thinking ‘I’m going to go home.’ By such lack of faith you cast out of your heart the very seed that could bring you the answer that you seek. First of all you’ve got to say ‘I’m going to stay. Whether or not the Church is true is beside the point. I’m staying.’” In summary I told him that the seed to plant in his heart was the seed of commitment to stay and serve, and the harvest that would grow was the sweet fruit of testimony.

The answer to your question “How can I be sure?” is simple. You’ve got to dive into the work. The fact that you think the Church is true shows that you’ve got at least your toe in the water. Now to be sure, you must dive completely in. Some want to know that the gospel is true before they dive in. They don’t want to get wet for nothing. But for me, I had to get wet first and then I knew. I believe to get the answers which you seek you will have to do the same thing.

You could reply, “I’ve tried all that.” I’d respond, “Well, try it some more.” There’s no other way. Dive in and ask the Lord if it is right. Make an effort to learn the truth. Don’t “sit” and ask the Lord for a testimony. Instead, “do” and ask the Lord for a testimony. Thrust in your sickle, and you’ll find some spiritual wheat to cut. Don’t expect the wheat to appear before you begin to cut. Have faith and be believing.

Don’t make a headlong confrontation out of your spiritual quest to know that the Church is true. That is like trying to pull a tender plant to its mature size. Let it grow naturally and surely. Don’t expect to reach the mountain peaks without being willing to climb the foothills. Life is like a cloth, and you can’t just sit and weave spirituality without weaving the rest of the fabric of daily life. You don’t have to go out of your way or say endlessly long prayers. You don’t have to travel to a distant land to find a service project. You just pray as you go and serve as you go and commit yourself to seeing how you can make yourself a better person and whatever part of the world you happen to be in a happier place. It’s how you treat your parents, how you treat your associates, how you serve them that creates the warm soil in which spiritual seeds can grow.

Walk forward into life. Hold your head high enough to see ahead but not so high that you can’t see those who need help. Say your prayers often and include among your statements of gratitude, thanksgiving, and devotion a simple request for spiritual confirmation to your questions, hopes, and desires. Keep a prayer in your heart always.

Make a commitment to serve, to love, to study, to pray. God will reach down and touch you, and the Holy Ghost will testify to your soul that Jesus is the Christ, that Joseph Smith did see him and the Father, that the Book of Mormon is true, that the gospel has been restored. Then you’ll know that Jesus Christ atoned for our sins and that through the holy ordinances administered by the priesthood of his restored church we can become clean and thus candidates for the celestial kingdom.

It’s that simple. It really is. If you make it more complicated, you’ll be ever learning but never come to a knowledge of the truth. It’s simple, but it is difficult in that it requires a whole soul effort. Where much is given much is expected.

Dive in. Plant the seeds. Nourish them. Then someday, someday soon, you’ll know the truth and you’ll be free to know and be all that you and God, our Heavenly Father, desire you to be. The answer to your question is indeed the key which will open the door to your eternal future. What you seek is worth all you have, for it is indeed the pearl of great price.

Lloyd, who is now studying law at Northern Illinois University in De Kalb, was not surprised by his father’s call as a General Authority. “All through his life he’s been very close to the Spirit.” One night Lloyd had asked to use the car to go to a party. He was getting ready to back out of the driveway when his father came out and asked him not to go, explaining that he felt impressed that it would not be wise. They learned later that another car had rolled off the road Lloyd would have taken, and felt the impression must have been a warning.

How the city came to be is a story of faith and sacrifice. In 1839, the Saints were forced out of Missouri and followed the Prophet Joseph Smith and his family to the little town of Commerce, Illinois. Here Joseph bought land to establish a settlement, a city that would be called Nauvoo.
For nearly seven years, the city grew and became one of the most pleasant in the area. But mobs harassed the Saints, making it impossible to continue living in Nauvoo. On a freezing day in February 1846, families packed their wagons, lined up along Parley Street, and prepared to cross the river on the ice or by barge, leaving behind their homes and temple. This exodus continued until the Saints were driven out of Nauvoo in September. They were determined to find a place where they could worship as they pleased.

I want to mention a little incident that happened to me in the temple in Salt Lake City. As I walked down the long hall preparing to go into one of the rooms to perform a marriage for a young couple, a woman followed me out of the room after the ceremony. With great agitation, she asked, “Elder Kimball, do you re member me?” I was abashed. It seemed incredible but I could not make the connection. I was much embarrassed, as I had met thousands of people in my time. I finally said, “I’m sorry, but I cannot remember you.” Instead of disappointment, there was a great joy that came into her face. She was relieved. She said. “Oh, I am so grateful you can’t remember me. With my husband, I spent all night with you one time, while we were trying to change our lives. We had committed sin and we were struggling to get rid of it. You labored all night to help us clear it.” She said, “We have repented and changed our lives totally. I am glad you don’t remember me, because if you, one of the apostles, cannot remember me, maybe the Savior cannot remember my sins.” Her face was relieved. She said, “Thank you. Maybe the Lord will remember them no more.” The scriptures say if our sins are totally repented of, and if we totally change our lives, he will remember them no more. (Amsterdam priesthood session, August 7, 1976, p. 6.)

There they were again. Those ten white pins—staring straight at me. I held the heavy bowling ball in my hands and stared down the lane at them ferociously.
“This time I’m going to get you,” I told them, putting my feet in the usual position. All around I could hear the crash of pins from the other lanes. Everyone in my class had mastered the game of bowling except me.
Step one—push out, step two—swing back, step three—follow through, step four—release! I watched those ten giant pins up ahead, hoping that just one would topple over.
“Too bad,” said one of my classmates as she watched my ball hit the gutter halfway there. I was a mature college student trying to get good grades and I couldn’t even pass bowling!
I turned to see my bowling teacher standing behind me. In the past he had offered a lot of advice after my catastrophes on the lane, but I usually never listened. After all, what is there to know about bowling? I could tell another speech was coming.
“Anita,” he said, “have you read your bowling book?”
“Yeah.”
“And have you listened carefully to all my instructions on how to bowl?”
“Sure, that one-step, two-step stuff.”
“Well,” he added, “I taught a lot more than that.”
“Oh yeah. I learned it all.”
“In every class there is someone who just can’t get the hang of it, and usually it’s because they’re not following one or more of the simplest bowling rules.
“For instance, we teach you to aim for the arrows, not the pins. The pins are much too far away to aim at. If you aim at the arrows, you have a close target and the ball will still make it to the pins.”
“I always aim for the pins,” I said, finally listening to my teacher’s advice. “That’s it!” I snatched my bowling ball and took my position.
“Aim for the second arrow from the right,” I heard my teacher say.
“Aim for the arrow, aim for the arrow,” I kept saying as I did my four-step approach and let the ball slide out of my hands and across the second arrow. The target felt so close, as if I could almost touch it. After I let go, I looked up. To my surprise the ball was going straight, straight, straight—strike! I threw my arms up in the air, and I heard cheering behind.
“Now,” my teacher said, “just keep aiming for the arrows.”
His words, “Just keep aiming for the arrows,” have helped me in more than bowling. Whenever I see an obstacle, staring at me from far away, I know what to do. Instead of aiming for the big goals, I keep them in mind while I make closer goals, and set out a plan so I can realistically achieve them. Those little goals are accomplished “line upon line, precept upon precept.”
Sure, there are frustrations and setbacks, but as I face challenges I can see that I’m getting closer to what I’ve always wanted. In bowling it’s a strike. In life it is so much more.