Gospel Story Finder

For example, after John and Maria Linford joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in Gravely, England, in 1842, John became president of the local branch. Relatives and friends, however, did not share the joy the Linfords found in the Restoration. If they could not persuade John to give up his new religion, then they would “starve him to it” by boycotting his shoemaking business.

In 1856 the Perpetual Emigrating Fund gave John and Maria an opportunity to immigrate to the Salt Lake Valley. They sailed to New York with three of their sons. From there they traveled to Iowa City, Iowa, from which they left in July 1856 with the ill-fated James G. Willie handcart company.

Early on October 21, near the banks of the Sweetwater River in Wyoming, John spoke his last words.

“I am glad we came,” he told Maria when she asked him if he was sorry they had left England. “I shall not live to reach Salt Lake, but you and the boys will, and I do not regret all we have gone through if our boys can grow up and raise their families in Zion.”1

As we embrace the challenge and blessing of building Zion in our families, branches, wards, stakes, and communities, we look with John and Maria Linford toward the day when our children and grandchildren “can grow up and raise their families in Zion” among every nation, kindred, and tongue.

Although we live on the east coast of Queensland, Australia, we are Germans. My husband, Siegfried, was born in Danzig, and I was born in what is now the Czech Republic. When we considered going on a mission, we had concerns. Our family is constantly growing. The separation would be very hard for us. Our little house couldn’t be rented, and there were financial worries. We discussed it together and spoke about all the pros and cons. But in the end we knelt down and asked our Father in Heaven for guidance. After that it was very easy. We both had a good feeling and the certainty that we should go on a mission.
In the application the bishop gave us, we could list the country we wanted to go to. Of course that was Germany. And although it seemed rather doubtful that we would be sent to the other side of the world, our Heavenly Father knew exactly what we needed. We were asked to fulfill a temple mission in Freiberg, Germany. I was excited because I still understand the Czech language from my youth and can speak a little bit. I knew that members from Eastern Europe often visit the Freiberg temple.
We began our mission on February 25, 1992. Our temple president was Jirí Snederfler, and his wife, Olga, was the temple matron. What excellent people they were—loving and always friendly.
We experienced only good things in Freiberg. Everyone was helpful and nice. We worked hard, and we were a large family of temple workers who loved each other. We still keep in touch with many of them.
The highlight of our mission was the visit from the first members in Ukraine. We had prepared ourselves. The mission president’s wife spoke Russian, and even I learned part of one of the ordinances in Russian. These members had such a reverence for the house of the Lord. As they came and left, they bowed in humility. They were so happy they could receive their endowments, and many cried for joy and didn’t want to leave the temple.
Polish members come often to Freiberg, and at first my husband was nervous about meeting them. His grandmother had starved in a camp in Poland after World War II. But through meeting with these brothers and sisters and worshiping together with them, my husband was emotionally healed. This was a great blessing brought about by our mission.
My great blessing was becoming acquainted with a Czech sister named Marie Smidova. With her help I was able to begin work on my family history. There were no Church microfilms from the region I needed, and my knowledge of Czech isn’t sufficient to write to Czech officials for information. Sister Smidova has done much for me, and I am very thankful for her help.
When we returned home after 18 months, we were amazed at how our financial situation had improved. Our little house waited for us, and our children prepared a lovely welcome. After a year we went to Sydney, Australia, to serve a temple mission there for a year.
We are thankful for the experiences we have had through our work. We would remind every senior couple of the saying of President Spencer W. Kimball (1895–1985): “Do it now!”

It was the hardest letter I had ever written. Not knowing how it would be received, I struggled to find the right words.
It had been five years since I last communicated with my ex-husband’s mother. I was now remarried and trying to offer the love of four children to a grandmother who hadn’t seen or heard from them in all that time.
“Do what you feel you must do,” my husband said, although he didn’t like the idea too well. “Don’t start something you might regret later,” my mother told me.
But there was something else prompting me—a different spirit that said, “You must let her know that her only grandchildren are alive, well, and happy.”
So I wrote the letter. Offering to put aside our past, I spoke of future visits with loved grandchildren and friendship with our family. I included the children’s school pictures.
Grandmother June was in the hospital when the letter arrived. Following surgery, she had developed an infection that slowed her healing and was the start of a deep depression. She had had an unhappy life, and no one was really surprised when she seemed to give up the will to live. Days went by as she lay there, uncaring and unfeeling.
Bill, her husband, brought her cards and letters as they arrived, but it didn’t seem to help. A few days before Thanksgiving a priest came to administer last rites. There was not much hope for her recovery.
That day, when Bill brought the mail in, June took an interest in one of the letters. He opened it, spilling the children’s photographs onto the bed. Both of them reached at once for the pictures. Bill kissed them again and again. June was too weak to do more than look at the treasure and weep.
Later in the afternoon she told a surprised nurse, “I’m hungry. Please bring me something to eat.” With a new will to live, June sat up in bed for the first time in many days. Soon she was strong enough to answer my letter. She was overjoyed to read about the children, happy to forget about past problems, and excited about seeing her grandchildren again.
We drove to Pennsylvania that summer and visited June and Bill, sharing together a great gift of love and gratitude. I don’t know that my letter saved her life, but I do know that the Spirit of the Lord prompted me to write. And I am deeply thankful that the Spirit urged me to do it when I felt like not doing it.

In conclusion, I would like to read to you an excerpt from a letter we received from the mother of a student:

[When] our son . . . came to BYU–Idaho . . . he had struggled with his testimony for many years and . . . lack[ed] direction. While on campus one time . . . I . . . observed . . . professors . . . greeting my son and even hugging him. That was amazing . . . . His schoolwork improved. His outlook improved and his spirit soared. He was anxiously working on sending in his papers for his mission . . . .

In the summer of 2006 while attending Summer Semester, our son went tubing and drowned. In our sorrow and grief, BYU–Idaho was extraordinary. They helped us meet with the boys that were with him so we might all find comfort together . . . . We were overwhelmed with the support and love from these students . . . . We flew out a week later for a memorial on campus, . . . and we marveled that we could have been so blessed to have him attend this campus. You will never know what peace it has brought to our hearts to know just how much our son was loved . . . . His peers, his professors, his bishop . . . all helped us to feel the spirit of [Ricks at] BYU–Idaho.

Four years ago I attended a memorial service for my brother Gary. One of the speakers paid a great tribute to my brother. I have been thinking about it ever since. He said, “Gary was a priesthood man. … He understood the priesthood, honored the priesthood, and fully embraced the priesthood and its principles.”
When my brother died, he was a high priest in the Melchizedek Priesthood, and he had enjoyed 50 years of priesthood service. Gary was a loving husband and father who had served an honorable full-time mission, married in the temple, magnified his priesthood callings, and served diligently as a home teacher.
You are an Aaronic Priesthood holder. Your priesthood service is just beginning. You may not even have 50 days of priesthood experience yet. But you can be worthy of the same tribute Gary received. In fact, you should be worthy of that tribute. The Lord has called you to a wonderful work, and He expects you to be a priesthood man.
Just think about the greatness of the Aaronic Priesthood that you bear:
The Lord sent the resurrected John the Baptist to restore the Aaronic Priesthood. When John conferred this priesthood on Joseph Smith and Oliver Cowdery, he called them his “fellow servants” (D&C 13:1). President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008) pointed out that John “did not place himself above Joseph and Oliver. He put them on his same level when he addressed them as ‘my fellow servants.’” President Hinckley went on to say that a 12-year-old deacon can also be John’s fellow servant.1
The Aaronic Priesthood holds the key of the ministering of angels (see D&C 13:1). As you live righteously and serve diligently, you can receive the ministering of angels to guide and strengthen you. Through your administration of the sacrament, you can help others receive this blessing as well.2
The Aaronic Priesthood “holds the keys of … the gospel of repentance, and of baptism by immersion for the remission of sins” (D&C 13:1). Repentance and baptism join to form the gate that people enter to start on the path to eternal life (see 2 Nephi 31:17–18). Acting under the direction of your priesthood leaders, you can help people open this gate.
The Aaronic Priesthood includes the authority to administer the sacrament. When you prepare, bless, or pass the sacrament, you represent Jesus Christ (see 3 Nephi 18:1–12). You help your family members and friends remember Him, renew their covenants, and qualify for the companionship of the Holy Spirit.
Such opportunities require the work of priesthood men—men who are spiritually strong and who fulfill their priesthood duties.
Under the direction of our living prophets, a resource has been prepared to help you be a priesthood man. Although the resource is new, it has a familiar name: Duty to God.
I am excited about the new Duty to God book. It can help you obey the Lord’s command to “learn [your] duty” and “act in the office in which [you are] appointed, in all diligence” (D&C 107:99).
Using the book as a deacon, teacher, and priest, you will participate in activities in two categories: spiritual strength and priesthood duties.
Each activity in the Duty to God book follows a pattern that will help you become the priesthood holder the Lord wants you to become: First, you learn about a gospel principle or a priesthood duty. Then you act on what you have learned. Finally, you share your thoughts and feelings about what you have learned and experienced. Some of these activities are personal. Others may be adapted for your entire quorum to use in Sunday lessons or in activities during the week.
On page 39 the sample from the book shows how this pattern works. The comments are from young men who have already had great experiences with the new book.
Learn: This portion of the activity guides your efforts to learn about a gospel principle or a priesthood duty. It includes instruction for you to make a plan of your own based on what you have learned.
“You get to learn spiritually” about your priesthood duties before you do them.
Aaronic Priesthood holder in the United States
“I liked the idea of trying to come up with things that could really help me as an individual.”
Aaronic Priesthood holder in Guatemala
“I liked the sections of studying the scriptures and praying and I did these things and am still doing them. I am preparing to serve a mission.”
Aaronic Priesthood holder in the Philippines
Act: In this portion of the activity, you follow your plan and write your thoughts and feelings about your experiences.
“As young men in the branch we decided that we would set a goal to get together and jog. We really liked planning this together and as a group work on becoming more physically fit.”
Aaronic Priesthood holder in Guatemala
“The book is … like a diary or a journal where you can be … self-reflective. It’s a good process to go through.”
Priest in the United States
“I have a hard time scheduling my scripture study. … The goals I had to read the scriptures and pray helped me to make time and stay focused. It really made a difference for me, and I felt the Spirit as I did it.”
Priest in the Philippines
Share: After you have followed your plan, you have the opportunity to share your thoughts and feelings with family members, quorum members, and others.
“When you share, you want to keep talking with others about it because [sharing has] helped you to better understand.”
Aaronic Priesthood holder in the United States
“It was good to be able to talk with my parents.”
Aaronic Priesthood holder in the Philippines
“In our quorum meeting we liked talking with one another about our goals: what we were doing as individuals and how this was helping us.”
Aaronic Priesthood holder in Guatemala
When I think of the phrase “priesthood man,” I obviously think of my brother Gary. But I also think of others. I think of President Thomas S. Monson, who, as a deacon, felt that he stood on holy ground when he helped a disabled man partake of the sacrament.3 I think of John the Baptist, the great Aaronic Priesthood holder who prepared the way for the Savior’s mortal ministry by teaching, testifying, and administering the sacred ordinance of baptism. And I think of you. As you grow in spiritual strength and help others come unto Christ through your priesthood service, you are truly a priesthood man.
For more information about Duty to God, read the booklet’s introduction or visit www.DutytoGod.lds.org.

But it is perhaps Phil who is busiest of all. Besides “splitting” with the full-time missionaries, serving as ward organist, assistant to the president of the priests quorum, and seminary class representative to the stake, he also organizes dances for Super Saturdays and studies seminary lessons. He organized his own dance band at school, with 15 singers and six musicians, and he plays in the school band. He helped organize a blood drive and is president of the school chorus. He has won the John Phillip Sousa Award, the National Choral Association and National Band Association awards, and the U.S. Marine Corps Award, all for musical excellence. But one of his biggest thrills was being elected student-body president.

“I ran because I wanted to help the school,” he said. “There was a problem with drugs, and I wanted to help people get out of that and give them something better.” As a result of his campaign, Gowanda Central High now has a class about drugs and alcoholism that not only educates students but refers those with problems to counselors and agencies who can help.

Micah serves as an ambassador at his school. An ambassador helps new students. They give school tours, show how the curriculum works, and help new students fit in.
“I helped one of my friends when he first came to our school,” Micah says. “During lunch, he asked me questions about school, and I answered them. I tried to make him feel comfortable. It’s nice to stand up for friends who might be feeling down, sad, or lonely. It makes me feel like I’m becoming more like Jesus Christ.”

Such a woman is Olga Kovarova, of Brno, Czechoslovakia, who was baptized into the Church in 1982. When Olga was introduced to the Book of Mormon, the phrase “Men are, that they might have joy” (2 Ne. 2:25) caught her attention. She felt that the people of her country needed that message in order to rediscover ethical and moral reasons for living. Although she could not reveal her interest in religion to her supervisor at the university where she taught, she found ways to teach this philosophy of gratitude, responsibility, and joy in classes and summer camps. She has become a voice of wisdom and encouragement to her people. (See BYU Today, March 1991, pages 30–34.)

On 4 Dec 2020, Bishop Les Pointer of the Telford Ward, Newcastle-under-Lyme Stake, accepted an award on behalf of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in recognition for its generous support of the Telford and Wrekin Interfaith Council. The award was presented by Raj Mehta, chair and founder of the Telford and Wrekin Interfaith Council, and a town councillor.
Since Bishop Pointer’s call in October 2017, he has led the ward members to work ever closer with the community and other local faith groups. He was invited to become a trustee of the Telford and Wrekin Interfaith Council in April 2020. Admittedly, before the COVID-19 pandemic, it was easier to serve the local community. Despite the pandemic, Ward members have been able to find appropriate and safe ways to continue serving the community throughout 2020. Bishop Pointer was also nominated for an Unsung Heroes Award from the Telford and Wrekin Borough Council, which he accepted on behalf of ward members.

The Smith family and others in their area were given opportunities to heft the ancient record and feel its individual plates at the Smith family home in Manchester Township, New York. Joseph’s younger brother William, age 16 in 1827, had a vivid memory of witnessing the plates, which he later shared in a sermon: “When the plates were brought in they were wrapped up in a tow frock. My father then put them into a pillow case. Father said, ‘What, Joseph, can we not see them?’ [Joseph responded,] ‘No. … I was forbidden to show them until they are translated, but you can feel them.’ We handled them and could tell what they were. … Could tell whether they were round or square. Could raise the leaves this way (raising a few leaves of the Bible before him). One could easily tell that they were not a stone, hewn out to deceive, or even a block of wood.”1

On another occasion, William provided further information: “I could tell they were plates of some kind and that they were fastened together by rings running through the back.”2 He also wrote that in addition to feeling the individual plates and rings, he had hefted the entire artifact: “I was permitted to lift them. … They weighed about 60 pounds according to the best of my judgment.”3 Joseph’s younger sister Katherine, age 14, also got to hold the plates the day Joseph brought them home. She “rippled her fingers up the edge of the plates and felt that they were separate metal plates and heard the tinkle of sound that they made.”4

Linda and Robbie came poking down the stairway of the old farmhouse where Grandma and Grandpa lived. They always dawdled when it was time to go home.
“Hurry up!” Mom called out. And Dad’s voice came from outside, urging them to get a move on.
The children hurried a little faster, but not much. They hugged Grandma and Grandpa good-bye and then got into the back of the car. When Dad turned the ignition key, there was a strange whirring noise. When he tried to start the car again—nothing.
“Oh, no!” he cried.
Grandpa walked over to the car. “What is it, Ben?”
Dad shook his head. “The starting motor’s on the hummer.”
“Won’t the car go?” Robbie asked.
“No, it won’t,” Dad replied.
“Then I guess we’ll just have to stay here for Thanksgiving,” Linda said, a note of hope in her voice.
“I have to get home for that business meeting tomorrow,” Dad agonized. “But how can I?”
“Well,” Grandpa suggested, “you could take my car.”
Dad looked surprised. “You mean Lisbeth? That old Model T?”
“Only car I have,” Grandpa replied.
“I wouldn’t dare,” Dad said. “I’ve never driven a Model T. Besides, it—it might break down!”
“It’s easy to drive,” Grandpa persuaded, “and it’s been running for over fifty years. Don’t think it’ll break down now.”
“Oh, let’s!” Linda said. “I love Lisbeth.”
Grandpa and Dad went out to the barn, and Linda and Robbie trailed along behind. Grandpa opened the barn door, and there waited Lisbeth—shiny and black. Her top was folded down for nice weather, and there were side curtains to snap in place when the top was up during bad weather.
There were two little levers on the steering wheel, and Grandpa adjusted them just so, then he went around in front of Lisbeth and took hold of the crank. He turned it a couple of times and Lisbeth started. The children climbed in back, with Grandpa and Dad in front. Grandpa told Dad what to do. Dad drove Lisbeth around the barnyard and between the chicken coops a couple of times to get the feel of it. When he felt confident that he could drive it, he parked the Model T beside his own car. After they had loaded everything and everyone into Lisbeth, Dad released the hand brake, then pushed one of the foot pedals, adjusted the throttle lever, and they were on their way down the lane.
Lisbeth’s engine was noisy. Her body rattled, and the ride was not very smooth. Dad frowned. But Mom hid a grin, while Linda and Robbie squealed and bounced up and down on the back seat. At the end of the lane they pulled up onto a blacktop road. Lisbeth ran more smoothly and rattled less, but she was slow. “It’ll take a week to get home at this rate,” Dad muttered.
“Pull her ears down,” Robbie said, pointing to the little levers on the steering column. “That’s what Grandpa does.”
Dad pulled the little levers all the way down and Lisbeth ran faster, but not much.
Dad pulled into the first service station they came to. The station man looked at the old car and frowned. “That’s Mr. Jackson’s car,” he said. “What are you doing with it?”
“He’s my grandpa,” Linda piped up. “We had to borrow it.”
“I’d like the tank filled,” said Dad, getting out of the car and removing the front seat cushion that covered the gas tank. “And please check the oil and tires too.”
Soon they were on their way again, rolling along a superhighway.
The newer cars whooshed past. Horns honked, and people laughed and waved. Linda and Robbie waved back, and Dad hunched down lower in the seat.
Then Robbie said, “Uh, oh. There’s a police car right behind us with its red light flashing.”
Dad pulled onto the shoulder of the road and stopped. The policeman parked behind their car and came up to them.
“What’s wrong, officer?” Dad inquired.
“See that sign just ahead?” the officer asked, pointing. “It says you have to drive at least forty-five miles an hour on this freeway.”
Dad nodded. “I’d be glad to, officer, but Lisbeth—this car—just can’t quite go forty-five miles an hour.”
“Then you’ll have to leave the freeway at the next off ramp,” the officer said. “Sorry.”
Dad drove down the off ramp to an older, rougher road. “I don’t think we’ll make it home today,” Dad said. “I’m sure Lisbeth doesn’t have very powerful lights. If dark catches us, we’ll have to stop at a motel.”
“Like a vacation!” Linda shouted. “That’ll be fun, huh, Robbie?”
Lisbeth bounced and clattered along, and the sun dropped lower and lower in the sky. Dad turned the lights on, but they weren’t very bright. A little later Dad pulled into a motel, and they rented a big room for the night. The family played games, watched TV, and then went to bed.
Early the next morning Dad got everyone up. Linda and Robbie grumbled, but Dad paid no attention. “I have to get to my business meeting before noon,” he said, “and Mother needs to do some shopping for Thanksgiving tomorrow.”
Lisbeth didn’t much want to start, and Dad had to crank and crank, but finally the old engine came to life and the family was on its way. They watched the sun come up, then they saw their town just ahead.
Linda sighed. “We’re almost home. I wish we were just starting. Lisbeth is lots more fun than our car.”
Dad grunted. They started down Main Street but soon came to an intersection where a policeman came toward them, waving his arms.
He gave them a big smile and motioned for them to go right on down Main Street, although he was directing other cars onto a side street. Dad drove on, then had to slow down to keep from running over a clown riding a motorcycle. Another clown rode up behind them, then both clowns began riding their motorcycles round and round Lisbeth.
Linda looked on down the street where there was a band, horses, more clowns, and big floating balloons. She looked back and saw more of the same.
“Whoopie!” Robbie called out suddenly. “We’re in a parade!”
And they were—in a big Thanksgiving parade. At first Dad frowned, then he looked at Linda and Robbie and laughed. “Guess I’ll just have to be a little later for that meeting than I thought,” he said. “But I’ll be thankful if I get to it at all.”
Mom gave him a hug. “I’m glad that you can see how much fun the kids are having.”
Linda took a deep breath and looked back and forth as they drove slowly down the street between the crowds of people.
“I’m thankful for Grandma, Grandpa, and Lisbeth,” she said. “This is the most fun ever.”
Lisbeth chugged along to the end of the parade, then on home. Dad turned off the engine. “Whooee!” he sighed. “We’re all glad that’s over, aren’t we?” he asked with a sly grin.
“Oh, Dad, that was fun,” Linda said. “It isn’t every day we get to ride in a parade!”

Knock, knock, knock. Bleary-eyed, I looked at the alarm clock next to the bed. 5:55 a.m. Pound, pound, pound. It sounded like a mallet was being used to beat down the front door of our condo in downtown Nashville. My husband stirred next to me but was too tired from our late night assembling toys and stuffing stockings to get up. It was early Christmas morning, and the warm lights on the tree in the corner greeted me as I stumbled, still half asleep, to the door.
I opened it to see two young police officers with alarm on their faces. They quickly informed me that there was a public safety threat in the area, and we needed to evacuate immediately. Shocked and a bit exasperated, I said, “It’s 20 degrees outside, it’s Christmas, and we have kids—is this really necessary?”
At the mention of my children, one of the officers froze. “You have kids? Please, get them and leave as quickly as you can.” I could see the fear in her eyes.
Right then the Holy Ghost delivered a very clear, stern warning to my heart, and I knew we needed to get out immediately. I hurried to inform my sleeping husband that we had to leave. I was met with the same questions and groggy reluctance I had just expressed myself, when the Holy Ghost’s warning returned to my heart more urgently than before. I began to panic. I had no idea what threat my family was facing, but I knew we were in real danger.
I pulled my four-year-old from his bed while my husband went to get the baby from the crib. Carrying my confused, sleepy son down the hall in my arms, I covered his eyes to preserve the surprise of what Santa had left for him—the scene I thought we would be running toward as soon as we opened our eyes, not running from. As we hurried to the front door, I glanced back with longing at that scene adorning our condominium: Christmas presents glittering under the tree, backed by hanging stockings; gingerbread houses proudly decorated and on display; the kitchen full of our favorite holiday foods, ready for a Christmas feast. All the makings of a joyful celebration for our family.
Still in our pajamas, we bundled our children in whatever coats and shoes were in the entryway; then I grabbed the scantily prepared diaper bag and walked out. I closed the door, expecting to be gone only a short time and eager to return to the magical morning we had planned with our boys.
Moments later, we were in the car pulling away from our building. As we drove down the street, we noticed the flashing lights on emergency vehicles illuminating downtown and looking almost festive against the unusual Christmas snow that had fallen overnight.
Suddenly … boom! In stunned terror, we turned to watch as a blazing fireball engulfed our street and filled the sky. A bomb had detonated in front of our building.
I took this photo of our street moments after the explosion. The bomb detonated 30 feet from the front door of our building.
There were flames, smoke, and hundreds of broken windows, alarms blaring, cars exploding, water pouring out of unknown places, and our beautiful row of historic brick buildings crumbling to the ground.
In an instant, we were left homeless.
Our only physical possessions were now reduced to the clothes on our backs, the diaper bag, and the car we were driving.
The hours that followed were a blur—their phones constantly ringing with calls or pinging with texts from concerned friends and family, most of which we were unable to answer.
In the midst of it all, I felt an urgent need to call my aunt, whom I’ve probably called five times in my entire life. But every time I see her, she always seems to say something that my soul needs.
When she answered, I was surprised by her upbeat and confident response. “Noelle,” she said, “this is a miracle! You got out!” She continued, “This is only the first of many miracles. Watch and see what the Lord has in store for you. He will lead you to where you need to be.”
Photograph by Alex Kent / Stringer via Getty Images
I wanted to believe my aunt—to believe in Him. But the grief was real, and the tears were many. The problems seemed too complex to solve, and our hearts seemed too broken to mend. There were times when I would crumble beneath the weight of trying to rebuild an entire life from scratch. I wondered quietly, and desperately, “Will He really lead us now? What will we do if He doesn’t come?” But during the weeks and months following the explosion, we watched in amazement as my aunt’s faithful prediction proved true, and our broken hearts were bound up again and again. I did not know that extreme grief and profound gratitude could co-exist.
Although our hands were empty of the gifts we left under the tree that devastating morning, we were comforted by the words of Moroni that the gifts Christ gives us “never will be done away, even as long as the world shall stand” (Moroni 10:19). Our home was no longer standing, but the Spirit of the Lord stood firmly by our side. In exchange for gifts in wrappings and ribbons, we were blessed with the gift of “the beholding of angels and ministering spirits” (Moroni 10:14).
It is my belief that most of the miracles we see in our lives come through the helping hands of others. We are the workers of many of God’s miracles on the earth. We can often recognize these miracles—these tender mercies—by their timing.
The officers who knocked on our door woke us with just enough time to get our family out.
We drove away to safety—just in time.
In the immediate aftermath, we needed to replace the basic necessities to live, but I was in shock, overwhelmed, and unable to respond to the many wonderful inquiries that came to us of “What do you need? How can we help?” Then came the rescuing phone call from a friend. She said, “I’m standing in the middle of Walmart. I am just going to start saying items that you might need; all you have to do is say yes or no. Shampoo, deodorant, diapers, baby food … ” Her call was inspired, and her list was extensive—and we needed every item.
We had to find a temporary place to live while we looked for a new home. Just as we began our search, a complete stranger reached out to us on Facebook and offered their beautiful guesthouse for us to live in for two months, rent free.
In a blistering real estate market, a couple getting ready to list their home offered it to us, off market, entertaining no other bids. It fit the needs of our family perfectly. Our closing date was set for the day that our temporary housing was ending.
Our friends tirelessly showed up when we needed them, over and over again, to carry us through the endless and complex challenges we faced. They came no matter what time of day or how long we needed them.
I began writing down each of these occurrences, and caught myself questioning some of them: “Are these really miracles? Are these just your garden-variety blessings? Are they even just mere coincidences?”
And then I remembered, it’s all about timing—my timing, your timing, and most important, the Lord’s timing.
Elder David A. Bednar of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles said of tender mercies: “I testify that the tender mercies of the Lord are real and that they do not occur randomly or merely by coincidence. Often, the Lord’s timing of His tender mercies helps us to both discern and acknowledge them.”1
Timing was the common thread that connected many of these events. We had been carried through that difficult day and the many that followed by scores of earthly angels—who received specific promptings and promptly acted, performing miracles and tender mercies of every kind.
My aunt promised, “Watch and see what the Lord has in store for you. He will lead you to where you need to be.”
Through a series of miraculous events, He did lead us to where we needed to be, when we needed to be there, and to who we needed to become.
My precious family is alive today because miracles happen.
I hope that as we have witnessed and continue to witness miracles, we will become instruments in the Lord’s hands to deliver His miracles to our brothers and sisters—to be His angels of warning, His arms of comfort, His hands of shelter, His eyes of hope, His voice of love.
The author lives in Tennessee.

During her second year in Young Women, Amaru asked a lot of questions. Her testimony grew line upon line. She says, “I realized that I know the Book of Mormon is true. Then everything else started making more sense.” That year, when she went to young women camp, it solidified what she had been learning. She found that getting away from the routine of daily life, learning the gospel, and being with others who shared the same values helped her focus on her testimony.

“When you’re at young women camp, you know the other girls have the same values, the same needs, and the same dreams that you do,” Amaru says. “You get to know them very well, and when it’s time to leave, you don’t want to let them down because they know you and are helping you to be strong. You know they’re backing you up.”

When leaders from around the world came to her hometown, young artist Noel Peterson put her best art forward. Selected to display her drawing “The Visionaries of Pittsburgh” in a show for Michelle Obama and other first ladies of the G-20 Summit, Noel took the chance to share both her talents and her beliefs. “While I stood by my piece and answered the leaders’ questions, I was often able to mention that I draw my inspiration from God. It was my goal to let people know that I believe in Him.”

First, I survived my early life, which started out in the humblest of circumstances. I was born on the dirt floor of my mother’s hut in Dessie, Ethiopia. Mom was the only relative I ever knew, and she built our eight-foot (2.4 m) dome-shaped hut by herself, using sticks and mud that she covered with grass and leaves. Our community had no running water and no restroom facilities. Illness and death ran rampant in our kebele, or neighborhood. Food was very hard to find and impossible for us to purchase. My mother and I never knew a day without hunger.
When I was four, my mother became deathly ill. With her last bit of effort, we trudged to a hospital, where my beloved, weary mom died. The hospital staff saved me from life in the streets and death by starvation by arranging for me to live in an orphanage in the city of Addis Ababa, Ethiopia’s capital.
The second miracle came as my life changed dramatically. In this orphanage I lived in a clean building, slept in a real bed, and ate all the food I wanted. Other orphans had also experienced the loss of a loved one, and they taught me how to deal with the loss of my mother. In the evenings we gathered to sing songs in English and pray in Amharic, our mother tongue. We prayed for each other and asked God to bless us to be adopted into “nice, kind, loving homes.” Both the music and the prayers impacted my life in a huge way. I never quit praying.
Third, I was introduced to the missionaries and the Church when I was eight. I was invited to see the dedication of the first LDS Church building in Ethiopia on Sunday, November 30, 2003. At the dedication I felt the powerful influence of the Holy Spirit, and the missionaries in attendance radiated joy, happiness, and that same powerful spirit. I remember thinking that I wanted to be just like them. But I had no idea how I could ever reach this goal.
The fourth miracle came soon after. A family in the United States adopted me. My new father picked me up from the orphanage and took me home. We started the process of becoming acquainted, and I began to settle into my new environment.
Numerous challenges surfaced immediately upon my arrival. Everywhere I went people laughed at my English. My limited education caused problems in school. I prayed for help, and then I worked harder and smarter to close the knowledge gap, especially with English. Once again Heavenly Father answered my prayers. Two years later I proudly skipped a grade.
Then my home life fell apart. Prayers to the Lord, high personal goals, and a deep desire to succeed carried me through that extremely tough time. Finally, with a social worker’s help, my father and I agreed to terminate the adoption. This was a time for prayer, patience, faith, and help from Heavenly Father.
Now 15 years old, I went to live with a foster family for about a year. That was when the fifth miracle came. While sleigh riding with two friends, I met an LDS family with two nice daughters. During the ride home, one of the daughters spoke up, saying, “I think the Lord wants us to adopt Ephrem Smith.” Remarkably, the other three members of the family had also received the same inspiration. The father worked with the Department of Social Services, and soon I moved to my new home. From the very beginning my amazing new father gave me agency. For example, he explained that their family goes to church on Sundays. He allowed me to choose to join them or stay home; he said that they still would love me if I chose not to attend church. I chose to attend church, and I have since made many other righteous decisions.
Miracle six came as I received a testimony of the gospel. One Sunday I sat in sacrament meeting singing “I Stand All Amazed” (Hymns, no. 193). Huge tears began running down my cheeks as I received a personal testimony that Jesus is the Christ and that the Church is His Church.
Finally, nine years later, I knew how to become like those missionaries! The missionary age was now 18, but my adoption had not yet been finalized. I waited seven long months until my adoption was completed. Finally, my missionary papers could be submitted. Four days later I received my mission call. In just one week the Lord blessed me with final adoption papers and a mission call. I treasure both papers exceedingly! They are my seventh miracle. Yes, indeed, it took many miracles along the way from that mud hut in Ethiopia to my treasured mission.

Work on the temple did not progress very rapidly at first. There were several delays, such as the time President James Buchanan sent United States troops to Utah with a new governor to replace Brigham Young. The Saints, remembering the mob violence of the East, were not going to allow their new homes and lands to be plundered again. They stripped their homes of valuables and filled them with straw to be set afire if and when the enemy troops came. Even the foundation of the temple was covered with dirt, making it appear to be only a plowed field. Fortunately a peaceful settlement was reached before the troops arrived in Salt Lake.

Learning to improve relationships was the topic for the Sharon West Stake in Provo. In this difficult yet rewarding subject area, the girls learned about decision making, good manners, and the art of being gracious. Inspired by what she had learned at the workshops, one girl asked her younger brother for a date, taking time from a full schedule of work, school, and activities. Surprised and pleased, the brother said, “What, just me?” They did some of his favorite things and continued to build a closer bond. The gift of brotherly love was placed in the basket.

Wilfrid Gordon McDonald Partridge Wilfrid lived next door to an old people’s home. He liked all the people there for different reasons, but he liked Miss Nancy Alison Delacourt Cooper best because she had four names too. One day Wilfrid learned that she had lost her memory. He didn’t quite understand what a memory was, but he helped her find it again. This delightful story is from Australia.Mem Fox5–8 years

It was final exams week at my university. As I walked home, my last test loomed heavily on my mind. I just couldn’t wait to finish it, pack my things, say a tearful good-bye to friends, and drive home to be with my family again. Before I knew it, I would be entering the Missionary Training Center and flying across the ocean to serve in the England Manchester Mission—if I could just make it through this last exam.
I was met at the apartment door by my roommate frantically telling me our apartment manager would be coming soon for check-out inspections. My anxiety heightened when I realized that, to avoid fines, my tasks would have to be completed before I went to take my final exam.
“What are my responsibilities?” I asked. She shoved the signup sheet at me and scurried off, noticeably guilty that I had been left with the last and most dreaded of the cleaning jobs: defrosting the refrigerator.
“Well, how bad can it be?” I thought. With my work, school, and social schedule, I was practically never home. In fact, I don’t think I ever opened the freezer that semester. What I saw shocked me. Three inches of ice entombed a bag of frozen vegetables along with several other unidentifiable items. Inwardly I groaned, knowing I would have very little time to cram for my test.
Without time to let the refrigerator defrost correctly, I turned to more creative ways. I tried picking at it with silverware, but the ice was solid. I borrowed a screwdriver and began chopping at the ice, making some headway. Encouraged by my progress, I became a bit careless, and after chipping away a large piece, I heard a quiet “sssssssss” sound, like air seeping out of a tire. Upon closer examination, I discovered a small puncture to the plastic-covered piping at the back of the freezer. After a few attempts to repair the hole, I called the apartment manager, who soberly congratulated me on “buying” my first refrigerator.
The weight of his words on my mind equaled the weight of the refrigerator. In one careless moment, I had incurred a debt I couldn’t possibly hope to pay. My savings were for my mission, and even then, I had to rely heavily on my parents for financial help.
I called my mom and dad in my time of great need. I felt terrible. After all they had done for me, how could I ask them to buy a useless refrigerator? I will never forget the feelings of love and compassion my dad expressed, assuring me that he would find a way to pay for it on my behalf.
Though I greatly appreciated his help at the time, it wasn’t until I was on my mission, trying to teach someone about the Atonement that my mind turned back to my broken refrigerator experience.
Essentially, we all have a debt, a broken refrigerator so to speak, that we can’t possibly pay for. Because of Jesus Christ, we do not have to suffer and carry the burdens of sin if we choose to repent. He has paid the price for each of us. It is only in and through His love and grace that we are able to go on and progress toward exaltation.
I echo the words of the prophet Jacob: “Oh how great the plan of our God!” (2 Ne. 9:13). Heavenly Father’s plan of salvation is so perfect, so complete. I am and will be eternally thankful for the Atonement of Jesus Christ. I know He loves me.
“For some reason, we think the Atonement of Christ applies only at the end of mortal life to redemption from the Fall, from spiritual death. It is much more than that. It is an ever-present power to call upon in everyday life. When we are racked or harrowed up or tormented by guilt or burdened with grief, He can heal us. While we do not fully understand how the Atonement of Christ was made, we can experience ‘the peace of God, which passeth all understanding’ (Philip. 4:7).”—President Boyd K. Packer, Acting President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, “The Touch of the Master’s Hand,” Ensign, May 2001, 23.
These verses are good cross-references for the third article of faith: Mosiah 3:9, 17; D&C 84:20–22; D&C 130:20–21.
These articles in the Gospel Library at www.lds.org also talk about the Atonement: “The Light and Life of the World” (Ensign, Nov. 1987), by Elder Dallin H. Oaks; and “How Men Are Saved” (Ensign, Nov. 1974), by President Marion H. Romney.
Next month in this series, read about the first principles and ordinances of the gospel in a young woman’s conversion story.

Another example: In 1830, Frederick G. Williams, a prominent medical doctor, was baptized. He immediately gave of his talents and prosperity to the Church. He became a leader in the Church. He donated property for the Kirtland Temple. In 1837, caught up in difficulties of the times, Frederick G. Williams made serious mistakes. The Lord declared in a revelation that “in consequence of [his] transgressions [his] former standing [in the leadership of the Church had] been taken away from [him].”

The beautiful lesson we learn from Frederick G. Williams is that “whatever his personal weaknesses, he had the strength of character to [renew] his loyalty to the [Lord,] the Prophet and … to the Church, when it would have been so easy to have disintegrated in bitterness.” In the spring of 1840, he presented himself at a general conference, humbly asking forgiveness for his past conduct and expressing his determination to do the will of God in the future. His case was presented by Hyrum Smith, and he was freely forgiven. He died a faithful member of the Church.

I recently met the president of the Recife Brazil Temple, whose name is Frederick G. Williams. He recounted how his great-great-grandfather’s decision of character had blessed the family and hundreds of his posterity.