Gospel Story Finder

As you move from one priesthood service to another, you will see the Lord is in the work with you. I learned this from meeting an elders quorum president in a stake conference years ago. In the conference there were more than 40 names presented of men who were to receive the Melchizedek Priesthood.

The stake president leaned over to me and whispered, “Those men were all less-active prospective elders.” In amazement, I asked the president what his program was to rescue these men.

He pointed to a young man in the back of the chapel. He said, “There he is. Most of these men have been brought back because of that elders quorum president.” He was on the back row, dressed casually, his legs stretched out with his battered boots crossed in front of him.

I asked the stake president to introduce me to him after the meeting. When we met, I told the young man I was surprised by what he had done and asked him how he did it. He shrugged his shoulders. He obviously didn’t think he deserved any credit.

Then he said softly, “I know every inactive guy in this town. Most of them have pickup trucks. I have a truck too. I wash my pickup where they wash theirs. In time, they become my friends.

“Then I wait until something goes wrong in their lives. It always does. They tell me about it. I listen and I don’t find fault. Then, when they say, ‘There is something wrong in my life. There just has to be something better than this,’ I tell them what is missing and where they can find it. Sometimes they believe me, and when they do, I take them with me.”

You can see why he was modest. It was because he knew he had done his small part and the Lord was doing the rest. It was the Lord who had touched the hearts of those men in their troubles. It was the Lord who had given them the feeling that there must be something better for them and a hope that they could find it.

The young man, who—like you—was a servant of the Lord, simply believed that if he did his small part, the Lord would help those men along the path to home and to the happiness only He could give them. This man also knew the Lord had called him as elders quorum president because he would do his part.

Having her grandmother living with her, Jassy Ramirez, 14, of the Manhattan 4th Ward, has the perfect opportunity to learn about her family. “My grandmother takes a lot of care with me,” says Jassy. “She has taught me how to clean house and how to wash clothes and fix my bed. She teaches me how to do all my chores.”
Jassy’s grandmother also tells her stories about growing up in the Dominican Republic. “My grandmother had 10 brothers and sisters. They were so poor. They suffered a lot. They didn’t have lights or running water. They couldn’t go to school,” says Jassy. “She tells me that it’s very important to get my education. Hearing these things makes me appreciate the things I have.”
Being with her grandmother every day has helped Jassy learn the value of working hard. Jassy has also learned to appreciate her mother, Eridania, who joined the Church when Jassy was seven. Because of her mother’s decision, Jassy has had the blessing of being raised in the Church. And now that she is old enough to be in Young Women, Jassy says, “When I started in Young Women, it helped me a lot. It helped me grow spiritually.”

Tolosa district president Jose Medina and his wife, Felicitas, had their own trial of faith. Felicitas was active in another church but had doubts about it and was searching for the Lord’s true Church. She was praying fervently that she could find it while her children were still young, so she could teach them about it. Then one day while sweeping the floor, she found a pamphlet about Joseph Smith. To this day she doesn’t know how it got there because their house was located in a gated community missionaries were not allowed to enter. She read the pamphlet and wanted to know more about the Church, so she requested that the missionaries visit.
Her husband missed the first three discussions, but the missionaries told her to pray about what they had taught. Felicitas prayed, and she had a dream about the Savior. “It was as if it were the Second Coming,” she says. “People were rejoicing, but we were not because we were not a part of them.” She knew she had found the true religion, and she wanted her husband to share in her discovery.
Jose listened to the missionaries, but he wasn’t interested in baptism because he was a heavy smoker. He told the elders he believed in the Ten Commandments, and one of the missionaries asked him why he was not keeping all of them. The elder said one of the commandments was “Thou shalt not kill” (Ex. 20:13). “You’re killing yourself little by little by smoking,” he said.
Finally Jose agreed to be baptized, but because he was still smoking, the missionaries had to delay his baptism. Felicitas knew her husband needed extra motivation, so she told him she would fast one meal for every cigarette he smoked. “You will die then,” he replied, “because I smoke five packs of cigarettes a day.” But with the Lord’s help, he quit smoking and was baptized 15 days later.
Within three months Brother Medina was called as branch president. Later he served as district executive secretary and district clerk. He now serves as district president. Sister Medina has served as Young Women president and Relief Society president in both the branch and the district and has taught seminary for 10 years. “We love it,” she says. “It’s worth it. All the blessings we receive are from God.”

It must be difficult living in a place where one of life’s greatest temptations is going to the beach on Sunday. “Sunday always has the perfect beach weather,” says Tami Ting Mei Lim of Honolulu, Hawaii, “but I want to be in church.”
Tami loves her home state and takes advantage of every opportunity to spread the gospel across it. She once spent two hours driving through the busy streets of Honolulu telling her captive driving instructor about the gospel. “I was surprised about the interest he took in hearing about Joseph Smith and the Book of Mormon,” she said.
Tami also takes advantage of opportunities to keep her state beautiful. She’s constantly involved in community cleanup projects. Her experience in church and school leadership positions helps her with this. All this, and an avid interest in violin and piano music? No wonder it’s tempting to think of relaxing at the beach.

Christmas was just two weeks away. We had just moved to Moab, Utah, and our family of 11 was living in a three-bedroom trailer without utilities. My parents’ company had gone bankrupt, and there was no back pay. The situation was dismal, to say the least.
My singles ward was planning a service project called “The 12 Days of Christmas.” The bishops in the stake had prayed and selected a family for us to help for 12 days. Considering my family’s situation, I was disappointed that no one had offered to help us. I agreed to buy a gift for a boy in the family, but I couldn’t help but wonder what my own brothers would get for Christmas.
The day came for me to purchase a gift for this boy, and I wanted to get him something special. I decided to go to the local department store to see what toys were popular. After 30 minutes I was getting discouraged because no toys seemed just right for the child.
Then a young boy came into the store. He was about the right age, and his appearance suggested that his family was probably struggling financially. I noticed the thrill on his face as he came across a train set. I knew I had found my gift.
As this little boy’s brother came into the store to get him, I realized that this was the boy I was buying the gift for. I knew this was Heavenly Father’s way of telling me that the stake had picked the right family to serve. I was glad that I had agreed to help them rather than put my own needs first. But I had no idea that more blessings awaited my family.
My father found another job a couple of days before Christmas, and my parents managed to get a small gift for each child. And things were about to get even better.
The day before Christmas, a brother in the ward called the bishop and offered to rent a house to a needy family. It was a large, five-bedroom home with the utilities already working, and best of all, he didn’t expect rent until the next month. The bishop told us about the house, and we moved in that very morning.
Around the corner from the house was a little bar. Someone there noticed us moving in and was touched by our situation. He started collecting donations and brought over a mug filled with cash from perfect strangers.
Another miracle occurred when my father left work for the night. The bosses were passing out Christmas bonuses, but my dad had only been there for two days, so he assumed he wouldn’t get anything. He started to leave, and they said they had something for him. He was surprised to see that each of the men had given up part of their bonuses to share with our family. His company matched the donations. My dad was humbled by their generosity.
That evening, I helped drop off the gifts for our service project. When I got home, my mother told me about the mug of cash and the bonus from work. She had just finished when we heard horns honking. We ran outside and, to our further amazement, dozens of gifts decorated our lawn. We were touched and humbled by the love of strangers for our family. What began as a very meager Christmas had become, instead, a Christmas that we would never forget.
Later, as I thought about the events of the previous month, I realized that Heavenly Father knows each of us. He knows our needs, and He often uses others to meet those needs. But He blesses us the most when we put others first. When I sacrificed my family’s needs to help another family, my family was blessed more than I could have imagined.

In early Church history, the Prophet Joseph, Emma, and their 11-month-old twins, Joseph and Julia, were in Hiram, Ohio, at the John and Alice Johnson home. Both of the children were suffering from measles. Joseph and his little son were sleeping on a trundle bed near the front door.
During the night a group of men with black-painted faces burst through the door and dragged the Prophet outside, where they beat him and threw tar on him and Sidney Rigdon.
The most tragic part of this mobbing was that little Joseph was exposed to the night air and caught a severe cold when his father was dragged away. As a result, he died a few days later.2
Those who participated in the Martyrdom of the Prophet and his brother Hyrum also painted their faces to hide their true identities.3

After Primary a few weeks ago our four-year-old grandson, Michael, reported to his parents, “When I pray, my heart feels like a roasted marshmallow.” Already Michael is recognizing the feelings associated with faith. How fortunate that he is willing and able to identify and talk about his feelings with his parents.

One of my earliest memories is also of light. When I was young, my brother and I were sealed to our mother and father in the Salt Lake Temple. I remember my family and others dressed in white, the great light in the temple, and the peace I felt that day.

A brilliant and highly educated young woman spoke in Berchtesgaden, Germany, to a conference of American military personnel who were members of the Church. I was there and heard her. She was a major in the army, a medical doctor, a highly respected specialist in her field. She said:
“More than anything else in the world, I wanted to serve God. But try as I might, I could not find him. The miracle of it all is that he found me. One Saturday afternoon in September 1969 I was at home in Berkeley, California, and heard my doorbell ring. There were two young men there, dressed in suits, with white shirts and ties. Their hair was neatly combed. I was so impressed with them that I said: ‘I don’t know what you’re selling, but I’ll buy it.’ One of the young men said: ‘We aren’t selling anything. We’re missionaries of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and we would like to talk with you.’ I invited them to come in, and they spoke about their faith.
“This was the beginning of my testimony. I am thankful beyond words for the privilege and honor of being a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The joy and peace this glad gospel has brought to my heart is heaven on earth. My testimony of this work is the most precious thing in my life, a gift from my Heavenly Father, for which I will be eternally thankful.”

Illustration by Taia Morley
In fourth grade, I was in the best class ever. Everything about that class was perfect—except Kylie (name has been changed). She was mean to almost everyone, including me. I saw her pushing others in the hallway, and she even pushed me a few times. I would come home crying because I could not understand why she would bully me.
Nobody was her friend. She had her own table at lunch because no one would sit close to her. I told my mom about Kylie, and she gave me some life-changing words of wisdom: “Maybe she just needs a friend.”
This came as a shock to me. How could I possibly be nice to someone who wouldn’t give a second thought to calling me an insulting name? Reluctantly, though, I decided to be nicer to Kylie and try to understand her. As I got to know her better, I found that she was actually nice. I soon learned that her life was much worse than I could have imagined. She had a tough home to live in, and she would avoid any conversation with the word “family.”
One day during lunch, I was sitting with my friends. Since Kylie was mean to others, there were some girls who were not nice to her in return. They started making fun of Kylie, talking loud enough that she could hear them. They said things like, “Come sit with us—NEVER!” “What’s that smell? Oh, it’s Kylie!” and “Stay away from us!” I sat there listening.
Then I heard a small voice in my head: “Do something.” I stood up and felt over a dozen pairs of eyes turn to me. “Stop!” I said. “Why would you say things like that to anyone? Just be nice to her!” Everyone fell silent. As I sat down, I looked at Kylie. She turned around and gave me a look of pure gratitude.
In sixth grade my 12th birthday was coming up, and I wanted to have a party with a few friends. When my mom asked if I wanted to invite anyone else, I heard the same small voice in my head: “Invite Kylie.”
“I want to invite Kylie,” I told my mom.
“Really?”
I nodded. After the birthday party, my friends and I, including Kylie, were bonded to such an extent that we got together every Friday for the last three months of school. Kylie came each time. We became best friends.
Now I am in eighth grade and have moved to another state, but I frequently communicate with Kylie, who is still one of my best friends. Sometimes my other friends ask how we became so close.
“In fourth grade she was a bully, and we pretty much hated each other,” I say.
“Well, then how did you become such good friends?”
“I looked for the good in her. Everyone has some good in them, and I reached out to find hers.”

One day I was talking to a friend, who is not a member of our church, and we almost got to the point where we started putting each other’s churches down, but I didn’t want it to get to that point, so I just bore my testimony and stopped. A few weeks later I got some pamphlets and magazines in the mail from her. I could have kept them so that I would know what some writers think about our church, but I didn’t. This experience made me want to be more prepared when things like this happen.Alexandria M., 15, Oregon

Keite de Lima A. Ahmed and Viviana Torres Noguera struggled to make ends meet even though their husbands worked hard for their families. For both, the PEF was a great blessing.
Less-active members of Keite’s family expressed doubts, however, when she registered for an 18-month safety-technician program. But she excelled in her studies and was offered a full-time position in her field in 2007.
“The fund did more than just help me receive training and employment; it also helped me feel better about myself and grow more confident in my abilities,” says Keite, one of the first women hired to conduct safety inspections, training, and implementation by a company in São José dos Pinhais, near Curitiba. “This inspired program has brought our family greater happiness and stronger testimonies,” she says.
Keite’s parents and siblings, impressed with her performance and determination and with how the PEF blessed her family, have returned to activity in the Church. “They were reminded that the Church lifts people and helps them grow in many ways—not only spiritually but also in all important ways that make for a full life,” she says.

When I was elected junior class vice president of Edgemont High School, I wasn’t just surprised, I was in temporary shock. I had entered the race at the last minute for the experience. At least that’s what I had told myself. When I actually won, it seemed impossible, incredible! What seemed even more incredible was that I had apparently won by a landslide. At least that’s what Molly Pratt claimed.
“Boy, Mark, are you ever popular. You got almost every vote. I helped count them.”
I shook my head for the hundredth time. “I just can’t believe it. It’s incredible.”
“Not really,” Molly said smiling.
Although I couldn’t figure out how it had all happened, I did know one thing: I planned to do a good job—a great job. I didn’t want anyone to think he’d made a mistake by voting for Mark Bennion.
Just a few days after I’d talked to Molly, I was standing by my locker cleaning out some of the election handouts when I heard a soft voice behind me. I knew whose voice it was even before I turned around. Although she was in my history class, Rhonda Jackson had never spoken to me before, and I could feel my face getting warm. Up close she was even prettier than at a two-row distance. A sprinkle of small, delicate freckles peppered her nose, and her warm smile made me quiver.
“Oh, hi,” I said, trying to sound casual but sounding more as if I had just swallowed a baseball.
“We’re having a little get-together at my place tomorrow night,” she said. “We’re going to study for the history test. Well, just for a little while. Then we’ll have some fun. You know, talk a little, dance or something.” She touched my arm lightly with her forefinger. “Would you like to join our group?”
“I, uh, I can’t think of any reason why I couldn’t. Yes, sure.” I knew about her little group. Who didn’t? It was the elite group at Edgemont. The thought of being included seemed unreal. Just last week I had thought of myself as a Joe-average with just a few friends, like the guys I palled around with in the neighborhood. Now hundreds of students seemed to know me and find me important. And I had a chance, a real chance, to belong to the most exclusive group at school.
“Oh, by the way,” Rhonda smiled again and looked straight into my eyes. “We’ve got a copy of the test so you won’t need to bring your book. We’re just going to memorize the answers. We’ll probably be able to get copies of some of the other tests coming up, too.”
“Oh?” Her words hit me like a thud. “How did …”
“Don’t ask.” She put her hand over my mouth and giggled softly. “Let’s just say we have connections. See you tomorrow night.”
I watched her walk away. She turned and smiled, fully aware that I was staring after her. Wow, she was beautiful. I sighed. “Too bad.”
The next day I was prepared to tell Rhonda that I couldn’t make it to the get-together. I couldn’t afford to go and then make a fool of myself by being a goody-two-shoes and refusing to participate in the cheating. I wouldn’t say the word cheating or make any accusations. But when I saw her walking toward me with that appealing smile, the brave words began slipping from my mind. I wanted her to like me. Oh, how I wanted Rhonda Jackson to like me.
“You’re coming tonight, I hope,” she said, emphasizing the words “I hope.” There was a nice lilt to her voice.
“Well, I’d really like to, but …
“I’d really be disappointed if you didn’t come. You’ve just got to come. Everybody’s going to be there. Bill Spilker, Audrey Madsen, Nicki Simmons, and Frank, you know, Frank Lake. They’re all going to be there, and you really should get to know all of us better.” The names she had mentioned were familiar to me—familiar to everyone at Edgemont. They were the officers of the school, the “in-group” of in-groups.
“I have a little secret to tell you,” Rhonda began whispering in a confidential manner. “Frank said something about you.”
“What was that?” I asked, impressed that my name had even come up in conversation. Frank was the student-body vice president.
“He thinks if you play your cards right you could be president of the school.”
“Oh, sure.” I felt myself blushing in pleasure.
“You don’t know how popular you are, do you, Mark? You have a lot of power already. A little more, some friends in the right circles, for instance, could put the presidency right in your pocket.”
“You really think so?”
She looked down dramatically, then up into my eyes. “Believe me, I know so. See you tonight about eight or eight-thirty.”
As I watched her walk away I stood grinning. Again I sighed.
Come on, I thought. Me, president of the whole student body? Me, in Rhonda Jackson’s league? This is all too incredible. I shook my head. “Nah,” I said out loud. But then I began wondering. With some friends in the right circles, maybe—just maybe—it wasn’t so farfetched. I had won junior class vice president by a landslide. Maybe further miracles were also possible. I’ve been pretty naive, I thought. There are probably a lot of things going on in this school that I know nothing about. Everyone probably cheats once in a while to keep up the old grade-point average.
In my mind, I went over the people Rhonda had mentioned would be at her house. Slowly it began registering that everyone was matched up—except Rhonda. My face grew warm again. Could it be Rhonda had me in mind for herself? “Impossible!” My stomach did a backflip, and I walked to my locker to get rid of my history book. I wouldn’t need it tonight!
Later in the day, while I was on my way to study class, I passed my last year’s history classroom. Mr. Hancock was just closing the door to his room. As I nodded a hello, he motioned that he wanted to talk to me.
“What can I do for you?” I asked.
“I’m glad you walked by, Mark. An interesting thing happened that I wanted to tell you about. Can you come in for a minute?”
“Sure thing.” As I sat down by his desk, I looked around at the pictures of some of the presidents and other historical figures I could remember learning about in his class. My sophomore year in Mr. Hancock’s class had been quite the year for hero worship.
“I don’t know if this will mean anything to you,” he said. “But I thought you should know.”
“What’s up?” I asked. “What happened?” I was curious now.
“Well, a few days ago I gave a test, and my last question was ‘What great person, living or dead, would you most like to use as an example in your own life?’ I mostly got the kind of answers I was expecting: Abraham Lincoln, George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, Ben Franklin; but a most peculiar thing happened.”
“Oh?”
“One of the boys put your name.”
“My name?” I was confused. “Why would he do that?”
“I guess he thinks you’re a ‘great man,’” he said, smiling. “Thought you might want to know.”
“That’s incredible,” I said, staring at him.
“Glad it makes a difference to you. You’ve been getting quite a bit of attention lately, and I wasn’t sure you’d care; but, well, I thought I’d tell you.”
I nodded and kept staring. Then I looked around the room and nodded again. There was a knot beginning to form in my stomach. “It makes a difference,” I said. “Thanks, Mr. Hancock.”
“Good to talk to you, Mark, and good luck to you.”
“Thanks again,” I said. I felt two feet taller as I headed toward the door. Without hesitation I turned down the hall in the direction of my locker. I had a history book to retrieve and some hard and fast studying to do. People were counting on me, wanted to be like me. There was no way I was going to let them down!

Recently I learned of a group of young people in whose lives a miracle is taking place. They are setting an example for the world to follow. About 3 percent of the students in a particular high school are members of the Church. A few months ago the school principal and superintendent, neither of whom are members, granted permission for these young people to have released time during the school day for seminary. This is the first high school in the entire state in which it is located that has given this permission. Just a few weeks ago, the stake president and bishop reported that the school officials are most impressed with and grateful for the good influence the Latter-day Saint students are having on the entire student body.

Grandmother was visiting us, and we were just ready to go out on a fun family outing when a minor disaster struck—we couldn’t find the keys to the car. Children, parents, and Grandmother searched everywhere, but the keys were not to be found, and we thought in dismay that we would probably have to stay home. Then Grandmother excused herself and went into her bedroom. In just a few minutes one of the children suddenly found the keys—just barely hidden under a corner of a rug.
As we drove happily to our outing, someone asked Grandmother, “Why did you go into your bedroom instead of looking for the keys?” Grandmother’s answer was absorbed carefully by five young children; “I knew how disappointed everyone would be if we didn’t go on the outing, so I went in and prayed that we could find the keys. I just knew we would find them after that.”

Once every five years, the magic happens. All the children in the Centerville Utah Fifth Ward come to the meetinghouse a few days before Christmas. They stand outside the cultural hall, almost jumping with excitement as they wait to be ushered into the most remarkable store in the world.
Inside the store there are tables filled with toys, dolls, books games and trains. There are bikes and trikes by the walls, shiny and clean. There are bracelets and necklaces, neckties and stuffed animals, roller skates and ice skates, even a record player or two.
Yes, everything’s for sale. And nothing, except the bicycles, costs more than 25 cents. But the real magic of the Christmas store is that it isn’t run to make money. It’s run to help children share in the joy of giving.
For the first hour, only Primary-age children are allowed to shop in the store. The teenagers in the ward accompany them and help them think through what would make good presents for fathers, mothers, sisters, and brothers. Parents aren’t allowed to see what the children choose. One grandmother was surprised when the very salt shakers she had donated were given to her as a gift!
The basic idea of the Christmas store is that nobody—especially children—should have to spend a lot of money buying gifts. After all, the purpose of Christmas is to celebrate Christ’s birth. And the gifts are to remind us of the presents he was given as a baby, of the teachings he gave us to be kind and to share, and especially to remind us of the gift he gave—his life—so that we might live. No one should be excluded from the wonderful feeling that comes from giving, from thinking of others before ourselves.
Everything available at the store has been donated. Some things are homemade, some are brand-new, some are used but in good condition, some have been reconditioned and repaired.
Of course, the store wouldn’t succeed without the support of everyone in the ward. But the youth play a particularly important part. Last year, for example, they canvassed the ward in October, letting everyone know they were looking for anything a child could give as a gift. The response, as always, was overwhelming. Some people donated brand-new toys. Some cleaned out the toy box from their children’s younger days. Some of the high priests got out their woodworking tools and fashioned rocking horses or wooden trains, or used mechanical tools to repair bicycles.
Once a week starting in late November, the youth went with the elders quorum in trucks to gather up the donations. Soon Grant and Helen Keddington’s basement was so full it wouldn’t hold any more, and the surplus stacked up in the bishop’s office for five weeks. High priests and deacons worked side by side, fixing things that were broken. Youth service nights were spent in putting jigsaw puzzles together to check for missing pieces, in cleaning dirty toys, in sewing torn doll clothing, in stacking toys according to the age group that would use them, in attaching price stickers, and in making publicity posters.
The Relief Society and the Young Women joined to host a bake shop, where cakes, candy, doughnuts, and cookies were for sale. Again, proceeds went for the needy. Norm Beers, the Scoutmaster and his son Matthew, 11, ran a projector showing rented cartoons, to keep older children entertained while the younger kids got to shop first. And even Santa Claus heard about the store, taking a break from his work at the North Pole to visit the children and give them a treat.
This latest store, like others before it, was a great success. We filled the entire cultural hall—first with things to buy, then with children, then with teenagers wrapping the gifts. When the children were finished, adults were allowed to shop, too. What money we raised was turned over to the bishop to help people in distress have a little bit merrier Christmas. And when everyone was through, we still took two boxes of toys, books, and clothing to Deseret Industries, so we kept on sharing the spirit of giving.
But most important, we helped the children to learn to think of others, to enjoy the excitement of finding something someone else would like, without spending lots of hard-earned money to get it. Now, we can hardly wait until we have the Christmas store again.

I don’t have to work on Christmas this year,” my husband, Ken, said. He was a truck driver, and for many years the children and I had partial Christmases and some late Christmases because of his work. But now all the children were married, and we had encouraged them to spend this Christmas at their own homes as we had done when we had a young family.
It took only a minute for me to think of a father who would have to work on Christmas, so I told Ken, “Remember how it was when you couldn’t be with us for Christmas? I’ll be all right if you work and let some father who has small children stay home with his family for Christmas.”
“Are you sure? You’ll be all alone.”
“I’ll be fine.”
Ken told the dispatcher he would work Christmas so a young father could be at home. Another truck driver standing nearby overheard the conversation. “If you’re going to do that,” he said, “I will too. I don’t have any children at home.”
So it was arranged. Then another driver heard about it and volunteered to work on Christmas also. So three veteran truck drivers worked for three days in some of the worst weather our area had seen, and three fathers of young children were able to stay home with their families.
As for me, I watched the snow fall and knew that although Ken didn’t have to be out in that cold weather, he had made the choice to be. And I thought of our 10 children and of the Christmases we had had together—especially the ones when we didn’t have their daddy with us.
So for three days, I read, sewed, watched Christmas programs on television, ate my solitary meals, looked at the unwrapped gifts, and spent a peaceful and happy Christmas—grateful for my husband and his gift of Christmas to someone else.

After receiving an invitation to “come and see,” I attended The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints for the first time at the age of 26. I had recently separated from my first husband. I had a three-year-old boy. And I felt powerless with fear. When I entered the building, I was filled with warmth as I perceived the faith and joy of the people surrounding me. It was truly “a refuge from the storm.” Three weeks later, I made the baptismal covenant with Heavenly Father and started my journey as a disciple of Christ, although my life has not been perfect along that journey.
For me to receive those eternal blessings, many physical and spiritual elements had to be in place. The gospel of Jesus Christ had been restored and preached; that meetinghouse had been built and maintained; there was an ecclesiastical structure, from the prophet to local leaders; and a branch filled by covenant members was ready to embrace me and my son as we were brought to the Savior, “nourished by the good word of God,” and given opportunities to serve.

Allen E. Litster was president of the Andes Mission at the time. From his notes we learn some of the things that took place on the peaceful Sunday afternoon when that great quake shook Peru.
There were sad and tragic experiences for many of the people in Peru, but there were great blessings to some people too. President Litster wrote:
“Late Sunday night sketchy reports of damage along the Peruvian coast began to filter in from the north. Telephone and cable lines were down, and so communication was limited to ham operators and private company radios.
“Monday afternoon urgent pleas began to come in through small private radios located in the beautiful Callejón de Huaylas, a deep narrow valley located in central Peru at the foot of Peru’s highest peak, Mount Huascarán. The communications reported extensive damage in other areas. Ninety percent of the city of Huaraz had been destroyed. Caraz, a city of some twelve thousand, had reportedly disappeared from the map.
“Our concern increased as we considered the missionaries and members.
“By Tuesday morning there was still no communication from either Caraz or Huaraz, nor was there any by Wednesday morning.
“Then lists of survivors and dead began to be relayed to the public through Lima radio stations. Missionaries and members were assigned to listen for news of missionaries and members in those areas.
“Wednesday evening, seventy-eight hours after the earthquake struck, the telephone rang.
“‘This is Colonel Beckett, U.S. Air Force. Would you like some word about some of your long lost friends? Today I flew a chopper into Caraz. Your elders did some translating for me. They are well and happy and wonder if they could help more where they are or somewhere else.’
“Now maybe there was some hope for the missionaries in Huaraz. Suddenly a cheer broke out in one of the upstairs offices where missionaries were huddled around a radio listening to reports from Huaraz.
“‘Attention, Lima. Mormon missionaries in Huaraz are well.’ Grateful prayers welled up in the heart of each one of us. This accounted for all of our missionaries, and most of our members were safe. The Lord had indeed been good!”

Melanie’s family lives in Utah, and she boards with LDS families in San Francisco. But because she has been performing since she was nine years old she has been exposed to a lot of different lifestyles.
“I’m grateful for the opportunities I’ve had as a dancer,” she said. “But it’s also been tough. There are lots of temptations. When I was 12, I went on tour for five weeks with a ballet company. I was offered wine at Thanksgiving. No one there knew what my beliefs were. I didn’t have to refuse the wine, but I knew my parents trusted me, and I knew what they expected. Similar temptations still confront me, and I can only thank my parents because they taught me and prepared me, when I was still young, to think for myself and to make correct decisions. I know I can be the best at ballet that I can be and still live the gospel. I have to know my limitations and not put myself in situations that make the struggle too difficult. And I rely heavily on my family. My best friends are my family.