Gospel Story Finder

Brother McAllister moved into the house down the street from my family at about the time my father died. Mom told me Brother McAllister had been a patriarch in a stake across the mountains, and that he and Sister McAllister had moved to our town to work at the temple. At that time I thought a patriarch was an old, old man. And Brother McAllister fit the description. He seemed about as old as a man could be.
I saw him just about every day, but I never spoke to him. I guess I was a little bit afraid of him. It was partly because he once yelled at me for hitting his window with a green apple I had aimed at a neighbor girl. But I was afraid of him mostly because he reminded me of a skeleton. He was so frail and thin that he looked like he might tumble over at any moment. And his eyes—pale blue—set in his square face burned with a fierce energy.
Early every morning he walked out of his house in a stiff, slow-motion gait wearing an immaculately pressed old-fashioned brown suit. Then he helped Sister McAllister get into their car before he drove away at a snail’s pace toward the temple. In the evening, he put on coveralls and worked in his yard. I wondered why he bothered, since he obviously didn’t have long to live.
When it came time for me to be ordained a teacher in the Aaronic Priesthood, I told the bishop I would accept a home teaching assignment. I was assigned to go home teaching with Brother McAllister.
The first time was very awkward. I had forgotten he was coming, so I wasn’t ready. I put on a clean shirt and walked behind him to his car, feeling like I was being taken to the gallows. The way he did everything so slowly nearly drove me crazy.
Our first appointment was with Brother Tuttle. On the drive to the appointment, Brother McAllister told me Sister Tuttle had recently died and that Brother Tuttle was very lonely. I didn’t say anything. I knew Brother Tuttle as a grouchy old fellow who lived near my grandmother’s place. Once he had chased me out of his raspberry patch, and more than a few times told me not to play in his tumbledown barn. I was surprised when he greeted me warmly and told me a story about my grandfather. When he and Brother McAllister began discussing the lesson, I found myself staring at my companion’s carefully polished high-topped shoes. I noticed he put the laces in them so they went straight across instead of crisscross. Obviously, I wasn’t listening.
It went on like that for months. All the people we visited were old. They talked a lot about aches and pains, but were concerned about other things, too. Brother McAllister brought up the subject of dying, and said he was trying hard to get ready to meet the Savior. At first it really bothered me when he said things like that, but after a while, it didn’t. He seemed totally at peace with the idea. He talked about it the same way I talked with my friends about going on to high school. We were a little worried, but anxious to move on to something better. Slowly I began to understand why the pioneers and early Church members were willing to put their lives on the line for the gospel. Brother McAllister’s testimony had simply taken away all his fear of death.
Before long, I began to enjoy our visits. Even though I didn’t have much to say, I still felt like these people enjoyed having me come to their homes. Listening to Brother McAllister bear his testimony made me feel more confident about mine, and hearing talk about growing old gave me a totally different point of view.
I began to be ashamed of the pranks I had sometimes played on elderly people. When one of my friends suggested soaping windows or stealing fuses, I would picture Brother Tuttle or one of my families sitting alone in the dark, or trying to clean up the mess. I decided I would begin volunteering to chop wood or mow lawns for the widows in my neighborhood.
When Sister McAllister died, I attended her funeral. It was the first funeral I had dared go to since my dad died. Soon after her death, I was given another home teaching assignment. I didn’t speak with Brother McAllister much after that, but I noticed he still put on his brown suit and went to the temple every day. I marveled at how tidy he kept his yard, and wondered how he found the strength and determination to keep going. He even built a new carport.
The year I was picked as seminary president, Brother McAllister moved away to live with one of his children. I thought about him occasionally, especially when we had lessons about resurrection or the temple. Shortly after I entered the mission field, Mom wrote to tell me Brother McAllister had died. I thought about him that whole day, feeling sure he was happy and at peace. Later that night, I thought of him again when I found myself telling an investigator how a testimony of Jesus Christ and the ordinances of the temple could remove his fear of death.
I was still thinking about my home teaching companion when I said my prayers before going to bed that night. As I arose from my knees, I looked at my polished shoes and something dawned on me. I realized why it was I liked to put the laces in with the strings going straight across instead of crisscross.

I just recently moved here from the Philippines, and it has been very hard to be away from my family, friends, and loved ones. Many times I feel so alone. While I was waiting for my New Era subscription to be processed, I would borrrow the New Era from the ward library. The first magazine to arrive was the April 1994 issue. It gave me so much inspiration, especially when I opened the Mormonad poster and saw the words that went straight into my heart: “You Are Never Alone.” Every single article in that issue just made me realize how much I feel my Savior’s love and the appreciation I have for the Atonement in my life. Thanks for that wonderful issue.
Evelyn T. BautistaSt. Louis, Missouri

How Ron and Sandi Hammond arrived at that important moment in the Middle East is a testament of the Hammonds’ faith and the inspiration behind the Church’s senior missionary program.
In 2012 the Hammonds were serving as ordinance workers in the Rexburg Idaho Temple. Ron had a successful dental practice and was teaching in the Religion Department at Brigham Young University–Idaho. But the serene routine of their lives changed abruptly with a distinct spiritual impression to immediately submit papers to serve a mission. The timing surprised them. Their married children were in various stages of career moves and relocations, and Ron was not yet looking to retire. But the Spirit assured them that they were needed and that all would be well.
As it turned out, priesthood leaders at Church headquarters had been fasting and praying to find the right couple to serve as country directors for LDS Charities in Amman, Jordan.
“It was so evident,” says Sandi, “that the Lord was out ahead of us, preparing the details of the specific assignment He had for us. We know that He does this for every missionary who serves. It is comforting knowing that the Savior is arranging things for you to serve before you ever arrive.”
“In retrospect,” Ron says, “we are grateful we were neither specific nor insistent on where we wished to serve. Leaving such matters in the Lord’s hands allowed Him to give us an experience we would not have had otherwise.”

Two years ago, while visiting Santiago, Chile, I was very much impressed by Daniel Olate, a young man who often accompanied the missionaries. I asked him to write to me, and with his permission I will read to you part of his recent e-mail: “I just turned 16, and Sunday I was ordained to the office of a priest. That same day I baptized a friend; her name is Carolina. I taught her the gospel, and she regularly attended church and even received her Personal Progress award, but her parents would not allow her to be baptized until they got to know and trust me. She wanted me to baptize her, so we had to wait for a month until Sunday, when I turned 16. I feel so good to have helped such a good person to be baptized, and I feel happy that I was the one who baptized her.”

Where’s José Luis?
That’s what I wanted to know. I’d heard so much about the energetic 18-year-old, and I only had a few minutes to interview him on that hot Sunday in Seville, Spain.
“I think he’s in Sunday School with one of our investigators,” said a tall, North American missionary as he hurried his way through the crowd in the halls of the Nervion meetinghouse.
“He’s always with our investigators,” said the missionary’s shorter companion, trotting to keep up. “That guy is one sharp mission leader. He keeps all the full-time missionaries on the ball. He just goes crazy over missionary work.”
Before I could ask which class José Luis might be in, the missionaries had disappeared into the colorful throng. The church was packed, and everyone seemed excited to be there.
Across the foyer I spotted Marcos Camacho. Marcos is José Luis’s home teaching companion. “Marcos, where’s José Luis?” I called.
“He might be preparing our home teaching lesson,” Marcos told me as he threaded his way through the large group of people between us. “He’s very good about it. We always get our home teaching done, and the people we visit really like him. Oh look—here comes his mother. Maybe she knows where he is. Ask her,” he said as he ran off to teach the Young Men.
His mother? What was she doing here? I’d heard she was against his church activity and had prohibited him from coming to the chapel. Now here was this lady, all smiles, soft curls, and a perky pink dress, coming toward me.
“Hi there,” I said as she approached me. “I’m looking for your son, but I’m really happy to see you. I’d heard you were not excited about your son’s coming to church. It looks like your attitude has changed?”
“But it wasn’t quite that easy, Mom,” said José Luis, popping up behind her, seemingly out of nowhere and putting his arm around her shoulder.
So finally I got to meet this legendary guy. He’s taller than his mother, medium height, with thick, straight dark hair and a perpetual smile. You can tell he’s from southern Spain, Andalucia, by his accent and his vocabulary. Even though he’s famous here for being a gospel dynamo, there is absolutely nothing intimidating about him. He’s about as humble as you can get.
“I know that Christ lives and that Heavenly Father always listens to us and loves us,” José Luis said, simply and sincerely. “I want everyone else to know that too. Will you excuse me for just a minute? I’m supposed to be helping a friend with a lesson,” he said, and he was off.
So for all of about five minutes, I could have answered the question, “Where’s José Luis?” But if you asked me right now, I could probably make an educated guess.
“Where’s José Luis?”
He’s out doing what he can to build the kingdom. And that’s a great place to be.

When the trans-Canada pipeline was being planned, President Tanner received constant appeals from the national minister of trade and from the premier of Alberta to become head of the project. He accepted the challenge.

The 2,000-mile pipeline, largest in the world at that time, was completed in four years, even though one project authority compared it with the building of the U.S. transcontinental railroad.

Years before my military experience, I served a mission in the British Isles. I always had planned to serve, but the decision became more challenging when I met this beautiful girl in college! Sound familiar to anyone here?! We dated. We fell in love. We even discussed the possibility of eventual marriage. But I had a mission to fulfill; and, to her everlasting credit, she agreed that was what I should do. But it wasn’t easy, and other young men in our university ward made no effort to conceal their delight that I was going to be away for a couple of years.
Nevertheless, I went. My heart was very sad as I bade her goodbye. In my day, there was no MTC. Instead, newly called missionaries would attend a one-week orientation in what was then called the Mission Home, which was located on North State Street in Salt Lake City. I entered the Mission Home with a desire to serve but with a heavy heart. Then, a miracle happened that changed my life!
On the very first morning there, Sister Richards, the wife of the Mission Home president, arose to address us. I shall never forget her words! “Now, you missionaries,” she declared, “I want to talk to you about those girls at home.” She had my undivided attention! Then, she spoke another one of those sentences that deserves heart-engraving: “Do you think—do you really think—that if you go out and serve the Lord with all your heart for two years that He will let you down in the most important decision you will ever make in your life?” In that moment, dear brothers and sisters, the Holy Spirit filled my soul from top to toe! I felt as if I was the only other person in the room! Of course, I thought! She was not promising that a particular girl would be waiting, only that when the season for marriage came the Lord would help me and the right girl to find each other. The burden was lifted! But that witness came only after the trial of faith!
From that moment, I left the matter in the Lord’s hands. I really tried to be a good and faithful missionary. She dated and participated fully in school and institute activities. We wrote weekly. The weeks turned to months. Then a year. A year and a half. Still, we were writing. And when the day of return finally arrived, there she was with my parents and siblings as I stepped off the plane. The next evening, I proposed. And here she is today, my beautiful eternal companion, Pat, as we are now in our 62nd year of marriage! Of course, not all pre-mission romances turn out as did ours; and not every missionary’s sacrifice involves romance. But that isn’t the point! The point is that when we don’t shrink and move forward along our own customized path of discipleship, the Lord’s reassuring witness inevitably follows in due course.

Though it happened more than four decades ago, my wife and I have never forgotten an occasion when we were blessed by an anonymous donor. It was Christmas of 1953, and I was a graduate student at Cornell University in Ithaca, New York. In many ways it was the best of times. We had two small and much adored children and were deeply in love with each other, as we are to this day. Furthermore, I loved my studies and research at a world-renowned university. But we were very poor, with not a penny of financial reserves, and barely able to scrape by on my graduate stipend of two hundred dollars per month. Somehow my dear wife had managed to find a few dollars for modest Christmas presents for our two children, but that was as far as the money went. We weren’t particularly troubled by the lack of funds, but, like the couple in O. Henry’s classic tale “The Gift of the Magi,” each of us had hoped to give the other some expression of our mutual affection.

On Christmas Eve our doorbell rang. When I answered it, I found on the front porch a package in Christmas wrappings. It was addressed to us but had no indication of who had sent it. When we opened the package on Christmas morning, we found a shirt for me and a blouse for my wife. Never were gifts more appreciated, not just for themselves, but most of all because someone cared about us. We still don’t know the identity of the giver but bless his or her name to this day.

The last week with Stevo in our house passed quickly. The Saturday morning it was time for him to leave you’d have thought someone died. Tim said he was losing his best friend, and Mom dabbed her eyes and said it felt just like when Rodney went away to college, even though he was going only a few miles to his next host family.

As I drove Stevo to his new home, I realized there was something I wanted to say to him. I had been a jerk. Selfish. My own little room, my kingdom, where I could shut the world out and indulge in self-pity, had been so important. So important I almost shut out something that on some level seemed more important than I knew how to explain. I glanced over at Stevo. His large nose pointed straight ahead, serene, knowing exactly where he was going as he continued his journey through life.

I made my decision. I pulled over to the curb and parked under the bough of a large chestnut tree.

“Something is wrong, Matt?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said. “I have a confession to make.” I took a deep breath. “I didn’t like you at all when you came to live with us. And the first time I saw you I didn’t know what I was going to do with you for the next month. You seemed like trouble and a bother. I didn’t even try to hide it. I’m sorry. I was wrong, and I’m going to miss you and our talks.”

“I will miss our talks too, Matt.”

“Stevo, you have something. People always seem to want to be around you. Why? What is your secret?”

“I don’t know any secret, Matt. All I know is from the time I was tiny my mother told me often that if I treated other people as important as I wanted to be treated, then things would always work out. When we found the Church and discovered Christ, it was easy to see that all children of God deserve to be loved.”

“Even people who are trying to kill you?” I asked.

“Them especially. Easy to love those who treat us nice, my father says. Best part is to love those who hate us. That doesn’t mean we try to put ourselves in a place where they can hurt us. We try to understand so we don’t hate them back.”

Then I said, “I wish I had something to remember you by, Stevo. When I am with you, you make me want to be better. I want to change.”

“Matt, can I give you a gift?”

“I guess so.”

Stevo reached into his flight bag and pulled out the Book of Mormon he read nearly every night. He opened it and wrote in it.

I took the book and read what it said. To my best American friend, Matt: To want to change is the first step to be better. This book makes me want change to every day. Perhaps it can do the same for you. Your friend, Stevo.

I set the book down on the seat, put the car in gear, and headed down the street. We drove in silence. When we arrived at our destination, Stevo’s new host family was out front waiting. I helped him with his bags and then did something I had never done before in my life. I gave a guy a hug. Stevo was out of my room, but I knew he would never be out of my life.

I keep Stevo’s book by my bed and read from it often. Mom and Dad wonder why I treat everyone around here better. I even invited Tim to move in with me.

What shocked everyone most, though, was one Sunday several weeks ago I told them I wanted to go to church with Stevo before he returned to his home. That was, however, only part of the truth. The place Stevo goes every Sunday has a spirit of change, and that’s what I want to do. When I grow up, I want to be like Stevo.

While President David O. McKay served as prophet, seer, and revelator of the Church, he traveled over a million miles throughout the world. He enjoyed meeting with Saints in other countries, and he made friends for the Church among many government leaders.
On one trip in 1952, President McKay and his wife, Emma, were invited to visit with Queen Juliana of the Netherlands in the Soestdijk Palace. During that visit, the McKays showed how they were able to make friends without sacrificing their religious beliefs.
The queen had scheduled half an hour for the visit with President and Sister McKay. The President carefully watched the time. When the half hour was up, he politely thanked the queen and began to leave. “Mr. McKay,” she said, “sit down! I have enjoyed this thirty minutes more than I have enjoyed any thirty minutes in a long time. I just wish you would extend your visit a little longer.”
After more persuasion from her, he sat down again. At that point, a coffee table was wheeled in, and the queen poured three cups of tea, pushing one each to President and Sister McKay. When neither of the McKays began to stir their tea, the queen asked, “Won’t you have a little tea with the queen?”
President McKay politely explained that Latter-day Saints did not believe in drinking stimulants and that they believed tea to be a stimulant.
The queen was very surprised! “I am the queen of the Netherlands,” she said. “Do you mean to tell me you won’t have a little drink of tea, even with the queen of the Netherlands?”
To this, President McKay politely asked, “Would the queen of the Netherlands ask the leader of one million, three hundred thousand people* to do something that he teaches his people not to do?”
The queen smiled and sat back in her chair. “You are a great man, President McKay,” she told him. “I wouldn’t ask you to do that.”

We need to be in tune to listen to the spirit and be guided to someone who might need our help. When I was a Relief Society president I would take time to think of the sisters and once I was prompted to call a particular new sister who had not come to church that past Sunday. After she answered the phone she told me that she had decided that if she did not hear from a branch member that day, she would leave the church. I was grateful I listened to the spirit that day.

Some years ago I was asked to talk in the state penitentiary. We had a pretty good crowd there; there was nowhere else for them to go. And because of that meeting there was quite a group that came up to visit with me. One was a grandson of one of the Presidents of the Church, one was the grandson of one of the Presiding bishops (not related to me), one had been a ward clerk, one had been a district president in the mission field, and they were there because they had sowed to the flesh. I tell you, my heart went out to them under those conditions. When I was there, I was invited to return again to talk to the Alcoholics Anonymous group. (I made sure I got a round-trip ticket so I could get out once I got in there.) When I came I said, “I’d like to hear from you men. How do you feel? What can you tell me?”

And the man in charge of that group stood up and he said, “I thank God for the privilege of being in this institution.” Can you imagine? That’s what you get when you sow to the flesh. He thanked God for the privilege of being in that state penitentiary. He said, “Before I came here, I was no good to my family, I was no good to my country, I was no good to my church. I was just no good, period. Now, I have hopes that when I get out of here I’ll be worth something to somebody.” That’s what it means to sow to the Spirit.

President Gordon B. Hinckley started off his 96th birthday celebration with a shovel and some dirt.
Hundreds of Brigham Young University alumni, faculty, and students, plus family members and friends looked on as President Hinckley took his shovel in hand and scooped dirt to kick off the construction of an 80,000-square-foot (7.432-square-meter) building that will bear his name at the school in Provo.
“You do me a great honor and a great kindness in what you do today,” President Hinckley told guests at the groundbreaking celebration for the new Gordon B. Hinckley Alumni and Visitors’ Center on June 23, 2006.
President Hinckley thanked guests and commented about how his wife, Marjorie Pay Hinckley, who died in 2004, had also been honored at BYU when a social work and social sciences chair was named in her honor in 2003.
“Maybe we could move her chair into my building, and we’d be together again,” he said.
President Thomas S. Monson, First Counselor in the First Presidency, President James E. Faust, Second Counselor in the First Presidency, and President Hinckley’s son Clark also spoke at the groundbreaking. Family members, President Hinckley’s counselors in the First Presidency, members of the BYU Board of Trustees, friends of the university, and donors joined President Hinckley in ceremoniously turning the first dirt for the building.
After the ceremony, President Hinckley donated the shovel he used, which came from his own tool collection. Construction commenced immediately after the ceremony.
After the groundbreaking, family, invited guests, and university leaders hosted President Hinckley at a private luncheon. President Hinckley’s children paid tribute to their father, and President Samuelson presented him with a brick with his name on it to represent the new center that bears his name.

I have also witnessed and felt gratitude’s heavenly touch through other people, like an elderly Catholic nun my wife and I met in the city of Bethlehem. From 2007 to 2009 my wife and I had the privilege of working and teaching at the BYU Jerusalem Center. During that time we met a host of wonderful people (Christians, Muslims, and Jews) who influenced our lives in profound ways. On one occasion we were invited by one of the Jerusalem Center service couples—who oversaw the Church’s humanitarian program in the Holy Land—to visit an orphanage in Bethlehem. The purpose of their visit was to determine needs and the appropriate assistance from the Church.

The orphanage was located in a residential neighborhood in Bethlehem near the Church of the Nativity. As we entered the building, the first sounds I heard were those of little children. We passed several rooms filled with small beds and noticed newborn infants lying in cribs and small children playing with one another. I also noticed a shortage of adult staff compared with the number of children I could see.

Our meeting was with the director of the orphanage—one of the most impressive people I have met in my Middle East travels: a diminutive, elderly, Catholic nun from France. Though small in stature, she was large in heart and spirit. As we visited with her we learned about the history of the orphanage, the number of children cared for, and the challenges of feeding and clothing so many precious children. There was no doubt the orphanage had its challenges. I noticed, however, that as she described the needs of the children and the problem of the shortage of staff and materials, there was not one word of complaint. Her speech was often punctuated with “Thanks be to God; thanks be to God.”

After the humanitarian couple had assessed needs, they asked this little nun if the orphanage could use supplies like powdered milk, newborn kits, and other necessities for older children. She excitedly replied, “Anything will help us; anything will help us.” As arrangements were being made for shipping and delivery of the needed goods, she sat quietly in front of us with hands clasped, as though she were in the act of praying, and repeated the words “thank you, thank you, thank you.” Her gratitude was real and heartfelt. Her expressions of thankfulness touched me deeply, and I often think of this experience when I want to relive a moment when I saw gratitude’s divine nature.

Jason was sad. It had snowed, and all the children were outside playing in the snow. All except Jason.
“You can’t go outside today because you have the flu,” Mom said. “I’ll open the drapes in the living room window, and you can watch the other kids.”
“But that’s not the same as being outside,” Jason whined. “I’ve been waiting for months for it to snow so I could make a huge snowman. If I bundle up good, may I please go out for just a little while?”
Mom hugged Jason. “No, honey. I’m sorry.”
Jason ran into his room. “I’ll never get to make a snowman,” he sobbed.
His big sister, Heather, came in and sat on the bed. “Jason, Mom wants you to take a nap now, but I promise that when you wake up, you’ll be happy.”
Jason was tired and slept for more than an hour. When he woke up, Heather came in smiling. “Ready to have some fun?” she asked. “I have a game called ‘Surprise Hunt.’”
Jason felt grumpy. “I don’t want to play a game. I want a snowman.”
“This game will make you happy,” Heather said. “You’ll have six clues that will lead you to a surprise. Come on, Jason, give it a try.”
Jason felt even more curious than grumpy. “OK,” he said. Heather handed him a piece of paper with the first clue.
CLUE #1I’m in a room with a fireplace, and I turn dark into light.
“The fireplace is in the living room, so the next clue must be there,” Jason said. He went into the living room and looked around. “‘Turn dark into light,’” he said. “The lamps!” He checked all the lamps, and under Dad’s reading lamp, he found the second clue.
CLUE #2People live on my planet and can spin me to take a pretend trip.
“We live on the Earth,” Jason said. “But what can I spin to take a pretend trip?” He thought a moment. “My world globe!” he shrieked. He ran to his room and found the next clue taped to his globe.
CLUE #3I taste good and am good for your teeth.
Jason thought deeply. “Hmmmm. What could it be?” He smiled. “I bet it’s the toothpaste.” He went into the bathroom and looked at the toothpaste, but no clue was there.
“What else could it be, Heather?” Jason asked.
“Think, Jason. You’re doing fine so far.”
“Oh, I get it!” Jason exclaimed. “It’s the food!” He went to the kitchen and opened the pantry door but found no clue. Then he looked in the refrigerator. On the top shelf, taped to a bottle of milk, was the clue.
CLUE #4I have 12 months, 52 weeks, and 365 days.
“Mom’s calendar,” Jason laughed. He went into the hall and looked behind Mom’s calendar. There he found the next clue.
CLUE #5When you’re thirsty, you want me.
Jason smiled. “Back to the kitchen.”
“Keep up the good work,” Mom said. “You’re doing great.”
Jason looked in all the cups and glasses in the cupboard and in the water and juice bottles in the refrigerator. No clues. Then he spotted a small cup on the counter. Inside was the clue.
CLUE #6—YOUR LAST CLUESometimes I’m open;Sometimes I’m shut.My wood isThe same color as a nut.I’m always readyTo do as you wish.You and dad go through meWhen you go to fish.
“This is a tough one,” Jason said.
“Keep trying, Jason,” Dad encouraged.
“Let’s see. My closet door does as I wish. It’s sometimes open and sometimes shut, and it’s tan like a nut. But Dad and I don’t go through it. It can’t be a window or a cabinet door. What is it?” Jason frowned. He was about to give up when he turned and saw the back door. “That’s it!” he yelled.
Jason ran to the door, opened it, and looked out. In the backyard was his surprise—a giant snowman holding a sign:
Get better soon, Jason. We love you.From Mom, Dad, and Heather

On a ministering visit in San Antonio, Texas, I went to the San Antonio Temple, where we met with the missionaries and the Vargas family. Andrea was then serving as a Primary president in the Church. Her husband, Luis, though not a member, did attend church. The mission president had called me and shared with me that Brother Vargas felt like he wasn’t good enough to be baptized—that he couldn’t measure up to the other people he saw at church. On the steps of the San Antonio Temple, I said, “Brother Vargas, you don’t have to be perfect to be in this Church. You just have to do your best, and Christ will make up the difference.” At the end of the tour, Brother Vargas turned to his wife and said, “Honey, I think it’s time I join this Church so I can become a better father and a better husband.” He was baptized a month later, and their beautiful family was eventually sealed in that same temple.

I was baptized on December 5, 1993, in the city of Minsk. At that time, it was the only city in Belarus with a branch of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I attended worship services there, but I lived in Borisov, 40 miles (70 km) away. I was 17 years old, and there was sharp opposition in my family. But because of the trials I had at that time, my faith and testimony of the truth were strengthened. I was even fortunate enough to go to the temple twice in Freiberg, Germany, to perform baptisms for the dead. I impatiently awaited the time when I could receive my endowment.
In 1996 I began dating my future husband. Igor gladly accepted the news of the Restoration and was baptized on February 23, 1997. On March 1 we were married. Having a strong testimony of temple work, I wanted more than anything to go to the temple as soon as possible.
In September 1997, we moved to St. Petersburg, Russia, where Igor studied at the university. Our daughter Nelly was born there. Even after Igor had been a member for a year and a year had passed since our marriage, we still couldn’t go to the temple because we didn’t have visas and couldn’t get exit papers.
When Nelly was six months old, I became pregnant. It seemed to me we were in a hopeless situation. Igor couldn’t find steady work because he didn’t have a visa. He was holding down three jobs, but it wasn’t enough money for us to live on. Igor’s parents helped by sending money and food from time to time, but I was practically in despair because of our financial struggles. I felt even worse because we couldn’t go to the temple. In August 1998, after the exchange rate rose sharply, we decided to return to Belarus.
Our second daughter, Yelyena, was born in Minsk on January 6, 1999. Igor had a steady job now, but we still didn’t have enough money to go to the temple. Gradually we saved, however, and at the end of August 2000, we took the children to Germany. Igor has relatives in Kaiserslautern, and we stayed with them.
Early on the morning of September 2, we began our journey to the temple in Frankfurt. Although the trip was very tiring and included two transfers, we were full of enthusiasm and joy. We are grateful to all the temple workers, the temple president, and also the sisters who watched our daughters while we went through the endowment session. That was an unforgettable day! It is difficult to put into words the feelings we experienced there, but they were very good.
After the endowment session, we went into the sealing room, where Yelyena was already crying (it was her nap time). I hardly heard any of the sealing ceremony because of the crying, but we were very happy anyway. That was the most wonderful trip of our lives because we were in the house of the Lord.
We even managed to return to the temple. In February 2001 a group of members from Minsk went to Freiberg. I wanted to participate in the ordinance of sealings for the dead, since I had heard so little during our own sealing. I was grateful when Igor and I were invited to participate.
We now have a son, Robert, and as a family we attend the Minsk Second Branch (or, as it is known in Belarus, the Second Religious Community of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in Minsk). And while we have overcome several difficulties, we now have new ones. I am very grateful for all of these trials. No matter what happens to us on this journey, Heavenly Father wants only good for us. No one else can help us in our most difficult hour. If we reject Him because of some difficulties, it would be like throwing away a life preserver because it did not keep us from falling into the river.
The burden is easy and the yoke light when we are with the Lord. He will not give us trials we cannot bear.

Last year Chantal auditioned for a prestigious “gala” concert where the press attends and reports on the best new talent in Montreal. Chantal passed the audition and was scheduled to perform. But when she found out that it was to be held on a Sunday, she withdrew from the concert.
“I fasted about it,” recalls Chantal. “Even though I really wanted to sing at the gala, if the Spirit says don’t go, you don’t go. So I didn’t. The important thing is to always follow what Heavenly Father wants us to do. But I know because I listened to the Spirit, other opportunities have come my way.”
One of these opportunities was to sing for a seminary film produced by the Church last year. Both sisters were asked to help with French translations for the film. Chantal told the producer she liked to sing, and was asked to record several songs for the project. She went to the studio, put on the earphones, and surprised everybody by doing an outstanding job in record time. A technician told her she had professional talent, which was encouraging.
“If I sing professionally, my commitment to God will always take first priority,” she says. “I look at my singing as missionary work.”

Although I was active in my Catholic faith, I felt that something was missing in my life. At 16 years old I have investigated eight different churches as I searched for the truth that would provide meaning and direction to my life.
I discovered that my friend Clint was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and he introduced me to the missionaries. They taught me a lot of things: I learned how to pray, and I was introduced to the Prophet Joseph Smith. I read the Book of Mormon and prayed if it was true and if the Church was really of God. I didn’t know it was the Holy Ghost, but I definitely felt the truthfulness as I felt a burning in my bossom.
I was baptized on March 13, 2012, and I fully embraced the Latter-day Saint way of life. I attended Church services and other activities, served and volunteered my time, and really felt like a true disciple of Jesus Christ.
After two years, I was prompted to prepare to serve a mission together with Clint and two other friends. We were glad the announcement lowering the mission age to 18 was given two years ago, and we felt worthy and ready to serve.
I was motivated by one of my goals: to bring my family to the Church and someday be sealed in the temple with them. That is why I went ahead and served a mission despite the many educational opportunities I was getting. There were scholarship offers and family friends offering to sponsor my education, but I decided to put the Lord first and serve Him. Thank goodness my father was supportive of my decision although he has not been baptized yet.
I served in the Philippines Tacloban Mission and fell in love with the people of Tacloban and Samar. My friends and I all learned so much, and though we served in different missions, we supported each other and we all felt the Lord’s watchful gaze upon us.
I experienced every missionary’s dilemma: I missed my family and wanted to see them as soon as I went home, but I enjoyed serving so much I didn’t want to leave my mission... My family was glad to see me, but pretty soon the temporal concerns we faced began to overwhelm me.
I needed to pay for my education and help with the needs of our family, and soon I became the breadwinner. I worked in a fastfood restaurant, was in construction, took odd jobs, and accepted any offer that would help put food on the table. I began to miss Church, and my RM friends would visit and remind me of my covenants.
I realized how hard life was when I didn’t put the Lord first, so I talked to my bishop, and he helped me with my repentance process. I began to truly understand the power of the Atonement of Jesus Christ.
All the emotional and spiritual pain went away, and I was blessed because when I came back to Church my two younger siblings also joined the Church. Feeling stronger spiritually, my desire to marry my girlfriend in the temple also grew.
I met my wife in 2011 and at the age of 15 I somehow knew she was the one for me. I waited patiently and remained a good friend, growing together in the gospel. We were finally married in the temple on December 15, 2022. It was a very simple wedding since we were barely out of the pandemic, but the peace and joy that we felt was beyond compare.
On November 11, 2023, my father was finally baptized. My dream of our entire family being sealed in the temple finally came true.
I know I am still young and there is still a long way to go as I journey on the covenant path, but my life so far has taught me so many lessons that now guide and help me. Whatever problems we may face, staying on the covenant path is still the safest way to live our lives.

When I was president of the Southern States Mission, we converted a lovely schoolteacher down in Florida. And at the close of one of our conferences she came up to me and said, “President Richards, I’m going to get married. What do you think of that?”
“Oh,” I said, “I think it’s wonderful. Do I know him?”
“No.”
I said, “Is he a member of the Church?”
“No.” I didn’t dare tell her that she couldn’t marry out of the Church down there, because I didn’t know where she could find a man in the Church except our Mormon elders, and we had hands-off signs hanging all over them.
I said, “You’re a beautiful, sweet, clean Mormon girl, and you could never be happy with an unclean man. In your association with him you’ll know whether he’s clean or not and whether he’d take advantage of you if you’d permit him. He must be a prayerful man because, as wicked as the world is today, I wouldn’t trust any man to be true to his wife and children if he doesn’t believe that there is a God and that someday he will have to answer to him for his life here upon the earth. Your young man must be willing to let you raise your children in the Church because, knowing as you do that the God of heaven has restored his truth to the earth, you would be a very unhappy woman if you had children and couldn’t teach them the gospel. If he measures up, let me know when he joins the Church.” I didn’t see her for about four months, when we had another conference. Her train was late, and after the meeting she came along the aisle. I could see she was headed for me, so I went down and said, “Name, please?”
“Oh, I’m still Miss So-and-so.”
I said, “What became of the marriage?”
“He didn’t come up to your specifications.” Well, that’s the way you should judge, before you get married, that you’re laying the right kind of foundation.