Gospel Story Finder

My birthday party is next week! I hope you can come.
My mom said I could only invite five friends. Sorry.
Hi, Becky! How was—
Sweetie, what’s wrong?
Kristie’s having a party, but I’m not invited.
I feel so left out.
That’s really hard. I’m sorry your feelings are hurt.
It’s not fair!
Maybe there’s a reason we don’t know about.
Dear Heavenly Father, please help me forgive Kristie for not inviting me.
The next day …
Hi, Kristie.
Hi, Becky. Sorry I couldn’t invite you to my party.
It’s OK. Do you want to jump rope with me?
A few months later …
Time to plan your birthday party! Who are you going to invite?
Kate and Jenny and Latisha. And …
Kristie didn’t invite me to her party. But she’s still my friend.
Do you want to come to my party, Kristie?
Yes! Thank you for inviting me!

In the spirit of the wonderful comments you’ve made and the insights you’ve given me—new insights about the power of the word and the healing, the help, and the light that comes from it—I am reminded of a story President Packer told the Quorum of the Twelve some years ago. He talked about a severe winter in Utah when the snow was excessive and had driven the deer herds down very low into some of the valleys. Some of them were trapped by fences and circumstances as they were taken out of their natural habitat, and well-meaning, perfectly responsive, capable agencies tried to respond by feeding those deer to get them through the crisis of the winter. They brought in hay and dumped it everywhere; it was about as good as they could do under the circumstances. Later an immense number of those deer were found dead. The people who handled those animals afterward said that their stomachs were full of hay, but they had starved to death. They had been fed, but they had not been nourished.

At first, Bernard Lefrandt refused to listen to the two American missionaries who came to his home in The Hague, Netherlands, in 1950. It was an uncharacteristic response for a man whose hospitality was well-known throughout his native Indonesia. But Bernard—or Bert, as friends in several countries came to know him—believed he already had a God who had preserved his life innumerable times. Bert had been saved from the wild animals he hunted in island forests, from enemy soldiers when he was dropped behind enemy lines in World War II, and most recently from assassins’ bullets when he was blacklisted in Indonesia. Bert’s God had even spared the lives of his wife and children in a refugee camp. How, then, could he turn to a new one?
The missionaries first came to the Lefrandt’s home in the Netherlands at the end of 1950; the family had moved there in 1948. Nora, a deeply spiritual woman, felt impressed by their message of God’s goodness and a restored gospel. God’s mercy had helped Nora and her family through almost insurmountable difficulties. She accepted the Book of Mormon as well as the challenge to read it. But when Bert learned of the missionaries’ visit, he stubbornly refused to have anything to do with either the elders or the book Nora read so intently.
Nora finished the Book of Mormon on her own. At the close of another solitary lesson with the missionaries, she felt the Spirit so overwhelmingly that she wanted to be baptized. But she also wanted to wait for her husband, whom she had noticed reading the Book of Mormon when he thought she was asleep. Late at night, he would turn on the dim light and read until two or three in the morning, pretending to have slept well the next day. Nora patiently waited for him.
Bert continued to read the Book of Mormon in secret, and even started covertly listening from the next room to the missionary discussions. When he finally consented to talk to the elders in person, he became known as a “very hard” investigator, constantly demanding biblical proof of every doctrinal point and requiring a year of discussions.
Meanwhile, Nora and her daughter, Bertie, were baptized. Wanting to share her joy with those nearest her, Nora wrote to friends in New Guinea, telling them of her new Church. Only a few days later, she received a letter from them—the letters had crossed in the mail. Her friend told of a fisherman in New Guinea who had discovered a strange book in the sea, a Book of Mormon. Did the Lefrandts know anything about this book or about Joseph Smith? Surely, the book was a book of God, their friends wrote. They encouraged the Lefrandts to find out what they could about the Mormons.
It was there that Bert finally gave up his resistance to the higher truths of the gospel. One day during a discussion with the elders, Bert set his Bible on the table and rested his hand on it. “I don’t know what else to ask you,” he said. Within a year of Bert’s baptism in March 1952, he was called to be the president of The Hague Branch.

I have known a modern-day Nephi: Daniel Choc, a Cakchiquel Indian of Guatemala. When I first met him, Daniel was serving as a missionary in the Guatemala City Mission, the first Cakchiquel missionary, as far as I could learn. He served only 48 kilometers from his home, the small city of Patzicia where his father was a farmer and president of the branch. The distance from home was small, but for Daniel and his family the financial sacrifice for his mission was great. His father earns approximately $100 to $200 each year, but as Daniel approached the age of nineteen and his call to serve a mission for the Lord he loved, the family prayerfully committed $90 for the two-year period—approximately one-fourth of the family’s income.
Having taken that step, Daniel then began to conquer other challenges such as collars and ties and shoes, and foods other than beans, tortillas, and rice. But he adjusted to his new environment rapidly, for his only interest was in teaching and blessing his people, and in helping the missionaries to learn the difficult Mayan dialect.
Elder Choc was a gifted teacher, and he worked with an urgency that amazed me. He taught with power, love, faith, and testimony, always leaving his contacts happy and satisfied. He made the gospel easy to understand. I never saw him angry or upset, even in the midst of opposition. He loved his people, and they loved him.

My blood was boiling. These people clearly know nothing on this topic, I thought, peering down at the virtual shouting match playing out on my smartphone’s Twitter feed. I quickly crafted a perfect response to join the throng—certain that everyone would see how uninformed their opinions were when my tweet pointed out their ignorance. I was about to press send, thought clouds of contempt churning, when a still, small voice managed to pop into my head:
Would Christ say that?
My thumb paused, hovering over the “Tweet” button. My stomach sank.
No. No, He wouldn’t.
Then why would you?
I sighed, took a few deep breaths, and deleted the tweet. I felt awful. What had just come over me?

Not only do we lose the Spirit when choosing anger, but we lose the ability to see situations clearly. We can even lose the ability to act with reason. “[Intemperate anger] destroys wisdom and sound judgment. When we become upset, reason is suppressed, and anger rushes in. To make decisions while infuriated is as unwise and foolish as it is for a captain to put out to sea in a raging storm. Only injury and wreckage result from wrathful moments.”2 Just as I was on the verge of sending a tweet I wasn’t proud of, we can lose sight of who we truly are and who we’re trying to be when angry. It can become a vicious cycle if it isn’t curbed.

I’m so thankful for the whisperings of the Holy Ghost not to send my angry tweet that day. It may seem like an inconsequential example of restraint, but it taught me a lesson that I’ll never forget.

When the Fayette Branch of the Church moved to Kirtland, Ohio, Porter went with them. However, his stay there was short. Porter was sent with the first group of Saints to Jackson County, Missouri, the intended central gathering place for members of the Church. The elders often met at Porter’s home to discuss ways of protecting the Saints from the lawless Missouri mobs who were persecuting them.
While he was in Missouri, Porter became a crack marksman with a gun. And he made several trips to Liberty Jail to take food and comfort to Joseph Smith and his counselors when they had been illegally jailed.

While Benjamin’s mother was busy unpacking moving boxes, he went out to ride his tricycle. He peddled back and forth in front of his new house. Then he peddled from corner to corner and back again. Soon Benjamin wiped his brow. He was tired. He got off his tricycle, climbed up the steps to the porch, and tried to open the door. It was locked. Benjamin knocked and yelled, “Mom, I’m thirsty.”
No one answered.
“Mom,” he yelled again. “I need a drink.”
Still no answer.
Benjamin looked at the tall door. “This looks like my door,” he said. “But maybe I’m at the wrong house.” He climbed back on his tricycle and looked at the doors of all the houses. They were all tall. Just like his door.
“I know,” he said. “My house has a brick chimney.” He rode past every house again. All the chimneys were brick, just like his.
Benjamin scratched his head. He looked up and down the street. He wondered how he would ever find his house.
Then Benjamin remembered his garage. It was big enough for two cars. Benjamin peddled fast to find that garage. But all the houses had garages big enough for two cars, just like his. Tears filled Benjamin’s eyes. “I’m thirsty,” he cried. “And I want my mom.”
“Is something wrong?” a voice behind him asked.
Benjamin turned around and saw a letter carrier.
“I can’t find my house,” he said, wiping away his tears. “All the houses look the same. They all have tall doors. They all have brick chimneys. And they all have garages big enough for two cars.”
“You do have a problem,” the letter carrier said. “Maybe I can help.”
“How?” Benjamin asked.
“Come walk with me while I deliver the mail on this block, and we’ll look for your house together.”
A hint of a smile crept across Benjamin’s face. He followed the letter carrier up a front walk.
“Ring the bell,” the mailman said.
A girl answered the door, and Benjamin’s shoulders drooped. “I don’t have a sister,” he said.
At the next house, Benjamin turned away when an old man took his letters.
The tears came back to Benjamin’s eyes. His body trembled. “We’ll never find my house,” he cried.
The letter carrier put his arm around Benjamin. “Come on, let’s try the next house.”
Benjamin looked at the house. It had a tall front door. It had a brick chimney. And it had a garage big enough to hold two cars. Benjamin knocked. “Maybe this is my house,” he said.
“Coming,” called a voice.
Benjamin jumped up and down. “It’s my mom! It’s my mom!”
When she opened the door, Benjamin leaped into her arms. “I was lost,” he said. “I couldn’t tell which house was ours. They all look alike.” Then he saw some numbers next to the door. “What are those?”
“That’s our address,” his mother said.
“One three five,” Benjamin read as he slid down from her arms. “Do all the houses have the same numbers?”
His mother shook her head. “We are the only house on this street with the numbers one three five.”
“Oh,” Benjamin said. “Now I know what to do next time I can’t find my house.”
“What?” asked his mother.
“What?” asked the letter carrier.
“I don’t need to look at the doors or the chimneys or the garages,” he said. “All I need to do is find the numbers one three five. I’ll never be lost again.”
And with a big smile, Benjamin ran inside for a drink.

Our ward held a neighborhood pioneer parade on the 24th of July. We decorated bicycles, toy wagons, and strollers, then dressed up like pioneers and marched through the neighborhood. My family decorated a baby stroller to look like a covered wagon. Three-year-old Skyler wore pretend horns and was our “ox.” The parade made me feel like a real pioneer for a little while. My parents say that I really will be a pioneer to my children and grandchildren and that if I live the gospel, I will blaze a good trail for them to follow.

I hold in my hand a first-edition copy of the Book of Mormon. It was printed in 1830 on a hand-operated letter press at the E. B. Grandin Company in the village of Palmyra, New York.
In June of 1829, Joseph Smith, then 23 years old, called on 23-year-old Mr. Grandin in company with Martin Harris, a local farmer. Mr. Grandin had three months earlier advertised his intent to publish books. Joseph Smith provided pages of a handwritten manuscript.
If the content of the book did not doom it to remain obscure, the account of where it came from certainly would. Imagine an angel directing a teenage boy to the woods where he found buried a stone vault and a set of golden plates.
The writings on the plates were translated by use of a Urim and Thummim, which is referred to a number of times in the Old Testament and described by Hebrew scholars as an instrument “whereby the revelation was given and truth declared.”
Before the book was off the press, pages of it were stolen and printed in the local newspaper, accompanied by ridicule. Opposition was destined to excite mobs to kill the Prophet Joseph Smith and drive those who believed him into the wilderness.
From that very unlikely beginning to this day, 108,936,922 copies of the Book of Mormon: Another Testament of Jesus Christ have been printed. It has been published in 62 languages, with selections of it in another 37 languages, and 22 more translations are in process.
Now 60,000 full-time missionaries in 142 countries pay their own way to devote two years of their lives to testify that the Book of Mormon is true.
For generations it has inspired those who read it. Herbert Schreiter had read his German translation of the Book of Mormon. In it he read:
“When ye shall receive these things, I would exhort you that ye would ask God, the Eternal Father, in the name of Christ, if these things are not true; and if ye shall ask with a sincere heart, with real intent, having faith in Christ, he will manifest the truth of it unto you, by the power of the Holy Ghost.
“And by the power of the Holy Ghost ye may know the truth of all things.”
Herbert Schreiter tested the promise and joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
In 1946, released as a prisoner of war, Herbert returned to his wife and three little daughters in Leipzig, Germany. Soon thereafter, he went as a missionary to Bernburg, Germany. Alone, without a companion, he sat cold and hungry in a room, wondering how he should begin.
He thought of what he had to offer the war-devastated people. He printed by hand a placard which read, “Will there be a further life after death?” and posted it on a wall.
About that same time, a family from a small village in Poland came to Bernburg.
Manfred Schütze was four years old. His father had been killed in the war. His mother, with his grandparents and his mother’s sister, also a widow, and her two little girls, were forced to evacuate their village with only 30 minutes’ notice. They grabbed what they could and headed west. Manfred and his mother pulled and pushed a small cart. At times, the ailing grandfather rode in the cart. One Polish officer looked at the pathetic little Manfred and began to weep.
At the border, soldiers ransacked their belongings and threw their bedding into the river. Manfred and his mother were then separated from the family. His mother wondered if they might have gone to Bernburg, where her grandmother was born, perhaps to relatives there. After weeks of unbelievable suffering, they arrived in Bernburg and found the family.
The seven of them lived together in one small room. But their troubles were not over. The mother of the two little girls died. The grieving grandmother cried out for a preacher, and asked, “Will I see my family again?”
The preacher answered, “My dear lady, there is no such thing as the Resurrection. They who are dead are dead!”
They wrapped the body in a paper bag for burial.
On the way from the grave, the grandfather talked of taking their own lives, as many others had done. Just then they saw the placard that Elder Schreiter had posted on the building—“Is there further life after death?”—with an invitation from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. At a meeting, they learned of the Book of Mormon: Another Testament of Jesus Christ.
The book explains:
The purpose of mortal life and death;
The certainty of life after death;
What happens when the spirit leaves the body;
The description of the Resurrection;
How to receive and retain a remission of your sins;
What hold justice or mercy may have on you;
What to pray for;
Priesthood;
Covenants and ordinances;
The office and ministry of angels;
The still, small voice of personal revelation;
And preeminently, the mission of Jesus Christ;
And many other jewels that make up the fulness of the gospel of Jesus Christ.
They joined the Church. Soon their lives changed. The grandfather found work as a baker and could provide bread for his family and also for Elder Schreiter, who had given them “the bread of life.”
Then help came from the Church in the United States. Manfred grew up eating grain out of little sacks with a picture of a beehive on them and peaches from California. He wore clothes from the welfare supplies of the Church.
Soon after I was released from the air force, I went to the welfare mill at Kaysville, Utah, to help fill bags of wheat for shipment to the starving people in Europe. I like to think one of the bags of grain that I filled myself went to Manfred Schütze and his mother. If not, it went to others in equal need.
Elder Dieter Uchtdorf, who sits with us on the stand today as one of the Seventy, remembers to this very day the smell of the grain and the feel of it in his little-boy hands. Perhaps one of the bags I filled reached his family.
When I was about 10, I made my first attempt to read the Book of Mormon. The first part was easy-flowing New Testament language. Then I came to the writings of the Old Testament prophet Isaiah. I could not understand them; I found them difficult to read. I laid the book aside.
I made other attempts to read the Book of Mormon. I did not read it all until I was on a troop ship with other bomber crew members, headed for the war in the Pacific. I determined that I would read the Book of Mormon and find out for myself whether it is true or not. Carefully I read and reread the book. I tested the promise that it contained. That was a life-changing event. After that, I never set the book aside.
Many young people have done better than I did.
A 15-year-old son of a mission president attended high school with very few members of the Church.
One day the class was given a true-or-false test. Matthew was confident that he knew the answers to all except for question 15. It read, “Joseph Smith, the alleged Mormon prophet, wrote the Book of Mormon. True or false?”
He could not answer it either way, so, being a clever teenager, he rewrote the question. He crossed out the word alleged and replaced the word wrote with translated. It then read, “Joseph Smith, the Mormon prophet, translated the Book of Mormon.” He marked it true and handed it in.
The next day the teacher sternly asked why he had changed the question. He smiled and said, “Because Joseph Smith did not write the Book of Mormon; he translated it. And he was not an alleged prophet; he was a prophet.”
He was then invited to tell the class how he knew that.
In England, my wife and I became acquainted with Dorothy James, the widow of a clergyman who lived at the Close of Winchester Cathedral. She brought out a family Bible which had been lost for many years.
Years before, the possessions of a family member had been sold. The new owner found the Bible in a small desk that had remained unopened for over 20 years. There were also some letters written by a child named Beaumont James. He was able to find the James family and return the long-lost family Bible.
On the title page my wife read the following handwritten note: “This Bible has been in our family since the time of Thomas James in 1683 who was a lineal descendant of Thomas James first librarian of the Bodleian Library at Oxford, who was buried in New College Chapel August 1629. [Signed] C. T. C. James, 1880.”
The margins and the open pages were completely filled with notations written in English, Latin, Greek, and Hebrew. One entry particularly touched her. From the bottom of the title page, she read, “The fairest Impression of the Bible is to have it well printed on the Readers heart.”
And then this quote from Corinthians: “Ye are our epistle written in our hearts, known and read of all men: Forasmuch as ye are manifestly declared to be the epistle of Christ ministered by us, written not with ink, but with the Spirit of the living God; not in the tables of stone, but in fleshly tables of the heart” (2 Cor. 3:2–3).
My Book of Mormon also has many notes in the margins and is heavily underlined. I was in Florida once with President Hinckley. He turned from the pulpit and asked for a copy of the scriptures. I handed him my copy. He thumbed through it for a few seconds, turned and handed it back, saying, “I can’t read this. You have got everything crossed out!”
Amos prophesied of “a famine in the land, not a famine of bread, nor a thirst for water, but of hearing the words of the Lord.”
In a world ever more dangerous than the world of little Manfred Schütze and Dieter Uchtdorf, the Book of Mormon: Another Testament of Jesus Christ has the nourishing power to heal starving spirits of the world.
Manfred Schütze is now a member of the Third Quorum of Seventy and supervises our seminaries in Eastern Europe. His mother, now 88, still attends the temple at Freiberg, where Herbert Schreiter once served as a counselor to the president.
With Elder Walter F. González, a new member of the Seventy from Uruguay, I attended a conference in Moroni, Utah, a town with a Book of Mormon name. There is no doctor or dentist in Moroni. They must leave town to shop for groceries. Their students are bused to a consolidated high school across the valley.
We held a meeting with 236 present. Lest Elder González see only ordinary rural farmers, I gave this sentence of testimony: “I know the gospel is true and that Jesus is the Christ.” I asked if someone could repeat it in Spanish. Several hands went up. Could someone repeat it in another language? It was repeated in:
Japanese
Chinese
Finnish
Spanish
Tongan
Maori
German
Italian
Polish
Portuguese
Tagalog
Korean
Russian
Dutch
French—15 languages
Again in English: I know the gospel is true and that Jesus is the Christ.
I love this Book of Mormon: Another Testament of Jesus Christ. Study it and one can understand both the Old Testament and the New Testament in the Bible. I know it is true.
In this 1830 edition of the Book of Mormon, printed by 23-year-old Egbert B. Grandin for 23-year-old Joseph Smith Jr., I read from page 105: “We talk of Christ, we rejoice in Christ, we preach of Christ, we prophesy of Christ, and we write according to our prophecies, that our children may know to what source they may look for a remission of their sins.”
And that, I assure you, is exactly what we do. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Photographs by Jeffery Barker Edwards
Sister Dil had only six weeks left on her mission in New Zealand when she found out she would be spending those last weeks serving with Sister Tuala!
“It’s the very last thing I would have signed myself up for,” says Sister Dil.
Sister Dil and Sister Tuala had been starting players for their high schools’ top competitive basketball teams in Auckland, New Zealand. They were rivals. They would often play against each other in final tournaments, and it was not pretty.
“To put it into context a little bit,” says Sister Tuala, “we would walk off the court with scratches and bruising.”
Sister Dil and Sister Tuala spent a lot of time training and playing basketball. “Basketball was our lives,” says Sister Dil.
After graduating from high school, they both felt impressed to serve a mission—although neither of them had ever felt a desire to serve before.
For Sister Tuala, it took time to align her will with the Lord’s will. “I was 21 when I made the decision to act on the prompting,” she says. “I was pretty much fighting it until I was on the plane.”
Sister Tuala arrived on her mission in New Zealand during the COVID-19 pandemic, and although it has been difficult, she is very grateful she decided to serve.
“I can’t imagine being the same Sister Tuala that I was when I was 21. I really feel like I’ve grown.”
Sister Dil had a “clear and direct” prompting to serve a mission when she received her patriarchal blessing. After some time, she decided to follow the prompting to serve, because “the Lord’s will is always the right way and the best option.” The call came, and she packed her bags to serve in New Zealand.
Just because Sister Dil and Sister Tuala served in the same mission didn’t mean they were instant friends. After being rivals for so long, Sister Dil and Sister Tuala still had a hard time seeing each other as anything else.
In fact, the first day Sister Tuala saw Sister Dil, one of her first thoughts was, “I don’t know if I’m supposed to like her.”
So when Sister Tuala and Sister Dil were assigned to serve together, it was definitely weird.
Both had ideas about each other based on how they played on the basketball court. Each thought the other was aggressive, competitive, and mean.
But things began to change as they got to know each other. Sister Dil realized Sister Tuala is “the complete opposite” of how she had always seen her. “She is actually a very loving person—one of the most loving companions I’ve served with,” Sister Dil says.
Sister Tuala had a similar experience. She hadn’t realized that her feelings of rivalry toward Sister Dil had been “quite an unconscious conflict” in her life.
Those negative feelings of conflict and judgment were replaced with love and understanding as she began to see who Sister Dil really was. And although Sister Tuala thought Sister Dil was quiet, she found that “Sister Dil can talk!”
In their newfound friendship, Sister Dil and Sister Tuala realized that maybe they had never really been enemies after all.
“In basketball you build in your mind this idea that we’ve got to win, and every other team’s the enemy,” says Sister Dil. “And then basketball finishes, and you realize, ‘Oh, they’re no longer the enemy. They probably never were really the enemy.’”
Now, Sister Dil and Sister Tuala see that they are on the same “team”—God’s team.
Christ in the Midst, by Judith Mehr
Both sisters felt God’s hand in their assignment as companions and know the power of the Atonement of Jesus Christ allowed them to experience healing and change.
“Jesus Christ made that sacrifice so all these things that have gone wrong in the past can be healed, made right, and made better,” Sister Dil says. “We can forgive. We can forget. We can move on, and things change.”
Not only did Sister Tuala and Sister Dil heal their conflict, but they also learned how to see others as God sees them.
“Coming out here and being able to see my companion and other people in a different light, I realize that every person’s story matters,” says Sister Tuala. “And everyone needs the Atonement of Jesus Christ.”
They learned that although it can be difficult, it’s possible for two people who once saw each other as enemies to come together through love.
“It doesn’t matter what age you are or what ethnicity you are,” says Sister Tuala, “or whether you’re an atheist or religious.
“If I can work alongside someone who I never really had a great relationship with, and the two of us come together for one main purpose, then other people can too.”
For more information on missions for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, visit ChurchofJesusChrist.org/callings/missionary.
Oh, they’re no longer the enemy. They probably never were really the enemy.

President Heber J. Grant (1856–1945) had a tender heart. He loved to give money and gifts to the people who needed it most.
President Grant hired a typist to work in his office, even though she only had the use of one hand.
She and her husband were poor, and she really needed the job.
With Christmas fast approaching, President Grant wanted to do something more for his typist and her family.
He went home and gathered his children.
“Christmas is coming soon, and I want to bless others the way the Lord has blessed us.”
“Remember how I gave you each money for Christmas last year?”
“Tell me how much money you want for Christmas this year, and I’ll give the same amount of money to my typist!”
On Christmas morning, President Grant went over to the home of his typist.
He gave her family a turkey for Christmas dinner, and gave them several hundred dollars to help pay for their house.
It was a joyful day for the struggling family, and President Grant and his children shared their happiness.
“The true key to happiness in life is to labor for the happiness of others.”
Teachings of Presidents of the Church: Heber J. Grant (2011), 143.

Over the past couple of years, Luis Miguel Meza, 17, has begun feeling distant from the friends he has known since his first year in school. “They began to smoke and drink and put pressure on me to do so,” he says. “I had to be strong in the face of lots of criticism.” He prayerfully studied the section in For the Strength of Youth on choosing friends wisely. “As time passed, I had opportunities to become friends with people who don’t drink or smoke and who respect me for my standards. I still see my old friends, and we say hi to each other. But because I was willing to make a sacrifice, Heavenly Father was there to give me a hand.”

For Cathy Antonsson of Helsingborig, Sweden, saying no was not always easy or pleasant.
“It was rough. It’s not easy, but you have to pay the price for who you are. Sometimes I cried my eyes out because I had to stay home. It was difficult because many people here just aren’t religious.
“I went to Rome for two weeks on a school trip. In Italy, they always offered us wine. They have wine with most of their meals, so my friends kept offering me wine, and I kept saying, ‘No, I don’t drink that.’
“My friends spent so much money on drinks. Everytime we went out, I would put the same amount of money in my purse that they spent on their drinks. Before we left, I went to an exclusive dress shop and bought a very expensive designer dress. All my friends were really surprised when they saw it and said, ‘Hey, how could you afford that?’ I told them what I had done and that that was one of the advantages of not drinking.”

Marla rolled onto her back and looked through the stretching pine branches above her at the feathery clouds. She breathed deeply of the mountain air and tried to capture the sounds, and the smells all at the same time.
“Come on, Marla,” her father called as he began pulling tent stakes out of the ground. “Time to pack up.”
“How come camping trips never last long enough?” his daughter asked.
“I’ve always wondered that myself,” Dad replied, “but they do end and I need your help.”
“Just five more minutes?” Marla pleaded. “I want to be able to remember it all winter long.”
Dad stopped his packing and looked up to where Marla stared. “You should soon be helping your mother with the dishes,” he reminded her.
“Please,” Marla asked again.
“Well, all right, if I may join you for a minute.”
“Sure,” Marla agreed and moved to one side of the blanket to make room.
“What do you see up there?” her father asked as he lay down beside her.
“Pine trees with stickly green needles, a blue sky with white clouds and singing birds swooping through it all,” Marla answered, sighing.
“It’s a miracle,” Dad said.
“What do you mean?” Marla looked at her father.
“Well, look around us. It’s all part of a big plan. Everything functions separately, yet works together to make a whole big universe.”
Marla thought about that as she watched clouds floating like ships in the blue sky. Finally she spoke, “Yes, I guess it is a kind of miracle. A great miracle, really. But it all happens so quietly around us that we usually forget how miraculous the plan is.”
Marla felt as though her mind would burst with so many beautiful thoughts and sights and sounds being experienced at once.
“What do you think the greatest miracle in the world is?” Dad asked.
“That’s easy,” Marla answered, “the sky. Look how it goes on and on forever, always changing. Today it’s blue, but some days it’s white or gray. Snow and rain fall from it and at night the stars are suspended in it.”
“But is it Heavenly Father’s greatest miracle?” Dad asked.
Marla thought for a minute. “I don’t know.”
“Well, our five minutes have passed. You think about it while we pack, and when you have an answer, let’s talk about it again.”
“All right,” Marla agreed, helping Dad fold the blankets.
Soon they were back home and settled, but Marla didn’t forget what she and Dad had talked about on their camping trip. As she walked to and from school each day she watched for miracles. Everything seemed like a miracle. Even cars and airplanes were man-made miracles. But she couldn’t decide what the greatest miracle was.
Then one day she noticed that the leaves were changing colors on the trees. She was so excited that she could hardly wait to tell Dad. Hurriedly she ran the rest of the way home.
“Mother! Mother! I know what the greatest miracle is,” she cried, rushing into the kitchen. “Where’s Dad? I want to see if I’ve guessed right.”
“He’s in the backyard,” Mother answered.
Marla dropped her books down on the table. “I’ve been looking for three weeks, but now I’ve got it, and I’m going to tell Dad.”
“Calm down,” Mother cautioned, “or he won’t be able to understand a word you say!”
“I know what the greatest miracle is,” Marla declared without even waiting for Dad to say hello. “It’s the seasons, isn’t it—the way the leaves change colors and then the snows and then the way everything comes to life again? That’s the greatest miracle.”
Dad smiled. “That is a great miracle, probably one of the greater miracles, but I don’t think it’s the greatest,” he said.
“But there are so many miracles!” Marla protested.
Dad gave Marla a hug. “I’m proud of you for still thinking about miracles. You keep looking and you’ll find the right answer,” he assured her.
Now Marla was more determined than ever. She was curious to know what could possibly be a greater miracle than the sky or the seasons. So the next Saturday she looked extra hard.
“Don’t bother me, Snowy,” she said to her cat as it brushed her legs for attention. “I’m looking for a great miracle.” But as she spoke, she noticed that Snowy wasn’t trying to play. The cat darted across the patio and into the window well so Marla followed her. “Oh, my goodness, Snowy!” she exclaimed, dropping to her knees to look more closely at what she saw. “You have some brand new kittens! They must have been born last night.”
Marla watched with a quiet kind of excitement as Snowy licked and fed her kittens.
“Five little kittens and all of them just like you,” Marla whispered as one furry ball tried to open its eyes.
Just then Dad came out of the house. “Look!” Marla whispered. “I know this must be it.”
Dad leaned over the window well and peered in, smiling.
“Birth,” he said, “is part of the miracle. But there’s another very important part.”
“But what can be more miraculous than new life? I remember when little Jason was born. One day we didn’t have a Jason and the next day we did. That has to be the miracle.”
“It is, it really is,” Dad said. “But the other part of the miracle is even greater. And you are getting very, very close to it.”
“How close?” Marla asked.
“Very close!” Dad answered, smiling.
Marla’s face drew into a questioning frown, then suddenly eased into a wide smile. “I know!” she exclaimed. “Not only are we born but we’ll go on living forever—all of us will.”
“Yes,” Dad agreed, “but now can you guess what the rest of the miracle is?”
“I think I know,” Marla said, her eyes sparkling with wonder at her discovery of the rest of the greatest of all miracles. “We are Heavenly Father’s spirit children. Is that it?”
“That’s it!” Dad said, hugging Marla close to him. “And just as you and Jason are our earthly children, we are His heavenly ones. You once lived with Him like you do with you mother and me now, and together we can all live with Him again. That is the greatest miracle of all.”
Marla felt very satisfied and happy. It had been exciting to discover what the greatest miracle is, but at the same time she had a strange feeling that she had really known about it all along.

Such was the case in my adult life. After I married my high school sweetheart, we had three beautiful children and were enjoying life together as we had planned and hoped. But then my wife died in a tragic accident. I grieved and despaired for nearly two years before my parents and my wife’s parents encouraged me to consider remarrying—both for me and for my children’s benefit.
After fasting and taking the matter to our Father in Heaven in earnest prayer, I felt it was right for me to remarry.
After a person decides to remarry, it may take some time to find a spouse. In my case I wrote to several friends and relatives who understood my circumstances and told them of my desire to remarry. I asked them if they knew of anyone who would be willing to consider becoming a mother to three children and a wife to a Church district president and banker in South America with many demands on his time. After receiving six recommendations, I took a vacation to the United States and ultimately felt prompted to date and eventually propose marriage to my beloved Helen.
Helen brought a two-year-old daughter into our union, and I brought my sons, ages three and six, and my nine-year-old daughter. In time, we had three daughters together, which gave us a blended family of seven children.
Initially, what made our union possible and successful was that we both received answers from our Father in Heaven reassuring us that He approved of our decision to marry. Without that firm base, marriage after what proved to be a short courtship would have been unwise. But I didn’t expect Heavenly Father to do my work for me. Before taking the matter to Him in prayer, I inquired about Helen’s family background, traditions, testimony, and commitment to the Lord. She also learned enough about me so that she felt we would be compatible.
As we courted, each of us quickly saw in the other three very important characteristics necessary to make a marriage and a blended family successful:
Character. Does the person you are considering marrying hold a temple recommend? Is he or she living a life worthy of the Spirit? Has he or she led a life of service in the kingdom of God?
Capability. Can your potential husband support a family? Is your potential wife capable and willing to help you rear your children? Do you both have the determination to make your blended family successful and to rely upon Heavenly Father in doing so?
Capacity. Do you each have necessary spiritual reserves—generated through faith, prayer, service, and sacrifice—that you can call upon when faced with the challenges of uniting a blended family?

After I quit drugs, I turned to alcohol. I can honestly say I was a high school alcoholic. When I decided I wanted to quit, I couldn’t—at least not by myself. I didn’t care enough about myself to do what I knew I needed to do.
Then I became close friends with a good, active Latter-day Saint girl. She couldn’t understand what I was experiencing, but she did know I was honestly trying to get out of the mess I was in. It hurt her when I slipped back into my bad habits. I finally quit drinking because I knew it hurt her, and I knew I couldn’t lie to her.
Keeping my morals straight was so hard under my weakened condition that I avoided any social contacts with girls except with ones as good as my Latter-day Saint friend.

I had always considered myself to be a “good listener” until that night. Being raised in the middle of a large family had forced me to do my share of listening just to keep the decibel level to a low roar in my home. But I didn’t realize, until that night, that listening required more of me than just being quiet. I didn’t realize, until that night, how desperately someone could need to be listened to.
It had been a long day. In order for me to stay in school at Brigham Young University, I had to work part-time at night and go to school and study during the day. I was feeling tired and a little sorry for myself as I walked into the cafeteria late that night after a particularly hard day. The cafeteria was almost empty at that late hour.
I picked up my dinner tray and turned around to find a table. From the corner of my eye, I noticed a girl sitting alone at one of the tables. She was staring at her food with her head bowed. A large backpack, books, and papers were scattered all over the table where she was sitting. By all appearances, she obviously wanted to be left alone. There were plenty of empty tables and I started to walk toward one of them to sit down.
Suddenly I felt impressed to sit down next to the girl that I had noticed. Even though I was usually reserved, I found myself walking toward her table. I tapped her on the shoulder and asked her if I could sit next to her.
She silently and reluctantly agreed as she began to move her books and papers off the table. Her appearance and posture and manner all told me that she wanted to be left alone, and I wondered why I was being so intrusive.
Then we started to talk, slowly and cautiously at first. I felt strangely as if she were a lifetime friend of mine that I hadn’t seen for a long time, and I wanted to know all about her and what was happening to her. We both spoke freely, maybe even more freely than real friends because we had no images to maintain and no reputations to uphold.
The young girl told me about some extremely depressing things that were happening in her life at that time. We talked for hours. Then the tears came.
After several hours had gone by, she looked at me and said, “Tonight I was sitting here alone again, and I felt and really believed that I didn’t have a friend in this whole world. I couldn’t think of even one person that cared about me. I was sitting here thinking how I could do away with myself when you walked up and asked me if you could sit next to me. You’ll never know what you’ve done for me tonight. I’ve only known you for a few hours, but I know that you are my friend and that you care about me. There must still be a God that cares for me if you can care for me.”
Later we embraced and walked away in separate directions. I turned, suddenly remembering that I didn’t even know her name. But she had disappeared into the night.
As I walked toward home, I was feeling pretty good about myself knowing that I had heeded the impression to sit next to the girl. My problems seemed pretty small compared to hers.
Then suddenly it hit me like a brick. All the times I had been similarly impressed to speak to someone, to spend time with someone, to call someone, or to say an encouraging word to someone, flashed before my mind. I remembered the excuses of not wanting to be too forward, or being too tired or worried about my own problems, or all the millions of reasons I had used for not heeding the promptings that I often received.
I suddenly wondered how many of those people I had neglected had needs as desperate as those of the young girl that I had just talked to.
Never before had I realized that to truly be a “good listener” I had to first learn to listen to the whisperings of the Holy Spirit. Alone, without the Spirit, I was unable to discern the real needs of the people around me. With the Spirit, I could listen with my heart as well as my mind.
I will probably never see that girl again, but I hope I will never again fail to listen to the impressions that the Spirit gives me.

Marcus V., a priest from Washington, USA, is a busy young man. He’s student body president and football team captain, and he participates in other sports, academic pursuits, and interests such as the drums and drama. But despite his busy schedule, he is an active member of his priests quorum, and he makes time to do his duty to God.
In March 2011, Marcus made a plan in his Fulfilling My Duty to God booklet that read simply, “Invite a friend to youth conference.” On the day before youth conference, though he’d thought about the plan often, he hadn’t invited anyone yet. At lunch, he casually asked if anyone wanted to come to youth conference. To his surprise, one friend did. This friend, Jesse, came to what turned out to be a great youth conference. “The testimony meeting was extremely powerful,” says Marcus, “and people Jesse knew from school were standing up and sharing their feelings about the gospel.” At the end of the conference, Jesse asked for a Book of Mormon.
Marcus gave him a copy, and Jesse started reading right away. “Jesse ran track with me,” says Marcus. “We’d go running together and talk about the Book of Mormon and what he’d read.”
When Marcus invited Jesse to church, he accepted. He started coming to church and Mutual and meeting with the missionaries.
One day Jesse was reading the Book of Mormon at school, and the boy next to him, his friend Kelly, asked him what he was reading. After a conversation about the Book of Mormon, Jesse invited Kelly to Mutual that night.
Before Mutual the missionaries talked with Kelly. They asked if he wanted to come sit in on a discussion with Jesse. The discussion “contradicted everything I’d ever been told about the Church,” Kelly says. “I had a bunch of misconceptions about the Church. It started to change my point of view.”
Kelly and Jesse both continued to meet with the missionaries, and Marcus was there as much as possible.
“It was a really happy time for me,” Marcus explains. “I felt that when I was at school I could always do the right thing because I was not only responsible for myself, but I was also responsible for these friends I was helping come to the gospel.” Kelly says Marcus supported him through it all. “He answered all my questions, and he was a really good friend. He encouraged me to keep going, but he didn’t push.”
Just a few weeks after his first missionary discussion, Kelly committed to baptism and asked Marcus to baptize him. Marcus relates the baptism to Doctrine and Covenants 18:15, which says, “If it so be that you should labor all your days in crying repentance unto this people, and bring, save it be one soul unto me, how great shall be your joy with him in the kingdom of my Father!”
“I felt that joy,” he says. “It was indescribable, so full of light and happiness.”
Kelly knows that the gospel has changed his life. “I make positive choices now,” he says. “I have good friends. I feel better knowing the truth and that God is real. I’m excited for the future now.”
Marcus invites young men to “make Duty to God a priority. It’s really a booklet to make young men into missionaries. Value it, ask your friends about it, talk about it, be thinking about it all the time.” Just as Marcus’s plan made a difference for Kelly and for Jesse, who continues to study the gospel, your plans in Duty to God can change lives. But it’s not just about making plans, it’s about carrying out your plans, living the gospel, and doing your duty to God.

October 9, 1846—Sugar CreekA miracle in camp today. We have been living on parched and boiled corn, and drinking muddy river water. Many are ill and all are hungry, but today, flocks of quail suddenly flew into camp, falling on wagons and tables. My brothers were able to catch many in their hands! We had a feast. God has not forgotten us. Our rescuers taught us a new song written by Brother Clayton. The song reflects well how I feel today: “All is well!”

When my husband died in 2019, I decided to go to the United States, where my daughter now lived. I wanted to see her and learn more about the restored Church.
I stayed in Salt Lake City, Utah, for four and a half months. I went to church every week with my daughter. I had a feeling I could not describe. I took the missionary discussions. I knew it was all true. I experienced the most beautiful day of my life when I entered the waters of baptism and was confirmed a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints on July 27, 2019.
When I walked into the room to be confirmed after my baptism, everyone was crying. Being baptized and receiving the gift of the Holy Ghost is a great gift from our Heavenly Father. After my confirmation, I felt that heaven was open and that we were all there together. In my patriarchal blessing afterward, I received many special, eternal promises.