Gospel Story Finder

Buzz, buzz.
Tyler sprawled on top of the jungle gym in his backyard, watching a fuzzy bee zip around and between the bars. “You won’t find any nectar here,” he said to the bee. “Go look somewhere else.”
A gust of wind blew through the yard, spinning the bee away. Tyler sat up. It was getting really windy. He looked over at the apricot tree his brothers Brad and Adam were playing under. Its branches were blowing straight back, like a giant brush was combing through its leaves.
“Tyler, get off the jungle gym,” a voice inside Tyler said. It wasn’t loud, but it was calm and sure. Tyler knew it was the right thing to do.
Tyler climbed down. Sitting beside his brothers under the apricot tree, he looked out at the backyard as the wind grew stronger.
Just then a tall tree on the side of the yard began creaking in the wind.
Tyler and his brothers watched as a powerful gust of wind hit the yard. With a loud crack! the tall tree crashed down directly in front of them. It smashed into the jungle gym Tyler had been lying on, bending it in half.
Tyler and his brothers stared at the fallen tree, their eyes wide.
Tyler shakily lifted his hand to touch a branch of the tree. It had fallen only a few inches from his nose. His hands shook, and his insides felt all jiggly-wiggly.
“Wow,” Brad said, his voice quiet. “You could have been smushed.”
Adam’s mouth hung open like a big letter O.
The three boys walked around the fallen tree, staring at the giant branches and the bent jungle gym.
Tyler looked down at the roots of the tree. They had grown together in a big ball and were pulled completely out of the ground. “That’s why the roots couldn’t hold the tree up,” Brad said. “They grew in a ball because the ground here is mostly sand.”
“The foolish man built his house upon the sand,” Adam said. He laughed.
Brad turned to Tyler. “How did you know the tree would fall?” he asked.
As Tyler looked at the ball of roots, a warm feeling washed away the fear he’d felt when the tree fell. “I listened to the still, small voice,” he said. “It told me to move, so I did.”
Adam looked at him with a big smile. “Your house is built on a rock.”

I left my home in NanTze, Taiwan, to serve as a full-time missionary in northern California in 2005. The area my companion and I were assigned was small enough that within four and a half months we had knocked on doors of every street in the main town area. The missionary work was difficult, and people often yelled at us. We had few investigators. It seemed to me that the work was not going anywhere. After about four months there, I was ready to leave. I was convinced I would be transferred.
Sunday night I waited by the phone until my zone leader called. When he reported that I was assigned to stay in the same area for another six weeks, I couldn’t believe my ears. I thought there must have been a mistake!
The following week was a total disaster for me and probably for my companion and the people under our stewardship as well. I refused to believe this was the right decision. Still, I put on a big smile whenever we saw or talked to people, but deep inside I remained unhappy. In my pride I continued to tell myself that I was not where I was supposed to be. I still hoped that my mission president would call and tell me that I was being transferred to another area.
The next Sunday morning while I was grudgingly getting ready for church, the phone rang. It was the mission president. He greeted me with his usual kind, sincere voice and then said, “Sister Cho, yesterday at lunch I thought of you and had a feeling that I needed to call you to let you know you are in the right place. You are where you’re supposed to be.” I teared up when I heard his words.
I thanked him and hung up the phone. As I began to cry, a crystal-clear feeling came strongly to my heart that there were unfinished assignments waiting for me in our area. I also knew that my Heavenly Father knew my thoughts and frustration. He understood my weakness, and He sent His servant to reassure me.
After that phone call, I began to pull myself together. I prayed for strength every day, asking to see more clearly how I could do what the Lord expected me to do. Throughout the next five weeks, my companion and I witnessed many miracles as we exercised enough faith to work hard. A very prepared investigator moved into our area and was baptized within that transfer.
We were also invited into homes of people who originally hadn’t welcomed us. We met many new people who were having a hard time and were blessed to share the comforting words of God with them. Although some didn’t then choose to be baptized, I will never forget their shining faces or how the Spirit and the love of God touched their hearts—and mine.
I learned that the Lord is truly aware of every one of us; He doesn’t send His missionaries to places without a reason. I learned that when we are assigned to an area, the Lord wants to use us there as instruments to accomplish His work. When we put ourselves in His hands, miracles happen and hearts soften, even when we don’t see how this is possible.
Importantly, I learned that my mission president, like other Church leaders, was truly called of God to be His servant. The Lord qualifies our leaders to receive the revelation and inspiration we need for the welfare of our souls.
I am forever grateful for the experiences that came as a result of not being transferred.

I encountered the Church a little while later when I was over at my friend Zach’s house for a movie night with some other friends. While we were choosing a movie, I noticed Zach’s family’s collection of Church materials in an adjacent bookshelf. “Pick something for me, Zach!” I pleaded jokingly.
“These are all lesson manuals,” he explained. “But here—try this instead.” He handed me a book titled Book of Mormon Stories. I took it without much thought as we all paraded into the living room. But during a lull in the movie, I decided to open it, and I began reading about Lehi and Sariah’s family. I couldn’t put it down! I felt something stirring in my mind, something I’d never experienced before—the feeling that what I was reading wasn’t just some made-up story but something more.
Zach let me take the book home, and I read the whole book in two nights. Then I read it again and took notes. When I returned the book to Zach he offered me my own copy of the Book of Mormon, full and unabridged.
The small feeling in my heart continued to grow as I read the Book of Mormon. I finished it in a little over a month. Sometimes I would read for hours at a time. I carried it with me everywhere and read it every time I got a chance.
During this time I started going to church. I cried at my first sacrament meeting—I felt the Spirit so strongly! As I listened to the testimonies of others at that first fast and testimony meeting, I remember wondering if I would ever have my own testimony. Young Women was my favorite meeting. I loved being with other girls who shared my values and some of my interests and learning about how I was a daughter of God. I felt so much love at church.
That night, I asked Heavenly Father in prayer if joining the Church was the right path for me. My mind was filled with one word: John. I had never read much in the Bible, but I knew I’d find my answer in the book of John. I found John 14:6: “Jesus saith unto him, I am the way, the truth, and the life: no man cometh unto the Father, but by me.” Christ was meant to be the way for me too.
I also prayed to know the truth when I finished reading the Book of Mormon. However, I didn’t receive an answer the first time I asked. After nearly a week of frustrated, tearful prayer, I watched The Testaments of One Fold and One Shepherd. As I watched the movie, I felt a burning in my heart, and I knew that now was the time to ask. I got down on my knees and asked in full faith and with an open heart if the Book of Mormon was true. I knew that if I received an answer, I would act upon it, regardless of the consequences. The answer I got was so powerful that I continue to feel it every day.
After I finished the Book of Mormon and received my answer, I began taking the missionary discussions. I am so thankful for the missionaries who taught me. I learned so much and began to prepare for baptism. I also began attending seminary and going to Mutual. My knowledge of and love for the Savior and His Church grew so much during those first few months.
I was baptized on April 26, 2009, by Zach’s dad, Brother Simons. I had the support of the entire ward, my family, and my friends. I have never felt so beautiful in my life as I did in my white dress and as I made that wonderful covenant with my Heavenly Father. Afterward, I was given the gift of the Holy Ghost by Brother Davis, whose entire family was especially supportive of me while I was investigating the Church. I was so touched, and I knew that the words he said were from Heavenly Father.
Every day it’s difficult being the only Church member in my family, but they are incredibly supportive of my decision to join The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. They aren’t investigating the Church, but they are continuing to have open minds. I have been blessed with a wonderful, loving family, and I love them very much.
Since my baptism, I’ve moved to a new ward, so I don’t get to see Zach and the other families that supported me very often. But I know that friends in the gospel are friends forever. I also know that this is Christ’s true Church, we are all Heavenly Father’s children, and He loves us very much. I know that the Book of Mormon is true. Joseph Smith was a prophet, and President Thomas S. Monson is our prophet today. I know that Jesus Christ is my Savior and that He lives. Nothing happens without a reason. When I asked Zach to pick me out a book at movie night, I had no idea it would change my life. I am so thankful that I was given the beautiful opportunity to come unto Christ. The gospel has changed me forever.

Most recently I have returned from spending two and a half years in West Africa, where I was sent to help with a research project.
As I lived among the Nigerian people, I thought, “Wow! Imagine living like that!” I often watched my neighbor, Violet, a 16-year-old Latter-day Saint. It was hard not to think about the life I lived at age 16. My life had been extremely extracurricular. I was a member of almost every high school club I could find time for, I was very involved in sports, I was a student-body officer, I sang in a choir, I attended early-morning seminary, and I fulfilled Church callings. My life was a whirlwind of activity—fun activity.
Violet’s life was very different. She was the oldest of five living children. Three younger family members had died in infancy. Her mother had married at age 14, and Violet was born a short time later.
Violet’s parents spent most of their time doing farm work. As the oldest child, Violet was expected to help with the work needed to sustain the family. Because of family needs and the expense of school fees, Violet was not able to attend the village primary school every year. Some years she had her turn; other years her brothers and sisters had their turn. Violet completed about four or five years of schooling, and she probably would not receive more, as she was at the age when most Nigerian girls are given in marriage.
The village area Violet and I lived in had no electricity or running water. The walls of her home were made of mud clay packed between bamboo poles. The roof was of palm thatch. A wall made of sticks and thatch separated her compound from mine. As I lived by and learned from Violet, I discovered a principle that has had a profound impact on my life. I call it my principle of Difference Relativity.
When I was first asked to go to Nigeria, I was under the impression that I would be going into the bush of Africa to save the dying children. My colleague and I arrived on the scene with our cases and boxes of supplies and comforts and equipment and stuff. And in our books and materials, we thought we had all the answers to the world’s problems. We were ready and willing to find and point out all of the problems of the Nigerian people so we could proceed to solve them.
It didn’t take us long to realize that we were the ones that needed help. We were the ones having a hard time surviving. We were the ones having a hard time coping with life in Nigeria, not the Nigerians. I began to realize that differences are relative. Slowly, as the months went by, I began to see that I was just as different from Violet as she was from me, and I discovered an equality in our differences.
The differences in our lives started first thing in the morning, every morning. My co-workers and I had access to generated power each morning for two hours, and during that time, we bustled and hustled to use our electric typewriters, our computer, and our copying machine to record collected data and to prepare materials for the coming work day.
While we were doing this, Violet and her brothers and sisters were making their way back from a small stream about a half mile away. Every morning, at first light, they went to collect water for their family’s daily needs. Much of West Africa is a tropical rain forest, and so during the wet season, the children don’t have to walk quite so far to collect water. Violet could powerfully hoist a ten-gallon container on her head and then gracefully carry it all the way home without spilling a drop. I could just as gracefully make an entry in my computerized journal describing that feat.
Several times in the week Violet and her brother went out into the bush with their machetes to collect firewood. They usually returned at dusk with large bundles of sticks and wood balanced on their heads. This wood was used for the cooking fire. And then Violet and her mother prepared their usual gari and soup, made almost entirely from ingredients grown in their compound and on their small farm. Violet and her mother knew what it meant to be self-sufficient. My limited experience in such survival skills was a result of a week spent at girls’ camp several years before. I had much to learn from Violet and her mother.
I loved to go over to Violet’s compound on Saturday evenings while her family was preparing for the Sabbath. The children took turns helping each other bathe, the older ones would pour the water while the younger ones lathered themselves with soap. Violet’s father prepared the iron by filling it with hot coals from the fire, and Violet would press the clean white shirts and their dresses and wrappers so they would look their best at church in the morning. Water for the sacrament was boiled and cooled. And by the light of a bush lantern, scriptures and lessons were studied and prepared.
The more I observed Violet, the more I saw the differences between us. But I gained perspective and understanding. I imagined how hard it might be for Violet to live in my home environment. I thought of all the wonderful things she would miss—the sunsets decorated by lacy palms, the quiet of night where the only interruptions are made by choirs of frogs singing and distant drums, the daily contact with family and extended family who lived in the surrounding village. I thought about Violet’s physical strength and her young, supple body and what might happen to it if she were introduced to junk food and lazy habits. I thought of her cooking skills and farming skills and her ability to care for her younger brothers and sisters, and wondered how much of that would be lost if she were transplanted into my home environment.
And most often, I wondered about our thoughts and our feelings about our heavenly home. Violet’s world was different from mine. Our differences were great—she did things I couldn’t do, and I did things she couldn’t do. But we did have one most important thing in common: we were both daughters of our Heavenly Father. And because we both knew that, our differences didn’t separate us; they drew us together, and we learned from each other and we shared with each other, and both of our lives became fuller. I am a better person because of Violet’s differences, because she shared them with me. And I hope Violet is a better person because of my differences.

Teresa Perez had had the same dream for three nights in a row. In her dream, she saw a small room filled with white clothing hanging from a line.
Could the dream have something to do with the lessons she and her family had been taking from the Mormon missionaries?
Elder Nichols and Elder Benjamin had started teaching her family three weeks ago and challenging them to read the Book of Mormon and to pray.
She and her parents had started reading the Book of Mormon and praying together. Teresa knew that her parents were struggling with the decision to accept the gospel that the American missionaries taught and to join The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
In their small town outside of Madrid, Spain, nearly everyone belonged to the same church. Some family members and friends had made unkind remarks about the “Mormons” and ridiculed Teresa’s family for even listening to the missionaries.
Teresa didn’t understand everything that the missionaries taught, but she liked the warm feeling she had as she listened to them. They spoke of Jesus Christ and of His love for all children. Teresa liked that. In her old church, she rarely heard about Jesus’ love.
She saw love for the Savior and His gospel in the elders’ eyes. She heard it in their voices when they spoke of Him.
When the missionaries arrived that day, Teresa told them of her dream.
“Can you describe the clothes?” Elder Nichols asked.
“There were lots of white clothes hanging from a line. Pants. Shirts. Dresses. Some were little and some bigger.”
Elder Nichols looked at Teresa’s papa. “Can you meet us at the church tomorrow evening?”
Papa nodded. “We will be there.”
The lesson continued, but Teresa barely heard what the young elders said. Her dream and Elder Nichols’s request filled her mind.
That night, the dream came once more. The beautiful white clothes were so white that they shined.
Teresa and her parents made the hour-long trip by bus to the chapel. Elders Nichols and Benjamin met them at the door and led them down a hallway to a small room.
“Is this what you saw in your dream?” Elder Nichols asked.
Teresa looked at the white clothes of all different sizes hanging from a large rack. There were dresses, pants, shirts, just as in her dream! “Yes. It is just as I saw in my dream.”
“These are baptismal clothes.” Elder Nichols explained, “When a person gets baptized, he or she wears all white. It’s a symbol of purity.”
A frown crossed her papa’s face. “We have been baptized. When we were babies. For Teresa, that was only ten years ago.”
“We understand,” Elder Benjamin said. He pointed to the scriptures he always carried. “We learn from the prophets that those who take upon themselves the name of Christ must be baptized by the proper authority.”
Teresa remembered that from the discussions. “The priesthood.”
Elder Benjamin nodded. Then he bore his testimony. Elder Nichols followed. Tears filled his eyes as he spoke of his love for Jesus Christ and of his gratitude for the priesthood which he held and which included the proper authority to baptize people.
Teresa heard the truth in the testimonies. Even more, she felt it. She turned to her father and mother. “It is good, what we hear. I feel it.” She placed a hand on her heart. “I feel it here.”
Elder Nichols smiled. “The word gospel means the good news.”
Teresa’s papa wiped tears from his eyes. “Good news. You have brought us very good news.”
“Always we search for something,” her mama said. “Now we have found it.”
“When can we be baptized?” Teresa asked.
Elder Nichols’ smile widened. “How does Saturday sound?”

When I read in the Book of Mormon about how Nephi always supported his visionary father, I concluded that most youth in the Church were probably like Nephi. But when my family decided that we needed to move to the desert, I felt more like Laman and Lemuel. I didn’t want to leave my home.
Like Nephi and his brothers, I was “born of goodly parents” (1 Nephi 1:1). Both joined the Church when they were teenagers, and my mother waited for my father while he served a mission. They were active, hardworking members of the Church.
When I was in high school, the economy slowed down in our region of Concepción, Chile. Jobs dried up, and my father began having trouble finding work. Finally, he began looking for a job out of town.
His job search took him north to the city of Calama, in Chile’s mining region. He is a construction engineer, and he found a good job there. But he was alone and far away. We saw him only when he could afford the 32-hour bus ride home.
After a few years of seeing my father only two or three times a year, my mother felt that it was time to make a change. My parents concluded that the rest of our family needed to move north.
My younger brother had no problem moving. And my older sister, who was in college, set a good example for me.
“I’ll sacrifice my studies,” she said. “We need to be with our father.”
Everyone supported the decision to move except for me. I wanted to be with my father too, but I resisted making changes and personal sacrifices. I had my friends, I knew my surroundings, I enjoyed my lifestyle, and I wanted to go to college in Concepción. I did everything I could do to convince my mother that we shouldn’t go.
Finally, she said, “Son, your father is alone. He wants us with him. I wish you understood, but you’re too focused on yourself.” Then she reassured me, “We will have opportunities there.”
In my heart, I knew she was right—even though my head wasn’t convinced. I didn’t have a strong testimony at the time, but I decided to pray about whether I should go with my family. A clear answer came to me: “You need to leave this place.” I was sad, but I told my parents I would go.
Concepción is a green place with lots of trees. It receives 50 inches (127 cm) of rain per year. Antofagasta, the city near Calama we were moving to, receives only 0.1 inch (0.25 cm) per year.
The most shocking thing for me about the move was the actual trip. As we made our way north by bus, watching the transition from green to brown was agonizing. I wondered, “Where are the trees? Where are the cows in the countryside?” All I saw was dirt, rocks, and hills.
Obviously, northern Chile is a desert, so what else could I expect? I was reminded of how Laman and Lemuel felt when Lehi’s family left the land of their inheritance and headed into the wilderness.
I had a lot of fears when we arrived in Antofagasta. What would happen if I didn’t make any friends? What would happen if I couldn’t get used to the area? What would happen if my hopes for the future didn’t come true?
In the end, I shouldn’t have worried. My mother was right about the opportunities awaiting us—especially the spiritual opportunities.
Before our move, the gospel wasn’t a priority for me. The Lord was in the background. But in Antofagasta, people came into my life who helped me see the beauty of the gospel. I received help from special priesthood leaders. I made friends who remain a treasure to me. My spiritual life changed completely.
I’m grateful I listened to my mother. I’m grateful the Lord answered my prayer. I’m grateful I had the courage to move north with my family.
Here in the desert is where I made the changes that helped me become who I am today. Here is where I committed to embrace the gospel, serve a mission, marry in the temple, and dedicate my life to the Lord. Here is where I determined that I no longer wanted to be like Laman and Lemuel.
For my family and me, the wilderness turned out to be our promised land.
The author lives in Antofagasta, Chile.

There is another temptation to be resisted. It is to yield to the despairing thought that it is too hard and too late to repent. I knew a man once who could have thought that and given up. When he was 12 he was ordained a deacon. Some of his friends tempted him to begin to smoke. He began to feel uncomfortable in church. He left his little town, not finishing high school, to begin a life following construction jobs across the United States. He was a heavy-equipment operator. He married. They had children. The marriage ended in a bitter divorce. He lost his children. He lost an eye in an accident. He lived alone in boardinghouses. He lost everything he owned except what he could carry in a trunk.
One night, as he prepared to move yet again, he decided to lighten the load of that trunk. Beneath the junk of years, he found a book. He never knew how it got there. It was the Book of Mormon. He read it through, and the Spirit told him it was true. He knew then that all those years ago he had walked away from the true Church of Jesus Christ and from the happiness which could have been his.
Later, he was my more-than-70-year-old district missionary companion. I asked the people we were teaching, as I testified of the power of the Savior’s Atonement, to look at him. He had been washed clean and given a new heart, and I knew they would see that in his face. I told the people that what they saw was evidence that the Atonement of Jesus Christ could wash away all the corrosive effects of sin.
That was the only time he ever rebuked me. He told me in the darkness outside the trailer where we had been teaching that I should have told the people that while God was able to give him a new heart, He had not been able to give him back his wife and his children and what he might have done for them. But he had not looked back in sorrow and regret for what might have been. He moved forward, lifted by faith, to what yet might be.
One day he told me that in a dream the night before, the sight in his blind eye was restored. He realized that the dream was a glimpse of a future day, walking among loving people in the light of a glorious resurrection. Tears of joy ran down the deeply lined face of that towering, raw-boned man. He spoke to me quietly, with a radiant smile. I don’t remember what he said he saw, but I remember that his face shone with happy anticipation as he described the view. With the Lord’s help and the miracle of that book in the bottom of a trunk, it had not for him been too late nor the way too hard.

One young man changed forever my feelings about the value of that gift, and what it means to be a child of promise. Bob Allen was an undergraduate at Stanford University when I was his bishop. He left his schooling to serve a mission in Japan. He came back to school, took up his studies, and lived in a world of too many demands and too little time.
One day I was sitting at my desk in the graduate school of business at Stanford. I looked up and saw two people. I remember that their faces seemed to shine. Suddenly, Bob Allen stepped between them and, smiling as broadly as they were, said, “These are two new bishops from Japan.” They could speak little English, but I could tell they loved Bob Allen and, because of something he must have told them, they loved me. I thought then, as I have many times since, how remarkable it was that he had found time to spend days with those young men from Japan.
I spoke in a sacrament meeting in Tokyo ten years later. The person who had introduced me mentioned that I had been at Stanford. Two young people, a couple, rushed to me after the meeting and said, “Did you know Bob Allen? We love him.”
Later I was in Tokyo again. Of all the excellent presentations made to me, one seemed most remarkable. I asked to see the man who had made it. He was introduced and then said, “We have met before, at Stanford University.” He was the young man, now older, who had stood with his fellow bishop in my office door. He told me about his life, and the life of the other man, now a great leader in Japan. In that moment, I learned again, in my heart as well as my head, what it means to have a royal inheritance of time, and how a child of promise, who believes the promises, can invest it to produce returns for eternity.

When my bishop told me, “The Lord is calling you on a mission,” his words seemed to have a different meaning than they had two years before, when he made the call for the first time.
I was 18 then, a newly ordained elder and busy preparing myself to enter medical school. Besides that, my parents had been inactive for a long time and had never properly trained me to accept such a call if it ever came. I felt these were sufficient reasons for me to say no but decided to ask for some time to think about it. I approached my father and, as I expected, he emphatically refused to let me accept the mission call.
I thought I had been smart enough to fool everybody, but in fact I was the only one being fooled. About a year later, just before I was to take the long-awaited entrance test to medical school, the Lord called me again. This time I resolved to pray about it. I told the Lord that the result of the test would be the answer to my doubts. If I passed, I would understand that my mission would be medical school; if I failed, a proselyting mission would be what he wanted from me.
I passed the entrance exam. Blessings were poured upon me in an avalanche. My father changed to a better-paying job, which he needed to pay for my expensive studies. The lessons in medical school entered my mind with incredible ease, and I became an outstanding student. I became engaged to a wonderful LDS girl, even though she lived 360 miles away and we met just a few times a year. Good health, so seldom enjoyed before, became steady in my family. I was called to be a counselor in the Campinas Stake Sunday School presidency. Through the efforts of the home teachers, my younger sister became active again in seminary. The Lord was blessing us abundantly.
But two years later, I was sitting right there before my bishop once again, being reminded of my obligation to the Lord’s work on the earth. I felt different about it this time, but I was still reluctant to accept. I wanted the Lord himself to tell me what to do. Scriptures that promised marvelous blessings, shown to me by returned missionaries and the bishopric, did not seem to help.
Praying was not enough either. I fasted also, asking the Lord to give me an unmistakable answer so that I would not be left in doubt. It seemed like a fierce battle inside me, my spirit contending against my mortal reasoning. I was nearly exhausted from it when I felt the “burning in my bosom” and knew the Lord had revealed that accepting a mission call was what he wanted from me.
The first round had been won. Now the scriptures would give me strength to support an unshakable faith in God. I knew that other trials would come but not so soon.
When I phoned my fiancée to wish her a happy birthday, she asked about my decision. I told her I had decided to go on a mission, but that I would like to talk with her when she came to see me in a few weeks. She insisted that we talk about it right then. Her sweet voice became choked as if something bitter were being swallowed against her will. We said good-bye.
I went to my room to pray to my Heavenly Father so she could understand and accept my decision. A little later the phone rang and that same sweet voice said with firmness, “Thank you for the birthday gift.” At first I thought she was being ironic, but then I realized she was sincere.
Little by little the Lord was showing that he had prepared the way for me. However, I felt that I would need his help a lot more when I talked to my father. My father is a good man, but his hard life had made him tough and materialistic. Such an outlook would prevent him from accepting my decision.
On a Sunday afternoon, when we were alone in our backyard, I decided to tell my father. He listened until I finished and then asked very dryly, “Is this your will?” I nodded. “Very well, now listen! When you took this course you destroyed the love that existed within me for you. I am not going to drive you out of the house but from my heart. Those medical school stickers that I proudly exhibit on the windshield of my car will be removed, and you will have to do much to put them back on. You tore down a great dream of my life, and as far as I am concerned you fell down with it.”
I tried to answer him and express my great love for him, but my words stopped in my throat. I wished that the whole world would fall upon me for bringing such great suffering to my father, whom I loved so much.
Time went by. My father went to stake leaders to try to stop me. In a last and desperate attempt he went to the stake president. When he returned home that night, he had only harsh words for me.
While I prayed to the Lord to give my father understanding, the Spirit dictated to me that I should listen to him without saying a word. The night before he was to talk to the stake president again, he was sitting alone in the backyard. He said the moonlight made the night clear. He took the opportunity to pray to the Lord in the way he knows and said, “Father, I know that you have given me everything, but do you need to collect all at once? You know I cannot bear it.” In that very moment the backyard became filled with shadows that started to move towards him. My father became stricken with fear and ran to his room like a frightened child. He spent the whole night talking to my strong and sweet mother. That long talk with my mother and his interview with the stake president, when both cried, were enough to change his thinking.
And then came the night that I will never forget. I was in the kitchen peeling a pineapple for our dessert when my father came home. He stopped behind me, placed his briefcase on the floor, and said, “May I talk to you?”
I was already getting used to his aggressive talking. I answered yes and continued to peel the pineapple. “Listen, young man, when I talk to someone I like him to look into my eyes.” I stopped, turned to him, and heard him say with a calm and tender voice, “My son, go and do what you have decided to do because the Lord has told me that it is right. You can count on me for help because I love you very much.” We embraced each other, and the Lord bound the heart of the father to the son and of the son to the father. Tears of joy rolled down our cheeks.
And now my longing for my fiancée and my parents, my desire to attend medical school, and even my disappointment at having to turn down a long-awaited job—all of this is overshadowed by the joy of having received a letter from President Kimball saying, “Dear Elder Areas. You are being called by the Lord to work in the Brazil, Rio de Janeiro Mission. …”

On a warm day in July 2017, two elders knocked on a door in Cebu City, Philippines. Inside was a teenage boy named Lord Von Cedric (yes, his name actually is Lord), along with his family. The elders asked if they could teach the family the gospel of Jesus Christ. And while Lord’s parents said they weren’t interested, they were at least willing to listen to what the elders had to say. However, as the missionaries taught, Lord’s family realized they wanted to learn more.
After several lessons with the elders, Lord, his two sisters, and his father, Christopher, decided they wanted to join the Church. But there was a problem—only Lord would be able to be baptized. His sisters were still too young, and although Lord’s parents lived together as a family, they weren’t married—meaning Christopher wouldn’t be able to get baptized either.
It was difficult for Lord to decide to be baptized since he would be taking the step alone. However, as the elders taught him, he had faith that this decision would help him be able to share the gospel with his mom, who still wasn’t very interested in the Church. He says, “Before, I only knew a little about Jesus Christ. But then, I understood that He is our Savior and Redeemer. I knew He would help me if I followed His commandments.”
Lord kept working on obeying the commandments once he was baptized and started noticing a difference in himself. He was becoming, in his own words, a “good boy.” He decided to specifically work on listening to his parents more. He says, “Before, when Mother told me to do something, I didn’t always obey because it could be tiring. But now I do what my parents say.”
He also started making other goals as part of the Children and Youth program. He wanted to learn how to play the guitar, so he asked his dad to help him learn, since his dad already knew how to play. Lord also helped his younger sister, Nicole, set her own goals. She decided that she wanted to help out around the house more, so they worked together to do their chores each day.
As Lord tried to accomplish his goals, his parents noticed how hard he was working. His mom, Jeramie, says, “He has changed a lot. Now he is patient and very diligent. I am so happy that he has personally progressed.”
After a few months, Lord and his sister Nicole made a goal they wanted to work on together—they wanted to read the Book of Mormon as a family and finish it by the end of the year. The two kids hoped this would be a good opportunity to get their mom to participate in gospel activities with them.
But Jeramie was at work a lot, so Lord and Nicole came up with a plan— they would read the Book of Mormon and say family prayer after dinner when she was home.
Doing this each night helped Lord’s mom become more open to the gospel. Jeramie says, “As we read the Book of Mormon, I started to see how wonderful it was and how it teaches us about Christ.”
Soon Jeramie decided to make a change herself, just as Lord had—she quit her job, which would give her time to go to church. She attended for the first time in June 2019 and immediately could tell there was something good about it. She says, “I felt the presence of Jesus Christ while I was there.”
She also started participating in the missionary lessons, after many invitations from Lord and the others. “Before, my mother did not really want to listen to the missionaries,” Lord says. “She would even leave when they came to teach. My father, Nicole, and I told her to just try to listen, and maybe she would like it. And we were right—she listened, and she liked it.”
Lord’s mom learned more about the importance of marriage as she was taught the gospel, and realized she needed to make that commitment. She and Christopher got married as soon as they could and then started preparing for their baptism. Nicole happened to be turning eight around that same time, so she started preparing to be baptized at the same time as her parents.
In July of 2019, the baptism day finally came, and Christopher said that the timing made it even more special. “July is important to me because this month two years ago was the first time we went to church,” Christopher says.
Because Lord, Nicole, and Christopher had been waiting for almost two years for their whole family to be baptized, they all felt like their prayers were being answered.
Christopher says, “Since the elders started teaching us, I have seen how we have progressed and how our lives have changed because of the gospel of Jesus Christ. That’s why we will continue to endure to the end.” One way the family is planning to do that is by going to the temple to be sealed as a family in 2020.
Lord is particularly pleased with all the changes that have happened in his family. He says, “I’m so happy that my mother, father, and younger sister were finally baptized. I’m really glad that now all of us are members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”

The young people from the Lacey First Ward remember the roots of their area at least once a year when they gather enough wild food from the seashores and hillsides around Lacey to have a first class “wild” banquet.
To prepare for this year’s dinner, they dug clams at nearby Potlatch State Park and collected enough butter clams, horse clams, and cockles to make clam chowder and still have fresh-steamed butter clams. While some of the young people were digging clams at low tide, others waded out with small landing nets and caught crabs. Still others put out small crab pots. Each crab was carefully examined to make sure it was a male and was of legal keeping size—more than six inches across its shell. The young people went to a member’s farm and picked several pails of wild blackberries. Another member in the ward donated some salmon, and the dinner was well on its way to becoming a reality. Much of the preparation was done before the day of the banquet when corn and other garden produce appeared out of members’ gardens and blackberry pies made almost unbearably good smells in several kitchens.
All of the young people and many of their parents met at the lovely Tolmie State Park where they enjoyed canoeing and volleyball and general beach-combing before they feasted on the fruits of their foraging.

In Japan, I grew up learning about things that didn’t make sense to me. So, before I joined the Church, I had questions about the universe and the purpose of life.
When I started taking lessons from missionaries, I felt overwhelmed by questions. I explained that I had searched for answers from so many different sources but never felt settled on what I’d found. They taught me that I could always rely on the Lord to lead me to truth.
Since then, I have always been able to seek answers from Him and follow the Spirit to continue deepening my testimony.

It was a true gift to play in the NFL for a coach who shared my faith. Andy Reid came to BYU as a junior college transfer offensive lineman. He was part of the team that won the 1980 “Miracle Bowl” in which Jim McMahon threw the last-second, forty-one-yard bomb that was caught by Clay Brown to beat SMU. Andy was planning to go into the medical field and become a doctor like his mom, but LaVell Edwards saw something in Andy and told him that he would make a great head coach.

When he came to Provo, Andy was not a member of the Church. At BYU he met a girl named Tammy who changed his life. As they started to fall in love, she let him know that she wanted to be married in the temple. Andy wondered what the temple was all about. He loved Tammy enough to find out. Because she was willing to share her faith with him, he studied the gospel, embraced the teachings of the Restoration, and joined the Church. They were married in the temple, and they raised their five kids in the light of the gospel.

Andy’s whole career has been defined by hard work, dedication, and treating others with the utmost respect. Like LaVell, Andy made no distinction between the quarterback, the janitor, the tight end, or the secretaries. He lifted the entire organization. He made sure the workplace was professional and clean, with no evidence of pornography. I thought I was the luckiest football player on earth to have been coached by LaVell in college and Andy in the pros.

For example, Andy did not allow bad movies to be played on the plane or the bus when we traveled. That was different from how many other teams operated. I even took some gentle ribbing from my teammates, who would ask, “What are we going to watch this week? Bambi? ”

I told them, “If you’re lucky!”

After 9/11 Andy spoke to our team about grief and love. It was powerful. The next day he pulled me aside and mentioned how much he enjoyed watching me and my teammates quote Bruce R. McConkie on the news when we didn’t even know it. I asked him what he was talking about. He said, “Yeah, grief and love—I found an old conference report and plagiarized the whole thing!” It was no accident that when he left Philadelphia to become the Kansas City Chiefs’ head coach that he hired Emmitt Thomas as his defensive back coach. Birds of a feather flock together.

It all started when President Searle called me into his office and asked me to be the chairman of the youth conference. He asked if I would accept the call, and I very quietly said yes. He and his counselor set me apart and gave me a blessing. I remember coming home and telling my parents. Then I sat on the couch just crying. Mom asked, “Why are you crying? This is a neat thing.” I just cried and cried. It felt so good to be needed. I hope each one of the kids realize how needed they are.
Charmaine Moncur poured out her feelings and frustrations in her journal as she and a dozen other youth leaders assigned to head a variety of committees worked to make the youth conference for the Los Angeles and Inglewood Stakes a reality. This youth conference was different than those held in past years. This youth conference would be planned and carried out by the youth themselves. They chose fellowshipping as the theme. Susan Cowley and Steve Young, the youth representatives invited to the first meeting about the youth conference, asked their leaders if the youth could take charge of the conference themselves. “I don’t think we knew what we were getting into,” said Charmaine.
The Inglewood and Los Angeles stakes in southern California have an interesting and diverse mixture of people. There are several Spanish-speaking wards, a Tongan ward, and wards from both the well-to-do and poorer sections of town. How to bring all these young people together? Where could they get to know each other and appreciate each other’s talents and personalities? Plus the youth conference must be located close to home. The youth looked west, off the coast just 20 miles, to an island visible on the horizon—Catalina Island. A ferry makes the trip several times a day. Other than one small town, the island is rugged and essentially unpopulated. They found an old school at a spot called Toyon Bay that would have facilities to accommodate the group. They would be together in a secluded spot away from telephones, television, and radios. It was perfect. It was a place to appreciate the beauty of the ocean and learn to love the other members of their stakes.
What can we do to get everyone together and excited about doing something close to home? We don’t want to just have workshops in one of the stake centers. I think we’ve found it. There’s an old school on Catalina Island that can handle this big a group. The ferry landing for the trip to Catalina is less than an hour away for most people. On an island we won’t lose people after one day whenthey don’t feel like coming back. On Catalina you can’t say, “I feel like going home, see you later.”
More than 350 young people signed up for the youth conference, including nonmember friends. The youth decided to organize the conference copying a stake organization. Stephen Tanner was asked to be the “stake” president. Charmaine and her counselors acted as the “stake” activities committee. Three “wards” were formed, and three “bishops” chosen, counselors for each were selected, and teachers from the ranks of the youth were asked to prepare lessons for Relief Society, priesthood, and Sunday School. Tournaments and games were to be played with the three Catalina “wards” in competition. Because everyone would be divided up, hopefully the mixture would produce new friendships.
Last night I met with my committee, Susan Cowley and Nicole Land. We sat for three hours discussing the activities for youth conference. How much work it is! I can’t believe that we’re to oversee this all and make it work. I am definitely getting to know my Heavenly Father through prayer. We went over all the materials we’ll need and all those who need to be called to help. It’s an endless list.
As the youth committees were called to help organize different aspects of the conference, the young people gained a new appreciation of the work their adult leaders had done in past conferences. As Dina Chatwin said, “Our adult leaders would sit in on our meetings. And when we were discussing problems, I guess we would have reactions just like they have had, and they would laugh. As people would call and cancel out on things they were asked to do, the leaders would just say, ‘Welcome to the real world.’”
As the planning progressed, the youth learned that they couldn’t do everything themselves. They had to learn how to delegate and ask for help. For Charmaine, this was a hard lesson to learn. In her journal she wrote:
It is so hard for me to ask for help. It is hard to admit I just can’t do it all. I called someone and told her I needed some things done. I called her back a week later, and she not only had those things done, but more. I sat down and cried. It’s good to know that someone cared enough to really help. I feel so much gratitude. The countdown has begun. Just eleven days until we board the boat. Although I’m frustrated and concerned, I wouldn’t trade this opportunity for anything. I know that I’m doing the right thing and that I was called for a reason. I alsoknow the Lord’s giving me the strength to keep planning, making calls, and thinking up new ideas. My love of the gospel has grown so much. But what a job!
At the last minute some big problems presented themselves. Youth leader Stephen Tanner, who had been working and planning the conference from the beginning, became extremely ill. He would not be able to make the trip. And then the weather wasn’t cooperating. Rain squalls had made the sea choppy. It was going to be a very rough ride across the channel to Catalina Island.
Rough was putting it mildly. No sooner had the ferry filled up with excited youth-conference-bound passengers than it was released from its moorings into a rolling, pitching ocean. The shoreline, outlined in lights in the twilight, rose and fell as the sturdy boat plowed through the rough water. The exuberance of youth was squashed as waves of seasickness seized those aboard and reduced them to hunched shapes crouched in their seats yearning for solid ground. Only a few avoided getting sick. The get-acquainted game planned for the ferry trip was a flop since everyone was more interested in keeping their stomachs calm than in getting to know the unfamiliar if slightly green faces of their companions. On the other hand, being seasick together had a cohesive effect. They had shared a common trial, and it was something to laugh and talk about. It was dark by the time the group landed at Toyon Bay, but after the rough crossing, they were only interested in getting their assignments and settling down for the night.
In spite of the problems, things were coming together. Just before boarding the ferry, Charmaine recorded her feelings about the day:
The big day is in just a few more hours. There’s so much to do still—materials I’ve forgotten and things to pack. It’s endless. Last night Nicole Land and I met and sorted through all of the candy which will be given as a final prize for the group competition. I think I ate half of it, but we had a good time sorting it. The general activity is organized, but the final day has a lot of rough edges still to be smoothed out.
I had a long talk with my mom, and I told her my feelings of how it has been for me and what I’ve learned. There have been some moments that I thought, “I can’t do this anymore,” and I’ve really struggled. At times I just said a prayer and went to sleep. But there have been times like whenI’m working with my committee that I’ll always remember and cherish. I’ve learned what it means to plan and organize a major activity, and it’s hard to do right. I’ve learned—and this is the most important thing for me—to say, “I need help,” and ask for it. That’s been something I needed to learn. It was hard for me to admit I’m not Super Teenager. It isn’t the same as being teachable—because I feel I am that—but it is something I’ve had to learn.
The next morning dawned bright and clear. The rains had stopped. It was a glorious day for snorkeling and exploring the undersea world just a few steps off the beach. Since the school was now a marine institute, it had plenty of snorkeling equipment. Shiny black wet suits and bright orange flippers were a common sight as the brave ones swam in the chilly water. Even though it was winter, the sun gave hints of the summer to come as youth explored the surrounding hillsides, climbed on rocks along the beach, and participated in activities designed to get to know each other as well as learn.
That evening everyone spent a little extra time getting dressed before they set the main hall rocking at a dance.
Even though activities and a dance occupied much of their time, the real experiences of a youth conference took place in diverse moments: getting to know a name to go with a new face, asking someone you don’t know to dance, struggling with team members to help your group come in first. One girl was standing to the side waiting for a game to get started and said, “Do we have to play?” Her friend turned to her and answered, “Of course we do; that’s what we came for, isn’t it?”
That’s what they came for, to participate, to get to know each other, and to learn more about fellowshipping. The meetings were conducted by the youth with youth assigned to prepare lessons and serve as teachers.
I love being on the planning committees. I love the excitement and getting to know the kids. But the testimony meeting is my favorite.
Charmaine was not alone in expressing her enthusiasm for the testimony meeting. Everyone looked forward to that special evening when the whole group sat down together and shared the things that meant the most.
One young Spanish boy told about being inactive and being involved in stealing and lying. He turned to the Lord for help and has come back to the Church. His major problems have been solved, and he is again establishing good family relationships.
Margaret Bishop of the Hollywood Ward, Los Angeles Stake, told how grateful she was for the closeness that had come between her and her sister. She said, “I know I am living a happy life because of the gospel. It’s the only way to go. It’s not just a religion; it’s a way of life, and I’m grateful for my life.”
Tracie Pressler of the Centralia Ward, Inglewood Stake, told about going through a hard time before coming to the youth conference. “But here,” she said, “I’ve grown to love people that I’ve never really known before.”
Sulin Fifita of the Lennox Second Ward, Inglewood Stake, said, “My testimony is very precious to me and no matter what happens to me no one will be able to take my testimony from my heart.”
Several more admonished their friends to never leave the Church because they will be lost. Others talked about coming back into activity. Some testified of their love of the Savior and of the prophet and added the testimonies of the truthfulness of the Church. It was a time when feelings and tissues for heartfelt tears were shared freely as an outpouring of emotion took place in the open-air plaza under an inky sky filled with stars.
The final day was time for group competition. Three big groups picked their representatives to join in relays, sand castle building, and races. Then they lined the sides of the playing field and cheered their fellow teammates on. Soon chants of “We’re number one” drowned out casual conversation. Everyone was caught up in the activity, because in just a few hours they would have to leave, board the ferry for the return to the mainland and the end of the Catalina Youth Conference. No one really wanted to go home.
I’ve come to really respect the Church leaders and respect the work they do for us. Today as everyone is playing games, no one is going to think, “I wonder how much work or how many phone calls went into the planning of it.” It will be just another game. Some will like it, and some will hate it. It’s amazing how much work and prayer and trust go into planning a conference like this. If I could say anything about it, I’d say it was one experience I’ll never forget. And it has been so valuable to my maturing and understanding. I have grown closer to many, but most importantly I’ve grown closer to my Father in Heaven. I know he’s been a constant companion, and without that I’d never have endured to the end.

According to former São Paulo temple president Aledir Barbour, handling such large numbers of temple goers “is now our greatest challenge because so many stakes want to come, but we cannot accommodate them all as we’d like.” He pauses, then smiles and adds, “But certainly it is a challenge we like to have.”
The white-haired, soft-spoken temple president cites the example of a group of youth and their leaders who traveled by bus from Belo Horizonte, a large city about 200 kilometers northeast of São Paulo. Youth from this stake brought with them the names of 10,000 ancestors, all of whom the teens had identified through their own research. The group stayed from Tuesday to Friday, but it wasn’t nearly enough time to perform the baptisms for all their ancestors.
The temple baptistry is so full of youth patrons, individuals can usually be baptized for only four or five deceased persons each time they come to the temple. And this is after many teens and their parents from outlying areas have saved for months to travel to the temple and have ridden on a bus for days to get to São Paulo.
When the São Paulo Temple was dedicated in 1978, it could handle the Church membership in Brazil, which then totaled less than 60,000. But membership in Brazil has increased more than tenfold since then, and for some time the temple has been consistently overflowing.
Fortunately, the rapid growth that has caused such a challenge is also a catalyst in bringing about wonderful change—change that is already beginning to bless the lives of Brazilian youth.
Peering through the rails of a fence, 17-year-old Fabio Fogliatto and his friends of the Canoas Brazil Stake watch intently as workers in hard hats construct a building near the southern tip of Brazil. Fabio notes with satisfaction that one of the workers leaves the construction site before smoking a cigarette. “He must know this is a sacred site for us,” Fabio says.
On the other side of the fence from the teens is a spectacular sight. Against the backdrop of the city, the walls of the Porto Alegre Brazil Temple rise out of the red earth.
“Just watching them build the temple, I can feel it really is a temple of the Lord,” says Ivan Carvalho, age 14, of the Esteio Ward. “It makes me feel even stronger that I want to come here to do ordinances for the dead and for myself.”
Fourteen-year-old Guilherme Recordon of the Estância Velha Ward adds, “And now that we have to go only 20 kilometers instead of 300, maybe we’ll be able to come here every week!”
The feelings of these boys represent a growing excitement all across Brazil as temples are built. Another temple is nearing completion in Campinas (a city just west of São Paulo), and yet another will be dedicated soon in the northern city of Recife. As the Church builds temples in Brazil, youth here are constructing their own temple-worthy lives.
Living worthy of going to the temple can be anything but easy for young Brazilians. They are teased by their peers if they don’t use drugs, alcohol, and tobacco. Extreme immodesty is common on billboards and prime-time television. Many students carry pornographic magazines to school. During carnaval, a weeklong festival Brazil is famous for, immodesty and immorality parade in the streets.
But Latter-day Saint youth say that looking to the temple helps them keep the commandments despite the many temptations and trials they face. “At school, when you won’t look at the [pornographic] magazines, people make fun of you. But I have a goal to serve a mission and marry in the temple, so I already know that if they push this stuff at me, I won’t do it,” says Fabio Marques, age 16, of the Campinas Fourth Ward, Campinas Brazil Stake. “I’ve already made my decision.”
Fabio says having a temple so close to his home in Campinas will strengthen him and his Latter-day Saint friends. “It’s hard to get to the temple in São Paulo, but soon we’ll be able to do baptisms for the dead more easily and frequently at the Campinas temple. And each time you do that, you make a stronger goal to return to the temple and to be worthy to marry in the temple.”
Whenever challenges seem too much for 18-year-old Janise Figueiró, she looks at a little bottle of red earth she received from her Young Women president in the Higienópolis Ward, Porto Alegre Brazil Moinhos de Vento Stake. “Whenever I look at that soil from the temple site, I remember to live worthy.”
Fourteen-year-old Juliano Garcia of the Guaiba Jardim Ward, Porto Alegre Moinhos de Vento stake, was thrilled with the prize he won. Although he had been a Church member for just under a year, he won a scripture chase in his multistake seminary bowl. As he began to look through the pages of his prize, a booklet entitled The Holy Temple by Elder Boyd K. Packer of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, he became fascinated with the pictures of temple baptismal fonts and celestial rooms. Juliano didn’t know much about the temple, but as he read in the booklet about baptism for the dead, his heart turned to his deceased grandparents. “I thought about my grandparents, how great they were, and I thought that more than anything I wanted to go to the temple for them.” Juliano hasn’t been able to travel to the São Paulo temple, but he is now preparing to go in Porto Alegre.
As Juliano and other Brazilian teens continue to construct their own temple-worthy lives little by little, they do not doubt that when the doors of the new temples are ready to open, they will be ready to enter.
When the angel Moroni appeared to 17-year-old Joseph Smith in 1823, he told the young prophet that Elijah the prophet would “plant in the hearts of the children the promises made to the fathers, and the hearts of the children shall turn to their fathers” (JS—H 1:39).
This prophecy is literally being fulfilled in the hearts of young Brazilians. “The Spirit of Elijah is working … , especially on the young people, to do work for their ancestors. It’s something that we cannot explain,” says former São Paulo temple president Aledir Barbour.
For example 16-year-old Jeferson Montenegro of Canoas (pictured below) and Suelen Alexandre (age 15); José Meirelles (age 18); Priscila Cavalieri (age 18); Carlita Fochetto (age 14); and Carolina (age 16), Christiane (age 15), and Carlos Rodriguez (age 12) of São Paulo volunteer in their Family History Centers for 10 to 20 hours each week. They assist Church members in their research, enter extracted names into the computer system, and search for names of their own ancestors.
These teens aren’t unusual. Many Brazilian youth have found the names of hundreds of their ancestors and have eagerly begun their temple work. Why? “I feel the influence of the Spirit of Elijah,” says Jeferson. “It makes me feel a closeness with those who’ve gone before me.”

“I knew if anyone could save us, it would be the Mormons!” says Janine Petryliak, an administrator at the Canadian Diabetes Association.
Just weeks before the CDA’s annual donations drive, its records were destroyed, which put the fund-raiser in danger of being canceled. Although she is not a member of the Church, Janine knew she could count on the Latter-day Saints for help. She wasn’t disappointed.
“It seemed like a project that would be enjoyable,” says Tauni Schmirler, a 17-year-old Laurel in the Okotoks (Alberta, Canada) Ward, who organized the project. “I could do it with my friends and get them involved, and it gave them all service opportunities.”
Youth in other wards surrounding Calgary were quick to help the association as well. They were out on the streets collecting money just days after they were called on to help in the communities of Airdrie, Strathmore, Olds, High River, Vulcan, Morrin, Hanna, and Drumheller. Donning coats, mittens, hats, and scarves, they hit the streets in the early winter’s below-zero temperatures.
The winter cold, it seems, turned out to be an advantage.
“The colder it was, the nicer the people were,” says Shawn Matthews of Okotoks.

“A Blessing in My Life”
Blessing Nwakaego Okoronkwo felt drawn to the Gathering Place in her stake in Nigeria because she wanted to learn a skill—in particular, catering—that would benefit her financially.
“In the class, we learned amazing things,” she says. “I tried to take the class very seriously. I tried not to miss even once, and I always had my notebook and my pen.”
During one class in her Port Harcourt Nigeria North Stake, she and other students learned to make chin chin, a crunchy deep-fried snack popular in Nigeria, Ghana, and other West African nations. Blessing also learned to make peanut snacks.
“I decided to buy my ingredients and practice in my house what I had been taught,” she says. When she took her finished product to the school where she teaches, “Everybody was like, ‘Wow!’”
That prompted her to begin selling her snacks—in small quantities at first and then in larger quantities. Her little business quickly proved successful.
“It’s been amazing!” she says. “I’ve been really blessed by the Gathering Place.”
Blessing encourages others to take advantage of the opportunities that have blessed her. “Just put in your best effort,” she says.

Glen Hoelscher, from St. Lawrence, Texas, recently returned from a mission to Tacoma, Washington. Glen, shown here with his mom, Doris, and his dad, David, grew up on a farm, and he and his father devised an unusual way of financing Glen’s work for the Lord. They used some of their farm land to grow watermelons specifically for the purpose of paying for Glen’s mission, figuring they’d have to sell eight melons for each day that Glen served.
Their efforts proved “fruitful,” and Glen was blessed with a bumper crop—one of the best he and his dad have ever had.

“My son, peace be unto thy soul; thine adversity and thine afflictions shall be but a small moment” (D&C 121:7).
This verse also helped me make a difficult decision. My friend and I had been inseparable for five years. We played sports together, went on trips together, and hung out every weekend. But she began hanging out with an older group of friends who I didn’t want to be around. In the end she made me choose between having her as a friend or sticking to my beliefs regarding the Word of Wisdom and the law of chastity. I was devastated. I never knew that standing up for what I believed could be so hard. But I chose to make new friends, always keeping in mind Heavenly Father’s promise to Joseph Smith that everything would work out all right.

Indeed, our Heavenly Father has a special love for each person who makes the covenant with Him in the waters of baptism. That divine love deepens as additional covenants are made in the house of the Lord and are faithfully kept.
Nathalie and I experienced this divine love during a very difficult time in our lives as husband and wife and eternal companions. We have been blessed with 10 children. When I mention this, many younger people ask, “How?” And I respond, “This is simply how it is.”
We experienced the death of four of our children at the beginning of our marriage. After the passing of three of our children, Nathalie and I wondered and asked ourselves so many questions, like the Prophet Joseph Smith in Liberty Jail: “Heavenly Father, where art Thou? Do You hear our cries and prayers?”
We soon learned that this was not the end of our trials when Allan Mutombo, our nine-month-old baby, passed away. I found him in his crib. Holding his body in my arms, I cried that day, begging for a miracle. However, as you know, God’s plan for us is perfect, and that day He decided to take Allan back to Him. My prayers did not change His mind and will.
To add to this challenge, after the funeral, our extended families gathered and decided, without consulting us, that tradition required Nathalie and me to separate, and they asked me to take my wife’s belongings outside the house because we had lost many children.
I went into the house and prayed, asking for strength to face this adversity. The words of the wonderful hymn, written by Emma Lou Thayne, came to my mind: “Where can I turn for peace?”
I also remembered the words of our temple sealing and the promises we made to God and to each other. I felt great peace and reassurance that Nathalie and I are a daughter and a son of a loving and caring Heavenly Father.
I felt the Savior’s love and His hand lifting me up.
I came out with empty hands and told the people who were there, “I’m sorry, but Nathalie is my eternal companion. We are striving together to build an eternal family, and the Savior is helping us achieve it.”
They opposed my decision, but exercising my faith in Jesus Christ made me stronger.
The miracle Nathalie and I prayed for happened after we stood for the truth and the light that is in Jesus the Christ. We received a strong confirmation that Christ works miracles according to our faith in Him. Sometimes things do not work out in mortality as we hope, and sometimes we need the faith in Jesus Christ that all will work out in the end.