Gospel Story Finder

About two weeks later, we had another of those extra special family home evenings. And again we felt impressed to proceed with a kidney transplant. Again I went to the phone and called a brother, this time my older brother, Craig. Again I received a positive response.

Within a week, Craig, his wife Penny, and their one-year-old son Jason flew in from California. That same afternoon I went to the hospital, and Craig was admitted the next day.

Our names were placed on the prayer rolls of six temples from London to Los Angeles by friends of the family.

The night before surgery we held family home evening in my hospital room. At one point I tried to tell the family that it didn’t seem worth the risk or sacrifice required of my brother to attempt that transplant. But Dad looked at me soberly, put a hand on my shoulder, and softly said, “We all feel that this is what the Lord wants, and your brother is proud to be able to do it. Remember, Brent, we’ll all live to see you running across the park lawn again, with that large grin of yours.”

Surgery began the next morning at 6:00 A.M. with my nurse giving me a sedative before the operation. At the end of the day I opened my eyes to see my parents close to my bed. I was back in my hospital room, and I knew everything was all right.

I remember seeing other members of the family briefly that evening. But I couldn’t find Craig. “How is Craig? Where is my brother?”

A familiar hand rested on my shoulder, and I heard my mother’s voice: “Brent, Craig is fine and your new kidney is fine, too.” With those words I went to sleep. “Thanks, Father in Heaven. Thanks, Craig. Thanks a lot, family.”

During those first few days after my transplant, I got a feeling that something was wrong when I looked at the troubled faces of my parents and brothers. All was not well with Craig. By the third day I was sure he had died and no one would tell me about it. Actually, he hadn’t died. But he was very ill and having a difficult time recovering from his part of the surgery.

On the afternoon of the third day, my father and brother carried Craig to see me. He was the color of a ripe banana. With a half smile on his face he said, “How’s it going, brother?” At that moment, seeing his pain and considering his sacrifice, I knew what love was and what having a family meant.

One of young Elaine’s early winters came on the baseball diamond:
“Nobody should be chosen last. Every time. When you are playing baseball and join a side simply because you are the last one left, it is no good. It’s terrible. Humiliation. Rejection. Heartbreak. Winter.
“And that’s what happened to me for one whole school year.
“Baseball was our life. Whenever the ground was somewhat dry during the year, we played baseball.
“Each time we played, the opening ceremony was repeated. We would choose up sides for teams. Out of all the regulars who raced to the playing field, I was always chosen last.
Instead of running away from the humiliating situation, as she was sorely tempted to do, Elaine stuck it out. She kept getting picked last, but she stuck it out anyway. Fortunately, baseball wasn’t her only dream.
“My mother had taken me to an elocution teacher. Our family was very fortunate because my father had a good job and could afford to give us that kind of training. Then a wonderful opportunity came. Someone in the sixth grade was to be chosen to speak in the great Tabernacle on Temple Square for the school festival. I just knew it was going to be me.”
It wasn’t. In her disappointment, Elaine had no way of knowing that one day her voice would not only be heard in the great Tabernacle on Temple Square, but would be broadcast from that very spot to the nations of the world. But without the advantage of knowing the future, how did she handle the present?
“Well, at first I thought, ‘What good does it do to work and train and prepare? People just choose their friends.’ But I got over that. I’ve always been a true believer in the Lord, so I could go to my Heavenly Father and say, Why? Didn’t I work hard enough? What did I do wrong? She was learning at a young age to pour out her heart as she would to a loving father and expect answers to come.
Through her school and college years, Sister Cannon came to realize that being distracted by the selfish aims of position, prestige, power, and popularity may gradually ease you away from what you really want ultimately; they will lead you away from that sometimes discouraging climb towards heights never dreamed of in the beginning.
“This is what I learned: When I simply did what was at hand for me to do and did it the very best I could every day, not worrying about other things, those very experiences that were important to my preparation for other opportunities came into my life naturally.”
She also learned that personal disappointment could be cured by service to others:
“I ran for president of my high school women’s student association and lost. I felt that losing left me out of everything, and I really wanted to be in. But instead of feeling sorry for myself, I worked with one of my teachers to plan a marvelous party for the girl who beat me.
“When you lose and you’re really hurt, you can just reach out. If someone offends you or gets the honor or the award or job that you wanted, you just say to someone, ‘What can I do for you?’ And then you try to reach out to another and away from your own hurt.”

One of my pre-mission life goals was to graduate from college. While attending classes would have been difficult with my illness and the constant doctor appointments, my dad encouraged me to take online classes from Brigham Young University Independent Study. Not only was this an achievable horizontal goal, but I also realized that maybe I was capable of doing more pre-mission goals than I had previously thought possible.

One day at church, a sister walked up to my mom and said, “Do you know that Destiny can serve an online indexing mission?” This unexpected question was an answer to my prayers. I was able to serve the Lord for nine months as an indexing support Church-service missionary. This was a mission I could do!*
As I became better at managing my health condition, I began studying at a community college while doing my online mission. I was asked to teach mission preparation at the nearby institute. Teaching helped me realize that my enthusiasm for missionary work had not waned and that even my short mission had provided me with many experiences that could be valuable for my students.
After successfully attending a semester of college near my home, I moved to Utah, USA, to attend BYU. At first, I could hardly walk by the Provo MTC without feeling a rush of conflicting emotions. But I started volunteering weekly at the MTC and found that it was healing to meet the wonderful missionaries being sent to my beloved Hungary.
A Hungarian sister, Edit, who has prepared nearly 150,000 names for the temple asked me to take some of her names to the temple. It was a joy to do the saving ordinances for these Hungarians!
Serving a mission was my most important life dream and, understandably, I felt a loss when I came home earlier than anticipated. For a time, I struggled to talk about my mission. I had to work through feelings of failure. I had to learn how to judge the value of my mission by my desire to serve rather than the length. Although I didn’t realize it at the time, each of these steps toward meaning in my life also brought healing.
For years I was nervous that returning to Hungary would be difficult for me emotionally. When I eventually traveled there, it wasn’t until the second day that I realized that not only was I not feeling any pain, I was also feeling overwhelming joy to be back. I knew then that Heavenly Father had given me the opportunity to experience the healing power of the Savior’s Atonement. I now know that through the Atonement of Jesus Christ, all things will be made right in the end.
*Many early returned missionaries continue to serve as young Church-service missionaries. Meet with your bishop or branch president for more information.

I would like to say to the young men who are listening in tonight (I wish I could talk to every young man who holds the priesthood, if it could be effective), we never need to be ashamed of the gospel of Jesus Christ, and we should always be humbly proud of the priesthood that we hold.

I was talking to a young man who is going to be baptized next month, the only member of his family to be baptized, and I said, “What caused you to be interested in the Church?”
And he replied, “The young man I was associating with in school was a member of your church, and the way he lived interested me. He was different from the rest of the boys. He was happy, and he invited me to his home; and when I saw the love in that home and how that family lived, I was more interested. He took me to church, and then I joined the ball team, and I found in that church a different feeling than I had found any other place. Then that ball team, those fine fellows all keeping the Word of Wisdom and living good clean lives, impressed me, and I determined that I would join the Church.”
He went on to say: “I came with that friend out to Brigham Young University to attend one semester. I wanted to get acquainted with the people out here. I found most of those young people down there living the way they should, but if I hadn’t determined to be a member of this church before I met some of the others, I don’t know what effect it would have had on me.”
I think, young men, wherever you are, you must keep this in mind. Your actions may be keeping people out of the Church, and I am sure you wouldn’t be happy about that.

I will be eternally grateful for the missionaries who were so bold and courageous and filled with love for my parents when they tracted into them in the Philippines back in 1964.
Elder Neilson and Elder Roskelly taught them patiently. Just before they were baptized, Elder Neilson was transferred and despite my parents’ efforts to find him whenever they travelled to Utah, they were unsuccessful. Then out of the blue Aaron’s sister called to tell us that she was in the same Family Home Evening group with a young man whose father had served in the Philippines, and that he said he had taught a newlywed couple named Villanueva. Turns out it was Elder Neilson! This past summer, while I was in Utah, I was able to meet Elder Nielson and his wife.

He shared with me excerpts from his journal describing his visits to my parents and for the last 50 years he had no idea what became of my parents. He expressed how he feared for my parents as new converts in 1964 because they moved to a new place soon after their baptism.
He was very thrilled to know that they had stayed active in the church, had served in various callings including being mission parents in the Philippines and were instrumental in building the Kingdom of God in the areas where they lived in the Philippines.

The members of the youth committee of the Little Rock Arkansas Stake wanted to fellowship and get acquainted with the Special Interests and Young Special Interests in their stake. They planned an evening dinner and program, but first the Special Interests were invited to attend the Super Saturday seminary lesson.
Over 230 youth, chaperones, and Special Interests attended and enjoyed the dinner the youth prepared and served as well as the talent show, skits, and readers’ theater.

Many years ago I attended a large gathering of Church members in the city of Berlin, Germany. A spirit of quiet reverence permeated the gathering as an organ prelude of hymns was played. I gazed at those who sat before me. There were mothers and fathers and relatively few children. The majority of those who sat on crowded benches were women about middle age—and alone. Suddenly it dawned on me that perhaps these were widows, having lost their husbands during World War II. My curiosity demanded an answer to my unexpressed thought, so I asked the conducting officer to take a sort of standing roll call. When he asked all those who were widows to please arise, it seemed that half the vast throng stood. Their faces reflected the grim effect of war’s cruelty. Their hopes had been shattered, their lives altered, and their future had in a way been taken from them. Behind each countenance was a personal travail of tears. I addressed my remarks to them and to all who have loved, then lost, those most dear.
Frederick W. Babbel, who accompanied Elder Ezra Taft Benson on his postwar visit to Europe to assist the struggling Saints, recounts in his book On Wings of Faith one heartrending account. A woman, even the mother of four small children, had been newly widowed. Her husband, young and handsome, whom she loved more than life itself, had been killed during the final days of the frightful battles in their homeland of East Prussia. She and her children were forced to flee to West Germany, a distance of a thousand miles. The weather was mild as they began their long and difficult trek on foot. Constantly being faced with dangers from panicky refugees and marauding troops was difficult enough, but then came the cold of winter, with its accompanying snow and ice. Her resources were meager; now they were gone. All she had was her strong faith in God and in the gospel as revealed to the latter-day prophet Joseph Smith.
And then one morning the unthinkable happened. She awakened with a chill in her heart. The tiny form of her three-year-old daughter was cold and still, and she realized that death had claimed her. With great effort the mother prepared a shallow grave and buried her precious child.
Death, however, was to be her companion again and again on the journey. Her seven-year-old perished, and then her five-year-old. Her despair was all-consuming. Finally, as she was reaching the end of her travel, the baby died in her arms. She had lost her husband and all her children. She had given up all her earthly goods, her home, and even her homeland.
From the depths of her despair, she knelt and prayed more fervently than she had ever prayed in her life: “Dear Heavenly Father, I do not know how I can go on. I have nothing left—except my faith in thee. I feel amidst the desolation of my soul an overwhelming gratitude for the atoning sacrifice of thy Son, Jesus Christ. I know that because he suffered and died, I shall live again with my family; that because he broke the chains of death, I shall see my children again in the flesh and will have the joy of raising them. Though I do not at this moment wish to live, I will do so, that we may be reunited as a family and return, together, to thee.” This prayer, this testimony sustained her until finally she reached Karlsruhe, her destination.

Not too long ago, I was working on our farm with my nephew Nash. He is six and has a pure heart. He is my favorite nephew named Nash, and I believe I am his favorite uncle speaking in conference today.

As he helped me come up with a solution for our project, I said, “Nash, that is a great idea. How did you get so smart?” He looked at me with an expression in his eyes that said, “Uncle Ryan, how do you not know the answer to this question?”

He simply shrugged his shoulders, smiled, and confidently said, “Jesus.”

Nash reminded me that day of this simple and yet profound teaching. The answer to the simplest questions and to the most complex problems is always the same. The answer is Jesus Christ. Every solution is found in Him.

The last week home was sad. I wasn’t having second thoughts or anything, but I sure was scared, and I realized how homesick I was going to be.
A couple of days before I left home to enter the MTC, I decided to walk from our house to Gus’s station, about two miles away, just to visit him at work one last time.
As I walked, I thought about Gus and myself. We’re the only kids in our home. We’ve always been close, even though we’re so different and he’s five years older.
Gus used to be active in the Church. He had become a deacon. Then about the time he entered junior high school he started to rebel. My parents were patient but heartbroken.
Gus was tough and mean and popular. I was never Paul—I was Gus’s little brother. But that was okay, because the big guys left me alone.
People marveled we were brothers.
When I was a senior in high school I had already decided to serve a mission, so my hair was always cut short—missionary style. That school year Gus and I would always go to lunch together.
He’d lock up his station and pick me up in front of the high school on his mean Harley-Davidson. We sure must have looked funny riding down the street—Gus with his beard and long hair, something out of a motorcycle gang, and me, “Mr. Clean,” your basic prospective missionary.
I approached Gus’s station that day from a trail in back of it and was rounding the corner to go into the office when I overheard Gus talking to someone about me. I stopped to listen. They didn’t know I was there.
“Did I tell you Paul is going on a mission?” Gus asked.
“Yer kiddin?” It was the voice of Rod, Gus’s best friend, my worst enemy.
“Nope, I’m real proud of the kid.”
“He’s a ‘boot licker,’” Rod cynically responded. “You don’t believe all that stuff about Joseph Smith do ya?”
I doubled my fist in instant anxiety.
How would Gus answer the question? Would he say what he really felt to Rod? His influence had always persuaded Gus to do wrong, which was why I disliked him so much.
Gus thought before he answered.
I can’t explain what his words did to me when he finally spoke. There are things in life you’ll never forget.
“Well, Rod buddy,” he said, “let me tell you. I don’t know everything; neither do you. It could be true. All I know is it sure makes a difference in Paul. He loves it.”
Rod continued to attack me.
“He idolizes you, Gus. He’d do anything you told him to, even if he thought it was wrong.”
“No he wouldn’t,” Gus defended. “He’s never been anything like me. If more Mormons were like him, I could maybe stand being around them. Nothing’s worse than a self-righteous Mormon. He’s never judged me. And he hasn’t given my parents nearly the heartache I have.”
Then Gus said something that really made me think.
“Anyway, if I ever caught him doing something wrong, if he ever let me down, so help me, I’d punch him out.”
I left them talking and started back home without them ever knowing I had been there. A lump formed in my throat as I realized why Gus had seemed so excited about my mission. Now I knew why he had always supported me.
You see, he needed me to be strong where he had been weak. I vowed that very day I would be strong for him. I’d resist my temptations. I would not let him down. He needed to know someone could be good. I would be.

Elder Wayne S. Peterson shared this story in general conference about the importance of kindness and choosing to act:
Many years ago, while on vacation with my family, I had an experience that taught me a great lesson. On a Saturday, my wife and I decided to take the children for a drive and to do some shopping. During the drive the children fell asleep, and not wanting to wake them, I volunteered to stay in the car while my wife ran into the store. While waiting, I glanced at the car parked in front of me. It was full of children, and they were looking at me. My eyes caught the eyes of a small boy, six or seven years old. As our eyes met, he immediately stuck his tongue out at me. My first reaction was to stick my tongue out at him. I thought, What have I done to deserve this? Fortunately, before I reacted, I remembered a principle taught in general conference the week before by Elder Marvin J. Ashton. He taught how important it was to act instead of react to the events around us. So I waved at the little boy. He stuck his tongue out at me again. I smiled and waved again. This time he waved back. Soon he was joined in his enthusiastic waving by a little brother and sister. I responded by waving this way and that until my arm became tired. Then I rested it on the steering wheel and continued with every creative wave I could muster, all the time hoping their parents would quickly return or that my wife would soon come back. The parents finally did come, and as they pulled away, my newfound friends continued to wave for as long as I could see them. That was a simple experience, but it demonstrated that in most encounters we can determine the kind of experience we are going to have by how we respond. I was grateful that I chose to act in a friendly way rather than react to my young friend's childish behavior. In doing so I avoided the negative feelings I would have felt had I followed my natural instinct.

It was Thanksgiving of 1990. I had just gone through a difficult divorce, and I was a first-year law student in an unfamiliar city. My children were going to be at their father’s house for the holiday, and for the first time in my life, I would be alone on Thanksgiving.
At first I wanted to feel sorry for myself and have a good cry. But then I began to count my blessings. I had two beautiful children, a nice house, an opportunity to gain knowledge, and the gospel of Jesus Christ to guide my life. I truly had been blessed with many things.
As Thanksgiving approached, I discovered that a group of law students had planned to go to a local mission to help serve an early Thanksgiving dinner to the homeless. I decided that helping at the mission would be better than sitting at home feeling lonely and bitter, so I joined my fellow students.
A few days later I found myself placing hot mashed potatoes on the plates of hungry, grateful, life-tossed people. The tears that welled up in my eyes were not for the sadness I felt for myself; rather, they were tears of love for all of God’s children, no matter their circumstances.

Youth in Longview, Texas, had a blast last summer painting their community rodeo arena and corral—and each other! More than 250 young people from the Longview Stake and the Gilmer Texas Stake got the job done in just about four hours, to the amazement of city officials.
“When we got there it was really trashed. I couldn’t believe it. We never thought we could get it done, but it only took four hours. The people from the city were amazed,” says Amber Davis, a Laurel from the Longview Second Ward.
The job included painting a Texas flag on the north bleachers and an American flag on the south bleachers.
“The fun part was that there was a lot of team work, so if you weren’t finished with your project, other people came and helped you,” says Amber.
City officials were so pleased with the job the youth did that they mailed each of them a thank-you note with a picture of the newly painted arena.

Illustration by Ellerie Arnold
I had just dropped off my daughter at a friend’s house when I received a call from my husband, Jonathan. He told me that our 11-year-old son, Aiden, had been hit by a car while he and Jonathan were crossing the street.
The driver had made a left turn in front of Jonathan and didn’t see Aiden on his bike. The driver hit the front of Aiden’s bike. He flew up into the air, still holding onto the bike, and hit his head on the side of the car when he came down. Then he landed on the road with his bike on top of him. Thankfully, he was wearing a helmet. The driver and several other people stopped to help while Jonathan called for an ambulance.
My mind and emotions suddenly went into a frenzy. I sped toward the intersection where the accident had occurred, hoping to catch the ambulance so I could be with Aiden.
Thoughts of lashing out at the driver raced through my mind. “What on earth was the driver thinking?” I thought. “Were they drunk? Were they on their phone?” I was furious and beyond worried. I had no idea how badly Aiden was hurt.
When I arrived at the scene, the ambulance had already left. Only a couple of police cars and a car parked on the side of the road remained at the scene. A distressed-looking woman stood next to the car.
I approached her and asked, “Did you see who hit my son?”
She quietly said, “I did.”
I envisioned myself yelling at the careless person who had hit my son, but when I came face to face with the driver, the negativity disappeared. I found myself crying and hugging her. She apologized, and I told her that everything would be OK. I found out later that those were the exact words Aiden had said to her before the police arrived. In the end, Aiden made it through with only some scrapes and bruises.
I am grateful that at that pivotal moment, our loving Heavenly Father blessed me with the strength to extend forgiveness instead of hate, even when I didn’t ask Him to. I know He is aware of us and always offers us His help.

During my school’s values-education month, our teacher asked us to write an essay titled “Why am I here?” It had to be a 10-paragraph essay on the topic of our purpose in life. As I read the topic on the board, my heart was filled with comfort and happiness. As a member of the Church, I had known my purpose as a daughter of God for many years. But as I looked at my other classmates’ faces, my heart was filled with sadness. Why? Because they started to murmur regarding the difficulty of the topic. They didn’t have the same knowledge I did.
When I turned in my essay, I realized how blessed I am to be a member of the one true Church. From that day on, my desire to serve a mission and share my testimony of the gospel of Jesus Christ was strengthened.
I know that Heavenly Father loves me and wants me to be with Him someday. I also know that it is my purpose to serve others.

Karen Reynolds does have pioneer ancestors—who settled in Utah and in the colonies of Mexico. “I can remember having Pioneer Day celebrations on July 24, followed by pageants about the journey to Mexico. We recounted the early years there, complete with stories of living in caves dug into the river bank,” she recalls. “But I never knew how much I would benefit from the skills my parents taught me—how to work, how to preserve fruit, how to bake bread, how to sew, how to make do with what you have,” she says.

Recently, Karen’s husband had to give up a job with a good salary so they would be able to relocate and help with a family farm because of her father-in-law’s illness. “We don’t regret our choice, but our pioneering skills have really been put to the test,” she says. “Careful budgeting and wise buying have been an absolute necessity for us, not just an experiment in following a Relief Society lesson on provident living.”

“Making do” is not the only thing Karen has learned from those nineteenth-century pioneers. Last year, she and her husband lost a baby. “I thought my heart would break when we laid him in that cold grave,” she recalls. Days later, confined to bed because of medical problems, Karen was still grieving. A ward member brought her a stack of books—including one of pioneer stories. “As I read through that book, I was reminded how many of those women had left their little ones in shallow graves by the trail. My baby has a coffin and a marker, and I can visit the spot. It wasn’t easy, but I started to count my blessings. They went forward in faith, and I can, too.”

Jim Abbott’s story became particularly personal to me five years ago when our grandson, Gavin, was born with a similar birth defect. Gavin doesn’t have the lower part of his left arm and instead of a hand he has what we lovingly refer to as his “nub.” Since Gavin’s birth I have been drawn to stories of remarkable men and women born with birth defects or who lost their arms through accidents or disease yet, who are able to do amazing things.

As inspiring and amazing as these three individuals are to me, I am most inspired by my grandson Gavin. Although his birth defect hasn’t slowed him down much and he certainly doesn’t consider himself handicapped, he does notice that he is different than others. He is at the age now where he is conscious of the stares and unkind comments about his nub. In decorating her home for Christmas a couple of years ago, our daughter put out the olive wood nativit set she had received from us as a Christmas gift when we lived in Israel several years ago. There were a few chips and dents and pieces broken off here and there. One day, three-year-old Gavin excitedly exclaimed, “Mommy, look! Jesus has a nub just like me!” Part of one of the carved wooden arms of the baby Jesus in the nativity set had been broken off. It was so small that none of us had even noticed it before. Yet Gavin noticed. He was thrilled that Jesus had a nub too. His mother explained to him that Jesus doesn’t really have a nub, but that He understands exactly what it is like for Gavin to have one. In that tender teaching moment, our daughter once again taught him about the resurrection and the perfect love of the Savior and how Christ’s Atonement ensures that someday Gavin will have a hand and arm like everyone else.

“Oh, what do you do in the summertime …” three-year-old Katie was singing at the top of her voice.
“Softer,” Angela scolded. “It would be lovely if you sang softer.”
But Katie just screeched all the louder.
“Three-year-olds!” fumed Angela as she closed the door to her room.
Why doesn’t someone write a song about how to get out of doing what your mother wants you to do in the summertime? Angela asked herself. “Maybe I’ll write one,” she muttered. “Then I’ll make a record of it and become a rich and famous songwriting singer. Then Mother will say, ‘Angela, dear, you don’t need to take swimming lessons. Why should a rich and famous songwriting singer take swimming lessons?’ Then I’ll write songs all day and—”
“Angela, dear,” a voice called from downstairs. “Are you ready? Hurry. It’s time to go.”
“I’m coming,” Angela called back. She trudged to her dresser, pulled a bright pink swimsuit from the drawer, and slowly closed the drawer. “Hey, wait!” she cried. Jerking the drawer open again, she shoved the suit inside and raced to her closet. Rummaging in a box, she pulled out a ragged, once-navy-blue swimsuit. Giggling, she put it on, slung her beach towel over her shoulder, and waltzed out the door.
“My goodness, Angela,” Mother gasped. “Where did you get that swimsuit?”
“In my closet,” Angela answered nonchalantly.
“It’s all worn-out. It’s too little. And it has holes in it.”
“But it’s very, very comfortable.”
“Well, if that’s what you want. Come on, let’s hurry. We’re late.”
“What?” Angela couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Mother was supposed to say she couldn’t go looking like that.
“Come on, let’s hurry,” Mother repeated, taking Angela by the hand. Stunned, Angela let her mother pull her through the house and out to the car. Then, as she climbed into the front seat, she had an idea!
A bright smile erased the frown from her face as she broke out in song: “A mother is such a lovely person to have around your house. She keeps you happy and makes things snappy and always has a smile.” She sang the keeps you happy especially loud.
“How lovely, Angela dear,” Mother said as she backed out of the driveway. “Did you make that up?”
“I wrote it myself,” Angela answered proudly. “And if I didn’t have to go to swimming lessons, I could write a lot more songs about my beautiful mother.”
“That would be nice. But maybe you could write them on the way to your swimming lessons. It’s very important that you learn to swim. Everyone should know how to swim.”
Angela watched her house shrink smaller and smaller and then disappear as they drove away. “If I could just disappear, too!” she whispered.
“What did you say?” Mother asked.
“I should have stayed home to tend Katie so Robbie could go swimming. Robbie loves swimming. Maybe you should take me back and let Robbie take my lesson. I really wouldn’t mind,” Angela said.
“Robbie already knows how to swim. That’s why he loves it.”
“But I really think I’m allergic to chlorine. Melanie told me it turned her hair green. If it turned her hair green and she’s not even allergic to chlorine, imagine what it will do to my hair—and my skin! Oh, I just know my teeth will fall out!”
“Angela,”—the softness had left Mother’s voice—“your teeth will not fall out.”
“Maybe not with my braces on, but think of all the money you and Dad have spent to fix my teeth. Now they’ll turn green, and the minute the braces come off—plink, plink, plink—out will fall all my green teeth.”
“Angela, my dear”—Mother paused, letting the softness back into her voice—“are you afraid of the water?”
“Me? Afraid? Of course not! I’m allergic, that’s all.”
“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” Mother said.
“Oh, I know that. All my friends can swim. They go swimming all the time. They tell me all about it. I’m not afraid. Not me. Never. It just doesn’t interest me.”
“Well, just think. After you take lessons, you can go swimming with your friends.”
“Not if I’m all green. I don’t think they let green people into swimming pools.”
“Here we are.” Mother sounded more cheerful than necessary. “Now promise me you’ll do what the teacher asks.”
Why do mothers make you promise things like that? Angela wondered. But she promised and then slowly, very slowly, climbed out of the car.
“I’ll be back in an hour,” Mother called as she drove off.
Angela looked down at her faded swimsuit. “I wonder who invented swimming anyway,” she muttered.
“Probably Eve.”
The voice startled Angela. Looking up, she saw a girl about her size who was almost hidden by a small fir tree.
“Eve?” Angela repeated, staring at the girl’s worn, swimsuit.
The two girls stared at each other for a long moment. Finally Angela asked, “Are you going in or coming out?”
“Going in. Mine was the car before yours.”
“Do you swim much?” Angela asked cautiously.
“Nope. I’m allergic to water. It makes my toenails curl the wrong way. That’s why I always shower—I never bathe. Less water that way.”
“My name’s Angela.” Angela couldn’t remember ever meeting anyone she liked so well so fast.
“I’m Mandy.”
“Do you live around here?” Angela asked.
“We just moved into the yellow house with the huge pine tree in front. It’s by the school.”
“Hey, that’s on my street!” Angela exclaimed with a grin.
A whistle sounded. “Girls! Girls!” the swimming teacher called. “It’s time to start.”
“What about your allergy problems?” Angela asked Mandy. “How are you going to swim with your toenails curling the wrong way?”
“I don’t know.”
“Me neither.”
“You’re allergic, too?” Mandy asked in amazement.
“Yes. My teeth turn green. It’s the chlorine. I’m afraid it will make them fall out. After my braces come off, that is. You know—plink, plink, plink—until they’re all gone.”
Mandy grinned at Angela. Then they both giggled.
“Come on,” Angela sighed. “I guess together we can suffer it through.”
“Sure,” Mandy said.
Taking deep breaths, they started toward the pool.
“By the way,” Angela asked, “do you write songs?”
“Oh, yes!” Mandy answered. “I wrote one just this morning.”
“Maybe we could write one together, about people who are afraid—I mean allergic.”
Mandy smiled. “Do you think we could become rich and famous?” Angela grinned. “I think maybe we could.”

Some heroes live in my Idaho Falls stake, like Syd and Jeanette Withers. Brother Withers has spent many years of his life offering service to the young women and young men, and part of it has been taking them on hikes for girl’s camp and scout camp. I was several pounds lighter and my heart was twenty years younger when I went with the young women on the Table Rock hike led by men from our stake, among them, Syd Withers.

The scenery was incredible, and the company was great. I thought I had prepared well enough for the hike, but it was a difficult one for me, and sometimes it seemed I couldn’t catch my breath, and I dropped further behind on the trail. Brother Withers noticed and tactfully checked to see if I was okay. Huffing and puffing, I was a bit embarrassed, but when he held out the end of his walking stick to me, I gratefully grasped it. I’m not sure how far he pulled me, but it was over the steepest area of the trail. Because Brother Withers listened to a prompting, I was able to reach a goal.

Nearly 28 years ago I desired to attend a general conference of the Church and drove 14 hours to be in Salt Lake City for the conference. I entered Temple Square at 8:00 A.M., where the line outside door number 10 was all the way across Temple Square and halfway down the south side of the Assembly Hall. I was nearly 300 feet from my goal. The usher called out that the Tabernacle was full. People dropped out of line, and I inched forward.
At five minutes before 10:00 I was the only person standing in front of my chosen door. The door opened, and the usher said, “Are you still here?” He closed the door, and my heart sank. As the choir began to sing the opening hymn at 10:00 sharp, the door opened one more time, and the usher beckoned me inside. He placed me on half a seat and behind a post, but a welcome seat it was! I was able to sustain the Lord’s chosen leaders and hear their counsel that special day, just as we have done here this afternoon.

I don’t think anybody on either side of the Iron Curtain expected the Cold War to end. But Heavenly Father had a different plan. In 1975, unbeknownst to us, President Spencer W. Kimball (1895–1985) had invited Latter-day Saints to “join in a serious continuous petition to the Lord to open the gates of the nations and soften the hearts of the kings and the rulers to the end that missionaries may enter all the lands and teach the gospel.”1
Two years later, President Kimball visited Warsaw, Poland. One morning, accompanied by a small group of his associates, including Elder Russell M. Nelson, President Kimball left his hotel, walked by the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, and entered Saski Park. Not far from a large fountain that still stands there today, he knelt and rededicated Poland for the preaching of the gospel.
A decade of unrest and mass protests followed. While the adults distrusted and opposed the political leaders, many young people questioned some of the values, traditions, and attitudes of their parents. My friend Jakub and I felt disillusioned with Christianity as we understood it. He lost interest in religion in general, while I was drawn toward philosophies that originated in Asia.
In April 1990, Jakub and I hitchhiked to Austria. In Vienna we met two nice women standing on the sidewalk of a busy street. One of them was holding the Book of Mormon in Polish. She told us about Jesus’s visit to the people of ancient America and promised to mail the book to our homes if we gave her our addresses. We also opened our address books and copied addresses of many of our friends. We thought it would be a nice surprise for them to receive a gift.
A few months later the Poland Warsaw Mission was established, and four missionaries arrived in our city. Later, I learned that the large number of “referrals”—our friends’ addresses—played a key role in the decision to open our city for the missionaries. To my surprise a few months later, Jakub told me that two “Mormon” missionaries had visited him and that he had decided to join their church.
I was hurt by his announcement. I had tried for years to interest him in religion but with no success. How could strangers from a different country suddenly convert him? I was determined to face them and show Jakub they had no chance in a debate with me.
When I saw the two young, smiling missionaries standing in the doorway of my parents’ apartment, I forgot about my goal to prove them wrong. They were happy and funny. They asked me lots of questions about myself and my beliefs. They respected my convictions. Later they told me that during that first meeting with the arrogant guy with long hair and ripped jeans who was smoking cigarettes, they had a hard time imagining I would ever be interested in becoming a follower of Jesus Christ. But I felt something special in their presence, and I was intrigued that their Church was the only Christian denomination I knew of that believed in a premortal existence.
I was also impressed with their testimonies and the strong convictions of Jakub and Robert ?elewski, his new friend from the Church. Robert was a psychologist, an intelligent but down-to-earth man whose insights and experiences strengthened my interest in the religion of the Latter-day Saints.
Everything the elders, Jakub, and Robert told me was fascinating, especially the doctrine of the plan of salvation, starting with premortality and ending with the three degrees of glory. But I didn’t see any point in joining the Church until I was able to grasp more fully their unique beliefs. My understanding of Christianity was that anciently, God performed miracles, sent angels, and called prophets, but all those things belonged to biblical times. Once the Bible was completed, humanity no longer needed miracles and revelation because scripture contains all we need to know.
A breakthrough came during our discussion about the Great Apostasy and the Restoration of the fulness of the gospel through the Prophet Joseph Smith. I realized that their beliefs were more consistent with the Bible than the claim that the Bible had replaced prophets and revelation. I felt real joy when I realized I might be living in modern “biblical times.”
I was ready to ask God sincerely for personal revelation, but an answer did not come. Finally, I said, “Heavenly Father, if You called Joseph Smith as Your prophet, I will obey every commandment You revealed through him.” Then the answer came to my heart and mind with surety, and I knew that God had restored the fulness of the gospel and that it is found in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Jakub was baptized on November 3, 1990, and remained faithful until dying in a tragic hiking accident two decades later. I joined the Church on January 11, 1991, determined to serve a mission. Robert was called as the first local president of our branch and drove me all the way to Freiburg, Germany, so I could receive my temple endowment. During my last interview with him, I promised to return to Poland after my service in the Illinois Chicago Mission to use my missionary experience to strengthen the Church in our country.
Two years later, my mission president convinced me that I should get my education in America at Brigham Young University. But I never forgot my promise to Robert.
After getting married in 2000, I moved back to Poland with my wife, who, in 1988, had been an extra in the sixth episode of The Wonder Years. We attend Church meetings in Krakow, raising two boys and keeping in close touch with our two older children. Our older son recently announced he has decided to serve a full-time mission.
In the summer of 2021, I took my family to Berlin, where I showed them the spot where the wall used to stand. It no longer stops God’s servants from sharing the message of the Restoration with the people of Eastern Europe. God’s miracles continue in our day.