Gospel Story Finder

Two or three weeks after his baptism, Lorenzo received the certainty he desired. During the time he had sought his initial testimony of the gospel, he had retired each night to a grove near his home and sought the Lord in prayer. One evening he felt no inclination to pray. The heavens, he said, seemed like brass over his head. But though he did not feel in the mood for prayer, he went, as he was accustomed to do, to his place of prayer.
“I had no sooner opened my lips in an effort to pray,” he later said, “than I heard a sound, just above my head, like the rustling of silken robes, and immediately the Spirit of God descended upon me, completely enveloping my whole person, filling me, from the crown of my head to the soles of my feet, and O, the joy and happiness I felt! No language can describe the almost instantaneous transition from a dense cloud of mental and spiritual darkness into a refulgence of light and knowledge, as it was at that time imparted to my understanding. I then received a perfect knowledge that God lives, that Jesus Christ is the Son of God, and of the restoration of the holy Priesthood, and the fulness of the Gospel. It was a complete baptism—a tangible immersion … even more real and physical in its effects upon every part of my system than the immersion by water.”
This knowledge was of far greater value to him than all the wealth and honors the world could bestow. In faith, he had made his decision to join the Saints, and in response to his faith, the Lord had given him the peace of mind he had desired.

Lucinda looked at the note and shoved it to the bottom of her scripture bag.
“Lucinda has been asked to give a talk in Primary next week,” the note said.
Lucinda did not like giving talks. Standing up at the podium and looking out at all the children seated in the Primary room terrified her. She hated the way her voice shook and sounded so strange over the microphone. Even the little Sunbeams, she thought, did a better job.
Lucinda decided she would not show the note to her mom. If Mom didn’t know about the talk, then next week Lucinda could just tell Sister Fife that she had forgotten to prepare. It sounded like a good plan.
By Friday afternoon, Lucinda really had forgotten about the talk. As she sat in her room enjoying a new art project, she heard the phone ring. A few minutes later, Mom poked her head into Lucinda’s room.
“Lucinda, that was Sister Fife reminding you that you were asked to give a talk on Sunday.”
Lucinda flopped down on her bed. “I don’t want to give a talk,” she grumbled.
“But you always prepare such nice lessons for family home evening,” Mom said.
“But that’s with our family,” Lucinda said. “This is different. I get so scared speaking in front of everyone.”
“Heavenly Father will help you,” Mom said.
“But I’m still scared.”
“Well, if you really don’t want to do it, you’d better call Sister Fife and let her know,” Mom said.
Lucinda buried her face in her pillow. She was too shy to call the Primary president. That would be as scary as giving the talk. There was nothing else Lucinda could do. She got up and started writing.
All through church on Sunday, Lucinda worried about her talk. Every time she thought about it her stomach tightened and her heart started beating faster. Soon, she was sitting up front in the Primary room for Primary closing exercises.
Sister Fife called her name, and Lucinda walked to the microphone. She placed her talk on the podium and saw all the children and teachers. Lucinda’s hands shook. She said a silent prayer and opened her mouth, but the words just wouldn’t come out. Lucinda didn’t know what to do. She stood there, staring down at her paper.
It got very quiet in the room. It seemed like a long time went by, and Lucinda was frozen with fear. Then she took a deep breath and started to speak. The words of her talk began rushing out. Before she knew what had happened, it was over.
As Lucinda sat down, a warm feeling spread through her chest. She knew that Heavenly Father had helped her. And if He could help her get through a talk, He could help her get through anything.

In our home we have a Christmas tradition of decorating the house by the end of October or the beginning of November so that the spirit of Christmas comes sooner and remains longer. But in 1993 it certainly didn’t work this way.
In October I discovered I was pregnant. I already had two children—a four-year-old daughter and a two-year-old son—and we were experiencing a very difficult financial situation. “How will we support another baby?” I wondered. When the beginning-of-pregnancy nausea started, I found myself arguing with the Lord, complaining, murmuring, and failing to pray. I didn’t decorate the house as in other years. I didn’t want to remember the birth of the Lord Jesus Christ. For me there wouldn’t be Christmas that year.
Every year my mother holds a special banquet on 25 December to bring the family together. But that year as I sat down at the table with everyone else, I couldn’t eat. Everything made me sick. I was so sad and filled with such bitterness that I hardly participated in the family conversations, and I soon returned home.
Some hours later my brother ran to my house to tell me my father was feeling sick. I hurried to my parents’ house and saw that my dad could hardly breathe; he had a tingling in his arm and a horrible pain in his chest. It was a heart attack! I urged my brother to take my father to the emergency room.
I went back home and asked my husband to pray that my father would not die. He told me I was the one who should pray. But I had not prayed for many, many days and felt Heavenly Father would not hear my prayer. Wisely, my husband told me it was time for me to ask His forgiveness.
I knelt, weeping bitterly. My father was dying on his way to the hospital, and I implored our Father in Heaven not to let him die that Christmas. In desperation I implored the Lord for forgiveness, and a voice whispered in my ear, “Read your patriarchal blessing!” How could I think about my patriarchal blessing at a time like this? But the prompting continued, strongly urging me to read the blessing.
I stood up, found a copy of my patriarchal blessing, and began to read it. And then something amazing happened. I realized that several times the blessing mentioned that I am a beloved daughter of Heavenly Father and of my earthly parents and that if I honor my parents on earth, He will prolong their lives, they will have the opportunity to see my children grow, and they will rejoice with me in our posterity.
As I read, an understanding came to me. My father hadn’t yet seen my unborn child, neither had he seen this child grow. He wouldn’t die at that moment, I realized. My blessing was my answer that day. I knelt once again, this time thanking our Father in Heaven for the very special child—my son Guilherme—I was carrying.
Sometimes we are so blind, so selfish! And Heavenly Father, in His kindness and love, allows us to learn and grow from our trials. I thank Him for each day He allows me to live with my family—with my three dear children, my husband, and my parents. I know that God lives, that Jesus Christ lives, and that They love me and have great patience with me.

He could remember the day well. It was May 1975. He was 18 years old, and it was just a few days before graduation. His friends and he had planned a party to celebrate. As his car was in the shop, he’d asked his dad if he could borrow his car.
“What kind of party is it going to be, Kevin?” his dad had asked.
“Oh, you know, a party,” he’d stalled.
“There’s going to be beer there, isn’t there?”
“Ah, yeah, I guess so.”
“You can’t go,” his dad said firmly.
“If I can’t use your car, I’ll go with Doug. He can squeeze two more into his.”
“You didn’t hear me,” his dad said softly, but firmly. “I said you can’t go.” Kevin couldn’t believe his ears. He decided to try another approach. “Gee, dad, you never let me do anything I want.”
“I don’t?” his dad said with mock surprise. “I asked you not to grow your hair long. Right away you grew it long. But I didn’t stop you. I asked you not to hang around with those long-haired hoods. Right away you made friends with them. But again, I didn’t stop you. I have always let you make the decision, hoping you would make the right one.”
“Then why can’t I decide this time?” Kevin asked angrily.
“Okay, you can,” his dad said, struggling to keep his cool. “The choice is yours. The party or your home.”
“What?”
“If you go to that party, then don’t bother to come home. If you won’t respect me as your father, then I won’t treat you as my son. So go out that door now or go to your room. The choice is all yours!”
Kevin stared at him in disbelief. He wanted to walk out the door in defiance. But he knew his father never lied. If he left, he couldn’t come back. He had no money; his car was going to cost him more than he already had. He really had no choice but to stay. “Okay,” he said at last. “You win; I’m staying. But just wait until I get enough money. Then I’ll leave for good.”
“Kevin,” his dad said, “I love you. I’m doing this for your own good. You don’t know what kind of party you’re going to.”
“I hate you.”
Kevin’s dad finally lost his cool. “Then go to your room.”
The next day it had been all over the school. Kevin’s friend Doug had been fooling around and had slipped some drugs into the beer. He had hoped to liven things up. Kevin had never drunk beer before, but he had planned to that night. Still, he’d never wanted to mess around with drugs. Even users knew better than to mix drugs and beer. Doug had tried to fly his Mustang through a telephone pole. Three kids were dead, and another girl was in the hospital with brain damage.
“Dad saved your stupid life,” he said to himself. “If he’d let you go to that party, you’d be checking in upstairs. Or maybe you’d be lucky and be bouncing off the rubber walls at the funny farm. How did dad get those feelings?” Kevin was sure his dad had had a premonition of what was going to happen. But how had he gotten those feelings? Then one night, while trying to get up the courage to ask how, Kevin stumbled onto his parents praying. Then he knew.
It had taken him a week to get up the courage to say he was sorry. But three despair-filled funerals smashed at the wall he’d built up between him and his father. He had done it. The next day they went to the barber shop together. His hair came off easily.
It was harder to change his life. But his father was always there to help him. Three months later, when his father asked him to set a mission as a goal, he couldn’t refuse. But it took him two years to get ready. He worked a year to get the money. Then he spent a year at Ricks College. The small school gave him a needed change in atmosphere. He was pleasantly surprised when he received straight A’s for the first time in years. And the two Spanish classes were more useful than he had ever imagined.
Two weeks after he got home, he was in the Missionary Training Center. Two months after that he was on his way to a country he had hardly even heard of before—El Salvador.

Ever since I started running track, it has been a dream of mine to break the school record in the mile run. Then towards the end of this season I ran the mile in five minutes flat, breaking the record by more than three seconds.
The next day, though, we found out that my mile had not counted. The officials explained that I’d taken three steps on the inside of the track, which disqualified me from the race. My coach argued that I only stepped out because I was pushed by another runner. The official said, “It may not have been her fault that she was pushed out, but it was her fault she was so close to the line.” I walked away feeling like my accomplishment had been wrongly ripped from me.
The next Sunday in Young Women class, we watched a video that compared staying in the lines in sports to keeping the commandments.1 Throughout the lesson I sat there, angry at the reminder that I had failed.
The next day as I ran around the track, I looked down and noticed I was running right on the inside line. And every once in a while, I would step inside, just as the official had said. I immediately stopped running, humbled. I had become so comfortable with where I was running that I didn’t see the dangers in it anymore.
Luckily, I was given a second chance a few weeks later. I distanced myself from the center line and broke the school record, this time while staying in bounds.
That experience made me think about how close to the line I was running with some of the commandments. But because of Jesus Christ and His Atonement, I am always given another chance as I repent.
When it comes to the commandments, we should distance ourselves from the line and do our best to stay inbounds. But I’m grateful that when we do make mistakes, the Savior allows us to repent and try again.
Raygan P., Utah, USA

Watching their older sisters gain their testimonies has been a big boost to the development of their own faith. Erin remembers her first year at girls’ camp. She felt lonely, and the bugs were horrible. She wasn’t having a very good time, but her older sister, Lindsay, was there to help.
“She was being so positive and was trying to help me have a good time. I remember my first testimony meeting. I was too afraid to get up, but she got up and talked about her feelings about the gospel and how much we share together. We were both crying. It really strengthened my testimony. Even though it was five years ago, it still is a really big faith builder for me.”

I was reading the story “Walking in Remembrance” in your July 2002 issue. While reading this I was reminded of my stake’s pioneer trip and my experience in June 2000. Our trip was to be four days long but was cut short because of a really bad storm. We were awakened at 1 A.M. the first night because our sleeping bags were soaked. We were sent home the next afternoon. I often ponder how fortunate I am because when the pioneers went through rainstorms or snowstorms, they couldn’t pack up and call it quits. Through my experience on the pioneer trek, I have gained a huge appreciation for what the pioneers did.
Julia NelsonSpanaway, Washington

After I was assigned to lead a stake self-reliance committee, I realized that I was underemployed myself. With this realization, I desired more from my professional life.
I felt a renewed desire to find a better job and asked for help to write a professional résumé. I sent my new résumé to several businesses and was soon called for interviews.
At one, the interviewer pointed out a line on my résumé that mentioned my work as a counselor in the stake presidency and asked, “Could you tell me in five seconds what this church service means?”
I said that I was in the leadership of an organization responsible for the guidance and welfare of more than 2,500 people. The interviewer became interested and said, “You have one minute to decide how to give me a five-second response to this question: how do you guide those 2,500 people?”
I knew that this would be the defining moment in the interview. I prayed and asked my Heavenly Father for help and quickly remembered the lessons I had learned from the self-reliance group. I felt a surge of confidence.
After one minute, the interviewer asked, “How do you guide those 2,500 people?”
“We help them establish goals,” I answered.
The interviewer stood, shook my hand, and said, “You’re hired.”
It is amazing how God took my hand and answered my prayer. I am grateful to my Savior for inspiring our leaders to create the self-reliance initiative. I have been personally blessed by it, and I have seen the simple, inspired processes of the self-reliance initiative bless many others in our stake. I am so convinced of the ability of self-reliance principles to lift lives that when I became a leader over 15 employees in my new job, I began teaching them the principles of self-reliance.
I have grown and I am more capable than I thought I could be. I now earn a salary that sustains me and my family. This initiative helps us improve each day by helping us find greater self-reliance.

Anyone who has shipped cookies to a missionary can appreciate the anxiety Cheryl Martell, 19, and her mother felt while preparing for the California State Fair. They knew they would need to transport boxes and boxes of delicate cakes, breads, and pastries, as well as dozens of cookies, from their home in Thousand Oaks, California, to the fair grounds in Sacramento, 360 miles away. It would be disastrous to have even one of the items damaged, and yet everything had to arrive quickly so it could be judged while still fresh.
Air travel, obviously, would be the fastest transportation. But both Cheryl and her mother had nightmares of a baggage compartment splattered with frosting and breaded with brownie crumbs. Car or bus travel offered little alternative. Jostling bumps and sun beating through windows would reduce skillfully crafted cream puffs into gobs of goo.
It was Brother Martell who finally solved the problem. He called officials at the airline and explained what was going on. For half fare, they agreed to let the Martells have two extra seats for boxes of baked goods. The family finished the baking, wrapped each cake, cookie, or loaf separately, and then stored individual bundles carefully in styrofoam ice chests and cardboard boxes. When passengers boarded the plane that day, the two front seats were stacked high with containers strapped carefully in place with extended seat belts. In the next two seats sat Sister Martell and Cheryl, cautiously guarding their cargo.
The baked goods arrived safely at the fair, despite a racing taxi ride across town, and the Martells weren’t disappointed when the ribbons were taped on displays the next day. Mom amassed 23 ribbons, including 12 first places; Cheryl won a first- and a second-place ribbon; and younger sister Debbie, 11, took first in two categories and second in one.

This story happened in Taiwan.
“Ready, Louie?” Miss Li asked.
Louie nodded. He put his fingers to the black and white piano keys and began to play. Plink, plink, plink. He loved playing all the notes together to make music. He played through the whole first page and moved to the next.
PLUNK. Oops. He always had trouble playing that part. It had lots of quick notes. Louie started again from the beginning.
PLUNK. Louie frowned. Not again!
“That’s OK,” Miss Li said. “Let’s try again slowly.”
Louie practiced with Miss Li’s help a few more times. But he still couldn’t get through that part very well.
“This part is tricky, but I know you can do it,” Miss Li said. “Do you think you can practice more at home before the performance?”
“I think so,” Louie said.
The next day, Louie practiced piano again. But he kept messing up the same part! Plink, plink, PLUNK.
Dad came into the room. “How’s it going?” he asked.
Louie pointed at the notes on the music sheet. “This part is really hard. I keep having to do it over and over!”
“That does look hard,” Dad said. “But this reminds me of a story in the Book of Mormon. The story about Nephi going back to get the plates.”
Louie’s eyes got big. “I love that story! Nephi kept going back to try again. And Heavenly Father helped him.”
Dad smiled. “That’s right. I think if you keep trying, Heavenly Father will help you like he helped Nephi.”
Louie nodded and started over. Dad sat in a chair close to Louie and listened. Louie focused on the part that was hard. He played each note slowly.
Then Louie played through the whole song again. Each time he played, he got faster. At last he played all the notes right! He felt so good. He didn’t even notice how long it took.
“You did it! Great job,” Dad said.
Mom stood in the doorway. “It sounded great, Louie!”
“Thanks,” Louie said. “I finally learned the hard part.”
Mom gave Louie a hug. “I’m proud of you for working so hard.”
On the night of the performance, Louie was nervous. His heart was pounding. His hands were sweaty.
Finally, his name was called. He walked onto the stage and looked at the parents and kids listening. He said the name of his song, then sat down on the hard bench.
Louie took a deep breath and placed his hands on the shiny keys. He knew he had done all he could. Heavenly Father would help him.
Louie started to play. The notes came just as he had practiced. Then it was time for the hard part.
He played each note right. It didn’t feel quite so hard this time!
Finally he played the last note of the song. Everyone clapped as he lifted his fingers from the keys. Louie smiled and bowed. He saw Mom, Dad, and his sisters clapping and smiling. He did it! He had tried again even when it was hard, just like Nephi. And Heavenly Father had helped him.
Illustrations by Toby Newsome

It was nighttime, and the usual noise of the Missionary Training Center was hushed now. I huddled deeper into the blanket I had wrapped around me and continued my reading.
I had to catch up. If I was going to reach my goal, I would have to finish reading the remaining two-thirds of the book by the end of the week. It was a challenge I eagerly accepted, even though I had already read the Book of Mormon before. My copy was well marked, and I recognized each story as I read. But never had the messages meant more to me than now. Perhaps that was why the MTC president issued us the challenge to read the entire Book of Mormon during our three weeks of training there.
I read for a long time. The longer I read that quiet night, the more those stories became real to me. I was almost surprised at the fascinating newfound power of the book. It had me enthralled. I felt that the Book of Mormon was speaking directly to me, and now I was able to listen as I had never done before.
I was in the book of Alma, rediscovering the story of how Alma and Amulek were delivered from their enemies as the power of God brought down the prison walls that held them captive. It was what led up to their imprisonment that had such a powerful effect on me. I read how some of the more soft-hearted people believed their words and began to pray to God for forgiveness. But most of the people rejected everything they had been taught. The hostile unbelievers bound Alma and Amulek and planned to kill them and everyone who accepted and believed their teachings. Every man who believed was chased out of the land, stoned, and spit upon. Then the wicked men took the wives and children of the believers with Alma and Amulek to a large, raging fire.
As I read, I could see and feel the whole scene. I saw the wicked tie up Alma and Amulek and make them watch what happened. They burned their scriptures, trying to destroy the word of God they had rejected. Then, with no shame or empathy, they took the crying women and children and, one by one, threw them into the deadly blaze.
I sat there with my Book of Mormon, my heart literally burning with sympathy inside me. I think I understood to some tiny degree how Alma and Amulek must have felt as they watched the repentant martyrs die, for I had witnessed the same scene as I read, and I knew that it really happened. And because I knew this account was real, I knew and finally understood that the book I was reading was true. Tears spilled from my newly-opened eyes as I realized that I had taken the truth for granted for so long. But now I had gained a testimony. Though I had believed before, now I knew.
With my face wet with tears, I looked up from my Book of Mormon and out at the falling snow. I was no longer cold. I felt indescribable warmth wrapped completely around me. Never have I felt so moved to pray as at that moment. I knelt and prayed a sincere prayer of thanks. I lost track of time as I knelt there and poured out my soul in gratitude. The tears came unashamedly now as I thanked my Heavenly Father for giving me the Book of Mormon, and for the powerful yet peaceful witness I had received that it was true.
Now each time I read the stories of young Nephi or old King Benjamin, of Samuel the Lamanite or Alma the great missionary, the familiar feelings come back strongly and unmistakably. Joy and light swell in my heart again and again as I read, and tears flow when I remember that winter night in the Missionary Training Center.

Illustrations by Tuesday Mourning
I never considered myself someone who compromised her standards. I didn’t wear immodest clothing or miss church on Sunday. I went to early-morning seminary every day, and being tempted to use bad language was never a problem for me. But dating was different.
Jonathan* and I first met at a summer youth camp. I was friendly, sure, but not really interested in him. Throughout the weeklong camp, we became little more than acquaintances and, at the end of the week, we got each other’s contact information. The camp was outside the state I lived in, so when I learned that he lived not only in the same state but also in a neighboring stake, I was kind of surprised. I was even more surprised when I received an email from him a few months later.
We began exchanging emails. I didn’t see him very often because he lived an hour and a half away, but we maintained a steady friendship for months. Neither he nor I was 16 yet, so going on dates wasn’t even on our minds.
Several months later, we saw each other again at the same summer youth camp. By that time, we were both 16. Our friendship progressed, and by the end of the camp, I was sad to see him leave. After we got home, we began talking even more frequently, and a few months later, we were officially dating.
At first, everything was fine. We would take turns driving to see each other twice a month. I became very close to his family, and he with mine. We spent hours talking on the phone or on the Internet every night.
I justified our dating: we were both 16, we lived an hour and a half apart so nothing bad would happen, and even though For the Strength of Youth says to “avoid going on frequent dates with the same person” ([2011], 4), it didn’t seem like a big deal.
Though we maintained a physical distance, we quickly became emotionally close. After over a year of dating, I felt like we’d grown too close, and I broke it off. I later learned that this had nearly destroyed him emotionally.
We didn’t talk to each other much for almost a year. But when we both started attending the same college, it wasn’t long until we were talking again. I soon realized how much I missed him, and I regretted my decision to break up with him.
Soon we were dating again. And because we had dated steadily in high school despite the counsel not to, our relationship progressed even faster than it had before. We saw each other every day, and I became emotionally captivated. We talked seriously about marriage and a future life together. After just a few months, I was certain that I would wait for him while he was on his mission and that we would get married after.
A few weeks before he received his mission call, I visited him in his hometown. I had just gone through one of the worst weekends of my life, and I looked forward to seeing him. When I got to his house, I noticed he was acting a little strange, but I didn’t think much of it. He wanted to go for a drive, which wasn’t unusual, but I felt uneasy. After driving for a little bit, we stopped.
“I don’t think we should date anymore,” he said.
I was stunned.
He went on. He told me he didn’t love me anymore and that he didn’t want to marry me when he got back from his mission—he didn’t even want to date me.
I left feeling angry, upset, frustrated, but mostly just heartbroken. I cried the entire way home, angry with myself for investing two years in someone who ended up not loving me.
For months I didn’t let go. I held onto the idea that he would change—that suddenly he would love me again, just as suddenly as he had decided that he didn’t. I couldn’t concentrate on classes. I wouldn’t let myself have fun. I constantly felt hurt and depressed.
During that time, I studied the scriptures more than I ever had before and prayed fervently every day asking for help through this trial. I desperately wanted the Lord to take away my pain. It didn’t go away all at once, but my pain did start to lessen. I began to let the Savior heal my broken heart. And I began to see what I had done wrong.
When we first started dating in high school, I didn’t immediately see the negative consequences of not following the guidelines in For the Strength of Youth. Life actually seemed pretty great. I was doing well in my classes, and Jonathan and I were having fun. But after we broke up, I realized what I had missed out on. I sacrificed better relationships with my family and friends because I was so focused on my relationship with Jonathan. I caused myself a lot of pain because I was too emotionally involved too young. And even though my decision to steady date as a youth hadn’t led me to violate the law of chastity, I left the relationship emotionally hurt. Had I followed the standard instead of thinking I was an exception to the rule, I could have avoided these trials.
After this experience, I learned a very valuable lesson. The Lord gives us standards not to prevent us from progressing but to guide us safely through this difficult life. I know that when we follow the standards, even if we don’t understand why they’re there, we will be protected.

A human drama illustrating the bond between the teacher and the young women in her class has been an inspiration to me, as I know it will be to you. It is the account of a first-year Beehive in Young Women. I share it with you, using her own words:
“One day, a few months before my 12th birthday, I noticed a note card on the dresser of the room I shared with my older sister. It read, ‘I’m happy to be your teacher and hope that we have a great year in Mutual.’ It was signed ‘Baur Dee.’
“I soon learned that all of the girls loved Baur Dee. They visited her at home, wanted to sit with her in church, and stayed after Mutual each Wednesday to talk with her.
“Looking back so many years, I am amazed that I still have such a vivid memory of my earliest real meeting with Baur Dee. That first night, as I walked in the front door of our ward building to attend Mutual, she stood waiting to greet me. I noticed for the first time the smile which always transformed her appearance from average to beautiful. ‘Welcome,’ she said to me. ‘I’m so glad you’re in my class. We’re going to have a great time!’ There was no adjustment period for me from Primary to Mutual. I felt right at home from that moment.
“Over the next few weeks, I joined the other girls as one of Baur Dee’s fans. At the time, I didn’t try to figure out her popularity. So many years later, though, I believe I understand. She really, truly cared about each one of us, and we knew it.
“Baur Dee suffered from a disease called nephritis—a disease which not too many years later would be treated with dialysis and often cured with a kidney transplant. But for Baur Dee there was no cure, no miracle. She passed away peacefully. She was 27 years old.
“After the funeral services, as we girls stood somberly around the open grave at the cemetery, we made a vow that we would visit Baur Dee’s final resting place together every Memorial Day throughout our lives and that we would never, ever allow her memory to die.”
Forty years have gone by since Baur Dee, this teacher of girls, passed away—yet the pledge lives on. One of her girls has said: “Wherever I go, whatever I do, something of Baur Dee goes with me and with each of her ‘girls.’ She lives on in us and in those with whom we have shared her lessons.” As Henry Brooks Adams observed, “A teacher affects eternity; [she] can never tell where [her] influence stops.”

During one family home evening when I was a young boy, my parents put three banks and six little jars in the middle of the table. They announced that my two brothers and I would each receive an allowance of 50 cents per month. They taught us how to calculate 10 percent of our money to pay our tithing. We each took a nickel and put it in our tithing jars. Then my parents taught us to save and to plan for the future. They asked us to save half of our allowance for our missions and for college, so we each put a quarter in our savings jars. That left us with 20 cents to put in our banks. We could spend that money however we wanted.
In that one simple lesson, my parents taught many principles about faith and tithing, planning for the future, and saving. By the time I was 19, I had added to that basic beginning and had saved enough to pay for my entire mission, plus two years of university studies. I’ll repeat, I was born of goodly parents.

One Sunday, nearly a thousand people came to listen to Elder Woodruff speak. The leader of a local church was angry and asked a constable to arrest Elder Woodruff.
Constable: I’ve come to arrest you for preaching illegally to the people.
Wilford Woodruff: I have a license that allows me to preach. Our meeting is about to start, but if you would like to sit here, I’d be happy to talk to you more after the meeting.
As the constable listened, he felt the Spirit. Elder Woodruff then asked if anyone would like to be baptized.
Constable: Mr. Woodruff, I would like to be baptized.
The constable returned to the leader of the local church and told him he would not arrest Elder Woodruff. The leader sent two of his clerks to spy on Elder Woodruff, but they got baptized as well. After that, he did not dare send anyone else!

My name is Modibo Diarra. In 1981 I had the honor of being the first person to be baptized a member of the Church in my native land of Mali. It is hard to believe how much my life has changed since then, and that it all happened because my dog was sick!
Mali is in northwestern Africa. The climate is hot, dry, and dusty. Although the official language is French, many people speak Bambara, a local language. Most are Moslems. Our capital, Bamako, is a medium-sized city on the Niger River. Here our family lives in typical Malian style.
Our home consists of four square walls surrounding a large open courtyard. Small rooms open onto the yard, where the shade of a tall tree is used for family gatherings. Against one wall are pens for chickens and rabbits, and a goat wanders freely, seeking food.
One day, my dog got sick, and I thought it might be a case of rabies. At that time I was a school teacher, and one of my students told me about an American veterinarian, Dr. Jerry Zaugg, who was working in Mali. I arranged for Dr. Zaugg to come to our house and asked my wife to prepare tea for him, as is the custom here. But our guest declined to drink the tea. He said it was contrary to the teachings of his church. That interested me, and I asked him many questions.
Several good things came from that visit. First, I learned that my dog did not have rabies. But, more importantly, Dr. Zaugg asked me to tutor him in French. I agreed to do so, and after each of our French lessons, Dr. Zaugg would tell me about his church, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
He invited me to attend Church services with two American families who were meeting in a house. The meetings were in English, which I did not speak well then, but the Church members gave me books in French: the Book of Mormon, the Doctrine and Covenants, and A Marvelous Work and a Wonder. The Spirit was beautiful and strong, and eventually I was converted and baptized.
After my conversion, I became a better husband and father. My wife and children could not believe how much I changed. My two oldest boys, Amadou and Gausou, began to ask about the Church and read the Book of Mormon. They were baptized in 1984. Soon they were inviting other young people to see Church films and to meet the American members who lived in Mali. We had no official branch, but I kept a history of our sacrament meetings in a green book with the word Record on the cover.
As a Church member, I received many blessings. Then came a period that greatly tried my faith. In February 1988, I lost my job as a teacher and my position as a leader in the teachers’ union. I was thwarted on all sides in my efforts to find work. My life had been dedicated to teaching. How would I now support my wife and six children? And how would I feed the eleven other relatives who, for economic reasons, were living in our home?
Everybody worked hard to bring in money. My wife took in sewing, while Amadou and Gausou used a lathe to make tools to sell. Their younger brother cleaned shoes. Even my mother opened a small business selling spices. Eventually I had to sell the family car, for which we had saved for years. I pleaded with the Lord to help me provide for my family.
During this difficult time, a package arrived from Church officials in Salt Lake City containing a simplified version of Gospel Principles, which had been translated into Bambara. They asked if I would check the translation and then translate twelve hymns. As soon as I began this work, I realized its importance and tried to do it as correctly as possible. I struggled many times to find the right word or expression. Then, at other times, my mind would open in a remarkable way—as though someone were dictating to me. (When I finished the translations, I asked them to keep most of the money they were to pay me. I considered it my tithing.) I continued to pray constantly because of our desperate situation.
Little did I guess what would happen next. In May, I received a letter from an old friend, an American doctor named James Ferwarda. I had met Dr. Ferwarda during his visit to Mali in 1985. At his request, I had accompanied him on a tour of my country. Now, to my great surprise, he was sending me a round-trip airplane ticket and inviting me to visit him at his home in the United States!
I was astonished, overwhelmed at his offer. But it seemed impossible for me to leave my family at this critical time. The Church members urged me to accept the invitation, however. Perhaps, they said, the Lord would open the way for me to go to the temple while I was in the United States. Like many members, I cherished the dream of attending the temple “someday.”
Still dumbfounded, I did go, “not knowing beforehand the things which I should do.” (See 1 Ne. 4:6.) It was incredible that someone who was barely surviving financially could make such an expensive trip. After I arrived in the United States, Dr. Ferwarda learned of my deep desire to attend the temple, which was more than 2,000 kilometers away. Although he was not a member of the Church, he told me, “I respect your opinion, and I will pay for your ticket to Salt Lake City, too.”
I visited the Church offices as soon as I arrived in Salt Lake City. I will never, ever forget that day. Elder Alexander Morrison of the Seventy ordained me an elder. Then I went to the temple and received the endowment. Everyone in the temple was so kind. The beauty and serenity there moved me deeply. I was also impressed by the young missionaries, whom I saw for the first time. Now I knew that I wanted my sons to serve missions.
The next day, I visited the offices of a humanitarian organization that sponsors a number of agricultural and educational projects in Mali. Hoping that they might need my services, I met with several administrators but returned to Mali without a job offer.
Our family’s trial of faith lasted five more months. During that time I was grateful for the temple ordinances, which strengthened me. Nevertheless, I often felt like a man who was drowning in a deep river. Daily I entreated the Lord to deliver us from our economic crisis. Then, in November, the miracle came. The humanitarian organization that I had met with in Salt Lake City sent me a telegram, notifying me that I had been hired as their new field director. I knew without a doubt that only the Lord’s hand had plucked me from the river.
My job is a challenging one, requiring negotiations with government officials, local trainers, and village chiefs. Whenever I begin something that seems impossible, someone is sure to say, “You will never accomplish that!” But I know the Lord has the power to help me. I pray, and things work out somehow. I am still not rich, but I can feed my family and the others who depend on me. And now I am able to travel to Utah on business once a year. During these visits, I go to the temple, and I am sometimes able to attend general conference.
Other things have happened, wonderful things. In 1992 my son Amadou completed his mission to French-speaking Canada. There he helped to teach and baptize many people, including African immigrants and Moslems. Now both he and Gausou are studying in the United States. Gausou, too, wants to serve a mission some day. I pray that he will, and that all the rest of my family will join the Church. I pray that all of my children will be good students and honest citizens.
I look forward to the day when the Church will be organized in Mali. As of this writing, I am the only resident member of the Church here. I sustain myself spiritually by praying in all circumstances and by reading the Book of Mormon. And I still have in my care a worn green book with the word Record on the cover. But in my heart I carry another record. I will remember forever how the Lord has poured out his blessings upon me.

In my training as a new General Authority, I found myself in Costa Rica with Elder F. Arthur Kay and others. In prayer and fasting, we visited families who were less active. The stake president and bishops had fasted and prayed that the Lord would indicate to them the choice families to be visited, and the families were then notified of the planned visits.

We first entered the home of a young, successful businessman with a lovely wife and children. A former leader, he had transgressed the laws of the Church. As the Spirit of the Lord spoke through his servants, tears came to all our eyes as the couple committed to prepare to go to the Lord’s house, the beautiful new temple in Guatemala, to be sealed for eternity.

Some of my warmest memories are of my childhood home. My parents were concerned with the activities of each child. They planned fun evenings at home. We would watch the honey candy boil, then pour it out so it could cool, and then we would all stand around and pull it into strings so we could cut it and enjoy it. This was great fun!
I remember our family around the piano singing and trying to learn harmony. It was at these home nights that I had my first experiences with the children’s stories of the Bible.

Robert Wood. Robby frowned as he read his name. All his friends called him Robby. His whole name looked strange and uncomfortable on the bright yellow Primary birthday calendar. It didn’t seem to belong with the names of the other kids. He wasn’t like them. He had been to church only about three times in his whole life. He wouldn’t have come today except his new teacher, Sister Jensen, had sent him a special invitation and offered him a ride.
Robby liked singing the songs. Sharing time was interesting, too. When his class was excused, he followed the other children to their classroom. They were ahead of Sister Jensen. She seems old to be a Primary teacher, Robby thought as she stopped to talk briefly to someone in the hallway.
Robby chose a seat at the very back of the room, but when he started to sit down, a boy kicked his chair out from under him. An ugly word popped out of Robby’s mouth. He was immediately sorry, and he blushed a deep red when he saw Sister Jensen standing in the doorway. She must have seen the whole thing.
The girls raised their hands and pointed at Robby. The boys snickered. Robby wanted to run home. But Sister Jensen closed the door and smiled at him. Then, turning to the girls, she said, “I just love to see so many volunteers for the prayer.” The girls put their hands down quickly, but Sister Jensen still assigned two of them to give prayers.
During class, Robby watched Sister Jensen. She smiled a lot. She made Robby feel he was just as important as the other children.
After class, Sister Jensen hugged the children as they left. When it was Robby’s turn, she quietly shut the door. Robby was alone with Sister Jensen, and he knew why. She was going to scold him for saying that angry word. Well, at least she hadn’t embarrassed him by doing it in front of everybody.
“I’m so glad you came today, Robert,” Sister Jensen said with a smile.
Robby looked down and traced on the floor with his shoe.
When he didn’t answer, Sister Jensen continued, “I know you’re embarrassed about what you said. If someone kicked a chair and made me fall, I would be pretty upset, too.”
“They wouldn’t do it to you,” Robby said. “They just do it to me because I’m not a church kid.”
Sister Jensen looked thoughtful as she bent to gather some of her things. When she straightened up, she was wearing her big smile again. “Sit down a minute, Robert,” she said, pointing to a chair.
Robby sat quietly while Sister Jensen pulled up a chair beside him.
“Do you like our bishop?” she asked.
Robby thought for a minute. He remembered the time the bishop came to his house when his mother was sick and couldn’t care for the family. After that, some ladies came by to help take care of his mother and his family. The bishop seemed really nice. “Yeah, I think he’s nice,” Robby said.
“Well, believe it or not, I used to be his Primary teacher,” Sister Jensen explained.
“Oh.” Robby nodded. “I guess you could have been; you are old.” Robby blushed when he realized what he’d said.
Sister Jensen laughed heartily. “That’s true! He was a sweet little boy, just like you. You and he have a lot in common—his parents never brought him to church, either. I used to pick him up all the time. He even sat with me in sacrament meeting.
“When he was about your age,” Sister Jensen continued, “he decided to make choices that would help him the rest of his life. He had a little problem with angry words, and he decided that when he became upset, he’d say ‘How exasperating!’ I told him that was a good start but he also needed to fill his mind with good things. That way only good things would come out of his mouth.”
Robby traced on the floor with his other shoe. “Well, maybe when I’m a grown-up, I can do that, too,” he told her.
“But now’s the time to make important choices that will bless you throughout your life, including your choice of words.”
“How can words bless me?”
“When you are careful with the words you choose to say, you show others you care enough about them not to offend them. Choosing good words helps you gain more friends, and you’re also not offending your Heavenly Father. Besides, when you have good words inside, good actions often follow.”
Robby nodded that he understood, and he helped Sister Jensen gather up the rest of her teaching materials.
The next Sunday, Sister Jensen picked Robby up in time for sacrament meeting. The bishop was conducting, and he seemed to be having a difficult time with some of the announcements. Finally he put down the paper he was reading, smiled at the ward members, and exclaimed, “How exasperating!”
Robby giggled as Sister Jensen nudged his arm. He leaned over and whispered, “That’s what I’m going to say when I’m mad, too.”
“Good for you, Robby,” Sister Jensen said with a wink.
Later, in the Primary room, Robby again noticed his name on the yellow birthday board. “That’s funny,” he said.
“What’s that?” Sister Jensen asked.
“Last week my name seemed different.”
Sister Jensen looked puzzled. “What do you mean?” she asked.
“Well, last week my name looked out of place up there by the names of the church kids. But today it looks like it belongs.”
Sister Jensen put her arm around Robby, and he noticed tears in her eyes. “That’s because you do belong here,” she said.

After Paul got ready for bed, he sat on Mommy’s lap in the rocking chair in his room. Mommy held Paul close as she told him the news. “The doctor says you need to have another surgery on your ears,” she said. “He thinks your ears will be all better after that.”
Paul fiddled with the buttons on his pajamas. He had had surgery before. The medicine made him feel sick, and he had to wear a big, white bandage around his ears until they healed. With his head bandaged, he couldn’t ride his bike or play on the swings. Paul started to worry, but then he had an idea.
“Mommy, can we ask Heavenly Father to bless me?” Paul asked.
“That’s a good idea,” Mommy said.
They knelt on the floor and Mommy prayed, “Heavenly Father, please bless Paul that he will be comforted during his surgery. Please guide the doctor’s hands so he can help heal Paul. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
A warm, peaceful feeling filled Paul up inside. He was still a little nervous, but he knew that he would be safe.
A few days later, Paul went to the hospital for his surgery. He put on a hospital gown and talked to the doctor. Paul liked the way the doctor told him what was going to happen so he wouldn’t be as scared. He liked to think of Heavenly Father guiding the doctor’s hands to make his ears better. Paul and Mommy said another prayer, and Paul felt the same warm feeling inside. Mommy still looked a little worried.
“It’s OK,” Paul told her. He gave Mommy a hug. “Remember, we said a prayer.”
Mommy smiled at Paul. “You are right. Heavenly Father will bless you.”
When Paul woke up from his surgery, Mommy was sitting beside his bed.
“Hello, Mommy,” he said sleepily.
Mommy smiled. “Hello, Paul! How do you feel?”
“Pretty good,” Paul said. “Are my ears OK?”
“Yes,” Mommy said. “Our prayers were answered. The doctor said that everything went well, and your ears will get better.”
Paul smiled. “I knew it, Mommy,” he said. “Heavenly Father answered our prayers.”