Gospel Story Finder

Geoffrey got off his bike in front of Bob Tschaggeny’s home and sat down on the front steps with him.
“Monday it will start all over again,” said Bob. “School isn’t bad except for that first day. The teacher looks at my name ‘Tschaggeny’ on the card and doesn’t know how to pronounce it. He’s embarrassed and so am I. The same thing happens every year.”
“I know just what you mean,” said Geof, “but it’s my first name they can’t pronounce. The teacher starts to say ‘George,’ then tries ‘Geeof,’ and then ends up with ‘Jeff.’ Half the time they just call me George and I have to explain that my name is pronounced ‘Jeff.’”
“What would it be like to have a simple name?” mused Bob.
“Hi, Geof,” called their friend Mary who was walking along the sidewalk. “What are you two talking about? You look like the end of the world has come.”
“Not the world,” said Geof. “It’s the end of summer.”
“I’m glad,” said Mary. “I like school.”
“You would,” said Bob, “with a name like yours.”
“My name is dull,” responded Mary. “Mary Jones—how plain and ordinary!”
“Right,” said Geof, “but you don’t have to spell it or tell people how to pronounce it. Bob hates to have his name said wrong too. No teacher has said my name right yet.”
“But your names are distinguished. They’re different. They make you a somebody. Mary Jones—how bland. I wish my name were exciting. One year a girl named Huttaballe sat in front of me. The teacher said to her, ‘What an interesting name. What nationality is it?’ Then she looked at my card and just said, ‘Oh, Mary Jones.’”
That night Bob said to his parents, “Isn’t there something we could do with our name so it would be easier to pronounce? Why do we have a silent T in front?”
“Tschaggeny is an honorable Swiss name, son. You should be proud of it,” Father replied. “Our name has been on the records since 1500.”
In the Gordon home that night, Geof said to his mother, “Why did you have to name me after the old poet Geoffrey Chaucer? If you wanted to call me Jeff, why didn’t you spell it J-e-f-f?”
“We didn’t name you after the poet, Geof,” said his mother. “We thought that spelling your name with a “G” looked better with Gordon, and it seemed to suit you very well.”
As Mary Jones helped her mother with the dishes that night, she said, “I always thought it would be nice to have a distinctive name, but Bob Tschaggeny and Geoffrey Gordon are disgusted because they have to spell and pronounce their names for our new teacher every year. I guess none of us are satisfied.”
“Mary,” said her mother, “every time I say your name I remember all the lovely Marys I’ve known or read about. It makes your name even more beautiful to me.”
Monday morning, Bob, Geof, and Mary were seated at their desks in school, waiting to welcome their new teacher. He stood behind his desk, very tall and very straight. He nodded to the class and then wrote the word “One” on the chalkboard.
When the bell rang, the teacher said, “You will each notice a number on the upper left-hand corner of your desk. That number will identify you. We will no longer use names. Your number should be put at the top of all your papers too. You are to address me as ‘One.’”
The class began, and through reading, social studies, arithmetic, and gym, each student was called by a number. No names were used. Bob and Geof thought the idea was great. Their problem seemed to be solved.
During supper that night, Bob’s father asked him if the new teacher could pronounce his name correctly.
“He didn’t have to,” laughed Bob. “We don’t have names this year. The teacher gave each of us a number instead.”
“Do you like that better?” asked his father.
“Well,” said Bob, “It’s been great so far.”
“So you really don’t need a name,” his father questioned further. “It seems very impersonal to me.”
“I still like it fine,” Bob insisted, but he didn’t sound quite so sure this time.
When Geof came home from school his mother asked, “Well, who is it this time? George, Geeof, or Geof?”
“None of those,” said Geof. “This year I’m ‘Ten.’” Then he explained the new teacher’s system of using numbers.
“That’s interesting,” said Mother, “How does he call the numbers? Does he say each one loudly with a different feeling or tone?”
“Nope,” said Geof, “he just stands tall and straight and says numbers without a smile or a nod or any feeling.”
“Guess what? We don’t need names this year,” Mary told her mother when she reached home after school.
“What do you mean?” asked Mother.
“We all have numbers so we don’t use any names. And would you believe it, I’m ‘Thirteen.’ Isn’t that different for me to be called something distinctive?”
In a few weeks the novelty of being known as numbers had worn off. Mary, Bob, and Geof were glad when Friday night came so that for two days at least they would be called by their own names. All the children agreed that school didn’t seem the same as it had other years. Everyone was disinterested. There was no spirit of competition or sharing and little concern about success or failure.
One Monday morning on the way to school Mary saw Bob and Geof just poking along.
“What’s wrong now?” she called.
“What fun is it to go to school and just be ‘Ten’ again?” Geof asked.
“Or ‘Thirteen’” Mary replied. “I don’t like being called ‘Thirteen.’ I like the way my mother calls me ‘Mary’ and I wish everyone else would too.”
“Well, I wish …” But Bob’s wish was cut off by the sound of the bell, and the three friends hurried to class.
At the door of the classroom the teacher stood smiling. He handed each of them a piece of chalk and said, “Good morning. Please take this chalk and write your full name on the board with the others.”
After the last student sat down, they all looked up at the chalkboard. It was covered with the names of everyone in class and it looked good! Across the top in large letters the name SAM SMITH was written.
The teacher turned to the class. “Thank you,” he said, “for cooperating with me in my experiment these past weeks. You helped me prove something. When you became a number, you each seemed to become less of a person. You were interested and excited boys and girls at the beginning of the school year. Now you don’t seem to care much about school or each other.”
The students looked around at their classmates as the teacher continued, “My name is Sam Smith. I’m glad to know each of you by your names—Thomas Ward, Robert Tschaggeny, Geoffrey Gordon, Mary Jones, John Martin. …”
Mr. Smith looked at each one with a friendly smile on his face as he said the names. “Now let’s remember who we really are and work together,” he suggested.
“Thank you, Mr. Sam Smith,” Bob said.
“Yes, thank you, Mr. Smith,” the other boys and girls chorused. “That’ll be great!”

Although Justin and Tiffany now live in Utah while they are finishing their schooling, they grew up hundreds of miles apart. Tiffany grew up in Columbus, Ohio, and Justin’s family lived in Roanoke, Virginia, both largely non–Latter-day Saint environments. They would likely have never met, except that both decided to make every effort to attend school where they could be around other members of the Church. They chose to attend Brigham Young University—Idaho. They were assigned seats next to each other in their geology class. At first, Justin, a returned missionary from the London England South Mission, was quiet (he insists he was just trying to concentrate). Soon they started having fun discussions.

As their friendship developed, it changed to courtship. But because they were apart during the summers, they dated for more than two and a half years. During this time, Tiffany and Justin discovered they shared a rock-solid desire for a temple marriage. Tiffany says, “I first developed a desire to be married in the temple when I realized that there were special covenants I could make there that could not be made anywhere else. I knew that if I was married in the temple there would be no other place I could possibly be married that would be more right.”

The first time Aries and Lowenna saw each other was at a young single adult dance. It was just a glance; neither spoke. Six months later, Aries and a couple of his friends traveled 120 miles (190 km) to a young single adult housewarming activity at Lowenna’s student house. He says, “I guess it was the normal thing to do where the young single adults are so far spread.”

They both recognized each other from the dance, and Aries wasted no time inviting Lowenna and her sister to go wakeboarding with him. Lowenna and her sister didn’t make it because the distance to pick them up and return would have been too difficult for Aries, but they continued to see each other a couple of times a month at dances and activities. They grew to be good friends. As their feelings became stronger, they would regularly call and talk on the phone.

As Lowenna says, “Our feelings were stronger than we had ever experienced with past boyfriends or girlfriends. We both wanted to be the best that we possibly could for each other.”

Aries planned to propose and secretly bought a ring and overcame the daunting task of asking her dad’s permission. The couple planned to walk to a beautiful waterfall in a place where Aries spent a lot of his childhood. As Aries knelt to rummage in his backpack for the ring, Lowenna, thinking he wanted to take everything slower, said, “Is there anything you would like to change in our relationship?”

Aries replied, “Yes, there is actually. I would like to change quite a lot.” He pulled out a box with a ring inside.

The couple immediately started making plans. They were married 10 weeks later in the Preston England Temple, with Lowenna’s grandfather performing the temple sealing.

Lowenna says, “The Spirit was really strong through the day and served as an excellent introduction to the gospel to all our nonmember family and friends. We felt that there was nothing more important in this life than our eternal marriage. We are so grateful for the strength that we were to each other during our courtship, which enabled us to enter worthily into our Father’s house to make the sacred covenants that guide us in our married life today.”

Shortly after Ka Po was baptized, the sister missionaries encouraged her to take an institute class. It was held early Saturday mornings, and Ka Po remembers how hard it was to wake up and get to class on time.

A classmate called Ka Po every Saturday morning to wake her up and encourage her to attend class. One day the classmate gave the responsibility of calling to King. That was the beginning of their friendship.

Ka Po says, “Church activities helped us know more about each other.” Their first date was a dance practice for young single adults.

Ka Po and King dated for four years. King helped Ka Po share the gospel with her grandmother and brother. Then on the night he proposed, he met Ka Po in the playground of the school where she was attending night school. She had just finished a big exam and was exhausted, but she felt wonderful when he asked her to marry him and gave her an engagement ring.

They were married in the Hong Kong China Temple. Ka Po says, “I will never forget the day we were sealed in the temple. It was so beautiful and amazing that we could be together for eternity. I could not stop crying, and my heart was so full I couldn’t speak. I love the temple and the great blessing that we can go to the temple in our own country.

“Our temple marriage will influence not only us, but it can influence our children and their children. It is so important that we have the same purpose and goals on earth. I love the gospel, and I love my eternal spouse.”

“By the time I was 12,” says Taiana, “my desire for a temple marriage became more and more firm. It was more than just an objective I had to achieve. I wanted to become a person worthy to marry in the temple. So I worked toward it, especially through Personal Progress. And there were lots of people helping me—my parents, my Young Women leaders—and many Church activities to help keep me on track.”

Tururarii, on the other hand, has not been a member for most of his life. He joined the Church at the age of 25. “But having received the gospel,” says Tururarii, “and learning more and more about the blessings, I immediately set a goal to be married in the temple.”

Tururarii and Taiana met during choir rehearsals for an Easter concert fireside put on by the Church. They performed with the choir, became better acquainted, and began dating. But it was at a young single adult conference on a neighboring island that they decided they should be married. When they returned from the conference, they talked to their bishops and began making plans to be married in the Papeete Tahiti Temple.

Tururarii explains the closeness that working toward a temple marriage brought into their lives: “Since I joined the Church, it has always been my goal and my desire to be married in the temple. Then when I met Taiana, it became our goal and our desire, together.”

Alexander and Rachel had a mutual friend who introduced them at a young single adult activity. But the first time they really talked was at a young single adult convention held in Brisbane. Alexander said hello to Rachel as they were leaving the food hall. Rachel had a lot on her mind and needed someone to talk to. So they sat on the grass outside one of the dormitory buildings and talked.

Alexander promised to take Rachel out for her birthday, but before their first date, he was hospitalized because of a motorbike accident. They began spending a lot of time together. But since they lived a long distance from each other, they ended up breaking up and going their separate ways.

More than a year later, Alexander bought another motorbike. While riding home from church, he was struck by a vehicle and was again hospitalized. Rachel’s mother found out about the accident and mentioned it to her daughter. Rachel decided to make the long trip from Brisbane to Sydney to visit Alexander.

Alexander says, “I still had feelings for Rachel, and she must have had feelings for me if she was willing to make the trip from Brisbane just to visit me.” The couple had spoken about marriage when they were going out, but now Alexander felt it was time they prayed about getting married. Rachel was startled by the question but agreed to pray about it.

Alexander already knew his answer. When Rachel prayed to know if they should marry, she felt she should say yes. Alexander was her best friend.

With a cast still on his leg, Alexander took Rachel to the same grassy spot where they had first talked, and then, while sitting on a bench overlooking the ocean, he officially asked her to marry him.

In three months, with the help of family and friends, Rachel moved to Sydney and made plans for a temple marriage. For Alexander and Rachel, their sealing in the temple represents commitment and a promise that they will work on creating an eternal marriage together.

As a young Primary girl, I worked diligently to cross-stitch a simple saying which read, “I will bring the light of the gospel into my home.” One weekday afternoon as we girls pulled our needles up and down through the fabric, our teacher told us the story of a girl who lived on a hill on one side of a valley. Each late afternoon she noticed on the hill on the opposite side of the valley a house that had shining, golden windows. Her own home was small and somewhat shabby, and the girl dreamed of living in that beautiful house with windows of gold.

One day the girl was given permission to ride her bike across the valley. She eagerly rode until she reached the house with the golden windows that she had admired for so long. But when she dismounted from her bike, she saw that the house was abandoned and dilapidated, with tall weeds in the yard and windows that were plain and dirty. Sadly, the girl turned her face toward home. To her surprise, she saw a house with shining, golden windows on the hill across the valley and soon realized it was her very own home!8

For most of my life I felt an emptiness and longed for something solid to cling to. I suspected that what I was looking for might be found in a church, so from the time I was very young, I investigated a number of religions and philosophies. Many of them were good and filled with good people. Some of them were strange and offered nothing like what I was seeking.
After many years of searching, I became bored and discouraged, so I gave up. I determined to build a relationship with God on my own and stay away from organized religion.
Sometime after I had come to this decision, I was watching a television program that focused on spirituality. The program’s host was interviewing a Latter-day Saint family. As I listened to this family, I felt the love and solid faith that I had long been looking for. I was also impressed to learn that Latter-day Saints highly emphasize the family. Maybe I would investigate just one more church.
On the bottom of the television screen was a phone number for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in the Milan area. I called it and spoke with some members at the stake center, who arranged for the missionaries to call me.
This was a particularly busy time for me, so when the missionaries called to set up an appointment, I asked if I could call them back in a few weeks after things had settled down. They agreed and gave me the phone number of the local Relief Society president, who called and invited me to attend church on Sunday. I went, and I loved everything there: the lessons, the people, and the spirit. I left feeling very happy.
I went to church every Sunday for the next two months. Then, in October 2008, I was baptized. My search had not just ended; it had been completed. I no longer felt the thirst and the longing I once did.
I am immensely grateful to have found the truth, but in some ways I am sad that it took me so long to find the gospel of Jesus Christ. Nevertheless, I am grateful for the experiences I had during my search. Because I looked in so many other places, I feel extra content knowing that I’ve found the right place—the place where I belong.

As they translated, Joseph and Oliver were struck by these teachings. Like his brother Alvin, Joseph had never been baptized, and he wanted to know more about the ordinance and the authority necessary to perform it.8
On May 15, 1829, the rains cleared and Joseph and Oliver walked into the woods near the Susquehanna River. Kneeling, they asked God about baptism and the remission of sins. As they prayed, the voice of the Redeemer spoke peace to them, and an angel appeared in a cloud of light. He introduced himself as John the Baptist and placed his hands on their heads. Joy filled their hearts as God’s love surrounded them.
Illustrations by Ben Sowards
“Upon you my fellow servants,” John declared, “in the name of Messiah I confer the Priesthood of Aaron, which holds the keys of the ministering of angels, and of the gospel of repentance, and of baptism by immersion for the remission of sins.”9
The angel’s voice was mild, but it seemed to pierce Joseph and Oliver to the core.10 He explained that the Aaronic Priesthood authorized them to perform baptisms, and he commanded them to baptize each other after he departed. He also said they would receive additional priesthood power later, which would give them authority to confer the gift of the Holy Ghost on each other and on those they baptized.
After John the Baptist left, Joseph and Oliver walked to the river and waded in. Joseph baptized Oliver first, and as soon as he came out of the water, Oliver began to prophesy about things that would soon happen. Oliver then baptized Joseph, who rose from the river prophesying about the rise of Christ’s Church, which the Lord had promised to establish among them.11
Following John the Baptist’s instructions, they returned to the woods and ordained each other to the Aaronic Priesthood. In their study of the Bible, as well as their translation of the ancient record, Joseph and Oliver had often read about the authority to act in God’s name. Now they carried that authority themselves.
After their baptism, Joseph and Oliver found that scriptures that once seemed dense and mysterious suddenly became clearer. Truth and understanding flooded their minds.12

One extremity occurs at the end of life. Many precious family experiences tell how we help each other hold on and let go at those tender times. Here is one our family holds dear.
After joining the Church, my mother became a young BYU student in Provo. She stayed with the family of Gerrit de Jong, Jr. An accomplished composer and linguist from Amsterdam, Gerrit de Jong served many years as a temple sealer. He would kindly ask those attending the temple, perhaps nervous at being there for the first time – would you like me to perform your sealing in English, Dutch, German, Spanish, Portuguese, French, Italian, or perhaps some other language?
By affection, our family called Gerrit de Jong Grandpa de Jong and his wonderful wife Thelma Grandma de Jong. I became a namesake of Gerrit de Jong. Because of him, I am the only person I know with a Dutch first name, an American middle name, and a Chinese last name.
We enjoyed many Sunday dinners with Grandpa and Grandma. No meal was complete until we had finished the homemade banana cream pie and laughed as we together washed and put the dishes away.
Grandpa’s physical body deteriorated toward the end of his rich and full life. He suffered excruciating pain. It hurt so much he wanted to die. But Grandma was not ready to let him go. Despite his great pain, Grandpa determined he would hold on for Grandma.
Finally Grandma was able to find peace. She said, “I patted his cheek, and told him I would be all right. I let him go.” Shortly thereafter, Grandpa peacefully moved on.

We need not worry about knowing the right thing to say or do when we get there. The love of God and the Holy Spirit may be enough. When I was a young man I feared that I would not know what to do or to say to people in great need.
Once I was at the hospital bedside of my father as he seemed near death. I heard a commotion among the nurses in the hallway. Suddenly, President Spencer W. Kimball walked into the room and sat in a chair on the opposite side of the bed from me. I thought to myself, “Now here is my chance to watch and listen to a master at going to those in pain and suffering.”
President Kimball said a few words of greeting, asked my father if he had received a priesthood blessing, and then, when Dad said that he had, the prophet sat back in his chair.
I waited for a demonstration of the comforting skills I felt I lacked and so much needed. After perhaps five minutes of watching the two of them simply smiling silently at each other, I saw President Kimball rise and say, “Henry, I think I’ll go before we tire you.”
I thought I had missed the lesson, but it came later. In a quiet moment with Dad after he recovered enough to go home, our conversation turned to the visit by President Kimball. Dad said quietly, “Of all the visits I had, that visit I had from him lifted my spirits the most.”
President Kimball didn’t speak many words of comfort, at least that I could hear, but he went with the Spirit of the Lord as his companion to give the comfort. I realize now that he was demonstrating the lesson President Monson taught: “How does one magnify a calling? Simply by performing the service that pertains to it.”

My best friend had gone to church with me the past two weeks. But when I invited him again, he said he would not be going with me. He wanted to enjoy the rest of the weekend by sleeping in and going out to have some fun. I accepted his reply, but inwardly I was saddened because I really wanted him to come and feel the Spirit and learn from God. When I got home, I went to my room and prayed, telling Heavenly Father of my sadness and asking for His comfort and guidance.
After finishing my prayer, I went to the kitchen to wash dishes. My father asked whether my friend would be going to church with me again the next day. When I told him what my friend had said, my father could tell that I was concerned and sad. All he said was, “You did your part. People have their agency. You planted a seed.” My father’s words of faith brought peace to my heart.
In preparation for Sunday School, I read Alma 30–32. In chapter 31, Alma prays to the Lord with all his heart for his brethren the Zoramites, who were rejecting the Lord’s ways and beginning to fall into error. As I read his words, the Spirit touched me, and I was inspired to pray as well.
I knelt and offered a prayer similar to Alma’s for my best friend. Like Alma, I told Heavenly Father that “[his soul is] precious, and [he is my brother]; therefore, give unto [me], O Lord, power and wisdom that [I] may bring [him, my brother], again unto thee” (Alma 31:35).
The next day I got ready for church, knowing that my friend would not be going with me. Nevertheless, I had peace in my heart because I, like Alma, had prayed in faith. As I set out for church, I received a call from my friend. He asked if I had already left the house and if I could stop by and pick him up. We had a wonderful meeting that Sunday, and I know that the Spirit testified of the truth to him.
I know that my friend was not the only one blessed on that day because of the Book of Mormon and the prayer of faith. My own testimony of the Lord and this book was strengthened, and that testimony led me to serve a mission and made it possible for me to testify of the truth. I know that the Book of Mormon brings us closer to God, that it teaches us to come unto Christ, and that He will save our soul.

As a young girl, my grandmother Chasty Olsen Harris had a similar experience. She was tending some children who were playing in a dry riverbed near their home in Castle Dale, Utah. Suddenly she heard a voice that called her by name and directed her to get the children out of the riverbed and up on the bank. It was a clear day and there was no sign of rain. She saw no reason to heed the voice and continued to play. The voice spoke to her again, urgently. This time she heeded the warning. Quickly gathering the children, she made a run for the bank. Just as they reached it, an enormous wall of water, originating with a cloudburst in the mountains many miles away, swept down the canyon and roared across where the children had played. Except for this impelling revelation, she and the children would have been lost.

Jarolyn Ballard Stout of the Hurricane Fourth Ward, Hurricane Utah Stake, has 10 children. With everyone taking a turn to give a lesson, Mom and Dad had an opportunity to teach only once every two or three months. Jarolyn and her husband wanted to have more involvement in family home evening than that, so they created a new assignment called Mom’s message.
Each week after the lesson, Dad asks Mom for her message, which might be a short thought or a longer discussion. She might highlight a conference talk or deal with a family need. Occasionally Mom’s remarks relate to the lesson given by another family member that evening, especially if it is one she helped a child prepare.
“Mom’s message has been a real success at our house,” Sister Stout reports. “The children enjoy it, and as parents we get a chance for extra input in the instruction portion of our family home evening.”

Seventeen-year-old Kim Sherwood of Victor, New York, is delighted to be among those gathered in the study shelter as they get the day under way by singing “Oh, How Lovely Was the Morning.” Equally enthused are her three teenage sisters, Kris, Kari, and Koni, 14, 13, and 12, respectively, and virtually every other member of the cast of more than 500 from 22 states, Mexico, and Canada.
“I’m so excited. I’d rather be here right now than any other place,” Kim says. “I’m looking forward to meeting new friends, having new experiences, telling people about the Book of Mormon, and strengthening my testimony.”
In addition to the Salute-to-Rochester scene, Kim Sherwood is assigned to the “Yearning Scene” and the “Flag Scene.” She’s delighted. Everyone has an assigned companion, and she and Holly Phippen, of Roanoke, Virginia, immediately hit it off and become fast friends.
A writer interviewing Kim asks her if she would like a major role in the pageant instead of being assigned to “crowd scenes.”
“Sure,” she says, “that would be great, but there just aren’t that many female characters in the Book of Mormon.”
“Have you ever thought about the possibility of playing the role of Mary in Nephi’s vision of the Nativity Scene?” she is asked.
“That would be wonderful,” she responds. “Any of the girls here would be honored, but that’s not up to me. There are hundreds of young girls here for the pageant, and I think the Lord and the pageant director might have something to say about who gets that role.”
Three days into rehearsal, assistant director Virginia Schmidt reminds Dr. Sederholm that he has yet to choose someone to play the role of Mary. Mary has no dialogue. No movement. She simply sits and holds the baby Jesus in the Nativity Scene.
“But the role is among the more significant in the pageant,” Sister Schmidt says. “Mary is the mother of the Savior. She must have dignity. She must be pleasant looking. She must have a particular spirit about her. We look for someone with that special look and that special spirit.”
Sister Schmidt and Dr. Sederholm review the older girls in the cast. All are worthy candidates, they agree, but then their eyes fall on a brown-haired 17-year-old from Victor.
“That’s Mary!” the directors agree, and moments later a thrilled Kim Sherwood is excitedly telling her parents about the special honor that has come her way.
“How do I feel? It’s hard to describe. It’s so exciting, so flattering, and yet so challenging. I consider it a privilege and a blessing to be chosen, and I just hope that I can portray it the way the Lord wants me to. I pray that I can touch people in some small way.”
Night after night the show goes on. Aaron Moore fights his perpetual losing battle with Ammon, Kim Sherwood maintains a regal presence in the Nativity Scene, and thousands receive the message of the Book of Mormon and the restored gospel.
Finally, it’s Saturday night of the second week—time for the final performance. The same enthusiasm that has prevailed for two weeks is still there, but somehow it’s different. Everyone realizes that after this one, it’s all over. That’s it.
The show goes on. Once again the audience is impressed by the dazzling lights, the sound, the music, the story. Many are moved by the message. As the final scene fades, the “house lights” go on, and the crowd begins working its way to the parking lots. But “back stage”—back in the trees on the hill—no one is in a hurry to leave. There are hugs and handshakes, tears of joy at having had the experience, and tears of sorrow at the knowledge that it’s over. The cast assembles and sings the inevitable “God Be with You Till We Meet Again,” and the tears flow even more freely. Kim Sherwood and Holly Phippen, friends forever, say good-bye, as do countless others who have formed similar lasting bonds of friendship.

I know how real the hooks of mortality can be. One Sunday, as a new convert, I was teaching a priesthood class when an unsettling conversation arose. I struggled to finish my lesson. I took offense and felt that I was the victim. Without saying a word, I headed for the exit with the idea that I would not return to church for a while.
At that very moment, a concerned priesthood holder stood in front of me. He lovingly invited me to focus on Christ and not on the situation we had experienced in class. As I looked back on the experience with him, he shared with me that he heard a voice tell him, “Go after him; he is important to me.”
My dear friends, we are all important to Him. President Nelson taught that “because of our covenant with God, He will never tire in His efforts to help us, and we will never exhaust His merciful patience with us.” Our divine nature and covenant relationship with God entitle us to receive divine help.

I knew the Joseph Smith story was true the first time I heard it. I was 15 then and living with my aunt’s family in Montélimar, France. Three of the children in the family were already members of the Church. The youngest daughter, my cousin, was not.
She and I went to the closest branch at Valence. There the missionaries told us the story of the young latter-day prophet, and it touched me profoundly. I had heard my cousin’s family discuss the restoration of the gospel at home before, but as I heard it in detail for the first time from these young men, it reached my soul.
They told me of the promise in Moroni 10:4–5 [Moro. 10:4–5] in the Book of Mormon and said that I could know the truthfulness of what was written there if I would ask God sincerely. They also said I could know if their message was true. That same evening, brimming over with a desire to know, I knelt and prayed. I was elated by the warm and wonderful feeling that flooded my soul. I knew this was a response from the Lord and that the gospel had indeed been restored by Jesus Christ, as the missionaries said.
My cousins had shown me a good example of love and concern for each other. I hadn’t been much interested in their church’s doctrine, but I had admired their ideals for family life. Now, however, I wanted to know more about the Church. I went with my cousins to a youth conference in Vaumarcus, Switzerland, and made many LDS friends there. During the testimony meeting, I stood and told them about my experience when I had prayed about Moroni’s promise.
My understanding grew rapidly, but soon my father intervened. He didn’t like the idea of me investigating a “new” church. My parents were separated, and no one knew where my mother was, but I felt obligated to honor my father’s wishes, at least until I was no longer a minor. My contact with the Saints as a group dropped off somewhat, but I knew in my heart that someday I would be baptized.
My oldest cousin went into the army, and then he left on a mission. During the two years he was gone, I kept thinking about the feelings I had felt. I always had a testimony of Joseph Smith, right from the start. His story seemed so logical, and the confirmation of the Spirit came so quickly that I couldn’t ignore it. When my cousin returned from his mission, I met him in Montélimar, and we rode together back to Antibes (near Nice), which is my hometown. All the way there we talked about the Church, and I accepted many new ideas.
The Lord also had something else in mind to help me. I was in agricultural school in Lyons at the time, and when I returned to my studies, I arranged to do some field study for three months in Aix-en-Provence. There, with my cousin, I heard all of the missionary discussions thoroughly, and the small testimony inside me became a big one. I was baptized on July 26, 1975, and I still feel as strongly today as I did then that Joseph Smith was and is a prophet of God.
I am thankful that I was able to see the gospel in action in my aunt’s home. Their example combined with the witness of the Spirit to let me know that the Lord has built a program for families that I want to follow.
Editor’s note: Since this story was written, José has served honorably in the France Paris Mission.

Sam carried an armful of planks to the construction site and set them down. At the moment, there were only wooden beams standing. But soon the planks and beams would become a building. Sam couldn’t think of a better way to spend his Saturday than to help build a brand-new chapel!
Sam liked building things. Sometimes it was hard for him, though. When he was a boy, his hands were badly hurt in an accident. Even now, when Sam was grown up, his fingers were still stiff. Sometimes it was hard to pick things up or hold tools.
Carefully Sam picked up his hammer. He had to try harder than some of the other workers, but he didn’t mind. He just wanted to help. He knew he was doing God’s work. And if he was doing God’s work, surely God would help him!
Sam was busy working when he heard someone come up behind him. “That is good work you are doing,” the person said.
Sam turned. It was Elder Biesinger! He was a Church leader who was helping to organise building projects in New Zealand.
“Thank you,” Sam said.
Elder Biesinger smiled. “How would you like to be a labour missionary? Right now missionaries are working to help build a Church school for teenagers. We need more helpers, and I think you’d do a great job.”
“I would love to,” said Sam. He couldn’t wait to serve the Lord as a missionary!
By Monday morning, Sam was an official labour missionary. He helped pour cement at a factory to make heavy blocks. The blocks were used to help build the school. Some of them were even used to build the Hamilton New Zealand Temple!
Day after day, year after year, Sam worked hard. He always did his best. Eventually, Sam was asked to be in charge of the brick factory. He led the other labour missionaries in their duties and made sure their work was done well.
Sam had fun too! He and the other missionaries sang songs together. Sometimes they performed their music to encourage others to come and help. Whether Sam was building, singing, or getting to know someone new, God helped him do good work.
Years later, Sam was called on another mission. But this one was different. He would not be using his hands to build things. Instead, he would be using them to help people inside the temple—the same temple he had helped build!
As Sam stood inside the temple in his white clothes, he felt peace. He was grateful for all the good things God had helped his hands to do.

Jeffrey sat on the front steps of his new house. It was a hot summer day.
He watched the children speed by on their skates. He wondered how he could be their friend.
“I need a stop sign,” Jeffrey told his mom. “Let’s stir one up,” Mom said.
They went inside the house and found a pitcher.
Jeffrey put water, lemon juice, sugar, and ice in the pitcher. Then he stirred everything together.
Mom got a big piece of paper. She helped him write “Free Lemonade” on it.
They put a little table on the driveway. Jeffrey poured lemonade in the cups. Mom hung up the sign.
When the thirsty children skated by, they stopped for a cool drink.
Jeffrey smiled and said, “Hello, I’m Jeffrey.” Now he had lots of new friends.

I remember as a young boy walking to school and passing a home with a big cherry tree. The fruits were round and red. The family had taken great care of that cherry tree. In turn, the tree bore much fruit and the family would share the bounties of their harvest with others including my family.

Sometimes I would pass that cherry tree and could imagine how delicious the cherries were. I admit there were a few times I took some cherries from the tree without permission. The cherries were juicy and sweet. After eating the cherry, I would keep the pit in my mouth for much longer savoring the remnants of the sweet nectar. At that exact moment of pleasure it seemed worth it. But just moments later
I would feel a knot in my stomach knowing that I was stealing since I hadn’t ask for permission. Yet, I rationalized my action by convincing myself it couldn’t hurt to take just one or a few cherries. After all, they had a whole tree full of cherries and eventually they would give it to us. Because I remembered the sweet taste more than the guilt of stealing, I did it more than once.

The boy who lived in the house with the cherry tree became my best friend. One time I helped his family harvest cherries. What a great lesson I learned that day about the consequences of disobedience. I was informed that they sprayed their trees with insecticide to ward off or kill fruit-eating insects. These cherries needed to be washed thoroughly before eating so as to rinse off any remaining poison.

It’s a good thing I never got sick from stealing and eating their cherries. I had a newfound love and respect for this generous and gracious family who cared about helping people more than growing cherries. I vowed on that day never to take a cherry from their tree without permission and to be more obedient to God’s commandments.

Priscilla Sampson-Davis was given a Book of Mormon while she was visiting Holland in 1963, but the Church was not organized in her homeland of Ghana until 1979. For sixteen years, she met regularly with other converts in Africa, awaiting baptism.
One of the sisters whom she visit-taught could not read. So, to give this sister the opportunity to drink deeply of gospel truths, Sister Sampson-Davis read the scriptures to her often and explained their meaning. She lived the counsel Paul gave to Timothy: “Be thou an example of the believers, in word, in conversation, in charity, in spirit, in faith, in purity” (1 Tim. 4:12).
Naaman’s nameless servant and Sister Sampson-Davis each took time to teach someone important lessons. They exemplify the counsel given us in Doctrine and Covenants 88:77–78: “And I give unto you a commandment that you shall teach one another the doctrine of the kingdom.
“Teach ye diligently and my grace shall attend you.” [D&C 88:77–78]

There are other times when you might wonder if he is ever going to answer our prayers. About twenty-two years ago our fourth daughter was born. After she was born, the doctor told my wife that she shouldn’t have any more children. We talked about it, and she said. “I feel that there is another child for us.” So we decided, of course, that we were going to have another baby.

Well, a year went by, and the baby didn’t come; and two years went by. Finally, after eight years of praying, my wife said, “Guess what? We’re going to have a baby.” Prayers, you see, are sometimes answered quickly, but other times you pray a long, long time before you get what you want.

Sandra was a student in my advanced English class. Several weeks into the year, she hadn’t done any of the homework or projects. She just daydreamed at her desk. She made up excuses for why she hadn’t completed her assignments, and she demonstrated neither the attitude nor the work necessary for success in such a demanding course.
Her counselor and I decided to schedule a conference with Sandra, her father, and some of her other teachers to determine what direction she should take: should she drop her advanced courses and take standard ones instead? Most substantial was the unspoken question weighing on all of our minds: could we find a way to help Sandra succeed?
Believing that Sandra had been given many chances to succeed but instead had chosen to fail, I went into the meeting feeling very discouraged. Secretly I hoped she would decide to drop my class so that I wouldn’t have to worry about her anymore. I felt I had done all I could and that it was already too late.
In the meeting, Sandra’s body language revealed that she too doubted her ability to succeed. She stared at the table as I recounted her failure in English class. As her history teacher confirmed that Sandra was failing his class as well, her body slumped lower in her chair and I could see tears streaming down her face.
Mustering compassion, I explained to her and her father that if Sandra wanted to succeed in these challenging courses, she was going to have to change the behavior that had gotten her so deeply into this hole and that it was going to be very difficult.
The counselor then turned to Sandra’s father, a man with little education who seemed uncomfortable in the school setting. The counselor asked him if he had any questions for the teachers. He said he didn’t and thanked us for what we had done for Sandra. But then he said he had something to say to his daughter.
My heart tightened. I had been a part of some parent-teacher conferences where the parents had verbally rebuked their children in front of teachers and counselors, berating them for their laziness, inattentiveness, and lack of motivation. I braced myself to hear it again.
What I heard instead surprised me. Sandra’s humble father turned to his tearful 16-year-old daughter who was weighed down by shame and regret and said to her, “It’s not too late. It’s not too late for you to succeed. It really is not too late.”
I left that meeting grateful for his loving reaction but concerned that he had no idea what it would take for his daughter to pass at this point. It seemed impossible. Word came later that she had decided to drop her history class but not my English class.
Sandra, with motivation to start again, made slow but significant changes. The transformation was not easy—it required daily effort to overcome her bad habits—but she saw the rewards of her efforts as her grade gradually improved.

Some young men march to the beat of a different drum. Because they may not enjoy physical activity, as most do, they are often isolated from the group. I remember one young man, not much of an athlete, who excelled on the stage. In our ward plays and roadshows, we could always count on a stellar performance from Mike.

Later in his youth he directed a theater-in-the-round production in the ward. Today he teaches drama in a great university and is a faithful member of the Church. How easily we could have lost him without that opportunity to be someone and to excel at something. Our cultural arts have been neglected in recent years, not intentionally, but when stakes and wards were given the liberty to choose their activities instead of being dictated to from Church headquarters—something made necessary by the worldwide growth of the Church—some took this as a signal that cultural arts were no longer to be promoted. The ward and stake activity committees are there to help our bishoprics, quorums, and Young Women classes carry out those cultural activities planned by the Bishopric Youth Committee: music, drama, speech, dance. These again are as broad as the interests of the youth and a valuable resource in promoting activity and brotherhood in the Aaronic Priesthood quorums.