Gospel Story Finder

Some years ago, an acquaintance of mine who was moving to Washington, D.C., went to the district offices to take the driver’s license examination. He had to fill out a form that asked for his business address and his occupation. He had just been appointed a justice of the United States Supreme Court, so he used that as his business address. In the blank marked “occupation” he wrote the word justice. The person at the counter examined this answer, frowned, and said, “Justice? Justice! Well, I guess that’s all right. Last week a fellow wrote peace.”

This was a big meet. A look of fear plastered across my face was the style I sported every race day, but today I was also shaking. Our coach was banking on my long-distance team to break the school record for the 4 x 800 meter relay.
I spent the earlier part of the meet taking all the necessary precautions: warming up, stretching, staying hydrated, and saying silent prayers over and over again in my head. As I sat in a quiet, shady spot stretching my calves (and calming my nerves), my teammate Kyra approached me.
“Christa, I have a question. Will you say a prayer with us?”
Rachel, Kyra, Meridith, and I ran together nearly every day. Even though our school team was pretty big, we four girls usually split off into our own group to run longer distances. I was the first Latter-day Saint these girls had ever met, so Kyra’s question surprised me.
Grinning, she said, “I was thinking that each of us could each say a prayer because today we need all the help we can get!”
So I stood up and followed the other girls away from the rest of the team. We huddled together and proceeded to take turns saying our individual prayers. Rachel went first and sang a beautiful prayer she had learned in Hebrew school. Then Kyra recited a prayer she had learned as a child.
When it was my turn I closed my eyes, folded my arms, and said a prayer in my own words.
“Dear Heavenly Father, we are grateful to be on this team together. Please help each of us to be strong and to run to the best of our abilities. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
Once I finished I felt a quiet stillness that replaced the feelings of awkwardness I had felt just moments before. At first I was worried about saying a prayer in front of my friends, but afterward I felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude.
When we had finished, we all ran one last warm-up lap together. Everyone started talking nervously about the race, but my mind kept traveling back to the prayers we had shared just a few minutes before. I was impressed with my friends’ sincerity and faithfulness in their own religions. They had been raised to think of prayer in one way, and I in another. Until that moment I had never really thought deeply about the way Latter-day Saints pray.
How grateful I am for the knowledge I have that I can communicate with my Father in Heaven like I would with a friend. When I am feeling sad or frustrated or even nervous before a race, I can always ask Him for help, and He is always there to listen. From that day on, prayer became a regular part of our preparation before every meet. We did end up breaking the school record that day. But what I remember most is the newfound appreciation I gained for the direct line of communication we can all have with our Heavenly Father.

It had all begun under the stars and the moon one night in Wyoming in a mad flight of spinning wheels and flying shadows known forever after as the “midnight ride of the Orem 15th.” The quorum was on a camping trip and a few priests brought along their motorcycles. One night about bedtime their adviser, Dave Anderson, jumped into the saddle, called his cohorts to horse, and they flew away over mountains and moonlit meadows like so many Paul Reveres. The night seemed to be alive. More animals than they had ever seen stood watching them pass as if hypnotized by the string of moving lights.
They got back to camp about 2:00 A.M., feeling that they were much more than just a few people assigned to the same quorum. They were friends.
Fired by the enthusiasm of the midnight riders, the whole quorum joined in, and in the weeks that followed they framed a lot of territory between handlebars.

Peace and forgiveness. Early in 2005 my husband gave two men a ride. When my husband returned home, he discovered that his sapelu (machete) was missing. This really hurt him: he’d done a good deed, and this was how he was repaid. The incident bothered my husband to the point that he was having trouble finding peace.Several months later, we awoke to find that our house had been broken into. Worse, we realized the intruders had come into the rooms where our children and we had been sleeping. I was angry and thought, “If my husband was so upset about a knife, he will go completely nuts now!” But he had a spirit of peace that spilled over to the rest of us. He expressed gratitude that nobody had been hurt and hope that the people who had taken our things would use them to improve their lives.I was speechless at the change. Why was I not able to feel the same peace? Then I realized: while I had been “too busy” to start reading, my husband was firmly entrenched in the Book of Mormon. Kathleen Arp, Pesega, Samoa

It is reported that on one occasion when Sir Isaac Newton was thinking seriously concerning the nature of light, he cut a hole in a window blind and a ray of light entered his room. He held a triangular piece of glass in the range of the light, and there were reflected in great beauty all the colors of the rainbow. And for the first time man learned that all of the glorious colors of the universe are locked up in a ray of white light.

Christmas away from home. My favorite gift was my first Christmas away from home, when my parents, sister, and I went to visit my brother and his family.
We were used to family Christmases at our house, but this year my other siblings were going elsewhere, and we decided to visit my brother, Josh, and his family because they couldn’t come home. I wasn’t sure what to expect, and I thought that if we weren’t home for Christmas, it wouldn’t be fun. It seemed that Christmas just wouldn’t be the same. My parents, sister, and I had already opened our presents to each other before we left home.
When my brother picked us up at the airport, my four-year-old niece, Kialey, started to sing Christmas songs, and I started to feel better. On Christmas morning I enjoyed watching the faces of my nieces and nephews light up as they opened their presents. It was nice, instead of focusing on what I got, to look at others opening their presents and to feel their joy.Hannah S., Montana, USA

Pete Penguin had lived in the zoo all his life. It was a nice place to live. There were flat rocks warmed by the sun, a pool with a sloped back to slide on, and lots of people who came to see the penguins.
Pete liked the visitors. Every morning he groomed his black and white feathers so that he would look beautiful when the visitors came.
“Isn’t he pretty?” people said as Pete strutted by.
Pete never tired of their admiring words. He was very proud.
One day, as he was showing off for the visitors, Pete heard two children giggling. Why are they laughing? he wondered as he moved closer to the fence of his pen.
“Look at him,” a girl cried. “Doesn’t he look funny?” She pointed at Pete.
“He looks like a little old man in a suit,” a boy said, and they both broke into peals of laughter.
“All he needs is a tie,” the girl said, still giggling.
“Silly bird!”
The children moved on toward the lion’s cage, and Pete watched them go. He looked at the other penguins and studied their white breast feathers and sleek black coats. No one had ever laughed before at the way he looked.
We do look silly, he decided. Walking away from the fence, Pete sat in the shadows where no one could see him. He watched the other penguins strut past the visitors. I’ll never act like that again, he thought.
Pete wanted to hide, but even in the shade, his white breast feathers glistened. Finally he waddled to the edge of a pool where there was lots of gooey brown mud. He sat in the mud and used his short wings to splash it all over his white feathers.
“What are you doing, Pete?”
Pete looked up at his friend Paul. “I’m covering myself with mud.”
“Why?”
“Because we look like silly little old men in suits.”
Paul shook his head. “You look awful,” he said and walked away.
But no one will laugh at me now, Pete thought.
Every day, while the other penguins groomed their feathers, Pete covered himself with a new layer of mud. No one laughed at him, but Pete didn’t feel better. In fact, he felt awful. When visitors came, he huddled in a corner.
“Come on, Pete,” Paul called. “Let’s play water tag.”
Pete just shook his head, and soon even Paul left him alone.
One morning, as Pete huddled behind a rock, he heard someone say, “Look at that bird over there. What’s wrong with him?”
“He’s all dirty.”
“He doesn’t even look like a penguin.”
“I guess he doesn’t like himself very much.”
The voices faded away, and Pete thought for a long time about what they’d said.
That afternoon Pete went to the pond and slid down the bank into the cool water. He splashed and swam and splashed some more until all the mud was gone. Then he climbed onto a rock and groomed himself.
“You look great,” Paul said as he passed the rock. “But aren’t you afraid you’ll look silly?”
Pete put one more feather in place, then looked at his friend and said, “I discovered that it’s not what other people think of me that makes me feel good. It’s what I think of myself.”

The next year I had a cast of students who were by no means religious. We had our problems, and I had the feeling it might be inappropriate to ask that group of students to calm down enough for prayer. I never suggested prayer before their first opening night.

It was a terrible performance. I’m not blaming anyone. We just did a poor job.

I had the cast stay after for a line rehearsal, but it took me more than an hour to go over my notes and point out what needed to be corrected by the next night. There was no mistaking that I was upset.

As we were leaving the theater, a few of the cast members were walking to the parking lot with me. One of the least religious of the group said, “Last year I heard you had prayer before performances.”

I was stunned. “Yes,” I said, “we did.”

“How come we didn’t have it this year?”

“I didn’t think any of you would want to have prayer,” I answered.

“I would,” he said without hesitation.

“So would I,” another added.

The next night we had prayer and our performance went off without a flaw. I’m not saying prayer can overcome poor rehearsals, failure to learn lines, or lack of preparation. But it can focus what a cast has going for it. It can bring them together in a unity of purpose.

Football came to our country town later than most. The school board had neither the money for equipment nor a coach. Then the great day arrived. Our high school principal was able to buy twelve inexpensive football outfits, except the expensive cleated football shoes (we used our basketball shoes), and our coach was recruited from the faculty because he had witnessed a game.
We learned a few simple plays, how to tackle—or so we thought—and set off for our first game with Twin Falls, the previous year’s Idaho state champions.
We dressed and went out on the field to warm up. Their school band started to play (they had more students in the band than we had in our entire high school), and then through the gates came their team. The twelve of us—a full team of eleven plus one all-round substitute—watched in amazement as they kept coming through the gates—all thirty-nine of them in full uniform.
The game was most interesting! To say it was a learning experience is rather mild. After two plays we didn’t have any desire to have the ball—so we would kick it, and soon they would score. When they got the ball, they would run a baffling play and score. Our problem was to get rid of the ball—it was less punishing.
In the final minutes of the game they became a little reckless. A wild pass fell into the arms of Clifford Lee, who was playing halfback with me. He was startled, not knowing for sure what to do—until he saw the “Dallas Cowboys” thundering after him. Then he knew what to do. He was fast. He wasn’t running for points, but for his life! Clifford made a touchdown; six points went up on the board. The final score—106 to 6! We really didn’t deserve the six points, but with our torn shirts and socks and our bruises, we took them anyway.
A learning experience? Of course! An individual or a team must be prepared. In all things success depends upon previous preparation.

Hyrum served many missions for the Church. During one mission, traveling from Kirtland to Indiana, he endured one of his greatest trials when his first wife, Jerusha, died soon after giving birth to his sixth child. Hyrum’s mother, Lucy Mack Smith, wrote that Jerusha’s death “wrung our hearts with more than common grief. … She was a woman whom everybody loved.”
Although Hyrum was grieved, his faith was unshaken; his determination to serve Heavenly Father and his church never faltered. I believe God rewarded his faithfulness by bringing into his life one of the great women of Church history, Mary Fielding, whom he subsequently married. Together they built an extraordinary legacy of love and discipleship.

Imagine having the opportunity to share the gospel with people from 11 different countries at the same time! That’s what Mark Fletcher was able to do during the summer. He was selected as a youth ambassador for the city of Phoenix and given the opportunity to visit Prague, the capital of the Czech Republic. Everywhere he went, with city officials, at camps, and in social gatherings, Mark was recognized as a Latter-day Saint and often answered questions about his standards.

Then similar youth ambassadors from 11 countries gathered in Phoenix, and Mark was able to talk about the Church with them as well. It was great to follow his brother’s example of missionary work in Brazil by sharing his testimony with youth from all over the world.

Do you see her yet, Okorie?” The eight-year-old boy strained to see as far down the road as he could, hoping for the telltale cloud of dust that would signal the approach of their mother’s car. No sound of a motor could be heard over the rustling of palm trees and the calls of birds in the Nigerian rain forest.
“No, Bernice. Nothing yet.” Okorie sat next to his little sister in the shade of the school compound. “I’m sure everything is all right. Maybe she is just busy with baby Ikechi.”
Bernice nodded, unconcerned. “Or maybe she went to the market to buy food. I hope she brings home lots of yams again. They’re my favorite.”
Okorie’s stomach growled at the thought of the orange-colored sweet potatoes. He did hope Mum would hurry—it wasn’t like her to be this late picking them up after school. Everyone else had gone home long ago. The school was many kilometers from Owerri, the nearest village, and Okorie was starting to feel a little scared.
“Okorie! Look what I found!” Bernice held up a worn leather soccer ball that had rolled under a nearby bush.
Okorie grinned broadly. Here was one way to make the minutes fly by! Eagerly he joined his sister in kicking the ball around the yard.
They were having so much fun that they didn’t notice the box-shaped car until Mum pulled up in it. She parked it and turned off the engine.
“Okorie! Bernice! I am sorry that you had to wait for me such a long time!” Mum hugged them. “I was trying to do too many things in one day, and the time slipped away from me. Hurry now! I’ve left Ikechi with Sister Anya’s daughter much longer than I planned. Ijeoma is only eleven. It probably is hard for her to watch a baby so long by herself.”
The brother and sister jumped into the backseat of the old car. “Look at all those yams!” Bernice squealed, peering into Mum’s shopping basket.
Mum smiled. “If we hurry, we can have dinner ready before your father comes home.” She turned the key to start the engine.
Click.
Mum’s smile turned upside down. She tried turning the key again. Once more, there was only a click instead of the familiar noisy roar of the engine. Mum tried for several minutes to get the car to start, but it didn’t.
“What’s wrong with it, Mum?” Bernice asked. “Are we out of fuel?”
“No, no—I filled the tank only an hour ago.” There was concern in Mum’s voice. “But I did drive many kilometers today. Perhaps the engine just needs to rest a few minutes.”
Okorie and Bernice looked at each other and giggled. They had never heard of a car needing a nap before!
“What should we do while we’re waiting, Mum?” Okorie asked.
“Well, I have my Book of Mormon. Should we read our scriptures now instead of after dinner?”
The children agreed. Okorie loved listening to Mum’s voice as she read the scriptures. If he listened very carefully and tried to understand what the words meant, he always felt warm and happy inside. Sometimes the words puzzled him, but he still had that happy feeling. Mum said that that feeling was the Holy Ghost and that if he always tried to do what Jesus Christ would have him do, he could have that feeling all the time.
They started reading in the book of Ether, chapter twelve. It talked about several different prophets who were able to do wonderful things because of their faith in Jesus Christ. It talked about Alma and Amulek, Nephi and Lehi, and Ammon and his brothers. Okorie remembered most of those names from his Primary class. One story—about the brother of Jared—especially caught his attention.
“Mum, did the brother of Jared really make a mountain move?” Okorie asked curiously.
“It was not the brother of Jared who moved the mountain, my son, but Heavenly Father. I am certain that the brother of Jared had a good reason to move the mountain. He knew he couldn’t do it himself, so he prayed to Heavenly Father. Heavenly Father knew that what the brother of Jared was asking was good and that he truly believed Heavenly Father would help him. So Heavenly Father answered his prayer and moved the mountain for him.” Okorie thought about that as Mum finished reading the chapter.
“It’s been a really long time,” Bernice said then. “Should we try the engine again?”
Everyone held their breath while Mum again turned the key. When the engine failed to start, she put her head in her hands.
“What are we going to do?” Bernice asked quietly.
Mum shook her head. “I don’t want to leave you two here alone, but there is no one to help us for many kilometers, and it’s too far for you children to walk. It would take hours to walk there and return with help. Poor little Ijeoma—I have left her so long by herself with the baby!” Tears began to trickle down Mum’s cheeks.
Bernice and Okorie glanced at each other with wide eyes. They had not realized the seriousness of their situation before. What could they do?
“Mum,” Okorie said quietly, “I know what we should do.”
“What?”
“Let us say a prayer! I am sure Heavenly Father will make the car start—just like when He moved a mountain for the brother of Jared!”
“Prayers aren’t always answered right away, Okorie,” Mum sighed. “Someone will still need to look at the engine and fix what is wrong before it will work again.”
“No, no, Mum! If Heavenly Father can move something as big as a mountain, don’t you think He can make our little car work?”
Mum looked at Okorie’s shining eyes. She could see that he was very serious. “All right, my son, we will pray. Which of you wants to offer the prayer?”
While Okorie and Bernice decided which of them would say the prayer, Okorie saw his mother bow her head and close her eyes, as if she were saying her own private prayer. When Mum opened her eyes, the two children told her that they had decided to both say a prayer.
Bernice went first. “Heavenly Father, we are stuck out here all alone because of our broken car. Please bless Ikechi to be safe until we get back. And please help Ijeoma know how to take care of her. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
Now it was Okorie’s turn. “Heavenly Father,” he began, “please bless the car to start. We know that Thou canst do it. Everybody else has gone home—there is no one else to help us. Please, Heavenly Father, help us start the car and get home safely so that Mum can take care of us and the baby. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
“Amen,” Mama said. She put her hand on the key one more time. “Here is the big test.”
Rrrruuuummmm! The engine sprang to life and hummed happily, as if nothing had ever been wrong with it. Bernice and Okorie jumped up and down for joy.
“Okorie! You did it!” Bernice exclaimed.
Okorie stopped jumping long enough to solemnly shake his head. “No, I didn’t do it. Heavenly Father did it.”
Mum hugged both of her children tightly. “Yes, Heavenly Father did it. But I think it was your faith that really pulled us through, Okorie. You never doubted for a second. You are an example to me. Both of you children have made me a very happy mother.”
They all said a quick prayer of thanks, then drove home, singing all the way.

“With the knowledge we have, we may mourn, but we need never despair. We have a little granddaughter in Seattle, Washington. There the daily rain keeps the sun and stars alike hidden much of the time, so she hasn’t really seen stars. We think there are lessons to learn from them; they are brighter in winter’s night, you know. I explained this to this little girl when we stood on a clear night looking into heaven. I smiled at her wonderment at first seeing stars crowd the nighttime.
“‘Are they there every time it gets dark, even if I don’t see them?’ she asked. I assured her they were, even behind the clouds.
“‘Then darkness isn’t so bad, is it? If you know the stars are there.’
“It has application to life, doesn’t it?”

Even during the horror of World War II in the Netherlands—with my husband in hiding, bombs exploding, cold and hunger—the Spirit of our loving Father kept us close to God and close to the Saints. One day when I was serving as Relief Society president, I went with my ten-year-old daughter to visit an older sister who lived alone. When we arrived at Sister Smit’s small home she was reading. She told us she was so hungry that she had decided to read the Bible, because spiritual food could fill her, too.

In those days food was rationed, and in my pocket was a coupon for a loaf of bread for our children. I felt so concerned for this hungry sister that I gave my daughter the coupon and sent her to buy bread for Sister Smit. On the way home, I wondered how I would tell my children that I had given away the bread. I knew I had done the right thing, but now what was I going to feed them.

Upon arriving home, I found the answer. Some family friends in Zwolle had arranged for a letter to be hand-carried to us by their nephew. With the letter were three bread coupons.

Over the years, our Heavenly Father has continued to bless us in miraculous ways. In 1947 our daughter was called to serve a mission. Although we had very little money, and our family would greatly miss the income from her job, we agreed to support her. Never was our family so blessed as during our daughter’s mission. Occasionally someone would tell me that they wished their child could serve a mission, but that they didn’t have the money. I always told them that we didn’t have the money either, but that the Lord blessed us so that somehow we were able to support her each month.

As I look back over my eighty years, I feel that among my greatest privileges in life has been to know that I am a child of God, and that he will guide me through mortality if I will stay close to him. And if I am worthy, he will be waiting to greet me in his “holy courts on high.”

A lovely lady who has since passed away visited with me one day and unexpectedly recounted some regrets. She spoke of an incident which had taken place many years earlier and involved a neighboring farmer, once a good friend but with whom she and her husband had disagreed on multiple occasions. One day the farmer asked if he could take a shortcut across her property to reach his own acreage. At this point she paused in her narrative to me and, with a tremor in her voice, said, “Brother Monson, I didn’t let him cross our property then or ever but required him to take the long way around on foot to reach his property. I was wrong, and I regret it. He’s gone now, but oh, I wish I could say to him, ‘I’m so sorry.’ How I wish I had a second chance to be kind.”

A few months after my change of heart, my future wife, Malaina, came into my life and our courtship began. I was grateful to now be ready for our future together. Dating Malaina was really like a fairy-tale dream come true! Both of us had been hurt by past relationships, and we found love and understanding in each other. We both wanted with all our hearts to be worthy of a temple marriage. Six months after we started dating, we were sealed in the Seattle Washington Temple.
Heavenly Father blessed me with a loving wife who understands the power of Jesus Christ’s Atonement and what it means to be cleansed through repentance. Malaina loves me for the man I am today and not for the mistakes of my past. Her personal testimony and love of the Savior continually gives me strength and a desire to fulfill the full measure of my creation. She is truly the companion I always dreamed of having, and together we’ve been blessed with two children.

“I am so excited to see my friend again,” one young woman kept telling her parents as she prepared for the special reunion. She had recently returned home after having lived far away. She had looked forward to this moment for a long time.
When the two friends saw each other, they were all smiles. They hugged and laughed as they left together to enjoy becoming reacquainted. However, the parents were surprised when their daughter returned home much earlier than expected.
“What’s wrong?” they asked.
“I was so excited to talk the way we used to, but she just spent the whole time text messaging her other friends.” Her hurt and disappointment were apparent as she declared, “I wish texting had never been invented.”
Like all communication tools, cell phones with text messaging capabilities can be positive or negative depending on how they are used. Stories can be told of a texted birthday greeting that made someone’s day or a disaster that was avoided because someone was warned quickly and effectively in a text message. Still, not-so-positive stories can also be told of teenagers texting their friends during Sunday School or seminary lessons, of people being hurt by the content of a message received, or, as in the example above, of people avoiding or disregarding those around them in favor of texting someone else.
Like e-mailing, texting can be a wonderful way to communicate and build relationships, but it’s not the relationship itself. If texting is managed and kept in control, it can have positive results. However, if it is allowed to take over, it can be disruptive and even damaging.
We asked several recently returned missionaries about text messaging. These friends who spent their missions in a “textless” environment commented on some disturbing trends they have noticed upon returning home. They spoke of how text messaging can create a false sense of security and poor communication skills and how it can be a detached and emotionless activity.
“It is pretty easy to feel like you have a protective wall around you when you are texting,” said one. “It is easy to fire off a thoughtless invitation or biting response because you feel safe.” Such a feeling is not always healthy. It is like yelling at another driver from the safety of your own car. The distance makes you feel comfortable in saying things you would never say in a face-to-face encounter. Have you ever had a teacher write some harsh and even cruel comments on an essay or short story on which you have spent hours? From a distance, the teacher felt safe in giving feedback that may not have been uplifting. Had he or she faced you in a one-on-one conversation, the feedback would probably have taken on a much softer and more tactful tone.

For the past couple of years, the lives of Latter-day Saint youth in Malaysia have been filled with a different kind of firsts—gospel firsts. The Ipoh Malaysia District was organized in 2003. And since then youth here have planned and participated in their first-ever youth conference and attended their district’s first seminary graduation. There are only three branches in the Ipoh Malaysia District, but the youth are determined to share their testimonies with others so they can help the Church grow. They hope they will one day belong to the first ward in western Malaysia.
“You don’t always get to be first in everything,” says Malvinder Singh, 16, who joined the Church in 1998. “But we are pioneers here.”
At a youth conference last year, the air was filled with cries of excitement as the teens experienced yet another first—baseball. Only two or three of the youth who attended the conference had ever played the game before, so they were given the assignment to explain the rules to the others.
“It was a brand-new experience to learn how to play baseball, since soccer and badminton are the sports we play here,” says Malvinder.
In addition to baseball, youth conference was filled with other fun games and activities. Although the youth enjoyed the activities, they say what they will remember most about the experience was the opportunity to meet people with similar beliefs and to draw courage from knowing they are not alone.
Ariana Dabier, a Mia Maid, says, “It was great to see so many Malaysian youth who are just like me—faced with similar trials and temptations—and yet they stand firm in their faith. I now know that no matter where I go on this earth, the gospel will be the same.”
Another gospel first the youth recently experienced was the opportunity to attend their district’s first seminary graduation ceremony. Three Malaysian youth—Kelvin Anand Kumar, Aun Luck Tan Ernest, and Hamish Steven Parsons—earned seminary diplomas.
Kelvin, who was baptized in 1999, attended seminary during the first four years he was a member of the Church. He says the knowledge he gained there increased his testimony. “I am glad I graduated from seminary,” he says. “Seminary helped me to make correct decisions and plan my education. Because of the things I learned in seminary, I know someday I will marry in the temple.”
The youth say the examples of Kelvin and other graduates encourage them to attend seminary faithfully. Attending seminary is difficult for Malaysian teens because studies and homework take up most of their free time. They go to school six days a week, and most students also study with a private teacher after school ends for the day.
Jaslinder Kaur, a Mia Maid in the Ipoh Second Branch, says most of her friends don’t understand her decision to attend seminary. “When I told my friend I was going to church early in the morning to learn more about our Heavenly Father and His Son, she told me I was crazy and my grades would drop,” she says. “But seminary helps me do well in school because I have sacrificed my time for our Father in Heaven. When I go to school, my mind is fully awake, and I can concentrate better on my studies.”
Malvinder Singh also says attending seminary has helped him succeed in school. Malaysian students must complete rigid testing twice during their school careers. Test results determine which colleges students can attend and which professions they can pursue. Although this year was an important exam year for Malvinder, he still chose to go to seminary. He says he knows Heavenly Father blessed him for this decision by helping him do well on his tests. “Faith is the most important thing I have learned in attending seminary,” he says.
Missionaries have been a permanent presence in western Malaysia only since 1980, so there aren’t many members there yet. In fact, only 1 in 12,015 people in Malaysia—or .01 percent of the population—belongs to the Church. Like the early pioneers, the young men and young women in Malaysia know that many of their peers have not had an opportunity to hear the gospel. These youth know they can help the Church grow when they share their testimonies with their friends.
The youth also know that before they will be prepared to share the gospel with others, they must work hard to develop testimonies of their own. Aun Luck Tan Ernest’s parents taught him the gospel when he was young, but he always knew he needed to find out for himself if the gospel was true.
“I wanted to learn more about Jesus Christ when I was baptized,” Ernest, 17, says. “I knew He was the Son of God when I first bore my testimony in sacrament meeting. It was the happiest moment in my life, and I am still trying my best to strengthen my faith and grow in my testimony of Christ.”
Ernest and the other youth in the Ipoh district know that their testimonies will grow as they are shared. There are approximately 10 young men and 10 young women in the Ipoh Second Branch, and when possible they share their testimonies in testimony meeting. Young Women president Liew Siew Ling Chris says, “Hearing their testimonies is the greatest blessing I have.”
Youth in western Malaysia have been blessed with many gospel firsts. Through experiences like youth conference and seminary, they have learned they are not alone in their beliefs. And now they are determined to develop lasting testimonies of their own and help spread the good tidings of the gospel throughout Malaysia.

—Michelle Beach, 19, worked for 10 weeks in a floral design shop in Darmstadt, West Germany, not far from where her father is stationed with the army.
“They really wanted me to learn, so they gave me a lot of opportunities,” she said. “I worked on displays, color selection, care and handling of flowers, just about everything they do in the shop, except that I don’t speak much German, so I didn’t have much interaction with the customers.”
She studied firsthand the similarities and differences between German and American business practices, and between European and American floral designs.
“I learned that running a shop is not an easy thing to do. But it’s an opportunity to use your talents and work hard. And,” she said, “I found out that it’s really what I’m interested in.”

We all experience tragedy during which we need the reassurance of the Spirit. I felt it one day as I stood with my father in a hospital. We watched my mother take a few shallow breaths—and then no more. As we looked on her face, she was smiling as the pain left. After a few silent moments, my father spoke first. He said, “A little girl has gone home.”
He said it softly. He seemed to be at peace. He was reporting something he knew was true. He quietly began to gather Mother’s personal things. He went out into the hospital hallway to thank each of the nurses and doctors who had ministered to her for days.
My father had the companionship of the Holy Ghost at that moment to feel, to know, and to do what he did that day. He had received the promise, as many have: “That they may have his Spirit to be with them” (D&C 20:79).