Gospel Story Finder

While serving with me in South Africa, Sister Wood learned that through the generosity of a member of the Church in Salt Lake, a number of keyboards could be made available to members in our area. In the black township of Soweto, few members had any kind of musical training. When Ann learned of this, with the permission of the stake president, she began traveling to the Soweto ward to teach as many students as could be accommodated with the keyboards.

Every Tuesday, a missionary couple would drive her to the chapel where she would begin teaching them as a group, the rudiments and technical foundations of music, i.e. how to read music, metrical headings, meters, measures, time signatures and downbeats, and how to play hymns from the beginning book for the course. Then each student would retire to a different room for a period of personal practice on their own keyboard. She would then move from room to room, listening, correcting and helping each student. She gave similar instructions to those who wanted to lead and direct music.

Some students struggled. It was not easy for all of them. Gradually, the fruits of effort matured. Prelude music began to be played more frequently before meetings began. A very small repertoire of hymns could be sung to new accompaniments. There were more choristers who could count and lead with correct time signatures. Choristers and accompanists took turns, mistakes were forgiven, and growth and progress were so obvious that the whole congregation became a supporting and rooting section for their newborn musicians.

Other couple missionaries began doing the same thing in other mission locations, and recently, a couple has been called to carry on this musical training in Africa where students now number in the hundreds.

There is so much each one of us can do with the gifts with which the Lord has blessed us if we can catch the vision and open our hearts to those who have so much less or whose needs can so easily be met by our willingness to share.

Once I was arguing with my mom and felt pretty bad. So, I decided I would pray. Although I was in a bad mood and didn’t want to be spiritual, I knew praying would end up with me getting happy and less argumentative. So right there at the table, after my mom left, I started my prayer. “Dear Heavenly Father, I’ve come to you tonight because …”
No, I opened my eyes and unfolded my arms. That sounded weird. I tried my second attempt. “Heavenly Father, I need …”
That also sounded strange. Now that I think of it, the opening to my prayers had only one problem, and I am glad I tried again because I felt Satan urging me to stop and give up my prayer to ask Heavenly Father for help. “Dear Heavenly Father—”
Suddenly I had a prompting to say thank you! So I did, and all the many things I could thank my Father in Heaven for started spilling from my head. When I was done thanking Him, I then discussed the problem at hand. My prayer lasted 25 minutes. In the end I made sure to close in the name of Jesus Christ. After my prayer I felt a wonderful peace inside me, the warm spiritual feeling that I know our Heavenly Father and parents love me and that I am a child of God.

When Tomás got home from school, everyone seemed busy.
“Shut the door,” Diego said when Tomás came in their room. “I can’t do my homework with so much noise!”
Tomás went into the living room. His younger sisters both wanted the same toy at the same time. “Give it to me!” Luiza said, trying to grab a doll away from Stella. “I had it first!”
Tomás went into the kitchen. Mom was holding the baby in one arm while she stirred the soup. “Dad is going to be late tonight. Will you set the table for me?” she asked.
When everyone had finished eating, Dad came home. He looked tired.
What can I do to help everyone be happier? Tomás wondered. Then he remembered what day it was—Monday! Family home evening would make things better!
But when he mentioned family home evening to Mom, she sighed. “I don’t know if we have time for it tonight,” she said.
Tomás thought about how the prophets said that family home evening was very important and that it would bless their lives.
“But, Mom,” Tomás said, “we really need family night!”
Mom thought for a minute. “You know what? I think you’re right,” she said. “Let’s clean up so we can get started.”
At the end of family home evening, Tomás knelt to pray with his family. He felt good inside. His brother still had a project due, his mom was still busy, and his dad was still tired. But everyone seemed a little happier, and his home felt more peaceful.
Tomás smiled. Following the prophets always made things better.

Finances became a major concern. I had enough money in the bank to cover 11 of the remaining 15 months of my mission and hoped Mom could get enough together for the remaining four. My plans for college now became hopes and dreams. However, the Lord takes care of his missionaries.
I received a letter from my mother telling me that I needn’t worry about finances anymore. A man had contacted my bishop and asked if he could support me for the rest of my mission. This is not too unusual, since there are many good-hearted men in the Church, but the difference in this instance was in what the man told my bishop: “l’m not a member of your church, but out of the love and respect I have for Horace Rappleye, I’d like to support his son for the rest of his mission.” And he did. For 15 months the money was placed regularly in my bank account by the anonymous benefactor.
He remains anonymous to this day.

President Benson bore such a testimony in October 1959 when he visited the Central Baptist Church in Moscow, Russia, and was asked to speak. He described the event later as one of the most moving experiences of his life. The church was filled with about 1,500 people seeking to satisfy their spiritual hunger and thirst even though government policy discouraged religion. He testified: “God lives, I know that He lives. He is our Father. Jesus Christ, the Redeemer of the World, watches over this earth. … Be unafraid, keep His commandments, love one another, pray for peace and all will be well.” In closing, he said, “I leave you my witness as a Church servant for many years that the truth will endure. Time is on the side of truth. God bless you and keep you all the days of your life.” Those present were touched deeply. Many wept openly, including a cynical newsman and a young Russian interpreter. The congregation began singing “God Be with You Till We Meet Again.” They waved their handkerchiefs in joyous gratitude and in farewell as he and those with him left the meeting. (In Ezra Taft Benson, Cross Fire: The Eight Years with Eisenhower, Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday, 1962, pp. 485–88.)

As I sat at my desk, pondering the events of the upcoming day, I caught a glimpse of the early sun trying to pierce the dark clouds. My eyes focused on a nearby calendar in the corner of the room. It was the first day of October, and I had been on the England Manchester Mission staff for nearly five months. I could not believe how quickly the time had passed.
My thoughts were interrupted as I gazed at the morning mail heaped upon my desk, just waiting to be sent to eager missionaries. I quickly sorted through the letters and found several addressed to the mission. I carefully tore open each envelope, expecting to find referrals, bills, or notices.
The last envelope, however, contained a letter and a return envelope. Puzzled, I read the letter.
“Dear Sir,“My name is Ian Holden, and I will soon be 16 years old. I am writing to you after reading the New Era magazine.
“Last Thursday, I went to Halingden Library, as I often do after school. I went into the reference/periodical room, where I usually read magazines, newspapers, or use the reference books. On looking through the magazines, I noticed one I had not seen before, the June 1976 edition of the New Era.
“After reading through the magazine and finding it very interesting, I decided to further my knowledge of the Latter-day Saints by asking my Religious Education teacher if I could borrow any books that she might have on the Mormons. The result was my reading a critical booklet. Although the booklet was very critical, I was still deeply attracted to finding out more.
“Therefore, I must ask you to help me find my ‘new era’ in life. Please could you send me further details of the Latter-day Saints. I know that my parents would not mind me becoming a Mormon.
“Please reply soon.
“Yours Thankfully,”Ian Holden
My head pounded with excitement as I shared the letter with the rest of the office staff. I immediately looked up the missionaries in Ian’s area. He lived in an area assigned to the zone leaders in one of the Preston zones. The zone leaders happened to be coming in that very morning for supplies.
When the zone leaders, Elders Brown and Johnston, arrived, I rushed them into my office and let them have the news. They were also very excited and said they would drop by the following evening and try to meet with Ian.
Meanwhile, I quickly sat down to the typewriter and composed a short note to Ian, telling him that the missionaries would be coming by. I added a few brief words on how his letter had touched me, and ended with my testimony. I popped it in the letterbox right before the morning mail was collected.
Four days had not passed when I received a letter from Ian. He said that Elders Brown and Johnston had come by, and he expressed some of his inner feelings concerning Joseph Smith and his gratitude for the missionaries who brought this message.
He also recounted a little opposition that he was going through in gaining a strong witness of the truth. It was evident that he was studying the message out very deeply and sincerely in his mind. He had become a little depressed and expressed his feelings of doubt. I wasn’t too worried because many investigators experience feelings of doubt before a real testimony is gained.
I quickly jotted another brief note to Ian, trying to motivate and comfort him. I also sent an inspiring poem that my mother had sent me.
I kept in close contact with Elder Brown and Elder Johnston as I was anxious to hear of Ian’s progression. They assured me things were fine.
Another week passed, and I received yet another letter. This letter was full of excitement. Ian openly expressed how he had felt as he received his answer. His letter radiated gratitude for the gospel and what it was already doing for him.
He said, “I know that Satan will try harder, but now I have a stronger armour. My armour of faith is growing. In contrast to last week, which was one of depression, I have experienced great happiness. Today, for the first time in many years, I almost cried with happiness.” He also expressed another very special thought—he hoped to serve a mission. My head burned within me as I tucked the treasured letter in my desk drawer.
Ian’s next letter contained the exciting news of his upcoming baptism on the 26th of October. He said, “When the elders gave me the challenge, my eyes quickly filled with tears and I found it hard to give a reply.” He also mentioned that he had the highest respect for all missionaries, and he was looking forward to the day when he would be a missionary himself.
Weeks have passed, and Ian continues to write to me and share with me his growing experiences as a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Many people throughout the world are waiting to discover this “new era,” the gospel of Jesus Christ, as was this curious young man, Ian Holden.
Elder Mark E. ChristensenEngland Manchester Mission

Craig Hannah, 17, has been a pioneer in his own family. “I first got involved with the Church at sports night. I got talking to the missionaries and they persuaded me to come to church on Sunday. It felt good, so I kept coming. They started teaching me the discussions; then they asked me to get baptised. I prayed about it and felt really good about it. So I said yes. And when I got baptised, a few more of my family followed.”

I want to begin today with a personal story.
The Pitchfork
When I was a boy, I loved to visit my grandparents in Cannonville, Utah. They had a farm there, and I loved to ride the horses and the tractors and play in the barn.
On one visit, when I was about 9 years old, I was playing in the barn just before supper. I saw an old pitchfork standing against the wall next to a few bales of hay. I grabbed that pitchfork and jammed it into the hay again and again, just like I had seen my grandpa do. I wanted to get more leverage and more power, so I braced my left foot on one of the bales. I lifted up the pitchfork as high as I could; and then, forgetting that my foot was in there, I stuck it down into the hay with everything I had. That pitchfork went through the hay, through the top of my black canvas sneakers, and right into my foot.
O, that hurt! But I was so embarrassed I went right into dinner and didn't say a word to anyone about my injury. In fact, I didn't say anything to anyone about it for a couple of days.
Now, you can imagine the kind of pathogens that lived on that old, rusty, heavily used barnyard pitchfork. But I didn't think about those germs at all. I looked at my foot, and all I saw was a little puncture wound. I didn't want to tell anyone about the stupid thing I had done, so I said not a word.
My leg started to hurt the next day. At first it just felt like a pulled muscle, and I hid it pretty well. But the second day was much worse. My friends and I went swimming in our favorite pond that second morning. As soon as I put my left foot into the cold pond water, the pain shot up my leg. I was miserable.
I tried to hide the pain, but my Dad saw me limping around and came over to find out what was wrong. I told him what happened in the barn two days before, and he immediately put me in the car and hurried to the hospital in Panguitch. When we got there, the doctor took one look at my foot and leg and said: "It looks like tetanus. You are lucky your Dad brought you in when he did. Any longer and this would have been really, really bad."
The doctor disappeared for a moment and then returned with the biggest needle and syringe I had ever seen. He shot a large amount of penicillin into my left arm; it really hurt. My arm went stiff and I couldn't lift it without pain for two weeks. But that's what it took to kill the poison. And it worked.
When I walked into that hospital, there was poison in my foot and leg, poison that had begun to spread. If I had waited a few hours longer, my life would have been in danger. But the penicillin attacked the poisonous bacteria and worked with my own immune system to rid my body of that terrible threat.

“Time for family home evening!” Dad called.
Gunnar came running. He loved home evenings. Climbing up on the sofa, he snuggled between Ryan and Mom.
After the opening song and prayer, Dad stood up. “We’re going to have a special home evening,” he said. “Tonight we are going to have a testimony meeting.”
Testimony? Gunnar couldn’t remember his Primary teacher ever talking about a testimony in nursery. “What’s a testimony, Daddy?” he asked.
Dad smiled at Gunnar. “A testimony is what you believe about Heavenly Father and Jesus and the Church. It’s what you feel inside about them,” Dad said. “And you want to share your testimony because it means so much to you.”
“Oh.”
Then Dad said, “I have a testimony that Jesus Christ lives. And He loves each one of us.”
Emily was next. “I know that the Book of Mormon is true.”
“I’m glad that we have prophets,” said Ryan. “I know that Joseph Smith was a prophet.”
Mom said, “I’m grateful that your father and I were married in the temple, so we can be a family forever.” She reached into her pocket for a tissue to wipe her eyes.
Everyone in the family had shared a testimony except Gunnar.
A testimony is something I believe. Something I feel inside, Gunnar thought. Now he knew what he could say. He scooted off the sofa, stood straight and tall, and said, “I am a child of God.” Then he sat down. Mom gave him a little squeeze, and she had to get out that tissue again.
Gunnar had a happy feeling inside.

“When I made the decision to go on a mission, a lot of people thought I was crazy,” relates Trevor. “I’d played two seasons of football at BYU. I’d made varsity as a freshman—the only freshman on the varsity offense that year. I’d received two championship rings. I’d been to two Holiday Bowls. And I was going to leave it all to go on a mission?
“But they didn’t understand my motivation. Going through my mind was the fact that football is good and football is important, but someday football is going to end. Where would I be on that day if I based my entire life on football? I thought of what doesn’t end, and that’s my relationship with God, with my family, and with our church.
“So I left football, knowing that I might not ever play again. But even if I didn’t there would be no regrets, because the most important thing would be taken care of.”

Just three years ago, at this same time of year, I had this great principle demonstrated to me at the hands of the Lord in a very special way. The Portland Oregon East Stake has been developing a dairy farm over the past half dozen years or more. It is located on an island in the Columbia River and is one of the largest single-stake projects in the Church. This fact, coupled with the need to develop the project almost from scratch, has placed a heavy burden upon our people, both in time and in money.

With a new project, we had run in the red each year, but 1977 was to be our turnabout year. The final result depended upon harvesting about seventy-five acres of corn, which was to be made into silage for feed. Unseasonably, it had rained almost every day during the month of September, and by the first day of October, our scheduled harvest date, I knew the crop was in trouble. We have a very high water table on the island, and when the ground gets saturated with too much water we get so much mud our harvest equipment cannot get into the fields without sinking. Once the land is saturated, it takes about a month of dry weather to make the fields passable to vehicles. During the winter months and right up until June, the corn ground is entirely under water.

I visit the farm about once a week, so I keep a pair of rubber boots in my car. I drove to the farm that October day and decided to pull on my boots and walk down into the corn fields. I immediately found even the road turned to mud and puddles. In places the mud came near the top of my eighteen-inch-high boots, and I don’t really know why I continued walking. It was a dark gray, overcast day, and drops of rain were splashing in the open puddles everywhere. The farm crew told me they had taken a corn chopper down into the fields a few days earlier but had it down to the axles in mud somewhere in the long corn rows.

As I walked I noticed that the corn itself was a fine crop, with row after row ten to fourteen feet high. Now, I rarely get depressed, but I was feeling really low that day. I knew how hard everyone had worked and what it meant to lose that fine crop. I eventually came to the spot where the chopper had gone in, and looking way down the rows I saw it sunk deep into the mud. For some reason I decided to walk to the chopper, and as I entered the rows and splashed on through the mud and water, I was startled to hear a voice. I am sure that the voice came to me only in my mind, but I could hear the voice and admonition of President Kimball. He said softly, "Is any thing too hard for the Lord?" (Gen. 18:14.) Now, like you, I have heard him say that many times, but I did not fully focus upon it before this time. I smiled to myself as I walked and said, "Yes, President, I believe this mess may be too hard even for the Lord."

As I neared the chopper, I was impressed to climb up on it and upon doing so found my head was about two feet above seventy-five acres of that tall, splendid corn. As I looked about in discouragement, the voice seemed to come to me again, but this time in a more serious tone, "President, is there anything too hard for the Lord?" At once I felt ashamed of my attitude of depression, and soon I was no longer looking down but up into the sky. Before I realized it, I was talking, yes, pleading aloud with the Lord in faith. When I had finished, I had committed that crop and the harvesting of it into the hands of the Lord and had done so by the power of the priesthood of God. I recall that as I climbed down from the chopper, tears were still streaming from my eyes. I grew concerned as I slowly walked away considering what it was that I had just done. Yet I knew that I had done it in total faith, that there was a proper need, and that it was a righteous request of the Lord.

Because of the spiritual nature of my experience, I think I had decided not to tell anyone of it. But the very next Sunday I was sitting on the stand during one of our ward sacrament meetings. I was not scheduled to speak, but the bishop got up with about ten minutes remaining and said, "I feel President DeHaan has had a spiritual experience that he needs to share with us." I got up reluctantly, knowing what it was I had to relate. I did so and asked the congregation to join me with their faith. Now, we have Saints with great testimonies in our stake, and my experience spread rapidly throughout the wards. I learned several weeks later that members were even telling their nonmember friends to go ahead and plan picnics and outdoor activities, because even in Oregon it was not going to rain throughout October. On the day following my experience in the corn fields, the sun came out for the first time in nearly thirty days. Then the next day we had sun, and the day following that. Before long the temperature was back into the high seventies. Every day for the next three weeks the weather forecast called for rain, but each day no rain fell.

I recall that about two weeks later I flew to Seattle, about two hundred miles to the north, on business. It rained very hard there all day, and as I made the return trip to Portland it rained all the way until we reached the Columbia River, which surrounds our farm. Miraculously, the clouds parted and the rain ceased. That day I cut a little weather map from the newspaper showing the rain ending at the river and put it on our refrigerator as a reminder to keep my faith. Three weeks after my original experience in the fields, I drove to the farm once again. I put on my boots and went back into the corn. This time the ground was soft but firming. That was on a Friday, and our fine farm crew was already making plans to begin the harvest on the following Monday.

That same day an acquaintance of mine from a local television station called. He said, "I understand the Mormons are developing a fine dairy farm on Sauvies Island." I answered in the affirmative, and he inquired, "Is there a story there?" I told him there was, but I knew he could never capture the real story. That very Monday, as we began our harvest, we had a camera crew on the farm for several hours, and we did get some fine publicity for the Church.

With the loyal assistance of many of the members, we worked day and night for the next five days. By the following Saturday, all of the freshly chopped corn was safely in our silage pits, and we finished covering it over with plastic. At last we had the feed needed to get us through the winter. Within an hour after having covered the crop, the heavens just seemed to open and commenced one of the heaviest and longest downpours I can remember. The fields from which the corn had just been removed were flooded and remained under water from that day until the following June. As I stood in the rain with feelings of gratitude that I’ll never be able to adequately describe, it seemed to me that the Lord had just saved it up until our spiritual understanding had been fulfilled.

One of my favorite parts of all scripture is the 121st Section of the Doctrine and Covenants. It is a wonderful narrative in which Joseph Smith begins in the depths of despair and rises to celestial heights. This section of the Doctrine and Covenants was originally a letter from Joseph Smith to his wife, Emma, from Liberty Jail in Missouri. The letter in its entirety includes the 121st, 122nd, and 123rd sections. To better understand these great revelations, we should put them in their proper context. Joseph and a few of his followers were prisoners in the county jail at Liberty, MO, from December 1838 until April 1839. In other words, they were in prison during the winter. There was no heat and the food was barely edible. In fact, on one occasion, they had been served human flesh. They were in a basement dungeon with a dirt floor and a ceiling so low they could not fully stand up. The Saints had been driven from their homes, property stolen, and livestock seized. The men were being hunted and women feared for their lives and all that they held precious. In the midst of this upheaval, Governor Lilburn W. Boggs, the Governor and Chief Executive of the State of Missouri, issued an extermination order, which in effect declared open season on the Saints in Missouri. So begins the 121st section. Joseph says in verse one, “Oh God, where art thou, and where is the pavilion that covereth thy hiding place?” Remember, this is the same Joseph Smith that we believe had heavenly visitations from God the Father, Jesus Christ, Moroni, John the Baptist, Peter, James and John, and others. Is it as interesting to you as it is to me that even Joseph Smith, of whom Brigham Young stated, Jesus Christ excepted, was the greatest man to ever live on the earth, would have enormous challenges in his life to the point that he would ask, “Where is God?” It gives me hope that even Joseph Smith had some very bad days and very large obstacles. Shortly after his interrogatory statement in verses one and two he expresses his frustration to the Lord and in verse 5 his passions come to a boil when Joseph says, “Let Thine anger be kindled against our enemies; and, in the fury of thine heart, with thy sword avenge us of our wrongs.” It is followed in verse six, “Remember the suffering Saints, Oh, our God; and thy servants will rejoice in thy name forever.” In verse seven the Lord responds to Joseph’s outpouring by saying, “My son, peace be unto thy soul; thine adversity and thine afflictions shall be but a small moment.” In other words the Lord says to Joseph, in today's vernacular, “Joseph, Chill. Everything will be ok. I am in charge. This is my work and all is going according to my plan. Relax.” Or in my music of the sixties, the Beatles’ song “Let It Be.” Often we need to hear those same words when we face obstacles that seem overwhelming. The Lord then teaches Joseph a wonderful principle. As I said earlier, in verse six Joseph stated, “Remember the suffering Saints, Oh, our God; and thy servants will rejoice in thy name forever.” In other words, if you will remove these obstacles we will rejoice in thy name forever. The Lord corrects him in verse eight when He says, “And then if thou endure it well, God shall exalt thee on high; thou shalt triumph over all thy foes.” The message is straight forward and succinct. Whereas Joseph had asked God to remove these obstacles and says the Saints will worship God forever, the Lord responds by saying if you endure it well, THEN you shall triumph over all your foes. The take-away for us then is that we should not expect the Lord to remove our challenges by promising Him that we will always be faithful if He does. That sounds very much like a foxhole prayer to me. During a time of war soldiers in foxholes will pray, “If you save me, God, from my enemy I will be good always.” Rather the principle is to endure well and THEN you will be blessed. That is a marvelous life lesson for each of us.

In 1960 as I was nearing my 12th birthday and getting ready to graduate as a Top Pilot from Primary, I had not completed memorizing the last and longest article of faith, the 13th. It didn't seem to matter to me that the pin recognizing this accomplishment would not be added to my green primary bandelo. I was more concerned with joining my buddies, who had moved up from the Primary program. The Sunday was fast approaching when our Branch President would welcome us into the Young Men program. That Saturday night my mother received a call from my primary teacher, Sister Becky Modelick. I do not remember the level of conversation except that she told me, "Tomorrow morning at 7:00am, get yourself ready and go on over to Sister Modelicks home." Needless to say at 7:00am the next morning under the tutelage of my faithful Primary teacher I completed and passed off the 13th article of faith. I will always be grateful and remember Sister Modelick.

A little over 34 years ago, when yet a high school student, I was first contacted by the missionaries—who invited me to attend MIA and join their basketball team. Not knowing anything about the Church, but being very interested in basketball, I attended MIA. Later I attended Sunday School, then sacrament meeting.
After a year of attendance and studying the gospel with the missionaries, and having read the story of Joseph Smith’s first vision, I accepted the invitation to be baptized into the Church. That evening, I returned home, having committed myself to baptism, to ask my widowed mother for permission to be baptized.
Suddenly I saw tears in her eyes. I asked her why was she shedding tears. And she answered, saying, “These are not tears of joy, but of sadness”—for she had just lost another son. In her widowhood she had lost a son—my brother—and so she said she had just lost another son to a Christian church.
She later explained that at my father’s deathbed she had promised and covenanted with him to raise the children honorably in the Buddhist faith. I quickly assured my mother that in the year that I had been associating with the missionaries, I had always been lifted up and had learned nothing but good things from them.
I promised her that if she would permit me to be baptized and later found that through my behavior I had caused her any embarrassment—or committed some shameful or dishonorable act—then all she had to do was ask me to stop going to church, and I would, without question, obey her will.
However, on the other hand, if I became a better person—more attentive to her needs as a widow, more kind toward the demands of home, brothers, and sisters—then, I said, “Would you permit me to continue to go to church? Because I know that this is the place where I can gain an education for an eternal life.”
It is my testimony today that I never had to leave the Church nor cause my mother any concern about my behavior. As I lived the gospel principles taught by the missionaries, and as I studied the principles myself, I had the assurance from my Father in heaven that my future outcome would be one that I would never have to worry about.

When I was eighteen, my dad, my grandpa, and I went together to receive our patriarchal blessings. That was a spiritual highlight of my life. My grandpa was promised that if he remained faithful, he’d inherit the celestial kingdom. He was in his seventies then, so I knew where he was going to be. My dad received a wonderful blessing, and I did too. My spiritual heritage has given me a desire to do what’s right and to honor our family name. There have been many times in my life when I’ve been tempted to do wrong and thoughts of my father’s and grandfather’s goodness have prompted me to make better decisions.

Shortly before Gina was baptized in December 2001, her nonmember friends left her. They thought Gina was joining a cult. But Gina didn’t let that stop her, because joining the Church was so important to her.
A couple weeks after her baptism, Gina drove two hours to her first Church activity: a semi-formal dance. Gina knew only one person there. At the next activity, ice skating, she met more Latter-day Saint teens and exchanged e-mail addresses with them. In the months following her baptism, she began to get to know more youth in her stake.
Gina lives in a stake that covers a lot of territory. Her Church friends live about two hours away. Besides the time involved, the cost of gas makes it expensive to drive to see her friends. But it’s worth it to Gina because her friends are strong members of the Church and such good influences on her.
Gina was the only active teenager in her branch; she was the only student in seminary; and her Church friends live far away. Why does she go to all the effort? “I know what I know, and I know it’s the truth,” she says. “To be with people who have a strong testimony of the same things I do is worth driving two hours to have that spiritual backing up.
“There is wear and tear during the week, but you just have to stay strong. When that weekend comes, you’re ready for some Latter-day Saint fun and goodness surrounding you,” Gina says, laughing. “It’s definitely worth it.”

Some years ago, my wife, Isabelle, received an unusual ministering assignment. She was asked to visit an elderly widow in our ward, a sister with health challenges and whose loneliness had brought bitterness into her life. Her curtains were drawn; her apartment was stuffy; she did not want to be visited and made it clear that “there is nothing I can do for anyone.” Undeterred, Isabelle responded, “Yes, there is! You can do something for us by allowing us to come and visit you.” And so Isabelle went, faithfully.

Some time later, this good sister had surgery on her feet, which required her bandages to be changed every day, something she could not do for herself. For days, Isabelle went to her home, washed her feet, and changed her bandages. She never saw ugliness; she never smelled stench. She only ever saw a beautiful daughter of God in need of love and tender care.

Over the years, I and countless others have been blessed by Isabelle’s gift to see as the Lord sees. Whether you are the stake president or the ward greeter, whether you are the king of England or live in a shack, whether you speak her language or a different one, whether you keep all the commandments or struggle with some, she will serve you her very best meal on her very best plates. Economic status, skin color, cultural background, nationality, degree of righteousness, social standing, or any other identifier or label is of no consequence to her. She sees with her heart; she sees the child of God in everyone.

Jessica P. and Nory A., two young women who live on Santa Cruz, know this personally. They are both converts and have both seen the difference keeping the commandments makes. There aren’t very many members in the Galápagos Islands (only 125 members in their branch out of around 25,000 people on their island). It can be difficult to stay on the strait and narrow path (see 1 Nephi 8:20; 2 Nephi 4:33; 31:17–19; Alma 7:19) with temptations such as alcohol and drugs all around.
Nory has seen the challenges in her own family. A year after her family was baptized, they were sealed in the Guayaquil Ecuador Temple. Not long after, however, several members of her family fell away. For a time she and her mom were the only ones who participated in church. How did she stay strong?
“Family home evening,” she says. “For a while, just my mom and I would hold it. Later my older brother and my dad started coming. And every time we study the gospel, my dad says, ‘This is for me.’ Now he is getting stronger and my brother too.”

My concerns were not completely resolved as I entered the mission home in Salt Lake City, today's equivalent of the MTC. That period in the mission home answered one of the most basic issues I faced: does God still speak to the Church today? Is the Church guided by revelation from God?

The teachers at the mission home were mostly General Authorities of the Church. One of them was Elder Joseph F. Merrill of the Quorum of Twelve Apostles. A noted Ph.D. scholar in physics, he had been a professor at the University of Utah before his call to the Twelve in 1931, the year I was born. He spoke on that very issue and testified to us matter-of-factly with his scientific approach that revelation has continued in and guided the Church. When he allowed questions, one elder asked Elder Merrill: "When did the Church receive the last revelation from God?" Elder Merrill answered quickly and emphatically, "Last Thursday in the Salt Lake Temple."

Elder Merrill then paused a moment in thought, and added: "We expect President Don Colton (the mission president), to come through the door at the end of the hour, is that right?" President Colton's approach was to introduce each speaker at the beginning of the hour and then return to introduce the next speaker at the end of the hour. We were in the middle of Elder Merrill's hour and thus did not expect President Colton. Elder Merrill said simply: "President Colton will shortly enter the room." The door almost immediately opened and President Colton entered with a message for one of the missionaries. Elder Merrill had calmly received a message from above and we all knew it.

Dr. William Ghormley served as president of the stake in Corpus Christi, Texas. He bought his gasoline at a particular station. Each time he filled his tank he would leave a piece of Church literature with the station owner. It might have been a tract or a Church magazine or the Church News, but he never went there without leaving something. The man who ran the station was converted by the power of the Spirit as he read that literature. When last I checked, he was serving as a bishop.