Gospel Story Finder

São Paulo, Brazil—Jose Evandro Pontalti was close to fulfilling the dream of most Brazilian boys to become a professional soccer player, when he decided to serve a full-time mission.
Jose was playing for a minor league soccer team in Cambara, Brazil, when the team trainer, Brother Alcides dos Santos Goncalves, introduced him to the Church. Brother Goncalves would discuss the Bible, family relations, and similar topics with the team. Then he moved away.
Jose began to read the Book of Mormon and soon gained a testimony. The Church was not organized in Cambara so he had to travel to Bauru, near São Paulo, and to be baptized.
While in Bauru, he played in a soccer competition, was named the team’s best player, and received an offer from the Regatas do Flamengo, a professional team. After some months as a reserve team member preparing to turn professional at age twenty-one, he decided to serve a mission. Despite arguments from the club owner and coaches that he could be giving up a promising career, Jose would not change his mind.
Even though some people don’t understand his decision, says Elder Pontalti, “I am very happy to be serving in the São Paulo South Mission.”

The bed felt soft and warm. Melissa hoped her sister Shelly wasn’t asleep yet in her bed. As Melissa watched the shadows made by the moonlight streaming through the window and across the dressers and beds, they made curious gray shapes on the wall.
“I wonder what the sharpest thing in the world is,” Melissa said.
“Who cares?” responded Shelly, who thought Melissa was a nuisance when she asked so many questions.
“Well, it couldn’t be shadows,” Melissa said. “Even though they have corners, they’re very soft.”
“Oh, really?” Shelly declared sarcastically.
Melissa lay quietly for a moment, but she kept thinking. Soon she said, “If I wanted to find out what the sharpest thing in the world is, I’d start by letting every single horse bite me.”
“Oh, brother,” moaned Shelly.
“Then I’d let every dog bite me.”
“What a dumb idea,” said Shelly. “You couldn’t do that.”
“Pins are pretty sharp,” Melissa continued, undeterred. “They can go through most anything. Or Mama’s best scissors might be the sharpest thing in the world. Remember how easily they cut my hair?”
“Go to sleep!” Shelly said crossly.
“Our sharpest knife cuts through a loaf of homemade bread in a second. But Daddy’s nails go through wood. Oh!” Melissa cried excitedly, “I bet I know what the sharpest thing in the world is. Great-great-grandpa Johnson’s sword! If you got poked with that it would really hurt.”
“Will you please be quiet, Melissa, so I can get some sleep!”
“If I could try all the horses and dogs and pins and scissors and knives and nails and swords, then I’d know what the sharpest thing in the world is.”
Shelly suddenly sat up in bed. “Melissa,” she shouted, “if you don’t be quiet, I’m going to tell Dad. I wish I had a bedroom of my own. I wish I didn’t have to share a bedroom with a sister who talks all night!” Then she flopped back down, turned her back to Melissa, and pulled the covers over her shoulder.
Melissa was quiet for a long time. Finally, out of the darkness came a wistful voice. “I know what the sharpest thing in the world is.”
“I don’t believe this,” said Shelly.
“It’s words,” Melissa said quietly. “They hurt the most.”
Shelly turned over and looked at Melissa with a mixture of surprise and affection. “Oh, Missy,” she said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean those things I said. I like sharing my bedroom with you. And I like having you for a sister.”
The girls were both silent for a few minutes thinking. Suddenly Melissa whispered, “Shelly.”
“Now what?” Shelly asked laughingly.
“I know what the softest thing in the world is,” Melissa declared thoughtfully. “Softer than shadows and darkness and pillows and marshmallows and teddy bears and blankets and moonlight.”
“OK,” said Shelly good-naturedly. “Tell me. What’s the softest thing in the world?”
“It’s words,” said Melissa.
Through the darkness she could almost see her sister smiling. And then she felt soft arms around her and Shelly whispered, “Oh, Melissa, I love you.”

As the usual family festivities of Christmas Eve were drawing to an end, I felt that can’t-wait-until-morning feeling of excitement!
I was eight years of age and the oldest grandchild in my large extended family. Every few minutes, a parent, aunt, or uncle would open the door and exclaim about hearing the faint sound of bells. I could hardly wait for Santa to arrive. Yet Grandpa still insisted on going caroling first—a family tradition. “Santa will never come!” I thought.
As we hopped into our frost-covered cars, we realized it was a lot later than we normally left. The small town where we lived in Idaho was very quiet and cold. Some family members worried that we shouldn’t go caroling so late, but my grandpa insisted that we should visit a couple houses.
As we drove down the small, tree-covered lane, we could see no hint of light in the tiny log cabin belonging to “Old Jim.” Jim was a good friend, and he had a big heart. He had been a widower since I could remember.
“Surely Jim wouldn’t care if we didn’t stop,” I moaned. Santa Claus would miss us for sure!
But my good grandfather persisted: “Just quietly gather by the bedroom window and start with ‘O Little Town of Bethlehem.’”
Our voices were unsteady at first, but strength lies in numbers, and it wasn’t long until the music swelled into a beautiful, harmonious melody.
Yet in thy dark streets shineth
The everlasting Light.
The hopes and fears of all the years
Are met in thee tonight.
There was still no light on in Jim’s home, but we continued to sing.
O morning stars, together
Proclaim the holy birth,
And praises sing to God the King,
And peace to men on earth.1
The cabin door opened.
In the moonlight, we could see tears run down Jim’s face. As he embraced us all, he cried—really cried. After a time, he wiped the tears of joy from his face and said to us, “I have waited all year for you to come. You are my Christmas. And when the clock turned 9:30, I thought I had been forgotten. I was so disappointed. I had gone to bed, for there was no reason to stay up anymore.”
Our hearts were filled. As Jim motioned us into his home and turned on the light, we could see that he indeed had been expecting us. His kitchen table was beautifully set, and there was everything from Christmas cake and cookies to cold meats cut and laid out waiting for us to eat. The cups had been carefully counted and lovingly filled with sweet apple cider, so as “not to miss a one of you,” Jim added.
Jim said we had been his Christmas? Not so. Jim had been ours.
The gift of love we received that cold Christmas Eve was more wonderful than anything Santa could ever have left under our Christmas tree. And it was a reminder that the Lord wants us to minister to His children as He does—one by one, bringing His love with us (see 3 Nephi 11:15–17; 17:21).
The author lives in Utah.

“Thanks for helping me get that broken water pipe fixed.”
Elder Jose Arcia laughs, “Oh, Hermana, we didn’t help much.” During their last visit, the woman’s eight-year-old boy had broken a pipe in the front yard, sending water gushing onto the sidewalk. After an hour, with a Church member’s help, they fixed it. Today, every time the boy starts to wander away from the discussion, Elder Arcia asks him simple questions and playfully draws him back.
The mother, who is separated from her husband, is impressed by the lesson. Elder Arcia and his companion teach sensitively, urging her to love God and her neighbors and obey the law of chastity and the Word of Wisdom. “In twenty years, after the missionaries are gone, will you still be obeying these laws?” he asks.
“Of course I will,” she answers. She’ll be baptized in two weeks.
Watching Elder Arcia teach, you’d assume he’s had years of Church experience. Actually, this twenty-four-year-old Panamanian entered the MTC thirteen days before completing even one year as a member.
Later, a U.S. missionary assistant to the mission president comments on Elder Arcia’s work in the Costa Rica Mission: “The president sends him to areas where the work isn’t going well. Wherever he goes, Elder Arcia sparks excitement, teaches a lot of discussions, and has baptisms. There’s something about him that we foreigners don’t have. He can get into doors we can’t enter!”

It’s time for another family gathering in Hooper, Utah. All the cousins scramble onto the big hay wagon, drawn by a team of Grandpa Parker’s Clydesdale horses, for a ride around the small farming community. During the ride Grandpa says, “This isn’t much different from the way the pioneers traveled across the plains.” The children smile because they know that Grandpa’s bay horses aren’t much like oxen.

Now the horses are ready to take the family for a ride. They trot as though they love to pull in their harnesses, and they are lucky to have someone who loves to train them.

After an enjoyable ride over to the park and back, Grandpa pulls on the right rein for the horses to turn into the area by the corral where he can unhitch them by reversing the harnessing process.

The children slide off the wagon, already looking forward to the next time that they come for a visit to Grandpa’s farm. It was a fun ride, but they are glad that they don’t have to ride on a wagon day after day or walk all the way across the plains as many pioneers did.

When I was 17 years old, we lived on an island in southern Norway called Andabeløy. My father converted to the Church on Andabeløy, and I was baptized in the ocean there.
I was a fisherman by that time and was well experienced in handling a boat. My father put me in charge of our maritime taxi service used by area residents.
One day in 1941 we got a call from the doctor in Flekkefjord, to the north. A woman who lived about two hours away by boat needed immediate medical attention. Dr. Hoffman asked if I could take him to see her, but my parents were worried about a storm raging in the North Sea. We decided to pray, asking Heavenly Father what to do. We received an answer that I should proceed.
When I eased Tryg, my 31-foot (10 m) fishing boat, into the sea, the weather was bad and the waves were big. After picking up the doctor, I set out through the fjord into the open sea. We were to travel to a community just north of Lista, located on Norway’s rocky southern coastline—famous for stormy weather and shipwrecks.
I steered through the storm until we got to a rocky inlet, about 40 feet (12 m) across, which led to our destination. The waves, so high I could not control the boat through the inlet, were rushing into the inlet and crashing against the rocks.
“What should we do?” the doctor asked over the gale.
“We have to pray about it,” I replied.
I paused and prayed, asking Heavenly Father for direction. As soon as I had said amen, an answer came to me clearly. I suddenly recalled a story an old fisherman had told me. He had been fishing in this same area during a bad storm and couldn’t get to shore. As he waited out the storm, he noticed a pattern in the incoming waves. After three great big waves washed in, a short period of calm followed—long enough for him to enter the inlet.
I had fished many times in this area but had never noticed a wave pattern. Nevertheless, I brought the boat to the front of the inlet, where we waited and watched as three big waves came in. Sure enough, a sudden calm followed. I glided the boat forward over the smooth water of the inner bay and brought Dr. Hoffman safely to shore. He hurried to the ill woman while I waited in the boat, thankful Heavenly Father had answered my prayer.
When the doctor returned about an hour later, he declared, “We saved her life!”
Relieved by the news and the improving weather, I piloted the boat home without incident.
I bear witness that when we need help, we should pray. I know that Heavenly Father will answer.

About two years ago I was living in Mexico City. My family and I were enjoying it there, but we saw a lot of people living in poverty. A wonderful opportunity to provide charity came when we had a little money we felt could be used to help someone else.
That Christmas our stake organized a “Family Help Tree.” We chose a name from the tree and started planning. We couldn’t wait to help this family on Christmas.
One month later, Christmas arrived and our family was ready to deliver the presents. We drove to the address and walked down a dark alley. There were gray, eroded cement walls, a plastic roof, and a wooden door that was too small for the doorway. When we knocked on the door we saw dirt floors and only one couch. There was a fridge that was not plugged in and a little bit of food on the shelves. We then found out that the mom, dad, 9-month-old baby, 4-year-old girl, and 6-year-old boy all slept either on the floor or on the couch and had only two light blankets.
We explained why we were there and then proceeded to give them the presents. The look of joy and happiness on their faces was truly priceless. We gave them a couple of alphabet toys, some food, and last but not least, some warm blankets. They were so grateful. Everyone cried tears of joy. I felt the love of the Savior for this family.
After that humbling experience, I asked my parents if we could use any money that was going toward my gifts for others who are less fortunate, and then my two little brothers asked if they could too. That moment made it a Christmas to remember. It was truly a humbling event and increased my testimony of service and the love of the Savior. When we are in the service of others, we are in the service of God, just as it states in Mosiah 2:17.

Trying the Prophet’s Teachings
I was touched by President Nelson’s message in conference that God wants to speak with me and tell me what He wants me to do. Today I thought I would try that out. I prayed that I could be of help to someone today. After lunch I needed to fill my car up with gas. I had the thought that I needed to buy someone gas. Somewhat skeptically, I thought, “We’ll see.” I began pumping my gas. A minivan pulled up next to me, and a lady got out with her son. She got her purse out and fumbled through it.
I was finishing pumping when I heard her say somewhat timidly, “Excuse me.” I turned to see a worried look on her face.
I told her I was supposed to buy someone gas today. “Is that someone you?” Surprised, she began to tear up. “Someone’s watching out for you today,” I said. I walked around the pump and inserted my credit card. Then I got in my car and drove away with the absolute assurance that someone is up there watching out for me too. Thank God for a prophet!”
—Jonathan Benson, story shared on the Liahona Facebook page

Illustrations by Craig Phillips
While talking in history class about different religious denominations, my friend asked me about my CTR ring. Without hesitating, I explained that CTR meant “choose the right” and that my parents gave it to me for my birthday. He asked which church I belong to, and I told him I was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, or a Mormon. Until then I hadn’t realized that people don’t actually know much about the Church, but he seemed sincerely interested to learn more and asked me if I was an altar boy. I had no idea what that was, so he explained, and then I told him we had something similar called deacons.
We proceeded to ask each other questions, including, “Can your bishops marry?” and “Who is your archbishop?” He also asked, “You use the Bible, right?” To that, I explained our beliefs in the Bible and the Book of Mormon, which complement each other. The next day, I offered him a copy of the Book of Mormon. Inside the cover, I told him where he could get a CTR ring, because he was interested in getting one. My friend carried that Book of Mormon to school for about a week and said he couldn’t put it down. Though he never came to church with me, I’ve learned that a great way to share the gospel with others is to find common ground and to be interested in their beliefs as well. Throughout this experience, I learned a lot about what my friend believes, while he learned what I believe, and we’ve come to respect each other’s beliefs. I know one of the best ways to share the gospel is just to open our mouths and talk to our friends.

Jeremy Carver (9) was born in northern Virginia. He played soccer and baseball there and explored the nearby fields and beaver pond. And he went with his family on trips to the zoo, to Civil War sites, and to places in Washington, D.C.
Then Jeremy and his family left their house in the Virginia countryside and moved to an apartment on the nineteenth floor of a skyscraper in Hong Kong, a British dependency leased from the People’s Republic of China. Hong Kong is a huge international trade center, and from the patio of his home, Jeremy can overlook the beautiful harbor there.
Jeremy soon had favorite plant, fruit, pet, and juice vendors in his new neighborhood. They and other people he meets are fascinated by his hair because it is so much lighter than theirs. About 98 percent of the people in Hong Kong are Chinese, and Jeremy got to be in an ice-cream commercial when a foreign child was needed in it.
One trip was a ferry ride to a nearby island where a Buddhist monastery is built on the top of a mountain. Other trips have included a drive to the farms and small villages near the Chinese border. But whether it’s a family-home-evening walk in the neighborhood or a longer excursion, Jeremy loves to meet the people of Hong Kong and have them as his friends.

When Richard Boyd took his first scuba diving class, he didn’t realize that one day it would greatly influence both his vocation and his Church calling. Becoming a certified diver enhanced Richard’s job at Disney World in Orlando, Florida, where he was already working as a welder and mechanic helping to maintain some of the rides. With his new skills, his previous maintenance work on land was replaced by more interesting and challenging underwater work on the 20,000-Leagues-Under-the Sea ride.
Of course, when he* became Explorer adviser in the Orlando First Ward, the young men were interested in diving and so together they earned the tuition and attended scuba classes. Seventeen young men (including Bishop George Parkhurst) finished the certification course. To celebrate their success they went diving off Singer Island near Palm Beach, Florida. They made two dives on Friday and two on Saturday, each about 35 minutes apiece in water 60 to 80 feet deep.
The beautiful underwater world that each person on the trip got to see seemed like another universe. Once the young men slid into the water, they merged into a world of brightly colored coral, sponges, sea anemones, sea fans, and hosts of small tropical fish. They also got to meet many marine creatures including the small, harmless nurse sharks, the more dangerous moray eels, and barracuda, grouper, snapper, and other larger fish.
Brian Solomon, 17, found it hard to believe even after he had seen it. “The part of the trip that sticks out in my mind is how beautiful ocean life is. No matter how many pictures you see, it doesn’t compare with what you can see in person. Observing some of the sea life close up was something I’ll never forget. Imagine swimming along and then looking down and spotting a four foot barracuda making eyes at you!”
Dale Strange said, “As we descended to the bottom we began to see the coral and the animal life. Time seemed to fly so fast in that world that an hour could seem like just a few minutes. It was all new and unreal to me even though I have always been interested in the ocean.”
Besides giving the boys something to learn and master together, the classes also gave them greater appreciation for their leaders. Brian Solomon summed up the feelings of the group: “The classes and the trip were great, but our experiences with our leaders were even greater. Each one of them did his part and more. I wish everyone could meet them and feel their spirit.”

I used to find it difficult to use my beliefs as a response to a question as simple as “Why don’t you drink coffee?” In the past I came up with excuses like “It’s too bitter” or “I don’t like the taste.”
Why was I embarrassed? Why was I so afraid to stand up for what I believe? Looking back now, I don’t understand exactly what I feared. But I do remember exactly when I stopped hiding behind excuses.
One day in my high school English class, the teacher announced that we’d be viewing an episode of a TV show I knew I shouldn’t watch. While other students cheered in excitement, my classmate Sarah raised her hand and asked if she could leave.
When the teacher asked why, Sarah responded matter-of-factly, “Because I’m Mormon and I don’t watch shows with profanity.”
Her courage to stand up in front of the class was amazing. Thanks to Sarah, I too stood up and waited outside with a clear conscience for the show to finish.
I was forever changed. I started explaining my beliefs instead of avoiding the subject. And as a result, I found confidence in myself and participated even more in Church and school activities.
I never told Sarah how much her example meant to me, but I try to emulate her example of confidence. I now realize that being a member of God’s wonderful, sacred Church is absolutely nothing to be ashamed about. I hope that I can, through my example, be someone else’s Sarah.

Speaking of foreign countries, several years ago, we took our children to Mexico. We got off to a bad start on this trip. Our rental minivan was not available, so we had to search for another vehicle. By the time we rented a minivan that would hold our four children, it was dark. We very quickly became hopelessly lost in Mexico City. In addition, we had nothing to eat for lunch or dinner and everybody was tired from our long flights. As we drove around, we found ourselves on narrow streets and alleys where all of the buildings had bars on the windows and doors. We could tell we had entered a very dangerous section of town. About this time, our oldest son started to complain. He said, "We should not call these trips family vacations, we should call them family ordeals!" Sister Hoer patiently explained, "Daniel, these trips are a great opportunity to help us to learn more about the culture of the countries we visit." Just then, as we drove down a dark, narrow street, suddenly two men jumped out into the middle of the road blocking our van. One of them held a gun and pointed it at us. I remember Sister Hoer screaming, "He's got a gun! Everybody duck!" I quickly swerved around the gunman, not too fast because I did not want him to think I was trying to run him down. As I drove past, he pointed the gun right at my head, only a couple feet away, but for some reason, he did not shoot. As we drove away, thinking a bullet might come through the back window at any second, we heard our son say, "Well you're right Mom, we sure are learning about the culture!"

As I left the building, I considered going to see some friends. I even thought about going up on the university campus and walking through the greenhouses. Although I had already graduated, I was still helping Professor Gotlieb work with some sunflower research. And then I decided to talk to my dad.
My parents are pretty understanding. We’ve always talked together fairly well. When I quit going to priesthood, and then Sunday School, and then Church completely, they never threatened or yelled at me. I’m sure they felt unhappy inside, but I always knew they loved me. I never really ignored my parents, but I had friends and things at school and got pretty busy. In fact, when I first started going back to church, because of two great home teachers, I didn’t say much about it to my parents. I remember the little pause the first time after I asked them to attend church with me at the institute, and then my dad said, “Are you sure?”
I was surprised when I got home and found the lights off and the car gone. But I noticed the backyard light was on, so I got out of my car and went around the side. Out back I saw my dad working on his pride and joy, his small, old sailboat. When I was little we would go sailing on Lake Lourraine, up north. The boat really wasn’t very much. Only one at a time could get in it, but we all liked to try it, even if we spent most of the time in the lake and not the boat. As everybody grew older, everybody got busier, and we didn’t take the boat out much. Finally, it sat pushed against the garage until my youngest brother scraped it with the car; then, we hid it under some waterproof canvas behind the house. Now that all the kids are gone, my dad’s interest in sailing has increased again. Late last year he started to work on the boat. A few weeks ago, I helped him paint it white.
“Ship ahoy,” I called as I walked around the house.
“Hey, what a surprise! Just what I needed, another hand.”
“Sounds fine. I was in the area and thought I’d come by. Where’s mom?”
“Oh, she’s over at the neighbors. Did you just see Bishop Smith?”
“Whatever happened to not asking direct questions?”
“I’m sorry. I was just thinking about you tonight. Here, help me sand a little.” My dad gave me some yellow, fine-grade sandpaper. We both started to work.
“Well,” I said, “do you want to know what we talked about?”
“Whatever happened to subtlety?”
I smiled sheepishly. “I’m sorry.”
“Did you tell him you’re too old?”
“Yes.”
“Was he fooled by it?”
I looked quickly at my dad. He was grinning at me. “No,” I said, “bishops aren’t fooled by much of anything. I guess dads aren’t either.”
“I guess not. So, what are your plans?”
I walked over to the back steps and sat down. “I don’t know. What do you suggest?”
“What’s more important is what you think. It’s up to you Jeff. You and the Lord. Have you ever talked to him about your future, about a mission?”
The words weighed on me, and I played with a stem of grass I had pulled up. “No,” I said quietly, surprised that the night was so still.
“Do you mind if I ask why?”
“I’m afraid he wouldn’t answer or want me. I’ve let him down before.”
My dad started sanding again, and I looked up at the sky and saw Venus burning brightly. “Isn’t she a beautiful boat?” my dad said.
I was glad to change the subject. “She sure is. A real beauty.”
“I hope you’ll go sailing with me sometime.”
“You can depend on that.”
“She might sink on us, you know.”
“Oh, no,” I laughed. “She’ll float just fine.”
“Well, she used to be a wreck.”
“But look at her now,” I said. “We’re proud of her. I’d be a fool not to sail in a boat as good as this one.” I paused for a moment and looked straight at my dad. “You know, I get the feeling you want to tell me something.”
“Son, we’d all be in pretty bad shape if we couldn’t start over when we make mistakes. We wouldn’t have a chance to become better.”
“I know, dad.”
“Why don’t you ask the Lord, Jeff. You might be surprised.”
“Do you think he’ll answer me?”
“I promise you he will.”
“Thanks,” I said, looking at my dad’s hands still holding the sandpaper. “I mean it.”
“You know, Jeff, maybe you’d like to fast before you ask. Your mom and I would be glad to fast with you.”
We sanded some more, and I told my dad about work with Professor Gotlieb. When mom came home, we talked about fasting together. My parents supported me, and we agreed to do it. As I drove to my apartment, I could smell the scent of rain on the pines in the mountains mixed with apple tree blossoms. I thought of some things I’d like to do before I fasted. And for the first time, way back in my mind, I knew I’d be calling Bishop Smith soon, sooner perhaps than even he expected. And this time, I wouldn’t be going to his office with any excuses.

I have seen this firsthand. Several years ago, my dear wife Wendy determined to learn how to do family history research. Her progress at first was slow, but little by little she learned how easy it is to do this sacred work. And I have never seen her happier. You too need not travel to other countries or even to a family history center. At home, with the aid of a computer or mobile device, you can identify souls who are yearning for their ordinances. Make the Sabbath a delight by finding your ancestors and liberating them from spirit prison!19

Once there was a man named Eric Liddell in Scotland who had to make a very hard decision.
Eric was a fast runner, a very fast runner called a sprinter. His best race was the 100-meter dash. Because he was so fast, he was chosen for Great Britain’s team in the 1924 Olympics in Paris, France.
Eric also believed in God. He believed that Sunday was a special day to worship Him.
When the Olympic schedule was announced, Eric found out that the 100-meter race was on a Sunday. He said he wouldn’t run that race. He decided to run a much longer race, the 400-meter dash, on another day instead.
Eric’s decision made many people angry. Reporters came to his house and called him a traitor to his country. Some thought he was afraid he would lose in the 100-meter race.
Most people just didn’t understand why keeping the Sabbath day holy meant so much to Eric. The men in the British Olympic Association told Eric that if God had made Eric such a fast runner, Eric would be honoring God by using his talent, even on a Sunday. Eric told them he believed that his speed was a gift from God, but he still didn’t feel right about running. Some men from the association tried to convince Eric that the Sabbath ended at noon in France. “My Sabbath lasts all day,” Eric replied. He had made his decision.
Eric trained for the 400-meter race for several months before the Olympics. It was hard work. At first he ran out of energy when he was only halfway through. But Eric kept practicing. He knew that even if he lost, he would still feel good about his choice. And he had faith that God would help him because he was keeping the Sabbath day holy.
On the day of the race, Eric tried to stay calm. He shook hands with the other racers and pinned the number 451 to his running clothes. Am I doing the right thing? he asked himself. Eric decided he would run as hard as he could for as long as he could, and then he would trust God to help him do the rest.
When Eric heard the starting gun, he zoomed ahead, taking the lead. The other runners ran slower on purpose, trying to save some energy for the end. They all thought Eric would burn himself out. But by the halfway point, Eric still hadn’t lost his energy. He wasn’t getting tired! But could he last?
One of the other racers almost caught up with Eric, but Eric still wasn’t tired. He pulled even farther ahead. No one could catch him! He crossed the finish line several yards ahead of the other racer and broke a world record.
With God’s help, Eric had won a gold medal! He knew that God had given him the strength to win. He also knew that God had given him the strength to stick with his decision.

What does learning how to cut hair have to do with setting up stage lights?
“It’s all part of my plan,” says Lisa, a young adult now in her first year of college.
Lisa started cosmetology school at age 16. She even found a program that let her attend shorter days at high school so she could train at cosmetology school in the afternoons. The fact that she’s now at college studying theater tech doesn’t mean that the whole salon thing didn’t work out, either. In fact, everything is unfolding exactly how she’d hoped.
“I wanted to have a skill I could use to help pay for college,” Lisa says. “Plus, it lets me serve other people and save money on family haircuts for the rest of my life!”

After a Young Women lesson about patriarchal blessings, I had this feeling that I needed to receive mine to know the guidance that Heavenly Father has in store for me. I prayed a lot and studied for months.

Then, one day in Sunday School, my teacher told me, “If you’re thinking about your patriarchal blessing, it’s probably time for you to get it.” That inspired me to go for it, and I’m so grateful I did. Because of my patriarchal blessing, I know that Heavenly Father knows who I am.

Acadia L., age 16, Baden-Württemberg, Germany

When Eddie hurried into his classroom that Tuesday morning, he bumped into something just inside the door and started to fall. His classmates laughed. Eddie was used to that. He liked the attention, even when Miss Enns got cross.
He tried to catch himself by grabbing onto the object he had tripped over, but it moved away as if it had wheels.
It did!
It was an empty wheelchair. Why was it here? He tried to ask Miss Enns, but she was writing the day’s study plan on the board.
As the tardy bell rang, Miss Enns faced the class. “You’re not in your seat yet?” she said as Eddie darted down the aisle, hopping over Joe’s outstretched foot and ducking Mike’s fist.
“What’s that for?” Eddie said, but Miss Enns ignored the question and took roll.
She didn’t say one word about the chair before the arithmetic quiz or while she wrote the week’s spelling words on the board. By then, nobody could think about anything but the wheelchair.
Finally Miss Enns pushed the chair in front of the class. “Do you know what this is?” she asked.
They all did.
“My cousin brought it from the hospital. Today we’ll experiment with a different way of moving. Who’s first?”
Eddie’s hand shot up. He always wanted to be first. He got more attention and laughs that way. If nobody knew how to do something, he could make really funny mistakes.
“Rebecca, how about you?”
Rebecca hurried to the chair, her curls bouncing. Miss Enns helped her fasten the seat belt. Rebecca tried to return to her desk, but the chair wouldn’t go straight. She bumped into Nancy’s desk and got caught on the edge of Joe’s. “I don’t like this,” she said, and she unhooked the belt. “The steering’s too hard.”
“Eddie?” Miss Enns said.
Eddie was into the chair within a moment. This was great!
“You seem to like the wheelchair, Eddie. Do you think you can stay in it all day?”
“Sure!” Eddie said with a grin. Just then the recess bell rang.
But maneuvering the wheelchair wasn’t as much fun as Eddie had thought it would be. For the first time ever, he was the last one out of the room at recess. Everybody got in his way, and wheeling was slow. When he approached the boys’ room, the door slammed shut as Nick left. Eddie swung the chair next to the door and waited for someone else to leave. Nobody did. As he tried to open the door, he banged his toes hard. Finally he wheeled himself alongside the door and slipped inside as he tugged it wide. That was much harder than he had thought it would be, because the wheels kept catching on either the door or the door frame. Finally he made it.
Inside, he faced another problem. Miss Enns had dared him to stay in the wheelchair all day, but—well—for certain things, he couldn’t. He didn’t want to go ask her exactly what to do. He knew he should play fair, though, so he wheeled himself as close as possible before he unhooked the belt.
Washing his hands was awkward, too, and leaving the rest room was almost as hard as coming in, except that he could push against the door with the chair. Even so, he still banged his toes again.
Next, at the water fountain, he discovered that he wasn’t up high enough to get a drink from the chair.
As he wheeled himself down the hall, he saw that the outer door stood open. It was a beautiful day. But a low metal ridge ran across the bottom of the doorway, and it was hard to get the wheelchair across. By the time he did, Eddie’s hands were red and sore. Outside, there was a large cement landing with one step down to the playground. Eddie knew that if he gave himself a push off the step, the chair might tip over and he could really hurt himself.
On the playground, his classmates tossed the basketball back and forth. “Hey, guys,” he yelled, “over here! Help me down. I want a turn.” Nobody paid attention. And when recess ended, everybody else pushed by him as if he wasn’t there. By the time he wheeled himself back to class, he was very tired. He felt grumpy.
Miss Enns was threading film for a movie. “Please take notes on this film, class,” she said.
Eddie couldn’t reach his desk to write anything. He had to sit at an angle because there wasn’t room for the wheelchair behind his desk. He could hardly see the screen, and his hands were throbbing.
At lunchtime, Miss Enns brought Eddie a tray and set it on the end of the nearest table. Eddie had to sit there, away from his friends. “They act like I’m not here,” he muttered angrily.
Miss Enns put her hand on his shoulder understandingly. “That’s often the way it is for people who are different.”
“But I’m not different. I’m still me.”
She nodded sympathetically, then took her own tray to join the other teachers.
After lunch Eddie didn’t even try going outside. It was a long lunchtime alone in the cafeteria.
The afternoon seemed endless. By now, Eddie’s arms and shoulders ached from wheeling himself everywhere. He broke the lead in his pencil twice and had to stretch his very tallest to reach the pencil sharpener. When an ambulance went by, he was the only person who couldn’t see it, and he stayed in alone for the afternoon recess. He wanted to go to the bathroom again but was too sore to wheel himself that far and struggle with the door again. Nobody had laughed at him once. They’d only acted as if he wasn’t quite there.
When it was time for social studies, Miss Enns didn’t have them open their books. Instead, she asked, “I want to know what Eddie has learned from being in that wheelchair today.”
“I hate it!” Eddie blurted. “Nobody pays attention to me. It’s work, moving and steering. My arms ache. I have blisters on my hands. And it’s terrible going to the bathroom, ’cause the door opens the wrong way!”
Somebody giggled, but Eddie didn’t look up to see who. “I couldn’t even think of one silly thing to do to make people laugh. I never want to be in a wheelchair again.”
“You’ve been a really good sport, Eddie,” Miss Enns said. Speaking to the whole class, she announced, “We’ll have this chair all week. Everyone will have a turn to spend an hour or so in the wheelchair, and I hope that you will all stay in it long enough to understand at least a little of what Eddie went through today.”
“Why are we doing this?” Eddie asked, standing up to give relief to his muscles.
“Next week we’ll have a new student. Ron’s been in the hospital almost a year, but he can return to school now.”
“And he’s in a wheelchair,” Eddie guessed.
“Right. He may not ever walk again, and I want you all to understand at least a little of what that’s like for him.”
“He needs help with the bathroom doors,” Eddie said, remembering his own struggle. “If you put him next to me, I can help with that stuff, because I know about it.”
Miss Enns smiled. “I thought that I could count on you,” she said as the bell rang, and Eddie knew that today he’d learned an important lesson.

A fine example of this are Erick and Gloria Corazon Andrada from San Fernando, La Union. Their two sons are part of the 4600 missionaries whose desire to serve is not deterred by the pandemic.
As parents, they naturally felt some fear for their health and safety, but their faith is stronger, and their trust in God full, so they gave their sons their full support and encouragement.
Their older son Alvin Joshua came home in July 2022 after serving for two years in the Philippines Baguio Mission. He was originally called to serve in Manchester, England but due to travel restrictions he was reassigned to his home mission. Their second son Dallin Ivan is currently serving in the Philippines Quezon City Mission. I have met Elder Andrada when I recently toured their mission. He was doing very well training a new missionary.
Brother Andrada says: “As parents we only want our children to be happy, and they found it while serving full-time missions. We can never exchange the joy they feel and gain from serving the Lord for anything. Sending them to serve missions despite the pandemic has been a wise and inspired decision.”
For Brother and Sister Andrada, the best way to prepare their children to serve missions is by being examples of covenant keepers who serve and minister joyfully. They would invite the missionaries for family home evening, provide them with referrals, and they would help and support young adults in their ward as they prepare to serve missions.
They counsel parents not to prioritize academics and careers over seminary, attending FSY, and serving missions. According to Sister Andrada, “school will prepare them for life, missionary service will prepare them for eternity. Our son returned as a more loving and caring person. He was totally transformed by his mission, and he found the kind of joy that any parent could only wish for their child.”
Thank you to all the Erick and Gloria Andradas in the Church for preparing and helping your children to come unto Christ, make and keep covenants and serve a full-time mission. I invite all of us to follow their examples.