Gospel Story Finder

Lizbeth stared out the car window on the way to church. There was a bug on the outside of the window. She grinned. Bugs were her favorite!
Lizbeth had autism. Sometimes people with autism focus a lot on one thing. Maybe that’s why she loved bugs so much. She couldn’t get enough of them! Lizbeth loved when Mom told her scripture stories with bugs in them—like when God sent locusts to help Moses.
“I almost forgot!” Dad said as he stopped at a red light. “The bishopric is being released today.”
Lizbeth’s eyes got wide. “Brother Baugh too?”
“Yep.”
“I don’t want Brother Baugh to leave!” Lizbeth felt like crying. It was hard for her to deal with changes. She liked things to stay the same.
Mom twisted around in her seat. “He’s not leaving, sweetie. He just won’t be in the bishopric anymore.”
That made Lizbeth feel a little better. “Will he still be on the stand waiting for my pictures?”
“Not after today,” Mom said. “But you can still see him at church.”
Every Sunday, Lizbeth drew a picture for Brother Baugh. It started one week when he visited Lizbeth’s Primary class. Lizbeth drew a praying mantis on the chalkboard of her Primary classroom. She was sad she had to leave before it was finished. Brother Baugh asked Lizbeth to draw a new picture for him on paper. She drew a bright red ladybug with black spots. Brother Baugh liked it a lot! Lizbeth decided to draw a picture for him every week.
Last week she drew him a beetle. Before that she drew an ant colony full of twisty tunnels. Now it won’t be the same, Lizbeth thought.
“What if Brother Baugh doesn’t want my pictures anymore?” she asked Mom and Dad.
“I think he will,” Dad said. “Remember when he brought you an antlion from the desert?”
Lizbeth nodded. That was a really cool bug! It caught ants in its trap.
Dad parked the car, and they all got out. Mom put her arm around Lizbeth as they walked. “What if you draw an extra-special picture for Brother Baugh today? That way you can thank him for being your friend.”
That was a good idea. Lizbeth tried to think of something special to draw. During sacrament meeting, the bishopric shared their testimonies. Brother Baugh said everyone should make Jesus the center of their lives. That gave Lizbeth an idea. She got out her yellow crayon.
First she drew a big beehive. Then she drew some bees. Each one had wings, stripes, stingers, and even a proboscis—a long nose for drinking nectar. She had to hurry to finish her picture during the closing hymn.
After the meeting, Lizbeth showed Brother Baugh her picture. “Look! For bees, the hive is the center of their lives. And Jesus is the center of our lives. We are the bees, and Jesus is our hive.”
Brother Baugh gave Lizbeth a big smile. “That’s wonderful, Lizbeth! Thank you! I hope you’ll keep saying hello to me at church. I may not be in the bishopric anymore, but I still want to see your great pictures.”
Lizbeth felt warm inside. She knew that Brother Baugh put Jesus at the center of his life too and that he loved her, like Jesus did. She walked to her Primary classroom, humming like a bee. What could she draw next week?

Katy Mangus was crowned Miss Legend at Oconee County High School’s annual pageant in January 2005. A Laurel in the Athens Second Ward, Athens Georgia Stake, Katy stood out from the other contestants in many ways—but one distinction was the most obvious. Of the 30 contestants who each took the stage in a formal evening gown, Katy was the only one whose dress was modest. When she stood at the microphone to introduce herself and her platform, she explained, “Something that influences our everyday lives—how we feel about ourselves and how we interact with others—is my platform: ‘Making a Difference with Modesty.’”

By choosing to stand for modesty, Katy hoped to set an example for other young people, both in and out of the Church, and to encourage them to take a stand and make a difference through modesty in dress and behavior. She said, “We can influence others for the better by being an example of modesty and setting a higher standard for ourselves.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about!” Larissa yelled to her classmate Eric. She jumped off her bike and raced for the door. Bursting inside, she threw her arms around Mom and blurted, “Eric says I’m not really yours. He says that all of you are white and I’m black, and that we aren’t a real family because we don’t match.” She shoved her arm next to Mom’s to compare. “See!”
Mom hugged Larissa tight. “Maybe Eric doesn’t understand what makes a real family.”
Just then Dad walked in. “What’s wrong? Did you hurt your arm?”
Larissa sobbed. “No! I don’t match you guys, so Eric says we aren’t a real family.”
“Hmm.” Dad held his arm next to Larissa’s. “I guess Eric doesn’t know what makes a real family.”
“That’s what Mom said.” Larissa jerked her arm away. “But maybe he does know. He looks like his family. He says families are supposed to match.”
Allie squeezed through the door, trying to keep the wind and dry leaves outside. “What’s supposed to match?” she asked.
“We are,” Larissa said. “Eric says so, and he should know because his whole family matches.”
“Well, he doesn’t know what makes a real family then,” Allie said.
The door flew open and the wind blew leaves and the twins in together. “Why is Larissa crying?” they asked.
Larissa wailed. “See! Jeremy and Zack match. They look alike, they dress alike, and they even say the same thing at the same time. I don’t match any of you!”
“What?” Jeremy and Zack asked.
“It seems that Eric thinks Larissa doesn’t belong with us because she doesn’t look like any of us,” Dad said.
“Well,” Zack began, “Eric must not know what makes a—”
“It’s true,” Allie interrupted. “We don’t look alike, but there are lots more important qualities for a family to share. We love each other and we help each other. Each of us is special to the other. Isn’t that more important than looking alike?”
“That gives me an idea,” Mom said. “Come to the computer.”
Opening the family history album, Mom pointed to a name on a pedigree chart. “My grandmother, Eleanor Edmonds,” she said. “Let’s see what we can find.” She quickly entered the name “Eleanor Edmonds,” the word “Ohio,” and the year “1882” into the computer.
“Larissa,” Mom said, “please click on ‘search.’”
The computer clicked and whirred and finally, after a few seconds, a box appeared on the screen that read, “NO MATCH FOUND.”
“That’s not right!” Allie said. “Eleanor is your grandmother. How can the computer say there’s no match?”
“What would the computer use to match families together?” Mom asked.
“Names!” the twins said.
“Dates and places,” Dad added.
“Then why did it say no match found?” Allie asked.
“The computer has to have all the right information to match her to us. I entered Ohio as Eleanor’s birthplace. Actually, she was born in Nebraska. Because the computer had the wrong information, it couldn’t make a match. But no matter what the computer says, I have all the information I need to know that Eleanor is my grandmother.”
“Oh, I get it,” Larissa said slowly. “Eric doesn’t think I belong in this family because he doesn’t have the right information.”
“That’s right,” Mom said. “He does not know that Heavenly Father wanted you to be with us and made sure we could adopt you and be sealed as a family in the temple.”
“We match because of more important things than our hair and our eyes and our skin,” Dad said. “We are a family because we followed God’s plan for us.” He held up the family history album and pointed to a photo. “This is Eleanor Edmonds, Mom’s grandmother.”
“Wow!” the twins said.
“She doesn’t look anything like you, Mom,” Larissa said. “Your hair is straight, your skin is dark, and your eyes are brown. Her hair is curly, her skin is fair, and her eyes are light.”
“That’s right, honey. When I was growing up she lived next door. I learned that she and I are a lot alike in ways that are far more important than looking alike.”
“Poor Eric,” Larissa said. “He doesn’t know that looking alike doesn’t even matter.”
“And the best part is that we can be a family forever, no matter what we look like,” Dad said.
“Cool!” the twins shouted.
Larissa smiled. “We’re a perfect match!”

President Paulo Kretly of the Mozambique Maputo Mission shared this experience: “It is common in Mozambique [for] couples to live their lives together [without being married because] African tradition require[s] an expensive dowry to marry, a dowry most couples can’t afford.”
Members and missionaries thought and prayed about how to help.
The answer to their prayers was that they would emphasize the law of chastity and the importance of marriage and eternal families. And while helping couples to repent and legally marry, they would teach of the happiness that only comes through following Jesus Christ.
This is a picture of couples from two different cities in Mozambique. Married on Friday, they were baptized with their older children on Saturday. Friends and family were invited to “come and see,” and hundreds did “come and see.”
Following the baptism, one sister said, “We needed to choose whether to follow the traditions of our fathers or to follow Jesus Christ. We chose to follow Christ.”

How can 125 seminary students in a newly created stake get to know each other fast? Spend a Super Saturday at a branch president’s holiday resort—and that’s just exactly what the young people of the Asheville North Carolina Stake did, at the invitation of Branch President Jim Cooper of the Cherokee Branch. The participants were excited about meeting more young Latter-day Saints. President Cooper turned over his new recreation complex to the young people, and they were soon swimming, playing handball, dancing, playing foosball, Ping-Pong, and electronic games, and enjoying the saunas and whirlpool. After an enjoyable meal of Navajo tacos (fry-bread topped with chili, lettuce, tomatoes, and a mound of grated cheese) and a game of basketball, the group went to the Cherokee Branch chapel for a lesson on parent-youth relationships, a scripture chase, and role-playing activities. It was a great Saturday, and everyone made a lot of new friends!

When Australians Robert and Darice Dudfield arrived in Ethiopia in August 2020, they arrived in a country of about 120 million people—and not one missionary for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints on the ground. Ethiopia’s four fledgling congregations had not met since the pandemic hit, and although the Book of Mormon was available in their language, Amharic, few other Church materials were. The Dudfields knew that opening the new Ethiopia Addis Ababa Mission would be a great learning opportunity. They immediately got to work.
Soon after their arrival, eight Ethiopian elders and sisters were called to serve missions in their home country and received training via Zoom from Ghana. Only two months later, however, President Dudfield contracted a severe case of COVID-19.
Covered with vein-searching-bruises, he required oxygen and a month of hospitalization, and at times, Robert thought he wouldn’t make it. Darice put all such thoughts aside, “The Lord didn’t bring you to Ethiopia to die this early on!” she assured her husband. “You’ll get through this.”
It took another month of quarantining at home before he fully recovered. The Dudfields first setback taught them “there are tremendous lessons to be learned through trials. It’s all about our approach in dealing with our circumstances.”
In December 2020, Church services resumed, and the missionary force started growing, but so did political unrest, and President Russell M. Nelson ultimately decided the missionaries needed to move out of the country.
Miraculously, some of the missionaries serving in remote areas were able to fly to the nation’s capital before access to Addis Ababa was cut off. “On our mission, we learned that you’re never alone. The Lord is at the helm” recalled Darice. Missionaries who had been tested for COVID-19 were put on a plane to Kenya, where the Ethiopia mission was relocated.
They operated from Kenya, although most of their missionaries were reassigned temporarily to the Kenya Nairobi Mission. Those who remained in the Ethiopia mission used telephones and limited technology to connect with members and friends of the Church in Ethiopia, where local leaders took over the responsibility of missionary work.
Of the Kenya experience, senior missionaries, Elder and Sister Moyers said, “We experienced that unexpected and drastic change presses on our emotions, intellect, and especially our faith in our purpose . . . Being relocated is either a blessing or a challenge, and each missionary has the agency to choose which it will be for him or her.”
The Moyers served as member-leader support missionaries and helped to build the Church from within. President Dudfield said, “We learned the significant value of missionary service and the great value of senior couples. This is a call for those willing and able to serve. It changes your life.”
As things began to settle in Ethiopia, missionaries returned in stages. “Greeting the last of our missionaries back into Ethiopia at the end of June 2021 was an emotional and sacred experience,” the Dudfields recalled. The Church began to grow again, and the number of those consistently attending worship services increased from around 80 to over 400.
Reflecting on their three-year tenure in Ethiopia, the Dudfields’ saw the hand of the Lord bring great miracles to pass, including:
Relationships built with the ministry of peace, resulting in a $250,000 donation of funds for COVID-19 equipment plus ongoing support for important initiatives
Conferences and more frequent activities for youth, children, women, and young adults
Training to increase the quality of leadership and teaching
Seminary, institute, and the launch of the BYU-Pathway Worldwide program
Preparing 40 members to attend the temple for the first time
The translation of hymns and Church materials into local languages
A Light the World musical presentation, and a music video created for a Church global music festival
“What we learned from the people of Ethiopia . . . is that the things that are most important bring the greatest joy. Ethiopians are people of faith, with a great love of family and community.
“We see the countenance of Christ in images of Ethiopians and joy in their faces.”
On their decision to leave the Australia they love to help pioneer a path for future generations to the blessings of the gospel, the Dudfields testify, “We learned that we are all called where the Lord needs us. We absolutely felt His direction and guidance. We learned that faith precedes miracles. If we endure well, we will see many miracles.”

Early in the spring of 1947, my dad took a week off from his job in the coal mines so he could plant the crops on our small farm. Generally we planted only enough potatoes to last us for a year. We used the rest of the ground to raise vegetables for our family—consisting of Dad, Mom, two brothers, and a sister at home. These crops also helped feed the cows, pigs, and chickens. Our land was plowed and ready to plant when the missionaries stopped at our house for their weekly meal and visit. Seeing our family, even though we were only partially active in the Church, cheered their spirits as well as ours.
When Dad mentioned his plan to plant the potatoes, the missionaries were eager to help. Dad was nervous about men without farming experience helping, but they were persistent, and he finally agreed. The next morning, the elders arrived just as we children were getting ready for school. We listened as Dad explained to them how to prepare the seed potatoes for planting. “It’s easy. This is the bud of the potato,” he said, pointing to a small, round bump. “Cut each potato into small pieces and make sure there is at least one bud in each piece. Understand?”
“Oh, yes,” the missionaries replied, and they enthusiastically started working.
Dad left to borrow a team of horses and a mechanical potato planter, and we went off to school.
At noon, we arrived home for lunch just in time to view the disaster—the expensive seed potatoes had been ruined! The elders, unaware that each bud needed some of the fleshy part of the potato to nourish its growth, had decided that they would help us by leaving less potato around the bud and more potato for our family to eat. So instead of cutting each potato into seedling cubes with a bud in each cube, they had peeled each potato into very thin circles with a bud in each circle. The rest of the potato was put into a tub so it could be cooked and fed to the family.
Dad was furious when he returned home and saw what had happened. But he did not want to offend the elders, so he dipped the peelings into a solution that protected them from disease and loaded them into the planter. The missionaries, feeling guilty for the serious mistake they had made, waited to help with the planting.
Just before we returned to school, we watched our dad drive the potato planter into the field with the elders riding on back. I knew it would be their job to make sure that only one seedling dropped into the ground at a time. This would be a difficult and time-consuming job since the planter was designed for a cube of potato and not a thin peeling.
The planting was nearly done when we came home from school. Unfortunately, because each peeling had only one bud, not the usual four or five, the potatoes had taken up nearly all of the plowed ground. Where would we plant the corn and wheat we needed? Seeing our dismay, one of the missionaries said, “Brother John, may we offer a blessing on your potato crop?” Dad shrugged his shoulders and said yes. I can still remember the promises of an abundant harvest and great blessings that the missionary pronounced upon our fields. Dad thanked the elders for helping him, and invited them inside to share our supper of fried potatoes.
Dad was discouraged as he returned to his job at the coal mine. He was sure we would have no crops that year. But to our surprise, all the potato plants came up! Our family was amazed, and the elders were elated.
A short time later, the elders were transferred and they never knew whether or not we had a potato crop. One summer day mom needed something to cook for supper, so I dug up one of the potato plants. We were amazed—the potatoes were nearly full size! Mom said that if the rest of the plants were like this one, we would be able to sell some of them. As we continued to dig up the potatoes, we found about 4.5 kilos per plant! When our neighbors and the local stores found out about our early crop, they bought our potatoes all through July, August, and September. Their purchases didn’t diminish our supply. Not only that, but the potatoes’ taste and quality were superior.
At harvest time, we dug up the rest of the potatoes. What potatoes! Some weighed 2.5 kilos each, and none of them were hollow or soft. I remember one that was twenty-seven centimeters long and ten centimeters in diameter. We harvested five times the normal amount, and since we had planted two hectares instead of the planned .4 hectares, our harvest was twenty-five times what we had originally planned. People heard about our potatoes and we sold all of our harvest. Dad had lost his job at the coal mine, but the money we earned from our potato harvest paid for school clothes and supplies, feed for the cows and chickens, and our food and fuel the following winter.
But the greatest blessing was to our spirits. To us, those potatoes were a miracle, a testimony that God hears and answers the pronouncements of his servants. Our family’s faith grew, and we became much more active in the Church.

I learned about performing and persevering on my mission. I served in a little dusty village, Quiriza, Bolivia, near the Argentine border. We traveled by horseback in those mountain villages of Bolivia and lived at a high altitude in dusty, dirty conditions. I felt at times like Ammon and the sons of Mosiah when the Lord told them, “Be patient in long-suffering and afflictions, that ye may show forth good examples unto them in me, and I will make an instrument of thee in my hands unto the salvation of many souls” (Alma 17:11).
My assignment from the mission president was to help build a chapel. It was a wonderful experience building that chapel, using adobe bricks, and bringing lumber, metal decking, and other building materials over a 20-mile, steep mountain pass. It required the same level of pondering, praying, performing, and persevering as we built the Quiriza chapel. I found that it was a labor of love, and because of that love gained by serving those people, it was far more difficult for me to leave Bolivia than it had been to leave home to serve my mission.

September 2
Dearest Sarah,
We sold some tomatoes this week, and I got $13.00. They’re easier to pick than beans, and I like the way the vines smell. I also like to stop every now and then and eat one—all juicy and warm from the sun. I wish I could send you one in the mail.
I hope that you’ll understand this part. I was in a store last week, looking for notebooks and pencils for school, when I saw this little sweatshirt just Lindsay’s size with a penguin on it. She needs school clothes. I knew it would remind her of you; she still adores the penguin you sent her. It was $9.99, and so I bought it for her. Lindsay was thrilled. She put it on and wouldn’t take it off, even for bed. But after tithing and the notebooks … well, I hope you understand.
School starts Monday.
Love,Angela the Spendthrift
P.S. I promised the Claybourne kids some pumpkins for Halloween and a watermelon.

Once there were two men—one whose name was Ef and the other whose name was Ez. This incident occurred some years ago in the back country where education was at a premium. Ef had a slate and a piece of chalk, and he was sitting under a tree in the shade on a warm day. As he was writing on this slate with his chalk, Ez sauntered up to him. Ef turned and said, “Look, Ez, I can write.” Ez was impressed. He replied, “That’s great. What does it say?” Ef answered, “I don’t know; I haven’t learned to read yet.”

Angelina stood straight and tall as she sang the Christmas carols. She wore a new white dress that Mama had made especially for her.
Angelina glanced at the tall evergreen tree reaching almost to the ceiling of the big school hall. The colored lights glowed softly over the chorus.
Everyone had brought ornaments and garlands of sparkling tinsel from home, and the tree was full and beautiful. The children in the fifth grade had built a fireplace with red cellophane inside to look like flames. Hanging from the mantel were stockings—knitted ones and felt ones with sequins and holly on the tops and the toes. Packages wrapped with beautiful papers and huge ribbon bows surrounded the tree.
As Angelina looked down at the audience, she could see Mama’s big brown eyes looking up at her. Now Mama will see, she thought. Now she’ll understand that this is the way we should celebrate Christmas in America. We live here now, and we should do things the way they do.
The final carol was “Silent Night.” The audience was asked to join in on the last verse. Angelina was embarrassed. She knew Mama didn’t know the words, and if anyone else looked at her, they would know it too. She hoped her friend Jane wouldn’t notice.
When the concert was over, Jane hurried over to Angelina and asked, “Is that your mother with the brown coat? Are those your little brothers sitting next to her?”
Angelina looked at her family. She saw them as she though Jane must be seeing them. They were different from everyone else—you could tell that right away.
Mama smiled and beckoned to her daughter. Angelina knew that Jane wanted to meet her family, but she left her standing alone in the hall with only a hurried goodbye. “I have to run. See you later!”
Angelina put her thin coat on over her new white dress and took each of her little brothers by the hand. Together they crunched over the snow and pushed through the brown slush at the curbs, breaking a path for Mama.
Little José shivered as Angelina picked him up. “Well,” she said, “how did you like the Christmas program?”
“Pretty,” he said. “Pretty.”
She hugged him and he let his head drop to her shoulder. “I liked it,” he said shyly.
“I’m glad you did,” said Angelina, “and I’ll bet Roy did too.”
“I liked it,” Roy said, “but I also like our Christmas.”
“Oh, but that’s so old fashioned,” Angelina snapped. “It’s not the same in this country. Putting straw in your shoes for the wise men’s camels is just plain silly! And why don’t we have Christmas on Christmas Day? Why wait twelve days? I couldn’t stand our old Christmas anymore now that I know what a real Christmas is.”
She turned to help Mama over a large puddle of slush. Mama’s face looked a little sad, and for a minute Angelina felt unhappy about what she’d said. But, after all, they were in America now and they might just as well live like their neighbors.
By the time Christmas Eve finally arrived, Angelina made sure everyone had a stocking to hang up. They pinned their stockings to the back of Papa’s chair.
Papa had brought home a tree, and Angelina decorated it with a string of lights she bought with her baby-sitting money. The boys helped hang ribbons and a bird from one of Mama’s hats on the tree.
“We need something with sparkle!” Papa said as he tied silver spoons all over the tree. When he turned off the ceiling light and plugged in the tree lights, it was lovely.
Angelina looked at her brothers. “How do you like an American Christmas now?”
Little José clapped his hands and said, “Pretty. Pretty.”
But Roy called, “Mama! Where is the straw for our shoes? What will the camels do for straw? And where are the luminarias (lamps) and the candles to go in them?”
Angelina felt hot anger rise in her throat and soar up into her cheeks. “Roy! We don’t do that anymore,” she scolded.
“That’s for Mexico. This is America! Don’t you understand?”
“Why, Angelina!” Mama said.
“Well, why don’t they try to understand?” Angelina asked.
“They are trying,” her mother said. “But it’s hard for them to learn the new ways. It’s hard for all of us—even for you.”
Angelina ran to her room. Her throat ached as she held back the tears. Why couldn’t her family see what she was trying to do? If Jane ever came over to the house and saw luminarias and straw in their shoes, she would think it very strange.
Baby Linda made a little sound and Angelina bent to look at her in the cradle Papa had made. Linda looked like the baby in the manger scene at Las Posadas, when everyone in town, carrying candles, joins a procession looking for shelter for Joseph and Mary. Linda looked just like that baby. Angelina lightly ran a finger over Linda’s smooth soft cheek. Then she walked out of the bedroom and stood looking at her family.
She suddenly realized that Papa had always played the part of Martolo, the lazy shepherd, in the Christmas play in Mexico. He had accepted the part from Grandfather with tears in his eyes. “I’ll do it well, Papa,” he had said. “Then I’ll give the part to Roy when he is old enough.”
Angelina looked at Mama and remembered how in Mexico she always had a supply of bizcochitos (rolls) and candy for the children who went from door to door singing songs.
But most of all, she thought of Roy and little Jose. How much they would miss if they never put out shoes of straw for the camels, joined a Las Posadas procession, or hit a pinata with a stick until all the candy and toys showered out over them!
“Mama!” Angelina burst out. “Mama, I was wrong.”
Everyone turned to look at her. Mama held out her arms and Angelina ran into them.
“I can hardly wait for January sixth, the Day of the Wise Men,” she cried. “Then we can do all the things we have always done—the lovely old things.”
“The new is good, Angelina,” Mama said, “but the old ways are good too. Many people here do not know about our customs. Maybe we could show them. You could invite a friend.”
“Jane would come,” Angelina said.
“She might like to see how we celebrate Christmas,” Mama said.
“I’ll go get the straw for the shoes,” said Roy.
Angelina laughed. “No, Roy,” she said. “That isn’t until the Day of the Wise Men on January sixth. Remember?”
“We all remember,” said Mama very quietly.
Angelina smiled. “I remember too, Mama,” she said. “And it’s good to remember.”

Many of us want the simple way—the process that will not require serious work and sacrifice. Well, I once thought I found it. Driving in the back of a verdant valley above the city of Honolulu, I looked up, and there it was—Easy Street! As I was dreaming of the life-changing benefits of my discovery, I took out my camera to record the blissful moment. As I looked through the viewfinder, however, my focus literally and figuratively became clear. A large yellow sign returned me to reality—Easy Street was a dead end!

Recent floods had caused devastation in Kerala. The Kerala flood relief camp was organized by our Bengaluru Stake to provide relief to people in the Wyanad area. I accompanied other Saints of our stake to offer humanitarian aid.
One morning as I was at the relief camp, I read a message on the ward’s WhatsApp group. I felt shocked after reading the message that Brother Michael’s health was in serious condition, and he was taken to his native place, Madurai, Tamil Nadu, for hospitalization. I offered a silent prayer for his health to improve and that I would get an opportunity to visit him. Brother Michael and Sister Rabi were diligent members in attending the regional language Sunday School in our ward.
The very next Sunday after returning from relief work, Brother Karthikeyan approached me and asked me if I would be interested to join with him to visit Brother Michael. I immediately accepted the offer to visit and was so happy. We travelled by train and reached Madurai the next day morning. We then went from the railway station straight away to the Madurai Meenakshi Mission Hospital. Before we reached hospital, we heard his second son, Allwyn, was also admitted in the same hospital in a different ward due to his health problem. The same morning we visited both of these brethren. They were lying on their beds, and Brother Michael’s condition was very critical. He was not able to recognize who we were, and the doctors were not able to let us know his condition. All they told us was that he needed to be in medical observation—which means each part of his body function needed to be observed. We as priesthood brethren administered priesthood blessings with faith to both father and son, and we comforted Sister Rabi and their older son.
We then headed to the train station where we refreshed ourselves at the railway station waiting room, and we headed to visit a nearby place in the local train. While we were halfway there, Brother Karthikeyan told me that we need to head back to the hospital. It was purely an inspiration. We reached the hospital and to our surprise, for we just could not believe our own eyes, Brother Michael had gotten up from his bed and was sitting. What a miracle! He was unable to get up from his bed before, but he was able to now. Our beloved Heavenly Father, through the Holy Spirit, had blessed him.
Now the same day in the evening he was able to recognize who we were, and he spoke to us a few words. I was able to shoot some videos with him, and when I asked him what he would like to convey to our ward members, he showed a “thumbs up” sign and asked me share the videos I recorded of him in the hospital to the regional language Sunday School class members.
Yet another miracle happened with the blessing of the priesthood, and this didn’t end with him. Afterward we visited his son Allwyn. He told us that the doctors wanted him to get discharged the next day, while his health was fine and he had recovered sufficiently to go home.
“Ministering and exercising the priesthood at the right time with faith brings blessings. I believe blessings to others will never stop . . . miracles will never cease.”

William Clayton was the official camp historian. To help direct those who would follow, he and others kept careful records of the camp’s travel. In order to calculate the distance traveled each day, he tied a piece of red flannel to a wagon’s wheel spoke and walked beside the wagon, counting the times the wheel turned. This was a tiresome task, and he proposed the idea for a mile counter. Orson Pratt designed the machine, and Appleton Harmon constructed it. This device, called an odometer, tallied ten miles, then started over. This made William’s job much easier.

The young people of a certain ward had worked to earn the large sum of money needed to go on an adventure trip. I had had some acquaintance with their bishop. He called and asked if I would help him get some news publicity so that these young people would be recognized for the fine things they were doing.
I said that I would not help him. He was surprised and asked why. I answered that although it was commendable that the young people had worked hard to earn this money, some things are interesting while other things are important, and that there might be a higher purpose for the funds they had obtained.
I explained that my ministry takes me into countries where the people are less privileged than where he lives. I explained that the amount of money these fine young people had earned would keep several missionaries from these areas in the field for their entire missions.
He said, “Are you asking me to have these young people donate their funds to the general missionary fund of the Church?”
I said, “No, I have not asked you to do that. I have just said that there are finer things to do.” I explained that I was not against the kind of project they were planning but that there must be a balance, and, by comparison, some things are interesting while other things are important.
Later the bishop said that he had talked to the young people and that they wanted to sacrifice their adventure trip and donate all the money to the general missionary fund. He asked if they could bring the check and have their picture taken with me as they made the donation and if they could have the picture and an article put into the news.
I said no. Then I said, “You might consider helping your young people learn a higher law of recognition. Let them feel the joy and gain the treasure in their heart and soul that come from silent, selfless service.”

At one time two men sat in a railway car discussing Christ’s wonderful life. One of them said, “I think an interesting romance could be written about him [Jesus Christ].”

And the other replied, “And you are just the man to write it. Set forth the correct view of his life and character. Tear down the prevailing sentiment as to his divineness and paint him as he was—a man among men.”

The suggestion was acted on and the romance was written. The man who made the suggestion was Colonel Ingersoll, the author was General Lew Wallace, and the book was Ben Hur.

In the process of constructing it, he found himself facing an unaccountable man. The more he studied his life and character, the more profoundly he was convinced that he was more than a man among men, until at length, like the centurion under the cross, he was constrained to cry, “Verily this was the Son of God.”

Sister Ana Rivera braided her long dark hair and pulled her scripture bag over her shoulder. Another day of her mission was about to begin. She was excited to see what miracles lay ahead!
Ana and her companion, Sister Carrascal, walked outside into the morning air. They could see tall volcanoes in the distance as they walked through the village. They were some of the first missionaries to be serving in the Otavalo area. The Church in Ecuador was still new, but it was growing.
“Hola!” they said as they greeted one of the families they were teaching. A mother, father, and several children gathered for a lesson.
“Today we are going to teach about prophets,” Ana’s companion said. Ana and Sister Carrascal took turns explaining how God calls prophets to teach about Jesus Christ.
When it was time to read, Ana opened her Book of Mormon. Ana always read the scripture verses because Sister Carrascal couldn’t read or write. Sister Carrascal was still a powerful missionary.
“I know that what we’ve shared today is true,” Ana said at the end of the lesson. “Will you pray to know for yourself?”
The family nodded. Ana felt warm in her heart.
At the end of the day, Sister Carrascal said, “Can you teach me to read and write?”
Ana didn’t know what to say. She had never taught someone to read before. She didn’t know if she could do it.
“I can try,” Ana finally said. “I don’t know if I’ll be a good teacher.”
Sister Carrascal smiled big. “Just teach me,” she said. “I will pray to Heavenly Father to help me understand.”
Ana was amazed by Sister Carrascal’s faith. “OK. I’ll do it!” she said.
Each morning, Ana worked hard to help Sister Carrascal learn. They practiced writing letters. They sounded out words. They prayed for help. Eventually, Sister Carrascal was reading scripture verses, one word at a time!

I first discovered the Liahona when I joined the Church several years ago. In the beginning I didn’t think much of it, but as time went by it became one of the most wonderful things in my life and a key to my success. It strengthened my testimony of the restored gospel and helped me stay strong in the Church. Because of this strength, I was able to resist temptations and set a good example for a co-worker, who was eventually baptized and confirmed.
It is so wonderful to study and share the Liahona. It will help me for the rest of my life. I’m so thankful to receive the messages from the Lord’s prophet and apostles every month. The Liahona is sweeter to me than honey and more valuable than gold.
Aldemir Guanacoma Ave, Bolivia

The Portuguese, he says, are very humble, and many will listen open-mindedly to the missionaries. His countrymen are also “very giving, and eager to help others.” That makes many of them strong in Church service. President Martins lists a number of examples in his own stake, including Antonio and Mae Leme.
The Lemes were also among the LDS pioneers in Portugal. Natives of Brazil, they moved to Europe in 1965 when Antonio, a pilot, was hired by the Portuguese national airline. Mae Leme was trying to help her son obtain his Eagle Scout rank when she met Geraldine Bangerter, who was providing help to a group of Scouts. Mae soon learned that Sister Bangerter was the wife of Wm. Grant Bangerter, mission president in Portugal for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. (Elder Bangerter was called to the First Quorum of the Seventy in April of 1975 while serving as mission president.)
Mae expressed a polite interest in learning more about the Church, and Sister Bangerter sent the missionaries immediately. The Lemes investigated carefully for seven months. The Church in Portugal was still only a handful of members meeting in a Lisbon hotel room when they joined.
Antonio Leme is now bishop of the Oeiras Ward, created in a Lisbon suburb early this year. “I really believe if you are called to do something, God gives you the means to do it,” he reflects. After reaching the mandatory age for retirement from flying, he was so busy in Church callings that he felt as though he had not retired at all. But, he adds, it is a privilege to serve. “I never get tired of giving my time to the Church.”

The classics of literature, as well as the words from holy writ, teach us the endurability of anonymity. A favorite of mine is Charles Dickens’ “A Christmas Carol.” I can picture the trembling Ebenezer Scrooge seeing in vision the return of his former partner, Jacob Marley, though Jacob had been dead for seven years. The words of Marley penetrate my very soul, as he laments, “Not to know that any Christian spirit working kindly in its little sphere, whatever it may be, will find its mortal life too short for its vast means of usefulness. Not to know that no space of regret can make amends for one life’s opportunity misused! Yet such was I!” (“A Christmas Carol,” in The Best Short Stories of Charles Dickens, New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1947, p. 435.)
After a fretful night—wherein Scrooge was shown by the Ghost of Christmas Past, the Ghost of Christmas Present, and the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come the true meaning of living, loving, and giving—he awakened to discover anew the freshness of life, the power of love, and the spirit of a true gift. He remembered the plight of the Bob Cratchit family, arranged with a lad to purchase the giant turkey (the size of a boy), and sent the gift to the Cratchits. Then, with supreme joy, the reborn Ebenezer Scrooge exclaims to himself, “He shan’t know who sends it.” (“A Christmas Carol,” p. 481.) Again the word anonymous.