Gospel Story Finder

This story happened in the USA.
“Are we there yet?” Aliya itched her leg where a mosquito had bitten her. They had been hiking over lava rock for so long! Aliya was getting tired.
“Almost,” said her teacher, Auntie Nikki. “And trust me. It will be worth it.”
Aliya wasn’t so sure. They were on a school trip to K?holo, a nature preserve on the Big Island of Hawaii. Aliya was excited to learn about the animals and plants on their island, but she felt nervous. She was new to the island, and she didn’t know very many people yet. All the other kids were older, and they laughed together the whole hike. Aliya walked quietly next to them. She wanted to make a friend, but she didn’t know how.
Finally they reached the cove. As they walked over a sandy hill, the fishponds came into view.
“Welcome to K?holo,” said Auntie Nikki.
Aliya looked around. It was beautiful here! Her teacher was right—the hike had been worth it.
For the next few hours, Aliya and her classmates learned all about the preserve. Aliya loved watching the fish swim through the water.
“The fishponds were made so that some fish can be caught and taken from the pond while others stay and grow big and strong. This way, everything stays in balance, and there are always enough fish,” explained Auntie Nikki.
After lunch, Auntie Nikki called the kids to one of the bigger ponds. “OK, everyone, put on a pair of gloves. We are here to help clean up the ponds.”
“Do we have to?” asked one of Aliya’s classmates.
“Yes! Part of visiting K?holo is working together to help keep it clean. It’s about what we can give,” said Auntie Nikki.
Aliya was excited to help. She put on some gloves and started picking up trash and tree branches from around the pond.
One of her classmates walked up next to her. Aliya had never talked to her before. She was wearing a bright pink shirt.
Aliya felt her heart beating fast. She wanted to say hi, but she was scared. What if the girl thought she was weird?
Then Aliya thought about what Auntie Nikki had said. It’s about what we can give. Aliya took a deep breath and smiled. “Hi,” she said. “I like your shirt.”
The girl smiled. “Thank you! I’m Zoe.”
“My name is Aliya.”
The girls spent the rest of the day talking and laughing as they gathered up pieces of plastic and paper that had been left behind in the ponds. The more Aliya got to know Zoe, the happier she felt. Zoe was so nice.
At the end of the day, the teacher made a fire for the kids to sit around. Aliya’s muscles were sore from cleaning up the ponds.
“Aliya, come here. You have to see this!” Zoe ran toward her, waving her arms for Aliya to follow. Aliya followed Zoe to a bridge that crossed over the ponds.
Under the bridge, a huge turtle sat in the clear water. Smaller turtles swam past.
Aliya smiled. It was beautiful! She and Zoe stood on the bridge, side by side, and Aliya felt peaceful. Cleaning the ponds had been hard, but now these animals could keep living safely in their home.
Aliya looked at Zoe. She had a new friend now too, all because she’d been brave enough to say hello. Aliya said a little prayer in her heart. Thank Thee, Heavenly Father, for this beautiful world and for my new friend. Thank Thee for helping me focus on what I could give.
Illustration by Melissa Manwill Kashiwagi

New converts have blessed and been the lifeblood of the Church throughout its history. One example is particularly precious to me. When I was a young bishop, two marvelous sister missionaries were teaching the William Edward Mussman family. The father, a very capable lawyer, was general counsel of a major corporation. His devoted wife, Janet, was helping the family strive to live a more Christlike life.

Their exceptional son and daughter, both in their early 20s, were also being taught. All four had received the lessons and were attending church. The sister missionaries had emphasized reading the Book of Mormon and praying for a testimony of that sacred scripture. Remarkably, the family prayerfully read the entire Book of Mormon in a short time.

The stake missionaries, both of whom were prior ward Relief Society presidents, accompanied them to sacrament meetings.

As the family was nearing baptism, they received a barrage of literature critical of the Church. This was before the internet, but the material filled a large cardboard box.

The sister missionaries invited me as a recently called 34-year-old bishop to help answer the questions being raised. When we gathered in their living room, the large box of pamphlets critical of the Church was in the middle of the room. I had prayerfully approached this assignment. During the opening prayer, the Spirit whispered to me, “He already knows it is true.” This was important. The sisters believed that the rest of the family already had a testimony. They were unsure about the father.

I immediately informed him that the Spirit had prompted me that he already had a testimony. “Was that true?” He looked at me intently and said that the Spirit had confirmed the truth of the Book of Mormon and the Church to him.

I then asked whether it would be necessary to review the pamphlets, if they already had a spiritual confirmation.

The father replied that it would not be necessary. The rest of the family concurred with his answer.

He said he did have a significant question: One reason they had received so much literature opposing the Church was that they were members of another faith. In addition, he had made a large pledge to help build a new chapel for that faith. He informed me that the sister missionaries had taught him about the importance of tithing, which he gratefully accepted, but he wondered if it would be wrong to also honor the pledge he had previously made. I assured him that payment of the pledge would be both honorable and appropriate.

The Mussmans with their son, daughter-in-law, and daughter.

The entire family was baptized. One year later they were sealed as a family in the Oakland California Temple. I was privileged to be present. The son completed law school, passed the California Bar Exam, and immediately served a faithful mission in Japan. I have watched over the years as the succeeding generations have remained faithful to the gospel. I was privileged to officiate at the sealing of one of the granddaughters.

Sophie had hurried back to the woodland pasture to look for the cow she had somehow left behind. There is so much to learn about farming and animals in this new country, she thought, sighing. Sophie and her brother and their parents had emigrated from Germany to a farm near the base of the Ozark Mountains and everything here seemed difficult and strange.

Searching frantically for the lost animal, Sophie finally sighted it lying in the tall grass. When she got closer, she saw a gash in the cow’s flank. It didn’t look too serious, but the cow still refused to get up. She lay there rolling her eyes and mooing plaintively. Papa had once said that fear sometimes made animals and people stop trying to help themselves, and Sophie guessed this was the trouble with the cow. Still, she pleaded and patted and shoved, but the animal wouldn’t budge.

Every day in good weather, it was Sophie’s job to drive the cows here to graze, to watch and tend them, and to drive them back home again in the late afternoon. Although the animals usually stayed with the bell cow, this one must have strayed while Sophie ate her lunch or while she waded in the brook. Papa will punish me and I deserve it, thought Sophie. But oh, how I wish we were safe at home.

Safe at home! The words bounced in her head, and her heart began to thump. She had often heard the cry of a panther in the distance when she drove the herd homeward. Papa had told her that panthers sometimes lure people to them with a cry like that of a lost child. Sophie shivered. It was frightening to be out here all alone.

The girl knew that even if the cow were willing, it would be unwise to drive it home through the darkness. She called to Shep and jogged out onto the dirt wagon lane. Inside the thick tunnel of overhanging branches and hazel brush, it was already growing gloomy, and she had more than a mile to run before she would be home to ask Papa what to do.

Sophie’s golden braids flopped wildly as her bare feet kicked up puffs of dust on the road. “Oh, dear!” she exclaimed suddenly, remembering that it was market day and Papa and Willie would stay in town overnight. They were counting on her to be safely at home with Mama, who was expecting a baby.

Sophie knew she had to let Mama know what had happened. Reaching home at last, she burst into the kitchen. Mama was at the wood stove stirring something in the kettle. Breathlessly, Sophie began to tell her mother about the hurt cow. Mama’s usually bright expression changed to a look of concern. For a long moment she concentrated without speaking.

At last Mama said in a calm voice, “We must do what we must do. It will be for you and Shep to watch out for our cow and I will be fine here alone. But we must make a good plan.” She rested her arm on Sophie’s shoulder, thinking. After a while Mama raised her head and spoke with assurance. “Now, this is what you should do. First fetch a rope and make a leash for Shep so he will stay close to you. Then take a torch with you and watch over the cow until morning.”

Sophie’s heart leaped. Allnight? Alone with only Shep? But Mama was pushing her into action with more words. “Come to the shed. I will light the torch. There is no time to lose.”

Sophie was soon loping along the lane with a lighted torch in one hand, Shep’s rope in the other, a blanket roll on her back, and a bottle of turpentine for the cow’s wound in her apron pocket. There was no time to be afraid. She must be brave and Mama said she would be praying for her safety.

In the torchlight, Sophie could see the cow, quiet now in her fear. She wedged the torch in a hole of a tree stump and tied up Shep. Moving as fast as she could, she gathered wood to make four bonfires around them.

Finally, Sophie knelt beside the cow and carefully poured turpentine into the wound. The animal rolled her eyes and bawled loudly as the medicine burned into her flesh. Once or twice she tried to get up, but Sophie held her head down, patting and talking soothingly to her. At last, the cow seemed to sense that the girl was trying to help and she grew quiet. Only the involuntary flinching of her side told of her pain.

Sophie lit two of the bonfires when it was dark and then beat out the torch. Mama had said to keep it ready to relight if some animal dared come too close. The plan was to keep two fires burning all night.

Sophie spread her blanket near the cow and then petted her until the animal’s eyes closed in sleep. The hours seemed to drag, and the silence was vast and deep. Now and then, a twig snapped. Once when Shep heard a faraway lonely cry, he opened his eyes and growled deeply. Sophie felt her scalp tingle. An opossum hanging by its tail overhead startled her before it moved away. More than once she felt like crying.

When Sophie lighted the last two fires, she prayed they would burn until dawn. What if they don’t? she wondered, then pushed the thought away. She dared not think about it.

At last it began to grow light! Sophie let out a sigh of relief. The long nightwatch was over and all would be well. Now she could kick dirt over the dying embers and untie Shep. She looked toward the cow and was surprised to see the animal struggling to her feet! The wound was beginning to heal already. The cow put out her big, rough tongue and licked Sophie’s hand.

Sophie breathed a prayer of thanks, then gave the cow a hug and said, “Come on, love. It’s home at last for you and me!”

In 1976, I was here in Rexburg with President Spencer W. Kimball. Among my assignments then was supervising the Church in Idaho. On a beautiful Saturday morning the ordinary things were going on in this area. Here on the hill at Ricks College all was as it should be. Then the bells and sirens started to ring. They wondered what was the matter.

One man, who was a professor here at Ricks College, had come in on a Saturday to do some work. He went to find out what was the matter and learned that the Teton Dam had broken. The Teton Dam up the valley had sprung a leak. A man with a large Caterpillar was trying to make repairs on the dam when it broke loose. He ran for his life. That large DC Caterpillar--which is a very large and very heavy piece of equipment--was found many miles down the valley.

This college faculty member, I suppose, inside turned pale, because he knew that his wife and children were in Rexburg shopping except for one of the younger girls who was sick. She was upstairs at home, right in the path.

Interesting things happened. There were 11 deaths. One was a fisherman who was fishing just below the dam. Another was a 90-some-year-old woman who died of a heart attack. Another was a couple who were warned.

This old man said, "I have lived here for 60 years. Nothing like that has ever happened. You are not going to scare me." In due course, they could hear the thundering and the rumbling of the water coming down the valley. Seventeen miles of deep water had backed up behind that dam. Then they got in their car. They were among those that were lost. They found their bodies in their car, after digging it out of the mud.

We had a lot to do with the emergency personnel in the United States. By their rule of thumb--time of day, population, size of the catastrophe--they estimated that there should have been 5000 casualties, and there were 11. Why? Because they were warned.

Many of them told us that they were unusually on edge. When the warning came, they responded immediately.

We held the meeting in this room with President Kimball. He had talked to me. He said, "I understand you are going to Idaho. Do you think I could go with you?" And I let him come--he being the President of the Church!

We held a meeting here with the survivors, the refugees. There were two meetings, in fact. One meeting and then another later, in order to get them all in. Here they were with whatever they had on. A lot of them were very muddy. None of them were in Sunday clothes. It was Sunday, but no one was dressed in Sunday-go-to-meeting clothes.

President Kimball leaned over and said, "I cannot see an unhappy face among them." I looked, and that was true--not one unhappy face! Why?

There is a scripture that says, "If ye are prepared ye [need not] not fear." There are other scriptures, more than one, that speak of warning, that we will be warned of danger.

As we visited with the people on that and other occasions, there were some things that emerged. They were alerted and had very little time, but they had the feeling. The thing they grabbed first was their family records and photographs. Think of that!

One of the questions was, How did they react? Speaking literally: someone heard about it, they stopped at their neighbors and knocked on the door, knew they were home, could not get them to answer. They took a chair off the porch, and threw it through the window to get their attention to say, "Run! Run!" They warned one another. That girl upstairs in that house was saved.

There were something like 900 homes that were destroyed or severely damaged. Many were washed for miles and miles down the Snake River Valley. There was a warning, and they heeded the warning.

Why did they heed the warning? Why did they warn their neighbors? "It [behooveth] every man who hath been warned to warn his neighbor" (D&C 88:81). Have you ever read that in the scriptures? They acted on that! It was just natural for them to warn the others.

And so, before the day was over, there were a large number of people here on the hill in Rexburg. The flood did some damage here in Rexburg, as well.

First we went to Wilford Ward and landed a helicopter there. Wilford Ward Chapel was at the mouth of the canyon. There were three bearing walls in the chapel, one in the middle and one on each end. Over the bearing walls was slung what was left of a roof.

As we went down the road from the chapel, there was a railroad. I marveled at the fact that it had bent those rails. The force of the water had literally bent them.

We stopped at the stake center in Sugar City. The water had come in one side, picked up all the benches and furniture and used them as an abrasive to churn the interior out of the building, and went out the other side.

Across the street we looked at what once was a beautiful home. There was the roof and the bearing walls, and there was one ceiling left and a beautiful crystal chandelier hanging above mud in the house.

That was a great experience. We learned a lot from it. We learned one thing that may surprise you. We learned that in one way the Church did not work at first.

When the stake president got the warning, he went right to work without relying on all the help he had. A few days after it had happened, I had a call from one of the stake presidents. He was not making sense. He had been up night and day trying to help people and now was wandering around. He got the bishops busy, but he did not call his high council together; he did not call the priesthood together; he did not call the Relief Society. The stake presidents and the bishops were going to do it all themselves. They could not get it all done themselves.

Now, this is the message: The Church did not work then as it should have. The gospel did! The Spirit did! The Spirit was operative. It was the Spirit that warned them that they must act and that they must act quickly.

One young man came up to me. There he stood in some dirty old levis and a dirty t-shirt and some tennis shoes. He said, "I am supposed to leave on my mission tomorrow. This is all we own." His mother was standing by him. He said, "Everything is gone. My scriptures and everything else is gone." That was easy to fix. He was in the Missionary Training Center in Provo in a day or two, completely outfitted, because finally the Church worked.

A little more than a year ago, my father passed away. The day after his passing, my mother, brothers, sister, and I made the necessary visit to the mortuary to make the funeral arrangements and choose a casket and a vault into which the casket would be placed. You may know that our practice today is not to place the casket directly into the bare ground but to put it first in a vault made of concrete or fiberglass. As we considered the options, I noticed a sales pamphlet promoting a certain vault. Among other things, it claimed the vault was self-sealing and that the seal was guaranteed for 75 years. That guarantee amused me. I wondered who would check on the seal 75 years later. And if someone did check on the seal, and it had failed, who would have the right to collect on the guarantee? Later on I continued to wonder, “What are the chances the seal would really hold?”

In a thoughtful moment, my mind was directed to a vault described in Matthew chapter 27, beginning with verse 62. This vault, a sepulchre in a distant time and place, had an opening that was covered by a great stone:
"Now the next day, that followed the day of the preparation, the chief priests and Pharisees came together unto Pilate,"
"Saying, Sir, we remember that that deceiver said, while he was yet alive, After three days I will rise again."
"Command therefore that the sepulchre be made sure until the third day, lest his disciples come by night, and steal him away, and say unto the people, He is risen from the dead: so the last error shall be worse than the first."
"Pilate said unto them, Ye have a watch: go your way, make it as sure as ye can."
"So they went, and made the sepulchre sure, sealing the stone, and setting a watch."[38]
Of all the commands ever given in the history of mankind, Pilate’s command to keep the sepulchre sure must have been the very most futile. Ask yourself, “What chance did that sepulchre have of remaining sealed?” There was absolutely no way for the soldiers to carry out that order, because there was absolutely no way that the sepulchre would not open. And it did open: “And, behold, there was a great earthquake: for the angel of the Lord descended from heaven, and came and rolled back the stone from the door.”[39] And all the vaults and tombs and sepulchres that have ever been sealed will surely open, guaranteed, because the Rock of our salvation is our deliverer from death and from hell. He is “the resurrection, and the life.”[40] Because of Him “hell must deliver up its captive spirits, and the grave must deliver up its captive bodies, and the bodies and the spirits of men will be restored one to the other; and it is by the power of the resurrection of the Holy One of Israel.”[41]

As a young woman, I had planted myself upside down. My halfhearted efforts at attending church, paying tithing, and having regular prayer and scripture study had slowed my spiritual growth almost to a halt. In high school it became clear that I would need to choose between my current direction and the Lord’s direction. I then decided to replant myself, try my best, and rely on the Lord’s care.
With all my strength I began pushing up toward the Son, working my way past feelings of doubt, anger, insecurity, and selfishness. It wasn’t long before I realized how much Heavenly Father loves me, how much He has blessed me, and how much He wants me to reach my full potential as His daughter. I was given nourishment from Young Women leaders, bishops, seminary teachers, and friends. My righteous desire, however, was not without trials and tears. In His loving mercy, Heavenly Father gave me a push here and there when I felt that I could push no more. He helped me grow from my setbacks and successes. No sunflower, after having sensed the light of the sun, would bury itself back in the ground. I too could sense the light of the Son, and I would no longer hide myself from His goodness and joy. I would “follow the Son, with full purpose of heart” (2 Nephi 31:13).

Some years ago our family encountered a major challenge. I went to the temple and there prayed earnestly for help. I was given a moment of truth. I received a clear impression of my weaknesses, and I was shocked. In that spiritually instructive moment, I saw a prideful woman doing things her own way, not necessarily the Lord’s way, and privately taking credit for any so-called accomplishment. I knew I was looking at myself. I cried out in my heart to Heavenly Father and said, “I don’t want to be that woman, but how do I change?”

Through the pure spirit of revelation in the temple, I was taught of my utter need for a Redeemer. I turned immediately to the Savior Jesus Christ in my thoughts and felt my anguish melt away and a great hope spring up in my heart. He was my only hope, and I longed to cling only to Him. It was clear to me that a self-absorbed natural woman “is an enemy to God”7 and to people in her sphere of influence. In the temple that day I learned it was only through the Atonement of Jesus Christ that my prideful nature could change and that I would be enabled to do good. I felt His love keenly, and I knew He would teach me by the Spirit and change me if I gave my heart to Him, holding back nothing.

I still fight my weaknesses, but I trust in the divine help of the Atonement. This pure instruction came because I entered the holy temple, seeking relief and answers. I entered the temple burdened, and I left knowing I had an all-powerful and all-loving Savior. I was lighter and joyful because I had received His light and accepted His plan for me.

I was a priest in the Aaronic Priesthood when World War II exploded upon the world. I was ordained an elder when we were all marched away to war.
I had dreams of following an older brother, Leon, who at that time was flying B-24 bombers in the Battle of Britain. I volunteered for air force pilot training.
I failed the written test by one point. Then the sergeant remembered that there were several two-point questions, and if I got half right on two of them, I could pass.
Part of the test was multiple choice. One question was “What is ethylene glycol used for?” If I had not worked in my dad’s service station, I would not have known that it is used for automobile antifreeze. And so I passed, barely.
I prayed about the physical. It turned out to be fairly routine.
I ended up in the Orient, flying the same kind of bombers that my brother flew in England. My mission, as it turned out, was in teaching the gospel in Japan as a serviceman.
Perhaps the hardest challenge of war is living with uncertainties, not knowing how it will end or if we can go ahead with our lives.
I was issued a small serviceman’s Book of Mormon that would fit into my pocket. I carried it everywhere; I read it; and it became part of me. Things that had been a question became certain to me.
The certainties of the gospel, the truth, once you understand it, will see you through these difficult times.
It was four years before we could return to our lives. But I had learned and had a sure testimony that God is our Father, that we are His children, and that the restored gospel of Jesus Christ is true.

Ali smiled as she closed the last bright blue envelope. Her eighth birthday was next week! She had spent the whole morning making invitations for her birthday party.
“Ready to go?” Mom asked.
Ali nodded. They were taking an invitation to her friend Tiffany in the hospital.
“I think Tiffany will be glad to see you,” Mom said as she and Ali climbed into the car. “Her mom told me they had to shave off some of her hair for the surgery.”
Ali’s eyes got wide. “But school is starting soon! How can she go to school with no hair?”
“They didn’t shave off all her hair—just a little bit,” Mom said. “And taking care of our bodies is much more important than how we look.”
Ali ran her fingers through her own long hair. It almost reached her waist. “I feel sad for Tiffany.”
“That’s why we’re going to visit her,” Mom said. “It’s part of bearing one another’s burdens.”
Ali scrunched up her eyebrows. “What does that mean?”
“It means helping others when they are going through a hard time,” Mom said. “It’s something you’ll promise to do when you get baptized.”
Ali smiled. Her baptism was coming up! “So I guess helping Tiffany feel better is one way I can practice doing that?” she said.
“Yeah,” said Mom. “That’s a great way to think of it.”
When they got to the hospital, Ali followed Mom to Tiffany’s room. They walked down a long hallway with brightly painted walls and open doors. Inside the rooms, Ali could see children resting in big white hospital beds. Some of them didn’t have any hair.
Finally they got to Tiffany’s room. Tiffany was happy to see Ali.
Ali saw that Tiffany had a bandage on the side of her head. “How are you feeling?” Ali asked.
“Pretty good,” Tiffany said. “The doctor says the surgery went great.”
“Yay! I’m so glad you’re OK,” Ali said.
Then Ali held out a bright blue birthday invitation. “When you’re feeling better, I hope you can come to my birthday party! And maybe you can even come to my baptism.”
Tiffany gave Ali a big hug. “Thank you!”
When it was time to go, Ali walked back down the hallway with Mom. Ali noticed a poster hanging on the wall. It had a picture of a girl holding a long ponytail of her hair. She was smiling. The top of the poster said, “Donate Your Hair for Wigs.”
“Mom,” Ali said. “Can I do that?” She pointed to the poster.
Mom turned to read it. “But Tiffany doesn’t need a wig.”
“I know,” said Ali. “But there are lots of kids at the hospital who do!”
Mom smiled. “I think that’s a great idea.”
On the morning of Ali’s birthday party, Mom took Ali to get her hair cut. After lots of combing and snipping, Ali looked in the mirror. Now her hair reached just to her chin. She felt happy inside when she imagined a girl sitting in a hospital bed, putting on a wig made with some of Ali’s hair.
“How do you feel?” Mom asked.
“So happy that I made up a joke,” said Ali. “Want to hear it?”
Mom nodded.
“I’m getting a head start on my baptism promises!” Ali said with a laugh. She couldn’t wait to keep helping others bear their burdens.

From Jean Lackey:
"When I was five years old, my mother divorced my father to protect me and my siblings from my father. He was mentally unstable. . . It was very difficult to be a single mother of five children in 1960. She struggled to pay the mortgage, childcare, and to keep food on the table. My brother was also medically fragile and one of my sisters had special needs. Mom never remarried, and I know she was very lonely. Once when in my forties, she tried to apologize to my sister and me for working all the time and not being there for us. We quickly informed her that we knew she did it because she loved us, not out of a need to have a career or socialize. I was blessed to have a loving home to grow up in where good morals and a love of our Savior was always present. We were taught the love of family, a strong work ethic, and to serve others."

“When I was a small child, we moved a lot. In fact, we moved fourteen times during the first ten years of my life. I was often afraid at night, and I remember my father holding my hand until I fell asleep. He was so kind and understanding,” said Michael.
The son and daughter of this General Authority were both smiling as they recollected this childhood memory one afternoon during an interview at Brigham Young University.

Eleven years passed. I had just graduated from the medical university in Yerevan, the capital of Armenia, where I was a medical resident in ophthalmology. While doing some volunteer work, I met two Latter-day Saint missionaries and we became good friends. They were welcomed in our home just as anyone else, but as soon as they started to talk about God, the whole atmosphere became tense. My parents told me that missionaries “teaching their religion” were not welcome in our home. Personally, I was not interested in religion, but I had not stopped them because there was something different in the eyes of those missionaries—something so innocent, pure, and magnificent. I was very interested in finding the source of the light I noticed in their eyes.
After my parents expressed their disapproval, I avoided meeting with the missionaries and finally arranged to meet them at their church building but just to say I was too busy to proceed with our discussions. Arriving at our appointment one hour early, I entered a room with lots of chairs and about 15 people in it. As I sat quietly, trying not to disturb anyone, I was astonished by the unusual but unbelievably familiar feelings. I felt just like I had when I was five years old and could run home, hug my mom, and tell her all that I had done—certain that she loved me, that she would always be there for me, and that everything was all right. After the long years of wandering in spirit, I knew I was home.
That night for the first time in my life, I knelt and prayed to God. If there was a Heavenly Father, I wanted Him to answer me, to tell me if the things the missionaries taught were true, to show me why I felt so different. It is hard to describe what happened next. I had never before felt the presence of my Heavenly Father so tangibly. I knew He loved me. He knew me. He had always been there. I slept that night knowing with all the strength of my heart that I had found my way home.

When Dr. Luca Ceccherini-Nelli met Barbara Muller in Washington, D.C., in 1979, he had no idea how much his life was about to change. At that time, he was in the United States doing medical research on the AIDS virus at the National Institute of Health, and she was working as an engineer for the U.S. Department of Energy.

They met through mutual friends and had known each other only a short time when they had an unusual discussion about religion. After observing some members of a very different religious organization, Barbara had commented, “There surely are some strange religions on the earth.”

Luca—not knowing that Barbara had recently been baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints—responded with, “Well, I know of a religion that is even more strange than this one—the Mormons!” After a long silence, Barbara finally dared to ask why he thought the Mormons were strange.

“Well, because they are different from us. They look nice. They are always sharp. But they are more strict, more firm,” Luca said.

They continued walking until Barbara broke the silence again. “I am a Mormon,” she said, “and my children will be raised as Mormons.”

They saw each other only one more time before their careers called them to different parts of the world, and they lost contact.

“But she had left an impression on me,” recalls Luca. “She was somehow different from other people that I had met. I couldn’t forget our brief discussion about the Mormons. I was born and raised in Pisa, Italy, and I had seen the Mormon missionaries there, but I had never been interested enough to stop and talk to them. Now, since I was living very close to the Washington Temple, I decided to stop at the visitors’ center to learn more about this ‘strange’ religion.

“I asked to see the missionaries and to learn about the Church, and—to make a long story short—it all made sense to me. I quickly accepted the challenge to be baptized.”

After several unsuccessful attempts to contact Barbara, Luca telephoned her one more time. Luca recalls, “When she came on the telephone, I said, ‘I just wanted to invite you to my baptism.’ She accepted my invitation, and two weeks later we decided to be married.”

The next few years were not easy for the Ceccherini-Nelli family. Two years after they were married, they made the decision to live in Italy. They had both quit their jobs and money was scarce when they moved to Milan. There were many discouraging times as they sought understanding from their families and as Barbara struggled to learn Italian.

“My parents were against me, and her parents were not happy with her,” Luca recalls. “They came to see us, and they couldn’t understand—my parents couldn’t understand my new religion or my decision to marry an American, and her parents couldn’t understand our decision to move to Italy.”

“The first three years were very difficult,” says Barbara. “But we prayed constantly, and went our way.”

Luca became a counselor to the bishop in Milan and invited his father to come to church. “My father said that he had not received so much gospel in his entire life as he did that day. He recognized my commitment to the Church, and that was the beginning of his acceptance of my decisions.”

Luca and Barbara now have three children: Beatrice, 10; Roberta, 8; and Vittorio, 6. “As Luca’s mother has watched our children grow, her feelings have softened about us,” says Barbara. “She has commented to me that our children are better behaved, are more calm, and do better in their schoolwork than other children she knows. And she recognizes the ‘special closeness’ we have in our family because of the teachings of the gospel.”

Once again, Pisa, Italy, has become home to Luca Ceccherini-Nelli and his family. Doctor Ceccherini-Nelli is a respected physician and professor of medicine at the University of Pisa. Brother Ceccherini-Nelli has been a branch president three times and continues to devote countless hours to his Church callings. Barbara Ceccherini-Nelli—after eleven years away from her career—has found time in her busy life to do some consulting work with the European space program. But Sister Ceccherini-Nelli is a devoted homemaker and mother while serving faithfully in her Church assignments.

Brother Ceccherini-Nelli reflects on how different his life would have been without the blessings of the gospel. “There was a time when I think I was really kind of lost,” he says. “I was working all the time and had developed a little place by myself with nobody inside, which was cold and useless. But then Barbara came into my life, and the Church came in, and things got better. We had a few years of really difficult times, but with the constant help of our Heavenly Father we have been greatly blessed.”

“I think my life would have been much more materialistic,” says Barbara. “I think I probably would have been like a boat at sea, with no place in particular to go. Having the Church in our life has made everything so warm—it has made all the difference!”

At a conference championship game of American football, Joseph B. Wirthlin had what he called “a defining experience” during a crucial play.
Illustrations by Ben Sowards
“The play called for me to run the ball up the middle to score the go-ahead touchdown,” he said. “I took the handoff and plunged into the line. I knew I was close to the goal line, but I didn’t know how close. Although I was pinned at the bottom of the pile, I reached my fingers forward a couple of inches and I could feel it. The goal line was two inches (5 cm) away.
“At that moment I was tempted to push the ball forward. I could have done it. … But then I remembered the words of my mother. ‘Joseph,’ she had often said to me, ‘do what is right, no matter the consequence. Do what is right and things will turn out OK.’
“I wanted so desperately to score that touchdown. But more than being a hero in the eyes of my friends, I wanted to be a hero in the eyes of my mother. And so I left the ball where it was—two inches from the goal line.”1 Elder Wirthlin (1917–2008) later served as a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles.

In an October general conference, Sister Grassli, the Primary General President, reported: “Nine-year-old Matt spoke in church about something he had learned from the scriptures that brought him peace. He said, ‘When my father told our family that we would be moving from Denver to Wisconsin, my mother reminded us of Lehi’s family. Like them, I was leaving the only home I had known, all my friends, my school, my ward. Luckily we were able to bring all our possessions with us, though they were in storage for three months, and we missed having a house and our “precious things.”
“‘My mother reminded us of how Nephi accepted this challenge—willingly—knowing that the Lord would “prepare a way for them that they may accomplish the thing which he commandeth them” (See 1 Ne. 3:7.)
“‘I have learned that I can do without things, but not without my family. My brotheres and sisters and I have tried to be more like Nephi than his complaining brothers. I am grateful for the things that the Book of Mormon teaches us.’” (Ensign, November 1988, page 79.)
Matt was comforted by the story of Lehi’s family from the Book of Mormon. As you read or listen to stories from the scriptures, which of the stories bring you peace?

Some years ago, President Gordon B. Hinckley told “something of a parable” about “a one room school house in the mountains of Virginia where the boys were so rough no teacher had been able to handle them.
“Then one day an inexperienced young teacher applied. He was told that every teacher had received an awful beating, but the teacher accepted the risk. The first day of school the teacher asked the boys to establish their own rules and the penalty for breaking the rules. The class came up with 10 rules, which were written on the blackboard. Then the teacher asked, ‘What shall we do with one who breaks the rules?’
“‘Beat him across the back ten times without his coat on,’ came the response.
“A day or so later, … the lunch of a big student, named Tom, was stolen. ‘The thief was located—a little hungry fellow, about ten years old.’
“As Little Jim came up to take his licking, he pleaded to keep his coat on. ‘Take your coat off,’ the teacher said. ‘You helped make the rules!’
“The boy took off the coat. He had no shirt and revealed a bony little crippled body. As the teacher hesitated with the rod, Big Tom jumped to his feet and volunteered to take the boy’s licking.
“‘Very well, there is a certain law that one can become a substitute for another. Are you all agreed?’ the teacher asked.
“After five strokes across Tom’s back, the rod broke. The class was sobbing. ‘Little Jim had reached up and caught Tom with both arms around his neck. “Tom, I’m sorry that I stole your lunch, but I was awful hungry. Tom, I will love you till I die for taking my licking for me! Yes, I will love you forever!”’”
President Hinckley then quoted Isaiah:
“Surely he hath borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows. …
“… He was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities: the chastisement of our peace was upon him; and with his stripes we are healed.”

This truth came to me in a most vivid and dramatic manner some thirty-one years ago. I was serving as a bishop. The general session of our stake conference was being held in the Assembly Hall. Our stake presidency was to be reorganized. The Aaronic Priesthood, including members of bishoprics, were providing the music for the conference. As we concluded singing our first selection, President Joseph Fielding Smith, our conference visitor, stepped to the pulpit and read for sustaining approval the names of the new stake presidency. I am confident that the other members of the stake presidency had been made aware of their callings, but I had not. After reading my name, President Smith announced: “If Brother Monson is willing to respond to this call, we shall be pleased to hear from him now.”
As I stood at the pulpit and gazed out on that sea of faces, I remembered the song we had just sung. Its title was “Have Courage, My Boy, to Say No.” That day I selected as my acceptance theme, “Have Courage, My Boy, to Say Yes.”

The McDowell family moved into a house across the street nearly six months ago. They sure are different from the rest of the families in the neighborhood!
First I met Nephi, their 11-year-old son. Nephi told me his parents named him after an ancient American prophet. I’d never heard of any ancient American prophets, but he showed me a book with his name in it—a book called the Book of Mormon.
My family goes to church, and sometimes we read the Bible. But nobody in my family had ever heard of the Book of Mormon. Nephi called it a second testament of Jesus Christ and said it was an ancient record of the Lord’s dealings with people in the Americas. That was my first clue that Nephi and his family were different.
Next I met Nephi’s older sister, Glitchen. She wasn’t named for a prophet. She was named for her great-grandmother Glitchen Kelly, who was Irish. Glitchen’s great-grandmother had red hair and married a man from Poland named Alex. Glitchen knows all this because her family studies their family history.
All I know about my family is that my parents were born here in our town. I’d like to know more, but I can’t imagine spending all the time that Glitchen’s mother does researching their ancestors.
When the McDowells first moved in, the whole neighborhood changed. For one thing, it looked better. The house they moved into hadn’t been kept up very well, but not long after unloading their furniture, the McDowells set to work repairing their new home. They painted it and fixed the front gate. Then Mr. McDowell put Nephi to work in the garden plot, clearing weeds and tilling the soil.
Back then, no one in the neighborhood cared much for gardening, but Nephi said their prophet wanted them to grow a garden and be as independent as they could. At first I thought Nephi meant the same prophet he was named after—or maybe Moses or Abraham. But Nephi said he meant the living prophet, the one who leads their church today. He said their prophet is a man who speaks for God down here on earth. After all, Nephi said, the world needs a prophet today as much as people needed one in the Bible.
When I told Mom about this living prophet, she didn’t laugh like I thought she might. Instead, she sighed and said she prayed that such things were true. That evening we went into our own abandoned garden and started pulling weeds.
So Mom, Dad, and I grew our garden, and the McDowells grew theirs. In the fall, Mom and Mrs. McDowell swapped recipes, and Mrs. McDowell taught Mom how to preserve food. Then Nephi’s dad and my dad began fishing together on Saturdays and sometimes on Friday evenings—but never on Sundays. We quickly learned just what the McDowells would and would not do on Sunday.
“It’s our Sabbath,” Nephi told me. They didn’t fish or go shopping or do anything but spend family time together and do church stuff. I felt really sorry for Nephi and Glitchen, but they didn’t seem to mind, even when I heard Nephi’s stomach growling one Sunday when he’d been fasting all day.
Now, believe it or not, after all I’ve seen of the McDowells, I like them. Maybe it’s because they laugh a lot and seem to have fun. Or maybe it’s because Nephi helped our soccer team win a few games. Or maybe it’s because I just feel good when I’m with them.
Tonight after dinner, the McDowells are bringing over some missionaries to tell my parents and me more about their church. Mom has cleaned the house and baked a cake, and Nephi and Glitchen are bringing a Book of Mormon just for me.
I’ll soon know all about Nephi the prophet and about family history stuff and gardens and the Sabbath day, plus a whole lot more. I’ll even learn what it means to be different, like the McDowells. I think sometimes different is good.

Christmas was coming, and the first grade class of Mrs. Blackhurst and Mrs. Saunders at Barratt Elementary in American Fork, Utah, had really looked forward to making gingerbread houses. Best friends Jessica and Brooke were in the class together. When the long-awaited day arrived, each carefully and lovingly decorated her gingerbread house with candies and icing. They were really pleased with their finished creations.
After school, they could hardly wait to take their treasured gingerbread houses home to show their families. As they walked down the hall, Brooke’s gingerbread house slipped off its plate and fell to the ground. It splattered all over the floor of the school. Heartbroken, she and Jessica picked up the pieces and continued their walk home.
At home, Jessica cried and cried because she didn’t know how to help her friend feel better. Then Mom suggested, “Why don’t you give her your gingerbread house?” Jessica thought about it and decided that even though she loved her gingerbread house, that’s what she would do.
She took it to Brooke’s house and gave it to her. Brooke stopped crying and asked Jessica if she wanted to stay and play. The girls shared the broken gingerbread house, and they both felt happy. Brooke felt good inside to know that she had a true friend.
Later, Brooke’s dad told Jessica that her sacrifice was the most Christlike thing he had seen all season. Jessica said that she felt good and that she learned that if you do Christlike things, you will feel happy too.

A temple dedication committee came up with two ideas—a poster and a rug—that would help the children feel that this was their temple. Primary children were given posters with a beautiful picture of the San Diego Temple. Underneath the picture, the children wrote down their goals in preparing for the dedication. Angela Pedroza, who lives in Ensenada, Mexico, was excited to write down her goals: saying her daily prayers, beginning to read the Book of Mormon, respecting her parents, and taking friends to see the temple. Writing these goals on the poster helped Angela as well as many other children remember the importance of the temple and what they could do to prepare to go to the Lord’s house.