Gospel Story Finder

One area where members can live by faith and not by fear is in our missionary effort. Prior to my call to the Presidency of the Seventy on August 1 of this year, I had served in the Missionary Department for six years, the last three years as Executive Director under Elder M. Russell Ballard, who served as Chairman of the Missionary Executive Council.
Preach My Gospel: A Guide to Missionary Service was first introduced in October 2004. President Hinckley commenced this effort when he called for missionaries to learn the doctrine and to teach the principles by the Spirit. Every member of the First Presidency and Quorum of the Twelve participated to a significant degree. Elder Ballard and I felt that the windows of heaven were opened and the Lord’s inspiration poured out to bring forth this great resource. Over 1.5 million copies of Preach My Gospel have been acquired by the members of the Church. It is a wonderful foundation, and the missionaries are powerful, spiritual teachers. However, if we are to accomplish what President Hinckley has requested, the members, living by faith and not by fear, need to share the gospel with their friends and associates.

When I was a child, I loved building houses in the sandbox. I have the same fun now, except now my ideas turn into real buildings. I love seeing something from my imagination become real.

The Moua family recently moved to Thailand, where they learned the gospel and were baptized. For family home evening they study the Book of Mormon in both Hmong, their native language, and Thai, the language of their new home.

Recently I heard a speaker in sacrament meeting complain that he could not understand why his grandchildren always spoke of going to Grandma’s house, never to Grandpa’s house. I solved that great mystery for him: Grandpas don’t bake pies!

Later I read some writings of the Prophet Joseph Smith and was interested in his philosophy about delegating and stewardship. On one occasion the Prophet wrote to some of the members of the Quorum of the Twelve who were doing missionary work in England. They had asked the Prophet for advice. He gave such counsel as he deemed proper and then wrote the following: “There are many things of much importance, on which you ask counsel, but which I think you will be perfectly able to decide upon, as you are more conversant with the peculiar circumstances than I am: and I feel great confidence in your united wisdom; therefore you will excuse me for not entering into detail. If I should see anything that is wrong, I would take the privilege of making known my mind to you and pointing out the evil.” (Teachings of the Prophet Joseph Smith, comp. Joseph Fielding Smith, Deseret Book Co., 22nd Printing, 1973, p. 176.)

Just before dawn, Jared felt Aunt Phebe’s boot in the small of his back, not too hard, but businesslike. He pulled his head out of the bedroll and squinted into the pale gray light. The circle of covered wagons stood ghostly and still, but he could hear pans clanging gently, wood thudding into piles for breakfast fires, women preparing for another day of travel.
Jared pulled himself into a sitting position, keen anticipation surging through him. A kind of magic had come into each day since Catherine and her family had joined the wagon train at Council Bluffs. He watched her every day as she walked beside her family’s wagon, often with her younger brother holding one hand. He guessed her to be near his own age. Jared had not yet had the courage to speak to her, and she seemed quite unaware of him.
Aunt Phebe had gone about the business of breakfast, and Jared quickly pulled on his boots and his hat and started out onto the prairie to gather firewood. He breathed the cool, clear air deeply, relishing this pleasant time before the prairie sun began to beat down on their heads. A cottontail darted into the sagebrush, and Jared knew he should have brought his gun. Rations were good now, but things might be different by the end of the journey. He felt his responsibility to provide food, but he hated shooting small animals. He guessed that was why he was always leaving his gun behind.
Coming back into the camp, Jared peered around his load of wood to see if Catherine was out of her wagon, but he couldn’t see her.
“Jared, please quit gawking around and bring that wood,” Aunt Phebe called to him. Jared dumped the wood on the ground by the wagon and smiled at his aunt, his mother’s sister. She returned his smile, shaking her head gently at him, and then stooped to feed the fire that was already blazing brightly from last night’s coals. Jared studied her, thinking how different she was from his mother. His mother had been tall, too, but slender, her long arms and hands graceful and quick. Jared’s stomach still tightened with grief when he thought about her—how pale and still she had lain; how suddenly and silently she had gone. Before leaving Winter Quarters his dad married Aunt Phebe. She was strong and cheerful and a wonderful cook. Jared watched her work, her generous frame bent over the fire. He loved her, and at the same time he wished it were his own mother working there. Suddenly Aunt Phebe looked up.
“Jared, don’t you have anything to do?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Jared smiled at her again and turned toward the wagon. His father was checking harnesses, hitching up the oxen for their day’s work. As he moved around the animals, he patted them and talked softly to them.
Jared folded his bedroll neatly and tucked it into its place in the wagon. He looked at the black trunk that stood against one side. Jared hesitated, wondering if he had time to look at the doll without being disturbed. Then he quickly undid the latches and opened the trunk. Carefully he folded back the linens that covered it and looked at the beautiful porcelain figurine.
In spite of its age and the delicate spiderweb cracks that covered it, the colors remained pure and vibrant. Its dress was painted an exquisite clear blue; auburn hair surrounded the gentle face. Jared liked the arms, slightly outstretched as though to receive a running child. His mother had told him about the doll many times—how her grandmother had given it to her when she was a little girl; how it had always sat on her mantle. When she lay sick, she had given it to him.
“Take it to your new home, Jared, and when you are married, put it on your mantle. Perhaps your wife will treasure it.”
Jared knew his mother had grieved at not having a daughter, and now she would not see her daughter-in-law either. Jared’s eyes misted as he gently folded the linens over the doll. No daughter could treasure it more than he did, and he didn’t care who might think it silly or unmanly. Still, he didn’t want anyone to see him with it. Quickly he closed the trunk and hurried to help his father with the rest of the morning chores.
Later, as Jared walked beside the wagon, he could see Catherine up ahead, striding easily along with her little brother on one side and her older brother on the other. Jared liked the way she walked, strong and easy, a relaxed kind of eagerness in her gait. Her dark hair lifted gently on her back beneath her bonnet. From time to time she leaned down and picked up a pebble, putting it quickly into her pocket. Jared wondered what she was saving them for. He would have liked to quicken his pace until he walked beside her, but he couldn’t. She was always so closely surrounded by her family. Her four brothers packed wood and water and did everything else that needed doing. It would be ludicrous for Jared to offer to help. How could she be so close and yet so inaccessible? He wondered if they would arrive in the valley without his ever having spoken to her. The day was becoming hot. Sweat began to trickle down his spine. He envied Aunt Phebe sitting on the wagon driving the team. His father walked beside the oxen. He had often said that it would be time for strong men to ride when they were sick or injured. Until then, they walked. His father loved his oxen and spared them whenever he could.
That evening Jared helped his father set up camp. Tomorrow was the Sabbath, and they would stay here and rest. They had traveled late in order to reach the stream, but it was almost dry. Dark water lay in pools among the rocks. But large cottonwoods grew along the bank, and the spot was pleasant. Their barrels contained enough for a few more days travel, so the need for water was not desperate.
After supper and the evening chores, the men built a large fire in the center of the circle, and everyone gathered around for singing and dancing. Jared sat between his father and Aunt Phebe. He was keenly aware of Catherine only a few feet away, surrounded as always by her brothers. After the group had sung several hymns, Brother Aimes struck a lively tune on his fiddle, and several couples got up to dance. One of Catherine’s brothers took her hand and pulled her into the circle of dancers. Jared watched her continuously, his heart constricting until he felt he could hardly breathe. Her long dark hair whirled about her face. Her arms were bare in the warm summer evening. They reminded him of the doll, graceful and somehow delicate, although they were brown and quite used to work. She and her brother passed quite close to Jared. As they turned, Catherine looked directly into Jared’s eyes and smiled slightly. He felt his face redden, and his heart hammered in his chest.
“You could just go ask her. Her brother would give her up.” Aunt Phebe’s voice startled him.
“I couldn’t do that,” he mumbled, his face hot.
Aunt Phebe patted his knee.
“Well, do what you feel good about doing, but I suggest you do something before the journey’s over. Once we reach the valley, she’ll have dozens of suitors.”
Jared wondered if Aunt Phebe had meant to encourage him. What he felt was a bleak depression. He forced himself not to look at Catherine. Jared felt uncomfortable about dancing. He and his parents had been Baptists before they’d joined the Church, and dancing had been frowned on by his former congregation. He didn’t know any dance steps, although it looked simple enough. Maybe when she sat down he’d go over, but the thought of approaching her in front of all those people sent chills down his spine. His father and Aunt Phebe stood up and danced. Catherine had sat down, but Jared remained glued to the keg he sat on, feeling entirely miserable. When the wagon master stood up and called on Brother Adams to pray, Jared felt a mixture of relief that it was over and agony that he had missed his opportunity.
He lay awake a long while in his hard bed on the ground, mostly hating himself for his awkwardness. But tomorrow was another day, and the Sabbath too. There should be opportunities. Before he went to sleep, Jared determined that tomorrow should not pass without his approaching her in some way.
After the morning service and the noon meal, the Saints dispersed for naps and scripture reading. Some of the women gathered under the cottonwood trees to relax and visit.
Jared wandered aimlessly around the wagons, alert for any sign of Catherine, hoping desperately that she would not join the women under the trees. He tried to station himself between her wagon and the women without appearing to have a purpose there.
Suddenly some movement off in the sagebrush caught his eye. Someone was moving around in the brush. As he watched, Catherine came into view, bending over, studying something on the ground. Jared couldn’t believe his luck. He walked slowly toward her, trying to appear nonchalant, hoping no one would see him. Catherine did not see him until he was close enough to touch her.
“Hello,” he said.
She stood up quickly, her face flushed, tendrils of hair clinging damply to her forehead.
“Hello,” she said, smoothing her dress and straightening her bonnet.
Seeing her so flustered gave Jared some courage.
“May I ask what you’re doing?” he said, smiling at her.
“Well, actually, I was looking for rocks.”
“Rocks? What for?” Jared wanted to look into her brown eyes, remembering her look at the dance, but instead he looked just beyond her.
“I like rocks. I collect them.” She cupped the large pocket of her dress in her hand and jiggled it. It bulged with small rocks.
“Could I help you look?” Jared said, finally looking directly into her eyes and experiencing a slight shiver through his body.
“Why yes, I’d like that.” They walked in silence for a time, both watching the ground. Suddenly Jared laughed.
“I really don’t know what I’m looking for at all,” he said. Catherine laughed too and stopped walking.
“I really don’t know what to tell you. I just look for rocks that are unusual in their shape or color or texture.” She took a handful of rocks from her pocket. To Jared they looked fairly ordinary.
“Look at this one,” she said, holding it up to the light. Jared could see that it was rather translucent, a soft purple in color.
“It’s beautiful,” he said. He took it from her hand and studied it.
“I have a book that tells the names of many different kinds of rocks. When we get to the valley, I hope to learn more.” She stopped talking abruptly and looked at him. “Do you think that’s strange?”
“Why no,” he said, looking at her for the second time.
“Does it seem unfeminine to you for me to be interested in geology?” She looked at him so directly that he didn’t know what to say for a moment. Then a feeling of great warmth came over him. Something relaxed and opened within him. He wanted very much to show her the doll.
“No, it doesn’t,” he said. “Would you come back to my wagon and let me show you something?”
“Yes.”
He held the stone in his palm. “May I keep this?” he asked, opening his hand.
“Yes,” she said again, and Jared dropped it into his pocket.
They picked their way carefully over the roots and mounds in their path, and at one point Jared took her hand. When they reached the camp, they dropped each other’s hand, but Jared didn’t mind if the sisters under the cottonwoods observed them coming into camp together, which they did.
When they reached the wagon, Jared crawled inside, then took Catherine’s hand and helped her in. He opened the latches on the trunk, folded back the linens, and lifted the porcelain figurine in his two hands. He held it in the light from the back of the wagon and said nothing for a moment. Catherine took it carefully from his hands and looked at it closely.
“My mother gave this to me before she died. Her grandmother gave it to her when she was a little girl. My mother said I should put it on my mantle.” Jared was silent a moment. “Do you think it’s unmanly for me to treasure a doll?”
Catherine smiled, a warm, radiant smile.
“Jared,” she said, “in the first place, this is not just a doll. It’s a work of art and an heirloom. It’s exquisite. And if it were just a doll, I still wouldn’t think it unmanly.”
“Would this doll look right next to a rock collection on the mantle?” Jared was amazed at his own boldness. He lowered his eyes, and both were silent a moment.
“No,” she said decisively. “But something like my grandmother’s rosebud vase could stand with it.” Then she added more shyly, “Someone will have to build some sturdy shelves for my rocks one day.”
Jared took the doll from her hands and laid it in the trunk, too overcome by his emotions to speak.
“I wanted to ask you to dance last night,” he said finally.
“I was hoping you would.”
“Next Saturday night I will.” He took her hand and helped her down from the wagon. He continued holding her hand as they walked across the prairie grass to where her family rested in the shade.

River First Ward
The Primary children in the River First Ward, South Jordan Utah River Stake, are learning to follow Jesus Christ. For an activity, they learned about the Humanitarian Center and put together school kits for children who don’t have the supplies they need to help them learn. The Primary children learned that serving others brings feelings of peace and joy.

After reaching the Salt Lake Valley, Totshauna settled in what is today known as Holladay. Not long after her arrival, she became the plural wife of Samual Hoopes. (I wonder if Samual was as enchanted as I am by her plain and lovely crown of plaits.) She had nine children by Samual; only seven lived past infancy. Her husband, at one time, was two and a half years absent from his family, which included three wives and numerous children, while serving a mission for the Church in the British Isles. Totshauna later sent three sons on missions after Samual’s death, with each son proving an added hardship, for her boys were among the eldest of her children and were depended upon to aid in the support of the entire family. Her own sketchy journal (now kept treasured in soft cloth in my grandmother’s bureau), which she kept for a brief period following Samual’s death, reads: “Hyrum left with elders Whitney and Williams in a wagon and went to take the rail to Canada. I packed him two beef tarts and two loaves bread with chokeberry jam, and Samual’s Book of Mormon, and an extra shirt and pair socks. He is seventeen.”

“In my darkest moments I was always guided to the words of hope and descriptions of a life filled with joy in my patriarchal blessing,” one member wrote. “Often I would plead with God to help me believe that those blessings could really come true for someone as pathetic as I felt I was. I literally clung to the blessings promised, hoping that I could be happy someday. My testimony grew as I saw the Lord fulfilling promised blessings in my life.”

Attending sacrament meeting for the first time was a real switch for Cesar. It wasn’t anything like the meetings he was accustomed to.

“There was a man carrying the bread and water trays. He was very busy fixing the microphone and saying hello to everyone. There were so many people there, I wondered if they would all fit in the church! It seemed funny that the man fixing the microphone was the bishop.

“It was also a real change to be in church for three hours; that seemed like a long time. I still remember that first Sunday School class. We talked about the birth of Jesus Christ, and I asked a lot of questions. After class, Betty’s brother, Isaac, helped me find the missionaries. I didn’t go to priesthood meeting that day; instead, I had my first discussion with the missionaries.”

That discussion led to more discussions during the week. By Thursday, he had had an interview with the bishop, and the following Sunday—exactly one week after his first attendance at Sunday meetings—he was baptized.

“It was pretty fast,” Cesar admits, “but by that time I had already read the Book of Mormon. Before meeting the missionaries, I had also read Doctrines of Salvation, Truth Restored, and The Miracle of Forgiveness. I had started reading Jesus the Christ. I felt I was ready.”

When Wilford was 17 years old, his father arranged for him to continue going to school.
Wilford: But Father, I can’t afford to attend school in West Hartford!
Father: If you do chores for my friend, he will pay your room and board.
Wilford went to school but became terribly homesick.
Wilford: I miss my family, and I want to return home!
In order to avoid feeling homesick, Wilford decided that he needed to stay busy by focusing more on his studies. He grew to love history and started reading every history book he could get his hands on.
One day Wilford picked up the Bible and started to read it. Although he began reading it to learn about Christian history, he gained a testimony that the Bible was the word of God.
Wilford: I resolve to diligently seek the Lord, follow the Holy Spirit, and do the will of God as far as I can learn it!

My first memory of temples was when I was a little girl. I knew the temple must be a pretty wonderful place because my parents faithfully attended, and they always came home together in such a good mood. I understood the sacred nature of the temple clothing by the way my mother spoke about it with love and respect.

John R. Moyle lived in Alpine, Utah, about 22 miles as the crow flies to the Salt Lake Temple, where he was the chief superintendent of masonry during its construction. To make certain he was always at work by 8:00 A.M., Brother Moyle would start walking about 2:00 on Monday mornings. He would finish his work week at 5:00 P.M. on Friday and then start the walk home, arriving there shortly before midnight. Each week he would repeat that schedule for the entire time he served on the construction of the temple.
Once when he was home on the weekend, one of his cows bolted during milking and kicked Brother Moyle in the leg, shattering the bone just below the knee. With no better medical help than they had in such rural circumstances, his family and friends took a door off the hinges and strapped him onto that makeshift operating table. They then took the bucksaw they had been using to cut branches from a nearby tree and amputated his leg just a few inches below the knee.
When against all medical likelihood the leg finally started to heal, Brother Moyle took a piece of wood and carved an artificial leg. First he walked in the house. Then he walked around the yard. Finally he ventured out about his property. When he felt he could stand the pain, he strapped on his leg, walked the 22 miles to the Salt Lake Temple, climbed the scaffolding, and with a chisel in his hand hammered out the declaration “Holiness to the Lord.” (See “Two Traditions of John Rowe Moyle,” in Biographies and Reminiscences, ed. Gene A. Sessions, 1974, 202–3.)

Since 2008, a team of local volunteers have coordinated a Christmas Day luncheon and festivities to ensure no one spends the day alone. This event enjoys fellowship from many different people including new migrant families, international students, those who have left unsafe homes, people experiencing financial challenges, empty nesters and those separated from family due to COVID border closures and other reasons.
Sister Anouck Van Dyck has been the chairperson for the last three years and said this event is a collaboration between local volunteers, the City of Joondalup Council and various businesses to ensure everyone knows they are loved and appreciated on this very special day. The Perth Australia Mission helps with this by providing a setup and pack down service and are now part of the official entertainment program singing carols to invite the Spirit of Christ into everyone’s hearts.
Of their involvement, Perth Mission President Michael J. Stone commented: “What a great delight to be involved in such a deserving community project during this special Christmas season.
“Our missionaries were thrilled to be of service and truly felt the spirit of Christmas as they worked and sang on Christmas Day to those in the community that might otherwise have had a lonely Christmas.
“We are grateful for the opportunity our missionaries have had to give to the community through work and song on Christmas Day. In serving others, their spirits were lifted towards the Saviour—a wonderful day and blessing for all.”

It may have happened several months ago, but being part of the Masskara opening number for the cultural show we staged during the welcome dinner for the Tabernacle Choir in February and during the area broadcast with Elder and Sister Stevenson in May still inspires me.
Looking back, I had to sacrifice my weekends to attend the practices. There were times when I felt so tired, especially since I had to juggle family, a ton of school work, and practices while also waking up early, traveling, dealing with sore muscles, and more.
Despite this, I knew that I was doing it for the Lord and that all of my efforts would be worth it. I felt the Lord’s hand every step of the way. On top of that, I got to know so many people, built unexpected friendships, and had so much fun!
We were only given less than two months to practice compared to previous cultural presentations which had several months of preparation, so I was amazed that we were able to learn the steps quickly. I was also inspired by the hard work of those around me, especially the trainers and those who arranged the show.
They were sacrificing so much of their time and effort (to the point that some even sacrificed their sleep), and they were so patient with us. They cared for each one of us. I felt this the most when our trainers gave each of us awards that were well thought out and personalized, which deeply touched my heart. Our trainers also pushed for us to bond with one another, and I think this bond we have with our fellow dancers would not exist without them.
On the day of the performance, we all gave our best. When I saw how the Tabernacle Choir members enjoyed our performances so much, and how they were moved to tears, it made me feel that all of the efforts and sacrifices we made were worth it. I was also surprised and moved to tears when they sang a song for us. It was such a memorable experience for me. That moment felt like we were Zion—of one heart and of one mind, all worshipping the Lord, all united by music. Nothing can replace the sacredness and joy that I felt that night.
Three months later, we performed our Masskara dance again, this time with Elder and Sister Stevenson, the Area Presidency and their wives, and the entire country as the show and the devotional were broadcast live! We experienced the same high, this time brought about by the inspiring words of Elder and Sister Stevenson. They counseled us to P.R.O. every day: Pray over and over, Read time after time, and Obey again and again.
My Masskara co-dancers and I have been trying to apply the things we learned during our rehearsal period and our recent performances, and today I am happy to note that among the Masskara dancers, three are already serving their missions, and two have received their call.

My stake president connected me with a couple who were able to help me get some machines to start my business, Kuatsikor Shoes. I named it after my father, to honor him since he never lived to see my business, having died in July 2019. My motto is “Walk Miles”. In August 2023, I was endowed in the house of the Lord in the Accra Ghana Temple. It was such a great experience. The moment I stepped into the temple, I felt a heavy burden had been lifted, it’s hard to explain. I felt a new peace and joy. The gospel of Jesus Christ has significantly impacted my life because I had the feeling that I was in the right place, my first Sunday at church. I will always be grateful for the self-reliance programs organized at the stake center that gave me insights and knowledge about how to grow my own business and to manage my finances. I believe if I continue to stick to these principles, my vision of becoming the best shoemaker in Africa shall come to pass. I know that God speaks to his servants, the prophets.

I often felt concerned about my obligations until I read the First Presidency Message in the May 1999 Liahona (English). I loved the message “Life’s Obligations” by President Gordon B. Hinckley. I felt this message was given just for me, as it showed so many ways to improve. I read this message three times and immediately discussed it with my friends, who were able to see that a living prophet is a great blessing.
Nkemakolam Collins Nkemakolam,Rumuomasi Ward, Port Harcourt Nigeria Stake

President Boyd K. Packer, Acting President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, told of a six-day trip he and other members of his airplane crew made during World War II. It was hot, and they couldn’t take a bath or wash their uniforms. When they went to a restaurant, a woman said, “My, what untidy men!”
President Packer said, “I felt as dirty as I was, uncomfortable, and ashamed.”

Although we did many enjoyable things in my Aaronic Priesthood quorums as I grew up, the most important lessons were the ones my leaders taught me about priesthood duties and mission preparation. This was especially true when I turned 16, was ordained a priest, and became a member of the priests quorum. I came to understand more than ever before that callings in the Aaronic Priesthood are not just positions that need filling. My leaders let me learn my duty and helped me “act in the office in which [I was] appointed” (D&C 107:99).

Photo illustrations by David Stoker
I had the opportunity to serve as a missionary in Catania, Italy. At one point, we hit a rough spot in the work. We’d had a whole week of pretty much everything going wrong, and each day was a test of whether or not we would retain good spirits, keep a smile on, and continue trying hard.
One evening, we were determined to change the flow of things. We went around talking to people in a park near our house, and we saw this guy sitting on a bench with his head down and a cigarette in his mouth. He was dressed in black from head to toe and wore the hood of his big puffy jacket over his head. He did not look like a very pleasant man to talk to. I looked at him, my companion looked at him, we looked at each other, and back at him.
Elder Farley asked me, “Have we talked with him before?”
“I think we have, because I really think I know him,” I responded.
“Yeah, me too,” Elder Farley said.
So we started walking toward him. Part of me was scared because he was just not a person I would normally talk to, but another part really wanted to talk to him.
“Good evening, how are you?” we asked.
He looked up with darkened eyes, as if to say, “Who disturbs my slumber!?” Then very softly he said, “Good evening.” We introduced ourselves as missionaries, and he quickly told us that he was atheist and didn’t believe in anything. We asked him why, which I think caught him by surprise.
“Well, because I lost my mom, dad, sister, and niece all in the same month, and I’ve lived a terrible, lonely life because of it. Religion didn’t do anything but make it worse for me.”
We asked him if he knew where his loved ones were.
“In Catania cemetery, where they have been for a long time,” he responded.
We explained to him the spirit world and the Resurrection. We told him that right now we are each a spirit and a body, and that death is merely a temporary separation between the spirit and the body. We told him that his family members were just waiting for him until they could all be reunited with their bodies and live together for eternity.
He looked at us, confused, and said, “I didn’t understand any of that. Could you repeat everything?”
So we repeated everything. Then he raised an eyebrow in confusion and said, “Wait, I’m a spirit and a body? And my family is just waiting for me and learning right now?”
We read him several scriptures from Alma 40 and other chapters, and he looked at us and asked, “So why have I never heard this before?”
I don’t think I had ever met a more truly humble person in my life. This man had been so lost for such a long time, so confused, so lonely. He took in everything we said, telling us that he understood very little of it because it was all stuff he had never heard before, but he liked everything.
We taught him about how we can get answers through prayer. He hadn’t prayed in over 30 years, and the last time had been a recited prayer in church when he was a child. After we talked about answers from the Spirit, he asked us what the Spirit feels like. Since it can be different for everyone, we both shared what it feels like for us. I told him that to me it feels like getting a hug from your mom after you haven’t seen her for a long time. I felt impressed to promise him that he could and would feel that same thing, a feeling like a hug from his mom who had been missing from his life for a long, long time.
We asked him if we could pray with him. He was really confused and asked, “Now? Here, in the park?”
“We can pray whenever, wherever we want,” I told him. “God wants to hear from us, and He is especially anxious to hear from you because He hasn’t heard from you in a long time.”
He had never heard a prayer before that wasn’t a memorized prayer to a saint, so he was pretty eager to see how it worked. We bowed our heads, and my companion said the prayer for our new friend, Alfio, and asked for blessings, help, and comfort for him. He asked for Alfio to feel an answer that his family was all right and that God really exists. We finished our prayer, and Alfio looked at us with gigantic eyes.
“I must tell you something,” he said. “I am not a person who lies, especially about something like this. I feel like I just got a huge hug from my mother. I haven’t gotten a hug from anyone in a long, long time. That felt so good. I want to know how I can feel that again, because I want more hugs like that.”
The next day we met again. Alfio sat down next to us on the same bench and said, “Elders, my entire life I have walked with my hood up and my head down, staring at the ground. I have never, ever walked with my head up. Ever since that prayer, I have walked around with my head up, and I look at everything. This world is beautiful.”
Needless to say, we continued working with Alfio to bring more hugs, more light, and more looking up into his life. The scary man on the bench who looked like he would hate us was really a soul crying out, begging to feel his Heavenly Father’s love again.