Gospel Story Finder

There are many single adults in the Church well beyond their early adult years. While finding their present life different than they had anticipated, they keep the law of chastity.11 It can be a trial of their faith. I express my deep respect and admiration for these disciples of Christ.
“God has commanded that the sacred powers of procreation are to be employed only between man and woman, lawfully wedded as husband and wife.”12 In the New Testament the Savior lifted the moral standard for His followers when He declared, “Whosoever looketh on a woman to lust after her hath committed adultery with her already in his heart.”13 He taught us not to condemn others, but He was unafraid to speak directly: “Go,” He said, “and sin no more.”14
Our family has a friend. You probably know someone like her, or perhaps you are like her. Always faithful, serves nobly in the Church, admired professionally, adored by her family, and while she anticipated marriage and children, she is single. “I made the decision,” she said, “to put my … trust in Jesus Christ. Going to the temple frequently helps me keep a more eternal focus. It reminds me I am never alone. I have faith … that no … blessing will be withheld … as I … remain faithful to my covenants, including the law of chastity.”15
Another friend served an outstanding mission, followed by rigorous academic training. He hoped to have a family. His trial of faith: feelings of same-sex attraction. He wrote me recently: “I am promised in my patriarchal blessing that I will have my own family someday. Whether that will occur in this life or the next, I do not know. But what I do know is that I don’t want to do anything that will jeopardize the blessings God has promised both me and my future posterity. … Living [the law of chastity] is a challenge, but did we not come to earth to confront challenges and to show God our love and respect for Him by keeping His commandments? I am blessed with good health, the gospel, a loving family, and loyal friends. I am grateful for my many blessings.”16
The world protests, how can you ask so much? The Lord responds:
“My thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways. …
“For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts.”17
These two followers of Christ and tens of thousands like them have felt the Savior’s promise: “Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.”18

I conclude with an example from my own life. I once had a treasured friend who seemed to experience more of life’s troubles and frustrations than he could bear. Finally he lay in the hospital terminally ill. I knew not that he was there.
Sister Monson and I had gone to that same hospital to visit another person who was very ill. As we exited the hospital and proceeded to where our car was parked, I felt the distinct impression to return and make inquiry concerning whether my friend Hyrum might still be a patient there. A check with the clerk at the desk confirmed that Hyrum was indeed a patient there after many weeks.
We proceeded to his room, knocked on the door, and opened it. We were not prepared for the sight that awaited us. Balloon bouquets were everywhere. Prominently displayed on the wall was a poster with the words "Happy Birthday, Daddy" written on it. Hyrum was sitting up in his hospital bed, his family members by his side. When he saw us, he said, “Brother Monson, how in the world did you know that today is my birthday?” I smiled, but I left the question unanswered.
Those in the room who held the Melchizedek Priesthood surrounded this, their father and grandfather and my friend, and a priesthood blessing was given.
After tears were shed, smiles of gratitude exchanged, and tender hugs received and given, I leaned over to Hyrum and spoke softly to him: “Remember the words of the Lord, for they will sustain you. He promised you, ‘I will not leave you comfortless: I will come to you’ (John 14:18).”

The selection of a site for the New Zealand Temple illustrates this point. President Wendell B. Mendenhall of the San Joaquin Stake was assigned by President David O. McKay to investigate possible temple sites in the lands of the South Seas. He investigated potential locations in Auckland, New Zealand, where the mission headquarters are located but felt no satisfaction.
“Then one day I felt I should go to Hamilton to visit the college. While in the car on the way, the whole thing came to me in an instant: The temple should be there by the college. The Church facilities for construction were already there, and that was the center of the population of the mission. Then, in my mind, I could see the area even before I arrived, and I could envision the hill where the temple should stand. As soon as I arrived at the college and drove over the top of the hill, my vision was confirmed. In my heart I felt that the Lord had especially made this hill for his temple, everything about it was so majestic and beautiful.” (Allie Howe, “A Temple in the South Pacific,” Improvement Era, Nov. 1955, p. 811.)

I have many memories of my boyhood days. Anticipating Sunday dinner was one of them. Just as we children hovered at our so-called starvation level and sat anxiously at the table with the aroma of roast beef filling the room, Mother would say to me, “Tommy, before we eat, take this plate of food I’ve prepared down the street to Old Bob, and then hurry back.”

I could never understand why we couldn’t first eat and later deliver his plate of food. I never questioned aloud but would run down to his house and then wait anxiously as Bob’s aged feet brought him eventually to the door. Then I would hand him the plate of food. He would present to me the clean plate from the previous Sunday and offer me a dime as pay for my services. My answer was always the same: “I can’t accept the money. My mother would tan my hide.” He would then run his wrinkled hand through my blond hair and say, “My boy, you have a wonderful mother. Tell her thank you.”

You know, I think I never did tell her. I sort of felt Mother didn’t need to be told. She seemed to sense his gratitude. I remember, too, that Sunday dinner always seemed to taste a bit better after I had returned from my errand.3

Nineteen-year-old Emily Rowland takes a deep breath. The task ahead of her seems nearly impossible. A trickle of sweat slowly makes its way down her face to drip off her chin, and her face becomes flushed, but she won’t give up.
Emily knows she must persevere, not only for herself, but for others who will follow. Her heart pounds and her muscles beg her to stop, but she knows it will be worth it.
This is Relief Society Homemaking meeting.
Of course, it’s not always this much of an ordeal—but this particular Homemaking night finds Emily and some of the other women in her ward—the University Ward near the University of Nevada at Las Vegas—working to improve their health and fitness, and that means working up a sweat doing aerobics. Other times Homemaking might mean learning about how to manage finances (not a bad skill for a college freshman like Emily), or how to look for a job, or maybe even how to change a flat tire.
What, no recipes, no baby quilts?
“Sure, cooking and sewing are important too,” says Emily. “It always amazes me how well Relief Society can adjust to individual needs. It’s a lot of fun.”
Emily and two of her friends, Aubrey VanDrimmelen and Charlotte Ballard, say that leaving Young Women behind was hard, and maybe even a little frightening. But it’s also something they all agree it was time to do.
“I really loved Young Women,” says Charlotte. “And Relief Society is different from Young Women. For one thing, there are a lot of people who are older than you. But after you’ve gone a few times, you realize how nice everyone is, how much they want to be your friend.”
Emily points out that going from Young Women to Relief Society happens at a time when most girls are headed off to college, entering the work force, preparing for missions, or getting married.
“Those are big changes,” she says. “Relief Society is a big change, too, but it helps you cope with all the other new things in life.”
Part of making the change into Relief Society means learning new skills. Probably one of the most important things all three girls learned right away was how to be a good visiting teacher—something none of them had done before.
“The first time I went visiting teaching, I had no clue what I was doing,” says Aubrey. “It was sort of hard to think of things to say, but now I really like it. It’s great to get to know people and help them out.”
Unlike some student wards, the University Ward in Las Vegas has a mix of single and married people. A few couples even have children, so the younger women in the ward have to step out of their comfort zone to help the others.
Emily and her partner (who is also 19) go visiting teaching to the married, has-a-master’s-degree, has-a-baby Relief Society president (gulp). But, as with most other things, Emily takes it in stride and has even learned to enjoy it.
“Getting the call to be her visiting teacher was a little intimidating, I have to admit,” she says. “Since I didn’t know what it was like to be married or have a baby, I just had to ask her. Since I was forced to ask a lot of questions, I’ve come to know more about her. I really admire her, and I have learned so much from being her visiting teacher. And I hope maybe she’s learned a little something from me.”
“Last week, our lesson on Sunday was titled ‘Aging Is Part of God’s Plan,’” says Aubrey. “I looked at that and thought, How on earth is that going to apply to someone like me? I mean, no one in my ward is exactly getting old.”
Even though there is only one lesson in the Relief Society curriculum about aging, there are lots of lessons on family and social relationships. Does that mean that someone who is young and single can’t get anything from them?
“No way!” says Emily, who serves as a Spiritual Living teacher in her ward. “I work on my lesson all week, reading it so many times I practically know it by heart. Every lesson has something that is valuable, whether you’re 19, 29, or 79.”
Charlotte says that the age differences in Relief Society actually add to her experience.
“You can always learn things from people who are older than you,” she says. “You may not need to know those things right at the moment you learn them, but lots of them come in handy later on. There’s always a great spirit in Relief Society because people share their own experiences.”
Of course, one thing that doesn’t change whether you’re in Young Women or Relief Society is the chance to learn about the Savior and how to become more like him.
“I know with a surety that my Savior lives,” says Emily. “Sometimes you start to doubt things, but if you listen to the lessons in Relief Society you learn and grow so much because you’re doing the right thing. Relief Society helps you stay close to the gospel.”
And along with that closeness to the Savior and the gospel come a closeness and friendship with each other that the girls say is hard to duplicate anywhere else.
“There’s a lot of love in our Relief Society,” says Charlotte. “You can tell when you’re there that people are willing to help each other. There are opportunities to serve and teach everywhere.”
This year, young women all over the Church will be taking the plunge into Relief Society. With a little less than a year of Relief Society under their belts, Emily, Aubrey, and Charlotte know what that initial plunge feels like: exciting, scary, and possibly (for the newcomer) a little intimidating. They also know what it feels like to keep coming: rewarding, uplifting, and a smooth transition to a lot of fun, where age differences don’t matter much.
“Everyone in Relief Society wants you to know you are accepted and to make you feel good about being there. What could be better?” says Emily.
Aubrey agrees.
“It’s a little like reading the scriptures,” she says. “Every time you go, you learn something different. And the longer you do it, the more you learn.”
Friendship, love, skill training, and spiritual growth—it’s a good deal no matter what age you are and no matter what your needs are. And who knows? The first time you go, they might even serve a delicious, fancy dessert—with the recipe, of course. After all, this is Relief Society.
Feeling left out because there’s not a student or singles’ ward in your area? Well, whether you live hundreds of miles away from the nearest Church member your age, or just a few minutes from Church headquarters, your home ward is still a great place for you to be—including Relief Society!
Christy Pimper, another 19-year-old college student from Las Vegas, has chosen to attend her home ward. Here are some of her tips on finding a way to fit in:
Mentally prepare to make the move. “I really liked Young Women, but when I turned 18, I felt ready to leave. I was older than everyone and my needs were different. When it’s time to move on, don’t hesitate!”
Take the opportunity to develop your testimony. “The lessons in Relief Society are great. You learn things you never knew before, and you understand things you’ve known all your life much better than before.”
Make friends. “Even though everyone in my ward is older than me, I don’t feel left out. All the women go out of their way to make me feel welcome.”
Keep an open mind. “Relief Society is different from Young Women, but unless you give it a try, you’ll never really know for yourself what it’s like.”

Now I think I’ll skip over some of my missionary experiences. This one might interest you. While I was laboring as a district president in Amsterdam on my first mission, my companion and I were invited to the home of one of the Saints. She wanted to invite her neighbor in and wanted us to come and teach her the gospel. When we arrived, the neighbor was there, but she had brought her minister along with her to make sure that we told her the right things. Well, the minister and I had a little difference of opinion on the subject of priesthood and right there he challenged me to a debate in his church. In those days we were not advised not to debate, and so I accepted the challenge–I was young and had plenty of fight in me.

When we arrived at his church a week from Saturday night, the church was full; all of his people were there, and all of our people. How our people had found out about it I do not know. I had not told them. I think he had spread the word around, thinking to show us up. But at any rate, he stood up and said, “Inasmuch as Mister Richards is a guest in our church we’ll accord him the privilege of opening the debate, and we’ll each talk for twenty minutes and continue as long as it’s mutually agreeable.” He asked, “Is that agreeable to you, Mister Richards?”

And I said, “Very much.” I did not tell him that I would have given him the shirt off my back for the privilege of opening that debate, and he had just handed it to me on a silver platter. I did not know whether the Lord had anything to do with that or not, but I thought he did.

I stood up and said, “The last time I talked to my friend, we had a difference of opinion in regard to the principle of the priesthood. I’ve come tonight prepared to discuss that subject, but I do not propose to start with that subject.” This is a device that has helped me in my work: I said, “If you were going to build a house, you wouldn’t try to put the roof on it before you got the foundation in, would you? Because if the foundation were faulty the house would tumble anyway so what good would the house be? I propose to open this debate tonight by laying the foundation of the gospel of Jesus Christ, and I choose for my text the sixth chapter of Hebrews, where Paul said,
Therefore leaving the principles of the doctrine of Christ, let us go on unto perfection; not laying again the foundation of repentance from dead works, and of faith toward God,
Of the doctrine of baptisms, and of laying on of hands, and of resurrection of the dead, and of eternal judgment. [Hebrews 6:1–2]
I hurried over faith and repentance; I assumed that they believed that. I preached baptism by immersion for the remission of sins until everybody in the audience was giving me accord. Then it came to the laying on of hands for the gift of the Holy Ghost, and they did not believe that. They thought the Holy Ghost just came, like the breezes that blow from the heavens.

I reminded them that when the apostles at Jerusalem heard that Samaria had accepted the word of God through the preaching of Philip they sent Peter and John. When these apostles arrived, they prayed for the people, then laid their hands upon them, and the people received the Holy Ghost. When Simon the sorcerer saw that the Holy Ghost was conveyed by the laying on of the apostles’ hands, he offered them money, saying, “Give me also this power, that on whomsoever I lay hands, he may receive the Holy Ghost.” And Peter said, “Thy money perish with thee, because thou hast thought that the gifts of God may be purchased with money” (see Acts 8:14–20). Then I gave two or three other references on laying on of hands and I sat down.

The minister stood up. He never mentioned a word I had said. He started expounding on a few of the bad things that our enemies had said against us and then said, in the most courteous manner, “Now, if Mister Richards will enlighten us on these matters I’m sure this audience will be most appreciative.”

I was on my feet just like that. (My companion later asked how I could think so fast; I responded, “What have you been praying for all week long?”) I stood up and said, “In the days of the Savior his enemies tried to trick him with cunning and craftiness. I don’t suppose there’s anyone here today who’d like to see us resort to those old tactics. If I understand a debate, it’s a presentation and answering of arguments. Has this man answered any of my arguments?” All shook their heads negatively. “All right, my friend,” I said, “you may have your twenty minutes over again.”

He would not do it. I knew he could not. His wife, who was in the audience, stood up and said, “What Mister Richards is asking is fair. You ought to answer him.” And even then he would not do it.

I said to my companions, “Stand up. Give me my coat and hat.” (It was winter.) “One more chance,” I announced. “I am willing to remain here till ten o’clock tomorrow morning, when I have to be in my own church, provided this debate can go forward on the basis that you have set up. If not, I am going to leave and ask my companion to leave and ask our people to leave, and I shall leave it with you to settle with your people for what has happened here today.” And still he would not do it. So we all walked out on him. I met him on the street time and time again after that and he would duck his head so that he would not have to speak to me. Well, that is one of my little experiences there.

At one such time, I sought Heavenly Father’s counsel through constant and heartfelt prayer for more than a year to find the solution to a difficult situation. I knew logically that Heavenly Father answers all sincere prayers. Yet I reached such desperation one day that I attended the temple with one question: “Heavenly Father, do You really care?”
I was sitting near the back of the Logan Utah Temple waiting room when, to my surprise, entering the room that day was the temple president, Vaughn J. Featherstone, a close family friend. He stood at the front of the congregation and welcomed all of us. When he noticed me among the temple patrons, he stopped speaking, looked me in the eyes, and then said, “Brother Brough, it is good to see you in the temple today.”
I will never forget the feeling of that simple moment. It was as if—in that greeting—Heavenly Father was stretching forth His hand and saying, “Here am I.”
Heavenly Father really does care and listen to and answer every child’s prayer.15 As one of His children, I know the answer to my prayers came in the Lord’s time. And through that experience, I understood more than ever that we are children of God and that He has sent us here so that we can feel His presence now and return to live with Him someday.

Wyoming can be a cold and snowy place in the wintertime. That’s why one troop decided to make snowshoes. During the fall they were looking ahead to the Klondike derby coming up in January. They wanted an activity that could prepare them for winter camping.
Under the direction of their Scoutmaster and deacons quorum adviser, the young men went online to find a pattern and instructions for making snowshoes out of rawhide and wood. “We realized this project was going to take a long time,” says Sam F., deacons quorum president, “but we were all excited, and we had a plan.”
As the young men worked on their snowshoe frames, they discussed how they could help others in the quorum who were less active, and they made a plan to visit them. “We visited every boy on our list and invited them to come to Scouts,” Sam says. “We told them we were making snowshoes for the winter campout coming up.” Having a clear goal was helpful in drawing other boys to the troop.
As the snowshoes progressed, so did the quorum. Six young men started the snowshoe project, but soon others joined in, including one of another faith.
John B.’s friend, Timothy N., was active in his church, but it didn’t have a Scout troop, so he started coming with his friend. His brother, Thomas, even joined the ward’s 11-year-old Scout patrol and earned his religious award. He was then presented with the award at his own church service.
While the young men and leaders worked, they made religious connections between wrapping the rawhide tightly and bringing their quorum together.
Jacob D. started coming regularly to the Scout meetings. His mother, Heather P., later thanked the troop for welcoming her son and their family. Other young men who had never attended church came to the Scout meetings to make snowshoes.
By January, the snowshoes were finished and each young man had a pair to use during the Klondike derby. Aiden H. said what they all felt about making snowshoes: “It was fun because we got to use them!”
“We learned a lot about enduring to the end on a project and about strengthening our quorum through Scouting,” Sam says. “My snowshoes will last a long time, and whenever I see them I’ll remember this experience, as well as the great friends we made in our troop and quorum.”

In 1952 the majority of the families in the Rose Park Third Ward were members whose fathers or husbands held only the Aaronic Priesthood, rather than the Melchizedek Priesthood. Brother L. Brent Goates was called to serve as the bishop. He invited a less-active brother in the ward, Ernest Skinner, to assist in activating the 29 adult brethren in the ward who held the office of teacher in the Aaronic Priesthood and to help these men and their families get to the temple. As a less-active member himself, Brother Skinner was reluctant at first but finally indicated that he would do what he could. He began personally visiting with the less-active adult teachers, trying to help them see their role as priesthood leaders in their homes and as husbands and fathers to their families. He soon enlisted some of the less-active brethren to assist him in his assignment. One by one they became fully active again and took their families to the temple.

One day the ward clerk came out of a grocery checking line to greet the last of the group to go to the temple. Commenting on his position as the last, the man said: “I stood by and watched as all of that group became active in our ward and went to the temple. If only I had been able to imagine how beautiful it was in the temple, and how it would change my life forever, I never would have been the last of 29 to be sealed in the temple.”

I first came to the United States from American Samoa when I was 10 because my father wanted his children to have more educational opportunities than those he had. I lived in Seattle, Washington, with an aunt and uncle. At 14, I moved to California. My grandmother, with whom I lived, was a temple worker in the Los Angeles California Temple, but I was not a member of the Church.
During my junior year of high school, I became involved with student government and noticed several people on the student council who stood out from all the rest. They were respectful of others, clean in speech and dress, and had a dignity and light about them that caught my attention. We became friends, and they invited me to go to Mutual with them. I liked the fun, wholesome activities and the Spirit that I felt there, so I began attending regularly. Just a few weeks later my friends introduced me to the missionaries and to the Book of Mormon. I was baptized soon afterward and began a lifelong study of the Book of Mormon.

“During our annual planning meeting at the beginning of the year, we planned several service projects in our quorums and classes. One was when my quorum helped a family in our ward trim the large tree in their backyard.
“It was pretty awesome! We worked on the tree with chainsaws and branch cutters. With all of us working together, we finished in no time at all. It was also really fun because we got to use power tools. We’d just been looking for an opportunity to serve as a quorum when we heard of this family’s need. At the end, our quorum and the family were very happy!”
Andrew S., 14, Arizona, USA

It showed up even in her work. On Mondays, she cleaned for Mrs. Wilson, Mrs. Brown, and Mrs. DeCroy. On Tuesdays she ironed for Mrs. Draper and Mrs. Blackburn. But on Wednesdays, she went to Mrs. Price’s. Mrs. Price had had a stroke several years before and was a semi-invalid—and very poor. Every week Mrs. Price would say, “I’ll pay you next week.” My mother invariably responded, “You paid me too much last week and I owe you more work. Don’t trouble me about money now.” I knew that my mother never received any money for her work there, but she explained gently that Mrs. Price needed the help, and she needed to safeguard her pride at the same time. O Kin Yan Cante did both.
Wednesdays were special for another reason: Relief Society meetings. O Kin Yan Cante loved her close association with the sisters and would marvel, “Can you imagine, me, who never went to school, sitting with people who can tell you about such a faraway place as heaven? I feel important when I go to those meetings and after.” She would hum throughout the week the music she heard at Relief Society.
On Thursdays, O Kin Yan Cante cleaned the back room of our town’s only store. Shifting all of the sacks and boxes was backbreaking, but it paid more than her other jobs—enough to buy our food.
Fridays she sewed and mended for people. Saturdays she baked for parties. Sundays were her days of rest, and she listened attentively every afternoon between Sunday School and sacrament meetings when I read to her. I wish now that I had been more sensitive to her hunger for knowledge.
Maybe the great temptation entered my life the day a girl at school casually asked me who the Lamanite was that I’d been walking with. It had been my mother; and suddenly I realized that I didn’t look like an Indian, that I looked white. I didn’t lie, but said something evasive, “Oh, that is O Kin Yan Cante,” and changed the subject.
The knowledge was still resting somewhere in the back of my mind when I packed my boxes to go to nurses’ training in Salt Lake City. College was a dream beyond my mother’s power to realize for herself, and to see it coming true for me was equally exciting to us both. I worked hard and liked school; when the chance for a summer job in the obstetrical department came up, I took it and O Kin Yan Cante agreed—even though I know how much she had looked forward to seeing me again. It would mean enough money to pay my expenses for the whole year.
That fall, another family from our town was bringing their daughter up to school. They insisted that O Kin Yan Cante come with them. There would be plenty of room for her in the home of the Salt Lake relative they were staying with. Her reluctance to come was overcome by her desire to see me.
But my desire to see her was almost overcome by my reluctance to have others see us together. Lacking in self-confidence, I had never mentioned that I was part Indian, even though one of the most popular girls at school—and a good friend of mine—was a Lamanite from Arizona.
O Kin Yan Cante called, her voice calm but tired, when they got to town. (She had never been more than 180 kilometers from home in her whole life and to Reno, Nevada only twice, to family funerals.) I took a cab to the house—a large white house with a green roof, trimmed hedges, and carefully kept grounds—and a doorman! I had never seen such wealth. I embraced my mother, waiting for me just inside the door, the first tears I had ever seen her shed glistening in her eyes.
But I also saw the people in the house staring at us, shocked. They must have never seen a Lamanite before, and I, her own daughter, looked at her with their eyes and felt myself withdraw from her.
Our Nevada friends held a hurried conference and O Kin Yan Cante was seated at the dining room table with us instead of in the kitchen where they had planned to put her; but I felt completely isolated during the meal, burning with shame and humiliation—not on their behalf but on my mother’s. That night she was given a pillow, a blanket, and a cot in the kitchen.
Our Nevada friends decided to return the next morning instead of sightseeing for a couple of days as they had planned. O Kin Yan Cante had always wanted to see the temple but didn’t get the chance. I could not speak; but she smoothed my brow with her golden brown hand and said, “Be all you can be, my daughter; be like these fine people who are so gracious to me.” She really meant it! A knife would not have cut so deeply. After she left, I cried and cried.
I spent my next summer at home and learned, from a friend, that O Kin Yan Cante was working on a beautiful bedspread, a very complicated piece of work that she had started after returning from Salt Lake. My friend assumed that it was a gift for me, but I had never seen it and O Kin Yan Cante had never mentioned it.
One night I couldn’t sleep and arose to find her laboring in the dim light over a magnificent crocheted bedspread—red and pink roses set in white squares and surrounded with small green leaves.
“Oh, mother!” I exclaimed. “Is it for me?”
“No.”
I knew I shouldn’t pry anymore.
As I was getting ready to go back to school, O Kin Yan Cante lovingly and gently tucked the spread into a box. “Will you please give this to the people in Salt Lake who let me stay at their home?” she asked. “It is my gift of pewhal (thanks).”
I burst into tears. “They were cruel to you. They were snobs. They deserve nothing,” I sobbed.
Quietly, my gentle mother said, “I am a member of the Church. It teaches us a better way. We are to forgive; and how often do we really have a chance to return good for unkindness? I have done that which my Savior and those in the kingdom would have me do. Do not harbor ill-will; pray for them and help them.”
I turned away, the tears running, silently now, down my face. My mother had not only forgiven them but forgiven me for being ashamed of her. But how could I forgive myself?
But that too was the gift of my mother’s gentle heart. She had given me both a Lamanite and a white name. And my Lamanite name, “Twanica,” means “willing to try.”

Elder James B. Kunzler
I must say it was really nice not to worry about all that holiday rush everyone else worried about. Spending all our time during the season teaching of the Savior’s life and plan for all his children here on this earth sure put things into perspective. It is a blessing to spend time in the mission field during Christmas even though you are away from home.
Members were a great source of strength to me during the holiday season. They all tried to do what they could to make the time away from home easy on us as missionaries.
I think the highlight of our missionwide conference was when all the missionaries received letters from home. Sister Anderson, the mission president’s wife, had them sent months in advance to read before the closing testimony meeting. The whole building was filled with tear-streaked faces, and I must admit I shed a few myself.

I was at one of my last mission conferences, and as he often did, my mission president shared a message he had received from a missionary. Sometimes the messages were funny, sometimes they were inspiring, and sometimes they proved a point. This message was probably meant to be inspiring, but instead it hit me hard. He shared how much this anonymous missionary appreciated her companion. He shared how much love and care this missionary felt from her companion and what an amazing example her companion was to this missionary. As I listened, I felt my soul stretch in such great longing to be like that companion. I desperately wished that I could be that caring and be that loving and do that much good. And then I felt myself collapse inside when I realized I wasn’t.

That wasn’t me, and it wouldn’t ever be me. There wasn’t even time for me to change, and if there was, I probably wouldn’t be able to anyway.

Later that day, after my companion and I were back in our apartment, she referred to the very part of our mission president’s address that had so thoroughly crushed me and confided that she had written that about me. Those were her words about me. I had been staring into an endless, dark void, wishing desperately to be the kind of person I wanted to be—and failing. But her words flipped on a light, and rather than an endless void, I was in front of a mirror looking at a reflection of myself as I already was. Her words meant so much to me. That she would even think I was half the kind of person she made me out to be in her letter filled me with joy.

My first year as a member of the Church was a long and difficult one, but also full of rewards. Being the only member in your family isn’t the easiest thing, and I also received much persecution from old friends. In May of 2004, I received the Melchizedek Priesthood and a call to serve in the Virginia Richmond Mission, speaking Spanish. I left my nonmember family in July of 2004, not knowing exactly what I was getting myself into or just what it was that I was leaving behind.

During the beginning months of my mission, I heard many things from many friends about the progress of my parents in the Church. They had been attending church off and on and had allowed the missionaries to come by every so often. I was always excited to hear news. Then one Saturday morning my mission president told me he had just spoken with my stake president about my parents. My parents had decided to join the Church. The gospel had now changed their lives for the better, just as it had mine only two years before.

I am so grateful for my Savior Jesus Christ and for the opportunity I had to serve Him as a missionary. I now understand more fully the plan of salvation. I know that this is the gospel and Church of Jesus Christ. Upon returning from my mission in July of 2006 I was overjoyed to enter the Mesa temple with my parents, where we were sealed as a family for time and all eternity. It’s a day I could hardly have imagined just a few years earlier.

When the Church organized its first quorum of elders, Erastus became a charter member. In March 1836, he and about 300 others met for the dedication of the Kirtland Temple. A great spiritual outpouring overwhelmed those present on the occasion, including Erastus. “The spirit of prophecy was bountifully poured out on us,” he said, and he was promised that one day he would perform important work in the Rocky Mountains. The dedication services impressed the teenager:

“We all, like as did Israel when they surrounded Jericho, with one united voice gave a loud shout of Hosannah, Hosannah, Hosannah, to God and the Lamb, Amen, Amen, Amen, and Amen. When this was done the Holy Ghost shed forth upon us; some received visions of the judgments that were to be poured out upon this generation; some spoke in tongues, some interpreted; others prophesied; others saw Zion in her glory, and the angels came and worshipped with us, and some saw them, yea even twelve legions of them, the chariots of Israel and the horsemen thereof.”

During the final months of our mission last year, we experienced an event that taught once again this profound principle that each of us is known and loved by God.

Elder Neal A. Maxwell was coming to New York City for some Church business, and we were informed that he would also like to have a mission conference. We were so pleased to have this opportunity to hear from one of the Lord’s chosen servants. I was asked to select one of our missionaries to provide the opening prayer for the meeting. I might have randomly picked one of the missionaries to pray, but felt to ponder and prayerfully select one whom the Lord would have me ask. In going through the missionary roster, a name boldly stood out to me: Elder Joseph Appiah of Accra, Ghana. He was the one I felt the Lord wanted to pray at the meeting.

Prior to the mission conference, I was having a regularly scheduled interview with Elder Appiah and told him of the prompting that I had received for him to pray. With amazement and humility in his eyes, he began to weep deeply. Somewhat surprised by his reaction, I started to tell him that it was all right and he wouldn’t have to pray, when he informed me he would love to offer the prayer, that his emotion was caused by the love he has for Elder Maxwell. He told me that this Apostle is very special to the Saints in Ghana and to his own family. Elder Maxwell had called his father to be the district president in Accra and had sealed his mother and father in the Salt Lake Temple.

Now, I didn’t know any of what I just related about this missionary or his family, but the Lord did and inspired a mission president on behalf of one missionary to provide a lifelong memory and testimony-building experience.

At the meeting, Elder Appiah offered a wonderful prayer and made a humble contribution to a meeting where Elder Maxwell taught the missionaries of the attributes of Jesus Christ. All who were there will never forget the feelings of love they experienced for their Savior.

Marusia Lawrence, longtime member of Aylesbury Ward lives in a small community on the outskirts of her town.
In 2018, she made a house-to-house collection hoping to raise enough funds to purchase a silent soldier (also known as ‘Unknown Tommy’, see https://rbli.shop/products/unknown-tommy), a black silhouette of a soldier armed with a rifle, which would be displayed permanently in the village. To her delight, these efforts raised enough money for two silent soldiers for the special 100 Year Centenary Remembrance Sunday in 2018.
For 2019, she organised a Remembrance Service for November of that year. She felt strongly that there should be a formal start prior to the two-minute silence and asked fellow Church friend—Richard Godivala—to play the “Last Post” on his trumpet, dramatically setting the scene for the rest of the programme.
All neighbours attending were able to sincerely reflect on a reading of “In Flanders Field” by John McCrae (Canadian poet, soldier, and physician, who died in 1918 in France) and then a reading of “For The Fallen,” written by Englishman Laurence Binyon in 1914.
The service finished by singing the national anthem. Afterwards attendees socialised and talked of their thanks for peace in Europe since 1945, sharing beverages and biscuits at local venue, Cooper’s Barn. Marusia said these quotes made by World War II soldiers truly resonated at this Remembrance Service:
“For your tomorrow they gave their today.”
“Attitude, gratitude and service before self brings happiness and fulfilment in life”
“Brave soldiers laid down their lives for everyone to bring peace into the world.”

Technology Deprivation
Not only have some children in the Telford and Wrekin area been deprived of sufficient nutritious food, but also their circumstances have usually meant that some do not have computers to support home schoolwork. Under Bishop Pointer’s coordination, the Church provided 105 decommissioned iPads from the Church’s Europe Area offices. Bishop Pointer says, “These iPads (with an estimated value of £15,000) are being distributed to vulnerable families within the Telford and Wrekin Borough who need additional at-home education assistance due to the current pandemic. This is a joint venture with the Telford and Wrekin Interfaith Council and the Telford and Wrekin Borough Council.” Bishop Pointer also explained, “The Church has also donated 22 laptops for a not-for-profit organisation set up to assist vulnerable young adults.” “During the pandemic, these laptops were loaned out to a local Chinese community to allow their children to access their schoolwork online due to the national closures of schools.”

The day the Laurels went camping along the Colorado River, I had an important announcement to make. I had decided to begin meeting with the missionaries. As my new friends exclaimed in delight, I interrupted, cautioning them not to expect too much. “I’m not getting baptized or anything like that. I just need a more organized way to learn about your beliefs.” My friends smiled at each other knowingly.
As the weekend progressed, I found that just being in an LDS environment was educational. The first thing I noticed was that Mormons prayed more than any other church people I had met; and in my search for religion, I had met many of nearly every faith. Their prayers were different. They had no book of prayers, like the one my grandmother had owned. They just talked to God. They lived what they learned in church, too. This was no Sunday religion. It was all day, every day, and I liked that.
In the evening, we spread out our sleeping bags and admired the billions of stars in the sky. Some of the girls began asking me questions. How had I been introduced to the Church? Where had I gone to church before? How did I feel about what I was learning?
I didn’t know how to answer that last question. How could I describe my confusion without hurting their feelings? No other church had affected me this way. I had spent hours sorting through LDS doctrines, trying to guess which ones were true. I had always hated guessing. I wanted to know the truth. But there was no research method to prove the Church one way or another. I sighed. “It’s hard,” I admitted. “Everything you teach is so different, and it’s going to take a while to know what’s true.”
“I know what’s true,” one girl said quietly. Then she bore her testimony, confidently, without embarrassment.
I felt that feeling again—the feeling I had felt when I was ten and heard the story of the First Vision while visiting the Los Angeles Temple. It was also the feeling I felt when I heard an especially moving lesson. I didn’t know what the feeling meant, but I suspected it was important. Suddenly, more than anything, I wanted to know, to really know and not just to guess.
“You said you know these things. How do you know?” I asked.
“I’ve prayed about them. You’ve learned about Joseph Smith, haven’t you? About how he was searching for truth and went into the grove to pray?”
I nodded. “Yes, and I’ve tried to pray, but God isn’t going to come down and tell me the answers.”
“Well, probably not, but he doesn’t have to come down in person in order to talk to us. He talks to us all the time. All we have to do is learn how to listen.”
I sat up, interested. “I’ve prayed before, and other churches have told me God answers prayers, but no one ever told me how. You mean I can ask him if your church is true, and he’ll tell me?”
“Of course. That’s how I did it.”
I was amazed. “If it’s that easy, you would think everyone would join your church.”
My friends laughed. Then they began teaching me how to get a testimony. A few months later, I had my answers. And just after my 17th birthday, I was baptized. They were right. All I had to do was listen.