Gospel Story Finder

Certainly President Spencer W. Kimball was not ambitious to be President of the Church, but when the call came, unexpected as it may have been, he was ready. He never slipped off his shoes while the game was still on—not ever.
Let me cite just one example of that preparation which started many years ago, when President Kimball was the age of many of you. When he was 14 years old, a Church leader visited a conference of the stake over which his father presided and told the congregation that they should read the scriptures.
President Kimball, in recalling that experience, said: “I recognized that I had never read the Bible, [so] that very night at the conclusion of that very sermon I walked to my home a block away and climbed up in my little attic room in the top of the house and lighted a little coal-oil lamp that was on the little table, and I read the first chapters of Genesis. A year later I closed the Bible, having read every chapter in that big and glorious book. … It was formidable, but I knew if others did it that I could do it.
“I found,” said President Kimball, “that there were certain parts that were hard for a 14-year-old boy to understand. There were some pages that were not especially interesting to me, but when I had read the 66 books and the 1,189 chapters and 1,519 pages, I had a glowing satisfaction that I had made a goal and that I had achieved it.
“Now I am not telling you this story to boast,” President Kimball concluded, “I am merely using this as an example to say that if I could do it by coal-oil light, you can do it by electric light. I have always been glad I read the Bible from cover to cover” (Ensign, May 1974, 88). In this and a thousand other ways, young Spencer Woolley Kimball silently and efficiently prepared, never dreaming of what lay ahead.

Many times the most beautiful examples of obedience and service are given by ordinary people who live close to us. Sister Ana Rita de Jesus, an elderly widow, lived in Anápolis, Brazil. She could not read or write. The missionaries would go to her home every week to read the scriptures to her. She was loving and kind. Every Sunday she would ask the missionaries to help her fill out a tithing slip. Sometimes her tithing and offerings were not more than a few cents, but she knew the law and wanted to obey it. After paying her tithing, she would walk into the room where the sacrament meeting was held in the rented house used as a chapel and would place a flower on the pulpit.
In doing so, she served her brothers and sisters, bringing beauty to the place where we worshiped the Lord. That sister, in a very simple way, taught us obedience and service through her faith. She knew obeying the commandments is the best preparation to serve. President Thomas S. Monson advised us to “obey the commandments” and “serve with love” (Ensign, May 1998, 47). Sister Ana Rita did so throughout her life.

When my great-great grandparents joined the Church in Sweden over one hundred years ago they were faced with a long ocean voyage to America, a train trip from New York to Omaha, and then a trek by wagon to Salt Lake City. But when they boarded the train in New York, they discovered that they were to ride in stock cars that had been used to haul hogs to market—and the cars were filthy and filled with parasitic insects that live on hogs.
Grandmother accepted the inconvenience, but the humiliation was almost more than grandfather could bear. “To think we are no better than hogs,” he complained. Unwillingly he made the trip anyway.
Grandmother was expecting another child, and when they reached Omaha to begin their long trek west, grandfather was concerned about her health and the safety of the baby. The person in charge of the wagon train assured him that there were competent women trained to deliver babies available and that everything would be all right, so they began their journey.
Somewhere on the plains of Nebraska, a healthy baby was born. But a few days later, the three-year-old son got cholera. In the middle of the night, grandfather went to a neighboring wagon to borrow a candle, but was told they couldn’t spare one. This angered him, and he was angry as he sat in the dark with his son’s drooping, feverish body in his arms. The boy died that night.
The next morning the wagon master said they would hold a short funeral service and bury the boy in a shallow grave, apologetically explaining that they were in a dangerous Indian country and didn’t have time to do anything more. But grandfather couldn’t accept this, and insisted on staying behind and digging a grave deep enough so the animals couldn’t get the body.
Throughout the day and into the night he worked, building a strong wood coffin and digging a grave 1 1/2 meters deep in the hard soil. Finally, very tired and sobbing, he buried his son and then walked all night to catch up with the wagon train. He was heartbroken and he was angry—angry at the wagon master for not waiting to give his son a proper burial, and angry at God for “allowing” his son to die. When he arrived at his wagon and expressed his feelings to his wife, she spoke to him tenderly:
“Father, we have to make the best of it. The baby and I are all right and, thank the Lord, the rest of us are well. If we get to our journey’s end without any more trouble, we must be very thankful to our Heavenly Father. We have joined the Mormon Church because we believed it was the only true one and I have faith that it is. We are not the only ones that are having sorrow and trouble on this trip” (from the history of Hakan Hanson).
This wasn’t the end of their difficulties; they continued to suffer serious hardships and adversities throughout their lives. But although they both went through identical experiences, each was affected differently by them. Grandfather became withdrawn, ill-natured, and bitter. He stopped going to Church and found fault with Church leaders. He became trapped in his own miseries, and the light of Christ grew dimmer and dimmer in his life.
On the other hand, grandmother’s faith increased. Each new problem seemed to make her stronger. She became an angel of mercy—filled with empathy, compassion, and charity. She was a light to those around her. Her family moved toward her and looked to her as their leader.

The large, three-story building did not seem very promising. Nevertheless, Elder Brian McGavin stepped up and knocked on the drab, red double doors. While tracting, he had learned to be very thorough. Almost immediately he and his companion, Elder David Birrell, were greeted by a cheerful young student and ushered into a guest room. They had discovered the Po Ai orphanage.
Although the elders’ apartment in Taipei, Taiwan, was near the orphanage, they had never before found it among the winding streets, crowded with brick huts and foliage. The facilities of the orphanage were scant—two large bedrooms crammed with bunk beds, a kitchen, classroom, and the guest room.
The director of the orphanage, Mrs. Wu Mei-hen, entered the room with several members of her staff and listened politely to the missionaries’ message. After a short “What now?” pause, the missionaries began explaining the Family Home Evening Program.
Mrs. Wu and her staff responded with unexpected enthusiasm, and the next Monday was set for a trial family home evening.
How do you hold a family home evening for 30 orphans, ranging in age from 2 to 18? The elders weren’t quite sure, but they forged ahead anyway. The children were all given name tags and a short lesson was delivered. Just before the closing prayer everyone sang “There Is Beauty All Around” in Mandarin. Soon the evenings at the orphanage became a district project, and other missionaries helped with the Monday family home evenings.
After one of these evenings Elder McGavin wrote his mother about the success they were having teaching the children about the Church in spite of the poor conditions of the orphanage. Sister McGavin, the Laurel adviser in the Holladay 24th Ward, Salt Lake City, happened to be with some of her girls when she read the letter from her son. Immediately they began discussing ways they could help the Po Ai orphans.
After talking with the Explorers, the Laurels planned a bake sale to raise money for shoes and desks for the orphanage. The girls went to work baking cakes, pies, and cookies, while the Explorers put together a band to provide entertainment for the sale.
By coincidence a member of the ward, Sister Ann Burchett, was planning a trip to Taiwan. She was quickly drafted by the youth to present the money they had earned to the orphanage.
The day Sister Burchett arrived at the orphanage, the students planned a special family home evening. They greeted Sister Burchett by singing “There ls Beauty All Around” and presented other skits and songs. Mrs. Wu accepted the money from Sister Burchett and announced it would be taken directly to a carpenter so desks could be built.
A local newspaper, the China Post, wrote an article about the family home evenings, the efforts of the young people in Salt Lake, and the visit of Sister Burchett to the orphanage. The article quoted Confucius, “There is nothing to compare with the happiness of welcoming a friend from afar.” Because of their concern the LDS youth from Holladay were indeed friends from afar.

Corrie ten Boom, a devout Dutch Christian woman, found such healing despite having been interned in concentration camps during World War II. She suffered greatly, but unlike her beloved sister Betsie, who perished in one of the camps, Corrie survived.

After the war she often spoke publicly of her experiences and of healing and forgiveness. On one occasion a former Nazi guard who had been part of Corrie’s own grievous confinement in Ravensbrück, Germany, approached her, rejoicing at her message of Christ’s forgiveness and love.

“‘How grateful I am for your message, Fraulein,’ he said. ‘To think that, as you say, He has washed my sins away!’

“His hand was thrust out to shake mine,” Corrie recalled. “And I, who had preached so often … the need to forgive, kept my hand at my side.

“Even as the angry, vengeful thoughts boiled through me, I saw the sin of them. … Lord Jesus, I prayed, forgive me and help me to forgive him.

“I tried to smile, [and] I struggled to raise my hand. I could not. I felt nothing, not the slightest spark of warmth or charity. And so again I breathed a silent prayer. Jesus, I cannot forgive him. Give me Your forgiveness.

“As I took his hand the most incredible thing happened. From my shoulder along my arm and through my hand a current seemed to pass from me to him, while into my heart sprang a love for this stranger that almost overwhelmed me.

“And so I discovered that it is not on our forgiveness any more than on our goodness that the world’s healing hinges, but on His. When He tells us to love our enemies, He gives, along with the command, the love itself.”1

Corrie ten Boom was made whole.

A man who grew up in the Church, served as a full-time missionary, and married a lovely woman was surprised when some of his siblings began speaking critically of the Church and the Prophet Joseph Smith. After a time they left the Church and tried to persuade him to follow. As often happens in such cases, they bombarded him with essays, podcasts, and videos produced by critics, most of whom were themselves disaffected former members of the Church. His siblings mocked his faith, telling him he was gullible and misled. He didn’t have answers for all their assertions, and his faith began to waver under the relentless opposition. He wondered if he should stop attending church. He talked with his wife. He talked with people he trusted. He prayed. As he meditated in this troubled state of mind, he recalled occasions when he had felt the Holy Spirit and had received a witness of truth by the Spirit. He concluded, “If I am honest with myself, I must admit that the Spirit has touched me more than once and the testimony of the Spirit is real.” He has a renewed sense of happiness and peace that is shared by his wife and children.

The last rays of the sun dipped behind the mountain. I was miles from home, sitting on a cot in a faded green tent, wondering how I was going to solve the dilemma I was in.
It was the end of the first day of my summer job as a forest ranger in eastern Utah. That morning, I had met the two women I would be working and camping with. I was only 19; they were both in their 30s. But our differences were deeper than age. On the hike to base camp, I had hung back and listened to them talk about how strange they thought members of the Church were.
Now it was night, and my co-workers were both slipping into their sleeping bags. “Are you ready to turn the lantern off?” one of them asked me.
I had a decision to make. I hadn’t done my scripture reading for the day. But I also knew how the two women felt about members of the Church. I didn’t want them to laugh at me.
I silenced my conscience and nodded my assent. The light was extinguished, and soon the even breathing of my co-workers told me they were asleep.
But sleep evaded me. After tossing and turning, I grabbed a flashlight and my Book of Mormon and headed down to a meadow just below our campsite. “This is the perfect solution,” I said to myself. “I can read my scriptures without being made fun of.”
Happy with my plan, I turned to Mormon 8. The contentment I felt ended when I reached verse 38 and read, “Why are ye ashamed to take upon you the name of Christ? Why do ye not think that greater is the value of an endless happiness than that misery which never dies—because of the praise of the world?”
That night, as I sat under the brilliant stars in a mountain meadow, I knew the Lord was speaking to me. I had been too afraid of ridicule to show my co-workers what I believed, and the Lord was disappointed in me. Armed with this knowledge, I resolved I would change.
The next night, when my co-worker asked if I was ready to put out the lantern, my answer was different. I cleared my throat and said, “Actually, if you don’t mind, I’m going to read the Book of Mormon for a few minutes.”
I steeled myself for her laughter, but it never came. “Oh, that’s fine,” she said. “Just turn the light off when you’re done.”
I’ve never forgotten the lesson I learned that night. For the first time, I understood how relentlessly Satan tries to make us feel that we won’t fit in if we do what we’re supposed to. Often, the ridicule we are so afraid of hearing never comes. We can never be examples for good unless we let the things we believe show through our actions.

When I was eleven years old, I began a paper route. It was hard work, but I enjoyed it and was still delivering papers five years later.
One day the manager of the newspaper offered me a job as assistant manager of circulation for the newspaper. My duties would include supervising other newspaper carriers and helping them sell subscriptions. In addition, every day after school and after delivering my route, I would spend a few hours at the office, answering complaints on the telephone. Between phone calls, I would be allowed to do my homework. The new job would include a raise—triple what I had been making as a newspaper carrier!
I was thrilled. I had been saving money for my mission, and I really felt that the Lord was blessing me for keeping the commandments, including paying my tithing faithfully and keeping the Sabbath day holy.
A year and a half later, the manager approached me again. Plans were being made to begin a Sunday edition of the newspaper. He told me enthusiastically that I would be able to deliver my papers early on Sunday morning, then come into the office to answer the telephone from 7:00 A.M. to 2:00 P.M. There would, of course, be another pay increase.
The manager saw that I was hesitating. Knowing that I was an active member of the Church, he said, “you may be thinking of not accepting this extra responsibility, but if you don’t take the job, you’ll lose your regular paper route and your weekday job. Many of the other paperboys would give anything to have your job. If you don’t take it, you’re fired.”
As I went home that day, I was discouraged and confused. I knew that I had been obeying the commandments, and I couldn’t understand why I would have to make such a difficult decision. I talked to my father and to my bishop, but they both said that the decision was up to me. My dad said, “I don’t know the answer, but I know someone who does [meaning the Lord]. Ask Him.”
After I prayed and struggled for two days, I knew what I had to do. I knew that while there are some people who have to work on Sunday, I didn’t have to and shouldn’t. When I told the manager of my decision, he was angry, told me I was fired and to come in Saturday to pick up my last paycheck, then stomped away. I really wondered if I had made a correct decision, as it would make it hard to earn enough money for my mission.
When I went to pick up my last check, I found the manager waiting for me. “Please forgive me,” he said. “I was wrong. I shouldn’t have tried to make you go against your beliefs and break a commandment of the Lord. I have found another young man who is willing to work on Sunday. You can keep your job. Will you?” He then added. “You will find in your check next week and for as long as you work for me the amount of money you would have received had you worked on Sunday.”
Of course I did keep the job. I know that the Lord blesses us for keeping his commandments. Be careful that you never compromise the principles you believe in. Remember to always trust in the Lord, and he will bless you for it.

I am writing to thank you for the article “Modesty Matters,” published in the June 2006 issue. I loved it, and it helped me so much. I was facing a dilemma because my graduation was coming up, and I didn’t know what to wear to the dance. When I went shopping I couldn’t find anything appropriate for the occasion and modest as well. I spent the day thinking about what to wear, and I even thought I wouldn’t go or I would put my standards aside and wear one of the dresses I had seen while shopping. But when I read “Modesty Matters,” I knew that I wasn’t supposed to lower my standards and that I should respect my body, my temple.
I finally decided to wear something pretty that was consistent with my principles and that I would feel good wearing before my Heavenly Father and my Savior. The best part is that my mother ended up making me a beautiful dress with her own hands and with all the love in the world. I love my Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ, and I will never lower my standards to be like everyone else.Stephanie Magaña Talavera, Mexico

We are serving in the Virginia Richmond Mission and have to admit the best gift we gave happened early in the season. We met a beautiful family, the Galies, late in October. They were taught the discussions and committed to baptism mid-November. The baptism date was set for December sixth. We were all thrilled.
We could not help but think what a wonderful gift from Heavenly Father we had brought to this family. And what a wonderful gift they had given to him in return—that of dedicating their lives to him.
It was such a joy to see their lives change. Their baptism was a powerful spiritual experience for them, their children, and the entire congregation. We know the message we take to people is a true gift of love and hope from Heavenly Father. We love the work we are engaged in.
—Sisters Criddle and JuddVirginia Richmond Mission

Let me next mention an Idaho family, Jeff and Joy Underwood, the parents of six children. You may recall, as vividly as I do, last July when it was reported on the television that their daughter Jeralee, age eleven, had gone out to collect for her paper route. Jeralee never returned, “not that day, nor the next day, nor the next, nor ever” to her family in Idaho (see James E. Faust, “Five Loaves and Two Fishes,” Ensign, May 1994, p. 6). After two thousand joined in the search, eventually Jeralee was found, abducted and brutally murdered. How does a family cope with this kind of tragedy? These are faithful members of the Church. Is that what you call joy, a state of happiness? The parents thanked the searchers and offered forgiveness.

I saw this trust in the Underwood family. Sister Underwood said,

I have learned a lot about love this week, and I also know there is a lot of hate. I have looked at the love and want to feel that love, and not the hate. We can forgive. [Faust, Five Loaves, p. 7]

Now, do you have this much trust in the Lord? Could you say that if you had just lost a child to a violent murder, and could you make that statement in the same week?

I glanced out my window one summer day and saw her—my enemy—coming up the street. I dreaded approaching her, but here was my opportunity. It was now or never. My stomach churned, my heart pounded, and I shook all over as I raced out the front door.
Our animosity had started out innocently enough as a motherly instinct to protect our children. My son had fought with her son, and she came to my house to talk to me. But I felt she was telling me how I should be raising my son. While the boys soon made up their differences, their mothers did not.
Then, in the following weeks, I began to hear from our neighbors that she was making critical comments about me. I was deeply hurt, and soon I, too, was criticizing her behind her back. We went to great lengths to avoid each other, including walking on opposite sides of the street. The contention continued for two long years.
One day as I knelt in prayer, I was struck by the thought that if I continued harboring ill feelings toward my neighbor, the Spirit could not abide with me. I realized I had let hate grow in my heart, and the hate was eating away at my soul.
I desperately needed my Heavenly Father and his Spirit to be with me, and I sorely needed to repent. I fasted and prayed for help in mending the breach between us. I needed an opportunity to make things right.
Now it seemed my prayers had been answered. Gathering my courage, I ran out the door and grabbed her by her shoulders. She stared at me in shock. Quickly I blurted out, “Will you please, please forgive me? I do not know if we can ever be friends, and I do not know what you will do in the future, but I vow never to speak ill of you again. I will no longer consider you my enemy.”
What happened next is hard to express. The sweet Spirit of the Lord enveloped both of us. As we embraced, the bitterness melted away. We cried and hugged and laughed.
Love, joy, and peace are such sweet companions that I wondered why I had chosen to carry around the heavy burdens of anger and ill will that had weighed down my soul and sapped my spiritual strength for so long. I am pleased to say I kept my vow, and we did become friends. I have since moved away from that neighborhood, but I have not forgotten the lessons of forgiveness and love I learned that precious summer day.

The exodus from Nauvoo in September of 1846 caused unimaginable hardship for the faithful Latter-day Saints. Many sought shelter in camps along the Mississippi River. When word reached Brigham Young at Winter Quarters about the condition of these refugees, he immediately sent a letter across the river to Council Point encouraging the brethren to help—reminding them of the covenant made in the Nauvoo Temple. He counseled: “Now is the time for labor. Let the fire of the covenant which you made in the House of the Lord, burn in your hearts, like flame unquenchable” (in Journal History of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, Sept. 28, 1846, 5). Within days, wagons were rolling eastward to rescue the struggling Saints.
What was it that gave those early Saints such strength? It was the fire of the temple covenant that burned in their hearts. It was their commitment to worship and honorably hold a name and standing in the house of the Lord.

Sister Groberg remembers with deep appreciation the closeness among the youth of her age in their ward. She gives thanks, in part, to the quiet, powerful influence of a humble, dedicated Sunday School teacher whose life and example made a lasting impression. She explained: “Brother Richard Maxwell was our teacher. He was self-educated,” she recalled. “He never knew his real name, his parents, or any of his ancestors: He had been raised in an orphanage. Someway in his wandering through life, he found the true church. He had such a beautiful testimony that the gospel was what life was all about, and he had a wonderful, understanding way with young people. He loved us,” she declared, then continued with warmth in her voice: “He was able to teach and reach us in his own humble way.”
When Brother Maxwell died of a heart attack, Jean, along with the other youth in the North Hollywood Ward still in their teens, felt so grateful for his life and his love and influence in their lives that they felt they had lost a dear friend. Sister Groberg remembered that her sister, Marilyn, was invited to speak at his funeral. “She went around to all his students to get their feelings for this humble, great man who had become such a friend to each of us. Our feeling for Brother Maxwell,” Sister Groberg said, “was a very special thing.”
These grateful students felt a strong desire to somehow express their appreciation for their friend and teacher. “It took some time after he died to collect the money,” she recalled. “Several months, I believe. We sponsored many projects. We took a little box to all our firesides and finally collected the money we needed. We wanted to buy a redwood tree. We all agreed that a redwood tree, when it grew up, would appropriately symbolize Brother Maxwell’s great strength and stature.” The youth were united in this special project. Someone was responsible for having a plaque made to place at the base of the tree, and others arranged for a fitting program. On the appointed date the members of Brother Maxwell’s Sunday School class gathered together for this special memorial service. Together they planted the tree, which they knew would become in time a mighty redwood. This living tribute stands today tall and stately by the side of the chapel and a beautiful bronze plaque at its base reads, “In memory of Richard Maxwell, our beloved teacher whose example was like the redwood, tall and masterly.”

Lealand and John were hot and tired. A large feedbox stood near the corral where they had been playing all morning and the boys climbed up on it to rest a few minutes. When they slid down to go back to their play, they decided to lift up the heavy lid and see what was inside.
The boys were fascinated when they saw some crickets hopping in a handful of feed in the bottom of the box.
“Let’s catch them,” one of the boys suggested.
The feedbox had been carefully lined with tin to keep out storm and moisture and was barely large enough for the two little boys to squeeze inside. But it didn’t take them long to slip off their shoes, put them side by side on the ground, and then help each other into the box.
Just at that moment a cow eating from a nearby trough, tossed her head and flipped the lid back over the box. A lock on the outside caught, and Lealand and John were prisoners!
Except for a thread-like crack where the lid fit over the top, the box was airtight. The boys tried to keep their noses as close to the crack as possible while they frantically called for help.
Not even a faint breeze stirred the hot air outside, and no one heard the cries for help. Every minute the box became more uncomfortable.
Then eight-year-old John said, “Oh, Lealand, let’s pray. No one else can hear us, but our Heavenly Father can.”
The boys took turns whispering desperate prayers. Afterward, in spite of the heat and lack of oxygen, they felt better.
A few minutes later Lealand’s four-year-old brother, Wesley, noticed the shoes on the ground outside the feedbox. He stopped and looked at them. Then he climbed up on his little wagon to see if the older boys were hiding from him inside the box. Somehow he managed to undo the lock.
John and Lealand were then able to push the lid all the way up. They were almost too weak to climb out, but when the fresh air rushed in, they felt a new surge of strength. Wet with perspiration, they got out of the box and staggered gratefully toward home.

Jimmy’s refusal. One evening when Jimmy went with friends to a party, “a girl came up and offered me alcohol,” he says. “I said no and didn’t pay any attention to her, but she kept offering it to me. And it wasn’t just alcohol—there were invitations to do other things. I didn’t agree to any of it, and I pulled away from the group. Some of the kids said I was antisocial, but I knew I couldn’t stay there. Every time I have a trial like this and overcome it, I become stronger.”

As a young missionary going to Chile, I learned a life-changing lesson about the conversion power of the Book of Mormon. Mr. Gonzalez served in a respected position in his church for many years. He had extensive religious training, including a degree in theology. He was quite proud of his biblical expertise. It was obvious to us that he was a religious scholar.
He was well aware of the missionaries of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints as they went about their work in his home city of Lima, Peru. He always wanted to meet with them so that he could school them in the Bible.
One day, almost as a gift from heaven, so he thought, two missionaries stopped him in the street and asked if they could come to his home and share the scriptures with him. This was his dream come true! His prayers had been answered. Finally, he could set these misguided young boys straight. He told them that he would be delighted to have them come to his house and discuss the scriptures.
He could hardly wait for his appointment. He was ready to use the Bible to disprove their beliefs. He was confident that the Bible would clearly and articulately point out the error of their ways. The appointed night came, and the missionaries knocked on the door. He was giddy. His moment had finally arrived.
He opened the door and invited the missionaries into his home. One of the missionaries handed him a blue book and bore a sincere testimony that he knew the book contained the word of God. The second missionary added his powerful testimony of the book, testifying that it had been translated by a modern prophet of God named Joseph Smith and that it taught of Christ. The missionaries excused themselves and left his home.
Mr. Gonzalez was so disappointed. But he opened the book, and he started to leaf through its pages. He read the first page. He read page after page after page and didn’t stop until late into the afternoon of the next day. He read the whole book and knew that it was true. He knew what he had to do. He called the missionaries, received the lessons, and gave up the life he had known to become a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
That good man was my MTC teacher in Provo, Utah. Brother Gonzalez’s conversion story and the power of the Book of Mormon made a great impression on me.

I recently met a young woman whose family stopped attending church when she was young. When they moved to a new place, this young woman started going to church again. Then she brought her brother back, and eventually her parents also returned to the Church. This was only possible because she spent time with her family. They worked together, went to movies together, and had dinnertime discussions. Her parents knew her friends and knew that she was going back to church. Her parents were engaged with her in good things—they just needed some help from their daughter to return.

Missionaries, who were confined to their homes like everyone else, soon received smartphones and access to social media platforms that allowed them to connect with people responding to a Facebook ad published on the Africa South Area Facebook pages titled “Where Can I Turn for Peace?”
Very soon after the ad ran, Elder Gava and his companion were given a stack of names and phone numbers from people who had responded to the advert, indicating that they were interested in meeting with the missionaries and finding out more about the Church. They were asked to contact each person. As they looked through the names and numbers, both missionaries were impressed to call a particular woman. She answered in a very low voice, but after they had introduced themselves, she almost screamed with happiness. “Thank you so much for reaching out to me!” she said. “Thank you for calling at the right time.”
As the conversation progressed, the elders learned that this woman was then lying in a hospital bed having just suffered a stillbirth. “She was saying she was so hurt . . . like there was a deep hole in her heart,” he said. “At the time we called her, she needed someone to be there with her, but, unfortunately, she was alone. That sister became one of our good friends and we started teaching her online.”
Elder Gava says this experience taught him how the Spirit works in our lives and how it can move us to talk to people who need us, at the time they need us. He also learnt another lesson: the importance of the proper use of technology in missionary work. He realised that technology can be used to reach out to our Heavenly Father’s children.
On Elder Gava’s mission he saw these two channels working together: the Holy Ghost was the heavenly channel, bringing a message from heaven to the missionaries; and technology was the earthly channel, bringing that message from the missionaries to their brothers and sisters.

I’ve been in the air force for about two years now and receive the New Era as a gift from my father. When I read the article “High Mountain Magic” in the June New Era, it brought back memories of some of the best weeks of my life. Once a year the young men in our ward (14 and older) would go on a 7-to-10-day excursion. Two of those trips were up in the high Uintas. I will never forget the 10-to-15 mile treks from camp to camp. Sunday was a day of rest. In the morning we would hold priesthood meeting and Sunday School, and then in the afternoon we would attend a special fast and testimony meeting. The closeness I felt with my friends and God is a feeling I will always cherish. I wish that everybody could spend some time in the many wilderness areas created by the Lord. I know that these trips have helped strengthen my testimony.
A1C Roger A. HoffmannLoughlin AFB, Texas