Gospel Story Finder

While attending school in Guatemala and studying computer science, the textbooks were all in English, and by the time they were translated to Spanish, the information was obsolete. Realizing that learning English would be a critical skill, he figured out a way to move to Texas to attend the University of North Texas for six months, with a focus on learning English. He returned to Guatemala, received his computer science degree, and later, in part because of his newly acquired English skills, was hired by a British pharmaceutical company located in Costa Rica.

Recently, in handling some souvenirs which I possess, I held in my hand a pocket piece which reminded me of a pleasant experience.
Several years ago, boarding an aircraft in Denver to return to Salt Lake City, having been invited to be a member of the Church Building Committee, I met a member of our staff making the same journey. With him was a gentleman he had chanced to meet. Seated in the aircraft together, we engaged ourselves in conversation. I asked the gentleman about his present occupation. He informed us that he was a building engineer, presently engaged in building a church in one of the larger cities in the state of Texas. He recounted to us some of the frustrating experiences that he and their finance committee had in raising funds from the members of his church; they had tried most everything such as direct solicitations, dinners, bazaars, some games of chance—none of which was very successful.
To solve the financial problem, they called a special meeting. It was during this meeting, he said, that they had come upon a capital idea, after someone had suggested going to the scriptures to try the Lord’s way. The scripture came from Malachi:
“Bring ye all the tithes into the storehouse, that there may be meat in mine house, and prove me now herewith, saith the Lord of hosts, if I will not open you the windows of heaven, and pour you out a blessing, that there shall not be room enough to receive it.” (Mal. 3:10.)
From this the committee conceived a unique idea of getting that message to their members by coining a pocket piece made of copper with a coating to make it appear as a bright gold coin, about the size of a fifty-cent piece, inscribed on one side with the words, “One tenth is the Lord’s” and on the other side, “Bring ye all the tithes and I will pour you out a blessing that there shall not be room enough to receive it.”
These coins, he said, were distributed to the members. The thought was that as the men would reach into their pockets and the ladies into their purses for change, the bright gold coin would be the first item they would see, and it would remind them of their duty. He smiled and handed to each of us the souvenir coin and said: “This was successful! The people have responded and now we are moving ahead with our project.”
As he said that, I thought, “A true principle discovered, properly applied, brings a correct result.”
After some pause, he turned the conversation to us and queried of us as to our present endeavors, to which we replied: “Coincidentally, we too are engaged in building churches, employed by The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
“How many churches are you building?” he asked.
“At present, a few hundred,” was the reply.
A surprised look appeared on his face. “That’s a lot of buildings! How in the world do you pay for them? Where do you get the money?”
“From our Church membership, and coincidentally again, the great secret you discovered in the principle of tithing has been a tenet of the Lord’s Church from the early days of its restoration,” was the reply.
This afforded an extensive discussion of the great devotion of the Latter-day Saints, not only in paying their tithing, their fast offerings, additional construction funds, temple funds, welfare funds, budgets, missionary funds, etc., but also of their giving much of their free time in Church services, in the administration of and participation in the Church programs. We explained the extensive missionary program and the devotion of our young people to it. He seemed intensely interested, sat back in his seat, and thoughtfully said: “That’s amazing! You must have something we do not have.”

“Did you notice the Jacksons are driving another new car?” Jim asked his wife. “That’s their second new car in less than three years. I don’t know how that man does it, but he sure knows how to make money. He makes me feel like a failure. We haven’t had a new car for eight years.”

“Yes, but you spend much more time in church service,” Jim’s wife says “You just don’t have time to concentrate on making money.”

Then he recalled the words of President Mohamed Siyad Barre. He had told the students before they were sent out to participate in this literacy campaign, “Haddaad taqaan bar, haddaadan aqoon baro (If you know, teach; if you don’t know, learn).”

Haroon had been sure he had much to teach the nomads. He was eager to take the skills of reading and writing the Somali language to the nomads who made up over 70 percent of the Somali people.

In August of 1974 the literacy campaign was taken to the nomads in the bush country. All schools, except technical schools and the senior classes, were closed for the year. Students fourteen years and older were sent into the bush to teach the nomads to read and write Somali.

Thousands of students were assigned to various sections of the nation. Haroon was one of these. He had stepped up to the official handing out the supplies. “Nabad miyaa,” he greeted.

“Haah waa nabad weeya,” came the cheerful answer. “Here is what you’ll need, Haroon: a blanket for cold bush nights; a folding blackboard that is also a box for the eraser, pens, pencils; a textbook; and a class register. Nabad gelyo. llaah ha ku barakadeya. (Go in peace with God’s blessing).”

Haroon began with great confidence, but he found the nomad chief was not interested in learning anything from a city youth who knew nothing about camels. Only the children and some women attended classes—sometimes.

Haroon longed for the comforts of his father’s house, especially plenty of water for showers. He longed for a chance to talk with friends, for most of the men here ignored him.

Just when he felt especially low in spirit, he met Osman, a former schoolmate, traveling with another group of nomads. Osman was bubbling with enthusiasm about the literacy campaign and all that he was learning from the nomads. “I even helped load the camels for this move,” he said with a grin. “I’d never touched a camel before. And what do you know?” Osman continued, stroking the flank of the animal near him. “This animal actually obeyed my command to get up after we had put on its load.”

After they parted, Haroon reflected on Osman’s words and obvious enjoyment of his experience. I guess I’ve just been thinking of one part of the president’s challenge. I think I know so much the nomads should learn that I haven’t thought about learning anything from them. He softly repeated the president’s words, “Haddaad taqaan bar, haddaadan aqoon baro.”

That night he moved closer to the men around the campfire. He was captivated by the stories Chief Abdi told of Somali heroes of the past. Just before he fell asleep, he thought, I ought to write those stories in Somali. But the next day there was no time for classes nor for story writing, for the clan had to move to find more pasture.

Haroon tried to be helpful. By the time they got settled in their new location, he was feeling as though he were almost a part of the group. However, he was also feeling sick with a fever. He did not complain, but when Chief Abdi heard about his sickness, he was concerned. He sent a young man to find a special plant that was used for a fever medicine. To Haroon he said, “Perhaps you want to return to your father. Life in the bush is hard.”

But Haroon was determined to remain, now as eager to learn as to teach. After his recovery, when the chief observed Haroon’s genuine desire to learn of the nomadic way of life, he became more friendly. He ordered his people to attend classes.

Sometimes in the afternoon when the youths gathered under the spreading branches of an acacia tree, the camels shared the shade. It was very different from the classroom in the city where Haroon had studied English. Here the blackboard hung on a tree. And the strong, acrid odor of camels hung on the dusty air.

Some of the nomads were keen students and helped others. Little children chanted the alphabet as they herded goats. They wrote the letters in the dust while goats nibbled whatever they could find.

One evening when the full moon shone over the settlement, Haroon read to the group a story the chief had told some weeks earlier. The men sat enthralled, realizing in a way for the first time that these marks could tell a familiar story.

Chief Abdi was thoughtful as Haroon finished. “That is good, Haroon,” he said. “If we write our history, our children will not forget. I must learn this writing also.”

He became an earnest pupil, and with his constant encouragement, others came more regularly.

Later in Mogadishu, there was a big celebration when Haroon and thousands of other boys and girls returned to the capital after eight months among the nomads. Crowds lined the streets to welcome them and to celebrate the completion of one more phase in the fight against illiteracy.

The schools opened and these youths returned to being students again. But there was a difference. The experiences in the bush had changed them and increased their appreciation and understanding about some of the problems their country was facing. Many now had a growing respect for the skills of the nomads who could survive in the harsh desert. They also had a greater appreciation for the Somali nomadic culture of their ancestors.

Malou Ducta shivered in the darkness as she prayed. The typhoon, still raging out of control, was threatening to shatter the small house where she and the others were huddled. The friendly sea had become a violent stranger. Everybody was crying.

Hours ago, Malou and her family had evacuated their small house of nipa palms and wood at the edge of the sea near the city of Sorsogon. They had waded through chilling chest-deep water and muddy debris to reach a friend’s house higher on the hill.

Now, as the tumult outside continued, Malou kept praying. Suddenly she thought of her college notebook! How could she have forgotten it? Tucked inside its cover was the money she had been awarded from a Church scholarship fund. This money would pay for her final exams. With the money, she could take the exams and graduate. Without it, her dreams of graduating—and of getting a job to help support her family—would shatter like a tiny nipa hut in a storm.

“I was praying as if talking to a friend, and I said to the Lord, ‘It’s your money, and you know that if I don’t have it, I can’t graduate from college.’ I kept praying, asking Heavenly Father to save the money.”

At 2:00 A.M., the men ventured outside. “They found out that there were no more houses by the seashore,” Malou says. In tears, everyone ran to see for themselves. “All were destroyed. All gone.”

The shore was littered with debris and with bodies of people and animals that had died in the storm. “We were just thankful that no one in our family had died,” she says. “The only things we were able to save were our lives and the clothes that we wore. I felt comforted about losing my tuition money, because it was only money.”

People started digging in the sand and mud, trying to salvage whatever they could find. “One of my cousins shouted at me: ‘Oh, this is your folder!’ I ran and got it. It was wet, but the money was all there!”

As Malou recalls that moment, she again begins to cry. “Heavenly Father really knows my need.”

The only other belongings Malou’s family recovered were some irreplaceable photos—photos of her parents when they were young, a photo of the family dressed in white on their baptism day, and a photo of the family in white on the day they were sealed in the Manila Temple.

Since that 1987 typhoon, Malou has graduated in accounting and has served a mission. With donated funds and materials, the family has built a new house on the same spot at the edge of the sea, because they have no money for land elsewhere. On the wall in picture frames are the water-stained photos and her college diploma. “It’s really a miracle for us,” she says, “a great lesson.”

“John, I can see it’s time I tell you the story.” Grandpa reached over to shut the engine off. “When your dad was ready to go on a mission, almost twenty-five years ago now, your grandmother and I couldn’t afford to send him. We’d always tried our best to live the gospel, and we knew we could depend on the Lord, so we prayed that He would help us make enough money to send our boy on a mission.”
“Were your prayers answered, Grandpa?”
“Yes, John. Heavenly Father answered them in a surprising way. This little piece of land came up for sale, and your grandma and I felt inspired to buy it. It was a small field, nothing to rave about. But we had read in the scriptures that from small things great blessings come. So Grandma and I hoped that if we remained faithful and hard-working, the Lord might see fit to turn this small field into a great blessing.”
“Did you get your blessing, Grandpa?” John asked.
“Did we ever!” Grandpa answered, beaming. “We received enough money from our first crop to send your dad on his mission, and for as long as he was serving in England, we had a bumper crop. When he came home from England, the field’s production returned to normal, but as each of our three sons served missions, it thrived again. To this day, Grandma and I call it our mission field. Why, this very field is helping support Mark on his mission right now.” Grandpa smiled, giving John’s shoulder a healthy squeeze.

We met Julian and Carmen a few months after they were baptized when we visited their home with President Chaverri and the same missionaries who had taught and baptized them. We sat on their front porch, listening to their amazing conversion story as the rain sprinkled around us.
The Spirit was strong as Julian retold his story. Shortly before their baptism, Julian told the elders about a dream he had the night before that first day they met. In his dream, two young men in white shirts walked down his street. When they passed his house, he went out to invite them in and fed them yuca. He thought the dream strange but forgot about it until he saw these young men in their white shirts walking down his street just as they had in his dream. As he learned about the gospel of Jesus Christ, he knew the dream was a significant sign from God, and he felt grateful he had followed the prompting to invite them in for yuca.

My first attempt at doing recreational activities with my siblings was rough, to say the least. But a turning point for me was a trip to the Blue Ridge Mountains. The leaves were every color, and the amusement park was fun, but moments of curt words, selfish actions, and teasing gone wrong often dampened the mood. Before we left, my sister and I hiked up a small hill and sat quietly as we listened to the nature around us. It was the first time in a while that we had sat without quarreling, quietly discussing the days ahead and our current struggles. The Spirit was present, bringing peace I had forgotten.
I started to try to go out of my way to talk to my siblings, ask them about their day, give them a hug—just be involved in their life. I helped my youngest, autistic brother with his homework. I helped my youngest sister make grammar flash cards and create silly rhymes to memorize the different parts of speech. On her next test she had improved by more than 20 points and received her highest test grade. The joy I felt from those moments was different and more profound than I had expected.
Being in a family can be hard, but in times likes those it is all worth it. Those little moments lead to ones of fun, games, and laughter; and I have felt a new unity in my family.
Emily C., age 17, North Carolina, USA

I love reading the Friend! I’m excited every time it comes in the mail. I like reading Matt and Mandy, and the stories make me happy.
My family was discussing how we could help my little sister be kinder. There was a lot of contention, and we wanted the Spirit in our home. I read an article called “Firecracker Charlie” (March 2013). It taught me that for her to be nice to us, we needed to be super kind to her. I’m grateful I can feel the Spirit while reading the Friend.

The teacher nurses a knife wound in her back. Gladys Saiah is not much older than her students. She and her sister were running an errand for their mother in an unfamiliar part of town when she was attacked and stabbed by a group of men. Gladys and her sister were fortunate; they were allowed to leave without further injury.
“As my sister and I began walking home,” she says, “I told Ellen we must first thank Heavenly Father for sparing our lives. We did, and then, arising from our knees, I asked Ellen, ‘Now will you please clean my back?’”
Though life in Soweto can sometimes be dangerous, the dangers are pushed into the background once the opening hymn and prayer start seminary. Class begins with scripture mastery, and each student recites a scripture word for word.
“And the Lord called his people Zion, because they were of one heart and one mind, and dwelt in righteousness; and there was no poor among them” (Moses 7:18).
“But the Lord said unto Samuel, Look not on his countenance, or on the height of his stature; because I have refused him: for the Lord seeth not as man seeth; for man looketh on the outward appearance, but the Lord looketh on the heart” (1 Sam. 16:7).
Soweto seminary students know the Lord helps them through the scriptures. Lucky Ndhiela knows his faith spared him a severe beating.
“One day our school teacher was very angry with our class,” says Lucky. “He said he had explained a science principle to us, and the other students said he had not. A still, small voice whispered in my ear, ‘You know it, Lucky—the teacher did teach us that.’
“So I raised my hand and said in front of the whole class, ‘You did teach us that.’ I felt so happy to say it.
“But the whole class shouted, ‘He did NOT!’ The teacher became very angry and started hitting them all, one by one. I sat near the back of the class, and while he was busy punishing the students in front, I bowed my head and began to pray.
“I remembered my scripture mastery, Proverbs 3:5–6 [Prov. 3:5–6], and said to myself, ‘Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.
“When the teacher came to my desk, his voice changed. His face changed. He said, ‘Lucky is praying to his God. I forgive him.’ He did not punish me, nor any others that day. That is how I know it is important to apply the scriptures in my life. My prayer was answered!”
Studying the Old Testament together had great impact on Soweto’s seminary students. Scenes like this one, described by a teacher, Leadh Vilakazi, are not uncommon:
“When we got to the story of Moses, everyone wanted to know everything concerning him. It was a wonderful feeling, as if Moses were among us.
“But the sad moment started when Moses was told he would not be allowed to enter the promised land, after all he had been through, and the faithful heart he had, and his hard work in leading the Israelites.
“‘Oh, what a painful and upsetting thing,’ my students grieved to me. And it was even a greater blow when the scriptures said Moses died. Everyone’s heart was moved, as if Moses had departed from us, and it was silent for a moment.
“When I looked at the students’ faces, tears were about to fall. Some of them looked down—they could not look at me. I heard one of the students say, ‘We now know that we had such a wonderful leader.’
“Another said, ‘Why don’t we sing “We Thank Thee, O God, for a Prophet” ?’
“Then came another voice. ‘Oh, yes—just to thank our Heavenly Father for our beloved prophet for the last time.’ And so we sang, with our tears.”
Seminary student Girly Mbuli explains how her faith and love of the scriptures saved her from a terrible situation.
“One day my friend Tiny Gugu and I had to go to Zondi to take some books to another girl. On our way back we saw a gang of boys. Gangs here rape girls, steal cars, do everything horrible. We started to run, but it was too late.
“The boys faced us. They had weapons. They made us go up on a hill and meant to do awful things to us. On the way up the hill, I was saying a prayer to my Heavenly Father. I don’t remember which scriptures I tried to say, but I kept thinking of them. I asked for help to be calm and not afraid. I felt peace come into my heart.
“When you are on top of that hill, you can see everything. The boys looked down and asked where I was staying. I pointed to Jabulane, and something told me to say I was staying with my grandmother and my friend Lindiwe.
“The leader looked at me and said, ‘You are not afraid. Let them go!’ I later found out that the brother of my friend Lindiwe is the boss of this gang, and he stays in the house of my grandmother. That is why they let us go free.
“When I tell this story to people, they refuse to believe we survived. But I did, and I know why. It was because of my faith in Heavenly Father. I know that Isaiah 1:18 [Isa. 1:18] can be true for those guilty gang boys, if they will repent: ‘Come now, and let us reason together, saith the Lord: though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be white as snow.’”
Many people would be amazed at Girly’s charitable attitude. They would view Soweto as a terrible place. But Soweto is where these seminary students have received the gospel of Jesus Christ. Through study, prayer, and faith, they have found hope, confidence, courage, and love.
“I want to tell everyone not to forget their Heavenly Father, wherever you are,” says Girly. “He won’t forget you. He didn’t forget me.”

Five years ago, I accepted the true gospel of Jesus Christ and was baptized and confirmed a member of the Church. Since then, I was nourished by the good word of God through leaders, teachers, callings, and sweet members. One Sabbath day, I was touched and inspired by a testimony borne by a 6-year-old primary kid on his temple experience. I was so much moved and inspired that I decided then to prepare myself along with my family to go to the temple.

I was sitting in a church meeting one day and caught myself staring at the variety of shoes people were wearing in the chapel. I saw leather dress shoes, black boots, bright sandals, colorful heels, and sparkly flats.
And my favorite pair of shoes? Someone’s pink buckled shoes, complete with embroidered strawberries.
It was then that I remembered the story of Christ washing His disciples’ feet.
In the times of the New Testament, I imagine most people’s feet were dirty, seeing that many wore sandals on the dirt roads and didn’t have access to regular bathing. So washing someone’s filthy feet back then probably wasn’t the most enjoyable act of service.
Thinking about this, I opened my scriptures to John 13 and read the interactions between the Savior and His Apostles as He washed their feet. I found an appreciation for Peter’s response to the Savior when it was his turn to be served. Peter replied, “Thou shalt never wash my feet” (John 13:8).
Perhaps Peter’s reluctance had to do with his love and respect for the Savior. I can imagine that, as a devoted disciple, Peter felt it was wrong to receive such treatment from someone so divine.
I realized then that some of us seem to share Peter’s reluctance to receive the Savior’s help.
The colorful selection of shoes I saw in my ward that Sunday symbolized, for me, what we each bring to our Master.
Everyone is different.
We all come from different walks of life, bringing different struggles, different perspectives, different experiences, and different questions.
However, despite all our differences, we all come to church every Sunday to partake of the sacrament, to renew our covenants, and to allow the Savior to serve us as we repent and, by doing so, accept the gift of our Savior’s atoning sacrifice.
President Russell M. Nelson reminds us that “Jesus Christ … stands with open arms, hoping and willing to heal, forgive, cleanse, strengthen, purify, and sanctify us.”1
So why are we sometimes reluctant to invite His grace and mercy into our lives? And what can we learn from His act of service?
Maybe our reluctance to accept the Savior’s help comes from feelings like shame, unworthiness, or even just our own stubborn pride. President Nelson has taught that “too many people consider repentance as punishment—something to be avoided except in the most serious circumstances. But this feeling of being penalized is engendered by Satan. He tries to block us from looking to Jesus Christ.”2 When we sin, it can be easy to feel like we aren’t good enough or we have too many flaws to be cleansed by Jesus Christ. But this is where we can take a closer look at this specific act of service for His Apostles.
I believe that Christ washing His Apostles’ feet symbolized His great love for us and His willingness to clean the spiritual dirt from our lives. He was willing to humbly serve His Apostles by cleaning one of the dirtiest parts of their bodies. Just hours later, through His atoning sacrifice, He descended below all things so He could wash us clean from the dirtiest parts of our own lives and succor us (see Alma 7:11–12).
This act, along with all His teachings, helps us understand that as we come to Him with repentance in our hearts, accepting His offer of service, we can find healing and redemption through His divine power.
As Sister Amy A. Wright, First Counselor in the Primary General Presidency, recently taught, “Because of Christ, our decision to ‘go forth and change’ can also allow us to ‘go forth and heal,’ for He is the source of healing all that is broken in our lives.”3
After washing His beloved disciples’ feet, the Savior gave them an invitation: “Ye also ought to wash one another’s feet” (John 13:14). In other words, He told them to love and minister to others as He did.
Jesus Christ is our Master Healer and our Savior. As we follow Him, we can also offer love and service to our fellow brothers and sisters in need of healing.
President Thomas S. Monson (1927–2018) taught: “We are surrounded by those in need of our attention, our encouragement, our support, our comfort, our kindness—be they family members, friends, acquaintances, or strangers. We are the Lord’s hands here upon the earth, with the mandate to serve and to lift His children. He is dependent upon each of us.”4
It is my testimony that as we seek the Savior—especially as we renew our covenants on Sunday—we will see that He desires to wash us of our sins, our mistakes, and even our heartaches and sorrows. And we can extend His love to those around us.
We only need to accept His help by exercising “faith unto repentance” (Alma 34:17) and seeking his grace (see Ether 12:27).
We all face circumstances and challenges as different as the variety of shoes on our feet, but we are all in need of the same love and grace our Savior offers.
I am grateful that I can follow in His footsteps and serve those around me who are in need of healing. As I allow myself to be healed and cleansed by Him, He gives me strength to do unto others what He has done unto me.

Illustrated by Dilleen Marsh
WELCOME!I’m Sister Simon.Hi! I’m Ramón.Hello. I’m Cathlyn.I’m Mei Lin.Hi! I’m David.And I’m Joshua.
Hey, Ramón, let’s get going. We’ll be late for the project to help Brother Hollister.
I’m afraid I can’t make it. Brother Hollister’s a great guy, and I really want to help him, but my uncle just invited me to go to the ball game.
OK. See you later.
I mean, I can help Brother Hollister some other time, right?
Of course. Don’t worry about it.
Look, I know he’s helped others all his life, and times are tough for him right now, but a guy needs to have some fun, too, doesn’t he?
Absolutely. Enjoy the game.
Sure, I always feel great after one of these projects, and there’ll be other ball games, but … Oh, all right then, you’ve talked me into it. I’ll call my uncle and get a rain check on the ball game.
Boy, you really know how to pressure a guy.
What?

Now that she’s a member of the Church, Virginia looks for ways to serve the people around her. She really wants to share the gospel with others. Sometimes her friends at school make fun of her for her new beliefs, so she prays to know whom she should talk to. One day the Spirit prompted her to talk to a girl she knew. “I gave her a Book of Mormon and invited her to come to church with me. She came! And now she’s reading the Book of Mormon.”

What possible effect can a 14-year-old have on home teaching? I’m just a kid. Who am I to be telling an elder to do his home teaching? Not just an elder, but an elder that I have never met or even seen at church. The only thing I knew about him was his name and that he was an ex-athlete.
I had been called to be a junior home teaching companion three months earlier and still had not visited anyone. It didn’t help that my two best friends were already active home teachers. One was assigned with his father and the other to a member of the elders quorum presidency. My own father was in the bishopric and at that time was not assigned as a home teacher. What could a 14-year-old companion do?
My feelings of guilt had to be Brother Jensen’s fault, I decided. He had been my deacons quorum adviser who taught us how important home teaching was. He also explained that as a teacher in the Aaronic Priesthood, it was our duty to be faithful home teachers. He had warned us that we might have to remind and encourage a senior companion to do home teaching.
Well, my options were really very simple. I could continue to wait for my senior companion to call and do my best not to feel guilty, or I could go to his house, introduce myself, and arrange to go home teaching.
On the one hand, he was the senior companion. He was supposed to take charge, not me. Wouldn’t I be assuming too much authority by contacting him? He might even get offended. Better to wait, I thought. Then Brother Jensen’s words would come back to me again.
“If your senior companion doesn’t contact you,” he said, “then you must contact him and let that brother know you are ready to go home teaching.” He explained that if the senior companion still didn’t go home teaching, the responsibility would rest on that senior companion. Until we made the effort to go, we had to share in that failure.
I finally committed to go to my companion and introduce myself.
As I went to church that Sunday, I began to feel more and more nervous. What would my companion think? Would he laugh at me? Maybe he would get mad and run me off. I didn’t feel I could do it, but I had promised to follow through and make the attempt. If he responded negatively, then I would have at least done my part.
I normally walked home from church, passing my companion’s house on the way. As I neared his house, I forced myself up the driveway and said a prayer, very simple, very direct. “Lord, please help me.” My fears left me for the moment, and I quickly climbed the steps to the front door and knocked. I knew someone would answer because I could hear what sounded like a party going on inside. The fear was coming back, but it was too late to run. I had already knocked.
The door opened, and a woman asked me what I wanted. She may have been polite, rude, sensitive, or even abrupt. I don’t know because I was trying hard to remember what it was I was there for.
“Is Brother Johnson here?” I finally asked, timidly.
“Just a minute, please.” I thought I could hear laughter but wasn’t sure. I didn’t have time to breathe before a very tall man stepped to the door. He seemed none too friendly.
“Yeah?” he asked.
My eyes must have been big enough to cover my face. I’m sure he noticed I was scared because he started to smile a little. I calmed down just enough to utter my little prayer in my mind one last, desperate time.
“My name is John,” I began in a voice that didn’t sound scared to me, “and I’m your home teaching companion. I was wondering when we could go home teaching?”
I don’t know if he was amused or surprised, but he didn’t throw me off the porch. Good start, I thought.
He just smiled and said, “Give me your phone number, and I’ll call you back.”
I went home feeling pretty good. I felt that I had made a good effort, and if he didn’t call back, I could say I had tried. When I arrived home, I told my parents what had happened. I don’t think they expected me to get a call.
Later that night, I received a call from Brother Johnson, my companion.
“Can you go home teaching Tuesday at seven?” he asked.
“Uh, sure,” I stammered.
“I’ll pick you up then. Bye.” He hung up.
Tuesday night we went home teaching. I found out later he had called the elders quorum president after I had left his house that Sunday to get the names and phone numbers of the families we were assigned. He then called the families and made appointments.
That became our routine. On the third Sunday I would stop by his house, and then he would set up appointments. We rarely, if ever, missed anyone in the two years we were companions. We also became pretty good friends. Brother Johnson even came to church a couple of times. He said he just wanted to see the quorum president faint.
I learned two very important lessons. First, an Aaronic Priesthood holder can have a positive influence on home teaching. Second, a less-active brother can be the most active home teacher.
As a home teacher, Brother Johnson taught me a lot.

We declare in the Scout Oath that we will “help other people at all times.” A 12-year-old Scout went to troop meeting at Mutual one Tuesday evening. When Mutual was over, he did not show up at home for about an hour and a half. His parents were concerned and were about to go look for him when he came through the door. “Where have you been?” the anxious father asked.
“One of the members of the bishopric was putting up the chairs all alone,” he replied. “You remember my patriarchal blessing states, ‘You were born to serve your fellow men.’ I stayed and helped him put away all the chairs. I sure love him.”

Skull Valley, Utah—that was where I spent two summers as a youth. I lived on Long Island, New York, but my father, who had grown up on a farm in Idaho, told me, “You’re never going to learn how to work until you work on a ranch.” My uncle had a ranch in Skull Valley, and so I, a city boy, was sent to live and work there.
The first few days I spent on the ranch left me exhausted. My entire body ached, and I wondered how I could get through each day. I was discouraged and wanted to go home, but I didn’t tell this to my relatives.
One day I was moving bales of hay with my cousin, and I was having a hard time because I was so tired. My cousin gave me a little push and said, “You aren’t lazy—you just don’t know how to work.” I decided then that I’d learn how to work—and I did. And as I worked on the ranch that summer, I came to enjoy it and my body thrived on it.

More than 230 youth from the Roswell Georgia Stake took part in a youth conference over the course of four days. The goals for the conference were to help the young men and women of the stake build integrity, improve face-to-face communication, and do good works within the community.
Many of the youth said their favorite part of the conference was the service day, where they had a chance to care for abandoned babies and do landscaping at an infant shelter, along with hammering, painting, and landscaping at local schools. “Each place looked so much better when we were done,” says Mitch Mills, of the Alpharetta Ward. “It made me happy inside that the kids would have a better place to go to school.”

The Bollbachs extended a special invitation to Church President Harold B. Lee to visit the gallery. Instead, President Lee invited the Bollbachs to visit him at his office. Brother Bollbach fondly recalls the visit. He had created a wood carving of a wild horse jumping over a log to give to President Lee.
“We stood in his office,” Brother Bollbach remembers, “and after a short visit, he shook our hands. As I was leaving, he said to me, ‘I give you my blessing. Peace will be with you.’ I have never lost the peace President Lee promised me. I have always felt it in my heart to this day.”

Last fall Sister Rasband and I were on our way to Goshen, Utah, for a worldwide Face to Face event being broadcast to over 600,000 people in 16 different languages. The program was to focus on the events of the Restoration of the gospel of Jesus Christ, with questions submitted by young adults from around the world. Sister Rasband and I had personally reviewed the questions; they gave us the opportunity to testify of Joseph Smith as a prophet of God, the power of revelation in our lives, the ongoing Restoration of the gospel of Jesus Christ, and the truths and commandments that we treasure. Many listening today were part of that miraculous event.

Initially the broadcast was to originate in the Sacred Grove in upstate New York, where, as Joseph Smith testified: “I saw two Personages, whose brightness and glory defy all description, standing above me in the air. One of them spake unto me, calling me by name and said, pointing to the other—This is My Beloved Son. Hear Him!” That, brothers and sisters, was a miracle.

The worldwide pandemic forced us to relocate the broadcast to Goshen, Utah, where The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints has re-created, for filming, a section of old Jerusalem. Sister Rasband and I were within a few miles of Goshen that Sunday evening when we saw thick smoke coming from the direction of our destination. Wildfires were blazing in the area, and we worried the broadcast might be at risk. Sure enough, at 20 minutes to 6:00, our broadcast time, the power in the entire complex went out. No power! No broadcast. There was one generator that some thought we might be able to power up, but there was no assurance it could sustain the sophisticated equipment at hand.

All of us on the program, including narrators, musicians, and technicians—even 20 young adults from our own extended family—were fully invested in what was to take place. I stepped away from their tears and confusion and pleaded with the Lord for a miracle. “Heavenly Father,” I prayed, “I have rarely asked for a miracle, but I am asking for one now. This meeting must happen for all our young adults around the world. We need the power to go on if it be Thy will.”

Seven minutes after 6:00, as quickly as the power had gone out, it came back on. Everything started working, from the music and microphones to the videos and all the transmission equipment. We were off and running. We had experienced a miracle.

As Sister Rasband and I were in the car returning home later that evening, President and Sister Nelson texted us with this message: “Ron, we want you to know that as soon as we heard the power was out, we prayed for a miracle.”

In latter-day scripture it is written, “For I, the Lord, have put forth my hand to exert the powers of heaven; ye cannot see it now, yet a little while and ye shall see it, and know that I am, and that I will come and reign with my people.”

That is exactly what happened. The Lord had put forth His hand, and the power came on.