Gospel Story Finder

A young woman named Amy recently taught me this lesson when she wrote: “It is hard being a teenager these days. The path is getting narrower. Satan is really trying. It is either right or wrong; there is no in-between.”

She continued: “Good friends are sometimes hard to find. Even when you think you have best friends who will never leave, that could change for any reason. That is why I am so glad that I have family, Heavenly Father, Jesus Christ, and the Holy Ghost, who can be my companions whenever things with friends go wrong.”

Amy went on to say: “One night I was troubled. I told my sister I didn’t know what to do.”

Later that night her sister sent her a text and quoted Elder Jeffrey R. Holland when he said: “Don’t give up. … Don’t you quit. You keep walking. You keep trying. There is help and happiness ahead. … It will be all right in the end. Trust God and believe in good things to come.”

Amy explained: “I remembered reading that and just praying that I would feel love from God if He really was there for me.”

She said: “As soon as I asked and believed that He was there, I felt the most amazing, happy, warm feeling. Words can’t describe it. I knew He was there and that He loved me.”

Later I noticed that many of the older youth became less active in the Church, and I had an absolute fear that one day I might lose my testimony. There were so few youth in the Church in Germany in those days that when they became less active, their absence was noticeable. It was frightening for my parents. They had given up everything to raise their children in religious freedom, and now they were thinking, “What can we do so that we will not lose Erich?”
One day when I was about 14 years old, my family was driving home from church. We had noticed, once again, that some of the youth had turned their backs on the Church. I said to my parents, “I want you to drag me to church until I am 21 years old, and then I will take care of myself!” I really told them that, and my mother often repeated it to me.
This concern explains why, when I was about 10 years old and attending primary school, my parents made a decision. In Germany you start a higher-education path at a young age. My parents decided not to allow me to go into higher education because they had seen many young people leave the Church while attending these schools at that time. They said, “You can go anywhere, but not to the Gymnasium [university-track school], because we don’t want to lose you to the world!”
That decision meant that I received a basic education and later a vocational education; for me, that meant a degree in business. This limited many of my professional possibilities. I completed my training when I was 18 years old and was called to serve as a missionary in Munich, Germany. I loved being a missionary.
When I finished my mission, I found myself without a lot of career options. I had finished my education. Two years after my mission, I married my wife, Christiane, and there was no chance for me to gain a university education. There was a moment when I felt sad about my parents’ decision because I felt so limited.
Then a thought came to me: “Whatever my parents did, they did to protect me. They did it out of love, and it will not be a disadvantage for me.” Even though at times it seemed to be a disadvantage in a worldly sense, I could now understand that it would never be a real disadvantage. I decided to make a career in the insurance business, and I later became an executive in the company where I worked.
One challenge for me was that I had always wanted to be a teacher, and you cannot be a teacher in Germany without a university education. However, I eventually did become a teacher—a religion teacher. I became a teacher for the Church Educational System. And in a manner of speaking, that is what I am now—a teacher. So I gained a testimony that it is worthwhile to listen to your parents, to follow their counsel, and to trust that they love you, pray for you, and know what is best for you. The desire to stay active in the Church was so strong on my part and the desire to protect me was so strong on my parents’ part that everything did come together for my good.

Years later, when I was serving a full-time mission in Peru, my dad passed away after a sudden stroke. It was a difficult time for me, but knowing that we were sealed as a family in the temple brought me unspeakable peace and reassurance. When I returned home from my mission, I was excited to share the gospel with everyone in my extended family who was not a Church member—including my grandfather.

But sadly, as soon as I was back at college, my grandfather became ill and was on his deathbed. At that time, my grandmother heard him calling out to my Dad, “Tom, Tom, Tom!” as his spirit passed out of this world. Despite their disagreements in the past, my grandfather’s heart had turned to that of his son.

When I heard about his passing, though, I couldn’t help but be sad and frustrated that my grandfather hadn’t been baptized in this life. So when my sister suggested a year later that we go to the temple and do ordinances for my grandfather, I had mixed feelings. Why would it matter now if he hadn’t accepted it when it was right here for him?

But I prayed about doing my grandfather’s work in the temple, and my heart softened. I knew I needed to do it. When I went to the temple and was baptized for him, something happened to me in that font: I felt the Spirit come into my heart along with a sense of forgiveness and love that I didn’t know I had for my grandfather. My heart was truly turned to him. I felt the truth of the promise that “he shall plant in the hearts of the children the promises made to the fathers, and the hearts of the children shall turn to their fathers” (Doctrine and Covenants 2:2). It was real.

I don’t know whether or not my grandfather will accept the ordinances of the gospel, but I know that my heart was turned to his through the miracle of the Savior’s gospel.

I have thought about that, and I thank God repeatedly for such an individual in my life. He was a 78-year-old man who was assigned to be a priests adviser to six of us who were in our struggling teens and challenged with the future. His name was Charles B. Stewart. His son is here today as president of the great Tabernacle Choir.
I don’t know what you thought about a 78-year-old man when you were 16, but some of us questioned the wisdom of our bishop, for we thought he had literally brought Moses back.
I remember the first day I reported to my class in that rickety old upper room of the Hollywood Ward. There was that kind, gentle man to greet me. He took me by the hand as he had the other boys and said, “You’re Harold Dunn’s son, aren’t you?”
I said, “Yes, sir.”
He talked a little bit about me, my family, and showed a great personal interest. And then he said, “Paul, one of the requirements for being a member of this class is to think a new thought every day.” He said, “Do you have one this morning?”
Well now, I hadn’t had a new thought in years, and he could see my plight, and he said, “All right, I will teach you one. Listen carefully. ‘Attention is the mother of memory.’ Now can you repeat it back?” And I tried and finally gave it back to him. He permitted me to enter.
We had a wonderful class. It ended; as I went to leave he said, “I forgot to tell you—before you go home you’ve got to give me another new idea.” I thought, I won’t go home. I didn’t have one, and so he said, “Now listen very carefully and I will teach you one that you’ll always remember.” He said, “‘Oh, what a tangled web we weave, When first we practise to deceive.’” I’ve never forgotten it.
Another week passed, and we went through a similar experience. I still didn’t have a new thought. He said, “Listen very carefully. ‘There’s an odd little voice ever speaking within that prompts us to duty and warns us from sin. And what is most strange, it makes itself heard, though it gives not a sound and says never a word.’” And I’ve never forgotten that one.
I started to go home and found he wouldn’t let me go until I cited another. When I couldn’t he said, “Listen carefully. ‘There was a wise old owl who sat in an oak, and the longer he sat the less he spoke. The less he spoke, the more he heard. Oh, Paul, why can’t you be like that wise old bird?’”
I’ve thought a lot about that since. Still another week and another great thought. He said, “‘Remember, young man, example sheds a genial ray which men are apt to borrow. So first improve yourself today and then your friends tomorrow.’” And I haven’t forgotten that concept either.
Time won’t permit a number of others. Two years later I found myself in the fighting forces of our country. I was on the island of Okinawa. I received a letter from Mrs. Stewart, and it told me of the sad news that my kind friend and adviser had passed away. In it she had attached a half-written letter from Brother Stewart to me, and he said: “Dear Paul, I’ve been thinking about you in that far-off country, discouraged, I’m sure, and somewhat depressed; and in order to build your spirits, I have included some additional gem thoughts.” There were twenty-five new ideas, and I have never forgotten them.

Not long ago I read about an incident that occurred in the life of U.S. President Harry S. Truman after he had retired and was back in Independence, Missouri. He was at Truman Library, talking with some elementary school students and answering their questions. Finally, a question came from an owlish little boy. “Mr. President,” he said, “was you popular when you was a boy?” The President looked at the boy and answered, “Why, no. I was never popular. The popular boys were the ones who were good at games and had big, tight fists. I was never like that. Without my glasses I was blind as a bat, and to tell the truth, I was kind of a sissy.” The little boy started to applaud, and then everyone else did, too (Vital Speeches, Feb. 1983, p. 6).

Illustration by Dilleen Marsh
We were new in the Dunwoody Ward when we first met Billy. As sacrament meeting started, I noticed him sitting at the sacrament table.
After the ward partook of the bread, Billy began the sacrament prayer on the water, but he stuttered and struggled for each word. The often-normal distractions and sounds of small children died down. Everyone seemed to pause, waiting on Billy.
The words of the usually fluid and brief sacrament prayer came out slowly, each word drawn out and painstakingly pronounced. At first, I felt embarrassed for the young man. My heart filled with compassion for him.
Then everything changed.
As he finished the first phrase of the prayer—a prayer that I had heard a thousand times—a new feeling came over the room. An intense quiet settled over us, and we knew we were in a holy place. Billy was not just reading the words of the prayer but was sincerely praying to his Heavenly Father, who was answering with an overwhelming outpouring of the Spirit.
The feeling of God’s love for this young man was palpable, and we felt privileged to be part of this uniquely spiritual ordinance.
Billy continued and eventually completed the prayer. I didn’t want him to finish because I wanted that sacred feeling to continue. But the intense gift of the Spirit continued as the sacrament was passed to the congregation. It was a true renewal of covenants to repent, be better, and serve the Lord more completely.
At the end of the meeting I walked up to the sacrament table to thank the young man. I saw that he had Down syndrome. He stuttered, “You’re welcome,” with a great big smile.
Years later in a different ward, I still remember Billy. Sacrament meetings are more meaningful as I strive, like Billy, to reach out to Heavenly Father with simple, fervent faith and prayer.
The author lives in Florida, USA.

Last year, the whole school was studying the nature of God and what He is like. Our teachers taught us that God the Father, Jesus Christ, and the Holy Ghost are all one being without “passion or form” (feelings or a body). We knew that that was not correct, and we talked about it with our parents. When it came time for me to take the test on what we had learned that week in Bible class, one of the questions asked was, “Name the three parts of God.” Although I knew the answer they wanted me to give, I refused to write it because I knew that God was not made of three parts and that I should not give an answer I did not believe.
Later in the day, my teacher called me to her desk and asked why I had left the question blank. I told her that our church teaches that God the Father, Jesus Christ, and the Holy Ghost are three distinct personages, that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ both have bodies, and that the Holy Ghost is a personage of Spirit. She said that she would give me full credit for my answer because I know what I believe, even though it differs from what the school teaches.

I had been looking forward to my mission since I had started going to church a few years before. Ryan wasn’t sure if he would go. While hanging out, we discussed my mission and my excitement to serve. As I encouraged him and answered gospel questions, I gained more confidence in my own abilities to serve as a missionary. Ryan was old enough to go but struggled with his decision.

“I wasn’t sure if my testimony was strong enough, even though I felt good about the Church at the time,” he said. “I did want to go, but it was really difficult to leave family.”

The day finally came when I could start filling out my mission papers. When I told Ryan, he surprised me by saying he had decided to serve as well. Our mission calls arrived on the same night. Ryan left to serve in Canada a month before I started my mission in France.

When I came home two years later, I looked up all the priests I had worked with. It saddened me to learn that some had stopped going to church shortly after I left, but I was happy to see Ryan again. He had served an honorable mission, and just as with Alma and the sons of Mosiah, I had more joy to see that he was still my brother in the Lord (see Alma 17:2).

Gioele and Michele stared at the construction site across the street. They could see lots of metal beams and layers of cement.
“It doesn’t look much like a temple yet,” Gioele said.
“But it will someday,” Michele answered.
This was the first time the brothers had seen the place where the Rome Italy Temple was being built. Right now their family had to go all the way to Switzerland to visit the temple. But this new temple was only 30 minutes away from their home!
Michele and Gioele watched the big yellow trucks move piles of dirt.
“I think that’s where one of the spires will be,” Michele said. He pointed to a spot near the front of the building.
Gioele nodded. “Look! Papà is coming,” he said. Their father was wearing his usual work outfit—church clothes with a white construction hat. He worked as an electrical engineer in the temple. They loved it when he told them about what he worked on each day. One day he told them that the statue of Christ had arrived. Another time he told them about the baptismal font.
That night, Michele made sure to say his prayers and thank Heavenly Father for the temple. He felt warm inside whenever he prayed about it.
Months went by. The curved temple walls were covered with strong stone, and two tall spires grew toward the sky. Then a small visitors’ center was built nearby. Every once in a while, Gioele and Michele would go there to press their faces against the window and see what had changed.
Then one day they got a happy surprise.
“How would you like to see the angel Moroni statue being put on top of the temple?” Mom asked. The families of the construction workers had all been invited to watch.
Gioele and Michele could hardly believe it. They were so excited!
The next morning they put on white shirts and ties. When they got to the temple, they walked around it with the other families. They even got to take a picture with the golden angel Moroni. It was huge!
Then the workers started moving the statue. Gioele watched the giant crane carefully raise angel Moroni to the top the tallest spire. A drone buzzed around taking a video. It was so cool!
Gioele thought about all the people who would learn about the Church by visiting the temple grounds. He thought about how lots of people were going to get married there and how people were going to get baptized for people who had died.
“Now it looks like a temple,” he told his brother. Michele smiled and nodded.
The brothers felt happy. They were excited to go inside the temple when they got older. Their testimonies were growing right along with the building.

With this lesson in mind, I began to look back on my life and see how often I had been influenced by men and women who at the time held no great title or position. One of those Shiblon-like souls was my seminary teacher during my junior year in high school. This good man taught seminary for only two or three years, but he opened my heart in a way that helped me gain a testimony. He may not have been the most popular teacher at the school, but he was always prepared and his influence on me was powerful and lasting. One of the few times I saw this man in the 40 years since he taught me was when he came to see me at my father’s funeral. Truly, that was an act not motivated by title or power.

Abba loved Primary, and today it was more fun than usual. The lesson was on giving. During the lesson, they sang her favorite song, “‘Give,’ Said the Little Stream.”* On the way home from church, the words of the song kept going through her mind, “‘Give away, oh! give away.’”
The next day, she went to the library to see her friends at story time. As she got ready, she kept singing the song to herself, “Give, then, as Jesus gives; There is something all can give.”
That’s it! Abba thought. There is something I can give. She dressed quickly and ran out to her mother. “May I use your big blue tote bag today, Mom?”
“Of course you may,” Mom told her. “What are you going to carry in such a large bag?”
“I’m going to wrap up presents to give to people today! I want today to be different.”
Abba and her mother left the house with the tote bag full of the little presents. They were Abba’s own toys, and she was going to share them with others who needed them.
The bus came, and Abba found a seat near the front. A small girl sitting nearby was crying while her mother was trying to quiet a fussy baby.
Abba reached into her bag and handed the girl a present.
Abba’s mother told the girl in her best Spanish, “It’s a gift for you. Open it!”
The little girl looked at her mother, then quickly opened the gift when her mother nodded yes. Soon she was sitting quietly, playing with a small doll.
The people on the bus were all smiling.
Abba and her mother got off the bus long enough to do some banking. When they walked into the bank, one of the customers seemed very angry. He raised his voice to the teller, then stormed away.
Abba saw the sad look on the teller’s face and tugged at her mother’s sweater. “May I give a grown-up a gift?”
“Sure—but first let me ask if she would like one.”
Abba walked up to the counter as her mother told the teller about the gift. Abba handed it to her and watched as a smile broke out on the teller’s face when she opened it and saw a pretty yellow airplane! The teller held it up for the other people in the bank to see.
As Abba and her mother walked out the door, they could hear the other people laughing and talking happily about the gift.
Abba told her mother jokes as the bus sped past the skyscrapers into downtown.
Her friend Jessica met her at the library with some sad news. Jessica was going to move soon. This was the last time that she would see Abba.
When the story hour was over, Abba gave Jessica one of her presents to help Jessica remember her. The storybook cheered Jessica up, and all of Jessica’s library friends hugged her good-bye.
The last stop for the day was at Abba’s big sister’s dance school. Abba loved to go there and play with the older children while she waited for her sister to finish her class. Today, however, instead of being greeted by playing children, she saw one of the teenagers standing by the door crying.
“What’s wrong, Olivia?” Abba asked.
Olivia said that one of the boys had called her a name and made fun of her.
Abba was afraid to offer a toy to a teenager, but she thought about it for a minute and decided that it might help. She was right!
After opening the gift, Olivia dried her tears, picked Abba up and spun her around and around in a big hug. Then Olivia ran inside to show everyone her gift.
All the other teenagers laughed happily as they played with the sparkly bouncy ball. Soon Olivia had forgotten about the mean boy.
That night before she said her prayers, Abba cuddled with her mother. She asked why everyone had seemed so happy, when she had given a gift to only one person at each place.
Her mother explained that everyone was happy because she had given a gift more important than the little toys. She had given the gift of love, and everyone had felt it!
“We are a church … in whose name is the name of the Lord Jesus Christ. We bear witness of Him, and it is His example and His teachings we try to follow. We give love.”President Gordon B. Hinckley(Ensign, June 2000, page 75.)

For two years, our group met twice a week. When missionaries, Elder Roger L. and Sister Simonne B. Dock, arrived in March 1987, 50 people were studying together.
The Docks began teaching the missionary discussions in French in the public school. Because some people spoke only Swahili, I interpreted. I heard the missionary discussions for the first time myself while interpreting.
On 9 May 1987 I was one of 80 people baptized in a pool at an abandoned copper mine. For me, baptism was an outer confirmation of an inner conversion that had taken place years earlier. I had been waiting for this sacred ordinance so I could become a member of the Church.

I live with my family in Bacolod City on the island of Negros, one of the many islands that make up the nation of the Philippines. Our home happens to be located near a rehabilitation center for people with disabilities.
I will never forget something that happened in 1992, when I was in the sixth grade. I had gone home for lunch, and I was in a hurry to get back to school. While crossing the street, I happened to notice some nursing students from one of the local professional schools. They were laughing. I wasn’t sure why until I saw him—the blind man. After I had crossed the street, he was almost at my side.
I had to wait there for the jeepney, a public transportation vehicle, to come. The blind man realized I was there and called out, “Friend, could you call a taxi for me?”
For some reason, I felt uncomfortable and embarrassed. I thought that if I helped him, the people across the street might make fun of me, too. Besides, I was afraid of him. In addition to being blind, he had other physical disabilities; he couldn’t seem to control one side of his body. I moved away from him slightly. Maybe he won’t hear me, I thought. Maybe he will decide he just imagined someone was here.
But it didn’t work. Even after I distanced myself from him, he knew I was still there. Over and over, he asked me to help him. I tried to be even quieter. If I could only stop breathing! I thought.
I was grateful when I saw the jeepney approaching. I got in quickly and left the blind man standing in the street. I told myself: Nobody knows about this. Nobody knows except me and that man, and he doesn’t even know who I am. But I knew I had acted very inconsiderately.
After I got to school, I couldn’t stop thinking about the blind man. I tried to concentrate on my lessons, but my mind was uneasy. Nobody knows. There’s no way he could ever recognize me.
When I went home, I decided to tell my mother what had happened. “Why did you let that opportunity pass?” she asked. “There is Someone who always knows. He expects us to help one another.”
Later I remembered my sister. She is mentally disabled. How would I feel if someone treated her like that? I cried as I remembered what I had done.
When I was in my first year of high school, I was given a chance to correct my mistake. As before, I was preparing to cross the street. I was really in a hurry because I could see an old friend on the opposite side. I wanted to catch up with her, and I called out to her.
To my surprise, I heard a voice behind me, a familiar voice. I looked back and saw the same blind man. He had heard me calling to my friend. Of course, he did not know I was the same person who had refused to help him once before. He asked again for my help.
I didn’t hesitate this time. I called a taxi for him and helped him get in. He thanked me briefly. When he was gone, I looked across the street. I had missed my friend, but I didn’t mind. I was happy that Heavenly Father had given me a second chance to help that man.
I’m in my third year of high school now, but I still remember what I learned from the blind man. I know that God loves all of us. And even if we think nobody can see the things we do, he always knows what choices we make—and he is always willing to help us make the right ones.

The first winter in the Salt Lake Valley was hard for the Smith family. Food and shelter were scarce. When summer came and the family finally had a crop, Mary insisted that they pay a full and honest tithe. In those days, tithing was often paid in goods. Mary selected her best potatoes and headed for the tithing office. When William Thompson, a tithing clerk, saw her, he questioned her need to pay tithing, because she was so poor. Mary retorted, “William, you ought to be ashamed of yourself. Would you deny me a blessing? If I did not pay my tithing I should expect the Lord to withhold His blessings from me; I pay my tithing, not only because it is a law of God but because I expect a blessing by doing it.”

Mary continued to pay her tithing, whatever her circumstances. She remained independent, raising chickens, sheep, and cattle. Her faithfulness impressed her children with the importance of tithing.

Digging in the mud isn’t necessarily Amanda Worthington’s favorite activity. But it’s something the 14-year-old from the Winchester Ward is often involved in. Her father, Tom, collects arrowheads and other relics left by the thousands of Native Americans who in ancient times camped and hunted throughout northern Alabama. And where Papa goes, the whole family goes.
“I like searching by the banks of rivers and looking in caves,” Amanda says. “We come home all hot and tired and muddy, but we’ve found arrowheads, spearheads, tools, paint pots, pieces of pottery, all kinds of things. A friend of Dad’s even found a little statue of a quail carved in stone.”
Now don’t start thinking that the Worthingtons would dream of taking artifacts from a historical site or intruding on territory that’s been set aside as a preserve. That’s illegal, and there are places in some states and countries where even touching old things is prohibited. But in Alabama, arrowheads are so plentiful that people discover them every day while digging in their gardens or walking by cotton fields that were freshly plowed. Often such remnants are broken or destroyed if they aren’t rescued.
The Worthingtons have books that help them put dates on their finds. And that has helped Amanda think a lot about the Book of Mormon. Of course, nobody knows exactly where the events ancient prophets describe in that scripture took place, but “when we find something that’s from the same time period, it makes me stop and think that at least there were real people who lived then, that maybe a Nephite or a Lamanite actually held this. It brings it all to life and helps me know that the scriptures are real. They aren’t just a story somebody made up.”
Finding relics also helps Amanda feel thankful. “I’m grateful for technology,” she says with a smile. “Can you imagine spending all day chipping pieces off of rocks just so you could have a tool?”
But then her comments turn serious. “Sometimes we find Civil War bullets along with the arrowheads,” she says. “When I think of all the wars that have been fought, it makes me feel grateful to live in a time of peace.”

Their story began years earlier when Darmande Legbanon joined the Church. He had a desire to read the Book of Mormon and learn more about the Church, but was limited because he only spoke Fon, the traditional language in Benin. French is the official language of Benin, and what is spoken at Church. Through his institute teacher, Lionel Missigbeto, he was able to learn French and eventually served a French-speaking mission. Darmande is now the bishop of the Fidjrosse Ward in the Cococodji Benin Stake, and Lionel is the stake president. Bishop Legbanon has also built a successful welding business in Cotonou with 10 to 12 apprentices working under his tutelage.

I was born and grew up in Burley, Idaho, USA. My father had a farm and a ranch there, so I spent my time working in the out-of-doors. My family had been members of the Church for generations, and I was raised in a faithful home. But while I was in high school, my testimony was tested by an opportunity I had sought out.

I knew of a person from our high school who had been an exchange student. I thought it sounded like an interesting experience, so I researched the idea of becoming an exchange student, found out the procedure, and applied. I was accepted. I was then 16 years old. I had taken one year of German, so I assumed, as did my adviser, that I would be assigned to go to Germany. This particular exchange program took all your information, matched it up with families willing to act as hosts, then assigned you to a country.

When I was accepted, I was assigned to Brazil, and I agreed to the assignment. I lived with a wonderful family in São Paulo. They had six boys and one girl, just like my family at home. Fortunately, they spoke English. It turned out to be a great experience, even though I was there only for the summer.

During my time in Brazil, I made some friends who were in that stage in life when they were experimenting with things. They started inviting me to go out with them to have fun with some girls they had met.

I was thousands of miles from home in a country where nobody knew me except my host family. The friends who would invite me to go out with them used the line “No one will ever know.” In many respects that was true. Certainly, none of my American family would ever know. I was a teenager, far from home, with an invitation to do what was wrong, and nobody would ever know.

But I knew that I would know. I knew the Lord would know, so I said no to their invitations and continued to say no. They asked repeatedly, sure that they could persuade me. It was not a one-time challenge, but every time I declined, I grew more determined to stand my ground.

“No one will ever know” is a rationalization that Satan uses against us in our lives. It’s a lie. I discovered that for myself during my summer in Brazil. Falling for Satan’s lie is, in fact, how many people get into such things as Internet pornography. They think they can do it in a way that no one will ever know. But in every case, they know and God knows.

Please don’t ever buy into that lie in any aspect of your life. I’m thankful that I was able to see the false reasoning for what it was and not give in. The Spirit helped me feel the truth. I also relied on the fact that because of what I had learned in my family, I knew what was right. My parents had taught me the truth. I learned the truth in Primary, in Sunday School, in Aaronic Priesthood, and in seminary. That foundation of the gospel was in my home, in the upbringing that I had had, and in Church lessons.

My experience with temptation as an exchange student came from the outside, from persistent friends. It was an external challenge to the things I believed, and I was able to stand firm. But as additional experiences came to me, I learned that we are going to be tested from all sides. Some of the most difficult challenges are internal ones, when the temptations that have to be resisted take place in the quiet of our own hearts and minds.

Eugène used to think all churches were the same. Then the missionaries came to his door and started teaching his family. Gradually he came to understand that the gospel has been restored, and that there’s a great role in it for young men. He was baptized and, when he came of age, ordained a deacon.

“Now, I’m the only Aaronic Priesthood holder in the entire city,” he says. “There are Melchizedek Priesthood holders, and they help me. But when we have sacrament meeting, I pass the sacrament.”

When I was diagnosed with juvenile diabetes, it was very hard for me. I had to prick my finger every two hours and get a lot of shots from my mom every day. Sometimes it hurt.
Then last year my mom and I decided to start looking for the good side of having diabetes. First, I have made new friends who also have diabetes. They help me a lot. I can help others who have diabetes by babysitting for their families or by talking and listening.
My brothers have also been blessed by learning to have patience and to be loving when I don’t feel well. The school nurse is my friend, and I’ve been blessed with Primary teachers who understand and help me. In our family we hug and support each other more.
The blessings of diabetes are all around me. I am thankful that my parents teach me to seek and find these special blessings. I know my Heavenly Father always blesses me and always will.Heidi Millett, age 8, and her mom, Queen Creek, Arizona

On 29 September 1988, President Ezra Taft Benson—“with tenderness and love and great understanding that I will never forget”—extended to Elder Richard G. Scott a call to become a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. Elder Scott was sustained two days later, on October 1.
“Sister Scott and I have prayed a great deal since the call came,” he says. “I know the call is from the Lord. I know that there is a great difference between what I am and what I am expected to be. That recognition is very humbling. No one would undertake to serve in this assignment without the assurance of the support and direction of a loving God. The real power comes from the Lord.”