Gospel Story Finder

“Today we’re going to start raising butterflies,” our den mother, Sister Sills, said.
“Butterflies!” whooped my brother, Danny. He jumped up and ran in a big circle, waving his arms as if they were wings.
“Danny,” I hissed. “Sit.”
Danny stopped and looked around. Everybody else was sitting down, so Danny sat down, too. But he kept flapping his arms.
Sometimes it’s really embarrassing to have Danny for a brother. He’s actually two years older than me, but he was born with Down’s syndrome, so he doesn’t do everything at the same age as everyone else. Danny just waits until he’s ready. That’s why he’s in my Cub Scout den.
I love him, and I try to help him, but sometimes I get mad because he’s so slow at everything. Danny never complains when I do things without him, but he looks sad. I don’t like him to be sad, so I try to be patient with him.
Sister Sills explained how we were going to raise our butterflies. Then we made butterfly houses—shoe boxes with plastic windows and air holes. We also filled clear plastic cups with chopped green leaves that Sister Sills called “caterpillar food.” We called it “green goo.”
The caterpillars were so small that Sister Sills used a paintbrush to put them into our cups. We put a lid with air holes on the cups.
“That’s a butterfly?” Danny asked.
“It will turn into a butterfly, Danny,” Sister Sills told him. “Then it will fly.”
“Wow!” Danny exclaimed.
We each took two caterpillars home. Those little things ate and ate. We had to add more chopped leaves. I couldn’t believe how fast they grew. Finally they hung upside down from the lids of their cups and shed their fuzzy skins. It was like watching someone wriggle out of a very tight snowsuit. Underneath was a smooth, green chrysalis (a covering that shelters the caterpillar while it turns into a butterfly).
We moved the lids with the chrysalises attached to them to our butterfly houses and waited and waited for nearly two weeks. Danny was the first one to notice when something happened. “I got a butterfly!” he squealed. Then he ran around the room flapping his arms. This time, I just let him.
During the next day, all four butterflies emerged. We watched them exercise their new wings, and we fed them sugar water sprinkled on flowers for three days. Then we took them outside to set them free.
At first, the butterflies didn’t know what to think of the sunshine and the wind. Then one took off, and then another and another. We watched them flutter around our yard until they were out of sight.
When we looked back down, there was still one butterfly left. I gently picked him up on my finger. “Fly,” I ordered. But the butterfly stayed perched right where he was.
“I don’t think he can fly,” Dad said, looking closely. “He’s missing part of his wing.”
Mom bent down to look. “He has only four legs,” she said. “He’s supposed to have six.”
“So what do we do now?” I asked.
“I think we’d better keep him,” Dad said. “He’ll get eaten by a bird or something if we leave him out here. He probably won’t live very long, anyway.”
“I’ll take care of him,” Danny said.
I wasn’t sure about that. Sometimes Danny breaks things because he has a hard time being careful. I didn’t think he could take care of something as tiny as a butterfly without squishing it. But Dad said, “Let him try.”
Every day, Danny fed the butterfly. And every day he took it out for a walk. “Butterflies don’t need walks,” I said.
“My butterfly does,” Danny said. “He needs to learn to fly. Sister Sills said so.”
“That butterfly is never going to learn to fly. He’s missing half a wing,” I pointed out.
“It’s OK,” Danny said. “He’s trying.”
That’s what Danny always said when the poor butterfly waved its wings. I couldn’t believe how patient and gentle he was. Every day he took the butterfly outside on his finger to exercise its wings. Sometimes it stepped out onto a flower to eat.
Then one day, in a puff of wind, the butterfly flew off Danny’s finger and circled the apple tree twice before landing in the grass. There it fluttered helplessly until Danny picked it up. But as soon as he did, it spread its wings and tried again.
“He flew!” Danny exclaimed. “He flew! He tried and tried, and he flew!” I’d never seen Danny so excited.
Danny took the butterfly outside to fly every day until it got old and its wings lost so many scales that you could see right through them. Finally it died. Dad helped Danny bury it. I was afraid Danny would be really upset, but he wasn’t. He was smiling. “Heavenly Father will give my butterfly new, strong wings,” he said, “because he tried!”
I still get impatient sometimes when Danny is slow or he forgets how to behave or he does something really silly. But when I do, I remember how kind Danny was to that poor butterfly and I say to myself, “It’s OK—he’s trying.” I figure if I work really hard, I can be as patient and kind as Danny.

A few years ago, I was in line to make a purchase at my local grocery store. Ahead of me stood a young woman, about 15 years old. She appeared confident and happy. I noticed her T-shirt and couldn’t resist talking to her. I began, “You’re from out of state, aren’t you?”
She was surprised by my question and replied, “Yes, I am. I’m from Colorado. How did you know?”
I explained, “Because of your T-shirt.” I made my accurate supposition after reading the words on her shirt, “I’m a Mormon. Are you?”
I continued, “I must tell you that I’m impressed by your confidence to stand out and wear such a bold declaration. I see a difference in you, and I wish every young woman and every member of the Church could have your same conviction and confidence.” Our purchases completed, we said good-bye and parted.
Yet for days and weeks after this random everyday moment, I found myself seriously reflecting upon this encounter. I wondered how this young girl from Colorado came to possess such confidence in her identity as a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I couldn’t help but wonder what meaningful phrase I would figuratively choose to have printed on my T-shirt reflecting my belief and testimony. In my mind, I considered many possible sayings. Eventually, I came upon an ideal statement I would proudly wear: “I’m a Mormon. I know it. I live it. I love it.”
Today I’d like to focus my remarks around this bold, hopeful statement.

As I began to investigate the Church, I was given several issues of the Liahona (Spanish). The articles in these issues helped resolve some of my questions, and, as a result, I accepted the missionary discussions and was baptized 27 June 1987.
Since then, I have served a mission in Guayaquil, Ecuador, been sealed to a former missionary, and become a mother. I am very grateful to the good person who had the inspiration to give me the magazines. My testimony is strengthened continually as I read the Liahona.
Ruth Elena de GuaycalLas Palmas Ward, Santo Domingo Ecuador Stake

During the night a little bird had been blown from its nest by the high winds in the storm. Apparently hatched just a few days earlier, it had few feathers, but enough to be identified as just a common sparrow.
As it lay there awaiting whatever fate would come, a young woman walking to her car in the parking lot saw the little sparrow and picked it up. Feeling sympathy for the helpless little bird, she took it home to care for it. She prepared a nest in a basket with soft tissues, which were changed often to keep a clean and comfortable bed for the little bird.
She fed it often each day, watching it gain strength, and within a few days it opened its eyes and could see for the first time. It saw the girl who fed it and the family who lived in the home. It heard and became accustomed to the sounds around it, and it was not afraid.
As the days passed, it was able to hop about, and it was taken from the basket and put into a clean birdcage.
The sparrow trusted the girl and the family, and when it wanted food, it would chirp and flutter its growing wings rapidly, and when the cage door was opened it would hop out onto the girl’s hand and sit there patiently while she fed it.
It would sit on her hand as she walked through the house and even when she went outside. To help it become accustomed to the outside world where it soon would have to live, she would take it out on the lawn where she and her sister would sit under the tree and visit while the bird would look and observe all around it.
It came time for the girl and her sister to go to girls’ camp, so the bird went with them and spent the week on Cedar Mountain with the girls. It was there that it tried to fly for the first time, flying from the girl’s hand to the low branches in a nearby tree.
The bird was glad to come back to the familiar hand and security of the girl’s love, and although it was learning to fly, it did not leave. When the girls’ camp was over, the bird came home with the girls and continued its flying lessons.
The girl, realizing the bird must soon join its own kind, took it out on the front lawn and encouraged it to fly away. It flew across the lawn to a small pine tree, where it perched and looked around. The girl left it there, assuming it would now join the other birds, and she returned into the home.
It wasn’t long before a chirping could be heard outside in front of the home, and when the girl went out to see what the bird was chirping about, it flew out of the tree and landed back on her hand, and she fed it.
For the first few nights the bird would come back to the house and want to come in with the family for the night. Soon, however, it began to stay out with newly found friends, living in the trees close by the home. When the girl would go outside and whistle, it would respond and return and land on her hand, and my daughter, Trinilee, would feed it.
That little bird and my daughter taught me a great lesson in faith and trust. Although it was just a fraction of the size of its human friend and could be in great danger for its life amongst humans, it trusted her and had faith it would not be harmed and would be fed by her—and it responded to her beckoning call.
Have you ever wondered about our faith? Do we have that kind of trust and faith in the Lord? Do we respond to His beckoning call to serve and be fed at His hand?
We should strive to be in His presence and to respond to His call, yet many of us lack the faith and the trust to come unto the Lord when He calls. He is calling us today to be faithful and to trust Him, that He might feed us.
The Savior, speaking through the Prophet Joseph Smith, said to John Whitmer: “And now, behold, I say unto you, that the thing which will be of the most worth unto you will be to declare repentance unto this people, that you may bring souls unto me, that you may rest with them in the kingdom of my Father. Amen” (D&C 15:6).
I believe our Heavenly Father, and I trust Him. When He reveals to us, speaking through our living prophet today, that we need to do more and that more of us need to become involved in the work of bringing souls unto Christ, then we need to step forward and say, “Here am I; send me” (Isa. 6:8).
I truly love my Heavenly Father and our Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ, and I am grateful for the many blessings and opportunities They have given me. I pray with all my heart and soul that I can measure up to the plans They have for me, whatever those plans may be.
I pray we will all show the kind of faith and trust in the Lord that the little sparrow demonstrated in my daughter and that we will respond to the call of the Lord.

Peter, a young priest, wrote of an experience that taught him that priesthood power is very real. A young convert in his ward in Ontario, Canada, was sustained as a teacher in the Aaronic Priesthood, and Peter was asked to be the “voice” in the ordination. Peter wrote, “I had never laid my hands on anybody’s head before, and I felt so inadequate. But then the Spirit reassured me that it would be fine for me to do it. …

“The young man to be ordained sat down in the chair, and I stood directly behind him. [Our Young Men president] guided me through the ordinance prayer and I repeated every word he said. After we had finished the ordination and said, ‘… and we wish to pronounce a blessing on your head at this time …’ [the Young Men president] looked at me and indicated that I was on my own.

“At that point, the priesthood entirely changed its meaning for me. It was no longer just a title, but the actual authority to act in God’s name, and I was giving that authority to someone else. I paused and waited for the Spirit to whisper to me what I was to say. It is difficult for me to describe the feelings I had that day during the blessing, but I can say that I now have a stronger testimony that the power of the priesthood is real.”

Several years later a friend of mine, Cleiton Lima, was baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He did not mention this to me even though we were good friends, but as time went by, I began to see changes in him. On Sundays I usually went to his house in the morning so we could play soccer, but I could never find him at home. This happened two or three Sundays in a row. Finally Cleiton told me that he could no longer play soccer on Sundays because he was honoring the Lord’s day. I told him, “This church is making you crazy.”

Then Cleiton invited me to attend church. I gave him an excuse because I was still disenchanted with religion. For 10 months, Cleiton brought over missionaries to teach me, but I always excused myself or told them I was too busy. But he never gave up.

One day in June, he invited me to attend a Church dance. I teased him, “Is there going to be free food and a lot of girls?” Laughing, he said yes!

I have to admit that I was defeated by my stomach. I visited the church and loved it. I was welcomed by everyone, I ate a lot, and I became interested in attending a meeting. When I arrived at church on Sunday, I met many people and heard their testimonies. I was not familiar with the Book of Mormon, but I felt the Spirit of the Lord when various Church members testified that they know the Book of Mormon is true, that this is the Church of Jesus Christ, and that Joseph Smith was a prophet called by God. I had never felt so good. I still did not want to meet with the missionaries, but that testimony meeting touched me.

The next week, Cleiton again invited me to go to church. I couldn’t because I had another obligation. I could see the sadness in his face when I told him I didn’t know if I could go.

However, on Sunday morning I awoke with a desire to go to church. I got up at 6:50, which was difficult for me, and I got ready and waited for Cleiton to walk by. He was surprised when he saw me dressed and waiting. That Sunday the bishop taught about the priesthood. I felt the Spirit strongly and had the impression that I should take the missionary lessons. By the end of the Aaronic Priesthood meeting, I knew that I was going to be baptized.

When church ended, I told Cleiton, “I want to be baptized!”

He thought I was joking. But then he said, “If I call the elders, will you meet with them?” I answered yes.

I was taught by great elders. When I heard the message of the Restoration, I had an even greater confirmation that I should be baptized. But I wanted to know for myself the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon. The elders marked Moroni 10:3–5 in my Book of Mormon and invited me to pray and ask God if it is true.

The next evening I remembered that I had not yet read the Book of Mormon. As I began to read, I felt a very strong spirit. I prayed, and before I was finished, I knew that the Book of Mormon is true. I am grateful to God for having answered my prayer. I was baptized in July 2006.

I later served as a missionary in the Brazil Cuiabá Mission, and my friend Cleiton served in the Brazil Santa Maria Mission. We did what Cleiton did for me: invite people to come unto Christ and help them receive the restored gospel through exercising faith in Jesus Christ, repenting, being baptized, and receiving the gift of the Holy Ghost. This truly is the way to salvation.

Let us always invite our friends and relatives to learn of this gospel, for the Savior invited everyone when He said, “Come unto me” (Matthew 11:28). I know that this is the Church of Jesus Christ and that now is the time to invite everyone to come unto Him.

I just started reading the New Era and it helps me answer a lot of questions. I will share two. I wondered what Joseph Smith did with the plates after he was done with them. “What Did the Golden Plates Look Like?” (June 2007) said that he returned the golden plates to Moroni. My second question was about which group should I hang out with. One group got in trouble a lot, and the other group never got in trouble. After reading the New Era, I chose to go to the group that never got in trouble. It was hard for me because I had friends in both groups. I am happy with my choice.Sydney Y., North Carolina

Several years ago I received a letter from a woman who had emerged from a long period of Church inactivity. She was ever so anxious for her husband, who as yet was not a member of the Church, to share the joy she felt.

She wrote of a trip which she, her husband, and their three sons made from the family home to Grandmother’s home in Idaho. While driving through Salt Lake City, they were attracted by the message which appeared on a billboard. The message invited them to visit Temple Square. Bob, the nonmember husband, made the suggestion that a visit would be pleasant. The family entered the visitors’ center, and Father took two sons up a ramp that one called “the ramp to heaven.” Mother and three-year-old Tyler were a bit behind the others, they having paused to appreciate the beautiful paintings which adorned the walls. As they walked toward the magnificent sculpture of Thorvaldsen’s Christus, tiny Tyler bolted from his mother and ran to the base of the Christus, while exclaiming, “It’s Jesus! It’s Jesus!” As Mother attempted to restrain her son, Tyler looked back toward her and his father and said, “Don’t worry. He likes children.”

After departing the center and again making their way along the freeway toward Grandmother’s, Dad asked Tyler what he liked best about their adventure on Temple Square. Tyler smiled up at him and said, “Jesus.”

“How do you know that Jesus likes you, Tyler?”

Tyler, with a most serious expression on his face, looked up at his father’s eyes and answered, “Dad, didn’t you see His face?” Nothing else needed to be said.

As I read this account, I thought of the statement from the book of Isaiah, “And a little child shall lead them” (Isa. 11:6).

A recent letter from some concerned parents is typical. It illustrates some of the problems facing LDS women:
Dear President Smith,
Sometime ago we received a phone call from our daughter. She is in the army. She was crying over the phone; in fact, she was almost hysterical. She felt she had not one friend on earth. Those she thought were her friends had deserted her and were, in fact, persecuting her unmercifully, for one reason because she is a “Mormon.” To say we were in despair is an understatement. …
A second letter was enclosed with this letter. It read in part:
I am your daughter’s Relief Society visiting teacher. My companion and I were at first unable to locate her. When we did make contact, we found a depressed and mixed-up young lady. I’m not connected with the military, and I soon had my eyes opened to the unfortunate circumstances in which girls in the military may find themselves. How very difficult it would be to keep gospel standards in mind when one is continually subject to the rowdy, cigarette-filled barracks, and the regimentation of a job for which one is neither suited nor trained.
Since that initial visit, and on following visits as she became aware of the Church here, a distinct change has come over her. As far as her work permits, she attends ward functions, and everyone is aware of her friendly presence. One could almost measure the light that came back into her lovely eyes. She began to smile as she realized that people cared. You’re going to be welcoming home a very special daughter. I shall miss her because she is my friend. I shall always be grateful to her for showing me the change that can come into a life when you firmly grasp the iron rod.

By contrast, we know a family who took a different approach. The parents were inspired by J. C. Penney’s experience where his father told him when he turned eight years old that he was on his own financially. They came up with their own version: as their children graduated from high school, they were on their own financially—for further education (college, graduate school) and for their financial maintenance (truly self-reliant) (see D&C 83:4). Happily, the children reacted wisely. All of them are college graduates, and several also completed graduate school—all on their own. It wasn’t easy, but they did it. They did it with hard work and faith.

I had a long-remembered meeting with a former prime minister. He had seen much of conflict and trouble in his time. He told a very interesting story of a Jewish rabbi who was conversing with two of his friends. The rabbi asked one of them, “How do you know when the night is over and a new day has begun?”
His friend replied, “When you look into the east and can distinguish a sheep from a goat, then you know the night is over and the day has begun.”
The second was asked the same question. He replied, “When you look into the distance and can distinguish an olive tree from a fig tree, then you know morning has come.”
They then asked the rabbi how he could tell when the night is over and the day has begun. He thought for a time and then said, “When you look into the east and see the face of a woman and can say, ‘She is my sister,’ and when you look into the east and see the face of a man and can say, ‘He is my brother,’ then you know the light of a new day has come.”

When the patriarch asked my son Blaine, his father, and me to come fasting to his home to receive a patriarchal blessing, he told Blaine that this preparation would help him to be able to give Blaine the blessing the Lord would have him receive.
We arrived at the patriarch’s home and the blessing began. It was a remarkable experience.
I felt I knew what the patriarch would say before he said it. The Lord seemed to be giving me some special insight about things I would need to know.
As Blaine grew a little older, it came time for him to go on a mission. He was interested in athletics, school, and many other things, and the thoughts of going on a mission did not fit into his plans.
One day, he said to his father: “Dad, do I have to go on a mission?”
His father replied, slowing his words thoughtfully: “No … Blaine … You don’t have to go on a mission. My sons are to make that decision and go because they want to go.”
He then came to me and told me that his father said he didn’t have to go on a mission, so he wasn’t going to go.
“But Blaine,” I said, “What about your patriarchal blessing? The blessing says you will have to bring the gospel to many.”
He didn’t reply but he was thoughtful. Later, he happened to meet a friend, crippled from poliomyelitis, who had just returned from his mission, excited and happy.
“Hey, David,” he said, “Why did you go on a mission?”
“Oh, Blaine, I went for the same reason every boy should go, to show the Lord how much I love him.”
The comment struck fertile ground. The words of his patriarchal blessing came back to him and Blaine committed himself to serve the Lord in the mission field.
My remarkable foreknowledge of Blaine’s blessing was a great aid to me in helping him make his decision to serve a mission. I think every mother in Zion is entitled to this kind of spiritual help in preparing her sons and daughters for the privilege and the responsibility of missionary service.

I remember clearly my first experience with the sacrament. I had just been invited by the missionaries to attend church for the first time. Unfortunately I didn’t know anything about how the sacrament works or what it symbolizes, so the girls I was sitting with had to explain the whole process while it was happening.
Looking back on this experience has made me realize that it would have been helpful if I had tried to learn a little bit more about the sacrament beforehand on my own, but I was fortunate that the girls I sat with on that first day were more than willing to explain everything to me in the moment. Since then, a lot has changed in my life—including my knowledge of the gospel and the meaning of the sacrament.
There have also been many changes during the past general conferences. When President Russell M. Nelson closed the October 2019 general conference, he revealed some revisions to the questions asked in a temple recommend interview, and as he reiterated question 8, “Do you strive to keep the Sabbath day holy, both at home and at church; attend your meetings; prepare for and worthily partake of the sacrament; and live your life in harmony with the laws and commandments of the gospel?” (emphasis added).
I was struck by the word prepare.
I’ve realized that the sacrament isn’t something you prepare for just moments before the bread and water are passed. You can prepare for the sacrament throughout the week to help you feel the Spirit strongly and a sense of renewal every Sunday.
Since then, I’ve started preparing to take the sacrament throughout the week by:
Studying my scriptures through Come, Follow Me and thinking of ideas I can share with others and in the next Sunday School meeting.
Packing what I need for church on Saturday night for meetings in the morning (the joys of working the night shift!). I make sure I pack my scriptures and a notebook to take notes during sacrament meeting, and I pray to find answers during church about how I can improve myself throughout the next week.
Listening to spiritual music on Sunday morning before I attend sacrament meeting also helps me feel the Spirit and get in the right mindset.
Reading over the hymns we will sing in sacrament meeting and looking up the scriptures they refer to. This helps me fully realize the message and meaning behind the hymns and helps me ponder these things throughout the meeting.
Lastly, thinking about the reason for the sacrament before it’s passed. I remind myself that I need to always remember the “why” of the sacrament and its importance throughout the week—the Savior.
The purpose for the sacrament is to remember Jesus Christ and His atoning sacrifice for us (see Matthew 26:26–28). The sacrament also invites us to renew our baptismal covenant and to deepen our commitment to become more like Him, to remember Him, and to become better disciples. It also allows us to start the next week spiritually refreshed.
I’ve learned so much more about the sacrament since that first day at church. And I now feel so much joy every week as I walk into sacrament meeting, knowing that I am about to remember my Savior’s sacrifice for me and be more diligent in keeping my covenants. Preparing makes a positive difference in the Spirit you feel throughout the meeting. Before the sacrament was in my life, I often felt empty—like something was missing. I never knew that the missing piece of my life was an ordinance that is so simple, but so powerful at the same time. An ordinance that helps me deepen my love for the Savior and appreciate all He does for me.

Mom and Dad say that when I was born, I brought a special spirit into our home. I like to be a peacemaker. Whenever my brothers argue, I put up my hand and say, “Stop! No mad allowed!” If that doesn’t get them to stop, I lead them to the den and have them look at the picture of Jesus and talk to them about Him. Then I ask if they feel better. They always do.
Elizabeth Gibson, age 4 (with help from her mom)Goshen, Indiana

When I was seven years old, I promised the Lord that if given the opportunity, I would preach the gospel throughout the world. At that time I regularly attended the Baptist Church with my family. I did not understand many things. For example, I didn’t know why only the pastor and his assistants were allowed to speak. I felt that everyone should have the opportunity to share their feelings and beliefs about their church. However, my family and our church helped me to gain a love and appreciation for our Savior Jesus Christ and for the scriptures.
As I was growing up, my family lived less than five minutes from the Washington D.C. Temple. The temple just fascinated me as a young boy, and I always wanted to enter it, but my father assured me, “It won’t be part of your life. Don’t ever worry about that building.”
Every day I would watch my father study the Bible intensely. I knew my father was a man of God, and I began to pose many questions. He would always tell me to read the Bible and find out for myself.
A decade later, I was serving as a United States Marine security guard for the American Embassy in the Republic of Djibouti, a small country in northeast Africa. I decided to search for the truth, so I read the Bible cover to cover. As I grew closer to God, I came to realize that the Bible was the true word of God. I did not have to rely upon the testimony of my father, but I still did not have the whole truth. I longed to know why I felt compelled to live my life never drinking, smoking, or swearing and remaining morally clean. Why did I always strive to obey the commandments?
After 15 months, I was reassigned to the American Embassy in Pretoria, South Africa. I was selected as the first black Marine security guard ever to serve in South Africa. In each place I was assigned, I was handpicked because of my standards. Interestingly, President Bill Clinton phoned to ask me to accept the South Africa assignment. Those were some of the reasons that I received many recognitions and awards.
It was in South Africa that I met the Cleverlys, who were members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The mother of the family invited me to their home at various times. She always told me about young single adult activities, but I could never attend due to my job schedule. Then she invited me to attend church, and I accepted. But before Sunday came, I had three nights of night-shift duty. I went downstairs to the library of the embassy where there was a computer with a huge search capacity. I just typed in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. All this information came up, so I just read it for eight hours the first night, eight hours the second night, and eight hours the third night. What I looked at most of all was what Latter-day Saints believed and how they applied it in their lives. Did they live according to what they had established as laws or standards of the Church?
The week preceding my visit to church, I had a dream. I was sitting at a table, and there were two young men with white short-sleeved shirts and black tags. They were sitting on the sides of a table, and I was seated at the head. I woke up, but I didn’t think much about the dream.
The first time I walked into an LDS ward, I knew there was something different about this church. Also, it happened to be the first Sunday of the month, which meant that the members had an opportunity to stand and bear testimony. Now this is the true order of church, I thought.
I was introduced to two missionaries who began to teach me. One of the young men was one of those in my dream, the exact person. Sister Cleverly invited the missionaries and me to her home for dinner. She placed us at the table exactly as my dream had predicted.
Later, when we got to the principle about baptism for the dead, I thought it was so amazing that one could go to a sacred place and do these things for people who had passed away. I just thought that was incredible, and I thought about my two grandfathers and my grandmother who had passed away. That’s when I started to feel the Holy Ghost. The teachings sounded right to me.
We got to the next principle, which is about families, and I just always knew that was true. When I heard about eternal families, I told the missionaries, “I knew this existed.”
Then the missionaries taught me about the Word of Wisdom, and it was then that I had a discovery. I don’t want to call it a paradigm shift, but it felt like my soul unfolded, and I just shed this shell and a new person came out. I felt like I was three feet off the ground. I had always lived the Word of Wisdom, and I wanted to know why I was the way that I was. No one ever had the answer to that for me, but the Lord did through the missionaries and the discussions. I knew that everything they had taught me previously was true, and everything that they would teach me would be true. I never felt the Spirit so strongly reading scriptures before, and when I read Doctrine and Covenants 89:18–21, I knew it was true. I always knew that my body was important, and I knew that it was never to be defiled.
From this point forward, I began to experience mixed emotions about becoming a member of the Church. I was concerned about my father’s opinion and his reaction to my decision. The night of the sixth discussion was a very eventful night.
During the sixth discussion, I received the message that I had an incoming call from my father. The phone rang. I picked it up, and it was indeed my dad.
He said, “Your mother informed me that you’ve made a decision to join the Latter-day Saints.”
I said yes.
He said, “I’m here to prevent that from happening.”
And I said, “You know what, Dad? I love you, and you’ll always be my dad. You’ve done a great job with me. But I’m 22. I’m a man now, and these decisions are for my family and my future. I want to thank you for everything you’ve done for me and that you will continue to do for me, but this is my decision. I’m going to do it, and I know that the Lord wants me to do this.”
My dad wasn’t too happy when he hung up the phone. Immediately I got on my knees in the kitchen and asked the Lord to help me see and understand that what I was going to do was correct. I was thousands of miles away from home. I was all alone, and nothing was going right. Only when I was with the missionaries did I feel good. At that moment the Spirit testified to me that it was the Lord’s will and that the Lord wanted me to be baptized. It was a very clear voice that just said, “You’re to do the Lord’s will. You are to follow His example.” Then I knew. I never looked back after that. I was baptized on October 12, 1995.
It was a year to the day of my baptism, October 12, 1996, that I entered the Washington D.C. Temple to be endowed in preparation for serving a full-time mission to the Spain Madrid Mission.
During the first year of my mission, my parents were not supportive about my missionary service. The Lord revealed to me while I was on my mission that my family was fine, and they would be taken care of. Then things changed all of a sudden. The last six to eight months of my mission my family was very supportive. They said they were receiving blessings, and they knew it was because of my serving a mission.
After I returned from my mission, I stayed with my family for three weeks before I had to leave to enter Brigham Young University. Before school started, my father visited me, meeting my friends and seeing Salt Lake City. When I took him to the airport, he embraced me and told me, “Out of all 46 years of my life, never ever have I felt more love or the Spirit of God in my home than when you were home the last few weeks. I know that we owe it to the service that you gave in Spain for two years.”

Years ago, as a member of the Vienna Austria Stake high council, I attended a ward in Vienna once a month. Because I live 120 miles (190 km) from Vienna, I often rode the train to get there.
One Sunday, after I had returned home from visiting the ward, I discovered to my dismay that I did not have my wallet. I was worried because I didn’t know if I had lost my wallet or if it had been stolen. In my wallet I had a small amount of money, my temple recommend, a credit card, and other important cards.
The next day I had a hard time concentrating at work. Over and over again I asked myself, “When was the last time I used that wallet? Did I leave it anywhere?” I called the police, the train station, and the bishop of the ward I had attended. Nobody had found it. I prayed as well, and my prayers intensified as the day progressed. I slept poorly that night.
During my morning prayers the next day, I felt a strong spiritual impression to open my Book of Mormon in order to find the answer to my problem. I ignored the feeling instantly because no Book of Mormon scriptures had anything to do with my lost wallet.
The feeling pressed me: “Why do you doubt? Faith precedes the miracle! Just open the book. The first scripture you read will give you the answer to your problem.”
I discarded this feeling as wishful thinking. But the feeling in my heart fought a hard battle and won. I got up, went to my desk, and picked up my Book of Mormon. My heart beat rapidly in anticipation. I did not turn a page forward or backward. I simply opened the book and read Jacob 3:1: “Look unto God with firmness of mind, and pray unto him with exceeding faith, and he will console you in your afflictions, and he will plead your cause.” I was overcome and couldn’t read any further.
The Lord will plead my cause! I went to work relaxed and comforted. At 11:00 a.m. I received a call from the train station police informing me that my wallet had been turned in. One day later I received my wallet. Nothing had been taken.
The Lord had consoled me in my afflictions. He had pleaded my cause. Through the Book of Mormon my Heavenly Father had answered my prayers in a direct, personal way. I have always loved the Book of Mormon, and following this experience, it has become even more precious to me.

Maxine Grimm stands out in my mind as an honored pioneer. I met her in the Philippines in 1964, when there was only one branch of the Church and fewer than one hundred members. With her husband, Peter Grimm (we called him “Grimm-pa”), this remarkable woman helped unfurl the flag of truth in that beautiful island nation.

Sister Grimm had been a Red Cross volunteer during World War II and had remained in the Philippines after the war to help the new Church members there. I clearly remember her arriving at our small place at 7-D Kamias Road to help us begin the first Relief Society in Quezon City. She would always bring copies of the Relief Society Magazine for the sisters to borrow, as well as her portable pump organ so we could sing the hymns together—all six of us.

Many beautiful faces among those first few Latter-day Saints in the Philippines will be etched in my memory forever. One of many that could represent them all is the face of Salud Dizon Jimenez, the first convert to be baptized in Quezon City. She later became the Relief Society president when a branch was organized in that huge city near the Philippine capital of Manila. Sister Jimenez and many like her would often travel for hours on jeepneys and buses to Taft Avenue in Pasay, where we held all our Church meetings. Others followed in the footsteps of those great pioneers, and today the Philippines is blessed by nearly 300,000 members in forty-seven stakes. A temple graces the city of Manila.

I see in my mind another pioneer woman who helped the families in a Monclova, Mexico, branch make their homes learning centers. I met her on a Sunday in September 1975. Adelita happily showed me the things she had done in her own home to motivate her children to study, then told of things she was doing to help the other sisters in the branch teach their children better study habits. Adelita herself was illiterate, yet she placed great value on education. Humble and gracious, she desired only to serve.

I think of the Saints in the little village of Bermejillo, Mexico, where I went with some health missionaries in 1975. As we walked along a dusty road with the branch president and his wife, we were taught how to pick out the homes of Church members. Their fences and homes were painted, and vegetable and flower gardens accented their neat and tidy yards. As we passed several homes, the branch president’s wife told us, “These people are not active right now, so you can’t tell they’re Latter-day Saints. But soon they’ll be back with us, and on your next visit you can pick them out, too.” Eventually the members in this branch built their own chapel.

The beautiful face of Sister Pai on the Altiplano in Bolivia fills my memory with a warm glow. I visited her and her family in January 1975. They had been members of the Church for only three months, but in that time they had learned that President Spencer W. Kimball had encouraged Church members to have gardens. I was thrilled to see their two small vegetable gardens and a flower garden. Each night they covered their three gardens with plastic sheets to protect their treasures from freezing.

I shall never forget their family home evening, held in the warmest spot in the home—on their bed. Of that experience I wrote in my journal: “The rain and the cold, the walk and the mud were all well worth it. I would have walked one hundred miles to visit with this family and have the privilege of feeling their spirit and their enthusiasm in being members of the Church and learning principles which help them to be healthier and happier.” Blessed, honored pioneers.

I think of the woman I met in the Dominican Republic right after Christmas in 1983. Some missionaries and I were sitting in her San Francisco home as she told us of the dramatic changes Church membership had brought into her life. I was impressed with her courage in blazing trails through habits and traditions she felt needed to be changed. My faith was strengthened as this great pioneer soul spoke of her deepest feelings about Jesus Christ and her joy in discovering the gospel.

I cried as I had to leave. We had been together for only a short while, yet I felt as if I had known her forever. As my companions and I walked down the street, I kept looking back to wave. She was still waving back as we turned a corner and lost sight of her radiant face.

Many of the pioneer faces in my mind are the faces of friends in Nigeria, West Africa. When I first arrived there in January 1984, I met Cecilia and learned of her creative pioneering in what seemed to me the overwhelming task of day-to-day living. I said, “You are my teacher.”

She responded, “I will be your teacher.”

I told her that I didn’t know if I could learn very fast, because she had so much to teach me. She smiled gently and said, “I will teach slowly.”

And she did. I lived as Cecilia’s neighbor for several months, and I will be grateful all my life for the things she helped me learn. I am a better pioneer because of this great soul and others in our neighborhood who allowed me to follow in their footsteps for a little while.

One of the most important lessons I learned in Africa was to examine my priorities and values. In one of our Relief Society lessons there, the manual recommended that children should be helped to keep their drawers clean and neat. One of the sisters asked, “What is a drawer?”

So many great Latter-day Saints, honored pioneers, will be exalted without ever having seen a drawer, owned a new dress, used a time planner, or gazed into a mirror. They will rejoice in the celestial kingdom having never walked through Temple Square or visited Relief Society headquarters in Salt Lake City.

It still amuses me that my companion, Ann, and I were sent to teach Cecilia and others about self-reliance. While I hope we were able to share some information about health and sanitation that made a difference for them, I know that I personally learned the greatest lessons. Most of those lessons I learned from them had to do with self-reliance. I’m convinced that Cecilia and her sisters can handle any emergency. Forging onward, ever onward, they are indeed blessed, honored pioneers.

I first met Sally Pilobello in the Philippines in 1972 when I was sent there as a health missionary. I learned that she and her husband had lost their first baby when the baby was five months old. Sally had other children, but she now was pregnant with another and asked me, “What can I do to have a healthy Mormon baby?” I thought of her courage and faith as she responded to truth and adopted some new habits and traditions. Soon people in the neighborhood were sharing the news: “Mormon baby is coming!”

On 20 January 1973, Sarah Pilobello was born—a healthy, beautiful “Mormon baby.” Her mother’s pioneer spirit had enabled her to do things she had not done before—to add more truth to what she already knew. Sally used to smile at me and say, “Sister, you can never teach an old dog new tricks.” Then she’d pause and add: “But Sister, I am not a dog!”

In 1984 I received a letter from eleven-year-old Sarah—“Little Melon” to her family and friends: “I’m sorry that I have not written for a long time because every time I’m going to start my letter my playmates are insisting me to play with them. Now I firmly decided to write to you. We are glad that Mommy is doing what the family preparedness program of the welfare missionaries taught them. We now purify our water and have a balanced diet. That is why we grow faster than the other children. The temple is now being made and I hope I’ll see you there. I love you. Little Melon.”

I also received a letter from her mother, my dear friend Sally: “I want to express my gratitude for the things I have learned which are making such a difference in my family. I realize now that some of the things my mother taught me—things her mother taught her—were not correct. But the truths I’m learning will now be taught to my children, and to their children, and to the generations to come. We will not be damned any longer by ignorance. ‘Ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free!’ As they say, it is never too late to learn and change. God must love us dearly to allow us to have so much truth.”

When I first arrived in Indonesia in 1976 I met a group of pioneers in central Java who helped me understand much, much more about the meaning of words such as relief, compassion, and service. These Relief Society sisters, led by their president, Ibu Subowo, were giant souls in small bodies. Every morning before they began their cooking, each sister would hold back a spoonful of rice. They kept the rice in plastic bags that they brought to Relief Society each week. After the meeting, they would gather and prayerfully consider who needed a visit. All would then go together to visit those in need, taking the bags of rice with them to share with those who had less than they did.

Consecration. The Lord’s storehouse. A society of interdependent Saints. I learned much about sacrifice, wondering what my equivalent of a spoonful of rice would be.

I’ve thought a lot about Enos’s comment toward the end of his short narrative in the Book of Mormon. He felt sure that he would someday meet the Lord and “see his face with pleasure” (Enos 1:27). There are many faces on this earth that I hope someday to see with pleasure again. Among them are those of the women who have taught me much about pioneering—about having service as a watchword and love as a guiding star.

We’re all pioneers. Across the years, and across the miles, we blaze our trails through our personal wild frontiers. In a wide variety of circumstances, we cross our plains, sing our songs, bury our dead, deal with our personal sorrows, bear one another’s burdens, visit, comfort, and show compassion. Blessed, honored pioneers!

Zach knew he wasn’t supposed to use that word. But so many boys at school said it that he had started using it too. At first he felt guilty, but after a while it started to feel normal. He got so used to saying the word that one day he said it at home.
“What was that?” his dad said after the word slipped out. Zach and Dad had been playing basketball in the driveway, but suddenly Dad was holding the ball and looking at Zach.
“Oh, nothing, Dad,” Zach said. “It’s just something the kids at school say sometimes. It’s not a big deal.”
“Hmm …” Dad wasn’t convinced. He shook his head and passed the ball to Zach.
“But everyone says it!” Zach said. “And other words are a lot worse!”
“I’m sure that’s true,” Dad said. “But just because a whole bunch of people say or do something, does that make it right?”
“Well, no,” Zach answered, looking down at the ball.
“Here’s a question that might help you decide if using that word is right,” Dad said. “Do you feel like you have the Holy Ghost with you when you say it?”
Zach’s family often talked about living so they could have the Holy Ghost to help them. Zach knew that when he made good choices, the Holy Ghost would guide him and he would feel good about his choices. But when he made bad choices, the Holy Ghost could not stay with him.
“Not really,” Zach said. “When I first said it, I felt guilty, but that feeling went away after a while.”
“That feeling was the Holy Ghost speaking to you,” Dad said. “When we don’t listen, we are tuning Him out.”
“I’ll try to do better,” Zach said.
“I think that’s a good decision, buddy,” Dad said as he took the ball and tossed it into the hoop. “What do you say we go inside for some ice cream? I’m beat!”
“OK!” Zach said as he scooped up the ball and took one last shot.
The next day at school, Zach was on the basketball court with his friends. They were running down the court when Zach’s friend Bryan used a word Zach knew wasn’t a good word. All the other boys laughed, but Zach didn’t.
“What’s wrong?” Bryan asked.
“Nothing,” Zach said as Bryan passed the ball to him. He hoped Bryan and the others wouldn’t make fun of him. “I’ve just decided I’m not going to talk like that any more.” Then he shot the basketball right through the hoop.
“What did you say?” Jeremy asked as he walked over.
“I just think I’ve been talking in a way that isn’t right,” Zach said. “I know better. So I decided last night that I’m only going to use words that make me feel good inside.”
The boys looked at each other. “OK, that’s cool,” Bryan said. Then the bell rang to go inside.
As they headed into class, Jeremy said to Zach, “You know, I’ve been thinking the same thing, but I didn’t want to say anything. Thanks for bringing it up.”
Zach nodded and smiled. He felt good, and he knew that feeling was from the Holy Ghost. He was glad he’d had the courage to choose the right.

The branch in Plzen had only seven members. Later that year, Jirí was ordained a deacon and then a priest. The following year, when the Communists prohibited Church activity and closed the mission, 18-year-old Jirí and others tried to keep the branch alive. At age 20, Jirí became a counselor in the branch presidency. “We always tried to meet in the largest numbers possible in members’ apartments, but pressure from the secret police became so strong—it was very hard.”

Our Savior cares for all of his sheep. What a tribute it is to be recognized as one who cares. Let me share with you a story about the quiet caring of an unusual person who was brought to my attention during the last few weeks.

Recently, during a twenty-fifth anniversary ward reunion in the Salt Lake Valley, a “Best Scouter Ever” award was presented. The special evening in the cultural hall, which included dinner as well as a fine program, drew many people back to the ward event because of the good feelings created over the past twenty-five years.

The person acting as master of ceremonies introduced a young man to make this special award. He looked to be about six feet four inches tall and well over two hundred pounds. He walked to the microphone and said, “We would now like to pay tribute to the best Scouter this ward has ever had.”

Immediately names and faces of past Scout leaders jumped into the minds of those attending. Who would it be? There had been many great Scoutmasters in this ward. How could those in charge decide?

The tall, handsome young man mentioned many names of past Scout leaders and then said, “No, it is none of these, though they have all been great Scouters. Our ward ‘Best Scouter Ever’ award goes to someone who has worked in the Primary and as a Scout leader teaching boys for forty years. This individual has received the Silver Beaver Award, one of the highest awards given in Scouting, and the Silver Beehive Award, the highest award given by the Church in Scouting.” Then with a voice that trembled slightly, he said, “Our ‘Best Scouter Ever’ recognition goes to Sister Jennie Verl Keefer.” There came a hush over the audience, then knowing voices of approval, then a burst of applause that seemed to go on forever.

Sister Keefer was called up to the front. All present intently watched her quietly make her way. From the back of the room, this gray-haired bundle of energy hesitatingly came forward, her five-foot frame barely taller than those who were seated. Once at the microphone, the surprised recipient expressed a quiet and emotional, yet firm, thanks. She said between tears of gratitude it wasn’t quite forty years she had served. It was only thirty-seven years. And then Sister Keefer proudly added that during all her time of service, she had never had a bad boy.

Then the presenter asked all those whom Sister Keefer had ever taught and cared for to come to the stage. Here was the amazing thing. Men and boys started from the audience and filled the space behind this tiny woman. Big men, men in suits, doctors, bishops, presidents of companies, husbands, fathers holding babies, returned missionaries, contractors, computer workers, dentists, carpenters, and more. All these Scouts had been boys touched by the service and caring of this one noble and great woman—the best Scouter ever in the ward’s entire history. She had the gift of caring, and here were some of the fruits of her labors. Generations yet to come will bless her name for what she has done. What a great gift have those who know how to care!