Gospel Story Finder

By this time, I wanted to continue going to church on my own, but that was such a challenge! It was hard for me to sit alone at church. I felt like everyone was staring at me and feeling sorry for me because my family wasn’t with me. To ward off sympathy, I would sit with my head bowed, reading a book until the meeting started. I felt sorry for myself and thought the challenge wasn’t worth it. I decided that without a family, the Church was not going to be true for me.
It was another small miracle of friendship that brought me back. Wendolyn and I had been friends since childhood, but we’d slowly drifted apart. One afternoon, Wendolyn and her mother sat me down and told me about the importance of going to church. They offered to have me go and sit with their family. My main stumbling block was removed! I had people to sit with who cared!
Through the rest of my high school years, my friendship with Wendolyn deepened, and my testimony of the gospel along with it. Wendolyn’s mother even offered to help me pay for a mission if I ever decided to go. I was touched by their willingness to sacrifice for me and for the gospel.
I know it is sometimes hard to accept an outsider into your family, but these two families accepted me, and to them I owe my active participation in the Church today. I will be eternally grateful to these friends. What small miracles of friendship can do!

Our family loved the trips we took to the mountains when our children were young. Standing on the edge of beautiful Jackson Lake, with the majestic mountain peaks reflected in its glassy surface, we would have contests skipping rocks across the smooth water. As the rocks sank, we watched while ripples moved out across the water as far as we could see. Even the smallest pebble tossed by our youngest child rippled on and on and on.

President Eyring describes his wife as “a person who has always made me want to be the very best that I can be.” That trait manifested itself in the middle of a night in 1971 when she woke her husband and asked, “Are you sure you are doing the right thing with your life?” She then asked him whether he shouldn’t be working with Neal A. Maxwell, then Commissioner of the Church Educational System.

President Eyring enjoyed teaching at Stanford, being near his in-laws, and serving as bishop of the Stanford First Ward, but he began praying about his wife’s question. The Eyrings did not know Commissioner Maxwell, but within days he called and invited President Eyring to Salt Lake City, where he asked him to be president of Ricks College, now BYU–Idaho. President Eyring accepted the offer and soon moved his family—which today includes 4 sons, 2 daughters, and 25 grandchildren—to Rexburg, Idaho.

Sister Beck: I think we underestimate youth. They’re in a searching age—it’s the “why” age. There’s a reason for that: the Lord wants them to get their own testimonies. It’s leaders’ and parents’ job to give them the doctrinal “whys” and to back up standards by teaching about the reasons for them. I remember some conversations I had with a daughter about Sunday dress. I explained how I felt she should dress to attend sacrament meeting. I also taught her about the sacrament and bore my testimony about why we go to church. It was done with love. She didn’t change the way she dressed that Sunday or the week after. But very soon she adopted a more formal standard of dress for sacrament meeting. I was patient while she got her own confirmation. And she never went back to dressing the way she had before. She had been taught the doctrine, and her “why” question was answered.

When Michele and I finally left Philadelphia to move back to Utah, we were sad to say good-bye to friends who had made an eternal impact on our lives. Our bishop was Vai Sikahema, who had played football at BYU and also for the Philadelphia Eagles. He worked for NBC 10 News in Philly as the sports anchor.

When Michele and I had arrived in Philly, Vai and his wife, Keala, had immediately welcomed us into their family and their home. Through the years I think we ate as many meals at their house as we did at our own. Those meals often included missionaries and people who were investigating the Church. The Sikahemas demonstrated how to create a home in which the light of the Savior could be seen and felt through their love and friendship with others.

Since Vai was in the media and chose which interviews would make the news, he unwittingly let me share my testimony with my Chinese brothers and sisters. One day I started my interview by saying, “Syandzai, Kana, Yijyan chimyau de shrgung, Jyou yau chusyan yu ren jr ernyu de jungjyan!” I proceeded to quote the fourth section of the Doctrine and Covenants in Chinese. My mission president, Kent Watson, had all of the missionaries memorize and recite that section at each zone conference.

Michele called me as I drove home from work and asked what I had been saying in Chinese, because it had just aired on the news. I laughed and thought it was pretty cool for the Chinese people who lived in Philly to hear in their own language that “a marvelous work [was] about to come forth among the children of men” (D&C 4:1).

On our last day in Philly we sat in Vai’s home while his son LJ played the guitar and sang to our family my favorite Hawaiian song, “Kanaka Vai Vai.” I was overcome as I thought about the light and the love that the Sikahemas had let shine on our family for so many years. I learned from my good bishop that the Lord’s servants are color-blind, that they love all of God’s children. Vai made me feel like his Tongan brother.

A month after we left Philly, my best friend growing up, Bryan, moved into Vai’s ward. He was not active in the Church and had quite a few challenges. He called me in distress, looking for help. When I called Vai to ask for his help, he responded by saying that I had called the right person. He said he would do everything in his power to help Bryan. He promised to be relentless and to go all the way to the end in lending a hand. He committed to use all of his connections, resources, and friendships to help; he committed to pull out all the stops.

A wave of gratitude washed over me. I knew Bryan was in the exact hands the Lord wanted him to be in.

Vai did exactly that. He bound up Bryan’s wounds and took him into his home the same way he had done for my family. He helped Bryan regain his footing in life and find his testimony in the Savior again. Over the next few years my friend met a girl named Temecia, and he helped her study the gospel with the missionaries. She got baptized and they got married. I was there and so was Vai when they were sealed in the Manhattan New York Temple. It was a miracle!

Before the rededication of the São Paulo Brazil Temple in 2004, the temple doors were opened to many notable leaders from government, business, and education. As I accompanied a highly respected, elected leader through the temple, I noticed that his attention was acutely focused. It wasn’t until we reached a sealing room at the end of our visit that I fully understood why.
In a solemn tone he said to me: “Mr. Andersen, I want to tell you something about my family. My oldest son passed away five years ago at age 35 of cancer. In his final months he could find no peace. He was nervous, distraught, and concerned about his family, his life, and what was ahead of him. Knowing of my son’s situation, a friend of mine who is a member of the Church shared with me a copy of the Book of Mormon and suggested I share it with my son.
“It was a miracle to me to see the effect of that book on my son. He devoured it. He wrote notes and thoughts in the margins. His concerns and anxieties disappeared. In reading the Book of Mormon he found enormous peace. When he died, the book was next to him. I am so thankful for the peace it brought to him.”

One of my children turned the television to a popular children’s program, and a scene soon came on that really disturbed me.
“Yuck,” my 11-year-old said. “That was sick!”
“Yes, it was,” I agreed. I thought about calling the television station and letting them know how we felt. If I said something, would it really make a difference? I wondered. So many popular shows include material that is inappropriate for children—for anyone really. But this scene seemed particularly inappropriate.
I called the local station and received the telephone number of its national affiliate. After being redirected several times, I finally reached someone who played a part in the program’s production. I explained how offended I was and what my child’s reaction had been. I said, “If others haven’t called, it may be that they feel as I do—that it doesn’t do any good.”
“To tell you the truth,” the man said, “I argued with the writers on that segment, but they insisted we put it in to test the viewers’ responses. I was sure a lot of people would feel as you do, but few people call or write. Tell your friends and neighbors to let us know!”
After I hung up, the thirteenth article of faith came to my mind: “If there is anything virtuous, lovely, or of good report or praiseworthy, we seek after these things.” [A of F 1:13] I realized I could make a difference by becoming more alert and letting my feelings be known not only about entertainment but about my local environment as well.

Devastating earthquakes and tsunamis have recently occurred in diverse places, including Chile, Haiti, and the islands of the Pacific. A few weeks ago Presiding Bishop H. David Burton, Elder Tad R. Callister, and I were able to meet with the Saints who had lost family members as a result of the tsunami that hit the eastern side of Samoa last September. The chapel was full, and it was an emotional meeting. We were able to assure these choice members that because of the Atonement of Jesus Christ, they can be reunited with the loved ones they have lost.

The stake president, Sonny Purcell, was driving his car when he saw the enormous wave coming far out at sea. He honked his horn and stopped children on the road walking to school and warned them to run for higher ground and safety as fast as they could. The children followed his instruction. He frantically drove, reached his four-year-old daughter, put her in the car, and then tried to get to his mother. Before he could reach his mother, the wall of water picked up his car and swept it over 100 yards (91 m), where it lodged in a tree. He scrambled to secure his daughter on top of the car and then swam to rescue his mother, who was clinging to a branch of another tree near their house. With great effort he swam with her to the car and safety. Many were not as fortunate. They did not have time to get to higher ground and safety. Many lost their lives, particularly the young and the elderly.

We told the Samoan families that members all over the world expressed love and concern and had prayed for them and contributed fast offerings and humanitarian aid for both the members and their neighbors. The same is true for the members and their neighbors in Chile and Haiti. We do this because we follow Jesus Christ.

As we met with the families in Samoa, the significance of spiritually going to the higher ground, living a better life, and clinging to saving ordinances was abundantly clear. The Savior’s example and life teach us to spiritually avoid the low pathway, where the things of this world dominate. As I shook hands with the members after our meeting, one sister told me her family had not been to the temple and they had lost a daughter. She tearfully said their goal now was to prepare themselves for the sacred ordinances of the temple so they can be together eternally.
As I have pondered what this sister said and the current condition of the world, I have felt an urgency to counsel each of us to seek the higher ground—the refuge and eternal protection of the temple.

As Kelly says, staying close as a family starts with spending time as a family. One of the ways they enjoy spending time together is to get up close and personal with some of the biggest animals on the planet! “We go on safari rides several times a year,” Kelly says. Plenty of great memories have piled up during these rides.

“The funniest memory is when it was pouring rain one time,” she says. The safari ride was going full speed, which made those raindrops sting. So her family huddled close together, laughing, to form a sort of human shield against the rain. And it worked! “We made each other warm!” she says.

“Let me tell you about two of your fellow elders I was with last week who walked together up by Lukachukai.
“I learned about them when I attended a stake conference. Among the speakers that morning was a handsome Navajo boy. He was frightened by this first experience at public speaking, but he was sustained by faith and by a deep, sincere testimony. Only a few short months before, the Church was unknown to him.
“Two of our young elders drove their truck as far up a muddy, rutted road as they could go and then ‘two walked together’ the remaining eight miles through mud and snow to teach a man and his grandson. Because of their dedication and determination, this young man, now a baptized member filled with the spirit of love and testimony, was speaking to the congregation. He, too, will soon be on a mission, walking with a companion down some distant country road or city street. He will walk his way into the homes and hearts of those who are seeking the Lord. Oh, the high adventure of missionary work!”

One case, in particular, touched me. It was about a boy from Mexico who was dying. When my dad went to see the patient, he found the mother by the boy’s bedside, weeping.
“Hola, Señora Garcia,*“ said my father, who had served a Spanish-speaking mission. Startled to hear Spanish, the woman told my dad she had brought her son from Mexico to receive care. They continued to talk, and the woman told my father she was LDS. As the only LDS emergency room doctor at the hospital—and the only one who spoke Spanish—my dad was able to give the boy a blessing of comfort before he died and help the mother with funeral arrangements.

A lot of children at school use language that makes me uncomfortable. My mom and I said a prayer to ask for courage and to know the best thing to do. The next day when they started to use that language, I politely said, “Please stop using those words. It makes me feel uncomfortable.” They said, “OK, sorry.” That made me feel happy inside, and I was glad I learned that Heavenly Father will help me when I ask for help.
Bella T., age 10, Virginia, USA

Lilia, the mother, was baptized in the United States while she was visiting on a grant from the U.S. government, making her the first Moldovan baptized. That was in May 1997.
Then just six months later in November, her daughter, Lilia, became the first person baptized actually in Moldova. Since she was the first of several to be baptized that day, she treasures the honor of being allowed to be the first to join the Church in her country. Today both Lilias have been members for more than six years.
At first the only Church members in Moldova were three Latter-day Saint Americans: John Nielson and Paul and Betty Morris. They met in the Morrises’ home for sacrament meeting. Two elders from the România Bucharest Mission were sent to Moldova, and then the sheep began to recognize the voice of the Shepherd. Lilia and her mother began attending meetings after Lilia’s mother returned from the United States.
The younger Lilia tells the story of her conversion: “I started attending Church meetings six months before my baptism. I had my mother’s example this entire time. She introduced me to the Church by giving me a hymnbook. I came to love the first hymn I looked at, ‘Love One Another.’ I knew then that God wanted me to feel special and loved.”
In the six years since Lilia’s baptism, the branch has grown to 180 members, with many of the members being youth or young adults. Five young people from Moldova have already served as full-time missionaries and returned. Four more are serving missions now.
These young people love to talk about how the Church has changed their lives. “It makes me want to shout for joy,” says Alin Constantinescu, “when I realize that I belong to the only true Church. A deep feeling of thankfulness pierces my soul every time I think of the love the Lord has for us and the trust He has put in us as pioneers here in Moldova.” Alin is now serving a mission in Manchester, England.
“It shows in our countenances that we are a happy people,” says Mariana Turcanu, “and it is because of the gospel. It has changed my whole existence here in Moldova.”
The small country of Moldova looks like a slice of melon squished between Romania and Ukraine. The nation has about four and a half million people; they speak Russian and Moldovan, a language closely related to Romanian. The people who live in the capital city of Chisinau live in concrete high-rise apartment buildings. But in the country and villages, people still live in small self-constructed homes without running water, and many travel by wooden horse-drawn wagons or on foot. The countryside has fertile black soil that produces beautiful fruits and vegetables. The hills, though not high enough to be known as mountains, are covered with meadows of trees and grass with patches of bright yellow sunflowers.
The largest branch of the Church in Moldova is in Chisinau. President Ion Virlan is the first Moldovan to serve as branch president. His teenage daughter, Natalia, was among the first five to be baptized in November 1997. And a few months later the rest of her family joined the Church. There is also a smaller branch in the town of Orhei.
A lot of the youth activities organized by the Church have been firsts as well. The branch in Chisinau has had its first seminary and institute classes. The youth have held their first Super Saturday. And best of all, the branch has its first brand-new meetinghouse. The building was dedicated in December 2002 and is a monument to the pioneering efforts in Moldova.
It may sound a little strange to call such young members of the Church pioneers, but these youth understand they are leading the way for many more from their country. Juliana Musteata says, “Being a modern pioneer in Moldova brings joy and happiness into my heart and soul. I believe that if we work hard, we can influence the growth of the Church. I know that the Lord has blessed each one of us with the opportunity to set an example for others and share the gospel.”
“Yes, we are pioneers!” says Gheorghe Zugravu. “It is amazing to be the pioneers of our Lord Jesus Christ. We feel closer to our Savior as we share the gospel here in this country. We are the first, but after us will come many others who will love Jesus Christ as we do. We believe this with the whole power of our hearts.”
Part of their love for the Savior is shown in the ways the young people have chosen to serve. Just like others around the world, the young women in the Chisinau Branch have organized service projects. They made one project a yearly event. For the past several summers, they have helped care for children at orphanages in the city.
“We young women try our best to make these children’s lives more pleasant,” says Natalia Gligor. “We try with all our hearts to offer them love and comfort, to play with them, and to make them understand that there is somebody who loves them. We have a special program that can develop certain abilities. We try to inspire them to be attentive and curious. They lack many things, both material and spiritual. The spiritual things that are lacking are more painful, and the wounds are much deeper.”
Irina Vizitiv also helps with the orphaned children. She says, “Families are the biggest blessings of our Heavenly Father. I think through this service project, we have brought some light into the children’s lives. And I know this is very important to my Heavenly Father.” Irina, like many of the youth, is the only member of the Church in her family. She hopes her family will someday accept the restored gospel.
Coming to know their Savior is one of the best experiences these young people have. Katerina Bejan was the first seminary teacher in the branch and is currently serving a mission in England. She says, “I know that Jesus Christ is always with us and that He is the cornerstone of this Church.”
“I love to hear people say, ‘Jesus Christ lives!’” says Mariana Turcanu. “It feels so wonderful to know it for myself. And as sure as He lives, I know that my Redeemer loves me.”
Slava Schiopul knows many Moldovans are waiting to hear about the gospel. He says, “We must concentrate our lives in obedience to the commandments of Heavenly Father, yet there are only a few of us here in this country to help each other. However, by this obedience, we grow closer and closer to our Savior Jesus Christ, and He helps us to live in the light.”
Vasile Botan, now serving a mission in Paris, France, sees the Church coming to his country as one step in fulfillment of prophecy: “I know that before the Second Coming of Jesus Christ here on earth, His restored gospel has to be known by every nation, kindred, tongue, and people. I am very happy that this message has arrived for the people of Moldova. In this tiny country, we know God remembers us too.”
Like most pioneers, members of the Church here are struggling economically. The Republic of Moldova is a young country with few jobs or opportunities available. But Moldovans’ acceptance of the gospel of Jesus Christ and their determination to live righteously are their hope for the future.

My father’s name is Jean de Dieu Nsanzurwimimo. He was born in Rwanda’s Western Province. He married my mom, Emmeline Mukamusonera, in 1981, after they met in Kigali, Rwanda’s capital city.
My parents came from very different backgrounds; my father was a member of Rwanda’s majority ruling Hutu tribe, and my mother is from the Tutsi tribe. In Rwanda when they were growing up, there was an extended civil war and a long-simmering conflict between the two tribes. This animosity led extremist groups of Hutus to promote the ideology that all the Tutsi people living in Rwanda should be killed.
I was born in 1994, just four months before a series of events led to a catastrophic genocide of Rwanda’s Tutsi population, led by Hutu extremists who took over the government. During a 100-­day period from April 7 until mid-­July, nearly one million Rwandans were brutally killed, including as many as 70% of the Tutsi population.
Even before the 1994 Tutsi genocide, many leaders of the Hutu tribe taught that a Hutu man married to a Tutsi woman should be required to kill her and all her family to show his allegiance to his tribe. Because of those teachings, and to better protect his family, my father moved his wife and children to a small village near Cyangugu, in the far southwestern corner of Rwanda. Even in that small village, the majority of Hutu villagers spurned and rejected my mother because she was a Tutsi. But my father continued to protect us. In 1993, when the tension and genocide ideology increased, she was pregnant with me and caring for my three older sisters. Because it was known that she was a Tutsi, our family didn’t have many friends and it was dangerous every time she had to fetch water or go to the market. It was a very difficult time for her, but always my father was on her side, protecting her and taking care of his family.
During this time, there were constant meetings in the community where the locals were given machetes and guns and trained on how to kill the Tutsis. Every week they had a community meeting. In March 1994, my father attended a town meeting where it was announced that Hutu men married to a Tutsi woman would be required to kill her and all their children. It was a hard time for them. Some of the men and some of the women who were Hutus did kill their children.
In a meeting in early April, my father was ordered to kill my mother and his four daughters. When he came home from the meeting around 6:00 p.m., it was very dark because there were no street lights at the time. He immediately took us to a small island located in the southern part of Lac Kivu, a large lake dividing Rwanda and Congo. He told my mom that the villagers had determined that we were supposed to die, so we should hide in that place; he was going back home to find a safe place for us. He told her that if she saw any boats, she should ask them if they would carry us over to Congo, where we would be safe from the Rwandan genocide. She was able to find someone willing to take us across to Congo, where we spent the next five months, until peace was restored in Rwanda and it was safe to return.
All the while in Congo, and after we came home, we didn’t know what had happened to my father. When we came back we didn’t see anything; they didn’t allow us to enter the house where we had lived, and we were told everything that belonged to my father had been sold. It was a very hard time for my mom. We didn’t have a house to stay in. We didn’t have anything to eat. We went to the Seventh-­Day Adventist chapel, where we slept for a whole week. After that my mother carried all of us to town where she learned we could get small help from the new government.
In 2003, nine years after the violence ended, the government created a reconciliation program called “Gacaca” to help resolve the hard feelings from the killings. As part of the process, people who had killed others during the genocide confessed and asked for forgiveness. Through gacaca, we came to know that my father’s family members, after they looked everywhere for us and could not find us, had killed him. My mother and my eldest sister attended the hearing where my father’s family asked for our forgiveness, and they forgave them. They told my mother that they had thrown his body into the river after killing him, so we were never able to locate his body. Because I was so young at the time he saved us, I have no recollections of my father; I don’t know his face.
When I met with the missionaries, it was hard for them to tell me how God loves me and that He is my Father in Heaven. I did come to understand that because of the plan of salvation, I will meet my father once more. Because of my faith in the plan of salvation and the Atonement of Jesus Christ, I was baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-­day Saints in 2013.
My mother continued to struggle to raise the four of us herself. She had many health and stomach problems and for much of the time she suffered. She was not able to go to the hospital because she was a Tutsi. She finally passed away on June 16, 2016, from what was discovered to be cancer. She knew I was a member of the Church of Jesus Christ. She believed that I had become part of a big family. She blessed me and said I was doing the right thing. She always taught me and my sisters to love one another and to serve one another. She said our father suffered himself to allow us to live. She said we should always work hard; it would make our father happy.
I know this gospel is true. I know I will see my family again. I know my father sacrificed his life to allow me to have this life today and I am very anxious to meet him once more and thank him for his wonderful sacrifice.
I was thrilled to receive the privilege to serve as a missionary, starting in August 2017. My mission allows me to teach the joy of the gospel to families around me. One of the greatest blessings the Lord has given me since I have been on my mission is that two of my sisters have joined the Church. One of my greatest ambitions after I complete my mission is to do the temple work for my parents so that our family can be sealed for eternity.
The plan of salvation can bring happiness in this life and eternal joy in the life hereafter. I know this to be true, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Karina’s leg and body muscles are very strong, and she is a good helper and a hard worker on her family’s small farm. The farm has a big tom turkey, chickens, and a dog with lots of puppies. Karina loves animals. One of her chores is to feed the chickens. And she has figured out her own method of getting this chore done. She picks up the bag of corn with her foot and places it under her chin to carry it while she walks. Then she sits on a chair, opens the bag of corn with one foot, puts the other foot in the sack for a footful of corn, and throws the corn out for the chickens to eat. Karina also loves to hold the chickens. She carefully catches a baby chick with her feet and holds the soft, fluffy bird under her chin.

Such a long absence seemed impossible now that I was home. Behind me was a year spent in Brazil as an exchange student. And here was Marcia, as pretty, smart, and fun to be with as ever. A year away at college had agreed with her, and I was glad we would have a few weeks together before she returned to BYU.
I had never known a Church member until I met Marcia. She puzzled and fascinated me. With our days full of schoolwork, school plays, and more, I found out she attended a religion class before school each morning. When our group of friends planned Sunday activities, she went to church instead of picnics, shopping, or parties. Despite our differences, our friendship deepened.
Marcia once gave me a Book of Mormon, but after reading only a few pages I returned it. I occasionally went to church with her—more frequently to church dances. I considered Marcia my best friend.
“What do you have in this suitcase?” Marcia grunted as we swung the enormous case onto my bed.
“Brazilian candy and a soda called Guarana. You’ll love it. Also, I brought some goiabada. I want to cook some Brazilian foods.”
“Are you telling me this thing is full of food?”
“Hardly. I’ve got tons of pictures, and some music, and …” I snapped the locks up, “presents for my friends!” I flipped the case open and began rummaging for Marcia’s gift.
“Jessica.” Something in Marcia’s voice startled me. Looking up I saw she was holding a Book of Mormon. “Where did you get this?”
I took the book gently from her hand and rubbed my thumb over the gold-embossed title. At the airport Marcia had remarked on the changes she saw in me. I was deeply tanned—a true first for my fair and freckled skin. My hairstyle and clothes had taken on a distinctly Brazilian quality, and I was having trouble completing sentences entirely in English. But the changes she hadn’t yet detected were lasting changes. I’d kept this information close to my heart, waiting for the right moment to share it with her. This was my biggest surprise.
“There’s something I haven’t told you,” I said, tears stinging my eyes. “I was baptized three weeks ago on July 10th.”
I was unprepared for her scream. She fell back on the bed and screamed a second time. She jumped up and, with tears streaming down her face, grabbed me. Hugging, laughing, and crying we spun together in circles.
I was really lost before I found the gospel. In Brazil the legal drinking age is 18. My host family offered me membership to their country club and a nightclub. It sure was exciting. But the excitement wore off. I got tired of the meaningless social scene and started craving spiritual things.
The only churches I knew of were Catholic, and so I started attending Mass regularly. About two months later a couple of elders showed up at my host home. My host sisters were wild with excitement and dragged me to the front gates so I could talk to another American.
On the day I was supposed to have the first discussion, I got cold feet. I was with a friend and told her I didn’t want to go home because some missionaries were coming to see me. She invited me to go to her house to avoid them, but we needed to go to the post office first. We got our mail and were leaving when the missionaries walked in. That was the day they taught me about the plan of salvation.
In telling Marcia about my conversion, I saw clearly that Heavenly Father had gone to great lengths to give me the gift of His gospel. God really wants us to return to Him. And Heavenly Father had provided opportunities through the missionaries for me to receive the gospel. He really wants us to find our way home to Him.

“Jerome Mooney!” his mom scolded from the back porch. “Stop spitting at your sister!”
“It’s OK, Mom,” said Mary Beth as she put the last spoon on the picnic table. “Jerome is showing me how he’s going to win a blue ribbon at the 4-H fair.”
“By spitting?”
“No,” Mary Beth explained with a grin, “by whistling. Jerome is entering the whistling competition. Talented, isn’t he? Last place is in the bag.”
“Oh, yeah, smartie?” Jerome retorted. “Just listen to this.”
But for all of Jerome’s effort, his whistle was no louder than a whisper.
“Jerome,” said Dad, handing him a hamburger, it takes a lot of practice to be able to win a blue ribbon, and the fair is only two weeks away.”
“That’s right,” said Mary Beth. “Practice in your room or when I’m not around,” she teased, “and I’ll call you when the two weeks are up.”
Jerome practiced and practiced. Every morning he played records and whistled along with them. Every afternoon he watched TV and whistled along with his favorite commercial jingles. And every time Grandpa called, Jerome whistled his best tunes into the telephone. Even while he got ready for bed, he whistled the songs he heard on his radio.
The more Jerome practiced, the better he became. By the end of the first week he was sure he could win first prize at the fair. Even Grandpa said he’d never heard anything like Jerome’s whistling. Just to be sure, though, Jerome chose “Yankee Doodle” as the tune he would whistle at the fair. He was positive that everyone loved it.
“A blue-ribbon tune if ever I heard one,” agreed Grandpa.
Mom made Jerome a red, white, and blue Uncle Sam costume out of a pair of Grandpa’s old pajamas. Dad gave Jerome a haircut and shined his Sunday shoes. “I don’t see how you can lose,” he said proudly.
“Jerome will find a way,” said Mary Beth.
But Jerome was determined to win. He had one more week to polish up his act. So, for six days straight, he whistled nothing but “Yankee Doodle.” Around and around through the house he marched, whistling the tune in time to the beat.
Mary Beth went around with cotton in her ears. Mom and Dad went to the store a lot, and everyone wished fair day would hurry and arrive.
On the night before the fair, Dad insisted that Jerome would do better if he didn’t whistle again until just before the competition. So Jerome put on his pajamas, kissed Mom and Dad goodnight, and went to bed early.
At breakfast Mary Beth rolled a penny across the table. “It’s for luck,” she said, “because you’re really going to need it. Just don’t forget to give it back to me after the contest.”
“I won’t need it,” said Jerome, but he took the penny and slipped it into his pocket—just in case.
Mom carefully packed Jerome’s costume into a bag. Then they all got into the van and headed for the fair.
At the fair they went to see all the exhibits of homegrown fruits and vegetables, handmade clothes and quilts, baked goods, and livestock. Jerome and Mary Beth pretended to drive some brand-new tractors while Mom and Dad set out their lunch of sausage-and-pepper sandwiches, ice-cold lemonade, and chocolate cake. After lunch they watched race cars roar around the track, and they munched on hot roasted peanuts.
At two o’clock the whistling competition was announced over the main loudspeaker. Jerome ran to the van to put on his costume. When he got to the grandstand, it was already filled with spectators. The contestants were divided into age groups, and each competitor was given a badge with his name and number on it. Jerome was number thirteen. Mom pinned the badge onto his costume and wished him luck.
After a short speech the emcee announced, “Number one, Abigail Potter, will whistle ‘You Are My Sunshine.’”
Jerome listened as the whistlers performed. Some were very good, but Jerome knew that he had the winning tune and a wonderful costume and that he wouldn’t make a single mistake because he had practiced so hard.
When the emcee called, “Number twelve,” from a far corner of the tent a boy appeared in a red, white, and blue Uncle Sam costume! Jerome could not believe his eyes.
The emcee announced, “Theodore Buzby will now whistle ‘Yankee Doodle.’”
“Hey, you can’t do that!” yelled Mary Beth.
“Shhh,” chided someone in the audience.
Jerome felt his palms get clammy. Perspiration ran down his face. He couldn’t do “Yankee Doodle” now, and he didn’t have a second-best tune.
“You’re up next,” the emcee said to Jerome when Theodore Buzby finished his performance. “What’s the name of your song?”
“I want to go home,” whispered Jerome.
As Theodore Buzby bowed, the audience clapped and cheered. There goes my blue ribbon, thought Jerome.
“Number thirteen, Jerome Mooney,” the emcee informed the crowd, “will whistle ‘I Want to Go Home.’”
Jerome found himself at the podium staring at the faces staring back at him. His costume felt like it was glued to his skin. His throat ached, and he searched frantically in his pocket for Mary Beth’s lucky penny and rubbed it. But he needed more than luck.
The audience was still waiting for him to begin. He stared desperately at his family in the stands. Mom looked worried, but she managed a comforting smile. Dad looked nervous, but he held up his fingers in a victory sign. Mary Beth was making ugly faces at Theodore Buzby.
The tent grew hotter by the minute. Jerome’s throat was parched—too dry, maybe, to whistle anything. He spotted a grape Popsicle in the front row and watched as it dripped down the arm of the small girl holding it. One by one the cool drops plopped onto the dusty ground.
Suddenly, from somewhere, came a familiar little tune. Jerome couldn’t remember its name or where he had heard it, but it was sort of catchy. He took a deep breath and whistled softly into the microphone. He’d give it his best even if it wasn’t a blue-ribbon tune.
Soon Jerome noticed smiles throughout the audience. Everyone loved his tune! And more and more fairgoers were coming into the grandstand to listen. He whistled louder and faster. Children clapped their hands in time to the music. He whistled the mystery song better than he had ever whistled before, and when he had finished, the audience stood and applauded. Even Theodore Buzby.
The judges’ decision was unanimous. Jerome Mooney was the best seven-to-twelve-year-old whistler at the fair. The blue ribbon was his. Jerome gazed at it happily.
“I knew you could do it,” said Mary Beth, closing the van door. “Now can I have my penny back?”
“I’m proud of you, Jerome,” said Mom. “I didn’t know what you were going to do. What was that little song? I know I’ve heard it somewhere.”
“It certainly was popular with the crowd,” said Dad.
“Listen,” said Mary Beth, and in the distance Jerome’s blue-ribbon tune was playing softly. It got louder and louder as it came closer and closer. The catchy tune brought dozens of kids running to the curb as an ice-cream vendor turned the corner.
“Oh, no,” said Jerome. “I didn’t win at all. The ice-cream truck did.”
“You silly,” said Mary Beth. “The ice-cream truck wasn’t even at the fair. Besides, it was a blue-ribbon tune only because you were a blue-ribbon whistler. Now please hand over my penny.”
And Jerome did. Whistling happily, he could hardly wait to get home to call Grandpa.

I learned from my wife the importance of expressions of love. Early in our marriage, often I would open my scriptures to give a message in a meeting, and I would find an affectionate, supportive note Jeanene had slipped into the pages. Sometimes they were so tender that I could hardly talk. Those precious notes from a loving wife were and continue to be a priceless treasure of comfort and inspiration.

Years ago, as a campus stake president, I called a local Tongan brother to serve on the stake high council. "But how can I serve in a university stake?" He protested, "I know very little English. I’ve had no formal education. I will be a laughing stock among all those smart students." This man recited a list of reasons why he couldn’t possibly serve among smart people. I held to my conviction that this appointment was from the Lord. His wife finally said in her own native tongue, "I know my husband. I know his weaknesses. He is a good man and if the Lord wants him to speak in any language, I know he will find a way to do it."

This man did serve in the BYU-Hawaii Stake for several years. For the first few weeks, he was in torment with fears and feelings of inferiority but he took his calling seriously. When he had to speak in his role as high councilor, he prepared with all his might, mind and strength. He practiced in front of his mirror. He memorized and recited and repeated over and over the difficult lines. You can all predict what happened. This brother became one of the most popular speakers in the Stake. He never became fluent in English but he had a humble style and a fervor and wonderfully fresh ways of putting words together. That made him beloved and appreciated. When he stood at the pulpit before all those smart people, they paid rapt attention. He fed the hungry, gave drink to the thirsty and liberated the captive.

The handsome American youth had only been in Czechoslovakia for a few weeks. With absolutely no language training he had come to preach the gospel to the Czech people in their own tongue. Now the time had arrived to preach his first sermon to a group of Saints and interested investigators. His experienced companion had labored diligently to help him write his speech and had also provided a phonetic guide to aid in the pronunciation of this very difficult language. Now he must face the congregation alone.

When the young man began to speak the senior companion suffered in silence as his youthful counterpart proceeded to violate every grammatical rule in the entire Czech language. However, all was not lost, because his pronunciation was so atrocious that few in the audience could tell what he was saying anyway.

After the meeting, the young elder felt somewhat embarrassed and disappointed until a matronly investigator approached him. With tear-stained cheeks and trembling voice she told him (through an interpreter), "I felt that everything you said was true—I’d like to be baptized." The promise in the Book of Mormon is that "when a man speaketh by the power of the Holy Ghost the power of the Holy Ghost carrieth it unto the hearts of the children of men" (2 Ne. 33:1).