Gospel Story Finder

Tristan S., 17, served on the planning committee and was excited about the whole conference. But even with all that energy, he still felt a little unsure about the actual teaching experience.
“I was nervous,” Tristan says. For one thing, part of the goal with each visit was to stay and talk for at least 15 minutes. In other words, no showing up, sharing a scripture or two, and leaving within a few minutes. Sometimes 15 minutes can feel pretty long.
Tristan went with a younger companion to the home of a single man in his 30s. “We shared scriptures from Matthew about how Jesus Christ brings peace in our life,” Tristan says.
The man they were visiting added to the conversation right away as he shared his own insights and experiences. They sailed right past the 15-minute mark without noticing. By the time they reached 45 minutes, the man told them, “There’s something different about you guys.”
Tristan and his companion gave the man a card directing him to mormon.org, which he accepted gladly.
“It was an amazing experience,” Tristan says. “It’s something I’ll never forget.”

Years ago a friend, who long since is gone, told this experience. He was seventeen years old and with his companion stopped at a cottage. It was his first day in the mission field and it was the first home he had approached as a missionary. A gray-haired woman stood inside the screen door and asked what they wanted. His companion nudged him to proceed. Frightened and somewhat tongue-tied, he finally blurted out, “As man is God once was, and as God is man may become.”
Strangely enough, she was interested and asked where he got that. He answered, “It’s in the Bible.” She left the door for a moment, returned with her Bible. Commenting that she was a minister of a congregation, she handed it to him and said, “Here, show me.”
He took the Bible and nervously thumbed back and forth through it. Finally he handed it back saying, “Here, I can’t find it. I’m not even sure that it’s in there, and even if it is, I couldn’t find it. I’m just a poor farm boy from out in Cache Valley in Utah. I haven’t had much training. But I come from a family where we live the gospel of Jesus Christ. And it’s done so much for our family that I’ve accepted a call to come on a mission for two years, at my own expense, to tell people how I feel about it.”
After half a century, he could not hold back the tears as he told me how she pushed open the door and said, “Come in, my boy, I’d like to hear what you have to say.”

Whether gardening or playing, the Gándola children like being outside. They jump on their trampoline, ride bikes, and play in the trees. Shawn and Micah are great tree-climbers, and Danielle and Lucas like hunting for green pinecones. One day, their next-door neighbor pruned some branches that fell down in the Gándolas’ yard and formed a wall of leaves. Shawn made a hole through them to serve as a door, and he calls the leaf-wall his fort.

My mom passed away when I was 12. That’s when I started to have questions about what happens to families after this life. The priest at the church I attended told me that when we die, we will not have families. He said I will see my mother again, but I will not recognize her as my mom, and she will not recognize me as her daughter.
That was not the answer I had hoped for. I continued attending church with my family, but my questions persisted. I also wondered, “Where are the prophets? Where are the Apostles?”
When I turned 14, I searched “Jesus Christ” on the internet. It led me to a website for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Not long after that, two missionaries knocked on my door. They wanted to share a message about Jesus Christ. I invited them in and asked my father to join us.
The first question the missionaries asked me was, “Do you know that families can be eternal?”
I replied, “No, they cannot.” Then I told them what I had learned from my priest. After our discussion, I found the elders on Facebook. I watched videos of them saying goodbye to their families. I wanted to know why they had left their families to come to my country and why they believed as they did. I called the phone number they had left me and said, “Elders, I need to go to your church on Sunday.”
For two years, I attended church and met with the missionaries. My family, however, was not open to the Church. When I turned 18, I told my family I wanted to be baptized. I tried to share the gospel with them, but they were not ready.
In 2015, I was doing proxy baptisms in the São Paulo Brazil Temple. While I was there, a man asked me if I was preparing to serve a mission. I said I hoped to serve someday. Then he said, “I think you need to prepare to serve a mission and speak French.”
I thought to myself, “Why French? I’m from Brazil. How will I serve a French-speaking mission?” Nevertheless, because of that experience in the temple, I started studying French.
A few months later, I was at a bus terminal in São Paulo reading the Book of Mormon in French. When the woman next to me saw the book’s cover, she started speaking to me in French. I had been studying the language for only a few months, but I understood her perfectly!
To my surprise, she knew about the Book of Mormon because she had met the missionaries in Paris, where she lived. She asked me many questions about the Nephites and the Savior’s visit to the Americas. Inexplicably, I was able to speak to her as if I were speaking in my native language. I gladly gave her my Book of Mormon.
At the beginning of 2020, I went to England to study English through an exchange program. I met a girl there from Morocco. Her questions about why I didn’t drink alcohol led to a discussion about the Word of Wisdom, the Church, and the Book of Mormon. I showed her my Book of Mormon in French, and I was again able to answer questions about the gospel in French.
I realized that people need to know about the gospel and this special book in their own language and that I could use the Book of Mormon to be an instrument in God’s hands to help others.
Inaê Leandro (right) with one of her companions, Sister Wongsin Elisaia, while serving on Temple Square in Salt Lake City, Utah.
Later, when I opened my mission call, I learned I was going to Temple Square in Salt Lake City, speaking Portuguese.
“Really?” I thought. “Everyone there already knows about the Church, and they don’t even speak French in Utah.”
When I told my family, my father asked, “You are leaving your high school teaching job, your home, your career—everything—for a mission? How much will they pay you?” He was surprised when I told him I would pay for my mission myself.
At first, I didn’t know why I was called to Utah, but Heavenly Father knew where I needed to be. At Temple Square, I quickly learned that if you know 10 languages—or only 2 or 3—you can teach in all 10 languages there. My companions and I gave tours in Spanish, Portuguese, and English at Temple Square and at the Humanitarian Center at Welfare Square. We also taught online in different languages through the ComeuntoChrist.org website.
I have experienced the gift of tongues for myself. When we have the desire and the enthusiasm to learn a language, and if we work hard, God blesses us in miraculous ways that help us speak and understand.
“When we have the desire and the enthusiasm to learn a language, and if we work hard,” says Inaê, “God blesses us in ways that help us speak and understand.”
I love reading the Book of Mormon in other languages. Doing so helps my language skills and grows my testimony and understanding of gospel principles.
Whenever I called home on preparation day, I shared details about mission successes and experiences. I focused on what I had in common with family members, and they shared their travels and things that were happening at home. They even told me how they fed the full-time missionaries pizza because they had heard stories of nice people in Salt Lake City taking care of my companion and me.
It has been 16 years since my mother passed away. That was a difficult day, but I know that families can be eternal. I know I will see my mother again. I know she will recognize me as her daughter. Many people don’t have this knowledge.
That’s why I served a mission. That’s why I learned new languages. And that’s why I still try to help others find gospel answers for themselves.

Just a few weeks ago, I was working on my family history with a consultant by my side and another helper on the phone. On the computer screen before me was a problem beyond my mortal power to solve. I saw two names, sent to me by the wonders of technology, of people who might be waiting for a temple ordinance. But the trouble was that the names were different, but there was a reason to believe they might be the same person. My task was to determine what was true.
I asked my consultants to tell me. They said, “No, you must choose.” And they were completely sure I would discover the truth. The computer, with all its power and information, had left me the blessing of staring at those names on a screen, evaluating the available information, seeking other research, praying silently, and discovering what was true. As I prayed, I knew with surety what to do—just as I have in other situations when I needed to rely on heaven’s help to solve a problem.

As the day for the high school’s Sixties Dance approached, the Seminary Friends decided it would be fun to attend with their seminary partners. The group got together and made tie-dyed T-shirts, then organized van rides for the group of 24.
The evening was a success. The students jumped up and down together for the fast songs and held hands and danced in a big circle for the slow songs. Everyone had a good time.
For the special-needs students, the dance was a first, and their reactions were particularly enthusiastic. “My favorite thing was dancing with the boys,” says Jané Peart.
“It was my first date, but there were many, many girls,” signs Timothy Smith. “I like it because I’m a good dancer.”
“It was so fun to see Timothy smile and laugh and dance,” says Aundi Robison, one of the Seminary Friends. She is learning sign language to better communicate with her special-needs partner. “Timothy flexed his muscles for the girls. I’ve never seen him laugh so much.”

It seems like we’re always asking people in our ward (Centerville Fifth, Centerville Utah South Stake) to contribute something to the youth.
For example, as a Mia Maid, I’ve been to practically every home in the ward to see if we could wash their windows, or sell them pizza, or get the whole family to come to a fund-raising dinner. The Aaronic Priesthood does the same thing—they’ve tried power raking lawns, selling light bulbs, even holding “slave auctions.”
And the people in the ward do try to support us as much as they can. So our leaders suggested that it was about time we said thanks. What’s more, they even suggested a way—a car wash.
I can hear you already. A car wash. That’s not a way of saying thanks. That’s another fund-raising idea, and not a very original one at that. But this car wash wasn’t to make money. We were going to clean every car in the ward—for free.
“Think of it as our way of saying thanks to everybody who’s helped the youth,” said Nadine Taylor, our Young Women president. “It’ll make them happier the next time they see you at their door,” said Corey Stahle, the Young Men president at the time.
Our group response was about zero.
But our leaders persisted, and after distributing flyers, getting announcements in the ward bulletin and the ward paper, and making arrangements for water, soap, towels, vacuums, and buckets, we started making suds, and something magic happened.
One by one, cars pulled up, the cars of the same people who had purchased our pizzas or driven us to girls’ camp or coached our ball teams. One by one, we were able to tell them, “Thanks. No charge. This one’s for you.” And we even washed a couple of cars for people who happened by and thought it was a fund-raiser, people who aren’t even members of the ward. You can imagine how they reacted when we told them the service was free.
Oh yes, we had the usual water fights and chasing around. And granted, we didn’t wash every car in the ward. But we washed enough of them that people were talking about it for weeks. I guess we did something pretty good.

My brother, Greg, and I participated in the Hill Cumorah Pageant in New York for two summers. One summer, when I was about sixteen years old, I was really searching for a personal testimony of the truthfulness of the gospel. I thought that this would be the perfect time to get it. One night after the performance, I decided to go to the Sacred Grove alone. It was a beautiful, clear summer night. I thought, This is it—the place, the time. What more ideal setting could I have? I prayed for a long, long time—well over an hour. Nothing happened. I finally gave up and walked back to Palmyra, wondering, What did I do wrong or what didn’t I do right? What was missing?
I’ve since thought a lot about that experience. One of the lessons I learned from it was that you shouldn’t try to dictate to God the timing or the content of revelation. It was later that summer—when I was home by myself in a little basement bedroom, reading the Book of Mormon—that a witness came very powerfully. It just overwhelmed me. I know from that experience the truth of what Joseph Smith witnessed and the truth of the Book of Mormon and the reality of the Savior. That hasn’t been my only witness, but it was a great strengthening of my testimony.
I found that you don’t have to be in a special place to receive that witness. You will receive answers to your prayers if you are earnest and keep asking and searching. I’m glad now that my answer didn’t come to me when I first asked. I might have thought that you have to go to the Holy Land for a testimony of Jesus or to the Sacred Grove for a testimony of Joseph Smith. Anywhere in the world, the Lord will speak to you.

As spiritually uplifting as the youth conference was, it was still full of the kind of excitement and fun associated with any youth conference. During a practice take one afternoon, “Moroni” delivered his lines with stirring perfection. After he was finished, there was a moment of silence, and then an eruption of applause. Charlie Malolo, who played Anti-Nephi-Lehi, shouted above the clapping, “Moroni, I’d follow you anywhere!”

The two-day production ended with a battle scene at dawn. When the perfect light flooded the canyon where they were filming, the youth began to reenact a war. Suddenly, a “Lamanite’s” sword snapped in two. It was proof, said some of the “Nephites,” that the Lamanites were unjust in attacking the Nephites!

One of the most exciting things about the conference, of course, was the finished product. Instead of getting a traditional T-shirt or hat as a keepsake, the youth will have their own copy of the Book of Mormon movie to view again and again.

“I can’t wait to see the video when it’s done,” says Kelsie Cook. “I’m going to show it to my kids and grandkids and tell them that I learned the story and was part of reenacting it.”

There’s no doubt that this youth conference was a lot of work, and many leaders and youth sacrificed much to get ready. But being part of the reenactment made it all worth it.

“It is so impressive to see the story happen visually,” says Stacey. “It really helps me understand the Book of Mormon.”

I laughed at her. I couldn’t help it. She was so sweet and open and sincere. Even though she was four years younger than myself, she was probably the best friend I had ever had. She had introduced me to the gospel. She had changed my life. Lori was the only Mormon girl I’d ever known, and it seemed to me she was a pretty decent specimen of the ideal.
Last summer the library hired two new high school students, and Lori was one of them. Friendly and talkative, it didn’t take her long to establish herself on good terms with all the other workers or to make sure that everyone knew she was a Latter-day Saint. I had read about the Mormons and Brigham Young in the history books at school, but I didn’t really know anything. And I couldn’t understand why this girl made me feel suddenly so curious, so interested in something I had never even thought about before.
That was only a year ago. I marveled how one brief year could totally change a person’s life. Nothing was the same as it had been before I learned about the gospel and joined the Church. I was involved in different activities now and had different friends. I thought different thoughts and wanted different things. And I was happier, and more miserable, than I had ever been in my life.

In 1919, Abigail Kailimai was four years old. She lived with her mother and father and all her older brothers and sisters in the town of Hilo on the big island of Hawaii. From her house, she could see the beautiful ocean where seals, turtles, whales, and many colorful fish swam.
Towering over her town was the large mountain called Mauna Kea. Thick rain forests and green pastures grew between her house and the mountain. Abigail could sometimes see puffs of smoke in the sky from volcanoes on the other side of the mountain.
Her father often told her wonderful stories. Her favorite story was about the temple then being built almost two hundred miles away on the island of Oahu. Father told her how, long ago, Joseph F. Smith had come to Hawaii as a missionary. The year Abigail was born, he had returned as President of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and had dedicated a sugarcane field where the Church would build a temple. Father told her the ground there was now holy because the prophet had blessed it.
Father told Abigail how much the Hawaiian people loved President Smith. They called him Iosepa, the Hawaiian name for Joseph. Father’s eyes sparkled when he told Abigail what a wonderful place the temple would be. He promised to take her and her family to the temple when it was built so that they could be sealed together forever.
On Sundays, Abigail’s family went to church. Some people walked to church, and some rode horses. Father had an automobile. The whole family climbed inside it and rode to church. She loved learning about Jesus there. Her teacher often talked about the holy temple that was being built.
One day, Abigail’s mother told her the temple was almost finished! Their family needed to get ready to make the long journey there. Mother sewed new white dresses for Abigail and her sisters. They had been saving their money for a long time so that they could sail to Oahu.
Father told them that they needed to get ready to go to the holy temple in other ways, too. They needed to try to act as Jesus would, so that they would be worthy to go inside His house. Mother wrote down the names of her grandparents and great-grandparents and other relatives who had died so that they could be sealed to the family, too.
Finally the day came for them to leave. Abigail wore her prettiest dress and carried a small bag with her new white dress in it. Their friends came to give them flower leis to wear around their necks and to wish them a good journey. Abigail and her family climbed into the boat and were soon far out on the ocean.
Father showed Abigail how smoke and steam came out of the boat’s smokestack. The steam made the boat go. Abigail liked to watch the boat slice through the waves and to see the dolphins swimming alongside. After a very long day, they finally arrived in Oahu.
Abigail and her family went to the town of Laie, where the new temple had been built. One of the families living there invited them to stay in their home. Abigail shared a room where all the girls slept. In the morning, the children went outside and played in the sand dunes near the beach.
The next day, November 27, 1919, President Heber J. Grant came to dedicate the temple. Abigail could feel that the temple was a wonderful, holy place. After the dedication, the Saints held a luau, or big feast, to celebrate. They ate pork, chicken, fish, bananas, rice, and coconuts. They sang beautiful songs.
One week after the temple was dedicated, Abigail and her family went inside it to be sealed together. She wore her new white dress. Father told her that now their family could be together even after they went to heaven. Abigail felt so happy!

Each day at sunset, I sat on a rock looking out over the Pacific Ocean. I often imagined that on the other side of the water was our Heavenly Father’s temple, near which many of my brothers and sisters were living in happiness. I couldn’t help but weep, remembering the wonderful times I had had with my fellow Saints in the Saigon chapel.
From that day forth, our small branch awakened as if from a deep sleep. A presiding elder was chosen to lead us. We were able to communicate sometimes with the Church and other members through VASAA (Veterans Assisting Saints Abroad Association). I was finally given permission to leave Viet Nam. VASAA had helped to arrange with the Canadian and Vietnamese governments for my exit visa. My oldest son living in Toronto, Ontario, sponsored me.
Less than a year later, in March and April 1988, I was finally able to visit Salt Lake City for ten days and attend general conference. I met many friends, missionaries, and General Authorities. The first time I saw Temple Square I could not help but weep for my blessings. In the Tiger’s Den, it had been my greatest wish to see the temple. At last, I was able to receive my endowment in the Lord’s House.

Thirty years ago, as a branch president, I was interviewing a man and his wife. The wife was tearing down her husband: he had not been the provider she had expected; he had not been the companion she had dreamed about before her marriage; they could not communicate together without arguing and attacking one another.
Her husband loved her, and yet she hurt him. There were tears in his eyes as he absorbed the verbal abuse. I couldn’t take any more as a twenty-one-year-old branch president, and asked, “Why do you hurt this person who loves you the most? Why do you hurt a husband who would do anything to help you?”
Her answer startled me. “Oh, I guess we argue and injure those we love because we can hurt them the most.”
I have never forgotten that incident. There is truth in that example. We can’t hurt a stranger as much as we can a loved one. We know just what to do to hurt our companions, parents, or brothers and sisters. We know where they are vulnerable. We know how they can be hurt the most by our actions. To many it seems to be a test of faith in life to be wounded by those closest to us. Of Jesus it is said in Zechariah that when asked where he had received the wounds in his hands, he would say that he “was wounded in the house of [his] friends.” (Zech. 13:6.) Isn’t it true that God, our Father, and his Son grieve when we sin? When we fail to be obedient and accept the atoning sacrifice of our Lord, aren’t we hurting Him who loves us most?

Celie turned the butter knife over and leveled the top of a cup of flour. “I can make it flat with one try,” she told her grandmother.
“I think you’re going to be a baker when you grow up,” Grandma said, pitting the cherries. She pinched another plump cherry, and juice splattered all over her glasses. “Uh-oh. I’m going to need windshield wipers for my glasses if the juice keeps hitting me instead of the bowl.”
Celie laughed. “I can measure the flour, but I’m glad you did the seed part. That’s too messy.”
Grandma finished the cherries and walked over to check on the pie dough Celie was making. “It looks like there might be too much salt,” she said. “What did you use to measure it?”
Celie leaned over the bowl and stared at the mixture inside. A big tear slid down her nose. “I think I goofed. I put one cup of salt into the bowl instead of one teaspoon.”
Grandma wiped away Celie’s tear. “I know how to solve this problem. I have a great play-dough recipe that calls for lots of salt.”
Grandma pretended to have a magic wand and waved it over the bowl. “Poof, you’re now play dough—not pie dough.”
Celie giggled.
Grandma set aside the play dough. “I’ll help you start over with the pie dough. After we measure the dry ingredients, I will teach you how to cut in the shortening.”
“Cut it?” Celie asked. “With scissors?”
Grandma laughed. “No, I use a pastry cutter.”
“How are we going to get all those crumbs flat?”
“The rolling pin makes the dough smooth and round,” Grandma answered.
“You mean like when I roll clay into a long, round snake?”
Grandma chuckled. “No snakes in our pie.”
“You know what I like about cooking?” Celie asked, wiping the flour off her hands.
“Licking the bowl?”
“That’s second best,” Celie said. “Most of all I like doing things with you.”
Grandma squeezed Celie’s shoulder. “When I was a little girl my grandma taught me how to make tarts. They’re like miniature pies. While my grandma was busy peeling apples, I stuffed the tiny tart tins full of dough. I filled them so high there wasn’t room for the apple filling.”
“Did she get mad?” Celie asked.
“No, she showed me how to fix the tarts and rolled the leftovers into a ball. I got to play with it. She even let me sneak a taste of the dough.”
Grandma pinched off a piece from the edge of the cherry pie and popped it into her mouth.
“Grandma, you’re still sneaking it,” Celie said, shaking her finger.
Grandma laughed and gave her a hug.
Celie was quiet.
“What are you thinking?” Grandma asked.
“Your grandma taught you to make pies. And now you’re the grandma and you’re teaching me.”
“That’s right,” Grandma answered.
“Heavenly Father has a good plan,” Celie said. “He puts us in families. When I’m a grandma, I can teach my granddaughter to make a pie. If she puts in too much salt, I’ll turn it into play dough too.”
Grandma smiled. “We all make mistakes, Celie. Sometimes we have to do things over. Sometimes we just learn and go on. Mistakes help us grow.” Grandma sprinkled sugar over the pies and slid them into the oven. “Let’s go finish that play dough.”
Celie held Grandma’s hand and skipped to the counter.
“I’m kind of glad you put in too much salt,” Grandma said. “I think I’ll roll out a long play-dough snake.”
Celie laughed. “And I’m going to make some windshield wipers for your glasses.”

Five years after that war ended, the Korean War broke out. Our family had to leave our home in Seoul and move to the countryside. Things were hard for my parents—can you imagine trying to raise a family during a war? People were not properly fed because of the war conditions, and my mother became very sick from an unknown disease. Sometimes when the pain came, she would just be helpless. In my mind I can still hear her screaming because of the pain, and I still feel how awful it was not knowing how to help her.
One day an herb doctor told me that if I got a certain kind of herb for my mom, it would cure her. Another man told me where I could find this plant. So, because of the love I had for my mom, and my sympathy for her pain, I set out early one morning, without telling anybody, in search of this plant. My bicycle was very small and beat-up, with tires that didn’t fit; the road I had to travel was about twenty kilometers (over twelve miles) long. It included two steep hills, a creek, and a mountain. I had only the name of the plant and the general area in my mind.
To me the trip lasted almost forever—up and down, up and down on a dirt road. I found the general area, and when I explained to a man what I was looking for, he told me I needed to go to the home of one of the leaders in the community, who grew the plant in his garden for decoration.
It took me many more hours to get there, but finally I found the place and the plant, and I explained to the owner the purpose of my trip. He said, “Yes, it is true, that plant cures that kind of pain.” Even though I didn’t have any money, he gave the plant to me. I was so happy that I cried! I thanked him and very carefully tied the plant onto my little bicycle. I bowed many times to him for his kindness.
I started back home, down the mountain and across the little creek. About halfway up the first hill, my bike got two flat tires. I wasn’t a Christian then, and I didn’t know about the gospel, but I knew that there was a God who was the creator of all things. I said my own kind of prayer, as I had hundreds of times that day, and I know Heavenly Father heard me. He loves all His children, no matter what religion they are or what they believe. He answers our prayers if we are sincere and honest and say them with a righteous desire.
Heavenly Father answered my prayer that day, and I was able to make it home. When I arrived, exhausted and hungry, it was night; the trip had taken me the whole day. My parents had been terribly worried, even angry, especially because there was a war going on and it was dangerous. I quickly explained what I had done, and I showed them the plant. Then my dad cried, my mom cried, and I cried again. My mom was cured. She lived until 1991, the year I was called as a General Authority.
I don’t believe that it was only the plant that cured my mother. I believe it was mostly a blessing from Heavenly Father. That experience helped teach me the principle of prayer. It is my testimony that if we love God and do according to His teachings, nothing will be impossible if it is according to His will.

Not long after being called as a stake patriarch, one of us gave a 93-year-old sister her patriarchal blessing. The words pronounced in that blessing were a heaven-sent message of approval for a life well lived in valiant service to the Lord. More than reassurance, she was given additional counsel and direction for her life both here and hereafter. She was also told that the long-awaited reunion with her beloved eternal companion who had passed away years ago was not far off. Both she and the immediate family members present wept and embraced and celebrated her willingness to seek this revelation from the Lord.

Shortly thereafter, this stalwart sister passed through the veil.

I treasure the memory of that day when I began more fully to understand the power of a patriarchal blessing in whatever season of life it might be received.

Remember that those who climb to high places did not always have it easy. We are told that when Abraham Lincoln was a young man, he ran for the legislature in Illinois and was badly “swamped.”
He next entered business, failed, and spent 17 years of his life paying up the debts of a worthless partner. He fell in love with a beautiful young woman, to whom he became engaged, then she died. Entering politics, he ran for congress and was badly defeated. He tried to get an appointment to the U.S. land office but failed. He became a candidate for the U.S. Senate and was badly defeated. Then in 1856 he became a candidate for vice-president and was again defeated. In 1858 he was defeated by Douglas, but in the face of all this defeat and failure, he eventually achieved the highest success attainable in life and undying fame to the end of time. This was the Abraham Lincoln who was president of the United States. This was the Abraham Lincoln about whom numerous books have been written. This was the Abraham Lincoln who carved his own success out of the mountains of difficulty.

One day Kuha‘o’s friend Andy Thunell heard him playing and was impressed with his ability to play by ear. Andy wanted to document this feat, so he made a video recording of Kuha‘o listening to a song for the first time and then playing it right afterward. Andy posted this video on the Internet, and people were amazed. Since then, many people have taken notice of Kuha‘o, and he has started quite a career, including more online videos, performances, recordings, trips, and competitions, including one in which he won a $10,000 first prize—which he donated to the Hawaii Association of the Blind.

I had planned my entire life to serve a full-time mission. But when I went to college at Brigham Young University (Utah, USA), I started to get nervous. How could I know whether I was really supposed to serve a mission? I spent the year before my 21st birthday begging Heavenly Father to tell me if I should serve. Then one of my religion professors said something that changed my life: “The Lord can’t drive a parked car.” I decided to act.
I turned in my papers, received my call, bought missionary clothing, and drove home from Utah to North Carolina—all while preparing for my mission with earnest prayer, study, and fasting.
After I went home to North Carolina, a young man I had met at school flew out to visit me, and we talked seriously about our relationship.
My prayers became earnest and pleading again, but I continued to feel that the Lord trusted me to make my own decision. I felt the weight of responsibility but also the sweet assurance that as long as I chose in faith, the Lord would support my decision.
Ten days before I was to leave, my friend proposed. I postponed my mission to give myself time to think. When I decided to get engaged, the Spirit confirmed to my fiancé and me that it was right.
Although I didn’t serve a full-time mission, preparing for one changed my life. Drawing close to the Lord helped me become the person He needed me to be for my mission as a wife and mother.
Cassie Randall

How would you like to live in a schoolhouse? Minna and her family live in the countryside of southern Sweden. Their home used to be a schoolhouse many years ago. She says the best part is that the house has a room big enough for lots of people. In December, Minna’s family invites neighbors, friends, and family over for a special “sing-in.” About 80 people come to sing Christmas carols together. Then they enjoy treats before everyone goes back out into the cold Scandinavian winter weather.