Gospel Story Finder

In this next situation, Janet, as I will call her, was involved in serious transgression. After discovering that she was expecting a child out of wedlock, her bishop referred her to LDS Social Services. Instead of being condemned by staff personnel as she had feared, she found love and understanding—the love and understanding that she needed to help her repent. With the help of her bishop and the agency, she began to seek the Lord’s forgiveness. She was introduced to foster parents who lovingly accepted her into their home. She attended church regularly and studied the gospel. An unwed parents group sponsored by the Church helped her to realize the magnitude of her transgression and to resolve to start a new life. She began to more fully understand herself and her relationship to her Father in heaven.
“I went through an awful lot,” she recalled. “But I felt like such a load was lifted by being able to share the burden with those who understood. I’m so grateful for all the help I received from my Heavenly Father.”

My younger sister and I received our endowment together, just a few days before she left on her mission. I was excited to attend the temple with her, and I was ready to take the next step on the covenant path.
But that day, my emotions were everywhere. It was the end of summer. A daunting school semester loomed before me. In anticipation of moving back to college, leaving my family, and saying goodbye to my sister, I felt suddenly inconsolable.
And although the endowment ceremony was beautiful, it was a lot to take in. I understood very little and was ready to leave the moment the session ended.
My sister had a different experience. In the celestial room, she calmly and curiously asked my parents questions about the endowment and seemed to have grasped much more than I had. Meanwhile, I sat in a stupor of silence. I remember holding back tears of frustration and embarrassment that my experience was playing out so differently from hers.
I was momentarily tempted to feel bitter that I hadn’t had the experience I’d hoped for. But then I remembered two specific things that my temple preparation teachers had told me:
I would likely not understand everything that happened during my first endowment session. They told me that instead of trying to make sense of it all in the moment, I should try to focus on the peaceful feeling inside the temple.
I might leave the temple feeling spiritually tired and overwhelmed. And that was OK.
Their wise words slowed my spiraling thoughts and have stuck with me over the years. I believe the same counsel can help us as we reckon with expectations we have about other spiritual experiences, both inside and outside the temple.
I’m happy to say that I enjoy attending the temple now, and my understanding of the endowment has grown over the past few years.
Comparing my temple experience to my sister’s was discouraging for me. Because I didn’t want that first experience to get in the way of my enjoying the blessings of temple worship, I had to consciously decide to move past the differences in what my sister and I felt and understood that day.

When the class came back after lunch, the money jar was gone. The small fruit jar with a slit in the lid had been sitting on Ms. Adams’s desk for the past week. Her students had been dropping in pennies, nickels, dimes, and even a few quarters to be used to help a family in town pay its medical bills.
“I’ll bet Steve took the money,” Mike muttered just loudly enough for the rest of the class to hear him.
“Yeah, he probably did,” Ted agreed.
The class turned to look at Steve sitting near the back of the room. They waited for him to say something, but he just glared at them.
“Stop that right now!” Ms. Adams reprimanded them. “We don’t know who took the jar, and it’s wrong to accuse anyone.”
But everyone thinks I’m the thief, Steve thought.
On the bus ride home, a lot of students were looking at Steve and whispering. As he walked down the aisle to get off at his stop, Mike jeered, “What are you going to do with the money, Steve—spend it on candy and soda pop?”
The other kids all snickered. Steve began to answer Mike but instead quickly got off the bus and ran home.
“What’s wrong, son?” his mother asked as he slammed the door and threw his books in a chair.
Steve told her about the money jar. “Mom, I’m not happy at this school. I wish we’d never moved here. No one likes me. I’ve tried to make friends, but I just don’t fit in.”
“I know it can be hard when you have to leave old friends and make new ones.” Mom put her arm around him. “But you have to keep trying. Remember that most people are really good. You just have to give them a chance. You’ll see.”
“But how can I prove that I didn’t take the money jar?” He slumped into a chair.
“Maybe you can’t prove it,” Mom told him. “But you know that you didn’t steal the money, and that’s what’s really important.”
“I guess so,” Steve sighed, “but no one will ever want to be my friend if I can’t prove I’m not the thief.”
“All I can say now is to just hang in there. I have a hunch something good will happen.” Mom stood up and got her purse. “I haven’t forgotten that I owe you this for doing your chores.” She handed him a dollar bill. “Remember, it will have to last a long time.”
During school the next day, all Steve’s classmates shunned him—or worse. At times the taunting was almost more than he could bear. Still, his teacher did what she could to ease his load, and he thought a few of the kids were at least suspending judgment.
Just before lunch, as Ms. Adams was asking the class to start again with a new jar, Mr. Jones, the principal, walked in. He held out the missing money jar. “A friend stopped by yesterday, and I borrowed your money jar to show him what a good job this class is doing. Then I got busy after he left, and I forgot to bring the jar back. I’m sorry if the delay has caused any problems.”
“We are very glad to get it back,” Ms. Adams said, smiling at Steve. “We thought it had been stolen. I think that we’re learning a valuable lesson in why we believe that people should be considered innocent until they’re proven guilty.” She glanced at Mike, who looked very ashamed of himself.
Mr. Jones left, and Mike immediately raised his hand and apologized to Steve. And at lunchtime the others who had taunted him told him they were sorry for what they’d thought and said. Almost all of them suddenly wanted sincerely to be his friend.
When the class came back after lunch, they had another surprise—there was a dollar bill in the money jar!
“Well, what do you know,” Ms. Adams laughed. “This class is full of surprises. I wonder if we’ll ever find out who put in the dollar bill.”
“I’ll bet it was Mr. Jones,” someone said.
“Yes, you’re probably right,” others agreed out loud.
Steve just smiled. I know who put the dollar bill in the jar. And like Mom said, that’s what’s really important.

In Primary, Pilar’s teacher, Sister Solana, explained that the prophets have said we should try to be more like Jesus Christ. We should be kinder and more forgiving and treat others the way Jesus would treat them. Sister Solana asked the class to pick one day during the week and go through the whole day imagining what the Savior would do if He were there. The class members would report on the results the following week. Today was the day Pilar had chosen for the experiment.
When she got out of bed, she asked Heavenly Father to help her remember the experiment all day long. She was excited to see what would happen.
The first chance came as she waited at the corner for the bus. When the bus came, everyone pushed and shoved up the steps to get a good place to sit or stand. Usually Pilar pushed and shoved along with the rest of the crowd, but today she realized Jesus would not do that. She waited patiently for all the others to get on first. As the bus made other stops, she smiled brightly at the new passengers and made room for them to pass her and move into the bus. A few even smiled back.
When she got to school, she felt a bit happier inside than usual. Right away she noticed Juana, a girl nobody played with, standing by herself in a corner of the school yard. Thinking of the kindness of Jesus, Pilar went over by Juana and said, “Hello.”
Juana looked up. “What do you want?”
Pilar felt herself getting angry and wanted to storm away; then she remembered she was trying to act more Christlike. She quietly answered, “I was wondering if you’d like to jump rope with me until class starts.”
Juana’s face lit up. Her eyes sparkled, and she grinned the biggest grin Pilar had ever seen. They played happily until school started, and Pilar noticed Juana seemed happy the rest of the day.
When school let out at one o’clock, Pilar walked down the block to her favorite corner stand, where she always bought a fried sweet-potato sandwich to eat while she waited for her bus. As she turned and walked toward the bus stop, she passed a poor, elderly man she often saw. She had hardly ever given him much thought, but today she handed him her sandwich.
“Thank you,” he replied as she walked away. Somehow Pilar didn’t feel hungry at all on the way home.
When she got home, Mother was washing clothes in the big sink out back. Pilar offered to do the marketing. When she returned she helped Mother cook chicken and rice for lunch.
After lunch Pilar took a few mangos to an elderly neighbor. She decided to stay and visit instead of rushing outside to play with her friends. When she got up to leave, Sister Acuña tenderly took her hand and held on tight for just a moment. As Pilar looked into her face and saw her love, tears of joy began to swell in her own eyes. So far, today had brought Pilar more happiness than any day she could remember.
Later that night, however, her happiness turned to anger when she walked into her bedroom and saw her younger brother, Ricardo, accidentally knock her favorite vase to the floor. It broke into hundreds of pieces. She forgot all about the experiment. She screamed at Ricardo, then ran to tell her mother what had happened. Ricardo ran behind her crying, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” But Pilar was so upset she didn’t care how many times he said he was sorry.
Her mother swept up the pieces and took Ricardo to the other room. Pilar sat on the bed, angry and in tears. Until then, she had felt so good all day! Why did this have to happen? she asked herself.
A little while later, Pilar heard a soft knock at her door. “Come in,” she mumbled gruffly. In came Ricardo with a small, handmade vase in his hands. Pilar recognized it as the one he had made that year in school. She knew how proud he was of it and how he had planned to save it forever. He gently handed it to her. Her heart began to ache as she realized that forgiving Ricardo was what Jesus would do. She set the vase on her desk, smiled at Ricardo, and said, “Thank you, Ricardo. Let’s go outside and find some flowers to put in it.”
The next Sunday, when it was her turn to report on the experiment, Pilar recounted the things that had happened. She told Sister Solana and the class that the thing that surprised her the most was how happy she had been. That night as she prayed, Pilar promised Heavenly Father she would try to live more like Jesus every day, just as the prophets have said we should.

I am so thankful for “All Is Not Well” in the November 1997 issue. I, too, at one time was the only active member of the Church in my family. I know of the pain and frustration of an upset home. I found the strength to endure when I immersed myself into the gospel. Life was not easy during those years, but it was more than worth it. The struggle is worth it because today I know my Savior is real. There is hope. It took three years for my family to come back, but when we did we brought my sister-in-law as well. I want to thank the New Era for this article. The scriptures were my guide then and today I know how to use them as my guide home.
Name WithheldUtah

Recently, I witnessed a three-generation family participate in baptisms together for their ancestors. Even the grandmother participated—though she had some trepidation about going under the water herself. As she emerged from the water and hugged her husband, she had tears of joy. The grandfather and father then baptized each other and many of the grandchildren. What greater joy could a family experience together? Each temple has a family priority time to allow you as a family to schedule time in the baptistry.

After I got baptized, my boyfriend, JP (who was already a member of the Church), and I planned to get married, but we delayed our wedding day because I wanted to have a big celebration.
On Tuesday, January 12, 2010, my fiancé and I went to school to attend our classes. As I sat at my computer waiting for the professor to start class, the building started to shake. I didn’t dare run outside because the shaking was so terrible.
I stood in a corner and closed my eyes, praying to Heavenly Father in my heart: “Please give me a chance to marry JP in the temple.”
Moments later, the shaking stopped and I looked around. I couldn’t see anything because dust was raining down. I cannot remember how I got out of the room, but I eventually found myself outside. With tears in my eyes, I started screaming JP’s name.
I soon found JP’s sister. “He is OK!” she shouted. “He’s trying to help some students who are stuck under the rubble.”
I am not more special than others who were unable to escape, but I know that Heavenly Father answered my prayer. JP and I were married in the temple on April 6, 2010, a little more than a year after my baptism and almost three months after the earthquake. It was a day of peace and joy that I will never forget. We didn’t have a big party, but it was the most wonderful thing to me.
Marie Marjorie Labbe, baptized in Haiti in 2009

Here I recall a pioneer example of faith, commitment, and courage by some young men just about the age of our missionaries. A few months before the Prophet Joseph Smith was murdered at Carthage, some of his enemies plotted to kill him. As part of their plan, they sought to enlist others in their conspiracy. Among those they invited to a meeting in Nauvoo were two young men still in their teens, Robert Scott and Dennison L. Harris. Dennison’s father, Emer, was the older brother of Martin Harris, one of the Three Witnesses to the Book of Mormon. Being loyal to the Prophet, these young men immediately reported the invitation to Dennison’s father, who advised the Prophet Joseph and sought his advice. Joseph asked Emer Harris to request that the young men attend the meeting, pay strict attention to what was said, make no commitments, and report the entire matter to the Prophet.

As events proceeded, there were three meetings. They began by denouncing Joseph as a fallen prophet, proceeded to considering how Joseph could be overthrown, and concluded with specific planning to kill him. All of this the two young men reported to the Prophet Joseph after each meeting.

Before the third meeting, the Prophet foresaw what would happen and told the young men this would be the last meeting. He warned them that the conspirators might kill them when they refused the required oath to participate in the murderous scheme. He said he did not think the conspirators would shed their blood because they were so young, but he called upon their loyalty and courage in these words: “Don’t flinch. If you have to die, die like men, you will be martyrs to the cause, and your crowns can be no greater.” He renewed his original caution that they should not make any promises or enter into any covenants with the conspirators. Then he blessed them and expressed his love for their willingness to risk their lives for him.

As Joseph had foreseen, the third and final meeting required all present to unite in a solemn oath to destroy Joseph Smith. When the two boys refused, explaining that Joseph had never harmed them and they were unwilling to participate in his destruction, the leaders declared that since the boys knew the group’s plans, they must agree to join them or they must die on the spot. Knives were drawn.

Some protested killing the boys, especially since their parents knew of their presence, so their failure to return would cast suspicion on some of the conspirators. By the barest margin, the cautious course was chosen, and those who opposed killing prevailed. The boys were threatened with certain death if they ever revealed what had transpired in the meetings or who had participated, and they were then allowed to leave unharmed.

As the boys passed beyond the view of the guards, they were met by the Prophet, who was anxiously watching and praying for their safe return. They reported everything to him. He thanked and praised them, and then, for their safety, counseled them not to speak of this to anyone for 20 years or more.

“That wasn’t as bad as the year we wore Santa hats and pajamas,” I said.
“A horror show,” Lucy agreed.
Actually, it was our pressed pajamas and Santa hats. Mom decided to starch and iron all our pajamas and the effect was one of my older brother, Michael, Lucy, and me (Tyler wasn’t born yet) standing stiffly at attention in our cardboard nightwear.
“Cute, Matt. You looked pretty awesome in your fire truck jammies,” teased Nick Flander, who until that moment had been my best friend.
The list of disasters is long. One year we all looked fine, except for Lucy, who had her eyes closed and mouth wide open. Or the Christmas when we used a photo from our vacation at the beach, all of us in our swimming suits.
“I thought it would be different. Kind of cute,” Dad explained.
“Beach shots don’t cut it in December,” groaned Michael that year. At least this year he’s on a mission in Great Britain and mercifully out of reach of even the longest of my Dad’s lenses.
“Is there any way out?” Lucy asked sadly.
“I don’t think so. Pray for a miracle,” I answered. “It’s our only hope.”
It was Tyler who boosted my faith in divine intervention a couple of nights later. I was upstairs, deep into a college hoops game, when he came in.
“Can we talk, Matt?”
“Always. Trouble with homework? Depressed about the ozone layer? Need some advice about girls?”
“No, I was thinking about Christmas cards.”
That got my attention. “What about them?”
Tyler sighed. “Michael.”
The light bulb that occasionally doubles as my brain flickered to life. “Yeah. Michael. He won’t be in the picture this year. Doesn’t seem right, does it, bud?”
“Nope.”
I was sensing a good angle, one that would end our hopeless holiday tradition. “I’ll talk with Dad, as soon as I catch him in a good mood, like right after he eats dessert.”
Tyler looked a little happier. And I was feeling pretty good too. A foolish tradition of my father’s was about to come to a screeching halt. Now all I had to do was convince Dad that without Michael in the picture, we weren’t quite a family.
We have a spare bedroom in our house that through the years has evolved into the music room, the library, the den, and the sewing room. When Dad is doing some serious vegging out, he heads up there, which is what he did an hour after dinner the following night. The timing felt right. I gave Tyler a thumbs up, then trudged up the stairs. Dad was sitting in an old chair, listening to ancient music from the ’70s.
“Welcome to the inner sanctum,” he greeted me, sounding fairly relaxed for a parent.
“Hi, Dad.” My strategy was simple: link this all up to Tyler. That way if Dad got ticked, I just tell him it’s all his last-born child’s idea, and I skate home free, since parents hardly ever get upset with the baby of the family. “Dad, can we talk about Tyler for a second?”
“Sure. What’s up?”
“He’s worried about the Christmas card. He doesn’t think we should have a family picture this year because Michael is in London.” Then, feeling a surge of nobility, I lowered my voice and quietly said, “I kind of agree with him, Dad.”
Dad sat up in his chair. “You kids don’t really like the idea of a family photo, do you?”
“I think we’d like to try something else, something more contemporary. Like what other families do.”
He looked serious. Very serious. “Could be that I’ve had my blinders on,” he said slowly. “I’m not the best photographer in the world. I know that. I always thought the cards were kind of cute. Maybe it wasn’t the picture itself, just that we always were together in the photo. I suppose things change.”
This was too easy. “Change is good, Dad,” I reminded him, going for the jugular. “I think it says so in the Old Testament. Or Brigham Young said something like that.”
He took off his glasses and rubbed his chin. “Still …”
The word still made me nervous. If there is one word that throws fear into the lives of teenagers everywhere, it is still when a parent is on the verge of making a wise and favorable decision. In this case, it signaled that Dad had not been totally swayed by my logic and eloquence. The sweet feeling of victory was slipping through my grasp.
“Still,” he repeated, and I felt doom encircling me, “let’s try one more year, at least. Michael may need it. Next year, we’ll buy boxed cards if you kids don’t want the family photo. Can you live with that, Matt?”
Partial victory, at least. One more year, then the family Christmas photo would be history.
“Okay, Dad. One more year.”
“We’ll take care of it on Saturday then.”
“But not in the mountains.”
“No, not in the mountains. I’ve got somewhere special planned.”
I didn’t even ask where. I wanted to hurry out of the room and give the news to Tyler and Lucy, before he could change his mind.
In our front yard is an old oak tree, and since we’d had a mild autumn, some of the leaves were still hanging from it. When I finally got up on Saturday and made my way downstairs, I was startled to see the tripod set up underneath the oak’s long, graceful branches. Dad’s special place was right at home. An hour later, we stood under the tree while he fiddled with his camera and made all the final adjustments.
“I hope nobody sees us out here,” Lucy whispered.
“Better than being in a blizzard,” I replied.
“Okay, everyone, straighten up. Everything is set. Here I come!” Dad said exuberantly. “Now one, two, three, everyone say, CHEESE!”
What can I say? The photo was great. It was perfect. Against all odds, defying all Andrews family tradition, Dad managed to get us in focus with our eyes open, and all of us looking natural and happy. Set against the oak tree, with our red and green sweaters and Tyler’s stocking cap, we managed to look right in step with the season.
“Guess it was bound to happen some year,” Dad mumbled, looking over the photos in an unconvincing attempt to sound humble.
“Miracles still do happen,” Mom chimed in.
“Can we send this to Michael? I think he’ll like it even if he isn’t in it,” Tyler said.
“Michael will get the very first one,” Mom promised.
We didn’t have long to wait before hearing Michael’s opinion about the Christmas card. Ten days before Christmas, a letter arrived. Mom tore it open as soon as she came in from the mailbox.
Dear Mom, Dad, Matt, Lucy, and Tyler,
I can’t tell you how neat it was to see the Christmas card photo. It looked great, even if I wasn’t part of it. Maybe I’m the reason they never seemed to turn out very well!
We’d had a rough day. It was dark, windy, and cold, and we didn’t have much luck with the work. We had so many doors slammed in our faces that my companion and I joked about needing plastic surgery to straighten out our noses. Anyway, we picked up our mail at the post after lunch, and I jammed your letter into my overcoat pocket.
It was on the bus that I opened the letter. When I saw you standing in front of the tree in our yard, I started to giggle. A woman sitting across the aisle said something about how I must be reading a nice letter. I showed her the card, and she was impressed by the photo. One thing led to another, and we’re going by her home to drop off a Book of Mormon tomorrow. Who knows if anything ever comes of it, but it wouldn’t have happened if a certain photo of a good-looking family hadn’t appeared in the mail.
Mom set down Michael’s letter. “Maybe we should try the photo again next year.”
Nobody disagreed. “But no train jammies,” I said. “I draw the line there.”
“No pajamas, Matt,” Dad nodded. “Same deal though. If the photo isn’t acceptable to everyone, we won’t use it. We’ll work hard to make it a decent picture.”
That evening, I walked into the spare room. Dad was on the floor, leafing through the family Christmas photo album. He flipped to the first page. “Look at this, Matt. See something?”
I squinted at the picture, faded after more than 20 years. “You and Mom. In front of your old car.”
“What else?”
“Well, Mom had long hair, and you had more hair …”
“Anything else?”
I studied the photo. Two people. My parents, soon after they were married. The first Andrews family Christmas card. No children back then. A long way from our family as it was today.
Or was it?
Whether it was two Andrews, six Andrews, or just five Andrews with one on a mission, it was still our family. The Christmas photo was about tradition, togetherness, the season of the year, and the way we celebrate it, and not so much the photo itself. This was a history of our family, a year at a time, right at our fingertips. An occasional brush with frostbite and teasing from our friends seemed a small price to pay for the treasure at hand. We would look through these photos someday and all laugh or cry, watching our family change from year to year. Someone would notice Michael was missing from this year’s photo and certainly say, “Oh, that was the year he was on his mission. Whatever happened to the woman he met on the bus?” What great Christmas memories.
“See anything else?” my father gently asked.
“What I see is a family, no matter how many people are there. I see a lot of what Christmas is about.”
And as I said so, for the first time, I got the distinct feeling that I was not looking at just a photo but seeing the whole picture.

Recently I participated in a pioneer trek with young men and young women in our ward. Each morning I asked myself, “What is my sacrifice? How do I come after them?”
On the second day of the trek we had pulled our handcarts eight miles (13 km) when we came to a place on the trail called “the women’s pull.” Men and women were separated, and the men were sent ahead up a hill. As we started to pull our handcarts, I looked up to see our priesthood brethren, young and old, lining both sides of the trail, hats off in respect for the women.
The path was easy at first, but soon we were in deep sand, and the hill grew steep. I had my head down and was pushing with all my might when I felt a tug on the cart and looked up to see Lexi, one of our young women and my neighbor. She had pulled her handcart to the top and, seeing our need for help, ran back. When we reached the top, I wanted so much to run back to help those following me, but I was breathing heavily and my heart was pounding so hard, the words heart attack entered my mind more than once! I watched with gratitude as other young women dropped their handcarts and ran to help.
When everyone reached the top, we took some time to record feelings in our journals. I wrote: “I didn’t prepare well enough physically so didn’t have the strength to help those following me. I may never need to pull a handcart again, but I never want to let my sisters down spiritually, never!”
It was a sacred experience that awakened me spiritually to my duties to my family and others. Throughout our journey I reflected on what I had learned.
Lining both sides of the trail were faithful, obedient, covenant-keeping men. Their priesthood power—the power God uses to bless all His children—lifted, strengthened, and supported us. They were a reminder that we are never alone. We can have this power with us always as we keep our covenants.

Her dad used to help run the family grocery store. “Karissa liked to come to the store with me,” he said, “and she always put on a green apron just like mine.” Once a man from the ward came into the store. Even though Karissa didn’t know him, she treated him like a friend. When he left, she stood in front of the door and teased, “You can’t leave until you say the magic word!” The magic word was “pretty please.” “Karissa isn’t scared of anyone,” her parents agree. “Age makes no difference. Everyone is her friend.” Right now she is learning to cook. She likes cracking eggs for a recipe best. She is also learning to play the piano. She can sing her favorite hymn, “I Stand All Amazed,” from memory, and she looks forward to being able to play it all the way through on the piano. “She is the first one to start singing ‘I Love to See the Temple’ whenever we drive past one,” her mom says. When Karissa visited her Grandma and Grandpa Burrup in Richland, Washington, she was able to see the Columbia River Washington Temple being built. The construction workers offered her a piece of granite from the temple walls to take home. Karissa doesn’t give up when problems arise. At a ward Christmas party, she was invited to sing a musical number. As she climbed onto the platform, she slipped and fell. Primary leaders rushed to help her, but before they could, she had already climbed back up. She sang her song the way she lives her life every day—with a smile.

While attending the University of Utah, Elder Schmeil met Alessandra Machado Louza, a student at Brigham Young University, at a devotional. “When we met for the first time at the devotional, she totally ignored me,” he said. But for him, it was love at first sight.
They were married in the São Paulo Brazil Temple in July 1994 and finished their studies in the United States. They returned to Brazil for 20 years before moving to Colorado, USA, and then to Florida, USA. Elder and Sister Schmeil are the parents of two children.

Crack!
“Oops …”
“Ah! Why me?!?”
“Mami, what’s wrong?”
“Abuela is sick.”
“Why is everything so hard? Why are so many bad things happening?”
“I think we could both use a walk.”
“Oh, Eduardo, it’s going to be OK. But remember what the Lord says: ‘Fear thou not; for I am with thee: be not dismayed; for I am thy God: I will strengthen thee’ (Isaiah 41:10).”
“Will Abuela get better?”
“I hope so, but I also believe that Heavenly Father knows what’s best.”
“Thanks, Mami. I needed that.”

Yes, the older and more established members of the Church play a most important role in helping you, the new member, come into the kingdom and find your way. A recent convert, Alan John Nubeck, reflects on the recent conversion of his family and the role older members played.
“One of the greatest things that helped us to join The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was a meeting on a Thursday evening before our baptism. We were met by a family who they found had a lot of things in common with us. They talked about our pending baptism and explained things to us.
“When we went to our baptism, they greeted us at the door and said they were going to attend our baptism. It was quite an assurance for me to enter the waters of baptism and look up and see faces of friends.
“After joining the Church, they helped us in church meetings by sitting beside us with other families, and the spirit we felt from them was tremendous. They also helped to explain the various doctrines of the Church and helped us with our scripture studies. They fellowshipped us on weekdays and weekends and especially in family home evenings and helped us to design a special family home evening for our family. After fast and testimony meetings at church, we would attend a meeting at their home in which they invited other members of the Church to meet us. Even now they still remain our companions and still explain things we don’t understand.
“I know through this fellowshipping that this is the true Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”

Cheery music plays on the radio. Colored lights twinkle on our Christmas tree, and lighted candles gleam in the kitchen. The smell of homemade pizza slowly fills the house.
I feel like jumping and squealing, but Mommy asks, “Will you please set the table?” So I set seven places—one each for me, Mommy, Daddy, Great-Grandma, Uncle Phil, Heather, and Stacie. Tonight they are coming for dinner. After we eat, I can play with my cousins until bedtime. I can’t wait to show them my favorite dolls!
Soon the doorbell rings. Uncle Phil helps Great-Grandma through the door. “What are you doing up so early?” he teases in his loud, jolly voice. I giggle. He always says this, even when it’s late. Great-Grandma kisses me on the cheek and says, “Hello, sweetheart.” She always says this too.
I sit between my cousins, and Daddy asks a blessing on the food. We eat and laugh, and I am happy that Mommy has saved me five whole olives. I put them on my fingertips, then eat each olive one by one.
After dinner, I tug Stacie’s arm. “Do you want to play dolls?” She shakes her head and follows Uncle Phil into the living room. “Will you play dolls with me?” I whisper to Heather. But she follows Stacie.
“Let’s sing Christmas carols!” Mommy says, pulling back the piano bench. Laughing and clapping, we sing “Jingle Bells” as loud as we can. We sing “Hark the Herald Angels Sing” and “Deck the Halls.” I don’t know all the words, so I hum and clap until I’m tired.
“Do you want to play dolls now?” I ask Stacie.
“No,” she says. “I want to keep singing with Great-Grandma.”
My throat feels tight. Soon big tears roll down my cheeks.
“What’s the matter?” Daddy asks, leading me away from the piano.
“I want to play with Heather and Stacie,” I cry. “I’m bored!”
“But, sweetie,” Daddy says, “Great-Grandma would be bored without you.”
I frown and wipe my eyes.
“See how happy she is,” Daddy says. “She loves you. She likes spending this special time with us, singing her favorite songs.”
I watch Great-Grandma sing. She smiles at me, her eyes shining like twinkling Christmas lights. I walk over to the couch and snuggle next to her. “Hello, sweetheart,” she whispers, putting her arm around me.
Mommy starts playing “Silent Night,” and I sing along.
I don’t want to jump and squeal anymore. But I don’t want to cry either. Playing dolls doesn’t sound as fun as I listen to our reverent voices. I feel calm, happy, and warm—like gleaming candles on a winter night.

Sarah Thomas, a recent convert, enjoyed visiting the Hill Cumorah before she was a member of the Church. She often went to the hill to watch the sunset, and she felt the influence of the Holy Ghost there, without knowing what she was feeling. “I loved being there, even though I didn’t know why,” she says.

Now as a member of the Church she knows why: “The Spirit there is so great. It’s where Moroni buried the Book of Mormon. I had no idea how incredible and important these Church-history places are. I feel very blessed to live in an area where I can visit them.”

Sabine’s joy has expanded as her own testimony of the gospel has become strong. “I felt I had to know for myself if what I believe is the right thing. I also decided to receive my patriarchal blessing. I did a lot of praying and searching and talking to people and asking questions and finding out for myself. But everything fits. You get this feeling inside that, of course, this is the right thing. It is so amazing.”
One scripture that especially speaks to Sabine is in Doctrine and Covenants 88:63. [D&C 88:63] It talks about seeking and finding, asking and receiving the answers, knocking and opening. For her, it works. “It’s so clear. If you do this, that will happen.” And as Sabine finds the answers and draws near to the Lord, she brings her friends with her, introducing practically everyone she meets to the gospel. Missionary work is so natural to her; it’s just a part of her life.

For many New Caledonian young adults, their missions help prepare them for a lifetime of Church service. Syoelanne (Syo) Ulivaka received a call to serve as second counselor in the bishopric only a week after being released from his full-time mission. “I had just finished my mission,” Syo says. “I was tired, and I had told myself, now I’m going to rest.” But he still accepted the call. “I realized I’ll go where the Lord wants me to go. I’m in His service—not just for two years, but for life.”
Since he served in the bishopric, Syo has now gotten married, has a child, and has moved to a different ward. But he continues to serve and fulfill his Church callings.
Elder Earl C. Tingey, emeritus General Authority Seventy, told young adults: “A Church calling is one of the most wonderful blessings you can enjoy at your stage of life. You have so much to contribute to the ward or branch where you live. Your talents and skills are necessary to a growing Church.”3 Syo isn’t the only young adult on the island whose skills have been put to use to help the growing Church—other young adults serve in almost every capacity at the ward and stake level. Syo says, “We try to bring back the things we’ve learned on our missions to strengthen our stake and our wards.” These young adults make many sacrifices in order to strengthen the kingdom in their home country, but as Syo remarks, “what we sacrifice is mostly our time.”
Some young adults have two or even three callings. “That can be a blessing for them, but it can also be a burden,” says Syo, as many struggle to balance the demands of young adulthood with their Church responsibilities. “It’s hard to do everything at the same time.” But Syo found that when he put the Lord first, the rest was easy to accomplish. He says, “The Lord has helped with everything else—school, finding a wife—it was all in the Lord’s hands.”
Syo recognizes that, when it comes to serving the Lord, “We are His tools.” In these times of Church growth, the Lord will call upon the Saints of all ages, everywhere, to accept responsibilities to build and strengthen His kingdom. Are we ready to answer that call?

When I was deciding if I should serve a mission, I was called to serve as a digital missionary in my home ward. In this calling, I was asked to share the gospel on social media by posting uplifting messages about Jesus Christ. I wanted to do my best, so I posted conference quotes, scriptures, and gospel insights on Instagram every day.
On most of my posts, I got likes and comments from people I knew, but there were also times when I would get likes and comments from people I didn’t know. One time, I shared part of an address by Elder David A. Bednar of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles about the principles of Jesus Christ’s gospel. A girl I didn’t know saw the post and reached out to me. Her name was Emma (name has been changed). She was a college student in England and had been searching for truths and more meaning in her life.
When Emma saw my post, she searched for and read the full talk by Elder Bednar and felt a deep desire to learn more. So, she started messaging me to ask questions about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and what I believe as a member. We had some insightful discussions as she expressed her interest in the gospel.
Over time we continued to reach out to each other and get to know each other. Eventually she became more and more interested in the Church, and I explained how she could get in touch with missionaries in her area. Soon she was meeting with them often!
After a few months of being taught, Emma accepted the invitation to be baptized, and she became a member of the Lord’s Church. She struggled for a while with difficult family relationships because of her desire to join the Church, but I was amazed by her courage and faith to keep moving forward with hope in Christ. Today, she loves the gospel and is so thankful for the effects it has had on her life.
Before I became connected with Emma, I had been contemplating serving a mission but had felt so uncertain and insignificant. I didn’t feel that my efforts to share the gospel would make a difference for anyone. But seeing how much Emma’s life changed simply because a stranger like me posted a message about Jesus Christ on social media, I was filled with hope that my desire to share the light of Christ as a full-time missionary and as a disciple of Jesus Christ could truly change people’s lives and bring them to Christ.
Emma and I continue to encourage each other and are now both serving full-time missions.
I know that Heavenly Father inspired me to post that original message from Elder Bednar on social media. The message was small and simple, but that’s all it took for Him to work a miracle.

It was December 23rd. The mall was dead after an exhausting day. My legs ached after walking the aisles all day at the music store where I worked.
My heart was warmed by the true spirit of Christmas evidenced by the light and laughter dancing in people’s eyes as they searched for gifts to show their love to those they adore.
I had also discovered the joy of giving. My only problem was I didn’t like shopping. Why was I working at the mall, then? The employee’s discount helped.
After the metal gate was partway down, signaling that we were closed, I got out the CDs I had selected for my brother and sister. I had tucked away the exact amount. It was the last of my money until my next paycheck. The money, $26 and change, was all I had and all I needed.
Just as I was about to complete my transaction, a little girl walked in. She was so little she had no need to duck under the metal gate.
I put down my CDs and asked, “Can I help you?”
She explained that her little brother wanted a popular cartoon video for Christmas, but all the stores were sold out.
“Well,” I said, “you’re in luck.”
Her face brightened as she exclaimed, “You mean you have one?”
It was always a fulfilling thing for me to take the customer right to the item they had been searching for. Straight to the video we went.
She saw it and ran toward it before I had a chance to get it. “This is the one I’ve looked for!” Carefully she turned the video over, looking at the cartoon figures on the back. It was then that I saw the price: $24.99.
Her eyes also migrated to the price sticker. “Is this enough?” she innocently asked, holding out her mittened hand that clasped some very crumpled dollar bills and change.
I took the warm dollars and smoothed them out slowly, hoping that they would multiply themselves somehow.
“Is it enough?” she asked again. I didn’t say anything. How could I tell her?
Large tears welled up in her eyes as she realized why I kept silent. Discouragement washed over her face. With a sigh she asked, “What can I buy with this much?”
In the store there was no gift that six dollars and some change could buy—trust me; I looked. The only option, if she was to have her video, was for me to help her pay for it. Yet, if I did that, I would then be in her predicament: no presents with only six dollars and change.
A scripture came to my mind: “Knowest thou the condescension of God?” (1 Nephi 11:16). In my mind, I envisioned Christ descending from His heavenly throne, causing the tears of our shortcomings to be turned to tears of joy through His Atonement and payment of our deficit.
For the little girl it may have only been a moment, but for me that time of contemplation was a turning point. I saw a level of the glad tidings of great joy that I had left undiscovered.
I got down on my knees, at her level, and said, “You know, there is a way your brother can have his movie.”
A huge smile banished all sorrow from her face. “How?” she asked.
I took the clean, crisp $20 bill from my wallet and handed it to her. Through my new perception, I happily and thankfully watched her skip to the counter. Already on my knees, I took the opportunity to thank Heavenly Father for my Savior and His gift, which He taught me affectionately that night.
Can you put a price on a great understanding of the Atonement? I think not. I still lacked gifts for my siblings, except for some cheap demo CDs the music store was giving away. Though they weren’t what I had originally wanted to give, what they represented to me made them the best presents I’ve ever given.