Gospel Story Finder

It was too late to stop. As I crashed into the car in front of me, the splinter of glass and crumple of metal dimly registered, an echo of my own shattered breathing.
I started to cry, and my brother Rob said, “It’ll be okay, Alanna. Everything will be all right.” But everything was not all right. I had caused a four-car accident.
Minutes later, a policeman told me no one was seriously hurt. Fortunately, everyone involved was wearing seatbelts. A paramedic treated me for minor cuts, and after I complained of a sharp pain in my neck, I was put on a stretcher.
On the ride to the hospital, a paramedic said, “Alanna, you’re a very lucky girl.”
Lucky? I was strapped in a stretcher with my neck immobilized in a brace. I had totaled my dad’s car, and was responsible for the damage to three other cars. How could he say I was lucky?
“The only reason you’re still alive is because you were wearing your seatbelt,” he added.
For as long as I can remember, my parents stressed the importance of wearing seatbelts. Because of my parents’ example, I wore my seatbelt without fail. This one small act may have literally saved my life.

A few years ago when I was in Alaska, I met two elders. One had been converted about three years before in England and was now an excellent missionary.
The other elder was Jewish and had been converted only a year or two before. He said that one day, while he was at the beach in Santa Monica with some friends, he lay down to rest on a blanket. Another young fellow in the group—one whom he did not know well—came and sat by him. This stranger asked him if he would listen to an interesting story. The missionary then told me that for the first time in his life he heard about the Prophet Joseph Smith, the restoration of the gospel, and the Book of Mormon. He knew it was the truth and in a matter of three or four weeks he was ready to join the Church.
These two young missionaries in Alaska were heroes to me in a way. But the real hero was the boy on the beach in Santa Monica who had the courage to bear his testimony and tell that great story that changed the life of a fine young man.

During World War II he had served in an infantry battalion in an area where constant combat covered the earth with blood, pain, and death. His squad was commanded by a sergeant who had earned the hatred of his men through extraordinary harshness. One terrible night a mortar shell exploded not far from the sergeant, critically wounding him. The commanding officer stopped a dilapidated truck that often passed by to pick up the wounded and dying and take them behind the lines to be cared for or buried.
The squad watched the fate of their dying leader from a distance. Not one went to help him. The officer asked for a volunteer to carry the man to the truck and accompany him behind the lines. No one volunteered.
Then, after something of a pause, Brother Thamas stepped forward. “Moved by compassion,” he told us, “I decided to carry the unfortunate fellow and go with him on his trip. I took care of him the best I could during his long and painful ride.
“I returned later in search of my squad. When I reached the front, I learned that fierce bombardment had wiped out a large number of men on the awful night of my departure. Not one man from my squad had survived apart from myself. And then I understood. I thanked God for having moved me to compassion. He saved my life and gave me a chance to hear the restored gospel.”

One Saturday a schoolteacher knocked on our door to talk to my father about my nephew. I found myself looking at a book he held, A Marvelous Work and a Wonder. Seeing my interest, he offered to leave the book. He also said I could attend a study group.
I spent almost the whole night scanning the book, stopping to take notes whenever I came across something new. Although I did not fully understand the doctrine, I felt no doubt about its truthfulness. I had a feeling of joy—as if I were discovering a genuine gem among thousands of imitations.
The next evening I joined five other people in a study group at the home of Mr. Kasongo. He had been doing research when he came across a book about American churches. “My heart pounded as I read the name of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints,” he said. After writing to the Church’s headquarters, he received some literature—including A Marvelous Work and a Wonder by Elder LeGrand Richards (1886–1983) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles.
For two years, our group met twice a week. When missionaries, Elder Roger L. and Sister Simonne B. Dock, arrived in March 1987, 50 people were studying together.
The Docks began teaching the missionary discussions in French in the public school. Because some people spoke only Swahili, I interpreted. I heard the missionary discussions for the first time myself while interpreting.
On 9 May 1987 I was one of 80 people baptized in a pool at an abandoned copper mine. For me, baptism was an outer confirmation of an inner conversion that had taken place years earlier. I had been waiting for this sacred ordinance so I could officially become a member of the Church.
I have received so many blessings—among them the time I spent translating for couple missionaries. They are as dedicated as if the Master Himself were physically beside them.
I thank my Heavenly Father for these rich experiences and for the opportunity my wife, Jolie Mwenze, and I have to raise our son in the Church. And particularly I thank Him for sending me the gospel—a gem beyond price.

I went through a period when I had been involved in some bad things that I knew required a confession to the bishop. I was very fearful of going through with what I new was right. Instead of just confessing, I quit going to church because I didn’t feel comfortable there. I quit praying because I felt unworthy. I got involved in other more serious activities that would also require a confession.
Please believe that no matter what you have done, no matter how scared you are of going to the bishop, living with it by yourself is a lot worse than confessing. My bishop told me that nothing could make my Heavenly Father change the way he feels about me. No matter how terrible the act, he will always love the person.
Actions taken by the bishop are for your benefit. Being asked to not partake of the sacrament or go through a period of probation might seem stringent, but it will be most beneficial to you if you accept it as something that will be helpful.
Please don’t live with your secret alone. Go talk to the bishop. He is your friend.
Name withheld

When I was a child, my dad made decisions that hurt our family. After years of prayer, counseling with church leaders, and other resources, my mom filed for divorce.
Despite her struggles, my mom remained faithful in the gospel, and three years after her divorce, she remarried in the temple to my stepdad. They are two of the most Christlike people I have ever known, and I was lucky to be raised by them.
Growing up with divorced parents was difficult. My dad remarried, and I enjoyed spending time with my stepmom and her kids. But even in the best of times, I carried the weight of my family’s situation.
I worried about my future family. I was afraid my marriage would fail and cause me so much pain. This fear made me extra careful when I started dating in high school. I didn’t want my heart broken, which made it impossible to open myself up to people, even to my good friends. When I went to college, I guarded my heart. I was extremely cautious and most of the time never made it past a first date because I was terrified. I thought I would never get married.
My fears about commitment took another bad turn when my dad got divorced a second time.
I was heartbroken by the news. I had suppressed my feelings about my parents’ divorce for most of my life out of love for my dad, but this news made all my anger, sadness, resentment, abandonment, and pain come out.
As I prepared to leave on my mission soon after, I counseled with Heavenly Father to help me let go of the hurt and have hope for a future marriage. I learned that healing takes time and continually seeking the Savior.
I carried that hope of healing with me throughout my mission, and I was blessed to meet people from all walks of life who could empathize with my struggles. These people helped strengthen my faith to trust in what the Savior could do for me.
But then I had a companion I struggled to get along with. After a hard day of disagreements, I wondered if the contention I had with my companion was a sneak peek at my future marriage.
“If she got tired of me in just a few short months, will my future husband dislike me too after marriage?” I thought.
Shortly after coming home from my mission, I remembered what I learned from the wonderful people on my mission. I was hesitant at first, but I relied on the Savior to help me overcome my fears and start dating again. It took some time, but I eventually got engaged to my best friend from high school. He knew everything about me, including my fears and my experiences, and I was overjoyed to be with him.
But I was terrified. He was one of the kindest, most thoughtful people I knew, but I still worried that my marriage would fail as my parents’ did. My faith in an eternal marriage was faltering.
With these thoughts swirling around in my head, I turned to prayer and was prompted to talk to my mom about her experiences. I asked her why it was worth getting married when I could avoid the potential pain by not getting married.
That’s when my mom bore her powerful testimony of the Atonement of Jesus Christ. She reminded me that no matter how we struggle in life, the Savior is always there to buoy us up. If we trust in Him, then we have no reason to fear for the future.
My mom’s advice brought Doctrine and Covenants 6:36 into my mind, which says, “Look unto me in every thought; doubt not, fear not.”
If we live in fear of what could happen, we will never get to experience anything, good or bad. The whole point of being here on earth is to have a body and to be tested, but the Lord also wants us to experience the great joys that He has in store for us.
A few months later as I focused on Christ and pressed forward with faith, my husband and I were sealed in the temple. Even though we have our challenges, we focus on Christ. Keeping Him at the center of my life and my marriage has made all the difference, and I have experienced more joy than I thought possible. My life has gotten better every time that I’ve put my trust in the Lord over my fears.
President M. Russell Ballard, Acting President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, recently taught: “There is hope in the Lord Jesus Christ. There is hope for all in this life. There is hope to overcome our mistakes, our sorrows, our struggles, and our trials and our troubles. There is hope in repentance and being forgiven and in forgiving others. I testify that there is hope and peace in Christ.”1
As we keep our covenants and strengthen our faith in Him, I know that He will bless us. I am so thankful for His Atonement, which has allowed me to heal from my trials and my past, and has given me the strength to experience courage, hope, and anticipate miracles in my future. When we keep Him as our focus, regardless of our fears, we can always have hope for our eternal relationships.

The day President Howard W. Hunter died was a memorable one for all the Hinckley grandchildren. They were saddened that President Hunter had served such a short time. And they were a little apprehensive because of the great responsibility their grandfather would take on. They knew that as President of the Quorum of the Twelve, their grandfather would become the next President of the Church.

Joseph and Spencer Hinckley were on a backpacking trip with their dad. “We were driving into a town,” says Joseph. “All the flags were at half-mast. As soon as he saw the flags, Dad knew exactly what had happened. He kind of took a deep breath.”

At the solemn assembly when President Hinckley was sustained as the prophet by the Church membership, all the grandchildren stood at the appropriate times and raised their hands to sustain the new President. “It was an amazing experience,” says Ada Hinckley, age 16, “to raise your hand to the square and sustain the prophet of the Church, who is also your grandpa. When they sing, ‘We Thank Thee, O God, for a Prophet,’ you are just kind of taken aback because they are singing about your grandfather.”
Ada found that the very experience that helped a lot of young people in the Church also helped her gain a testimony that her grandfather was indeed the Lord’s prophet. She attended a general Young Women meeting in which the theme was gaining a testimony of the prophet. “It helped me a lot to gain a testimony that he is a prophet and that he leads the Church. I know he does.”
Katie says, “I sustain him as the prophet, not as my grandpa. With or without the prophet being my grandfather, I have to know for myself if the Church is true. I do.”
Did they notice a difference in their grandfather after he was sustained as the President of the Church? James answers, “At first he was really quiet and just humbled.”
“He spent more time alone,” says Ada. “I think humble is a good word. It’s cool when I hear people talk about him, and they don’t know I’m related. People just love him.”
Jessica notices a difference most when he is speaking. “At conference, you can see the mantle of his calling on him.”
Amy agrees, “He’ll be giving a talk, and he’ll be saying amazing things. I think, ‘Wow.’ When we visit him at his office, then I see him as both. Then he is Grandpa and the prophet at the same time.”
Even though their grandfather gets to meet with important and influential people and leaders, he sees people just as they are. “When he has met the president of the United States or someone like that,” says Amy, “we ask, ‘Are you excited?’ He says, ‘He’s just a man.’ He doesn’t see the different levels or positions of authority. He just sees everyone as equal. If he meets a president or a housewife, he reacts the same way.”
“Yes,” adds James, “he has respect for everyone.”
Ask any of the grandchildren if their grandfather, the prophet, understands what it is like for teenagers today, and they will answer quickly and confidently. “He is never negative about our generation,” says Katie. “He’s really positive. I think sometimes he wishes he were young.”
“Is he in touch with the younger generation?” Spencer asks and then answers. “Yes, because of us.”
“He knows us,” says Ann. “And he knows what we’re involved in and what our pressures are and what our joys are. He knows what’s hard for us and what’s easy.”
Just as he does for his own grandchildren, the prophet prays for the young people of the Church. And he knows that every day in every temple the youth of the Church are prayed for specifically. The advice he gives to his grandchildren is great advice for all youth: Do the best you can. Work hard. Do what is right.
When Jessica attended a class at Ricks College, no one except her close friends knew who her grandfather was. The teacher asked if any of those attending had met President Hinckley or any of the General Authorities. Jessica did not raise her hand. It wasn’t because she was embarrassed. She just wanted to hear what other people had to say. “I was interested that people loved seeing him at temple dedications or conferences.”
“How lucky I am,” says Ann, “that I know him as a person, as a grandfather, and as a prophet! What an amazing thing that is!”

One day, my mom needed to take me to urgent care because the blisters had an infection. I was so scared. I didn’t want to get in the car. My mom knew I was scared. She told me about when Joseph Smith was my age. When Joseph Smith was seven years old, he had an illness that required the doctor to do surgery on his leg. He was scared too, but he knew that Heavenly Father was with him and would help him. The doctor took nine pieces of bone out of his leg! I was so surprised. He was brave. If he could do that, I knew that I could get in the car and go to the doctor. I would be brave, and Heavenly Father would help me with the pain I was feeling.

A registry wedding was arranged. I had only once briefly met my wife before the registry wedding. A date was set for the Sikh wedding a year later. There was no contact with my wife until a few months after the registry wedding; we met secretly and I explained to her I was Christian and gave her a Book of Mormon. However, this did not go down well as she told her parents and then both families engaged in persuading me to leave the Church. I made promises to do this. It tore me apart and I cried bitterly, as though I had denied Jesus Christ.
The Sikh marriage took place, and I kept my promise to not to go to Church for six months. Every Sunday I would get the yearning to go to Church. I went secretly to a member’s home to take the sacrament and always paid my tithing, read the scriptures, and prayed daily. I desperately needed a solution to this problem.
One day, my best friend from the Church provided it. I was to leave my parent’s house and establish a home elsewhere. I managed to get employment in Burntwood (Staffordshire) and bought a home there. After some time, my wife, Rajinder, let me go to a one-hour meeting one Sunday and I was called as the Sunday School president. But Rajinder refused to let the children go with me and at one time ripped up the Book of Mormon in front of me. She had been brought up as a strict Sikh and did not want to dishonour her family.
In 1982, we moved to Hemel Hempstead (Hertfordshire). The meetings were now consolidated, and I stayed for the whole three hours. I was called as the elders quorum president. An elderly missionary couple were assigned to visit my home, and for the first time Rajinder said a prayer and felt the Spirit. I subsequently baptised her. We were later sealed in the London England Temple with our children.
In 1986, I was called to be the branch president. I served in that capacity for three and half years and was released when our branch was merged into the Watford Ward.
My testimony has grown from strength to strength. I love the Lord and His restored gospel. I am in His hands and will always give thanks to Him for saving me and sending those missionaries. The evidence that this is the true church, is too great; I cannot deny it. Regardless of what happens to me or my family I will bless the Lord my God. I believe in His goodness, and that He will uphold me if I do as He asks. I give daily thanks for all the blessings He has given me and the tender mercies He has shown me.
I have recently published a book called LDS Christians and Sikhs. This book was the result of an inspiration I received to invite Sikhs to come to Christ. I have included many testimonies from Sikhs who have converted to the Church. I hope that it will do some good in persuading and inviting Sikhs to examine their religion and to offer them further blessings through the gospel.

I like to go grocery shopping with my mom because our grocery store has little shopping carts for children. One day, we went to the store and there were only two little carts left. My little sister and I each took one. As we went into the store, a little boy and his parents arrived. The boy began crying because there were no little carts left. I thought, What would Jesus do? Even though I wanted to push the cart, I gave mine to the boy. He felt happy, and so did I!

On the night of May 22, 2011, amid the sound of blaring sirens, a massive tornado touched down in the heart of Joplin, Missouri, USA, destroying homes and lives. The Joplin First Ward was hit hard by the twister, but right away Bishop Chris Hoffman and the ward council started accounting for ward members.
“We had a response plan in place because we had talked about these preparations in ward council before they happened,” he said. “We also relied on the Spirit to know what to do. Power lines were down. Cell phones didn’t work. We prayed and listened for answers, and they came—they always came. It was gratifying for me as a bishop to hear members say, ‘This is what I’ve done,’ instead of, ‘What do you want me to do?’”

“Let me tell you a story,” Sister Lee said with a twinkle in her eye. “When I was about your age, we used to have junior Sunday School on Sunday mornings, then we went home for lunch and returned to church later in the evening for sacrament meeting.”
“How weird!” Steven exclaimed, making a funny face.
“It does seem odd now, but then it was just the way we did things. During junior Sunday School, we took the sacrament. We sat in our classes instead of with our families.
“One day, I was sitting on the end of our row. When the deacon passed the sacrament to me, I looked up and realized how terribly big he was. I had never taken the sacrament tray from the deacon before. Usually I sat in the middle of my class, and one of the other children would pass it to me. I started to cry. I was very shy and afraid to take the sacrament from the deacon. Some of the children in the other classes noticed me crying and turned around to find out what was wrong. That just made everything worse. I was so embarrassed that I hid my face behind my teacher’s arm.”
“You were embarrassed to take the sacrament?” Austin asked.
“I was afraid of the big deacon,” Sister Lee explained. “My teacher thought I must not like the deacon, so she asked another one to come over and give me the sacrament. When I peeked out from behind her arm and saw another deacon, I cried harder.”
“Did you ever take the sacrament?” Steven asked.
“My teacher took it for me and held it in her hand until no one was watching. Then she quietly handed it to me. Each Sunday after that, she would always ask if I wanted her help.”

A true story from Australia.
Jared walked into Sunday School and sat down with his classmates. He noticed a boy he didn’t recognize come in and sit down a couple chairs away.
Jared’s teacher, Brother Trudgen, smiled at the class. “This is Emmanuel,” he said. “He and his family just moved to Australia. This is their first Sunday in our ward!”
Jared thought it might be hard to go to a new ward. He would try to be Emmanuel’s friend.
Brother Trudgen got out his scriptures. “Let’s all turn to 3 Nephi,” he said.
Jared opened his scriptures and looked over at Emmanuel. He didn’t have any scriptures.
Jared gave him a big smile and leaned over. “Hi, I’m Jared,” he said. “Would you like to share scriptures with me?”
Emmanuel smiled back. “Um, I don’t know much English,” he said. “Sorry.”
“What language do you speak?”
“Swahili.”
Jared didn’t know any Swahili. He and Emmanuel didn’t say much for the rest of the class.
That evening at dinner, Jared told his family about Emmanuel.
“He seems really nice,” Jared said. “But we can’t understand each other very well.”
Mum nodded. “Emmanuel and his family are going through a lot right now,” she said. “They had to leave their country very suddenly because bad things were happening there. They left everything behind.”
Jared frowned. What would it be like to have to leave home tomorrow and move to a whole new country? That would be so hard!
I wish there was something I could do to help Emmanuel, he thought. But what?
Jared couldn’t stop thinking about Emmanuel as he got ready for bed. He sat down at his desk with his Book of Mormon and read a few verses. Reading the scriptures always made him feel better. Tonight, they also reminded him that Emmanuel hadn’t had any scriptures to read. Jared shut his scriptures and stared at the cover. Then he jumped up from his chair and hurried out into the hallway.
“Mum!” he called. “I think I know how to help Emmanuel!”
The next Sunday, Jared couldn’t wait to see Emmanuel. He sat with the other deacons at the front of the chapel and waited with a new Book of Mormon in his lap. The missionaries had helped him get this special copy just for Emmanuel.
When Emmanuel entered the chapel with his family, Jared smiled and waved him over. Emmanuel looked confused as he sat down next to Jared. But his eyes widened when Jared handed him the Book of Mormon.
“For me?” Emmanuel asked.
Jared nodded.
Emmanuel’s eyes lit up. He flipped through the pages of his new Book of Mormon. “Swahili!” he said. He smiled at Jared and hugged the book to his chest. “Thank you!”
Jared’s heart felt warm as he smiled back. He knew he couldn’t make everything better for Emmanuel, and they still couldn’t talk to each other very well yet. But that was OK. They didn’t have to speak the same language to be friends!

Then one day, about a year later, one of Olivio’s American teammates said, “Hey—you’re Mormon. Don’t Mormons go on missions? Are you going to quit the team and go too?”
That started Olivio thinking. “The things I learned made sense to me, and I said, ‘Well, if these things come from God. I have to explain them to other people.”
But leaving basketball—that would be tough. Olivio had just made the Portuguese national team, and his professional team had offered him a very lucrative contract—lots of money, a car, and a luxurious apartment.
“It was a difficult decision to leave basketball, so I decided to get my patriarchal blessing. There it said that I was going to serve the Lord, so I decided to do it. God prepared me to come here and find the gospel by giving me these talents to play basketball. I don’t have a problem leaving it to serve him. I think I can help many people.”
And now, Elder Olivio Gomes Manuel, who left northern Portugal almost two years ago to serve in southern Portugal, is helping many people. He’s well known throughout the mission for his good nature and easy smile, his hard work, and his gentle rapport with the people he towers over.

One of the most discouraging parts of my mission was the four months I spent in Tulancingo, México. The work was difficult. Day after day my companion and I spent long hours tracting, and no one was interested.
Finally, we found two men who listened to our message. I was excited because I felt these men would be great assets to Tulancingo’s small branch. But when both decided not to accept baptism, I was devastated.
About this time a 12-year-old girl came to Tulancingo to visit a family in the branch. She became interested in the Church and readily accepted the gospel. A short time later her father gave permission for her to be baptized.
But this baptism did little to lessen the disappointment I felt regarding those two men. I had hoped they would help build up the Church in this area. Because the girl was so young and the only member in her family, I wondered if she would remain active. She soon left Tulancingo after her baptism, and I lost contact with her. In fact, I completely forgot about her.
It has been more than 35 years since my mission, and not long ago I unexpectedly received the following letter:
Dear Brother Cooper,
My name is J. Jovita Pérez Acosta. I was baptized on 1 December 1965 in Tulancingo. I always thought I would very much like to thank you for bringing the gospel into my life.
When you taught me the gospel, I was 12 years old and was spending the summer in Tulancingo. I remember clearly the day I heard the history of Joseph Smith. I felt it was true, and that same night I knelt for the first time and prayed as you had taught me. On that occasion I learned how to talk with my Heavenly Father.
My mother was angry with my father because of my baptism, and they sent me to a Catholic boarding school. There were no members of the Church in all the area. I didn’t even have a Book of Mormon. But I continued to pray, and the seed you planted in my heart began to germinate.
One day while analyzing my religious situation, I felt that Heavenly Father was not pleased with me. I was confused. I told Him I wanted to belong to His Church. I asked that He help me be a good daughter to Him. A little while after this, I felt compelled to write to the [LDS] Church school in México City to ask to be enrolled there. I was accepted. It was then that my testimony began to form.
Seven years later my three younger sisters joined the Church, and they also went to live at the Church school. My mother had us attend her church during the summers; but even so, we read the scriptures, and we began to have family home evening. Ten years after my baptism, my mother and my youngest brother were baptized. A year later my father was baptized. We were the first member family in our town and in all the towns roundabout. The nearest meetinghouse was four hours away. My parents would travel every two weeks to go to Church services there.
During this period I became very ill and went to live for some months with my parents. We had family home evening every week. My mother would invite almost everyone around, and about 30 attended.
One day I called the mission home in México City to ask that missionaries be sent, and this was how the first branch was born in all that region. My father was the branch president, and my mother was the Relief Society president. Now there are many branches in the other towns, and they have been formed into two districts.
My youngest sister converted the man who is now her husband, and they both served missions. He is a bishop in Ciudad Juárez, and they have five children. Two of my nephews and a niece have also served missions. My oldest son returned last year from his mission, and my daughter is currently serving in Washington, D.C. My youngest son leaves next month to serve a mission in México.
In all, my parents have 26 grandchildren who are members of the Church. As you can see, one of the little seeds you planted many years ago has been transformed into a tree, and it is giving fruit and producing seeds for new trees. Isn’t it glorious? When my oldest son left for his mission, I told him that all he had to do was plant with love in the vineyard of the Lord. Perhaps he would never see the tree grow and produce fruit, but the Lord would.
The gospel has given me much happiness, and without it, I don’t know what my life would be. I know that Jesus Christ is my Redeemer and that His work will move forward, blessing the families of the earth.
Your sister in the faith,Jovita Pérez
As I read this letter, I was filled with joy. I now realize that perhaps the most important thing I accomplished on my mission was something that had seemed almost insignificant at the time.
Missionaries are rarely aware of all the results of their labors. But if we do all the good we can, without wondering and worrying about the consequences, we will find true joy in sharing the gospel.

A few years ago 345 homes were destroyed in the Waldo Canyon forest fire. Two years later, damage from the fire continued as erosion caused by the destruction of vegetation and dangerous floodwaters still provoked havoc. In response, nearly 100 young men and women from Colorado Springs reported to work for a six-hour youth conference project to revitalize the forest.
Armed with shovels, safety goggles, and hard hats, the youth prepared mulch, spread seed, and raked the ground to create a proper bed for new grass to grow. Audrie P., 14, admitted that she wasn’t excited about the project at first but soon changed her attitude. “I was surprised at how much fun it could be. Who knew spreading dirt would be so much fun?”
Jamison S., 16, remembered seeing endless piles of mulch. “We created an assembly line to fill buckets and passed them down, sometimes sprinting, to where they needed to be.” Joshua G., 17, acknowledged the power of 100 youth working together: “It could have been done without us, but it would have been a lot harder and taken a lot longer.”
By the end everyone was hot, tired, and covered in dirt. The work was difficult, but a good kind of difficult. Emily L., 16, recalled, “It was really hard but fun!” Mulch colored their faces, but they were happy, and bright smiles beamed through.
Anne B., 14, said, “The service project made me realize there is more to the world than the everyday things that we do. There are people who need our help, and serving others helps us too.” Zach A., 15, who remembers being evacuated from the fire, said, “It was really cool to see our Church directly correlated with something that affected me and my neighbors.”
In the end, a hard day’s work made a difference as the youth not only rebuilt the land but also rebuilt hope for others in their area.
Ashley S., Colorado, USA

Eli tried to be a good friend. But Will wouldn’t play with him.
“If you play with Eli, you can’t play with me,” Will told Jake and Danny.
Eli asked Will nicely, but Will said, “No. Go away.”
Eli tried to join in when the other boys played chase. But no one would chase Eli.
One day Eli brought some toys to school. A new girl named Emma watched him playing.
“Do you want to play with me?” Eli asked.
“Yes,” Emma said. “That looks like fun.”
Jake and Danny asked, “Can we play too?”
“Yes,” Eli said.
Will looked lonely.
“Come on, Will,” Eli said. “You can play too.”

It certainly did in Dallas, Texas. A young woman in the Dallas Texas East Stake invited her non-LDS friend to be a part of their service celebration. Her non-LDS parents were passing by the stake center and wanted to see what their daughter was doing there. They came in, listened to the program, felt the light. “We want to become a part of your church,” they said afterwards. The missionaries are now giving them the discussions.

One day I was in our kitchen and my foot felt funny. I started rubbing it on the wall. After a while I started bouncing it, but I did it too hard and made a hole in the wall. Later that week as I was getting ready for bed, I heard my mom and dad talking about the hole and wondering how it got there. Before I went to bed, I told my mom that I made the hole. I was honest like Jesus is honest. It felt good to choose the right.

Huldah and Richard fought storms, grasshoppers, and drought. Despite their constant work, they experienced repeated crop failures. Although they had barely enough to live on, Richard was inspired to start a Sunday School for the children of the valley. With Huldah’s help, he cleared land and built an adobe house. When he grew weary, Huldah quietly encouraged him and worked beside him. She helped him select music and lessons for the Sunday School. For over a year Sunday School was held every week in the Ballantyne home.

At a special conference held in Great Salt Lake City on August 28 and 29, 1852, Richard was called to serve a mission in Hindoostan (Hindustan), India. For four years the Ballantynes had been hungry. Their clothing was inadequate to protect them against the harsh winters; they had no money and little food. With Richard gone, life would be even harder. Yet Huldah did not hesitate in supporting her husband in this call. She immediately began to prepare clothing for Richard, darning his socks and scrubbing and mending his white shirts. When she discovered that his one suit was totally threadbare, she ripped out the seams of her best homespun skirt, made from material that she had woven and dyed herself. She took Richard’s measurements and carefully tailored a suit for him. That suit was to last him throughout his mission.

Richard was gone for three years. By herself, Huldah cared for their three small children, tilled the land, and made all of the family’s daily necessities. She carded wool and extracted dyes from roots, leaves, bark, vegetable peelings, and cochineal bugs. From beef and mutton tallow, she fashioned her own candles. Scraps of fat, rind, and meat trimmings were saved to make into soap. After soaking and drying potatoes, she grated them to use as starch.

Throughout her life, Huldah quietly loved and took care of her family. She did not serve a mission or even travel far from her own home after she settled in Utah. Yet her influence was deeply felt in the lives of her husband and nine children.