Gospel Story Finder

Members in Accra, Ghana, participated in a day of service by painting schools, sweeping streets and gutters, and cleaning the grounds around hospitals and clinics.
Emma Owusu Ansah of the Accra Ghana Christiansborg Stake was involved in planning their day of service. “Coming together as members of the Church unifies us and makes a principle like service easier to obey,” she said. At the end of the project, members gathered to share their testimonies. Sister Ansah remarked, “After listening to the individual testimonies, I realized how much we are missing when not serving others.”

Kristy had just arrived home from school. She was excited because the missionaries were coming over for dinner. When she walked in the door, her mother called out, “Kristy, I have to run to the store. Your brother is in charge while I’m gone. I love you! I’ll be back soon.”
Kristy didn’t want her older brother watching her. She was ten years old—old enough to watch herself.
She went to her room and did her homework. When she finished, she found her brother. “Can I go ride my bike?”
Her brother looked outside. “No, Kristy, it looks like it’s going to rain.”
Disappointed, she went to her room to read a book. Before long, she heard the phone ring. Her brother called to her, “Kristy, Melissa’s on the phone for you.”
She hurried and picked up the phone. “Hi, Melissa, what are you doing?”
“I just got a new bike. Do you want to go riding with me?”
Kristy was quiet for a moment and then said, “OK. I’ll meet you at the corner.” She sneaked out the back door and rolled her bicycle off the porch and down the driveway.
When she got to the corner, Melissa said, “Let’s play follow the leader!”
They jumped on their bikes and took off. Melissa took the lead, and Kristy followed.
At first, the wind was blowing in their faces, and they were having a great time taking turns being the leader.
Then Kristy started to worry. Melissa was getting farther and farther ahead, and Kristy couldn’t keep up. They were also quite a long way from home, and there was lightning and thunder in the distance. Soon it started to rain. Kristy was getting cold and wet. She called out, “Melissa, stop!”
Melissa crossed an intersection, then stopped and waited for Kristy to catch up. When Kristy was near enough, Melissa yelled to her, “Come on!”
Kristy slowed down. She had a bad feeling inside—sort of a heaviness in her chest. She remembered a family home evening lesson on being obedient to Heavenly Father and to our parents. She knew she should have listened to her brother, like her mother had told her to.
But Kristy also wanted to please her friend. As she approached the busy street, she heard a still, small voice in her mind telling her to stop. She looked at her friend. Again she heard the voice telling her to not cross the street.
As she came to the curb, she pulled on her brakes and skidded to a stop. As soon as she did, a car raced past her.
Kristy started to cry. She knew that if she hadn’t listened to that still, small voice, she would have been hit by that car. She was frightened, and she felt bad. She shouted across the street, “Melissa, we need to get home.”
“I guess you’re right,” Melissa said. When it was safe, she crossed the street. As they turned their bikes around, they were starting to shiver. They rode home as fast as they could. When the two friends reached their street, they said good-bye and rode to their homes.
When Kristy walked in the door, she was soaking wet. Before she changed into dry clothes, she knew she had to apologize to her brother.
Her brother said, “I was worried when I saw that you weren’t here and that your bike was gone. I’m grateful that you listened to the Spirit. And I hope next time you’ll listen to Mom or Dad, or me. We only ask you not to do things because we love you!” He gave her a hug.
“I really am sorry,” Kristy said softly.
“I know, and I forgive you. Now go get cleaned up for dinner.”
After changing her clothes, Kristy knelt by her bed and let Heavenly Father know how thankful she was for Him, for the Holy Ghost, and for saving her life that day. She told Him how sorry she was for not being obedient, and she promised to do better.
She hurried and set the table for her mother. While she was finishing, her parents came home. Kristy sat down with them and told them what had happened.
They each hugged her, thankful that she was safe and that she understood the importance of listening to them and to the Holy Ghost.
The doorbell rang. “The missionaries are here!” her brother called out.
When they were all around the dinner table, Kristy asked if she could say the blessing. As she did, she felt great love for the Savior, and the peace of repentance and of being forgiven filled her heart.

Brother Anthian has several goals for the choir. One is to infuse joy, love, and hope into the lives of men who have in the past sought to salve their pain with drugs, alcohol, and other vices. The fulfillment of this goal is clear in the life of Nicolas “Colas” Allaire, who hands out roses during subway concerts. Now 65, Colas was raised in a Montréal orphanage until age 17. With no formal education and no family, friends, or money, he was never able to find work. In winter he made snow caves to keep from freezing to death. Sometimes he committed crimes just to be put in jail so he would have something to eat every day. This is his first regular job. Since joining the choir, he says, “my life has been paradise. I have made friends, and I have started to support myself. I now have a small apartment, and I am happy.”

In tracing our family names, we often find them spelled differently, depending on the source. This was the case of a university student in Provo, Utah, who caught the vision of this linking of generations. He was walking through the library one evening and remembered hearing someone in the Searing family tell about a town in New York State that had been named after an ancestor. So he decided to look up the town. He stumbled across a very old copy of a gazetteer of New York and read about a man named Simon Searing who helped settle Long Island in the mid-1600s. Could Simon be his ancestor? He had to know. He began research in earnest and traced his line back several generations. But still he needed to bridge the gap between the 1800s and the 1600s. Then a miracle occurred. He unexpectedly located a history of a Syring family. The families in the Syring book ended in the same generation he had reached in his own research. Not only was he able to connect many generations, but he also linked himself to the early settler Simon Searing.

It was one of those warm summer afternoons, the kind of day that seems to envelop the mind in daydreams and push out thoughts of work or study. While I’d been on my mission, this had been the hardest kind of day to keep my mind on the work. Now it was the same way with school. Since before noon I’d been up in the foothills east of campus collecting root samples. My lab partner and I had been collecting them for a botany project. It had taken us about twice as long as it should have, because we spent as much time chasing butterflies as we did collecting plants. After we had finally completed our collection, my lab partner had given me a ride in his car back to civilization, and I’d got on a bus to go home. It was Friday afternoon, and with the quiet influence of the early summer day still in my mind, I decided as I rode along to dedicate Saturday to sunny beaches and cool water.
I was beginning to imagine the day in a little finer detail when the air brakes gave a familiar hiss and I noticed a small Chicano boy getting on at the front of the bus. The bus was about half full. There were several empty seats between the front of the bus and where I was sitting so I paid little attention. Gazing back out the window, I let my mind drift again to my imaginary weekend.
But just as I was getting back to my daydreams, I saw that boy again out of the corner of my eye. He had passed two empty seats and seemed to be coming straight for the one next to me.
He was about nine or ten, dressed in well-faded but clean pants and a red-checkered shirt. The shirt seemed a little too big, it probably used to belong to his elder brother. As he approached, I stared determinedly out the window, hoping he’d pass by my seat and sit in one of the empty ones behind. But he didn’t.
“Hi, mister,” he said, sitting down next to me. He had a smile so big it seemed about a size and a half too wide for his face. I didn’t want to smile back, but his grin was too contagious; I couldn’t help smiling back at him.
“Hello,” I answered, trying to regain my stern composure.
“It’s a nice day, isn’t it?” he said.
“Yes,” I answered, “it is a nice day.” This time I managed not to smile, and I looked back out of the window hoping that would end the conversation. It was a day too well suited for daydreaming to waste talking to some little boy about the weather. There was silence for a moment, and I began to relax again. I began to imagine playing volleyball on the beach.
“Hey, mister, are you married?”
“What?” I asked, turning back to the boy. His smile, if possible, seemed even a little wider than before.
“Are you married?”
“No,” I answered coldly, hoping he’d realize I didn’t want to talk to him.
“Oh,” he said, looking down disappointed, his smile disappearing. I seemed to have momentarily surprised him. He was thinking. Then in an instant he looked up again, his eyes brighter than ever. “But you’re going to get married, right?”
I tried not to smile, but his eyes and that row of teeth made it impossible. “Yes,” I said smiling back. “I guess I will.”
“And when you get married, mister, are you going to love your wife?”
Now he had surprised me. The question seemed out of place coming from someone so young. I felt like he was leading up to something, but I wasn’t sure what. “Of course,” I answered cautiously, “of course I will.”
“And when you love somebody, you always want to be with them, don’t you, mister, even after you die?”
Suddenly I realized what he was doing. He was asking me a Golden Question. He was a Mormon. I sat there looking at him. I didn’t answer; I didn’t know what to say. How many times had I asked almost that same question? How many times on the buses and streets of Brazil while I was on my mission? But that was my mission; that was then, not now. It seemed inconceivable that those same words were being repeated to me here, at home, by a ten-year-old boy. The bus was slowing rapidly and the boy stood up, taking something from his pocket and giving it to me.
“Hey, mister, I have to get off here. Take this. It’s got the name of two of my friends on it. If you want to know more, give them a call. Good-bye, mister.” And he was gone.
I sat staring at the pamphlet he had given me. It was folded in half and a little tattered at the corners. I unfolded it and read the title, “The Plan of Salvation.”
I’d come home from my mission almost two years ago. I’d brought home my missionary journal, color slides, souvenirs, and a lot of memories. But I’d left my mission behind. How many people had I told about the Church in the time I’d been home? How many Golden Questions had I asked? How many nonmembers did I know who might be interested if only I’d bring up the subject? I’d just been taught a lesson about missionaries that I hadn’t learned in the whole time I’d been on a mission, and it had been taught to me by a young boy with nothing but a testimony and a smile.
The bus was filling up with people now. We were near the center of town and it was almost 5:00. A young man in a business suit sat down next to me. Self-consciously I stuffed the pamphlet in my shirt pocket and looked down at my feet. I was still thinking about that boy; as young as he was, he was still more of a missionary than I’d ever been. I glanced up again. The man next to me was looking out the window, probably daydreaming.
“It’s a nice day, isn’t it?” I said without thinking.
“Yes,” he smiled back, “a very pretty day.”
I sat for a moment, touching the pamphlet in my pocket. Then, with my biggest smile, I asked, “Are you married?”

I can’t wait to be a deacon. Ever since I was little, I’ve watched with envy as the older boys passed the sacrament. It’s an important job, and they always seem to know just where to go when they pass the sacrament. Now it’s my turn. My twelfth birthday is this week, and I’ve been learning about the priesthood in Blazer class. I’ve been dreaming about passing the sacrament myself. I wonder if I’ll get to pass it to the bishop?

My Blazer teacher had told us that we would be interviewed by the bishop before we could be ordained. This would be my second interview—he had already interviewed me when I was going to get baptized. But I’ve lived half my life again since then!

I like my bishop. I see him every Sunday, and he knows my name. Sometimes he says hi. But I still worried about that interview. Did I know enough to be a deacon? Would he ask me about things I keep secret? Could I share my secrets with him? If I did, would he keep them secret?

Friday after dinner the bishop’s secretary called and said the bishop wanted to see me after my Blazer class on Sunday. I said OK, but I was nervous. In my mind I went over everything I thought that he might ask me. I began to remember all the things that happened this year. Some of them I wished hadn’t happened.

Sunday after class I headed for the Bishop’s office. What a busy place! I thought. Everybody wants to see him. I think I’ll go home and come another day.

But he saw me. “Hello there, Bobby,” he called. “Come in and sit down, please. Excuse me just one moment.” He stepped out into the hall to talk to someone about something. I wondered what they were talking about. I looked around his office. He had a big chair and a desk, a picture of the Savior, and a picture of President Benson. I saw the scriptures on his desk. They sure were ragged. I wondered what it would be like to be a bishop.

The door opened, and the Bishop came back in and sat next to me. He shook my hand. “Thank you for coming to see me,” he said. “You’re almost twelve, the age at which we normally confer the Aaronic Priesthood and ordain boys as deacons. I’ve talked with your father, and he also felt that you and I should have this interview. Tell me what you know and how you feel about the priesthood.”

Oh no, I thought. What shall I tell him? He probably knows everything about the priesthood. I started by telling him some things from Blazer class and some things my mother had taught me. He didn’t interrupt, and once I got started, my nervousness went away.

When I finished, he said, “Very good. I can see that you’ve been paying attention and that you understand some important principles. There are some scriptures about the priesthood that I’d like to share with you. They’re some of my favorites.”

He turned first to section 20 of the Doctrine and Covenants [D&C 20]. We read from it and talked about the duties of a deacon. Then we read from section 84 [D&C 84] and talked about the covenant of the Aaronic priesthood. After that, he turned to what he said was his favorite scripture—section 121. We read from verse 34 [D&C 121:34] to the end of the section. He helped me understand what the promise in verse 38 [D&C 121:38] meant.

Then he looked me right in the eyes and asked if I was paying tithing. I thought about how hard it had been to start. I was sure happy that I could say I was a full tithe payer. I told him how good I felt when I paid my tithing.

Next he asked me if I ever smoked or drank alcoholic beverages or took drugs. I remembered the time my friends and I had tried a cigarette, and I didn’t want to say anything. I hadn’t even told my parents. I knew it was wrong when I’d done it, and I still felt bad about it. Something inside me said, “Speak up,” but I just couldn’t. My silence must have told the bishop I was wrestling with something, because he talked to me about keeping secrets. He called it “confidentiality.” He said that he would keep anything I told him a secret unless I gave him permission to share it with my parents. Then he waited.

It seemed like a long time while I figured out what words to use. I told him about smoking and how ashamed it made me feel. We talked about how it had happened and what I should do to repent. I didn’t tell him who I’d done it with, and he didn’t ask me to. He said that his knowing their names had nothing to do with my worthiness to receive the priesthood. We discussed the help my parents could give me, and I decided to tell them. A calm feeling came over me. I guess that’s what happens when you do something that you know is right.

When the bishop asked me if I was morally clean, I didn’t know what he meant, so I asked him. He explained about keeping my mind and body clean. We talked about how to do that. He explained that if I lived righteously, the power of the priesthood would always be with me.

He asked me to kneel with him and say a prayer, so I did. It was a short one. Then he prayed. He asked Heavenly Father to bless me, and that made me feel good. I knew that my bishop liked me.

I can hardly wait to tell Mom and Dad about my interview. They’ll be happy for me and will help me be a good, worthy bearer of the priesthood. Just think—next Sunday I’ll be presented in sacrament meeting by the bishop to be sustained to receive the Aaronic Priesthood and be ordained a deacon. Then after the block meetings, the ordinance will be performed. And the week after that I’ll pass the sacrament. I’m going to be reverent when I do and try to set a good example. Maybe some younger boys will be looking up to me.

Most people don’t think of a 17-year-old boy having to relearn to stand, but that was my situation this past year. I broke my jaw in a car accident and also had an emergency appendectomy. I was in rough shape, physically and mentally, and spent a lot of time in the hospital.
I remember clearly the first chance I had to stand after days of lying in bed. Despite the awkwardness, standing felt good. It wasn’t easy to do, but I did it.
Standing isn’t just putting your feet on the floor and standing up. We must also stand in holy places where we can be protected (see D&C 87:8). With the Lord’s loving help, any child of God can withstand the winds of temptation and evil. Everyone can stand strong. The Lord has provided a way for me to stand tall physically and, more importantly, spiritually. And boy, am I grateful!

One beautiful morning my family and I passed our bishop’s home. We noticed two enormous trees had been chopped down and the wood was in a huge pile. We have a fire pit at home, and we were almost out of wood. So we asked our bishop if we could have it. He told us, “You can have all of the wood you want.”
I was so excited. We would finally have more wood! When the day arrived to get the wood, we got right to work.
After a long day, our trailers were overflowing with wood. Then our bishop came outside and told us that a less-active family in our ward heated their home with a fireplace and they were out of wood. Mom and Dad decided to give the wood to them. That made me very upset. We had worked hard without any breaks.
I wasn’t quite sure if I should complain and ask if we could keep the wood. If I help give it away, all the work we did would be for nothing. We wouldn’t have the wood, I thought. What should I do?
It took us over an hour to unload all our precious wood. When we finally finished, we went home. We were very exhausted. When we got home, I went to check how much wood we had left. Guess what I saw? No wood at all. I thought we were giving some wood away, not all of it. I started pacing back and forth, thinking about how much work we did for nothing!
Then I remembered how the family heated their home with a fireplace. We just liked to have fires. It would have been really, really nice to have a surplus of wood. But the other family absolutely needed it. We just wanted it to do things like cook hot dogs and s’mores.
Giving the wood to the other family was hard, but I knew it was the right thing to do. After all, what would the Savior do?

It’s 10:00 a.m., and your teacher is about to hand out a test. You don’t know the person sitting next to you very well, but you notice she’s frantically digging through her backpack. What do you do?
Ignore her. You’re stressed as well and need to cram for the test.
Wish her good luck.
Ask her if she’s looking for something. When you hear she needs a pencil, you give her one of yours. “Keep it,” you tell her with a smile.

Elder Yoon Hwan Choi of the Seventy says two 14-year-old boys brought his family into the restored Church.
Elder Choi was born on May 18, 1957, to Dong Hun Choi and Jeung Soon Lee. His father allowed Elder Choi and his siblings to choose any Christian religion, but they often argued over their different beliefs during dinner. His father wanted to change this. Impressed by the Mormon religion of Elder Choi’s 14-year-old brother, the family listened to the missionaries. After learning about another 14-year-old, Joseph Smith, they were all baptized.

Bishop Ochieng and his wife had a friend who moved away from their neighborhood, but his wife knew where she now lived. The Ochiengs decided to “do something merciful” and visit her and also see how she was doing. They found her in a predicament with rent due and only KSh40 for the whole week. They gave her a little. She wept and the Ochiengs wept with her, because she didn’t know they were doing the 25 ways in 25 days program.

When I was 30 years old, I was visiting the Nagoya mission as part of my work. After the meeting, the mission president kindly arranged for the elders to drive me to the airport. However, as we reached the intersection at the bottom of a long hill, a large truck came barreling down from behind us at great speed. It rammed into the rear of our car and propelled it forward more than 70 feet (20 m). The terrifying part of all of this was there was no driver. The rear of our car was compacted to half its original size. Fortunately, both the elders and I survived.
However, on the following day, I began experiencing pain in my neck and shoulders and developed a severe headache. From that day, I couldn’t sleep and I was forced to live each day with both physical and mental pain. I prayed to God to please heal my pain, but these symptoms lingered on for about 10 years.
At this time, feelings of doubt also began creeping into my mind, and I wondered, “Why do I have to suffer this much pain?” However, even though the kind of healing I sought was not granted, I strove to be faithful in keeping God’s commandments. I continued to pray that I would be able to resolve the questions I had about my trials.
There came a time when I found myself struggling with a few additional personal issues, and I was agitated because I did not know how to cope with this new trial. I was praying for an answer. But I didn’t receive an answer right away. So I went and talked with a trusted Church leader.
As we were talking, with love in his voice, he said, “Brother Aoyagi, isn’t your purpose for being on this earth to experience this trial? Isn’t it to accept all the trials of this life for what they are and then leave the rest up to the Lord? Don’t you think that this problem will be resolved when we are resurrected?”
When I heard these words, I felt the Spirit of the Lord very strongly. I had heard this doctrine countless times, but the eyes of my understanding had never been opened to the extent they were at this time. I understood this was the answer that I had been seeking from the Lord in my prayers. I was able to clearly comprehend our Heavenly Father’s plan of salvation and understand anew this important principle.
Let’s now consider that rear-end collision in Nagoya. I could have died in that accident. Nevertheless, through the Lord’s grace, I miraculously survived. And I know that my sufferings were for my learning and for my growth.5 Heavenly Father schooled me to temper my impatience, to develop empathy, and to comfort those who are suffering. When I realized this, my heart was filled with feelings of thankfulness toward my Heavenly Father for this trial.

When the pandemic hit in 2020, I was one of the first people infected with COVID-19 in my area in Scotland. At first I thought it was a simple cold. But as time went on, my health progressively got worse, until even breathing was a struggle. My throat and sinuses were badly damaged, and I suffered from chronic fatigue.
Recovery was ongoing for over a year and a half, during which time I was unable to participate in any sport or physical activity. I had to put everything on pause. I even dropped out of university for a year, and I became very bitter—bitter about my circumstances and angry at Heavenly Father when recovery seemed unattainable.
Despite my mindset, I continued living the gospel. I continued going to church and doing what I could to help and serve others. Gradually, my state of mind started improving.
When the worst of the symptoms started dissipating, I got an unexpected call to serve on my stake high council. Despite my apprehension, I accepted the call with the hope that the Lord would provide a way for me to fulfil the call despite my poor health (see 1 Nephi 3:7).
One of the first assignments I received was to speak about the Saviour and His Atonement. With every talk I gave to other followers of Jesus Christ, my understanding of Him and what He did for me grew. I realised I’d been ignoring a vital part of His Atonement—the Lord suffered and died not only for our sins but for our afflictions. He knows how to uplift us in our trials (see Alma 7:12).
President Camille N. Johnson, Relief Society General President, recently taught:
“Jesus Christ can lighten our load.
“Jesus Christ can lift our burdens.
“Jesus Christ provides a way for us to be relieved of the weight of sin.
“Jesus Christ is our relief. ...
“… I can’t go at it alone, and I don’t need to, and I won’t. Choosing to be bound to my Savior, Jesus Christ, through the covenants I have made with God, ‘I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me’ [Philippians 4:13].”1
I’m also prone to relying upon my own strength, and in my pride I really had thought I could overcome my trial alone. But I came to realise that I wasn’t failing because the trial was too hard; it was because I wasn’t allowing Jesus Christ to offer me His strength and support.
Finally understanding what He offers me through His healing power changed everything. Although my road to recovery wasn’t going to be easy or quick, I could find peace, joy, and strength along the way by turning to Him.
We don’t have to face any trials alone. We can rely upon our Saviour for strength. I realised that the spiritual hardship I felt during my sickness came from my lack of understanding in my relationship with Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ and what strength They could provide me with as I continued to serve, seek, and follow Them.
President Dallin H. Oaks, First Counselor in the First Presidency, gave a powerful reminder of our relationship with the Saviour when he said: “He … knows our struggles, our heartaches, our temptations, and our suffering, for He willingly experienced them all as an essential part of His Atonement. And because of this, His Atonement empowers Him to succor us—to give us the strength to bear it all.”2
Fortunately, the Lord pushed me to be more active in the pursuit of understanding Him. And as I’ve come to understand Him better, I’ve been able to see His hand in my life in greater abundance and see miracles of healing, even if it has taken longer than anticipated. As President Johnson also taught, “Covenant keepers are blessed with the Savior’s relief.”3
Increasing my understanding of the Saviour and keeping my covenants has been a huge blessing in my life. He has given me so much spiritual and temporal relief from my hardships. I can promise that as you strive to do the same, the love of the Lord and your divine purpose will become clear. You’ll find strength beyond your own—as I have.

Stacy’s seventh Christmas was one her family would never forget. It was unforgettable because it was almost so very, very awful.
One autumn day, Stacy’s family had gone for a drive to see the colorful trees. When a truck suddenly came into their lane, Dad swerved to miss it and hit a tree instead. Dad and Mom were fine, and so were Adam and Will. But Stacy was hurt. Dad called for an ambulance to take her to the hospital.
Stacy woke up in the hospital with a bandage on her head and her leg in a cast. She would need to stay in the hospital for a while until she got better.
Stacy shared a room with three girls named Jenny, Tamika, and Kelly. Kelly could get out of bed, so she played games and read stories with the other girls. Stacy was glad to meet new friends in the hospital.
Every day the doctor checked on Stacy. Her leg was healing well, and soon the nurses removed the bandage from her head.
One day Kelly went home. The girls hugged and said good-bye.
“I’m glad you’re well, Kelly,” Stacy said.
“Thanks. Now you and Jenny and Tamika get better too,” Kelly said.
Eventually Stacy was allowed to get out of bed. Walking with crutches was hard, but once she learned to get around on her own she made friends with children in other rooms. There were many children in the hospital, all with different injuries and illnesses. Some were there only a short time, while others had to stay for many months.
In December, Stacy was finally able to go home. “I’m glad I get to go home, but I’m going to miss everyone so much,” Stacy told her parents.
As Christmas drew near, Stacy’s cast was removed, and she worked hard to walk without limping. One night Mom and Dad asked Stacy what she wanted for Christmas.
“There’s really only one thing I want,” Stacy said. “I want to take presents to the children in the hospital who don’t get to go home for Christmas.”
Mom hugged Stacy. “Is that really what you want? You don’t want anything for yourself?”
“That’s really what I want,” Stacy said.
Mom and Dad explained the plan to Will and Adam and added that there wouldn’t be much money left over for family presents.
“That’s OK,” Will said. “I think it’s a good idea.”
The family went shopping and picked out toys, games, and books. Then they wrapped the gifts and piled them in the car.
On Christmas morning, Stacy and her family drove to the hospital. Stacy grinned as she passed out the gifts. Some of her friends had gone home, and now other children were in their beds. Stacy had a gift for each one. Seeing their excitement when they opened their gifts filled Stacy’s heart with joy.
“How do you feel?” Mom asked as they left the children’s wing.
Stacy hugged her. “This might sound funny, but I loved Christmas at the hospital!”

Crystal was in high school and Angel was six years old when their mother could no longer look after them. I offered to take them in. “I promise I will never leave your children,” I said. “I will take good care of them.”
Years later, another young mother asked me to take in her baby, Allison. This mother faced difficult circumstances and knew I could give her baby a good life. I took Allison in.
I try to teach these children the important things in life. I bring them to church and try to help them grow closer to God. I know that when I am nearer to Him, I can do so much more, even the things I think are impossible. Of course, I want that for Crystal, Angel, and Allison.
These children have suffered in life, but I’ve watched the gospel and the Spirit heal their hearts. I’ve watched their perceptions and behaviors slowly change. Together we pray for their birth parents, because no matter what, I want them to respect and love them.
I love Crystal, Angel, and Allison as if they were my own children. Sometimes people ask me if I will regret my decisions. What if Allison’s mother decides to take Allison back? Will I regret loving Allison and becoming attached to her? But why should I regret it? Helping other people is nothing to regret! It’s something to be grateful for.
I am so grateful for Crystal, Angel, and Allison. Thanks to them, I have learned how to be a mother. I learned how to wake up in the middle of the night for diaper changes, how to teach young children to pray, how to love more deeply than I thought possible. That is something I didn’t think I would ever have.
Perhaps my calling in this world is to take care of those that don’t have mothers or are far away from their mothers.

It wasn’t necessarily easy when, in December 1945, President George Albert Smith chose Elder Benson to serve as president of the European Mission. This was not just any mission assignment. World War II had only been over for a few months, and the Saints in Europe had largely lost contact with the Church during the war. Many of them had been scattered from their homes, had lost everything, and were in desperate need of welfare supplies. President Benson’s assignment was to locate members of the Church throughout Europe, get welfare supplies to those in need, and generally reestablish order in the Church organization there.

This was a demanding, even dangerous assignment. He knew he would be in Europe for at least one year. He could not take his family with him. Food was in short supply and being rationed in many parts of Europe. Bridges, roads, and buildings throughout the continent had been destroyed, and transportation was difficult to obtain. Even housing was hard to come by. Almost everything about his assignment was unusual and challenging. Aware of the odds he would face when he got there, Elder Benson headed for Europe with the belief that if he worked his hardest, even when things got difficult, the Lord would assist him.

Throughout the ten months he spent in Europe, Elder Benson encountered one difficult situation after another. Again and again he was faced with tough assignments that seemed impossible to perform, and repeatedly he found ways to get the job done.

By the time Elder Benson returned home he had accomplished a great deal. In a little over ten months he’d traveled 61,236 miles by plane, train, ship, automobile, bus, jeep and droshky, a two-wheeled, horse-drawn conveyance. He had located thousands of Saints throughout Europe and distributed tons of welfare supplies to those in need. Mission presidents were functioning in most European missions, and missionaries were proselyting in many countries. And the Saints had a renewed spirit of hope.

But none of it had been easy.

At age 15, Michael M. found his first job. A local cafeteria was the only place around hiring people his age. Most job duties revolved around dishes: busing tables, loading the dishwasher, and so forth. Employees would read their task for the day when they showed up for work.
“If it was busing tables, we’d rejoice,” Michael says. “But the worst thing, what you didn’t want to get, was pots.”
Picture a medieval knight poised in battle armor, sword in hand, ready to battle an angry dragon. Now replace the armor with a full-body rubber apron, the sword with a high-pressure sprayer, and the dragon with a greasy, scorched-bottom pot.
That was pots.
The black rubber apron was heavy and hot. The water was even hotter. And the high-powered spray from the hose practically guaranteed a drenching even with the rubber apron and hat. “It was a hot, dirty, stinky job,” Michael says about pots. “We all hated it.”
A lot of teenagers couldn’t cut it. They’d hire on and then bail within weeks. However, Michael and a friend made an agreement with each other to stick it out an entire summer, and they both did.
For Michael, the experience he gained from that job far outweighed the downsides. “That first job, as awful as it was, made me appreciate the easier jobs I had later.”
After saying good-bye to the cafeteria, Michael worked at a fast-food restaurant, then at a grocery store, and next at a movie theater concessions stand. At each job he had a positive attitude toward the work because of what he’d learned from his first job. “You learn lessons at your first job,” Michael says. “Something good can come out of every job experience.”

In the face of persecution, Hyrum exhibited faith in the Lord’s promises, including a guarantee to escape his enemies if he so chose. In a blessing Hyrum received in 1835 under the hands of Joseph Smith, the Lord promised him: “Thou shalt have power to escape the hand of thine enemies. Thy life shall be sought with untiring zeal, but thou shalt escape. If it please thee, and thou desirest, thou shalt have the power voluntarily to lay down thy life to glorify God.”
In June 1844, Hyrum was presented the choice to live or to lay down his life to glorify God and to “seal his testimony with his blood”—side by side together with his beloved brother Joseph.
A week before the fateful trip to Carthage, where they were murdered in cold blood by an armed mob of cowards who had painted their faces to avoid detection, Joseph recorded that “I advised my brother Hyrum to take his family on the next steamboat and go to Cincinnati.”
I still feel great emotion as I remember Hyrum’s reply: “Joseph, I can’t leave you.’’
So Joseph and Hyrum went to Carthage, where they became martyrs for Christ’s cause and name.
The official announcement of the martyrdom stated the following: “Joseph Smith, the Prophet and Seer of the Lord, … has brought forth the Book of Mormon, which he translated by the gift and power of God, and has been the means of publishing it on two continents; has sent the fulness of the everlasting gospel, which it contained, to the four quarters of the earth; has brought forth the revelations and commandments which compose this book of Doctrine and Covenants, and many other wise documents and instructions for the benefit of the children of men; gathered many thousands of the Latter-day Saints, founded a great city, and left a fame and name that cannot be slain. … And like most of the Lord’s anointed in ancient times, [Joseph] has sealed his mission and his works with his own blood; and so has his brother Hyrum. In life they were not divided, and in death they were not separated!”

Laxhmi Tulaseeswari Mada speaks with reverence of the missionaries who brought her into the Church. From them, “Tulasee” learned that she was a child of God. “Before, I didn’t feel like I was worth much,” she says. “But now I have the gospel. I know I am a daughter of God.”
Prior to her conversion, Tulasee lived her life as do many Indian women—under the waning vestiges of purdah, a tradition rooted in modesty that, for centuries, has veiled and secluded women. Brought up by her stepparents, mistreated as a child and adolescent, Tulasee had little sense of self-worth and little hope for the future. “Many times I was crying inside and outside,” she says of her life before finding the gospel.
Learning that she was valuable in God’s eyes offered spiritual balm to Tulasee’s troubled life, but she was reluctant to tell her parents of her baptism. Her father, a prominent Hindu religious teacher known as a guru, noticed a change in her and wanted to know why she seemed happy. When he found out that she had rejected his beliefs, he felt dishonored and disowned her.
Tulasee says the knowledge that she has eternal potential and that she can be exalted prompted her to accept a call as a district missionary in Rajahmundry. “The knowledge I have gained is what my people need,” says Tulasee, named after a Hindu goddess. She retains her given name because “I want people to know that I am a convert. I love missionary work, but it is hard for me to be a missionary in Rajahmundry, because people know who I am.”
It is also hard because Tulasee is a woman. The sight of women missionaries sharing the gospel is not only unusual but unnerving to some Indian men. Male investigators are often surprised to learn that they cannot be exalted without their wives. In the Church, the doctrine of eternal marriage generates increased respect for women and has helped marriages, most of which are still arranged.
Today, Tulasee’s face and bright clothing radiate her newfound optimism and sense of worth. Her baptism and the gift of the Holy Ghost that followed gave her “a most precious feeling I had never felt before. Everybody needs that feeling,” she says. “Through the Holy Ghost, God gave me great answers. I love serving, and I need to share my testimony.”

In 1849, Elder Lorenzo Snow (1814–1901) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles was called to establish a mission in Italy. As he was contemplating where to commence, he learned about the Waldensians, a religious community in the Piedmont mountains of northwestern Italy.
“A flood of light seemed to burst upon my mind when I thought upon [the Waldensians],” recorded Elder Snow. In a letter home he wrote, “I believe that the Lord has there hidden up a people amid the Alpine mountains.”2
In other regions of Italy, laws were not favorable for missionary activity. But two years before Elder Snow arrived, the Waldensians in the Piedmont region had been granted religious freedom after centuries of persecution.3 Not only that, but several among them had received remarkable dreams and visions preparing them to receive the missionaries’ message.4
Elder Snow, accompanied by two missionary companions, dedicated Italy for the preaching of the gospel on September 19, 1850. Elder Snow recorded, “From that day opportunities began to occur for proclaiming our message.”5