Gospel Story Finder

Mrs. Kaufman, my German teacher, was late as usual. Normally I wouldn’t care, but I was particularly frustrated with grammar and needed the extra instruction time. Another 10 minutes passed. I was annoyed when she finally appeared. Several students had already left, assuming class was cancelled.
When the bell rang for break, Mrs. Kaufman apologized, saying that class would be cut short. She would postpone the upcoming exam another week to give us time to study. Relieved, I began to pack up my books when another classmate asked, “Mrs. Kaufman, is everything all right?” Mrs. Kaufman choked back tears as she explained that her father had just passed away. I felt horrible. Mrs. Kaufman was dealing with something on a spiritual level and I hadn’t even noticed.
That night I thought of Mrs. Kaufman and her father. As I read my scriptures, I felt peace knowing that Heavenly Father had a plan. I wondered how sad I would be if I didn’t know about the plan of salvation. I could feel the Spirit prompting me to share the peace I felt with Mrs. Kaufman and give her a copy of the Book of Mormon.
I tried to ignore the prompting. I was afraid to give Mrs. Kaufman a Book of Mormon because she was my teacher. But I decided to move forward anyway. I found a German copy of the Book of Mormon and also wrote Mrs. Kaufman a letter bearing my testimony. I wrapped them up and placed them in my backpack to give to her.
When I got to class the next day, I squirmed uncomfortably. I thought of the wrapped German copy of the Book of Mormon in my backpack. I couldn’t focus as I thought about whether I should give it to her. I prayed for confidence. At the end of class, I placed the parcel into her hands. I stammered my condolences and began sharing my testimony. As I spoke, I felt the Spirit, and the words came easier. I saw tears in Mrs. Kaufman’s eyes as she listened. When she unwrapped the gift and read the words “Das Buch Mormon: Ein weiterer Zeuge für Jesus Christus,” she smiled and asked me if this was a book from my church. I nodded. She promised she would read it.
The following Thursday she told me that the Book of Mormon had given her comfort. I was glad I had listened to the promptings of the Holy Ghost and that I was able to give Mrs. Kaufman some peace by sharing my testimony with her. Now when I pick up my German copy of the Book of Mormon, I think about Mrs. Kaufman and feel grateful for Heavenly Father’s plan of salvation.

“I think I’m just a normal member of the Church,” says Genia Slepukhina, 17, of Vyborg. “I can maybe go on a hike like this, in good weather with all of my friends. But I don’t really know what it would be like in the winter without food and fuel and shoes. I don’t know if I could do what they had to do.”
But Genia has already proven she can do some things they had to do, like endure persecution. When she first joined the Church, former friends at school scorned her.
“They said, ‘You are not like we are so we won’t speak with you,’” Genia explains. “One teacher said, ‘I will quiz you every day on my subject. Every day. And I know Mormons must be truthful, so don’t lie to me if you’re not prepared.’ That was hard, because I have six or seven subjects each day, and I must prepare for every one.”
Sometimes classmates would even hit her. “But my family, Church friends, and the missionaries really helped me,” Genia says. “They gave me great examples to follow. One of the missionaries showed me Matthew 5:10–12 [Matt. 5:10–12], where the Savior says if you are persecuted because of your faith, you will be blessed. So I kept after it. I always tried to testify of the truth. I think a lot of people thought my belief was just a temporary thing, and in time it would go away. Now they know it’s here to stay.”

When I first went to the temple, I was awestruck by the majesty of the Lord’s house. I felt clarity about who I was, why I was on earth, and where my path could lead me when I focused on Christ.
I had just been called to serve a mission in England, and I was excited to go through the temple before I left. I prepared beforehand by learning about temple ordinances and preparing myself to make covenants with the Lord.
Afterward, I knew I wanted to go there consistently throughout my life. And that decision influenced my desire to serve as an ordinance worker too.

Our apartment building was a great place to live. It overlooked the playground, my best friends lived next door, and there were always fun things to do.
But one thing wasn’t so great—Mrs. McDuffie.
“Stop running up the stairs,” she’d shout. “You’re making my pictures rattle!”
“Use quieter voices,” she’d say. “Don’t you know my walls are thin?”
“Yes, Mrs. McDuffie. Sorry, Mrs. McDuffie,” we’d always say.
There was only one word to describe Mrs. McDuffie. G-R-U-M-P. That’s right—grump.
“Why is Mrs. McDuffie so grumpy?” I asked my mom.
“Sometimes people don’t feel well. Sometimes they feel sad and alone.”
“Sometimes they’re just grumpy,” I said.
“Yes,” Mom said. “Sometimes people are just grumpy, but a little bit of kindness can go a long way.”
Mrs. McDuffie continued to scold us daily. One day we were extra loud in the stairwell.
“HELLO!” Tommy shouted. “Hello, hello, ello, lo …” Tommy pretended he was on a mountain testing an echo.
“Shh!” I said. “Mrs. McDuffie will get mad if we’re too loud.”
“Maybe she’s not home,” Macy said. “I’m going to knock on her door and run!” She did, but nobody answered.
“Maybe she’s sleeping,” Tommy said.
“Maybe she went to visit someone,” Macy said.
Soon Macy and Tommy had to go home. I walked down the hall only to find Mrs. McDuffie just leaving my apartment!
“Hello, Lori,” she said. She flashed a crinkled smile as she brushed past.
She smiled at me! That had to be a “you’re in trouble, kid” kind of smile. Mrs. McDuffie never smiled, and she was talking to my mom. What did she say?
I walked into the kitchen. “Mom?”
“We need to talk,” she said. “Could you go down and visit with Mrs. McDuffie for a while? Her husband was very sick for a long time, and he recently died.”
Mrs. McDuffie had a husband? I didn’t even know.
I quietly walked down the stairs and knocked on her door. When she answered the door, Mrs. McDuffie had tears in her eyes.
“My mom told me about your husband. I’m sorry.” I didn’t know what else to say.
As I went inside, for the first time I saw the crooked pictures on the wall that rattled as people went up and down the stairs.
“I’ve been too hard on you kids,” she said. “I’m sorry. I haven’t been feeling very well with my husband so sick. Thank you for coming.”
We sat on her floral couch, and Mrs. McDuffie told me stories about when she was young. She not only smiled; she laughed. I laughed too.
Mom was right: a little bit of kindness did go a long way. Mrs. McDuffie smiled more after that. Although we tried to be quiet, sometimes we got too loud. That’s when Mrs. McDuffie opened the door and shared a knock-knock joke or a plate of cookies.
There is only one word to describe Mrs. McDuffie. F-R-I-E-N-D. That’s right—friend.

Another pair of siblings, Bich Thuy and her brother Tuan, were literally launched on their new life by their mother. Eight years after South Vietnam’s surrender, the family decided the two youngest children must leave and attempt to join the older children who had left earlier. Their LDS father was still in a “reeducation camp,” and their mother was unwilling to leave without him. For her children, however, she knew a better life was possible. She took her two children to the ocean, put them on a small fishing boat loaded with others also seeking a better life, and like the mother of Moses who set her baby adrift in a basket, committed her children into the currents and prayed that God would watch over them.
Prior to her departure, Bich Thuy, now 20, had been an accomplished pianist trained in the finest Saigon music schools. Her delicate hands have since known many hardships. As those same hands were raised to bid farewell, she wondered if she would ever see her mother’s face again. She wonders still.
For Bich Thuy and her brother, Tuan, who last saw their mother two years ago when she bade them farewell, life in America, although fulfilling in many ways, nevertheless holds a certain emptiness. Bich Thuy is attending a community college in Los Angeles while also working at a music store. Tuan is in high school. Five older brothers and sisters who preceded them in coming to America are also in California. But the emptiness lingers because their father, until recently, was being held in a work camp while their mother struggled to maintain their home. These parents would like to join their children in America, but their hopes are dim. In the meantime, the children they sent to America send them back what money and supplies they can. They are one of about 16 known LDS families in similar circumstances still in Vietnam.

I saw the pageant in 2017, the evening before I sent my son on his mission. It was an amazing experience — all the struggles the early Saints from Britain must have endured, and hard decisions made in leaving to go to America, and for those who stayed behind. It was a wonderful spectacle. It brought me to tears. I loved it at the end when all the missionaries came out to join the cast on stage. It was a very powerful moment. In fact, it still sets me off crying just thinking about it! I had the opportunity to talk to one of the performers after, and she had experienced some of my own troubles. We had a lovely discussion that gave me hope to continue. That evening will always stay with me. Afterwards, we walked around the Preston Temple in the dark. Everything was illuminated and it was beautiful.

In a 1929 American football game held in Pasadena, California, a player named Roy Riegels recovered a fumble and ran almost the length of the field toward the wrong goal line. He was tackled and brought down by one of his own teammates, thus preventing a score for the other team. He had lost his sense of direction in a moment of stress. His mistake cost his team a victory. He was a great player, but ever afterward he was remembered as the man who ran the wrong way.

“See, Mom!” I was almost shouting as we walked into the cultural hall. “Nobody’s here!”
She looked down at me with a slight grimace. “There are plenty of people here. It’s early. More people will come.”
I knew that more people would come, but none of them would be from my class. There were only four of us, and the other guys never came to any of the Primary service projects. I only came because Mom and Dad made me. It was a real waste of my time.
Sister Montgomery, the first counselor in the Primary presidency, came over to us. “Good morning, Sister Drew. I’m glad Rick could join us today.”
I stared at the floor.
“I’m sure that he’ll have fun making up bags to take to the less-active children in the Primary.” Sister Montgomery paused. “Why don’t we go over to that table and paint, Rick?”
I looked up. Painting was one of my favorite things to do. Sister Montgomery took me to the table with small ceramic figures on it. “You can paint three, if you’d like. There aren’t very many of us here today.”
I looked into the box and chose three pairs of Noah’s ark animals. Those were the ones I’d like to be given.
After I finished painting, Sister Montgomery had me decorate three paper sacks. The little kids were having a ball. I guess they like to cut and paste.
I wasn’t done with my second bag, when Brother Kennedy, the ward mission leader, came in. Sister Peterson, the Primary President, had us sit in a semicircle around him. He told us about how we could be missionaries by being friendly to the less-active children in our ward. He talked for a long time. I listened really closely until Brother Tisch came in with a couple of big brown boxes and a few gallons of milk. I watched him take doughnuts out of the big boxes. I wanted one with the colorful sprinkles.
Before I knew it, a bunch of the little kids were running up to the table—Brother Kennedy had finished!
“Rick, you can get a doughnut now, too.” Sister Montgomery was standing next to me.
I stood up and walked as fast as I could, but it was too late. All the sprinkled doughnuts were gone. I had to settle for a plain-frosted one. I sat on the floor and ate it slowly.
After eating, we finished decorating the bags, then put some treats, a church schedule, one ceramic figure, and a picture of the Savior into each one.
“Because there aren’t very many of us here today, each group will have to visit a few extras,” Sister Peterson announced.
I groaned—more time wasted!
Some of the leaders walked around with slips of paper with the addresses of those we were going to visit. Other leaders were gathering the classes into groups.
“I guess it’s you and me, Rick!” Brother Tisch put his hand on my shoulder. “Where’s your coat?”
I trudged over to the coatrack. I didn’t want to go outside. It had been cold when we came to the church, and it would take forever for the cars to warm up.
I returned to where Brother Tisch was, and we grabbed the bags. He led the way out the door. I turned toward the parking lot. Almost everyone was gone, and all of the cars I saw had people already in them.
“Rick,” Brother Tisch called from behind me.
I turned around. The bags were in a red wagon. Brother Tisch was pulling it by the handle. “My wife had to run some errands with our car, so I borrowed my daughter’s wagon.”
I just stood there.
“Come on, Rick—let’s go! If we walk quickly, it won’t be too cold.”
Brother Tisch checked an address on a slip of paper, and we walked to the house that was farthest from the chapel. “This is Diana’s house.”
“Brother Tisch, I really don’t want to go up there. She goes to my school.”
Brother Tisch nodded. I was sure glad that he understood. I stayed by the wagon while he knocked on the door. No one was home. Great! I thought.
Brother Tisch returned to the wagon with a smile on his face. “I’ll take this one to her later.”
We walked to the next house. This time the girl on our list was home. She smiled as Brother Tisch told her about the bag. I didn’t say anything. The same thing happened at the next two houses.
“Rick, I’d like you to talk to the next boy. He should be in your Primary class.” Brother Tisch had stopped walking. “Would you please do it?”
I hesitated.
“Just do it the way I did,” Brother Tisch reassured me.
I nodded, though my stomach jumped a little. This bag-giving stuff looked pretty easy. Besides, I knew Carl pretty well from school. I hadn’t known that he was supposed to be in my Primary class, though.
I knocked on the door. When Carl came to the door, I gave him the bag and told him all about it, just the way Brother Tisch had.
Carl stood there quietly. After I finished, he said “Thanks” and shut the door. For a second, I thought I saw tears in his eyes. But I must have been mistaken. It was only a silly bag of stuff.
Brother Tisch walked me home. We didn’t talk much. I was thinking about the look on Carl’s face.
The next day, as I walked into Primary and looked at the row of chairs where my class sits, Carl was there!
“Thanks for the bag. I never knew when church started. My mom and dad don’t go to our meetings very often, and I always feel kind of dumb asking about it.” Carl had a big smile on his face. “I put the picture right next to my bed, so I can see it every day!”
I felt a warm feeling grow inside of me. It seemed to start in my chest and move up to my face, and I had to smile, too.

Richard Rancie, 14, Melbourne. Richard runs. Right now it’s competitive running (track) and his own neighborhood car wash business. Later, it may be in a political race. He wants to be Australia’s prime minister.
Richard doesn’t train or compete on Sunday. He gave up a place in the national cross-country championships because they were held on the Sabbath. He also took himself out of competition in the Victoria state championships in his best event, the 1,500 meter. Instead, he settled for competing in the 800 meter. “I didn’t expect to make the final,” he says, “but I won a bronze medal.” The great thing is, he doesn’t sound disappointed about missing out on the 1,500. He just feels blessed and compensated.

What is it really like to be handicapped? What problems do the handicapped face every day? Helen Lesley Chick, 17, of the Hobart Australia Stake found out. She won regional, state, and national awards for her investigation of the problems of paraplegics.

For her first-hand investigation, Helen spent a week in a wheelchair (which she borrowed from her grandmother). Her week-long experience was a time of aching arms and shoulders as well as clashes with walls and people. Of her self-imposed confinement to a wheelchair, Helen says, “On the first day I wanted to give it up. It was so hard pushing along on the carpet.”

Sponsored by the Junior Chamber of Commerce, the award was presented to Helen in Canberra by the Governor-General of Australia, Sir Zelman Cowan.

Helen is the Laurel class president in her ward and her seminary class president. She is studying to be a math and science teacher. In her spare time, she enjoys playing hockey, bushwalking, and cycling.

Members of the choir rejoice that they are singing in “the Lord’s choir.” Duffie Hurtado, who has been singing in the choir for the past ten years, remembers, “After the choir sang at the dedication of the Washington D.C. Temple visitors’ center, we had the opportunity to be greeted by President Spencer W. Kimball, who shook our hands and thanked us for singing. At that point in my life, I was making some really serious decisions, and because of personal problems I was having, I felt it might be best if I left the choir. When I reached President Kimball, he took my hand and said, ‘This is the Lord’s choir, and this is where he wants you to be.’ I hadn’t told him I had a problem, or asked for his counsel. He just knew. With the other choir members around me in the line he just shook hands and said hello or thank you or God bless you. But when I stopped that’s what he said, and I will never forget it. I know that that man was a prophet of God, and I am so touched that the Lord would answer my prayers in such a special way.”

“My turn!” Johnny called, jumping up and down.
“Yes, Johnny,” said Mom. “What did you do with your Popsicle?”
“First I ate it.” Johnny giggled, showing his red tongue. “And I had to think for a while to get an idea too. As I was thinking, somebody called to me. It was Jeffrey—the boy in my class who has to stay in a wheelchair. He was on the porch of his house and asked me to come over. He seemed pretty sad. I thought that if summer vacation gets boring for me, it must really get boring for him: no bike riding, no baseball, no swimming. So when I went over to his house, I knew what I was going to do with my stick. His mom got me a piece of heavy paper and a pin, and I folded a paper airplane. Then I worked the pin through the middle of the Popsicle stick and stuck it into the nose of the airplane to make a propeller. I gave it to Jeffrey, and do you know what? Even though he has some pretty neat toys, he thought the airplane was great.”
“And you’re pretty great, too,” said Mom. “Good job!”

It may have happened several months ago, but being part of the Masskara opening number for the cultural show we staged during the welcome dinner for the Tabernacle Choir in February and during the area broadcast with Elder and Sister Stevenson in May still inspires me.
Looking back, I had to sacrifice my weekends to attend the practices. There were times when I felt so tired, especially since I had to juggle family, a ton of school work, and practices while also waking up early, traveling, dealing with sore muscles, and more.
Despite this, I knew that I was doing it for the Lord and that all of my efforts would be worth it. I felt the Lord’s hand every step of the way. On top of that, I got to know so many people, built unexpected friendships, and had so much fun!
We were only given less than two months to practice compared to previous cultural presentations which had several months of preparation, so I was amazed that we were able to learn the steps quickly. I was also inspired by the hard work of those around me, especially the trainers and those who arranged the show.
They were sacrificing so much of their time and effort (to the point that some even sacrificed their sleep), and they were so patient with us. They cared for each one of us. I felt this the most when our trainers gave each of us awards that were well thought out and personalized, which deeply touched my heart. Our trainers also pushed for us to bond with one another, and I think this bond we have with our fellow dancers would not exist without them.
On the day of the performance, we all gave our best. When I saw how the Tabernacle Choir members enjoyed our performances so much, and how they were moved to tears, it made me feel that all of the efforts and sacrifices we made were worth it. I was also surprised and moved to tears when they sang a song for us. It was such a memorable experience for me. That moment felt like we were Zion—of one heart and of one mind, all worshipping the Lord, all united by music. Nothing can replace the sacredness and joy that I felt that night.
Three months later, we performed our Masskara dance again, this time with Elder and Sister Stevenson, the Area Presidency and their wives, and the entire country as the show and the devotional were broadcast live! We experienced the same high, this time brought about by the inspiring words of Elder and Sister Stevenson. They counseled us to P.R.O. every day: Pray over and over, Read time after time, and Obey again and again.
My Masskara co-dancers and I have been trying to apply the things we learned during our rehearsal period and our recent performances, and today I am happy to note that among the Masskara dancers, three are already serving their missions, and two have received their call.
Those who are serving include Sister Alcantara, a service missionary serving in the Quezon City North Mission, and Sister Russel Bañaga and Sister Krizzia Arpellida, both serving in the Philippines, Urdaneta Mission (they entered the MTC on July 19, 2024). Meanwhile, Brother James Ejercito’s mission in Seoul, South Korea started on September 27, 2024, and Sister Maren Rivera will serve in the Philippines Baguio Mission on November 1, 2024.
Sister Alcantara and Sister Bañaga were part of the previous generation of Masskara dancers who volunteered to train and teach the current batch of Masskara dancers. They showed patience and charity as they developed close relationships with the youth and taught those who had difficulty with the steps. Their example not just as dancers but as servants of the Lord is such a blessing to all of us.
Sister Arpellida, Brother James, and Sister Maren were all part of the current generation of Masskara dancers. The three of them developed a close friendship during the practices, and shared their progress along the covenant path, encouraging and inspiring each other. They showed resilience and perseverance despite having sore bodies as they continued to practice every Saturday from 8:00 am to 5:00 pm.
I can’t remember how many generations of Masskara dancers there have been since it started 14 years ago when they performed it during the Church Jubilee celebration at the Araneta Coliseum. As a primary child back then, I was amazed by the colorful and energetic number. I was also inspired by the many dancers and trainers who have served missions through the years. The legacy continues, and I hope more of the dancers from my generation will go and serve.
These missionaries and soon-to-be missionaries inspire all of us fellow dancers. They sacrificed their time and talents to the Lord to serve him through performing for the Tabernacle Choir and Elder and Sister Stevenson, now they are sacrificing their time and talents to invite others to come unto Christ and help them receive the gospel of Jesus Christ.

By 24 June 1844, Joseph Smith had surrendered himself to legal authorities seeking to prosecute him for treason. That day he and his company rode to Carthage. While it is widely known that Joseph and his fellow prisoners preached to the prison guards at Carthage, the reaction of some of those guards often goes unnoted. Eyewitness Church member Dan Jones wrote:
“A portion of us were alternately preaching to the guards, … and several were relieved before their time was out because they admitted they were proselyted to the belief of the innocency of the prisoners, which rendered them incompetent of guarding! Frequently they admitted they had been imposed upon by the tales of the mobs. … They believed our testimony to the point of confessing that the accusations made by the mobbers were lies for the purpose of getting revenge on J. Smith. … And more than once was it heard ‘Let us go home boys for I will not fight against these men.’”10
Two days after the martyrdom, Brother Jones attended a viewing of the bodies of Joseph and Hyrum, laid in their coffins at Joseph’s house in Nauvoo. He later wrote that he then beheld “the two wisest and most virtuous men on the earth without any doubt, whom I had seen just awhile before preaching tenderly from between the iron bars of their jail the gospel of peace to those who wanted to kill them.”11 If Joseph had been able to gain the ears of those who finally killed him, to let them feel of his great spirit and friendship, undoubtedly some of their hearts would also have been softened.

One evening my mom read “The Secret Giver” from the December 2008 Friend to us. We liked the story a lot and thought it was a great idea. So, we made a plan with our mom and decided who we would give gifts to for Christmas and when we would do it. We even did some detective work to discover what some of our recipients would like. We dressed in dark clothes and planned to drop the presents and run. We thought that we were just having fun, but we got more than fun out of this service mission. We felt really good inside after delivering the presents, and we were excited about doing something nice for others. We are already thinking about next year’s “secret giver” mission.

One day at recess my friends and I were picking flowers off a tree. Some girls came up to us and told us we weren’t supposed to pick the flowers. We stopped picking the flowers and walked away. I told my friends we should tell the truth. We told a teacher that we had been picking the flowers for our teacher. The teacher said we could pick the flowers as long as we didn’t pull on the branches. I’m glad I told the truth.

For five weeks in May and June of 1861, their ship, the Monarch of the Sea, sailed across the Atlantic. When it finally docked in New York harbor, little boats took the Latter-day Saint immigrants ashore. They all stayed overnight in a giant hall called Castle Gardens.
That night while the children tried to sleep on the floor of the building, Alma Elizabeth’s brother August discovered some sacks of brown sugar right next to him. One had a small hole in it and was spilling its contents. Alma Elizabeth and August had tasted no sugar or candy during the ocean voyage. So August found a spoon. Soon they had had a grand feast. But by morning they were sick!
Alma Elizabeth, with her family and the other Saints, took a long train trip to Iowa. There they joined wagon trains going to Utah. She walked the entire way, except when she got into a wagon to cross a deep river.
Alma Elizabeth’s father had trouble walking. In Sweden he had been a concert violinist and an orchestra director. Then rheumatism crippled him. Slowly he learned to use his hands and feet again, but it was difficult and painful. Elizabeth’s father was unable to keep up with the wagon train, and he insisted that his family go on ahead, promising to catch up with them.
Her father struggled on until he spotted a light. It was a camp of soldiers on their way to the Civil War. One soldier spoke Swedish. When they learned that Alma Elizabeth’s father was a musician, they found a violin and he played it for them. In the morning they took him on horseback and caught up with the wagon train.
When Alma Elizabeth’s family reached Utah they settled in Mount Pleasant. As a pioneer she worked hard. She learned how to card and spin wool, weave carpets, milk cows, knit and crochet, make gloves out of buckskin, weave hats out of braided straw, stack hay, and bundle wheat.
One time she collected wheat left in the fields after the harvest and sold it for $10. With some of the money, she bought ten yards of calico for her first party dress.
The day Alma Elizabeth turned eight years old she saw some elders baptizing people in a nearby creek. Her folks did not know about the baptismal service, so she ran home to tell them. With their permission she, too, was baptized in the creek. Afterward she walked to the meetinghouse to be confirmed. But after the confirmation, she felt very tired and fell sound asleep on a seldom-used church bench where people could not see her. When the meeting ended everyone went home. Alma Elizabeth’s family became concerned about her long absence, and they sent her big sister Helen to search for her. She found Alma Elizabeth still asleep in the now empty meetinghouse.
On a hot July day when Alma Elizabeth was ten years old, she went to a ward meeting. The people felt very discouraged because their crops needed rain. President Brigham Young came to the meeting, and she listened carefully when he rose to his feet and spoke. He promised the people that if they would listen to his words, the Lord would open the heavens and send the rains.
The words hardly left the prophet’s lips when Alma Elizabeth noticed the gathering clouds. Soon they filled the sky, and rain poured down in torrents. On that day she received a great testimony of the gospel that she remembered all her life.

My father was a good man and a hard worker. He always took me out to work with him on our farm, but he never asked me to do anything that he didn’t do right alongside me. My younger brother and I thinned and hoed beets and cut seed spuds (potatoes) in the summer. In the fall, we picked spuds. When we were teenagers, we had a little herd of cows. That’s where our dairy started. It was hard to leave our friends to go home and take care of those cows, but those chores taught us how to work.

Try to feel the heart of a young man, Nkosiyabo Eddie Lupahla, in Africa, writing about his friend.
“Two and a half years prior to my joining the Church in 1999, my good friend, Mbuti Yona, looked me up. We had been friends through grades 5 to 12, then [were] separated when we attended different [schools].
“Mbuti was baptized in April 1999, and four weeks later he visited me at home and introduced the gospel to me. Regardless of the rumors about the Church, I was impressed by the ‘fellow Saints’ who gave me a warm welcome on my first visit. It was this same Sunday that my friend introduced me to the missionaries. Arrangements were made to be taught. My friend was there for every discussion, and he kept inviting me to the activities. I really enjoyed being around people with the same values, interests, standards, and goals. It was during this same time period that I began attending institute [of religion]. It all seemed very natural: Thursday nights [5:30]—missionary discussion, followed by institute.
“I learned a lot in institute and especially enjoyed our class about how to achieve a celestial marriage. The first semester ended in May, shortly after I began attending, and I felt cheated. But I was fortunate enough to catch the second-semester class, Teachings of the Living Prophets. While in institute, I bought myself the four standard works and I continued to learn and grow in the Church line upon line, precept upon precept, here a little and there a little. I was baptized September 17, 1999, by another friend I had made while attending institute.
“I am thankful for the institute program. It has not only shaped me, but it has also helped me qualify to become a missionary, which mission I started preparing for five months after my baptism. I have been blessed with many opportunities to serve and to teach prior to my mission.
“I am thankful for my friend. I hope he realizes what he has done for me. We have both served missions, I to South Africa Durban, he to South Africa Cape Town. All it takes is a friend to bring such a mighty change in one’s life.”

One of the most challenging experiences of my life happened shortly after the passing of our 10-year-old daughter from brain cancer. The saying “You can’t take it with you” came with clarity as we looked around her room one Saturday afternoon.
Clarissa was gone, but her room still held the identifiable remnants of her earthly stay. We now had the daunting task of deciding what to do with her personal belongings. I knew that parting with a single item would not be easy, especially for my wife.
Dealing with the whirlwind of details associated with hospitals, chemotherapy, and radiation had left us little time to clean and organize.
Memories came as we packed up items she’d arranged on her headboard or bookshelf. They all held heartfelt meaning—from her favorite blanket, book, or necklace to her stuffed animals, schoolbooks, and football. My wife sobbed as we asked what to do with each item.
We gathered many of Clarissa’s books and took them to her elementary school for other children to enjoy. We gave her dresser to a neighbor. Some of her clothes went to cousins. Focusing on others helped make the difficult situation of parting with her things a little easier.