Gospel Story Finder

I felt like an Indian Placement student must feel that June morning as our bus rounded the final corner and the chaperone said, “… eure Gastfamilien” (your host families) as he pointed to a throng of anxious, unfamiliar people pushing as close to the curb as possible without falling off. My stomach fell to the very soles of my new shoes as I realized that I was about to be separated from the only people I knew in all of Germany. Reluctantly I hung my bag and my camera over my shoulder, sucked in a huge breath of air, and held it as I gingerly stepped off the bus and onto German cement. My ears were immediately hit with a barrage of jumbled conversations and nervous laughter, and I stood there in a daze not knowing where to go.
Soon I felt a hand begin to take my suitcase from me, and I turned to find a girl with long, black braids and wire-rimmed glasses smiling at me. I recognized her from a picture she’d sent as my new sister, Sunny, so I followed her as she wove her way through the mass of students and families. We found the family we were supposed to ride home with, and as we drove through the streets of Nuremberg I listened in bewilderment to the language I had thought I understood.
When we arrived at our home I met Sunny’s younger sister, Oschi, and was taken on a grand tour of the beautiful three-story house. We ended up in my bedroom, and Sunny and Oschi helped me lift my oversized suitcase onto the bed. As it sunk into the fat feather comforter I began to unload my wardrobe for the next weeks, amid innumerable questions about each piece of clothing.
After a short nap that did little but make me realize how tired I really was, we went to dinner at the house of an older sister, Claudia. My great fear of the strange, unknown things I would have to eat was dispelled when Claudia and her husband Bernhard came to the table with a very welcome sight: spaghetti and green salad. After dinner we returned home and welcomed Vati and Mutti home from their trip to Scandinavia.
After all the day’s activities I felt very lost to be back in my strange, new bedroom alone. I let myself fall into the puffy softness of the bed. There wasn’t much in this bedroom belonging to a brother away at college; just a writing table, a closet, a few shelves, and some rather strange artwork, including an odd collection of tiny hippos going up one wall and onto the ceiling.
As I lay there counting hippos, jet-lag exhaustion caught up with me and I started to cry. The more I cried, the harder I cried, because I didn’t know why I was crying. True, I was separated from my family, but I would be seeing them again in only a month. My new family treated me like a princess, yet still I felt horribly empty and I sensed something had been missed that day. As I lay there crying, feeling helpless and frustrated, I remembered: Today is Sunday. Of course. I had forgotten, but my heart had not, and it had been trying all day to get through to me. I wanted desperately to go to church, but it was far too late by then. So I closed my eyes and went through a typical Sunday at home: family prayer, journal writing, dinner together, classes, and sacrament meeting. Suddenly I realized that, more than anything, I missed the sacrament. Never before had I felt so great a need to partake of the bread and water. It had always been a routine part of my Sabbath, a routine that left me feeling fulfilled. This day there had been no routine, no sacrament, and I felt painfully void without it. I knew then that I needed that time. I got to my knees and let the pillow absorb my tears as I asked Heavenly Father for the opportunity to attend an LDS church the following Sunday.
The next morning I mentioned to Mutti how much I would like to go to my church. Over the course of the week I nearly forgot that I had said anything because I was so busy meeting new people, going new places, and learning new things with my family and at the Gymnasium (high school).
One day after school, Mutti handed me a paper with the address and meeting schedule of the LDS church in Nuremberg. A wave of excitement and gratitude swept over me in anticipation of church and the sacrament.
Sunday morning after breakfast, Mutti, Oschi, and I climbed into the car and drove the few miles to the chapel. Oschi and I were dropped off in front of the tall, gray building, and we mounted the few steps to the door. Almost as soon as we entered we were greeted by the bishop and several other members. I felt enveloped in love.
The service began. I felt the sincerity of those around me and rejoiced with them. Soon all heads bowed as prayerful words floated from behind a lace-covered table—“… dass sie wahrhaftig immuer an ihn denken …” (that they do always remember him). I clung to each sweet syllable, knowing that the message they spoke was true, no matter what the language: the Lord Jesus Christ shed his blood, and I would live again because of it.
The bread and water were passed. How satisfying each morsel, how quenching each drop. My hungry soul had been fed. I will never forget the significance of this sacred ordinance, learned one night while crying in an unfamiliar bedroom.

Years later, when Sister Ellis and I had young children and I was starting a new career, my employer changed medical insurance plans. The old plan would end on June 1 and the new one would start on July 1, leaving us without insurance for one month. We did not know what to do, but at that point we remembered a talk by President N. Eldon Tanner (1898–1982) in which he counseled Church members to always have health insurance.3
I talked with the company, and we negotiated a contract to ensure continuous insurance coverage throughout June. On June 28 our oldest son, Matt, fell off the high diving board at the neighborhood pool and hit the concrete deck. He suffered a fractured skull and a brain concussion. He was rushed by helicopter to the hospital, where he was treated by specialists. The costs were astronomical and would have ruined us financially. Fortunately, health insurance paid for most of his treatment.

Andy’s little sister, Trisha, had been born with many health problems. She needed extra help to do even the smallest thing. Trisha was 18 months old, but she couldn’t walk or sit up or even roll over. She couldn’t feed herself and had to eat through a tube.
Andy’s daddy, grandpa, and uncles had given Trisha many blessings, and Andy wanted to do something to help her too. He set a goal to help her do the things she couldn’t do for herself.
Every day Andy looked for ways to help Trisha. When he saw her trying to roll over, he gently helped her roll from her tummy to her back. When she struggled to sit up, Andy supported her.
One evening after Andy had helped Trisha sit up, Mommy and Daddy sat down to talk with him.
“We know you love Trisha very much and want to help her,” Mommy said. “But it’s important to let her become as independent as possible. That means we need to let her do the things she can by herself.”
“But Trisha can’t sit up by herself,” Andy said.
“She can’t sit all the way up,” Mommy said. “But she can pull herself up partway. We need to let her do that.”
Andy knew how hard Trisha struggled to pull herself up. He didn’t want her to have to work so hard. “Why can’t I help her?” he asked.
“When she tries to do things by herself, it helps her to grow stronger,” Mommy said. “I know it’s hard to watch her try so hard to do something. I want to help her too, and then I remember that Heavenly Father is always there to help and bless her.”
“Will Trisha be sick forever?” Andy asked.
“She’ll always have some problems,” Daddy said. “But we know that one day she’ll be resurrected with a healthy, whole body, and that she’ll be with our family forever.”
Andy knew that his parents had been sealed in the temple, and that he and Trisha were sealed to them.
Andy thought about what he could do for his little sister. He knew that Heavenly Father loved him and Trisha and that He listened to prayers. “I can pray for Trisha,” Andy said.
“That’s the best gift of all,” Mommy said, and gave him a big hug.

Stephanie Post isn’t about to take any credit. She’s just been a friend. It’s no big thing, she assures. Anybody would do it.
Serena Oddens doesn’t exactly see things the same way. Her thoughts on Stephanie? It is a big thing and, no, not just anybody would do it.
“Stephanie really supported me through some rough times, and she’s been a great example to me,” says Serena.
It’s a Saturday in Den Haag, Netherlands. Youth from stakes in the Netherlands and Belgium have gathered together for a day-long activity, and Stephanie and Serena are happy. Although they’re in the same stake, they don’t get to see each other that often. As they sit on the lawn, the talk turns to the beginning of their friendship a few years earlier.
Serena thinks to when her life wasn’t where she knew it should be. “At my school, nobody was studying, and it seemed everybody was smoking and drinking and using drugs. I didn’t stop going to church, but I was hanging around with the wrong friends and not doing everything I should have been doing,” she says. “I see what’s become of many of my former friends, and I think had I stayed at that school nothing good would have become of me.”
Enter Stephanie. At the same time Serena’s mom asked her to transfer schools and leave her friends, Serena met Stephanie, 18, a member of the Almere Branch in the Den Haag Stake. “Stephie’s really supported me while telling me good stuff about the Church. She taught me things about the gospel that I didn’t even know,” Serena says. “Stephie always bears her testimony and tells me of the things she’s been through. It’s great for me.”
“But it’s not just one way,” Stephanie says of their friendship. “It’s not that I only helped Serena, because she’s helped me too. She’s been a really good friend.”
Stephanie was born in Australia, but when she was 10, her family moved to the Netherlands. “My mom just knew we had to come to Holland for certain reasons and to help build up the Church. My mother is wonderful. She’s a strong member, and she’s a good example for me because she’s always given me a path to follow.”
Now Stephanie is making a path of her own, and Serena has joined her. Right at the time when things seemed to be falling apart for Serena, Stephanie appeared on the scene. Although distance keeps them apart—Almere is a one-hour car ride from Serena’s home in Alkmaar—they remain close. Thank goodness for phones.
“There are no other members of the Church at my school, and I often feel like I am the only one who is doing good and right things,” says 17-year-old Serena. “I sometimes feel like I am standing alone. Stephie was there along with all my friends from church who were supporting me. But the thing about Stephie is that she knows everything about me and I know everything about her.
“When I’m feeling down or upset,” she continues, “it’s like my school friends don’t understand me or what I’m feeling or what I’m going through. When I talk to her about it, we can get things off our chests and she understands.”
Stephanie knows teenagers in Holland aren’t much different from those all over the world. Once they hit their teenage years, they start experimenting and changing. She’s just glad she was there to help Serena.
“I think it’s really sad to see the youth we have hung out with in our stake go fully inactive or have other troubles that take them from the Church,” Stephanie says. “But it’s really nice to hear that someone who has been inactive for a while is active again or going on a mission. That’s what’s been so great about Serena.”
It’s moments like this when Stephanie feels grateful she’s stayed active her whole life. Stephanie remembers turning down classmates’ invitations to parties, or the times they called her a “goody-goody.” But along the way, Stephanie’s testimony has grown.
“I’ve known since I was little that the Church is true. When you know something so strongly I guess you can’t go around it,” Stephanie says. “I’ve had my trials and I’ve had my times when I ask myself what I am doing and why I am still going to church.
“But,” Stephanie continues, “I think Serena and I have come to an age now where we don’t care as much about what people think. We are members of the Church and we are different. Some of my friends call me a goody-goody like it’s a bad thing. Well, I am a goody-goody, and it’s not a bad thing at all.”
Serena agrees. “Stephanie helped me to understand that I don’t need to be ashamed of my standards. When I think back to my inactive stage, it isn’t that I’m jealous of Stephanie because she didn’t go inactive. But if I could turn back the hands of time, I would do things differently.”
As Serena stops talking, Morwenna Kleijweg sits down. Stephanie is finishing a thought. “I think it’s great to be an example to those who maybe aren’t that strong. I’m not sure I always make a difference, but I hope I do.”
“You do,” says Morwenna, a Laurel in the Leiden Ward. She then proceeds to tell how she met Stephanie for the first time at girls’ camp. “When I met Stephie, I was going through a really rough time for myself. She told me things about herself, and I recognized myself in her,” Morwenna says. “When I went home from camp, I realized it was a great experience for me to find someone I could be close to who could be an example.”

This story took place in New Zealand.
Jacob’s gumboots squished into the ground wherever he stepped. He followed his brother, Isaac, carefully across the yard back to the house. There were leaves and branches all over!
A hurricane had hit New Zealand a few days before. Because of the storms, there was lots of flooding. Jacob was grateful his house didn’t get flooded, but lots of their friends’ houses did. Their family friend Monique and her husband Mark lived in a historic house that was now flooded.
Jacob H.
Jacob and Isaac were moving things out of Monique and Mark’s house so they could mop the floors. They gathered loads of papers from all over the house. They found recipes, photos, and letters. Some of the papers were a little wet, but luckily not ruined.
They put the papers in a plastic bin and moved them to the trailer outside. The trailer was a little home Monique and Mark were staying in until the house was safe again.
After gathering all the papers, Jacob walked to a cupboard and found some board games and plastic toys. Some of the games closer to the floor were wet.
Jacob wanted to make sure they did a good job helping. “What next? Do you want us to move these toys and games out?” he asked when Mark walked by.
“Yes, please. Thank you!” Mark said.
Jacob and Isaac gathered the games and toys in their arms and carried them to the trailer. They raced back to the house for the next assignment.
Isaac H.
“Thanks for the help, you two,” Monique said.
“No problem,” said Jacob. “What next?”
She looked around. “Do you mind mopping the floor now?”
Jacob took a mop from Monique and got to work. He did his best to mop up the puddles of water from the dark wood floors.
His legs and arms were starting to get tired when someone called, “Time for lunch!”
Jacob finished, then ran outside to meet Dad, Isaac, Monique, Mark, and some other friends.
Dad handed him a brown bag of fish and chips. The smell made Jacob’s stomach grumble. He’d been so focused on mopping he forgot about lunch! He took out a chip and dropped it into his mouth. Mmm, warm and salty.
“Thank you so much for your help,” Monique said while they ate. Her eyes were shiny with tears. “I don’t know what I would have done without all of you.”
Jacob felt a warm bubble fill his heart. He forgot all about his tired body. It would have taken Monique and Mark much longer if they had to clean out the house by themselves! He had helped friends in need.
“Thanks for helping today,” Dad said on the car ride home.
“It was fun,” Isaac said.
Jacob stretched his sore arms. “Yeah. Plus, if Jesus was here, He would have done the same thing. Right?”
“I think so too,” Dad said. “I’m sure Jesus is really happy you were there to help Monique and Mark.”
Jacob liked making Jesus happy. He wanted to be someone Jesus could always trust to help.
“What next?” Jacob asked.
Dad laughed. “What do you mean?”
“What are we going to do to help Jesus next?” Jacob said.
Dad grinned. “There might be more storms coming, so we can help make sandbags. Then we can take them to our friends so their houses don’t flood. How does that sound?”
Jacob smiled. “Perfect.”

My bishop extended a call to me the Sunday after my ordination in the Aaronic Priesthood as a Sunday School teacher. I was also called as a seminary teacher, and I enrolled in an Institute of Religion class. While I taught the Old Testament in seminary, I studied the Book of Mormon in the institute class. This connection to the scriptures changed my life as that was the beginning of a lifelong love for the standard works of the Church and other writings that I have accumulated over the years a large library of Church literatures and scriptures. I even went on to teach institute classes for years even as a stake president.

Hiking into the foothills and onto the mountain east of Manti, Utah, was a favorite activity for me when I was growing up. One crisp fall day when I was about 10 years old, my friend and I decided to go for a hike.
My mother carefully wrapped two peanut butter and jam sandwiches and two pieces of raisin pie in waxed paper and put them and an apple apiece in brown paper bags for us to take for our lunches.
I enjoyed the cool, fresh air and the smell of the fields and orchards as we made our way past the outskirts of town, past one neighbor’s farm, and through another’s apple orchard. The trees were loaded with delicious red apples.
We were each carrying a large burlap sack, as we hoped to find pine nuts. As we took the narrow trail through the sagebrush and into the junipers, we found a piñion pine tree here and there and a few pinecones.
We put the cones, sticky with fresh pine gum, into our burlap sacks, knowing that each hard, green cone held a number of pine nuts locked tightly inside it. I loved pine nuts then; I still do. The Indians liked them, too, but they gathered them for survival. They made a pine nut bread that was half pine nuts and half grasshoppers. I preferred my pine nuts without grasshoppers.
My friend and I climbed higher until we came to a maze of flat, white rocks laid out so that they formed a huge letter M (for “Manti,” the name of our town). This huge letter could be seen from the valley below. We picked out one of the large, flat rocks and sat down on it to rest. Taking our shoes off to cool our feet on the smooth rock, we enjoyed looking down on Manti, out across the fields and valleys, and beyond. There was a soft breeze in the clean, clear air, and we could smell the mixture of sage, juniper, and pine. It felt so good to be alive!
We gathered dry brush and limbs so that we could make a fire to roast some of our pine nuts. We lit the brush, and soon it was blazing quite high—too high!
The flames caught onto one nearby clump of sagebrush, then another and another. It looked as if our little fire would soon spread to the whole mountainside and become a forest fire. We had no water to put out the fire with, so we tried to beat it out with our burlap sacks. But every time we beat at the fire, it seemed to fan out and spread more. In desperation my friend said, “I’ll go for help.” He pulled his shoes on and took off running down the mountain.
I was alone! I went to my knees in prayer. “Father in Heaven, help me put this fire out.” This is all I remember saying. I don’t know what I expected. There was not a cloud in the sky, and it didn’t suddenly start to rain. I didn’t hear a voice telling me what to do, but Heavenly Father did answer my prayer.
Before I’d even gotten off my knees, I was impressed to start throwing dirt on the nearest burning bush, and then on the next one. I threw dirt on another and another until I had encircled the entire fire and had it under control. Soon only smoke was left blowing up on the mountain where the fire had been. I had not heard a voice saying, “Throw dirt on the fire,” but I had felt strongly impressed to do it. In some way Heavenly Father had conveyed that idea to my mind.
I am grateful for the way Heavenly Father answered my prayer. He did not put the fire out. Instead, he allowed me the dignity of putting the fire out, which boosted my self-confidence and helped me realize that I could solve difficult problems with his help.
I learned many important lessons from this experience. The first lesson I learned was to not start a fire next to brush with a breeze blowing. More important, I learned that the prayer of a small boy on a mountain would be heard and answered. I also learned that Heavenly Father will generally not do for us what we can do for ourselves, but will prompt us to use our own intelligence, our own strength, and the materials at hand, such as the dirt under our feet.

This story took place in the USA.
“Break time!” Ari’s teacher called.
Ari’s classmates lined up to go outside to the playground. But Ari and her friends always went to the library instead. They liked to borrow books and do crafts together.
Kristin and Ella were already waiting by the door. Ari grabbed her book and a stack of paper. Then she led the way down the hall.
“I hope The Dragon Keeper’s Secret is back!” Ari said. “I’ve wanted to borrow it for weeks.”
When they got to the library, the girls waved at Mrs. Franklin, the school librarian. She always greeted them with a bright smile. But today her smile didn’t seem as bright.
Ari frowned as she set her book on a table. “Did Mrs. Franklin seem kind of sad to you?”
Kristin shrugged. “She was probably just busy.”
“Maybe.” Ari sat down and pulled out a piece of paper. She folded it carefully, smoothing the fold with her thumb.
“What are we making today?” Ella asked.
“How about bookmarks?” Ari said. “They’re pretty easy. I’ll show you.”
Ari had been learning how to make origami. It was a type of art from Japan, done by folding paper into different shapes. Ari knew how to make all kinds of shapes, and she taught her friends what she learned.
Ari showed Kristin and Ella how to make each fold. Soon all three of them had a little square bookmark.
“It goes on the corner, like this.” Ari opened her book and slipped the bookmark over the corner of a page.
“Cool!” Kristin grabbed another paper. “I want to try it by myself.”
While they worked, they talked about books they had read and what they wanted to read next. Ari glanced again at Mrs. Franklin. She still seemed a little sad.
Soon Mrs. Franklin stopped by their table.
“Hi, girls.” She set a book on the table. It was the dragon keeper book! “This is for you, Ari. I know you’ve been waiting to read it.”
“Thank you!” Ari picked it up.
Mrs. Franklin sighed. “Someone robbed my car today. They took all my books and music.”
“That’s awful!” Kristin said.
Mrs. Franklin gave them a sad smile. “Well, it’s only stuff. Stuff can be replaced. I’m just glad no one was hurt.”
Ari watched Mrs. Franklin walk away.
“I wish we could do something to help,” Ella said.
Ari looked down at the origami bookmark in her hands. “Maybe we can!”
“Like what?” Kristin asked.
Ari grinned. “Come to my house after school. I have an idea.”
The next day, Ari, Kristin, and Ella went to the library during their break, like they always did. But this time, they didn’t just bring books. They had something special for Mrs. Franklin.
“We made these for you!” Ari gave Mrs. Franklin a bag. “We know we can’t replace all the things that were stolen, but we thought these might cheer you up.”
Mrs. Franklin looked inside the bag. It was full of origami—bookmarks, fish, hearts, butterflies. She smiled big.
“This is amazing! Thank you so much.” She pulled a piece of origami from the bag. It was folded to make a tiny book. “I’m going to use this mini journal to write all my happy little thoughts!”
Ari smiled back. She could always do something nice for others—one paper fold at a time.
Turn the page to make your own origami!
Illustrations by Brian Martin

There is an old fable about a king and a jester. One day the king decided to reward the jester, so he called him in, offered him a beautiful staff, and told him, “You may keep this beautiful staff until you find a bigger fool than you.”
Time passed and one day the king became very seriously ill, called the jester, and told him that he would probably go on a long journey and never return. The jester then asked him, “And have you made any provisions for a journey that lasts forever?”
The king answered, “No.”
The jester then handed the king the staff and told him, “King, if you have made no provisions for a journey that lasts forever, this staff belongs to you. You are a bigger fool than I.”

One bishop shared a similar experience with me. One Sunday, he had had an unusually heavy day of interviews, meetings, and visits. It was near 10:30 P.M. when he had a chance to walk through the chapel past the pulpit. He felt so overwhelmed with the weight of his responsibilities that he dropped to his knees in the dimly lighted chapel and plead with God for strength to carry the load. While praying, a voice came to his mind: “Bishop, you’re so tired! Why don’t you go home and go to bed?” The thought startled him at first, but as he reflected on it, he knew it was as direct an answer to prayer as the ones he received when praying about whom to call to Church positions.

At age 23, I thought I had everything a young man in México City could want. I was independent, had a good job, and was almost finished with my higher education. Life had given me much—parents who taught me good principles, instilling in me the ability to work hard and a desire to improve myself. And now I was dating a pretty young woman. The only real problem I had was a few differences between us on the topic of religion. She was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and I was not.
I had already met the missionaries, who “by coincidence” were often at her house when I went to visit. I listened to the first discussion a few times, but the missionaries could not get me to read or pray. We never got to the second discussion. I knew they wanted me to join the Church, but I wasn’t interested. Although I was impressed with many of the members I had already met, I wasn’t willing to spend Sundays in church. I preferred to play soccer or go to the movies.
One day after a series of arguments, my girlfriend and I stopped seeing each other. I missed her and began to think about her integrity, virtue, and maturity. Her standards were much higher than those of anyone else I knew. So one night I went to see her again. After we talked I realized she had missed me, too. As soon as I realized she really did want to be with me, I asked her to go out with me again.
I was quite surprised to hear a firm no come from her lips. At the same moment, tears began running down her cheeks.
I thought, What would cause her to say no when she wants to say yes? When I recovered from my surprise and asked her why, she said, between sobs, “I want to be married in the temple—I want an eternal family.”
An unfamiliar feeling swept over me, and then I, too, started to cry. For some reason, there began to grow in me a desire to do anything I could to have the same feeling about an eternal family.
I started the missionary discussions again, this time in earnest. Three weeks later I was baptized.
Now I understand what I felt that night. It was the Holy Ghost prompting me. I’m 25 now and serving full time in the México Guadalajara Mission. My girlfriend is serving a full-time mission, too.
I’m very grateful to my Heavenly Father for the powerful change in my heart and for the opportunity to share the fulness of the gospel. I’m also grateful to my friend for her faithfulness. Her desire for an eternal family has caused me to share the message of eternal families with other people—people who are now seeking that blessing for themselves.

From 1856 to 1860, thousands of Latter-day Saint pioneers pulled their belongings in handcarts for over 1,000 miles (1,600 km) as they traveled to the Salt Lake Valley. One hundred sixty-seven years ago this very week, on October 4, 1856, President Brigham Young was surprised to learn that two handcart companies, led by Edward Martin and James Willie, were still hundreds of miles from Salt Lake, with winter fast approaching. The very next day, not far from where we meet today, President Young stood before the Saints and declared: “Many of our brethren and sisters are on the plains with hand-carts, and they must be brought here. … Go and bring in those people now on the plains.”
Just two days later, the first rescue parties departed in search of the handcart pioneers.
A member of the Willie company described the desperate situation prior to the arrival of the main rescue team. He shared: “[Just] when it seemed all would be lost, … and there seemed little left to live for, like a thunderbolt out of the clear sky, God answered our prayers. A rescue party, bringing food and supplies … , came into sight. … How we thanked God for our rescue.”

Rushing to scribble a message on the last Christmas card, I quickly licked the envelope and stuffed the cards into my bag. I arrived at church just in time to join the other young men and young women in a holiday service activity.
This particular Christmas season we had decided to go to a local nursing home to sing hymns and Christmas carols as we strolled up and down the halls. I had decided that I would also bring along Christmas cards to hand out and to visit with people as we sang. I was looking forward to that evening, mostly because I love to sing Christmas carols. And it was a lot better to sing indoors rather than outside in the bitter cold!
We gathered in the foyer and began with a few Christmas classics like “Jingle Bells” and “Frosty the Snowman.” Then we opened our hymnbooks and began to sing as we wandered up and down the halls. Our voices soared and filled the air with the beautiful spirit of Christmas. Each doorway was overflowing with smiling faces, “Merry Christmas” greetings, and even several hugs.
But there was one man in a wheelchair who followed our every move for two hours. When we were done singing, he motioned for me to come to him. I leaned down to hear his frail voice.
“Can you please sing ‘O Holy Night’?” he asked softly.
Looking into his warm and hopeful eyes, I knew that he felt the Spirit and that hearing this song would help him feel closer to the Savior.
“Sure,” I replied. “We would love to.”
This song was not in our hymnbook, and I did not know all of the words, but I was sure that with close to 75 people there, someone was bound to know the lyrics. But as I gathered everyone to sing this request, I could not find anyone who knew the lyrics.
Slightly discouraged, I stood there staring at that man in his chair, desperately wishing to sing his simple Christmas request. Then I heard a girl in our group begin the song. One by one we all began to sing. The words flowed from my mouth with such ease, it was as if I had written the song myself. Our voices created an angelic chorus and echoed through the lonely halls. I knew that Heavenly Father was using our group to bring His Spirit to this man and the others in the nursing home.
After the song, everyone in the group and in the foyer stood in silence for a few minutes with tears running down our faces, full of the spirit of Christmas. I looked in my hand and noticed that I had one Christmas card left. I knelt down by the man in his wheelchair and handed him the card. Before I could say anything, he flung his arms around my neck.
“Thank you,” he said. “Thank you so much.”
As we finished giving hugs and Christmas wishes, we decided to walk around the neighborhood to continue our caroling. We had all been messengers that night, sharing our feelings of the Savior and His love. We strolled through the cold night air singing hymns, warmed by our testimonies of the Savior, whose birth we celebrated.

During the concerts, the thrill of singing the Berlioz Requiem and the a cappella concerts filled members of the choir with great emotion and joy. But for at least one choir member, Michael McOmber, singing in Israel had powerful personal meaning.
“I sang to Jews, Moslems, Christians, and to my great-grandfather’s brother, John Alexander Clark,” he says. Elder John Clark, who had been called to the Turkish mission in 1894, died of smallpox in 1895 at Haifa, in present-day Israel. He was one of two missionaries buried there who, it seemed, had died in vain. In modern times, however, these graves served as evidence of the Church’s prior presence in Israel and were helpful in its gaining approval for the Jerusalem Center to be built.
“We sang a moving number based on a text from Psalm 137,” [Ps. 137] says Michael, “‘By the waters of Babylon we sat down and wept when we remembered thee, O Zion,’ I stood and wept. The unanticipated sense of irony gently overwhelmed me as I thought of my ancestor John: ‘How shall we sing the Lord’s song in a strange land?’ the Psalmist had said of captive Israel. Yet I felt hauntingly at home here, singing the Lord’s song to my ancestor. I had come to sing a requiem in memoriam: I shall never forget thee, O Jerusalem, nor John Alexander Clark.”

Ídolos was a television show I really enjoyed watching. I have always liked performing and hoped to someday enter a music competition. This year I didn’t hesitate; I simply signed myself up for the show and went to the audition with my dad. I guess you could say I’ve been preparing for Ídolos my entire life. Every experience I had with Ídolos was amazing, without exception. I tried to take advantage of every opportunity that came my way.

Once during a dinner with the other contestants, we talked a little bit about religion, and I spoke about my faith and the standards of the Church. Later I gave each of the finalists a copy of the For the Strength of Youth pamphlet so they could better understand what I believe. Some said the Church’s standards seemed really conservative, but others praised me for having such high standards in these days.

I continued to say my prayers, read my scriptures, participate in seminary, and take the sacrament every Sunday. I am currently preparing to serve a mission, which is something I’ve wanted to do since I was little. I serve in my ward as ward pianist, ward missionary, and assistant to the bishop in the priests quorum. I had to dedicate almost all my time to the competition, but I made sure to first dedicate time to the Lord.

One of greater childhood determination was Steve Alford, who plays for the Dallas Mavericks team in the National Basketball Association. He remembers telling his eighth grade counselor, as she completed a career path form for him, that he was going to be an NBA player. She responded, “I can’t put that answer down.” Steve Alford replied, “Then leave it blank, ‘cause that’s what I’m going to do!” And he did.

Mission preparation should definitely include learning about the gospel, but you don’t have to know everything before you go. For example, as a young man, Elder Neil L. Andersen of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles was worried he wasn’t prepared to serve a mission. He said, “I remember praying, ‘Heavenly Father, how can I serve a mission when I know so little?’ I believed in the Church, but I felt my spiritual knowledge was very limited. As I prayed, the feeling came: ‘You don’t know everything, but you know enough!’”1

Before our baptism, the stake temple and family history consultant helped me prepare my mother’s name and the names of several other deceased ancestors to take to the temple for baptism.
Twenty-five days after our baptisms, on January 19, 2018, my mom’s birthday, we made our first trip to the Newport Beach California Temple. I was nervous and didn’t know what to expect, but when I walked into the temple, I felt so much serenity. It was like nowhere else I had ever been. Our group gathered at the baptismal font, where the temple president explained the importance of baptism for the dead and the blessing it holds. I sobbed for joy thinking of how these baptisms would bless our family.
After Navid was baptized for some of the male members of my family, he baptized me on behalf of some of the female family members. The first person I was baptized for was my dear, sweet mother. When I heard the words “who is dead,” I wept. Hearing it made her death so real that it hurt. But then I thought, what greater gift could I possibly give my mother on her birthday than the gift of baptism in the temple?
I look forward to many more trips to the temple. I am grateful to know that I can help provide blessings to those who have gone before me through the ordinances of the temple. What a wonderful gift!

It was an early morning in 2008 when my mother woke me up to go to school. I was really happy that morning, but I didn’t know that it would turn into the worst day of my life or the last time I would be with her. I didn’t finish all my classes that day because a friend of our family picked me up and told me that my mom had killed herself. I was only 12 years old.
I thought, “How can I live without my mother?” She was my best friend.
I cried for months. I didn’t like going to school because the other children treated me differently and felt sorry for me. I had no clue what I was supposed to do; I only knew I had to be strong for everyone else.
One day, five or six months after my mom’s death, I was alone in my room by the window, crying, trying to understand what I was here for. Suddenly I heard a voice in my head: “You are my daughter; I won’t let you suffer.” I knew it was God. But it surprised me because I didn’t believe in Him anymore, especially since I felt that it was God who had taken my mother from me. Even though I didn’t know what He meant, I felt safe.
Three years later I went to Rome, Italy, to visit my uncle. He kept telling me about this church he went to. One Sunday, he took me with him. I will always remember walking toward the church’s doors for the first time and feeling the love of Heavenly Father when I went in. It felt like home.
I started going to church every single Sunday and to every activity during the week. I loved being with the youth of the Church. They made me happier. They thought and believed in the same things that I did. Then, after three months, my summer holiday finished and I had to go back to Albania.
When I returned home, I told my dad about the feelings I’d had and how happy I’d felt during those three months going to Church activities. He didn’t like it. He told me he wouldn’t allow me to continue to go to church. So I would have to be patient for the next three years until I turned 18 years old. Then I could decide for myself and be baptized.
During this time I was blessed with so many people who would tell me about what they learned each Sunday at church. One of those people was Stephanie. She’d been living in Italy when my uncle joined the Church, but she had returned to her home in the United States. My uncle thought it would be good for us to write to each other, so I added her as a friend on Facebook.
Even though we’d never met in person, I will always be grateful to her for helping me build my faith and learn more about the gospel of Jesus Christ. She wrote to me almost every Sunday and told me everything she learned in church and then would answer my questions. She was a great friend to me.
Finally, after years of being patient, I was baptized just two days after my 18th birthday. And soon I will share with my mother the happiness I felt that day, because I will be baptized for her. I know she will be proud of the life I have chosen.
I feel blessed by Heavenly Father because He was with me during my entire journey in so many ways. I just had to wait and be patient because He had a plan for me. He’s the one who gave me strength to go through all the challenges I faced. He was always there, helping me be happier.

One of the most important days of my life was the day I was baptized. I was forty years old. The missionaries had knocked on my family’s door in Brazil. We were taught by the best missionaries in the world! Whenever I read in the Book of Mormon about the sons of Mosiah, who were such powerful missionaries, I think of Elder Hansen and Elder Furness. They were well-groomed, so it was easy for us to invite them into our home. They were well educated and polite. They had beautiful smiles and a good spirit with them. I love those missionaries who taught me to know the Lord.
After I was baptized, they placed their hands on my head to confirm me. I cried a lot because I had never had such a wonderful feeling. And I have had this same wonderful feeling ever since.