Gospel Story Finder

Twenty-three-year-old Tom Monson, relatively new bishop of the Sixth-Seventh Ward in the Temple View Stake, Salt Lake City, was unusually restless as the stake priesthood leadership meeting progressed. He had the distinct impression that he should leave the meeting immediately and drive to the Veterans’ Hospital high up on the avenues of the city. Before leaving home that night he had received a telephone call informing him that an older member of his ward was ill and had been admitted to the hospital for care. Could the bishop, the caller wondered, find a moment to go by the hospital sometime and give a blessing? The busy young leader explained that he was just on his way to a stake meeting but that he certainly would be pleased to go by the hospital as soon as the meeting was concluded.
Now the prompting was stronger than ever: “Leave the meeting and proceed to the hospital at once.” But the stake president himself was speaking at the pulpit! It would be most discourteous to stand in the middle of the presiding officer’s message, make one’s way over an entire row of brethren, and then exit the building altogether. Painfully he waited out the final moments of the stake president’s message, then ran for the door even before the closing prayer had been said.
Running the full length of the corridor on the fourth floor of the hospital, the young bishop saw some extra activity outside the designated room. A nurse stopped him and said, “Are you Bishop Monson?”
“Yes,” was the anxious reply.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “The patient was calling your name just before he died.”
Fighting back the tears, Thomas S. Monson turned and walked back into the night. He vowed then and there that he would never again fail to act upon a prompting from the Lord. He would acknowledge the impressions of the Spirit when they came, and he would follow wherever they led him, ever to be “on the Lord’s errand.”

Ark loves spicy food. This is a fairly new discovery for him. Back in the Philippines, where he grew up, things tasted a lot less fiery.
But then his father got a job in Malaysia.
At that point, Ark met friends at church who came from all sorts of backgrounds, including a few from India.
“They eat really spicy food!” Ark C., age 14, says about his new friends. “This food is much spicier than I used to eat back home.”
Funny thing, though—Ark never knew what he was missing. Now he enjoys exploring a whole new culinary world.
Of course that’s not the only way Ark’s Church friends have changed his life for the better. “I was happy to move to Malaysia, but sad at the same time. It was all new friends, and it’s hard to talk to new friends.”
But the youth in his new branch helped him make that transition. As a bonus, he now knows a lot more about many different areas. “I’ve learned about different cultures,” he said. “The food is different, and so are the clothes. Their clothes are colorful, and it’s very interesting how they make them!”

When I lived in Argentina, I traveled twice to the Buenos Aires temple—once to receive my own endowment and once to perform ordinances for the dead. Words cannot express what I feel when I am in the temple. What I can tell you is how far away from the world I feel there and how happy it makes me to think about going back to the temple. I can testify of the companionship, love, and comfort of the Holy Ghost. I know for a surety of the love our Heavenly Father has shown for me and my brothers and sisters by giving us the gospel and the prophets.Norma Rodríguez, Israel

Our youngest son Josh, who recently returned from his mission, was giving a talk in sacrament meeting and he shared his plan for attending the temple. Upon arriving at the temple, he would park his car in a secluded spot, then think back over the week and determine if there was anything that needed repentance. He would also contemplate if there were any behaviours that needed to be more like the Saviour’s. Next, he would think about what he needed to learn while serving in the temple that day. Following that, he was going to take all these thoughts and plans and present them to the Lord in humble prayer. Once that prayer was said, he would then feel ready to enter the temple.
After hearing him share those words, and feeling the witness of the Holy Ghost, I realised that he had changed. I realised that I also needed to change. This recently returned missionary was teaching me and others about how to enter the House of the Lord.
I spoke with Josh afterwards and he stated that he used the same preparation for the sacrament and personal prayer. I am humbled to realise that I frequently fall short in my preparation to interact with the divine. I wonder how much more personal revelation we could obtain from our individual prayers, sacrament meetings and temple visits if we follow this pattern.

“Missions are fine for some people, bishop, but not for me. I’ve been out with the missionaries, and all the good we did was to relieve some people’s frustrations by letting them slam a door in our face, and someone else threw a beer can at us. Now what good is that? If you ask me, bishop, I’ll do the world a lot more good by getting through school and becoming a doctor. Besides, if I went on a mission I would lose my scholarship.”
The bishop sat calmly through my whole speech. I don’t know how he could be so calm, because he had heard this speech twice before. He just leaned back in his chair, sighed softly, and said good naturedly, “You are stubborn, aren’t you? Well, I’ve done everything I can to help you understand how important a mission is, but the final decision is yours and I guess you have made it. If anything changes your mind,” he added with a smile, “be sure to tell me.”
“If anything can change my mind, you will be the first to know.”
I saw my friend Ted sitting underneath a tree in the middle of the church lawn as I walked outside. I walked over to where he was and sat down beside him. Neither one of us spoke for a moment, but then Ted said, “So, what happened?”
“It was just the same old speech by both of us. He told me to let him know if I changed my mind,” I said with a chuckle.
“Maybe you will.”
“Now come on, Ted. You know me better than that. Nothing could make me change my mind.”
“All I know is that the bishop is pretty inspired sometimes.”
“We’ll see,” I said confidently. “Come on, let’s go home.”
The early spring air was still a bit cool, but it felt good blowing through my hair. The budding maple trees on the side of the street disappeared behind us one by one as we passed by.
Ted and I had grown up together. We lived just a few houses apart on the same street. He had just recently decided that he was going to go on a mission. He would be leaving soon after graduation, which was in a few months. It really made me feel bad that we wouldn’t be rooming together at college like we had originally planned.
When we reached Ted’s house, we both sat down on his porch steps for a minute.
“Hey, Ted,” I said, “after you eat dinner do you want to go to the creek and see if any water snakes are out yet, just for old times’ sake?”
“I’d like to, but I’m going home teaching after dinner.”
“Well, then, I guess I’ll see you at school in the morning.”
I jogged on up to my house and ran into the kitchen just in time to hear the “amen” of the blessing on the food. My mom and dad and little sister greeted me as I sat down. I knew they were all wondering how my talk with the bishop had turned out. Of course, I had discussed it with my parents before. They had encouraged me strongly to go on a mission but had always let me know that it was my decision. Just so they wouldn’t ask me any uncomfortable questions now at dinner, I hinted at what happened by remarking how I would miss Mom’s cooking while I was at college. I knew they were hurt and disappointed, but the bishop was right when he said I was stubborn.
After dinner I helped Mom with the dishes. Through the kitchen window I could see the hay fields behind the house and the creek which lay beyond. It looked so nice outside that I thought I would walk down by the creek even if Ted couldn’t go. After the dishes were done, I changed my clothes and started walking across the empty hay fields. The sun was warm on my back, and the air was cool and clean. It really made me feel good. When I got to the creek I lay down on my belly in a patch of tall grass. The bank where I was lying was about three feet higher than the creek and was eroded quite badly. I just lay there soaking in the sun and listening to the forlorn call of the mourning doves. The sound of the moving water lulled the thoughts of a mission and the bishop out of my mind. I had almost forgotten about my original idea of walking along the creek to look for water snakes and was almost asleep when I felt something wet and slippery slide up my pant leg. Now I know it isn’t manly to scream, but I’m no John Wayne, and I let out a yelp and leaped forward. The eroded bank gave way, and I tumbled into the creek. That water was really cold. Not wanting to impose on the snake’s territory, I quickly waded ashore and climbed back up the bank to level ground. I was surprised to see a girl my age with a concerned look on her face standing there watching me.
“Are you all right? Here, take my jacket. You must be freezing.”
Hesitantly I took her jacket, wrapped it around me, and then sat down in the sun to rest and dry off.
“I hope you will forgive me. I didn’t mean to scare you that bad.”
From the confused look on my face she must have gathered that I didn’t understand what she was talking about, so she went on to explain.
“I saw you lying there and I wanted to talk to you, but I didn’t know if you were asleep, so I touched your leg with this stick I pulled out of the creek. You were awake all right,” she said with a giggle.
My face went kind of red. “I thought it was a snake. There’s a lot of them around here, you know. Anyway, who are you?”
“I’m Susan Ward. My dad and I moved into that red brick house about a half mile up the road yesterday.”
“Just you and your dad?”
“My mom died a few months ago in a car accident. There were too many memories of her in the old house, so we moved.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. We both sat quietly for a moment. I threw a couple of rocks into the creek. Then I changed the subject.
“Are you in high school?”
“Yes, I’m a junior this year. I’m kind of nervous about going to school tomorrow. I don’t know anybody there.”
“I can understand that.” I thought for a moment, then said, “I don’t want to sound forward, but I would be happy to pick you up and take you to school tomorrow and show you around to your classes.” Then I added, “Just don’t tell anyone how we met.”
She smiled. “That would be nice, and I won’t say a word.”
“I’ll pick you up at eight.”
We talked a little longer, and then because of my shivering I decided I’d better go home and change clothes, so we said good-bye and went our separate ways.
My family had a hard time finding out how I got all wet and muddy. When they finally pried the truth out of me they had a good laugh.
Later that night I was in bed reading when my little sister tiptoed into my room.
“Hi, Chad.”
“Hi, Sara. What are you still doing up?”
Sara is eight years old. She has sandy hair and blue eyes. And she and I are good buddies.
“I couldn’t sleep. Besides, I wanted to talk to you.”
“So, what’s on your mind?”
“Did you catch a cold or anything from falling in the creek?”
“Nope. I’m fine.”
Sara sat there playing with her toes for a moment. Then she looked up at me and asked, “What does Susan look like?”
I leaned back and thought for a minute, trying to picture her in my mind.
“Oh, Susan is a lot shorter than me. She has short, brown hair with threads of red in it. She has big brown eyes and a cute little nose.”
“She sounds pretty.”
“She is. Kind of spunky, too,” I added thoughtfully.
“Is Susan a Mormon?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Then are you going to convert her?”
Sara was looking me right in the eye when she asked that question. I don’t think I would have felt any more uncomfortable if it had been a General Authority who had asked me.
“Uh, well, maybe. What makes you think that Susan would be interested in the Church?” I was trying to put Sara on the spot just like she had done to me, but she answered quickly and sincerely.
“Don’t you think that she would like to be able to live with her family and Heavenly Father forever if she could, just like you and me?”
Now my bishop had given me all kinds of reasons for being a missionary and I had always been able to come up with excuses, but it was different coming from my little sister. All I could say to her statement was, “Yeah, I guess she would.”
“Well, I’m tired now. I better go to bed.” With that she reached over and gave me a hug and then disappeared out my bedroom door.
Leave it to my little sister to find my conscience. In her simple way she had made missionary work sound important. I didn’t sleep very well that night.
I picked up Susan a little early the next morning so I would have time to show her where her classes would be. It ended up that she was in my chemistry class. I have seminary last period in the seminary building across the street from the high school. Susan must have seen me come out of it after class, because when I was taking her home she asked me what class I had in that building. I told her that it was seminary, which is a religion class for my church. When I told her that, I remembered my talk with Sara last night and thought, “Here’s my chance to see if Susan wants to know about the Church.” It took a minute to build up nerve, but finally I asked, “Are you interested at all in religion?”
Susan stiffened up a little when I asked that question. She answered curtly, “No, I’m not. I used to believe in God until he took my mother away. But not anymore.”
I was embarrassed and scared to say anything else. Every time I do something to try to spread the gospel people get mad. It’s good I’m not going on a mission, I thought.
I continued to pick Susan up and take her to school for a week. By then she had made some girl friends and they took over. After that I didn’t see Susan much except in chemistry. We were lab partners, and we had a lot of fun working together. She never let me forget about the snake and the creek. I never forgot about the religion discussion we had in the car, but I never brought it up again.
It wasn’t long after that short discussion that Sara asked me if I had told Susan about the Church yet. I told her what happened in the car, thinking she would be satisfied with my attempt. All she said was, “You just approached her the wrong way.”
I was a little irritated that Sara thought she knew more than me. “Then show me how you would approach her,” I said.
“Okay,” she said, walking to the phone. “Tell me her number, and I will show you.”
Her seriousness surprised me. “No way. You just tell me how you would do it.”
“You are just a scaredy-cat,” she said accusingly. With that she stomped out of the room. I wanted to argue more with her, but I knew she was right. I was a scaredy-cat.
About three weeks before graduation, Ted and I decided to have a party at my house. We invited ten friends of ours and told them to bring dates. I had a hard time finding a date. I called a couple of girls from my ward, but both of them were busy that night. I didn’t know it, but my little sister was sitting outside my bedroom listening to me trying to get a date. After my second strike she stuck her head through the doorway and said, “Ask Susan.”
I usually get after Sara when she listens to me talking on the phone, but this time her suggestion caught my attention first. “Well, I guess I could.”
“Do it. Then maybe you could talk to her about the Church again.”
“Sara, this will be a party, not Sunday School.”
“But you never know what might come up …”
I cut her off. “Maybe, but I don’t want you saying anything about religion to her unless she asks. Okay?” I said that because I knew Susan wouldn’t ask.
“Okay,” my sister said with a shrug.
I didn’t trust her.
I did call Susan and was excited when she said that she would like to come.
The night of the party came, and so did all of my friends and their dates. We had a barbecue out back and then went down in the family room and played some games. After the games, Susan and some of the other girls went upstairs to the kitchen to fix some banana splits. Since I was the host, I went up after them to see if they could find all of the things they needed. When I got to the kitchen I found all of the girls working on the banana splits except Susan. “Where’s Susan?” I asked.
“I think she is in the front room with your little sister,” answered one of the girls.
“Oh no,” I thought as I walked to the front room. Sure enough, there was Susan sitting next to my little sister, who was in her nightgown. They had the big book on the temples in their laps. I was in the process of giving my sister a “You are in big trouble” look when Susan said in a serious voice, “I asked your little sister about that cross-stitch picture on the wall that says ‘Families are Forever,’ and she was just showing me these temples and telling me how families can get that way.”
Sara just smiled at me.
“Your sister was telling me that I could be with my mother again someday. Is that true?”
“Yes, it is,” I managed to say.
Susan sat there quietly thinking, and I stood there quietly wondering what to say next when Sara mouthed out the words, “The missionaries.”
I don’t know how I did it, but I heard the words coming out of my mouth, “Would you like to come back tomorrow night and talk to a couple of young men who could tell you a lot more about how families can be forever?”
I was getting ready for another rejection when Susan answered excitedly, “Yes, I would. Could my father come, too?”
I was too shocked to answer, but my sister spoke up. “Yes, that would be great!” I couldn’t believe this was happening. I don’t remember what happened the rest of the night except that when I got back from taking Susan home I found Sara lying asleep on my bed. I picked her up gently and carried her to her room. As I tucked her into bed I thought of the scripture, “Except ye … become as little children, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven” (Matt. 18:3).
I wanted to wake Sara up and tell her I was sorry for being so afraid of being a missionary, but instead I kissed her on the cheek and went to my own room.
Three weeks after Susan and her father had their first discussion, they were baptized. I had the honor and privilege of baptizing Susan, and my father baptized her father. My heart did a lot of changing during those three weeks. I guess while the Spirit was converting Susan and her father, it was also doing a little work on me. It wasn’t until I heard Susan’s father bear his testimony after his baptism that my heart was totally changed. This is part of what he said:
“I could become a millionaire, or I could become famous, but nothing greater could happen to me than to have the fulness of the gospel of Jesus Christ and know that I have the opportunity to live with my Heavenly Father and my family forever.”
Then I understood fully how 18 months spent on a mission could do more good than 50 years as a doctor. After the closing prayer my little sister came up to me, gave me a big hug, and said, “Missionary work is worth it, isn’t it?” A tear rolled down my cheek as I nodded. Then I said, “Let’s find the bishop. I have something to tell him.”

Most youth have found that temple attendance has helped them in temporal ways in addition to the spiritual blessings. Seth says, “My everyday life changed in the most dramatic ways. My grades went up and my athletic performance changed. I could discern more. I could understand people’s feelings and my own feelings better.”

At 12:15 A.M. I left the police station and climbed into the blue Alfa Romeo of the Italian carabinieri. I was putting in my obligatory year of service required of all Italian young men. I had been assigned to the police. My duty for that day was patrolling the cities of Jesolo and Cavallino, just northeast of Venice, from midnight to 6:00 A.M.
Suddenly the familiar sound of the radio caught my attention. “Avanti dalla trentuno,” I answered. My heart accelerated, anticipating the potential danger. Headquarters informed us that a bank robbery had just taken place in a rural town north of Venice. The officer stated that a policeman had been shot during the robbery. Four men were responsible and were supposedly armed with Kalashinikovs, a Soviet-made automatic weapon. They were apparently heading at high speed toward Jesolo in a white Lancia.
“Ricevuto,” I signed off, automatically reaching for the Beretta M12 under my seat. I turned to my partner and asked, “What are we going to do if we run into them?” His answer was cold and direct, “Shoot.”
My partner quickly shifted gears. My mind started reviewing all the different circumstances in which I could find myself in the next minutes. I was aware that our lives were in danger and realized that if we confronted four armed men, our chances were not good of staying alive. My partner was showing little emotion, and since his answer to my last question, he had not said a word.
Am I willing to die for this job and my country? was the question that arose in my mind. It was quickly answered by the words of the oath I had taken at the beginning of my service. I had promised to serve the country and the people of Italy and to protect them from any criminal acts or injustice, even by offering my life.
As our car turned into the main street of Jesolo, my right hand tightened on the grip of the M12. Am I ready to die? Am I ready to go back to meet my Heavenly Father? were the questions in my mind. I started thinking about my family, my life, and my testimony of the gospel. I pondered my weaknesses and almost instantly realized that my conscience was clean. I had no major regrets in my life and felt that I had apologized to all the people I had been unkind to. That thought gave me an incredible feeling of peace.
We did not confront the robbers that night. I concluded my one year of service in the police a few months later, never having to fire my gun. But I will never forget that winter night. It helped me realize how our Heavenly Father can call us back home at any time. I realized I wanted to be ready to leave this earth with the peace of a repentant and clean soul.

A wonderful missionary in Australia, Elder QaQa from Fiji, shared a similar feeling in his departing testimony: “I know that God loves me, but sometimes I wonder, ‘Does God know that I love Him?’ Because I’m not perfect, and I still make mistakes.”

Grandma Featherbone stood at the _________ and sadly watched as great flakes of _________ still fluttered to the ground. The storm had started early yesterday and had continued all night. There would be no traveling this day. It was going to be the worst Thanksgiving Day ever.
Grandma was not the only one who felt grumpy. No one in her small _________ building would be able to attend the family feasts they had each so happily looked forward to. Whatever would they all do now?
Suddenly Grandma clapped her hands with excitement. “Why there’s plenty and enough in my own pantry,” she said to her stuffed _________, Fuzzball. “We’ll have our own Thanksgiving party!”
Grandma picked up the _________ and called each of her five neighbors. “Will you come to my Thanksgiving party?” she asked.
“Yes, yes, yes!” everyone said. “We’ll be there promptly at two o’clock!”
Grandma Featherbone began to scurry about. There was no time to lose. She opened the _________ and took out two large packages of _________ and set them on the counter to thaw. “It’s too bad we don’t have a _________ to eat,” she told Fuzzball, “but we must be thankful for what we do have. At least we won’t have to go without some delicious _________ pie.”
Grandma got out the _________, _________, and _________ and was soon rolling out the pie crust with her _________. Pull and push, roll and smush went Grandma. The pie crust was ready. But where was the filling?
Grandma searched through the pantry shelves again. “Oh bother!” she finally sighed. “I was sure that I had one more can left. Oh well, this big box of _________ will just have to do.” A pair of hot pies were soon cooling on the cupboard next to the dish of _________.
Happily Grandma Featherbone worked. She sang to the _________ as she kneaded it for hot rolls. She hummed to the _________ as she peeled them. The _________ bubbled as they simmered on the _________.
Fuzzball watched everything from his _________ in the corner. The grandfather _________ swiftly ticked the hours away.
Just before two o’clock Grandma carefully placed her delicate _________ on her best lacy _________. She folded the _________ next to the _________ and lit the red _________ standing brightly near each end of the table.
Grandma put a fresh _________ on Fuzzball, then placed him in the middle of the _________. “What a perfectly lovely day this has turned out to be,” Grandma said as she gazed triumphantly at her feast, “and won’t our guests be surprised!”

While traveling to a youth conference in Stuttgart, Germany, I had the opportunity to speak with an elderly woman about the temple and about my faith in the restored gospel. She was acquainted with the Church and had a fairly good idea of some gospel doctrines.
During our conversation, however, the woman said something that made me sad. When she was introduced to the Church approximately 40 years before by a Latter-day Saint friend, something her friend had said still stood out to her. “I’m not allowed to drink,” her friend had said. The woman then added that she knew of a few Latter-day Saints who did drink “now and then.”
From this simple encounter, I was reminded that as members of the Lord’s Church, we are always examples to others. We choose, however, what that example will be.

Following Typhoons Nesat and Nalgae in the Philippines in late September, which affected nearly 200,000 people, the Church Area Welfare Department initially responded with 600 sacks of rice, which were delivered in Pampanga. The Social Action Center of Pampanga of the Archdiocese of San Fernando Pampanga, a partner nongovernmental organization, handled the distribution of the donated rice.
Catholic and LDS volunteers worked hand in hand to repack and distribute the rice donation to the 352 affected villages in Pampanga.

On a rainy day when the hills are slippitty sloppetty, Pop Corn and Ma Goodness crack heads a-bippitty boppetty. Their unexpected meeting is just the beginning of a series of fun ippitty oppetties.

When the apostles tried to leave in August, the malaria that infested the low, swampy ground where they had settled along the Mississippi had disabled nearly everyone. Brigham’s description is typically simple and restrained, leaving us to imagine the physical and emotional suffering of this second dramatic departure: “My health was so poor I was unable to go thirty rods to the river without assistance. … I left my wife sick, with a babe only ten days old, and all my children sick and unable to wait upon each other.”24 His family was even without adequate clothing because of losses to the mob in Missouri; Brigham himself was wearing a cap made out of a pair of old pantaloons, and he took along a quilt because he had no overcoat until some Saints in New York made him one. He commented that he thus “had not much of a ministerial appearance.” But though deathly ill for a time, and literally carried from place to place as he and a few companions were shuttled by the Saints across Illinois, he gradually recovered strength and began to have experiences commensurate with his calling—even though he lacked the “appearance.”

Now, brethren, we are going out now with a determined activity to bring these our brethren into activity—activity of some kind. One of the mission presidents, with a group of his missionaries back in the Eastern States some years ago, was meeting in a hall with pillars that ran down the center of the hall, and he said to one of the missionaries, “Get up and push that pillar over.”

“Well,” said the missionary, “I can’t.”

“Why?”

“Because the weight of that ceiling is all on top of the pillar.”

Then the president asked, “Suppose that weight were lifted off. Could you push the pillar over then?”

The missionary replied, “Why, sure, I think I could.”

Then the president said, “Now, brethren, you and I are just like one of those pillars. As long as we have a weight of responsibility in this church, all hell can’t push us over; but as soon as that weight is lifted off, most of us are easy marks by the powers that drag us down.”

We must have been a pathetic sight—me in my Hawaiian loose-fitting dress with wilted flower necklaces still around my neck, and three blurry-eyed, very tired children, the oldest one barely five. It was 2:30 A.M., and the huge San Francisco airport was nearly empty. I felt totally lost and so alone.
I approached a man at one of the service counters and asked how far it was to town. He told me that the last bus was just about to leave, and if I hurried, I might still be able to catch it. He helped me with our luggage, and stopped the bus just as it prepared to leave. I didn’t even have time to thank him before we were whisked away.
The station at the end of the line was dark and closed, and as the other passengers on the bus quickly scattered into the night, the empty bus pulled out to wherever it was going, and left me with three small children, four suitcases, and two small trunks, standing on a sidewalk somewhere in San Francisco.
I was beginning to show signs of panic when a custodian came out of the bus station, locking the door behind him. I asked him if there was some place I could use a telephone to call a cab, or if he knew of a hotel nearby. Blessedly, he knew of a clean little hotel about six blocks away, and he offered to obtain a furniture dolly from the building to take my luggage to the hotel. By 4 A.M. with the children in bed, I sank into an exhausted sleep.

“Hey Bruce, do you think there’s ever an end to those stars?” Bob had asked. And Bruce had felt it then, as surely as he knew it again this evening, that the stars stretched on forever.
“Can’t you imagine a wall out there, Bruce? Can’t you feel it? You know, all of a sudden you reach the end of the space, and then there’s this big giant wall. Bam! That’s it. The big end.” And they had laughed.
But Bruce had found that he had to stop laughing that night. The waters licked softly at the base of the boat; a peeper sounded from the shore. There was nothing but blackness in the middle of the lake, all that black and silent water. Bruce shook his head vigorously, shutting his eyes, sitting up so suddenly that he hurt the bones in his back on the seat of the boat.
“No way, Bobby,” Bruce said, still shaking his head. “I just can’t handle that. It’s like something cracks—snap!—in my head. You know what I mean? I just can’t handle a wall in space. I just can’t handle it ending. Things have got to go on. Don’t you think, Bobby?” But it was more feeling than thinking, he knew.

I’d like to give a view of what the Church is like over here in Vietnam. The base I’m at is a composite base with Air Force, Army, Navy, Seabee, and Vietnamese armed forces stationed here. There are Mormon members in each group. There is one Vietnamese member-family and they have several children, two of whom attended church this morning. They are certainly cute, and as are all Oriental children, they are well-mannered; but they are full of zest and giggle and wiggle as do all children. I haven’t learned all their names yet, but one of them is called Nga. Their father is an enlisted man in the Vietnamese Air Force.
You never know about this Church! While driving my jeep this morning, I picked up an Air Force sergeant who was walking toward the west side of the base where we have our meetings. I asked him where he was going and he said rather vaguely, “Over by the fire station.” I knew right away he meant where the Mormons were meeting because no American goes over to that side of the base on Sunday—everything is closed down. So I prodded him a bit to see how far I had to force him before he’d tell me he was a Latter-day Saint. I asked, “Where near the fire station?” “Oh, anywhere will be fine.” “Do you mean where the Mormons are meeting?” I asked. “Yes, I do,” he said in surprise. I held out my hand and introduced myself. We drove along and came upon another man walking. This time he was a young soldier in combat fatigues. He was carrying a zippered book that looked suspiciously like a three-in-one. As we pulled up, I called out, “Going to priesthood?” “Hey, yeah!” was the startled reply. He climbed aboard. After introductions he asked, “Where have you been stationed?” I said in Ohio. Then I said I had also been stationed in Puerto Rico, and his face lit up. “‘Hey, do you know President Burke Adams?” “Sure do,” I said, adding that I was his counselor for awhile. “That’s it,” he said. “I was in the Florida Mission and I met you in Puerto Rico. We even ate dinner together once.” So two and a half years later and 10,000 miles away, our paths crossed again. When we got to the meeting place, there were ten Mormon servicemen present. We had priesthood, Sunday School, and fast and testimony meetings. During it all I couldn’t help but wonder if Joseph Smith and those who were with him in New York on April 6, 1830, really knew what they were starting. Over a hundred years later and thousands of miles away, a small group of American servicemen, a couple of Vietnamese, and a Chinese were to meet in humble circumstances to enjoy the gospel’s message. Our meeting was no doubt being duplicated thousands of times in other parts of the globe. We sat on crudely fashioned benches worn smooth by the seats of combat uniforms. Here priesthood bearers sincerely confessed their weaknesses and their gratitude and in reverent silence partook of the sacrament while jet and prop-driven planes from the air base nearby roared overhead.
Virgil KovalenkoVietnam

It seemed like a silly thing to fight over, and 12-year-old Ava Rosenberg didn’t want to fight. But another 12-year-old girl at school kept insisting that Ava had stolen her pen.
“She claimed my pen was hers and that I had taken it,” Ava explains. “I think she was trying to start a fight. What scared me was when, a few days later, her older sister got involved.”
The two sisters were from a dysfunctional home. Their mother would take off periodically and leave the children in care of their alcoholic father, who also left them alone a lot. The older sister, age 15, was a gang member with a long criminal record. She threatened to harm Ava.
For two weeks the threats continued. One day Ava, concerned for her safety, asked for permission to stay in the classroom during lunch. That isn’t normally allowed, but the teacher made an exception.
“After a while, I asked if I could go to the drinking fountain,” Ava says. “As soon as I left the classroom, I saw a lot of people coming. They were saying, ‘She’s the girl!’ I tried to walk away from it, but the next thing I knew, I got kicked in the stomach and punched in the jaw. I fell down, and this girl was beating my head into the ground.”
Ava’s mother had come to the school to discuss the threats against her daughter. When she arrived, she found Ava in the office in a terrible state of shock—her face discolored, swollen, and bleeding, her jaw severely dislocated.
“We spent many hours at the hospital,” Sister Rosenberg says. “What followed was a nightmare of unsuccessful operations, culminating eventually in Ava receiving a bone graft from her lower jaw to her upper jaw, secured by a titanium plate and screws. As a result, her face was severely traumatized and she was in a great deal of pain.”
Ava finally came out of the hospital on a Saturday. The next day was fast Sunday, and during testimony meeting, Ava stood to speak. It was physically difficult to form the words, and tears filled her eyes. But Ava had something important to say. She asked the congregation to fast and pray—that the Lord would bless the girl who had done this to her.
“The scars from my injuries will heal,” Ava said. “But the girl who attacked me has deeper scars inside. I have a loving family and the gospel to get me through. She has neither. Pray for her. Pray that the missionaries can find her and teach her, so that she can turn from hate to love.”
Many in the congregation were moved by Ava’s example of forgiveness. To her, however, it was simply a matter of doing what the Savior taught. “We’re supposed to love our enemies,” she says matter-of-factly. “When I was in the hospital, I couldn’t speak because I was in so much pain. But I could think, and I remember thinking to myself, What would the Savior do?”
The attack on Ava took place in Darwin, Northern Territory, in June of 1991. The legal system is still dealing with the attacker. But since then, despite a lengthy time when Ava wasn’t allowed to go outside the house without an escort, despite continued gang threats against her family’s home and property, despite having to repeatedly fly more than 3,000 kilometers each way to Adelaide for surgeries, and despite lingering pain and a sometimes discouraging recovery, those who know Ava have never heard her say a single word against the girl who beat her.
The Rosenbergs now live in Kirwan, Queensland, where Ava is a happy, active Mia Maid in the Townsville Branch. “I will probably have a plate in my jaw all my life,” she says. “But it doesn’t matter because I know I will be healed in the celestial kingdom. I just hope and pray that my assailant will be healed too.”

“I can remember a school debate,” she smiles, “when we had to speak on a favourite subject. I chose the Church. When I mentioned ‘Church is fun,’ everyone gasped. During question time someone asked, ‘Do you really get up at six o’clock every morning for seminary?’ At the end, the teacher commented, ‘That was an excellent advertisement for your church.’”

Aurelia Spencer Rogers began at a very young age to choose the right and do good. She was six years old when her parents joined the Church. Her family moved from Deep River, Connecticut, to Nauvoo, Illinois. When the Saints were forced to leave Nauvoo, Aurelia’s mother died, leaving seven young children. They and their father crossed the Missouri River and went to Winter Quarters, Nebraska, where he built a log cabin for them to live in. When Aurelia was 12, her father was called to serve a mission in Great Britain. While he was gone, Aurelia and her 14-year-old sister, Ellen, took care of the family.
Throughout her life, Aurelia loved and was concerned about children. When she was a young married woman, she felt that parents needed help in teaching their children the gospel. When the Primary of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was established in 1878, Aurelia was called to be its first president. Today, all of us can enjoy Primary because Aurelia Spencer Rogers followed Heavenly Father’s plan, choosing the right and doing good.