Gospel Story Finder

Alisa’s collar scratched, and her Sunday shoes pinched. She squirmed as her six-year-old hands inched toward her baby brother’s red rattle. Even though it was a baby toy, she grabbed the bright rattle and shook it. The noise lasted only a few seconds, for Mom quickly snatched the toy away and tucked it safely into the diaper bag.
Alisa pretended she’d had nothing to do with the racket. She looked at the bishopric. Bishop Walker was watching Sister Williams, who was giving a talk. He seemed very interested in what she was saying—something about Lehi’s dream.
Then Alisa glanced at the music director, Matthew’s mom. She was also quiet, smiling while holding her hymnbook in her lap.
Alisa sighed. Everyone was being quiet and reverent and was listening to Sister Williams. Except the babies. Wherever Alisa looked, she saw a baby. A curly-haired blond baby tweaked his mommy’s nose, and the mom didn’t even pull his hand away. A bald, blue-eyed baby with a bow pasted on her head drank from a bottle. Her own baby brother happily chewed on his toys and made funny noises.
The babies were having fun. Alisa wished she were. Her mother had told her that she wasn’t a baby any longer, so she couldn’t eat snacks in church or bring her toys to play with. Mom said that she should try to sit quietly and listen to the talks.
Alisa really and truly tried. But it was hard. Before she knew it, her feet were tapping and her eyes were wandering. She slipped under the bench to look at all the shoes.
She loved to study the shoes under the benches. There were high-heeled mom-shoes, scuffed-up boy-shoes, polished dad-shoes, and shiny black little-girl shoes. Two weeks ago she had grabbed Sister Norton’s shoe because it was so pretty and she wanted to see it better. Sister Norton was startled, but smiled when she saw who it was, so maybe she hadn’t minded very much.
But Dad had minded. On the way home from church, he said, “Alisa, you’re getting to be a big girl. It’s time you started behaving in church like Heavenly Father would want you to behave.”
She knew it was true. She was almost six, and she wanted to be reverent and to obey Heavenly Father. The next week she’d tried to be more reverent, but sacrament meeting had lasted such a long time! Halfway through the meeting, she was under the bench again, trying to decide whom each pair of shoes belonged to.
Finally, it was time for Primary. In her class, they acted out stories from the Book of Mormon. She had never quite realized how thrilling the Book of Mormon was. Samuel the Lamanite was so brave! Nephi was stronger than anyone she knew. And Ammon was smart—even smarter than Michael, the smartest boy in first grade!
She loved the stories. And they had given her a wonderful idea! Many of the talks mentioned Book of Mormon people. Maybe that could help her be more reverent in sacrament meeting. She could hardly wait to try out her plan.
The week flew by, and before she knew it, Sunday had come—the day for “The Plan.”
She carefully packed paper, markers, and her Book of Mormon storybook, which had lots of pictures, into her brother’s diaper bag.
Sacrament meeting started in the usual way—announcements, a hymn, a prayer. The bishop talked for a few minutes, everyone sang another hymn, and the sacrament was administered. Then came the talks, the hardest part of the meeting for Alisa.
She took out the Book of Mormon storybook and opened it to pictures of Nephi and his brothers. She wondered why his brothers didn’t like Nephi. She hoped her baby brother would like her when he grew up.
Turning to the story of Samuel the Lamanite in the back of the book, she wondered what it would feel like to stand on a wall and see arrows flying toward you. Was Samuel afraid? He didn’t look scared in the picture. He looked strong and brave. She hoped that she would be as brave the next time she saw Tim at school. He loved to make fun of her—he called her Carrot Top or Freckle Face. She ran whenever she saw him. Maybe next time she would be like Samuel.
While she looked through her book, she heard Brother Pistorius say something about Abinadi and King Noah. It was her favorite Book of Mormon story. She turned to the story in her book and found pictures that showed the things Brother Pistorius was telling about. He thought that King Noah was a bad man, too, and that Abinadi was brave for telling him about the gospel, even when the prophet knew that he would die for it.
Alisa liked listening to what Brother Pistorius said, and before she knew it, sacrament meeting was ending—and she had been reverent the whole time!
After the prayer, Alisa packed her things back in the diaper bag. Mom gave her a hug, and Dad said, “Alisa, we’re proud of the way you acted in church today. You really are a big girl.”
Alisa was happy that her plan had worked. Maybe it wasn’t so bad being a big girl, after all.

While editing the text, Jacinta learned of the heartbreak the prophet had experienced. His wife Julina had been desperately ill and although President Smith wanted to stay at her bedside and attend to her, she insisted he leave and go and do the Lord’s work. A short time after, while delivering a talk in a church meeting, someone came into the room and handed President Smith a note—it informed him that his wife had passed away.

Unlike some student wards, the University Ward in Las Vegas has a mix of single and married people. A few couples even have children, so the younger women in the ward have to step out of their comfort zone to help the others.
Emily and her partner (who is also 19) go visiting teaching to the married, has-a-master’s-degree, has-a-baby Relief Society president (gulp). But, as with most other things, Emily takes it in stride and has even learned to enjoy it.
“Getting the call to be her visiting teacher was a little intimidating, I have to admit,” she says. “Since I didn’t know what it was like to be married or have a baby, I just had to ask her. Since I was forced to ask a lot of questions, I’ve come to know more about her. I really admire her, and I have learned so much from being her visiting teacher. And I hope maybe she’s learned a little something from me.”

“When I was about your age,” he began,” “we lived in that old farmhouse near your grandpa’s home, the house they use as a storage shed now.
“Your grandpa had been angry with me because I wasn’t doing everything that I should have been. I got all the lectures about obedience and responsibility. I was scolded, coaxed, and threatened, but still I did only what I wanted. I figured that I was old enough to make my own decisions.
“One morning your grandpa told me to be home right after school because he needed me to help him and my brothers irrigate the fields. He said that if I didn’t help, I would lose all privileges.”
“You mean that Grandpa was going to ground you?” I asked.
“Something like that,” Dad answered thoughtfully. “Well,” he continued, “I tried. I really did. But one of my friends asked for some help with our math assignment. By the time I got home, Dad and my brothers were already down at the irrigation canal, starting to turn the water into the fields.
“That canal was about two miles down the old gravel highway. When we lived in the old house, that highway was the only way through town. Oil tankers used it to get from the refinery to the storage tanks on the other side of town.
“I didn’t want to walk two more miles after having just walked home from school, so I went to the barn to get a horse. Well, Dad and my brothers had taken all the horses except one—Brandy.
“Dad had always told me, ‘Brandy is too spirited to ride with a nose loop. If you ride her, use a bridle.’”
“What’s a nose loop?” I interrupted.
“A nose loop,” Dad explained,” is made by wrapping a rope around the horse’s nose, then using the ends of the rope as reins. It isn’t the best way to ride a horse, but it’s all right when you ride a gentle one and you’re careful not to hurt it.
“I looked all over the barn for a bridle,” Dad continued his story, “but I couldn’t find one. I decided that I would risk riding Brandy to the irrigation canal with a nose loop, then trade horses with one of my brothers.
“I caught Brandy, put on the nose loop, climbed the fence, and jumped onto the horse’s bare back.”
“Weren’t you afraid of riding Brandy that way, Dad?” I asked.
“I think I was more afraid of what Dad would do if I didn’t make it to the canal,” he answered, “so I headed down the highway.
“Everything went pretty well for the first mile. I held the rope tightly, pulling Brandy’s nose in toward her neck. That was a mistake, but I didn’t know it then.
“She started getting restless. Soon she was skipping and jumping around, and I knew that I was losing control of her. I was within a half mile of the canal, though, and thought that I could make it. Then one of those oil tankers came up the highway.”
“Did the truck hit you and the horse, Dad?” I broke in, forgetting to even wonder why Dad was telling me a story about Grandpa’s horse.
“No, Danny,” Dad replied. “The driver blew his air horns, which was probably the worst thing that he could have done.
“Brandy spun around and headed for home at a full gallop. I grabbed a handful of her mane and held on for dear life. I bounced on her back, only managing to stay on because of my death grip on that handful of mane. Brandy never slowed down.
“As we got closer to the house, I knew that I would never make it. Your grandpa had just put up a barbed wire fence on the road to the corral where Brandy was sure to turn.
“When we reached the road, she made the turn at a full gallop. All I can remember after that is that I came off her back and headed for the wire. But instead of hitting the wire, I hit a fifty-five gallon metal drum.”
“Were you hurt bad?” I asked.
“Yes, Danny,” Dad said. “I remember waking up in a hospital bed. I hurt all over, my arm was in a cast, and my head throbbed. Your grandma and grandpa were both there.
“Your grandpa came close to the bed and smiled. ‘I’m glad that you’re back with us,’ he said. ‘You had a pretty nasty fall.’ Then he handed me this hunk of horsehair.”
Dad handed me a picture frame that had been in his desk. It held a bunch of coarse brown hair.
“It was part of Brandy’s mane,” Dad continued, “the part that I had been holding onto. ‘You might want to keep this as a reminder,’ your grandpa said to me. ‘Maybe it will help you remember to never ride Brandy with a nose loop.’
“That’s all that he ever said about that day. I knew what he meant. If I had obeyed, I wouldn’t have ended up in the hospital.
“I’ve kept that hunk of hair ever since to remind me that there is always a reason for obedience.”

We had the opportunity to meet President and Sister Richard W. Winder. He is the first mission president in Czechoslovakia since before World War II. My sister was very curious about President and Sister Winder, the life they had left behind in Salt Lake City to fulfill their mission assignment, their unpretentious way of living in Czechoslovakia, and the love they showed for the people. She felt of their spirit, and cried.

Five days before I was due to leave Czechoslovakia for home, President Winder informed me that President Gordon B. Hinckley of the First Presidency would be visiting Czechoslovakia and holding a meeting in Brno, 160 kilometers from Prague. President Winder asked if I would attend the meeting and act as an interpreter for President Hinckley. I accepted, and with Ilona, I drove to Brno.

That meeting was a highlight of my visit. With President was Sister Hinckley, and President Hans B. Ringger, president of the Europe Area, with Sister Ringger, President and Sister Winder, and my brothers and sisters in the gospel. President Hinckley understood how nervous I was, acting as his interpreter and translating Church terminology into Czech, and he was very considerate. It was a very spiritual experience for us all. My sister didn’t take her eyes off of him, and her face shone at me from the congregation.

Since my visit, I have learned that the gospel seeds I planted have started to bear fruit. My niece, Olga, has been baptized, and she is now living with a family in London, England. She wrote to me: “When you visited with us, I heard you share your testimony of the gospel, and although I didn’t completely understand what you meant, I wanted to know more. Now, as a member of the Church, I know. I feel as though I have grown in wisdom beyond my years. Life makes sense to me, and for the first time I know what to do.”

In returning to Czechoslovakia, I found my family and friends—roots that I thought were lost. And I have come to realize that the basic desire for truth is never dead. I am sure that the gospel will spread in Czechoslovakia and that the Czech and the Slovak Saints will take their rightful place in the worldwide family of the Church.

An interesting experiment in social psychology investigates how much the judgments of others influence the way we see things. A psychologist built a small machine containing a bright light which could be switched on in pinpoint bursts. When one views a small burst of light in a dark room, the light appears to move, even though the machine producing the light is stable and doesn’t move at all. This is called the autokinetic (self-movement) effect, and it plays an important role in this experiment.
During the first stage of the experiment one person, let’s call him Bill, is led into a dark room and instructed to judge how far the tiny pinpoints of light move each time he sees a burst of light. His judgment is one inch the first time, two inches the second time, and three inches the third time. After several trials he settles on three inches as his average judgment.
Bill is then excused from the room, and Susan is invited to be seated several feet from the light machine. She then voices her judgments each time she sees a burst of light. She begins with three inches, then two inches, and she finally begins to repeat estimates of about one inch.
After her judgments have been recorded, Bill is then invited back into the room with Susan, and both of them are instructed to voice their individual estimates of another series of light bursts. After the first burst Bill says, “three inches,” and Susan counters with “one inch.” On the next trial Susan says, “one and a half,” and Bill replies, “two and a half.” After several subsequent trials, they concur that the light moves two inches each time.
Few of us are ever invited into an experimental laboratory to share our opinions, but each day of our lives we are required to make important judgments in the laboratory of life. Sometimes we tend to forget some important eternal truths. For example, “the Spirit of Christ is given to every man, that he may know good from evil.” The Lord assured us that if we are responsive to his spirit, he will “show [us] the way to judge” (Moro. 7:16). The Savior also referred to himself as “the light of the world: he that followeth me shall not walk in darkness, but shall have the light of life” (John 8:12). This light never moves, and if it appears to move from us, we are the ones who have moved.
Sometimes in everyday life, just as in the darkened laboratory, we lose our perspective as familiar landmarks vanish. We think the light has moved. One of the ways we move from the light of Christ is in engaging in the “Not As Bad As Game.” You know how it goes:
“I swear a lot, but I never take the Lord’s name in vain.”
“I don’t pay a full tithing, but at least I pay something.”
“I go to a few questionable movies, but never to an X-rated movie.”
“Necking isn’t as bad as petting.”
“Sure, I cheat on my income tax, but not as bad as other people.”
“I don’t consider it gossip when I’m only telling the truth.”
“If what I wear is a little extreme, it’s not as bad as what others at school wear.”
And so, in the words of our beloved friend Nephi, “thus the devil cheateth their souls, and leadeth them away carefully down to hell” (2 Ne. 28:21).
Although the light never moves, the more often we are in contact with that which is abnormal, degrading, and undesirable, the more normal and desirable it begins to appear. We become less sensitive to the promptings of the still, small voice. In that same great epistle which motivated the boy prophet Joseph to seek the Lord in prayer, the Apostle James shared some great insights into this process:
“Blessed is the man that endureth temptation: for when he is tried, he shall receive the crown of life, which the Lord hath promised to them that love him.
“Let no man say when he is tempted, I am tempted of God: for God cannot be tempted with evil, neither tempteth he any man:
“But every man is tempted, when he is drawn away of his own lust, and enticed.
“Then when lust hath conceived, it bringeth forth sin: and sin, when it is finished, bringeth forth death. …
“Wherefore lay apart all filthiness and superfluity of naughtiness, and receive with meekness the engrafted word, which is able to save your souls” (James 1:12–15, 21).
Youth of the noble birthright, you have been lovingly commanded to “shew forth the praises of him who hath called you out of darkness into his marvellous light” (1 Pet. 2:9).
Remember, the light never moves.

Jennifer handed Mom a piece of paper after church. She listened as her mother read the note: “Jennifer has been asked to give a talk in Primary next Sunday, February 14.”
“Mom, will you please help me?” Jennifer asked.
“Of course I will,” Mom said. “You can think and pray about what you would like to say. This week we can work on your ideas.”
“Thank you, Mom!” Jennifer said. She was a little scared, but she knew she could do it with help from Heavenly Father.
The next day as Jennifer cut out paper hearts to make valentines, an idea popped into her head. She ran to find Mom and handed her the paper heart.
“Do you think I could make some hearts to use in my talk?” Jennifer asked.
“Yes,” Mom said. “Let’s write a list of things that make your heart happy. Then we can find pictures of those things to put on the hearts.”
Jennifer had fun cutting out pictures and gluing them onto the hearts.
On Sunday morning, Jennifer knelt to say a prayer. She had done all she could to get ready for her talk. She asked Heavenly Father to help her remember what to say.
The Primary children sat and listened as Jennifer gave her talk:
My heart is happy because I have a family that loves me. We can be an eternal family.
My heart is happy when I choose the right.
My heart is happy because I know Joseph Smith was a true prophet and that Thomas S. Monson is a prophet today.
My heart is happy when I come to Primary and sing Primary songs.
My heart is happy when I read the scriptures. I know the Book of Mormon is true.
My heart is happy because Jesus Christ is my Savior. I know that He loves me. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

During the sixty years that Mary was with the Salt Lake Tabernacle Choir and the fifty-eight years she was pouring out her love for children and Primary workers through the pages of The Children’s Friend, she was also spending part of her time with crippled and ill boys and girls who were being cared for in the Primary Children’s Hospital.
Mary helped in the planning with Sister Felt and Sister Anderson when the original hospital was opened in 1922. It was housed in an old home on North Temple Street that was given to the Primary for a convalescent home and equipped by the Church. There they welcomed boys and girls who needed only limited medical help, but their dream was to be able to provide a shining new fireproof hospital where all medical services could be given.
A project was launched to secure funds for such a building. While the Church, friends of the Primary, and others who loved children contributed amounts both large and small for a new building, much of the money for it was given through the efforts of Primary children. Each boy and girl was asked to buy one brick for a dime, and the children contributed more than $18,000 to the brick project. Many children, excited by the joy that comes through sharing, asked friends and family to give money for the hospital instead of buying birthday and Christmas gifts. The smallest contribution received from a child was two pennies, but that, too, was accepted with gratitude.
In order to properly handle all the funds, the Primary sisters were advised to select a board of trustees and incorporate the Primary Children’s Hospital. It was Mary R. Jack who signed those articles of incorporation and remained as secretary of the board until her release in 1970.

We were coming down a hill, feeling tired and frustrated. It was our 16th day in Sogod, Philippines. We had opened this area to missionary work and had spoken to a host of people as we climbed up and down the hills of the city. But we had yet to find anyone who cared enough to listen to our message. Rejection filled our days with sorrow.
Sogod—a small paradise, really—faced a beautiful, tranquil bay, and Elder Archer, my American companion, and I were knocking on doors that day. “Let’s stop and plan for a few minutes,” Elder Archer suggested, wiping his forehead. His neck and arms were sunburned, and my shoulders were aching from the weight of 30 copies of the Book of Mormon inside my backpack. We sat under a tree and looked at our weekly planner.
“Our next appointment is at 6:30 tonight. It’s only 3:30. What do you want to do?” Elder Archer asked.
“Let’s continue tracting. See that street going to the river? I think it’s a good area. And besides, it’s got plenty of shade with all the coconut trees,” I said.
As we made our way down the hill, I prayed in my heart that we would not be rejected again. As we reached an unfamiliar junction, we met an old couple carrying bamboo poles, bundles of wood, shingles, and tools.
They seemed a little embarrassed when we offered to help carry their load. After we insisted, they finally gave in—and off we went, not sure how far we had to go. We must have been quite a sight because as we entered the neighborhood, many people gathered on the street to see two strangers in white shirts and ties carrying this old couple’s bundles.
We were surprised to find out that the materials we were carrying were to be used to build a temporary home to replace one toppled by a typhoon. As we talked with them, a curious crowd gathered around us trying to find out who we were. There were smiles of gratitude on the faces of the old couple as we left, and we were happy about what had happened.
Carrying some bundles for an elderly couple was such a simple task, but it opened the doors to missionary work in the area. People didn’t forget what we had done, and they became more interested in hearing the gospel. Elder Archer and I witnessed how this simple act of service blessed Sogod. I labored there for almost four months and witnessed wonderful growth of the Church.
I now understand the promise the Lord makes to those who give true service to others—there is lasting joy in giving, in helping, and in bringing souls to the truth. We learned this for ourselves that day in Sogod.

My companion, Sister Claritza Carmona, and I were tired, muddy, and downhearted after a day of uninterested people and nonprogressing investigators. The rain was falling lightly, and our spirits were as damp as the weather that April evening in Puerto Plata, Dominican Republic.
I was looking forward to our visit with Elena Gonzalez and her family. Elena, a woman we were helping reactivate, had become a dear friend. As soon as we arrived at her home, however, a little girl from her neighborhood came to the door. “Someone wants to talk to you,” she told us.
Finally, someone who wants to hear the gospel! I thought happily. Elena said she didn’t mind if we went. In fact, she wanted to come along. So Sister Carmona, Elena, and I left with hopeful hearts. Yet something told me all was not right.
We entered a small home along the canal. One kerosene lamp illuminated the front room. Several women sat in rocking chairs; more stood around the perimeter of the room. Mercedes, one of our investigators, sat hunched over on a small chair.
My earlier impression was confirmed as a tall man, Gerónimo, insisted, “¡Siéntense!” (Sit down!) We took the two nearest chairs and exchanged a worried glance. Gerónimo, a local preacher, said that someone in the group—he pointed to Mercedes—had a question. He had arranged a “debate” to resolve the concern.
The topic was the Book of Mormon. Our assignment was to prove the Book of Mormon was true using evidence from the Bible, “the only word of God,” as Gerónimo put it. He required us to cite scriptures to support everything we said. Each of us would have three minutes to speak.
Sister Carmona and I felt like two small candles in an abyss of darkness. We were scared. I asked if we could start with a prayer. Gerónimo commanded everyone to stand and hold hands while he offered a prayer unlike any I had ever heard. While he shouted heavenward, I silently pleaded with Father in Heaven to guide our words.
James 1:5 flashed into my mind. I opened my Bible to this reference when I sat back down. The page was well worn from use, and I had memorized the verse months earlier. Closing the book, I turned my full attention to Mercedes.
I began slowly and quietly: “‘If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God, that giveth to all men liberally, and upbraideth not; and it shall be given him.’” I looked at Mercedes and said, “The Book of Mormon is true or it isn’t. God wants us to know the truth. I know the Book of Mormon is true. I know because I asked God, and He told me through His Holy Spirit that it’s true. Mercedes, if you want to know that it’s true, ask Heavenly Father. I promise you He will answer. And I say this to you in the name of Jesus Christ.”
There was not a sound in the room. All eyes were now on Sister Carmona. She bore testimony of the veracity of the Book of Mormon with such power and conviction the Spirit’s presence could not be denied.
Gerónimo broke the silence. He stood and preached for 20 minutes. The Spirit fled from the room, as did most of the listeners. Only Mercedes, Elena, Sister Carmona, and I remained. I finally interrupted him. We had said what the Lord wanted us to say. We excused ourselves, bidding him and Mercedes a good evening. He stood behind us shouting, “Don’t go! Don’t go!”
We returned to Elena’s house, where we quietly discussed what had just happened. We shared our testimonies of the gospel and our love for Jesus Christ.
The next day we visited Mercedes. She assured us she had known nothing of the previous night’s setup, but from the experience she had gained an earnest desire to know if the Book of Mormon is true. We knelt together as she offered a humble prayer. She remained on her knees for several minutes, silent, head bowed. When she looked up, she had tears in her eyes.
“How do you feel?” I finally asked.
“Bien,” she whispered. Yet something in her voice told me she felt more than just “good.”
“Is the Book of Mormon true?” I asked quietly.
She nodded her bowed head. That same Spirit that had guided two missionaries’ words the previous evening confirmed to this humble woman the truthfulness and power of the Book of Mormon.

While he served in the military, Elder Paul’s testimony was strengthened through a more intense study of the Book of Mormon and prayer.
“After I received my own testimony, I put a maxim in my life to always put the Lord first,” Elder Paul says. “I know that when I put the Lord first, the rest will fall into place.”
Elder Paul also says that this increased testimony helped him focus on the things that were important to him in life. He made a commitment to marry a young woman who was a member of the Church, raise his children in the gospel, and focus on the right things.
Elder Paul proved firm in those commitments. He married Helga Klappert on April 2, 1964, in the Bern Switzerland Temple, and they raised their three children in the gospel. His focus to do what is right continues.

Illustrations by Dilleen Marsh
One rainy night in late November 1973, my companion and I were tracting in Manila, the Philippines, and we knocked on the door of Romeo and Naty Bautista. They let us in and listened politely to our short message. Naty didn’t speak English (and we only taught in English at that time), but Romeo did and was interested in having us come back. He also said that his younger sister, Avelia, who was living with them while going to college in Manila, would probably be interested.
As excited as young missionaries can be about new investigators, we eagerly waited for the return appointment several days later. The lesson went so well that we could hardly believe it. Romeo and Avelia listened attentively and asked questions. Naty listened but didn’t understand much of what we said. They were all receptive from the very beginning—a missionary’s dream!
After we left each lesson, Romeo would teach the lesson to his wife in Tagalog. They read the Book of Mormon in English together, slowly. They had two young daughters at the time: Ruth, a toddler, and Namie, a new baby.
In December 1973, I was fortunate to baptize and confirm Romeo and his sister Avelia. My companion and I were thrilled at the family’s faith and interest in the gospel, but we never could have predicted the eternal impact of their decision and the countless lives that would be blessed both immediately and years down the road.
Romeo and Avelia became faithful and strong members of the Makati Branch from the start. Soon after their baptisms, I returned home to Salt Lake City, Utah. In my excitement to come home, I didn’t even get Romeo’s mailing address to write a letter. There was no internet or cell phones in those days.
I soon met Susan, my eternal sweetheart. I taught, baptized, and married her in 1975, and we were sealed in the Salt Lake Temple in 1976. We had three children and became involved in various Church callings. I was also very involved in our family business. I often thought about the Bautista family and how they were doing, but I didn’t know of any way to contact them.
Then one special day in 1997, I received a letter from a Mrs. Avelia Wijtenberg, postmarked from Mackay, Queensland, Australia! I didn’t know any such person there, but when I read the letter, I learned that Romeo’s sister Avelia had met and married a Dutch-Australian man and had been living in Queensland for some years. She had found my old mailing address in her notebook one day while doing some spring cleaning.
Avelia and I began a letter-writing campaign, eager to know about what had happened to each other over the past several decades. She was also able to give me a mailing address for Romeo, who had moved to Tiwi, in the southern part of Luzon Island in the Philippines.
That year, as Romeo and I wrote back and forth, after 24 years of no contact, our old relationship was rekindled. Romeo said that he and Naty now had five children. Naty and the rest of the family had been baptized in the years after I returned home. Their eldest, Ruth, had served a mission in the Philippines Davao Mission, and the second and third daughters, Namie and Joan, were serving missions in northern Luzon and Guam, respectively. They had a fourth daughter, Lyn, who later served in the Philippines Baguio Mission, and finally, a son, John, who later served in the Philippines Cagayan de Oro Mission.
My wife and I requested the addresses of Namie and Joan and wrote to them on their missions. We had never met them and didn’t know them at all but felt such an instant bond that is difficult to describe in words. It was almost as though they were our own daughters! Through our letters, we rekindled a love for the Bautista family and especially for Namie and Joan—who were full of the Spirit, working hard as full-time missionaries. In a letter, Namie asked if she could telephone us on Christmas Day, as her parents didn’t have a telephone at the time. With the approval of her mission president, she called on Christmas Day in 1997, and we both just cried for several minutes. I then reminded her that an international long-distance collect call was too expensive to waste just crying to each other. We laughed and had a wonderful conversation, even with her limited English skills. She invited us to come to the Philippines the following summer for her homecoming talk.
In the summer of 1998, as Namie returned home from her mission, I made plans with my 16-year-old daughter to go to the Philippines. We arrived in Manila and met with Ruth. We attended the Manila Philippines Temple together. Then we flew south to her family’s home in Tiwi. It’s impossible to describe the joy of seeing Romeo and his family again. The deep bond of brotherhood was instantly renewed. We talked and hugged and reminisced; we ate together and read scriptures with his family each night we were there. They were such strong rocks of testimony in their small branch. We attended sacrament meeting in the Tiwi Branch and listened to Namie report on her mission. It was amazing. It was nearly celestial. Truly this was missionary heaven.
At that time, Romeo was serving as the branch president of the Tiwi Branch. He had been instrumental in bringing the gospel to his extended family in northern Luzon. Romeo took his family to the temple, where Naty and their children were sealed. Now all five of the children have been married and sealed in the Manila Temple. Several married returned missionaries. Joan was instrumental in converting her boyfriend. She waited with him for a year after his baptism and then married him in the Manila Temple. Naty died suddenly in 2007, but the family remained strongly rooted in the gospel. They are thankful for the sealing covenant and know they will see their beautiful wife and mother again if they are faithful.
Now there are more than 70 members of the Bautista family who are active in the Church. The family and extended family have accounted for 17 full-time missions and 14 temple marriages. Family members have also served as bishops and branch presidents; stake and district presidents; and Relief Society, Young Women, and Primary presidents and counselors! Romeo’s son, John, was a bishop in the Quezon City area. Ruth’s husband was a high councilor in that same stake. Lyn’s husband was also a branch president in Tiwi. The Bautista family surely is building a strong legacy of service and strength in the Philippines.
My wife and I served a senior mission in the Philippines San Pablo Mission from 2008 to 2010. One day at the temple in Manila, most of the Bautista family gathered for the marriage of John Bautista (Romeo’s son) to Sister Victorino, one of the sister missionaries from our San Pablo Mission who had completed her mission and recently returned home.
Our mission president asked if we would like to attend that joyous event, and we immediately made plans to be there. My wife knew of my relationship with the Bautista family but was completely blown away by how many family members there were and how much they loved her. She had 70 new friends for life.
I often think of Doctrine and Covenants 18:15: “And if it so be that you should labor all your days in crying repentance unto this people, and bring, save it be one soul unto me, how great shall be your joy with him in the kingdom of my Father!” Like a ripple in a pond, the influence of one soul, Romeo, has sent out waves of strong testimonies and Church service in the Philippines.
I was fortunate to help toss the pebble into the pond four decades ago with the baptisms of Romeo and Avelia. I have experienced unspeakable joy in my relationship with this great family, now into their third generation of gospel living. This is truly the ongoing legacy and joy of missionary work. This is a little bit of missionary heaven!

Thank you very much for the continuing publication of the Mormonads. Recently I put up all of the small-sized Mormonads in the hallways in our stake center during a regional youth dance. It was interesting to see some of the youth go up and down the hallways to see which ones they would find next. Our DJ, a longtime veteran of Church dances, told me that some of the youth made a special effort to thank him for the good job and that no one argued or complained when he declined to play certain songs. They just chose different songs for him to play. I don’t know if there is a correlation between this behavior and the Mormonads, but I like to think it wasn’t a coincidence.
Catherine M., Utah

September 1832 was a busy season of preparation for the early Saints. The Prophet was preparing to move to the John Johnson home southeast of Kirtland, Ohio; other brethren were preparing to leave for Missouri. In the midst of these preparations, Joseph Smith received the revelation that we now know as section 64 of the Doctrine and Covenants. After instructing the men going to Missouri, the Lord reminded them: “But all things must come to pass in their time. Wherefore, be not weary in well-doing, for ye are laying the foundation of a great work. And out of small things proceedeth that which is great” (D&C 64:32–33; emphasis added).
These verses are a guide for us as we prepare ourselves and our families to live in “perilous times” (see 2 Tim. 3:1). We must not become weary of doing good, and we must not become impatient; the changes we seek will come about “in their time.” Most important, the great work we wish to do will proceed from “small things.”
One of those small things, I have learned, is that I must find the time to fill my own spiritual reservoir each day. It’s tempting to make a massive list of my failings and then to work at them, as a friend of mine says, as though I am “killing snakes.” Self-improvement may seem a kind of work project, but it is—at heart—a change of heart. When we women struggle to keep up with life—raising children, providing necessities, attending school, dealing with issues of age or ill health—our own spirituality often ends up at the bottom of our long “to do” lists.
Scripture study and prayer will bring change—but not automatically. If we read with one eye and pray with half a heart, we are engaging in a ritual, and while that time is not worthless, it isn’t fully productive either. We need, with the support of family, to clear enough time to study—not just read—to contemplate, feel, and wait for answers. The Lord has promised that He will strengthen us, fortify and refresh us, if we will take time for Him each day (see D&C 88:63).
Sisters, we must prepare if we wish to serve, and we must serve if we wish to prepare. When I was 16 I was called to teach the three-year-olds in what was then called Junior Sunday School. (You know there was such a thing in the olden days.) I taught some busy children. They climbed on and under the chairs and table and never seemed to stop moving. I was dreadfully inexperienced, and during the first few weeks I wondered if I had done the right thing in accepting the call.
But I persisted, and what I learned—quickly—was that I couldn’t just pray for help. I had to be prepared. That meant planning activities, stories, and lessons, and it meant having plan B ready, along with C through Z. Many years later, when I was called to lead a Junior Sunday School, I knew how to assist new teachers. I knew how to enjoy the children, and I knew the importance of being faithful in my calling.
I, like many of you, have had numerous callings in the Church. Some have been easier for me than others, but I have tried to magnify each one. But does the phrase “magnify your calling” ever make you nervous? It has worried me! Recently I read a talk in which President Thomas S. Monson said on the subject: “And how does one magnify a calling? Simply by performing the service that pertains to it” (“Priesthood Power,” Liahona, Jan. 2000, 60; Ensign, Nov. 1999, 51). Sisters, we can do that! I hear women say that their callings are wearing them out or that they don’t have time to serve. But magnifying our callings does not mean staying up all night preparing handouts and elaborate table decorations. It does not mean that each time we do our visiting teaching we have to take something to our sisters. Sometimes we are our own worst enemies. Let’s simplify. The message of a good lesson comes through spiritual preparation. Let’s put our focus on the principles of the gospel and on the material in our study guides. Let’s prepare to create an interesting exchange of ideas through discussion, not through extra, invented work that makes us so weary we come to resent the time we spend in fulfilling our callings.
When we are called to serve, we are not offered a release date. Our lives are our service. Lois Bonner, a woman in my stake who is 92 years old, began serving as a visiting teacher when she married over 65 years ago. She still faithfully serves. The Nelsons from Canada and the Ellsworths from Utah, as missionaries, taught, mentored, and loved those of us who were in a small, growing ward in Missouri. We learned, through them, the joy of service and benefited from the wisdom of their experiences. I can think of no better way to thank our Father for all He gives us than to serve His children in every age of our lives.
Finally, I’m coming to understand the meaning and importance of our offerings—specifically, our tithes and fast offerings. Throughout the Doctrine and Covenants the Lord admonishes us to care for each other and to give of our temporal resources to build the kingdom of God. In fact, our willingness to do this is one of the prerequisites for the Lord’s returning to the earth (see Daniel H. Ludlow, A Companion to Your Study of the Doctrine and Covenants, 2 vols. [1978], 2:46). Though each of our circumstances may differ, it is important for us to give all that we can. The Lord has seldom required individuals to give all, but it is important for Him to know that we would and could do it, if asked (see Bruce R. McConkie, “Obedience, Consecration, and Sacrifice,” Ensign, May 1975, 50). In one stake where my husband and I lived, our stake president challenged members to double their fast offerings and prepare for the blessings that would come. I can now bear personal testimony that the Lord will bless us in unfathomable ways if we are true and faithful in giving generously.
Spirituality through prayer and study. Service to others. Generous tithes and offerings. These are not new principles. These are some of the “small things” that are prerequisites to that which is great. In the verse that follows, we learn what the Lord requires of us. He requires “the heart and a willing mind” (D&C 64:34; emphasis added). It is our hearts and our minds that must be made new. We each have our failings, our weaknesses, our less-than-perfect attitudes. The Lord asks us to open ourselves to Him, holding nothing back. He says to us, seek not “thine own life”; seek “my will, and to keep my commandments” (Hel. 10:4). The newness of heart comes when we do and give all we can, then offer our heart and will to the Father. As we do this, our Father promises us that our lives now and in eternity will be abundant. We need not fear.
Sisters, don’t become weary in doing good. If we are patient, we can experience the change of heart we seek. For most of us this will require only a slight change of course, sending us toward true north. The adjustments we must make are in those “small things,” but that does not mean they are easy. Too many forces are confusing our compass. But the pull to the polar star is one we recognize. It is the direction toward home.
I bear witness to you of the reality of the promises of the Father to us, His beloved daughters. I testify that as we attune our lives to emulate the life shown us by the Savior, we will know that the light of Zion is arising, that we are becoming a people prepared for His return. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

But there’s more to the story. Because of her physical challenges, Kailey hadn’t always felt like she fit in at church. She and her younger brother Kenston, 10, both have autism, which makes it tough for them to express their feelings and interact with other people. Kenston also has Tourette’s syndrome, and so he makes repeated, quick movements and utters sounds that he cannot control. Even though their testimonies of the gospel are strong, Kailey and her family felt like they might be a distraction to others, and so they sometimes left Church meetings early or didn’t come at all.
However, when the youth started gathering cans, Kailey joined in every activity. She quickly made friends with the youth and the youth leaders in the ward.
“She joined right in and did everything,” says Rachel M., 17. “And by being there, she got to see not only what we were doing, but she experienced our attitudes about doing it as well.”
“Kailey’s always nice,” says Tommi B., 12. “When you see her, she’s always the first one to say hi.”
“I just want to be friends with everyone,” Kailey says. “It really means a lot to me to be accepted.”
As Kailey’s parents saw how well she was fellowshipped by the youth of the ward, they gained an increased vision of how the ward family could support their family. They felt more welcome at meetings, including bringing Kenston along. Ward members have come to understand that Kenston will sometimes unexpectedly sit in the choir seats and then return to his family after a few minutes or that he may make a noise he can’t stop, and they also understand that his friendship is quick and genuine.
“It didn’t take long before the youth caught the vision that getting Braille equipment was never really the true goal of this project,” Bishop Holmes says. “The real goal was to let Kailey and her family know that we love them and that we need them here to make our ward family complete.”

When Jamie learned of her husband’s pornography use, she reacted with an understandable desire to control whatever she could. She thought she could arrange the life of her husband, Jon, so he wouldn’t seek instant gratification through pornography, and he would, therefore, have no other option but to choose righteousness. She wrote daily lists for him: what he could do for fun and what chores he needed to complete.
A pivotal moment in Jamie’s journey came when her bishop was inspired to emphasize, “Jamie, this is not your fault. Nothing you are doing is making him look at pornography. He is choosing.” And just as she was not the cause of his looking at pornography, she also could not be the cause of his stopping. Intellectually, she already knew what the bishop told her, but Jamie says that after the bishop’s reminder, “the lists stopped. I gave up trying to control his behavior and trying to force him into righteousness—and I focused on myself.” In effect, Jamie gave herself permission to feel her own hurt and to work on her own recovery.
After Jamie’s realization, Jon struggled and relapsed often, but he took responsibility for his own actions. And as they each worked on their own healing, Jon and Jamie found that they could heal better as individuals and as a couple.
Another turning point for Jamie and Jon came when one of their children needed a blessing. They called their home teacher, who bravely explained that he was seeking help to deal with his own struggles with pornography. He offered to find someone else to give the blessing. That openness lessened the shame Jon and Jamie felt about their own situation, and Jon finally felt safe enough to discuss his addiction with someone besides Jamie.
When the home teacher’s wife offered to talk with Jamie, Jamie didn’t see the point since her talking wouldn’t fix Jon—and at that point, fixing him was her goal. Yet after she and the home teacher’s wife visited, Jamie felt lighter. Nothing had changed. Jon still struggled, but she was relieved that someone else knew what she was going through and her world hadn’t come crashing down.
Well into their journey of overcoming pornography, Jon and Jamie discovered how helpful it was to set boundaries, and they still have them today—even after a good amount of sobriety—because of the peace of mind that boundaries provide. Jamie says that when she was most vulnerable, setting boundaries “protected my heart.”
She and Jon agreed that there were appropriate times and ways to discuss issues surrounding a relapse. They agreed not to have “text wars” but to speak in person. They also agreed that if a discussion was turning into an argument, they could take a break and talk later.
Many of Jon and Jamie’s boundaries relate to how they communicate, but some of their other boundaries take the form of if/then statements in which they agree that certain actions will lead to certain consequences. That, Jamie says, allows them both to feel that life isn’t quite so chaotic.
So do Jamie and Jon, who actively help other couples find the healing they have found through the Savior and His Atonement.

When I reached my teenage years, people started calling me “ugly” and “fat” at school. My confidence and feelings of self-worth were very low. I doubted the Church, Heavenly Father, and the whole plan of salvation. I didn’t want to go to church, Mutual, or firesides. I felt depressed and unworthy.
My mom, wanting me to try and make friends, helped me attend a youth camp when I turned 14. During the first session of scripture study there, I had a prompting to start reading the Book of Mormon. As soon as I read the first few words, I felt peace. The Holy Ghost was with me once again.

I thought back to my first contact with Mormons. It was the summer of my second year in junior high school, when President Kimball visited Sapporo. I had attended many other churches, but at that meeting, there was something new: a unity of all the members. It seemed strange at the time. At other churches, people came to meetings, sat and listened, and then returned home. At the Mormon church, they all seemed to be working at life, trying to love it and enjoy it in a way the Lord would want them to. I thought of my second visit among the Mormons, too. That had been November 3 of the same year at the branch Thanksgiving party. My older sister invited me to tag along and told me all of the people there would seem like angels and we would be embarrassed just to be in their presence. That’s exactly how they made me feel! I had never been part of such a spiritual, family atmosphere.
From then on I had attended church weekly and everyone welcomed me with outstretched arms and warm hearts. The missionaries taught me about restored gospel truths, and they taught me how to pray to know the truth for myself. No other church had taught me how to pray, but in this church even small children could pray. I read the Book of Mormon daily and prayed about it. Gradually I began to understand my purpose here on earth and what’s important in this life. But I did not feel, yet, that I had a testimony.
In April, the branch start ed a Young Women program. At first there was only one participant: me! Even when I didn’t go, the teacher would wait for me. That seemed strange, too. Why was she so patient? Why did she wait so long even when she wasn’t sure I’d show up?
About that time, the mission presidents changed and the Suzuki family came to Sapporo. There was a young lady in the family, Naomi, who was my same age. We quickly became friends, since we were the only young women our age in the branch. She set a good example for me, and with her as a guide, I began to understand the patience of our teacher and the beauty of the gospel. Naomi’s example helped keep me going to church weekly and praying diligently. I was able to gain a small testimony and wanted from the bottom of my heart to be baptized.
I had talked to my parents once before about receiving that blessing, but they were against it. This time, armed with a tiny testimony, I tried again.
“Faith,” my father told me, “is not something that is grown in one or two days. It is the process of many years.” He felt that, to a student, school is more important even than religion, and he emphatically refused to give permission for baptism.
That had been a painful experience. But I got a grasp on myself, thought over what my father had said, and decided that one thing he had said was right. Religion should not be just a two-day spree, but a life-long adventure! I began attending seminary and studying the Old Testament in earnest. Fun lessons helped me gain insight into a subject new to me, and my knowledge of the gospel became fuller. However, I could not buy the home study manuals because that year was also the year for high school entrance exams, and my parents wanted me to spend time on school work, not religious homework.
I was overjoyed when the students in the class gave the manuals to me as a present! What could I give them in return? The best thing was to study those manuals hard. Even though my progress was slower than others, I was able to finish the manuals and turn them in to the teacher.
I also passed the high school entrance exams and felt relieved. My heart was lighter as I once again approached my parents about baptism, figuring I had proven I could be active in the Church and still succeed at school. Their response knocked me back into reality. “No,” my father said, “from now on school will be even tougher. You won’t have time for church and school too.”
My parents became increasingly upset by my diligence in attending Church meetings and would speak harsh words when I left the house on Sundays. After many months, however, they finally realized I wasn’t going to stop attending, and their resistance slackened somewhat. I continued studying seminary manuals, and my testimony grew more and more firm. But baptism still seemed impossible.
Finally, Naomi suggested that we should fast and pray about the situation. So every Sabbath day—for an entire year—we fasted. Naomi fasted and prayed right along with me. I could always feel God’s presence nearby, and my testimony became unshakable as we realized many other blessings that year. But my parents remained firm.
Last of all, my thoughts drifted to the beginning of this school year—my last in high school, the year of preparation for the college entrance examinations. I knew I would not be allowed to join the Church until the exams were over. I also wondered if my parents would allow me to be baptized even after the tests. One thing was certain, though. If I failed the exams, my parents would say, “The reason you failed is because you spent so much time with that church!” I had to prove that what they were thinking just wasn’t right. Somehow I knew that passing those tests was the key to my baptism, but I couldn’t see how.
I studied harder than I ever had before. Schoolwork passed ahead of everything, even Church assignments. Seminary studies began to pile up, but I rationalized that in order to be baptized, it was worth neglecting seminary in favor of schoolwork. The lack of seminary study worried me, however, for it was there I had grown the most and felt the strongest testimony. Now that testimony seemed to be shrinking as 13 home study books cluttered my shelf. My conscience told me I wasn’t doing what was right, that even with school there should be time for Church work and seminary too. On February 25 I promised myself I would complete all 13 books by March 4, the day exams began. Sandwiched in between my other schoolwork, seminary workbooks became a welcome break. On March 2, I handed all of my assignments, completed, to my amazed seminary teacher.
“It’s time,” the teacher supervising the exam said. I looked at the clock and whispered a prayer. Like a squadron of robots, the college entrance exam candidates rose and entered the testing area. Reluctantly, I joined them.
I passed! I couldn’t believe it! I was so excited! But several days later, when the scores were posted, I was listed. I would be able to go to college! I rushed to my parents with the good news and also asked if now I could finally have my wish—to become a member of the Church.
“No,” my father said simply. He startled the words right out of my mouth.
But my mother, although she had never done so before, came to my defense. She reminded him that I had been true to my studies and true to my religion for four years. “That’s such a good church that I don’t think my daughter would be doing anything wrong by joining it,” she said. “It is such a good church. I can understand why my daughter wants to go to it all her life.”
The three of us talked for hours, and I slowly realized my parents weren’t against me but loved me. They were concerned for my welfare and didn’t want me doing something blindly. I’m grateful to have such wonderful parents. I think they realized, too, that I wasn’t joining the Church on a whim. They gave me permission to be baptized! I made that covenant and received that ordinance on the same day I graduated from the Young Women program. My friends from seminary helped plan the baptismal service, and most of my family attended.
Of the high school- and college-age members of the Church in Japan, only about 5 percent have parents who are members. They may find that sharing the gospel with their families can be difficult and that parents of the Buddhist and Shinto faiths don’t always understand the joy that comes into someone’s heart through the knowledge of the gospel of Jesus Christ. But I truly believe that the Lord is mindful of us and will provide a way to help us. For me, it was through four years of patience that allowed my faith to grow strong.

Nikki and Breck Fullmer quarreled constantly. Most of their fights were about Nikki borrowing Breck’s T-shirts, and Nikki enduring Breck’s music. Nikki and Breck were both looking for a way out of their conflicts when they decided to participate in their stake’s “Time Alone” experiment.
In “Time Alone” you invite a family member to spend an hour doing something they like with only you. It’s a laser focus of attention on a single sibling or parent. “Time Alone” is a simple formula for friendship that might make a change in your family. Some family members experience results in just a few meetings.
Nikki knew her brother gulped gallons of soda pop every week, so she invited him to go get a drink with her. He thought it was a fine arrangement, since she was buying. After the soda they talked and drove around for an hour. After just one rendezvous Nikki said, “He’s at a stage where he’ll do just about anything to be cool. And now he thinks it’s cool to be with me.”
Other young people who participated in the experiment didn’t fight with their brothers and sisters but felt their relationships weren’t as strong as they could be. Curtis Morley missed the close relationship he and his younger brother had as young boys. He decided to get up early with his brother and join him in his bike ride to volleyball practice during the summer.
“At first we just talked of common things, but as the days progressed he spoke more from the heart. I anticipated a noticeable change in him. It didn’t happen. Instead the change came over me. I had regained a friend, someone who would always be there when I needed him—and an awesome volleyball partner.”

The Navajos were different. Roxie shivered again as she thought back to the early spring days when they first met members of their tribe. Some of the young boys in the settlement had gone out hunting. Seeing what they thought was a wild range steer in the bushes, they shot it. They had no idea that the animal was claimed by the Navajos.

When the truth was learned, fear ran through the camp. And then into their clearing had come riding Comazzy himself. He was the proud head of this Navajo clan. Roxie had been proud of her father. He was one of the men who finally persuaded Comazzy to sit down for a powwow that lasted most of the afternoon. There was much loud talking and gesturing of hands and heads. Roxie’s father knew enough Spanish to act as a sort of interpreter, since this tribe knew quite a few Spanish words. When the Indians left, they took with them sacks of flour and dried fruit.

Since that day the Navajos had treated them with respect, but their trust was guarded. Still, they had traded some calves for the feast to be held today in honor of the settlers’ finishing their large common house with its attached bowery.