Gospel Story Finder

Families are the backbone of the Church. They also are important in “Project Hope.” Lynn Curtis of Torrance, California, originated the idea of doing a benefit project for Orthopedic Hospital of Los Angeles, California, when he was studentbody president of Torrance High four years ago. Younger brother Dean has come along to be studentbody president too and has spearheaded the project, which recently netted $15,000. More than 100,000 people attended the super-festival. The entire Torrance High campus was turned into model regional sections of the United States. The state flags were on display, and special features of the areas were erected in miniature, such as a Coney Island hot dog stand, a hula hut, a lighthouse, and a huge mountain range for the Rockies. The carnival drew students together in a great cause, and the townspeople are glad there are Mormon boys to stir up involvement.

“Mary, what do you see?” Mary’s stepmother spoke softly from her sickbed.
“The fighting seems to be getting closer,” said Mary, looking out the window. The American Civil War was being fought just a few miles away. The sound of gunshots had filled the air since morning. Mary turned to her stepmother. “I’m so sorry. I don’t think we can leave the house to get the doctor.”
“Come closer.” Mary sat next to the bed and took her stepmother’s hand. “I know your father is still not well,” Mary’s stepmother said quietly, “but you need to take the family to Zion—your brother, your sister, and the twins. Don’t give your father any peace until he goes to the Rocky Mountains! Promise me!”
Mary knew how much her family wanted to go to Salt Lake City. After they heard the gospel and were baptized, they had left England to join the Saints in Zion. But would it even be possible? She glanced at her father, who sat silently in his chair. Three years ago, Father had suffered a terrible stroke that had paralyzed his left side.
Mary took a deep breath. “I promise,” she whispered.
Soon Mary’s stepmother closed her eyes for the last time.
One morning soon after, Mary decided it was time to tell her father about her promise. “I know I’m just 14,” she said, “but I must take our family to Zion.” She heard the twins waking. “I need to go get breakfast started,” she said. “But just think about it, please.”
A few days later, Father called Mary’s name. “It’s all arranged,” he said. His speech was still slurred from the stroke. “I’ve sold our land and the coal mine so we can buy a wagon, some oxen, cows, and a few supplies. A wagon company is leaving soon for the West. They’re not Latter-day Saints, but we can travel with them as far as Iowa. When we get there, we can join a party of Saints going to the Salt Lake Valley.”
Mary threw her arms around him. “Thank you, Father.” Soon they would go to Zion!
The days passed quickly as Mary helped get the family ready for their travels. “Everything is going to be all right,” she told herself. “Soon we’ll be in Zion.”
But then Father fell ill. From the way his mouth drooped on one side, Mary feared it was another stroke.
“He’s too sick to travel,” she told the leader of the wagon company. “We just need a few days for him to recover.”
“We can’t wait,” the man said briskly. Seeing Mary’s face, he softened his tone. “You can stay here until he’s ready to travel, and then you can catch up with us.” With no other choice, Mary agreed.
A week later, Mary got her family ready to travel again. “The twins and Sarah can ride on the oxen,” she told Jackson, her nine-year-old brother. “Father can ride in the wagon, and you can help me drive the oxen.”
“I’m scared,” Sarah said in a small voice. She was only six, and she looked tiny on the ox’s broad back. The four-year-old twins looked at Mary with wide eyes.
“We’ll just make good time and catch up with our group!” Mary said with forced cheerfulness.
On and on the Wanlass family traveled, for miles and then for days. Finally, even Mary had to admit the truth.
The wagon party had not waited for them. Mary and her family would have to travel to Zion alone.
“Whoa, there!” Mary pulled back on the reins, and the oxen slowed. “Everyone all right?” She looked at her three youngest siblings, who rode on the oxen’s backs. They nodded.
The Platte River lay before them, wide and muddy. “What now?” her younger brother, Jackson, asked. He was only nine, but he was helping Mary drive the oxen. Father lay in the back of the wagon, still sick from his stroke.
“We don’t need to cross the river,” said Mary. “But we can follow it.” There was no road to Zion, but the river should guide them as they headed west. “Giddyap!”
Mary didn’t know that Mormon pioneers traveled on the other side of the Platte River and went a different way. By not crossing the river, they were entering Indian Territory. They would not see another wagon train for the rest of the journey.
They traveled on. Weeks later, Mary saw a cloud of dust approaching. “Steady,” she whispered to the oxen and herself. “Steady.”
The dust cleared to show a small group of Indians riding on horses. One of the riders moved toward the back of the wagon, where Father was lying.
The rider’s eyes were kind. “He is sick?” he asked, pointing to Father.
“Yes,” Mary whispered. The man called out something in his own language, and the men rode off as quickly as they had come.
Mary looked at the sun in the sky. “We’ll stop here,” she told Jackson. She lifted Sarah and the twins down.
“Mary, come look!” Jackson said. The man with the kind eyes was riding toward them, something heavy in his hands.
“Wild duck,” he said. “And rabbit. For you.” Mary could only stare, speechless, as he dropped the game into her arms. With another nod, he rode off into the twilight.
“Food!” Mary exclaimed. “Meat!” The man’s gift was truly a miracle.
More miracles happened on their journey. A buffalo herd came near them but then parted around the wagon, going on either side of it. A dust storm carried one of the twins into a river, but Mary was able to save her.
But the journey was still difficult. Every day the wagon looked more worn, and the oxen looked more tired. The ground was steep and rocky. The mountains were hard to cross. But Mary and her family kept plodding forward.
They were just coming down from a tall summit when Mary saw a man driving toward them in a wagon.
“Maybe he can tell us the way to Lehi, Utah!” she said to Jackson. They had an uncle who lived there.
“You’re in Echo Canyon, not far from the Salt Lake Valley,” the man said when she asked where they were. “But where is the rest of your party?”
The whole story came out, and the man listened with amazement. “You’ve traveled over 1,000 miles (1,609 km) all by yourselves?” He shook his head with admiration. “You are one brave girl. Let me tell you the way to Lehi. You’re nearly there.”
“Nearly there,” Mary whispered to herself as the man drew a rough map in the dirt. Nearly to Zion. “I think we might make it, after all.”
Mary and her family made it to Lehi, Utah. She later married and had a large family of her own. Her example of faith and courage has blessed many people.

About 30 years ago I met a man whom I will call Thomas. He was 45 years old when I met him. Twenty years earlier his parents had joined the Church. Thomas had no interest in his parents’ new religion. But his parents loved him, and they treasured the hope that someday their son might be brought to know the truth of the restored gospel. As the years passed, they tried many times to persuade him to at least meet with the missionaries and hear their message. He refused again and again, and he mocked his parents for their religious faith.

One day in desperation his mother said, “Thomas, if you will take the missionary discussions one time, then I will never again talk to you about the Church.” Thomas decided this was a good bargain and agreed to meet with the missionaries. During the first three discussions, he simply sat there full of pride, occasionally making fun of what the elders were teaching.

During the fourth discussion, about the Atonement of Jesus Christ and the first principles of the gospel, Thomas said nothing but grew unusually silent and listened closely. At the end of the lesson, the elders bore their testimonies of the Savior. One of the missionaries then felt prompted to open his Bible and read these words:

“Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.

“Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls” (Matthew 11:28–29).

Without warning, Thomas burst into tears. “Are you trying to say that Christ can forgive me of my sins?” he asked. “I have lived a terrible life. I am haunted by the memory of my sins. I would do anything to be freed of the guilt I feel.”

His pride had been a facade that hid a soul captive to sin and guilt. The elders assured Thomas that Christ would forgive him and free him from the burden of guilt if he would but repent and be baptized and confirmed. Then they bore testimony of the power of the Atonement. From that moment on, everything changed in Thomas’s life. He had much to repent of and to overcome, but through the blessings of the Lord, he qualified for baptism.

More than 20 years later, as I sat in the chapel of the Frankfurt Germany Temple, a gray-haired man in front of me turned around and said, “Aren’t you Elder Porter?” To my great joy, I recognized Thomas—a man freed from bondage by the power of Jesus Christ.

The sun shone warmly on an outrigger canoe as a father and son dipped their paddles into the smooth water. Mapa, the boy, stared into the clear depths, not conscious of the beauty there or of the beautiful morning around them. Somewhere deep inside he hurt, like a leg hurts when the water is too cold for swimming and a boy goes swimming anyway. But the ache was even worse whenever he looked down at his little Puaka Tea asleep near his bare feet—all curled up and scrubbed clean and pink. She’s not very big yet, he thought sadly. How he wished he could keep her until she was grown and the mother of many little pigs. But she must be sold at the marketplace, because it would soon be time for school and there was not enough money to buy the uniforms and sandals all Tongan students wear.
Father had planned on cash from his crops, but the hurricane winds had destroyed most of them this year. Then Mother had tried to help by weaving baskets and mats and making tapa cloth to be sold at the market. Little brother Sione had sent his two best chickens in a cage to be sold. Their legs tied together, they seemed quite content just to be blinking out at the world.
The whole family was anxious to help Mapa get ready for school. And when he thought about their concern for him, a good feeling began to push away some of the hurt about having to sell Puaka.
“Rest awhile, Mapa,” Father advised, as the canoe slipped gracefully across the water. “There will be much to see and do when we reach Tongatapu Island.”
“Have I ever been there?”
“When you were very small.”
Mapa leaned back against the boat. “I want to go to a store and buy something for Mother and Sione,” he said.
Mapa reached inside his vala (dressy skirt-like garment) to make sure his twenty-seniti (cent) coin was still there. Nestled there also was something else. It was hard and round. Mapa frowned. He had forgotten to leave his newfound treasure home. He and Sione had been playing with it just before Father called him to the boat. It was a different color from the tui tui nuts the boys usually played with. He had found it that morning inside a shellfish. It was silvery white and lustrous.
The gentle rocking of the boat lulled the boy to sleep. He saw himself running with Puaka Tea at his heels. His bare legs, bronzed by the sun, were strong and fast. The wind blew warm on his smiling brown face. The pig followed him wherever he went, through the tall grass, along the sand on the beach, even into the shallow water. He heard her squealing.
Mapa opened his eyes. Puaka Tea was awake and squealing loudly. The boat trembled and lurched sideways.
“Father! What is happening?” Mapa shouted.
The chickens clucked and banged their beaks against the side of the cage.
“Hold on, son!”
Another plunge. The frightened pig scampered back and forth in the bottom of the canoe. Mapa reached for her just as the boat tipped again. Puaka Tea tumbled into the ocean, her feet flailing as she went under.
“Oh, no!” Mapa cried, as he jumped in after her. Then up the pig came, floundering near an overturned basket. He grabbed the animal and pulled her with him to the boat. Still squealing, Puaka Tea went up over the side to safety.
“What happened?” Mapa asked as soon as he had pulled himself inside the canoe.
“Well, I think a young whale wanted to visit us. Thank goodness, I was able to nudge it away. This serves for more than just rowing!” Father declared, holding up a long paddle. Mapa and Father laughed together, and the animals settled themselves.
Mapa saw a faint line on the far horizon as he shaded his eyes with the palm of his hand. Soon a shoreline began to take shape. Anticipation brought a smile to his face. He could see the same expression reflected in his father’s dark eyes. “We will soon be there, son. Look, there is the king’s palace.”
Stately Norfolk pines towered above tall white walls. The red roof matched the colorful hibiscus and poinsettia flowers blooming in the courtyard.
“Red and white, the colors of the kingdom,” Mapa said softly. “I have never seen anything so magnificent. Look, there is a big ship in the harbor. Where do you think it came from?”
Father’s eyes studied it. “From Australia, I think.”
Soon the outrigger was securely tied to the dock and, with the pig pattering along beside them, they carried their wares to market. Mapa had never seen so many people. He tied Puaka Tea to a pole and she began to root around contentedly in the soft ground.
“May I go to a store now?” Mapa asked.
Father knew the boy wanted to be away when someone came to buy the pig. “Yes, but be careful.”
Mapa’s heart was heavy. “Good-bye, my little Puaka Tea,” he whispered, and turned and hurried across the street.
The store seemed very big, for Mapa was used to only the small thatched huts of the village. This building was made of wood and filled to capacity with all kinds of supplies. The pungent odor of spice cake and new leather filled the room. Three small children at the counter were laughing and playing with their new toys. The trinkets from New Zealand, Japan, and India fascinated Mapa most. He was so engrossed, his curly head bent over the shelf, that he did not notice a lady customer come into the store.
Finally he reached into the folds of his vala for the coin, and out fell the stone. Clattering to the floor, it rolled across the boards almost to the lady’s feet.
“Malo-e-lelei (Hello),” she greeted him. Her voice sounded strange.
Mapa’s eyes opened wide. The voice was not nearly as strange as the lady herself. Her skin was very white, and her eyes were as blue as the horizon where the ocean meets the sky. Her hair was golden like a sun blossom.
“Malo-e-lelei,” he answered and picked up his treasure.
The woman smiled and came closer to him. “May I see it?” she asked.
“Yes, ma’m,” he replied and handed it to her.
“It is lovely.” She studied it closely. “I would very much like to buy it. Will you sell it to me?”
Mapa thought for a moment. I wonder why this lady wants it? Perhaps I can find another one.
“Yes, you may buy it.”
He was astonished at the many slips of paper pa’anga (dollars) the lady placed in his hand.
“Malo’aupito (thank you very much),” he said.
Mapa ran back to the marketplace. His father would be surprised, for his son held more money in his hand than anyone would pay for baskets or chickens or a little pig. He could keep Puaka Tea!
“Father! Father!” Oh, if only I’m in time!
A tall, neatly dressed man stood by his father, holding onto the rope tied around Puaka Tea’s leg.
“What is it, Mapa? What has happened?”
“Do not sell my pig! I have money. It is enough. See, here!”
Father’s mouth opened in disbelief. “But where did you get it?”
“I sold a stone I found to a lady from the ship. I can keep Puaka Tea and still buy things for school.”
“That was not an ordinary stone, son. It must have been a pearl! I am happy for your good fortune,” Father said.
The tall man, understanding, left in search of another pig.
Mapa bent down and untied Puaka Tea, who gave a happy little squeal.

One day, while teaching at the institute of religion adjacent to the University of Utah, I was troubled when one person whispered to another all through the opening prayer. The guilty parties were not hard to spot because they continued whispering all through the class. I kept glaring at them, hoping that they would take the hint, but they didn’t seem to notice. Several times during the hour, I was tempted to ask them to take their conversation outside if they felt it was so urgent—but fortunately something kept me from giving vent to my feelings.

After the class, one of them came to me and apologized that she hadn’t explained to me before class that her friend was deaf. The friend could read lips, but since I was discussing—as I often do—with my back to the class, writing at the chalkboard and talking over my shoulder, my student had been “translating” for her friend, telling her what I was saying. To this day I am thankful that both of us were spared the embarrassment that might have occurred had I given vent to a judgment made without knowing the facts.

For three days we had been driving our newly restored, 40-year-old Auburn Phaeton convertible through the Canadian and New England countryside. Our dream after five years of hard work was a reality. A handsome, shiny, black and chrome machine created by the genius of classic automobile carriage designer, Gordon Buhrig, the model 851 Auburn is indeed a beautiful road car. It is akin in many ways to Buhrig’s more recent design for the Lincoln Continental. On the highway the Auburn’s performance is difficult to match even today. The great auto racing and engineering brothers August and Fred Duesenburg, of Indianapolis fame, combined the nearly all-aluminum, 8-cylinder Lycoming engine, turbocharged carburetion, and negative pressure exhaust with a dual-speed Columbia rear drive—a fantastic combination of automobile engineering, performance, and economy that was almost unbelievable in 1935. It was way ahead of its time, and it was known as the King of the Road. After driving and enjoying it for three days, we all began reminiscing about the first time we had seen it.
It had been abandoned beside a barn, and weeds were growing around and inside it. It may not have interested some families; but we were so excited at the prospect of a true, classic automobile to restore that we were almost afraid to ask the owners about it. We drove by the barn three times, looking and talking excitedly. Finally we stopped and, with a surge of courage, made the purchase. We slept little that night and even less during many nights to come as the family planned, unbolted, repaired, restored, rebolted, and refinished the Auburn as a family project.
Around the supper table, usually three nights each week, we talked of the previous night’s progress and planned the work that needed to be done. Rust, grease, and road dirt by the pound, accumulated over nearly half a century, were scraped, wire brushed, and washed away. Many bolts, under stress for years, had to be sawed off to allow complete disassembly of vital running parts. All the bearings required either repacking or replacement. New upholstery with the same fine leather and the original style had to be made to restore the convertible’s interior. Replating all the bright work with copper, nickel, and chromium added to the list of goals to be reached.
We took special trips so the family could learn how to take care of the metallurgical testing of the rods, pistons, crank, and camshaft. We personally observed the lead-pouring of the engine bearings. With fascination we all watched “striking-a-match” to a newly rewound electric starter. Fusing the electrical insulation by fire was actually necessary in such old-type winding.
The second springtime after we had begun the project was especially memorable for us. The mechanical work was nearly completed. The family just had to hear, see, and feel the Auburn in action. After carefully oiling each cylinder and bearing, we rolled the car out into the beautiful, warm, Saturday-morning sun. Because of the tightness of the newly poured lead bearings, rods, and piston rings, the starter couldn’t turn the engine over; so we had to tow the car a few blocks to get it started. It was like Christmas to a five-year-old. The family celebrated the halfway goal we had set for ourselves and each took a turn driving the Auburn around the yard. None of us (and probably none of the neighbors) will ever forget that thrilling morning when the King again roared to life.
The project wasn’t strictly limited to our family, either. Neighbors and friends were caught up in the spirit of the King of the Road. Ted, with his welding torch, a perfect diversion from his chemistry lecturing at the university, put smooth metalwork in place of rusted-out panels. Rebuilding the engine and drive train with new bearings and piston rings would not have been possible without Tony’s skilled hands. Compliments received for the beautifully restored body lines gleaming with a dozen hand-rubbed coats of black lacquer were the result of Richard’s creative ability. It was during hundreds of hours of working together that Richard fell in love with our Auburn, and more important, he and his family learned more of the gospel and were baptized into the Church.
The thrill of driving that masterpiece of design and engineering and the countless hours of labor to restore it have indeed strengthened the life of each individual member of our family. Seeing the goal, planning and working together to achieve it, and finally feeling the achievement of driving that beautiful King has made our family goals, temporal and eternal, very real and important to us.
At the time of restoration, the Auburn was important to every member of our family. Today, in our philosophy of life, it has become merely the symbol of our real achievement. We have found that most of our life problems and challenges can be planned and worked out together much the way we restored the Auburn.

Four months into her mission in Lusaka Zambia, Sister Christiana Ogunbote was told she would have to go home. The onset of the pandemic meant that many missionaries around the world would need to return to their home countries. So, Sister Ogunbote returned to her native United Kingdom. The changes continued: she was reassigned to the Scotland/Ireland Mission, and then recalled to Zambia in October 2020. When asked about life lessons she had learned while serving a mission during the pandemic, she shared the following in her own words:
“There’s been a lot of learning and life lessons. One big one is that when we are called to serve as missionaries, we don’t get to choose the circumstances of our call. We decide that we are going to serve the Lord with all that we have, no matter where it is or what language, whether it is inside missionary apartments or outside on the road. We don’t get to choose those circumstances.
“But we get to choose how we react. We get to choose if we want to serve with joy and with our whole hearts, or if we want to see the negative and be weighed down by the things that we can’t do. That was something that I was really able to learn and to be reminded that a mission experience is one of great joy. There is no greater joy than doing the work of the Lord.
“Being in Zambia was an incredible time of my life. Having my time in Scotland made my mission greater than I could have ever planned. Being able to be a missionary at home with my parents and trying to be a missionary in the middle of their day-to-day life was a very interesting scenario for me and for many other missionaries who did the same thing. I think it was the training we needed to understand why we wanted to be missionaries.
“Even if I went from one continent to the other and spent time in my home and time at home with my parents, throughout it all, I know that it was part of the experience that helped me to really understand that Heavenly Father is in the details of our lives. He knows each and every one of us and He wants for us to be able to do things according to His design.
“I have a better eternal perspective, knowing that not everything is going to be rosy. But having that eternal perspective is the way the Lord gives us the strength to endure the challenges and the trials that we face.”

When Cassie fell in love with Albert, she worried about falling into the same negative communication patterns she had seen in her first marriage. So they took a marriage class together, where they learned to:
Practice listening skills.
Honestly share feelings.
Cooperate, not compete.
Agree to disagree when needed.
Discuss money management.
“Building a successful marriage takes practice, but we love each other enough to make it work,” Cassie said.

When school bus number 882 finally turned onto the dirt road, I was never happier to see our house.
I was still upset from the argument that had exploded between me and my friends three days ago. Or should I say ex-friends? Now I thought of them as bullheaded and cliquey.
When the bus stopped, I marched down the stairs determined not to speak to Connie and Vicki again.
That night I tossed and turned as contention filled my dreams.
By morning I had a headache. I also woke up late. As a result, I ran around the house trying to get ready for school. I finally grabbed my books and slammed the front door without saying good-bye to my mom and little brothers and sisters as I raced to the bus stop.
I walked quickly down the aisle, finding a seat away from Connie and Vicki. I could feel their eyes watching me, but I sat close to the window and pretended not to see them. I reached for my history book to read my assignment. I was surprised when I opened Pathways to Perfection by Elder Thomas S. Monson. I must have inadvertently grabbed the book as I raced out of the house. It was as if it fell open to what I needed to read most: the chapter titled “Love As Jesus Loves.” The words seemed to be directed at me as I read scriptures from Matthew 22:36–39:
“Master, which is the great commandment in the law?
“Jesus said unto him, Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind.
“This is the first and great commandment.”
Then these words penetrated my heart:
“And the second is like unto it, Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself.” [Matt. 22:36–39]
Those verses took on new meaning for me. Tears filled my eyes as I felt my Heavenly Father’s love for me. And I realized that it wasn’t Connie and Vicki who needed to change. It was me!
That morning on the bus I made a commitment to serve and love the Lord through loving those around me.

Grant’s musical talent started to show when he was only five years old. Because his four older siblings would play the piano and sing all the time, he decided that he wanted to join in the fun. Although Grant was only in kindergarten and could not yet read music, he says, “I started playing the piano by ear and would pick out melodies on the piano.”
Michael, his brother, adds, “One thing Grant is good at is that he can listen to a difficult piece of music and be able to pick out all the parts on the piano.”
Not only does Grant play the piano, but he also plays the trumpet and the flügelhorn, and, of course, he sings. Such a wide variety of talent was great to have when Grant, Guy, and Michael started to record their first CD. The three brothers had dreamed of making a CD but waited until Michael returned from his mission in Geneva, Switzerland, to start.
Michael says that before he served a mission there was never a temptation to stay home and record music. “I received assurance through prayer that my mission call was going to be right for me,” Michael says. “When I got my call, I knew it was what the Lord wanted for me.”
When he got home two years later, the three boys worked together, using their vocal and instrumental talents to produce a CD. Their goal in releasing it, Michael says, was to give youth and young adults “safe, appropriate, and upbeat music to listen to.” But the brothers will have to put future goals of making another CD on hold for a couple of years because Guy Richey, who goes by both his first and middle names, recently left to serve a full-time mission in Toulouse, France. In this family of musicians, serving the Lord is more important than music.
“Even if we had a top record in America right now, we would still go and serve the Lord. We know that serving is the most important thing,” Michael says.
Making the mission a priority is an example to Grant, who says that his brothers and dad have paved the way for him. Grant wants to serve a mission, too. “Michael’s decision process to go on a mission started with our father, who went on a mission. We look up to our father so much. He’s such a great example to us that we have all felt that going on missions was the right thing to do,” Grant says.
Michael gives Grant his best advice for serving a mission: “Go out with a smile every day and talk to as many people as you can. Be selfless and bring joy into other peoples’ lives. If you’re concerned about other peoples’ needs, the stresses and sacrifices of serving a mission will not be a big deal.”
In three years, when it comes time to serve a mission, Grant will have no doubt that giving up his musical career for two years to serve the Lord is the right thing to do. He is already preparing for that by following the Holy Ghost and building his testimony.
Although Grant can play by ear a song he hears on the radio, he’s also working on training something else—his spiritual ear. “When I feel spiritual promptings, I follow them,” Grant says. “Because I follow them, I’m able to recognize those promptings easier. I try to be better at listening to the Spirit.”
And why does he want to follow the Spirit? Because Grant has a testimony of the gospel. “Ever since I was little, my parents have taught us about the gospel,” he says. “The more I learn about it, the more I know it’s true. My testimony is always strengthened when I’m trying to live more like Christ.”
One way that Grant is able to live the gospel is by listening to good, wholesome music. When asked what advice he would give to teens who struggle with inappropriate music, he answers, “Just know that inappropriate music is what Satan wants you to listen to, and it doesn’t please Heavenly Father when we don’t listen to uplifting things. We don’t always have to listen to Church music, but it has to bring a good spirit.”
Michael agrees. “Music is so spiritual, and it’s so connected to our soul that when we listen to music that is destructive, uses bad language, or even has a feeling that is inappropriate, we know that it’s the wrong music to listen to,” he says. “Finding music that makes your soul and spirit feel good is very important.”
Grant’s mom, Lucie, says that good music is always playing in their home, and that creates a loving atmosphere. “It’s never quiet in our home; somebody is always singing or playing the piano,” she says. As if on cue, the family sings “Love at Home” (Hymns, no. 294) in perfect harmony. No, it is never quiet in the Gibbons’ home, but a spirit of love resides there. Music is a big deal to Grant and his family, but serving the Lord always comes first.

Elsa Jacobsen had a problem. After years of working hard in school and excelling in the classroom, on the student council, and in the ballet studio, she had created a situation for herself that she didn’t quite know how to handle. Several top universities, including Stanford University located near Palo Alto, California, were vying to have Elsa as a student. All were great schools, some were offering attractive scholarship packages, and any of them would provide lots of great learning opportunities.
“I finally narrowed it down,” says 18-year-old Elsa, “and after a lot of fasting and prayer I received a peaceful confirmation about coming to Stanford. From the time I arrived here, I knew why. I love it here.”

Latter-day Saint pioneer Mary Ann Angell Young was a living testament that faith in God and his gospel is reason enough to endure hardship with dignity, patience, and unwavering hope. So deep was her devotion to the gospel and so steady was her trust in the Lord that no extremity of persecution, toil, illness, or separation from loved ones in life or in death disturbed her faith.
Born in Seneca, Ontario County, New York, in 1803, Mary Ann was reared by God-fearing parents. After the family moved to Providence, Rhode Island, Mary Ann joined the Free Will Baptist Church and developed a keen interest in the Bible.
“Her study of the scriptures, especially the prophecies, so engrossed her mind, that she confidently looked for their fulfillment, in consequence of which she resolved never to marry until she should ‘meet a man of God.’”1 That blessing came years later, shortly after her conversion to the restored gospel.
Mary Ann learned of the Book of Mormon when Elder Thomas B. Marsh preached of the Restoration in Providence in 1830. From him she requested a copy of the sacred book, which she prayerfully read and believed. “She testified many times that the Spirit bore witness to her when she took the Book of Mormon in her hands, of the truth of its origin, so strongly that she could never afterwards doubt it,” wrote her biographer, Emmeline B. Wells.2
Two years later Mary Ann journeyed to New York to investigate the new religion firsthand. Her parents, who were visiting friends near Palmyra, had not told her enough about the new faith in their letters to satisfy her. So she joined her parents, and together they heard and embraced the restored gospel and were baptized by Elder John P. Greene, Brigham Young’s brother-in-law.
Because her parents were not ready to gather with the Saints in Ohio in 1833, Mary Ann struck out for Kirtland alone. There, at the age of 30, she met her long-awaited “man of God.” Hearing Brigham Young preach, she “instinctively felt drawn towards him, and … admired him so much, that when … he asked her to be his wife she unhesitatingly consented, feeling confident he was her true mate.”3
After a brief courtship, they were married on 18 February 1834, two years after Brigham’s first wife, Miriam Works, died, leaving Brigham with two young daughters. Brigham wrote in his diary that Mary Ann “took charge of my children, kept my house, and labored faithfully for the interest of my family and the kingdom.”4
Although the newlyweds were not strangers to hardship, they soon experienced even more perilous times. Mary Ann scarcely had time to organize her home before Brigham left to follow the Prophet on the march of Zion’s Camp and before mob troubles escalated in Ohio and Missouri.
In December 1837 Joseph Smith cut off from the Church approximately 40 dissenters in a “high and mighty pruning.”5 This action brought persecution, hatred, and threats of bodily harm and death to Brigham, who had vigorously testified against the malcontents and defended the Prophet. His life in peril, Brigham fled Kirtland on 22 December. Shortly thereafter, Joseph and other faithful members left Kirtland as well.
During that winter, Mary Ann and her five children had to fend for themselves while apostates terrorized them, ransacking their home in the pretended belief that Brigham was hiding there. The tormentors “used ‘threats and vile language’ that undid [Mary Ann’s] emotions until her health became frail. This was, she later told her biographer, ‘undoubtedly the severest trial of my life.’”6
In February 1838, Mary Ann, now suffering from tuberculosis, gathered her children and what few possessions the mob had not taken and undertook the long, difficult journey from Kirtland, Ohio, to Richmond, Missouri, to rejoin her husband. “He was so … shocked at the change in her appearance that his first exclamation was, ‘You look as if you were almost in your grave.’”7
Brigham could now devote himself to nursing Mary Ann to good health. The Lord also knew of her desperate need for relief and care. On 17 April 1838, Joseph Smith received a revelation temporarily relieving Brigham from his heavy Church responsibilities, thus allowing him to care primarily for his family and ailing wife.8
That salutary respite was short-lived. Tensions and hostilities between the Saints and Missourians increased until, in October 1838, Church members were again expelled from their homes. Then, in February 1839, the Young family and more than 800 other Saints were forced to leave the state; they braved the winter cold to seek refuge in Illinois. Since their wagons and animals had been confiscated, most of the destitute Saints walked.
During this difficult exodus, Brigham Young would push ahead with his family, find lodging for them, and then return to escort the weaker and orphaned Saints onward. Mary Ann and the children lived in 11 different quarters during the three-month ordeal.
Ten days after Mary Ann gave birth to Emma Alice in Montrose, Iowa Territory, on 4 September 1839, duty again called her husband away—on a mission to England. Brigham was so ill that he could not walk without help; his whole family languished with sickness as well.
At their sad parting, Mary Ann said to Elder Young, “Go and fill your mission, and the Lord will bless you, and I will do the best I can for myself and the children.”9 She trusted in God and rejoiced that she had the strength to see her husband off on his journey.
Between Nauvoo and Montrose, the Mississippi River is 1.6 kilometers wide. Necessity often required Mary Ann to make the dangerous river crossing in a skiff to obtain food. One day in late November 1839, Mary Ann was suffering from malaria, and her hungry children were crying for food.
Mary Ann tossed a tattered blanket into the boat and wrapped another around herself and the infant Emma Alice. A winter storm had come up, and a stiff north westerly wind swept across the river. Wearing a thin cotton dress and shawl, Mary Ann rowed into wind-whipped waves that soaked her and her baby.
Finally Mary Ann reached Nauvoo and visited a friend, who fed her. “Sister Young came into my house … with her baby Alice in her arms, almost fainting with cold and hunger, and dripping wet,” this sister recorded. “I tried to persuade her to stay, but she refused, saying, ‘the children at home are hungry, too.’ I shall never forget how she looked, shivering with cold and thinly clad. … She came back [from the tithing office] with a few potatoes and a little flour, for which she seemed very grateful, and … weak as she was from ague and fever, wended her way to the river bank” to row home again.10
After his return from England, Brigham became ill with what is thought to have been scarlet fever. It was winter, and the family was living in a log cabin that had a blanket for a door.
“When the fever left me on the 18th day,” Brigham wrote, “I was … so near gone that I could not close my eyes, … and my breath stopped. … [Mary Ann] threw some cold water in my face; that having no effect, she dashed a handful of strong camphor into my face and eyes, which I did not feel in the least. … She then held my nostrils … , and placing her mouth directly over mine, blew into my lungs until she filled them with air. This set my lungs in motion, and I again began to breathe.”11 That inspired treatment, now a common resuscitative technique, was not known or practiced until the 20th century.
Brigham later built his family a new home in Nauvoo, and a degree of peace and prosperity surrounded the growing city. However, before long, opposition mounted against the Saints until once again they were forced from their homes in midwinter.
On the trail west, Mary Ann put her healing talent to frequent use. She nursed Thomas L. Kane to health, after which he decided to devote himself to helping the Saints and other oppressed people. She also helped restore Eliza R. Snow’s health.
In Winter Quarters, Nebraska, “Sister Young performed a noble mission; there was sickness in almost every log cabin in the settlement, and provisions were scarce and comforts there were none. … Inquiring into their needs and bestowing medicine and attention wherever she could, [Mary Ann] was an angel of mercy in very deed.”12
Mary Ann did not leave for the Great Salt Lake Valley with her husband in the spring of 1847. Instead, she stayed behind, caring for the children and others.
Three weeks after arriving in the Salt Lake Valley, President Young returned for his family. Together they reached their new home in Utah on 20 September 1848.
Considering the privations and trials of the past, the family lived in relative peace and prosperity for many years. Yet Mary Ann’s prosperity did not alter “her demeanor towards her … neighbors. The poor were her especial care and none were turned [away] empty.”13
Mary Ann bore six children and cared for two adopted daughters as well; her son Brigham Young Jr. became an Apostle.
Mary Ann survived her husband by five years. Two years before her death on 27 June 1882, continual physical ailments caused her great suffering, as did later “severe pain which she bore with great patience and the most perfect resignation to the will of her heavenly Father.”14
Despite the tribulation in her life, Mary Ann demonstrated an unshakable reliance on the Lord. “Ever cheerful and buoyant,”15 she passed through a host of hardships with extraordinary steadiness and acceptance, “always [looking] upward from whence help would come.”16
The primary bulwark of her fortitude was her testimony. She often testified that she knew Joseph Smith was a prophet of God and that Brigham Young was his rightful successor. In her lifetime, she had seen the fulfillment of prophecies uttered by these leaders. “I know it for myself,” she said, “and I bear this testimony to all the world, that this is the everlasting Gospel, revealed by the power of God’s inspiration and the visitation of angels in the dispensations of the fulness of times.”17

To illustrate my point, I would like to go back in thought to my native Holland where six generations of my father’s ancestors lived in the little village of Scheveningen at the seashore. They were fishermen or had other related vocations, like fishing-boat builders, sailmakers, or fishing-net repairmen. Many of them were also involved in the voluntary but hazardous task of lifesaving. They were stouthearted, experienced men who always were ready to man the rowing lifeboats to go on a rescue mission. With every westerly gale that blew, some fishing boats ran into difficulties, and many times the sailors had to cling to the rigging of their stricken ships in a desperate fight to escape inevitable drowning. Year after year the sea claimed its victims.

On one occasion during a severe storm, a ship was in distress, and a rowboat went out to rescue the crew of the fishing boat. The waves were enormous, and each of the men at the oars had to give all his strength and energy to reach the unfortunate sailors in the grim darkness of the night and the heavy rainstorm.

The trip to the wrecked ship was successful, but the rowboat was too small to take the whole crew in one rescue operation. One man had to stay behind on board because there simply was no room for him; the risk that the rescue boat would capsize was too great. When the rescuers made it back to the beach, hundreds of people were waiting for them with torches to guide them in the dreary night. But the same crew could not make the second trip because they were exhausted from their fight with the stormwinds, the waves, and the sweeping rains.

So the local captain of the coast guard asked for volunteers to make a second trip. Among those who stepped forward without hesitation was a nineteen-year-old youth by the name of Hans. With his mother he had come to the beach in his oilskin clothes to watch the rescue operation.

When Hans stepped forward his mother panicked and said, “Hans, please don’t go. Your father died at sea when you were four years old and your older brother Pete has been reported missing at sea for more than three months now. You are the only son left to me!”

But Hans said, “Mom, I feel I have to do it. It is my duty.” And the mother wept and restlessly started pacing the beach when Hans boarded the rowing boat, took the oars, and disappeared into the night.

After a struggle with the high-going seas that lasted for more than an hour (and to Hans’s mother it seemed an eternity), the rowboat came into sight again. When the rescuers had approached the beach close enough so that the captain of the coast guard could reach them by shouting, he cupped his hands around his mouth and called vigorously against the storm, “Did you save him?”

And then the people lighting the sea with their torches saw Hans rise from his rowing bench, and he shouted with all his might, “Yes! And tell Mother it is my brother Pete!”

I have a testimony of those words and what comfort they give. Four years ago, when I found myself quite suddenly a widow with the youngest of my five children leaving for a mission, I felt alone. I did a lot of walking at that time, and one day I told a neighbor I found myself thinking about youth. She said, “Really? I wonder why?” I concluded that perhaps I was trying to remember who I was before I was married. I said, “If I ever have a chance to work with young people again, I will be so much more patient, so much more gentle, and so much more loving.” And I have since added, “I will do all in my power to encourage young people to prepare for the future.”

“Yuck,” I said, grimacing at the reflection of my silver braces. My friend Rachelle sighed. “You aren’t feeling sorry for yourself again, are you? Braces aren’t the end of the world.”
“But, Rachelle,” I exclaimed, “you heard what my dad said about Halloween. Since I got these stupid braces, he’s not letting me near candy. He says that I’ll just have to stay home tonight and help Mom pass it out to everyone else.”
Rachelle thought for a moment. “Why don’t you see if he’ll let you just dress up and come with us for the fun of it.”
“No thanks,” I replied. “It wouldn’t be the same. I guess it’ll be OK handing out goodies to the little kids. Some of them are really cute.”
“I’m going to the grocery store,” Mom called as she walked out the door. “Your dad is in the garage if you need anything.”
“OK,” I replied. Just then the phone in the kitchen rang. I hopped up and ran full tilt down the hallway. Just as I rounded the corner, I crashed into my little brother, Nathan, who was carrying Mom’s coupon box. Up in the air flew the box, and down on the floor we fell. It didn’t hurt us, but the once-organized coupons were scattered everywhere. “Oh no, Marta!” my brother exclaimed. “Mom’s going to be mad at you!”
“Well,” I retorted as the phone stopped ringing, “don’t just stand there looking at them. Help me get them back into the box.”
Quickly we gathered up the coupons. One for a free jewelry-cleaning at a local store caught my eye. “I have it!” I shouted. “I have it!” I stuffed the remaining coupons into the box and herded Nathan out the door. By this time Rachelle had joined me in the hallway. “Come on,” I said as I hurried into the kitchen for a pencil and paper. “I have the greatest idea for trick or treat.”
That evening everyone was dressed in their costumes. Nathan had chosen to be a pirate with a green face; Dad wore his usual scarecrow costume, and Mom was dressed as Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz. They were really surprised when I entered the room as Little Red Riding Hood.
“Where are you going?” Dad asked. I opened my trick-or-treat bag, and he looked inside. “So that’s what’s been keeping you so busy. It looks like you’re going to have an interesting Halloween.”
Rachelle and I picked up our friends Bobbie and Linda and started out. I was so excited that I could hardly walk.
“I didn’t think that your parents would let you go,” Linda remarked.
Rachelle laughed. “Well, they changed their minds after Marta spilled the coupons all over the floor.”
There was no time for further explanation right then because we were already at the first house. Mrs. Perry, an elderly widow, lived there. “Oh my, what do we have here?” she exclaimed. When we shouted, “Trick or treat!” Mrs. Perry smiled and handed us each a small candy bar. Instead of taking mine, though, I gave her a small, hand-printed card. “What’s this?” she questioned. “A coupon good for one free lawn mowing? Is this some sort of trick?” “No,” I laughed. “Instead of tricking tonight, I’m treating. I’ll see you and your lawn next summer.”
Brother and Sister Marker lived next door to Mrs. Perry. Again, when we rang the doorbell and the Markers tried to give me a treat, I pulled a card from my sack and gave it to Sister Marker. She looked at it and laughed. “You have to be kidding! An evening of free baby-sitting all six of our children?” My friends chimed in, “Well, we’ll help her. Just give us a call when you need us.” Sister Marker laughed and waved as we went on.
That evening we delivered coupons for free bread, baby-sitting, and car and window washing. I say “we,” because my friends were really getting into it too. They even started turning down candy that they were offered! It was a lot of fun, and before we knew it, we were at the last house. I had saved a very special coupon for this one. The people who lived there had moved in just before school started. “Trick or treat!” we shouted when Mrs. Bybee answered our knock.
“Well, let me see if I can find any candy for you scary creatures,” she laughed, starting back into the house.
“No—wait,” I said. “We’re treating tonight. Is Crystal home?”
Mrs. Bybee looked at us hard. I knew that she was wondering why we wanted to see her daughter. You see, Crystal was born blind and with several other birth defects. Although she’s a year older than we are, she still has a hard time, and kids sometimes make fun of her. Slowly Crystal emerged from the room where she had been sitting. “Who is it, Mom?” she asked shyly.
“It’s Marta,” I told her. “And my friends Rachelle, Linda, and Bobbie are with me. We’re treating instead of tricking tonight, and we have something for you.”
I reached into my sack for the very last card and handed it to her. She felt it and asked, “What does it say?”
Rachelle spoke up this time. “It says, Crystal, that if you don’t mind, we’d like to come to your house every week and read with you.”
“Wouldn’t you like that?” asked Bobbie anxiously when Crystal didn’t answer right away. “We want to be your friends.”
“Oh yes!” she said. “Oh, please come!” She turned to her mother and said, “They really are my friends, aren’t they?”
“Yes, we are,” we exclaimed together. “And we’ll see you every week.”
Crystal and her mother stood on the steps of their porch and waved good-bye until we were out of sight.

Warmed by the medicine man’s healing fire inside the earthen lodge, Little Wind’s all-day vigil is over. For the valiant heart of the old buffalo—injured in a senseless and shameful slaughter two days before—is still beating.
Curled against the shaggy warmth of the great beast, the exhausted boy dreams of the sky people, then sleeps …
The first long, frosted slivers of light pierced the night sky over the tablelands. Ten Days Walking stepped out of his tepee, pulled a buffalo robe around him, and headed toward the earthen lodge. He entered quietly and stood for a long moment in the little bit of night still hiding inside, his eyes upon Little Wind, his son, who lay asleep with his head pillowed against the old buffalo. The ancient beast’s sides no longer rose and fell with a steady cadence.
Ten Days Walking stepped closer and put his ear to the animal’s side, but there was no heartbeat.
Little Wind stirred, then awoke. The look on his father’s face told him all he feared to know. His dark eyes widened and studied the creature beside him, then his vision was blurred by a thin veil of tears. “He only sleeps, Father.” Little Wind whispered with wishful uncertainty.
“It is the long sleep, my son,” Ten Days Walking uttered with reverent matter-of-factness. “The Great Spirit has called it home.”
“But I prayed so hard. It cannot be!” Little Wind buried his face in the old creature’s soft fur and wept.
Ten Days Walking sat down beside the boy and leaned back against the still warm bison. Gently and slowly he ran his large hand through Little Wind’s long hair, then he spoke. “Was it not this great one’s time, small warrior?” he asked. “No man or beast can remain on this earth place beyond his given time. This old four-legged had fathered countless of its kind and given much majesty and dignity to Mother Earth. Would it not perhaps be wrong now, maybe even selfish, to deny it its blessed rest?”
Little Wind could not—even in his pain—deny the simple wisdom of his father’s words. He nodded through his tears and snuggled himself against the big warrior who enclosed him in his great robe.
For a long while Little Wind watched the new light grow brighter in the lodge, spilling down through the hole in the center of the thatched roof and shedding its glow on the old buffalo. Then he muttered softly, “Grandfather says that life is like a blossom and that death is like the flower unfolding. What does he mean, Father?”
Ten Days Walking smiled knowingly. “Red Owl Watching means that to become like the Great Spirit, we must first become like a little child, like a … blossom … that opens into its greater self in the brighter light of heaven.”
Little Wind looked confused. Ten Days Walking’s smile broadened and he went on. “What your grandfather means is that he is anxious to leave his earth lodge and enter the great lodge of your Father and mine and to share in the wondrous things that await every valiant warrior who has served his Creator well.”
Little Wind didn’t know if he felt better because of his father’s strong arms around him or because of his wise counsel. Maybe it was both. Whatever it was, it was something to cling to every time his eyes returned to the old buffalo or to the lodge where his Grandfather, Red Owl Watching, lay in a long illness. “Will Grandfather die soon also?” he wondered out loud.
Ten Days Walking held his smile. There was a sadness in his voice at the thought of the old man’s leaving, but also the sound of hope. “Yes, it will very soon be his time. But as time rushes by like wind over a bird’s wing, my son, we will soon be together again. It is all part of a very wise plan.”

When the phone call came, I could hear my mother in another room, talking quietly with her doctor—the tone of her voice steady but concerned. I instantly felt worried. I needed to find out what was happening, and something inside me told me the news wouldn’t be good.
“The cancer is back, and this time it’s in my liver,” my mom told me when she got off the phone. “The doctor wants me to come in for more tests to see how far it’s spread.”
Although I was just a sophomore in high school, this wasn’t the first time our family had received news that our mom’s health was in jeopardy. When I was just four years old, my dad sat me down during our evening storytelling time to explain that my mother had breast cancer.
Since then, she’d undergone rounds of surgery, chemotherapy, and radiation. The treatments had always seemed to work, but with each new discovery of cancer in her body, her chances of survival grew dimmer.
Over the next few weeks after this most recent phone call, I started to feel hopeless as I watched my mother struggling to cope with her illness. Despite doing all the things I knew I should be doing, like going to seminary, reading my scriptures, praying, and fasting, I still felt a looming cloud of despair hang over me.
Peace seemed to elude me, until one morning when I was getting ready for school. I was eating cereal at our kitchen table in my usual hurried fashion and was running late to try to catch the school bus. Suddenly I looked up and saw a painting of the Savior’s face with the words “You Are Never Alone” printed in bold letters above it. It was a Mormonad poster that my mom and I had taped to the side of the fridge a few months earlier. I took a closer look and read the scripture at the bottom of the poster: “I will not leave you comfortless: I will come to you” (John 14:18).
I instantly felt a comforting feeling wash over me. The scripture on the Mormonad was a simple statement, but it seemed to pierce my heart. The Savior’s promise that He would always be by my side lifted my spirits and increased my faith. From then on, I knew that no matter what happened, I would be watched over through my trials. My prayers to find comfort during a troubling time had been answered. My testimony that I am a daughter of God and that He knows me personally was strengthened that day. Since that morning I have known that I will truly never be alone because the Savior is always with me.
Jonelle M., Utah, USA
See the Mormonad at lds.org/go/93Peace.

Fifteen-year-old Ricardo Pereira of Poitiers tells how he felt when he and his father stopped attending meetings four years ago.
“It just wasn’t the same. Something was missing.”
Members and missionaries maintained contact, and eventually the father and son returned to activity. They’ve been regulars in the branch now for almost a year. What’s more, Ricardo’s mother and his two sisters, even though they are not LDS, are also attending church.
“The gospel gives us goals and principles to follow,” Ricardo says. “I feel better when we come to church.”

My friend Jorge reached across the table, offering me a sip from his glass of champagne. I was surprised by his offer. He knew I was a Latter-day Saint and drinking alcohol was against my beliefs. I politely shook my head, indicating that this time, like all previous times, I would pass.
He brought his hand to his forehead and exclaimed, “¡Pero es nuestra graduación!” (But it’s graduation night!)
Yes, it was graduation night. And in Ecuador, this was our night to celebrate. The evening had begun with a formal dinner for our entire families. A bottle of champagne had been placed in the center of each table, and well-mannered waiters had served an excellent meal. After dinner, those of us who had just graduated danced a waltz with our father or mother.
Eventually all the parents left, and only the graduates and our friends remained. It was around midnight when Jorge approached me and offered me some of his drink. Jorge felt that just this once wouldn’t do me any harm, especially considering the event was a once-in-a-lifetime occasion and everyone was expected to have a drink.
I simply replied, “I know it’s graduation night. That doesn’t matter.”
All through high school, I had been invited to drink and smoke, but I had always refused, explaining that my religion taught me drinking and smoking were harmful. My friends usually did not persist after the explanation, but I never knew how they really felt about my turning them down.
To my surprise, Jorge smiled, extended his right hand, and shook mine. All he said was “I really admire this about you,” and he walked away.
Later, while reflecting on what happened that night, I remembered the counsel President Gordon B. Hinckley has given us to “stand for something” (see “True to the Faith,” Ensign, June 1996, 4). To Jorge and my other friends, I had stood for something. I realized that often we may think our efforts to do the right thing make us unpopular. While that may be true in some instances, for the most part, people take note and see Latter-day Saints as people who stand for something worthy of admiration.

When I was in Barcelona on my mission, my companion and I were walking by our church building when we saw a young woman walking toward us. We felt prompted to talk to her, so we stopped her and asked the woman if she had ever seen our church building before. We learned that her name was Maya (all names have been changed), and I invited her to come to a game night that we were planning with other young adults the following Friday. She accepted.
At the game night, I still remember how Maya and Alicia, a friend of ours who was a recent convert, were laughing together. Alicia was such a good friend to Maya. She asked Maya about her family, her interests, and her religious beliefs and built a friendship with Maya over time. We learned more about Maya’s religious background and her devotion to God, and she also expressed an interest in learning more about how we communicate with God.
Over time, as my companion and I, Alicia, and the rest of the ward got to know Maya and kept inviting her and showing her love, she felt the Spirit of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ and decided to be baptized. As we remembered patience and brotherly kindness (see Doctrine and Covenants 4:6), I know that the authentic friendships Maya experienced influenced her decision.