Gospel Story Finder

The Church and the gospel came into my life at the right moment. In my first year at the university, I had been exposed to many philosophies of men and new ideas and ways of living so different from the ones I was used to. Many of the values I had learned in my other church during my childhood were challenged by the new ideas that I had before me.
It was difficult for me because I was confused. There were so many new things that I felt were not correct, but they were so normal to others. And the knowledge I had was not enough for me to defend my values.
After I was baptized, it was a different thing for me to go back to the university. Now I had something to say to respond with love to others. I could say with confidence, “No, thank you, I don’t think that’s for me.” And now I knew why I had to say that. The Church and the Book of Mormon came at the right time for me. I’m truly grateful because they changed my life.

Some people are able to identify some moment or event when they discovered the truthfulness of the gospel. I’m not one of those people, but I’d like to tell how I came to know that the Church is true.
Like many, I was born and raised in the Church and had always believed in the gospel. But when I became a teenager, I started to question my testimony. How could I really know for sure? I was hoping for some sort of spiritual manifestation that would eliminate all my doubts. I was very troubled because of my uncertainty. Whenever I bore my testimony, I always talked about the good things in the Church, but I couldn’t say that I knew it was true. What I didn’t realize then is that our testimonies don’t necessarily come in the form of fireworks but rather as a small spark or flame which must be fed.
During my senior year of high school, my seminary teacher taught me another important principle necessary in gaining a testimony. She would often tell us that if we really wanted to know if the Church was true, we needed to live what we believe. Although it is essential to pray and study the scriptures, knowledge without application is worthless. I finally realized that I had always known the Church was true through living the standards and constantly having to explain and defend my beliefs. I had been feeding my fire by sharing my flame with others. It helped me realize how strongly my beliefs burned within me.
Now I am able to stand in front of the congregation and say, “I know that this Church is true.” I know that if you study the Lord’s teachings, strive to become closer to Him through constant prayer, and stand as a witness of God “at all times and in all things, and in all places” (Mosiah 18:9), you will also discover for yourself the truthfulness of the gospel.

Walls. Fences. Barriers. Unfortunately, many of us seem to build them in one form or another. Afraid of being hurt, we put up iron bars for protection. Afraid of being laughed at, we build a barricade that no one gets inside. Worst of all may be the walls of intolerance, built with bricks of ignorance, cemented with the mortar of fear. Understanding comes only when such walls are torn away. Love and peace come only when, brick by brick, the walls come down.
Latter-day Saint youth in the Belfast Northern Ireland Stake know a lot about walls. In a country torn for centuries by unrest and terrorism, they are in the delicate position of being on neither side of the conflict—both religious and political—between Catholics and Protestants. But they deal with the barriers just the same. Listen to three young women from the Cavehill Ward:
Sharon Goodall tells a common story: “My schoolmates always want to know if I’m Catholic or Protestant. I tell them I’m neither; I’m Mormon. ‘Fine,’ they say. ‘Are you a Catholic Mormon or a Protestant Mormon?’ It almost sounds like a joke, until you have to live it. You try to get along with everybody, but there’s constant pressure to pick a side.”
Debra Boyd explains that a lot of people outside of Northern Ireland have no idea what it’s truly like to live here. “It’s rare that you would see something like a bombing. I’ve lived here all my life, and I haven’t seen any at all. Life goes on pretty much as normal, although you have security checks on public buses, and sometimes there’s a tailback (traffic jam) when there’s an incident. But it’s more of an inconvenience than a threat to your life.”
Along with six other Latter-day Saints, Debra attends the Hazelwood Integrated College in Belfast, a school where the student body is about 50 percent Catholic and 50 percent Protestant. “I’m fairly new at the school, and at the start they would say, ‘Oh, she’s one of them mad Mormons,’ and they would tease me,” Debra says. “But now, they’re asking questions, like why I don’t take tea or coffee. They’re kind of interested in it more.”
Debbie Sloan, who attends the same school, is popular with her classmates. “At an integrated school, the effort is to help us all get along anyway,” she explains. “They know I’m Mormon. My close friends know my dad is a bishop, that we spend lots of time at our church. I just talk about it the way it is, and they accept me for what I am.”
Claire and Sandra Hoey of Craigavon are members of the Portadown Ward. They talk about the walls that missionaries helped tumble for their family.
“The missionaries had been coming to our parents for a long time,” Sandra says. “But I never paid any attention. Then one night I was upstairs and started listening. I got more interested in what they were saying. I decided it was time to see what it was all about.”
The discussions became more and more serious. The parents were baptized. An older brother was baptized. Then Sandra, then Claire.
After the baptisms, a friend “noticed that since I’ve joined the Church I’ve been happier,” Claire says. “She wanted to find out what it was that was making me happy.” Now the friend is taking the discussions in the Hoeys’ home. “I can remember asking the same questions, praying to resolve the same doubts,” Claire says. “It helps when I can tell her I’ve been through the same thing and gained my own testimony.”
At the Lisburn Ward, Rachael Edwards, Karen Edwards, and David Schmidt say being fully involved in seminary helps break barriers, too.
“Before I started seminary and I’d explain to my friends what my religion was, they’d have a lot of questions, and I couldn’t answer them well,” Rachael says. “Now, having taken seminary, I feel more confidence whenever I talk to people about the Church.”
“There are 13 students in our seminary class,” Karen explains. “It’s the largest in Ireland. We have home study; then we meet with our teacher, Sister Susanna Thompson, on Tuesday nights. At school, everyone has what we call R.E. (religious education) classes. The R.E. schoolwork helps me with seminary, and seminary helps us have a different viewpoint, more depth than what we get at school. So they balance each other.”
“There’s a lot of videos and anti-Mormon literature that go around to the other churches,” Karen says. “It’s hard because what they hear has been severely twisted, and they really need to start from the basics.”
“A lot of my friends didn’t think we read the Bible,” Rachael says. “So I was really glad I could show them my seminary scriptures. They think it’s just their churches that have Bible study. They’re surprised to find we Mormons have our own study classes as well.”
“We change people’s views,” David says. “Like our teacher said, ‘So, you’re a Mormon. That means you’re not totally Christian?’ And I said, ‘Well, we are actually.’ We talked about it and got that all cleared up.”
David also tells of inviting friends and family to meetings. “Last year when my family was getting baptized, my mother invited our granny and our aunts all to church, and they came along and said they quite enjoyed it. They thought it interesting that we didn’t have just clergy up there, but had everyday people bearing their testimonies. And my friends enjoy our church.”
Rachael, Karen, and David tell story after story—the teacher who wanted a floor plan of an LDS chapel to compare it with other churches, and the exams where Mormons had to explain that they do get baptized in a font, which for other churches is a tiny basin holding water for sprinkling.
But it’s Karen who sums up the overall experience. “There’s lots of opposition here,” she says. “But if we make them aware of the Church, maybe eventually they’ll understand the Church. And that can only do good.”
Talk to the young Latter-day Saints in Northern Ireland long enough, and you’ll find that the youth are doing what Karen says.
Sara Magee of Portadown will talk about standards: “Most of my friends, if someone offered me a cigarette or a drink, they’d say, ‘Nope, Sara, you’re not allowed.’” Karen Weir of Portadown will tell you how having the London Temple reopened and the Preston Temple under construction has made a lot of people curious about the Church. Simon Noble of the Holywood Road Ward describes a stake play that was a missionary play, too. “It was all about the plan of salvation, and we invited non-LDS friends to come and learn about what we believe,” Simon says.
Debra Boyd, of the Cavehill Ward, will join the conversation again to talk about her bishop, Ronald Sloan, and how he has shown her that a bishop can be a great ally in living a worthy life. And Debra will tell of the joy she felt when her friend Leigh-Ann Kelly (and her family) were baptized. “We were crying our eyes out,” Debra says. “That scripture that talks about bringing one soul into heaven? You know that one? It’s really true” (see D&C 18:15–16).
Through the center of Belfast runs a thick scar, a no-man’s-land as ugly as a war zone. Its red bars, brick, barbed wire, and yellow barricades mark the dividing line between two parts of the city. For many, it is a symbol of a hopeless situation, its barriers a monument of mistrust and misunderstanding.
But young Latter-day Saints don’t dwell on such a reminder of despair. They look to a day when the Savior will come, when every knee will bow and every tongue confess that he is Lord, whose right it is to reign. In that day, if not before, all walls will tumble down. And when they do, they’ll be replaced by hope, love, peace, and understanding.

As I walked down the dusty, Brazilian country road, my mind strayed to a day in my childhood. Now, I was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and was serving the Lord as a missionary. But the setting took my mind back to a loving aunt, a wonderful day, and a promise.
Aunt Rocilda and her family lived on a large farm. Our extended family was very important to us and we loved to visit her. Since a day in the country was a day away from the pressures of everyday life, I always looked forward to our visits to the country—especially Aunt Rocilda’s farm. I could tell that one of her greatest joys in life was making me happy.
One particular day, I had played hard and taken advantage of every opportunity to enjoy the farm. Aunt Rocilda had given me a fish to take home and it seemed that she had shown me her love more than ever that day.
As I prepared to leave, I hugged her and made her a promise; I wanted to somehow repay her for her Christlike love. “Someday,” I said with the sincerity of youth, “I will go to Sao Paolo and I will bring you back a big gift.”
As I grew up, the dream of Sao Paolo never faded, though the remembrance of my promise did. One day I learned that Aunt Rocilda had died. As I mourned, I remembered my promise to her and I grieved that I would never be able to fulfill it.
However, I did go to Sao Paolo and there I met two Latter-day Saint missionaries. After being baptized, I worked toward a mission and the blessings of the temple. As I entered the Missionary Training Center in Sao Paolo, I thought of my aunt. What would be the greatest possible gift I could give her? I felt a strong desire to share the blessings of the gospel with Aunt Rocilda, and I made sure that temple ordinance work was done in her name.
Though Aunt Rocilda didn’t receive the “big gift” in this, earthly life, I feel that she has accepted the greater, eternal gift.

Many of us are descendants of hardy pioneers, and we feel grateful and inspired by their faith-promoting examples of sacrifice. My great-grandmother, Margaret McNeil Ballard, recorded in her journal a pioneer experience of sacrifice that occurred when she was between nine and eleven years of age. [She had come from Scotland by boat with her family.] She wrote:
“After landing we planned to go west to Utah. … The company we were assigned to had gone on ahead and as my mother was anxious for me to go with them she strapped my little brother James on my back with a shawl. He was only four years old and … quite sick with the measles; but I took him since my mother had all she could do to care for the other children. I hurried and caught up with the company, traveling with them all day. That night a kind lady helped me take my brother off my back. I sat up and held him on my lap with the shawl wrapped around him, alone, all night. He was a little better in the morning. The people in the camp were very good to us and gave us a little fried bacon and some bread for breakfast.
“We traveled this way for about a week, before my brother and I were united with our family again.”

As a youth I had many opportunities to perform baptisms for the dead in the San Diego California Temple. Though I always had a good experience, one trip in particular stands out in my mind.
I was 16, and my little sister had just turned 12 and was making her first trip to do baptisms for the dead. Since it was her first time, we decided to walk around the outside of the temple after we finished.
The temple grounds have a couple of lookout points on one side, so we walked over there. Because the San Diego Temple is situated next to a busy highway, when you stand at a lookout point, you actually look down at the freeway.
Standing on the temple’s higher ground that day gave me a new perspective on life. I was looking down at the world with its whizzing cars, crowded shopping centers, and graffiti-covered road signs.
It was then that the thought came to my mind: “You don’t want to be a part of that; it’s not what life is about.” I had always been taught that the purpose of life is to return to live with our Heavenly Father and become like Him. I knew I didn’t need the things of the world to accomplish that purpose.
I turned around and looked at the beautiful temple, and I was grateful for the knowledge of the gospel and the perspective it gave me. I knew that in the midst of the chaotic and treacherous world, I had found higher ground to stand on.
That day at the temple I promised my Heavenly Father that I would always stand on His side and not the world’s. No matter what the world throws at us, we can overcome it by keeping the covenants we have made and by standing in holy places (see D&C 87:8).

On top of my desk sits a bright blue beanbag. On each side is a yellow sun. The beanbag sits there to remind me of a personal miracle I call “Sunbeam love.”
It began with a call to teach Primary a few months after I returned to Church activity. My past struggles had led to renewed spiritual commitments, and I was eager to serve.
My first day teaching a group of Sunbeams convinced me I was far from ready. As I met the children, I was shocked at how far down I had to look to find the tops of their little heads. Their faces looked up at me apprehensively.
For an introduction I had planned a beanbag game—with an oversized beanbag I had made myself. With the first toss, I knew immediately I had overestimated the size of these children. The throw sent a wide-eyed girl sailing backwards as she bravely absorbed the bag’s impact.
At home that night, I pleaded with Heavenly Father for help. How do I relate to such tiny, tender beings? Suddenly my vision focused on a picture on my wall. It was a portrait of Jesus Christ holding a small child. I studied the expression of love depicted in Christ’s eyes. How much He must love children! How He desires to reassure them of His love! I then realized with perfect clarity that this was exactly what the Savior wanted me to do: to love them in a way that would reassure them of His love.
It was a simple answer. But to me, it seemed I had been asked to perform a miracle. Six painful years as a stepparent, followed by a divorce, had left my heart numb—especially to the idea of loving someone else’s children. Throughout the night I struggled to reconcile the conflict in my heart. It was only after hours of praying that the Spirit convinced me I could change.
From that Sunday forth, a personal miracle began to unfold. Each week during Primary, I was guided by the Spirit in the art of loving. And throughout the year, I was loved in return. There were excited waves across the chapel during sacrament meeting, shouted greetings from grocery store aisles, and gifts of oddly shaped cookies.
Panic set in as the year concluded and my glorious row of Sunbeams graduated. My heart ached wildly for my little friends. Feeling abandoned, I sat numbly, surrounded by eight tiny strangers.
Then came the introductory beanbag game. As I picked up the worn, oversized bag, I paused, remembering a similar Sunday a year before. How overwhelmed I had felt then! And how far I had come! The memories attending this familiar beanbag fueled me with hope. As I met each pair of bright eyes, I saw their pleading looks, “Please love me, too.”
And so I did.

First of all, Shawn Bradley is tall.
Not just the ordinary kind of tall.
Shawn is literally the tallest person most people will see in their lifetimes. His height simply astounds people.
But Shawn Bradley is more than a 2.26-meter-tall freshman college basketball player. His honest concern for others and wonderful attitude about life hint at depths that match his amazing size. But first of all, before anyone can come to understand that inner person, there is Shawn’s height.
“I intimidate people,” Shawn says half apologetically, “just because I’m so tall. It’s really funny how some people react when they see me.”
“Yes,” says Justin, Shawn’s 1.87-meter-tall, thirteen-year-old brother, “When we see another 2-meter guy, we don’t think he’s so tall.”
Sitting in the front room of his parents’ home, Shawn doesn’t seem extraordinarily tall while relaxing in a comfortable chair. But as soon as he stands up, the room’s normal 2.43-meter-high ceilings shrink. “I have to duck through almost every doorway in this house. It was built ten years ago, and Mom and Dad had no idea I would be this tall.”
The doorways cause problems when Shawn forgets to duck his head. He and Justin sometimes start wrestling and chasing each other as brothers will do. “When I get chasing Justin around, once in a while I’ll forget that I’m indoors,” says Shawn. “Then, bang! My head hits the doorway, and I’m flat on the floor. I almost knock myself unconscious.”
Shawn’s mother, Theresa, lists a few other adjustments they have had to make at home. “We had to extend the height of our mirror in the bathroom so Shawn can see. We’ve had to order him a 2.43-meter-long bed. He loves to come home after he’s been traveling with the basketball team and sleeping in hotel beds.”
“I have to sleep on the floor when I’m traveling,” says Shawn.
Friends and family are completely used to Shawn’s height, but they find it entertaining to go places with him and notice other people’s reactions.
“My family treats me horribly when we go to the stores,” Shawn says, in mock complaint. Justin and sisters Tasha, 15, and Adrianne, 9, just smile because they know what he is going to say next. “We’ll all be walking together, my family and friends, and I’ll look around and no one will be there. I turn around, and they are about six or eight meters behind me, watching everyone look at me. I’ll say, ‘Thanks a lot, guys.’”
His sister, Tasha, adds, “You can’t believe the looks he gets.”

Peter recalls serving as his father’s companion as a new home teacher during a particularly busy period in his father’s life. Elder Christofferson was working as corporate counsel and serving as stake president, but he still made time for teaching his children. “I was inspired by my father’s faithfulness in being a great home teacher, despite his having limited time,” Peter recalls. “One of the sisters we visited was a shut-in. Father cared for her tenderly, making sure that she always had the sacrament and that her needs were met.”

Most 11-year-olds are already busy with school, household chores, and activities with friends. But Alexandra C., from the state of Durango, Mexico, wasn’t a typical 11-year-old. In addition to all the normal things young people do at that age, Alexandra was making money from her own business and serving in her community.

So how does a girl that young start her own company?

It began when Alexandra heard of some classes the Church offers to help people learn to be self-reliant. The group was mainly for people 18 and older, but Alexandra was determined to join. She loved the idea of learning how to get a job or start her own business.

Could it be that she, a girl still in elementary school, might not only shape her own future but also help people who had even less than she did? After all, many of the Church members she knew from her town had little education and few resources.

Alexandra joined a group called “Starting and Growing My Business,” one of three subjects offered. Rather than being taught by a teacher, the group was led by a facilitator—a fellow group member who guides the other members through the course and encourages discussion. Alexandra met with her group every week for three months.

Photographs courtesy of Alexandra C.

As Alexandra learned how to be both temporally and spiritually self-reliant, she began to look around at the needs in her area. She noticed that there weren’t enough recreational activities for all the kids in her town, so she saved up money and bought a small trampoline. Alexandra put the trampoline in a public area and started renting it out, using ideas she’d learned about marketing and finance in her course.

The trampoline became very popular in her community.

Alexandra started using her skills in other ways too. Because she’d shown great respect for all her group members and had followed through on all her commitments, Alexandra was trusted to facilitate a new group—a position normally held by people 18 or older.

When Alexandra became a facilitator, she was by far the youngest of the six participants in her group. She carefully studied the materials before each group meeting so she’d know how to best help her fellow group members. She took her new role seriously. “She would get anxious when her group didn’t arrive on time or when the video equipment didn’t work,” said her father, David.

Alexandra learned to balance homework, the trampoline business, and her facilitator role exceptionally well. And she thinks it was well worth it. “God blessed me when He made me a facilitator,” she said. For her, one blessing was to learn about loving those you serve.

That love led her to reach out to her group with a real desire for them to succeed. For instance, each time they met, group members made weekly commitments to apply what they studied to their businesses and then teach their families the gospel principles they’d learned. When participants in Alexandra’s group didn’t reach their goals or missed a class, she’d visit them in their homes to see if they were all right and to encourage them to fulfill their commitments. “I loved visiting my group members,” she said.

Alexandra’s dad added, “I marvel to see how my little daughter could feel so strongly about the well-being of those in need. She has great compassion for those she serves.”

Now a Beehive in Young Women, Alexandra has plans to expand her trampoline business to a nearby community. By learning to be more self-reliant and helping others do the same, she said she’s already started to see changes in herself and her new friends in her group. “My testimony of Christ has grown,” Alexandra said. “I feel more sure of myself, and I want to serve.”

Alexandra said that because of this training course, she’s more aware of who she really is and how she can serve. “I learned I could improve myself. And I loved to see all of the group members improving. I know they’ll be better off now; their businesses will improve. I know that the self-reliance training was revelation from God.”

For Alexandra, her testimony, self-worth, and service to others have definitely been things worth working for.

I can still remember my experience praying about the book. After reading from it one night, I closed the book, knelt down, and asked my Heavenly Father if it were true. I felt a blanket of warmth surround me, something I had never felt in the Buddhist temples I had attended all my life. This feeling was different. I knew someone was listening. In that moment I went from believing the Church was true to knowing it was true, and I decided to be baptized.

In 1998 I was enjoying being a young mother. But I panicked one day when I realized that my six-month-old son made whistling sounds when he breathed and couldn’t swallow anything. The doctor immediately diagnosed bronchiolitis, a swelling of the smallest air passages in the lungs usually caused by a viral infection. He prescribed both medication and physical therapy.
The visits to the physical therapist were a trial for my son and me. My son was uncomfortable being moved in every direction, and I worried that the therapy caused him pain. I took courage, however, when the therapist explained the benefits of therapy.
Despite the medical treatment and the therapy, my son’s condition didn’t improve. He ate little, and the whistling continued. The doctor prescribed 5 more sessions with the physical therapist in addition to the 10 we had already attended.
While I waited during the 13th session, I read an article posted in the doctor’s office titled “Bronchiolitis Kills.” As I read, I realized that my son could die. I felt as though my heart was in a vise. At the end of the session, the therapist told me that my son’s condition wasn’t improving. I’m not sure how I got home safely because tears blurred my vision.
I called my husband and then began to pray. I told my Heavenly Father that if His will was to take my son, He would need to give me the strength to bear it.
After my prayer I asked myself what we could do in addition to the prayers we had uttered and the priesthood blessings our son had received. I glanced at the bookshelf and saw a copy of the Liahona (L’Étoile at the time). I opened it at random, searching for help, and found an article titled “I Fasted for My Baby.” Then I clearly heard a voice say, “You have not fasted for your child.”
I had not, so I immediately began to fast for him. At the therapy session the next day, I was still fasting. After examining my son, the therapist looked surprised.
“Madame,” he told me, “your son is fine. I don’t understand, but he doesn’t need any more sessions.”
I couldn’t hold back the tears of joy. Returning home, I knelt to thank God for His mercy and love. I called my husband to tell him the good news. Then I ended my fast in peace, not doubting the intervention of the Lord.
My son was healed thanks to faith, prayer, priesthood blessings, and fasting. I have no doubt that my Heavenly Father loves me and that He also loves my son. I am confident that He will continue to help us overcome our difficulties.

“Let’s get more sticks!” Callie said to Marco.
Marco looked at the sky. “I have to go home. It’s almost sunset.”
“But we haven’t finished our fort yet!” said Callie.
“Sorry!” Marco called out as he hurried off. “I have to be home before the Sabbath!”
Callie sighed. There were great things about being Marco’s friend, and there were hard things. Well, mostly just one hard thing. They didn’t have very much time to play together. They were in the same grade at school but not in the same class. They didn’t have the same recess. Plus, they both spent the Sabbath with their families. In Marco’s church, the Sabbath was started at sunset on Friday night. For Callie, the Sabbath was on Sunday.
And the good things? There were lots of them. One was that Callie never had to worry that Marco would swear, try to get her to do bad things, or watch things that weren’t good. He and his family went to a different church, but they believed a lot of the same things Callie did. Like keeping the Sabbath day holy, even though they had it on a different day.
Callie set down her armful of sticks and went inside.
“Did Marco go home?” Mom asked.
“Yeah,” Callie said, slumping into a chair. “We hardly ever get to play.”
“Maybe you two can get together Friday. It’s a school holiday,” said Mom.
“OK,” Callie said, cheering up. She would get everything ready so when Marco came over, they could start working on their fort right away.
During school later that week, Callie’s teacher made an announcement. The whole third grade was going to watch a movie together.
“Yes!” Callie said. She put her lunch box into her backpack and went into the common area between the classrooms.
Everyone found a place to sit on the floor, and the teachers turned off the lights. Callie got excited as the movie began. It was about some boys building a fort together, just like she was building a fort with Marco! If we ever finish it, she thought. She shook her head and focused back on the screen.
But as the movie went on, Callie noticed that some of the words in it weren’t very good. She started to feel more and more uncomfortable. She didn’t know what to do.
Just then, she felt a tap on her shoulder. It was Marco! He had crawled all the way through the crowd of students to talk to her.
“Callie, I don’t think we should be watching this,” he whispered. “I think we should go ask our teachers if we can read instead.”
Callie breathed a sigh of relief. It felt good to know someone else felt like she did. “Yeah. I don’t like this movie either.”
She and Marco stood up and tiptoed around their classmates until they reached their teachers. Marco went to his teacher, and Callie went to hers. She asked if she could read a book instead of watching the movie, and her teacher said yes.
As Callie went into her classroom to read, she saw Marco doing the same thing. He waved and smiled. Callie smiled back. Having a true friend was even better than having a finished fort.

The little boat had been tossed by storms for more than six weeks as it made its way slowly from England to South Africa. Aboard was Elder Franklin D. Price, a young Mormon missionary.
Each day Elder Price became more worried, for food and money were scarce. According to the law of the Union of South Africa, no one was permitted to enter that country unless he had at least twenty dollars with him. Elder Price did not have the required sum.
When the boat finally docked, the young elder decided that he would board a train and go as far as he possibly could. As he walked off the ship, he noticed a small folded piece of paper lying at the foot of the gang plank. Without thinking, he stooped over, picked it up, and automatically slipped the paper into his pocket.
In no time he was on a train, speeding down the tracks toward the Union of South Africa. At the border, immigration officials came aboard to check all entry papers. Elder Price was worried about what would happen to him when the officials discovered that he had no money. When the men approached, Elder Price felt a moment of panic. Then, without even knowing why, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the piece of paper that he had found earlier. Elder Price handed the paper to one of the officials. The man nodded his head and returned the paper to the astonished young elder. That paper was an endorsed check in the amount of twenty dollars with the stamp of the Union of South Africa affixed.
As Elder Price told his story at the mission home, tears of gratitude streamed down his cheeks. The mission president suggested that the check be locked in a trunk for safekeeping. A few days later when Elder Price unlocked the trunk to show the check to some of the other elders, it was not there! It had disappeared as mysteriously as it had come!

I applied for a classical piano competition a few months ago. I knew it would likely be on a Sunday, but I didn’t think much of it at the time. I started practicing three months before the competition, and it took a lot of time and effort to get ready.
A month before the competition, a seminary lesson on the Ten Commandments made me think about whether or not competing on a Sunday was a good idea. I wanted to push away the thought, because I’d already paid the application fee of TWD$1,400 (about US$50)—not to mention that I’d spent so much time practicing. I asked my seminary teacher if going to a piano competition would be breaking the Sabbath. He told me that was between God and me. But he bore his testimony that keeping the Sabbath day holy would be a blessing. I thought about it, and I really didn’t want to have to forfeit the competition.
Each day, I read a general conference article. I had just finished one talk and was about to put down the articles, but the next article caught my eye: “Stand in Holy Places” by President Thomas S. Monson (Ensign, Nov. 2011, 82). When I began reading it, I hadn’t been thinking at all about my piano competition, nor was I expecting an answer from the talk. But as I read, it was as if Heavenly Father were chastising me. President Monson’s words hit me hard:
“The Ten Commandments are just that—commandments. They are not suggestions. They are every bit as requisite today as they were when God gave them to the children of Israel” (83).
Then as I continued, I found:
“His constancy is something on which we can rely, an anchor to which we can hold fast and be safe, lest we be swept away into uncharted waters.
“… There is nothing which can bring more joy into our lives or more peace to our souls than the Spirit which can come to us as we follow the Savior and keep the commandments” (83).
I knew then what my Heavenly Father expected of me. I said a prayer and told Him that if it were necessary, I would forfeit the competition, even if I didn’t get a refund. I prayed that I wouldn’t have to forfeit if it were possible, that there might be a way for me to still compete, but that I would keep the Sabbath day holy no matter what.
At the end of the day, I told my piano teacher I couldn’t compete on a Sunday. She was surprisingly understanding. She said the competitions were divided by area and that I could try to transfer to an area that competed on a different day. I made a call the next day and successfully transferred to compete in Tainan, Taiwan, where the competition was held on Saturday.
I am so grateful that I made the decision to obey my Heavenly Father’s commandments. God not only wanted me to keep the Sabbath day holy, but He cared that the piano competition mattered a lot to me. Because I was willing to obey, my testimony of God’s love for me and of the blessings that come from obeying His commandments has been strengthened. I know that when we do our best to do what He asks, God will provide the rest.

Church magazines: Sister Hinckley, you have said that “you don’t teach a child not to hit by hitting.”5
Sister Hinckley: When my daughter Jane was a young girl, she said to me one day that she had a friend who was grounded. I said, “Grounded? What does that mean?” We let our children figure things out for themselves. They knew when they were doing wrong, and they would fix it themselves. One of our daughters decided to stay home from church one Sunday. So she stayed home. She got very lonely. Everybody was in church but her, and she just sat on the lawn. She didn’t try that again. She figured it wasn’t any fun. It was lonely.

“We do try to have some fun with it. The other day, Sonny told me to go say hi to a man because he looked like a former member of our branch. When I walked up to him, I discovered that Sonny was teasing me. The man was a stranger. There was this awkward moment, and then I just said, ‘You look like a friend I once knew. He was a member of my church. Have you ever heard of the Mormon Church?’ It turns out he used to be a member. We got into a discussion about faith, and I invited him to church. And then he said, ‘You know, I just got out of the hospital, and here you are, this angel, inviting me back to church.’ If I hadn’t opened my mouth, I wouldn’t have known he’d been in the hospital and needed to reconnect with the Church.”

When an LDS classmate invited Horváth Attila, 16, to sacrament meeting, Attila liked what he saw. “Then, when my friend told me that the Church was very family-centered, I became even more interested.” Within weeks, Attila was baptized.
Three months later, his father asked to hear the discussions. “I knew enough about the Church by that time,” says Attila, “that I could help my father learn about it. The knowledge I had received in seminary helped me explain the scriptures to him. But since he smoked and drank coffee a lot, I didn’t have the faith that he would be baptized. I was amazed when I saw how—with the help of our Heavenly Father—he was able to rid those things from his life. Two months later, I baptized my father!
“Then, when my mother saw how happy my father and I were in the Church, she also started to be interested. I baptized her three months after baptizing my father! The next day, my whole family came to Church and bore their testimonies. It’s not possible to say what kind of feeling it was for me.”

I particularly remember a Primary teacher reading a story to us from the Improvement Era. I had the Historical Department find it for me, and I found it was worth repeating. The story was taken from the October 1928 Improvement Era and is about Creed Haymond, a young Mormon who applied and was accepted at the University of Pennsylvania. He was an athlete known for his speed, and because of the way he acted and participated, he was chosen to be the captain of the track team.
The annual meet of the Intercollegiate Association of Amateur Athletes of America was held at Harvard Stadium at the end of May of 1919. To Cambridge came the greatest college athletes—1,700 in all. In the tryouts, Penn had qualified 17 men. Cornell, their most feared rival that year, had qualified only 10. The Penn team was in position to be crowned the champions. The scores were made on the first five places—five for first, four for second, three for third, two for fourth, and one for fifth. Naturally, the team that qualified the most men had the greatest opportunity to win the meet.
The Penn coach was in high spirits the night before the meet. He made the rounds of his team members before he retired. He came into Creed’s room and said, “Creed, if we do our best tomorrow, we will run away with it.”
The coach hesitated. “Creed, I’m having the boys take a little sherry wine tonight. I want you to have some, just a little of course.”
“I won’t do it, Coach.”
“But, Creed, I’m not going to get you drunk. I know what you ‘Mormons’ believe. I’m giving you this as a tonic, just to put you all on your metal.”
“It won’t do me any good, Coach; I can’t take it.”
The coach replied, “Remember, Creed, you’re the captain of the team and our best point winner. Fourteen thousand students are looking to you personally to win this meet. If you fail us we’ll lose. I ought to know what is good for you.”
Creed knew that other coaches felt that a little wine was useful when men have trained muscles and nerves almost to the snapping point. He knew also that what the coach was asking him to do was against all that he had been taught from his early childhood. He looked his coach in the eye and said, “I won’t take it.”
The coach replied, “You’re a funny fellow, Creed. You won’t take tea at the training table. You have ideas of your own. Well, I’m going to let you do as you please.”
The coach then left the captain of the team in a state of extreme anxiety. Suppose he made a poor showing tomorrow. What could he say to his coach? He was going up against the fastest men in the world. Nothing less than his best would do. His stubbornness might lose the meet for Penn. His teammates were told what to do, and they had responded. They believed in their coach. What right did he have to disobey? There was only one reason. He had been taught all his life to obey the Word of Wisdom.
It was a critical hour in this young man’s life. With all the spiritual forces of his nature pressing in on him, he knelt down and earnestly asked the Lord to give him a testimony as to the source of this revelation that he had believed in and obeyed. Then he went to his bed and slept in sound slumber.
The next morning the coach came into his room and asked, “How are you feeling, Creed?”
“Fine,” the captain answered cheerfully.
“All of the other fellows are ill. I don’t know what’s the matter with them,” the coach said seriously.
“Maybe it’s the tonic you gave them, Coach.”
“Maybe so,” answered the coach.
Two o’clock found 20,000 spectators in their seats waiting for the meet to begin. As the events got under way, it was plain that something was wrong with the wonderful Penn team. Event after event, the Penn team performed well below what was expected of them. Some members were even too ill to participate.
The 100- and 220-yard dash were Creed’s races. The Penn team desperately needed him to win for them. He was up against the five fastest men in American colleges. As the men took their marks for the 100-yard dash and the pistol was shot, every man sprang forward into the air and touched the earth at a run—that is, all except one—Creed Haymond. The runner using the second lane in the trials—the lane that Creed was running in at this particular event—had kicked a hole for his toe an inch or two behind the spot where Haymond had just chosen for his. They didn’t use starting blocks in those days. With the tremendous thrust that Creed gave, the narrow wedge of earth broke through, and he came down on his knee behind the line.
He got up and tried to make up for the poor start. At 60 yards, he was last in the race. Then he seemed to fly past the fifth man, then the fourth, then the third, then the second. Close to the tape, heart bursting with strain, he swept into that climax with whirlwind swiftness and ran past the final man to victory.
Through some mistake in arrangements, the semifinals for the 220 were not completed until almost the close of the meet. With the same bad breaks that had followed the Penn team all day, Creed Haymond had been placed in the last qualifying heat for the 220-yard dash. Then, five minutes after winning it, he was called upon to start the final 220, the last event of the day. One of the other men who had run in an earlier heat rushed up to him. “Tell the starter you demand a rest before running again. You’re entitled to it under the rules. I’ve hardly caught my breath yet and I ran in the heat before yours.”
Creed went panting to the starter and begged for more time. The official said he would give him 10 minutes. But the crowd was clamoring for the final race to begin. Regretfully he called the men to their marks. Under ordinary conditions Creed would not have feared this race. He was probably the fastest man in the world at that distance, but yet he had already run three races that afternoon—one the heart-stopping 100-yard dash.
The starter ordered the breathless men to their marks, raised his pistol, and with a puff of smoke the race began. This time the Penn captain literally shot from his marks. Soon Creed emerged from the crowd and took the lead. He sprinted all the way up the field, and with a burst of speed and eight yards ahead of the nearest man, he broke the tape, winning the second race—the 220-yard dash.
Penn had lost the meet, but their captain had astounded the fans with his excellent runs.
At the end of that strange day, as Creed Haymond was going to bed, there suddenly came to his memory his question of the night before regarding the divinity of the Word of Wisdom. The procession of that peculiar series of events then passed before his mind—his teammates had taken wine and had failed; his abstinence had brought victories that even amazed himself. The sweet, simple assurance of the Spirit came to him: the Word of Wisdom is of God. (Adapted from Joseph J. Cannon, “Speed and the Spirit,” Improvement Era, Oct. 1928, 1001–7.)

Even though they have at least four years before they will be old enough to serve, Brett Roper, 14, and Ben Holdaway, 15, are determined to serve missions when they turn 19. Both of these young men look at the missionary board often. They especially like seeing pictures of their older brothers on the board.
Ben Holdaway likes to think about where he might be called to serve a mission. His brother Ryan served his mission in Jacksonville, Florida, and his brother Jacob* will soon serve in Montevideo, Uruguay. Both Ryan and Jacob feel the board helped them make their decision to serve a mission. As Jacob describes, “The missionary board helps you answer the question about serving a mission so much earlier than when you are a priest. It helps you answer it when you are a deacon.”