Gospel Story Finder

Gaining an education was the goal of Roberto Flete Gonzalez of the Dominican Republic, who enrolled in college shortly after returning from his mission. His father agreed to cover his living expenses so that Roberto could focus on his studies, but a short time later, Roberto’s father died, leaving the family in a dire financial situation.

Roberto quit school and began working to support himself, his mother, and his sister. He wondered how he’d ever be able to finish school.

Weeks later President Hinckley announced the Perpetual Education Fund, “a bold initiative” that would help youth in developing areas “rise out of the poverty they and generations before them have known.”6 Roberto applied for and was granted a PEF loan, which allowed him to continue his studies. This opportunity not only helped with immediate finances, but it also helped Roberto have the faith to marry and form an eternal family because he knew he would be able to provide for them.

Roberto finished medical school while serving as a bishop and became the first Church member on the National Board of Dominican Medical Schools. But the best results, he says, have been at home. “There have been changes in my family as we are now further removed from the cycle of poverty,” he says. “I am grateful that my son won’t have to live the same way I did because we’ve stepped out of that cycle.”

I like sharing the gospel by joining the missionaries in their lessons, visiting Church members with my branch leaders, and encouraging my friends to come to church. My brother and I went on visits with the branch president once, and we heard yelling.
We ran to see what was happening and found a member’s son-in-law passed out and hurt. We called an ambulance, and the branch president gave him a priesthood blessing. That taught me that even though we don’t always know when hard things will happen, we can always stay faithful.

Dealing with Divorce
Bret Bryce, 15, Farragut Ward
My parents got divorced about five years ago. We were in the living room on a Saturday morning. My parents came in and told us they were going to be separated for a while. I always thought we had the perfect family. I remember that everybody cried. We were really sad and scared. I felt like the world was about to end, a terrible sick feeling. I was praying and hoping that they would get back together. But it never happened. They each got married to other people, really good people.
I would tell kids going through the same thing that it’s not their fault. Just because your parents get divorced doesn’t mean they don’t love you.

As a boy I loved to play soldier. I imagined myself as a great hero, and my fantasies included ceremonies of pomp and grandeur during which my country decorated me for courageous feats. As I grew older, I graduated from college and from Army ROTC. I was commissioned as a second lieutenant. I began to realize I might actually be placed in situations that would demand courage, and my hopes of becoming a hero grew and grew.
I attended helicopter pilot training and won my silver wings. I served 22 months in Europe. Then I was assigned as a medical evacuation helicopter pilot in Vietnam. As I waited for the actual transfer orders, my desire for greatness became an obsession.
I soon learned that the real experience of war wasn’t anything like the battlefields of my childhood imagination. The sight and stench of combat made me ill. My inner courage wasn’t as strong as I had thought, and I often found myself scared beyond any fear I had previously known. I sought the Lord as a source of strength, promising that if he preserved my life, I would spend my remaining days serving him in whatever manner he desired.
I still retained a vain hope that somehow I might earn the coveted Distinguished Flying Cross (DFC) without serious injury to myself or my crew. The DFC is the mark of an aviator’s display of valor above and beyond the call of duty while under hostile fire. I dreamed of having the medal pinned on my chest.
Three months after I arrived in Vietnam, just about dusk one evening, a radio call came in to the operations office requesting a patient pickup at an insecure landing zone (meaning our forces were still in contact with the enemy).
As our helicopter followed a river through the Tuy Hoa Valley into a mountain pass, we were enveloped in torrential rain. It was extremely difficult to locate the landing area. Soldiers on the ground directed us with a flashlight beam.
We wanted to land up the slope from the casualty to allow those transporting him more clearance from the rotor blade. Turbulent winds whipped across the uneven terrain, causing the chopper to fishtail wildly and aborting our first landing attempt. This also meant the enemy had seen our landing spot and would be preparing to fire on us. A lull in the wind allowed us to land, and enemy tracers ripped like fiery baseballs through the night.
Our friendly forces returned fire. We made a hasty pick-up of the wounded and asked for flares to be shot into the sky to illuminate the surrounding mountains as we departed through lightning, thunder, and heavy rain. A few bursts of enemy ground fire bid us farewell.
As a result of this action, I was recommended for a DFC. But the recommendation was reviewed and downgraded to an Air Medal with a “V” for valor. I was disappointed, but remembered my promise to the Lord and was satisfied that my life had been spared.
About a month later, my crew made another perilous medical evacuation, this time on the side of a 60-degree mountain slope under a double canopy of foliage. This meant that we had to maneuver our helicopter down through the first cover of branches and leaves and over to an opening in the lower canopy of foliage where a hoist could lower a litter for the wounded soldier. Our rotor blades were literally inches from the branches, and the rotor wash of air bouncing off the foliage made hovering critically unstable. Despite these obstacles, the mission was successful, and the crew felt it deserved special recognition. We were once again recommended for the DFC, but again it was lessened to an Air Medal.
I was furious! “Do those people know what it’s like to put your life on the line every day?” I fumed. “They must be crazy to think this kind of flying is part of normal duty!” But in the quietness of my quarters, I remembered the words of my patriarchal blessing, which reminded me that the Holy Ghost would guide me. I thought, “That’s right. The Spirit made this mission and all the other missions, as hazardous as they may have been, possible for me.” And I knew Heavenly Father had protected me. No crew members who had flown with me had ever been harmed. I realized I had a great deal to be thankful for.
With only three months left on my tour of duty, I was called on another hoist rescue. This time it was in the Ashau Valley. Two casualties had to be moved from a dangerous location in another double canopy area. Once again we hovered between the trees like a sitting duck, protected only by cover shots from our troops but threatened by incoming enemy fire. Things went well until we started to bring the second patient up through the lower canopy.
Rifle fire sprayed around us. The crew chief was going to cut the cable, dropping the wounded man back to the ground and to possible death. “No!” I yelled. “Tell me when he’s clear of the trees.” The crew chief kept the litter bearing the wounded man coming up and yelled, “Clear!” as soon as it got above the trees. I moved the helicopter up, then forward, while the wounded man dangled below, slowly being drawn into the cargo area. Finally the terrified soldier was inside and we were on our way back to the base. What an experience! What excitement!
Back on the ground, the crew hugged each other. We were grateful to acknowledge that we were delivered by the power and mercy of God. We also felt sure we would merit a DFC. The recommendation was written up and submitted with assurance that it would be approved.
The awards ceremony was scheduled for July 8, 1968, two days before my departure from the country. I didn’t have to fly any more combat missions, and I had been informed that the DFC had been approved. I was going home and would be a hero, finally receiving the award I had longed for for so long.
Since many of the officers were receiving decorations, the first sergeant was left in charge of the awards formation. Those of us who were recipients were out in front of the other men. I was second in line, next to the detachment commander, who was also receiving a DFC. This was the moment of glory I had been waiting for since childhood. This was the ceremony of grandeur envisioned in the dreams of my youth.
The commanding general’s helicopter touched down. His aide-de-camp scurried from the craft to talk to the first sergeant, as the first sergeant called us all to attention. The two men exchanged comments, then the sergeant took several steps and stood right in front of me. He saluted.
“I’m sorry,” he said, “but your DFC has been downgraded. Take your place as fifth in formation.”
Pow! My dream was shattered. I couldn’t believe what I had just heard. I had to bite my lower lip to make sure I was in the real world and not having a bad dream. I was angry and hurt. Was this the type of gratitude bestowed for dedicated service which I considered above and beyond the call of duty? I did an about face, took two steps forward, made a right face, and moved to my new location as fifth in formation.
As the detachment commander had his Distinguished Flying Cross pinned on his pocket, I had to fight back the tears. I was happy for my boss and his deserved recognition, but I was disappointed at my own situation. When the general came to me, I snapped a salute. He returned it and pinned another Air Medal with a “V” for valor onto my shirt, saying, “Captain, this represents a lot of flying. I respect you for your contribution and congratulate you.” My heart was filled with resentment. How could he do this to me? I choked out a half-hearted “Thank you, sir.” We saluted and he moved on.
As I stood there with those mixed up feelings, I asked the Lord why this had happened. Surely there must be a mistake! It wasn’t fair! Then my spirit became calm as the words of my patriarchal blessing came to mind once again, telling me not to let Satan keep me from growth and development, telling me that the Lord would try me to prove my worth. The Spirit spoke to my soul, telling me that God had kept his promise to me—I was returning to my loved ones unharmed, I still had work to do in this life, and God had preserved my life. “Seek not after your own heart,” the Spirit whispered, “for the praise and rewards of men.”
I have reflected upon these thoughts over the years as I have tried to keep my end of the bargain—that I would serve the Lord with all my heart. I realize that the Savior provided temporal and spiritual rescue for us all, and his reward was a wooden cross and a crown of thorns, with no “V” for valor. What right, then, did I have to feel disappointed that I hadn’t received earthly recognition for saving the lives of a handful of men and women? I am now satisfied that the opportunity to repent of my sins and work out my mortal probation is reward enough for anything I do in this life.

A family consisting of my grandmother, my mother, and two or three of the younger children were seated before an open door, watching the great display of nature’s fireworks as a severe thunderstorm raged near the mountain where our home was located. A flash of chain lightning followed by an immediate loud clap of thunder indicated that the lightning had struck very close.
I was standing in the doorway when suddenly and without warning my mother gave me a vigorous push that sent me sprawling on my back out of the doorway. At that instant, a bolt of lightning came down the chimney of the kitchen stove, out through the open doorway, and split a huge gash from top to bottom in a large tree immediately in front of the house. If I had remained in the door opening, I wouldn’t be writing this story today.
My mother could never explain her split-second decision. All I know is that my life was spared because of her impulsive, intuitive action.
Years later, when I saw the deep scar on that large tree at the old family home, I could only say from a grateful heart: Thank the Lord for that precious gift possessed in abundant measure by my own mother and by many other faithful mothers, through whom heaven can be very near in time of need.

One Sunday when I came home from church, I saw my neighbors playing outside. I wanted to play outside too, but I couldn’t because in my family we don’t play outside on Sunday. I felt sad. My dad told me that when he was a little boy he wanted to play outside on Sunday too. He told me he had been blessed in his life for keeping the Sabbath day holy, even when it’s hard. I decided I was going to choose the right and keep the Sabbath day holy.

One of the talks that has had an everlasting impression on me is one given in a Saturday evening session of a stake conference years ago. The talk was given by a young mother. Here’s what she said: “I have been doing the genealogy of my great-grandfather. He and his large family of sons and daughters were members of the Church.
“My great-grandfather,” she said, “left church one Sunday with his family, and they never returned—no indication why.”
She then said, “In my research, I have found that my great-grandfather has over 1,000 descendants.”
And then she said, and this is the part I have not been able to forget, “Of those 1,000 descendants, I am the only one active in the Church today.”
As she said these words, I found myself thinking, “Is it only 1,000, or could it be more?”
The answer is apparent. The spiritual influence that family might have had on their neighbors and friends did not happen. None of his sons nor any of his daughters served as missionaries, and those they would have touched with their testimonies were not baptized, and those who were not baptized did not go on missions. Yes, there are probably many thousands who are not in the Church today, and not in this very meeting, because of that great-grandfather’s decision.
As I heard her talk, I found myself thinking, “What a tragedy! Perhaps if I had been there at that time, I could have said something to the father, to the family, to the priesthood leaders that might have helped to prevent such a calamity to their family and to so many in the future generations that would follow.”
Well, that opportunity of the past is lost. But we can now look to the present and to the future. I would say to those who find themselves in the same position as that great-grandfather: Would you consider what you might be doing to your family and to all those who come after you? Would you ponder the effects of your thoughts and your actions?
If there are any concerns about Church doctrine, consider the counsel given by President Gordon B. Hinckley to a large meeting of over 2,000 members in Paris, France, last year. He said: “I plead with you, my brothers and sisters, that if you have any doubt concerning any doctrine of this Church, that you put it to the test. Try it. Live the principle. Get on your knees and pray about it, and God will bless you with a knowledge of the truth of this work.”
If you feel you have been wronged, be ready to forgive. If there is, for some reason, an unpleasant memory, let it go. Where necessary, talk to your bishop; talk to your stake president.
To all, but especially to those who someday will be great-grandfathers and great-grandmothers, your eternal blessings and those of your posterity are far more important than any prideful reason which would deny you and so many others of such important blessings. In the Book of Mormon, King Benjamin reminds us: “And moreover, I would desire that ye should consider on the blessed and happy state of those that keep the commandments of God. For behold, they are blessed in all things, both temporal and spiritual; and if they hold out faithful to the end they are received into heaven, that thereby they may dwell with God in a state of never-ending happiness” (Mosiah 2:41).
To you who are children in the homes of future errant great-grandfathers, you can continue to stand faithful; you can be a good example in the home and to those around you. You can do your part to bring peace and harmony in the home and with your associates. You can be the solution, and not the cause, of problems. Remember in the Book of Mormon when Father Lehi began to murmur, it was his righteous son Nephi who gave encouragement and found solutions to problems. So many times it is the righteous children who are able to steady the boat while sailing in turbulent waters.
To you who are bishops and stake presidents, how I wish you could have been part of the meeting I attended with a handful of regional representatives. We heard Elder L. Tom Perry as he compared those who are prospective elders and those who are not active—the future great-grandfathers—to a thermometer. We were reminded that there are many of those individuals who are more than just warm. They would come back if someone would just encourage and show the way.
I would like to tell you of a stake conference I was assigned to attend. It was a reorganization; the stake president and his counselors would be released, and a new presidency would be called. The stake president was young and had served wonderfully for almost 10 years. He was a spiritual giant, but he was also an administrative giant. In my personal interview with him, he told me how he had delegated much of the responsibility for the stake functions to his counselors and to the high council and had thus freed himself to interview those who needed encouragement. Individuals and couples were invited to come to his office. There he got to know them, counseled with them, and invited them to do better, to put their lives in order, and to receive the blessings available to those who follow the Lord. He helped them by putting them in the care of a capable leader, a teacher who helped them to understand the beauties of the doctrine. Then he told me that in these interviews he would often ask if they would like a blessing. “I have placed my hands on the heads of many members of the stake,” he said.
The next day in the general session of the stake conference, I doubt I have ever seen so many tears—not because they felt the president should not be released, but for the deep love of a young stake president who had blessed their lives. I felt prompted to ask, “How many of you have had the hands of the president on your heads?” I was amazed at the number of people who raised their hands. I thought to myself at the time, “How many of these people will bless the name of this great man, not only now but throughout the eternities?” Yes, these will be the great-grandfathers who will, because of this loving leader, leave a legacy of generations of thousands who will call him blessed.
When we see the effect one person can have on the lives of so many, it perhaps is no wonder that the Lord reminded us, “Remember the worth of souls is great in the sight of God” (D&C 18:10).
I pray we all might consider what we can do individually to assist those who will be the future great-grandparents, whether a little child, a teenager, or an adult, so that each will leave a righteous legacy of those who know and love the Lord. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

My grandma came to our house in Wyoming once. We live in a valley in the mountains. Sometimes deer and elk nibble at our trees. Grandma didn’t come to see the animals. She came to make lefse. She and Mom bought lots of red potatoes. I helped wash them. Then they mixed the potatoes with other things to make the lefse dough. The dough is like the quilt, because it is made up of many different pieces. The different pieces taste much better mixed together.
Grandma’s lefse has more potatoes than anything else. Our family is made mostly of potatoes. I mean that like the ingredients of lefse are mostly alike (potatoes), the members (ingredients) of our family are a lot alike—but not exactly. For instance, I like to make snow angels, but even though Grandma used to do that, now she usually stays inside on cold, snowy days. And we all go to church on Sundays, but Grandma goes to a different one.
Grandma and Mom made round balls out of the lefse dough. Then they flattened the balls into thin circles bigger than our dinner plates. The circles looked like tortillas, only tortillas are made of corn, not potatoes. I tried to make a “lefse tortilla,” but my circle looked like a squashed white tomato. Grandma started giggling when she saw it. I giggled too. Then Grandma fixed my lefse.
She and Mom cooked the lefse on our griddle until it made little brown spots on the dough. Using a long stick that looks like a sword, they picked up each lefse circle and turned it over. I tried to turn mine over, but it slid off the stick onto the stove. Grandma helped me put it back on the griddle. When the lefse was all cooked, we put butter and brown sugar on one side and rolled them up. It tastes really good! I like lefse.

I quickly marked the verses. I loved this story and continued to think about it. As a matter of fact, I hoped for a similar manifestation myself. I was doing family history research and had experienced many difficulties gathering information. Most of my relatives did not remember much about our ancestors, and many of the records documenting baptisms, marriages, and deaths had been destroyed during bombings of the Philippines in World War II.
I persevered, expecting some kind of great and dramatic event. I had heard many accounts of people doing family history and temple work receiving divine assistance through dreams or other sacred experiences and finding the information they sought.
But as I continued to search old records and visit graveyards, I had no dramatic experiences. No dreams came. I had no visits from the spirit world. And yet the way opened before me. One time at the local Family History Center, another patron left some microfilm out. When I examined it, I discovered it contained the 19th-century census records of my hometown. I was thrilled to discover that the records included lists of entire families, their birth and death dates, and their occupations.
Using the microfilm, I spent weeks reconstructing family relationships. Eventually I identified six generations on my father’s side. I was jubilant and showed my work to one of my relatives. “You are half my age,” she cried in astonishment, “and you know more about my grandfather than I do!”
But another challenge remained, for I had little information on my mother’s lineage. Her parents live on an island far to the south of us, many kilometers away, and I didn’t have the money to go there.
Then one day my mother surprised me by announcing, “Your grandfather wants all of us to come home for a reunion.”
“When?” I asked happily.
“As soon as possible.”
Fortunately, we were able to get the money to pay for our plane tickets. At the reunion I was able to obtain a great deal of information from my mother’s relatives, and I promptly submitted the names of 86 ancestors to the Manila Philippines Temple. My collection of names was modest compared to some, but I was very happy about it.
One radiant February morning I went to the Manila temple and was baptized for one ancestor after another. As I stood in the baptismal font, I kept hoping to see my ancestors or hear their voices. I returned to the temple on succeeding days to complete the work, still expecting to have some kind of spectacular experience. I also thought I might have a dream about my ancestors. Or perhaps the hearts of my nonmember relatives would be softened and they would want to know more about my research. Perhaps they would even be converted.
But none of these things happened. The days continued to go by in an ordinary fashion. I was disturbed and asked myself, Where are the blessings of the Lord? Where are the blessings He has promised those who help redeem the dead?
I went to the temple again a few nights later to attend an endowment session. While there, I gazed into the calm waters of the baptismal font. All of a sudden I realized something I had overlooked: Wasn’t the privilege of being baptized for my ancestors a wonderful blessing in itself? I thought of all the valuable records I had discovered during my research. Hadn’t the Lord prepared my way? Hadn’t I been able to accomplish more than I thought I could?
Then the scripture from the Old Testament flashed into my mind. The eyes of Elisha’s servant were opened, and he saw the army of the Lord. The Lord opened my eyes and gave me an understanding of the blessings I had received. As I left the temple that night, I felt nothing but gratitude.
I have learned that when we open our spiritual eyes, we see that blessings need not be dramatic; we see and are grateful for the simple manifestations of the Lord’s love in our lives. At times I still tend to forget this, but then I, too, offer the prayer of Elisha, “Lord, open my eyes that I may see.”

Jaslyn Simpson took a leap of faith in a Beehive class of only two girls in Wellington, New Zealand. The Beehive teacher of the Crofton Downs Ward challenged the girls, as part of their lesson on missionary work, to invite a friend to church. And Jaslyn decided she’d do it.
“I knew there was something missing in Amy’s life,” Jaslyn says, “so I knew I should introduce her to the gospel.” Jaslyn’s small action of love caused a major reaction in the life of her best friend, Amy Valentine. Amy came to church with Jaslyn at the first invitation and then kept coming to Sunday meetings and youth activities for the next two months, until Jaslyn and her family moved to Sydney, Australia.
“I’ve never really had a Christian background. I had no idea how to pray or anything,” Amy says. “But before they left, I decided I was going to keep going to church without them. By then, I sort of knew some other people at church.”
One of those people was Michelle Broczek, the other Beehive in the Crofton Downs Ward. Michelle invited Amy to take the discussions in her home and, with her parents’ approval, Amy was baptized when she was 13.
But Amy’s transition into the Church wasn’t easy. “Even when I was leading up to it and for a while after my baptism, it was hard to adjust,” she says. Michelle’s friendship and love helped Amy stay close to the gospel, even though none of her family or other friends were members. “Michelle’s an amazing example. That was one of the biggest differences for me.”
“I’ve always done those things,” Michelle says. “I didn’t just change because Amy was joining the Church.” She says it’s important to be an example, especially to strengthen investigators and new members in the Church. “Keep on working on your testimony and yourself and just be aware of the little things you do.”
Amy and Michelle gain a lot of strength from each other, and they have strong individual testimonies, too. They frequently give away copies of the Book of Mormon with their testimonies written inside.
Even with a strong testimony of the gospel, being the only member in the family is not easy. Although she’s been able to share the gospel with her friends at school, it’s more difficult with her family. “They’re the hardest, especially because I look to my parents as an example. It’s kind of a switch when I try to teach them more about the gospel.”
Not having other members of the Church in her family makes the goal of a temple marriage very important to Amy. She wants to have a family that is strong in the gospel and be able to do all the things she doesn’t get a chance to do now, like family scripture study and family home evening.
Amy keeps trying to share the gospel with her family and hopes her example and activity in the Church will finally have an effect on them. She stays active by praying a lot and drawing strength from Young Women.
A value project Amy has chosen also helps her to come closer to Christ. “This year, I’m really concentrating on getting to know Jesus Christ better,” she says. And the way to know Him better is to be more like Him. So Amy made a list of all the attributes of Christ she could think of, with help from the scriptures. She came up with things like faith, charity, love, and generosity, and she works on trying to be each of the things on her list for a few days at a time.
To others who are in her situation, Amy has some words of advice: “Really, really study,” she emphasizes. “Gain a testimony and an understanding of the gospel for yourself. Don’t rely on others because it is up to you. Always rely on Heavenly Father. He will give you the understanding and the blessings you need.”
The young women in her ward all agree: Amy’s life is a labor of love. “Everyone should want to have a friend who’s as into the gospel as she is. She loves the gospel,” says Kelly Butters, who just left the Laurels for the Relief Society. Since the gift of the gospel was shared with her, Amy feels she needs to share it with others too. She and Michelle have fellowshipped many of the other young women in their stake, and they continue to share the gospel and their testimonies. Jaslyn’s small leap of faith, nearly five years ago, has rippled through Amy’s life and continues to bless the lives of others through her example and testimony.
Sister Margaret D. Nadauld, general president of the Young Women, made this special request of all the young women in the Church at the last general Young Women meeting:
“Will you reach out and bring one other young woman into full activity in the Church this coming year? Surely each one of you knows of a girl who is less active or a recent convert or who is not a member. We are asking you to reach out and share the gospel of Jesus Christ with one other young woman, so that she can also enjoy the sweet blessings of heaven. …
“Just think, if each one of you will accept this invitation to reach out and bring in just one, next year there will be twice as many active young women! Let the Holy Spirit guide you in your effort. Your parents and leaders will also help you know what to do and how to do it” (Ensign, May 2001, 92).

This is a story about the importance of following the prophet. It took place on the Spear Ranch in the Gila Valley of Arizona. My good friend, Jim Bryce, was foreman of the ranch. Along with his father, Ross Bryce, who was a counselor in the Pima, Arizona, stake presidency, and four Mexican vaqueros (cowboys)—Pula, José, Chino, and Javier—we began the fall roundup.
Early in the morning before sunup, at the ranch headquarters we loaded the horses into trailers and hauled them out to Nuttall Canyon. After unloading and saddling the horses, we began riding up the canyon. We spotted the first cattle as the sun lit up the east side of Stowe Knoll.
Carefully, we made our way up the rugged slope above the cattle and moved them down toward the canyon floor, letting them make their way by themselves. We went higher up the canyon until we reached a fence at the edge of a forest. Spreading out, we searched the gullies, draws, and bottom brush and began to herd the cattle down and out of the canyon. Our goal was to drive them to a corral on the other side of Left Hand Canyon, where we would earmark, brand, and vaccinate the new calves.
My friend Jim took the lead and was riding on higher ground than the rest of us so he could watch the herd of about 120 cows and calves we had gathered. Two vaqueros rode on each side, keeping the herd together, and President Bryce and I were bringing up the rear, keeping any stragglers from drifting away from the herd.
As we approached Left Hand Canyon, Jim rode up onto a knoll where he could look over the area and see what lay ahead. Since this was the first time these vaqueros had been in this part of the ranch, they did not know where the trail crossed the canyon. Jim kept motioning to move the herd of cattle towards him. The vaqueros didn’t notice his motioning, so Jim began to wave his hat and yell to move the herd towards the knoll where he was. These gestures also went unnoticed or ignored by those of us with the herd.
We soon found ourselves in a thicket of mesquite and catclaw trees amid the boulders along the edge of the canyon. The cattle were spreading out in all directions; it was impossible to keep them together. We had to get off our horses, tie them up, and crawl on our hands and knees through the brush, trees, and rocks in order to get the cattle out. At the edge of the canyon was a cliff that dropped off 15 to 20 feet to boulders below.
After losing some of the cattle in the thick brush and getting the rest of the herd out of the thicket and back together, we again heard Jim calling from on top of the knoll. He motioned to us to drive the herd towards him where we would find the trail that went down the canyon and up the other side to the corral.
Once the herd got to the trail, they followed it easily as it wound down the side of the canyon, across the creek, and up the other side, right into the corral. How easy it was to follow the trail and cross the treacherous canyon to the safety of the corral. Had we paid attention to Jim, we would not have lost any cattle and would have saved a lot of time and avoided having to crawl through the mesquite thickets and around rocks and catclaw trees to get the cattle out. It would have been easier to follow his directions and stay on the trail.

It would be fun to be magic, Brett thought as he snuggled into his warm bed and dreamed of dancing bears and enchanted rabbits. He and his family had just returned from a trip to the circus. They had enjoyed the funny clowns, the animal acts, and the daring acrobats, but Brett thought that the magician was the best part of the evening. He had performed exciting tricks with hoops and ropes and had even pulled a rabbit out of an empty hat.
Brett was still daydreaming about magic the next morning during breakfast. “It’s a beautiful day,” Brett’s big brother, Ryan, said as he helped clear away the dishes. “Do you want to come with me for a walk through the meadow?”
Brett shook his head. “I’m going to try to make some magic of my own.” He went to his room and began searching in drawers, cubbyholes, and corners. He rummaged through his toy box and even peered under his bed. Now and then he would stuff something into his backpack. When it was full, he zipped it up. “There’s my magic kit,” he said. “Now all I need is a magic word. How about … snickerdoodles! They’re my favorite cookies, so it’s a word that’s sure to work magic.”
Sitting outside under the big oak tree, he began the test. He remembered Mom telling him often, “Brett, you need to put on your listening ears!” He reached into his magic kit and pulled out a sheet of pink paper and a pair of scissors. Carefully he cut out two very large ears and placed them over his own.
“Snickerdoodles!” Brett whispered with his eyes closed. “Now let’s see if these ears have any magic.”
He walked into the meadow by his house, then stopped suddenly as he began to hear wonderful things. Close by, a squirrel chattered, bees hummed, and a bird whistled a happy tune. Listening very carefully, Brett could even hear Mom singing as she worked in the kitchen.
“My listening ears are magic!” Brett shouted.
The day was beginning to get warm, so he slipped off his shoes and socks and put them on a big rock where he could find them later. “Snickerdoodles!” he said brightly as he continued his walk barefoot. “Let’s see what other magic I can make.”
The grass tickled his toes like a tiny forest. The uneven ground became mountains and valleys to his bare feet. “I’m a giant!” he said with a giggle. Suddenly he felt something cool and squishy, and when he looked down, he found that he was standing in mud.
Brett liked all the new feelings—especially the thick, creamy mud oozing up between his toes. “Even my feet are magic!” he decided.
Reaching into his magic kit, he took out some toy glasses with a big, funny nose attached. “Snickerdoodles! I bet that with these on I’ll be able to see some neat things and sniff all kinds of fantastic smells.”
Sure enough, he smelled something wonderful right away and looked up to see a cherry tree covered with snow-white blossoms. A flash of silver caught his eye, and he saw a brook splashing merrily through the meadow. His big fake nose turned toward home as he smelled cookies baking—mmmm!
Filled with excitement, he ran to the top of the hill, where he could see Ryan in the distance. “Hey, Ryan, wait for me! I have something magical to show you!”
Sprinting toward Ryan, Brett tripped and tumbled head over heels down the hill, sprawling in a heap at the bottom—and on top of his now-crumpled magic ears and smashed magic glasses. The rest of his magic kit was scattered all around him.
“Oh no!” he wailed. “I’ve ruined my magic!”
Brett was still crying when Ryan came running up to help him. Between sobs, Brett explained about all the magical things he had discovered and how sad he was to lose them.
Ryan helped Brett to his feet and began gathering up the scattered treasures. “You silly boy,” he said kindly. “The magic isn’t in paper ears or funny glasses. It’s in your own body. Heavenly Father gave us sight and smell and hearing and taste and touch so that we can enjoy His beautiful world. You’ve had them all along.”
Brett sniffled. “Really, Ryan? Are you sure?”
“Look, don’t you still see the brook? Can’t you still smell the wildflowers? Don’t you still feel the wind on your cheek and the ant crawling on your hand? Why, if you listened hard enough, I bet you could hear Mom filling the cookie jar right now. How about trying out your sense of taste on a fresh-baked cookie?”
Brett jumped to his feet. He looked all around and drew in a deep breath. “You’re right, Ryan!” he exclaimed. “I’m the magic! Come on, I’ll race you for the first taste!”
They galloped side by side across the meadow. “Thanks, Heavenly Father! Thanks for my marvelous, magical body!” Brett shouted to the sky.
And guess what? The cookies were snickerdoodles!

For 25 years I worked in downtown Wiener Neustadt, Austria. On a mild day in May, I strolled through the pedestrian zone during my lunch break and came upon a bookstore. Near the door were two large crates full of discounted books. I was curious to know what kind of literature was selling at such a low price, and I picked up the top book in one of the crates. With no particular interest in buying it, I opened it and noticed the depiction of a dancing couple. To my great surprise, I also found the name Gretl Stättner. Instantly I recalled that this was the name of my father’s second wife. I had not thought about her for years.
As I stood there holding the book, seeing not only the name Stättner but the dancing couple as well, I suddenly realized that this was my father’s legal wife. She had a right to be sealed to him.
My investigation disclosed that Gretl had never remarried, that she had lived in Vienna and had operated a foot care salon there. I remembered her maiden name as well as the place her family, the Weißenbergs, had lived. My wife and I looked them up, but we were disappointed to learn that no members of the family were still living. We visited the cemetery but made no further progress at first, because the stone at the family plot contained only a list of surnames. After it occurred to us that someone, after all, had to pay for the grave and its maintenance, we asked the authorities for information about the grave’s owner. We received a name leading us to Vienna and to a woman who turned out to be Gretl’s niece. She provided us not only with all the required dates to perform Gretl’s temple work, but also with information about all the family members who had passed away: parents, grandparents, aunts, and uncles.
It also turned out that when my wife and Gretl’s niece were young, they had entered the same high school at the same time, and both had graduated on the same day. How small the world can be.
My wife and I submitted all the family names to the temple and were then able to personally carry out the work in the Frankfurt Germany Temple. I am deeply grateful for this opportunity and am firmly convinced that my finding my stepmother’s book was no mere coincidence. Our conversation with Gretl’s niece disclosed that Gretl had owned many books, and her niece had given some away, kept some, and sold some. Only a single book made its way to Wiener Neustadt, and I was the one who stumbled across it.

One night our little son Richard, who had a heart problem, awoke crying. The two of us heard it. Normally my wife always got up to take care of a crying baby, but this time I said, “I’ll take care of him.”
Because of his problem, when he began to cry, his little heart would pound very rapidly. He would throw up and soil the bed clothing. That night I held him very close to try to calm his racing heart and stop his crying as I changed his clothes and put on new bedsheets. I held him until he went to sleep. I didn’t know then that just a few months later he would pass away. I will always remember holding him in my arms in the middle of that night.
I remember well the day he passed away. As Jeanene and I drove from the hospital, we pulled over to the side of the road. I held her in my arms. Each of us cried some, but we realized that we would have him beyond the veil because of the covenants we had made in the temple. That made his loss somewhat easier to accept.

When Kate Hansen was 10 her father drove her to Slider Search, a local clinic being held for kids to try out for luge. “I tell people that luge is like bobsledding,” says Kate. “At the clinic, they set up hay bales and cones on the street and then let the kids ride a trainer sled with wheels down the course. I went through the cones without crashing. I remember it being really fun. Plus they wanted to see how well I took direction.”
As a result of the clinic, both Kate and her cousin were invited to come to Lake Placid, New York, where the national luge training facility is located. The first time Kate tried out a real sled on an ice course, she loved it. It was fast and fun. “It’s like a roller coaster but pretty relaxing. It’s very flowing.”
The whole idea that riding something going so fast, just inches from crashing into walls of ice, would hardly seem relaxing to most people. But this ability to relax while moving has been the secret to Kate’s success.
Her mother, Kathie, remembers seeing her go down a run for the first time. She says, “It’s nerve-racking when you watch your daughter go by, and she’s going so fast. I wondered, ‘What have we gotten into?’ The coaches don’t know how she does it. She can have a bad start, but as soon as she is through the first curve, she’s leading everyone because she’s settling in and relaxing and just feeling the curves.”
Her mother thinks the ability to relax might come from Kate’s skateboarding and surfing, two popular activities in La Cañada, California, where the Hansen family lives. “Kate used to lay down on her skateboard, going down the driveway with her ponytail dragging.”
While learning this new sport, Kate says, “I was just the girl from California who had her ukulele. Before races some people warm up by sitting in the corner, staying really focused. Others zone everyone out. Then there are those who listen to music and dance. I was one who danced and sang, trying to keep my mind off of what I was doing. That’s when I did well. I was just there for fun.”
Each year at the USA training facility, Kate is given a sled for the season. Last year she named her sled Ricardo—Ricky for short. “It’s your baby,” says Kate. “You take care of it.”
The sled is built to her size and can be adjusted slightly. “My sled is a lot different. I like it loose because it’s easier to steer. I did really well on it.” Kate does everything for her sled. She sands the steel runners. After races she puts oil on the steels so they won’t rust. She packs it carefully when traveling. “If you drop Ricky, you have to apologize,” she jokes.
Kate Hansen and her family haven’t had a real plan for her participation in luge. They seem to take and evaluate opportunities as they come. Heidi, Kate’s older sister, explains, “My brothers and I thought it was funny because she was luging, and no one really knows what that is. We thought she would only do it for a while, but then she would do well and get invited to train or to be on teams, so our family would say, ‘I guess she’ll move up.’”
Eventually Kate started to get noticed. In her first junior international competition at the junior level, she came in third, shocking everyone because she was so young and inexperienced. A few months later, at 15, she came in first at the Junior World Championship. She was only the third American to ever win. She now spends most of the winter months living with the team in Europe and competing on the Junior World Cup Tour. Her name has started rising to the top.
With the upcoming 2010 Winter Olympics, Kate will be invited to participate in the Olympic trials. There are only three slots on the team, and most of the competitors are much older. Kate finished sixth overall at the end of last season and looks forward to competing for a spot on the team. Whether she makes it or not, Kate has had fun participating and succeeding in luge, but it will not become the only focus in her life.
Kate’s mom and dad worry about their daughter’s keeping the right balance. “Mom didn’t want me to miss out on high school,” says Kate.
Kate is involved in school activities when she is home and maintains excellent grades. “Our goal is that she is going to college,” says her mother. “And her seminary teacher, Sister Frandsen, is kind enough to digitally record seminary every morning. We then e-mail the seminary recordings to Kate each week so she can listen to the classes. It is one of her spiritual foundations and a link to home when she is on the road.”
To help focus her goals, Kate has received her patriarchal blessing. In her blessing she was told that she would be watched by many people and would have missionary opportunities come to her.
Even so, Kate faces some hard situations when it comes to the party atmosphere that accompanies sports. It seems that drinking can become a stumbling point, especially when the team goes to Europe to compete. “After races, it’s party time. Everyone I met would drink. At first, I felt like the loner in the hotel. But I got over that feeling. My teammates knew better than to ask me to drink with them. After I won the worlds, my competitors would say, ‘Kate, you have to drink tonight.’ But I’d say no. My teammates would say, ‘No, she doesn’t drink. Don’t even ask.’”
Having a strong testimony is the bottom line for Kate. She is always excited to go to young women camp and youth conference with her stake. When asked about her favorite scripture, Kate mentions an experience she had while attending Especially for Youth. She hadn’t planned to bear her testimony, but then she had a feeling that someone there needed to hear what she had to say. She had been reading in her scriptures and had come upon Mosiah 8:18: “Thus God has provided a means that man, through faith, might work mighty miracles; therefore he becometh a great benefit to his fellow beings.”
Kate says, “I stood up and talked about my patriarchal blessing where it says I would be an example to others and people would be watching me. Now it’s my favorite scripture because it came as an answer to me.”
It seems that people are indeed watching Kate and what she chooses to do. At the end of the season, two of her teammates said they had stopped drinking because of her. “It was the biggest reward I have ever received,” says Kate.

Nigerians like to say that they live under “a fierce African sun.” Temperatures near the equator vary only slightly regardless of the season. So when we had our all-Africa service project in August, we began at 7:00 a.m. in order to get as much as possible done in the cooler morning hours.
With shovels, rakes, and machetes, we got to work clearing weeds and hauling trash from the vacant lot near our Yaba Ward building in the Lagos Nigeria Stake. After working for three hours, we had cleared about three acres (1.2 ha) of the four-acre (1.6 ha) lot.
“What do you think of rounding off with this small section and scheduling another day to finish clearing the lot?” the bishop asked.
Overhearing the bishop, Emmanuel, the teachers quorum president, expressed disappointment.
“If we leave this section undone, none of the youth will feel that they have done much today,” he said. “Please, let’s finish.”
Because the weeds were about six feet (1.8 m) high in most places, they obstructed our view and made it difficult to determine how much remained.
“Brother Hill, let’s see how long it might take you and me to clear a narrow path, maybe only two feet wide,” Emmanuel said. “If we can do it quickly, others may see that it is possible to finish sooner than they might imagine.”
The young men, divided in two groups, had been working on opposite ends of the lot all day. No one had broken through the maze of weeds to the other side. With an aching back, I went to my knees to find some relief while continuing to hack away at the weeds with a machete. Worried, some youth came to see if they could help and then pitched in when they saw Emmanuel and me working toward each other. Within minutes we had broken through to each other, and a small cheer went up. Seeing the breakthrough, others began working in pairs doing the same thing.
In less than an hour, we finished. Beaming with satisfaction, we congratulated each other—especially Emmanuel, who had literally provided a path for others to follow.
The bishop and I thought that we, in our age and wisdom, knew what these young men could accomplish. We saw only hot, tired boys, but Emmanuel saw an opportunity for his friends to build dignity and confidence. He knew that exerting extra effort would bring greater satisfaction to them than finishing the job later. He reminded us of the strength of the youth of the Church and how we all benefit when they contribute and lead.
I realized that we don’t need to wait for our youth to grow up—they can make a difference now if we let them.

President Faust had to leave his studies at the University of Utah twice. He first left in 1939 to serve as a missionary in Brazil, where he learned to love the people and strengthened his testimony. It was a hard mission with few baptisms. Speaking of himself and one of his companions he said, “We didn’t accomplish much except for the changes in ourselves. I feel it was one of the most productive and valuable times in my life.”4
He left the university a second time to serve in the U.S. Army Air Force during World War II.
At war, President Faust was sometimes lonely. He had left behind his beloved Ruth, whom he had met in high school. They were married in the Salt Lake Temple on April 21, 1943, while he was on 10 days of military leave.
As the only Church member assigned to his ship in the South Pacific during the war, he would often go to the front of the ship—one of the only places he could find privacy. There he would sing hymns, study the scriptures, and pray.
He also wrote to his wife every day. Sometimes the letters would not be delivered to her regularly. One day she received 90 letters, and her boss gave her the afternoon off to read them.
President and Sister Faust have two daughters and three sons. President Faust always put a high priority on caring for his wife and family. “This is the kind of person he has been all his life,” Sister Faust said. “Family and loved ones have come first!”5
“We … bear our testimonies by our lives,” President Faust once said.6 Truly, James Esdras Faust bore his testimony of the Savior not only with his words but through his exemplary life.

A Sunbeam teacher wrapped each of her class members one by one in a blanket to teach them how the Spirit feels like the comfort and security of that covering. A visiting mother also heard the lesson.
Many months later the mother thanked the teacher. She told how she had been less active when she accompanied her young daughter to Primary. Several weeks after the lesson, the mother suffered a miscarriage. She was overcome with grief when suddenly she felt a great warmth and peace. It felt like someone had covered her with a warm blanket. She recognized the reassurance of the Spirit and knew that Heavenly Father was aware of her and that He loved her.

Raquel “Liriel” Domiciano was about to sing in front of millions of people. Was she worried about messing up? A little. Was she worried about what to wear? Naturally. But what worried her most?

Only 19 at the time, Liriel, a member of the Church for five years, wanted to stand as a witness “of God at all times and in all things, and in all places” (Mosiah 18:9).

Liriel was about to perform in Brazil’s largest televised talent competition, the Raul Gil Amateur Show. She had been told she couldn’t say anything about her religion. But she knew that many of Brazil’s Latter-day Saints would be watching, and she wanted everyone to know she wasn’t ashamed of the gospel. After praying in her room before her first performance, she looked up and saw her Young Women medallion. It was the answer she had been looking for.

Liriel wore her medallion during every level of the competition. Eventually she and her partner, tenor Rinaldo Viana, won the contest, signed a recording contract, and watched as their first CD became the second-highest best-seller in Brazil’s history, with more than one million copies sold.

Wearing the medallion as she performed was her way of letting people know she was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and willing to stand as a witness, even in front of millions.

After many promptings during his young adult years, Elder Larry S. Kacher began to recognize a greater power guiding him in his life. At age 19, sensitivity to the Spirit led him to the gospel of Jesus Christ—a change that has made all the difference.
After high school he went to Europe to ski, and after more than six months there he felt he needed to return home. Once home, he felt like he needed to go somewhere else but didn’t know where. A childhood friend planned to move to Utah, and Elder Kacher decided to move with him. While in Utah, Elder Kacher enrolled at Brigham Young University, learned about the Church, and was baptized.
“As the missionaries taught us, I felt it was true,” he says. “As I prayed, I felt that the Church was true.”