Gospel Story Finder

Lorraine and Janet Fisher of the Worcester Ward explained how they handle going to parties. “We go to our friends’ parties, but it’s never been a problem. One friend brings his instant chocolate and another brings the milk. Never once have I ever been pressured into doing anything I didn’t believe I should. And they admire us. Our friends used to drink at parties, but now they don’t. They stopped drinking because they saw we had a better time. They found out you don’t need to drink to have a good time.”

The sophomore math whiz sat in the classroom after school waiting for the football star to come in for his weekly tutoring session. The guy who enjoys algebra, calculus, and trigonometry would spend an extra hour or so each week teaching polynomial expressions and practicing exponential equations with the football hero, whom many called the best high school running back in the country. Turning upfield for another 10-yard gain he could do. But algebra? Linear inequalities were something of a challenge. That’s when the tutor came to the rescue.
When the school year ended, so did the tutoring sessions. The tutor had his junior year to look forward to while the tutor’s “student” graduated and accepted an athletic scholarship to the University of Miami.
That’s when the math whiz says, “Someday when he’s a famous running back in the National Football League, I can tell my kids I taught him math.”
It’s a year later, and once again Maurice Navarro is sitting in a classroom at Coral Gables Senior High near Miami, Florida. School ended 30 minutes ago, but, just like the year before, a group of students is gathered around Maurice as he teaches a math concept his fellow students aren’t quite understanding.
That’s Maurice Navarro. Still the math tutor. Still helping others.

Just a little over a year ago, I determined that I would not put off any longer a visit with a dear friend whom I hadn’t seen for many years. I had been meaning to visit him in California but just had not gotten around to it.

Bob Biggers and I met when we were both in the Classification Division at the United States Naval Training Center in San Diego, California, toward the close of World War II. We were good friends from the beginning. He visited in Salt Lake once before he married, and we remained friends through correspondence from the time I was discharged in 1946. My wife, Frances, and I have exchanged Christmas cards every year with Bob and his wife, Grace.

Finally, at the beginning of January 2002, I scheduled a stake conference visit to Whittier, California, where the Biggers live. I telephoned my friend Bob, now 80 years old, and arranged for Frances and me to meet him and Grace, that we might reminisce concerning former days.

We had a delightful visit. I took with me a number of photographs which had been taken when we were in the Navy together over 55 years earlier. We identified the men we knew and provided each other an update on their whereabouts as best we could. Although not a member of our Church, Bob remembered going to a sacrament meeting with me those long years before when we were stationed in San Diego.

As Frances and I said our good-byes to Bob and Grace, I felt an overwhelming sense of peace and joy at having finally made the effort to see once again a friend who had been cherished from afar throughout the years.

Father plopped a stack of books on the table and announced, “Tonight for family home evening we are going to write our testimonies in a Book of Mormon. Practice first on a piece of paper. Then, using your best penmanship, write your testimony on the inside cover, and sign your name. We’ll glue one of your school pictures underneath it, and tomorrow I’ll give the books to the bishop to donate to the missionaries.”
“That’s a good idea,” said Mother. “Maybe what we write will spark somebody’s interest in the Church and help to convert them. Let’s put our address under the pictures, too, and maybe someone will write back to us.”
Tyler and Christi eagerly grabbed a piece of paper.
“I’m going to explain about the priesthood and how I was ordained a deacon,” Tyler said.
“I’m going to write about our family and how we can be together forever,” said Christi.
Kevin just sat and stared at his paper.
Soon everyone except Kevin was busily writing. Several minutes later Mother stopped and said, “What’s wrong, Kevin?”
“Nothing,” he mumbled.
“Can’t you decide what to say?” Father asked.
Kevin shook his head.
“Maybe you could write how the Church has a living prophet,” Mother suggested, “or how we read the Book of Mormon every day as a family and how that helps you to make right choices.”
“Yeah, I guess I could,” Kevin said. He stared at his paper some more. What could I say that would help anybody? he wondered. Who would ever believe what a seven-year-old had to say?
Kevin thought about his next birthday. It was four months away, and he would be baptized then. An idea began to form in his mind, and he started to write. Several times he wadded up his paper and threw it away, but he kept at it.
Everyone else had finished writing and was eating cookies when Kevin finally started copying his testimony on the inside cover of his Book of Mormon. When he finished, he reread it one last time. It said:
“My name is Kevin Richards. I am seven years old. Soon I will be eight. When I turn eight, I will be baptized by immersion as Jesus was. My father will baptize me and confirm me a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I believe that this is the true church of Christ. If you read this book and pray about it, Heavenly Father will tell you that the teachings in it are true. Then you can get baptized too. Please write and tell me how you feel when you read this book.
Sincerely,
Kevin Richards”
Satisfied, Kevin carefully glued his picture underneath it, wrote his address, and added his book to the stack.
“All finished?” Father asked.
“Yes,” answered Kevin. “Boy, that sure was hard!”
“Sometimes trying to express your feelings is hard,” agreed Father. “But sharing your testimony will not only help someone else learn about the Church. It will also help your testimony grow stronger.”
“Is that why I feel good now?” Kevin asked.
“I’m sure it is. And when someone gets your book and reads what you wrote, maybe he will get that good feeling too.”
Each day after school Kevin eagerly raced to the mailbox, hoping to find an answer from the person who received his Book of Mormon.
But it was Christi who squealed one day, “An answer! An answer! I got an answer!” And three days later both Father and Tyler got a letter.
“My letter came all the way from Mexico,” Tyler bragged.
Tears welled up in Kevin’s eyes. He crept upstairs to his bedroom and lay on his bed.
There was a knock on the door. “May I come in?” asked Mother. When Kevin choked out an OK, Mother went in and sat down beside him. She sat in silence for a few minutes, then said, “You’re really disappointed to not get an answer from somebody, aren’t you? Do you want to talk about it?”
Kevin hesitated, then sat up and wiped his tears away with the back of his hand. “What if the person who gets my book laughs at what I said? What if he thinks that I’m stupid? What if he thinks that a kid doesn’t know anything, and he decides not to read my book?”
Mother gently put her arms around Kevin. “No one would laugh. He’d know that you’re very sincere and that you care about him. And children can often touch people’s hearts in a way that grown-ups can’t.”
“Then why haven’t I gotten an answer?”
“I don’t know, but I’m sure that there is a good reason. Maybe the missionaries just haven’t found the right family to give your Book of Mormon to yet. And whether we like it or not, just because we bear our testimonies doesn’t mean that the people who receive them will accept them. No one has written to me yet, either, so let’s just hope that we’ll still get letters. Sometimes it just takes a while.”
That night when he went to bed, Kevin prayed, “Dear Heavenly Father, please help the missionaries to find the right person for my Book of Mormon. Bless him not to laugh at what I wrote. Bless him to read the Book of Mormon and get a testimony. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
Days melted into weeks. Finally it was Kevin’s baptismal day. Just before lunch, Christi came running into the house, yelling, “Kevin! Kevin! Look what the mailman just brought.”
Kevin took the envelope Christi was waving and quickly tore it open. It read,
“Dear Kevin Richards,
Please forgive that I take so long to write. My name is Tuilolo Tuiaaga. I live with my wife and four children in Pago Pago on Samoan island called Tutuila. One day your missionaries came. I was busy in my bakery and had no time to listen. But my wife listen and keep your book and read it.
Then bad time came to my family. My bakery burn down. Our sick baby got sicker. Doctors try hard, but poor baby Sina die.
My wife say God loves Sina. God loves us. She say He cares. I get very angry. I yell, ‘If He love us, why bakery burn? Why Sina die?’
One night I hurt bad inside. I not sleep. I sit in darkness. By chair was your book. I want to burn book. I pick it up. I see your picture. I read what you write. Then I read and read and read in book. Is hard to read in English for me, but I read till morning. I read again what you write. The Spirit tells me what I read is true. I believe. I wake my wife. We cry and pray. I pray that God forgive my anger. Peace comes to my soul.
Soon will be our family baptism on 30 August. We are very happy. I thank you for sending Book of Mormon.
Peace to you, my brother,
Tuilolo Tuiaaga”
That evening, on August 30, as Kevin came out of the waters of baptism, he whispered, “Peace to you, Tuilolo. Peace to you.”

In the lead up to the October 2020 half-term holidays, the UK government decided they would not extend free school meals over the holidays.
With that in mind, two Lancashire businesspeople joined forces to form a voluntary group called Holiday Hunger East Lancashire.
They said, “We recognise that many people are going through really challenging times at the moment, and so we, as a community, have come together to provide lunches for East Lancashire children next week.”
Within 24 hours they were up and running and had raised thousands of pounds to cover their costs.
A friend of mine, Nicola Holding, a photographer local to Colne, Lancashire, began participating in Holiday Hunger East Lancashire, and was hosting the Colne Hub for distributing the meals.
When she told me that they needed volunteers, I knew I could help by using social media to get the message out to as many Church members as fast as possible.
I contacted some of the bishops and Relief Society presidents of the Chorley England Stake and by Monday morning they were headed to various designated distribution hubs for the Holiday Hunger East Lancashire initiative.
These wonderful friends and members of the Church showed up on multiple occasions, willing to serve with no questions asked, to collect bags full of meals that had been prepared by established local food businesses.
It was inspiring to see willing volunteers, from the Church and community, queuing out of the doors. Some would pick up the lunches, go to more than ten addresses, and then come back asking if they could do more.
Some volunteers even helped in the kitchen preparing those meals. As the professionals worked tirelessly cooking endless amounts of pasta, sausages, sauces, vegetables and so much more, the volunteers got it all packed in individual takeaway tubs; one meal for each child for each day of the half-term week.
Carol Brelsford said, “I really enjoyed being part of the team. I was grateful to be asked to help.”
Two faithful sisters of the Burnley Ward, Debbie Patton and Andrea Pickles, were heroes in the kitchen. They walked in bright and early on Monday morning to serve. I knew they had no idea what they’d signed up for, but they were there and ready to serve alongside me and my husband, Jordan.
Debbie said, “I felt great to be at least doing something in the middle of a global pandemic.”
Andrea added, “When I was asked to help in this venture, I was grateful for an opportunity to serve these kiddies. I was amazed and touched by the kindness of all the volunteers of all age groups, who cheerfully set about making and packing the meals. They worked for long hours, over several days. Other volunteers delivered the food to the families. I came home tired but very happy to have been able to help to a small degree. It made me realise we have wonderful people in our community, and when we all pull together, we can achieve amazing things.”
On more than one occasion, I was able to help with giving drop-off location details to the deliverers, and sometimes deliver lunches myself.
The stories we heard of grateful mothers, fathers, and children kept us all motivated when things got hectic, when we became weary with the load, and felt we couldn’t get the food out on time.
Jenny Forward of the Blackburn Ward in the Chorley Stake said, “Bishop [and I] felt the joy in every ‘thank you’ from one of the recipients, knowing they really needed and appreciated the meals. It warmed our hearts.”
Jenna Beverley of the Chorley Ward said: “I knew that so many families would be without [food] over the holidays, so when I heard Holiday Hunger East Lancashire needed help, I knew we could use our car and time for good. It was great to see people come together, with what they had, to make this happen at such short notice. What I thought would be a one-hour service project turned into a six-hour quest to provide some relief to as many families as we could, but it was incredible to see the community come together for so many who requested help.”
Jenna’s son Isaac, aged 12, described the experience, “It was kinda stressful to deliver so many meals to people’s houses, especially when it was bad rain and then the phone battery died, so we didn’t know where we were going … but we did it!”
Jonathan and Rebecca Abery of the Rossendale Valley Ward in Chorley Stake shared their thoughts: “[We] felt it an honour to be involved with so many other people from the community. It was humbling seeing the genuine gratitude and relief in the eyes of some of the recipients. It reminded me of the importance of working together to meet the needs of our fellow brothers and sisters and showed me that service brings its reward.”
Janet Leeds of the Burnley Ward, Chorley Stake said, “The project came together so quickly there was no time to think about whether to get involved or not or wonder if it was possible; everyone just pulled together and got on with it! So much love was shared, and hard work done, by so many volunteers that went into the project. It felt so important to make sure each child received their lunch packs every day—so much so that I went back to one house three times on the first day and finally pushed it through the cat flap so that they wouldn’t miss it! So proud of everyone who made it all possible.”
Rachel Pattenden said, “It was heart-warming, humbling and rewarding to be a part of this project. I know it was meant to bless others, but it also truly blessed my children and me. They felt good inside and want to help again in the future.”
What brought us all together was an unfortunate turn of events, but it united us in our determination to feed the 3,000 signed-up children who would otherwise have gone hungry that week. I’ve never been a part of an event on such a large scale. It was overwhelming at times. Some days I would be up and out the door by 7:30 am and not return until 8 pm. As a stay-at-home mum, it was quite a change of pace! But I know that the Lord required my help for that one week. He guided me to bump into the friend that got me involved. By no means can I take any of the credit, but I know that I was a tool in the Lord’s hands. It was my purpose to help gather those volunteers so that essential work could get done—to feed His children.

“Some two or three weeks after I was baptized, one day while engaged in my studies, I began to reflect upon the fact that I had not obtained a knowledge of the truth of the work—that I had not realized the fulfillment of that promise, ‘he that doeth my will shall know of the doctrine,’ (see John 7:17) and I began to feel very uneasy. … I had been accustomed, at the close of day, to retire for secret prayer, to a grove a short distance from my lodgings, but at this time I felt no inclination to do so. The spirit of prayer had departed and the heavens seemed like brass over my head. At length, realizing that the usual time had come for secret prayer, I concluded I would not forgo my evening service, …
“I had no sooner opened my lips in an effort to pray, than I heard a sound, just above my head, like the rustling of silken robes, and immediately the spirit of God descended upon me, completely enveloping my whole person, … and O the joy and happiness I felt! No language can describe the almost instantaneous transition from a dense cloud of mental and spiritual darkness into a refulgence of light and knowledge, that God lives, that Jesus Christ is the Son of God, and of the restoration of the Holy Priesthood, and the fulness of the gospel” (The Presidents of the Church, 139–140).

Elizabeth woke up early and lay in bed for a few minutes thinking about Gerald. Today was their last day together. Tomorrow morning his aunt and uncle would arrive from Connecticut to take him home to live with them. Elizabeth had no brothers or sisters, but for the past two weeks Gerald had been like a big brother and she didn’t want that to end. She watched the sun’s rays slanting across her bed and thought about the first night at the dinner table when Gerald had been so silent and shy, his almost white hair covering half his eyes. Neither of them had known what to say. Later when she had shown him around the farm, he was very quiet, looking a long time at everything but not saying much.
In the days that followed, he began to talk more as they rode horses through the sagebrush or gathered alfalfa for the rabbits. He never laughed, and Elizabeth thought he had the tiniest smile in all the world. Even though he was two years older than Elizabeth, he never acted bossy or like a know-it-all, the way the bigger boys at school did. He had told her about his parents’ deaths in a plane crash and about his aunt and uncle, whom he’d seen only a few times on holidays. Now they would be his new parents.
Elizabeth dressed slowly, wishing this last day would never end. When her father had first told her that a boy was going to stay with them for two weeks until his aunt and uncle could pick him up, she wasn’t sure she’d like that—a strange boy she’d never even seen before. But now she wished he could stay forever.
When Elizabeth went down to breakfast, she found that Gerald had already eaten and gone outside. She gulped her eggs quickly and ran out to find him. She searched around the chicken coops and looked inside the barn. Finally she saw him stooped down by a woodpile, peering between the boards. Elizabeth approached him quietly. “What are you doing?”
Gerald did not turn around. “There’s a baby rabbit in here,” he said in his quiet, pleasant voice. She stooped down beside him.
“Where?” she said softly. “I don’t see it.”
Gerald pointed between two boards, and Elizabeth saw the snowy white fur of the kit. Very slowly and gently, Gerald put his hand between the boards and then quickly grabbed the rabbit and pulled it out. It was very small and fluffy. He held it in one hand and stroked its ears with his finger. The kit blinked its pink eyes nervously, but did not seem too frightened.
“Last spring we had a terrific windstorm that blew over our rabbit hutches,” Elizabeth said. “Lots of rabbits got out and we never caught them all; this must be from one of them.”
“It’s as small and round as the white doorknob on our bathroom door,” Gerald said. “I’m going to call it Knob.” He stood up and tucked the rabbit into his shirt pocket.
Elizabeth followed him as he walked toward the canal, where some big white ducks were swimming on the still water. “Gerald,” she said as she caught up with him, “I think maybe you should leave that kit in the woodpile. Its mother is probably still nearby.”
Gerald looked at her, and the morning sun glistened on his hair. His eyes were very blue. “No,” he said, “this rabbit is an orphan like me. Your rabbits are all in pens.” He stared at the ducks, his mouth firm.
“Didn’t you hear what I said about the windstorm?”
“Yes, I heard, but Knob is an orphan.” He patted his pocket and smiled his tiny smile.
Elizabeth did not know what else to say. “Come on,” she said finally, “let’s go look at the new calf.”
They leaned their elbows on the rough boards of the calf pen and watched the wobbly black and white calf. From time to time Gerald took Knob from his pocket and stroked its little ears. Elizabeth could see how much he was starting to love the rabbit. She remembered the soft cocker puppy her father had brought her for her birthday, and she knew how Gerald felt. But she was worried about the baby rabbit, afraid that it needed its mother.
After lunch, she and Gerald sat on the sloping grass behind the house and ate cookies. “Gerald, that rabbit is probably hungry.”
He looked at her quickly, surprised. “That’s right!” he said, and broke a tiny crumb off his cookie and tried to poke it into the animal’s mouth. But it would not take it.
“It needs milk from a mother rabbit,” Elizabeth said.
“Do you think one of your mother rabbits would feed him?” Gerald asked.
“One of them has babies about that size. We could try.”
They ran down the dirt lane to the barn where the rabbit pens stood against the north side, out of the sun. Elizabeth opened the door to a pen containing a wooden nesting box that was open on one side. A doe was nursing her babies inside. “Just put it with the others. Maybe she won’t notice.”
Gerald took the kit gently from his pocket, looked into its eyes, and then placed it carefully in the box. The little rabbit sat still, blinking. Gerald pushed it up closer to the doe. The mother rabbit gave it a quick kick with her hind leg, and the kit tumbled into the corner of the box. Gerald put it up to her again, and again she kicked it away.
“It’s no use,” Elizabeth said. “If they won’t, they won’t.”
Gerald slowly picked up the rabbit and cupped it in his hands again, gazing fondly at it. He turned to Elizabeth, his eyes sad and helpless. “What will I do?”
“We’d better take it back to the woodpile.”
“No!” Gerald said, quickly tucking the rabbit into his pocket.
He and Elizabeth sat on a log in the shade beside the barn, both trying to think what to do. “Why wouldn’t she take him?” Gerald asked. “He looks just like her own.”
“But it’s not her own, and that’s why. She can tell by the smell.”
Gerald looked at Elizabeth closely and thoughtfully. “When my aunt and uncle come and get me, will they feel like that? That I’m not their own?”
Elizabeth wanted very much to say something to make Gerald feel better. She leaned over and sniffed his sleeve. “You smell OK, Gerald. They won’t notice.”
Gerald smiled the smallest possible smile. “They might notice. And when I do things wrong, they might say, ‘Well he’s not our own. We don’t have to put up with that.’”
Elizabeth thought for a few minutes. “I wish you were my big brother, Gerald.”
“You’re just saying that.”
“No, I really mean it. We could explore in the foothills and ride the horses all over and get on the school bus together. It would be a good feeling to have someone who belonged to you, who’d always be around, even if you fought sometimes.”
“Well, I wish I could stay, too, but I can’t.” Gerald stroked his shirt pocket with his finger. “It was nice of your dad to let me stay here, your mom too.”
They were both silent for a few minutes. Finally Elizabeth said, “People are different from animals. When the bunnies get big, the doe just pushes them away. And she really doesn’t care about them anymore. If Dad butchers them and puts them in the freezer, she still doesn’t care. People aren’t like that.”
“I guess not.” Gerald dug around in the dirt with a small stick.
“Folks can love someone besides their own kids, and if they do, they keep on loving them no matter what they do.”
“I hope so.” Gerald smiled a little bigger smile. Then his face lit up. “Once my mama fed a baby kitten with an eyedropper. You got one of those?”
“I think so. We could try it. Come on!”
Later, on the front lawn with a cup of warm milk and the eyedropper, Gerald took the rabbit from his pocket. Its eyelids were a little droopy. Elizabeth handed Gerald the eyedropper full of milk. He pushed it into the corner of the rabbit’s mouth and squeezed some milk in. The rabbit sputtered and coughed as the milk ran out of its mouth.
Gerald looked at her despairingly. “If Knob won’t eat, he’ll die,” he said. Neither of them said anything for some time. Gerald stroked Knob’s soft fur from its pink nose to its powder puff tail with his finger. He rubbed it gently against his cheek. Finally he looked up at Elizabeth. “Come on,” he said, “let’s take it to the woodpile.”
Elizabeth jumped to her feet. “OK,” she agreed happily.
At the woodpile, both of them carefully lifted off the boards and laid them aside. Peering down, Gerald saw some white fur way down on the ground. “She’s still in there,” he whispered. His face was sad but relieved. They removed a few more boards until they could see the rabbit better. Several little furry balls lay along its stomach nursing.
Gerald knelt down and took Knob from his pocket, looked at him for a minute, and then carefully put his hands through the boards and laid the little rabbit against its mother. It lay for a moment and then nosed into the mother’s fur and began to suck. Gerald half smiled at Elizabeth.
“He’ll be OK now,” she said. They carefully put the boards back and walked toward the house.
“Your aunt and uncle will be here tomorrow, I guess.”
“Yeh.” Gerald kicked a small rock through the dust. “I hope they’ll like having me.”
“If they like you as much as I do, you’ll be all right,” Elizabeth said. She smiled at Gerald, and he smiled back—a big smile this time.

The Grant Third Ward youth committee terrified its way to a lot of money with a Halloween spook house. The location was Brigham Young’s Carriage House. The production featured such treats as a man having his legs sawed off, a girl’s severed head speaking from the oven of a kitchen range, a zoo of starving children, coffins full and empty, electric shocks, horrifying sounds, and other thrills. The funds will be used to sponsor a youth conference.

As involved as the Drummonds are in sports, you might think their grades would suffer a bit. But not so. “They’re both on the honor roll,” says their dad. “They have to maintain B averages. That’s my rule. And no underwater basketweaving or sandwich making courses, either.” He then goes on to recite their schedules—solid, difficult classes every one, with the exception of baseball, which the Drummonds take very seriously. Of course, since Tom made the rules, he’s always there to help his kids accomplish them. It’s not uncommon to find the family studying together in the evenings.

A month into meeting with the missionaries, they invited me to be baptized. I didn’t want to turn them down, but I was hesitant to leave the tradition of my parents and everyone around me. There were two paths before me, and I knew there was only one way to know which one to take—I had to pray like Joseph Smith. I asked Heavenly Father, in the name of Jesus Christ, if the things the missionaries had been teaching me were true.
That was my turning point. From then on, I knew for myself that the restored gospel is true. No one could take that knowledge away from me. I knew which path to follow, and nothing could change that.

While looking for a new home, a young Latter-day Saint couple talked to potential neighbors about the neighborhood and the schools in the area.
One woman they spoke to said of the school her children were attending: “This is the most incredible place! The principal is a wonderful and good man; the teachers are well qualified, kind, and friendly. I am so pleased that our children can attend this wonderful school. You’ll love it here!”
A different woman said of her children’s school: “It’s a terrible place. The principal is self-absorbed; the teachers are unqualified, rude, and unfriendly. If I could afford to move out of this area, I’d do it in a heartbeat!”
The interesting thing was that both women were speaking about the same principal, the same teachers, and the same school.

Please ask the Lord if we can be the special witnesses mentioned in the Book of Mormon.
The Lord has told me that if you will rely on the Lord, humble yourselves, and testify of the truth, you may see the plates.
Later that day.
Each man took a turn praying to be shown the plates.
Nothing happened.
I’m the reason the heavens are closed.
Soon the angel Moroni appeared.
Then they heard the voice of God.
These plates are from God. The translation is correct, and I command you to share what you now see and hear.
Later, Joseph finds Martin praying.
I haven’t received a witness from the Lord, but I still want to see the plates. Will you pray with me?
A few days later and with direction from God, Joseph invited eight others, including his father and two of his brothers, to see the plates. They did not see an angel, but they got to hold the plates in their hands.
All eleven witnesses attached their names to statements in the Book of Mormon, known as Testimony of Three Witnesses and Testimony of Eight Witnesses. Though some left the Church for a time, they all bore testimony throughout their lives that they had seen the gold plates. None of the witnesses ever denied what they saw.

Everyone in the third grade would agree, including me, that Christy was queen of the monkey bars and swings. No one could climb as fast or swing as high as Christy could. And she was equally as good at playing games. But the most important thing to me about Christy was that she and I were good friends. One day at school during recess, Christy asked, “Do you want to go to Primary with me?”
I’d never heard of Primary before. “What’s that?” I asked.
Christy explained, “Primary is something special at my church, just for children. If you go, you’ll sing songs, make new friends, learn new things, and you can meet my Primary teacher, who is really, really nice.”
“As nice as Mrs. Palmer?” I asked, certain that no teacher could be as nice as our third-grade teacher.
Christy laughed. “Yes, she’s as nice as Mrs. Palmer.”
After school I ran all the way home to ask my mom if I could go to Primary. But Mom wasn’t as thrilled about the idea as I was. “I need a little bit more information,” she said. “What’s the name of Christy’s church?”
Well, that was a tough question to start out with because, as I told Mom, “I can’t remember the name. It’s a long name I’ve never heard before.” I could tell by Mom’s worried expression that was the wrong thing to say.
“Hold on. I’m going to call Christy right now!” I ran to the phone and dialed Christy’s number before Mom could say another word.
The phone rang twice before Christy picked it up. “Hello?”
“Christy!” I exclaimed. “What’s the name of your church again?” I listened carefully and then said, “Mom, the name of Christy’s church is The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.” When the frown on Mom’s face didn’t disappear, I knew I needed help. I said into the phone, “Christy, do you think your mom could talk to my mom about Primary?”
I think Christy heard the desperation in my voice because she got her mom on the phone in five seconds flat. Our moms were soon talking and laughing like old friends. Then my mom told Christy’s mom that, yes, I could go to Primary!
When I went to Primary for the first time, it was everything Christy said it would be and more. Christy was right—our Primary teacher was really, really nice. Every bit as nice as Mrs. Palmer. She even gave me my very own booklet about faith in God.
I went home that day and showed Mom my booklet and told her all about Primary. I even sang the “Hello Song” (Children’s Songbook, 260) to her and my two brothers, which all the kids had sung to me. As Mom studied the picture of Jesus Christ on the front of my booklet and read some of the pages inside, she got a quiet, thoughtful look on her face. Then she said I could go with Christy to Primary every week if I wanted to.
I definitely wanted to, but I actually went only a few more times after that because school let out and our family went on a summer vacation. We loaded up our car and drove from California all the way to my grandmother’s farm in Illinois.
On the second day of our trip, as we drove into Utah, we saw billboards on the highway with the name of Christy’s church on them. They invited people to see something called the visitors’ center in Salt Lake City. Mom said she’d like to stop there so she could find out more about the Church.
When we walked through the door of the visitors’ center, we were greeted by a friendly man wearing a name tag. As he showed us around, Mom had a lot of questions, and the man seemed excited to answer every one of them. When the tour was over, Mom wrote her name and address in the guest book and then checked a box with the word “YES” next to it, saying she’d like to receive more information about the Church.
When we got home from our vacation, two young men who called themselves elders came to our apartment. They told us they were missionaries who got a message all the way from the visitors’ center in Salt Lake City that Mom would like more information about the Church. They said they would love to teach our family about Heavenly Father’s plan and the gospel of Jesus Christ. That’s when the missionaries started teaching our family.
The first time we went to church together, I told my family to be sure to fold their arms when we walked into the chapel. I’d learned at Primary that this was a way to show reverence. We all tried that day to keep our arms folded, but so many people came up to us to shake our hands and welcome us to church that our arms didn’t stay folded for very long.
At the end of our lessons with the missionaries, they asked Mom if she would like to be baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. She said she needed to pray about it. The next morning at 6:00 a.m., Mom called the missionaries and said she had prayed all night about being baptized and the answer was yes! My brothers and I also told them we wanted to be baptized.
I still remember stepping into the water in the baptismal font. I was wearing white and feeling so happy inside that I wanted to laugh and shout at the same time. I looked up and saw Mom crying happy tears. Then I looked at Christy, who was just about as excited as I was because it really all started with her when she asked, “Do you want to go to Primary with me?”

Elder Gordon B. Hinckley
More than sixty years ago, a small boy on an Idaho farm went with his father to the field. While the father worked through the day, the boy amused himself with one thing and another. Over the fence were some old farm buildings, derelict and tumbled down. The boy with imagination saw in them castles to be entered. He climbed through the fence and approached the buildings to begin his exploration. As he drew near, a voice was heard to say, “Harold, don’t go over there.” He looked to see if his father was around. He was not. But the boy heeded the warning. He turned and ran. He never knew what danger might have been lurking there, nor did he question. Having listened and heard, he obeyed.

May I close my testimony with a short story. A few months ago, Sister Bateman and I were touring the Japan Fukuoka Mission. The missionaries in Kumamoto introduced us to a young Japanese brother who had just joined the Church and then told us of his conversion. He was from a non-Christian background. When he met the missionaries, he was interested in the message. He liked the young men who were teaching him, but during the course of the lessons he could not understand or feel the need for a Savior. The missionaries took him through the lessons and taught him about our Heavenly Father, Christ, and the plan of salvation, but he didn’t have a witness. The missionaries wondered what they should do and decided one day to show him a film, a Church film that deals with the Atonement. It is called The Bridge. The young man saw the film and was disturbed by it, went home, and couldn’t sleep all that night, but still he didn’t have a witness.
The next morning he went to work. He worked in an optician’s shop making eyeglasses. During the course of the day, an elderly woman came in. He remembered her coming in a few weeks before. She had broken her glasses. She needed a new pair. When she had come in earlier, she didn’t have enough money and had gone away to save more in order to purchase the new glasses. As she came in that day, she again showed him her spectacles and showed him the money that she now had. He realized that she didn’t have enough yet. Then a thought came to him: I have some money. I don’t need to tell her. I can make up the difference. So he told her the money she had was adequate, took her glasses, made an appointment for her to return when he had finished making the spectacles, and sent her on her way.
She returned later. He had the glasses ready for her. He handed them to her, and she put them on. “Mimasu! Mimasu! I see. I see.” Then she began to cry. At that point, a burning sensation began to grow within his bosom and swelled within him. He said, “Wakari masu! Wakari masu! I understand. I understand.” He began to cry. Out the door he ran, looking for the missionaries. When he found them, he said, “I see! My eyes have been opened! I know that Jesus is the Son of God. I know the stone was rolled away from the tomb and on that glorious Easter morning He arose from the dead. He can make up the difference in my life when I fall short.”

The story is told that in ancient Rome a group of women were, with vanity, showing their jewels one to another. Among them was Cornelia, the mother of two boys. One of the women said to her, “And where are your jewels?” to which Cornelia responded, pointing to her sons, “These are my jewels.” Under her tutelage, and walking after the virtues of her life, they grew to become Gaius and Tiberius Gracchus—the Gracchi, as they were called—two of the most persuasive and effective reformers in Roman history. For as long as they are remembered and spoken of, the mother who reared them after the manner of her own life will be remembered and spoken of with praise also.

One youth Sunday School teacher wondered how to help two young men with autism act for themselves. When she invited class members to share what they were learning, she worried that these two young men might refuse her invitation. But they didn’t. One stood to teach what he had learned and then invited his classmate with autism to help him. When the first began to struggle, his classmate stayed with him and whispered in his ear so that he could feel successful. They were both teaching that day. They were teaching what the Savior taught, but they were also teaching how the Savior taught. When the Savior taught, He acted out of love for the one He was teaching, just as this classmate did for his friend.

Thousands of Mormon men, women, and children camped homeless in Indian country, refugees from Nauvoo. Poverty and hunger were permanent guests at their tents, wagons, and crude cabins. Back east, the plight of these sufferers touched the hearts of society people. When the Irish potato famine caused mass starvation, wealthy socialites quickly raised funds and food to provide relief. So when Mormon elders, sent east to seek aid from Gentiles, explained the Mormons’ troubles, wealthy hearts softened again.
“Shall it be said,” asked the Daily Union, a Washington, D.C., newspaper, “that the same people [who aided the Irish] have driven from their peaceful homes fifteen hundred [thousand] of our own people to perish of hunger and cold in the wilderness? We trust not.” Then followed advertisements for “The Ladies Tea Party for the Benefit of the Mormons.” On October 28, 1846, according to one newspaper report, the special tea-party opened very successfully in Washington, with many prominent people present:
“Suffice it for the present, that the ladies of all denominations, all over the city, headed by the mayor and the clergy, went heart and hand into the work. The venerable Mrs. ex-President Madison, Mrs. [President James K.] Polk, Mrs. General Macomb, and many others of the most influential and highly respected and most beautiful of the metropolis were united in the benevolent enterprise.”
Guests paid 50¢ per ticket, which enabled them to hear the Marine Band and a popular vocal group, both of which volunteered their services. Several persons in the city opened their homes as collecting points for clothing and moneys donated to help the Mormon refugees.4

I was born in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. As the eldest of eight children, I left school when I was twelve years old to help support my family. After I grew up and married, my wife, Ruda, encouraged me to go back to school, and I earned my high school diploma and a bachelor’s degree in accounting.
But even when I was the financial management comptroller for Petrobras, the biggest oil company in Brazil, and I had the respect of my colleagues, I was not satisfied. I did not feel happy; I felt confused. I thought that the solution would be religion.
I had a wonderful wife and two children, Marcus and Marisa. (Later, another son and daughter, Raphael and Aline, were born.) We were not involved in a church at that time, and I told my wife that it would be best for us and for our children to find one. Many of my friends at work were members of different religions, so my family and I went to five or six different churches.
One day we found on our door a card with a picture of Jesus Christ on one side and the name The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints on the other. I had never heard of this Church, and I asked my assistant at work, “What is this Church?”
He said, “Boss, don’t go there.”
But Heavenly Father had heard my family’s prayers. A few days later, in April of 1972, the missionaries knocked at our door. That changed our lives. We received all the discussions in one night. I asked and asked and asked questions. The missionaries answered my questions about the Church and about God and Jesus Christ and about the standing of black people in the Church. Elder Steve Richards and Elder Thomas McIntire were two very special missionaries, and they were prepared for that moment. All my questions were answered. The Holy Ghost testified all the time that these things were true.
When they left my house, I was completely changed. With reverence and respect, my family attended the meetings and activities, but we postponed baptism because of fear of negative reactions from our extended families.
Then we attended a district conference in Rio de Janeiro. The inspired messages from the pulpit prepared our hearts for an unforgettable moment. The counselor in the mission presidency bore his testimony about Jesus Christ, after which the congregation sang “I Need Thee Every Hour.” In that moment, the Holy Ghost reconfirmed the truthfulness of the things we already knew: The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was the Lord’s kingdom on earth, the road back to the celestial mansion of our Eternal Father.
My wife and I and Marcus—Marisa wasn’t old enough yet—were baptized July 2, 1972, the most important date in our lives. All the members of our branch attended our baptisms.
I had respect for all the doctrine and for the priesthood. Because I couldn’t hold the priesthood at that time, people often asked me, “What about the priesthood?” I told them that I had complete acceptance of it.
During the cornerstone laying of the São Paulo Temple, President Spencer W. Kimball motioned for me to come to him. I looked around to see whom he was looking at. He repeated the gesture. I did not understand. Elder James E. Faust looked at me and mouthed, “Come here. He wants to talk to you.” I went. President Kimball shook my hand and took hold of my arm and said, “Brother, what is necessary for you is faithfulness. Remain faithful, and you will enjoy all the blessings of the Church.”
A little more than a year later, in June 1978, we received a telephone call from a friend in Salt Lake City, Utah, telling us that President Kimball had announced the revelation* that all worthy males could hold the priesthood. I shall not forget that day. My wife cried. I cried. We knelt to thank our Heavenly Father. After that, the phone rang many, many times. Friends from the United States and Brazil called us.
The hand of the Lord is resting upon Brazil. It is a special country. We have many challenges, but we have a very special people who are friendly and accepting of the missionaries’ message.

A few months ago after a meeting with new converts and less-active members, a reactivated gentleman about my age came up to me and said, “I am one who has been less active most of my life. I fell away from the Church early in my life. But I am back now, and I work in the temple with my wife.”

To let him know that everything was OK, my response was something like this: “All is well that ends well.”

He responded, “No, all is not well. I am back in the Church, but I have lost all of my children and my grandchildren. And I am now witnessing the loss of my great-grandchildren—all out of the Church. All is not well.”