Gospel Story Finder

Paul ran down the school steps and got into Mom’s car.
“How was school?” Mom asked.
“Great!” Paul exclaimed. “We have a new girl in our class named Cristina. She is from another country, and she is just learning to speak English.”
“I hope you will help her feel welcome,” Mom said.
“I’d like to, but how can I do that if she can’t understand me?” Paul asked.
“That’s easy,” Mom said. “Just smile.”
“Smile? What do you mean?”
“A smile can mean hello, how are you, or have a nice day. It is an international sign,” Mom said.
“I never thought of it that way before,” Paul said.
A few days later, Paul was excited to tell Mom about his day.
“Mom, remember when you told me that if I couldn’t talk to Cristina, I should just smile?” Paul asked. “Well, it worked!”
“That’s great!” Mom said. “What happened?”
“During recess I noticed that Cristina was standing by herself. She had a jump rope in her hand, but she wasn’t jumping. I wanted to be nice, but I didn’t know what to say. Then I remembered what you said and I smiled at her. She smiled back. Then she started jumping rope, and for the rest of recess she looked happy.”
“That’s wonderful!” Mom said. “I’m proud of you for being nice to Cristina.”
About a month later, Paul went to a school party at the roller-skating rink. As he skated around, he noticed that Cristina was standing alone at the side of the rink. Then there was an announcement over the loudspeaker: “Find a buddy to skate with for the next song.”
Paul skated over to Cristina. She looked surprised. He gave her a big smile and motioned for her to join him. Just like that day on the playground, she smiled brightly. As they skated with their classmates, Paul realized Mom was right. A smile means friendship in any language.

The fourth is to respect yourself as a son of God. Those of us who have served missions have seen the miracle in the lives of some we have taught as they have come to realize that they are sons and daughters of God. Many years ago an elder who served a mission in the British Isles said at the end of his labors, “I think my mission has been a failure. I have labored all my days as a missionary here and I have only baptized one dirty little Irish kid. That is all I baptized.”

Years later, after his return to his home in Montana, he had a visitor come to his home who asked, “Are you the elder who served a mission in the British Isles in 1873?”

“Yes.”

Then the man went on, “And do you remember having said that you thought your mission was a failure because you had only baptized one dirty little Irish kid?”

He said, “Yes.”

The visitor put out his hand and said, “I would like to shake hands with you. My name is Charles A. Callis, of the Council of the Twelve of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I am that dirty little Irish kid that you baptized on your mission.”

That little Irish boy came to a knowledge of his potential as a son of God. Elder Callis left a lasting legacy for his large family. Serving as a mission president for 25 years and in his apostolic ministry for 13 years, he blessed the lives of literally thousands. I feel privileged to have known this great Apostle of the Lord when I was a young man.

When Lourdes Cutti de Alvarez of Uruguay found out she had two brain tumors, she told her friend Marcela Suarez Albano that she’d be hospitalized for surgery and would require lengthy post-surgery treatment. She worried about how her family of four children would cope with the stressful situation.
Marcela sat down with her 16-year-old daughter, Rocío, to ponder ways they could minister to Lourdes. Marcela had recently been in the hospital herself. She remembered the feeling of being alone and what a difference it made when Lourdes and the sisters in her ward came to visit. So Marecela and Rocío helped organize a mobile phone texting group with the sisters in the ward. This allowed them to easily schedule meals for the family. Having dinners taken care of eased Lourdes’s burden. The sisters also sent a daily scripture or message to strengthen her spirit and show their love for her.
Lourdes’s daughter, Ana Clara, shared: “It was difficult not to have Mom at home. But Heavenly Father sent help to me and my family. It was a great outpouring of His love. What Marcela did to unite the members of the ward to help us was amazing. Every time we saw another family coming, we felt, through them, the pure love of Christ. They shared words of encouragement, laughed with us, and helped strengthen us. Our Heavenly Father undoubtedly was with us in every moment. We could feel it through the smiles that we saw in the faces of those who came to help us.”
A year later, Marcela had to be hospitalized due to a coronary problem. Lourdes and Ana Clara remembered how the Lord had comforted and strengthened them through Marcela and Rocío and were anxious to show their love and gratitude in return.

Mark Johnson is a young man striving to fulfill his duties as a deacon. But at times, it’s a struggle. Seven years ago doctors discovered that Mark had muscular dystrophy; Mark was given just two years of mobility. But he set a high goal for himself—he wanted to pass the sacrament when he was ordained a deacon. It seemed impossible, especially after Mark was forced into a wheelchair. But because of his undying desire to render service, Mark has found a way to fulfill his duties. His father, Lee Johnson, carries Mark in his arms every Sunday as Mark passes the bread and water.
In addition to deacon’s duties, Mark is earnestly pursuing the Eagle Scout rank. As a member of Troop 101 of the Ventura First Ward in California, he is a Life Scout and is working on the two remaining merit badges left to fill the Eagle requirements. Some of the badges have not come easy; take, for example, hiking, camping, swimming. But he claims his hardest merit badge was music.
Mark’s troop helps him every chance they get. They alternate backpacking with car camping so Mark can participate. He has a special friend in Ricky Johnson who pushes the wheelchair up the trail and through the streambeds on the walk-in camps.
Mark lives close to the Lord, and his diligence is an inspiration to others. He has been helped by many, but when asked how he has achieved his goals, his answer is, “My dad and I do it together.”

I was 25 and sitting in church one Sunday—a Sunday that would change the course of my life. I had recently returned after 10 years of inactivity. As the sacrament was being passed, the Spirit told me I had to go on a mission. I nearly died with shock. I couldn’t believe it. “Me? That can’t be right!” But over and over again, throughout that sacrament, the message persisted.
Nothing like that had ever happened in all my years sitting in sacrament meetings. I was shocked. My life was not in order. I was not comfortable, nor had I settled back into Church life. I felt overwhelmed. It was too soon. And, in any case, I had never wanted to serve a mission. I’m strong minded; I had my life all planned. This wasn’t an option or a choice I would ever have considered. So, I decided there and then: I was not going to go; I was going to continue making my own life decisions.
I told no one and tried to push the matter to the back of my mind, but the promptings continued: “You need to go on a mission.” But the answer was, “I don’t want to go.” This carried on for a year. I thought if I ignored the promptings they’d eventually go away. During the day it was easy to do this because I was busy at work, at church, and so on. Then the Holy Ghost started prompting me during the night when I was trying to sleep. I’d wake up and find it hard to go back to sleep. It was relentless. I didn’t want to hear it. I was exhausted. This whole process was consuming me day and night.
It was about this time I started changing my attitude, listening instead of ignoring. I didn’t want to do it, but why? Because I felt forced! It wasn’t in my life plan. So, I decided I would start thinking of the possibility of going, as I knew these promptings would not stop. I had to pick up my mission papers from the bishop.
I was still at odds with myself, but I had to admit defeat and succumb. The Lord had another path he wanted me to follow. It was terribly hard for me to accept this, but I knew it had to happen.
As I was trying to come to terms with everything, I knew the bishop was being prompted to talk to me about my mission papers. I just knew. I had never mentioned it to anyone, but I knew he was also getting the vibes. But I still needed time to adjust and come to terms with everything, so I started dodging him.
If I saw him in the corridor at Church, I’d dive into a classroom and hide until he passed. I’d watch him and stay out of his vicinity—terrible, but I thought this would gain me more time. But one Sunday I was walking up the corridor only to find the bishop walking towards me. No one else was there. I couldn’t hide or dive away. I was nabbed, pure and simple.
The bishop simply said, “Can you come with me for a minute? I’ve got to give you something”. I was hoping the something was to do with my Primary or activities committee callings, but he walked into the clerk’s office, opened the filing cabinet, and handed me my mission papers. He said, “You need to fill these in, and send them.” I said, “I knew you knew!” When I told him that I had been deliberately dodging and hiding from him, he laughed and said he wondered why he could never find me.
That was it. I received my papers; it was all on. It was around Christmas 1996 when I thought I’d better let the family know what was happening. I decided I’d tell everyone over Sunday dinner. As we were sitting at the table my sister said she had something to tell everyone: she’d been thinking of changing careers from a hairdresser to a beauty therapist, thus needing to give up her job and go to college. Everyone was happy about her decision. Then it was my turn. I told them I also had something to say. I told them that I was planning to go on a mission. A look of disbelief and surprise appeared on every face. I told them, “No one is more surprised than me.” Then between Christmas and New Years, a quiet holiday period, I managed to get all my medical and dental appointments arranged. Within three days my papers were ready.
When I was 17, I’d taken out a small insurance policy that I thought would be useful, when it matured, to go towards a deposit for a house. I cashed it in early. (I lost nothing; every penny I had paid was returned to me; there was no financial penalty for early exit.) I was sent a cheque that paid for my whole mission. Isn’t it funny how things work out? Another small unplanned blessing. I then posted my papers.
Over the next few months, I started shopping for my mission attire. Coming from Scotland, I’m no stranger to cold weather so I was going to be well prepared. But every time I went to buy something like a winter coat, big woolly jumpers, hat, scarves, or gloves, I’d get the answer, “No!” I’d leave it a couple of days then go elsewhere. Again, the answer would be “No! Don’t buy that.” I couldn’t believe I was being prompted to buy certain clothes.
The promptings were very specific. I’d pick up clothes and I’d hold the hanger and wait for a yes or a no. I obediently bought according to those promptings. When I look back, I can’t believe how much the Holy Ghost kept prompting me and specifically telling me things each day—I was not asking for such clarity. I’ve never experienced this level of prompting ever since. That was how it was supposed to be—minute detail.
One morning I went downstairs and there on the carpet was the big fat white envelope. My heart leapt. I quickly grabbed it and immediately locked myself in the bathroom. I have a big family, and someone could have been lurking; I wanted to open it on my own.
I stared at the envelope, scared to open it. I kept thinking that it held the next 18 months of my life, my future. I was very anxious. I eventually opened it and scoured through the first few lines. I just wanted to know where I was going—it was the Greece Athens Mission. I’d never heard of this mission. I’d never heard of anyone even going to this mission. I would later find out that I was the first Scottish sister to go there. How cool! I would learn to speak Greek. l would serve my mission during one of the hottest summers they’d had, and another summer the following year. Greece was indeed a different, unusual place. The gospel was still in its infancy there; it had only been dedicated 25 years previously by Elder Gordon B. Hinckley (1910-2008).
I served my mission from May 1997 to November 1998. It was one of the best experiences of my life! I can’t believe that I hadn’t wanted to go. I could quite easily have missed out on this crucial experience. It was meant to be. I would never have chosen that path but it’s what Heavenly Father knew was right for me. Greece will always be a special place with special memories for me. Whenever I go back to visit, I get ‘goose bumps’ and butterflies in my stomach. When I left my mission, I left a part of my heart there, and there it will stay. It brought me so much happiness. It shaped my future. It put me on the right path, in the right direction. It was priceless. I loved it. I’d do it all over again in a heartbeat. It changed me for the better. My favourite word is fantastic, and Greece was fantastic!

A few days ago Elder Butler and I were at the grocery store and started talking to a man named Frank Cooper. He said that he had always been curious about the Hill Cumorah Pageant but had never gone to it. So we invited him to go to it with us. As we sat on the lawn at the foot of the Hill Cumorah with hundreds of other people, Book of Mormon stories came to life before our eyes. The music was beautiful, and the costumes were colorful.
Mr. Cooper was deeply touched by the pageant and wanted to know more about the Book of Mormon and Joseph Smith and the Church. The very next day we went with him, first to the Joseph Smith house and then to the Sacred Grove, where we taught him a discussion about Joseph Smith. It was a powerful experience for all of us. Helping just one person like Mr. Cooper find real meaning in his life is worth all the hard times and discouragement that we might have on a mission.

I was taught this lesson powerfully a number of years ago by our then-16-year-old daughter, Jennifer. She was about to have a double lung transplant, where the five diseased lobes of her lungs would be completely removed and replaced by two healthy smaller lobes, donated by two amazing Christlike friends. It was a very high-risk procedure, yet the night before her surgery, Jennifer almost preached to me with all of her 90 pounds (41 kg), saying, “Don’t worry, Dad! Tomorrow I will wake up with new lungs, or I will wake up in a better place. Either way will be great.” That is faith; that is eternal perspective! Seeing life from an eternal vantage point provides clarity, comfort, courage, and hope.
After the surgery, when the long-awaited day came to remove the breathing tube and turn off the ventilator that had been helping Jennifer breathe, we anxiously waited to see if her two smaller lobes would work. When she took her first breath, she immediately started crying. Seeing our concern, she quickly exclaimed, “It’s just so good to breathe.”
Ever since that day, I have thanked Heavenly Father morning and night for my ability to breathe. We are surrounded by innumerable blessings that we can easily take for granted if we are not mindful. Conversely, when nothing is expected and everything is appreciated, life becomes magical.

I had always been jealous of Lynn. Despite a close friendship, Lynn and I had always been in unspoken competition with each other in high school—at least, I always felt that way. I longed to be like her. She was pretty, intelligent, talented, and fun to be around. I, on the other hand, lacked confidence in my appearance and felt socially inept.
One night on my mission I knelt at my bedside, desperately asking the Lord in the first of many prayers to help me overcome this sickness. Over time, the Lord answered my prayers. I learned to value my own worth. I learned that God does not love me for my intelligence or the number of my friends or the wealth of my possessions. He loves me for myself alone.

It may have happened several months ago, but being part of the Masskara opening number for the cultural show we staged during the welcome dinner for the Tabernacle Choir in February and during the area broadcast with Elder and Sister Stevenson in May still inspires me.
Looking back, I had to sacrifice my weekends to attend the practices. There were times when I felt so tired, especially since I had to juggle family, a ton of school work, and practices while also waking up early, traveling, dealing with sore muscles, and more.
Despite this, I knew that I was doing it for the Lord and that all of my efforts would be worth it. I felt the Lord’s hand every step of the way. On top of that, I got to know so many people, built unexpected friendships, and had so much fun!
We were only given less than two months to practice compared to previous cultural presentations which had several months of preparation, so I was amazed that we were able to learn the steps quickly. I was also inspired by the hard work of those around me, especially the trainers and those who arranged the show.
They were sacrificing so much of their time and effort (to the point that some even sacrificed their sleep), and they were so patient with us. They cared for each one of us. I felt this the most when our trainers gave each of us awards that were well thought out and personalized, which deeply touched my heart. Our trainers also pushed for us to bond with one another, and I think this bond we have with our fellow dancers would not exist without them.
On the day of the performance, we all gave our best. When I saw how the Tabernacle Choir members enjoyed our performances so much, and how they were moved to tears, it made me feel that all of the efforts and sacrifices we made were worth it. I was also surprised and moved to tears when they sang a song for us. It was such a memorable experience for me. That moment felt like we were Zion—of one heart and of one mind, all worshipping the Lord, all united by music. Nothing can replace the sacredness and joy that I felt that night.
Three months later, we performed our Masskara dance again, this time with Elder and Sister Stevenson, the Area Presidency and their wives, and the entire country as the show and the devotional were broadcast live! We experienced the same high, this time brought about by the inspiring words of Elder and Sister Stevenson. They counseled us to P.R.O. every day: Pray over and over, Read time after time, and Obey again and again.
My Masskara co-dancers and I have been trying to apply the things we learned during our rehearsal period and our recent performances, and today I am happy to note that among the Masskara dancers, three are already serving their missions, and two have received their call.
Those who are serving include Sister Alcantara, a service missionary serving in the Quezon City North Mission, and Sister Russel Bañaga and Sister Krizzia Arpellida, both serving in the Philippines, Urdaneta Mission (they entered the MTC on July 19, 2024). Meanwhile, Brother James Ejercito’s mission in Seoul, South Korea started on September 27, 2024, and Sister Maren Rivera will serve in the Philippines Baguio Mission on November 1, 2024.
Sister Alcantara and Sister Bañaga were part of the previous generation of Masskara dancers who volunteered to train and teach the current batch of Masskara dancers. They showed patience and charity as they developed close relationships with the youth and taught those who had difficulty with the steps. Their example not just as dancers but as servants of the Lord is such a blessing to all of us.
Sister Arpellida, Brother James, and Sister Maren were all part of the current generation of Masskara dancers. The three of them developed a close friendship during the practices, and shared their progress along the covenant path, encouraging and inspiring each other. They showed resilience and perseverance despite having sore bodies as they continued to practice every Saturday from 8:00 am to 5:00 pm.
I can’t remember how many generations of Masskara dancers there have been since it started 14 years ago when they performed it during the Church Jubilee celebration at the Araneta Coliseum. As a primary child back then, I was amazed by the colorful and energetic number. I was also inspired by the many dancers and trainers who have served missions through the years. The legacy continues, and I hope more of the dancers from my generation will go and serve.
These missionaries and soon-to-be missionaries inspire all of us fellow dancers. They sacrificed their time and talents to the Lord to serve him through performing for the Tabernacle Choir and Elder and Sister Stevenson, now they are sacrificing their time and talents to invite others to come unto Christ and help them receive the gospel of Jesus Christ.

When the apostles tried to leave in August, the malaria that infested the low, swampy ground where they had settled along the Mississippi had disabled nearly everyone. Brigham’s description is typically simple and restrained, leaving us to imagine the physical and emotional suffering of this second dramatic departure: “My health was so poor I was unable to go thirty rods to the river without assistance. … I left my wife sick, with a babe only ten days old, and all my children sick and unable to wait upon each other.”24 His family was even without adequate clothing because of losses to the mob in Missouri; Brigham himself was wearing a cap made out of a pair of old pantaloons, and he took along a quilt because he had no overcoat until some Saints in New York made him one. He commented that he thus “had not much of a ministerial appearance.” But though deathly ill for a time, and literally carried from place to place as he and a few companions were shuttled by the Saints across Illinois, he gradually recovered strength and began to have experiences commensurate with his calling—even though he lacked the “appearance.”

I broke my foot in gym one year because of envy. It was during a basketball practice on an outdoor court. I tried to make Jenny Jaimeson’s shoe come off her heel just as she directed a beautiful shot toward the basket. She jumped away too quickly, and I slipped off balance and fell on the concrete. Something snapped as I went down.
The bell rang, and Jenny disappeared to her next class. I limped to the office to call my mom. X-rays confirmed a broken foot. I learned in a painful, very embarrassing way that we can’t succeed by trying to hold others back.
I had been trying to hold Jenny back so I could somehow reach her level. Not only did she play basketball well, but she swam on the swim team and was good at jazz dance. She glowed. She sported the kind of complexion that is tan all year long. She was always flashing a fabulous smile. Everyone liked Jenny.
The next day I arrived at school with a cast and crutches, hoping to maneuver my way down the hall without being too noticeable. Jenny saw me at my locker and hurried over. If she had any idea how the accident happened, she never let on.
“Oh, wow. Are you okay? Can I carry your books?” she asked.
It was impossible for me not to like Jenny too. That was the maddening part. She was so likable.
I didn’t overcome my envy overnight, but six weeks hobbling around on crutches and trying to coordinate my wardrobe with plaster of paris helped me reflect—on Jenny and on me. She worked hard at what she liked to do and made the most of her talents. When I began to unearth my own talents, my life began to change. I practiced the cello because I loved playing. I showed up for track (once the cast was gone, of course), wrote poetry, and volunteered with a friend at the community hospital. I invited nonmember friends to Young Women.
I haven’t seen Jenny since we graduated, but I’m sure she’s accomplished great things. Envy, I’ve learned, is a way of giving up. It definitely keeps you down! Everyone has unique talents, challenges, and opportunities. We make our own happiness and success through effort and hard work.

The day after Martin’s departure, Emma endured an agonizing labor and gave birth to a boy. The baby was frail and sickly and did not live long. The ordeal left Emma physically drained and emotionally devastated, and for a time it seemed she might die too. Joseph tended to her constantly, never leaving her side for long.38
After two weeks, Emma’s health began to improve, and her thoughts turned to Martin and the manuscript. “I feel so uneasy,” she told Joseph, “that I cannot rest and shall not be at ease until I know something about what Mr. Harris is doing with it.”
She urged Joseph to find Martin, but Joseph did not want to leave her. “Send for my mother,” she said, “and she shall stay with me while you are gone.”39
Joseph took a stagecoach north. He ate and slept little during the journey, afraid that he had offended the Lord by not listening when He said not to let Martin take the manuscript.40
The sun was rising when he arrived at his parents’ home in Manchester. The Smiths were preparing breakfast and sent Martin an invitation to join them. By eight o’clock, the meal was on the table but Martin had not come. Joseph and the family started to grow uneasy as they waited for him.
Finally, after more than four hours had passed, Martin appeared in the distance, walking slowly toward the house, his eyes fixed on the ground in front of him.41 At the gate he paused, sat on the fence, and pulled his hat down over his eyes. He then came inside and sat down to eat in silence.
The family watched as Martin picked up his utensils, as if ready to eat, then dropped them. “I have lost my soul!” he cried, pressing his hands on his temples. “I have lost my soul.”
Joseph jumped up. “Martin, have you lost that manuscript?”
“Yes,” Martin said. “It is gone, and I know not where.”
“Oh, my God, my God,” Joseph groaned, clenching his fists. “All is lost!”
He started pacing the floor. He did not know what to do. “Go back,” he ordered Martin. “Search again.”
“It is all in vain,” Martin cried. “I have looked every place in the house. I have even ripped open beds and pillows, and I know it is not there.”
“Must I return to my wife with such a tale?” Joseph feared the news would kill her. “And how shall I appear before the Lord?”
His mother tried to comfort him. She said maybe the Lord would forgive him if he repented humbly. But Joseph was sobbing now, furious at himself for not obeying the Lord the first time. He could barely eat for the rest of the day. He stayed the night and left the next morning for Harmony.42
As his mother, Lucy, watched him go, her heart was heavy. It seemed everything they had hoped for as a family—everything that had brought them joy over the last few years—had fled in a moment.43

For many years my wife and children and I have had the tradition of spending summer vacation on a small beach near our home in southern Brazil. Sometimes we moved because of work, but no matter how far we lived from that small beach, we always made the annual trip with much anticipation and joy. Likewise, extended family members and friends would travel long distances so we could all be together once a year. Everyone came as early as they could and stayed as long as possible.
At that small beach our family had many wonderful opportunities for spiritual growth and gospel teaching. Most of our extended family members were not members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and did not share our religious beliefs. To them the Lord’s day was just another day to play and have fun. Because more of the family would be at the beach on weekends than during the other days of the week, our presence and participation in Sunday activities was not only expected but also insistently requested—including by our children.
Our children were small and only just learning to apply the truths of the gospel. To them the temptation of participating in activities with their cousins and friends on Sundays was great. Spending time with family is an important part of the gospel, and breaking the Sabbath would have been easy to rationalize. After all, the closest unit of the Church at that time was more than 60 miles (96 km) away from the beach. Our friends and neighbors in our home congregation were far away, and none of them would ever know if we stayed at the beach instead of driving to the chapel and attending our meetings on Sunday. We went to church the entire year, and our extended family could be together only a few weeks a year.
Nevertheless, we never missed going to church on Sundays—not even once! We remembered the Lord’s teachings:
“And that thou mayest more fully keep thyself unspotted from the world, thou shalt go to the house of prayer and offer up thy sacraments upon my holy day;
“For verily this is a day appointed unto you to rest from your labors, and to pay thy devotions unto the Most High; …
“But remember that on this, the Lord’s day, thou shalt offer thine oblations and thy sacraments unto the Most High. …
“And on this day thou shalt do none other thing, only let thy food be prepared with singleness of heart that thy fasting may be perfect, or, in other words, that thy joy may be full” (D&C 59:9–13).
We chose to keep this commandment, and we taught our children that they should keep it as well. Soon they understood that it was more important to worship God on His holy day than to please family and friends or to satisfy their own desires.
On Sundays at the beach, we would wake up early, dress up for Sunday worship, and travel by car to the nearest chapel. During our trip and throughout the entire day, we would enjoy the peace and joy the Lord has promised to those who keep His commandments. We came to learn that this feeling of peace and joy does not come from the world.
After several years of this routine, something wonderful happened. Our children stopped questioning the importance of worshipping God on His holy day, and several of our children’s cousins began to ask if they could go to church with us! Little did we know that the feeling of peace and joy we felt was also being felt by our nieces and nephews upon our return from our meetings. Eventually a great blessing resulted. After some of those children became adolescents, two of them from one family told their parents, “We want to become Latter-day Saints.” Soon the entire family was baptized. Recently, one of the children, now a returned missionary, was married in the temple.
We still go to that beach every year, but everyone knows that on Sunday our family will not be there to play. Instead, we will go to church and worship God with family members who join us—a group that is becoming larger and larger every year!
When we look back on those years and think about the choice we made, we thank God for helping us have the courage to do what was right and to teach our children to do the same. We don’t have the slightest doubt that that decision strengthened our children as well as our extended family. It gave us the Lord’s promised peace, played an important role in the conversion of family members, and blessed us with a satisfaction not found in alternative Sunday activities that do not fill the soul.

I was in the midst of a very difficult period of my life. I had left my home in Taiwan to pursue a master’s degree at Utah State University in Logan, Utah. I missed my family terribly. As I struggled with my studies, I often felt entirely alone in a different culture.
I vividly remember walking home one snowy day. I reached the front door, checked the mail box, and found it empty. Despondently, I climbed the stairs to my room and tried to study.
Just at that moment, the telephone rang. The speaker introduced herself as Tamara Beard and said that she was my visiting teacher. She said that she and Greergy, her companion, wanted to visit me. Well, wasn’t that something! They were students, too, and I knew they had to be busy. I had not really expected them to make time for me. But they did, and that was the beginning of my unforgettable friendship with Tamara.
Tamara was not flamboyant. Quiet and gentle, she reminded me of Leah in the Old Testament, who was “tender eyed” (Gen. 29:17). On the first visit, she and Greergy got acquainted with me and delivered a brief message. On other occasions they brought me little gifts, such as a wonderful quotation, a package of candy, or a birthday card. I was amazed that they would go to so much trouble.
After a while I noticed that Tamara’s walk was becoming unsteady. “What’s wrong?” I asked.
“I got sick,” she replied. “No big deal.” But the Relief Society president told me that Tamara had a neurological disease and that she was suffering. Each month I observed her condition gradually worsen. Still, she never stopped coming.
One day when I answered the phone, I was surprised to hear a strange computerized voice ask, “May I speak to Lin?”
At first I said nothing; I suspected that someone was playing a trick on me. Then I heard, “Hi, Lin. This is Tamara. I’m sorry I frightened you.” Later, Greergy explained to me that Tamara’s disease had affected her voice; she could no longer speak without the aid of a machine.
Eventually, Tamara lost her ability to speak. But this did not stop her from keeping in touch with me. To talk on the phone, she typed a message on a special typewriter that transmitted the message to a telephone operator. When the operator received the message, she called and read it to me.
As time went on, Tamara grew even weaker. Still, she went to the temple once a week, and we often went together. On those occasions we both felt blessed by the peace we experienced there.
It seemed to me that she was in an unbearable situation. I was amazed that she was suffering this trial without complaint. How was she able to be happy?
What amazed me, too, was that she seemed more concerned about me. She knew I was having trials of my own and was always urging me to smile. After a long period of prayer and fasting, I decided to go home to Taiwan. Tamara was sad to say good-bye to me, but she understood that I needed to follow the promptings of the Spirit.
When I think of Tamara, I remember the way people were attracted to her. No one seemed to notice the illness itself, and everyone was happy to do something for her, to take her shopping or to the temple or to stop by and visit. I sometimes ask myself, What made me and everyone else so devoted to her?
The answer is simple: It was charity—the pure love of Christ. She personified charity. She never asked for special consideration or complained about her pain. As a visiting teacher and a friend, she did everything she could to serve others and share their burdens. She taught us that caring for others—loving them—is possible—no matter what circumstances we find ourselves in.
Tamara Beard DuRee is now married and living in Logan, Utah.

We just had a zone conference at the Peter Whitmer farm, where the Church was organized in 1830. Our mission president talked about the first missionary of the restored Church, Samuel Smith. He was Joseph Smith’s younger brother and about the same age as most of the missionaries in our zone.
Just after the Church was organized, Samuel took a few copies of the Book of Mormon and went out to preach the gospel. Nobody believed him, and he was frustrated, just as we are sometimes. He left a Book of Mormon with Reverend Greene, a methodist minister, and it was passed on to a carpenter who studied it and was baptized. Samuel Smith didn’t think that his mission was a success, but that carpenter was Brigham Young! So sometimes great results come from what seems like an unimportant incident.

Only five minutes into sacrament meeting, and we had already experienced a tantrum, two bathroom breaks, a diaper change, and multiple cries of “I’m hungry!”
As a mother of five children under the age of eight, and with a husband whose work allows him to be home only on the weekends, I usually feel exhausted when Sunday comes around. As our family walks into the chapel on Sundays, my husband and I prepare for an hour of what we like to call “long-suffering.”
Fifteen minutes into one meeting, our nine-month-old started to scream. I tried to console and quiet her. In defeat, I finally took her out of the chapel to calm her. As I sat down, my mind began to focus on my exhaustion and the demands of the new week. I felt overwhelmed.
Suddenly, I was startled by a young man holding a sacrament tray. “Do you need this?” he asked. It was a simple question, but it touched my soul. Immediately the Spirit filled me, and tears formed in my eyes. I thought to myself: “More than you know.”
Daily demands and responsibilities can drain us throughout the week, but the sacrament can fill us up. As I partook of the sacrament, I felt peace and healing flow through me. In that moment I realized that I needed the sacrament more than anything because I needed the Spirit to be with me.
My eyes focused on a painting in the foyer of the Savior holding His hands outstretched. Gratitude swelled in my heart as I pondered how He is always ready to heal and strengthen us. I am reminded of this each Sunday as I partake of the sacrament. I am grateful that the Spirit taught me through a simple question that in the midst of life’s challenges, the Savior is our source of strength and peace.

May I offer counsel of a general nature, first with comments about General Authorities. We recognize them as instruments in the hand of the Lord, yet realize that they are ordinary human beings. They require haircuts, laundry services, and occasional reminders just like anyone else. President Benson once shared with us a story to illustrate. He said:
“Orson F. Whitney … was a great man to concentrate. One day when he was traveling by train, he was so preoccupied that he did not notice the train pass the station where he was to get off. So he had to [be driven] back to where he should have been. Meanwhile, the stake president waited and waited. … Finally when he decided that something had more than likely happened to Brother Whitney and he was not going to make it, they commenced the meeting. As Elder Whitney approached, he was greeted by the opening hymn, which was ‘Ye Simple Souls Who Stray.’”
We honor such a man because of his extraordinary calling. His official acts are valid on earth and in heaven. Well do I remember the first time I met one of the General Authorities. It was a feeling beyond description. Though I was but a boy, immediately—almost instinctively—I rose to my feet. Even now I feel that same way when one of the Brethren enters the room. A General Authority is an oracle of God.

John R. Moyle lived in Alpine, Utah, about 22 miles as the crow flies to the Salt Lake Temple, where he was the chief superintendent of masonry during its construction. To make certain he was always at work by 8:00 A.M., Brother Moyle would start walking about 2:00 on Monday mornings. He would finish his work week at 5:00 P.M. on Friday and then start the walk home, arriving there shortly before midnight. Each week he would repeat that schedule for the entire time he served on the construction of the temple.
Once when he was home on the weekend, one of his cows bolted during milking and kicked Brother Moyle in the leg, shattering the bone just below the knee. With no better medical help than they had in such rural circumstances, his family and friends took a door off the hinges and strapped him onto that makeshift operating table. They then took the bucksaw they had been using to cut branches from a nearby tree and amputated his leg just a few inches below the knee.
When against all medical likelihood the leg finally started to heal, Brother Moyle took a piece of wood and carved an artificial leg. First he walked in the house. Then he walked around the yard. Finally he ventured out about his property. When he felt he could stand the pain, he strapped on his leg, walked the 22 miles to the Salt Lake Temple, climbed the scaffolding, and with a chisel in his hand hammered out the declaration “Holiness to the Lord.” (See “Two Traditions of John Rowe Moyle,” in Biographies and Reminiscences, ed. Gene A. Sessions, 1974, 202–3.)

At an age when many kids are trying to establish their personal independence and want to avoid their parents as much as possible, it’s a little unusual to see that Treasure and Mindy’s parents are their best friends.
“They say we can tell them anything, and no matter what we do, they’ll still love us, even if they don’t love what we did,” says Treasure.
“And I believe that,” says Mindy. “They’ve proven it.” One time Mindy was out with a group of friends who were doing a little mischief in people’s yards. Mindy wasn’t actually involved, but a few hours later a state trooper pulled into their driveway and collected Mindy to go help them clean up.
“My parents told me I shouldn’t have been with those kids, and they were right,” says Mindy. “I got punished, but they hugged me first and told me they loved me. It’s always been like that.”

In the spring of 2020 when missionaries around the world were returning to their home countries due to the COVID-19 pandemic, three sister missionaries from the island nation of Kiribati were serving in the Barbados Bridgetown Mission. Sister Manoua Bokai left her home to travel to the missionary training center on Dec. 31, 2018, so she only had a few months left to serve. Sister Tekimatang Auria had been serving for about six months as she started serving on Sep. 10, 2019. Sister Kiakia Barekiau, who had begun her MTC training on Jan. 14, 2020, had just arrived in Barbados on March 16.
Barbados closed due to the pandemic just a day or two after Sister Barekiau arrived. She was supposed to go to the island country of Saint Lucia, but because of the closure she stayed in Barbados. As a brand-new missionary, she and her companion taught people over the phone, by Facebook messenger, by Zoom, and through WhatsApp.
Sister Auria and Sister Bokai were in Saint Lucia when the countries closed, and people were required to stay at home. “We only had a small phone, not a smart phone for a long time,” Sister Auria said. “It was hard to teach people because we could not have a Zoom meeting or any other video chat. We could not see them; we could only talk on the phone.”
In August of 2020, President Alan L. Fisher and Sister Elizabeth H. Fisher, the mission president and his companion, gathered all the missionaries in the Barbados Bridgetown Mission together in Barbados. President and Sister Fisher recalled, “We loved working with these sisters and having the opportunity of becoming very close to them during the pandemic. We believe the Lord wanted them to have this experience, learn these lessons, and have an opportunity to develop relationships with each other and their mission leaders in a way that wouldn’t have happened otherwise. One of the tender mercies we experienced was sharing in the ordinance of the sacrament with them in their apartment. We prayed, sang, and shared scriptures from the Book of Mormon. This repeated connection together brought a bond of love and strength between us and between these sweet missionaries and the Lord. He lifted them and was a constant sustaining influence.”
One of the things Sister Bokai loved best about serving in the Barbados Bridgetown Mission was teaching about the Restoration of the gospel, especially sharing the First Vision. “I know that the Spirit touches the hearts of the people. You can feel when they are receptive and listening carefully. Every time we started to teach about the First Vision, distracting things would happen—phone calls, family needing them, etc.—but Heavenly Father blessed us, and we would get through it. There is power in teaching about the First Vision because, even though I was not there, I know it really happened, I know that God the Father and Jesus Christ truly appeared to Joseph Smith.”
President and Sister Fisher commented, “One of the blessings that evolved for sisters and for us was the power of singing together to bring the Spirit into teaching sessions and into their lives. The sisters sang through Zoom to the volcano-evacuated saints in St. Vincent. They brought them such peace and hope. As we taught with them, and especially each time they recited the account of the First Vision, the Spirit was poured out upon the people they taught, as well as on us and them!”