Gospel Story Finder

Restless and excited. Eager, yet uncertain. These were my feelings as the train sped closer to our destination.
It was June 1961, and I was journeying with sixteen other students on a Brigham Young University travel study tour to study French in Quebec, Canada. We would be there tomorrow, and it was natural that our anticipation was increasing.
As my anticipation grew, so did my apprehension: for I had two problems facing me. The first and most important was the challenge I felt to be a missionary, an exemplar of gospel living. Since the Church had begun stressing that every member should be a missionary, I had thought a great deal about it.
I had been brought up as a member of the Church in a small Idaho town where all the townspeople were Latter-day Saints. In fact, all of the surrounding communities were also predominantly Latter-day Saint, and most activity, social and civic as well as religious, centered around the Church. From there I went to the wholesome atmosphere of Brigham Young University in Provo, Utah. The result was that at nineteen I had never really had any close associations with nonmembers.
On the few occasions when I had met nonmembers, I had wanted to tell them about the Church, but I would suddenly feel self-conscious and unable to speak, almost embarrassed to steer conversation in that direction. The Golden Questions “What do you know about the Mormon Church?” and “Would you like to know more?” would seem to lodge like a lump in my throat, and my voice would tremble when I wanted to speak with conviction. It was difficult to speak of what I felt so deeply, and I believed I was prying if I asked someone about his religion. Afterward, when the opportunity had passed, I would be angry with myself. If, like the apostle Paul, I was “not ashamed of the gospel of Christ: for it is the power of God unto salvation to every one that believeth” (Rom. 1:16), then why was it so difficult for me to tell others about this good news?
My second problem was a much simpler one. After we arrived in Quebec, Canada and registered at the Universite Laval, we would be expected to speak French for the duration of our summer-long stay. I had studied French only one year, and my command of the language was far from skillful. However, this problem was one that most of my fellow students shared, and I knew that one purpose of the travel study tour was to help us improve our French.
I was not the only restless one that day. Night had fallen, and the other occupants of the passenger car in which we rode were beginning to settle down for sleep; but our group was too full of expectation to think of sleep.
“Let’s go into the dome car and sing some French songs and practice our French,” someone suggested.
We filed out of our car and into the connecting dome car. A railway dome car consist of two levels: a lower level similar to a regular passenger car but with fewer seats, and a stairway leading to the upper level, or dome. The dome features a panoramic view through large curving windows from this lofty height. As we entered, we noticed that the lower level was completely empty. We climbed the steps into the dome and here found only two occupants, a young mother and her tearful little son.
After the mother assured us that our singing would not disturb them, we began to sing, hesitantly and with many misuses of French accents and stumbling over words. Quickly our meager repertoire of French songs was exhausted, and we drifted comfortably into the familiar music and language of our Latter-day Saint hymns.
It was comforting and strengthening to sing the hymns I’d sung since childhood, and I noticed the little boy stopped crying as we sang. Soon he fell asleep across his mother’s lap.
I don’t know how long we sang, but I recall the lifting of my spirit and the deepening of my conviction as we sang “I Know That My Redeemer Lives” and “O My Father,” and the happiness we felt as we sang “Battle Hymn of the Republic.” Finally, we ended with “Come, Come, Ye Saints,” and as the last strains of “All is well” faded, we began to move quietly out of the dome.
I was first to leave the dome to descend to the lower level of the car, and I was unprepared for the sight that met my eyes. Dozens of upturned faces were looking toward us. Every seat, which had been vacant when we entered the dome car earlier, was now filled, and people were even standing and sitting in the aisles. Unknown to us, these people had gathered to listen as we sang.
A woman standing near the stairway touched my arm, and I saw that there were tears in her eyes. “You young people sing so beautifully,” she said, “because you sing from your hearts. Who are you, and where do you come from?”
“We’re Mormons, ma’am,” I replied. “We are students from Brigham Young University in Provo, Utah.”
“Mormons … ,” she murmured.
She was right. We had sung from our hearts, and my heart was still singing. I heard myself saying, “What do you know about the Mormons?”
“Well, I have heard your lovely Tabernacle Choir,” she replied.
“Would you like to know more about the Mormons?” I asked.
“Yes, I really would.”
“What do I do now?” I thought in panic. “I’ve finally asked the Golden Questions, but now where do I begin?”
Then a calm, sure voice behind me spoke, and I turned to see a returned missionary from our group reach out and take the woman’s hand in a warm, firm grasp.
“Perhaps you have heard of a man named Joseph Smith,” he said. “Let me tell you more about him.”
Soon he was telling of Joseph Smith’s first vision and explaining the coming forth of the Book of Mormon. Several people who had listened to us sing stayed to hear what this earnest young member of our group had to say, and some left their names and addresses with requests for missionary contact or for copies of the Book of Mormon.
I was filled with peace and joy. I had asked the Golden Questions, and my friend, the returned missionary, had shown me where to go from there. Only a short while before, we had sung about Joseph Smith’s first vision in “Oh, How Lovely Was the Morning.” From their earliest years in Primary, children in the Church hear the story of “the boy’s first uttered prayer.” What better way to introduce the gospel than to relate that beautiful story? This experience was to guide me many times throughout the summer ahead.
In years to come I was to learn to follow up the Golden Questions with an invitation to my home to see a film and meet the missionaries. And I have learned that there are many other effective ways to introduce the gospel to others. But I like to remember that night on the train when we sang from our hearts, unaware of our listeners. We truly did have something to sing about, and our message had been heard.

Many years ago when I served as a bishop, I presided over a large ward with over 1,000 members, including 87 widows. On one occasion I was visiting, along with one of my counselors, a widow and her mature handicapped daughter. As we left their apartment, a lady from the apartment across the hall was standing outside her door and stopped us. She spoke with a foreign accent and asked if I were a bishop; I replied that I was. She told me that she noticed I often visited with others. Then she said, “No one visits me or my bedfast husband. Do you have time to come in and visit with us, even though we are not members of your church?”
As we entered her apartment, we noticed that she and her husband were listening to the Tabernacle Choir on the radio. We talked with the couple for a while, then provided a blessing to the husband.
Following that initial visit I stopped by as often as I could. The couple eventually met with the missionaries, and the wife, Angela Anastor, was baptized. Sometime later her husband passed away, and I had the privilege of conducting and speaking at his funeral services. Sister Anastor, with her knowledge of the Greek language, later was to translate the widely used pamphlet Joseph Smith Tells His Own Story into the Greek language.

As a young missionary, Joseph F. did all in his power to advance the Savior’s work “to earth’s remotest bounds.”11 Before his 16th birthday he accepted the call to serve as a missionary in the Sandwich Islands (Hawaii). His first assignment in October 1854 was at Kula, where he immersed himself in the Hawaiian language and culture. This inexperienced youth soon discovered that the people “had different habits to anything I had before known, and their food, and dress and houses and everything were new and strange. … For three months this seclusion from the world continued, but the history of that short period of my life never can be told. I had ample time to feel after the Lord and to draw near to him with my whole soul.”12

In the process, he also found himself drawing closer to the Hawaiian people. He earnestly sought the gift of tongues and learned their language in a hundred days. He taught the gospel, settled grievances, healed the sick, cast out evil spirits, and tried to reclaim those who had drifted away.

On the islands of Maui, Hawaii, and Molokai, he served as presiding elder and learned to receive and extend love. He recorded in his journal in March 1856 that a brother on Maui “gave me his shoes from off his feet and went barefooted himself. … This was a specimen of his love to me that should not be forgotten.”13

On Molokai, he received motherly care from Sister Ma Mahuhii, who nursed him for three months while he lay seriously ill. She never forgot him, nor he her. “Iosepa, Iosepa,” she cried out when he visited Hawaii nearly 50 years later. “Mama, Mama, my dear old Mama!” he replied.14 Those who had seemed so different from himself at the outset of his mission had become his family.

President Joseph F. Smith became an ardent defender of the faith on his first mission. On his second, he learned the importance of avoiding contention and proffering peace. In 1896 he described to his son Hyrum an incident that occurred during his mission to England in the early 1860s. “I was speaking, and I said that ‘the authority of the Apostles of today was the same as that held by the Apostles of Christ’s day, and that the word of the modern Apostles was as good as the word of the ancient Apostles.’ Somebody in the audience cried out ‘blasphemy!’ This was too much for my boyish temper to bear.”

The spirited young missionary argued fiercely with his opponent and “stirred up the emissaries of his Satanic Majesty until they were red-hot.” President Smith described learning “a good lesson” from his outburst. “Thereafter I moderated my fervor—became more diplomatic in the presence of a mixed crowd, and avoided showing any temper when reviled. In fact I learned to be reviled without reviling back again, to take an insult without retorting, except in meekness and gentlemanly candor.” He summarized, “I always tried to make my hearers feel that I and my associates were peacemakers, and lovers of peace and good will, that our mission was to pave, and not destroy, to build up and not tear down.”15

It has been nearly three years since I received one of those dreaded early-morning phone calls. My younger brother Steve had suffered a massive heart attack and died during the night. In an instant, and without warning, my most trusted friend was gone.
During the next few days many who loved Steve and his wife and children traveled to their home in Colorado. But it wasn’t until after the funeral that I realized that seven dear friends of mine had made the long trip from Salt Lake City to attend the service. Not one of them had ever met my brother. They had come to support me. You can imagine my emotions as they encircled me and one of them said, “We just didn’t want you to be alone today.” In word and deed, they taught a divine principle. It is not good, nor is it intended, for any of us to be alone.

The issue of paying tithing came up in our family when our daughter joined the Church. At the time, neither my husband nor I were members. She was earning her own money, but because she lived with my husband and me, we all shared our earnings. I could not imagine how we would manage without the 10 percent of her income that she decided to pay in tithing, but I gradually became accustomed to my daughter’s decision. Whenever she brought her paycheck home, my first question was, “Have you set aside your tithing?”
Eventually I became interested in learning about the gospel, but I decided not to join the Church because I would have to pay tithing. Two tithing payments from one family budget were just too much!
After attending church for more than a year, I began to feel dissatisfied and uneasy. As I pondered and prayed, I realized that I wanted to pay tithing. I was surprised at my desire, given my previous opposition.
The following Sunday, I asked the branch president for a tithing slip. I was disappointed to hear that until I was a member, I could not pay tithing. I could, however, make a donation. And so I donated 10 percent of my income to the Lord’s Church. Immediately I felt comfort, joy, and satisfaction. I could hardly wait for the day of my baptism so I could pay a real tithe.
I know that the temporal blessings we enjoy in our family come from paying tithing. But the greatest blessings are the incomparable feelings we have when we obey our Heavenly Father: satisfaction from being obedient, confidence that our Heavenly Father will not abandon us, and feelings of peace and happiness.

After earning his law degree, he applied for a job at a law firm and was invited to lunch by some of the partners at the firm. The senior partner asked him if he would like an alcoholic drink before lunch and later asked him if he would like wine. Elder Cook declined both times, telling him the second time that he was a Latter-day Saint. This incident was more important than Elder Cook thought at the time. He has said:
“I received an offer of employment from the firm. A few months later, the senior partner told me the offer of the alcoholic beverages was a test. He noted that my résumé made it clear that I had served an LDS mission. He had determined that he would hire me only if I was true to the teachings of my own church. He considered it a significant matter of character and integrity.”3

One of my cousins has been struggling with depression for the past few years. We try to keep in contact, but because of the miles between us, being there physically for her is hard. I started a care package and filled it with things that she loves and could use as a pick-me-up. I also wrote letters of advice, concern, and inspiring quotes. It doesn’t have to be fancy, but letting someone know that you love and care for them can be enough to help them get through the darkest of times.
Hanne J., Georgia, USA

“Wait, you haven’t finished your breakfast,” Mom said. Mom pushed the small plates of vegetables closer to Juhyuk.
Juhyuk looked at his breakfast. He was running late! Normally his big brother helped him get ready for church. But his brother was out of town, so Juhyuk had to go on his own today.
“OK, Mom,” Juhyuk said. He hurried to finish eating. Then he hugged Mom and headed for the door.
Mom stopped him. “Do you have your phone?”
Juhyuk held it up. “Yes. I can text my Primary teacher if I have a problem.”
“And a sweater under your coat? It’s cold.”
Juhyuk showed Mom his sweater.
She nodded. Juhyuk hurried out to the street. All the city sounds made him smile. It was fun to live in one of the biggest cities in South Korea!
But Juhyuk still wished his brother were with him. They always made the trip to church together.
“I know the way,” he told himself. And sure enough, before long he was at the first bus stop.
But he was alone there. That was strange. He checked his watch. He must have just missed the bus! Now he would have to wait for the next one.
After several minutes, other people started gathering. Finally, a bright blue bus rolled up. Juhyuk climbed the stairs, paid the driver, and sat down.
Ta-tink!
Juhyuk checked his phone after the text alert. It was from his Primary teacher.
“Are you on the bus? Remember, if you get lost, we can come find you!”
He grinned and texted back. “Yes. I’m on it now.”
This was only the short bus ride, though. The second bus he had to ride for more than an hour.
Juhyuk looked at the time and frowned. He didn’t want to miss the sacrament. He loved the part in each sacrament prayer that said, “always remember Him.” That meant always remembering Jesus. And Juhyuk wanted to do that.
When his aunt and uncle had invited him and his brother to church a few months ago, he met the missionaries. Elder Kim and Elder Moon taught them both about Jesus. The more Juhyuk learned about Jesus, the more he loved thinking about Him.
Ta-tink!
“Have you switched buses yet?” the text said.
“Not yet,” he texted back.
The bus pulled up to the busy street where Juhyuk needed to get off to switch buses. He asked the driver if his second bus had come.
“You just missed it,” the driver said. “The next one arrives in 15 minutes.”
“Oh, OK,” Juhyuk said. “Thank you!”
Finally, after the second bus ride, Juhyuk hurried inside the meetinghouse. His aunt and uncle had saved him a seat. He had made it!
Juhyuk thought about everything he had done to get to church. He thought of all the people who had helped him along the way. He felt that Heavenly Father was glad he was there.
Juhyuk said a silent prayer. “Thank Thee, Heavenly Father, that I can come to church today.”

I was in despair and needed strength beyond my own.
I had recently gotten divorced from my husband and still had an unhealthy relationship with him. I had also just given birth to a baby girl, but after praying and pondering about my unique circumstances, I made the difficult decision to put her up for adoption because I felt like I wouldn’t be able to raise and support her on my own.
My self-worth was at its lowest point.
Grieving the loss of my marriage and baby girl at the same time was almost unbearable. I believed in eternal families, but my divorce and adoption placements were final, and there was no hope of being a family with these two people in the eternities. The pain felt truly overwhelming.
Through all the pain, I stayed active in the Church, being the best disciple of Christ I knew how to be. Nevertheless, I could not seem to break my unhealthy relationship with my ex-husband, which often occurs in a cycle of emotional abuse (like the one I was in). I knew logically that I needed to set stricter boundaries for myself with him, but I could not make myself do it.
I talked to my bishop about my situation and how I felt like my ex-husband had an unseen hold on me. In his attempts to support me, my bishop asked questions like, “Are you going to church every week?” “Are you faithfully magnifying your callings?” “Are you saying your prayers daily?”
I was able to answer yes to all these questions.
But then he asked, “Are you reading the Book of Mormon regularly?”
I admitted I was not.
He challenged me to start reading it, and I did.
When I got to Jacob chapter 2, the messages really started to resonate with me.
Jacob’s soul was burdened because of the strict commandment he had received from God—to admonish his brethren according to their crimes. Jacob 2:7 says, “It grieveth me that I must use so much boldness of speech concerning you, before your wives and your children, many of whose feelings are exceedingly tender and chaste and delicate before God, which thing is pleasing unto God.”
Jacob 2:35 says, “Ye have broken the hearts of your tender wives, and lost the confidence of your children, because of your bad examples before them; and the sobbings of their hearts ascend up to God against you.”
As I read, the Spirit testified to me that God was aware of my situation. God knew I was one of the tender wives whose hearts were broken. I shed many tears over my situation.
I experienced increased hope and fortitude as I continued to study the Book of Mormon faithfully. I journaled my thoughts and the truths I learned as I read. Within just a few weeks, I felt stronger than I had ever felt in my life! I found the strength and power to see clearly and begin to let go of my grief, and I was able to start moving forward. I knew this power came from studying the Book of Mormon.
President Russell M. Nelson recently taught: “Few things build faith more than does regular immersion in the Book of Mormon. No other book testifies of Jesus Christ with such power and clarity. Its prophets, as inspired by the Lord, saw our day and selected the doctrine and truths that would help us most. The Book of Mormon is our latter-day survival guide.”1
When I heard our prophet say this, I realized we receive strength from reading the Book of Mormon because it testifies of Jesus Christ with more power than any other book. Jesus Christ is the source of strength! And regular immersion in the Book of Mormon builds our faith, which gives us the power to face and overcome challenges.
I am so grateful I was blessed with the strength to break the unhealthy cycle with my ex-husband. It took a while for me to forgive him, but as I continued to study the Book of Mormon, I learned it was possible for me to forgive through the power of Jesus Christ’s Atonement.

Beckham loved to fish with Grandpa. He even caught a little fish!
But when Beckham told Mom about it later, he might have told a little lie.
Beckham won a jumping contest with his friends.
But when he told Dad about it, he might have told a little lie.
The next day, Beckham’s family went to the zoo. He even got to feed a monkey!
But when he told Grandpa about it, he might have told a little lie.
Wow! Did you really feed a dragon?
Well, no … it was just a monkey. But people won’t think I’m cool if I tell them what really happened.
You don’t need to make up stories for people to like you. Telling the truth is the best choice. And just being you is enough! Heavenly Father thinks so too.
Besides, feeding a monkey is pretty cool.
This story took place in the USA.

The Bountiful (Utah) 42nd Ward wanted to give the shirts off their backs, but instead they arranged to buy some. New white shirts were purchased to be given to native missionaries entering the Chilean Missionary Training Center.
President Dave Lloyd, a member of the Bountiful Utah Mueller Park Stake, was serving as president of the Chilean Missionary Training Center. He and his wife returned to the United States while he underwent surgery. When President and sister Lloyd returned to Chile, they took the donated shirts and ties with them to aid missionaries entering the mission field in Chile.

My first attempt at doing recreational activities with my siblings was rough, to say the least. But a turning point for me was a trip to the Blue Ridge Mountains. The leaves were every color, and the amusement park was fun, but moments of curt words, selfish actions, and teasing gone wrong often dampened the mood. Before we left, my sister and I hiked up a small hill and sat quietly as we listened to the nature around us. It was the first time in a while that we had sat without quarreling, quietly discussing the days ahead and our current struggles. The Spirit was present, bringing peace I had forgotten.
I started to try to go out of my way to talk to my siblings, ask them about their day, give them a hug—just be involved in their life. I helped my youngest, autistic brother with his homework. I helped my youngest sister make grammar flash cards and create silly rhymes to memorize the different parts of speech. On her next test she had improved by more than 20 points and received her highest test grade. The joy I felt from those moments was different and more profound than I had expected.
Being in a family can be hard, but in times likes those it is all worth it. Those little moments lead to ones of fun, games, and laughter; and I have felt a new unity in my family.
Emily C., age 17, North Carolina, USA

Elder Tyler Dawson and I were asked to reopen the area of Katlehong, south of Johannesburg, in 1994. South Africa was undergoing political and social changes, and it was a period of great uncertainty and violence.
The missionaries had been pulled out of Katlehong for safety reasons a few years before, and we were asked to return and assist the members as possible.
There were some rules though. We lived in a neighborhood outside of our area, and we were not allowed in Katlehong at night, nor were we allowed to walk from home to home; instead, we were only allowed to drive to and from member and investigator homes. We were to phone the police each morning to ask whether it would be safe for us to enter our area. It rarely was safe, and the police would often encourage us to stay away.
Being new to the area, we asked a young man who was the branch president’s son to show us where the members lived. He was reluctant to join us and asked for time to think about it. He later contacted us and agreed to assist us, so we arranged to pick him up from school.
We drove to the agreed spot and he came out from behind a tree, dived in through the back door of the car, and lay down in the footwell. Elder Dawson and I looked at each other somewhat confused and I offered the front seat so that he could have a better view of where we were driving, but he insisted that he was comfortable. Occasionally he would lift his head and direct us as needed. Sometimes he would join us in a member’s home, but at other homes he would stay in the car. We did not press him on this and were just grateful for his help. In this way we got to meet the members of Katlehong. We dropped the young man off at home after a few hours.
I was transferred out of the area but through a series of coincidences happened to pass through a few months later and was able to visit the branch on a Sunday when this young man who had shown us around was giving a talk. I now understand that Heavenly Father wanted me to learn a few things. The young man spoke humbly and sincerely of the experience he had of being asked to show the missionaries around and said that when he was first asked he was very worried because he knew that if he was recognized he could be killed, but he trusted that God would watch over and protect him, and he had faith that he needed to do the Lord’s work, and so he had agreed.
I sat in the congregation astonished at what I had heard. For me he had just been a kid with a bad attitude. That day I began to understand what we had really asked of him and the courage it took for him to answer.

I’d like to tell you about a woman who grew up in a room filled with darkness—I’ll call her Jane.

From the time Jane was three years old, she was repeatedly beaten, belittled, and abused. She was threatened and mocked. She awoke each morning not knowing if she would survive until the next day. The people who should have protected her were those who tortured her or allowed the abuse to continue.

In order to protect herself, Jane learned to stop feeling. She had no hope of rescue, so she hardened herself to the horror of her reality. There was no light in her world, so she became resigned to the darkness. With a numbness that can come only from constant and unrelenting contact with evil, she accepted the fact that any moment might be her last.

Then, at age 18, Jane discovered The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The joy and hope of the restored gospel penetrated her heart, and she accepted the invitation to be baptized. For the first time, light entered her life, and she saw a bright path before her. She left the darkness of her world and decided to attend school a great distance away from her abuser. At last she felt liberated from an environment of darkness and evil—free to enjoy the Savior’s sweet peace and miraculous healing.

However, years later, after her abuser had died, Jane was again troubled by the horrible events of her youth. Profound sadness and anger threatened to destroy the wonderful light she had found in the gospel. She realized that if she allowed that darkness to consume her, her tormentor would have a final victory.

She sought counseling and medical help and began to realize that, for her, the best path for healing was to understand and accept that darkness exists—but not to dwell there. For, as she now knew, light also exists—and that is where she chose to dwell.

Given her dark past, Jane could easily have become vindictive, venomous, or violent. But she didn’t. She resisted the temptation to spread the darkness, refusing to lash out in anger, hurt, or cynicism. Instead, she held fast to the hope that with God’s help she could be healed. She chose to radiate light and devote her life to helping others. This decision enabled her to leave the past behind and to step into a glorious, bright future.

She became a schoolteacher, and today, decades later, her love has influenced the lives of hundreds of children, helping them to know that they have worth, that they are important. She has become a tireless defender of the weak, the victimized, and the discouraged. She builds, strengthens, and inspires everyone around her.

Jane learned that healing comes when we move away from the darkness and walk toward the hope of a brighter light. It was in the practical application of faith, hope, and charity that she not only transformed her own life but forever blessed the lives of many, many others.

Another mother I know of has sat alone at church for a number of years with her four young children. Seldom able to concentrate on the Savior during the sacrament, she formed a plan. Now she tries to spend time each Saturday reviewing her week and thinking about her covenants and what she needs to repent of. “Then,” she says, “no matter what kind of an experience I have with my children on Sunday, I am prepared to partake of the sacrament, renew my covenants, and feel of the cleansing power of the Atonement.”

As I looked over my new visiting teaching assignment, I saw the name of a new member of our ward. I felt apprehensive about calling someone I didn’t know, but my companion and I made an appointment to visit Jane (names have been changed). We arrived on the appointed morning and quickly said a prayer before approaching the door. We found Jane and her three young sons waiting for us.
As we grew closer to Jane through our monthly visits, we also tried to get to know her sons. The two youngest would sit next to my companion and me, and we would read them books and play with them. But four-year-old Alex, the oldest of the three, was not so eager to warm up to his mother’s frequent visitors. He was independent and hesitated to become friends with us.
I had been Jane’s visiting teacher about a year when I received a call that Jane’s house was on fire! My husband and I felt prompted to grab crackers, bottled water, and toy cars and to hurry over to see if we could help. We found Jane standing on the sidewalk across from her smoldering home. Jane’s husband had joined the firefighters to take stock of the damage while Jane comforted their three crying children, who were clinging to her knees.
When we spoke to her, she told us she was eager to join her husband. We took her two youngest children to our car. They were hungry and thirsty, and I was grateful for the inspiration of the Holy Ghost to bring food and water. They were soon content. But Alex, still sobbing, held tightly to his mother. Jane could not take him with her, and she felt torn between going to her husband and comforting her son.
I encouraged her to go and then leaned over and asked Alex if I could hold him while his mom went to find his dad. To my surprise, he agreed. When I scooped Alex into my arms, he rested his head on my shoulder, and I rubbed his back. While Jane went to find her husband, I whispered comforting words into Alex’s ear. I could feel his sobs slow and his breathing relax.
As we stood on the sidewalk, Alex said softly to me, “You’ll take good care of me ’cause you’re my mom’s teacher.”
I quietly shed tears as I realized that Alex knew we were important in his mother’s life. He recognized that he could trust and rely on me to take care of him too ’cause I was his mom’s teacher.

Heber J. Grant was the first President of the Church I had the privilege of meeting. He was truly a great man. We admired him because part of his strength was his great determination for self-mastery. His father died when he was only a year old, and his widowed mother struggled to raise him. He was conscientious in helping her and trying to take care of her.
“When he was older and wanted to join a baseball team, … the other [boys laughed] at him, … calling him a ‘sissy’ because he could not throw the ball between the bases. His teammates teased him so much that … he … made up his mind that he was going to play with the nine who would win the championship of the Territory of Utah. He purchased a baseball and practiced hour after hour, throwing at a neighbor’s old barn. Often his arm would ache so much he could hardly … sleep at night. He kept on practicing and … improving and advancing from one team to another until he finally [succeeded] in playing [on] the team that won the territorial championship!”

The missionaries taught me the gospel when I was 10. When I asked my dad if I could be baptized, I was so sad when he said no. I prayed and had faith in the Lord. I asked my dad a couple more times. One night I asked, and he said yes. I was so excited! That night I prayed to Heavenly Father and said thank you. On Sunday I got baptized. So have faith and pray to the Lord.
Quirino S., age 11, Utah, USA

Peter Brooks and Donald Willis were both five years old. They had always been next-door neighbors and number-one buddies. With Donald’s Dalmation, Pokey, at their side, the tireless twosome kept law and order on the “prairies” of the corner vacant lot.
“What those two don’t think up!” Donald’s mom laughed one day as she and Peter’s mom watched the boys zoom past.
“They’re two of a kind,” Peter’s mom agreed. “They always have big plans!”
One day the two pals decided to spend an afternoon exploring new territory—Donald’s garage.
“Just be careful,” Donald’s mom cautioned.
“OK!” the eager boys yelled as they scrambled to raise the heavy garage door.
Inside, Peter and Donald found piles of wonderful stuff: garden supplies, old lumber, carpentry tools, broken appliances. Why, even the walls were covered with fan belts, bicycle tires and chains, camping gear, and kites. But the greatest find of the afternoon was perched high on a dusty shelf. It was a violin case.
Peter steadied a stepladder while Donald climbed carefully up—Mother had said to be careful—and lifted the case down from the shelf.
“Wow!” exclaimed Peter, opening it and removing the instrument. “Look at this old, scratched-up violin.”
With its worn body, loose tuning pegs, and cracked bow, the violin seemed useless to the five-year-olds.
“Hey, look! It doesn’t have strings anymore,” Donald said, giggling. “It can’t even make music.”
The boys’ imagination went right to work. Perching himself high on top of the stepladder, Donald became an orchestra conductor while, below, Peter moved the broken bow across the imaginary strings of the violin.
“I have a better idea,” Donald said. “Let’s chop up this old piece of junk with my dad’s hatchet.”
“Are you sure it’s OK?” Peter asked.
“I—I think so,” Donald stammered.
Without thinking further, the boys took the hatchet from the workbench, and soon the woodchips were flying. Chopping with a hatchet was great fun, but the boys grew silent when they saw the old violin in splinters at their feet.
“Boy, I don’t feel very good,” Peter confided as he looked at the remains of the violin.
“Me either,” Donald said softly.
Just then the garage door swung open, and Donald’s mother walked in. “Hey, you two,” she said, “what’s all the racket out here?”
Looking down, she saw what was left of the violin, and her smile faded. “That was my mother’s violin!” she wailed. “I was going to have it refinished for you one day, Donald. It was one of my greatest treasures.”
Looking very sad, she took Donald by the hand and walked back to the house.
Peter watched with a big knot in his throat. His eyes stung with tears. Donald’s in big trouble, he thought. And it’s my fault too!
Telling his own mom and dad about the violin didn’t make Peter feel any better. “Repenting is more than just feeling bad about the mistake you’ve made,” his dad explained. “When you repent, Peter, you must do all that you can to right the wrong.”
Peter thought about that. I can’t bring the violin back, he decided, but I can tell Mrs. Willis how sorry I am. And I could earn some money to help buy her a new violin. He figured that a new violin would cost at least a dollar.
Peter set out to earn the dollar. He emptied garbage cans, washed dishes, cleaned bathrooms, and dusted. With every dime he earned, Peter felt happier.
After two weeks of hard work, Peter had enough money to pay his tithing and to give Mrs. Willis a dollar.
Peter’s mother helped him write a special note to Mrs. Willis: “I’m sorry for wrecking your treasure. I like you very much, and I’m going to be kinder and think before I do things. I earned this dollar so that you can buy a new violin.” He slid the money into an envelope with the note and left it on the Willises’ doorstep.
“Do you think Mrs. Willis will ever forgive Donald and me for chopping up her violin?” Peter asked his mother that night.
“I hope that she will,” Mother said, smiling gently. “You have done all that you can do right now to make it right.”
The next morning Peter was surprised to find a letter for him on the kitchen table. It said:
Dear Peter,
I got your note and the money. You must have worked very hard to earn a dollar. I realize how sorry you are for your part in destroying my mother’s violin, and I forgive you. I want you to know that I love you very much.
Your friend,
Mrs. Willis
Peter had never before felt such joy or relief. He knew that he had truly repented and that he had learned an important lesson from the precious violin.

Josué walked into the internet café. Computers lined the walls, and the sounds of zaps and pings from video games filled the room. He didn’t have a computer at home, so this is where he came to use one. He couldn’t wait to watch some cool videos!
His friend Carlos came in behind him. Josué handed the owner some money. Then he and Carlos found a computer to use.
First Josué looked up a funny video a friend at school had told him about. Then Carlos picked a video to watch. They kept taking turns.
“Look, this one is about the Church,” Josué said. He clicked on the video and started watching.
The man in the video said confusing things about the Church. He said the Church wasn’t true. The video made Josué’s insides feel like they were being squeezed.
“Do you think what that man said is true?” Josué asked when the video was over.
Carlos shook his head. “Do you think what he said is true?”
Josué frowned. He had prayed to know that the Church was true and had felt good about it. He always felt peaceful when he went to church or read his scriptures. But he didn’t know what to think about what he’d heard in the video.
That night, Josué tossed around in his bed. He couldn’t sleep! So many questions swam in his head. But who could he ask? Papá wasn’t a member of the Church, and Mamá was too busy working. There was no one to talk to.
The next day at school, Carlos had a big smile on his face. “I asked my dad about what the man in the video was talking about. He answered all my questions.”
Josué straightened up. “Really? Do you think I could talk to your dad about it too?”
“Yeah! Come over to my house after school, and we can talk to my dad.”
The rest of the school day passed slowly. Josué bounced in his seat. He had a hard time focusing. All the questions bubbling in his head could have answers!
After school, Brother Zavala, Carlos’s dad, sat down with Josué and Carlos. They talked for a long time about the video. Brother Zavala had an answer to all of Josué’s questions!
“I was worried you wouldn’t know the answers to my questions,” Josué said.
“Even if I didn’t, Heavenly Father always has answers,” Brother Zavala said.
“But whenever I pray to know something, I just get a feeling. I don’t really get an answer,” Josué said.
“Sometimes a feeling is our answer,” Brother Zavala said. “We can always keep searching the scriptures and praying for understanding. Answers might not come right away, but that’s OK. Heavenly Father knows all the things we don’t know. And the Holy Ghost can help us feel peace.”
For the rest of the day Josué thought about what Brother Zavala had said. That night, he knelt down to pray. “Heavenly Father,” he said, “is what Brother Zavala said true? I don’t want to feel confused.”
Josué felt calm and happy. He was grateful he could keep asking questions. And he was glad Heavenly Father gave him the answer he needed.
This story took place in Guatemala.
Turn the page to learn more about what to do when you have questions!