Gospel Story Finder

When he was twenty-eight, Jacob married Magdelena Roschi, a lovely, cultured girl from his own village. Life was now a joyful experience for the young man, who was the principal of the high school he had attended. He was also honored by holding all of his late father’s offices, including auditor, assessor, and treasurer of Canton Bern, the second largest county in Switzerland.
In the late 1870’s, however, Jacob’s life took a drastic change. He heard the gospel, accepted it, and immediately faced persecution. He was forced to resign his position as principal, and was relieved of his county offices. But the worst shock came when Jacob’s father-in-law took Jacob’s wife and four small children from him.
Jacob felt that he should go to Zion, and in 1879 he emigrated to Logan, Utah. He led a lonely but diversified life for the next five years. He studied English and Church history, worked in sawmills, and laid track for the railroad. His sister in Switzerland, Anna Clara, forwarded his letters so he could keep in touch with his wife and children.
Those first years in America were difficult for Jacob. His daughter, Elizabeth Stowell, tells that he had a hard time adjusting to his new life and was often discouraged. But he never regretted having accepted the gospel.
In 1884 Elder Spori was called on a mission to Turkey. He arrived in Istanbul just a few days after Christmas and immediately began to proselyte. At first he needed an interpreter, but he had a unique talent with languages and in only three months had a good command of Turkish. He taught the gospel with strength and vigor. Using various methods to get his message into the homes of Turkish families, he taught French and English without charge and blessed the lives of many by teaching them the gospel. His students learned new languages, but they learned about the restored Church at the same time. Jacob also taught German but charged for this service to obtain funds for food and clothing.
In the summer of 1886 Elder Spori was called to go to Palestine. He was the first called specifically as a missionary to that country in this dispensation. Orson Hyde dedicated the land in 1841, but did not proselyte there. Elder Spori performed Palestine’s first baptism when he baptized Johan George Grau on 29 August 1886.
Elder Spori’s labors extended as far as Joppa, Damascus, and Jerusalem. It was here in the land of Palestine that he discovered how miracles can come about through small means.
By local law all Christians had to be out of the city of Haifa before the gates were locked at dusk. But Elder Spori was working in that city with an investigator who was ill at the time. The young Mormon elder hated to leave until he was sure his friend was better. That evening, with the investigator getting better, Jacob made plans to leave the city. He knew the gates were locked and that getting caught meant going to jail. As he walked along the city’s shore, pondering what to do, he watched the fishing boats coming into port. He noticed some men preparing the nets for the next day’s work and had the feeling he should help them. He stepped up and began working; no one seemed to notice him. When the work was finally done the men rolled up the nets, got into the small boat and prepared to set sail. Without a word Elder Spori also got into the boat. Before long they were on the sea. The next day the boat landed at Cairo, and Elder Spori jumped from the boat, went into the city, and resumed preaching the gospel.
After a mission of three and a half years, Elder Spori was released, and he returned to Switzerland. There he fulfilled an assignment from President Wilford Woodruff to help organize a company of Saints for their journey to Zion. It took him nearly a year to accomplish this.
Before his mission had ended, Elder Spori had received word from an almost inconsolable wife, still in Switzerland, that their eldest daughter, Katherine, had died from injuries received in a fall from a swing. Jacob, knowing well of the gospel’s ability to heal spiritual wounds, wrote his wife of the doctrines of the Church. She was touched by these new truths and became convinced the gospel was true.
Mrs. Spori applied for baptism and was reunited with her husband when he arrived in Switzerland following his missionary labors. She later bore fervent testimony and gave thanks for the eternal truths the gospel brought into her life.
Before leaving for Zion, Elder Spori translated several Church tracts into French. He was assisted by his youngest sister, Anna Clara Spori, a talented and well-educated young woman.
Finally, Jacob Spori and his wife and three children, Jacob, Magdalena, and Louise, and his sister Anna Clara left Bern for America. It was June, 1888. Their destination was Rexburg, Idaho. Jacob had been called to be the first principal of Ricks College, and the new school was getting ready to open.
Homes in Rexburg were scarce so the Spori family moved into an empty tithing granary. Their fifth child, Elizabeth, was born there 6 July 1888.
For the four years Jacob Spori was principal, he not only taught school, but was a friend of the families of the students. He would visit the homes of the Saints, especially when there was sickness there.
“At the time of the diphtheria epidemic in 1891,” his daughter recalls, “he went fearlessly to administer to the sick and comfort the bereaved.” Two of his daughters caught this dreaded disease, but he administered to them, believing they would be spared by the power of God. And they were.
After four years as academy principal Elder Spori asked for and received an honorable release from his work. He then turned to farming and began a project that was in later years a boon to agriculture in the area—he helped in the development of the canal on the Egin Bench, known as the Spori Canal.
Jacob Spori died in 1903—he was back teaching again, still doing the things he felt had to be done. His doctor had warned him that he suffered from diabetes and that he should stop working and rest more. Jacob’s reply was that he would rather “die working than die resting.”
Versatility and unwavering faith are two traits that characterize Jacob Spori’s life. He was a great educator, a student of languages, a missionary. He liked geology and mining, receiving his final degree in metallurgy when he was fifty years old. He became interested in medicine in Istanbul. Music was his great escape. He learned to play several different instruments. Science and agriculture were also parts of his life.
His life is well summarized in the words of his daughter: “He had such a burning testimony that he bore it whenever the opportunity presented itself. He used to tell us that nothing men can do will ever change the truthfulness of the gospel. All the seeming sacrifices he made seemed nothing to him compared with the peace and joy that came into his life when he joined the Church.”

One Sunday, right in the middle of the branch sacrament meeting, a woman walked in the door from off the street. She was a homeless woman who was wearing dirty, ragged clothes, coughing, choking, and blowing her nose into a filthy handkerchief. In a loud, hoarse voice she said, “I want to sing! I want to pray!” and walked right to the front row and sat down next to a member who was wearing a white blouse, leaned against her, and laid her head on her shoulder. The member immediately put her arms around this guest and held her in her arms throughout the rest of the meeting.
It happened that the speaker had been talking about the parable of the good Samaritan (see Luke 10:30–37) as the woman had come in. As this woman coughed and choked, the speaker continued telling the parable. As he came to the end of his talk and was quoting a relevant scripture, suddenly, in a loud voice, this homeless woman finished giving the verse that the speaker had begun. In talking of this after sacrament meeting with the speaker, we thought it had probably been a long time since someone had affectionately put an arm around our visitor. We wondered what better illustration you could have of the parable of the good Samaritan than what we had just seen, and we were reminded of the Savior’s words that preceded His telling of that parable, “Thou shalt love … thy neighbour as thyself” (Luke 10:27).

I knew a man once whom I respected very much and who had this quality. On one occasion, a beggar came from out of town and appeared at his door and asked for money. My friend said, “I have an old barn that needs painting. If you want to paint it, I’ll pay you for it.” They went out to look at the barn, and then the man was sent to England’s paint store and arrangements were made for him to pick up the paint he needed.
The barn was painted, and the man was paid and left town. Shortly after, Mr. England called my friend and said that the man had picked up far more paint than was needed to paint the barn. In short, my friend had been taken.
Yet, he took the opportunity to teach his sons a lesson.
“Had I known what he did, I would have stopped him,” he said. “But we have our painted barn, and the painter, whatever his problems, will always know that there was someone willing to believe in him.”

Laurie hung the little drum ornament on the Christmas tree. How many times had she heard her mother say that the drum was at least seventy-five years old and had hung on her great-grandparents’ tree!
She stepped back and studied the tree. It looked awful! The branches were loaded with mismatched ornaments, most of them older than she was. Aluminum foil stars that she had made in school and lace angels that her younger sister, Angie, had made were bent and tattered. As usual, Dad had strung homemade popcorn and looped it over the branches. Mom had even added some pinecones from last summer’s vacation.
Laurie felt ashamed of the tree. It wasn’t nearly as pretty as her friends’ trees. Tracy’s had matching red ornaments and twinkling white lights. Debbie’s looked very modern with candy-striped ribbons and bows and shiny gold balls.
Laurie dropped onto the sofa. “Mom, why don’t we throw out these junky old ornaments and buy new ones?”
“Honey, these old ornaments are very dear to us. Each of them is full of memories. Remember when you and I made this Santa out of dough the year of the bad snowstorm?”
Laurie did remember. The storm had raged outside as she and Mom sat at the kitchen table, carefully forming the little Santa. They had also baked gingerbread men with raisin buttons, and the warm kitchen had smelled deliciously of Christmas spice.
“But our tree looks so old-fashioned and cluttered.”
“I guess we’re just an old-fashioned family,” Dad said.
“Why don’t you like our tree, Laurie?” Angie asked. “I think it’s beautiful!”
“Oh, you just don’t understand!” Laurie shouted, pushing herself up from the sofa and stamping out of the room. Angie’s too young, she thought. I used to think our junky tree was beautiful too. Now I can see how ugly it is!
She went to her room and sat on the edge of her bed. “I can’t let my friends see our tree,” she murmured. “They’d laugh at it.”
“Laurie,” Angie said the next day when Laurie came home from the store with Mom, “Tracy’s waiting for you in the living room.”
“Tracy’s in by our tree? Oh, no!”
With a sinking feeling, Laurie entered the living room. Tracy was kneeling on the floor, looking at the tree, but she wasn’t laughing. “Where’s the little bluebird ornament?” she asked.
“Ah, over here.” Laurie pointed to a faded little bird among the branches.
“I just love that!” Tracy sighed. “And look, here’s the bell ornament you made in Miss Miller’s class. Wasn’t that fun! Mine got thrown out.”
Tracy eagerly searched the branches of the tree, delighting in the ornaments that hung thickly there. Soon Laurie was lying on the floor beside her, gazing up into the branches. When she told her friend about the drum, Tracy reacted enthusiastically. “Really? This little drum was on your great-grandmother’s tree? Wow! What a great Christmas tree!”
“But it isn’t as beautiful as your tree, Tracy.”
“Yes, our tree is pretty, but there’s more to your tree than can be seen with just the eyes. I don’t know. …” She seemed to be searching for the right words. “I guess your tree brings back lots of neat memories.”
After Tracy left, Laurie remained on the floor, chin propped on her hands, and stared at the Christmas tree. Funny, she thought, a few hours ago I thought this tree was ugly. I envied Tracy’s red and white Christmas tree. I was looking at it—and ours—with only my eyes.
“What are you doing, Laurie?” asked Angie, coming into the room.
Laurie smiled at her little sister. “I’m must lying here admiring our beautiful Christmas tree.”

Whilst my wife and I were serving as leaders of the Fiji Suva Mission, we would monitor the storm weather sites from November through April to be aware of any cyclones that may affect our missionaries serving throughout the islands.
In early-April 2018, tropical Cyclone Keni developed into a category 2 cyclone which, on its projected course, would track several hundred kilometers south of the island of Kadavu. As we drew closer to the 11th of April 2018, instead of staying on its predicted course, Cyclone Keni veered northward and increased in intensity to category 3 with winds gusting up to 215 kms per hour, which tore through the island of Kadavu.
Elder Tupe and Elder Christensen served on that island, and I was extremely concerned about their welfare and that of the community of Saints there. With the power knocked out, communication was impossible for many hours. Finally, the elders were able to get a call out. The first thing I heard was, “President we’re okay.” Oh, what relief and joy filled my heart along with humble prayers of gratitude.
They shared that their accommodation was destroyed, and they had to shelter in one of only a few concrete block homes on the island, this one owned by Brother Lal (a counselor in the branch presidency). They had lost most of their belongings but had scoured the forest and reclaimed some clothing.
With their welfare in mind, I started the arrangements to evacuate these elders off the island. When I called the next morning to give them more details, Elder Tupe and Elder Christensen asked without any thought for their own needs, “President, can we stay? The members and families on the island need our help to rebuild their homes.”
As they expressed this desire, my heart swelled with admiration for these humble servants of the Lord who put their own needs aside to offer much-needed help to others.
Over the next two weeks they laboured tirelessly to clean debris from damaged dwellings and assisted with the repairs to several homes. These young missionaries exemplified the scripture: “Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me” (Matthew 25:40).
After these two weeks, Elder Tupe and Elder Christensen returned to Suva to be assigned to a different area, until the mission quarters on Kadavu could be rebuilt. As they entered the mission home, they looked different. Yes, their clothes were a little untidy, because no washing machine or iron was available, they had all disappeared in the cyclone, but their countenances shone brightly as they recalled numerous experiences of assisting members and nonmembers alike.
Their service brought a great feeling of unity to the people in Kadavu and prepared many hearts to receive the message of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. Indeed, these young missionaries exemplified this verse of scripture: “And behold, I tell you these things that ye may learn wisdom; that ye may learn that when ye are in the service of your fellow beings ye are only in the service of your God” (Mosiah 2:17).
I will be forever grateful for the example of Elder Tupe and Elder Christensen. They exemplified so beautifully what it means to truly keep the second great commandment, to “Love thy neighbor as thyself,” (Matthew 22:39).

When I was growing up, every year or so my stake would hold a “roadshow”—a night of laughter and fun as each ward performed an unashamedly amateur melodrama before the rest of the stake in the crowded cultural hall. For weeks before the event, leaders in the wards would concoct unlikely plots, create ridiculous songs and dances, and coerce reluctant youth into wearing outlandish costumes. Our roadshows could hardly be termed theater, but they were a lot of fun.
Of all the stake roadshows I took part in, one in particular stands out in my memory. The year I was 16, the stake presidency, of which my father was a member, decided the wards would not be allowed to use glitter in their costumes or makeup. Although the shimmering flecks looked wonderful on stage under the spotlight, they invariably found their way into the carpets and furniture of the rooms the wards used for preparation. Because the roadshow was to be held on Saturday night, the stake presidency hoped this measure would help keep the building clean for the Sabbath.
But in the enthusiasm and good-natured competition of that year’s roadshow, the stake presidency’s counsel went largely unheeded. After the performances concluded, I looked for my dad among the members slowly trickling from the building. They all seemed to have had a night of friendship and amusement. When I finally found my father in one of the rooms used for preparation, I could see that he was not amused. He was walking slowly around the room, gravely surveying the sparkles scattered about the floor.
“Most of the wards used glitter,” I said, stating the obvious.
“It’s like this in almost all the rooms,” he said and sighed. “Weren’t we clear about not using glitter?” he asked in frustration.
“I think you were,” I said, hoping to ease some of the tension.
By the time we found the rest of the family and went home, it was already late. But after seeing the younger kids to bed, my father took his car keys and went to the door.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
“Back to the stake center,” he said quietly. “I’m going to see what I can do to get it ready for Sunday. Do you want to come?”
I didn’t have any special desire to spend what remained of my Saturday evening cleaning, but when I thought about my dad doing all that work alone, I agreed to go.
By the time we reached the stake center, my dad’s attitude had changed. As we cleaned, he seemed less discouraged and even somewhat enthusiastic about the challenge before us. He spent the time asking me about school and my friends.
Although the cleaning took several hours, we both felt a certain pleasure in our work and tried to be as thorough as possible. It wasn’t until after midnight that we felt the building was ready for church in the morning.
The next day, I felt special satisfaction as I looked through the clean rooms and remembered how they had appeared the night before. I considered telling my friends about my one-night stint at janitorial work, but that didn’t seem appropriate. Apparently, my father felt the same—to this day I can’t remember him mentioning that night to anyone.
Today when I think back to that roadshow, I can’t remember any of the humor or costumes or music. What comes to mind are images of my father vacuuming and sweeping and picking glitter from the floor of the church—doing behind-the-scenes work in preparation for the Sabbath.

“Twelve years old—my first Church calling,” remembers Elder Robert S. Wood of the Second Quorum of the Seventy. “I was asked to be the music director in Mutual.” But he had to overcome two difficulties: one, he couldn’t sing; and two, he didn’t know anything about music. “The Young Women president took me aside and said, ‘Okay, Robert—one, two, three, four.’” His arm sweeps the air in four-four time as he recounts the story. “And so I learned how to do it.”

First Presidency devotional. One of my favorite Christmas experiences took place when I had been a member of the Church for a year and a half. I listened to the First Presidency Christmas devotional. It’s always great to hear from the prophet, but during the Christmas season it was especially fantastic.
As we sat in the chapel and listened to the prophet’s words, we felt the Spirit very strongly. His words were meaningful, and I was able to better understand the true spirit of Christmas and the importance of loving our neighbors and rendering service. Even more important, my testimony of Jesus Christ grew stronger that day.
When I was a child, I always got the gifts I wanted on Christmas, but I have never received a better gift than hearing from a prophet that Jesus Christ lives and that this is His true Church.Alvaro M., Uruguay

I have been blessed to feel that peace every time I enter the sacred temple. I recall the first day I walked into the Salt Lake Temple. I was a young man.
I looked up at a high white ceiling that made the room so light it seemed almost as if it were open to the sky. And in that moment, the thought came into my mind in clear words: “I have been in this lighted place before.” But then immediately there came into my mind, not in my own voice, these words: “No, you have never been here before. You are remembering a moment before you were born. You were in a sacred place like this where the Lord could come.”

A few years ago I had an experience with deceptive appearances where the results could have been tragic. My wife’s cousin and family were visiting us from Utah. It was a calm summer day on the Oregon coast, and we were fishing in the ocean. It was pleasant, and we were having a good time catching salmon, when for some reason I turned around to see a huge eight-foot wave bearing down upon us. I had time only to shout a warning before the wave hit us broadside. Somehow the boat stayed upright, but Gary, our cousin, was thrown overboard. We were all wearing life jackets and with some difficulty maneuvered the boat, half filled with water, to where he was floating and pulled him aboard.
We had been hit by what is called a sneaker wave. It doesn’t happen often, and there is no way to predict it. Later we found that up and down the Oregon-Washington coast, five people had drowned that day in three separate boating accidents. All were caused by the same sneaker wave, which for no apparent reason had welled up off the ocean surface. At the time we went out, the ocean was flat and calm and gave no sign of any danger. But the ocean turned out to be deceptive and not at all what it appeared to be.
I am grateful that we had on our life jackets that summer day on the ocean. I am thankful we were able to avoid the tragedy that came from that sneaker wave. It is my prayer that we will continue to wear our life jackets of obedience in order to avoid the tragedy that will surely come if we are deceived and follow the enticings of the adversary.

When I was nearly 20 years old, being a Latter-day Saint from an LDS family and attending BYU–Idaho, the questions started coming. “Have you put your papers in?” “Are you excited about going on a mission?”
I had always thought I would serve a mission, but when the time came to serve, I just avoided the matter.
For a long weekend, I made the four- to five-hour drive from Rexburg to my family’s home in Orem, Utah.
That weekend, home was filled with family and friends coming and going. Cousins, aunts, uncles, and friends added to an almost holiday feel. I seemed to keep getting pulled aside by family members and asked the usual mission questions. It was usually followed by offers of encouragement and support.
My Uncle Rick talked about how, as the oldest boy in the family, I would be setting an important example for my younger brother by serving a mission. Uncle Bob offered a fun anecdote from his mission to Sweden and said he was excited for me to get my call. My mom tenderly reminded me how much she loved me and how happy it makes her when I make correct choices.
I knew the word was getting around to “remind Rob about a mission.” I might have felt some resentment, but their promptings were delicate. I only felt love and concern when each of them approached me.
It was Sunday afternoon after church. I knew if I left at around 3:30 p.m., it would put me back home in Rexburg by 8:30. I was surprised having so much family around that there wasn’t a big dinner planned after church. In any case, I made a sack lunch for the trip and packed my old blue car for the ride back to school. It hurt to leave so many loving people, and I felt a little guilty I hadn’t come with news that I had put in my mission papers.
My car was dependable most of the time, but it had shown signs of unpredictability. Somewhere past the city of Pocatello, surrounded by the flat farmlands of eastern Idaho, my car began to cough and sputter. I glanced down for a minute, scanning my dashboard for red lights or needles that pointed out perils. Everything seemed OK, but the car continued to hesitate and began to lose power. I looked in my rear view mirror—nothing but darkness.
Surveying the horizon in front of me also reminded me that there were some vast unoccupied areas in Idaho.
My car sputtered and jerked. I was lucky enough to be by a ranch exit. I pulled off and stopped the car under the lone streetlight on the exit. The car shuttered for a minute more before I turned the key off. It was deadly silent, and snow was beginning to fall, which made any traffic on the freeway seem distant.
From experience I knew that if I gave the car a few minutes, I might be able to start it and carry on my trip, but I would have some time to burn. I grabbed my coat and laid it over the top of me and pushed my seat back as far as it would go.
As I lay in the quiet night, the first thing that came to my mind was the conversations I had had that day. The feelings of love and concern that had come from my family seemed to linger and to grow in me. Soon my heart began to swell as I remembered the warmness I had felt from family that day. Soon I knew that it was more than the love from my family I was reflecting on. The story of Alma the Younger came to me. He remembered his father preaching of the “the coming of one Jesus Christ, a Son of God, to atone for the sins of the world” (Alma 36:17).
My thoughts soon turned toward my Savior and how much He loved me and wanted good things for me. I began to pray and thank Heavenly Father for my family and the opportunities I had. My prayer was reciprocated with an even deeper awareness that Christ loves me and Heavenly Father knows me personally. I found myself having a meaningful spiritual experience I would never forget.
After about an hour had passed, I felt I had restored myself enough to try to drive on. I turned the key, and the car came to life. I revved it a few times and pulled the car back onto the road and then onto the freeway. What was sure in my mind after getting back onto the road was that, first thing the next morning, I wanted to get ahold of my bishop and start getting my mission papers ready.
When I got home, I was eager to call my mom and let her know the news.

One of the first converts in Hawaii, Jonathan Napela helped translate the Book of Mormon into Hawaiian.
Portrait of Jonathan Napela courtesy of Church History Library and Archives
Jonathan H. Napela was a well-respected judge on the island of Maui before he and his wife, Kiti, were baptized in 1851. After Jonathan was forced to resign his judgeship for joining the Church, he devoted his energy to building up the Church among Hawaiian speakers. Jonathan tutored missionary George Q. Cannon in the language, helped translate the Book of Mormon, and developed the first program for training missionaries in any foreign language.
As a result, more than 3,000 native Hawaiians joined the Church within three years. “It is very plain to us that this is the church of God,” Jonathan wrote. “There are many upon these islands who have obtained strong faith by the grace of God, through Jesus Christ the Lord, that we might receive the Holy Ghost.”5
In 1872, Kiti Napela contracted leprosy and was required to move to the leper colony on Moloka’i. Rather than staying among the Saints, Jonathan petitioned the colony to admit him as well. “During the brief time remaining,” he wrote to the board of health, “I want to be with my wife.”6 The petition was granted, and Jonathan became the branch president in Moloka’i. Jonathan worked closely with the local Catholic priest, Father Damien, to minister to all those afflicted with the disease. Jonathan eventually died of leprosy he contracted in the colony.

For Fu Pak Wai, an idea blossomed into a business that answered a prayer.
Fu Pak Wai says, “We can’t see everything ahead of us. We just move forward step by step.”
For many years, Fu Pak Wai worked in computer animation in Hong Kong. He enjoyed the work, but it demanded a lot of time.
“When I returned home from work each evening,” he says, “my son was already in bed.”
As he thought about his family and future, Brother Fu attended one of the Church’s “Starting and Growing My Business” self-reliance groups. For 12 weeks, group members discussed how to start, grow, finance, and improve a business. They also talked about how to find and keep customers.
Armed with new knowledge, Brother Fu got an idea, which blossomed into a business that answered a prayer.
In his spare time, Brother Fu started selling bicycle accessories and second-hand bicycles online. Then he took online courses to learn how to repair bicycles. Finally, he found a small building to rent that would accommodate a bike shop.
“I still had my full-time job while I was selling bicycle accessories and fixing bikes part-time,” he says. “After doing that for a year, I quit my full-time job.”
Now Brother Fu has more time for his family.
“It was an answer to prayer,” he says. “And now I get to see my son in the morning before he goes to school and in the afternoon after school. It’s the best.”
Starting his own business has also given him more time to serve his community and God’s kingdom, doing missionary work and helping others become self-reliant.
“As I developed my business,” Brother Fu recalls, “I also developed a stronger testimony of keeping the Sabbath day holy and living the law of tithing. I don’t know how everything will work out. We can’t see everything ahead of us. We just move forward step by step, and God will prepare the way.”

Laura was excited to start kindergarten. She couldn’t wait to go to school with her big brother, Sam. Sam was going to be in third grade.
A few weeks before school started, Mom and Dad talked to Sam and Laura. “Laura,” Dad said, “the schools have made a change. Kindergarteners will go to their own school now.”
Laura chewed on her lip. “Can I still ride the bus with Sam?”
Mom shook her head. “I’m sorry, Laura, but your school is on the other side of town. You’ll ride a different bus.”
Laura tried to be brave, but her lower lip trembled. How could she go to school without her big brother? She and Sam were best friends.
Sam put his arm around Laura’s shoulder. “It’ll be all right,” he said.
That night Sam came into Laura’s room. “Let’s say a special prayer,” he said.
Sam and Laura knelt down.
“Heavenly Father,” Sam prayed, “please bless Laura that she will feel happy about starting school. Help her learn things and make new friends.” Sam closed the prayer in the name of Jesus Christ.
Laura threw her arms around Sam’s neck. She felt better already.
When it came time to start school, Laura was still a little nervous, but she thought about Sam’s prayer. That morning, Dad gave Laura a blessing.
Laura waved goodbye to Mom, Dad, and Sam. She climbed onto the school bus. She knew Heavenly Father would help her.

Nearly a century ago, a family from Oregon was vacationing in Indiana—over 2,000 miles (3,200 km) away—when they lost their beloved dog, Bobbie. The frantic family searched for the dog everywhere but to no avail. Bobbie could not be found.
Heartbroken, they made the trip home, each mile taking them farther away from their cherished pet.
Six months later, the family was stunned to find Bobbie on their doorstep in Oregon. “Mangy, scrawny, feet worn to the bone—[he] appeared to have walked the entire distance … by himself.” Bobbie’s story captured the imagination of people across the United States, and he became known as Bobbie the Wonder Dog.

He started with a short story about Arturo Toscanini, the late, famous conductor of the New York Philharmonic Orchestra, who received a letter from a lonely sheepherder in a remote mountain area of Wyoming. It included these words: “‘Mr. Conductor: I have only two possessions—a radio and an old violin. The batteries in my radio are getting low and will soon die. My violin is so out of tune I can’t use it. Please help me. Next Sunday when you begin your concert, sound a loud “A” so I can tune my “A” string; then I can tune the other strings. When my radio batteries are dead, I’ll have my violin.’
“At the beginning of his next nationwide radio concert from Carnegie Hall, Toscanini announced: ‘For a dear friend and listener back in the mountains of Wyoming, the orchestra will now sound an “A.”’ The musicians all joined together in a perfect ‘A.’
“The lonely sheepherder only needed one note, just a little help to get back in tune; he could go on from there. He needed someone who cared to assist him with one string; the others would be easy. Then, with all strings in tune—in harmony—the lonely sheepherder would have a source of companionship and joy and could play uplifting strains.

In 1936, eight-year-old William Forward travelled with his family and fellow Saints to the cottage of Charles Jones, located close to the Monmouthshire and Brecon canal at Llanover (in the Usk Valley, Brecon Beacons National Park).
From their Varteg home, they headed east descending the valley side down the Snail Creep, to Cwmavon (Pontypool), then walked up the other side to Llanover Road, and crossed fields and trod lanes until they arrived at the Goose and Cuckoo pub (near Llanover) where they took a break with lemonade.
Refreshed, they continued to the Jones’ cottage, adjacent to the Pantglas Mill on Gwenffrwd Brook. William and his cousin Glyn changed their clothing in the mill to prepare for their baptism.
The boys then walked up the farmer’s field and across the canal bridge to join the Saints for the baptismal service, before going down into the canal for their baptisms. William was baptised, then Glyn. They were confirmed in the Jones’ home. Following the service, the company made their way home to Varteg the way they had come, a ten-mile round trip.

You would have a hard time finding someone who’s happier right now than Juan Mijares.
He got the education of his dreams, the job of his dreams, and the life of his dreams, “and even more,” he says.
He’s not sitting in a luxurious penthouse office making million dollar decisions; he doesn’t travel the world to be greeted by adoring fans. Juan is a violin maker in Colorado Springs, Colorado.
“Success is not just making more money than the next guy,” Juan says. “It’s learning to be happy with your life, and I am. There’s no place I’d rather go, even on vacation, than here at the shop, because I look forward to building violins.”
When Juan was a teenager in California, he never guessed that he’d one day become a violin maker. When he decided he wanted a guitar and saw how much they cost, he got a book and built his own. He was completely unaware that there were four-year, professional schools that teach you how to do that sort of thing.
There are only a few violin-making schools in the world. Juan was lucky enough to hear about one during his freshman year at BYU. It was located in nearby Salt Lake City.
How perfect, he thought, to be able to create something beautiful—a singing work of art—for a living. Although Juan was nervous, he found the entrance exams, which included personal interviews and tests for dexterity, drawing, and musical aptitude, exciting.
But there was something else he found even more exciting—the prospect of serving a mission. Juan asked if his application could be deferred a few years, and the school obliged him. More than 100 people from all over the world come each year to apply, and the school only accepts about eight people in each class.
When Juan returned from his mission to Washington, D.C., he began his career at the Violin Making School of America and became totally absorbed in the curriculum. “I was lucky,” he says. “Some people can’t wait to get out of school. But I loved it. We ate, breathed, slept violins. It was an unbelievable experience. I wasn’t worried too much about the future. I was just trying to soak up everything and do as well as I could before I had to leave.”
Juan did have time, though, to attend a student ward and take an institute class. He often involved his non-LDS classmates in Church activities.
After he graduated, he found work, married, and started a family. That led him to where he is now, in Colorado Springs.
“We’ll never be rich,” Juan says, “but we have plenty of work. I can support my family, and we don’t need sports cars or designer clothes or anything like that.
“The important thing is to pursue your dreams—to follow your passion, no matter how unconventional. Even if you have to compromise a little and do it only in your spare time, doing what you love will make you a richer person.”

When I was in the 10th grade, I had a similar problem. I saw a group of people I thought were pretty interesting and decided I wanted to be friends with them. I began talking to them and spending time with them. I ignored the warnings of my friends and parents to stay away from this particular group.
Soon I began dressing like them, listening to the same music, going to the same places. Gradually my attitude began to change, my language became increasingly vulgar, and I made choices I would never have considered a few years earlier. I lost many of my old friends, my parents no longer trusted me, and I lost my good reputation. At the time, I pretended I was happy.
The time came when I realized I wasn’t happy at all. I had gained everything I thought was important and lost everything that really was: my family relationships, my true friends, my reputation, my self-respect, and my faith in God. I had choked on a chicken bone.
It has taken a long time to repair the damage done by that chicken bone. I still struggle with its influence at times. I realize now that my parents’ and friends’ warnings were given to me out of love. They weren’t trying to restrict me; they were trying to help me.

When families join the Church, they receive great blessings. But when the Ning family was converted, the Church gained two future full-time native missionaries. Said Elder Ning Kong-lung, “If people first come to a knowledge of God, seek after his kingdom, develop faith in him, and obey his commandments, their lives will change. The Church gives us a method to obtain eternal life. When our family first joined the Church, it was tough. My brother and I were small. My mother had heart disease. I believe it was the most troubled period in my life. I know our family situation changed because my dad led us in obedience to the commandments.”
His mother has since passed away, and his father, who owns and manages a small noodle factory, is now a counselor in the district presidency.
“A change is taking place,” says Elder Ning. “Many of the young members have great enthusiasm to do missionary work. Before now most of the youth didn’t think about serving as missionaries—they thought it wasn’t their concern. As each branch has more missionaries called, the members within the branch are influenced.”