Gospel Story Finder

Even though Iceland sits out in the ocean by itself, with only good-sized icebergs for neighbors, the people living there have always been in touch with what is going on in the world. The Church was introduced to Iceland back in 1851, when two fishermen were taught the gospel and requested baptism. They returned to their island and began teaching. Those first Icelandic members were persecuted and harassed for their beliefs, much as the early converts in America were. At one point, the government even passed a law forbidding Mormon baptisms. Almost all the members of the Church eventually left Iceland and emigrated to America, many settling in Spanish Fork, Utah. Missionary and Church activity in Iceland then stopped for 60 years.
But just over 20 years ago, another seaman, Thorstein Jonsson, was baptized, becoming the first Icelandic member to live in Iceland in many years. Missionary work began in earnest, and a branch was organized.
Most of the people in Iceland belong to the Lutheran church. In Reykjavik, the capital city, the most prominent landmark is the large white Lutheran church. Just across the street is the three-story building that houses the LDS church’s offices and meetinghouse. It is here that the largest branch in Iceland meets.
Drop in on the weekly seminary class and meet the youth of the Reykjavik Branch. They may be few in numbers, but they have become close friends, which helps when being a member of the Church makes you stand out because of your standards.
Ulfar is a typical teenage boy who likes to talk and who tips his chair up against the wall during class. He mentions that the basketball team he plays with has been invited to a tournament. He loves his seminary teacher, who happens to be his mother.
Johannes is serious and quiet but has a testimony that serves as a bright light. He and his family (his older brother, Thorbergur, and their parents) are longtime members of the branch.
Three young women complete the class. They are great friends—Melanie with pretty eyes and long dark hair, Eyrún with striking light blonde hair and Hanna with her bouncy short hair and pretty smile. Everyone is on a first-name basis.
In fact, the whole country is on a first-name basis. In Iceland you are known by your first name. Last names follow an age-old system where each person is named for his or her father. So Ulfar’s father is named Gudmundur Sigurdsson, but Ulfar’s last name is Gudmundsson. His sisters’ last name is Gudmundsdóttir. And Ulfar’s mother, Valla, has the last name Knútsdóttir, because her father was named Knút. Confused? Well, everyone, even the adults, goes by his or her first name.
Ulfar’s mother tells a funny story about when their family first met the missionaries. “I told them my little boy’s name was Ulfar Kári,” Vala said. “They had this puzzled look on their faces. When you say his name aloud, it sounds like you could be saying ‘Oliver Cowdery.’ They couldn’t figure out why this family in Iceland would name their son after a prominent man in Church history.”
It’s sometimes tough to be a teenager in Iceland for the same reasons that it’s hard in other countries. It’s the time when you have to make lots of decisions about how you want to live your life. Ulfar explains: “This is a hard age. Everyone is saying, ‘Hey, come get a drink. Have a cigarette.’ Even your friends are going out drinking. They asked me two or three times, but I just kept saying no and changed the subject. They leave me alone about it now.”
Does it bother the youth to be left out of some parties? Melanie says, “I don’t want to go to parties where they will be drinking. It doesn’t bother me if they don’t ask me, because I don’t want to be there anyway. There was a party at school, but I didn’t show up because I found out the purpose of the party was to get drunk. The next day at school, they asked me why I didn’t come. I just said I didn’t want to.”
How does the Church help in their lives? Melanie said that Young Women has helped a lot. “When we come to Young Women, we have activities during the week. It helps us to know one another and be friends. That gives me support. I’m glad for that. It’s different when we are really friends.”
Ulfar speaks about the power of the priesthood. He felt that power at an early age. After his baptism, his father and the branch presidency laid their hands on his head to confirm him. When he returned to sit by his mother, he turned to her and said, “Wow! They’ve got power. I could feel it from the top of my head going through my body right to my toes.”
He follows the priesthood example set by his father and his older brother, Fridrik, who recently served a full-time mission in Birmingham, England. “My brother was the one who taught me how to stick to the rules. He was the one who never gave up.”
This group has the big job of educating their friends about the Church. They have to start with the basics. Johannes said, “My friends ask me questions about the Church. They ask if the Mormon church is Christian.”
Last year, the branch made its first-ever temple trip. Since the closest temple is in England, making a temple trip is a huge undertaking. It’s expensive, and until recently, the temple ceremony was not available in Icelandic.
Hanna describes the experience of being in the temple. “Everybody was so nice and warm. It’s like being in heaven. I wanted to feel that feeling always.”
During the time at the temple, the Icelandic youth spent time each morning and again in the afternoon doing vicarious baptisms. The names were from their own ancestry. Melanie couldn’t help wondering about the people she was being baptized for. “Will they be happy? Will they be thankful for what I’m doing here? Will they accept it? It wasn’t just a name; it was a person who had a life here on earth and a family.”
When they got home, the feeling of close friendship they developed continued. These teens love their country and love the Church. These days sacrament meeting fills their meeting room to overflowing, and they’re glad. The message of the gospel is spreading like a light throughout the land.
Did we mention the northern lights? Every fall and winter, the northern lights dominate the sky in Iceland. In the night sky, the lights sway and dance with colors of green and purple. Sometimes they’re so bright that everyone just has to stop what they’re doing and watch for a while.
The youth in Reykjavik are northern lights, too. They move among their friends and families with confidence and faith. They are setting an example of the best that youth can be. Sometimes you just have to stop for a minute and watch what they are doing. They’re doing great.

The smell of freshly cooked bacon filled the cabin where the sisters of our young single adult ward had gathered for a Relief Society overnighter. As I lay in bed trying to wake up from a short night’s sleep, I heard the sisters begin to gather in the kitchen for breakfast. I heard their familiar voices laughing, talking, and then laughing some more. As I listened to the happy noise, I felt a surge of love for these amazing women. I smiled as I thought to myself, “This is the sound of Relief Society.”
I then reflected on all the other wonderful sounds that remind me of Relief Society: a sister sharing her heartfelt testimony of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ, the voices of many sisters blending as we sing hymns together, a tender visiting teaching lesson, the hum of a sewing machine as we participate together in a service project, and the tears we shed as we share one another’s sorrows. These are just some of the many wonderful sounds that remind me of the Lord’s organization for women.
But that morning in the cabin, as I lay there listening to my sisters laughing and talking, I realized what was my favorite sound of all: the sound of righteous women rejoicing together, loving each other, and celebrating our common sisterhood as daughters of a loving Heavenly Father. To me, that is truly the sound of Relief Society.

When I turned in my missionary papers, my bishop challenged me to not listen to any music at all until my call came. After about a week, the music was gone, but the bad lyrics were still there. Needless to say, my taste in music has changed. I was also able to feel the Spirit more often without the music blaring all the time. Don’t fool yourself into thinking that you are immune to the traps of Satan.
Nicholas Uerkvitz, 19Hereford, Arizona

Sixteen-year-old Tawnya Cazier, who lives in northern Idaho, has a best friend like that, and she doesn’t even mind the face-licking part. Her friend’s name is Nephi, and he’s a 75-pound malamute, the leader of her dogsled team. Nephi has saved Tawnya more than once, and he came into her life at a time when she was in desperate need of a good friend.
At 13, Tawnya was diagnosed as having a severe case of diabetes. Her blood-sugar levels were so erratic she had to stay out of school for a year. Many times her parents took her for special treatment in a clinic more than a thousand miles away from their home near Spirit Lake. All this took its toll on Tawnya. “I complained a lot, and I became very lazy,” she said.
It hurt Tawnya’s father to see his daughter’s suffering. He’d been diagnosed with diabetes when he was younger too and knew what she was going through. He decided Tawnya needed something to perk up her spirits. He’d always had an interest in dogsledding, but had never been able to pursue it. He noticed that Tawnya followed closely Susan Butcher’s progress in the Iditarod, the world’s most famous dogsled race, and thought dogsledding might be a good hobby for Tawnya. Since they were living in a sparsely populated, wooded area known as “Frazier’s Icebox,” where snow lasts into June, he asked, “Why not?”
Tawnya loved the idea, so they began putting together a homemade sled with skis for runners. They also began acquiring dogs from friends and from newspaper ads that said, “Free to good home.” Nephi was the first and the best. He was a natural leader, loved to run and work, and had the strength of three dogs. He would prove this many times as they took him all over the Northwest for weight-pulling competitions, which he often won.
Although Tawnya loves competition, the weight pulls are the only contests Tawnya has entered. What she’d really like to do is enter her team in the 150-mile Junior Iditarod, held each year in Alaska.
“I thought that would be the most awesome thing in the whole world, since I can’t compete in the real Iditarod until I’m 18,” she says. “So I wrote for the information on it, and they sent me a packet. I was so disappointed when I learned it was held over a weekend, on Saturday and Sunday. I asked them if they could change it, but they wouldn’t.
“That was a big hang-up. I wanted to run it so bad. I really had to fight with myself. But I finally got to the point where I realized that this would go against everything I’d ever been taught. It wasn’t worth it.”
So instead of training for the big races, Tawnya is content spending a couple of hours each day after school with her dogs. In the summer, when there’s no snow on the ground and her sled is useless, she hitches the dogs to a three-wheel cart. On Saturdays she cleans the dog runs, but Sundays she reserves for church.
“I like to go to church, read the scriptures, nap, write letters to missionaries, and spend time with my family,” she says. “It’s the one day of the week we can be together and just relax and talk. Most of the other days we’re all going in different directions.” Tawnya is the oldest of nine children, and they live together with their parents in a large mountain cabin.
The dogs have been good for the whole family. The younger children enjoy helping Tawnya feed and care for them, and, of course, they love rides on the sled. The dogs, in turn, love the children, and are extremely gentle.
“They have been bred through the years not to bite,” Tawnya explains. “The Eskimos couldn’t afford to have a vicious dog that would attack other dogs or people. Many times the dogs lived inside with the families. These dogs have been bred to love being around people and to love pulling a sled.”
The enthusiasm the dogs have for pulling is obvious the minute Tawnya walks outside with harnesses in hand. The dogs prick up their ears and begin barking and jumping. They’re eager.
“I learn lots of things from these dogs,” Tawnya says. “Enthusiasm for what you’re doing is one of them. Another is obedience. You don’t use reins with them, just voice commands. If they didn’t listen to what I told them, I could have had some really bad accidents. Once, if the dogs had followed their instincts and kept running, rather than stopping right when I told them to, we would have gone right between a mother bear and her cub. I don’t think any of us would have survived that.”
Tawnya has also learned that physical handicaps, like diabetes, don’t have to keep you down. Although she gives herself blood tests and shots three times a day and constantly has to be aware of how the food she eats and her physical activity will affect her insulin level, Tawnya doesn’t let that limit her. She’s back in school now, achieves straight A’s, and goes to seminary early each morning. She also finds time to spend with her friends, who love her dogs as well.
One of Tawnya’s favorite Mutual activities involves taking the youth in the ward on a dogsled ride out to a spot where a large bonfire has been built. They sit around toasting marshmallows and singing. The dogs, who love it as much as Tawnya does, sometimes join in on the chorus. Tawnya’s hobby has become well-known in the ward. Even the bishop has been for a ride on her sled. “He loved it!” she says. The missionaries have enjoyed it too.
It would be hard for anyone to resist such an offer, especially coming from this girl. Tawnya is as warm and down-to-earth as they come. Unless she told you, you’d never guess she suffers from a life-threatening disorder.
“I used to ask, Why me?” she says. “I used to wonder why I have to go through all this—be sick, give myself shots and blood tests, watch what I eat, and all that. But then I realized that the Lord knew I could handle it. It’s a comfort to know that the Lord has confidence in me. It gives me the strength to go on.”
Tawnya says she’s grateful for the strength she also derives from the support of her friends, family, and of course, her dogs.
“My dogs teach me so much,” she says. “I learn how to treat people by watching how they treat me. At first I thought I had to have patience with my dogs, but then I realized they have to have patience with me. Nephi shows me so much love, even when I’m not at my best. I want to be able to show that to other people. Nephi really is my best friend.”

One Saturday evening in April, my fellow teachers and I attended a fireside that the branch had organized to celebrate the Prophet Joseph Smith’s birthday and the restoration of the Church. Members shared messages about the Prophet’s life and bore their testimonies and expressed their love for him. I would have felt the strength of their testimonies even without the help of the missionaries who sat behind us to translate.
As I listened, I reflected on how hard it must be to accept the story of a young American boy who knelt in a grove of trees so far across the world and spoke to God. And yet these faithful members felt the power of this message and embraced it.
I had been practicing with the branch choir, and I joined with them as they sang “Faith in Every Footstep” in Russian. There in front of me as I sang was proof of this marvelous work coming forth among all the children of men. With tears in my eyes, I added my testimony to theirs through music in their native language.
After the meeting, Evgeni Kharin, a member of our branch presidency, came bounding towards us American teachers and exclaimed with joy in his Russian accent, “Sisters, rejoice! The Church is restored!” It was as if I had heard the news for the first time.
The Church is still very young in Russia, and these members, who did not always have access to the gospel, understood what a privilege it was to know that Heavenly Father restored the gospel to the earth through the Prophet Joseph Smith. I realized then how much I had taken that knowledge for granted. I had a testimony of the gospel, but I had not felt like jumping for joy because of it—until now.
Since then, in times of spiritual weakness I think of the love of the Russian people and the light in Evgeni’s eyes as he told me to rejoice, for the gospel truly has been restored.

Ulisses’s naturally good heart blossomed as he learned the ways of the Lord. “I grew up in the Church following the light of my parents,” Elder Soares says. As he followed that light, his testimony grew stronger despite opposition.

“I was the only member of the Church in my school, and the other boys were always trying to drag me down and push me to do things that were wrong,” he says. “I had to learn to defend myself in these challenges, but I always trusted in the Lord with all my heart to help me succeed. I learned as a young man that if you do your part, the Lord will do His. But you have to hold tight to His hand and to His gospel.”

I am aware of how one bishop marshaled his resources to assist a man who came to him for help. The man had been happily married for years, but because of a later addiction to alcohol and drugs he was left without a job, home, or family. Hard years of living on the street had degraded and humiliated him. With tears streaming down his face, he pleaded with his bishop for help.

The ward welfare committee discussed this challenge. One man knew a dentist who might be willing to replace the man’s broken front teeth. The Relief Society president suggested that nutritious food from the bishops’ storehouse might improve his health. Another suggested that this man needed someone who could spend time with him daily and help him find the strength to overcome his addictions.

As the suggestions streamed in, the bishop realized that an entire ward of concerned brothers and sisters stood ready to help.

Soon the bishop began to notice improvements. Priesthood brethren gave the man a blessing. A charitable dentist replaced his broken teeth. Food from the bishops’ storehouse improved his health. A faithful elderly couple agreed to serve as special home teachers. They were with him daily to help him stick to his resolve.

Following established principles, this good brother offered to help others in the ward. Slowly his life began to improve. Gradually the look of desperation and misery gave way to one of joy and happiness. Although it was a painful process, he was able to free himself from his addictions. He became an active member in the Church. A life of destitution and misery turned into one of hope and happiness. This is the Lord’s way of caring for those in need.

Many, many years ago, woodcutters went deep into the jungle of Chiapas, Mexico, in search of precious wood. Because of the difficult terrain, they could not take their families with them. When they finally reached their work site, the men raised temporary rustic huts of thick branches, roofed with palm leaves.
Night after night, after long days of woodcutting, the men would sit around the fire and talk or sing. The songs they had learned from their ancestors floated away on the night wind. But the men were lonely, and there was sadness and even bitterness in their voices. There was a great need for some cheerful music to accompany the sad choruses that penetrated the jungle.
Among the woodcutters was a handsome young boy named Quetzal Feather. This boy loved the murmur of the jungle more than anything or anyone in the whole world.
One evening as the sun was about to set, Quetzal Feather went deep into the jungle. He was guided by the music of the wind in the foliage. Suddenly he stopped. He thought he heard the sound of voices high in the branches. He went forward cautiously until he was almost at the foot of a tasseled palm. The palm was speaking sadly to a majestic-looking silk-cotton tree.
Quetzal Feather hardly breathed as he listened to what the trees were saying.
“My friend,” said the palm, “because of my great height, I can see the place from where those heartrending songs come. Just before nightfall, I saw the woodcutters with their eyes fixed upon the jungle. How sadly they sang!”
The robust silk-cotton tree shook its branches in protest. “Man should not live sunken in sadness!” it declared.
“We should do something,” responded the palm tree.
Quetzal Feather, hidden in the underbrush, listened in wonderment to the conversation. Then, he heard another voice, shy and nervous. It sent a shiver through him as he strained to catch every word.
“Friends and companions,” said the voice humbly, “the sad songs of the woodcutters have moved me to my very roots. But—perhaps I can do something to help.”
Quetzal Feather poked his head out of the underbrush and saw the tree that had just spoken. It was an hormiguillo tree that stood not far from the stately palm.
The great silk-cotton tree answered first, a little doubtfully. “If you can help, please do so!” it begged.
“Yes,” agreed the palm, “but what can you do? How can you lift the sadness from the woodcutters’ hearts?”
“For a long time now,” began the hormiguillo tree with more self-assurance, “I have been storing under my bark the torrent of nature’s harmony. For a long time I have held the songs of the birds and the cricket, the murmur of wind and rain, and the sound of water cascading over rocks. I have treasured up in me the soft sound of doves in flight and the roar of the tempest.”
Suddenly, before Quetzal Feather had time to realize what the tree had said, beautiful chords began to come from the hormiguillo tree.
“What music is this?” Quetzal Feather asked himself in amazement. “Even the jungle trembles in delight!”
The branches of the palm and the silk-cotton tree swayed in surprised and happy approval.
Trembling with excitement, Quetzal Feather fled from the underbrush. He wished to tell the woodcutters all that he had heard.
But the woodcutters did not believe him, judging him to be a strange and imaginative boy. Wearily they entered their huts for a night’s rest. And Quetzal Feather was left by the dying fire, alone and confused. Then just before sunrise he arose and ran straight as an arrow to the place where he had hidden in the underbrush the night before. The hormiguillo tree was silent now, yet in spite of its silence, some strange love kept Quetzal Feather beside the tree.
Days and nights passed, but the youth, hugging the hormiguillo tree, heard not a single happy note of the heavenly music he had heard before.
The woodcutters were very fond of Quetzal Feather, in spite of what they thought were the boy’s strange imaginings, and they tried to persuade him to leave the tree. But it was of no use. “The tree has bewitched him,” the Old Ones said sadly.
At last, Quetzal Feather became so weak and tired that he fell asleep at the foot of the tree.
“Now,” said the oldest woodcutter, “we can help him. While he sleeps deeply, we will cut the tree down and free him from his bewitchment.”
With their sharpened axes, the woodcutters began to chop at the hormiguillo tree. But to their great surprise and fear, beautiful musical sounds came from the tree at each stroke of their axes.
Quetzal Feather, hearing the music, awoke and clung to the wounded tree that seemed to be moaning with pain.
“Finish cutting me down at once!” begged the hormiguillo tree. “Take my wood. It is full of harmony!”
The next day when Quetzal Feather gathered up the pieces of the fallen tree, he discovered to his great delight that the sticks of wood when tapped by other sticks sent out beautiful happy chords.
Day and night he worked without rest until he had arranged the small pieces of the hormiguillo tree into a rustic instrument.
Thus the noble forest of Chiapas had furnished a lively and happy accompaniment to the tired and sad voices of the woodcutters. The marimba was born, and to this day men search the jungles of Chiapas and Guatemala for the musical wood of the hormiguillo tree.

The Gestewitz family has a great love for missionary work. In early 1987 the missionaries knocked on the door. Daniel’s mother, Tracy, answered it and was very curious about the young men and their message. She had seen the young men walking up and down the street in front of her home and had often wondered who they were and just why they were out on foot in the middle of the winter. So she invited them to come back when her husband, Kenneth, would be home. At the end of April Daniel’s parents were baptized and became members of the Lancaster Pennsylvania First Ward. A year later, when he was four years old, Daniel’s family was sealed in the temple.

I heard one of my brethren tell of a recent visit he made to a prison. There he noticed a young man, handsome in appearance and intelligent in his ways.

My brother said to the prison official, “What is that young man doing in here?”

The reply was that one evening he had taken his mother’s car, had obtained some beer and drunk it, and then, out of control of himself, he drove the car down the sidewalk and killed two girls.

I do not know how long he will be in prison, but I do know that he will never entirely get over his feelings concerning the act that put him there. On such small hinges turn the gates of our lives. Little mistakes, which seem so unimportant in their beginnings, determine the eternal courses we follow.

In our worldwide youth devotional last June, I spoke about a young man whose life changed when his parents exchanged his smartphone for a flip phone. This young man’s mother is a fearless woman of faith. She saw her son drifting toward choices that could prevent him from serving a mission. She took her pleadings to the temple to know how best to help her son. Then she followed through with every impression.
She said: “I felt the Spirit guiding me to check my son’s phone at specific times to catch specific things. I don’t know how to navigate these smartphones, but the Spirit guided me through all the social media that I don’t even use! I know the Spirit helps parents who are seeking guidance to protect their children. [At first] my son was furious with me. … But after only three days, he thanked me! He could feel the difference.”
Her son’s behavior and attitudes changed dramatically. He became more helpful at home, smiled more, and was more attentive at church. He loved serving for a time in a temple baptistry and preparing for his mission.

A group of youth in Queen Creek, Arizona, determined to “arise and shine forth” and to lead the youth in their community in living the standards in For the Strength of Youth. They each wrote something that they felt was holding them back or something they wanted to change in their lives in their journals, and then they literally dug a hole. They came together, tore out the journal page, and threw it into the hole in the earth, just like the people of Ammon did in the Book of Mormon with their weapons of war. Then they buried those pages, and that day they each made a commitment to change. They repented. They determined to arise!

Brigham Anderson, a 52-year-old Whanganui resident, is debuting his first art exhibition that combines traditional M?ori tukutuku (geometric paneling art) with values from “The Family: A Proclamation to the World”.
Anderson’s exhibition titled “Ng? tukutuku o te k?inga,” (The home of tukutuku) opened at the Space Gallery in Whanganui on 1 December ran through 18 December.
Anderson’s art is what he considers faith based. He quoted President Brigham Young (1801–1877), who taught the principle that truth can be found everywhere, including in art and culture. He said the family values and truth that are found in M?ori culture are similar to those found in the gospel, and so representing both in his art is important to him.
“There are lots of similarities in all people and religions, we have more in common then we have in differences, and I hope my pieces can bridge some of those gaps,” Anderson said. He hopes his paintings can be a reminder to live the gospel of Jesus Christ.
Although not a full-time artist, Anderson started focusing more time on his art during the pandemic which led him to create story-telling tukutuku paintings that symbolize principles and values from “The Family: A Proclamation to the World.”
When people see these paintings, Anderson hopes it leads the viewer to reflect on where they are in life and what improvements they can make in regard to their own family relationships and faith.
In nine of the tukutuku panels in the exhibition, he specifically highlighted these principles for families: faith, prayer, repentance, forgiveness, respect, love, compassion, work and having fun together.
Hours of research and planning went into designing, crafting and picking symbols he used in each painting to portray its story. The colours, shapes, lines, and M?ori words he used to represent each principle all have special reasoning behind why he chose them.
In the faith panel painting, he included the word “rongo” at the bottom, which describes four of the five senses, excluding sight. With the increased influence of social media, Anderson said many rely too heavily on seeing to believe, but that isn’t how faith works. He used “rongo” to capture and symbolize the idea of not needing to see, to still exercise faith. “The word rongo also can mean peace, especially after a challenging time in our lives. The gospel of Jesus Christ brings that peace,” he said.
The panel titled “Inoi,” portrays the principle of prayer. He used the colour blue to depict Heavenly Father because “it is a peaceful colour.” The words Anderson painted mean to call out to Heavenly Father and the shapes were meant to represent someone praying and God bestowing blessings upon them. Anderson said this painting symbolizes how the further a person seeks light, the more God will give them because “everything Heavenly Father does is for our benefit.”
Anderson based the forgiveness “Muru” panel on a talk by President James E. Faust (1920 –2007). In the talk, Faust told a tragic story about a group of Amish people who forgave and served the family of someone who had killed multiple Amish children. Anderson said that story of forgiveness inspired him to create shapes that look like the white foam on top of rapids to parallel the importance of forgiving and moving on.
“If you don’t forgive, you can get caught up in the rapids, and can drown, but as you forgive, you move into more peaceful, calm water,” he said.
The colours, shapes and lines in his art are so exact, that many at first perceive his art to be digitally made and printed. But every piece of the exhibition he painted with acrylic paint. He said the precision of the paintings comes from his culture where they originally weaved tukutuku panels out of flax. If one part wasn’t done correctly, they would cut the flax off and start over completely.

A few years ago, I went to the FamilySearch® system and retrieved my wife’s entire recorded family pedigree. That was a serious mistake. The computer revealed that my wife is a descendant of European royalty. It has been hard to live with her ever since. She wants me to refer to her as “Your Majesty.” Maybe now, through this knowledge of her family history, I am more inclined to treat her as our family queen. Of course, even my children share in this royal ancestry, which, sadly, makes me the only “commoner” in my family.

I went to FSY with the intention of trying to strengthen my testimony. I wanted to gain a strong testimony of the Church and the gospel. I have been going to this church for a very long time with my family, ever since I was a little kid, and there have definitely been times where I did question if this was truly the right church. Was is just like every other church or was it different?
Attending FSY was one of the best decisions I had ever made. It felt amazing to be surrounded with people who have the same standards and goals as me. I felt the Spirit so strong during every single one of the Natarajans’ workshops. I had the greatest feeling of comfort and peace every second I was there.
During Elder Bednar’s visit, in the middle of the Q&A session, a strong feeling came over me and I heard a voice say, “This is the true Church” over and over again. My eyes were filled with tears and I had never felt so strong about the gospel before. I was filled with assurance and comfort that this is the true Church.
I did get what I was looking for at FSY. I got my answer about the Church and I really do know that this is the true Church and that the Book of Mormon is the true word of God. I can feel it each time I read the Book of Mormon. I love this gospel and I am truly blessed to have it in my life.

When I was the Young Women class president, we started out with only five girls in the class. But then a new girl moved in, and we wanted to help her feel welcome and included.
I started out not knowing her that well, but I tried to be extra nice to her. After a while, the “extra nice” just became the normal amount of nice as she became my friend. I began to understand how God loves His children. I was able to feel that love for the girls in my class. Serving others helps me feel genuine love toward them.

Letters written from the Missionary Training Center and from the mission field reflect the joy that quickly followed:
—“At the airport I was able to meet one of the missionaries who taught me, Elder (Hoyt) Skabelund, and his wife and baby and parents. I am slowly learning Cantonese. The people in the MTC are wonderful.”
—“I’ve received two letters from my mother. Everything is going well at home. They are being blessed greatly and they know it! My family and relatives are now happy that I am serving a mission. Surely God is a God of miracles!”
—“I have done my first street display, talking to everyone who goes by. I have taught the six discussions in Cantonese.”
—“Now I have been transferred to Macau, a Portuguese colony neighbouring the coast of China. I am pretty lucky because not many missionaries get to serve here. We are teaching an investigator, and he will be baptized. I know that God called me here to do a special work.”
—“Every inconvenience was worth overcoming to read the Book of Mormon. Every insult was worth swallowing to keep the Sabbath holy. Every moment was worth waiting for to kneel in private prayer, every pain worth enduring to attend church. Every blow was worth taking, every torment worth suffering, every tear worth shedding to come on this mission.”
Today in Macau, Elder Liao looks out the window of his missionary apartment and sees a promised land.
“When I decided to go on a mission,” he says, “I knew there would be strong currents against me. I didn’t really know the dangers lurking in the water, what might try to sting me or to swallow me up. I was only thinking about making it. Now here I am, and I know that it’s worth it.”
And he’s eager to build a bridge to help others, including his family, to cross over to the other side.

One Sunday, my two youngest children, Johanne and Joshua, made sure that I was available to help them distribute Pass-Along Cards from the Ensign to the neighbors. Passing out these cards has become a missionary project for them since that day.
While visiting a neighbor another day, I noticed The Lamb of God video on his table. I asked him about it, and he told me that my children had given him a pass-along card. He is reading the Book of Mormon now.

Amanda hurried toward Rebekah’s house, watching her feet carefully and making some steps short and some long. She almost hit her friend head-on as she neared the gate of one of their neighbors, because Rebekah was walking along and looking down too. They saw each other’s shoes and stopped just in time.
“Why don’t you look where you’re going?” Rebekah teased.
“I’m missing the cracks,” Amanda replied, adding with a grin, “What’s your excuse?”
“I’m looking for textures. Want to help me win the prize?”
“What prize?”
“The box of crayons the teacher promised for the one who finds the most textures.”
“Sure, I’ll help. What are textures?”
“Oh, you know, how something feels when you rub your hand over it. Or how it looks like it would feel. A carpet is fuzzy or loopy or shaggy or carved looking. Tiles can be shiny or rough or patterned. And most glass is clear and smooth, but some bathroom glass is cloudy and bumpy so people can’t see through it.”
Amanda looked down again. “Like the sidewalk is different from the grass?”
“Uh-huh.”
“How about the bark on that tree over there?”
“That’s a good example!” Rebekah exclaimed. “It’ll make a good rubbing.”
“Rubbing?” questioned Amanda.
“Lots of textures make nice designs on paper. I’ll show you.”
Rebekah took some crayons out of her pocket.
“Looks like your little brother has been playing with these,” Amanda said. “They’re all broken, and the paper’s peeled off.”
“Oh, I did that.”
“What for?”
“So I can use the sides,” Rebekah explained, “like this.” She put a sheet of paper against the tree and rubbed the long side of the crayon over it.
The design of the bark showed on the paper.
“Hey, that looks like fun!” Amanda said. “Let me do one. How about a tire?”
“Sure,” Rebekah answered. “Which one do you want, Mom’s or Mrs. Rakich’s?”
“I was looking at the one on your bike.”
“Why don’t we do all three?”
“OK. You could probably win the prize just with tire treads from the cars parked on this street. They all look different.”
“So do the tree trunks!” Rebekah added excitedly. “Wow! I’m sure we’re going to find the most!”
All afternoon Amanda and Rebekah discovered different textures: bricks and boards, walks and walls, fancy fences, shingles, corn shucks, stones, gravel, grass, and grease. They made rubbings of some and lists of others.
Then Rebekah took a magnifying glass out of her pocket, and the two friends looked at skin and fingernails, leaves and flower parts, insects and feathers.
When the sun went down, they went into Rebekah’s house. In her mother’s scrap bag they found slippery satin, rough and tweedy wool, ribbed corduroy, smooth velvet, lace, linen, and polyester knits in many patterns. With Mother’s help they cut samples and made a booklet of the different fabrics.
Mother showed them wallpaper, sandpaper, paper towels, and napkins. They found textures on baskets, towels, dishes, and furniture. By the end of the day, they had found 211 different textures.
“Do you think that’s enough to win?” Amanda asked.
“I don’t know if it is or not,” Rebekah answered, “but if anyone else found more textures than we did, he deserves the prize.”
“No matter who wins,” Amanda said, “no one could have had any more fun than we did!”
“That’s true—but I sure need those crayons. Mine are all used up!”

Mary Lou Beilfuss, a Laurel from the Holladay 17th Ward, Salt Lake Olympus Stake, earned the money for her banner by working at a grocery store. The theme of her banner was eternal life.
“It helped me understand more about the recent death of my father, because I studied more about eternal life. The subject was on my mind a lot, and the banner gave me the opportunity to express it on material.
“My mother and sister helped me make it. We are very close already, but working together helped us share our love. I feel close to them because they’re always willing to help. We also shared tears together because the banner had a very special meaning. It made my sister and I think of our father and my mom of her husband.
“I learned from making this banner that I am a daughter of God and that he is there when I call. It has helped my self-image and helped me grow closer to my Heavenly Father. Also, it comforted me about my father’s death,” said Mary Lou.