Gospel Story Finder

One sound you don’t hear much in Navatuyaba is the low rumble of industrial farm equipment. That’s changing now that the tractor owned and operated by the stake is being kept in the village.
The 17 youth in the branch are grateful for the tractor. Without it, the Navatuyaba members would have to find a way to till two acres (0.8 ha) manually. But the tractor doesn’t do all the farm work. The members all work together planting, weeding, and harvesting crops such as taro and tapioca.
“We all help on the farm,” says Kuli Qaravanua, 15. “The youth weed and plant or bring refreshments when the adults are working.”
“I like working on the farm,” says Maca Baikeirewa, 14. “It helps my family in many ways.”
The blessings of the farm aren’t just about having food to eat. The youth are learning a lot about growing food and working hard.
“I think that working on the farm has brought the youth of our branch together,” says Tulia Tinaimolikula, 18. “It has helped us learn about each other.”
But, as Kuli says, “the tractor and farm especially help us have peace of mind. I don’t have to worry about what I will have to eat tomorrow.”

One February evening in 1968, Neil Andersen found himself the center of attention. He had been selected as a high school junior to represent Idaho in the Student Burgesses, a gathering of students from 37 countries and each of the 50 states in the United States. Students came together in Williamsburg, Virginia, to discuss challenges facing democracy.
This was the first time 16-year-old Neil, raised on a small farm in Pocatello, Idaho, had ever flown on an airplane, traveled so far from home, or been among so many bright and sophisticated young people.
As evening discussions turned to subjects around the world, Neil’s membership in the Church became evident. Some of the delegates began to challenge his beliefs. Young Neil had never before been asked such pointed questions regarding his faith.
“I remember praying in my mind that I would say the words that needed to be spoken,” he recalls. “What followed was a little miracle for me. I told them more than I knew. I felt the power of the Lord as He guided me through sensitive explanations and the sharing of my deep convictions. I could feel the Spirit of the Lord as I spoke. At the conclusion they expressed their appreciation and quietly acknowledged their respect for what I believed.
“I learned that there is a power and influence in this sacred work beyond ourselves and that it is worth defending. I understood that as we are true and faithful, ‘ready always to give an answer to every man that asketh [us] a reason of the hope that is in [us]’ (1 Peter 3:15), the Lord will bless us beyond our own abilities.”

I think of a young man who was recently convicted of automobile homicide because he killed an innocent victim while driving drunk. He was a young man of great potential. There is no telling what he might have become, but today he sits in prison, not only in the misery of his surroundings but also in the torture of his conscience. Our Father in Heaven, who loves us, has reminded us of the evils of these things and has warned us against them.

I have personally experienced, though only once, the exhilaration of a real balloon flight. It was during the exciting time immediately following World War II when in Holland, my native country, many public festivities were held to celebrate the regained liberty after five years of war. There were big parades, neighborhood dance festivals, and in some cities manned balloon flights to attract large crowds for yet other festive events.
A friend taught me a lot about ballooning in preparation for a flight that I was promised to be able to make as a guest, when at some future date the weather conditions would be suitable.
I learned that we would go up in a class A gas balloon filled with coal gas and that it would ascend until its weight would be in equilibrium with the air around it.
I also learned that in the wicker basket under the balloon there were navigational instruments, maps, and ballast sandbags, which could be emptied overboard to make the balloon rise higher.
Furthermore, I discovered that if gas is released from a balloon through a valve, it descends. But this was not all! I also heard from my friend many delightful stories about previous balloon flights. On one occasion, as the story goes, clouds developed unexpectedly during a flight, and the two men in the wicker basket had not the faintest idea over which part of the country they were sailing.
They decided to lower the balloon, and all of a sudden they saw a Dutchman walking on a lonely country road. When they were able to draw his attention, one of the men in the basket shouted: “Where are we?” And the lonely walker looked up, cupped his hands around his mouth, and shouted back, “You are in a balloon.”
To make their urgent request for direction more clear, the man in the balloon cried vigorously, “Where are you?” And the man called back at the top of his voice, “I am on the ground!”
Discouraged, the balloonists unloaded some ballast and sailed again into the clouds, while one of them remarked: “The man down there must be a bureaucrat.” The statements he made were perfectly true, but totally useless!
After what I have shared with you thus far, I have come to the conclusion that a strong parallel can be drawn between the steady rise of a balloon and our spiritual upward mobility.
Just as gas is necessary to fill a balloon to push it upward, so must the individual be filled with inner motivation in order to move upward. Just as the balloon can rise higher by throwing ballast overboard, so must a person be willing to rid himself of unnecessary ballast that limits his rise in spirituality.
When I made my balloon flight, strangely enough, I did not have the feeling that I was going up. I had the impression that I remained stationary, as it were, and the world floated silently away from me.
Later, when through the missionary effort I joined the Church, I gained as a new member that peaceful feeling of being safely placed in the environment of true gospel living and that Babylon had floated away from me. As it was expressed by an early European balloonist: “I felt as though I had left behind me, all the cares and passions that molest mankind.”
I testify that we all can have that peace of mind if we are willing to rid ourselves of the ballast that prevents us from rising to greater spiritual heights. It will facilitate our ascent to a loving Father in Heaven, who will, in his due time, await our return after our journey through life.
Let us, therefore, get rid of our sandbag of impatience and learn to be more patient with our spouses and children, our friends and neighbors, because the Lord has counseled us to “continue in patience until ye are perfected”! (D&C 67:13.)
And for those of you who do not know what the word patience really means, I offer a simple definition: Patience is learning to hide your impatience.
And how many of us still go through life with a ballast bag called criticism? We should, instead, give more praise wherever and whenever possible because we have been told and retold, “Cease to find fault one with another.” (D&C 88:124.) And let us in this respect also remember that the faults and shortcomings we see in the members of our own ward or branch are of less consequence to us than one of the smallest in ourselves.
Furthermore, do we still have a sandbag with unfriendliness in our basket, even though the Savior asks us to be friendly and loving? As he said: “Ye are they whom my Father hath given me; ye are my friends.” (D&C 84:63.)
While on our spiritual flight, let us totally empty our ballast bag of pride and be more humble in all things, always remembering the Savior’s glorious promise to all: “And inasmuch as you have humbled yourselves before me, the blessings of the kingdom are yours.” (D&C 61:37.)
And will we really ascend in our spiritual balloon if we are not prepared to dispose of our sandbag of greed? Living prophets have counseled us to pay an honest tithing and to give a generous fast offering; and, moreover, the scriptures reveal in a very candid way: “Wo unto [them] that [do] not give [of their] substance to the poor.” (D&C 56:16.) And, unfortunately, some people think they are being generous because they give so much free advice!
Finally, we must get rid of the heavy ballast of frustrations. All of us must discover in the wicker basket of our personal spiritual balloon those frustrations against which we continually have to be on guard. It was revealed unto us, and we have already heard it twice from this pulpit in this conference: “The works, and the designs, and the purposes of God cannot be frustrated, neither can they come to naught. … Remember that it is not the work of God that is frustrated, but the work of men.” (D&C 3:1, 3.)
The only way we can move upward from our present level of spirituality and performance to a higher level is by doing away with the ballast that holds us back. We have to learn to live the commandments, not only for our own good, but also for the good of other people because we reform others unconsciously when we keep the commandments of God and live the teachings of the Church. That’s another way of doing missionary work and lifting the spirituality of those around us.
Therefore, let’s start our flight today. If we are still at ground level, let’s cut the cords; and our rise will start immediately! However, even that will not ensure our continuous spiritual mobility. Our balloon will rise only so high and then will begin to stall. At that time we have to investigate what ballast we need to get rid of in order to rise even higher. If you find it hard to cut the cords, you will find it even harder to do away with the sandbags to lighten your load.
The balloon trip of our spiritual upward mobility is a demanding and sometimes difficult adventure, and only the person with true perseverance will make it to the highest realm!
In closing, after talking about flying, sailing, and rising, I would like to give some down-to-earth guidelines.
To those who are within the sound of my voice this day and who have already entered the wicker basket of their spiritual balloon through baptism into the kingdom of God but who are just sitting there, waiting inactively for things to happen, cut the cords that hold you back from lift-off.
To those who are quietly drifting at the same elevation with little upward mobility, take a close look at the ballast that prevents you from going to a higher level of performance. Make a decision and remove the restraining weight from your spiritual flight.
I give you a solemn promise that if you do this, you will enjoy a feeling of spiritual euphoria because you will elevate yourself.
I testify—as one who twenty-three years ago was baptized into the kingdom of God in Toronto, Canada—that my flight since my baptism has been a magnificent one, with breathtaking scenes and spiritual panoramas and with the never-failing knowledge that my day-to-day flight plan is made available to me by an understanding, loving, forgiving Heavenly Father.
The same is true for all of us! How do I know this? Because I know with all my heart that God lives and that Jesus is the Christ. He is the Savior of mankind, the great mediator for the salvation and exaltation of all of our Heavenly Father’s children, if they are willing to follow his outlined flight plan. Of which I testify this day, gratefully and happily, and in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

When I was called as elders quorum president in 2000, only seven elders were attending priesthood meeting. Also, we weren’t doing a good job of making our home teaching—now ministering—visits.
I knew we faced a great challenge to inspire the elders to step up. So, for starters, we decided to reorganize assignments and increase supervision.
And our elders quorum? The Lord blessed us as we moved ahead with a unified spirit. Our home teaching soon rose to 100 percent, and our priesthood attendance increased to 35 faithful elders.

August evenings are usually warm in Rexburg, Idaho. I knelt by my bed on such a night, the buzz of my fan chasing away the heat and drowning out the world. Two weeks of college had barely gone by. Each day I learned more about the other five girls I was living with, but my heart ached to be home with my family.
At home my family was having problems. I told my Heavenly Father how heavy my heart was. I did not ask for help; I just knew that He would listen. I finished my prayer and climbed into bed. I tried not to cry, but a few silent tears trickled down my face and onto my pillow. There was a knock at my door.
I quickly wiped away my tears.
“Come in,” I said.
One of my roommates opened the door. The hall light showed her silhouette. I looked at her, waiting for her to ask to borrow my phone or a shirt. Instead, she made her way over to my bed and said, “No one should cry themselves to sleep.”
The tears I had been trying to hold back came rushing out. She wrapped her arms around me. I do not remember exactly what she said to me, but I remember how I felt. She reminded me that Heavenly Father was aware of my problems and that He loves me. She stayed by my side until I finished crying. She left, and I lay in bed thinking about the things I had learned.
I knew that my roommate had heard and followed the promptings of the Holy Ghost. I was grateful for her willingness to obey. I realized how much my Father in Heaven loves me. He knew I was sad and needed someone to comfort me. I know that He would have held me in His arms if He could. Instead, He sent someone close by to share His love with me. And I know that it is my job to reach out to others and share our Father’s love with them.

After crossing the Colorado River by ferry, the company still faced more than 240 kilometers of rugged ground. Elizabeth M. Decker described this land in a letter to her parents. “It’s the roughest country you or anybody else ever seen; it’s nothing in the world but rocks and holes, hills, and hollows. The mountains are just one solid rock as smooth as an apple.” Because the land turned out to be rougher than anticipated, the journey took much longer than expected—six months instead of six weeks—making the so-called shortcut extremely arduous. Two babies were born along the way. Supplies had to be brought in to the company by mule train. On 6 April 1880, the exhausted company came upon a few acres of good farmland near a small river. They named the spot Bluff City.
Though travel worn, the pioneers had remained true to their resolve to follow the prophet and move forward, and they had endured the hardships in good spirits. As one member of the company recalled, “In a camp … moving … through extremely rough country, one would naturally look for some trouble and a few accidents, but this was not the case. All was hustle and harmony.”

It was my first transfer as a senior companion in the Argentina Buenos Aires South Mission, and I felt like I was quite on top of my game. My companion and I had achieved what every missionary dreams of: we had found an entire family that was willing to have us teach them. The father, Hugo, was especially willing to listen to the gospel.
Hugo loved everything about the Church. He loved listening to our message, the Church members, and the scriptures. He and his whole family wanted to join the Church so badly, but he had to quit smoking first. My companion and I planned and prayed, trying to come up with a solution to help Hugo with his addiction.
One night, we were creating a plan with Hugo to quit smoking. He was discouraged and doubted whether it would be possible. I felt inspired to share with him a scripture that would later become one of my favorites: “And Christ hath said: If ye will have faith in me ye shall have power to do whatsoever thing is expedient in me” (Moroni 7:33). I asked Hugo, “Do you think that your baptism is ‘expedient’ to Jesus Christ?”
“Absolutely, Elder Ballard,” Hugo replied. “But I don’t think I can quit smoking.”
“The Lord promises you in this scripture that if you will have faith in Christ, it will be possible,” I assured him. We finished making our plan with him, which was a quick process that would eventually require him to stop completely, and he resolved to follow it.
Hugo quit smoking within the week and his whole family was baptized into the Church the following Sunday. I know that Hugo had found power in the scripture I shared with him.

“There it is,” I whispered to Randy as we watched the magpie glide through the air and land in the poplar trees just this side of Jed Franklin’s place. We clutched our rocks and glared at the shiny black bird with the white tips on its tail and wings. Dad had said that he didn’t like magpies eating our vegetables, so Randy and I had chased it out of the garden. Chasing magpies was lots more fun than weeding.
“Do you think we ought to follow it over there, Russell?” Randy asked.
I thought about going back to the garden to finish weeding. I scratched my head. “Dad said that if they’re not chased miles away, they just come back.”
Randy swallowed. “But it’s on Mr. Franklin’s place now.”
I shuddered just a little. Jed Franklin was the meanest man I knew. He lived alone on a little run-down farm just down the road from us.
“I figure we can sneak over there through the trees without his seeing us,” I whispered.
Before Randy could answer, I started down the dirt lane toward the Franklin place. I heard Randy scramble after me. The magpie was still in the poplar tree when we got there. We each threw a rock.
“We didn’t throw close enough to it,” I muttered as I watched the magpie fly away, then perch itself right on top of Mr. Franklin’s new light pole. “We can chase it a lot farther away from there,” I said excitedly.
“But, Russell,” Randy gasped, “we can’t go into Mr. Franklin’s yard!”
I started ahead and suddenly grinned. “He’s not even there. His truck’s gone.”
A few moments later Randy and I were hunched down by the corner of Mr. Franklin’s barn, looking almost straight up at the magpie. “Be careful,” I said.
I don’t know which rock went where. All I know is that we shattered Mr. Franklin’s new light! Glass flew everywhere.
We ran for home—past the poplar trees, across the dirt lane, and to the garden, where we should have been all afternoon. We grabbed our hoes and started chopping weeds as fast as we could. Even when we were finished, we kept looking for weeds where there weren’t any. And every few minutes we glanced toward the Franklin place.
It was almost suppertime when we heard Jed Franklin’s old truck rumble down the road past our place to his. We didn’t dare stay in the garden after that. We put our hoes away and went into the house.
That night after we’d gone to bed and should have been sleeping, I lay on my pillow with my eyes wide open and a thousand things going through my mind. When I’d said my prayer that night, the words didn’t seem to go anyplace. They just stayed in the room with me. “Are you awake?” I whispered down to Randy, who was on the bottom bunk.
Randy kicked his covers back and muttered, “Yes. I can’t go to sleep. I keep thinking.”
“We didn’t mean to do it,” I argued. “It was an accident.”
“I know,” Randy came back, “but Mr. Franklin still lost his light.”
“Well, there’s nothing we can do about it now,” I muttered.
The next morning, Randy and I were helping Dad fix a sagging barn door when Mr. Franklin pulled up in his truck. I took a step backward, bumping Randy and spilling a sack of nails on the ground. Mr. Franklin leaned out his pickup and glared at us. “Well, they’ve done it again,” he said angrily.
Dad straightened up. “Who did what?” Dad asked.
Mr. Franklin stared at Randy and me. I gulped, wondering how he’d found out. “They broke my new light,” he growled. “It hasn’t been in a week, and they shot it out yesterday while I was away.”
“Who did it?” Dad asked.
I got ready to turn and run. I just knew Mr. Franklin was going to point a finger at Randy and me and yell, “They did!”
“Kids!” Mr. Franklin snorted. “Probably those kids on the motorcycles. They’re always racing through my yard and driving up into the hills. They leave gates open, tear things up, and scare my stock. Now they’ve gone and knocked my light out. If I ever get my hands on them … !”
“Those guys on the motorcycles sure saved us,” I muttered after Mr. Franklin had left and Dad had gone into the house to answer the phone. “And we didn’t even have to lie or anything,” I said, smiling, but still feeling dark and sick inside. I kept thinking of something Mom had told us once. She had said that you could tell a huge lie without saying anything, just by being quiet when you knew the truth.
“Why does Mr. Franklin have to be such a mean old guy?” I asked Dad when he came back.
Dad thought for a moment, then answered, “Oh, he’s not mean. Just lonely.”
“He sure seems mean to me,” Randy said, “always running around with that ugly frown.”
Dad scratched his head. “Sometimes Jed looks mean and angry with everyone because nobody ever seems very nice to him.”
After we had finished the door, Randy and I sat in the barn and talked.
“I wish we hadn’t done it,” Randy said.
I nodded. “We ought to pay him for the light.”
Randy gasped. “But then we’d have to tell him we broke it in the first place.”
“Well, maybe we could work for him. We wouldn’t tell him why, and that way we could pay for the light without his even knowing it.”
It was the best idea we had had. We hated to hoe corn, but we knew Mr. Franklin had a little patch that needed hoeing, so we headed for it. The sun was hot, bugs buzzed around our heads, sweat trickled down the sides of our faces, our backs ached, and I even wore a blister on my hand. But for the first time since Randy and I had broken the light, I felt good because we were making up for what we had broken.
“What are you kids doing?” a voice boomed out at us as we were finishing the last two rows.
We turned around, and there stood Mr. Franklin leaning against a fence post.
I gulped and licked my lips. “We’ve been hoeing your corn.”
“Why?”
“The corn needed hoeing,” Randy spoke up.
“We wanted to,” I added. “You don’t mind do you?”
“No, I don’t mind.” He almost smiled. “Mighty fine work.” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a worn brown wallet. “I guess you boys could use a little spending money.”
“We didn’t do it for money,” I burst out.
Mr. Franklin looked at me, then at Randy, who was nodding in agreement.
“But I’d like to pay,” Mr. Franklin said, counting out some money. “I don’t remember any kids ever helping me before. Sometimes kids come over and shoot my lights and windows out, but this is the first time any showed up to help.” He held the money out. “I insist that you take it.”
We couldn’t make ourselves tell him about the light, so we took the money and headed for home, feeling worse than we’d felt before we hoed the corn.
“Why don’t we feel good, Russell?” Randy asked me. I thought you were supposed to feel good after you did something good. I just feel rotten.”
“I guess it’s because we did something good just to cover up something bad.”
For a long time we stayed in the barn, thinking. We both knew that there was only one thing we could do to make us feel better, but we were both scared to do it.
“I’m going back,” I finally announced.
“Going back!” Randy gasped.
“I’m giving the money back.”
“But what will you tell him?”
I took a deep breath. “I guess I’ll just tell him the truth. That’s what we should have done to start with.”
It was hard going back to Mr. Franklin’s place, one of the hardest things I’d ever done in my life. I would rather have hoed a dozen fields of corn than explain what we had done to his light.
We found him by his old truck. The hood was up, and he was hunched over the engine, banging and tugging with a wrench. His hands were greasy, and his face was red.
As soon as he looked up and saw us, I pulled the money from my pocket and set it on the fender of the pickup. Then I stepped back and looked directly at him. I could see out of the corner of my eye that Randy was doing the same.
Mr. Franklin looked at the money. “What’s this for?” he demanded gruffly.
I swallowed hard and looked down at the ground. I watched a tiny ant tug and pull at a piece of straw that was ten times bigger than it was. “We didn’t hoe the corn for money,” I explained in a raspy whisper. “We did it to pay for your light.”
“My light?” He straightened up and wiped his hands of his pants.
My heart was hammering so hard in my chest that I thought it was going to burst. I opened my mouth to answer, but I didn’t have any breath to speak. I sucked in some air. “The kids on the motorcycles didn’t break your light,” I said. “We did.”
“But we didn’t mean to,” Randy got out. “We weren’t trying to be mean or anything. We were just trying to chase away that old magpie.”
“Did your dad make you come over here?” Mr. Franklin asked.
We shook our heads. “We’re sorry,” I mumbled. “That’s why we wanted to hoe your corn. To make things right.”
For a long time he just stared at us without saying anything. I could feel little drops of sweat trickle down my back. And a fat, pesky fly kept buzzing around my head, but I didn’t slap at it or anything.
Finally he spoke. “Thanks, boys.” He even sounded nice. “I appreciate what you’ve done. Telling me about the light is more important than hoeing my corn.” He actually smiled. “Everybody makes mistakes, but only those who are really grown-up take the blame for them and make up for them.”
When Randy and I finally left the Franklin place, that dark, ugly feeling inside us was gone. I knew that that night I wouldn’t have any trouble saying my prayers or going to sleep.

Our daughter Jani was an active four-year-old. Every morning she would jump out of bed and get ready for preschool. One Friday my wife and I noticed that she seemed to be limping, but she assured us that she was OK.
But by Monday morning, Jani couldn’t get out of bed. Something was wrong with her legs. We took her to the hospital and were blessed to meet a doctor who recognized right away that Jani had Legg Calves Perthes, a disease that affected her hip bones. Because of his unique and specialized training, the doctor immediately knew how to help Jani.
For one year, Jani would have to wear a cast that would keep her legs widely separated so her hip bones could recover. She would not be able to walk or bathe. Then, for one more year, she would have to wear a brace that would continue to keep her legs widely separated but connected by a flexible bar so she could move her legs a little bit. We were very worried. How would she play? Would she be teased? She would have to be carried everywhere.
To our surprise, Jani never complained. She couldn’t walk or run, but she put roller skates on her feet and hands and learned to get around that way. She also scooted herself up and down stairs without our help. Her brace made a clicking noise, and sometimes other children would tease her. But she didn’t worry about what anyone else said. In fact, she learned how to ride a bike with her brace! She always woke up with a smile. How could we be sad for her when she was so happy? Jani taught me that a positive attitude can help us rise above our trials.

A few years ago, a mother wanted to reduce the time television was taking from her neighborhood’s school-age children. She started a campaign to encourage more time away from television, calling it “Turn Off Your TV, Turn On Your Mind.” She challenged the students at her children’s school to stop watching television—except for two to three hours a week of news or educational programs—for one month. Support came readily from the school’s principal and faculty. Teachers contributed ideas for how the students could use their time, and the children undertook special projects like participating in reading marathons, building models, and performing experiments.
The “Turn Off Your TV” campaign proved to be a memorable experience, especially for the children and their parents. Local news media covered the event and praised the efforts of those involved.

I had won the race. The prize seat in the minivan was mine. As I squeezed in between my best friend and the guy I had a crush on, I thought, “Life is great.” Soon I would be caught up in the normal chatting that accompanies any Mutual Christmas-caroling activity. Only this time, by some chance, I saw Chrslyn—left behind in our mad dash for the vehicles.
I knew Chrslyn from passing conversations in school. I may have even called and invited her to a few Church activities. But in the previous months I had failed to bring her into my circle of friends because she was in a wheelchair.
On that winter night, squashed into a minivan, as I watched her skillfully yet slowly struggle to catch up with us, I realized I also had a disability, and I knew I must change. I must treat Chrslyn as the daughter of God that she was. I decided to help her when she needed it.
As I tried to be of aid, I felt a little frustrated because I was being left out of the fun of the evening. No one even noticed that I was no longer with the group. At one stop, as I was helping Chrysln to her wheelchair, I begged Jared, one of the more outgoing young men, to wait for me. He complied, and soon the other youth began to notice Chrslyn and offer their help in various ways. The quest to help Chrysln soon became a game, as we each fought for a turn in pushing her wheelchair. We rotated the privilege of sitting in the truck with our new friend and generally kept her at the center of attention the whole night.
We soon had a system set up. I was responsible for lifting Chrysln from the vehicle while one of the young men reassembled her wheelchair, and then we were off. Even as we walked up and down the dirt roads that were becoming more mud than dirt, we were not daunted. This was our new mission, and nothing would stop us from helping Chrslyn have the caroling experience of her life.
At the last home we visited, we were able to park close to the house, so instead of reassembling her wheelchair, I just carried Chrslyn to the door. I was surprised at how light she felt. As strains of “Away in a Manger” (Hymns, no. 206) filled the night air, I looked down and saw Chrslyn smiling. Holding her in my arms, I thought of the Savior’s message: “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me” (Matt. 25:40).
In my mind I saw the picture of the Savior healing the lame man near the pool of Bethesda, and I knew this night another miracle had been performed. Only this night it was not the physically lame who had been made whole: it was I, the spiritually blind. I now saw Chrslyn as a person and a friend who had feelings and desires similar to mine.
That night ended, and months passed. Chrslyn and her family left our branch, but I know that through Chrslyn my life was changed. Even now, when I think of this experience, I am reminded to follow the Savior, loving and serving all men, no matter their circumstances, for we are all children of God.

I then turned to a brother on my left and said, “My hero is Jim Newton and his wife, Helen.” Shortly after Jim and Helen’s son Zach received his mission call to Peru, he was taken in an automobile accident. When I heard of the accident, I rushed to the hospital, hoping to hear that Zach was alive and would recover. The parents, in a most dignified and peaceful manner, explained that Zach would now be serving his mission on the other side of the veil. As I witnessed the calm resolve of these two strong parents, I realized that through the pain and anguish there was a peace that could come only through a deep and abiding faith in a loving Father and an atoning Savior. My faith was strengthened, and through their inspiration my resolve to follow their example in meeting similar trials and tragedies was reaffirmed.

“My name is Omar Interdonato,” the e-mail began. “I’m the son of Fiorella Italia. I hope you still remember her baptism.”
The mother, along with her oldest son and two teenage daughters, their grandmother, and their friend were eventually baptized. Following my mission, I kept in touch with the family, but until I received the e-mail, I had wondered what had happened to Fiorella, the daughters’ young friend.
“My mother has been faithful to the gospel all her life and in 1983 married a good Church member from the Messina Branch and got sealed in the temple,” her son wrote. “I was born in 1984 and my sister, Veronica, in 1987. We are all active in the Church. I served a mission in the Italy Rome Mission from 2005 to 2007, hoping to repay the Lord for all the struggles of two missionaries who decided to preach the gospel in the small town of Floridia!”
There were times during my mission when I wondered if the two years of sacrifice were worth it. But how great is my joy (see D&C 18:15–16) to learn that Fiorella’s life was changed forever because my companion and I made the decision to go forth and forget ourselves in the service of others on the island of Sicily.

“Two months after I was baptized, the students from Kiribati were asked if anyone was interested in going home to introduce the Church there. I gave them my name. But when they learned I was 17, they told me I was too young.” Six young men accepted the call to take the gospel to Kiribati. They began in late 1975.
“Before they left, I asked them to talk to my parents. They agreed. I also sent many letters to my family bearing my testimony. They accepted the gospel and were baptized.” His grandmother, Tebwebwenikai Ribauea Tune, was the first person in the family to join.

“Figuratively, all of us need to transform ourselves into modern Captain Moronis in order to win the wars against evil. I know a very faithful young deacon who transformed himself into a modern Captain Moroni. Inasmuch as he has sought to follow the counsel of his parents and Church leaders, his faith and determination have been tested every day, even at his young age. He told me one day he was surprised by a very difficult and uncomfortable situation—his friends were accessing pornographic images on their cell phones. In that exact moment, this young man had to decide what was most important—his popularity or his righteousness. In the few seconds that followed, he was filled with courage and told his friends that what they were doing was not right. Moreover, he told them that they should stop what they were doing or they would become slaves to it. Most of his classmates ridiculed his counsel, saying that it was a part of life and that there was nothing wrong with it. However, there was one among them who listened to the counsel of that young man and decided to stop what he was doing.
“This deacon’s example had a positive influence on at least one of his classmates. Undoubtedly, he and his friend faced mockery and persecution because of that decision. On the other hand, they had followed the admonition of Alma to his people when he said, ‘And now I say unto you, all you that are desirous to follow the voice of the good shepherd, come ye out from the wicked, and be ye separate, and touch not their unclean things’ [Alma 5:57].”
Elder Ulisses Soares of the Presidency of the Seventy

Then, in words of soberness, he told me this story. When he was quite a young man, the Prince of Wales Colliery was the pride of the valley. Almost every family in the village had someone who worked there. But one spring day an explosion occurred deep underground, and a fire broke out in the passages where the coal was mined. Rescue teams tried to reach the trapped men, but each time the tire drove them back. So, in a desperate attempt to save the mine, the owners ordered the canal that ran close-by to be turned into the mine.
One hundred and eighty-four men and boys were trapped in the bowels of the earth. Those who were not burned by the explosion were drowned by the water that came pouring in. Hundreds of the villagers gathered around the mine, waiting to see if any were rescued. But as the hours passed, hope turned to despair. The rescue team that went down returned with saddened faces.
“No one”, they said, “could possibly have lived through those awful conditions.”
Still the villagers waited, for down below in the earth were their loved ones, and they did not wish to return home without them.
It was when the sun had touched the hilltop and the first shadows had settled on the village that it happened. Someone cried out, and a pair of hands could be seen climbing the cables that raised and lowered the cage. Eager hands assisted the man from those awful cables. The flesh was hanging in shreds from his hands, his clothing almost burned from his body. Tenderly they laid him down, and the doctor ministered to him as best he could. The man was near to death, but the courage that caused him to climb from the darkness of the mine to the day above would help him to live again. The man was Jimmy Drew.
The question on everyone’s lips was, “How could a man live through explosion, fire, and water and then climb those hundreds of feet on a steel cable and still live?”
That question was never answered, for God in his mercy had closed the mind of Jimmy Drew so that he would never tell of his terrible ordeal.

One Sunday in October, I was assigned to give an important part in a program at church. But in October everyone in my family had to work hard to harvest the rice in my father’s rice fields. That included working on the Sabbath day.
I prayed to Heavenly Father, and the Spirit planted a thought in my mind: I could try to finish the harvest before Sunday. I would get up early and work every morning before school. Then every afternoon I would work after school until dark.
But by Saturday night only half of the harvest was done. I went to bed discouraged that I had not accomplished my goal. Sunday morning I awoke early to go to the fields. My father came to my room and, with a gentle smile, asked why I wasn’t going to church. My heart was full of joy. I could go to church and keep the Sabbath day holy!

This story happened in Mexico.
Javi liked learning to do new things. He liked learning to play baseball. He liked learning the guitar. He liked learning to play new video games. So when Papá asked if he wanted to learn something new, Javi was ready.
Javi watched Papá open his laptop and bring up a site called “FamilySearch.”
“I’m going to teach you how to find the names of our ancestors,” Papá said. “Many of them lived a long time ago, and they didn’t have the gospel. When we find their names, we can go to the temple to be baptized for them. Then they will have a chance to accept the gospel.”
Javi remembered how good he had felt when he was baptized. If he could help his ancestors feel the same way, he wanted to learn how!
Javi watched Papá show him what to do. Then Papá passed the laptop to Javi. “Your turn!”
Javi grinned. He practiced clicking around and reading the names and dates. This was his family!
For the next few nights, Mamá and Papá helped Javi learn more about doing family history work. His older sister Lily started to learn too. It felt like playing a video game with a very important quest!
One Sunday, the bishop announced that the stake was holding a special challenge. The stake members would have 60 days to find as many names as they could to send to the temple. The goal was a total of 5,000 names. At the end of the 60 days, there would be a big party to celebrate. There would also be awards for the people who had found the most names.
“I want to help,” Javi said when they got home from church.
“Me too!” Lily said.
“How about you start right now?” Papá said. “See how many names you can find before dinner.”
Javi and Lily raced to the front room. Lily opened FamilySearch on her phone, and Javi worked on Papá’s laptop. Soon he found a record for his great-grandfather’s brother. It also listed three children who hadn’t been baptized. Javi whooped. He had found three names to send to the temple!
For 60 days Javi spent most of his free time doing family history. He searched for names almost every night after school. On Sundays, his whole family worked on it together.
At the end of the 60 days, Javi and his family went to the church building for the party. There were tacos, music, and lots of people. It was fun!
Finally, the stake president stood up.
“I am so proud of everyone,” he said. “Our stake found 10,000 names for the temple!”
Everyone cheered. Javi’s eyes got wide. That was twice as many as their goal!
Then the stake president announced the winners. The adult winner was a woman Javi didn’t know, but the youth winner was Lily!
“Now for the children. We had someone send in 216 names,” said the stake president. The crowd clapped so loudly that Javi couldn’t hear what the stake president said next.
Javi’s father nudged him. “Javi, he said your name.”
Javi could hardly believe it. Had he really sent in 216 names?
Javi walked to the front. He smiled big as the stake president shook his hand and handed him a certificate. It had his name on it!
“How does it feel to win?” the stake president asked.
“Really good,” Javi said.
It did feel good to win. And it felt really good to have learned a way to help so many people!
Illustration by Josh Talbot

One year after Mohamed Turay had joined the Church in Caldwell, Liberia, the 1989 war broke out. As rebels moved closer to Caldwell, he saw people in his community leaving. He had a dream in which a bomb fell near his home. Finally, after seeing an article in the newspaper describing how people were being beheaded, Mohamed knew he and his family were in danger and he resolved to flee Caldwell. Mohamed believed the dream was a warning from God. “It was a blessing for my family,” said Mohamed. “A serious blessing.”
“Come,” he told Abie, his wife. “Today, we’ll not sleep here.” Mohamed took Abie and their children to the border where they would be safe. But he had to return to Caldwell to make final arrangements for their departure. Just hours before rebels took the city, Mohamed managed to escape and join his family.
The Turay family resettled in Bo, Sierra Leone. Although there was no Church presence there, they were encouraged to stay and help establish a branch. They started a home group with only the five members of the Turay family. Not long after they started talking to people about the Church, missionaries arrived, and the first baptismal service was held in Bo. On that special day, 31 people were baptized in the Sewa River. Mohamed was soon called to preside over the new Bo Sierra Leone District. Under Mohamed’s leadership, one small branch eventually grew into four branches.
In 1991 war broke out again—this time in Sierra Leone—resulting in over a decade of famine and violence. “Rebels were killing civilians and the road to Freetown was blocked,” said Mohamed. There was not enough food to feed their children and Mohamed and Abie knew they needed the Lord’s help, so they knelt together in prayer. No sooner had they finished their prayer than a Church leader came to their door with a package containing enough money to provide a bag of rice to each family in the district. Their prayer was answered.
When the fighting reached Bo, Mohamed was targeted as a religious leader in the community. He was forced to separate from his family and to hide from the rebels until it was possible to get back to them. Once the family was reunited, they knew they had to leave. But where? How? As they were formulating their plan, a young man approached the family and asked where they were going. “We want to escape from here,” Mohamed said. “Follow me,” the young man answered. After following the young man through the bush for some time, he suddenly disappeared. “By the time we could wink our eyes, we couldn’t see him,” said Mohamed. “That was the greatest miracle, which we will never forget.”
They continued on their journey but they knew their safety depended on being able to travel through the dangerous territory without a sound. They worried that their baby’s crying would put them at risk, but, as Mohamed later recalled, “the angels sealed his mouth; he never cried.” They continued travelling through three more villages—an arduous trek through dangerous terrain—until they arrived at safety.
After the immediate danger had passed, Mohamed and Abie returned to Bo and joined the other Saints in looking out for one another. “Nearly every day, we used to go around and check on our members,” he said. “unity was built among the Church members.” In addition, food, blankets, clothing, and hygiene kits were provided by the fast offerings of Saints around the world—a gift that helped the Turay family recognize the value of their own tithes and fast offerings.
Following the war, the Saints in Bo helped rebuild their community. Abie worked in health clinics and shared her training in neonatal resuscitation with other professionals. In 2004, civic and tribal leaders attended a groundbreaking ceremony for the first Church-built chapel in Sierra Leone. Two years later, Mohamed was released after serving 14 years as a district president. In reflecting on this service, he said, “I know that the Lord had wanted to use me as an instrument in His hands to do His work.”