Gospel Story Finder

The Mendez family lives in a small mountain town near the city of Oaxaca, in southern Mexico. They say, “There are challenges of time, finances, and distance, but the will to do what our Savior wants us to do motivates us to overcome any obstacle.”

Gonzalo Mendez, age 15, says, “When you live in a place where there is danger, temptations can be very difficult, but with the help of prayer we don’t partake of the enticements of the world, and we stand as witnesses to a better way of life.”

The gospel has long been established in Mexico, but there are still areas where the Church is developing. Jaime Cruz, age 15, and his family are the only members of the Church in their small town in the mountains above Oaxaca City. He and his friend Gonzalo work on home-study seminary during the week. Every Saturday they travel two hours by bus to go to the nearest chapel for seminary class with other youth from their ward. Jaime shares what he learns in seminary with his classmates at school and answers their questions. Jaime’s younger brother, Alex, a deacon, is a leader among his friends. Alex says that when he asks them nicely not to use bad language or wear inappropriate clothing, they listen to what he says. Jaime and Alex both know that holding the priesthood is an honor and a responsibility. “I know that the priesthood is given to young men to glorify God’s name by serving others and preaching the gospel,” Jaime says.

During a recent visit to Mexico, Elder Neil L. Andersen of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles met with the youth from three stakes in the city of Cancun. Of his time with these youth, he said, “We saw the light in their eyes and the hope in their faces and the dreams they have. I kept thinking about what a beautiful future Mexico has.”16

On 18 July 2023, I lost the most important person in my life. My mother was my strength, my pillar, but also my weakness. At that time, I was no longer attending church because I worked every day, including Sundays and public holidays, and my ward met at 8:00 a.m. I missed one time, then another … and it became a vicious cycle.
When I lost my mother, I realized I hadn’t made the most of my time with her. I began to regret not quitting my job to spend more time with her after her stroke in March 2020. She lived for three more years, but since I was often at work, I feel like I didn’t truly cherish her final moments. A sense of guilt overwhelmed me. In my mind, I was stuck in a routine: work, medical appointments, caring for my mom, sleep, on repeat. There was no room for anything else.
That’s when I understood the truth: I didn’t trust God enough. I had given more importance to my temporal needs than to my spiritual life.
Yet my mother’s passing brought me closer to the Lord again. He became my support. In Him, I found the peace and love I needed to cope with grief. I gave myself the challenge for 2024 to start attending sacrament meeting regularly again.

I also understand Joseph Smith’s wanting to be alone as he prayed. On another occasion a few years later, I was in a similar situation, this time with a young man I didn’t know. I was nervous about praying in front of him, so I waited for him to go to bed so I could kneel and pray without him watching me.
But he wouldn’t go to bed, so I finally knelt and prayed and got into my sleeping bag. When he got into bed a few minutes later, he said, “Lynn, do you always pray like that?”
“Yes, I try to. If I ever hurry and get into bed forgetting to pray, I get out of bed and kneel and pray.”
He said, “I should do that.”

My husband’s illness came on suddenly. One morning he was cutting the lawn, and the next thing we knew he was falling ill. By the next day he was on life support. As we moved from the emergency room to the operating room, one of the doctors spoke of if they would be able to save him.

Because the illness he contracted was rare, he had a slim chance of survival. I couldn’t believe the dramatic turn of events. I felt overcome with despair.

Thankfully, Pierre made it through his first surgery and was admitted to the intensive care unit (ICU). There would be a long road ahead, but his chances improved with each passing hour. The first of many nurses spoke to me the morning after the initial surgery. She talked about when Pierre made it to the next step of the treatment. I paused with the impact of that word. There was so much more hope in when than if—it communicated confidence, expectancy. I thanked her for the choice of word, and she smiled knowingly.

Pierre received many priesthood blessings, which provided great encouragement. We knew to watch for the hand of the Lord in our lives, since His influence was not a matter of if but of when. Every time Pierre’s health became dangerously fragile, I reminded him of the blessings and that we needed to demonstrate our faith in the Lord. This was a sacred journey, and each day was a gift.

The hope of when kept us positive. However, 18 days into the journey, things went terribly wrong. During the seventh surgery, his doctors determined that the disease was too widespread. The medical team tearfully expressed their sorrow as they told me that Pierre would not survive the night.

I was able to be with my eternal companion as he passed through the veil. We were blessed to have his only living child from a previous marriage on the phone to relay the love that he had for his father. Pierre passed peacefully.

Weeks later, at his graveside, words of comfort came from Mosiah 2:41: “Ye should consider on the blessed and happy state of those that keep the commandments of God. For behold, … if they hold out faithful to the end they are received into heaven, that thereby they may dwell with God in a state of never-ending happiness” (emphasis added).

Pierre and I had always determined that the if in that scripture would be a when for us. We knew that by staying committed to our covenants, we would be reunited—it was a question only of when. We trust in the Lord’s plan of eternal families and eternal life. It’s the power of when that keeps us moving forward.

He also remembers the time his dad was seriously sick. Raúl’s mother thought he was going to die. She rode a bus to the missionaries’ house to ask them to give him a blessing. They weren’t home, so she left them a message. When they arrived several hours later, Raúl’s father was so sick he could hardly talk. The missionaries gave him a blessing—and within half an hour, he was up and feeling much better.

Some of the older boys were asked to help with the flood watch. Jeff Larsen spent several shifts from midnight to three in the morning patrolling the stream banks and cleaning drains to keep the water moving in its channel. “It was a strange feeling being out that late in the dark trying to see if something was going wrong. At first I felt nervous, but there was a good feeling of doing something that really needed to be done.” Jeff had to come home after each watch and try to get enough sleep before reporting to his job.

President Heber J. Grant called Harold B. Lee into his office one morning.
President Grant: Tomorrow you will be sustained as a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles.
Harold: But, President Grant, do you really think that I am worthy of this call?
President Grant: My boy, if I didn’t think so, you would never be called to this position.
That night Harold couldn’t sleep. All he could think about was the foolish mistakes he had made in his life and about all the people he might have offended. He knelt to pray.
Harold: Heavenly Father, I will love and forgive every soul that has walked the earth. I pray that Thou wilt forgive me in return and make me worthy to be Thy servant.
The next day, he nervously went to the temple and was ushered into the room where the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles meet with the First Presidency.
President Grant: Take a seat here, Elder Lee.
Elder Lee: Imagine all the great men who have sat in this room, in these chairs!
After the ordination, one of the Apostles gave Elder Lee an assignment.
Apostle: Now, you know that after having been ordained, you are a special witness of the Lord Jesus Christ. We want you to give the Easter talk on the radio next Sunday night.
Elder Lee went into a room in the Church Office Building to read Bible accounts of Jesus’ life. As he read, he realized that he was having a new experience.
Elder Lee: I can almost see the events as if they are happening right now!
Elder Lee learned that every Apostle receives a special personal witness of Jesus Christ. When Easter Sunday came, he was ready to speak.
Elder Lee: I am now the least of all my brethren and want to witness to you that I know, as I have never known before this call came, that Jesus is the Savior of this world. He lives, and He died for us.

by Ann Romick
Rick Hilder of the San Lorenzo California First Ward has loved sports for as long as he can remember, and someday he hopes to make them his life’s work. Meanwhile, the 16-year-old sophomore from Arroyo High School not only participates in baseball, football, basketball, and wrestling, but spends a good deal of his spare time coaching a group of younger boys. It was because of his willingness to share his time and talents that he got a part-time job with the Oakland Raiders.
A few years ago, Rick’s younger brother asked Rick if he would come and help to organize and coach some of the kids at his school. Rick was delighted and immediately formed a neighborhood team. The activity was so successful that they completed two winning seasons.
The father of one of the team members was impressed with Rick’s work and dedication and suggested that Rick meet one of his neighbors, George Jones, the assistant equipment manager for the Oakland Raiders. They discussed his interest in sports. George offered Rick a chance to be his assistant.
The work itself is rather ordinary, even in the somewhat awesome world of professional sports, but once in a while, Rick’s job turns into a real treat.
“There are times when I feel like I’m working out with the team,” he says. “I keep the balls dried off, and sometimes they have me go out onto the field and catch the balls or shag field goal attempts when the team is practicing. The players are super guys and treat me very well and are friendly. They encourage me to stick to my goals.”
Rick particularly likes talking with Todd Christensen and Marc Wilson. “We talk a lot about the Church,” he says, “and about my plans for a mission and my desire to one day play football for BYU.”
At his school, Rick is an all-around athlete. He is a double-duty football player, taking a defensive tackle position as well as playing center for the offensive team. He was voted the most valuable player of the year last season. He also wrestles and plays baseball.

Every year, my husband and I and both our extended families go on a camping trip to celebrate the end-of-year holiday season. We choose a site that can accommodate our numbers and then camp from Christmas Eve until just after New Year’s Day.
These camps are a wonderful time for us to strengthen our family bonds. Because most of us are members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, these camps also strengthen our testimony of Christ and of His Church as we celebrate His birth.
At the end of 2020, we found a site in Bikenibeu Village, Tarawa, which has a large mwaneaba (a traditional meetinghouse) that our whole family could sleep under. As always, my dear sister-in-law, Meteta, joined us in the camping festivities.
Meteta lived with my husband and me and, at 71 years old, she was more like a mother to us. She was still quite healthy and active, except that she walked on crutches as a result of a surgery she had 20 years earlier. Meteta loved our Christmas camping trips and eagerly participated in our family games and activities.
On the 31st of December, a few hours before our New Year’s celebration, Meteta was so excited. She took an early shower, got dressed and then sat down in the mwaneaba, ready to enjoy the night. Everyone else was rushing around, getting ready, too.
Then, in the midst of all the preparations, Meteta quietly said to me, "I have a burning pain in my chest." I dropped everything I was doing, called my husband and another sister-in-law over, and soon several of us were trying to help her.
It all happened so fast. About fifteen minutes later, Meteta started to gasp for air. My husband and son gave her a priesthood blessing while we waited for the ambulance. Sadly, the doctors couldn’t do much more for her. Soon after we arrived at the hospital, our Meteta was gone.
That evening, the world stopped for us. As we slowly made our way back to the campsite—to share the tragic news and inform everyone that we had to break camp—my husband and I reflected on Meteta’s final moments. The doctors had done their best to revive her, and those around us tried to give us hope, but we felt a strange kind of peace that told us it was Meteta’s time to go.
Our faith in Jesus Christ and our testimony of His gospel also helped the rest of our family accept what happened. We had just spent a week in both worldly and spiritual celebration, but as our holiday camp transitioned into a funeral, we tuned the world out completely.
We mourned the loss of our dear Meteta—she had been a great source of stability in our home, and we would have to make many adjustments without her—but in the wake of her passing, we talked more about the meaning of our own lives.
We focused on our Saviour and on His divine gift of exaltation. We expressed deep gratitude for His atoning sacrifice and His victory over the grave. It was a time of spiritual renewal for all of us. As we worked together to organise and prepare for Meteta’s earthly farewell, our thoughts were on Heavenly Father’s plan of salvation, and on His Son, who has made it possible for us to reunite with Meteta again, one day.
Our family holiday camps are always boisterous events, full of music and dance, talent shows, laughter and fun, but this particular Christmas, the happiness of our festivities seemed to dim in the light of true joy—the joy that our Saviour Jesus Christ brought when He was born into this world to give us life.
Our understanding of His gospel is what brought our family peace after Meteta’s passing. It helped us to remember the real meaning of Christmas.

Paolo trudged home from school.
Saturday was his tenth birthday. Back home in Mexico, his family had celebrated birthdays with a big party, inviting many of their friends and relatives. His mother would prepare a large meal of wonderful foods, and his father would give special presents.
Ever since his family had moved to a small town in Colorado last fall, money had been scarce.
It was not the big party he would miss or even the presents. It was the way of life—the traditions and customs—that tugged at the empty place in his heart. His family still practiced some of the old ways, but it was not the same.
He stopped at the bakery where his father worked. Though his father had been a professor at the university in Mexico City, he had not been able to find a teaching job in the United States. He’d taken a job as a doughnut and bread maker at the local bakery.
“No work is to be ashamed of if it is honest and helps people,” his father had said when Paolo asked him about it. He’d pointed to the loaves of freshly baked bread. A rich, yeasty smell filled the small shop. “I bake good bread. It helps the people who buy it, and Mr. Patterson, who owns the store. Someday, I might be able to teach in the United States, but until then, I am content.”
Paolo had nodded, but he wasn’t convinced.
He thought about that as he stepped into the small bakery. He inhaled deeply, savoring the aroma of cinnamon and sugar.
His father smiled. “Paolo, I am glad you came.”
Paolo climbed on top of a tall stool and watched as his father wiped down the counters and polished the glass display cases until they gleamed.
“There.” His father hung up the towel. “Would you like to try my new creation?”
Paolo bit into the savory pastry his father handed him. “It is good.”
Paolo and his father walked home together. Someday, maybe, there’d be enough money to buy a car. For now they walked or took the bus.
Paolo waited until they were almost home when he said, “We do not live like we did in our country.”
“You will have a birthday party this year,” his father said, guessing Paolo’s thoughts.
“It won’t be the same,” Paolo muttered.
“Because we do not live in a big house?”
Paolo started to deny it and then hung his head. “I wish we had never left Mexico. That was our home.”
His father stopped and gestured to their modest one-story house. “This is our home now. It is a good place.”
Paolo looked at the rented house where his family lived. It was small and run-down. He had not invited any of his friends to visit because he was ashamed of it. In Mexico, their home had been much nicer, a place he could be proud of.
He hadn’t told his parents of his feelings. He knew they would be hurt.
“Paolo, you have not invited anyone to your birthday party,” his mother said as he set his books on the kitchen table.
He pretended to be very busy in making himself a snack, avoiding meeting his father’s gaze.
“What is it, Paolo?” his mother asked. “You do not laugh or smile as you once did. Are you so unhappy here?”
The worry in his mother’s voice caused him to flush with guilt. “I am happy. I just haven’t made friends yet.”
That was not true and his conscience nagged him. David, a boy at school, had invited Paolo to his home several times. David lived in a fine house. Paolo could not invite his friend to the shabby house where his family now lived.
His mother’s eyes were shadowed with pain. “You are ashamed of your papá and me. Of where we live.”
“No, Mamá. I could never be ashamed of you.”
“But you are embarrassed by our home, aren’t you?”
He wanted to deny it. A look at Mamá’s face convinced him she would not believe him. “I will invite someone,” he said.
The pain in her eyes eased. “Good. I will prepare a special meal.”
“Ten is an important age,” his father said, his dark eyes serious. “Two years ago you were baptized. In two more years, you will receive the priesthood and be ordained a deacon.”
The words of the blessing his father had given him at the time of his baptism sounded clearly in Paolo’s mind: “I bless you with the knowledge to choose your friends wisely. Remember that the friends you make can influence your choices. Be an example to them and let your light shine.”
At the time Paolo had thought the blessing was to warn him of those who might try to tempt him to forget his principles. Last year a boy in his class had dared Paolo to steal something from a store. Paolo had walked away and avoided the boy after that.
For the rest of the afternoon and evening, Paolo worked hard to help around the house. He polished the furniture, swept the kitchen floor, and washed the dinner dishes while his sisters dried.
“Thank you, Paolo,” his mother said, looking up from where she was rolling out pastry. “We will have a good party on Saturday. You will see.”
The following day at school Paolo asked David, “Would you like to come to my birthday party on Saturday?”
A smile creased David’s face. “Sure.” He punched his friend lightly on the arm. “I was wondering when you were going to ask me over to your house.”
When David arrived on Saturday afternoon, Paolo tried to see his home through the eyes of his friend. Richly woven rugs brightened the floor. Pillows, embroidered by his mother, covered the furniture. The house smelled of frijoles and spices and simmering meat. The old house no longer appeared so shabby as laughter and the aroma of good food filled it.
He introduced David to his parents and little sisters and was pleased when David joined in the fun of knocking down the piñata.
Once again Paolo recalled the blessing at the time of his baptism. Now he realized that, in addition to the warning, the blessing also encouraged him to make and appreciate good friends like David.
“Your family’s great,” David said between bites of frijoles.
“Yeah,” Paolo agreed. “You’re right.” The things he had worried over no longer seemed important. He had what really mattered.

May I share with you an experience that took place on the island of Okinawa in the Servicemen’s District? As the local Okinawan members were excitedly preparing to go to Tokyo, which is nearly 900 miles away, for the area general conference, the young people of the Servicemen’s Branch found out that an active young Okinawan family was not planning to go with the rest of the branch. When approached and asked why he was not going to conference, this faithful brother hesitantly replied that he just could not afford to take his wife and children at this time; it was out of the question.
The young people of the Servicemen’s Branch immediately met and planned a cookie sale project to raise funds necessary to send this family to conference. The young people baked cookies in their parents’ homes; later when they were busily engaged in selling these cookies, they were pleasantly surprised when they approached the servicemen to purchase their cookies, explaining the purpose of their project. Without hesitation the servicemen all bought cookies and donated money in excess of the purchase price, so that the young people could reach their goal. The happy result was that this young Okinawan family was able to go to Tokyo to conference with the rest of their branch, because of the help they received.
The young people of the Servicemen’s Branch all learned a great lesson in giving and loving; they learned through experience that persons who really care for others and who give some of their time, talents, and belongings for the good of others are the ones who really receive the fullest blessings of life.

“When I worked at the candy shop,” his older sister began, “I practically ate my paycheck each week in candy. I couldn’t help myself, it tasted so good. Finally after praying about it, I decided to set a candy quota for each day. If I stuck to my quota, I rewarded myself by taking the money I would have spent on candy and putting it toward a new pair of jeans. Some days I didn’t make it, but gradually I ate less candy. And I got the jeans!”

Several years ago, when I was a Primary teacher, our ward Primary planned an outing to see the Salt Lake Temple. Everyone was excited about the chance to be near the temple and to talk about it together.
We had planned our outing for the first Saturday in May, but that day a major snowstorm hit the city. The question in everybody’s mind was “Are we still going to go?”
The snow was falling as we gathered at the ward. The Primary president said to us, “I know you’ve all been concerned, but I’ve prayed about it and I’ve been impressed that we should still go.”
We climbed into the cars, and by the time we got to the temple and unloaded everyone, the snowstorm had stopped and the sun was out. The Lord had known that all these children were coming to see His temple. We were able to walk around the beautiful temple and have a wonderful time. How special it was—and is—to know that Heavenly Father hears and answers our prayers, and watches over His children everywhere!

Members from all over the Church contributed to the rescue of the German Saints. President Stover was part of an event which he would call “the most beautiful and inspiring thing that has ever been my privilege to witness during my entire membership in the Church.” It began on a visit to Holland when he graphically described the suffering of the German members. Cornelius Zappey, president of the Netherlands Mission, was so moved that he asked the Dutch members if they would plant seed potatoes in their flower gardens for their former enemies. They responded enthusiastically, and in November of 1947, they sent 60 tons of potatoes to Germany, along with 96 barrels of herring. They sent another 60 tons of potatoes in 1949.

It was Ryan’s birthday. When he woke up that morning, he remembered he was five now. Ryan quickly got out of bed and looked at the birthday card on the dresser. It had come in the mail two days ago from Grandmother in Florida. She had also sent him a toy truck.
Ryan put on his clothes and ran into the kitchen. No one was there. He ran into his parents’ bedroom. It was empty and the bed had been made. Where are they? he wondered.
Next he went to his sister Cindy’s bedroom. She was sitting up reading a book. “Happy birthday,” she said and got up and gave him a big hug and a kiss.
“Where is everybody?” Ryan asked.
Cindy laughed. “They’ve gone to get your present. They’ll be back soon.”
“Is it big?” he asked.
“Pretty big.”
“Is it heavy?”
“Pretty heavy.” Cindy started to laugh.
Ryan thought hard. I can’t imagine what could be big and heavy, unless …
“Is it a horse?” he asked.
Cindy laughed so hard she couldn’t speak. She just shook her head.
“Does it come in a box?” Ryan asked.
“No,” Cindy said.
Ryan decided she was teasing him. He quickly ran through the house again to see if his parents were hiding somewhere, but he couldn’t find them.
Now Ryan was really puzzled. He couldn’t understand where his parents could have gone and why Cindy was laughing so happily. He started to go to his room when he heard someone open the front door. He heard Father’s voice and then Mother’s laughter. He ran out into the hall as fast as he could.
There were his parents. Father was holding a big birthday cake. And behind his mother was … ! Ryan’s eyes grew bigger and bigger. Behind his mother was the neatest birthday present in the world. It was pretty big and pretty heavy. And it wasn’t in a box.
Ryan was so surprised that he stood still, unable to move. Then somebody lifted him up and swung him around.
Ryan smiled from ear to ear. No one else could have a birthday present like this, he decided.
“Remember me? Last time I saw you, you were just three. And look at you now. I could hardly wait for my mission to be over so I could see how you’ve grown. I was able to come home a few days early to surprise you.” Then Ryan’s big brother lifted him up onto his shoulders.
“Happy birthday, Ryan!” he said. “Happy birthday!”

“This is it, Mark,” I say as I gaze out at the field strewn with hundreds of colorful eggs. “Next year we’ll be too old, so we have to win the prize basket today.”
“I know, Emily,” Mark answers, his grip tight on our basket, his body poised to bolt onto the field.
At the community egg hunt, we’re allowed to work in teams of two. My friend Mark and I have come close to winning before, but this year we have to win the prize basket. Besides the chocolate eggs and stuffed animals in it, there are a gift certificate to a video store, a bunch of CDs, two passes to that new amusement park—all kinds of great stuff.
And we’re going to do it, because this year, Mark and I are among the oldest, tallest, and fastest kids here. I know we can scoop up more eggs than anyone else.
Behind me I hear a woman saying, “I just don’t know if it’s a good idea to let her try this, Mike.”
I glance back and catch a glimpse of a girl in a yellow skirt. She is with her parents and looks younger than me.
The flag goes down, and everyone goes tearing onto the field. Mark and I have planned out our strategy. We run past the kids stooping down to pick up the first eggs they come to. Instead, we head for the eggs beyond them. We grab eggs like crazy.
Mark and I have loaded our basket by the time the others have cleaned the front part of the field and start swarming into the area where we are. Even so, Mark and I continue to find a few eggs with the other children.
“You’re going to win,” one of the older boys groans when he sees our basket.
I smile. Yes, we’re going to win. I’m sure of it.
By now, the field has almost been picked clean of eggs. Mark and I start to recheck our chances of winning. We feel pretty confident.
Then I notice the girl in the yellow skirt walking slowly toward us. What is she doing? I wonder. She doesn’t have a partner, nor has she found a single egg. She holds her empty basket in one hand. Her other hand grips a long white stick tipped with red. She taps the stick to the ground and sweeps it in front of her as she walks as if she’s looking for something in the grass.
She can’t see! That’s why she has no eggs. Everyone ran out in front of her and grabbed every single egg, leaving none for her to find.
Why did she try this? I wonder. She couldn’t possibly beat us to eggs, let alone win.
Then I realize something. All I care about is finding the most eggs and winning the prize. But that girl doesn’t care a bit about the prize. She just wants to find eggs for the fun of it. And we’ve all taken that chance away from her.
I look over at Mark. He’s watching the girl, too. I can tell by the way he looks at me that he knows what I want to do. I can tell by the look in his eyes that he’s begging me not to do it. He wants to win.
But I step forward, lift an egg from our basket, and place it quietly in front of the girl. As her stick hits the egg with a satisfying clicking sound, she smiles. She bends over, gropes around for the egg, and finding it, places it in her basket.
I put down another egg. As she finds that one, Mark adds one to the grass. We both put out a couple more.
A little boy darts in front of me, heading for the eggs. I gently grab him before he can reach them. “No,” I whisper in his ear. “They’re hers.”
I know the girl will never have the most eggs—it takes her a long time to find them, and the hunt’s almost over. But at least she’ll have some. And the smile on her face shows how much fun she’s having.
The contest judge announces that the hunt is over, that we should bring all our baskets up to determine the winner. Mark and I go, but we know that we may have lost. We do lose by four eggs.
Suddenly I feel a hand on my shoulder and turn to see the woman who stood behind me earlier. Her eyes glisten with tears, and she mouths “Thank you” at me before she goes to admire the eggs in her daughter’s basket.
And then my mom’s there. “Emily, Mark,” she says. “I know how much you wanted that prize.”
I shrug. “It’s OK that we didn’t win.”
My mom puts her arms around our shoulders and squeezes. “But you two did win.”
She’s right. Even if our basket was totally empty right now, I think I would still feel like a winner, and I can tell that Mark feels that way, too. We wanted that prize basket. Instead, we’re taking home a wonderful feeling and the memory of a young girl’s smile. That’s the best prize of all.

Four days after his 16th birthday, Erastus was ordained a priest by his brother William and told to teach and baptize. He linked up with his young relative James Snow, also age 16, for a ten-day preaching mission into the Vermont countryside. Starting on November 22, 1834, they journeyed to Danville, where they “held a meeting with the brethren.” The two priests held two meetings at Sheffield, and then spoke to “a large attentive audience.” At Glover, they visited Albany, Irasburg, Troy, and Jay, “preaching and calling upon people to repent.” At Jay, they met with local Saints on the Sabbath and “administered the Lord’s supper and in the evening we held a public meeting.” The young priests visited Troy, Newport, Salem, Charleston, Newark, Burk, and Sundon.

After the trip, James Snow said, “we did exceedingly rejoice.” He and Erastus “could truly say that the Lord was merciful unto us in very deed in that he did fill our mouths with words that our enemies could neither gainsay nor resist, and prejudice gave way.”

The basketball arcs through the air and whips through the net. A timeout is called. Before play starts again, the cheering intensifies. As it morphs into words, however, it becomes clear the crowd isn’t cheering for the team. “We love Brittany! We love Brittany!” bounces around the gym as a quiet girl on the sideline starts to blush.
Brittany Crockett is this year’s honorary cheerleader at Syracuse High School in northern Utah. As the other cheerleaders roll through a line of backflips and handsprings, she speeds to the center of the court, closes her eyes, and does a 360 in her wheelchair.
Brittany has muscular dystrophy. And her experience as a cheerleader is proof of just how powerful kindness and determination can be.
When Brittany was only one year old, she was diagnosed with muscular dystrophy, a disease that slowly weakens the muscles until they don’t work correctly. Doctors told her parents she wouldn’t live another year. Fourteen years later, doctors again told her the same thing. But Brittany does try to beat the odds in just about everything.
“One time when I was little and I had more strength, I tried to stand up. I was so mad. I said to myself, ‘I am going to beat this and that’s that!’” she says.
With that kind of determination, trying out for the cheerleading squad didn’t seem too tough. After all, Brittany is pretty much like everyone else her age, except for a few things, like her new high-powered wheelchair. Her friends talk about it like it’s a brand new car.
Another difference is that when Brittany misses school because of her health, she would rather be in class than at home. And while some teens her age might obsess over fashion, she doesn’t even know her own shoe size, a consequence of being physically unable to put them on. Because the disease weakens all of her muscles, she can’t perform some simple things we take for granted, like being able to cough without the aid of a machine.
Brittany first became excited about cheerleading in junior high. It looked to her like something she could handle. As high school started, she didn’t forget that feeling.
“She constantly mentioned it. Over and over again I would hear, ‘I wish I could do that,’” her mom says. “And then one day, she said, ‘I want to do it.’” And with that conviction, her parents started asking around to see what that would take.
At first, the school district said no, over concern for Brittany’s health and safety. “We just kind of accepted it and moved on,” Brittany says. She planned to ask again the following year, but then, a surprise phone call let her know she wouldn’t have to wait.
“We had heard this girl with muscular dystrophy wanted to be a cheerleader,” says Kaitlyn Glauser. Though nervous about being told no herself, she recruited the help of another friend and fellow cheerleader, Elleny Swanson. Then the two of them did what cheerleaders are taught to do—rally support.
They generated an explosion of excitement from administrators and students alike. The district reconsidered and said with so many people urging her on, they approved. But the biggest shock came when they broke the news to Brittany.
“I just wasn’t ready for it,” Brittany says. She had nearly forgotten about her wish while Kaitlyn and Elleny had been asking for permission. “We wanted to make her dream come true,” Elleny says.
And as her dream came true, some of the school’s dreams did, too. With Brittany on the sidelines, the football team went from two wins and 11 losses the previous year, to qualifying for the state semifinals the next year. Believe it or not, the team won every game Brittany cheered for and lost every one she couldn’t attend.
“The cheerleaders started calling me their lucky charm. I’d get calls, ‘You’ve got to come! You’ve got to come so we can win!’” Brittany says.
It would be fine if the story ended there, but don’t forget that those who give service often feel the most served in return.
At games, the student body chants for Brittany as loud as they cheer for the team—if not louder. Her contagious happiness and “feisty side” create a lot of incentive for the squad members to become better individuals.
Brittany, on the other hand, is humble when talking about her own contributions. “All I’ve done is just be on the squad. I feel like I need to give them something.” The girls will tell you otherwise.
“She does so much for the squad. It makes us better people because Brittany is there. We love having her with us,” Elleny says. Their focus on helping one another has helped get rid of any high school “drama” between the girls. “We’re all very best friends,” Elleny says.
“I don’t think we really knew how big this was going to be,” Kaitlyn admits.
These youth learned a little more about what the Savior meant when He taught, “For whosoever will save his life shall lose it; but whosoever shall lose his life for my sake and the gospel’s, the same shall save it” (Mark 8:35).
“Bringing Brittany on the squad had an impact on our whole school, not just our squad—and not just Brittany’s life,” Elleny says. “It was so cool to see how a community could come together because of one girl. That’s when you realize what it’s all about. It’s all about giving back.”
And all this happened because two young women, and then a group of high school teens, gave up thinking about themselves by going out of their way to include someone else. That’s the kind of high school history we all want to be a part of.

Around then, the COVID-19 pandemic forced New Zealand into a lockdown, and all Church gatherings were suspended. “No one knew how long we would be required to shelter in place,” says Adele, “but the temple groundbreaking ceremony had to go on.” She needed to come up with an alternative for a live choir.
Adele researched the possibility of a virtual choir. “I put the idea to some professionals and was told that this kind of project would cost thousands of dollars and hundreds of hours.” It was disappointing news, which normally would have discouraged Adele, but this time was different. This time, “it wasn’t just anyone we were preparing for,” she said, “It was the Lord.” She persevered and reached out to a young filmmaker and musician in her stake: Brother Anthony Butters.
“What I loved about Anthony is that it didn’t occur to him that [something] couldn’t or shouldn’t be done.” Even though Anthony himself was not sure how to make a virtual choir happen, the challenge “piqued his interest,” Adele says. “He was willing to give it a go.”
They immediately got to work.
They knew that choir practices would be impossible during the lockdown, so they recorded the instrumentals and each vocal part of Adele’s musical arrangement for singers to learn at home. Then they put out a general call seeking members for their virtual choir.
Next, they had to somehow make sure—without the luxury of rehearsals—that all the singers learned their parts correctly. They also had to figure out how to record each singer’s vocal contribution, how to edit dozens of vocal recordings together so they sounded like one choir, and how to produce a performance video that could be broadcast on the day of the temple groundbreaking ceremony.
For Adele and Anthony, it was very much a matter of being “led by the Spirit, not knowing beforehand the things which [they] should do”1. But they pored over Google and YouTube tutorials, and courageously worked through all the obstacles that arose along the way.
The experience was difficult for the choir, too. To leave enough time for editing, the singers had only three weeks to learn the music, and then each had to make both an audio and a video recording. The challenge proved too much for some. Singing on your own is quite different from singing in a choir, and after hearing themselves recorded alone, Adele says, “I had a few messages asking if they could humbly bow out because they felt their voices weren’t good enough.” Other singers were okay with the vocal recording, but not so happy to be filmed, and several more were not comfortable at all using the technology required.
Those who persevered managed to send their audio recordings to Adele, whose next job was to begin editing them together. This required a quiet space in her house, so she had to convert a walk-in closet into a makeshift recording studio. Then, her computer and software broke down. In the middle of a nationwide lockdown, Adele couldn’t just go out and purchase new equipment.
“I became overwhelmed with the feeling that I wouldn’t be able to get my part of the job done on time,” Adele says. “I asked my husband for a priesthood blessing.”
A couple of hours later, she received an unexpected phone call from a friend in Hawaii. Adele told her friend about the difficulties she was having with the virtual choir, and he said, “I can help you.”
“I went silent, hoping I heard properly,” Adele says, “because I thought for sure he was too busy to do what would be a very tedious and time-consuming job. But he actually got excited about the challenge.”
This friend—Milton Kaka—called back the next day to announce that his boss at the Polynesian Cultural Centre, which was also in lockdown, was allowing him two weeks to work on this special project with Adele. Filled with gratitude, Adele sent a thank you message to Milton’s boss, who replied that this was the Polynesian Cultural Centre’s contribution “for our M?ori cuzzies.”
Milton joined forces with Adele and Anthony, and the audio and video recordings were finally stitched together—in enough time, even, to fix one final glitch: a singer’s footage that was missing.
Once that was sorted, the virtual choir performance video was ready to release for the temple groundbreaking celebration.

Youth in the Sunset Ward, Kaysville Utah Stake, have service all sewed up.
The young men and young women in the ward spent an evening sewing scripture carrying cases for the youth in two Serbian branches. Amazingly, it only took them about two hours to complete 29 cases. They also matted and framed pictures of the Frankfurt Germany Temple (the nearest temple) and pictures of the Savior. The cases and the pictures were then taken to Serbia by a couple in the Sunset Ward going to pick up their missionary son.
“The project really came together well. We were able to get a lot of the materials donated, which helped a lot,” says Cami Stanger, the Laurel who headed up the project. “We also each wrote our testimonies and sang ‘I Am a Child of God’ to them on a videotape. The people who took the materials over to Serbia said the people really appreciated them and were thrilled to get them. That made me feel great.”