Gospel Story Finder

Mom put bricks in the oven and then wrapped them in blankets so our feet would stay warm as we traveled in our car without a heater. It was 1935, and we were making the 60-mile (96 km) drive from Salt Lake City to Payson, Utah, to visit my grandparents in early December. The snow was falling lightly around us and swirled in what looked like little tornadoes on the road ahead. My big brother, Fred, and I were bundled in heavy coats and itchy wool socks and mufflers. The drive seemed endless to me as a seven-year-old.
We made this trip every December. The Christmas season didn’t really start until we were in Grandma and Grandpa Tanner’s warm kitchen making popcorn balls. Grandpa would stoke up the fire, and Grandma would fill a wire basket with popcorn and shake it vigorously over the fire until it filled with puffy, white corn. Then Grandma would pour hot honey butter over the popcorn in a big cast-iron kettle and mix in peanuts. When the mixture cooled, we would dig in with our butter-covered hands and make festive balls to share with family and friends.
This Christmas, however, would be different. Usually Fred and I rode in the backseat, but this year we were wedged between my parents on the bench seat up front. A small white coffin carrying the body of my one-year-old brother, Gerold, took up the backseat. A case of measles had turned into pneumonia and snuffed out his young life. Earlier we had gone to the mortuary to pick up the small wooden coffin.
As we made the two-hour journey, Dad led us in singing Christmas songs. Mom and Dad harmonized, and the beautiful music comforted us as we grieved the loss of our baby.
When we got to Grandpa’s house, the usually jovial crowd of family and relatives was waiting solemnly. The coffin was taken from the backseat and brought into Grandma’s spotless parlor. My grandparents’ bishop spoke a few kind words, and then we were back in the car to ride to the cemetery, where we all wept as this precious little boy was laid in the frozen ground.
Christmas did come. The fire was stoked, the popcorn was popped, and the festive popcorn balls were delivered on Grandpa’s horse-drawn sleigh. There was sadness that day but also a resonant peace as I listened to my faithful grandparents reading the story of Christ’s birth.
My grandparents had been born of pioneer parents who had laid many babies in the ground. As our family mourned our loss, we turned to where our ancestors had turned—to the Son of God and His words. I remembered the Christmas story with a different heart that year, for it was because of the baby born in a manger that the baby we had laid in the ground would rise again and be ours.
Many decades have passed since then, but each Christmas I still pour honey butter over popcorn, mix in peanuts, shape the mixture into balls, and remember.

A couple of years ago a humor columnist for a local newspaper wrote on a serious and thought-provoking subject. I quote from this article: “Being a go-to-church Mormon in Utah means living so close to fellow ward members that not much happens that the entire congregation doesn’t know about in five minutes tops.”
He continues: “This kind of cheek-to-jowl living can be intrusive. … It also happens to be one of our greatest strengths.”
The author goes on to say: “At work on Tuesday, I caught the noon news broadcast on television. A van had been obliterated in a traffic crash. A young mother and two small children were being rushed to emergency rooms by helicopter and ambulance. … Hours later I learned that the van belonged to the young couple living across the street from me in Herriman, Eric and Jeana Quigley.
“Not only do I see the Quigleys in church, … we ate dinner with them at a neighborhood party the night before the crash. Our grandkids played with daughters Bianca and Miranda. …
“Fourteen-month-old Miranda suffered serious head injuries and died three days later at Primary Children’s Hospital.
“Here’s where all that nosiness … pays off. Although the accident occurred several miles from home, the dust literally had not settled before someone from the ward stopped and was pulling through the wreckage. The rest of the ward knew about it before the cops and paramedics showed up.
“Ward members went to all three hospitals, contacted Eric at work, and organized into labor squads. People who didn’t get in on the immediate-need level were frantic for some way to help.
“In 48 hours, the Quigley yard was mowed, home cleaned, laundry done, refrigerator stocked, relatives fed and a trust fund set up at a local bank. We would have given their dog a bath if they had one.”
The author concludes with this insightful comment: “There is a positive side to the congregational microscope my ward lives under. … What happens to a few happens to all” (Robert Kirby, “Well-Being of Others Is Our Business,” Salt Lake Tribune, July 30, 2005, p. C1).

Illustration by Allen Garns
With my husband temporarily out of work, making ends meet for a family with five growing children was challenging. A day before the broadcast of the October 2013 general conference, we checked our food supplies and decided we would prepare a simple lunch of fried chicken and rice during the break between conference sessions.
Sunday came, and we were all set. The rest of our extended family, composed of my parents and my sisters and their families, met at the stake center half an hour before the broadcast started.
What a joy and a blessing it was to hear prophets, seers, and revelators share messages specifically for our generation. As I listened to the counsel and basked in the wonderful spirit of peace and love I felt from my Heavenly Father, I received the assurance that everything would be all right, that my family’s spiritual and temporal needs would be addressed, and that if I continued to exercise faith and let my Savior take the reins, we would be released from the grips of poverty and other hardships.
Enjoying the beautiful spirit of that Sabbath day, I had forgotten about lunch. Only when the break between sessions arrived did I realize there would be 17 of us. Nine adults and eight children would be sharing our meager meal of eight small pieces of chicken and a platter of rice, along with a bowl of pasta one of my sisters had brought.
Eight-year-old Henry offered a prayer of thanksgiving and blessing on our food, asking that all who partook would be filled. Then I broke each piece of chicken into smaller portions and handed these to the children as my sister placed pasta and rice on their plates. I could not keep tears from falling as I realized we had enough for one small serving for everyone and one extra serving after all the pieces were broken and the pasta and rice were divided among us. All of us then ate—and were filled.
I told my parents and husband that I knew of a surety that the Savior had indeed divided five loaves of bread and two fish and fed a multitude of “five thousand men, beside women and children” (see Matthew 14:14–21). Some critics and nonbelievers claim that the miracle was metaphorical, exaggerated, or impossible. But to my family and me, the account is true as written.
Heavenly Father had heard the prayer of a faithful child who gave thanks and requested the blessing that all who would partake would be filled and receive nourishment.
As we returned to the hall for general conference, I was feasting in my heart. I felt as though I were there with the multitude Jesus had fed, yearning to stay and learn from Him who promises that if we heed and hearken, we will never hunger or thirst (see John 6:35).
With our children we quietly took our seats inside the chapel and prepared to listen to Heavenly Father’s chosen servants. It was an occasion we will always remember.

How well I remember the challenges confronting the youth in the ward over which I once presided.
One evening a lovely teenage girl came to the office with her boyfriend to talk things over with me. The two of them were very much in love, and temptation was beginning to make its inroad.
As we counseled together, my young friends each made a pledge to the other to resist temptation and keep uppermost in their minds the goal of a temple marriage. I suggested a course of action to follow and then felt impressed to say: “If you ever find yourselves in a position of compromise and need additional strength, you call me regardless of the hour.”
Early one morning at one o’clock, the telephone rang and a voice said: “Bishop, this is Nancy. Remember how you asked me to call if I found myself being tempted? Well, Bishop, I’m in that situation.” I asked where she was, and she described one of the more popular moon-watching spots in the Salt Lake Valley. She and her fiancé had walked to a nearby phone booth to make the call. The setting wasn’t ideal for providing counsel, but the need was great and the young couple was receptive.
Months later, when the mailman delivered her wedding announcement to our home and Sister Monson read, “Mr. and Mrs. __________ request the pleasure of your company at the wedding reception of their daughter, Nancy,” she sighed, “Thank heaven! No more 1:00 A.M. telephone calls.” When I noticed the small print at the bottom which read, “Married in the Salt Lake Temple,” I said silently, “Thank heaven for the strength of Latter-day Saint youth!”
Choose your friends with caution.

Joseph F. Smith was one of the youngest missionaries to serve a full-time mission for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He was only fifteen years old when he was called to preach the gospel to the people of the Hawaiian Islands.
This mission call came at a difficult time in Joseph F.’s life. His father, Hyrum, a brother of the Prophet Joseph Smith, had been killed in Carthage Jail when Joseph F. was only five years old. His mother, Mary Fielding Smith, died in the Salt Lake Valley when he was thirteen, and he felt alone and frightened.
To comfort him, the Lord blessed Joseph F. with a beautiful dream soon after his mother died. He dreamed that when his life was over, his beloved mother and father, President Brigham Young, and the Prophet Joseph Smith met him in heaven. They put their arms around him, and he could feel how much they loved him. It made him feel peaceful and safe inside.
As Joseph F. began his mission to Hawaii, his mission president, Francis Hammond, gave him a blessing promising him that he would become “a mighty man.” He blessed him that “the spirit of his father, Hyrum, the martyr, would rest upon him.”
Joseph F. served a very successful mission in Hawaii. He was quite poor, however, since he had no family to send him money. He sometimes went for several days without food, but the Hawaiian people often shared with him.
After nearly four years in Hawaii, Joseph F. returned home. One morning when he and several other missionaries were returning to Salt Lake City, a group of rough Mormon-haters rode up on horses, firing their guns and cursing.
The leader jumped off his horse and shouted, “We will kill anyone who is a Mormon!” The other missionaries had fled into the woods, but Joseph F. bravely stood his ground. The man shoved a gun in Joseph F.’s face and asked, “Are you a Mormon?”
Joseph F. stood tall and said, “Yes siree; dyed in the wool; true blue, through and through!”
The man was surprised at his reply. He put the gun away, shook Joseph’s hand, and said, “Well, you are the pleasantest man I ever met! I’m glad to see a fellow stand up for his convictions.” He jumped back on his horse and rode off with his companions.
For the next sixty-one years, Joseph F. Smith’s life was full of service to the church he defended so proudly that morning by the campfire. At age twenty-seven, he was ordained an Apostle, and he served as a counselor to four Church presidents: Brigham Young, John Taylor, Wilford Woodruff, and Lorenzo Snow. In 1901, Joseph F. Smith was ordained the sixth President of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He served as President for seventeen years, until his death in 1918.

While attending the Missionary Training Center in Salt Lake City, my companion and I went to the Church cafeteria (the Lion House) for lunch on our first day. We noticed several General Authorities eating lunch together, and we made our way quietly to the rear corner so we could see but not be seen. The next person through the cafeteria line happened to be the prophet, President Heber J. Grant. After paying for his food, he started toward the other General Authorities and then noticed out of the corner of his eye two greener-than-green missionaries sitting back in the corner. He changed his direction and shared his lunch period with us just to set us at ease, just to commend us on our new calling, and to share some stories about his own mission. How thoughtful! How kind! The scripture came immediately to mind, “But he that is greatest among you shall be your servant” (Matthew 23:11).

I knew I needed to go to the temple. I lived only a short car ride away from the nearest temple, yet I hadn’t been in months.
One night, I was reading Elder Neil L. Andersen’s talk from the October 2022 general conference. A sentence stood out to me: “As we enter the temple, we are freed for a time from the worldly influences crowding against us as we learn of our purpose in life and the eternal gifts offered us through our Savior, Jesus Christ.”1
I wanted to feel free from the world. Struck with a burst of determination, I scheduled an appointment to do proxy initiatories.
On the day of the appointment, I came home from work feeling tired and grumpy for no reason. I wasn’t in the mood to go to the temple.
But I remembered my past desire, even if I didn’t feel it in the moment. I went back out to my car and started driving.
Twenty minutes later, the temple came into view.
Tears sprang to my eyes. In that moment, my desire returned. The temple was the place I needed to be that night. I had to hold back more tears so I wouldn’t lose sight of the road.
The temple is a place of refuge from worldly influences and the struggles in our lives. President Russell M. Nelson has asked us to “establish a pattern of regular temple attendance.”2 As we do, we’ll enjoy the blessings of returning again and again to the house of the Lord.
Here are just a few of the blessings I noticed from attending the temple that day:
When I attended the temple that day, my bad mood was lifted. It was replaced by “the peace of God, which passeth all understanding” (Philippians 4:7).
The peace we find in the temple comes directly from God. We can connect to God anywhere through His Spirit, but the temple is set apart for us to commune directly with the Lord.
President Nelson taught: “[The temple] is His house. It is filled with His power. … I promise that increased time in the temple will bless your life in ways nothing else can.”3 Attending the temple allows us to feel God’s power. That power can come as revelation, as clarity of mind, or as a feeling of comfort.
Beyond feeling peace, I also remembered the covenants I had previously made. As I acted as proxy in the initiatory, I focused on the words of the ordinance. Those words reminded me that God would give me strength and would help me persevere through my trials.
When we return to the temple, we remember the promises we make to God and the eternal promises He makes to us.
Elder David A. Bednar of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles taught: “We do not build or enter holy temples solely to have a memorable individual or family experience. Rather, the covenants received and the ordinances performed in temples are essential to the sanctifying of our hearts and for the ultimate exaltation of God’s sons and daughters.”4
While we receive personal blessings in the temple, we should also remember the work we do for the dead. When we perform proxy ordinances, they are for the salvation of those beyond the veil.
The names of the people I helped were provided to me by the temple. I didn’t know any of the women I stood as proxy for that day. But I felt the sacred power given to them through the initiatory ordinance.
Our temple attendance helps further God’s plan for His children. In our own small way, we are participating in the work “to bring to pass the immortality and eternal life of man” (Moses 1:39). Elder Bednar taught, “As we become anxiously engaged in this sacred work, we are obeying the commandments to love and serve God and our neighbors [see Matthew 22:34–40].”5
For those of us who live near a temple, it may be easy to forget the blessings that come from temple attendance. As President Russell M. Nelson has promised, “Increased time in the temple will bless your life in ways nothing else can.”6 For those who live far from a temple, it may be hard to fit temple visits in our schedules. But the power of temple attendance is constant, and the blessings are real.
As we spend more time in the temple, we can find rest from our challenges and our hurt. We can commune with God and be part of His great work—for our own souls and the souls of all His children.

Let me tell you of a man Diane and I met in a small village outside of Hyderabad, India in 2006. This man lived by covenant. Appa Rao Nulu was born crippled. His society taught him that his potential was severely limited. Likely, he could only become a beggar in the streets. However, as a teenager he met missionaries of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. They taught him of a greater potential, both in this life and in the eternity to come. He was baptized and confirmed a member of the Church. With significantly raised vision, he set a goal to become an elder in the Melchizedek Priesthood and a full-time missionary. In 1987, he was ordained an elder and called to serve in India, which was then part of the Singapore Mission. Walking was not easy; he did his best using a cane in each hand and fell often; but, quitting was never an option. He made a commitment (a covenant) to honorably and devotedly serve a mission; and he did.

When we met Brother Nulu, nearly 20 years after his mission, he cheerfully greeted us where the road ended and led us down an uneven dirt path to the one-room home he shared with his wife and three children. It was a very hot and uncomfortable day, about 110 degrees Fahrenheit. He still walked with great difficulty, but there was no self-pity. Through personal diligence, he has become a teacher, providing schooling for the village children. When we entered his modest house, he anxiously took me to a corner and pulled out a box that contained his most important possessions. He wanted me to see a piece of paper. It read "With good wishes and blessings to Elder Nulu, a courageous and happy missionary; June 25, 1987; Boyd K. Packer." On that occasion when [then] Elder Packer was visiting India and speaking to a group of missionaries, he affirmed to Elder Nulu his potential. In essence, what Brother Nulu was doing was telling me he was living true to his covenants.

On this visit to the Nulu home, we were accompanied by the mission president. He was there to interview Brother Nulu, his wife and his children; for the parents to receive their endowments and be sealed, and for the children to be sealed to their parents. We also we able to present them with the financial arrangements for them to travel to the Hong Kong Temple for these ordinances, a gift made possible by generous members of the Church. They wept with joy as their long awaited dream was to be realized.

Weeks later, they arrived in Hong Kong; it was the first airplane ride that any member of the family had ever taken. Their excitement quickly turned to disappointment when immigration officials would not let them enter Hong Kong. Although they had secured visas, a judgment was made by these officials that this family may not return to India. After six hours of being held in a secured room at the airport and repeatedly being told they could not stay in Hong Kong and that they would immediately be sent back to their home country, the Nulus' prayers were answered. An official finally called our Church headquarters in Hong Kong and verified the purpose of the family's trip and a guarantee was made that they would return to India. They were allowed into Hong Kong based on the goodwill the Church had established. Imagine the emotion of working so hard to reach a goal and then to have it seemingly denied; only then to have it granted.

With that backdrop, the next day the Nulus entered the temple. In the Lord's divine management, Diane (the only person they knew in Hong Kong besides me) was working in the temple that day. When Sister Nulu unexpectedly saw Diane, she tightly embraced her and sobbed with joy. Diane was able to serve as Sister Nulu's escort during the endowment and she observed the sealing of this faithful couple and then the children to their parents. Their happiness was unspeakable. This represented an accomplishment of deep and abiding significance.

Kim has consistently worn modest clothing. The other day I asked for her opinion on what she considers to be a modest skirt, a modest blouse, and a modest swimsuit. Instead of coming up with exact measurements for hemlines and necklines, we discussed the principles surrounding modesty and the challenge of finding modest clothing that looks attractive. We had fun brainstorming ways to creatively lengthen a skirt. Finally Kim said, “If I’m not comfortable when I first put something on, it usually means it’s immodest and I won’t be comfortable wearing it. I’ve learned to never buy it. I just put it back on the rack.”

As the only Latter-day Saint sixth grader in my school, I am faced with vulgar language, immodesty, and pressure to follow the crowd. But at the start of the year, I explained to my friends my standards and that I stick to them no matter what. They have learned through the months about my Church values. Your friends will help you if you explain your values and your standards to them. My friends’ attitudes, clothing, and language have changed for the better. I have learned that if they are truly your friends, they will help you think clean thoughts and will help you stay on the strait and narrow path.
Celia N., age 12, Virginia, USA

I had this thought burned into my heart on a dirt road in the middle of the Congo. Three days into a seven-day journey we stopped our vehicle at a bridge. As we stopped, a group of children ran up to our car and began their daily effort to sell us something or hope that we would share some food with them. One little girl seemed particularly attentive to us. She pressed her nose against our car window and spoke in her native language. I had no idea what she was saying and so all I could do was smile at her. The idea popped into my mind to see if she could mimic the words I might say to her. So pointing at my mouth I said, "you say what I'm saying". Magically she seemed to understand. So I said, "I" and she repeated "I". I said, "am" and she repeated, "am". I said "a child", she repeated "a child". I said, "of God" she repeated "of God." "I am a child of God" and she repeated "I am a child of God". The mission president with whom we were riding began to sing the hymn. She looked at him and seemed to be thinking. At that moment the bridge guard waved us forward, and we left the children standing there. We travelled about fifty feet and were stopped again. Instantly the same little girl ran to our window and as clearly as any little child could say she repeated, " I am a child of God".
I don't know if anything changed for her, but my life view changed and it will never be the same. For me there was a window of light that opened in my mind and I recognized that all of these wonderful people of Africa were also loved children of our Heavenly Father who had stood in that grand pre-earth council of heaven with their arms fully extended in support of the Fathers plan to bring us home. They too had sustained the Savior's proposal.
I realized more clearly the expectation of our brothers and sisters from that pre-earth experience, to find them and help them remember who they are. In the spirit of love we promised to find them or at a minimum do the work for them in the holy temple.

It was freezing outside, and the cold air bit the cheeks and noses of the Stevenson family. After a fun day of skiing, they walked through the snow toward their car. They looked forward to getting in the car and warming up with the heater.
But when Elder Stevenson reached into his pocket, the car keys were gone! Where are the keys? he thought. Everyone anxiously waited for him to unlock the car. Without the keys, they were locked out! They couldn’t open the door or start the car. They couldn’t turn on the heater.
The first thing Elder Stevenson did was say a prayer. He asked Heavenly Father to help them find the car keys. Next he thought as hard as he could about where he might have dropped them. Suddenly he thought of a ski jump he had gone off earlier in the day. Maybe the keys were there in the snow.
Some of the family went back with Elder Stevenson to the top of the ski slope and skied down the run. By the time they got to the bottom of the ski jump, the sun was starting to go down. They searched for the keys as it grew darker. To their amazement, they found the keys just before it got too dark!
Praying and finding the keys to their car reminded Elder Stevenson that Heavenly Father will not leave us without help. He gives priesthood keys and authority to leaders of the Church to help lead us all safely home to Him.

Isn't this how it is. Before Chad and I had children, we knew everything there was to know about raising children. When friends were having problems with teenagers, we were there to help with free advice. Babies, no problem. I found that I was generally one of the most patient people I knew, particularly with other people's children. But almost immediately after I had Marissa I discovered there were serious limitations to my patience. Shortly after Marissa was born, we were awakened by her one night (after several nights with not enough sleep). She was hot, with a high fever. I found myself irritated, scared, and fatigued beyond anything I had ever felt before. Chad and I found ourselves quite unsure of what to do. We feared that her high fever would lead to brain convulsions and ultimately brain damage. We put her in a cool bath. She screamed louder and her temperature dropped only slightly. I hardly knew what to do and found myself angry at Chad for not knowing any more than I did. Like Sariah, I was afraid for my child. I was absolutely exhausted and found myself snapping at my sick baby and my exhausted husband. I remember thinking: "I need my mother. She is more patient and knows more than I do."

Like my mother, I learned slowly, line upon line, how to be more patient with babies. But I was shocked, I tell you, shocked, when I discovered that being patient with Marissa and Elle as eight-years old is different than being patient with a baby. And being patient with a 13-year old is different than being patient with an eight-year old. As my children get older, I add layers and layers to the depth and breadth of my patience.

Some time ago, I had experiences that caused me to stray. I stopped going to church and reading my scriptures, and I started doing and saying things I shouldn’t. I didn’t care at all. I put God at the back of my thoughts and out of my heart.
Then my seminary teacher brought up a question that changed my perspective. He asked, “Would you like to know when you’re going to die? And if you did know, what would be some things you would change?” Most of the students in my class said they would be more charitable, read their scriptures more consistently, and make up with people they were mad at.
As I was pondering about this, I thought, “Shouldn’t we already be doing those things? It shouldn’t take the matter of death for us to decide to do them. And if we do them, we don’t have to worry about our salvation.”
Then I thought about the things I was doing and how, if I continued to do them, I probably would not end up in the place I wanted to be. I told myself that I won’t have to worry if I try harder to do the things I need to and should do, but first I had to give my heart back to God.
I know that we are children of our Heavenly Father and that bad things happen for a reason: to strengthen us and our faith. If we continue to do the things we should and remember that God always loves us and wants us to be eternally happy, then we will be happy.

A second category is enduring the individual conditions of this life—the unique set of circumstances peculiar to us at any given time. These may be small, such as why the guy you like doesn’t seem to know you exist or why you did not achieve an A in a class in spite of every diligent effort. They may be big, such as prolonged health problems or the death of a loved one. They might be financial burdens that seem insurmountable. Or, as parents, we may have to endure the often incorrect use of free agency by our children. For others it may be the inability to be a parent when the desire to be great. And some seem destined to live this life without a mate in spite of earnest desires otherwise. Finally, it may be an offense by a Church official such as a bishop or stake president or General Authority. In all these, the test comes in not denouncing our faith or blaming God for our trials. So many times strong members of the Church, when faced with such conditions, denounce God for not righting the set of conditions that brings them agony. By so doing they cease enduring and stand to risk all they have worked for spiritually to that point.

One example of this came when I was a bishop in Iowa while doing my graduate work. We had just sent out the first missionary that ward had ever had, a quality young man who was loved and admired by all who knew him. Unfortunately, the young man had leukemia, which was in remission. Six months into his mission the symptoms reappeared. He returned home for treatment, but the Lord needed him for a different mission. In spite of group fasting and adamant prayer in his behalf, he died, still a full-time, set-apart missionary. The grief and mourning were difficult. But I always remember the greater anguish I felt when one faithful ward member came to me right after the incident and stated, "I do not know how a just God could allow this to happen. It is not right. He was a good boy. Why would God take him from us?" No amount of consoling helped this person. For this person, God ceased to be a loving God when he did not give us what we desperately wanted. This person became bitter and left the Church for a season.

I became more and more uncomfortable during our first member-missionary Sunday School class while the teacher talked about the importance of the work.
“Every member a missionary,” he reminded us, and then he continued: “Eighty percent of the convert baptisms in our mission come from member referrals. One part of the threefold mission of the Church is to proclaim the gospel to every nation, kindred, tongue, and people. Brothers and sisters, we need to learn to open our mouths and share the gospel!”
His words weren’t new to me; I had heard them many times and believed them to be true. So why was I feeling uncomfortable? Why was I too nervous to give a nonmember a copy of the Book of Mormon, share my testimony with someone, or invite someone to meet the missionaries? Feeling discouraged after that first class, I tried to understand why I felt afraid to give a copy of the Book of Mormon to a nonmember, to share my testimony of the gospel, and to the invite nonmember friends and neighbors to meet with the missionaries. In examining my fears I took the first step toward a remarkable change in my life. As I studied the scriptures and words of living prophets and prayed to the Lord, my fear turned to confidence. By the end of that six-week class, I had given away seven copies of the Book of Mormon, shared my testimony with two nonmembers, and invited neighbors into our home to meet the missionaries. Here’s how I faced my fears and dealt with them.

Illustration by Katelyn Budge
I was extremely nervous to audition for my first play, so I prayed and asked to be blessed with the specific role that I wanted. As I prayed, I felt prompted to correct myself, so I added, “If not the role I want, please bless me with the role I need.”
The audition went great, but I didn’t get the part I wanted. I got a smaller role—with a singing solo. The role I’d wanted didn’t have that. I trusted God and accepted the smaller part, and I loved it! I don’t know if I would’ve discovered my passion for theater if I’d gotten the role I’d wanted.
I’m so glad I listened to that prompting. It strengthened my relationship with Heavenly Father to put myself into His hands and say that I would accept whatever part I received.
JJ J., age 17, Tennessee, USA
Likes theater and rollerblading

My grandpa Ao Pauga, was one of the faithful pioneers of the church in Samoa. He was given a special task, to establish the church in Falefa, a village in Samoa. Grandpa’s calling and challenge was that, if he could not turn things around within three months in the village, he would return to his home in Laulii. As a young girl, I lived with my grandpa Pauga in Falefa while they were on this special assignment. My memories of him were of a hardworking man, not only physically, but spiritually. If grandpa came home late from his daily visits, we knew that he must be having a serious religious discussion with the Catholic Minister. That was one of his favorite places to visit. He was never afraid to share the gospel of Jesus Christ with anyone, and everyone. One of grandpa Pauga’s trades that he utilized while serving in Falefa, was farming. Grandpa planted a huge taro plantation to feed not only few members of the church at the time, but also to share with most people in the village. Through grandpa Pauga’s faith, as of today, there stands a beautiful chapel, and a ward in Falefa.

I skipped up the dusty drive, past the gray stone houses nestled in bright purple blossoms, and into the open doorway.
Mother pushed back her damp hair and set a bucket of muddy water down. It was Monday, the day she washed the walls and rinsed away the dirt that blew in with the winds.
Monday was also important because of family home evening. My brothers, Chris and Trenton, and I (my name is Laura) always looked forward to it. Tonight, however, was going to be extra special because we were going to see the prophet!
My family lives in a country far from America. Each year, when the prophet speaks to members of the Church during general conference, we have to wait for a video tape of his message. Today that video tape had finally arrived!
Because there are only a few Church members in our area, we take turns holding Sabbath services in each other’s homes. Mom has been teaching us children about prophets and their callings from God. She told us that general conference is very important because that’s a major time when our prophet tells us what Heavenly Father and Jesus want us to do.
Dad put the video into the machine and turned off the light. I fixed my eyes on the fuzzy screen. Suddenly a clear picture formed, and the familiar voices of the Tabernacle Choir filled the room. Then the cameras focused on President Benson as he made his way to the stand.
Mom had suggested that we find one thing the prophet wanted us to do and then work on it the following week. I listened carefully to every word. He seemed to be looking straight at me when he said:
“The Book of Mormon is the instrument that God designed to ‘sweep the earth as with a flood. …’* God will hold us accountable if we do not now move the Book of Mormon in a monumental way. … The time is now! You must help with this burden and with this blessing which He has placed on the whole Church, even all the children of Zion.”**
That’s it! I thought. That’s what we ought to choose to work on this week. We should share the Book of Mormon! Then I remembered. My friends spoke another language. The only copy of the Book of Mormon I had was my own precious one given to me at my baptism. And it was in English.
“Well,” Dad said after the video was over, “let’s talk about what President Benson has asked us to do. What did you learn, Laura?”
“I learned how important it is for us to share the Book of Mormon with the people here. But how can I?” I wailed, explaining my problem.
Dad thought a moment. Then he said, “Remember when Nephi was commanded to go and get the brass plates from Laban? That appeared to be an impossible task. But Nephi had faith. Remember what he said in 1 Nephi 3:7 [1 Ne. 3:7]: ‘I will go and do the things which the Lord hath commanded, for I know that the Lord giveth no commandments unto the children of men, save he shall prepare a way for them that they may accomplish the thing which he commandeth them.’ I think that there is a way we can keep this commandment to share the Book of Mormon.”
Dad had our full attention. “How?” we all asked.
“Well, our friends can’t read the Book of Mormon at this time, but they can read us.”
“Huh?” My brothers and I looked at each other with puzzled faces.
Dad explained. “We can tell people what the Book of Mormon teaches through our actions. For example, if I wanted our neighbor to learn about King Benjamin’s words on serving our fellowman, I would help him clean and trim his yard, pick up any garbage, care for his home when he is sick or away, and invite him into our home. He may not actually read the words, but he would read my actions and learn about service and love.”
“Oh, I see!” I exclaimed, jumping off the couch. “We can all do that!”
By the time family home evening was over, we had each committed ourselves to sharing one thing about the Book of Mormon through our actions that week.

When the Allied Forces liberated Korea on 15 August 1945, Sister Whang remembers that “every creature, even trees and mountains, seemed to joy for the freedom that we had fought for for a long time.” The joy didn’t last long. The country was divided; Communists controlled the north part of Korea, and many people tried to escape to the south. Sister Whang got out of North Korea on the last train that left before the fence between North and South Korea went up. She has not seen her family since that day. She immediately began working in refugee camps, teaching the children and caring for those who were hungry and cold.
“I prayed for my solemn mission,” she says. “I knew I wanted to help as many poor people as possible, even though I didn’t think I had the ability, skill, or power. In order to do that, I knew that I would have to sacrifice worldly possessions, and I knew that I must always fortify myself spiritually.”