Gospel Story Finder

Third, I was introduced to the missionaries and the Church when I was eight. I was invited to see the dedication of the first LDS Church building in Ethiopia on Sunday, November 30, 2003. At the dedication I felt the powerful influence of the Holy Spirit, and the missionaries in attendance radiated joy, happiness, and that same powerful spirit. I remember thinking that I wanted to be just like them. But I had no idea how I could ever reach this goal.

The fourth miracle came soon after. A family in the United States adopted me. My new father picked me up from the orphanage and took me home. We started the process of becoming acquainted, and I began to settle into my new environment.

Numerous challenges surfaced immediately upon my arrival. Everywhere I went people laughed at my English. My limited education caused problems in school. I prayed for help, and then I worked harder and smarter to close the knowledge gap, especially with English. Once again Heavenly Father answered my prayers. Two years later I proudly skipped a grade.

Then my home life fell apart. Prayers to the Lord, high personal goals, and a deep desire to succeed carried me through that extremely tough time. Finally, with a social worker’s help, my father and I agreed to terminate the adoption. This was a time for prayer, patience, faith, and help from Heavenly Father.

Now 15 years old, I went to live with a foster family for about a year. That was when the fifth miracle came. While sleigh riding with two friends, I met an LDS family with two nice daughters. During the ride home, one of the daughters spoke up, saying, “I think the Lord wants us to adopt Ephrem Smith.” Remarkably, the other three members of the family had also received the same inspiration. The father worked with the Department of Social Services, and soon I moved to my new home. From the very beginning my amazing new father gave me agency. For example, he explained that their family goes to church on Sundays. He allowed me to choose to join them or stay home; he said that they still would love me if I chose not to attend church. I chose to attend church, and I have since made many other righteous decisions.

Miracle six came as I received a testimony of the gospel. One Sunday I sat in sacrament meeting singing “I Stand All Amazed” (Hymns, no. 193). Huge tears began running down my cheeks as I received a personal testimony that Jesus is the Christ and that the Church is His Church.

Finally, nine years later, I knew how to become like those missionaries! The missionary age was now 18, but my adoption had not yet been finalized. I waited seven long months until my adoption was completed. Finally, my missionary papers could be submitted. Four days later I received my mission call. In just one week the Lord blessed me with final adoption papers and a mission call. I treasure both papers exceedingly! They are my seventh miracle. Yes, indeed, it took many miracles along the way from that mud hut in Ethiopia to my treasured mission.

My love of the scriptures and the Book of Mormon really started while I served a mission in Seoul Korea. Where it really became a part of me, however, was after my mission.

I am most grateful today for a wise mission president who committed me to do 14 things as I finished my mission. You will see the letter outlining these commitments and my signature on the screen. One of these, number nine, was to continue to love the scriptures and to read from them daily.

It was that commitment that kept me from missing too many days in a row. It was that commitment that helped me reintroduce structure in my life similar to the mission field so I could study every day. For most of my married life I was diligent from Monday to Friday. I always knew when I needed to wake up so I could exercise and study before I needed to be at school and then later at work. Saturday belonged to my children and I didn't usually read on that day due to the constant going and coming from sports, dance and lessons. The point is that even though I didn't keep my commitment to read daily, I did read regularly. I established a positive pattern and habit. When I missed a day or two, I got right back on track quickly.

When my oldest son was speaking in church before beginning his mission he made a statement that really helped me understand how grateful I was for my mission president, F. Ray Hawkins. He reported that each morning he would come upstairs to read the Book of Mormon with the family prior to going to school he always knew he would find his father at his desk reading the scriptures. I am indebted to a wise mission president for helping me have a generational impact on my son. If you have not begun a life-long commitment to study daily from the scriptures, I invite you to begin today. If you are doing this, I invite you to continue. I am sure that many of the returned missionaries made a commitment to a mission president similar to mine. I invite you to be truly committed to do just what you were challenged to do. I would plead with you to make the Book of Mormon a large part of that daily commitment. When you slip, start again. Don't let one missed day turn into two and then three and four. Turn it around. This will be a blessing to you, but it will also impact your children. One day your own son or daughter may stand to speak in church and say, "I remember always seeing my dad and my mom reading the Book of Mormon."

When I was a child, one of the books that my younger sister and I loved was called The Judge: An Untrue Tale, by Harve Zemach and illustrated by Margot Zemach. My sister discovered it one day because it was easy to find at the end of the picture-book stacks in the Z’s, and after that it came home with us from the library quite often. In fact, my sister can still quote it in full to this day. As the title suggests, this is a book about a judge. Sitting at his bench, the judge presides over the court as prisoners are brought in one by one. Each prisoner has the same story: a large scary beast is coming! The prisoners keep repeating the same information:
A horrible thing is coming thisway,Creeping closer day byday.Its eyes are scaryIts tail is hairyIts paws have clawsIt snaps its jawsIt growls, it groansIt chews up stonesIt spreads its wingsAnd does bad thingsI tell you, Judge, we all better pray!1
Each time the judge pompously dismisses their concerns and promptly sends them off to jail. Now forgive me for these spoilers and the raw content, but the story ends with the judge, satisfied with a good day’s work, beginning to leave. Suddenly the exact beast that the prisoners had described breaks into the courtroom and promptly eats him whole, which allows all the prisoners to be set free. This book is exceptional, with rich, detailed illustrations and a perfect rhyme scheme. But as an adult, I have come to see a unique theme offered in this story—one that resonates with me as a librarian. Today I contend that The Judge is all about information literacy and that if the judge had been more literate, the ending might have been very different.

A newly married sister in a student ward once shared with me that she had been called as the pianist in her ward. She humbly confided in me saying, “I’m not very good, but I told the Bishop I would do it.” She went on to explain that she spent her Saturdays practicing hymns on the piano, so she would be prepared for sacrament meeting the following day. To show her dedication she would spend a minimum of four hours, and sometimes many more, each Saturday searching for an unoccupied piano on campus, so she could rehearse hymns until she was satisfied that her playing would help set the proper tone for the coming Sabbath meetings. Her seemingly simple commitment was taken seriously.

In April of 1847, Brigham Young led the first company of pioneers out of Winter Quarters. At that same time, 1,600 miles to the west the survivors of the Donner Party straggled down the slopes of the Sierra Nevada Mountains into the Sacramento Valley.
They had spent the ferocious winter trapped in the snowdrifts below the summit. That any survived the days and weeks and months of starvation and indescribable suffering is almost beyond belief.
Among them was 15-year-old John Breen. On the night of April 24 he walked into Johnson’s Ranch. Years later John wrote:
“It was long after dark when we got to Johnson’s Ranch, so the first time I saw it was early in the morning. The weather was fine, the ground was covered with green grass, the birds were singing from the tops of the trees, and the journey was over. I could scarcely believe that I was alive.
“The scene that I saw that morning seems to be photographed on my mind. Most of the incidents are gone from memory, but I can always see the camp near Johnson’s Ranch.”1
John Breen did not come to that morning at Johnson’s Ranch simply by desiring it. He wallowed and clawed his way up over the pass, suffering every step of the way. But once he knew he would survive and the suffering would end, surely he did not complain at the ordeal. And he had help all the way down. He was with rescuers.

Otavalo, a beautiful city in northeastern Ecuador, is even more beautiful in my memory because of an experience I had there while serving in the Ecuador Quito Mission. One afternoon in September 1996 my companion and I were walking to a teaching appointment. Suddenly, some children ran out of a small, humble house, crying, “A blessing! A blessing! Give us a blessing!”
We were astonished and didn’t know what to think. We considered ignoring them and continuing on, but something prompted us to find out what was happening. We feared something terrible had taken place.
The children quickly ran back inside the house. We followed them and found a lady who was as surprised to see us as we were surprised to see her. We explained what had happened, and smiling, she told us, “The children were just playing.” We talked for a few minutes, took her name as a referral, then left.
Two days later we returned and discovered she was a member of the Church. She hadn’t gone to church for a long time, she said, mostly because she hadn’t felt anyone had encouraged her. Her children were not members of the Church. We sensed that she wanted the gospel of Jesus Christ to be part of her and her children’s lives.
We shared the message of the gospel with her children, and they were baptized two weeks later. At the baptismal service, one of the children began to cry with joy. He said his mother had changed, and he was very happy the Lord had sent the missionaries to their house.
Little did those children know that when they so playfully asked for a blessing, the Lord would answer them—in abundance. Today, the family continues to be strong and faithful in the Church.

Deadly Typhoon Affects Church Members in Japan
Last year’s typhoon season proved deadly for Japan. Typhoon Tokage, which means lizard in Japanese, was the tenth this year. Usually only three storms make landfall in a typhoon season. Tokage, the last storm to hit, was the worst single storm since 1979. The death toll reached 78, more than a dozen others were reported missing, and hundreds more were injured. In total about 170 people were killed during the 2004 typhoon season.
Typhoon Tokage hit Japan on October 20, 2004, unleashing high winds and heavy rains that created monstrous waves and hundreds of mudslides in the country. It struck all three of Japan’s main islands before moving east into the Pacific Ocean, where it was downgraded to a tropical storm.
Much of Japan was shut down in time to prepare for the storm. Some workers were sent home early, public schools were closed, and local bus, train, and air transportation stopped. More than 927 flights were canceled, 265,000 homes were without power, and almost 10,000 people had to evacuate their homes.
Members of the Toyooka Branch, Fukuchiyama Japan District, were severely affected by the typhoon. It flooded the homes of 32 members, the missionaries’ residence, and also the branch’s meetinghouse. Members from around the area traveled many hours over flooded, damaged roads to provide humanitarian aid to Church members, their friends, and other neighbors.
More than 40,000 homes were flooded by Tokage, and more than 2,706 were seriously damaged or destroyed, according to Japan’s Fire and Disaster Management Agency. The number of deaths and homes destroyed by landslides is high because mountains cover more than 70 percent of Japan. Many homes are built at the bottom of steep slopes.
On the following Sunday, members of the Toyooka Branch gathered in the upper story of the meetinghouse for sacrament meeting. “Truly, our bodies were tired and worn, but through that one-hour, irregular meeting, each member received spiritual nourishment,” branch president Yoshihiro Furutani said. On that day attendance was high and has continued to climb ever since.
Church News contributed to this article.

In a video series on mormonchannel.org, a young man named Bubba shares his story about how his life was headed for disaster.1 He had grown up in a violent home, where his father was murdered when Bubba was only three years old.

Bubba grew up choosing the same life he’d always seen. He joined a gang and started fights with anybody who crossed him. By high school he figured he would end up in prison before long. And he didn’t care.

God intervened. At this dangerous crossroads in his life, Bubba met a Latter-day Saint family who showed him loving kindness and goodness. He’d never been around people like this before—people who showed compassion and love. He started spending as much time with them as possible. When he asked the family why they acted the way they did, they said it was because of their faith in Jesus Christ.

He wanted to find out what they knew. He began praying and studying the scriptures. And soon he felt something he’d never felt before. “Surely there is a God, and He loves me!” Bubba says. With God’s help, Bubba began to build his life over again with Jesus Christ as the foundation, leaving his old life behind.

“My nature changed. Who I am as a human being is different than who I was. Now I have a purpose. I have a destiny,” he says. “I have somewhere that I’m going.”

These days Bubba sees his future with brightness, faith, and hope. “I know that it is only through Jesus Christ, my faith in Him, that will help me get to where I want to be,” he says.2

Some time ago, a friend and I applied for an educational program. I was confident I would be selected. When the results came out, I was disappointed that my friend was selected but I was not. I felt wronged because I thought I deserved to be selected more than my friend.
At that moment, I saw my friend as an opponent or someone who had taken something that belonged to me. A few days later, while studying Jacob 2 in the Book of Mormon, I read how Jacob had rebuked his people for their sins. One of those sins was pride.
Jacob’s teachings made me realize that I was committing the sin of pride toward my friend by thinking I deserved something given to him. Jacob’s words were a revelation to me:
“Let not this pride of your hearts destroy your souls!
“Think of your brethren like unto yourselves” (Jacob 2:16–17).
I prayed to Heavenly Father to forgive me and to help me avoid the sin of pride in the future. Then I spoke to my friend about how I had felt and asked him to forgive me. I felt peace and joy in doing so and in receiving forgiveness from him and from Heavenly Father.

I am reminded of an experience I had at the end of World War II. I received a telephone call from a man in New York, a multimillionaire who had a son in a military camp just outside of Salt Lake City. This young man had expected to be shipped overseas. Then the war ended and he remained in this camp, crowded like a sardine in a can. The boy was discouraged, and his father was worried. “Would you see if you can cheer him up a bit?” the father asked. I said I would be happy to.
I called the young man and invited him into the office for a little visit. When he arrived, I said, “Would you like to go have dinner with the family? My wife doesn’t know you’re coming, but you’ll be welcome.” He said, “I can’t imagine anything I’d rather do tonight.” We went out and had our dinner. We had our prayer. We gathered around the piano afterwards and enjoyed ourselves with some singing. Then after we visited for a while, I drove him down to his bus.
In a few days I got a letter from his father, and you’d have thought I’d saved that boy’s life. The father quoted the letter from his son, “Father, I didn’t know that there were any people in this world that lived like that.”
Yes, we take it for granted. Here was a man worth millions of dollars—could buy his son anything—and yet this simple thing of prayer and devotion in the home passed him by.

There was a song I heard first when I was a little boy—a song about Christmas and home. Those were days of war when many people were away from their homes and family—a dark time for those who feared that they might not be reunited with loved ones in this life. I remember my feelings for home and family when I walked by one house on the way to school at Christmastime and saw a little flag with a gold star on it hung in the window. It was the home of a girl I knew in school. Her brother, not much older than I, had been killed in the war. I knew his parents and felt some of what they did. On the way home after school, I would feel grateful anticipation for the glad welcome I knew awaited me.
When I turned on the radio in our living room during the Christmas season, I would hear words and music that still echo in my mind. A few lines of that song touched my heart with a yearning to be with family. I was living with my parents and my brothers in a happy home, so I knew somehow that the yearning I felt was for more than to be in a house or in the family life I then enjoyed. It was about some future place and life, even better than I knew or had yet imagined.
The line of the song that I remember best is “I’ll be home for Christmas / If only in my dreams.”1 The house in which I decorated Christmas trees with my mother and father in those happy days of my childhood still stands, largely unchanged. A few years ago I went back and knocked on the door. Strangers answered. They allowed me to step into the rooms where the radio had been and where our family had gathered around the Christmas tree.
I realized then that the desire of my heart was not about being in a house. It was about being with my family, and it was a desire to feel enveloped in the love and the Light of Christ, even more than our little family had felt in the home of my childhood.

I had a wonderful summer job as a high school student. I worked for the Salt Lake City & County Parks and Recreation Department. My job, along with my fellow co-workers, was to drive around to all the parks in the Salt Lake Valley and play games with the children in the surrounding neighborhoods. Our games were very low-tech. We would bring along large parachutes, balls of all sizes, Frisbees and other such basic items. As I worked over the summer I began to notice some interesting patterns. When we would show up at a park located in a lower-income neighborhood, the kids would flock to our activities and a great time would be had by all. However, when we would show up in a high-income neighborhood, we were not very successful in enticing the children out of their homes and those who did show up soon became very bored with our planned activities. These children were very hard to engage, they proved more difficult to manage and were not easily entertained by our simple methods.

I came to learn that those who could afford the latest and greatest amusement devices were less inclined to be amused or drawn into simple play and interaction than those who could not afford such luxuries. This was an important lesson for me to learn as a teenager and something that I have not forgotten as I have raised my own children.

This is a profound experience. But in contrast, even the smallest acts in very ordinary circumstances can also make a big difference. Our third-grade grandson had a schoolteacher last year who did not believe in him, which negatively affected his behavior. This year at a new school, he has a teacher who regularly tells James how much she loves him and affirms him in his schoolwork. He is a happy changed little boy, both at school and at home, responding to the miracle of love.

To provide for our family, my husband works hard offering taxi service on his motorcycle. He was recently in a traffic accident but miraculously did not suffer serious injury. He did, however, have to recuperate while his motorcycle was being repaired.
Because my husband was unable to work, we were worried. We had no other income, and our nation’s economic crisis further heightened our concern.
During sacrament meeting the Sunday following my husband’s accident, two of the talks centered on compassion and how we could develop this Christlike attribute. Afterward, one of our ward members approached me to say that a branch member was in dire need of food. She wondered if we could donate “a kilo of love”—a kilo (2.2 lbs.) of whatever kind of food we had on hand at home. I told her she could count on our support.
When our family arrived at home after church, I discussed the conversation with my husband. We were going through our own trial, but we felt blessed nevertheless.
“Although we are going through difficult days,” he said, “we have enough to make it from day to day, with maybe even a little extra to share.”
That afternoon, a neighbor who had heard of my husband’s accident, asked us to come visit. When we arrived, the neighbor gave us a box filled with 7 kilos (15 lbs.) of food, along with other items we needed. We were astonished. Neither of us had expected that kind of blessing.
As I talked to my husband about this experience, I could not help but recognize God’s hand and thank Him for His immense love for us. He had seen our willingness to share what we could—a single kilo of love—and had blessed us with seven times our offering.

A story in Church history brought me some comfort. On February 24, 1834, Joseph Smith received a revelation (Doctrine and Covenants 103) to organize over 100 men to travel to Jackson County, Missouri, USA, to help the Saints regain the land they had lost when they were expelled from there the previous year. Around 230 men, women, and children joined the expedition, which became known as Zion’s Camp. After preparing, the group left home in May and marched as much as 40 miles a day.1
Not only did Zion’s Camp face the physical aspects of the journey, but a few members of the group also exhibited backbiting, disobedience, and rebellion. Yet many others remained faithful and counted the expedition and the opportunity to be with Joseph as a privilege. With circumstances changing around them, the Prophet sought direction from the Lord and received another revelation in June (Doctrine and Covenants 105) saying that they no longer needed to continue their efforts. Members of the camp returned home without seeming to fulfill their purpose to redeem Zion, though many recognized that it was not a failure because the journey allowed them to grow closer to God and see His hand in their lives.2
Struggle at Zion’s Camp, by Clark Kelley Price
When the Saints in Zion’s Camp faced the news that they would be returning home without their expected blessing, they may have wondered why Heavenly Father had asked them to take the journey in the first place. I, too, wondered why I’d been led in a direction that didn’t turn out as I had planned.
After several weeks of feeling more sadness than I’d ever felt before, I realized I didn’t want to continue living with such a negative attitude. I knew I was not sent to earth to live a life consumed with discouragement and pessimism. After all, we are that we “might have joy”! (2 Nephi 2:25). I decided to shift my focus from the “whys” of the past to finding purpose in the midst of affliction.
I reached out to other people, became involved in new hobbies, and went back to school. I also started a daily gratitude journal. What started out as one-line entries turned into full pages as I began to recognize the Lord’s hand in my life more effortlessly. My prayers changed from wish lists to gratitude lists.
Even though my hard days didn’t disappear—they still haven’t—I now know what a difference it makes to focus my perspective on the good in life. Instead of seeing my trials as a bad thing, I decided to view them as an opportunity for growth.
Looking back on how things have turned out since I came home from Paraguay, I can see how Heavenly Father was guiding me and giving me opportunities through my experiences. I met some of my closest friends in those months following my mission, and I was able to immediately start studying at a local university, even though the deadline for enrollment had passed. That program led me to a study abroad in Switzerland, where I got to share the gospel with my host family.
Those years of consciously choosing gratitude have instilled in me a habit of thanking Heavenly Father for all things, which increases my faith in Him.
These words in a priesthood blessing I received during a low week have also helped me understand faith: “I bless you with understanding and knowledge that God … will give you those things that will not only be for your good but … help you become all that He wants you to be. Those will not always be easy blessings, for our struggles and adversity are the things that make us grow.”
I know that Heavenly Father consecrates our efforts, and as President Russell M. Nelson has taught, “The Lord loves effort.”3 God truly does seek our happiness and will forever be by our side.

On the first day of kindergarten, Benjamin giggled while drinking his milk during snack time and ended up with milk all over his shirt. When the other children laughed at him, he didn’t feel like giggling anymore.
He broke his yellow crayon while he was drawing a picture of the sun.
He made a dragon out of modeling clay, and everybody thought it was a pig.
On the second day of kindergarten, Benjamin accidentally let Hamlet, the class hamster, out of its cage.
His blue paint spilled and made a messy puddle on the floor.
When he threw the big red ball to Susie, it hit her in the face and made her cry.
After school, Benjamin sat at the kitchen table, eating lunch. “I’m not going back to school,” he announced. “I already know the things I want to know. I can make all the letters in my name, I know the days of the week, and I can count to twenty-three.”
“You do know a lot of things,” said Mommy, looking up from the letter she was writing to Aunt Agnes.
Benjamin looked at her paper. “Those are funny-looking letters.” He pointed to the curly writing on the page.
“They are different from the ones you make,” agreed Mommy.
“Hmmm,” Benjamin said.
Later that afternoon, when his sister, Karen, came home from school, Benjamin told her, “I’m not going back to school. I already know the things I want to know. I can make all the letters in my name, I know the days of the week, and I can count to twenty-three.”
“Then you won’t get to do the exciting things I’m doing in the second grade,” she told him. “We’re taking a trip to the zoo in October.”
“What’s October?” asked Benjamin. “A kind of school bus?”
Karen gave him her big-sister-who-knows-practically-everything look. “For your information, October is one of the months of the year.”
“Does it come after Saturday?”
Karen just laughed.
Benjamin looked thoughtful.
When Daddy came home, Benjamin met him at the door. “I’m not going back to school,” he said. “I already know the things I want to know. I can make all the letters in my name, I know the days of the week, and I can count to twenty-three.”
Daddy grinned. “Is that so?”
Benjamin followed Daddy out to the garage, where Daddy wrote down some measurements for a set of shelves he was going to build.
“What are those numbers on top of each other?” Benjamin asked, pointing at Daddy’s notes.
“Those two-story numbers are called fractions, Benjamin,” Daddy answered. “They’re pretty important numbers.”
Benjamin scratched his head.
That night in bed, he stared at the dark ceiling.
He wondered about Mommy’s curling letters. What did they mean, anyway?
He wondered how many months there were in a year. Did they all have funny names like October?
And he wondered a lot about Daddy’s two-story numbers.
The next morning, Benjamin made an announcement to everyone. “I already know a lot of the things I want to know. I can make all the letters in my name, I know the days of the week, and I can count to twenty-three. But I’ve decided to go back to school and learn about curly letters and October and two-story numbers.”
Mommy smiled. “Those are pretty important.”
“I’ll probably need to go at least until second grade,” he went on. “Maybe even longer.”
“I expect you will,” Daddy agreed. He looked at his watch. “It’s time to go. All aboard for school!”
“All aboard for school!” Benjamin repeated cheerfully, following Daddy and Karen to the car.

Following an impression once saved my life. It was dark, I was alone, and I was high in the mountains several miles from the nearest road. Though I had never been on this particular mountainside, I was not lost. I knew the general location, and I knew that all I had to do was keep walking down and eventually this would lead me to a familiar road. The problem was the pitch darkness of the moonless night.
I chose a gully and started to feel my way down through the brush and deadfall. It was slow going, so I was relieved when the gully flattened out to a sandy bottom beneath my feet. I picked up my pace for about 10 steps and suddenly had a strong impression to stop. I did. Reaching down, I took a rock and tossed it out into the darkness ahead of me. I heard no sound for a few seconds, and then there was a clatter on the rocks a long distance away. I knew immediately that I was standing on the lip of a sheer drop-off.
I retraced my steps and eventually got down the mountain by another gully. I phoned my worried family close to midnight, just before they called for a search party. The next day I revisited that spot in daylight and saw my tracks, which stopped just two or three feet from a drop-off of at least 50 feet. I was glad I had heard and heeded a warning. Where did that lead? It saved my life.

In conclusion let me share an experience that is tender and even sacred to me. When I was first called to serve as Young Women general president, I felt terrified and inadequate. I lay awake for many nights worrying, repenting, and crying. After several nights of this, I had a very moving experience. I started thinking about my young women nieces, then about the young women in my neighborhood and ward, then about the young women I saw regularly at the high school, and then I envisioned young women of the Church throughout the world, over half a million of them. The most wonderfully warm feeling began to envelop me and surge through me. I felt such exquisite love for Latter-day Saint young women everywhere, each one of you, and I knew that what I was feeling was our Heavenly Father’s love for you. It was powerful and all-encompassing. For the first time I felt peace because I knew what Heavenly Father wanted me to do. He wanted me to witness to you of His great love for you. And so I testify to you again that I know beyond doubt that Heavenly Father knows you and loves you. You are His special daughter. He has a plan for you, and He will ever be there to lead you, guide you, and walk beside you (see “I Am a Child of God”). I earnestly pray that you will know this and feel this, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Some years ago I spoke to a Mia Maid adviser who told me of an experience she had with one of the young women in her class. This young woman had been tempted time and time again to leave the pathway of truth and follow the detour of sin. Through the constant persuasion of some of her friends at school, she had finally agreed to follow such a detour. The plan was set: she would tell her parents she was going to her activity night for Young Women. She planned, however, to be there only long enough for her girlfriends and their dates to pick her up. They would then attend a party where alcoholic beverages would be consumed and where the behavior would be in complete violation of what this young woman knew was right.

The teacher had prayed for inspiration in helping all her girls but especially this particular young woman, who seemed so uncertain about her commitment to the gospel. The teacher had received inspiration that night to abandon what she had previously planned and to speak to the girls about remaining morally clean. As she began sharing her thoughts and feelings, the young woman in question checked her watch often to make sure she didn’t miss her rendezvous with her friends. However, as the discussion progressed, her heart was touched, her conscience awakened, and her determination renewed. When it came, she ignored the repeated sound of the automobile horn summoning her. She remained throughout the evening with her teacher and the other girls in the class. The temptation to detour from God’s approved way had been averted. Satan had been frustrated. The young woman remained after the others had left in order to thank her teacher for the lesson and to let her know how it had helped her avoid what might have been a tragic outcome. A teacher’s prayer had been answered.

I subsequently learned that because she had made her decision not to go with her friends that night—some of the most popular girls and boys at school—the young woman was shunned by them and for many months had no friends at school. They couldn’t accept that she was unwilling to do the things they did. It was an extremely difficult and lonely period for her, but she remained steadfast and eventually gained friends who shared her standards. Now, several years later, she has a temple marriage and four beautiful children. How different her life could have been. Our decisions determine our destiny.

There’s an 89-year-old lady in my ward. She’s like the granny of the ward, you could say. So everybody calls her Granny.
One day she told me that the monkeys were coming into her garden and eating all her good fruit because her net had fallen down. In our area of South Africa there are monkeys everywhere, and they make a really big impact on the community.
I said, “Oh, Granny, I would love to come and help you. I’m free this Saturday. I have nothing to do anyway, so I’ll come over and help you build a net.”
Granny and Neo
When I arrived on Saturday, she was sitting patiently on her chair waiting for me. We went out to the garden, and I helped her build the net. I don’t know how I did it, because they’re so complicated, but to this day it still stands up right.
Neo with Granny’s monkey net
For me, it didn’t seem like a big deal to help Granny—I wasn’t doing anything that day. But it was a big deal for her. It taught me that service might be the smallest thing for me, but to the other person, it can be the biggest thing.