Gospel Story Finder

Mylie Payne, 15, of the Aberdeen Ward explains how preparing for the temple has become more personal for her over the years: “In previous years we’ve done group fasts to prepare for the temple.” Now Mylie takes the initiative on her own. “This year I fasted myself to get the most out of the trip and help strengthen my testimony.” She also talks about the change in how she studies the scriptures, especially the Book of Mormon: “I am trying to understand the scriptures in much more depth and detail. In particular, when I come to the parts about baptism, I really try to study and understand them.”

Suddenly it started to rain. At first it was a soft, gentle rain that did not bother Tommy as he milked the cow and helped his father feed the oxen. Later, when they started to pitch the tent, the rain came down in fierce, angry sheets that bit into Tommy’s shoulders. The wind blew so hard that it wrenched the tent out of their hands.
“We’ll have to do without the tent tonight,” Father finally decided.
“Where will you and Mamma sleep?” asked Tommy. “My wagon is too full of corn and wheat for anybody to sleep there.”
“You and Betsy can sleep with Mamma in the other wagon,” answered his father, “and I will make a bed underneath it for me.”
“I will sleep under the wagon,” said Tommy quietly.
Father did not answer at once, but Tommy knew by the pressure of his hand that he was proud that his son had offered. Finally Father quietly said, “I’ll help you gather pine boughs to put on the ground so your bed won’t sink into the mud.”
Tommy was glad when they had enough pine boughs, because it was difficult to cut them in the stinging rain. Over these pine boughs he and his father put the folded tent, leaving enough of it free on each side to pull over the bedroll so Tommy would not get wet.
When the bed was ready, Tommy crawled into it. At first it was frightening to be alone in the storm. Never had he heard such loud thunder, and the lightning flashes were so close that he could see small fires appear in the tops of the trees where lightning had hit. Even though he knew the heavy rain would soon put them out, Tommy was afraid. What if the lightning should strike the wagon where the others are sleeping? he asked himself. He wanted to call out to his father for comfort, but he didn’t want anyone to know that he was afraid.
I’ll ask Heavenly Father to help me, he said to himself. And he did. Tommy almost expected his prayer to be answered by the thunder and lightning stopping. Instead it was answered by Tommy not being afraid any more.
Then Tommy began to enjoy the storm. It was almost as if giant fireworks were everywhere. Instead of wanting to go to sleep, he wanted to stay awake so he would not miss any of it. But since the storm lasted all night, Tommy’s eyes finally closed. He did not open them again until he felt water lapping at his feet and discovered that the little creek beside which they had camped had become a raging torrent during the night.

I know this from personal experience as a pilot. Every time I started the approach to an airport, I knew that much of my remaining work would consist of making constant minor course corrections to safely direct the aircraft to our desired landing runway.

When the Kingman Arizona Stake held its first youth conference, one of the favorite activities was a New Era Bowl held one afternoon. Each ward chose teams of four to compete. The contestants had been advised ahead of time which issue of the magazine to read in preparation. A system of buzzers and lights aided judges in determining who had the first chance to answer the questions. Questions were taken from articles in the magazine.
The Kingman Third Ward Team A defeated the Bullhead City Team for trophies.

Lying flat on my back, staring at the mechanical paraphernalia of an X-ray machine, was not what I had expected as part of my experience in the Language Training Mission. But there I was, my right ankle all puffed and swollen; another casualty of physical activity time.
Fifteen minutes before, I had been in the middle of a close soccer game. My district was ahead with only one minute left. Suddenly, our defense weakened and the ball shot toward the goal. I ran forward as Elder Duran, my best friend on the other team, fell to the ground to block my kick. Snup! A sound like the cracking of a branch wrapped in a towel made everyone cringe. I crumpled to the ground, holding my right leg, and screamed for a doctor. Someone in the background had the nerve to say, “Viva su lengua” (live your language).
I tried to get up, but the pain in my leg convinced me to just lie there and grit my teeth. The ambulance came, and soon I was lying on the X-ray table, hoping my injury would turn out to be a mere sprain or dislocation. However, my hope for a miracle was squashed when, through the partially closed door, I overheard a nurse say, “That’s the worst break I’ve ever seen.”
No one would touch me for 45 minutes. Then a specialist arrived and confirmed the nurse’s comment about my ankle. By 11:00 P.M. I was semi-conscious in a hospital bed, still groggy from an operation to insert a screw into my ankle. My only thought at the time was that I would be left behind when the 21 elders in my group left for the Guatemala-El Salvador Mission two weeks later.
After four days in the hospital, I hobbled back to the LTM on crutches. I don’t know if words can describe what it was like to be in the LTM for five weeks after I had learned all the lessons. I could say them backwards and forwards, in my sleep, in the shower, upside down, and in-between.
A group of missionaries was scheduled to leave for Guatemala four days after my cast was removed, but I still had two weeks of therapy ahead of me. By the power of fervent persuasion that only a missionary has, however, my doctor was convinced I could go as long as I didn’t do any excessive walking for the first few weeks. Finally!
The excitement in my body must have been the healing factor in my bones. By the time I got to the airport, I was hyperactive. To prove my ankle was as good as new, I did the Mexican hat dance, a tap routine, hopped on one foot, and showed everybody the eight-inch scar on my right ankle. I can’t remember all I did, but my antics were enough to bring gasps and concerned looks from my mother and comments like, “He hasn’t changed a bit,” from my friends.

Years ago our 17-year-old son wanted to go on a weekend trip with his friends, who were all good boys. He asked for permission to go. I wanted to say yes, but for some reason I felt uncomfortable about the trip. I shared my feelings with my wife, who was very supportive. “We need to listen to that warning voice,” she said.

Of course, our son was disappointed and asked why we didn’t want him to go. I answered honestly that I didn’t know why. “I just don’t feel good about it,” I explained, “and I love you too much to ignore these feelings inside.” I was quite surprised when he said, “That’s OK, Dad. I understand.”

About four years after the First Vision, the angel Moroni appeared to young Joseph several times, telling him about the book written on gold plates and preparing him for the work that lay ahead. Lucy Mack Smith tells how her 18-year-old prophet-son shared the wondrous news of the Book of Mormon and the Restoration with the Smith family.
By sunset … , we were all seated, and Joseph commenced telling us the great and glorious things which God had manifested to him. …
He proceeded to relate … particulars concerning the work which he was appointed to do, and we received them joyfully. …
From this time forth, Joseph continued to receive instructions from the Lord, and we continued to get the children together every evening for the purpose of listening while he gave us a relation of the same. I presume our family presented an aspect as singular as any that ever lived upon the face of the earth—all seated in a circle, father, mother, sons and daughters, and giving the most profound attention to a boy, eighteen years of age, who had never read the Bible through in his life: he seemed much less inclined to the perusal of books than any of the rest of our children, but far more given to meditation and deep study.
We were now confirmed in the opinion that God was about to bring to light something upon which we could stay our minds, or that would give us a more perfect knowledge of the plan of salvation and the redemption of the human family. This caused us greatly to rejoice, the sweetest union and happiness pervaded our house, and tranquility reigned in our midst.
During our evening conversations, Joseph would occasionally give us some of the most amusing recitals that could be imagined. He would describe the ancient inhabitants of [the American] continent, their dress, mode of traveling, and the animals upon which they rode; their cities, their buildings, with every particular; their mode of warfare; and also their religious worship. This he would do with as much ease, seemingly, as if he had spent his whole life among them.

During the next few years, Mormon missionaries seemed to be all over the place. Even my barber was trying to preach to me! Several sets of missionaries came to visit me. Feeling somewhat ashamed about my treatment of the two I had left standing on the doorstep a couple of years earlier, I began inviting them inside, on the condition that they “leave their books in the car, and don’t preach to me.” I always felt uncomfortable when they came, and I would not allow any discussion of religion.
How was I to make them leave without being extremely rude? How? Then I got an idea. Sure, why not? It should be easy. I would just prove that they were wrong. I would show these people that their doctrines were false, and I would do it with their own scriptures. The next time they came, I would be ready.
If I were going to prove them wrong, I had to know something concerning what they believed. How could I find out what they believe? That Book of Mormon the two lady missionaries gave me years ago. Sure! I had put it away in some drawer or box. I soon found it. What did it contain—the story of Joseph Smith’s life? A history of Mormonism? I didn’t know. But one thing I did know: when the missionaries next came, I would be ready for them.
I took the book to work, where I had some free time throughout the day. The first chance I had, I opened the book. Why, this didn’t appear to be about Joseph Smith at all! I noticed a page in the front showing interesting things to look up—the Sermon on the Mount on the American continent, Columbus, the Savior in the Americas. What was I getting into?
Not finding anything about Joseph Smith’s life story in the book, I picked up some missionary tracts at a gas station owned by a Mormon. I wanted to find out about this Joseph Smith. I read about Joseph’s First Vision. Somehow it seemed different from what I remembered hearing years before. I read about an angel named Moroni and some gold plates. Returning to the Book of Mormon, I began reading it in my spare time.
Something strange began to happen. My hostility began to disappear. Indeed, my desire to prove the missionaries wrong disappeared. My brief curiosity after first opening the book was replaced by a desire to know. What was this strange power that seemed to literally reach out and pull me toward this book? What was happening to me? I had to know.
I found myself using all my spare hours to search through the Book of Mormon. I found something else too: a promise by an ancient prophet named Moroni—a bold declaration that I could know the truth of the book by asking God to reveal it to me. Alone one day, I bowed down before my Maker, and, holding the Book of Mormon in my hand, I asked Heavenly Father what it was that was pulling me to the book. Immediately—almost before I had finished my prayer—a recollection of my past habits and hostilities flooded over me. I begged for forgiveness, having not recognized my wretched state until then.
The next few days were about the same—I tried to cope with an overwhelming desire to immerse myself in studying the Book of Mormon. Then it happened. It was a Thursday night before the October general conference of the Church. I came home from work with a peculiar feeling growing inside me—a feeling I had never before experienced. I did not know what to think of it. It slowly grew in intensity. What a marvelous feeling! I remember thinking, “If this is what it feels like in heaven, I wish I were ninety-nine years old and about to die.”
Then came the testimony—that sureness of the missionaries that had disturbed me in the past. I knew! Joseph smith had been in the presence of the Father and the Son. Indeed, he had been visited by angels. I knew. Yes, indeed, I knew.

Another early convert, An Chea Maline, a Cambodian who joined the Church in May 1995 and served as a branch Primary president before emigrating to Australia, recalls that for a long time she knew nothing about God. “But now I know this Church is true,” she says. “It is a bright sun for me.”

When I joined the Church in 1990, I was friendshipped by great families, was given a calling, and felt that I belonged. But a year later, after moving to a new ward, I began to drift away. I stopped attending meetings and started dating a man who was not a member of the Church.
I still believed the Church was true. I just didn’t think I was good enough for it anymore. Then Kathy was assigned as my visiting teacher.
Kathy called every month for the first few months to try to schedule an appointment. Because I always dodged her visits, she started mailing me the Visiting Teaching Message instead. Every month the message would arrive like clockwork. This went on for four years, even after I married my boyfriend and we had two children.
Some months I would throw the message away unread; other months I would read it and then throw it away. When my marriage failed, I found myself with a toddler and an infant to raise alone. I suddenly needed answers. When my monthly Visiting Teaching Message arrived again, I decided to attend church for the first time in ages.
I felt so awkward, as if all my sins were written upon my sleeve. A sister I had known in the young single adult program welcomed me, and we sat down together. Suddenly here came Kathy. I looked away, embarrassed that I had not answered any of her kind notes. She smiled at me, chatted with my neighbor for a moment, and then sat with her husband.
When I got home from work the next day, there was a message from Kathy on the answering machine. I couldn’t call her back. I just knew she wanted to tell me that I wasn’t allowed to come to church anymore, that my sins had been too great. I felt bad that Kathy had to convey this message to me, but I knew it was true. I had no place among the righteous. I couldn’t call her back, but the next evening she called me again.
“I want to apologize,” she said.
Why would Kathy possibly need to apologize to me?
“I didn’t recognize you when I saw you at church on Sunday,” she said. “After sacrament meeting, I asked the sister you were sitting by who you were. By then you had already left. It was so good to see you.”
I was dumbfounded.
“I hope we can sit together the next time you come to church,” Kathy added.
“I’d like that,” I said, suddenly feeling overcome with emotion.
We did sit together the next Sunday—and for many Sundays after that. She served as my inspiration to be a better mother, a better member of the Church, and a better visiting teacher. She always listened patiently, without judging, just as I feel the Savior would.
Kathy sat beside me the day I received my endowment and the day I married my new husband in the temple. She remained my visiting teacher until we moved from the area. Her service blessed my family in ways I’m sure she never could have imagined—all because she wouldn’t give up on me.

I was happy to receive the April 2001 Liahona (Spanish). I am grateful for the article “A Prophet’s Counsel and Prayer for Youth” by President Gordon B. Hinckley. Some of my friends wear lots of rings in their ears and eyebrows. “But can I wear them?” I asked my branch president. He answered by showing me 1 Corinthians 3:16–17 and President Hinckley’s article.
Our leaders really love us. Their words in the Church magazines are a great help to youth. I know Heavenly Father sends people to keep us from being deceived.
Benny Jesús Doria Mártinez,Lorica Branch, Montería Colombia District

My youngest daughter’s life experience has included emotional health challenges from the time she was a little girl. There have been many times throughout her life when she felt like she couldn’t go on. We will be forever grateful to the earthly angels who have been there during those times: sitting with her, listening to her, crying with her, as well as sharing together unique gifts, spiritual understandings, and a mutual relationship of love. In such loving circumstances, burdens have often been lifted on both sides.

Dear Miss A,Just a note to say hello and let you know of my love. I hope all is well.Love,Miss Antaloop
Julia folded up the note, then, in red marker, wrote, “Miss A,” in an extravagant, cursive style that didn’t resemble her own handwriting.
The bell rang, and the second grade classroom exploded in a frenzy of activity—backpacks zipped, desks slammed, and children noisily exited the room. Julia set the envelope on her teacher’s desk without being noticed and left with her classmates. She was determined that Miss Allen, or Miss A, as her second grade students called her, would have no clues about the mysterious Miss Antaloop.
A month earlier, Julia had overheard Miss A telling another teacher that she had nowhere to go for the upcoming Christmas holiday. Julia could not imagine a Christmas without family.
“I heard Miss A say she had nowhere to go for Christmas,” Julia told her mom after school. “Why doesn’t she go home to her family?”
“Julia, Miss Allen told me once that she was an only child, and I know that both of her parents have passed away. She probably doesn’t have any family to go to.”
Julia’s face twisted into a frown. “That’s so sad! Why, Miss A is the nicest, most wonderful teacher ever!” She paused, thinking. “Hey—can we be her family?”
“She is a very special teacher,” Mom agreed. “I’ve invited her to come to dinner before, when David was in her class. I also invited her to his mission farewell, but she didn’t come.”
That night Julia wrote her first letter to Miss A from the make-believe Miss Antaloop. Most of the students loved Miss A. But Julia wanted to find a way to show her that she was loved as a friend, not just as a teacher who might be forgotten. So she made up the character of Miss Antaloop. Julia wasn’t sure of Miss Antaloop’s age or background, but she knew that Miss Antaloop loved adventure and loved Miss A. The second letter established England as Miss Antaloop’s home.
Dear Miss A,I’ve heard all about you and what an incredible teacher you are. I was hoping we could be pen pals and friends. I’ve been in Italy, painting, and just moved to London to design jewelry for the Queen of England. You are pretty and a great teacher.Love,Miss AntaloopP.S. I’ve enclosed one of my latest jewelry designs. I hope you like it.
Julia carefully wrapped a bracelet she’d sculpted out of tinfoil in some tissues and placed it in a brown paper bag with the letter. The next morning she arrived at school early. She tiptoed into the main office, placed the brown sack in Miss Allen’s mailbox, and then ran out before she could be spotted.
Later that day, Miss A was wearing the silver foil bracelet.
“Hey, Miss A, where’d you get that silver thing?” Tommy asked.
“Why, it’s a bracelet all the way from England,” Miss A said with a big smile. Julia looked up from her spelling book with a start.
“Who gave it to you? Is it from a kid?”
Miss A put her finger to her lips, signaling Tommy to use his quiet voice.
“Is it from a kid?” Tommy repeated in a fierce whisper.
Julia swallowed.
Miss A’s blue eyes sparkled. “It’s from a special friend,” she said. Since the first delivery, Julia had noticed her little gifts and letters appearing on Miss A’s bookshelf.
On the day before school was to close for the Christmas break, Miss A let the children share their holiday plans. Phillip was going sledding. Andrea was going to California to visit her grandparents. Tommy planned to eat all of the candy in his stocking in one day.
“What are you going to do, Miss A?” Andrea asked.
“I am going to spend my holiday at home.”
“Why don’t you come to my house?” Julia asked.
“And then come over to mine!” Phillip echoed. Suddenly the classroom broke out in a chorus of second-graders begging their teacher to join them for Christmas.
“You’re all very sweet,” said Miss A, “but you have your families to celebrate with and, as you’ve just told me, many activities planned. I’ll be right here by my desk at the first of January, waiting to see you and hear about all of your fun.”
The bell rang. As Julia walked slowly out of the room, Miss A said, “Good-bye, Julia. Merry Christmas!”
Julia’s house buzzed with Christmas preparations over the next few days.
While Julia helped wrap presents and bake food, she kept thinking of Miss A’s face as the different students described their holiday activities with their families. She had smiled, but her blue eyes had looked empty with loneliness. Julia decided to do something about it.
“David, David,” Julia whispered as she knocked on her brother’s bedroom door.
The door swung open, and David looked down at his little sister. “Hey, Jules, what’s up? Are you being a Christmas elf?”
“No,” Julia said. “I need help.”
David crouched down to look Julia in the face. “OK, Jules, what’s up?”
“I need you to help me—it’s very important. I want to deliver this to Miss A.” She held up a large white box. “Dad said you could take me.”
“What is it, Jules? I thought you already gave her a Christmas present.”
“I did, but this is a special present.”
David lifted the box lid to see the nativity scene that Julia had made with salt dough in Primary last year, nestled in tissue paper. Last year Julia had been so proud of it that she insisted that it be displayed in the living room.
“Your nativity set? But you love this.”
“I know.” Julia lovingly touched the Baby Jesus in the manger. “But I think Miss A feels lonely. I think she forgot that Jesus loves her.”
David smiled at the misshapen dough figures. “OK,” he said, picking up the box in one arm and Julia in the other. “Then let’s go, little elf.”
The car cut through the snowy, dark streets and stopped at a brown apartment building.
“I guess this is it.”
“Are you sure?”
“This is the address in the phone book,” David said. Julia looked doubtfully at the long staircase and dark windows.
“Jules, do you want me to do it?”
Julia’s face relaxed into a smile. “Will you?”
“Hand it over,” David laughed.
Julia straightened the bow so that “Merry Christmas from England! Love, Miss Antaloop” was visible. “Be careful, and run fast so she doesn’t see you,” she whispered.
Julia quickly changed into a Sunday dress and came down for the annual Christmas Eve family home evening. The family had just settled in the living room, when the doorbell rang. “Who could that be on Christmas Eve?” Mom wondered aloud. Dad went to answer the door and returned, followed by Miss A.
“Miss A!” Julia ran up to her teacher.
“Miss Allen, what a wonderful surprise!” Mom said. “Come in.”
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” she said. “But I received a very special present this evening, and I had to come thank the person who gave it to me.”
“What … but … how did you know, Miss A?” Julia asked, embarrassed she’d been discovered.
Miss A smiled. “Julia, you must tell Miss Antaloop thank you for bringing some light into my Christmas.” She hugged Julia. “I had just sat down to watch a Christmas special on television, when the doorbell rang. I was surprised to find a present there and to open it and find such a beautiful reminder of the reason for Christmas!” Miss A’s eyes sparkled.
“Miss Allen, why don’t you take off your coat and stay. We’re going to have a little Christmas program, then dinner,” Mom said.
“Yes, please stay!” Julia begged.
“Come on, Miss A,” David chimed in.
“Well,” Miss A said. She looked around at the faces looking back at her with hopeful, welcoming expressions on them. Suddenly she did not want to return to her empty apartment. “OK—I will.”
“Hurray!” Julia cried.
“I’ll have to stay if I want to catch Miss Antaloop,” she whispered to Julia with a wink.
Julia smiled. She knew that Christmas wasn’t about make-believe friends. It was about love.

“Why do you have to miss practice today?” I asked Merlin after school. “Don’t you know how important our game against the Tigers is?”
“Yes, I know,” Merlin answered. “But I can’t help it. I can’t stay for practice. I have an appointment. I told the coach, and he said it was OK. I have to go now, or I’ll be late.”
“Merlin always has an appointment on Thursdays,” Bob complained as we changed into our basketball uniforms.
“Well, it isn’t going to be much of a practice without him,” I grumbled.
And it wasn’t. Merlin is the best player on our team. He can sink a basket better than the rest of us, and he never double dribbles when he runs down the court.
“You boys were clumsy today,” the coach told us after practice. “You have to get on the ball if you expect to beat the Tigers.”
I’ll bet he wishes Merlin had been here, I thought. Practice always goes better when Merlin plays with us.
“Maybe Merlin has a job. Or maybe Merlin’s sick and goes to the doctor every Thursday,” Bob said as we were eating a snack at my house.
“Bob,” I said, wiping cookie crumbs from my mouth, “I have a brilliant idea. We don’t have a practice next Thursday, so why don’t we follow Merlin and see where his appointment is?”
“But that’d be spying!”
“Well, it’s the only way we’re going to find out, isn’t it? Merlin’s sure not going to tell us.”
When Thursday finally came, Bob and I stood by the corner of the school building and watched Merlin get on his bike. We waited until he was a half-block away, then jumped on our bikes and followed him.
“Don’t go too fast,” Bob warned, “or he’ll see us.”
I felt like a detective following a criminal instead of a friend.
Bob and I shadowed Merlin for ten blocks, six of them uphill. “No wonder Merlin is in such good shape,” I told Bob, panting as we pedaled our bikes up yet another hill.
“Maybe this is all he does on Thursdays,” Bob said, puffing just as hard as I was.
Merlin finally stopped in front of the Westchester Nursing Home. He parked his bike and went in.
“I’m not going in there!” Bob told me.
“All right, all right!” I said irritably. I wasn’t mad at Bob, and I wasn’t mad at Merlin. I was mad at myself for spying on Merlin in the first place.
“What do you suppose he does in there?” Bob asked.
“Maybe his grandparents live there.”
“No. They all live in Texas. I know, because I heard his mother talking about them once.”
“Well, we might as well go home,” I said, starting to get on my bike.
“Wait!” Bob said in a loud whisper. “There’s Merlin!”
We hid behind a hedge as Merlin came out of the building and pushed a man in a wheelchair over to the shade of a large oak tree. The man gave Merlin a book, and Merlin sat down on the grass and began to read aloud.
Bob and I couldn’t hear what Merlin was reading, but the old man seemed to relax in his chair. Every now and then the man would smile. When he smiled, he looked a lot younger. After about twenty minutes, Merlin closed the book and stood up.
“We’d better get out of here,” I whispered.
“Too late,” Bob said. “He’s spotted us.”
“What are you guys doing here?” Merlin asked, coming over to the hedge we’d been hiding behind.
“Well … we …”
“Ah …”
“We were just curious about where you go every Thursday,” I finally managed to splutter.
Merlin hesitated, then said, “I never told you guys because I thought you might think it was sissy.”
“After that bike ride, no one would dare think you were a sissy,” I said. “My legs are still sore.”
“Going downhill will be easier.” Merlin laughed. “Come and meet my friend.”
Bob and I met Mr. Allen. He didn’t have any family and he couldn’t see very well and there was something wrong with his legs. Merlin read to him from the Bible or the Book of Mormon every Thursday.
Mr. Allen told us about playing center on his grade school basketball team the year it won first place in the city and about some other neat things he did when he was a kid. Bob and I really liked him.
It’s been three weeks since we first went to the nursing home. Our team beat the Tigers by twelve points, and the coach said the team is really shaping up. We never practice on Thursdays anymore because all the team members now have very important appointments.
Today, I’m going to be very careful riding up the hills. I’m taking flowers to my friend at the Westchester Nursing Home. Her name is Mrs. Olivia Martinez.

I love missionary work! Three months after my baptism, I traveled to Martinique to spend time with my family for summer break. I spoke to my brother every day about the Book of Mormon and the gospel.
I invited him to church the first Sunday, but he declined. The second Sunday, he followed me to church. At the end of the meetings, he was mostly indifferent, as if he hadn’t experienced anything special during those three hours.
Even though I continued to speak to him about the gospel the following week, I didn’t invite him to come to church this time. A miracle happened Saturday evening: while ironing my Sunday clothes for the next day, I noticed he was doing the same thing.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
He answered, “I’m going to church with you tomorrow.”
“I’m not forcing you to come,” I said.
But he responded, “I want to come.”
He continued coming to church each Sunday after that.
After I returned to southern France, where I was going to school, my brother told me over the telephone that he was going to be baptized. I told him I would like to be present at his baptism but that the most important thing was that he would still be in the Church when I returned to Martinique.
One year later, I visited again. During sacrament meeting, my brother testified with great strength of the truth of the gospel. I shed tears when I think that my brother, with whom I have shared the most beautiful moments of my life, can also share with me the gospel of our Lord (see Alma 26:11–16).
Ludovic Christophe Occolier, baptized in France in 2004

Let me illustrate this with a story from the Church News:
“A group of religion instructors [were] taking a summer course on the life of the Savior and focusing particularly on the parables.
“When the final exam time came, … the students arrived at the classroom to find a note that the exam would be given in another building across campus. Moreover, the note said, it must be finished within the two-hour time period that was starting almost at that moment.
“The students hurried across campus. On the way they passed a little girl crying over a flat tire on her new bike. An old man hobbled painfully toward the library with a cane in one hand, spilling books from a stack he was trying to manage with the other. On a bench by the union building sat a shabbily dressed, bearded man [in obvious distress].
“Rushing into the other classroom, the students were met by the professor, who announced they had all flunked the final exam.
“The only true test of whether they understood the Savior’s life and teaching, he said, was how they treated people in need.
“Their weeks of study at the feet of a capable professor had taught them a great deal of what Christ had said and done.” They learned the letter but not the spirit. Their neglect of the little girl and the two men showed that the message of the course had not entered into their inward parts.

Jorden H., age 7, Washington, USA, went with his sister, Cadence, age 6, to the Boise Idaho Temple open house. Cadence felt the Spirit, and Jorden thought the celestial room was “the beautiful-est thing” he saw in the temple.

Winter Olympics Update
In addition to the Olympic athletes featured in the June 2002 Liahona, Quinn Wheeler, age 28, a member of the Taylorsville 39th Ward, Taylorsville Utah South Stake, represented the U.S. Virgin Islands as a member of their Winter Olympics bobsled team. Brother Wheeler took up bobsledding during college and became acquainted with members of the Virgin Islands team while working in St. Thomas in mid-2000. He joined the team when an unexpected opening developed.

After reading the story “The Ducks’ New Clothes” (July 2016) to my grandma, she told me that Ann and Walter are my great-great-grandparents! I found out that they were the first people in our family to be baptized!

Each group of ten was assigned a captain. At first the captains weren’t really sure they wanted the responsibility. Blair Phelps had a little insider’s knowledge about what they were up against. His sister had been a captain the year before, so he knew what was involved. But he agreed, joining seven others as the captains.