Gospel Story Finder

Jessica also likes to read about recipes. She logs on to the Internet and types in the kind of food she wants to make and searches for recipes. She likes to bake cookies and cakes. She likes simple recipes the best—ones that don’t have too many ingredients. Jessica has already planned on baking her own chocolate birthday cake. She found a recipe that looks wonderful, with not too many ingredients.
Also on the Internet, Jessica found a recipe for gingersnaps. “It turned out that the recipe was 128 years old. It was created just after the Civil War. Don’t you think that’s interesting?” she asks.
The cookies tasted great, but Jessica couldn’t resist trying a little experiment. She used food coloring to make the cookies green. Then she put some orange food coloring in some granulated sugar and shook it, turning all the sugar bright orange. Then she sprinkled the orange sugar on the green cookies. “I took three cookies to school,” Jessica says, “but no one would try them except for the teacher.”

Another good example of a positive statement in response to a difficult question was experienced by Elder Angel Abrea. We had a missionary murdered on a street in Peru, a Peruvian Elder. Elder Abrea was sent to represent the leadership of the Church at the funeral. He called on the mother of the murdered missionary. She was a widow and this was her only son. In tears, she asked the agonized question, “Why, Elder Abrea, why?” He didn’t know what to say, and stood silent, pondering why the only son of a widowed mother would be taken from her. Then the mother answered her own question with these words: “Well, one thing I do know. I will see my son again, in the time of the Lord.”

After I graduated high school, I moved out to Utah, USA. Nicole was already there, and she was anxiously waiting for me to get there so I could start taking the missionary lessons. I had a plan to be baptized on my 19th birthday—just six weeks away—and Nicole assured me she would be right there with me the whole time.
When the missionaries began to teach me, I soon realized how little I really knew about the Church. I had read and loved the Book of Mormon, but suddenly they were telling me about the gift of the Holy Ghost, the plan of salvation, becoming like God, and so many other new things. It was too much to digest all at once.
But Nicole knew me well. She would help explain what the elders were teaching in a way she knew I’d understand. In those first lessons, her patient explanations were the reason I stayed.
Nicole spiritually supported me like that until the day I was baptized—and after. She helped the ward members and missionaries plan so I could be baptized on my 19th birthday. When I came out of the water and saw dozens of people beaming at me, I didn’t feel so alone anymore. I will never forget that feeling of finally belonging to the Lord and His Church.

While I was at Duke University, I had the opportunity to play volleyball. On one of our trips I was in a discussion with two of our team members one of whom was in the Divinity School there and was in his last year and the other a younger student from Brazil. The divinity student had spent his last few summers doing student preaching (if that was what it was called.) He was a nice guy and everyone on the team got along great. The young man from Brazil was a fine player. As we traveled to a meet, the young Brazilian asked the "to be" minister a question. He stated that he was in love with a girl and wanted to know if it was wrong to have premarital relations with her. What did the future minister friend think? My friend said - "I think it is fine".

At that point I nearly scared them to death as I said in an agitated voice - what are you talking about? Haven't you read the Bible? I then quoted Matt 5:28 which reads, But I say unto you, that whosoever looketh on a woman to lust after her hath committed adultery with her already in his heart. I also pointed to counsel given by Paul to Timothy and Titus pointing out the sins of the flesh and commending them to be chaste. My friend agreed that indeed the scriptures said that and the discussion grew quiet. The young Brazilian had not gotten the permission slip he wanted and I may have embarrassed my divinity student friend. But in good conscience I could not let him give such bad counsel.

I introduce next a gentle, faith-filled man who epitomized the peace and joy which the gospel of Jesus Christ can bring into one’s life.
Late one evening on a Pacific isle, a small boat slipped silently to its berth at the crude pier. Two Polynesian women helped Meli Mulipola from the boat and guided him to the well-worn pathway leading to the village road. The women marveled at the bright stars, which twinkled in the midnight sky. The moonlight guided them along their way. However, Meli Mulipola could not appreciate these delights of nature—the moon, the stars, the sky—for he was blind.
Brother Mulipola’s vision had been normal until a fateful day when, while working on a pineapple plantation, light turned suddenly to darkness and day became perpetual night. He was depressed and despondent until he learned the good news of the gospel of Jesus Christ. His life was brought into compliance with the teachings of the Church, and he once again felt hope and joy.
Brother Mulipola and his loved ones had made a long voyage, having learned that one who held the priesthood of God was visiting among the islands of the Pacific. He sought a blessing, and it was my privilege, along with another who held the Melchizedek Priesthood, to provide that blessing to him. As we finished, I noted that tears were streaming from his sightless eyes, coursing down his brown cheeks, and tumbling finally upon his native dress. He dropped to his knees and prayed: “O God, Thou knowest I am blind. Thy servants have blessed me that my sight might return. Whether in Thy wisdom I see light or whether I see darkness all the days of my life, I will be eternally grateful for the truth of Thy gospel, which I now see and which provides the light of my life.”
He rose to his feet and, smiling, thanked us for providing the blessing. He then disappeared into the still of the night. Silently he came; silently he departed. But his presence I shall never forget. I reflected upon the message of the Master: “I am the light of the world: he that followeth me shall not walk in darkness, but shall have the light of life.”

Dominic, the ward deacons quorum president, said that his priesthood responsibilities have taught him the importance of the fast offering. “We collect the offerings every first Saturday of the month. I am glad to do something to help the poor, to know that I can do something. It’s a lot of responsibility because there are only two active deacons in the quorum. But it fills me with joy.”

Later, standing beside a statue of the carabao (water buffalo) that is the national animal of the Philippines, Dominic outlined plans to reactivate four more deacons he’s responsible for. “We need the others. We visit them and try to include them in activities like swimming and basketball. You have to be friends with the inactives to reactivate them! I like to tell jokes to my deacons quorum, and we’re always talking together about happy days. I’m learning a lot about being a leader.”

Mary Bommeli was my great-grandmother. Mary was born in 1830. The missionaries taught her family in Switzerland when she was 24. She was still living at home, weaving and selling cloth to help support her family on their small farm. When the family heard the restored gospel of Jesus Christ, they knew it was true. They were baptized. Mary’s brothers were called on missions. The rest of the family sold their possessions to go to America to gather with the Saints.
There was not enough money for all to go. Mary volunteered to stay behind because she felt she could earn enough from her weaving to support herself and save for her passage. She found her way to Berlin and to the home of a woman who hired her to weave cloth for the family’s clothing. She lived in a servant’s room and set up her loom in the living area of the home.
It was against the law then to teach the doctrine of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in Berlin. But Mary could not keep the good news to herself. The woman of the house and her friends would gather around the loom to hear the Swiss girl teach. She talked about the appearance of Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ to Joseph Smith, of the visitation of angels, and of the Book of Mormon. When she came to the accounts of Alma, she taught the doctrine of the Resurrection.
In those days, many children died very young. The women around the loom had lost children in death, some of them several children. When Mary taught the truth that little children were heirs of the celestial kingdom and that those women might again be with them and with the Savior and our Heavenly Father, tears rolled down the faces of the women. Mary cried too. All those tears got the cloth wet that Mary had woven.
One night there was a knock at the door. It was the police. They took Mary to jail. At the jail, Mary asked for a pencil and some paper. She wrote a letter to the judge. She wrote about the Resurrection of Jesus Christ as described in the Book of Mormon, about the spirit world, and about the final judgment. In the morning she asked the policeman to take her letter to the judge.
It wasn’t long until the policeman came back to Mary’s cell. He told her that all charges were dismissed and that she was free to go. Her teaching the doctrine of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ [got] her cast into jail. And her declaring the doctrine of repentance to the judge got her cast out of jail.

President Kimball told the story about being in the hospital after one of his operations. He was lying on a gurney that was being wheeled onto an elevator. The floor of the elevator was not flush with the corridor floor, and as the cart moved into the elevator, there was a big bump. President Kimball, just coming out of the anesthetic, heard the orderly take the Lord’s name in vain. This great man said to the orderly, “Oh! Don’t say that! He is my best friend.” The young man apologized and promised to never do it again.

“What you say is true. This will change your life forever,” I tell Brother and Sister Frost in response to her statement. And it will. I’ve been teaching the gospel of Jesus Christ as a missionary for nearly two years now. Soon I’ll be going home. I’ve learned that whenever people accept the gospel, it changes their lives. Of course there are those who, after searching a lifetime, find in the gospel nothing but great relief from life’s most difficult questions. Usually though, it’s the other way, the refiner’s fire, a test and building of faith. But always, always, the gospel brings change.
Elder Jepson and I have been teaching the Frosts for three weeks now. With their permission, we started calling them Brother and Sister. He’s an accountant, and she worked as a legal secretary before their children were born. I’m not sure where we are with them. We’ll need to move forward carefully with our teaching.
I wait for one of them to speak. It’s an important moment. I hope Elder Jepson recognizes it and doesn’t suddenly lose his shyness. The Frosts are a handsome couple, she blond and he dark. Not Hollywood-like at all, but vibrant, a handsomeness born of hope for their lives. I like them both.
Sister Frost speaks, “I think it also means leaving our family, our friends.”
“You might bring some of them with you. Lead the way,” I say. I wait again for someone to fill the silence. They have told me several times how their families feel about Mormons. “We personally have nothing against you Mormons,” they said to us the evening we first knocked on their door. It was to convince themselves of their open-mindedness, I suspect, that they invited us in. In three weeks now we have become close friends.
Sister Frost glances at her husband, but he continues to stare into the carpet. She’s not saying what she wants to do. She just keeps pointing out the practical problems—the difficulties of the choice. I think she’s waiting for him to do something, but I’m not sure.
Two days ago, we asked them to be baptized. He is treating us with the distance that we felt the first visit. I recognize the signs. He is on the edge. We must wait now, no matter how loud the silence screams at us to fill it. I want to step in. I want to persuade. I’ve learned though that seconds on a clock wing their way with their own voice.
I look over at Elder Jepson. Two months in the mission field, six feet tall, two-hundred pounds. He has a lot to learn. Elder Jepson is shy, and it may be weeks before he can give the lessons. I know this family is important to him, though. It will really hurt him if they veer away from the Church.
Elder Jepson looks like he’s studying the carpet, too. His coarse red hair dangles from the top of his forehead.
Brother Frost clears his throat.
“Your church asks a great deal—too much I’m afraid. My wife and I have talked a lot. We’re impressed—truly impressed—with your church programs. But all of our friends, all of our family, they believe differently. We’d have to offend them by not drinking with them. We’d have to go to church every Sunday. We’d be … like you say, changing everything.” He talks again about the many fine programs in the Church. But in the end, using accountant’s language, he says, “The ledger page doesn’t balance.”
It’s clear he’s slipped off the edge now. It’s 8:40 P.M. and I’ve been up since 5:30 this morning. I’m tired and I want to go home. I know we’re not supposed to weary in well-doing, but I think we have done all the good we can. I can’t expect Elder Jepson to help here. I must try to hold on to everyone’s dignity. It’s up to me to exit us gracefully and hope the Spirit will work on them after we have gone.
Brother Frost thanks us and wishes us well, but thinks we should look for others who might be more willing followers.
I feel the emptiness I’ve felt a hundred times before. I feel alone. Awkward. We’ve given so much time and effort these last three weeks. I look over at Elder Jepson to see if he’s ready to go. He is staring at Sister Frost and she at him. A tear moves from Elder Jepson’s left eye, down his freckly face. This surprises me. I look at Brother Frost. He’s looking at me and doesn’t notice. I look at Sister Frost. Her eyes brim with tears.
“May I speak?” Elder Jepson’s voice, husky now, breaks the uneasiness. He brushes the tear away, then turns slowly to face Brother Frost. His large farm-toughened hands grab at his knees. He slides forward on the couch, locks his eyes onto Brother Frost’s, and begins.
“I came 2,500 miles to find you. I feel we were guided to you.” Elder Jepson looks down like he’s trying to find what to say next.
“I love your wife, Brother Frost. I love her because she sees. She has told you all of the problems; she has given you all of the pictures a man could want so he could understand and solve them, and you’re running from them. Why?”
I’m stunned. I look at Brother Frost. The room, sedate only a moment before, is intense now. Brother Frost, I think, is puzzled, trying to figure out what Elder Jepson is doing. I want to interrupt, but something says to move aside—for the moment.
Before anyone else speaks, Elder Jepson continues. “And I love you, Brother Frost. I know about your job and your accounting degree. About your dreams, your courtship and marriage, and your three children. I know about your child that died two years ago. I know about your despair. And I know that you’re all wrong about what it means to be a member of the Church.”
Brother Frost rises on his seat. I squeeze the scriptures I have in my hand. Brother Frost has let us know he believes he and his family are good. He has told us how the family goes to a church from time to time, how he is honest, how he has always read a little from the Bible and how, when he was 12, he made up his mind he would never use certain words, and he never has. I’m afraid that Elder Jepson has offended him. I better salvage what I can, quickly. I start to say something. Brother Frost raises his hand—a sign for me to be quiet—and continues staring at Elder Jepson. Then he says, “We’re not perfect, Elder Jepson, but we are decent people. I believe I know all that I need to know about your church and your God. We could easily join you, but we don’t want to.” Brother Frost speaks kindly but firmly. The discussion is over.
But Elder Jepson softly begins again: “You say that, but you never talk about the Savior. Oh, you can talk about God but you have never understood. You tell us you like the Primary because it teaches children to speak in public at an early age and sing in a group. You think sacrament meeting is good because you feel fellowship there. You think the Book of Mormon has some interesting stories in it. You think we’re introducing you to a club. You take out your accounting pads and start adding and subtracting. When you total the benefits of the club against the costs, the club comes up short.”
Elder Jepson has kept his voice even and soft. Brother Frost keeps the emotion out of his face, except for a hint of a smile. Sister Frost looks at her husband now, worried. I decide to stay on the wing of this, for a moment longer, not sure why.
Calmly, Brother Frost says, “You have a lot to learn, Elder Jepson. Life always involves totaling columns of benefits and burdens. But you’re right. Your club, if you will, doesn’t do as much for us as our present club. I’m sorry. That’s how we see it. I’m glad your church works for you. But the programs, as nice as they are, don’t offset the difficulties joining your church would bring us.”
Brother Frost is being gracious. I’ll talk to Elder Jepson later about leaving people with a positive feeling, even if they don’t join. At least some of his shyness is leaving. There’s hope.
Elder Jepson leans forward again. “Brother Frost, you’ve misunderstood. Those programs—Primary, Sunday School, youth activities—those aren’t what this church is about. And it’s not about not smoking or not drinking or paying tithing and fast offerings either. It’s not even about friendship and fellowship. Not only have you added the wrong columns, you’re in the wrong ledger.” I remember now that Elder Jepson took an accounting class the semester before he came on his mission.
Brother Frost responds, “Then why do you try to convince people that your church is so wonderful because of those things?”
“I didn’t come here to tell you you need those things. I came to invite you to know the Savior. If Elder Simpson and I leave tonight, and we leave you believing that you can put this church on a ledger sheet, then we have failed.
“Brother Frost, this is the Savior’s church. Next week the programs might change or disappear, but the Savior won’t. He’s waiting for us to ask for help in our lives. We didn’t come to change your life; we came to teach you that your life will change from the choices you make and that you can choose with heavenly guidance. We came to tell you that Heavenly Father listens to every cry for help from a sincere heart. This church is about Him and His love for you and for me. This church is where the fullness of His gospel and its saving ordinances are found. The rules we live by and the programs are only helps so we may return to Him. We didn’t come here to ask you to join us; we came to ask you to join Him.”
I am moved. I am amazed. I’m not prepared for this from my shy, red-haired companion. I didn’t dream he had that in him. I feel a burning within me. I sense a fire in the room and imagine the hint of a distant melody. Elder Jepson’s speech is eloquent, powerful. I should have been the one to do this. I am the senior companion. I have the experience. I am the leader here. I see the Frosts are touched and I want to be the one that has done it.

I hear the voice in my mind say “I” again, with pity and selfishness in its tone. This time, with effort, I stop it with a memory of a chill wind, wild geese, and my father pointing skyward at dusk.
The Frosts look at one another. Brother Frost says, “Dear, what do you think?”
Eloquently, she tells us all what she sees. She speaks about a new feeling, new courage, a desire to move forward. Brother Frost keeps nodding his head, smiling, agreeing. The music hints around us, again.
I know I will soon move beyond the feeling and the sounds of tonight, but not the memory of it. It will sustain me. I will beat against many head winds as I journey back to my Maker, but I will not fly without the music of this night playing somewhere in my heart. I understand it is time for me to move over, and I make room for Elder Jepson.

Since 2008, a team of local volunteers have coordinated a Christmas Day luncheon and festivities to ensure no one spends the day alone. This event enjoys fellowship from many different people including new migrant families, international students, those who have left unsafe homes, people experiencing financial challenges, empty nesters and those separated from family due to COVID border closures and other reasons.
Sister Anouck Van Dyck has been the chairperson for the last three years and said this event is a collaboration between local volunteers, the City of Joondalup Council and various businesses to ensure everyone knows they are loved and appreciated on this very special day. The Perth Australia Mission helps with this by providing a setup and pack down service and are now part of the official entertainment program singing carols to invite the Spirit of Christ into everyone’s hearts.
Of their involvement, Perth Mission President Michael J. Stone commented: “What a great delight to be involved in such a deserving community project during this special Christmas season.
“Our missionaries were thrilled to be of service and truly felt the spirit of Christmas as they worked and sang on Christmas Day to those in the community that might otherwise have had a lonely Christmas.
“We are grateful for the opportunity our missionaries have had to give to the community through work and song on Christmas Day. In serving others, their spirits were lifted towards the Saviour—a wonderful day and blessing for all.”

My grandfather, Wendell Bird Mendenhall, was Chairman of the Church Building Committee and Chairman of the Pacific Board of Education, which served the needs of the Church in the South Pacific. He was able to bring about the completion of many Church work-projects, foremost being BYU–Hawaii and the Polynesian Cultural Center. [1]

One summer, my grandfather was scheduled to attend a series of meetings related to the advancement of the Polynesian Cultural Center, and he invited me and my cousin Buck, both in elementary school at the time, to join him. And yes, that means Grandpa Wendell would be traveling to Hawaii with his grandsons Buck and Bronco. Upon our arrival in Laie, my cousin and I witnessed my grandfather’s love for the Polynesian people, this community, BYU–Hawaii, the Polynesian Cultural Center, and, most importantly, his faith. That trip and those experiences have shaped my life forever.

At the end of my grandfather’s life, each of his children and grandchildren were presented with an original copy of Grandpa Wendell’s testimony. It is one of my most cherished possessions and provides an anchor to my faith. Within his beautiful testimony, one particular line has special significance to me. This line reads: “I have never felt there was any security for me or my family outside the body of the Church.”

I attended the general Young Women broadcast in 2005 with my three sisters and our mom. Our family is from the Chicago area, and it was the first time we had been inside the Conference Center. I was amazed at how many young women were there together. I was used to watching the broadcast in a dark stake center with a few other young women and leaders.
This time, participating in the meeting, it felt different. When we sang the closing hymn, “As Zion’s Youth in Latter Days” (Hymns, no. 256), I was overwhelmed by the sheer number of young women singing with me. These were young women who had committed to make right choices, hold the same high standards, and continue through life in faith.
The words of the second verse especially struck me. “The truths and values we embrace / Are mocked on ev’ry hand.” Immediately I thought of my high school experience. I saw peers, coaches, and teachers snickering, giggling, and even laughing and making fun of the way I live my life, specifically the choices I made to attend early morning seminary, to behave and dress in a modest way, and not to play soccer on Sundays.
Sometimes I felt like there was no light at the end of the tunnel, as if that stage of my life would continue indefinitely. But I realize Heavenly Father gave me those experiences because He loves me, and that is enough. He knows what is best for me, and though I look back on my high school years with very few fond memories, I know it was when I built my own testimony. I learned to pray about anything and everything and to trust in my Savior. I decided for myself that the Lord and His Church are worth anything I have to sacrifice in order to stand up and be counted as a disciple of Christ.

We hadn’t been working long when construction was started on a new stake president’s office and high council room in a cemented area that had been used as a patio. The laborers worked just a short time each day, drilling and crushing cement and creating dust that permeated the building. We would just get the building cleaned when they would start working again. The ward members didn’t understand the situation, so there was a lot of criticism. This went on for about three months.

One day we were told they were going to have a youth conference in the Junior Sunday School room. The leaders asked if it could be fixed up a little special, so we really went to work. We washed all the windows and woodwork, scrubbed and polished the floor, and even sent the curtains out to be cleaned. Everything just sparkled. After the meeting was over I asked Ace if they were pleased. He said, “Well, one of the counselors in the bishopric asked if we couldn’t be a little more careful about dusting the chairs.” They had needed extra chairs for the large crowd, so someone had brought them from the construction area! We had a good laugh, realizing for the first time that it was not the things we did that were noticed but the things we didn’t do.

It took some time to get all the plastered walls throughout the building washed. We started with the rest rooms, then did the foyers and halls, the Relief Society room, the high council room, and the classrooms. We painted all the heat convectors, door frames, stair railings, entrances, and various other places. The carpets in the foyers and the Relief Society room were worn and soiled with several orange punch stains that were impossible to remove. Ace asked the bishops if someone could be hired to shampoo the carpets but was told not to bother since they planned on replacing them right away. After waiting a few weeks, Ace rented a shampooer and cleaned the carpets himself. This made an immense improvement. Little by little the building began to shape up.

After two years of custodial work, another ward was added to our building, making a total of four. On Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday we had Relief Society, with the officers arriving as early as 8:30 A.M. The Relief Society room, foyer, kitchen, south steps, nursery, and rest rooms had to be ready. While Relief Society was in session, we cleaned the rest of the classrooms, the chapel and the cultural hall.
Then at 3:00 the Primary officers began to arrive. The relief society room, nurseries, kitchen and rest rooms had to be checked and cleaned if needed. When Primary was over we picked up, swept, straightened chairs, and cleaned backboards to get ready for activity night. This went for about a year; then two wards moved out of the building. It seemed like we were on vacation!
One beautiful morning a salesman sold us a can of chemical cleaner to be used on stainless steel sinks, drinking fountains, and other types of metal. I decided to try it out on the brass light switch plates, which were covered with film and grime. After polishing a half dozen with good results, I went into the boys rest room where there was a larger plate with three switches on it. I wiped it off with the chemical, and was reaching for my damp sponge, when I heard a crackling sound. I turned to see flames shooting out of the plate clear to the ceiling! I raced down the hall shrieking. “Fire! Fire! I’ve set the church on fire!” Ace came bounding down the hall into the rest room. The fire was out and it was pitch dark. The switch box had completely burned out. I learned that chemicals and electricity don’t mix.
Last summer we began our two-week vacation on a Monday morning. Ace insisted on coming home both of the following Saturdays in order to clean the building before Sunday. I was feeling rebellious at having to come back before our vacation was over. As I cleaned, I said to myself, “This is absolutely stupid. Nobody cares whether this place is clean or not. If they did care they wouldn’t throw trash around. Nobody will even notice that the work was done.”

All at once I felt as if someone was there with me. It seemed as though someone spoke to me and said, “I care. It is my house and I care! Suppose we had visitors tomorrow and the house was dirty? What would investigators think? I would be embarrassed.” I was really shaken. It was such a strong impression. Never again have I begrudged the time I have spent cleaning His house.

During our first few months as custodians we were either ignored by the members or treated with what we felt was condescending sweetness. Gradually as we became acquainted, their attitudes began to change. Ace was always there, ready to set up tables or help in any way. He made friends with the children and young adults, letting them in the building to play basketball or volleyball whenever he was there. They reciprocated by trying not to track up the foyers, especially on Saturday when he had it all cleaned for Sunday.

After the first year or so people began treating us more warmly. Some of the Primary teachers and classes brought us goodies and baskets of fruit for Christmas. One year a group of boys made a nativity scene for us out of cardboard and molded sugar. They also brought a wreath made of pine cones and nuts. Another Primary made a lovely poster with all their names on it telling us how they loved us and appreciated the way we kept the building clean.

The Relief Societies invited Ace to eat lunch on work day. Once we were even invited by the stake presidency to have dinner with them and the high council while they entertained the visiting General Authority at conference time.

We retired last spring after six years of keeping house for the Lord. We have worked hard; we have laughed; we have cried. We have made hundreds of friends and hope we have made no enemies.

The tears and troubles have been many, but just the same, this has been a wonderful experience in our lives!

My father was an incredible man. He was bishop of our ward for twenty-nine years, including my entire childhood. His quiet, strong example meant a lot to me. I learned a lot by watching him.
One of the most important lessons I learned was the importance of paying tithing. I watched ward members give my father their tithing, and I watched him at night write tithing receipts for these humble offerings. I watched my mother gather the eggs the chickens laid and save one out of every ten to pay for tithing. My parents taught me how to save one-tenth of the few pesos and pennies I earned, and I treasured the tithing receipt I received after paying my tithing.

Mary Galuak, a refugee from South Sudan and mother of four children, soon to be five, learned tailoring through self-reliance classes held in late 2023 by the Eldoret Kenya District of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. At successful completion of the training, she and other tailoring participants were each provided a Butterfly pedal-powered sewing machine, starter fabric, and thread. Participants were encouraged to start with small projects, such as pillows, to earn immediate revenue.
In early 2024, through her marketing efforts, Mary was invited to submit sample uniforms to a school in South Sudan. She recruited three other self-reliance class participants to assist in the work. Sample uniforms were designed, sewn, and shipped in early February.
Roughly 10 days after submitting the samples, Mary was notified that she had won the contract. The time frame to complete the uniforms was two weeks. Together with her three associates, Mary began earnestly sewing to meet the contract requirements.
Mary explained the significant behind-the-scenes challenges. “Starting a business is the most difficult process, but with perseverance and consistency, it is possible. Marketing to get customers has been so hard. I know God answers every prayer. Without Almighty Father’s help, I would have not won this contract. It has given me a lot of experience in patience and hope for something better. I have had unsuccessful attempts to get some contracts for sewing school uniforms, but I didn’t give up.”
The contract is sufficient to cover costs and pay participants, with monies left over to purchase additional supplies. It is not as lucrative as she would have hoped, but Mary bid the job low to get it.

When we choose the right, we are sometimes rewarded in our Primary by Officer Charles Theodore Rigatoni (his initials spell CTR!). He comes to Primary with a set of heart-shaped handcuffs and searches for the person who was “caught choosing the right” that week. He presents the person with a shiny gold or silver badge and then tells everyone about the good things he was caught doing. Sometimes it is making his bed, helping to fix dinner without being asked, or sharing toys with friends.
One day I was waiting to get my hair cut. A younger boy tried to knock the book I was reading out of my hand. I tried to ignore him, but he kept pushing me. Finally, I looked him right in the eye, pointed to my CTR ring, and said, “Choose the right!” He backed away and didn’t bother me again. Officer Rigatoni heard about this and gave me a badge. I am glad to have a friend like Officer Rigatoni to help me remember to choose the right.

Perhaps my first lesson about truly good Saints without guile was learned when I was a young missionary. I moved into an area with an elder I didn’t know. I had heard other missionaries talk about how he had never received any leadership assignments and how he struggled with the Korean language despite having been in the country a long time. But as I got to know this elder, I found he was one of the most obedient and faithful missionaries I had known. He studied when it was time to study; he worked when it was time to work. He left the apartment on time and returned on time. He was diligent in studying Korean even though the language was especially difficult for him.

When I realized the comments I had heard were untrue, I felt like this missionary was being misjudged as unsuccessful. I wanted to tell the whole mission what I had discovered about this elder. I shared with my mission president my desire to correct this misunderstanding. His response was, “Heavenly Father knows this young man is a successful missionary, and so do I.” He added, “And now you know too, so who else really matters?” This wise mission president taught me what was important in service, and it wasn’t praise, position, power, honor, or authority. This was a great lesson for a young missionary who was too focused on titles.

Jeanne serves as a Young Women adviser. Several months ago she learned about an upcoming activity for the youth in the ward: hiking to a place called Malan’s Peak. She was excited because she had recently set a goal to make that climb.
When she arrived at the trailhead, her good friend Ashley approached her. Linking arms with Jeanne, she offered to hike with her, saying, “I’ll go with you.” Ashley, who was 16 years old at the time, had some physical challenges that made it difficult for her to climb very fast. So she and Jeanne walked slowly, noticing Heavenly Father’s creations: the rocks on the mountain peak above them and the flowers all around them. Jeanne later said, “It really didn’t take me long to forget about my goal of hiking to the peak, for it soon became an adventure of another kind—an adventure to point out the beauties along the path, many of which I would have missed had I just hiked to reach the goal of Malan’s Peak.”
As Jeanne and Ashley continued hiking, far behind the rest of the group, they were joined by Emma, another young woman in the ward, who had decided to wait and walk with them. Emma added to their enjoyment. She taught them a song and provided extra support and encouragement. Jeanne recalled: “We sat and rested, we sang, we talked, and we laughed. I was able to get to know Ashley and Emma in a way I wouldn’t have been able to do otherwise. It wasn’t about the mountain that night—it was about much, much more. It was about helping each other along the path, one step at a time.”
As Jeanne, Ashley, and Emma hiked and sang and rested and laughed together, they probably weren’t thinking, “Hey, we are keeping our covenants right now.” But they were keeping their covenants. They were serving each other with love, compassion, and commitment. They were strengthening each other’s faith as they encouraged and ministered to one another.

A while back a young woman from another state in the United States came to live with some of her relatives for a few weeks. On her first Sunday she came to church dressed in a simple, nice blouse and knee-length skirt set off with a light, button-up sweater. She wore hose and dress shoes, and her hair was combed simply but with care. Her overall appearance created an impression of youthful grace.
Unfortunately, she immediately felt out of place. It seemed like all the other young women her age or near her age were dressed in casual skirts, some rather distant from the knee; tight T-shirt–like tops that barely met the top of their skirts at the waist; no socks or stockings; and clunky sneakers or flip-flops.
One would have hoped that seeing the new girl, the other girls would have realized how inappropriate their manner of dress was for a chapel and for the Sabbath day and immediately changed for the better. Sad to say, however, they did not, and it was the visitor who, in order to fit in, adopted the fashion of her host ward.

Earlier this year I was on assignment visiting a stake in the western United States. It was a normal Sunday, a normal meeting, with normal members of the Church. I watched as people entered the chapel and reverently moved to available seats. Last-second, whispered conversations echoed throughout the hall. Mothers and fathers tried—sometimes in vain—to quiet energetic children. Normal.

But then, before the meeting began, words inspired of the Spirit came into my mind.

These members had not come just to fulfill a duty or listen to speakers.

They had come for a deeper and far more significant reason.

They had come to worship.

As the meeting progressed, I observed various members in the congregation. They had an almost heavenly expression, an attitude of reverence and peace. Something about them warmed my heart. The experience they were having that Sunday was something quite extraordinary.

They were worshipping.

They were experiencing heaven.

I could see it in their countenances.

And I rejoiced and worshipped with them. And as I did so, the Spirit spoke to my heart. And on that day, I learned something about myself, about God, and about the role of true worship in our lives.

When I reflect back on what began as a normal Sunday morning, in that normal meetinghouse, in that normal stake, even today I am moved by that extraordinary spiritual experience that will forever bless my life.