Gospel Story Finder

Abraham Kwaku Fokuo joined the Church in August 1985, when his oldest daughter, Alison, was 14 years old. He had traveled to Washington D.C. in the U.S., to do his master’s program. He had finished his masters and was working on a PHD in seminar at Wesley Seminary to become a Methodist minister. One day he was in his apartment filling out forms for a promised scholarship when he heard a knock at the door. He peeked through the hole and saw two young white men. He opened the door, and the two young men greeted him. He started being taught and then was baptized. Alison said, “Like Father Lehi, he realized that the fruits were desirable to taste, and he wanted his family members to enjoy the same, so he abandoned his studies and came back to Ghana”.
When he came to Ghana, his closest friends, family and even his mother thought he was going insane. They asked, “Why would you abandon your studies and come back to Ghana simply because you have met the Church?” He explained that he was taught the gospel of Jesus Christ and he wanted everyone to join. They didn’t understand and many spoke ill about him.
The family lived in Mankessim, in the central region about 1 ½ hour’s drive from Cape Coast. Alison said, “Later we moved to Yamoransa because my daddy had learned that the Church was there, and our family could go to church every Sunday.” The family stayed there for 1 year and Abraham got a job teaching geography at Adisadal College, a secondary school in Cape Coast.
While there, the Abura Branch was formed, and he was made the branch president. The children were all baptized in a river in Mankessim. His next idea was to get his mother and siblings to join the Church. He left Cape Coast and moved to Assin Fosu which is on the Cape Coast Kumasi Highway and is closer to their hometown. “My father went to his hometown almost every day trying to teach them. He wanted them to join so badly,” she said and added “at first, things didn’t go so well. They were heavily involved in their churches. His brothers were in the choir and without them the church would not be as nice. His mother was the treasurer of the women’s group.”
He would fast almost every week for his family. Eventually, his mother, then brothers, then aunts joined the church until about 95 percent of all his family members were part of the Church.
His next goal was to set up an orphanage and school. He adopted 78 of the children and about 40 of them went on missions. Alison and her sisters also served missions.
Alison has a strong admiration for her father. “He is very generous, honest, forgiving and spiritual”, she says, “He was a district president while he served as a parliamentarian. He would drive 4-5 hours each weekend so that he could be back for church”.
She also relates this story about her father:
“One time when I was at home, a man came to the door asking for my father. He was not around. The man gave me an envelope and asked me to give it to him. I thought it was a letter, so I took it and put it under his pillow, which is what we always did with anything that came for him. When he got home and found that envelope, he was very upset, and I heard him screaming from the bedroom. He said, ‘Who put this under my pillow?’
“I told him I had done it. He said, ‘You are my first born and I would expect you to know better’.
“I did not understand what I had done. He said, ‘Take this and give it back to the owner, he is not going to take care of me and my family’.”
“I still did not understand and asked him to explain. He told me it contains money. The man had a problem with his land and my father was trying to help him. The following morning the man came and asked me if I had given my father the money. I told him that if he had told me yesterday that it was a bribe he wanted to give to my father I would have warned him against doing that. I told him that my father was very angry and did not ever want him to enter his office again. If he was the rightful owner of the land, my father would help him without accepting money.”
“When it was time for me to go back to the town where I taught. I asked him if I could use one of his office cars to take me there since he was the district chief executive. He said, ‘the cars at my office are not for family use, they are government cars. I will help you pay for a taxi if you don’t have enough money.’”
Alison shared more thing about her father. “Because he would not be dishonest, some people wanted him out of office. One morning we woke up and there was a can of petrol in front of our house with matches on it. A week later a guy came on his knees apologizing. He said he was hired to burn our house. He had come one night, and it looked like our whole house was sparkling and it scared him, so he ran away. I believe it was an angel of the Lord that stopped him from burning our house down.”
In October 2019, Abraham returned to the United States. One Sunday, he was teaching a lesson at church. There was a man in the class that got up and went out. Unknown to Abraham, this man was a doctor and had called an ambulance. He recognized that Abraham was exhibiting signs of a stroke. The family is so grateful their father went to church that day and that the doctor was there too. Even though he is currently down with a stroke and uses a wheelchair, he still sees himself as blessed and he’s forever grateful to Heavenly Father.
Many people joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints because of Abraham Kwaku Fokuo. His legacy runs deep within the Church and in the communities in which he has lived.

When I returned home from my two-year mission, my next goal was to marry in the temple. Unfortunately, I began seeking unwholesome entertainment, giving in to temptation, and dating outside the Church.
Misery, regret, and sorrow followed, including a divorce. I still had a testimony and longed to marry in the temple, but I felt unworthy of those blessings. I buried my feelings of guilt and sought happiness in worldly behaviors.
Eventually my emotions came to the surface, and I was racked with guilt for my transgressions. I fell to my knees and cried unto the Lord with godly sorrow. I promised that from then on, I would live the law of chastity.
But that was not my only struggle. I also wallowed in the depths of drug addiction. One night, I found myself consumed with debilitating fear. With my mobile phone in hand, I stared at my dad’s phone number. It took me over an hour to muster enough courage to call him and ask if I could see him.
After we had talked at length about my struggles, my dad gave me a priesthood blessing. His hands trembled as he spoke with power and conviction. He said Satan and his angels had been working tirelessly on me because my spiritual potential threatened them. Dad said that as long as I was on the earth, I had the opportunity to overcome my addiction. He blessed me with power and strength to do so.
When the blessing ended, I embraced my father and mother and sobbed into my dad’s shoulder. I felt an overwhelming abundance of love and gratitude in my heart. My feelings of hopelessness washed away. The physical cravings of addiction and the heavy cloud of depression and inadequacy also disappeared.
Instantly, I felt a newfound enthusiasm for life and the possibility for joy if I submitted to Heavenly Father’s will. I testify that the power of the priesthood is real and tangible!
In time, Heavenly Father blessed me with a temple marriage, a loving wife who understands the power of the Savior’s Atonement, and two children.
To have risen from the hole I was once in to where I am now is truly a miracle. Through sincere repentance and faith in Jesus Christ, all things are possible! I am living proof of that.

When I was a few months away from returning from my mission, I started thinking a great deal about my life after my mission. I thought heavily about what lay ahead, especially with regards to my education. I often got frightened whenever the thought came to mind because my family didn’t have the funds to send me to school and I wasn’t sure I would be successful. I knew BYU-Pathway Worldwide was an option, but I didn’t know how adequate it was. Nearing the completion of my mission, I got an email to consider BYU-Pathway. I registered for the semester that started a week before I would return home. I knew I would be able to do a make-up work as soon as I returned. Just a day after I got home, I went for my first Pathway in-person gathering.
During PathwayConnect, I realized it was an exceptional program. It is truly “an innovative approach to education—one unique to the Church Education System and to the world” as President Russell M. Nelson proclaimed.1 It increased my faith, gave me hope, sharpened my intellect, and prepared me for the responsibilities I have now and those to come. My mission drew me much closer to the Savior and increased my spiritual well-being. PathwayConnect, while also keeping me close to the Savior, increased my love for others, increased my desire to serve, and improved my temporal well-being.
It wasn’t always smooth. I took my first semester with my smartphone only while I was working a low-income job. It was very challenging, especially during the second semester. I couldn’t do it all with my phone anymore so I shared a laptop with a friend named Loveth Ngumah, but I could only use it at the chapel. I would go there every evening after work, wait for her to finish studying, and then I would take over. Sometimes it meant I get home at 11 PM, and some nights were spent at the chapel, but I never gave up. I knew it was going to change my life anyway, so it was worth it. Soon, I was blessed with a laptop scholarship.
PathwayConnect in itself and the challenges faced prepared me for the busy responsibilities of an assistant stake clerk and Pathway service missionary. Also, it helped me secure a job as a quality assurance specialist for the Family History Department of the Africa West Area Office after completing my first certificate from BYU-Idaho Online.
This has been life-changing! I always hoped to be a part of the Church workforce, but I never saw myself in that position any time soon! Every morning at work I look through my office window to see the Accra Ghana Temple and thank the Lord for such an opportunity to serve in and work for the Church.
I am a first-generation university student. I am almost finished with my second certificate, and then I will finish my associate’s and bachelor’s degree. With every certificate or milestone, my self-esteem increases and my fear of the future decreases because I feel I am one step closer to securing a better future. Because I know I am nothing without God and this inspired program, I have learned to be humble and kind. I have extended helping hands to many other PathwayConnect students to give back. I created a WhatsApp group for PathwayConnect students around the globe to help them through tips and video demonstrations each week. Now, whenever I think about what lies ahead, I can’t help but smile and be eternally grateful for an inspired program called PathwayConnect.

In 1989, Markus, Karen, and their three-year-old son were granted permission to leave their home in East Germany to go on a holiday to Hungary. While they were there, Hungary opened its border to Austria, providing thousands of East German refugees a way to freedom. Markus and Karen recognized their unique opportunity. They could also leave.
Leslie Nilsson, photographer
I said, “Let’s leave for Austria.”
“Oh no, you can’t,” Karen said. “Your parents are left in Germany and my parents as well.”
“They will understand,” I replied.
“We’ve already started to build a house,” Karen told me. “Let’s finish that.”
“No, let’s start again,” I said, “somewhere else, in western Germany.”
Again I tried to tell her we should leave. She said, “No, because you have just been called as bishop and you said yes, you would serve.”
This is why we did not leave Germany. Some weeks later the Berlin Wall was falling. We were blessed for staying. This was Heavenly Father’s way for us.

Probably all of us have had experiences when we really needed someone to help us. I remember once as a small boy I surely did. While playing on a mountainside near our home, I fell into the middle of a huge, prickly cactus plant. Oh, did it hurt! The prickly spines of the cactus went through my sneakers, through my stockings, through my trousers, through my shirt—they went through everything! I felt like a human dart board.
Immediately I let out a cry that was loud enough to shake the mountains. I couldn’t move up, down, in, or out. Every movement I made seemed to send those needles deeper and deeper into my skin. I just stayed there and howled.
I was five years old at the time and my older brother, who immediately rushed to my rescue, was eight. He was overwhelmed at the sight of me and the complexity of my plight. Nevertheless, he began to pull out some of the spines, but they seemed to hurt more coming out than going in and I howled even louder. Furthermore, the pin-size wounds bled so when the spines were removed that after a few minutes I looked like an advertisement for Red Cross donations.
Finally my brother saw that his feeble plucking was hopeless. There were dozens of spines yet to pull, and I was still screaming at the top of my lungs. He did the only thing an eight-year-old brother could do. He ran down the mountain, got his small red wagon, and labored painfully to get it up the side of the hill to where I was awaiting death—I thought. With some tugging and hauling and lifting—and plenty of noise from me—he got me out of the cactus and into the wagon. Then in some miraculous way, known only to children and Providence, he navigated me down off that steep mountain in his wagon.
The rest of the story is blurred in my memory. As I recall, my mother got me out of my clothes and the rest of the prickly spines out of me. What I do remember clearly and will never forget is the sight of my brother tugging that wagon and determinedly making his way toward me. He was so concerned that he worked wonderfully hard to get to me. If I live to be one hundred, I suppose no memory of my brother will be more vivid than the view I had of him that day. I needed him desperately. And there he was, coming to help!

Ross Anslow said glowingly to his wife, “Ann, our three sons will make fine farmers. I’ll buy more land for Sam and Joey. And when Bob is old enough, he’ll have his share too.”
Sam and Bob smiled happily, but Joey said quickly, “No thanks, Dad, none for me. I’m going to be an ice skater.”
Bob snickered. “A skater!” he hooted. “You don’t even have a pair of skates!”
Sam laughed too. “What’s wrong with you, Joey? Why would you want to spend your time twirling around on the ice like a top, when Dad’ll buy you land to work?”
Joey answered his brother, “I don’t want land to work. I want to skate on the ice in a fancy costume and have crowds cheering for me.”
“Just because you went with your school to see an ice show,” his dad said irritably, “doesn’t mean that you’re going to make a career of ice-skating. You’ll get over it.”
Joey’s mom wasn’t so sure their son would get over it.
“Joey is different,” she cautioned her husband later that evening when the boys had gone to bed. “It could be that farming isn’t for him.”
“Certainly he’ll be a farmer,” Joey’s dad continued stubbornly, “after he gets this silly notion out of his head. I’ll let him grow a calf for the boy’s club. Then maybe he’ll show more interest in farming.”
That night Joey dreamed that the sun was hidden by a heavy mist and that he was running through it. Always ahead of him, just out of reach, moved a pair of glistening silver skates.
Joey thought about his odd dream all the next day. Will it always be like this for me? he wondered. Will I never get a chance to wear those silver skates?
When his dad told him he could have Nellie’s calf, Joey was pleased. He supposed it would be interesting to watch it grow, but he didn’t dance for joy like his brothers would have.
Joey began to daydream about the skates gleaming in the fog—leaping, twisting, bounding along just out of reach. He next imagined that he was clad in a sparkling costume and white boots with shimmering silver blades attached to them. Joey signed. Maybe it was best to forget his dream.
One cold winter morning Joey’s mother asked him to take a loaf of freshly baked bread to some new neighbors. To his delight Joey found that they had a girl his own age. She had sparkling brown eyes and dark hair. Her name was Sabrina.
Sabrina’s parents were pleased to find that they had friendly neighbors, and asked Joey to stay for lunch. When they were through, Joey and Sabrina talked about sports, and Joey found himself telling her about his longing to become a professional ice skater someday. Then with a rueful smile he admitted, “I don’t own any skates. I’ve never even had any on. But I always dream about skating.”
Sabrina’s eyes sparkled. “I’ve something to show you,” she said, disappearing into another room. When she returned, Sabrina was holding up a pair of shining silver skates exactly like those in Joey’s dream!
“They’re my dad’s,” Sabrina explained. “He used to be a professional skater. He’s Don Carber—have you ever heard of him?”
Joey was excited. “Wow! He’s your dad? I’ve read about him!”
Sabrina nodded. “Would you like to see his scrap-books?”
“Would I!” was all Joey could manage to reply.
While they were going through the books, Joey imagined that he was Don Carber—leaping, spinning, and waving to the enthusiastic crowds.
Before Joey left, he told Sabrina, “I’m going to wear silver skates, too, someday. I want to be like your dad was—a star on ice.”
Sabrina smiled. “I know you’ll be a star, Joey, and I’ll help you.”
That night Joey summoned up the courage to ask his dad for a pair of skates.
Joey’s dad was unbending. “You’ll have to forget this nonsense, Joey,” he said. “No son of mine is going to waste his life scooting about on the ice.”
Joey persisted. “If I keep up with my chores and schoolwork, then earn the money for skates, may I sweep the snow off the pond out in the pasture and try to skate on it?”
His dad was going to say no at first, but then he thought that Joey might come to his senses and forget about ice-skating after a few falls on the ice. So he replied, “Go ahead, Son, but remember—chores and schoolwork first.”
“Yes, Dad.”
“Don’t expect me to pay for lessons either; you do this on your own.”
The boy nodded. He decided not to mention that he was being encouraged by Sabrina and her father.
Joey worried about a job to earn the money for skates. If it had been summer, he’d have had longer evenings. But now the days were so short that by the time he finished his chores, he didn’t have time for a lengthy job. Joey asked his neighbors about a job, but any available work either took too long or was too heavy for him.
Then Joey remembered that he hadn’t asked Bill Jones about a job.
Luckily for Joey, Mr. Jones said that he could use some help during the evenings. And when Joey had earned enough money, Mr. Carber offered to help him choose the right skates to learn on.
His brothers teased Joey when they saw him with his skates. “We’ll likely be watching you on TV tomorrow,” they joked.
Joey smiled and answered good-naturedly, “Not tomorrow, but maybe someday.”
Dad remarked, “I could understand getting excited about playing hockey or skiing—but figure skating!”
Mom smiled and said, “They’re lovely skates, Joey.”
At first Joey was awkward, and he fell a lot. But whenever he became discouraged, Sabrina was usually there, skating with him and encouraging him.
Mr. Carber sometimes came to watch and to coach. He was amazed at how quickly Joey learned. Figure-skating movements seemed to come to the boy naturally.
With a broom and shovel kept close by to clear the ice of snow, Joey spent every available moment on the pond. Early mornings and late afternoons he practiced the motions suggested by Mr. Carber. Joey’s family took neither the time nor the interest to watch him.
Once, when she saw him hurrying out of the house with his skates slung over his back. Mom called to him, “Don’t try to learn everything in one season. You have years ahead of you.”
Joey answered, “No, Mom, I haven’t. I was late starting.”
His mom sighed. With Dad against the boy’s skating, and his brothers always teasing, things weren’t easy for Joey.
One Saturday afternoon Joey was busy sweeping the pond when he saw the tall figure of Don Carber striding between the snow-laden cedars. Mr. Carber took the broom from Joey and said, “You won’t be needing this today. You’re going to have a chance to try some better ice. I have business in town, so if it’s all right with your folks, I’ll drop you and Sabrina off at the rink for the afternoon.”
Joey felt so happy he nearly shouted for joy as he ran home. Rink ice for the first time!
When Mr. Carber finished his business, he went back to the rink to watch the children going through the movements he had taught them on the pond. He thought Sabrina was good, but Joey had a special talent. If only his parents could see him skating …
The remainder of the winter Don Carber took Joey and Sabrina to the rink often. Sometimes he skated with them, and Joey eagerly copied his movements.
In the spring a notice was posted in town announcing that an amateur skating contest would be held.
Before the contest Don Carber went to the Anslow farm to talk with Joey’s parents. He invited them to come and watch the competition.
Joey’s dad sputtered, “Really couldn’t. Chores, you know. Lambing time. Then there’s—”
His wife interrupted. “We’ll be there, Mr. Carber,” she stated firmly.
“Good!” Don Carber said happily. “And let’s surprise him.”
But it was Joey’s family who were surprised. When Sam and Bob saw their brother swoop down the ice, they were truly astonished.
Even before Joey won a prize, everyone at the rink knew that his sharp routine was the best one seen during the competition.
As the crowd cheered, Ross Anslow smiled proudly at his son.

What does learning how to cut hair have to do with setting up stage lights?
“It’s all part of my plan,” says Lisa, a young adult now in her first year of college.
Lisa started cosmetology school at age 16. She even found a program that let her attend shorter days at high school so she could train at cosmetology school in the afternoons. The fact that she’s now at college studying theater tech doesn’t mean that the whole salon thing didn’t work out, either. In fact, everything is unfolding exactly how she’d hoped.
“I wanted to have a skill I could use to help pay for college,” Lisa says. “Plus, it lets me serve other people and save money on family haircuts for the rest of my life!”

At age 54, before he was called as a General Authority, President Russell M. Nelson attended a meeting in which President Spencer W. Kimball challenged attendees to “be of service to the Chinese” and “learn their language.”
Although he was a busy heart surgeon at the time, President Nelson took this counsel to heart. He found a tutor to help him learn the Mandarin language.
It wasn’t long before President Nelson found himself sitting next to a distinguished Chinese surgeon, Dr. Wu Yingkai, at a medical convention. Because of his Chinese language studies, President Nelson was able to have a conversation with Dr. Wu. From there, the two doctors formed a lasting friendship and even visited each other’s countries.
President Nelson’s goal to learn Mandarin led to positive exchanges with China, as President Kimball had hoped for. After he was called to the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, President Nelson even performed his last heart surgery on China’s most famous opera singer by special request.

We were so happy, every Sunday attending sacrament meeting and seeing the love the members of the Church showed us. My mom and I waited for my father who was working in Dubai to come and be baptized, and my brother was studying in Vijayawada where there is no Church. Fortunately, a home group was started in Vijayawada and missionaries from Rajahmundry went there and taught him. I baptized him. The day came that my father arrived from his work the missionaries met him, taught him, and invited him to be baptized, but he had an issue with the Word of Wisdom. Finally, he overcame it with the help of the missionaries and he also joined the Church. My brother baptized him. Now all four members in our family have joined the Church and have seen many miracles in our lives.

In a small Argentine town, a man invited two young missionaries into his home—but only to let them know how he felt about their church. He was angry, ill-informed, and emotionally abusive. With a face red with rage, he shook his fists at the two young men.
One elder, in a soft voice, asked if he could share a personal experience. The man, calmed somewhat by the question, reluctantly agreed.
The missionary began: “As I boarded the plane for my mission to Argentina, I was filled with deep sadness. The fact that I would not see my family for two years overwhelmed me, and I began to sob. I cried out in my thoughts, Heavenly Father, are You there? Am I doing the right thing? I feel so alone. Suddenly, comfort, peace, and love filled my soul. I knew all would be well. I knew that God knew me and that what I was doing was right. I knew He would not leave me alone. The Spirit bore witness to my soul of these truths. I will never be the same again.”
The elder stopped, and the Spirit filled the room. Looking into the eyes of the man, the missionary said, “The Spirit that spoke peace to my soul is the same Spirit that will testify to you that the message we have brought you is true.” He continued, “Your part in this process is to humble yourself, desire to know the truth, seek understanding, and ask God for confirmation.”
The man tried to speak, but he was overcome by emotion. Confused, he searched for a logical explanation of what had just happened. Failing, he simply ushered the missionaries to the door. This man may never accept the gospel, but at least once in his life he was touched by the Spirit and taught by true servants of the Lord.

The children were excited for sharing time. A returned missionary was visiting to tell about his mission in Japan. When he had arrived in Japan, everything seemed so different. The Japanese people used chopsticks instead of forks, wrote sentences using characters instead of letters, and spoke a language that was hard for him to understand. Children took their lunches to school in “bento boxes” and read books from back to front. The missionary quickly learned to love the Japanese people and the way they lived.

The Lord wants all of us to be missionaries. One way you can do that is by being a friend to those who have moved into your neighborhood or come from another country and to those who look, speak, or dress differently. As you learn to love those who are different from you, you are preparing for the day when you are called to serve a mission. It could be anywhere in the world!

Betsy Ross isn’t the only one who celebrated the red, white, and blue birth of the United States with a needle and thread and devoted hours of service to a worthy project. Two Laurel classes in different states decided that their special Bicentennial activities would include original quilts.
The nimble thimbles of the Mapleton [Utah] Fourth Ward recruited the boys as well as other young women and went to work on five baby quilts for the state training school for the handicapped. The deacons showed everyone that their square knots weren’t restricted to Scout outings, and the girls showed off their stitching finesse after years of home economics classes.
The finished quilts were presented to the school’s children, and their grins were as big as the young people’s. The Mapleton youth knew that red, white, and blue would continue its popularity with at least one group for years to come.

One of the strongest recollections I have of being a missionary is how close I drew to the Lord through the practice of regular prayer. In my day the Mission Home was located on State Street in Salt Lake City. It was a large house that had been converted to a mission training center. It had large dormitory rooms with perhaps as many as 10 beds in a room. We checked in on Sunday night.
The week before I entered the mission field was an exciting time. There were a lot of parties and farewells. I am afraid that I was not properly rested and prepared for the training I was to receive at the Mission Home. As the evening of our first day in the Mission Home came to a close, I was weary. While waiting for the other missionaries to prepare themselves for bed, I stretched out on my bed and promptly fell asleep. My sleep, however, was interrupted by a feeling that I was surrounded. As the fog of sleep lifted, I heard the words of a prayer being said. I opened my eyes, and much to my surprise I found all the elders in my dormitory room kneeling around my bed, concluding the day with a prayer. I quickly closed my eyes and acted as if I was asleep. I was too embarrassed to get out of bed and join them. Even though my first experience with prayer as a missionary was an embarrassing one, it was the beginning of two wonderful years of frequently calling upon the Lord for guidance.

Recently I attended a conference of Church humanitarian missionaries in Jordan. As I met with them, I saw two sisters knitting. They told me they were knitting little caps for newborns. In the northern part of the capital city of Amman is a hospital that delivers 50 babies a day. The people there are very poor. After delivery, mothers and babies are sent back to their homes, where there is no heating. Many of these babies suffer from disease and die because of a loss of body heat. I asked for two samples of their knitting.
After I returned home, my wife took the samples to Relief Society. As a result, a miracle began—just as it so often begins in many of our Relief Society meetings around the world. During the Christmas season many sisters from our surrounding wards started to knit and sew baby caps. They did it alone, with friends, at home, or at Church activities.
One day I asked a friend how he was doing. With a twinkle in his eye, he replied, “I am a ‘victim’ of baby caps. We are talking baby caps night and day. We are surrounded by them.” One sister called and asked me, “Isn’t it warm in the Middle East?” When I assured her that the caps were needed, she went to work.
When I returned to Jordan, I had more than 800 baby caps in my suitcases. As we turned them over to the senior consultant of the hospital’s baby station, he thought they were a godsend. Jordan had just experienced the coldest winter in 16 years, with temperatures well below freezing.

Dirk crossed the cobblestone street. Only ten more vranken, he thought, and I’ll have enough. He turned the corner at Kerkstraat and looked down the row of houses and the black iron fences enclosing the small front yards. The terrace houses behind them were typical of many other Belgian houses. They were three and four stories high, all joined together to form one long building.
Dirk opened the gate of house number 27 and rang the bell. Last year when he was here he had to stand on his tiptoes to reach it. But now that he had grown some, he could ring it easily.
The bell tinkled softly inside. A window opened overhead and an old woman called down. “Oh, good afternoon, Dirk. Kom binnen (come in).”
“Good afternoon, Mevrouw Peeters,” he greeted her when he had climbed to the third floor. She handed him a shopping list and some money.
Dirk ran many errands for Mevrouw Peeters to the groentemarkt (vegetable market), to the bakkerij (bakery) and to many other shops. Each week she gave him five vranken. On his errands Dirk usually passed his favorite store, a sports shop, where he stopped to gaze intently in the window.
The shiny, white soccer ball was still there—the one he’d been saving for all year. Winter would soon come to the northern Belgian town where he lived, but that would not stop him from playing his favorite sport. Each time he passed the store he was a little afraid to look for fear the ball might have been sold.
After my errand today I’ll only need five more vranken, he thought.
Dirk delivered the aardappelen (potatoes) and bloemkool (cauliflower), to Mevrouw Peeters. Looking at the coin in his hand, he imagined himself kicking his soccer ball high in the air for a goal.
He rushed home to count his money. Sure enough, two hundred vranken. “Surely waiting until next week to pay tithing won’t make that much difference,” Dirk told himself. He ran down the stairs and out the front door. The soccer ball would soon be his!
But as Dirk skipped along, he remembered how careful Mama and Papa were to pay their tithing the first thing whenever they received any money. “We always manage,” Mama often said. And Papa truly meant it when he said, “We have been blessed in many ways, and we have a good feeling in our hearts when we do as the Lord commands us. We are grateful to be able to contribute our share to help with the Lord’s work.”
Dirk stopped. The sporting goods store was just around the corner. In his imagination he already held the soccer ball. But a feeling even stronger than his longing for the soccer ball made him turn quickly around and run home. He counted out the tithing he owed and put it in an envelope to give to the branch president on Sunday.
Several days later Dirk’s errand for Mevrouw Peeters took him in a different direction from his usual route, so he didn’t pass the sports shop. The following day when he went to Mevrouw Peeters’, she said, “I’ll need some more aardappelen today, Dirk. Will you get them for me?”
Dirk nodded and hurried off to the vegetable market.
Mijnheer Vandecasteele wrapped the two pounds of potatoes in some newspaper. “Do you have enough money saved for your soccer ball yet?” he asked.
“Tomorrow,” replied Dirk with a wide grin, “I’ll have the five vranken I need.”
On the way back with the potatoes, he stopped to look in again at the sports shop window.
The soccer ball was gone!
Tears filled his eyes as he turned away from the shop in disappointment.
When Dirk reached Mevrouw Peeters’ house, she said, “Oh, Dirk, I forgot to have you get me three pompelmoezen (grapefruits). Could you go back to the market for me and I’ll pay you now instead of tomorrow?”
Dirk took the five vranken and started down the stairs. What good is the money now? The soccer ball is gone, he thought as he walked slowly back to the market.
As Dirk neared the sports shop his pace quickened. He started to turn his head away but something caught his eye. There was another soccer ball, a better one than he had ever seen before. And the price marked on it was not much more than the ball he’d been saving for. Before long he would have enough money to buy it.
He was glad now that he had paid his tithing instead of buying the other ball. But best of all was the good feeling he had.
Dirk ran up Kerkstraat so fast that he was almost out of breath when he handed the grapefruit to Mevrouw Peeters. “Boy! I’m glad I waited,” he said, half talking to himself.
“What?” asked the old woman, a puzzled look on her face.
“I have a good feeling just like Papa said,” Dirk explained. And he ran happily down the stairs.

Patti Zenger, a member of the Beacon Hill Ward, Beaverton Oregon West Stake, will never forget September 26, 1998.
Patti, partially blind from diabetes, had no idea that Laura Schulthies had organized their ward to “Walk for Patti Z.” in the Vancouver, Washington, 10K fund-raiser.
When Patti got to the church, everyone was wearing red, her favorite color, and had “Patti, We All Love You” signs pinned on them.
“It was so exciting to watch Patti realize how many ward members supported her. Ours was the largest group there,” Laura recalls.

1. “Lunch is ready!” Mom called.
2. Three-year-old Trevor raced to the kitchen and quickly sat down on the stool.
3. His eyes flew past his peanut butter and jelly sandwich and apple slices to the shiny green glass full of milk.
4. “Hooray!” he exclaimed. Trevor and his five-year-old sister, Andrea, both liked to drink from the beautiful green glass. Since there was only one green glass, they took turns. Today was Trevor’s day.
5. “But, Mom, I really wanted to have that glass today!” Andrea declared. The look on her face was stormy and disappointed as she stomped to the counter.
6. “I’m sorry, it’s Trevor’s turn today,” Mom said.
7. Trevor looked at his sister. He knew she had a cold and didn’t feel well. She was always loving and kind to him. She was quick to share, and she was a great playmate. Trevor knew he loved the green glass, but he loved Andrea more.
8. “Here, sister,” he said simply as he slid the glass by her plate. “In nursery, the teacher said when people are sad, we share.”
9. “Oh, Trevor!” Andrea said with a smiling face as she gave him a hug. Trevor knew her happy face and warm hug were better than drinking from the green glass.

As the time to leave Nauvoo drew near, the Brethren redoubled their efforts to endow as many Saints as possible in the temple. Brigham Young wrote, “Such has been the anxiety manifested by the saints to receive the ordinances (of the Temple), and such the anxiety on our part to administer to them, that I have given myself up entirely to the work of the Lord in the Temple night and day, not taking more than four hours sleep, upon an average, per day, and going home but once a week.”
But it was not just the Apostles who were working hard. Many faithful Saints gave freely of their time by washing the temple clothing each night so that the temple work could continue the next morning.
The Brethren planned to stop the ordinance work on February 3, 1846, before leaving for the west the next day. President Young left the temple to make final preparations to leave Nauvoo, but upon seeing a large crowd gathered to receive their endowments, he returned. This delayed his departure for another two weeks, but it meant that 5,615 Saints were endowed before they left Nauvoo.

My grandmother was also at the temple that day. I recall her excitement at seeing the temple lights as we had arrived in Cardston. Years later, after retiring from her job in Calgary, she moved to Cardston and gave many hours of service in the temple. She loved to play the organ and help inspire reverence there. Her testimony and love for the Savior was evidenced through her kindness to everyone around her. She is to me an example of a strong Latter-day Saint woman.

As a teenager, I didn’t want to participate in the branch choir. I loved to sing, but singing with the branch never thrilled me. One day, though, I grudgingly decided to accompany my mom to choir practice. Believe it or not, I actually had fun that day. I couldn’t exactly explain what it was, but for the first time I could remember, I wanted to be there. I continued to go.
At our last practice before we were to sing at branch conference, a recently returned missionary suggested that our choir go sing for Sister Rose. Sister Rose was a sweet 90-year-old lady whom I’d heard a lot about but never met. She was homebound, and the leaders were always telling us youth that she was lonely and that we should visit her. Not knowing her, I felt funny about just showing up on her doorstep. When this returned missionary suggested we sing, I jumped on the idea. Everyone else did too.
The next week, our choir sang at branch conference. Our stake president said that we were one of the best choirs in the stake. Even though we were a small branch, we had the best turnout as well.
Finally, we got to go sing for Sister Rose. I don’t recall having met a sweeter lady. While we were singing, she caught my eye and smiled. I struggled hard to choke back the tears as I saw her singing the chorus of “Praise to the Man” with us. That day I knew why I had participated in the choir.
After we were done, Sister Rose said we were one of the best choirs in the stake. Members of our choir enthusiastically reported to her that the stake president had said the same thing.
The joy I saw on her face was worth dragging myself from my Sunday afternoon nap to choir practice. In fact, it was a small price to pay. I shudder to think that if I had been hardhearted and not gone to choir, I would have missed out on this amazing experience. It was wonderful to be a part of something that brought another person such happiness.