Gospel Story Finder

Richard used to go to parties a lot. But after the last one, he says, “I saw things there, and I didn’t feel right. For some reason I knew I didn’t belong.”
He left the party and vowed to become more involved in service, schoolwork, studying the scriptures, and listening to good music—and to not watch so much television.
“It was hard,” he says. “I wanted to keep up with things going on outside. I didn’t want to be a social hermit. But I felt that if I was going to go on a mission, and if I was going to get married in the temple, and if I was going to receive callings, I had to be worthy.”

“Mrs. Ramirez, who is that?” Sydney asked, pointing to a girl sitting at a desk. She had never seen this girl in their class.
Mrs. Ramirez smiled. “That’s our new student, Yulia. Yulia just moved here from Ukraine. We’re excited she’s here.”
Sydney looked at Yulia. She looked scared. Sydney knew she would be afraid if she moved to a new country. That would be hard!
Sydney went and sat next to Yulia. Smiling, she said, “Hi. My name is Sydney.”
Yulia timidly smiled back but didn’t say anything. Sydney tried to talk to her, but Yulia just shook her head.
“She doesn’t speak English,” Sydney thought. “She needs help!”
Throughout the day Sydney was Yulia’s buddy. She showed Yulia around the school and helped her with classwork.
At lunch, Sydney asked Yulia, “Do you want to play with me?” She pointed to the playground to help Yulia understand. Yulia smiled and nodded. They played together for all of lunch recess.
Sydney began teaching Yulia lots of English words. She wanted to help Yulia feel more comfortable talking to people. Sometimes it was hard to understand each other, but the two girls soon became good friends.
In class a few weeks later, the girls were drawing a picture together. Sydney drew flowers and insects while Yulia drew grass and trees.
“We made a beautiful garden!” Sydney said when they finished.
Yulia smiled. “Yes, it is pretty. I like to draw.”
Mrs. Ramirez came over to their desks. “What a beautiful picture! I’m glad you two are working together.” She took their drawing and taped it on the class bulletin board. The girls smiled proudly.
One day when Sydney got home from school, her mom said, “Mrs. Ramirez called. She wanted to let you know that Yulia is in the hospital. She is having surgery on her heart tomorrow. She’ll be in the hospital for a while to recover.”
Sydney thought about Yulia the next day during school. She looked at their drawing on the bulletin board. That gave her an idea.
After school, Sydney told her mom, “I want to take Yulia something to cheer her up after her surgery. She liked drawing in class. Maybe we can take her some art supplies.”
“That’s a great idea!” Mom said.
Sydney and her mom bought a drawing pad and some bright crayons. Sydney couldn’t wait to give them to Yulia. A few days later, Sydney and Mom went to the hospital. They found Yulia’s room and knocked on the door.
Yulia’s mom opened it and smiled. “Please come in. Yulia is resting.”
Yulia turned as they entered the room. Her face was pale, and she looked tired. “Hi, Sydney.”
Sydney pulled out the drawing pad and crayons. She shyly set them on the bed next to Yulia. “I thought these might help you feel better.”
Yulia’s eyes lit up. She reached for the crayons. “Thank you! I really like to draw. Can we draw right now?”
“Sure!”
Sydney pulled a chair over to the side of the bed. The two girls laughed and talked together while they colored. Sydney was glad they had come to visit Yulia. When she and her mom left the hospital, Sydney had a warm feeling in her heart. She was glad she had helped make her friend happy.

The third question: “I am about to marry. My husband-to-be and I want nothing more than continuing happiness throughout our marriage. We know that unforeseen challenges and even disappointments may come. If tragedy strikes our marriage, what shall we do then?”

Last month Sister Zina Card Brown, wife of Elder Hugh B. Brown of the Council of the Twelve, passed away. At the time, they had been married sixty-six years. Let me share Elder Brown’s thoughts expressed just a few weeks before her passing:

Eight years ago my sweetheart, Zina, suffered a massive stroke that took her speech and left her paralyzed. The doctors said she probably would not survive the week. As our children surrounded her bed, I pled with the Lord to spare her life. Then I spoke to her, though she was unconscious. I reminded her that through the years of our married courtship we had planned and hoped to take the final trip together. I told her I wanted what was best for her and our Father’s will, but life would seem so empty without her presence. I think the Lord in his mercy permitted Zina her choice—she could travel on into immortality and rest, or remain to bless us with her exhibition of quiet faith, patience, and fortitude. Characteristically, she chose to do what she knew would give me greatest comfort, unmindful of her own tribulation. Hers is truly a Christ-like love. Our entire family has been blessed and benefited by her unselfish sacrifice in our behalf. Noble characters do not alone bear trouble; they use it.

A few days later, I opened the door to see two fine-looking young men. They introduced themselves as missionaries for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. In the conversation that followed, they asked, “Do you believe that the church of Jesus Christ is on the earth today?” My wife and I had already considered this question while studying the Bible. We concluded that if there were a true church, it would have to have all the doctrines Jesus taught. The churches we knew, including our own, were not complete. “If it exists,” I said, “it must have all the things Jesus taught. But it does not exist.”
The missionaries said that the church they represented was organized in the same way as the church at Christ’s time. They added that this church had continuing revelation from Jesus Christ.
I felt sorry for them; they had been so misled. I told them, “I’m sure that just as our church has errors in its doctrine, so does yours. Someone has added, changed, or taken something away.” Again they testified that their church was Christ’s own church, organized with his authority and directed by him.
Soon after, I told my mother about the missionaries. She smiled and went into her bedroom, then returned with a copy of the Book of Mormon. She told me I could have it.
I began reading the Book of Mormon with a curious, but negative attitude. As I read the first page, I thought angrily, this was written by a man with a vivid imagination who knew the Bible well. I read two more pages, slammed the book shut, threw it on the table, and exclaimed, “What a fake!” During the missionaries’ next visit, I told them that I thought the Book of Mormon was a hoax. It was like the Bible, I said, except it referred to the American continent. But, undeterred, the missionaries easily handled the questions my wife and I had then, and in subsequent visits. I could find nothing wrong with what they taught us, but I could not accept the Book of Mormon.
However, the missionaries testified that I could know that the Book of Mormon was true if I followed the admonition of Moroni and sincerely sought for divine guidance. (See Moro. 10:4.) Having prayed, and while reading the words of Moroni, I received a spiritual witness that I have never been able to describe. A realization that the Book of Mormon and the Church were true penetrated every fiber of my being. Happily I exclaimed to my wife, “Margrit, Margrit, I know that it is true!”
Margrit continued to seek her own witness, and within a few weeks she also knew the truth. We set our baptismal date.

Spring Hill provided an even more important opportunity than teaching youth. One of the teachers under Eldon was named Sara Merrill. He had never met her officially, but he had glimpsed her previously one day in Cardston and said to a friend, “Someday I’m going to marry her.” They were married on December 19, 1919. Their union was blessed with five beautiful daughters, the first being born in October 1920 and the last in August 1931.

The branches of the prairie scrub oak scratched and banged together in a sharp wind that howled about the tableland. Above the rustling tangles, the buttes rose bleak and silent beneath the gnarled sky.
Jon-Bob, his collar lifted against the weather, walked aimlessly. He was so deep in thought that he hardly heard the thunder that roared overhead like a stampede in heaven. He paused by an ancient deadfall, the woody carcass barely visible above a large clump of tall, waving grass. He sat heavily on a log, the weight of gray uncertainty pressing down on him like the leaden sky upon the land.
Jon-Bob’s five-year-old sister, Charity, lay close to death in the family’s small dugout built in the face of a low red hill a few hundred yards behind him. Doc Sorenson had done all he could to hold together Charity’s broken body. All that was left for him to do was to offer quiet solace to the girl’s mother, pat her hand, and head back across the huge flatness in his coal-box buggy.
Jon-Bob’s mother had assisted the doctor during the long night. His father, with the help of Brother Jobias Thatcher, whom Jon-Bob had ridden six miles across the flats to fetch, had administered to the unconscious girl.
Jon-Bob picked at the log with his finger and sighed despairingly. A sudden fit of wind rolled across the red earth like a dark memory, and it was yesterday again. He saw his sister sitting barefoot in the yard, playing with her raggedy doll. Suddenly jagged bolts of lightning burned down, and thunder boomed like a hundred cannons. The corral gate was torn asunder as a half-dozen fear-prodded steers burst crazily into the yard behind Charity. Jon-Bob, seated on the porch, had only enough time to scream before the longhorns trampled the small girl underfoot.
Back in the present, Jon-Bob heard someone crying. He stood and looked back toward the dugout. His mother was stumbling blindly out onto the little buckled porch. After a moment his father appeared and put his arm around Jon-Bob’s mother and held her close.
“No!” Jon-Bob gasped in a stunned whisper. “Charity’s not dead. She can’t be!”
Jon-Bob’s sister was buried next to her grandfather in a small circle of cottonwoods a few hundred yards from the house.
A few days later Jon-Bob stepped out into the broad red silence again, this time to try to walk out some of his pain.
An elderly Indian woman by the name of Two Moons Dancing watched him cross below the cottonwoods as she carried a side of smoke-house meat toward the dugout. She studied him for a moment, then set the meat inside and followed after him.
Two Moons Dancing had been taken in by Jon-Bob’s parents some years before, when her own family died in a raging prairie fire. She had been seriously burned herself, but the boy’s father and mother had nursed her back to health. Shortly thereafter she had discovered an additional bond with this pioneer family: They, too, were Mormons. Her father, Standing Bear, had been taught by two young missionaries, and his testimony had inspired her to enter the waters of baptism.
Jon-Bob stooped to lay some yellow wildflowers at the foot of his sister’s tombstone, below an epitaph that read:
HERE LIES A CHILD OF GOD. MAY SHE REST WITH QUEENS.
A sunbaked, weathered hand rested softly on Jon-Bob’s shoulder. He quickly brushed aside some tears and looked up at the kindly face behind him. “Will you share your thoughts with this old woman?”
Jon-Bob silently probed the dark eyes bright with understanding and concern, then nodded. He and Two Moons Dancing wandered slowly through the sunlit sage. “Why did Charity have to die?” Jon-Bob finally got out. “Why not someone who was mean or bad, or someone older?”
“Who gets chosen and when, Jon-Bob, is a mystery. Only the Great One knows for sure.” Two Moons Dancing thought quietly on the matter, then continued, “It would have been fairer if it had been me.”
“No, Two Moons Dancing!” Jon-Bob blurted out with ardent sincerity.
The Indian woman nodded. “I am seventy-one years old, and I have had a full, happy life. I have learned and seen much—too much, maybe, for just one life.”
“You’re not going to die,” Jon-Bob said.
“Yes. Yes, I am,” returned Two Moons Dancing. “And in time so are you—and everyone else you love and care about. And it’s going to hurt each time someone does.”
Jon-Bob’s eyes welled up. “It hurts so bad, Two Moons Dancing!”
The old woman took the eleven-year-old boy’s arm and turned him around; then she rested her hands on his small shoulders and looked deep into his eyes. “Of course it does, Jon-Bob. And that is not wrong or bad. It is good. It is oftentimes an ache that keeps love alive, just as a cold rain gives life to the desert flower. Think about it, small one.”
They started to walk again. “Life. Death. Life beyond death. It is all one grand eternal round, all a part of the Great Spirit’s glorious plan. The sun comes up, the sun goes down, and we must gather our memories in between, as the flowers of the field, and remember with warmth the life that was. And is. And always will be, for things eternal never die.”
Jon-Bob felt some relief, but he still wrestled with doubts. “You’re talking about time, aren’t you?”
“In a way, perhaps.”
“Well, I’m not too happy about time. It takes things away.”
“Can it not also bring them back together again?” the old woman suggested.
Jon-Bob scratched his head. “I guess maybe you’re right.”
“The time will come when you and your little sister will be together again, touching souls.” She wrapped her arm around Jon-Bob as they walked on together through the bright morning.

My next suggestion can be illustrated with an experience I had a few months ago when I stopped by to visit a dear friend. I could hear his wife in the background speaking with someone, so I quickly excused myself so he could get back to his family.
An hour or so later I received this text message from his sweet wife: “Brother Newman, thanks for coming over. We should have invited you in, but I want to share with you what we were doing. Since the pandemic we have been discussing Come, Follow Me with our adult children every Sunday over Zoom. It has literally been working miracles. I think it is the first time our daughter has read the Book of Mormon on her own. Today was the last lesson on the Book of Mormon, and we were just finishing when you came by. … I thought you would be interested to hear how Come, Follow Me, Zoom, and a pandemic have provided the opportunity at the right time to change a heart. … It makes me wonder how many little miracles have been taking place during this odd time.”

What would you do if you were really good at karate and other kids made fun of you? Would you use your skills to get back at them? Maybe teach them not to pick on you anymore?
Eleven-year-old Eduardo Dourado knows what he would do—nothing. Although some of his schoolmates make fun of him for keeping the standards of the Church, he chooses the right and refuses to fight. “I could beat them,” he says, “but I don’t want to hurt anyone. Sometimes I’ve had to protect myself, but I try other things first to keep from fighting.”
As Jesus taught, Eduardo ignores insults. But it isn’t always easy. Because he won’t swear and do other bad things, kids make fun of him. Sometimes he feels lonely. But he knows what Jesus wants him to do, and that is what he chooses to do.

While that companion has his or her agency, you also have your own agency to choose to be obedient. You should do everything you can to follow mission rules and schedules. Your good example will always work better than anger. For example, when I served my mission, we had one hour every preparation day for emailing. I had some companions who would go significantly over their allotted email time. I would use my time, pay the internet café, and then quietly sit next to my companion until she was done. I noticed that although I never got mad at my companions or told them they were going over our time limit, they would usually start using less time and trying to be more aware of the rules. It’s amazing how powerful a righteous example can be for a missionary who might be struggling.

Illustrations by Dilleen Marsh
One rainy night in late November 1973, my companion and I were tracting in Manila, the Philippines, and we knocked on the door of Romeo and Naty Bautista. They let us in and listened politely to our short message. Naty didn’t speak English (and we only taught in English at that time), but Romeo did and was interested in having us come back. He also said that his younger sister, Avelia, who was living with them while going to college in Manila, would probably be interested.
As excited as young missionaries can be about new investigators, we eagerly waited for the return appointment several days later. The lesson went so well that we could hardly believe it. Romeo and Avelia listened attentively and asked questions. Naty listened but didn’t understand much of what we said. They were all receptive from the very beginning—a missionary’s dream!
After we left each lesson, Romeo would teach the lesson to his wife in Tagalog. They read the Book of Mormon in English together, slowly. They had two young daughters at the time: Ruth, a toddler, and Namie, a new baby.
In December 1973, I was fortunate to baptize and confirm Romeo and his sister Avelia. My companion and I were thrilled at the family’s faith and interest in the gospel, but we never could have predicted the eternal impact of their decision and the countless lives that would be blessed both immediately and years down the road.
Romeo and Avelia became faithful and strong members of the Makati Branch from the start. Soon after their baptisms, I returned home to Salt Lake City, Utah. In my excitement to come home, I didn’t even get Romeo’s mailing address to write a letter. There was no internet or cell phones in those days.
I soon met Susan, my eternal sweetheart. I taught, baptized, and married her in 1975, and we were sealed in the Salt Lake Temple in 1976. We had three children and became involved in various Church callings. I was also very involved in our family business. I often thought about the Bautista family and how they were doing, but I didn’t know of any way to contact them.
Then one special day in 1997, I received a letter from a Mrs. Avelia Wijtenberg, postmarked from Mackay, Queensland, Australia! I didn’t know any such person there, but when I read the letter, I learned that Romeo’s sister Avelia had met and married a Dutch-Australian man and had been living in Queensland for some years. She had found my old mailing address in her notebook one day while doing some spring cleaning.
Avelia and I began a letter-writing campaign, eager to know about what had happened to each other over the past several decades. She was also able to give me a mailing address for Romeo, who had moved to Tiwi, in the southern part of Luzon Island in the Philippines.
That year, as Romeo and I wrote back and forth, after 24 years of no contact, our old relationship was rekindled. Romeo said that he and Naty now had five children. Naty and the rest of the family had been baptized in the years after I returned home. Their eldest, Ruth, had served a mission in the Philippines Davao Mission, and the second and third daughters, Namie and Joan, were serving missions in northern Luzon and Guam, respectively. They had a fourth daughter, Lyn, who later served in the Philippines Baguio Mission, and finally, a son, John, who later served in the Philippines Cagayan de Oro Mission.
My wife and I requested the addresses of Namie and Joan and wrote to them on their missions. We had never met them and didn’t know them at all but felt such an instant bond that is difficult to describe in words. It was almost as though they were our own daughters! Through our letters, we rekindled a love for the Bautista family and especially for Namie and Joan—who were full of the Spirit, working hard as full-time missionaries. In a letter, Namie asked if she could telephone us on Christmas Day, as her parents didn’t have a telephone at the time. With the approval of her mission president, she called on Christmas Day in 1997, and we both just cried for several minutes. I then reminded her that an international long-distance collect call was too expensive to waste just crying to each other. We laughed and had a wonderful conversation, even with her limited English skills. She invited us to come to the Philippines the following summer for her homecoming talk.
In the summer of 1998, as Namie returned home from her mission, I made plans with my 16-year-old daughter to go to the Philippines. We arrived in Manila and met with Ruth. We attended the Manila Philippines Temple together. Then we flew south to her family’s home in Tiwi. It’s impossible to describe the joy of seeing Romeo and his family again. The deep bond of brotherhood was instantly renewed. We talked and hugged and reminisced; we ate together and read scriptures with his family each night we were there. They were such strong rocks of testimony in their small branch. We attended sacrament meeting in the Tiwi Branch and listened to Namie report on her mission. It was amazing. It was nearly celestial. Truly this was missionary heaven.
At that time, Romeo was serving as the branch president of the Tiwi Branch. He had been instrumental in bringing the gospel to his extended family in northern Luzon. Romeo took his family to the temple, where Naty and their children were sealed. Now all five of the children have been married and sealed in the Manila Temple. Several married returned missionaries. Joan was instrumental in converting her boyfriend. She waited with him for a year after his baptism and then married him in the Manila Temple. Naty died suddenly in 2007, but the family remained strongly rooted in the gospel. They are thankful for the sealing covenant and know they will see their beautiful wife and mother again if they are faithful.
Now there are more than 70 members of the Bautista family who are active in the Church. The family and extended family have accounted for 17 full-time missions and 14 temple marriages. Family members have also served as bishops and branch presidents; stake and district presidents; and Relief Society, Young Women, and Primary presidents and counselors! Romeo’s son, John, was a bishop in the Quezon City area. Ruth’s husband was a high councilor in that same stake. Lyn’s husband was also a branch president in Tiwi. The Bautista family surely is building a strong legacy of service and strength in the Philippines.
My wife and I served a senior mission in the Philippines San Pablo Mission from 2008 to 2010. One day at the temple in Manila, most of the Bautista family gathered for the marriage of John Bautista (Romeo’s son) to Sister Victorino, one of the sister missionaries from our San Pablo Mission who had completed her mission and recently returned home.
Our mission president asked if we would like to attend that joyous event, and we immediately made plans to be there. My wife knew of my relationship with the Bautista family but was completely blown away by how many family members there were and how much they loved her. She had 70 new friends for life.
I often think of Doctrine and Covenants 18:15: “And if it so be that you should labor all your days in crying repentance unto this people, and bring, save it be one soul unto me, how great shall be your joy with him in the kingdom of my Father!” Like a ripple in a pond, the influence of one soul, Romeo, has sent out waves of strong testimonies and Church service in the Philippines.
I was fortunate to help toss the pebble into the pond four decades ago with the baptisms of Romeo and Avelia. I have experienced unspeakable joy in my relationship with this great family, now into their third generation of gospel living. This is truly the ongoing legacy and joy of missionary work. This is a little bit of missionary heaven!

“What kind of job do you want to have when you grow up?” Mrs. Lu asked the class.
That was easy to answer! I wanted to be a scientist. I imagined myself wearing a lab coat and doing awesome experiments.
“Today each of you will take a test on the computer that will tell you what jobs you might enjoy someday,” Mrs. Lu said.
Soon I was at the computer, taking my test. I answered all the questions and took a deep breath as I hit the “finish” button.
Scientist! Artist! Astronaut! I thought as the results loaded. Those jobs would be amazing.
But the results did not mention any of those jobs. I looked at the list. Graphic designer sounded kind of cool. I wasn’t so sure about baker. Or event planner.
The most surprising one was the top result. It told me that I would most enjoy being … a florist.
What?! Someone who arranges flowers? I thought. This has to be a mistake!
But I knew I had answered each question honestly. My face felt hot. I didn’t want my friends to see my results, so I hurried and shut down the computer.
“Cool!” said my best friend, Dan. “My top result is website designer!”
“That’s awesome,” I mumbled. “But do you think this test is really right about what our job should be?”
“Well, it’s just a test,” said Dan, shrugging. “What was your top job?”
I froze in fear. “It’s probably wrong. But it told me I should be a florist.”
My worst fears came true. Dan started laughing.
“I knew you’d want to pick flowers for a job! You’ve always liked weird things like that,” Dan joked.
“No way!” I snapped. “I don’t even like flowers.”
Dan smiled and turned back to his computer. My stomach started to hurt. I was so embarrassed! Was the test right? Was Dan right?
Walking home from school, I still felt embarrassed about my test results. I thought about all the things I loved to do, like making art and playing the piano. They were pretty different from the things that some of the other boys in my class liked.
Maybe I am weird, I thought. Tears filled my eyes as I walked inside.
“What’s wrong, Jeff?” Dad asked. “Did something happen at school?”
I sat down and told him all about the job test and how I felt different from a lot of the other boys.
“You know, Jeff,” he said, “Heavenly Father gave you your talents. He loves you and wants you to develop them. And I love you too! Liking different things than your friends like doesn’t make you weird.”
“Really?” I asked.
Dad nodded. “We are all supposed to be different. I want you to love who you are. And remember, the test was just to give you some ideas of what you might like to do. It doesn’t mean that you’ll definitely end up with one of those jobs. You get to make your own choices. But if someday you choose to be a florist, I’m sure you’ll be great at it!”
“Thanks, Dad.” I gave him a hug. My stomach didn’t feel sick anymore.
The next day at school, Dan sat by me at lunch. “Hey, Jeff,” he said. “I’m sorry I laughed at you. I think you’d be awesome at whatever job you have!”
“Thanks, Dan,” I said. “Who knows—maybe I’ll own a flower shop and you’ll build my shop’s website!”
“Deal,” said Dan, smiling. “Maybe I’ll be your first customer too!”
This story took place in the USA.

Two weeks ago, after a very routine tackle during the first quarter of an NFL football game, the safety, Damar Hamlin, fell to the ground lifeless. Teammates, coaches, and then doctors and medical personnel rushed to his side. As the ambulance arrived on the field, an assistant trainer and the medical staff worked to resuscitate Hamlin’s lifeless body. The stadium, filled with cheering fans moments before, became quiet. The ambulance rushed him to the hospital. Then something very unexpected happened. These seemingly invincible football players, so strong and confident only a few moments before, began kneeling on the playing field. Before a stadium of spectators and a large television audience, the entire Buffalo Bills team knelt and prayed fervently for their teammate Damar Hamlin.

In the hours and days that followed, all the NFL teams headlined their websites with the plea “Pray for Damar.” In a remarkable expression of faith, an ESPN commentator bowed his head and prayed out loud to God on air. While many people do not always speak openly about their faith in God, they very naturally believe in God, and in times of crisis, their prayers and hopes ascend to God. We are so very grateful for the miracle of Damar Hamlin’s recovery.

On 24 November 2016, as Sister Kasimbe returned home after an honourable missionary service, her mission president gave her $50 for eventualities during her trip home. She travelled safely and there were no eventualities. Upon her return home, she handed the $50 to her stake president, who in turn gave it back to the mission president. She later learnt from her stake president that her mission president said that she was one of the very few missionaries who returned such funds. Sister Kasimbe knew that she was returning home, where such money would go a long way, since her mother was striving to afford the necessities of life. Sister Kasimbe knew too that this was not her money. She was determined to be totally honest with great integrity even if that meant sleeping on an empty stomach. She tells her own experience: “When I arrived at home, life was difficult. My mother sacrificed her earnings for my welcoming home party. After two days at home, we were struggling to have meals on the table, so I prayed for a miracle. Soon after my prayer, I felt to look in my tithing envelope in which I found $10, which was a great miracle for my family”.

Soon after my husband was called to preside over the Paraguay Asunción Mission in 1992, we attended a branch conference in an isolated community in the Paraguayan Chaco. We traveled four hours on a paved road and then seven more hours on a primitive road. The perils and discomfort of the long trip were soon forgotten when we greeted the happy and welcoming members of Mistolar.
Julio Yegros was the young branch president, and he and his wife, Margarita, were one of the few families who had been sealed in the temple. I asked them to share their experience of their trip to the temple.
At the time, the closest temple was the Buenos Aires Temple in Argentina. The trip from Mistolar required 27 hours one way to reach the temple, and they had gone with their two small children. It was in the middle of a very cold winter, but with much sacrifice they made it to the temple and were sealed together as an eternal family. On the way back, the two babies got very sick and died. They buried them along the way and returned home empty-handed. They were sad and lonely but amazingly felt comforted and peaceful. They said of the experience: “Our children were sealed to us in the house of the Lord. We know we will have them back with us for all eternity. This knowledge has given us peace and comfort. We have to remain worthy and faithful to the covenants we made in the temple, and then we will be reunited with them.”

One day they felt impressed to go to the farthest part of the town, out along the edges of the sugarcane fields. As they walked down the street, they saw two men sitting on their porch, and they stopped to talk with them. This was the first time they met Julian and his son, Victor. Julian immediately invited them in to have some yuca with butter and listened to the message they had to share. He was interested and asked them to come back and teach him more.
The following day the elders were in the town center doing street contacting when they met Carmen, Julian’s partner. As they started talking with her, they learned that Julian had told her all about what he had learned the day before. The elders returned that afternoon and taught Julian and Carmen how families were part of God’s plan. They learned that the couple had been together for over 30 years, with children and grandchildren, but had never gotten married. The elders asked what they thought about getting married. At first, Carmen was eager, and Julian was hesitant. Two weeks later, when they were married, he was emotional about finally being married to the woman of his dreams.

A few years ago as our youngest daughter was preparing to leave for her mission, she asked if I had ever tried to contact the young missionary who had taught me.
“I have thought about him over these many years,” I replied, “but I don’t know how to contact him.”
Within 10 minutes she came back and said, “Here’s his phone number.”
When I got ahold of him, we had a long conversation. He asked for my email address so he could “bring me up-to-date on his life.” In his email the next day, he told me he hadn’t been a member of the Church for more than 40 years and hoped I wasn’t disappointed.
“How could I be disappointed?” I immediately emailed him back. “You changed my life!”
We exchanged more emails and agreed to meet. Soon I drove to his home, where he invited me in and introduced me to his wife. As we talked about our past, I asked him if he had a Book of Mormon. He went upstairs and returned with a copy. I took the book, looked him in the eye, handed the book back to him, and said: “I know this book is true! If you read Moroni 10:4 and pray about it, you can also gain a testimony of its truthfulness.”
Over the next several months, he read, prayed, and repented. Soon his 18-year-old son rebaptized him, and I had the blessing of confirming him.
I know that my daughter was inspired to ask her question, and I know that Heavenly Father prepared the two of us for a 45-year reunion. I have learned the power of the Book of Mormon. I have also learned to never give up on someone who has wandered from the Church.

“By hearing a story,” answered his father. “Listen. Many years ago, in the direction from which the sun awakens each day, there lived a people here in Africa called the Mazumbas.”
Bhutto stopped rocking on his heels and sat down. He did not want to miss a word of his father’s story.
“The Mazumbas were greater hunters than others because the tips of their arrows were sharper and finer than any man could make.”
“How did they make the arrow tips?” asked Bhutto.
“They did not make them,” said Bhutto’s father. “They found them in a secret cave. And because the Mazumbas had such sharp arrow tips, no animal could stand against them.”
“Not even lions?” Bhutto asked.
“Not even lions,” said his father.
“Not even elephants?” Bhutto tried again.
“Not even elephants,” answered his father. “Not even the Great Beasts of the plains.”
Bhutto looked puzzled. “What are the Great Beasts of the plains?”
“The Great Beasts were the hardest of all the animals to slay. They had the eyes of an eagle, the ears of a giraffe, and the swiftness of a gazelle. But even so, the Great Beasts could not hide from the Mazumbas.
“One day, one of the Mazumbas was hunting when he came across the tracks of a Great Beast. For many hours he followed the tracks through grasslands, over hills, and down ravines until they led to the entrance of the secret cave.”
“Where the Mazumbas found their arrow tips,” Bhutto remembered.
“That’s right,” said his father.
“And was the Great Beast inside?”
“Yes, he was. And when the hunter saw the Great Beast, he put an arrow to his bow.”
“Did he kill the Beast?” Bhutto asked excitedly.
“Not right away,” answered his father, “because the Great Beast began to speak.”
Bhutto frowned. “Animals cannot speak.”
“That is true,” Bhutto’s father answered. “But the Great Beasts were not like other animals.”
“What did the Great Beast say?”
“He said, ‘Please do not kill me, great hunter of the Mazumbas. Your people have killed all the Great Beasts except me.’
“But the hunter just laughed and said, ‘If you did not want to be caught, you should not have come into our secret cave.’ And with that, the hunter let the arrow fly.”
Bhutto watched his father string the bow he was making. “Is that the end of your story?” he sadly asked.
“Not quite, Bhutto,” said his father. “When the Beast fell to the earth, a stone rolled from his mouth—a sharp stone, sharper than any a man could make.”
“Then, it was the Great Beasts that made the arrow tips!” Bhutto cried.
“Yes. The Great Beasts went to the secret cave to chew on stones and sharpen their teeth. The arrow tips were what they left behind.”
“But the hunter—he killed the last Beast!”
“Yes, and because of that, the Mazumbas soon used up the last of the very sharp arrow tips. No longer were they the great hunters they had once been.”

This story happened in the USA.
Weston was playing outside when a car and a big moving van drove up to the house across the street. Lots of kids got out of the car. One of them was a boy who looked like he was Weston’s age.
Weston ran inside his house. “Mom, Dad! A new family is moving in!”
Dad looked up from the project he was working on. “That’s awesome.”
“I want to meet them,” Weston said. “Will you come with me?”
“Of course!”
Weston and Dad walked across the street to their new neighbors’ house. When they knocked, a lady came to the door. The boy Weston’s age was standing behind her.
Weston waved. “Hi, I’m Weston. What’s your name?”
The boy stepped out from behind his mom. “I’m Nate.”
“Want to play at my house?” Weston asked.
Nate looked at his mom.
“You can go,” she said. “Just be home in time for dinner.”
After that, Weston played with Nate almost every day. He was so happy to have a new friend. They rode bikes, swam at the pool, and played pirates at the park. Sometimes Weston played at Nate’s house too. Nate’s whole family was nice!
One day, Nate’s dad got really sick. He had to go to the hospital. The sickness got worse and worse. Nate and his family were so worried.
Weston was worried too. Everyone at church fasted and prayed for Nate’s dad. Weston also fasted. He hoped for a miracle. But Nate’s dad passed away.
As the days went by, Weston saw how sad Nate and his family were. He wanted to cheer them up. He walked across the street and knocked on Nate’s door.
“I don’t want to play today,” Nate said.
“Oh, OK,” Weston said. Was there anything he could do to help Nate?
Weston went home and found Mom. “Nate doesn’t want to play,” he said.
“That’s hard.” Mom hugged him. “Sometimes when people are sad, they just need some time alone.”
Weston nodded. “I guess if my dad died, I wouldn’t feel like playing either.”
But Weston still wanted to help Nate and his family feel better. He had an idea. “Where are the scissors?” he asked. “I want to give Nate something from our garden!”
Weston went to the backyard and searched for something to give to his friend. He looked in the dirt where they’d planted some carrots. But they weren’t ready yet. He searched in the fruit trees but only found bare branches.
Then Weston looked under some vines with big leaves. He pushed aside a few of the leaves and found a tiny green cantaloupe growing on the vine. This was the cantaloupe he had planted and watered himself!
Hopefully Nate and his family liked melons. Weston cut it from the vine and carried it inside. Then he wrote a note to go along with his gift.
When the card was finished, Weston carefully set the cantaloupe and card on Nate’s doorstep. Then he rang the doorbell and ran back home as fast as he could. I hope they like it, Weston thought.
Later, Weston saw Nate’s family at a neighborhood barbecue.
“That was the best cantaloupe ever!” Nate’s sister said.
“We weren’t sure what it was at first.” Nate laughed. “We thought it was a weird coconut!”
“Thank you for the sweet gift,” said Nate’s mom.
Weston felt warm inside as Nate hugged him. He couldn’t take away his friend’s sadness, but even a tiny cantaloupe could help bring a smile.
Illustration by Greg Paprocki

It all started when the Indianapolis Symphony Orchestra began outdoor summer performances at Conner Prairie Pioneer Settlement, a restored 1836 village. The first few years, all concertgoers sat on lawn chairs or blankets on the grass. Later, Symphony on the Prairie organizers offered reserved tables and chairs near the stage for a higher price. But who would set up a hundred tables and a thousand chairs twice a week? The symphony looked for a service group, and that’s where LDS Boy Scout troop 596 came in.

They are not alone. Scout leaders, families, and friends all lend a hand. “It’s a time to see friends and get to know new people,” says Emily Runyan, whose brother Chris is a Scout. “Those of us who aren’t in the troop can still be an example of service to others.”

Missy Wardwell feels that her work at Conner Prairie changed her attitude towards service. She used to feel it was a duty, “but I found this was fun because I chose to come. It was great to work on something important.”

People notice the unity between youth and adults in the Noblesville Ward. Jennifer Rasmussen attributes it to what happens when teachers and leaders labor alongside the youth. “Before,” Jennifer says, “you only saw them on Sunday. But working together is a bonding experience.”

Jennifer also points out the benefits for new or quiet kids in the ward. “These youth get to know people and become comfortable working together, whereas otherwise they might have taken years to open up. They get invited to stay and join us in other activities.”

Missy points out another benefit. “In the summer, sometimes school friends call and invite me to a party. I know what kind of party it will be. It’s security for me to have another place to go that is good and fun and social.”

The LDS youth finish and settle down on the hill with cool drinks and snacks. With their service comes a bonus—they can stay and hear the symphony concert for free. As the sun lingers near the edge of the concert shell, thousands of concertgoers arrive. Sometimes 10,000 people throng the grounds on a symphony night. After the sun goes down, the scattered lights of hundreds of tiny citronella candles flicker like caged fireflies.

“I never thought the kids would stay for the program,” says Rich Armstrong of the Scout committee. “I could see youth using lots of outdoor energy, but I didn’t expect them to be interested in symphony music.”

“I had never heard a symphony orchestra before,” says Brennan Wood. “But the more you hear symphony music, the more you understand it.”

Trent Wardwell agrees. “This has given me a better appreciation for what goes into producing symphony music. Hours before the concert, while we are putting up chairs and tables, the symphony workers have to set up their sound system and prepare the stage, just for a short, two-hour show.”

The concert is finished. A few fireworks light the sky over the orchestra shell, and the LDS youth scramble up from their places. Swarming down the hill, they start folding chairs, clearing tables, and carrying them back to storage. Now that it is cooler, demonstrations of strength take place. Austin Armstrong carries eight chairs at once. Brennan staggers under 13. Jamie Ketring and Jennifer tote one table between them, but Jon Foote hoists one above his head and carries it alone.

The final tarpaulin is tugged up and over a mountain of chairs. It is time to go home.

The thoughts of all the youth are echoed by Emily Runyan. “My main memory of summers is our work at Conner Prairie.”

After many promptings during his young adult years, Elder Larry S. Kacher began to recognize a greater power guiding him in his life. At age 19, sensitivity to the Spirit led him to the gospel of Jesus Christ—a change that has made all the difference.
After high school he went to Europe to ski, and after more than six months there he felt he needed to return home. Once home, he felt like he needed to go somewhere else but didn’t know where. A childhood friend planned to move to Utah, and Elder Kacher decided to move with him. While in Utah, Elder Kacher enrolled at Brigham Young University, learned about the Church, and was baptized.
“As the missionaries taught us, I felt it was true,” he says. “As I prayed, I felt that the Church was true.”