Gospel Story Finder

I remember, when very young, helping my mother and dad in our movie theater in Raymond, Alberta, Canada. I enjoyed it because we were together—selling popcorn or tickets. When it came time to clean the big theater, I had the privilege of doing it with my dad. We each had our own jobs to do and yet we did them together. I noted later in life that I had retained the desire to keep things neat and orderly.

Many years ago I boarded a plane in San Francisco en route to Los Angeles. As I sat down, the seat next to mine was empty. Soon, however, there occupied that seat a most lovely young lady. As the plane became airborne, I noticed that she was reading a book. I glanced at the title: A Marvelous Work and a Wonder. I mustered up my courage and said to her, “You must be a Mormon.”
She replied, “Oh no. Why would you ask?”
I said, “Well, you’re reading a book written by LeGrand Richards, a very prominent leader of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
She responded, “Is that right? A friend gave this book to me, but I don’t know much about it. However, it has aroused my curiosity.”
I wondered silently, Should I be forward and say more about the Church? The words of the Apostle Peter crossed my mind, “Be ready always to give an answer to every [one] that asketh you a reason of the hope that is in you” (1 Pet. 3:15). I decided that now was the time for me to share my testimony with her. I told her that it had been my privilege years before to assist Elder Richards in printing this book. I mentioned the great missionary spirit of this man and told her of the many thousands of people who had embraced the truth after reading that which he had prepared. Then it was my privilege, during the remainder of the flight, to answer her questions relative to the Church—intelligent questions which came from her heart, which I perceived was seeking the truth. I asked if I might have the opportunity to have the missionaries call upon her. I asked if she would like to attend one of our wards in San Francisco, where she lived. Her answers were affirmative. She gave me her name—Yvonne Ramirez—and indicated that she was a flight attendant on her way to an assignment.
Upon returning home, I wrote to the mission president and the stake president, advising them of my conversation and that I had written to her and sent along some suggested reading.
Several months passed by. Then I received a telephone call from the stake president, who asked, “Brother Monson, do you remember sitting next to a flight attendant on a trip from San Francisco to Los Angeles early this fall?” I answered affirmatively. He continued, “I thought you would like to know that Yvonne Ramirez has just become the most recently baptized and confirmed member of the Church. She would like to speak with you.”
A sweet voice came on the line: “Brother Monson, thank you for sharing with me your testimony. I am the happiest person in all the world.”
As tears filled my eyes and gratitude to God enlarged my soul, I thanked her and commended her on her search for truth and, having found it, her decision to enter those waters which cleanse and purify and provide entrance to eternal life.
I sat silently for a few minutes after replacing the telephone receiver. The words of our Savior coursed through my mind: “And whoso receiveth you, there I will be also, for I will go before your face. I will be on your right hand and on your left, and my Spirit shall be in your hearts, and mine angels round about you, to bear you up” (D&C 84:88).
Such is the promise to all of us when we pursue our missionary opportunities and follow the counsel and obey the commandments of Jesus of Nazareth, our Savior and our King.

Jay stepped off the bus and slung his big backpack over his shoulder. It was a long walk home, and his load was heavy.
He kept remembering the disappointed look on his teacher’s face when she realized he’d lied about his homework. He hadn’t meant to lie. Not really, anyway.
This whole mess started about two months ago.
“Hi, Jay,” Mom had said when he came home from school. “How was your day? Do you have any homework?”
His day had actually been pretty lousy, and he didn’t feel like doing homework.
“Uh, I don’t have any,” he’d said. “I finished it at school.” It was only a little lie, he thought. And besides, he told himself, he’d just do his homework on the bus ride the next morning, so maybe it didn’t even count.
As he trudged to his room, Jay ignored the queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach.
A few days later it happened again. When Mom asked about his homework, he pulled out his math worksheet but left the rest in his backpack. So easy!
Before long, though, his backpack was growing heavy with unfinished homework.
And then there was the whole school-lunch problem. A friend asked him a couple of weeks ago if he was sitting with the hot-lunch kids or the cold-lunch kids, and Jay ditched his sack lunch on the spot.
Over the next few weeks, Jay shoved several of his home lunches to the bottom of his backpack and tried to ignore them. Mom never went through his bag, so how would she ever find out?
The problem was, as the backpack got heavier, so did his heart. Why did he always feel so rotten inside? He’d even started snapping at his little brother.
Jay dreaded seeing the look on his parents’ faces when they found out.
Walking in the door, he dropped his heavy backpack with a thud and slunk into the kitchen. “Hi, Mom,” he said.
She hugged him and stood back. “Jay, I got an email from your teacher today. She said you lied about your homework. We need to talk.”
Jay sat down at the table and buried his head in his arms as Mom opened his backpack.
“Honey, when did this thing get so heavy? What do you have in here?”
She pulled out two months of unfinished homework and at least six lunches.
Jay burst into tears. “I didn’t mean for it to happen. I just didn’t do my homework, and no one noticed. I’m so sorry! Can you and Dad forgive me?”
Mom sighed and pushed the pile of unfinished papers and moldy lunches aside. “Sweetheart,” she said, “We will always forgive you, but you’ve got a lot of work ahead of you here.”
“I’ll do it!” he said, looking up. Suddenly he felt hopeful for the first time in weeks. “I’ll do every page, and I’ll pay for the lunches too.”
He dashed to his room for his money box. “Here, Mom,” he said, pushing the dollars and change toward her. “There’s over 20 dollars; just take it all.”
Mom carefully counted out the necessary amount and gave him back the rest.
Walking back to return his box, Jay paused in his room. He knew he still had one more apology to make. Kneeling by his bed, he bowed his head and asked Heavenly Father to forgive him. Then he ran back to the kitchen table to start his homework.
The next morning before school, Jay grabbed his backpack with his finished homework in it on his way out the door. “Hey!” he said to his mom, “This thing is so light! It’s like there’s nothing in it!”
He headed off with a smile. His backpack wasn’t the only thing that felt lighter. So did his heart.

In 1850 Brigham Young sent ten missionaries to the Hawaiian Islands. Without understanding the language and culture, they became so discouraged that five of them went home. The youngest of the five who stayed was Elder George Q. Cannon. He went to the Lord in prayer and was inspired to go to Lahaina on the island of Maui.
When he got there, two ladies went screaming into a nearby house and brought out a gentleman. The night before, this man had had a dream that a messenger of God was coming and that he must feed him. The man was Jonathon H. Napela, the magistrate of that area. The two men became close friends, like Alma and Amulek in the Book of Mormon (see Alma 10–15). Because of the guiding hand of God and Brother Napela’s great help, missionary work began to do very well in Hawaii.

A week later, two missionaries knocked on the Cantos’s door. That evening they gave Nancy, Pedro, and their two older sons, Cesar and Fernando, the first discussion.

Before they left, the elders gave the family a Book of Mormon, after first marking for them the passages they had been discussing about Christ’s visit to America. They also felt inspired to underline the passages relating to Lehi’s dream about the tree of life—something they had never done before.

Later, as Nancy Cantos read the account of Lehi’s dream, she became excited. It was so similar to her own! She knew in her heart that this was the answer to their prayers.

Eagerly she read the passages to her husband and told him about her dream. He, too, believed this was their answer. “If we obey God’s commandments and hold to the iron rod, our baby will be healed,” he told his wife.

The Cantos could hardly wait for the next discussion.

There is a little story about Sister McKay, the wife of President David O. McKay, when she began teaching school. As the principal introduced her to the class, he pointed to a certain boy and said he was a troublemaker. She sensed the boy’s embarrassment and feared he would live up to his reputation, so she wrote a note and slipped it to him as she passed his desk. It said, “Earl, I think the principal was mistaken about your being a bad boy. I trust you, and know that you are going to help me make this room the best in the school.” Earl not only became a paragon of scholastic virtue but also one of the town’s most important people.

I’m a leader in my Young Women class in my ward, so every first and fourth Sunday, I go out with the missionaries or the other youth to minister to less-active youth. I bear my testimony to them that drawing closer to Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ makes us stronger and helps us overcome our trials. Giving up on Them isn’t the solution.
One time, we ministered to a young man. We invited him to offer the closing prayer at the end of the visit. When he prayed, he thanked Heavenly Father for our visit. He was so happy and thankful that we took the time to check in on him.
I felt grateful too, and increased my feelings of self-worth. I realized that other people are happy in my presence, and I can help them. I can be an instrument in God’s hands to show others that they’re not alone.

When Carrie and her mother, Ginger, returned home, they organized the youth in their ward, taught them how to read Old German script, and helped them prepare the names to be submitted for work at the Chicago Temple.
“We knew we were going to the temple, and we wanted to make the experience more meaningful,” explains Sister Hamer, a counselor in the ward Young Women presidency and a past president of the Minnesota Genealogical Society. “We wanted the youth to know that these names for which they would be baptized were not just names; they were actual people. We could even show them photos of their hometown.
“But it wasn’t until they began actually working with the names that the people became real. Suddenly the youth were saying things like, ‘Hey, this person was born on Christmas,’ or ‘This family had three sets of twins.’”
Young people in the stake became so interested that they spent several summer vacation days copying names. Then in October, 36 teenagers traveled to the temple and were vicariously baptized for 565 people who were no longer just names on a chart. The rest of the 1,500 names were also submitted for temple work.

When I was young, my grandma often had get-togethers for my cousins and me. There were about 14 of us, and we were always excited when Grandma invited us over for dinners, sleepovers, game nights, and holidays. Grandma’s house was the place to be!
Every activity at Grandma’s house was fun. But I never thought about all of the time and work that went into each activity. I just thought that was what grandmas did, and I loved it!
After years of fun cousin memories at Grandma’s house, our family moved away. Later my grandma came to spend a special day with us in our new home. My family thought long and hard to find the perfect gift for her. She has more stuff than anyone I know. What could we get the grandma who has everything?
I asked my dad for ideas, and he told me the same thing he says every year: “Why don’t you write her a really nice letter?” I was out of ideas, and so early the next morning, before anyone else was awake, I sat at the kitchen table with my feet on the cold tile and wrote my grandma a special letter.
At first I wondered what I could write besides, “You are so wonderful. Thanks for everything.” As I looked out the kitchen window at the palm trees and the sky, I thought of the many things Grandma had done for us over the years. I remembered that I had never told my grandma how much those times spent together as a family meant to me.
In my letter, I told my grandma that I love her, and I thanked her for all of the special memories. I let her know how important they still were to me, even years later. Then I put the letter in an envelope, tied it with a red ribbon, and went back into my warm, carpeted room.
When the time came to give Grandma her gifts, I slowly pulled out my letter. I didn’t know how to feel about my gift to her.
She looked surprised when I gave her the envelope. I watched closely as she carefully tore off the end of the envelope and pulled out the letter on narrow pink paper. As she read it, she started to smile and tears filled her eyes. I had never seen my grandma cry before. She slowly looked up and turned toward me with warm, brown eyes. She whispered, “Thank you, thank you. I didn’t think anyone remembered.”
Grandma, who had done so much to build strong family relationships, had no idea that I remembered or was grateful for those times together. She wiped her eyes and said, “Kimberly, thank you. That was the best present anyone could ever give me.”
I gave Grandma a big hug, feeling her soft skin against my cheek and smelling her “grandma” smell that was a mix of baby powder and musk. I was so grateful for my dad’s idea to write her a letter. I didn’t know that words of gratitude and love would mean more to my grandma than all of the knickknacks, perfume, and fruitcakes that money could buy.

As you trust in the Lord and His goodness, the Almighty God will bless His children through you.16 Elder Hollings from Nevada learned that early in his mission. The day after he arrived in India, he traveled with Sister Funk and me to Rajahmundry, his first area. That afternoon Elder Hollings and Elder Ganaparam went to visit a Church member and her mother. The mother wanted to learn about the Church because she had seen how the gospel blessed the life of her daughter. Sister Funk joined them to provide fellowship. Because the lesson would be taught in English and the mother spoke only Telugu, a brother in the branch was there to interpret what was taught.

Elder Hollings’s assignment in his very first teaching appointment was to teach the First Vision, using the words of the Prophet Joseph. At that point in the lesson, he turned to Sister Funk and asked, “Should I say it word for word?” knowing it would be interpreted.

She replied, “Say it word for word so the Spirit can testify of what you say.”

When this new missionary sincerely taught the First Vision, using the words of the Prophet, the countenance of that dear sister changed. Tears appeared. As Elder Hollings finished that glorious message and before what he said could be interpreted, she asked through her tears in her native language, “May I be baptized? And will you teach my son?”

My young fellow servants, doors and hearts open daily to the gospel message—a message that brings hope and peace and joy to the children of God throughout the world. If you are humble and obedient and hearken to the voice of the Spirit, you will find great happiness in your service as a missionary.17 What a wonderful season it is to be a missionary—a time when the Lord is hastening His work!

I recently met a young woman in the Philippines whose family became less active in the Church when she was only 7 years old, leaving her alone to walk a dangerous road to church week after week. She told how at age 14 she decided that she would stay true to her covenants so she would be worthy to raise her future family in a home “blessed by the strength of priesthood pow’r.”12 The best way to strengthen a home, current or future, is to keep covenants, promises we’ve made to each other and to God.

When we arrived at Point Lake, it was covered with ice floes. Shifting ice floes in a bad wind would crash a small canoe like an egg shell. We made camp, and I asked Bob to pray that night. He exhibited a faith rarely seen. He said, simply, “Father, stop the wind.”
The next day when we got up, it was perfectly still. The lake was smooth as a mirror. But we had 32 kilometers to cross. Even the slightest breeze once we were on the lake and we would be destroyed. For 32 kilometers we pushed through the floes. Twice the canoe froze in the ice as we got hemmed in, and we had to jump and pry and push to work our way free. Finally, after 7 1/2 hours, we got into open waters. We had just gotten through the ice floes when the wind began to blow again. The wind had been a daily companion except for those 7 1/2 hours. We prayed again, this time a prayer of thanks.

When I was younger, my family was not active in the Church. I remember very few instances when I went to Primary. I attended church on special occasions such as Christmas, Easter, baptisms, or blessings. Then, when I was about 13, my family moved from one end of town to the other. I attended the same school and had the same friends. The only difference now was our new ward. Because of this move, everything changed.
One girl in my new ward called me faithfully every week to invite me to church and Mutual. The meetinghouse was just through my backyard. Although I could have walked, she would offer me a ride. She fulfilled her calling as Beehive class president, and I started coming to church. At first, I came because I felt bad saying no. But it wasn’t long before I was coming on my own. I loved being in church, I loved the scriptures, and I loved the girls in our ward.
My freshman year in high school, however, I chose not to take seminary. I thought I didn’t have room in my schedule. I didn’t understand how important seminary was. My friends could say nothing but good about seminary, so I decided to adjust my schedule so that I could take it.
Seminary gave me a fresh outlook on the gospel. Through seminary my testimony of the scriptures developed. I read the entire New Testament and learned about the Atonement of Jesus Christ. My testimony grew at an overwhelming speed. Once again I felt the peace and love the gospel provided me, and I wanted my family to feel it as well.
I began to urge my family to come with me to sacrament meeting. I told them I wanted us to be an eternal family. To encourage them, I would wash everyone’s church clothes on Saturday night so that the excuse “I don’t have anything to wear” was no longer an option. I told them that I had a testimony of the gospel and that I wanted to share it with them. Most important, I prayed. I prayed that my family could know the Spirit the way I did. I wanted them to go to church so that we could someday be sealed in the temple.
It started slowly and took some time, but one warm August morning, my prayers were answered as we were sealed in the Portland Oregon Temple. I felt the Spirit stronger at that moment than ever before. I knew my family could be together forever. To this day I cannot thank my Heavenly Father enough for this wonderful blessing.
Now I am trying my best to be a good example and friend to everyone around me so that perhaps I can do for them what was done for me.

Sometimes the tables are reversed. A dear and cherished young friend, Wendy Bennion of Salt Lake City, was such an example. Just the day before yesterday, she quietly departed mortality and returned “to that God who gave [her] life” (Alma 40:11). She had struggled for over five long years in her battle with cancer. Ever cheerful, always reaching out to help others, never losing faith, she had a contagious smile that attracted others to her as a magnet attracts metal shavings. While Wendy was ill and in pain, a friend of hers, feeling downcast with her own situation, visited her. Nancy, Wendy’s mother, knowing Wendy was in extreme pain, felt that perhaps the friend had stayed too long. She asked Wendy, after the friend had left, why she had allowed her to stay so long when she herself was in so much pain. Wendy’s response: “What I was doing for my friend was a lot more important than the pain I was having. If I can help her, then the pain is worth it.” Wendy’s attitude was reminiscent of Him who bore the sorrows of the world, who patiently suffered excruciating pain and disappointment, but who, with silent step of His sandaled feet, passed by a man who was blind from birth, restoring his sight. He approached the grieving widow of Nain and raised her son from the dead. He trudged up Calvary’s steep slope, carrying His own cruel cross, undistracted by the constant jeers and taunting that accompanied His every step. For He had an appointment with divine destiny. In a very real way He visits us, each one, with His teachings. He brings cheer and inspires goodness. He gave His precious life that the grave would be deprived of its victory, that death would lose its sting, that life eternal would be our gift.

In 2020, my husband and I were looking for money to bring our two sons, Aaron and Moses, back home. They had just completed their studies in Bangalore (India), but our efforts to raise money to bring them home proved to be unsuccessful. So, we decided to leave this matter in the hands of our Lord.
In the course of that very year, the COVID-19 pandemic was rampant in Bangalore, with an increasing rate of infection. We were very worried about our two sons.
On a certain Wednesday evening, after saying my prayer, I felt impressed to hold a fast. I asked my two sons to abide in prayer while I was fasting. I said to them, “My sons, tonight we are going to ask for a miracle that will put the adversary to shame, just as Pharaoh was put to shame as he watched the Israelites go through the Red Sea on dry ground. At midnight, we will wake up, buckle-up, and start praying.” I simply told my husband to wake me up at 11 p.m. under the pretext that I had some work to do. That very night, I read the scriptures, poured my soul in much prayer, and reflected upon our Heavenly Father’s wonders. On the following day, the Lord attended to our request by sending someone to purchase our plot of land. We had been looking for a buyer for the past twelve months to raise funds for the transportation for our sons. Our miracle had happened!

One of the defining moments in my life happened for me at the age of 10 when I spent two weeks learning Catholic doctrine at the Loreto Roman Catholic Mission, about 20 miles (32 km) away from my rural home in Silobela, Zimbabwe. I have come to know and love the Savior Jesus Christ and to look up to the Lord through these early lessons and impressions.
While I was in the Catholic chapel, I saw paintings with scenes from the Savior’s life pasted on the wall: scenes of Jesus Christ’s birth, teaching in the temple, praying in the Garden of Gethsemane, carrying the cross to Calvary, being crucified at Golgotha, and His Resurrection. It really made me feel sad to see those nails and thorns. By the time I got to the painting of the Crucifixion, my eyes were filled with tears. And each time I would cry and say, “Hey, He really went through a lot, just for me.”
During the confirmation ceremony, one of the priests looked into my eyes and said, “You are the light of the world” (see Matthew 5:14). Then, pointing to a burning candle, he quoted the Savior’s words: “Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven” (Matthew 5:16).
As I learned more about Jesus, I began to want to be of service to others. For example, we would have to fetch our water five miles (8 km) away from our village. Often, women in the village, including my mother, would carry a 20-liter container on their heads filled with water. After my experience at the Catholic seminary, I often pushed a 200-liter (about 50 gallons) container of water to help my mother, and I also helped two other widows who were our neighbors. I remembered the good feeling I felt each time I helped others.
These experiences helped develop my faith in Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ and indirectly prepared me to accept the gospel of Jesus Christ when I was 22 years old.

From the time I was a young girl in Venezuela I wanted a Bible of my own. But it wasn’t until I became a member of The Church of Jesus Christ and felt a great need to get to know my Savior that I promised myself to buy a Bible the next chance I had.
The Church was new in our area, and orders for books could be filled only when someone traveled in person to mission headquarters. My branch president, who was a full-time missionary, was aware of my need. One day he told me that he would be traveling to the mission office in three days. I explained to him that even though the Bible cost very little, at that moment I did not have any money. I told him I would get it before he left, and he agreed to stop by my home on his way to the mission office.
The day of his trip arrived. I still did not have the money, so I appealed to the Lord in prayer. When I finished praying, my worry disappeared and I felt a great peace. I had barely arisen from my knees when someone knocked at the door. I opened it and saw a young mother with a baby in her arms.
“I live just behind your house,” she said with a smile. “I don’t know you, but I need a favor, and for some reason I decided to come here.” She asked me to watch her baby for a short time, saying that she would pay me. I agreed to do it.
By the time she returned, I had decided that I wouldn’t take her money. But she placed in my hand the exact amount I needed for the Bible. What tender emotions I felt at that moment! I knew that the Lord had answered my prayer. My heart overflowed with gratitude.

Let me tell you an unusual experience that happened to me while I was presiding over the Florida Mission. It all started when I received a letter from a sister named Flavia Salazar Gomez.
In her letter, Flavia stated she had joined the Church when she was about 12 years old, and had been very active in Mexico. Later she had fallen in love with a Dominican man, married him, and moved with him to the Dominican Republic. Flavia thought she was the only Latter-day Saint in the whole country of five million people. She mentioned that she had a year-old baby boy who had not been named or blessed.
She wrote that she was seriously ill with cancer and had been told she did not have very long to live. She asked if it would be possible for someone holding the priesthood to come to Santiago to bless her baby and to give her a blessing.
I wrote to her and told her we would get there as soon as possible. There was one Latter-day Saint family living in Santo Domingo—Dale Valentine and his wife and children. I wrote Brother Valentine and asked if he would take me to Santiago so we could find Flavia and give her a blessing.
When we arrived at the outskirts of Santiago, Brother Valentine asked me where Flavia lived. At that moment we realized that none of us knew exactly. We didn’t have a street address; all I knew was her name and that she was hoping we would come.
We stopped for a few minutes on a high point overlooking the city. I told Brother Valentine to drive into the city and turn to the left. He obediently drove on. I then told him to make a right turn and proceed toward the center of this large, congested city.
I said, “Go to the next corner; make a right turn; and after you turn, you will find an empty parking place.”
He drove to the corner and made the right turn. There in front of us was an open parking place. We parked, got out of the car, and stood. “Now what do we do?” he asked.
I said, “Let’s just start asking people.”
There was a man on the sidewalk leaning up against the front of a residence. Brother Valentine went over to him and asked him in Spanish if he knew Flavia Salazar Gomez.
Surprised, the man said, “Yes, she’s my wife. She’s just inside that door.” We had parked in front of their home.
Flavia’s husband went inside and she came out onto the sidewalk with her baby. We were invited into the home and were delighted to know that she was living the Word of Wisdom and that she prayed every day. Because of her illness, she couldn’t attend church, but she felt she was a good, faithful member.
We named and blessed the little boy, and then I asked Brother Valentine to give Sister Gomez a blessing in Spanish. I felt impressed to tell him to bless her that she would recover from her cancerous condition and become well.
Six months later, I stopped in Santo Domingo and Brother Valentine drove me to where Flavia and her husband were living. We found her in good health, looking well and happy. She told us she had been completely cured.
When this lovely young mother had needed a priesthood blessing, she knew there was no way to receive one except to ask the Lord to help her. So she had very simply written a letter to the mission president, whom she didn’t know. The mission president had read her letter and immediately done what the Lord told him to do: he had arranged to go and answer her need. It was that simple.

Fireworks and firecrackers, brightly colored nativity scenes, and feasts featuring stuffed tamales—that’s Christmas in Guatemala. As a full-time missionary I found the traditions very different from my own traditions in the United States. I was homesick and thought my Christmas would be miserable.
My companion, Sister Anaya, said we would find joy on Christmas by serving others. She suggested that we spend the morning singing at the hospital, and we invited other missionaries to join us.
As we approached the entrance, I watched the people waiting in line to see their loved ones. Their faces were sad, their sandal-clad feet dusty, their clothes faded. We waited with them. When we were finally allowed to enter the building, we walked down narrow halls with flaking green paint and cement floors. The smells of medicines and sickness overwhelmed me.
In the dim light I could see sick patients on beds in a large room with little ventilation or privacy. They lay there, some with bandages, some with IVs, some hooked up to machines to help them breathe. Some moaned quietly. Others slept. I wondered why we had come. Most in our small group of missionaries stood in the doorway, not knowing what to do.
But not Sister Anaya. She went to each bed, greeting those who were sick, asking them how they felt, and wishing them a merry Christmas. Her boldness reminded the rest of us why we had come, and we started to sing Christmas carols, softly at first but more confidently as we continued. Some of the patients smiled, some just lay there and didn’t seem to notice, and some hummed along.
Sister Anaya, singing with a hymnbook in her hand, approached a woman who was wrapped in bandages. The woman began to cry quietly, and my companion lovingly stroked her hair. Through her tears the woman spoke, “You are angels. You are angels.”
I will never forget Sister Anaya’s response. “No, you are not hearing angels,” she replied. “You are hearing Latter-day Saints.”
But I also think of Sister Anaya. I remember her encouraging us to sing at the hospital and how we found joy by spreading joy. I remember her stroking the hair of that sick woman. And I remember that I don’t need to be an angel to serve others. I can serve them as a Latter-day Saint.

I used to leave the house at 8:00 a.m. and return at midnight after working all day and going to class at night. During the little time my husband, Daniel, and I had together, we argued. Things were bad. We were on the verge of separating.
One Sunday evening after an argument, Daniel said, “Maybe we should get closer to God.” The next day, while Daniel was home watching our son, missionaries knocked on our door.
When the missionaries started visiting us, I disagreed with everything they taught. But after a few lessons, we began to feel something. We didn’t know what it was, but we described it as “magical,” a feeling of peace and harmony. It would linger even after the missionaries left. We realized that we needed that feeling more often in our home.
Inspired by the missionaries’ message about the importance of family, Daniel and I came closer together in our marriage. I had hoped that going to school would lead to a better position at my work. But we decided to focus on our family, spend more time together, and have more children. I quit school, quit my job, and went to work as Daniel’s secretary at his pest control business.
Less than three months after the missionaries’ first visit, we were baptized and confirmed. Our life changed dramatically. We began living the law of tithing. We began praying at home and at work with Daniel’s employees. We began serving in the Church. Daniel’s business grew, and he needed to hire more workers.
A year after our baptism, we went to the temple to be sealed. A few days after our sealing, I found out I was expecting.
Sundays aren’t easy for us. Daniel leaves early for high council meetings. I have to prepare our three children for church by myself. But we are able to share a lot of time together throughout the week. So even if we are apart at times on Sunday as we serve the Lord, we know that we are blessed.
We have gained a testimony that when we do our part, the Lord can help us, and blessings come. We have received a lot more than we had ever hoped for from our own plans. The Lord had better things in mind for us.