Gospel Story Finder

Seven-year-old Joseph was only sick for two weeks, but the terrible fever eventually led to four operations. The worst complication was an infection in the bone between the knee and ankle on Joseph’s left leg. The skin there swelled tight, and for over two weeks Joseph suffered terrible pain in his leg. Twelve-year-old Hyrum showed great love for his little brother. He sat beside Joseph almost day and night, pressing the swollen leg in his hands, trying to help Joseph endure the pain.

Twice the doctor attempted to drain the infection and reduce the swelling, but it didn’t work. Finally he told Joseph’s parents that the leg ought to be removed before the infection spread to the rest of Joseph’s body. But Lucy Mack Smith, Joseph’s mother, insisted that they try again to save the leg.

Dr. Nathan Smith, who knew more about this disease than any other doctor in the United States at that time, was one of the doctors who treated Joseph. He agreed to try one more time to cut out only the infection. Before he began to operate, he wanted to bind Joseph to the bed, and to give him some brandy to dull his senses. Joseph refused both helps. “No,” he claimed. “I will not touch one particle of liquor, neither will I be tied down; … I will have my father sit on the bed and hold me in his arms.”* He also wanted his mother to leave the room so that she wouldn’t have to see him suffer. The surgery was extremely painful. When Dr. Smith broke off the diseased part of the bone, Joseph screamed.

When the surgery was finally over, Joseph was sent to visit his Uncle Jesse Smith at a seaside town, Salem, Massachusetts, to help him recover. But though both his life and leg were spared, for three years he walked with crutches, and for the rest of his life—especially when he was tired—he walked with a slight limp.

As I was nearing the end of my initial enlistment contract with the US Army, I decided that I wanted to go to college. So, in the fall of 2005, I was admitted to BYU–Hawaii.

Transitioning from active duty in the military to attending college at a church-owned school was a welcoming experience for me. I was impressed by the goodness I felt from other students the same age as me. Their goodness inspired me to be good.

My roommate was my cousin, who was also a returned missionary. I saw him often on his knees in prayer, and he was very consistent in his daily studies of the Book of Mormon. We often talked about life, church, God, and girls. I could sense that he had a personal relationship with God, which I yearned for. I wanted to be like him. Even the friends he associated with were great people. They all aspired to be the best versions of themselves. I knew I was at a good place being here at BYU–Hawaii.

However, as much as I felt good about the direction my life was going, I was again reacquainted with a similar question that I had during my time in the military, "Will I always have this desire to do good and be good?"

My cousin attended the BYU–Hawaii devotional consistently. Although I found these devotional meetings boring at the time, I tagged along with my cousin because I had nothing better to do.

On January 26, 2006, I attended the devotional address by President Alan Jr. Walker. He was, at the time, the sales director for the Polynesian Cultural Center and the stake president for the Waipahu Hawaii Stake. President Walker spoke about the importance of developing a testimony in Jesus Christ to help us withstand the adversary's powers. He recounted the story of the people of King Benjamin in the Book of Mormon. They were the people that experienced a mighty change of heart after receiving a spiritual witness that the words of Christ that King Benjamin taught them were true.

President Walker then continued, "The conclusion of that verse of scripture used to bother me. Why? Because I had experienced a change of heart, I still found myself susceptible to temptation and even occasionally succumbing to it. No major sin, but sin nonetheless.
I would think to myself, What is wrong with me? How come I do not have a disposition to do good continually?"

Those two questions grabbed my attention. What was wrong with me? Unlike the people of King Benjamin, how come I do not have a disposition to do good continually?

President Walker knows the feeling. I was ready to soak in everything he had to say. President Walker then cited Brother Robinson's reflections about the people of King Benjamin and their change of heart:

"At that moment, filled with the Spirit and clearly seeing the two paths before them, the people of Benjamin lost all desire to follow the path of evil. I feel the same way when I feel the Spirit, but I do not always feel the Spirit...Therefore, we must recharge our spiritual batteries regularly".

Everything stood still at that moment. The noise around me seemed to fade as I began an internal dialogue with myself.

"That's it, Spencer! Your Spirit is like a rechargeable battery. The reason why you don't have that desire to do good continually is because you need to recharge that desire."

I knew a thing or two about rechargeable batteries from my time in the military. This analogy made so much sense.

Our desire to do good and be good has a shelf-life. If we want to do continually like the people of King Benjamin, we need to recharge our spiritual batteries. During my time in the military, going to church was when I recharged spiritually for the week. In contrast, being a student at BYUH and feeling the goodness and wholesomeness of people around me felt like I was charging my spiritual batteries on the go every day.

I walked out of that devotional message with a firm determination to do things that would help me maintain a desire to do good and be good.

In 1979, while serving as Sunday School general president, I was invited to attend a Regional Representatives seminar during which President Kimball gave an inspiring address about opening the doors of nations then closed to the Church, such as China. He challenged all present to study the Mandarin language so we could offer our professional skills to help the people of China.
To me, President Kimball’s challenge seemed like a prophetic mandate. So that very night I asked my late wife, Dantzel, if she would be willing to study Mandarin with me. She agreed, and we found a tutor to help us. Of course we didn’t learn to speak Mandarin very well, but we learned enough so that when I was invited the very next year (through a series of highly unexpected events) to go to China as a visiting professor to teach open-heart surgery, I was in a better position to accept the invitation.
Fast-forward five years to 1985, the year after I had been called to the Quorum of the Twelve. One day I received an urgent request to go to China to perform open-heart surgery on that nation’s famous opera star, regarded throughout China as a national hero. I explained that my full-time ecclesiastical responsibility prevented my coming, but the doctors in China pleaded with me to come at once to perform the life-saving operation.
I discussed the matter with my quorum president and the First Presidency. They felt impressed that, as a favor to the people of China, I should make the trip and perform the operation.
That I did. Gratefully, the operation was a success! Incidentally, that was the last open-heart operation I ever performed. It was in Jinan, China, on March 4, 1985.
Now fast-forward again, this time to October 2015. Wendy and I were invited to return to Shandong University School of Medicine in Jinan. We were amazed when I was warmly welcomed as “an old friend” of China and was reunited with surgeons I had taught 35 years earlier. A highlight of our visit was meeting with the son and grandson of that famous opera star. All of these amazing experiences were enabled for one reason: I heeded the counsel of a prophet to study Mandarin!

Also during a family home evening, Feleti thanked his dad and his cousin for putting up metal over the windows to protect them during a hurricane. At least once a year in Pangai, there are very strong winds. When this happens, the family prays together to be protected. In one hurricane, Feleti’s family’s fences were blown down and some banana trees were ruined, but no one in the family was harmed.

Jude comes from a family of ten children. Two of his siblings have passed on and he was able to submit their names via FamilySearch and take part in performing their proxy baptisms, as well as for many others, in the Preston England Temple on 16 January 2025. He relates his experience:
“I must say I was overwhelmed with excitement at the thought of visiting the temple and the excitement continued upon my arrival. Aside from the welcoming ambience, the inside was heavenly, with workers in completely white suits and a warm smile welcoming you into the temple. I felt a bit out of place with my coloured suit. But on getting into the baptistry, clothed in a completely white suit, I felt the presence of the Holy Ghost. I knew instantly: “This is truly a house of God. This is where I’ve always wanted to be.” I felt a greater peace like I’ve never felt before. It was like I was home again.
Performing my first baptism was an experience I would never forget in my entire life. I think I wasn’t too sure of myself or something, but as I went on, I felt this unusual boldness within and I carried on and didn’t feel like stopping one bit. I was a bit reluctant to leave. I believe that was the power of God working within, and not me.
To be honest, I’m lacking the right words to express my feelings and the miracle I received. It’s just amazing what one can do when you’ve got the Spirit of God within you. When you feel its presence it’s just wonderful. I’m already planning on going back to the temple for a week. I felt I didn’t get enough in just a day or few hours. And I can confidently say that God dwells in our hearts, just as in the temple.”

“Please, Heavenly Father,” Amy prayed as hard as she knew how, “bless Toby that he won’t die. I love him so much.”
Amy finished her prayer and rose from her knees. She tiptoed into the next room to say good-night to Toby, her cocker spaniel. He lay asleep on his blanket in the corner, breathing hard. Amy gently stroked his fur. Toby stirred and opened one eye partway. He tried to wag his tail, but even that effort seemed too much for him.
“Don’t worry, Toby,” Amy whispered. “You’re going to be all right now. I prayed to Heavenly Father to make you better.”
Amy left the ailing dog and went back to bed. Believing that everything would be all right, she was soon asleep.
As soon as Amy awakened the next morning, she hurried into the room where Toby slept to say good morning. But Toby didn’t move, even when she shook him. He was dead. Amy started crying, and Mom and Dad came to see why.
“We all knew that it would probably happen soon, honey,” her dad said as he put his arm around her and held her tight. “After all, Toby was pretty old, and the vet said that even with the medicine there wasn’t much chance that he could last through this illness.”
“But,” Amy whispered, “but …” It was all she could say. Her throat was too tight to let any more words through.
“It’s always hard to lose someone you love,” her mother said softly, stroking Amy’s long blond hair. “We’ll miss Toby, and no dog could ever take his place. But there are other little dogs who need a good home and lots of love. After a while we’ll find the one that’s just right for us.”
Amy scarcely heard her mother because her own thoughts were so loud in her head. Why? Why? WHY? she agonized. I prayed to Heavenly Father to make Toby well! How could He let him die?
Amy didn’t feel much like eating breakfast that morning. She pushed her cereal around in her bowl until it became mushy. Mom seemed to understand how Amy felt. “Why don’t you go out in the sunshine, honey? It’s the first day it hasn’t rained for weeks!”
Even though Amy didn’t want to play, she went outside and sat on the front porch. She just couldn’t understand why Heavenly Father had let Toby die. “I felt so good after I prayed, like He was promising me that everything would be all right. And now Toby is dead,” she murmured sadly.
She got up from the porch and walked around the house. Seeing her older brother Jonathan’s bicycle made her feel even worse. Amy had wanted a bicycle for her last birthday, but they lived on a steep hill and her mom and dad said no. “Your legs aren’t quite long enough yet,” Dad had said. “Maybe next year.”
Jonathan gets to do everything! Amy thought. I’ll bet I can reach those pedals.
The more she thought about it the more determined she became. “It’s not fair!” she suddenly said out loud. “I didn’t get a bike, and now Toby’s dead.” Almost before she knew what she was doing, she was taking Jonathan’s bike and wheeling it into the street. I’ll show everybody I’m big enough to ride a bike, she thought as she stretched her leg as high as she could to get it over the bar.
The bike wiggled and jiggled as Amy tried to balance on the seat. Finally she made it, and the bike began to roll downhill, slowly at first, but then faster and faster. “Wheeee!” Amy shouted as she raced down the hill. “I knew I could do it.”
Suddenly Amy saw a big chuckhole in the road, but she couldn’t turn quick enough to miss it. The front wheel lurched crazily when it went down into the hole, and Amy flew off onto the road. The bike careened into a tree a little farther down the hill. Amy lay very still.
“Amy! Amy!” Mom called frantically as she ran down the street. “Amy, are you all right?”
Amy stood up shakily. She wanted to cry. The whole side of her arm and her leg where her pants had ripped were badly scraped and bleeding. “Oh, Mom,” was all that Amy could say as she let her mother help her back up the street toward the house.
It took a long time to clean the gravel out of the wound. Amy winced at the pain but she held back her tears. She was trying to think.
Mom didn’t say anything until the scrapes were all patched up. Then she took Amy’s hand in her own and said, “You know, honey, when Dad and I decided not to get you a bicycle for your last birthday, we weren’t just being mean. We felt that you were still too little to ride one, and we did what was best for you. Sometimes you have to trust Dad and me.”
When Mom got up to put away the first-aid kit, Amy pulled her back down beside her. “Mom, I think … I think maybe that’s how it was with Toby.”
“I’m not sure I understand what you mean, dear.”
“Well, I asked Heavenly Father to make Toby well. And I never prayed so hard for anything in my life.”
“So when Toby was dead this morning, you figured that Heavenly Father had let you down. Is that it?”
“Yes, because after I prayed I felt so good—like everything was going to be OK. But maybe it wasn’t right for Toby to live. Maybe I prayed for the wrong thing.”
“Why don’t you think it was right for Toby to live?”
“Well, Toby was old and almost blind. I guess I wanted Heavenly Father to make him well so I could play with him again, not so Toby would be happy.”
Mom put her arms around Amy and gave her a squeeze. “I think you’re right, Amy.”
Later that day Mom asked, “Would you like to go to the pet store next Saturday to look at some puppies?”
“Oh, Mom,” Amy squealed, “let’s. Maybe we can find another Toby.”

When I was 12, I had pretty much the worst Christmas ever. I missed two weeks of school with strep and mono. When Christmas break came, I was still tired and sore. I barely had strength to get out of bed, and my brain felt so drained that I couldn’t even read a book.
Finally Christmas Day came, but I was so sick that I didn’t even want to get up to open gifts. My parents realized there must be something seriously wrong, so they took me to the hospital. There I learned that on top of everything else, I had type 1 diabetes.
My body felt weak, my mind was cloudy, and my emotions jumped from feeling bad for myself to frustration to not caring about anything. But after several confusing, miserable days, a large group of visitors came to see me—parents and siblings, grandparents from both sides, aunts and uncles and cousins.
There was a spirit in that room unlike anything I’d ever felt, a sure feeling of God’s love through the ministering angels he’d sent to comfort me. I knew then that I could cope with this trial. I learned that even when everything seems to be going wrong, even when all my expectations for the holidays were turned upside-down, one thing will always be right: I will always know how much I am loved. And that gives me strength to deal with whatever challenges life sends my way.
Alex H., Oregon, USA

I discovered awhile ago that it is possible. I was dating Steve at the time. We’d been out four or five times, and I’d enjoyed the time we’d spent together. Steve was the Young Adult president for his stake, a good student, a sports enthusiast (he’d been on his high school tennis team and spent each Saturday morning and every other free moment playing basketball), and an incurable mountain man. (He kept his sleeping bag and backpack locked up in his jeep lest the urge to head for the hills hit and he be caught unprepared.) By our fifth date I’d figured I knew him fairly well.
He picked me up that night, and we went to the movie Fiddler on the Roof. After the show, we dropped by a pie shop. As I took my first bite of the monstrous slice of banana cream pie in front of me, he startled me.
“You know,” he said, “I really don’t know you very well.”
He knew at least as much about me as I knew about him, but I was unable to respond immediately (banana pie, you know), so I just nodded my head up and down.
“I want to play a game.” (He was the first guy I’d dated to come right out and say he played games.) “Do you want to play?”
I swallowed, smiled, and said, “Yeah.”
“Okay. It might seem corny at first, but just give it a try.”
He explained the rules. He would ask three questions, and we would each take five minutes per question to respond. We would both answer each question before going on to the next. The object was to let the other person get to know the person behind the smile.
I took another bite of my pie as he began.
“If you had a full day to spend doing anything you wanted, what would you do?”
“You go first.” I pointed to my pie.
I’d never known he wanted to learn to skydive. Or how much he loved his nieces and nephews. (He would have spent the afternoon with them at the zoo.) I’d known he liked good food, but I had not known he was a great cook. (He’d said, “I’d just fix a simple breakfast: strawberry waffles and whipped cream, fried eggs, bacon, orange juice and oatmeal.” I decided that moment was an inappropriate time to bring up my lack of domesticity—I didn’t have the slightest idea how you went about washing clothes in an automatic washer or how to fry bacon.) He surprised and delighted me when he told me he was a photography buff; we set up a date to go shooting the following Saturday. I found myself starting to like this game more and more. (It had been months since I’d held a roll of Kodachrome tenderly in my hand.)
His next question threw me a little. “Heidi, what is one thing that you’re good at, and why do you enjoy doing it?” I didn’t like the idea of having to brag about myself, but I finally decided I was a fairly good tennis player. Anyway, I enjoyed playing the game. Two or three weeks later, I regretted my choice as we climbed back into his jeep after a big match: he beat me 6–0, 6–1, 6–0.
He asked his last question. “All right, question number three. If you had $100 to spend any way you pleased, how would you spend it?”
I can’t remember now how either of us said we’d spend the money, but I remember well the hour-long discussion that resulted. Steve revealed a side of himself that night I hadn’t known before. He had always appeared so confident and in control, as though there was never any question where his life was headed and how he’d get there. But the more he talked, the more I realized he wasn’t so different from me. He too struggled at times to know what he should do with his life.
Steve had been home from his mission nearly six months, and he was anxious to decide on a course of study that would suit him. He wanted to teach seminary, but was also considering getting an MBA or going to law school. He wondered if he would find the same fulfillment in the business world he would in teaching. (He loved to teach and was a natural at it—I had attended his Sunday School class the week before and had been amazed at how gifted he really was.)
I don’t know if he was any more certain which direction his life should take after that discussion than he was before, but we’ve talked since, and both of us agreed that that discussion was a turning point in our relationship. Though it took place years ago, that question date is still one of my most memorable. I was surprised at how much I learned about Steve that night, and I remember he said the same thing about me as he said goodnight. It established a firm foundation of trust and openness upon which we could further build our friendship.
Though I can’t promise these are foolproof ways to snare a husband or wife (Steve got married a year or so ago to someone else), I can promise they’re great ways to really get to know the person behind the smile!

I joined the Church when I was 17, and I was both the youngest in my family and the only member of the Church. I believed the gospel of Jesus Christ was true—I had prayed about it and felt so much joy. I wanted to live the gospel, but at the same time, I felt overwhelmingly lonely. I received harsh treatment from my friends and some members of my family for joining the Church. I felt like I was having to choose between my relationship with my loved ones and my relationship with the Lord. It felt impossible for me to convince them that I was following the right path.
One day, I remembered something the missionaries had taught me when I was learning about the gospel: the law of fasting.
They had invited me to pray and fast to ask Heavenly Father to soften the hearts of my parents so they would give their consent for me to be baptized. I followed their counsel and felt so much peace and assurance despite my circumstances. My father signed the permission document, which allowed me to be baptized, although my mother still didn’t approve.
As I pondered my family’s current lack of support, I remembered that miracle of peace I’d felt before I was baptized. I recalled that all things are possible to Heavenly Father (see Matthew 19:26) and that as I turn to Him in faith through fasting and prayer, He can make seemingly impossible things possible through faith in Christ.
As we learn in Helaman 3:35, “Nevertheless they did fast and pray oft, and did wax stronger and stronger in their humility, and firmer and firmer in the faith of Christ, unto the filling their souls with joy and consolation.”
I wanted to deepen my trust in Heavenly Father, fill my heart with joy, and do what I could to soften the hearts of those who didn’t support me. So I consistently fasted and prayed for relief from the loneliness I was facing.
Nothing changed immediately. I was told that I was causing challenges in our family because of my Church membership. I felt so alone. But I trusted that Heavenly Father was listening to my prayers and that my fasting would bring blessings. Eventually, I saw a miracle—my parents’ hearts gradually softened toward the gospel.
I also felt my faith in Heavenly Father and my Savior become empowered. My stronger faith helped me know how to respond to others when they were unkind and how to deepen my relationship with loved ones and with Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ.
After a lot of fasting and prayer, I received the answer to serve a mission. Miraculously, my parents ended up getting baptized before I left to serve, and I was also able to be sealed to them in the Manila Philippines Temple a few months before I finished my service.
Fasting continues to bring miracles into my life each fast Sunday. But I also fast when life is uncertain and I’m particularly in need of Christ’s peace.
As President Russell M. Nelson taught: “During times of deep distress … the most natural thing for us to do is to call upon our Heavenly Father and His Son—the Master Healer—to show forth Their marvelous power to bless the people of the earth.”
I can honestly testify that fasting is one amazing way to call upon Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. Fasting continues to change my life and faith. I hope you can see the miracles this sacrifice can bring to your life too.

An opportunity arose once to teach my son Hank how to make more empowered choices. One evening I pulled an audible and told him I was replacing our usual Little Caesars pizza with a healthier option of an English muffin topped with tomato sauce and fresh mozzarella.

He responded, “Well, I can choose for myself, and I decide not to taste your pizza.”

With some motherly teaching—or, as some would say, motherly persuasion—I said he could make that choice only after he took a bite of my alternate selection. And yes, he did end up liking my pizza.

Stan Chidester sits in the front room looking at walls covered with his younger brother’s paintings. There are impressionistic watercolors, dramatic abstracts, and intricately executed montages. He looks at the walls, then at his brother sitting calmly in his wheelchair, and says, “Well, he’s 23 and has been into art most of his life. The past few years he’s started to get good. Maybe by the time he’s 24 …” He purposely lets the rest of the sentence trail away.
Brad, the artist, listens to his brother’s humorous critique with a half-smile on his face. Obviously, they know each other very well.
Stan goes on, “I’m his worst critic.” But later the older brother reveals that he has known for a long time how talented his brother truly is. “I have one of the paintings Brad did a long time ago. I was looking at it the other day. I think it’s still my favorite.”
Brad Chidester of Sandy, Utah, has been confined to a wheelchair most of his life with muscular dystrophy. As a child he was the Utah state muscular dystrophy poster child. His artistic abilities were apparent from an early age. Like many little boys, he loved trucks. He was always doodling and vehicles with wheels were his favorite subjects.
His love of drawing has given him a chance to cheer others and has helped him gain some interesting friends as well. When Brad was 11, he was watching a car race on television. He was stunned to see a car crash and burn in the pits. One of the men severely injured was Derrick Walker, the manager of a racing team.
“I drew a race car and sent it to him in the hospital as a get-well card. After that, he sent me a thank-you letter. We’ve been friends ever since,” says Brad. That simple correspondence has blossomed into a special relationship. Since then, Walker and Roger Penske, another racing friend, have flown Brad and a guest to major races each year. Brad’s thoughtfulness as a young boy proved that caring and concern are not limited to the physically able.
In high school, one of Brad’s art teachers introduced him to watercolors. That turned out to be Brad’s medium. “I loved it and just stayed with it,” said Brad. “Then one of the secretaries bought one of my landscapes. That got me really excited. I saw I could do something that could earn a little money.”
Brad went on to be named the Sterling Scholar for Utah (a program for outstanding scholastic achievement) in visual arts. He studied graphic arts and began to have his work accepted for showing in galleries. Although he is still a struggling artist, the demand for his work is growing.
To keep track of ideas and things that interest him, Brad and his family take a camera wherever they go. He has someone take a picture of whatever catches his artistic eye. He has also expanded his style. For a long time, he drew realistically. Over the years, he has branched out. “I always thought anybody could do abstract art,” says Brad. “When you get into it, you realize how hard it is. Now it’s one of my favorite things to do.”
Brad is cared for and supported by his three older brothers and his father. His mother died two years ago. Although he appreciates all his family does for him, when asked what one thing he would change about his life, Brad says, “I’d like to be more independent.” Not an unusual sentiment for someone Brad’s age no matter what their physical condition. Another step Brad is taking for himself is preparing to go to the temple.
Although Brad is a talented artist, he suffers his share of rejection. “I’ve had a lot of rejection letters from galleries,” says Brad. “But you can’t let that bother you. You have to keep going.” It’s obvious that Brad has discovered the secret to developing one’s God-given talents. He says, “If you’re really into something, pursue it to the fullest extent.” For a young man whose physical limitations would give him plenty of excuses not to try, he has taken his own advice. He is a true artist.
Brad remembers his high school days and the things people did for him that helped and the things that hurt. Here are a few of Brad’s suggestions if you meet someone with a handicap.
“Some kids seemed afraid they would hurt my feelings, so they would just avoid me. I liked it when someone tried to get to know me.”
“Some people feel sorry for me and try too hard to be nice. I prefer it when they treat me like a regular person. Don’t be afraid; yet don’t go overboard.”
“It bothers me when kids are asking me questions and their parents shush them. Little kids are great.”
“The best way is when people talk with me. That’s the best way to learn how to act around someone with a handicap. Ask them.”

Since being baptised in 2016, I have always enjoyed being around missionaries, and I hoped I could be a missionary someday. Because of the mental health challenges I face, I thought that a proselytising mission would be out of reach; I would never realise my desire to serve like the missionaries who had been such a big part of my conversion.
So, I am grateful to Bishop Gerwin Rudloff for introducing me to service missions, and to Elder and Sister Bettridge, the service mission leaders, who let me know that this was something I could do.
Having the opportunity to serve a mission is incredible. I struggle with my mental health but having the opportunity to serve my Heavenly Father and Saviour while being at home means I am surrounded by support, from service mission leaders, my bishop, my stake president, members of my ward and my mother. Having them around me makes me confident that I can be a successful service missionary.
I chose to serve because I wanted to build my relationship with my Heavenly Father and my Saviour, and to take time to focus on who I am, and the plans God has for me. I have learned to take things one day at a time. Each day I ask myself, “What can I do today that will help someone?” I am truly blessed to be paving a way for future service missionaries. I want to demonstrate that we can serve even on days that might seem hard; I know this because I do it every day.

Even an unbelievable spring blizzard didn’t stop the modern-day pioneers of Kearns and Ogden (Utah) who found out firsthand what their ancestors went through.
No one expected as much snow as the two groups ran into in their April handcart and covered wagon treks. But it didn’t stop either group from experiencing doughy scones, burnt skirts, raw-potato stew, and square dancing in mud.
The Kearns group of 50 individuals, both youths and parents, pulled hand-carts more than 43 miles, with seminary youths averaging four miles per hour. Dressed in pioneer clothing, the group spent one night in barracks built in 1857.
They weren’t without their problems, however. The 14 handcarts that had been constructed for the event were often overpacked—wheels gave way and water had to be dumped. It meant everyone had to pitch in to help and the food that remained dry had to be pooled. Half of the group didn’t complete the trek because of the severe weather.
Having followed the Pony Express route to Saratoga, Utah, the trek ended with a swim in a heated outdoor pool—in the snow.

Once when Ryan was giving a talk at an elementary school, one student asked him how it feels to be handicapped. Ryan answered by asking, “Well, how does it feel to be human?” What Ryan couldn’t say in that particular situation was that the Church has really helped him. “I think a lot of disabled people get preoccupied thinking, ‘I can’t do this, and my life is just going to be a waste.’ Isn’t it 1 Samuel 16:7 that says the Lord looks not on the outer appearance, but on the heart? That’s rather important to me.” [1 Sam. 16:7]

As anticipated, October 26 was a successful Sabbath and the highlight of the proselyting venture. Joseph and Sidney first preached to a large congregation at the Nickersons’, then took 12 converts into the waters of baptism, including Brother Nickerson’s two adult sons, Moses and Eleazer. That evening they “held a meeting for confirmation. We broke bread, laid on hands for the gift of the Holy Spirit. Had a good meeting, the Spirit was given in great power to some and the rest had great peace. May God carry on his work in this place till all shall know him. Amen.”

One day my English teacher was telling us how she thought Clinton Central didn’t welcome new students and left others out. A week later I received the October 1987 New Era. As I was glancing through it, the story “Everyone Belongs” caught my eye. While I was reading, all I could think about was how much this school in the story sounded like my own. Since I am a class officer, I felt I could try to do something.
I showed the story to my English teacher, who is also my freshman class adviser. While the class was doing the assigned homework, she read the story. I couldn’t help but notice a tear running down her face. When she had finished reading she said she thought we as a school needed to do something to make everyone feel as if they belonged. She had me take the story to Mrs. Pearson, who is in charge of the student council and to Mr. Thompson, who is in charge of the Fellowship of Christian Athletes at Clinton Central.
I know this article is going to affect many people at my school, and I can already see the efforts being made to include others by those who have read it.

Ulisses:
When I was called to serve as bishop, I had to think if I would be able to fulfill my duties at home and with my calling. Emilia and I talked about it and we realized that we could do this together if we put our trust in God.
Serving my family has always spiritually uplifted me. Although we do not have as much alone time as a couple, we are close to each other spiritually. We are closer as a family. The whole time we have seen the hand of the Lord helping us. He has showed us miracle after miracle. We are truly blessed.

Just as God rejoices when we persevere, He is disappointed if we do not recognize that others are trying too. Our dear friend Thoba shared how she learned this lesson from her mother, Julia. Julia and Thoba were among the early black converts in South Africa. After the apartheid regime ended, black and white members of the Church were permitted to attend church together. For many, the equality of interaction between the races was new and challenging. One time, as Julia and Thoba attended church, they felt they were treated less than kindly by some white members. As they left, Thoba complained bitterly to her mother. Julia listened calmly until Thoba had vented her frustration. Then Julia said, “Oh, Thoba, the Church is like a big hospital, and we are all sick in our own way. We come to church to be helped.” Julia’s comment reflects a valuable insight. We must not only be tolerant while others work on their individual illnesses; we must also be kind, patient, supportive, and understanding. As God encourages us to keep on trying, He expects us to also allow others the space to do the same, at their own pace. The Atonement will come into our lives in even greater measure. We will then recognize that regardless of perceived differences, all of us are in need of the same infinite Atonement.

One night, my friends and I piled into my minivan to go out to eat. All of us had a wonderful time hanging out. After a few hours, it was time to head home. When I put the key in the ignition, a thought popped into my head: “Let John drive.”
I thought that was weird, because I never let anyone else drive my van, so I ignored it. I started the van. The thought came again. “Let John drive.” I decided to listen. I stopped the van and gave the keys to my friend John.
A few minutes later, we hit a huge patch of water. Water shot up the sides of the van. I grabbed my seat. The van started to hydroplane. I was terrified. My friends shouted, “Hit the brakes, John! Hit the brakes!”
If I’d been driving, I would’ve listened to them. But John knew what to do. Instead of slamming on the brakes and making us spin out of control, John coasted through the water until we hit dry ground again. I’m so grateful that I listened to the quiet prompting of the Holy Ghost. Because I did, we all made it home safely.
Chantele S., Utah, USA

Father plopped a stack of books on the table and announced, “Tonight for family home evening we are going to write our testimonies in a Book of Mormon. Practice first on a piece of paper. Then, using your best penmanship, write your testimony on the inside cover, and sign your name. We’ll glue one of your school pictures underneath it, and tomorrow I’ll give the books to the bishop to donate to the missionaries.”
“That’s a good idea,” said Mother. “Maybe what we write will spark somebody’s interest in the Church and help to convert them. Let’s put our address under the pictures, too, and maybe someone will write back to us.”
Tyler and Christi eagerly grabbed a piece of paper.
“I’m going to explain about the priesthood and how I was ordained a deacon,” Tyler said.
“I’m going to write about our family and how we can be together forever,” said Christi.
Kevin just sat and stared at his paper.
Soon everyone except Kevin was busily writing. Several minutes later Mother stopped and said, “What’s wrong, Kevin?”
“Nothing,” he mumbled.
“Can’t you decide what to say?” Father asked.
Kevin shook his head.
“Maybe you could write how the Church has a living prophet,” Mother suggested, “or how we read the Book of Mormon every day as a family and how that helps you to make right choices.”
“Yeah, I guess I could,” Kevin said. He stared at his paper some more. What could I say that would help anybody? he wondered. Who would ever believe what a seven-year-old had to say?
Kevin thought about his next birthday. It was four months away, and he would be baptized then. An idea began to form in his mind, and he started to write. Several times he wadded up his paper and threw it away, but he kept at it.
Everyone else had finished writing and was eating cookies when Kevin finally started copying his testimony on the inside cover of his Book of Mormon. When he finished, he reread it one last time. It said:
“My name is Kevin Richards. I am seven years old. Soon I will be eight. When I turn eight, I will be baptized by immersion as Jesus was. My father will baptize me and confirm me a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I believe that this is the true church of Christ. If you read this book and pray about it, Heavenly Father will tell you that the teachings in it are true. Then you can get baptized too. Please write and tell me how you feel when you read this book.
Sincerely,
Kevin Richards”
Satisfied, Kevin carefully glued his picture underneath it, wrote his address, and added his book to the stack.
“All finished?” Father asked.
“Yes,” answered Kevin. “Boy, that sure was hard!”
“Sometimes trying to express your feelings is hard,” agreed Father. “But sharing your testimony will not only help someone else learn about the Church. It will also help your testimony grow stronger.”
“Is that why I feel good now?” Kevin asked.
“I’m sure it is. And when someone gets your book and reads what you wrote, maybe he will get that good feeling too.”
Each day after school Kevin eagerly raced to the mailbox, hoping to find an answer from the person who received his Book of Mormon.
But it was Christi who squealed one day, “An answer! An answer! I got an answer!” And three days later both Father and Tyler got a letter.
“My letter came all the way from Mexico,” Tyler bragged.
Tears welled up in Kevin’s eyes. He crept upstairs to his bedroom and lay on his bed.
There was a knock on the door. “May I come in?” asked Mother. When Kevin choked out an OK, Mother went in and sat down beside him. She sat in silence for a few minutes, then said, “You’re really disappointed to not get an answer from somebody, aren’t you? Do you want to talk about it?”
Kevin hesitated, then sat up and wiped his tears away with the back of his hand. “What if the person who gets my book laughs at what I said? What if he thinks that I’m stupid? What if he thinks that a kid doesn’t know anything, and he decides not to read my book?”
Mother gently put her arms around Kevin. “No one would laugh. He’d know that you’re very sincere and that you care about him. And children can often touch people’s hearts in a way that grown-ups can’t.”
“Then why haven’t I gotten an answer?”
“I don’t know, but I’m sure that there is a good reason. Maybe the missionaries just haven’t found the right family to give your Book of Mormon to yet. And whether we like it or not, just because we bear our testimonies doesn’t mean that the people who receive them will accept them. No one has written to me yet, either, so let’s just hope that we’ll still get letters. Sometimes it just takes a while.”
That night when he went to bed, Kevin prayed, “Dear Heavenly Father, please help the missionaries to find the right person for my Book of Mormon. Bless him not to laugh at what I wrote. Bless him to read the Book of Mormon and get a testimony. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
Days melted into weeks. Finally it was Kevin’s baptismal day. Just before lunch, Christi came running into the house, yelling, “Kevin! Kevin! Look what the mailman just brought.”
Kevin took the envelope Christi was waving and quickly tore it open. It read,
“Dear Kevin Richards,
Please forgive that I take so long to write. My name is Tuilolo Tuiaaga. I live with my wife and four children in Pago Pago on Samoan island called Tutuila. One day your missionaries came. I was busy in my bakery and had no time to listen. But my wife listen and keep your book and read it.
Then bad time came to my family. My bakery burn down. Our sick baby got sicker. Doctors try hard, but poor baby Sina die.
My wife say God loves Sina. God loves us. She say He cares. I get very angry. I yell, ‘If He love us, why bakery burn? Why Sina die?’
One night I hurt bad inside. I not sleep. I sit in darkness. By chair was your book. I want to burn book. I pick it up. I see your picture. I read what you write. Then I read and read and read in book. Is hard to read in English for me, but I read till morning. I read again what you write. The Spirit tells me what I read is true. I believe. I wake my wife. We cry and pray. I pray that God forgive my anger. Peace comes to my soul.
Soon will be our family baptism on 30 August. We are very happy. I thank you for sending Book of Mormon.
Peace to you, my brother,
Tuilolo Tuiaaga”
That evening, on August 30, as Kevin came out of the waters of baptism, he whispered, “Peace to you, Tuilolo. Peace to you.”