Gospel Story Finder

Carrie felt the same tingly, happy feeling that came every year at Christmastime, but she also felt a little empty. Grandma and Grandpa were thousands of miles away on a mission in Paraguay. There were presents under the tree from them, but Mom had purchased them and printed “From Grandma and Grandpa” on the tags. It wasn’t the same. Carrie was happy that Grandma and Grandpa were serving Heavenly Father, but that didn’t take away the empty feeling.
Several weeks later, while Carrie was helping Mom pack away the last of the Christmas decorations, the mailman brought a letter. It was addressed to Carrie, and it was from Paraguay! In a second she had it open, and she and Mom snuggled on the sofa to read it:
Dear Little Carrie,
I thought about you a lot on Christmas Day. I imagined you and your mom and dad around the Christmas tree, opening presents and later eating turkey and pumpkin pie. Our Christmas in Paraguay was very different, and I thought you might like to hear about it.
We had decided to visit the Ugarte family for Christmas. They live 80 kilometers (50 miles) through the jungle, in a little village called Itakyry. There is a small chapel there, where we could spend the night. In the Ugarte family are a grandmother, a mother and father, and eleven children. Their house has only two rooms and two beds, so we couldn’t stay with them. We packed some small gifts in the back of the car and left early in the morning of the day before Christmas. Two young elders went with us.
In Itakyry, Sister Ugarte was very sad. It was the day before Christmas, and she had no presents to give her children. It took all their money and time just to provide the essential things that such a large family needed. Nothing was left for gifts or even a special treat for Christmas dinner.
All that morning she worked. She washed clothes in the stream and spread them on the bushes to dry. She tended the garden and cooked black beans and rice for their midday meal. After they ate, she rocked the baby and mended clothes. As she worked, she prayed, “Heavenly Father, please send our good friends, the missionaries, here for Christmas. I know it is a long way for them to come, but it would make this day special. Please, Heavenly Father.”
We didn’t know that she wanted us to come. The Spirit just told us that it would be good if we did. A bridge was washed away, so we had to walk the last few miles through the jungle. My goodness, how happy the Ugarte family was when they saw us coming through the trees!
That night we had a very special family home evening in the little wood chapel. The beautiful story of the birth of Christ was told, and testimonies were shared. Then for a long time we sat, watching the silent tropical stars and singing the sacred hymns of Christmas.
The Ugarte children didn’t understand when Grandpa tried to act like Santa Claus the next morning. They did enjoy the simple gifts we passed out, though. There was a small doll for each little girl, sweet-smelling soap for the older girls, and windup toys for the boys. Grandpa had to show the boys how to wind them up, because they had never seen toys like that before.
We missed our own dear grandchildren, but this Christmas in Paraguay was a very special one for us. The best gifts that we can give or receive at Christmastime are love and service.
I’m looking forward to hearing about your Christmas, Carrie. I hope that it was also filled with that special Christmas feeling and that you didn’t miss us too much.
Love,
Grandma and Grandpa
Carrie felt again the happy, tingly Christmas feeling—and all the emptiness was gone.

Hi, I’m Maryssa. And I have a question. About the gospel.
But it’s not the kind that can be answered with a quick appeal to the Topical Guide or even a chat with my institute teacher. It’s complex—beyond my spiritual understanding. This question has kept me up at night. It has made me ache inside. Really, it’s more a spiritual concern than an actual question. And it’s about my role as a woman in the Church.
As a woman, I’m always trying to better understand my place in God’s kingdom. For most of my life, I didn’t think about it much. But as I got older, I began to wonder about the differing roles of men and women in the Church. The more I thought about it, the more concerned I became about the imbalance I perceived. I knew that God is perfectly just and fair. But I couldn’t find a way to reconcile the differences I saw with my existing knowledge of His plan. It was like a puzzle piece that didn’t seem to fit.
So I began to search for answers. I studied the Creation and the Fall and pondered Eve’s choice in the garden. I contemplated my relationship with priesthood power and my future position in the family as a wife and mother. I attended the temple often, paying close attention and yearning for additional insight. But I often came away from these things with even more questions. I pleaded with God over and over for understanding. But my questions didn’t go away.
For months, they ate away at me. I knew that Satan wanted me to doubt my place as a daughter of God. And I knew I could find peace through Jesus Christ. So I continued to search for answers and pray for understanding.
One day, I was reading the Book of Mormon in the temple. I came across 1 Nephi 11:17: “I know that [God] loveth his children; nevertheless, I do not know the meaning of all things.”
It was such a simple verse, but it struck a chord in me. In my time of confusion, it was extremely validating to hear Nephi, one of my Book of Mormon heroes, admit that he didn’t know everything. I finally felt that it was OK if I didn’t understand everything about the gospel.
Nephi’s first declaration hit me even harder: “I know that [God] loveth his children.” To me, Nephi was saying, “I don’t know everything. But here’s what I do know: God loves us. And that’s enough for me.” I was reminded of what I knew all along: God loves all His children—His sons and His daughters alike. And the truth of His love is absolute. It’s the truth upon which everything else is founded. The truth that holds the universe together.
For the first time in a while, I felt peace. My questions still hadn’t been answered, but I didn’t feel lost anymore. I realized that God is in control. He doesn’t expect me to put my questions on the shelf and forget about them. But He does expect me to trust Him. In all of my truth-seeking, I have to remember who the source of all truth is. And I have to recognize that while I’m deliberating over a single piece of the puzzle, He holds the pieces I can’t see. He sees the big picture—the biggest picture. And someday I’ll see it too.
Since then I’ve kept searching for more insight into my questions. And answers come. In bits and fragments—but they come. I gain glimmers of understanding as I search the scriptures, as I “seek … out of the best books words of wisdom” (D&C 88:118), as I talk with people I trust, as I attend the temple, as I study the words of prophets and apostles, as I ponder and pray. Sometimes I still get discouraged. I still have bad days when I get overwhelmed by everything I don’t know. But when those doubts arise, I take a deep breath and a step back and remember what I do know. And that makes all the difference. Even the Savior “received not of the fulness at the first, but received grace for grace.” So, like Him, I will “continu[e] from grace to grace, until [I] receiv[e] a fulness” (D&C 93:12–13).
Maybe some of my questions won’t be answered for a long time. But Heavenly Father has promised that someday “the earth shall be full of the knowledge of the Lord, as the waters cover the sea” (Isaiah 11:9). Someday “all things shall be revealed unto the children of men” (2 Nephi 27:11) and “nothing shall be withheld” (D&C 121:28). Someday I will have all the pieces to the puzzle, and it will all make sense.
Until then, I choose to trust in God, no matter how big or how numerous my questions are. I choose to say, “There is goodness here, and I will not abandon it. I will stand by the truth I have, because truth is worth protecting.”
Sometimes the answer is simple. But sometimes, finding answers takes a journey. I won’t give up on my quest to learn and follow God’s truth. I have a long way to go, but I know that Heavenly Father is with me every step of the way.

The gospel message seemed familiar to her, and she continued to receive the missionaries when she moved from Helsinki to Kuopio. But when the missionaries told her that they intended to baptize her, she asked them to stop coming. “I was afraid of people’s opinions,” she explains. “In my professional friendships, belonging to a religious group was not considered acceptable. I didn’t want to be different.”
But the matter kept bothering her until she finally went to a Church meeting. Soon the missionaries were coming again. “When I stopped drinking coffee, I received a testimony. I knew that the Church was true, and I had to join it.”

The role of bishop holds special significance for Elder Stevenson. “When I was 12, my father was called as bishop,” he recalls. “The ward had many widows, and Dad would often take me along when he ministered to them. He would have me take care of the garbage cans, clean up something in the house, or get my friends to join me in raking leaves or shoveling snow. When we left, I always felt good inside. Visiting the widows helped me realize that part of what bishops do is minister to people one on one. The bishops of the Church are my heroes.”

This story took place in the USA.
“I can’t come over today,” Blair said. Her face felt hot from embarrassment.
Her friends stared at her. “But you said you would!” Sammy said.
“I know.” Blair stared down at her feet. “I’m not feeling very good. I’m sorry.”
“That’s what you said last time,” Jessica said.
Blair didn’t know what to say. She wished she could go to Sammy’s house. But her stomach really hurt today. She needed to go home and rest.
Blair had Crohn’s disease. It made her stomach ache, and it really hurt. Most days her stomach hurt at least a little. But some days were worse than others. Today was one of those days. She wished she could pick which days she hurt more. It seemed like her stomach hurt the most whenever she wanted to do something fun.
“Let’s just go,” Sammy said to Jessica.
When Blair got home, she took her medicine. Then she tried to sleep. But she hurt too much.
Mom and Dad came to check on her. Dad sat on her bed. “How are you feeling?”
“OK. The medicine helped a little,” Blair said.
“I’m sorry you couldn’t go to Sammy’s house,” Mom said.
Blair felt tears in her eyes. “It’s not fair! My friends don’t understand what it’s like.” Blair threw a pillow at the wall. “I just want to get better.”
Dad gave Blair a hug. “I know. Would you like a priesthood blessing?”
Blair nodded. Blessings usually helped her feel more peace.
Dad put his hands on Blair’s head and blessed her to rest and feel comfort. It was a nice blessing. It helped her remember that Heavenly Father loved her. But she still felt sad about her friends.
After the blessing, Mom and Dad gave Blair a kiss goodnight. They left so she could sleep.
Blair lay back down and closed her eyes. The blessing had helped, but she was still hurting.
She knelt by her bed to pray. At first it was like most of her prayers. She told Heavenly Father what she was grateful for and asked to feel better. But this time she kept going.
“Heavenly Father, I feel really sad. I miss being with my friends,” she said. “I feel lonely. No one understands how much I hurt each day. I miss what it was like before I was sick.”
The longer Blair prayed, the more she felt that Heavenly Father was listening to her prayer. She couldn’t hear or see Him, but she felt His love. She knew He cared about what she had to say. Blair didn’t want the feeling to end.
Blair prayed until she had told Heavenly Father everything she felt. Then a thought came to her mind. Blair’s friends might never know what it felt like to have Crohn’s disease, but Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ did. They knew how much she hurt and how lonely she felt. They would always be there for her.
Blair felt like she was getting the biggest hug. After she finished her prayer, she went to find her parents to tell them what happened.
“Did you have a nightmare?” Mom asked.
Blair smiled. “No. I’ve been praying.”
Mom looked surprised. “We said good night a while ago. Were you praying that whole time?”
Had it really been so long? Blair nodded. “It was like getting a big hug. Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ know how I feel. Because of Them, I don’t have to feel alone!”
Illustrations by Tammie Lyon

Rachel couldn’t decide. Should she take the music box? Or maybe her doll? Or … ? Her eyes full of tears, she fled from the bedroom to the kitchen. Mother was stirring a pot of stew.
Rachel slid into a kitchen chair and rested her elbows on the table. “Father says I can take something to America, but it must be very small so as not to take up space in the covered wagon.”
A ray of sunshine reached through the window and played on the sugar bowl on the table. Rachel gazed at the sparkle of sun on crystal.
“I’ll take the sugar bowl!” she exclaimed. “Every time I look at it, I’ll remember the sweetness of England.”
“But, dear, it’s glass. It’s sure to break,” Mother said.
“Please, Mother!”
They wrapped the bowl in a soft piece of cloth, put it in a small box, and tied a string around it. All the way to Liverpool on the train, Rachel hugged it to her.
At the boat dock, Rachel looked at the rusty old ship. “Oh, Father, it’s so rickety!”
“God travels with us,” Father said. “There’s nothing to fear.”
Storms followed them across the ocean. The ship creaked and shuddered. Rachel clutched the box to her chest. Whenever a wave sent the box flying from her arms, she dove after it. Then she tore at the string to check the precious sugar bowl.
“You’re wearing the string out,” Mother said as Rachel opened the box time after time.
When the ship finally reached New York, Rachel’s family boarded a train. Mother offered to carry the sugar bowl, but Rachel shook her head.
At last the train pulled into Omaha, Nebraska. Father filled a covered wagon with boxes of clothes and necessities. Bedding was piled on top of the boxes. A tent and Father’s tools were crammed inside. Pans and kettles jangled at the sides of the wagon. Father tucked Rachel’s box into a small space in the wagon. Before dawn, a bugle sounded, and the wagon train moved out.
Problems on the journey were never ending. People got sick. Oxen were often lame. Once from a wagon up ahead came the cry, “Axle down!” The wagons suddenly stopped, confused oxen knocking wagons helter-skelter in clouds of heavy dust.
“My sugar bowl!” Rachel cried. Trying to reach the wagon, Rachel stepped into a bed of cactus. Dozens of little barbs pierced her feet.
Mother used a needle to pick the cactus spines out of Rachel’s throbbing feet. Finally, Rachel found her little box and untied the string. The sugar bowl was safe.
Days turned into weeks and then months. The wagons rolled on. Some days Rachel parched in a dry, hot wind. Other days, great black clouds opened up, and sheets of rain whipped against her as she slogged through heavy, sticky mud.
Rachel held her breath at every river crossing. Sometimes the big wagons overturned, spilling their contents into the water. Crossing the rugged Rocky Mountains, wagons sometimes got too near the cliff and tumbled over. Rachel began to carry her box.
Finally, she looked down upon the Salt Lake Valley. Zion spread before her. She joined the others in shouts of joy mixed with tears.
In the valley, Father used his tools to build a small house. He made chairs, then a table.
Mother covered the table with a tablecloth brought from England. In the center Rachel placed her precious sugar bowl. She slid into a chair and rested her elbows on the table.
A sunbeam found its way through a window. Rachel gazed into the sparkle of sun on crystal. It wasn’t England Rachel thought about now. It was Zion. Rachel was home.

For example, a young woman describes how she stays on the covenant path: “I once had a classmate ask me for help. I didn’t think much of it, just gave her the help she needed. But afterward, the Spirit reminded me that by helping bear her burdens, I was keeping the covenants I made when I was baptized (see Mosiah 18:8–10). I am grateful for the opportunities Heavenly Father gives me every day to choose to walk the covenant path.”

One came in the October 1856 general conference as President Brigham Young announced to the congregation that handcart pioneers were still on the trail and late in the season. He declared: “Your faith, religion, and profession of religion, will never save one soul of you in the celestial kingdom of our God, unless you carry out just such principles as I am now teaching you. Go and bring in those people now on the plains, and attend strictly to those things which we call temporal, … otherwise your faith will be in vain.”2
We remember with grateful admiration the men who headed off to rescue those suffering Saints. But what did the sisters do?
“Sister [Lucy Meserve] Smith recorded … that after President Young’s exhortation, those in attendance took action. … Women ‘[removed] their petticoats [large underskirts that were part of the fashion of the day and that also provided warmth], stockings, and every thing they could spare, right there in the [old] Tabernacle, and piled [them] into the wagons to send to the Saints in the mountains.’”3
Several weeks later, President Brigham Young gathered the Saints again in the old Tabernacle as the rescuers and the handcart companies got closer to Salt Lake City. With great urgency, he pleaded with the Saints—especially the sisters—to nurse the sufferers and feed them and receive them, saying: “Some you will find with their feet frozen to their ankles; some are frozen to their knees and some have their hands frosted. … We want you to receive them as your own children, and to have the same feeling for them.”4
Lucy Meserve Smith also recorded:
“We did all we could, with the aid of the good brethren and sisters, to comfort the needy. … They got their hands and feet badly frosted. … We did not cease our exertions [un]til all were made comfortable. …
“I never took more satisfaction and, I might say, pleasure in any labor I ever performed in my life, such a unanimity of feeling prevailed. …
“What comes next for willing hands to do?”5

I felt like I was drowning.
I was recovering from sinus surgery and was experiencing more complications than I had expected.
I had a fever, I couldn’t breathe through my nose, I couldn’t get my nose to stop bleeding, I was extremely dizzy, and the pain from the pressure in my head was almost unbearable.
I started panicking from the discomfort. This surgery was a new addition to my list of the worst experiences I had ever had.
Tears rolled down my face as I laid miserably on my couch.
That’s when my sweet husband, Jeffrey, came to sit by me. He handed me a tissue, took my hand, and asked, “What do you need?”
“A blessing,” I immediately answered.
Throughout my life, I have sought for the miracles Heavenly Father can provide. As a child, I learned about miracle-filled stories like Moses parting the Red Sea or Nephi retrieving the brass plates or the Savior healing others from incurable ailments. I always believed that God could also give me miracles like these, no questions asked.
However, as I grow older, I tend to hyperfocus on and long for miracles like those in the scriptures. Miracles that are instantaneous, tangible, and massive.
Much to my chagrin sometimes, no matter how much I strive to keep my covenants and exercise faith, it seems these types of miracles are a rarity. When my expectations for life are unmet and I am running out of patience while waiting on the Lord, my once-blossoming faith in miracles starts to wither.
I was feeling this withering faith regarding expectations about life around the time of this surgery.
So, when Jeffrey laid his hands on my head to offer me a priesthood blessing, imagine my surprise when he said, “As our prophet has taught, ‘seek and expect miracles’1 in this healing process and in life.”
Tears filled my eyes when I heard those words. I was desperate to feel relief, and I had faith in priesthood blessings, so I was hoping that being told to “expect miracles” meant I would feel instantly better. But Heavenly Father wanted me to learn something more.
I wasn’t healed immediately after that blessing.
However, in the minutes following, I felt peace, despite my pain. I pondered the words I had heard and started to recognize miracles I had already experienced since surgery.
I had felt strength beyond my own sustaining me through days of discomfort. I believed in my heart that the Savior understood the pain I was in (see Alma 7:11:), which deepened my gratitude for Him.
Another miracle was God’s power of the priesthood, my ability to call on Him for help, and Jeffrey’s ability to exercise that priesthood.
I also realized I had witnessed miracles of light as family and friends had reached out with love. A few even traveled far distances just to bring me a loaf of bread, a book, or a handwritten note (three of my favorite things).
This got me thinking—what miracles do I miss every day when I am too fixated on the Red Sea–sized miracles I long for?
I’ve realized that instead of waiting for earth-shattering miracles, I can seek and especially expect the small and simple miracles He and Heavenly Father shower me with daily—which are actually the big miracles (see Alma 37:6).
Each day of recovery after that blessing, I made a note of small miracles I experienced, from eased pain to waning dizziness to gratitude for my Savior. This made such a difference in my healing process and in my everyday faith.
Although I may always face health (and other) challenges that make life more tedious at times, my testimony continues to be refined as I look and reach for the Savior’s steady, reassuring hand each day. I have felt a new sense of determination to keep believing in, seeking, and expecting miracles, both big and small, trusting in His and Heavenly Father’s timing and way.

“We knew quite early that Shawn would be good in basketball,” says Reiner. “I played ball with some men in the ward early mornings at the stake center. I asked Shawn if he would be interested in coming along. He went with me many mornings to the stake center and played with the adults when he was only eleven or twelve years old.”
Some time in his early teenage years, Shawn first beat his Dad in one-on-one basketball competition. “I don’t remember when it happened. When Dad would win, it would make me feel bad, so the next time, he’d let me beat him. I never really knew when I actually could beat him.”

Harm or accidents. I laughed again, remembering what I used to call them.
I was probably about three years old when I first became aware of all the people in my ward who prayed for “no harm or accidents to befall us as we go home.” To my three-year-old ears, however, it always sounded like “Harmer accidents.” Since my last name was Harmer, this was great! Public prayers immediately took on a new aspect of interest and importance for me.
In our own family prayers, of course, Dad had always asked that we be protected from Harmer accidents, which we children categorized as car crashes, fires, spankings, or other bad things. Amazing to me was that everyone prayed about Harmer accidents! In Sunday School, Primary, and sacrament meetings, someone always prayed that no Harmer accidents would happen on the way home. I always felt so important after these prayers. Because no one wanted my family to get hurt (I was sure it was because everyone liked us so much), they had a special part of the blessing just for us.
Even people I didn’t know prayed for me! I remember attending a session of general conference once and hearing a General Authority promise protection from Harmer accidents as we traveled home. Well, I just about floated right out of the Tabernacle.
As I look back, I can see that I had a lot of faith in prayers when I was a child. When I heard so many people using my name in the prayer, I was sure Heavenly Father must hear, too. When I prayed, I really talked to my Father in Heaven and asked him for personal care. A prayer was more to me than a religious norm that opened and closed a meeting. Asking for protection from Harmer accidents was more than an expected and often overused closing to a prayer. It came to stand for my faith in prayer and my belief that every prayer was original and sincere.
I was about eight when I saw “harm or accident” written out and for the first time realized my mistake. I can remember having a feeling of great disappointment. People weren’t really praying for me after all. Heavenly Father wasn’t looking out for me in particular. Asking for protection from harm or accidents was just something that sounded appropriate at the end of a prayer. The feeling of disappointment soon faded, however, along with my keen interest in prayer. In fact, the only time I even wondered about prayer anymore was when my mind wandered during one, or when I laughed about Harmer accidents as I had done tonight.

A young man returning from his mission shared his experience with faith. He acknowledged it as a miracle in his life. He said: “I was the first of six children born to my parents. My mother and father taught me when I was young the principles of the gospel. Faith was taught through the example of both my mother and father. When I was only 10 years old, my father, this great example of trusting the Lord, was killed in an accident. I was young and had many feelings to deal with that were new to me.” This young man said he realized that he had two choices available to him: “I could have become bitter towards the Lord and lost all that I now have, or I could trust the Lord. Because of the example of my parents, trust was the path I chose. Choosing faith has made all of the difference.”

In January 2021 I was visiting my Granny Cecilia’s grave. I walked past this older man and gave him a smile and said, “Hi”. He was visiting the grave of his wife of more than 60 years who had passed away in October 2020. I immediately felt to say, “You’ll see her again.” He immediately responded that he believed that too. I told him where I went to church. He said that he had attended a few times in another ward (Dundee 2nd) with his wife and young family—around 50 years previously. I was surprised how small the world felt.

We spoke at the freezing graveside for over an hour. I felt I couldn’t put into words the experience I had and how special it felt. It felt like a dream, and I even questioned if it had happened.

A couple of months later I was going on a drive on a Sunday afternoon. The main route was closed, the alternative leading me close to my Gran’s graveyard. So, I thought I would go up for a visit.

As I pulled into the cemetery, I saw a man getting into a car, so I sped up and parked right next to him. He got out and said, “Lydia McPhee!” We hugged and he told me that on the day we originally met, he thought he had met an angel—that’s what he was telling his friends and family. He had also questioned if the experience had really happened. On that day he had felt like life wasn’t worth living anymore; he wasn’t coping well with his wife’s death. But after seeing me, things started to change, and he had hope for the first time in years. While looking over the vista of Dundee, we spoke for over two hours in the sunshine.

Almost a year went by, and I hadn’t bumped into him, so I searched for him on Facebook and found him. Within an hour he had sent me a message. We arranged to meet the following Saturday. It was good to see him. We spoke for over four hours—time flew by. We said goodbye and agreed to keep in touch and to meet more often.

The next day I was at church. Sunday school had just finished when out of the corner of my eye I saw Mike. There he was in church! He told me that he had woken up that morning and felt he had to come. He said he tried ignoring the feeling but found himself getting his suit and shoes ready whilst telling himself he wasn’t going.

I introduced him to everyone that walked by; I could feel his excitement. When I went home that day, he called me and said that he was feeling uplifted, and that everything felt right for the first time in years. He said that he wanted to be taught by the missionaries.

Mike was baptised in January this year by my dad and has been confirmed a member and received the Aaronic Priesthood. My sister Rebekah and I were the witnesses.

I am so grateful to Heavenly Father for blessing me by being involved in helping Mike. Mike is now eagerly anticipating entering the temple to receive his ordinances and be sealed to his wife, family, and ancestors.

When a sister in our ward started coming to church again after six years, my mother told my brothers and sisters and me that we should be friends with the sister’s two children. Their dad had died just a year before, and they were still very sad. One of the children, Evelyn, was a little younger than I am.
Mama asked me, “Monahra, will you be Evelyn’s friend? Heavenly Father has asked you to be a member missionary. Be loving and friendly, and be sure that she is not left alone.”
I told Mama that I would, and since that day, I have tried to be a member missionary for Evelyn. Because I want to be a full-time missionary when I grow up, I am trying my best to be a missionary now.
Evelyn is a great friend, and she smiles a lot now. We play, go to Primary, and sing hymns together. Sometimes we have family home evening together at her house. I know that Heavenly Father is happy because I have tried to be a member missionary and a friend. I am grateful to have Evelyn as a friend.

One of the first converts in Ghana was Dr. Emmanuel Abu Kissi. For most of his life he had struggled to find spiritual fulfillment. “I had read the Bible several times and expected something more than what the churches were doing. I felt that the churches were empty, although Christianity wasn’t. I made up my mind that there must be something more than what they were teaching us, but I hadn’t found it yet.” After completing medical school, Dr. Kissi continued to study the Bible, desiring to find a church that would satisfy his idea of what one should be like.

Then he went to England on a medical scholarship. During his second year there, health problems forced his wife to quit her nursing job and remain at home for many months. He was surprised when his wife, Elizabeth, called one day to say that she was ready to return to work. She explained that she had met two young men who shared with her the word of God. During the discussion, Sister Kissi had asked them to give her a blessing. “They came and anointed her,” Dr. Kissi explains. “She said that in the presence of the anointing she felt something like an electrical movement in her, from head to toe. And when they finished, she was cured instantly.”

Dr. Kissi read the Book of Mormon, Jesus the Christ, and A Marvelous Work and a Wonder. He strongly identified with the Prophet Joseph Smith’s testimony. “I realized that Joseph Smith had had the same problem that I had. The First Vision was very good for me. I put myself in his place and found myself enjoying every bit of his experience. It wasn’t difficult for me to understand him.”

After their baptisms, the Kissis returned to Ghana, where Dr. Kissi served in the mission presidency. The Kissis also founded the Deseret Hospital in Accra. In 1992, when the first two stakes were created in Ghana, Brother Kissi was called as a regional representative.

A few days later the missionaries came to my uncle’s door. When I saw them I told them to go away. But one of them said, “We have a great message for you. A boy just like you saw your Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ.” I couldn’t resist because I had been praying and seeking Heavenly Father just a few days before. So I said, “You can have 10 minutes. Come in.”
The missionaries taught me the beautiful and sacred story of Joseph Smith. And I was touched. I really felt the power of the Spirit. The missionaries asked me to pray and ask Heavenly Father if their message was true, and then they taught me how to pray. I prayed that evening. Even now I remember exactly how I felt that day.
I asked the missionaries to come back almost every day after that. I believed what they taught me. I believed that Joseph Smith saw Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ in the Sacred Grove. But before I could be baptized, I needed to get permission from my mother. I called her and said, “Mother, I’ve found a wonderful church. I need to get your permission to join.”
She said, “No. I lost my husband; I don’t want to lose my son.” She was afraid that if I joined the Church I would leave her.
I said, “I’m not going anywhere.” And then she hung up.
The missionaries fasted and prayed for me, and I did too. I called her again and said, “Please don’t hang up on me until I’ve really explained it.” She suggested that I study more and take some more time to decide. But I felt strongly that now was the time I should be baptized.
Finally she told me, “Son, if you are going to quit right in the middle, don’t do it. But if you will stay with it all the way through, then you have my permission.” That caused me to always take my membership in the Church very seriously.

“What do you want to do today?” Camille asked as she ran inside with her friends Jasmine and Deryn.
“My cousin showed me the funniest video!” Jasmine said. “We should watch it.”
“Awesome!” Camille said as she hurried to tell Mom that her friends were here. I wonder if I should tell Mom we’re on the computer, Camille thought. But she was already on her way back to the family room.
By the time she got back, Jasmine had already logged on to her favorite online video site. Deryn and Camille crowded around the computer, and the girls giggled as they watched a puppy chase after a tennis ball. When the video ended, the screen filled with links for other videos.
“Click that one!” Deryn said, pointing to a music video. “I love that singer!”
As the video played, Camille started to feel uncomfortable. She didn’t feel very good about the words or the dancing. She had liked the dog video, but this wasn’t the kind of thing she wanted to watch.
“Let’s watch another one!” Deryn said, and Jasmine clicked another link.
Camille started to feel sick, but Deryn and Jasmine seemed to really like the videos—they were singing along and dancing—so she didn’t say anything while Jasmine and Deryn watched more and more videos.
When her friends went home, Camille wandered back to where Mom was working at her desk. “How are Jasmine and Deryn?” Mom asked.
“They’re good, but …” Camille paused.
Mom raised her eyebrows. “But what? Is something wrong?”
“We started watching videos online,” Camille said. “And at first they were OK, but then we started watching videos I didn’t feel good about. I just wanted to go play, but Jasmine and Deryn wanted to watch more. I didn’t know what to do.” She slumped down in a chair.
“I’m sorry that happened,” Mom said. “The Internet is good for lots of things, but sometimes just one click can take you somewhere you don’t want to be. We can also waste a lot of time without realizing it. What can we do to fix this for next time?” Mom asked.
Camille thought for a second, then said, “Watching a few videos is fine, but maybe after that I could come up with something else for us to do.”
“Great!” Mom said. “And if a video makes you uncomfortable, it’s important to say something. Never be afraid to stand up for yourself.”
“OK,” Camille said.
“That’s how you can do your part. But I can do my part too. How about we make a new family rule? Whenever your friends want to watch videos online, Dad or I have to log you on to the computer and be in the family room with you. That will help keep you and your friends safe. Can you agree to that?”
Camille nodded. “I think I know what to do next time.”
A few days later, Jasmine and Deryn came over after school again. “Hey, I found more music videos,” Deryn said. “We should watch them!”
Camille took a deep breath. “I don’t really like those videos,” she said. “But we can watch something else instead. I’ll go ask my mom to log us in.”
“I can just find them,” Jasmine said.
“No, Mom needs to,” Camille said, “She wants to make sure we watch good things online. And I do too.” She ran off to find Mom. After they’d watched a few videos, they could make smoothies or paint their nails. This way they could all have fun.

I was never involved in any fights in high school. I’m glad I wasn’t. I’m not very big, and I don’t find great joy in cuts and bruises.
But one time I got into a fight walking home from school that lasted a few weeks. My opponent was only 28 centimeters tall, but this was one of the toughest battles I’d ever fought. This battle was with a magazine.
My high school was within view of our front porch, so I walked to and from class every day. One afternoon, as I stepped across the thin ribbon of green lawn that divided the school’s sidewalk from the road, I noticed an open magazine by the curb. I couldn’t tell what it was at first; then I realized it was pornographic. I quickly lifted my eyes from the gutter and kept walking toward home.
This is how the battle began. Every day as I went to school, and every day as I came home, I had to face the temptation that lay in the gutter.
As I think about it now, I wonder why I didn’t just pick up the magazine and throw it away. But I didn’t even want to touch it. What if someone saw me with it? Or what if my dad saw it in our garbage can? Or what if I picked it up and saw more than I wanted to see?
Each day my mind could come up with some pretty good rationalizations: “It might be good for you to know what’s in there, so you’ll know what’s going on in today’s world,” or “You don’t want to be a sheltered, naive little boy, do you? What’s it going to hurt, anyway? Just repent later. Who’s going to know?”
One day in seminary, our teacher pointed out that Jesus answered each of his temptations with a scripture. That sounded like a good idea.
Looking through my scriptures, I found a verse about battling temptation: “Humble yourselves before the Lord, and call on his holy name, and watch and pray continually, that ye may not be tempted above that which ye can bear” (Alma 13:28).
Another helpful verse came from the New Testament: “There hath no temptation taken you but such as is common to man: but God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that ye are able; but will with the temptation also make a way to escape, that ye may be able to bear it” (1 Cor. 10:13).
This was a formula I could use: humble myself, watch and pray continually, and trust that God would help me find a way to escape the temptation. I began to cross the street in a different place, and these two verses of scripture helped me as the days passed with the magazine still sitting there in the gutter.
One afternoon, as I stepped off the curb, I noticed that the magazine was gone. I could tell by the appearance of the gutters that a street cleaner had recently passed by. A street cleaner—how appropriate, I thought.
God did make a way for me to escape, and together we won the fight. Curiosity, rationalization, and laziness are no match against courage, self-control, and mental toughness.
Victory in physical battles requires strength, muscles, and skill; but the fight is never tougher and the victory is never sweeter than in the battles with temptation. No, I never got into any fights in high school; but with some help from the scriptures, I defeated a 28-centimeter magazine.

When enemies of the Church saw this increase in temple activity, they renewed their efforts to drive the Mormons away. They obtained a warrant for the arrest of Brigham Young and eight other Apostles. On 23 December, officials went to the temple to arrest Brigham Young. Knowing they were coming, Brigham asked the Lord for guidance and protection so that he could “live to prove advantageous to the Saints.”

Soon afterward he noticed William Miller in the hall. He proposed a plan to Brother Miller, who fortunately was about the same height as President Young. Brother Miller put on President Young’s cloak and left the temple in his carriage. The waiting marshals thought he was Brigham Young and arrested him. He was taken to Carthage and held until someone who knew Brigham told them they had the wrong man. In the meantime, Brigham Young and the others had gone safely into hiding.

My name is Erika Z., and I live in the city of San Salvador in El Salvador, and I love to prepare names for temple ordinances.
The Relief Society sisters in my branch asked if I could learn to index names using the FamilySearch program. I wanted to help. My mother also wanted me to help, so we began learning how to index together.
When I first started, it took me a whole day to index nine names. But now after working hard and practicing, I can index 300 names in a day.
After finishing my homework, I spend time indexing names. For me, indexing is as fun as playing or watching TV. But I know that it has a greater purpose.
I know that Heavenly Father blessed me with the opportunity to help prepare names for temple ordinances for more than 2,000 Salvadorian ancestors in the spirit world.