Gospel Story Finder

The Mia Maids of the Bluffdale Eighth Ward in Bluffdale, Utah, decided to make a hands-on sign of their commitment to living virtuous lives. After some memorable lessons and discussions on the topic of virtue, each one of the girls traced her handprint on the flag and wrote inside it what they were committing to do to be virtuous. These were some of the promises printed on the flag:
“I promise to keep clean thoughts and to have friends that don’t promote bad things.”—Sierra Hirschi
“I promise to watch clean things so my thoughts will be clean.” —Erica Wilcox
“I promise to keep myself temple worthy and clean so someday I can be sealed for time and all eternity.”—Katelyn Pitchford
“I promise to keep the music I listen to clean.”—Karley Newbold
“I promise not to date until I am 16.”—McKayla Hill
The virtue flag now hangs in the bishop’s office so every time the girls are in his office they are reminded of their commitments.

Consider the story of the man who was returning home from a long trip abroad and found himself in an airport waiting for his connecting flight home. There was a delay, so he went and purchased a newspaper and some milk and cookies and sat down at a table to wait for his next flight. As he was reading his newspaper, he noticed some rustling at his table. From behind his paper, he noticed a neatly dressed young woman helping herself to his cookies.

He did not want to make a scene, so he leaned across and took a cookie himself. He went back to reading his paper thinking this was now settled. A minute passed when he heard more rustling. He was flabbergasted to see that she was eating another one of his cookies. So he stared her down and then took another cookie. The young lady didn't seem offended. She then took another one herself. He then grabbed another cookie and ate it and she did the same.

They traded off eating cookies until it came down to the last cookie. It shocked him to see that she took the last cookie and then right in front of him, she broke the cookie in half, passed half of the cookie to him and then ate the other half, got up and left. He sat in shocked disbelief and was still fuming when he heard over the loudspeaker that his flight was about to board. He took the newspaper and folded it up and shoved it into his bag. It was then that he noticed his bag of cookies. The whole time he had been eating her cookies.

Imagine his embarrassment. Imagine her wondering what this guy's problem was. Do we sometimes make a rash decision or judgment on someone, because we have inadequate information? How do we avoid making mistakes like this? We need to know who we are and where we are going and whose cookies we are eating.

One of Julie’s greatest challenges was with a young man she attended honors classes and ran cross-country and track with. “All through my three years of high school if I said anything religious he’d verbally assault me and cut me to shreds. It was ugly,” Julie says. “He’d get so angry and yell, ‘How can you possibly believe in a God? There is no way. You are wasting your effort and your life.’” Julie would respond, trembling with conviction, “I know God is there and loves me. Loving God brings me so much joy; there is no better way to be happy.” Sometimes he said crude and obscene things in front of their classmates. And often he laughed at her and goaded other students into doing the same. “But my testimony grew in a new way—from adversity,” exclaims Julie. “I did care about him. If he’d only open his heart to the Spirit, he’d know the truth,” she says.
At the end of Julie’s senior year, that young man wrote in her yearbook: “I know I’m really rotten to you. The truth is I respect you. Great things are in store for you.”
Julie felt he was begging to be challenged, wanting someone to prove there really was a God. His criticism forced others to analyze their feelings about God and turn to Julie with their questions.

At the same time I lost my faith in science, I began to lose my faith in mankind. I took a class in which beliefs, truths, ethics, and morals were discussed. Many students in the class believed that there was no such thing as absolute truth, a God, or morality. They did not believe in personal responsibility and accountability for their actions. These people symbolized the world to me, so I began to lose my faith in mankind when I lost my faith in them.
I realized that much of what I had been taught as fact was not. This changed my perspective on everything in my life. I no longer saw teachers as sources of truth. I began to question all that I had been taught and had believed in. I wanted everything to be proven to me.
I began to question whether an absolute truth could exist. Yet I knew that certain things must exist. My lack of ability to comprehend God caused me to question his existence. I would say to myself, “God exists and his laws are absolute.” Then I would quickly think of something else to avoid questioning God’s existence.
Yet as I learned more, I tried to understand and explain God. Although I disliked my thinking, I could not deny what I felt. I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to believe in that which I had always believed. My life was becoming depressing and insecure.
As the desire for stability and truth grew in my life, this great desire caused me to turn to the scriptures. It was then that I found a new meaning in Moroni 10:4 [Moro. 10:4]:
“And when ye shall receive these things, I would ask God, the eternal Father in the name of Christ, if these things are not true; and if ye shall ask with a sincere heart, with real intent, having faith in Christ, he will manifest the truth of it unto you, by the power of the Holy Ghost.”
These were words of hope and comfort to me. I began to read the Book of Mormon with a new purpose. The writings of the prophets found a new place in my heart. I read with the desire to learn and know.
I longed for the comfort, purpose, and perspective that the gospel had always given to my life. Each night before I read, I would pray with a great desire to know the truth. I felt that the scriptures were true, but I wanted to know. When I read, I often found scriptures that gave me inspiration on how to live my life better. Many tears were shed as I felt the power and truth of the Book of Mormon.
I began to regard prayer more seriously. My relationship with my Father in Heaven became much closer. I prayed to him with a new enthusiasm. I desired to know if he was there. I prayed for a remission of my sins. I prayed for forgiveness because of my lack of faith.
After reading the Book of Mormon, I knelt in prayer. I had a great desire to know of its truth. I hoped it was true, knowing what joy this would bring me. That night I prayed for hours desiring to know. The following nights I continued in my prayers and began to wonder if I would receive a witness.
My determination in waiting for a witness was a trial of my faith. After many days I came to the realization that I knew the Book of Mormon was true. It came not as a sign or a voice. I knew because in the center of my being I could not deny that it was true. I also knew that God existed and that he is my Heavenly Father, that Jesus Christ is the only begotten son of God.
This came to me, not as new knowledge, but as a peaceful remembrance of that which I already knew. I did not need a further witness. I had always known the truth. My pride in my own knowledge had caused me to forget my testimony.
With this new understanding my life received meaning and peace. Although I still question some of what I hear, I do it for my own good and a desire to learn the truth.

Sonia Patrick describes herself as a mouse with a tail on fire running through a dry field. On the streets of Barbados—where the culture swings to a Caribbean beat—she makes sure everyone at the bus stop hears her testimony.
“God comes first,” she said. “I carry Him with me everywhere I go.”
Sister Patrick is among a growing number of members in the Christ Church Branch who have felt the fire of temple and family history work. They have learned firsthand what Elder Richard G. Scott (1928–2015) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles taught: “Anywhere you are in the world, with prayer, faith, determination, diligence, and some sacrifice, you can make a powerful contribution.”
Sister Patrick joined the Church in 2008 after meeting the missionaries, who offered to wash her car for free. She is now known as the “bold one” in her branch on this sunny island in the West Indies.
“I grew up Christian,” she said. “I felt a spiritual pull to accept the missionaries’ offer to attend church.”
Tragedy struck three years after her baptism when her only son was killed. Suddenly, she said, “family history became very important to me.”
Opportunities for family history research and temple work were limited at the time on the island. Computers were scarce, and travel to the nearest temple was expensive and difficult.
Sister Patrick arranged for the proxy baptism of her son but remained patient over the next years. She stayed busy “doing what she was supposed to do” until a series of events came together to provide more help for her family history work.
Wheels were set in motion when Sister Jennilyn Stoffers arrived in 2022 to serve in the Barbados Bridgetown Mission office. Her call to Barbados came as a last-minute surprise. For months, she had made preparations with Church leaders to serve in Ireland, where the wet and cold of northern Europe were more conducive to her health. She had her bags packed for Ireland until she read her mission call, sending her the other direction—to the heat and humidity of Barbados.
Sister Stoffers replaced her warm wools with breezy cottons and soon arrived in Barbados. “There was a lot of adapting,” she said of the weather, the Bajan dialect, the culture, the food—just about everything.
“It was easy to fall in love with the members and their pure faith in God,” she said. “Everyone should experience a fast and testimony meeting in Barbados. Members know the scriptures. They are strong in their faith. They face persecution from family and society. Many are the only members of the Church in their families.”
Before long, the branch president asked Sister Stoffers to teach a class on temple preparation and family history work, a subject that fires her imagination and devotion.
A spark was struck among several members. They lingered after meetings, huddling around the branch computer, where Sister Stoffers helped them discover the richness of family history work.
Margaret Haynes was among the first to taste the spirit of the work.
“Imagine how my ancestors are reacting,” she said in reflection. “One day I will meet them. I have always felt a special feeling of being watched over by them. It brings me joy to unite my family. I feel their yearning to make covenants.”
Enthusiasm spread, and more members joined in the weekly gatherings.
“They get after it,” Sister Stoffers said. “If they need permission to perform an ordinance or need data like a birth date, they call a relative right then. There’s no waiting for a more convenient time.”
The laws and culture in the Caribbean make researching family records a challenge. “Yet,” said Sister Stoffers, “members of the branch deal with the frustrations and have now submitted more than 500 ordinances to the temple.” And more are coming.
As Church members unearthed their ancestral past, Sister Stoffers began wondering how they might experience the joy of serving in the temple on their ancestors’ behalf, given the expense of traveling to the Santo Domingo Dominican Republic Temple.
Considering her resources, she remembered the youth and adults in her home ward near Ogden, Utah, USA. With their enthusiasm to serve, could they fill the gap and help their brothers and sisters in Barbados?
Sister Stoffers’s home-ward bishop liked the plan and rallied the support of youth and adults. Soon, names from Barbados were being shared instantly on FamilySearch.
Now, as often as their schedule permits, a battalion of youth converge on the Ogden Utah Temple, where Bishop Rob Smout pulls from a stack of ordinance-ready printouts to divvy among the youth. The talkative youth grow whisper quiet as they contemplate the unusually spelled names of people with whom they have no connection but feel a spiritual kinship.
Participation has been widespread across the ward. On certain Saturdays, a family of five boys arrives early at the temple to enjoy the sunrise over the Wasatch mountains before performing baptisms.
“It’s become a ward quest,” said Bishop Smout. “It has united the ward. Many have become involved and take names routinely, including those who haven’t attended the temple in years. Others have come back into activity to participate.”
Many members in Barbados, meanwhile, have had unique experiences that motivate them to gather their families.
“As we work together, we feel a family connection,” Sister Stoffers said. “We feel a saintly joy. It is hard to describe, except that it seems to resonate in others beyond.”
This enthusiasm to discover ancestors has now spread beyond the branch and across the Caribbean to members on neighboring islands. Proselyting missionaries assist by meeting with members in their homes. To guide those in the far reaches of the mission, Sister Stoffers conducts virtual training sessions.
This effort on a small island in the Caribbean began with love and a desire to bless ancestors. Then came the means to learn how. The branch discovered that the work is spiritual, requiring what Elder Scott called “a monumental effort of cooperation on both sides of the veil, where help is given in both directions.” They proved that even in remote Barbados, a small number of devoted members can make a great contribution.

Another example: After I served as president of Brigham Young University for nine years, I was released. A few months later the governor of the state of Utah appointed me to a 10-year term on the supreme court of the state. I was then 48 years old. My wife June and I tried to plan the rest of our lives. We wanted to serve the full-time mission neither of us had been privileged to serve. We planned that I would serve 20 years on the state supreme court. Then, at the end of two 10-year terms, when I would be nearly 69 years old, I would retire from the supreme court and we would submit our missionary papers and serve a mission as a couple.
I had my 69th birthday two years ago and was vividly reminded of that important plan. If things had gone as we planned, I would have submitted papers to serve a mission with my wife June.
Four years after we made that plan I was called to the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles—something we never dreamed would happen. Realizing then that the Lord had different plans and different timing than we had assumed, I resigned as a justice of the supreme court. But this was not the end of the important differences. When I was 66, my wife June died of cancer. Two years later I married Kristen McMain, the eternal companion who now stands at my side.

Hugh Nibley was a graduate student at Berkeley during the Great Depression. He was able to finance his education there with some struggle and a translation job that fortuitously came his way. It is reported that for a time he was extremely discouraged. I quote Boyd Jay Petersen:
When he returned to his family’s home in Hollywood for the Christmas vacation at the end of 1936, his discouragement had become a full-blown depression, [and he said], “Those were desperate times.” He even began to doubt the truthfulness of the Church. “I thought there were certain flaws in the gospel,” says Hugh. “I was terribly bothered about this afterlife business and that sort of thing. I had no evidence for that whatever.” That all changed when Hugh came down with appendicitis and was taken to the hospital. When the doctor turned the ether on, Hugh swallowed his tongue and stopped breathing. While unconscious, Hugh experienced a life-after-life experience that reoriented his life. “I didn’t meet anything or anybody else, but I looked around, and not only was I in possession of all my faculties, but they were tremendous. I was light as a feather and ready to go.”
This experience had a profound influence on Hugh. Certainly education remained important to him throughout the rest of his life. However, this experience was a “higher” form of education that helped him recognize that the most important tests in this life are not administered in the classroom. This knowledge helped him not take life too seriously, [and he wrote], “We’re just dabbling around, playing around, being tested for our moral qualities, and above all the two things that we can be good at: we can forgive and we can repent.”

I came across a Personal Progress goal that motivated me to get started on my family tree. Whenever I went to my grandparents’ for lunch, they told me stories from their lives and from those of my other relatives. I began going to the family history center and gathering information about my family.
I remember when I found information about my great-great-grandmother. While pregnant, she came to Argentina on a ship. During the voyage, she buried her son at sea. She was just a story until I found her name in a record. I became even closer to my grandparents, and I came to know my ancestors as if I had lived with them. I found information about my ancestors, shared the glad tidings of eternal sealing, and helped bless many generations.
I continue to discover hidden treasures thanks to FamilySearch. I love what President Thomas S. Monson said: “I testify that when we do all we can to accomplish the work that is before us, the Lord will make available to us the sacred key needed to unlock the treasure which we so much seek.”1 Through our efforts, we will discover the keys to our eternal treasure, and one day we will be able to meet our ancestors in person.

After junior college, Kalin was heavily recruited. He made a recruiting trip to BYU. A couple of hours into the tour, Kalin used the phrase made famous by Brigham Young. “This is the right place.” He did have one condition before he would agree to come to BYU. He told the BYU coaches he wanted the chance to talk at firesides, to share his story with young people who might be helped by what he had to say. They smiled and said there would be no problem. He’d have more chances to speak than he would know what to do with.
Kalin’s interest in the choices young people are making with their lives has decided his major. He’s in social work. He intends to finish his degree and work with children. He’s so determined to make this goal that he is concentrating on finishing his degree and perhaps going on for a master’s.
Here’s the advice he has for kids: “Be your own person. Be a leader. The hardest thing is to stand up for yourself and what you believe in. Don’t get caught up in being a follower. If you have to, move on to another set of friends or be a loner for a while.”
As a running back on the BYU football team, Kalin’s athletic talents are evident. He’s hard to stop. But he has a very healthy attitude about sports in general. “Athletics is not the most important thing in the world. But they can be used as a positive tool in your life. For me, it’s been very positive.”
Football has given Kalin the opportunity to go to college. College led Kalin to the gospel. The gospel directed him to BYU, where he met and married his wife, Holly Hamilton, in the temple. The temple can lead them to an eternal family, a concept that is extremely meaningful to an only child who spent a lot of time alone.
If asked, Kalin will tell you about a favorite scripture. It’s the one in Alma about nourishing a seed (see Alma 32:28–43). Kalin says, “The seed was planted when I first started to turn my life around. Then the gospel came, and that’s when the seed was covered by the soil. When I read the scriptures, that’s when I nourished the seed, and it keeps growing as I gain more insight into the gospel. That’s how you progress.”
Sounds like a ball carrier who is on the ball.

The desire to help another, the quest for the lost sheep, may not always yield success at once. On occasion progress is slow—even indiscernible. Such was the experience of my longtime friend Gil Warner. He was serving as a newly called bishop when “Douglas,” a member of his ward, transgressed and was deprived of his Church membership. Father was saddened; Mother was totally devastated. Douglas soon thereafter moved from the state. The years hurried by, but Bishop Warner, now a member of a high council, never ceased to wonder what had become of Douglas.
In 1975, I attended the stake conference of the Parleys stake and held a priesthood leadership meeting early on the Sunday morning. I spoke of the Church discipline system and the need to labor earnestly and lovingly to rescue any who had strayed. Gil Warner asked to speak and then outlined the story of Douglas. He concluded with the question, “Who has the responsibility to work with Douglas and bring him back to Church membership?” Gil advised me later that my response to his question was direct and given without hesitation: “It is your responsibility, Gil, for you were his bishop, and he knew you cared.”
Unbeknownst to Gil Warner, Douglas’s mother had, the previous week, fasted and prayed that a man would be raised up to help save her son. Gil discovered this when he felt prompted to call her to report his determination to be of help.
Gil began his odyssey of redemption. Douglas was contacted by him. Old times, happy times, were remembered. Testimony was expressed, love was conveyed, and confidence instilled. The pace was excruciatingly slow. Discouragement frequently entered the scene; but, step by step, Douglas made headway. At long last prayers were answered, efforts rewarded, and victory attained. Douglas was approved for baptism.
The baptismal date was set, family members gathered, and former bishop Gil Warner flew to Seattle for the occasion. Can we appreciate the supreme joy felt by Bishop Warner as he, dressed in white, stood with Douglas in water waist deep and, raising his right arm to the square, repeated those sacred words, “Having been commissioned of Jesus Christ, I baptize you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost” (D&C 20:73).
He that was lost was found. A 26-year mission, marked by love and pursued with determination, had been successfully completed. Gil Warner said to me, “This was one of the greatest days of my life. I know the joy promised by the Lord when He declared, ‘And if it so be that you should labor all your days … and bring, save it be one soul unto me, how great shall be your joy with him in the kingdom of my Father!’” (D&C 18:15).
Were the Lord to say to Gil Warner today, as He said to Adam’s son long years ago, “Where is Douglas, thy brother?” Bishop Warner could reply, “I am my brother’s keeper, Lord. Behold Douglas, Thy son.”

Tui M., 12
When I perform, I don’t feel nervous. I feel a thrill. I’ve learned that even if I mess up, I can turn it into something beautiful. It’s almost like painting. When a painter makes a mistake, they might make it into something new. Sometimes I drop my fireknife, but I pick it back up and keep dancing.
Self-encouragement has helped me a lot with my fears. Instead of having thoughts like, “What if I mess up?” I try to have more thoughts like, “Well, what if I do good!”
It’s also become a routine for me to say a small prayer every time before a fireknife performance. Praying protects me and helps me have a good dance. When I pray, I feel confident that I’m going to do good.

Let me share with you an experience from my childhood. I was the third of four girls. My mother thought she would never have a little boy. Finally that little boy came, but he was born without life. As a four-year-old I know I didn't fully comprehend the pain my mother felt, but I had my own pain. I didn't get that new little baby brother to play with. I remember wanting to rectify my pain. I had a cute little cardboard paper doll family. I played with that little family and gave them experiences that were dream-like. One night I took the little baby paper doll from that family, wrapped him in his little blue paper bunting, and laid him on my pillow. As I prepared to go to sleep, I prayed to Heavenly Father that He would make that baby come alive during my sleep that night. Well, you know that dream did not come true.

Now I understand a little bit better from my own experience as a mother what my mother went through. I look back and admire her for being a woman of great faith. She worked through her grief and her doubts that she could ever have a baby boy. She looked fear in the face when she had thoughts that if she tried again that baby would die too. She didn't listen to the voices of the world telling her she had done enough or to the voice of the adversary telling her it was wrong to have another child. Struggling through all of that, she went forward with faith and prayed that the next baby would be a boy.

A loving Heavenly Father answered her prayer and the pain gave way to pure joy with the birth of my brother Malcolm. I was six years old when he was born. I held and played with him often. In fact, my mother went on to have three more baby boys! By the time the youngest brother was born, I was thirteen years old and experienced enough to be even more involved. I remember once even taking a turn in the middle of the night to help my mother get some rest.

Now I am a mother and a grandmother. I have four very big boys of my own, and also three beautiful daughters and eighteen grandchildren. Attaining this dream I have had to work through difficult experiences of my own, and I am so grateful for a mother who chose the Lord Jesus Christ and passed on that legacy of faith to me. Truly, the dreams of a little four-year-old girl have come true because of the mercy and grace of the Savior whose invitation to us all is: "Look unto me in every thought; doubt not, fear not."

Nearly 12 years ago, young friends Richard Moore, Mark Sandridge, and Graham McBride of the Memphis (Tennessee) Second Ward dressed in white as they prepared to make sacred covenants. The three boys were baptized by their fathers in the same baptismal service.
Last year, the three friends again dressed in white to make covenants, this time in the same endowment session of the St. Louis Missouri Temple. Their fathers were once again by their sides, and the session was officiated by Graham’s grandfather, a temple worker.
Although these three young men live many miles from each other now, they continue to dress in white as they baptize others while serving in the California Ventura, Japan Nagoya, and Honduras Tegucigalpa Missions.

I well remember one of my first semesters at the university. I was taking a physics course and had dutifully attended each session, taking copious notes. There were times I had actually picked up the text and read portions of it, and so I felt somewhat confident as I walked into class the day of my first midterm. That was a memorable experience for me, and one I am not likely to soon forget. I sat down at my desk with the exam and read through the questions on the first page, and then the following pages. I just sat there dazed for a few moments, unable to answer any question, when finally a brilliant thought occurred to me. I got up, walked to the back and checked the number on the door with the hope that I had accidentally walked into the wrong room. That hope quickly died as I immediately realized that I was indeed in the correct room, on the correct day, with the correct test in front of me. Sadly, as I returned to my seat with pencil in hand and an untouched answer sheet next to the test, I had to come to grips with the fact that there was hardly a question that evoked even an inkling of familiarity for me. So, I did the only thing I could, under the circumstances. I panicked and burst into tears, and in the end gave a much less than stellar performance on the exam.

My father was a professor at that same university, and he highly valued both education and hard work. He often used to tell us children, You can do anything in this world you want if you are willing to pay the price. And if you really want it, the price will be worth it. I really wanted to not fail physics, but it was clear that the price I would have to pay would be much more than I had given to my studies in high school. I moped and worried, got angry and then depressed. Finally, I paid the price meaning in this case, I put in the kind of hard work a college physics class demanded and, although definitely not the class star, I am happy to report that in the end I passed the course.

That was actually a critical point in my life as I had to acknowledge that no matter how smart or talented or attractive or humble or spiritual we are, there will always be things that create challenges for us. And actually, that seems to be an essential part of the Lord's plan for us that we are tried and tested in ways that lead to growth experiences. There are just a lot of things in life that are hard, and we can be defeated by them or we can make the decision to not give up, to hang in there and keep moving forward towards our goals.

Years ago, when I served as an Area Seventy in Tennessee, a new stake was created, which required the reorganization of a stake presidency. I was assigned to be the junior companion to Elder Christofferson of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. As you can imagine, I was thrilled!

Elder Christofferson and I approached that weekend in a Spirit of prayer and fasting. We had no agenda other than to seek revelation about who the Lord would have serve as the new stake president.

As is typical, we conducted a series of interviews on Saturday morning. Before we began the interviews, we had a companionship prayer. Then, we interviewed the stake presidency, the bishops and branch presidents, high councilors, and a few other men. These are very brief interviews, usually shorter than ten minutes. Each of the brethren we interviewed provided a brief biographical sheet with information that would help us be mindful of their individual circumstances.

In these interviews, we asked each priesthood leader to share a little information about himself and then asked him for the names of three brethren he would recommend for consideration as the new stake president. We often asked the brethren to explain why they recommended those individuals. We asked follow-up questions. We took notes on what they said, but more importantly on the impressions we received. The interviews lasted approximately three hours and could best be described as spiritual work.

When we completed the last interview and the door was shut, Elder Christofferson turned to me and said, “Well, Elder Meredith, what do you think?” As an Area Seventy, I always felt like that question was somewhat of a spiritual test. I asked Elder Christofferson, “How much of what I think do you want to know? Would you like five names, three names, or one name?” In his kind and gentle manner, Elder Christofferson said, “Let’s start with five names.”

I pulled out the biographical sheets of the five men that I thought should be given the greatest consideration and laid them on the table. He asked me thought-provoking questions about my impressions. He eventually said, “I also think the stake president is one of those five men. Now, if you were to narrow it down to three, who would be the three?”

I looked at the biographical sheets on the table, referred to some notes I had taken, gave it some thought, and pulled two of the sheets off the table. We talked about the three remaining men, each worthy and capable. He eventually asked, “If you were to put those three in order of your recommendation, what order would you have?”

I looked at the table and said, “Actually, the order that they are already in.” He looked at the sheets on the table and then asked with a smile, “Is that left to right or right to left?” I said, “Left to right.” He agreed . . . and I felt I passed the spiritual test. However, the real spiritual test was to determine if our thoughts and feelings were aligned with the Lord’s will. Elder Christofferson invited us to kneel to seek confirmation through prayer. The words are always different in these prayers, but the intent is always the same: to ask the Lord “if it be right.”

When we said “amen,” we both stayed on our knees and waited for a feeling of confirmation. In that case, as it usually does, it came as a peaceful feeling. Nothing grand or great, just small and simple . . . but clear. We knew who the Lord would have serve as the new stake president.

I would like to finish my thoughts with one of my favorite stories that has been handed down over many generations from an old and, by now, anonymous rabbi. This may be a rabbinical story, but it is a story that was lived by a Christian called Raoul Wallenberg.

This wise, old rabbi had his students gathered around him one day, and he asked them the following question: “How can you tell the moment at which the night begins to turn to day?”

His brightest student raised his hand and said, “Well, I think it is when you are walking through the village and it is dark and you are still far off, but you can tell the roof of your own home from that of your neighbor.”

The rabbi said, “No, that is not the way to tell when night begins to turn to day.”

A second student spoke up and said, “It is perhaps the moment when a man who is walking through the woods at twilight sees a large animal approaching him and he can tell whether it is a bull or a large dog.”

The rabbi shook his head no and gave this answer: “The moment when the night has begun to turn to day is the moment when you can look into the face of a stranger and you recognize that he is your brother.”

That is the meaning and message of Raoul Wallenberg’s life. In the midst of the darkest night the world had known, he looked into the faces of strangers who looked so different from himself and saw that they were his brothers and his sisters. In recognizing this, he brought light into the terrible darkness and hastened the coming of the dawn.

When Loniana Fifita wants to make changes in the world, she begins with recognising her passion, and being mindful of those around her, then starts using her skills and talents wisely.
Along the way, she seeks to align her plans with what God wants her to do, accomplishing what He has given her the talents and opportunities to do. And above all, she does it with love.
The United Nations Youth Day on 12 August had the theme, “Youth Engagement for Global Action”—seeking to highlight the ways in which the engagement of young people at all levels is enriching institutions and processes, and thereby enhancing youth opportunities for influence.
Loni’s talents and love have changed the world for many Tongan children who now have access to a public library—the first in the country.
Loniana Fifita is a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in Auckland, New Zealand. She was born in Ha’apai Tonga and moved to Auckland with her family when she was nine years old.
Loni has been engaged as a youth advocate since she was 15 years of age. She served as a youth representative on the Maungakiekie-T?maki local board, one of the 21 local boards of the Auckland Council.
While attending University of Auckland, Loni also served on the Auckland Council Youth Advisory panel, working alongside Auckland mayor at the time, Len Brown.
With her focus and passion on youth, she explained, “I wanted to make my area [Maungakiekie—T?maki] liveable . . . because that’s the whole purpose of council.”
Loni started looking at projects and preventions for many issues facing Pacific youth. She kept asking herself, “What can I do?”
Because of the rising number of social issues in the community, she joined a passionate group of community change makers in creating initiatives to help solve social issues concerning youth. One of the key initiatives was “Phenomenal Young Women” which focused on building young women’s well-being in all aspects of life.
Phenomenal Young Women creates “safe spaces for young women in T?maki to connect, grow well-being, feel confident to try new things, and have fun.”
These experiences, Loni’s connections within the local and city councils, and her ability to connect with people, prepared her to be the librarian at the local board’s library in T?maki. But when approached about taking that post, she hesitated.
Loni has always wanted to work as a humanitarian. She never thought she would be a librarian, and she didn’t go to the library when she was young.
“I felt like Heavenly Father just handed me opportunities, but I was trying to ignore it, because it was not part of me,” she said.
“You know how you have your own plan, and He gives you His plan?”
After praying and fasting about it, she decided to take the position.
“My dream was to be a humanitarian, and this was the door to it,” Loni reflected. “Working in the library, I always wanted to give back . . . but I didn’t see the [opportunity] until Cyclone Gita hit [Tonga].”
It was in the aftermath of Cyclone Gita, that Loni’s engagement on the national level began. Being a librarian and also Tongan, and well-known for her work in the T?maki community, she was asked to help establish the first public library in her beloved island nation of Tonga and serve as the first librarian.
With schools and educational resources destroyed, Loni worked tirelessly with founders, Kahoa and Brendon Corbett, as donations of thousands of books from over 50 Auckland Council libraries, as well as computers, and even bicycles, were brought to the renovated community fale (centre).
The library opened in October 2019, in the village of Kolovai, with plans for a second library underway in a nearby town.
Loni paid her own fare on her trips to Tonga, lived by herself, and donated her time and talents to establish the library. She started weekend English classes, children’s programs, computer and family history classes, job application skills classes, and even bicycle rentals.
She says, “Tongans now understand that a library is more than a building—it is a safe place for growth and development, connections, and learning for many different reasons.”
For Loni, the definition of humanitarian is: “Love for humanity, doing things for the well-being of the human being without price . . . no matter what it is . . . or where [people] are from, or what their circumstances are. And so, my drive for humanitarian projects is the pure love that service brings.”
“Being a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is one of the greatest things,” says Loni. “If I didn’t have it, I wouldn’t understand my Heavenly Father’s plan and my plan, to align [them] together and it will be bigger than what I think it could be.”
UN Youth Day is an opportunity to celebrate and reinforce the achievements of young people. Loniana Fifita’s accomplishments and achievements are great examples of what a young person can achieve with passion, talent, and lots of love.

I always thought that big brothers were supposed to know more than their little sisters. Whenever my sister, Cami, who’s only seven, wanted to know something, she came to me. Why, I taught her almost everything she knows! I showed her how to tie her shoes, how to ride her bike, how to swing a bat and throw a football, how to make a good hook shot, and how to climb the oak tree without falling out.
But there’s one thing that I didn’t teach Cami. I didn’t teach her about apples and things. I learned that from her.
I had always liked Brother Simmons’s apples. He’s our neighbor, and he has a fruit orchard behind our yard. He grows the biggest, best apples in the whole world. It doesn’t matter if they are green, just turning pink, or a deep-shining red—no one grows apples that taste as good as Brother Simmons’s.
All through the spring and summer I peeked through the knotholes in his high board fence to see how the apples were coming along. After the fluffy pink blossoms had fallen, I began to notice tiny green knobs scattered among the leaves. Soon the little knobs became hard green apples that seemed to grow bigger and bigger right while I watched them through the knotholes.
By the time August came, I was so hungry for apples that I could hardly stand it. Brother Simmons’s were bigger than my fist and blushing pink in spots, and I knew that I couldn’t peek through the knotholes with my mouth watering much longer.
I thought about climbing the fence, but I was afraid that Mom or Brother Simmons would see me. Then one afternoon I was exploring and found a loose board. I pushed on it and twisted until I could squeeze through the fence. Before I knew it, I was standing under one of Brother Simmons’s apple trees and looking into the branches at those crunchy, juicy apples.
Before I thought much about what I was doing, I began picking apples and stuffing them inside my shirt. After I had picked seven of the biggest apples I could find, I sneaked back to the loose board and squeezed through the fence. I had just bitten into an apple, when I heard a voice call, “Hey, Joe, where’d you get the apple?”
I was so startled that I jumped back and crashed into the fence, and all the apples dribbled out of my shirt onto the ground by my feet. I stood there with my heart drumming in my throat, my eyes wide, and my mouth open.
“I didn’t mean to scare you, Joe,” Cami whispered, pushing out of a little hideout that she had in the bushes.
I glared at her, looked around to see if we were alone, then growled, “You didn’t scare me.” I bent over and started snatching up the fallen apples.
“Where’d you get the apples, Joe?” Cami asked again, making it plural this time. “Can I have one?”
I eyed Cami carefully and said, “Well, maybe one.” I held the biggest one out to her.
She grabbed it and took a huge bite, closed her eyes ecstatically, and smiled while the apple juice dribbled out the corners of her mouth and trickled down her chin. “Did Brother Simmons give them to you?” she asked, taking another bite.
I glanced over my shoulder toward the house to see if Mom was watching. “Promise not to tell?” I asked.
“Promise not to tell what?” she asked.
“Promise not to tell a secret about the apples? If you promise not to tell, I’ll give you as many apples as you want.”
Cami nodded. “I promise.”
I licked my lips, knowing that I was tricking Cami. “I picked them from Brother Simmons’s tree,” I admitted, sitting down and biting into the apple I had already started eating. I tried not to look over at her.
“Did he just give them to you?” she asked, crunching into her apple again.
I shook my head and concentrated on my own apple.
Cami stopped chewing, swallowed, and stared at me. “Well, how’d you get them, Joe?”
“There’s a loose board in the fence. I just squeezed through and got some.”
Cami was quiet for a long time. “Isn’t that stealing?” she whispered after a while.
I finished eating the last few bites around the core and threw it into the bushes where no one would find it. “Oh, Brother Simmons has lots of apples. He won’t miss these. I only took seven. He has thousands.”
“But, Joe, those thousands of apples are all his.”
“They probably would have just fallen on the ground and rotted.”
“But they were still his,” she insisted, “good or rotten.”
“Oh, he won’t care,” I argued. “He’ll probably give us some pretty soon like he always does. We just won’t take as many then, and that will make up for taking some now.”
When Cami didn’t argue, I began polishing another apple on my pants. Finally, I looked over at her. She was just holding her half-eaten apple in her lap and staring at it as it began to turn brown.
“Isn’t it any good?” I asked.
She shrugged her shoulders. “It was,” she mumbled, “until I found out how you got it. Then it kind of went sour.”
“Well, you can’t waste it,” I told her. But I knew how she felt, because my apple had been pretty sour too. It was the first apple that I’d eaten from Brother Simmons’s orchard that hadn’t been the best in the whole world.
Cami looked over at me. “Are you going to eat all of them?” she asked, pointing at the other five apples.
I gulped. “Well, I’m not very hungry now,” I mumbled.
“Then what do we do? If we don’t eat them, they’ll just turn rotten.”
I chewed on my tongue for a while, waiting for an idea. “I know,” I finally said. “We’ll throw them back over the fence. Brother Simmons will never know. He’ll just think that they fell off his tree.”
I tossed the apples over the fence and said, “Let’s go ride our bikes, Cami. I’ll take you down to the park and push you in the swing.”
She shook her head. “I don’t feel like riding bikes or swinging. I feel a little sick.”
“It’s probably the green apple,” I explained, picking it up from her lap and tossing it into the bushes with my apple core. “Green apples can do that to you.”
Cami nodded her head but didn’t say anything.
That night as I went to turn the light off and climb into bed, my bedroom door opened, and Cami tiptoed in. I could tell that she had been crying a little.
“What’s the matter?” I asked.
“I want to say my prayers,” she mumbled. “I keep thinking about the apples, and I can’t pray.”
For a long time I just sat on my bed, staring at Cami. “Are you going to tell on me?” I finally asked.
“I promised,” she cried. “But we did wrong, Joe, and I don’t think I can pray again until we do the right thing.”
“Well,” I growled, “you don’t have anything to worry about. I’m the one who stole the apples.”
“But I ate one. How can I ask Heavenly Father to help me do the right thing when I’ve already done the wrong thing without fixing things up?”
Well, that was about the hardest question that anybody had ever asked me. Being the big brother and all, I knew the answers to a lot of questions, but I sure didn’t have a good answer for Cami that night.
“I’ll think of something,” I said.
“We have to tell Brother Simmons what we did,” Cami declared, “and pay him back from our allowances.”
I could give up some of my allowance, but I just couldn’t tell Brother Simmons that I’d stolen his apples. I would do anything but that. I pointed a finger at Cami and warned, “Cami, you promised not to tell. You promised!”
Cami just stood there. Then two big tears sprouted in the corners of her eyes. She blinked, and they tumbled down her cheeks onto her nightgown. “I promised that I wouldn’t tell, Joe, but you have to help me.”
I bit down on my lip and clenched my fists. “I know,” I said finally. “Tomorrow I’ll go offer to pull all the weeds along Brother Simmons’s ditch bank. That will more than pay for those apples.”
Cami grinned. “That’s a good idea, Joe, and I can help too. We’ll tell Brother Simmons that we’re working to pay for the apples we stole.”
“Cami,” I said sternly, “we don’t have to tell him anything. We’ll just work for him. That will pay for everything. He doesn’t have to know that we stole the apples and that we’re working to pay for them.”
The grin on Cami’s face melted into a sad frown. “But I don’t think that’s honest, at least not all-the-way honest. My Primary teacher told us that if we’re going to be honest, we have to be honest all the way.”
I knew that Cami was right, but I was afraid to tell Brother Simmons what I’d done. “I’ll figure something out,” I mumbled. “You go back to bed. We can’t do anything tonight, but I’ll work something out.” I licked my lips. “I promise.”
Cami nodded her head and asked if she could say her prayers by my bed that night. When I said that she could, she dropped to her knees and prayed that she was sorry for stealing but that she’d fix everything up the next day, because her big brother had promised to help her, and he knew everything.
Well, I didn’t get much sleep that night. I kept tossing and turning and kicking my covers off and punching my pillow and thinking of green apples, Brother Simmons, and Cami.
After breakfast the next morning I took a deep breath and told Cami, “I’m going over to Brother Simmons’s. I’m going to tell him what I did, and I’m going to work for him to pay for the apples.”
“I’ll come with you.”
I shook my head. “I stole the apples, so I’m the one who has to pay for them.”
I started around the block to Brother Simmons’s place. My mouth was dry, my heart was thumping in my chest, my hands were sticky with sweat, and my breath came in short, fast bursts. The closer I got to Brother Simmons’s place, the heavier my feet became.
Just as I was about to stop, turn around, and forget the whole thing, Cami slipped her hand into mine and squeezed. “I’m coming with you, Joe,” she insisted. “I helped eat the apples, so I have to work for Brother Simmons too.”
I never knew that a little sister could give a big brother so much courage, but with Cami marching bravely beside me, I knew that I could do about anything.
I don’t even remember talking much to Brother Simmons. He was out trimming his hedge, and we just went up to him, told him what we had done, and promised to pull the weeds along the ditch bank to pay for the stolen apples. He said that we didn’t have to and that he was proud of us for being honest. But Cami said that the only way she could feel good enough to say her prayers that night was to pull the weeds and pay for the apples.
Cami and I pulled weeds all morning. It was hard work. Flies buzzed around our heads, the hot sun made the sweat drip off our noses, and by the time we were finished, we had dirt in our shoes, stickers in our socks, burrs in our jeans, and little blisters on our hands. But we sure felt good inside!
As I walked home holding Cami’s hand, I thought about Brother Simmons’s apples. I used to think that they were the best-tasting things in the whole world. But they didn’t taste nearly as good as I felt that day, knowing that I had been all-the-way honest. I smiled and squeezed Cami’s hand because that was the best lesson that I had ever learned. And I’d learned it from my little sister!

The wind wheeled through the empty lot in great gusts, pushing down the knee-high grass like a huge, flat hand. Overhead, the sky shone a vivid blue as it opened into endless space.
Geoff came running through the field, folding back the long green blades with his body. Held above his head was the kite, its knotted tail snapping at his back. In his other hand, wrapped around a stick, was a very large ball of string.
Out of the midst of this green carpet rose a grassless hill that was just round enough on top to hold one boy Geoff’s size.
“So you’re going to fly the world’s highest kite?” The words Dad had spoken earlier that day came back to Geoff now.
“Yep.” Geoff had continued to wrap the twine around the stick. If he held both ends of the stick loosely in his hands while his kite was airborne, the string would spin off freely, carrying the kite higher and higher.
Dad had sat down beside Geoff on the back porch. “Sure is a great day for flying a kite. How high do you suppose you’ll get it?”
“Oh, I figure about a hundred miles high.”
“You sure that’s high enough?” Dad had asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, it seems to me that if you’re going to try to do something as important as flying the world’s highest kite, you should take the time to do some research and planning.”
“It doesn’t take planning to fly a kite,” Geoff had responded.
Dad had put his arm around Geoff’s shoulders and said, “But you’re not flying just a regular kite. Yours is to be the highest-flying kite in the whole world! Doesn’t it make sense to check how high other kites have flown? Then you’d know how long your string has to be for your kite to fly the highest. And wouldn’t it be worth your time to find out how hard the wind is blowing so that you’d know how strong your string has to be? There are other things you probably need to know, too, if you’re going to fly the highest kite.”
“I guess so, Dad, but this kite’s ready to go.”
Now the wind was beating back Geoff’s hair and clothes. The kite’s tail began to split the air that tugged at the kite itself, and Geoff gave the kite up to its hunter.
For a moment the kite hung suspended just above the grass. Then the wind bit into it, and it rose shakily higher.
As he played out the string in his hands, Geoff watched the kite shrink into the sky. The tail was now waving lazily from side to side. Geoff moved his hands to the left; the kite bowed to its right. He pulled right; it went to the left. String zipped off the spool as the kite climbed ever higher!
Geoff thought again of his dad’s advice. He was sure his dad had meant well, but a kite was just something you put together with the supple limbs of a eucalyptus tree, some giant-size tissue paper, and a long tail of tied-together strips from one of Mom’s old sheets. You didn’t have to go to all the trouble Dad was talking about …
Geoff had to squint now to see the kite. It was a small triangular speck against the blue. The fat ball of string had become thin.
Suddenly Geoff felt the string go limp. Then he saw about fifty feet of limp twine drifting listlessly to the ground. He peered at the triangular thing way up in the sky. At first it didn’t appear to be falling, but as he watched it, it began to twist and zigzag toward the earth. The tail wiggled every which way, like a drowning swimmer clutching the water.
In a flash, Geoff was down the side of the hill and running as fast as he could through the tall grass toward home.
Dad was already waiting for him in the pickup. “I saw it go and thought you might like some help in retrieving it.”
Geoff jumped into the cab, and the truck sped down the road, leaving a billowing cloud of dust behind them.
“There it is!” Geoff’s finger stabbed at a place in the sky about a quarter mile away from where they were.
“Looks like it’s over by Hansen’s Pond!” Dad said. The side road to Hansen’s Pond suddenly appeared out of the field, and Dad took the corner with tires screeching.
Geoff stuck his head out the window to get a better view of the falling kite. It was swiftly approaching the ground now and would be crashing any minute.
Dad pulled the truck to a quick stop. “It’s out of the upper airstream now, so it’s going to fall pretty straight. Let’s go!”
The field around Hansen’s Pond had lots of small trees and shrubs, making it difficult for Geoff and Dad to spot the kite.
“I can’t see it anymore!” Geoff groaned.
“I think I know where it’s going to fall. Just follow me.”
A dozen feet later Dad stopped and pointed to the ground. The end of the broken string lay at his feet. “If we follow the string, we’ll find it.”
Geoff picked up the string and began to wrap it around his hand. The twine led along a trail of tangled underbrush, around the base of some gnarled tree trunks, and through a dry creek bed. Finally, rounding the edge of a scrub oak, Geoff saw the kite hanging in the limbs of a small tree that grew half in, half out of Hansen’s Pond.
With Dad’s help, Geoff retrieved the kite. On the way home he examined it closely. The branch he’d used as a crosspiece was split, and there was a six-inch-long tear in the tissue paper. It was obvious that he could never use this kite again. He looked at his dad. “Since I have to build a new kite anyway, I think I’ll do some research first—and use stronger string.”

Following up on a member referral, my missionary companion and I visited the home of a young mother. We knocked at her front door a number of times before she opened it and welcomed us inside. We explained who we were and told her that a neighbor had referred us to her. She accepted our introduction and settled down in front of us, ready to hear the first missionary discussion.
The woman’s ten-year-old daughter, who was sitting in the room with us, didn’t make the slightest effort to turn and look at us. Instead, she turned up the volume of the television set. Her mother seemed to be following the discussion very intently and did not seem to notice the noise. So my companion continued presenting the discussion.
A few minutes later, the girl again increased the volume. The sound was now so loud that we couldn’t hear the mother clearly. Still, she did nothing to remedy the situation, but continued showing the same interest in our message. I began to feel quite annoyed by the girl’s behavior and her mother’s lack of action. I felt even more irritated when I realized that the daughter wasn’t even watching the television—she was drawing on some paper! I tried to appear calm on the outside, all the while thinking, “What a brat! And why doesn’t her mother say something to her!”
My thoughts were far from the discussion when the girl left the room, leaving the television set turned on. How infuriating!
But when she came back a little later, I saw her face for the first time and realized that she had Down’s syndrome, a condition causing mental retardation. I looked at the young mother, who was fully concentrating on my companion’s message. “What a considerate mother!” I thought. “Perhaps she doesn’t want to say anything to her daughter because of her condition. Or perhaps she doesn’t want to interrupt us.”
Humbled, I presented the second part of the missionary discussion. Then we offered a prayer, set our next appointment date, and visited informally with the woman for a while. As we talked, we were amazed to learn that she was deaf and that she had understood our presentation by reading our lips.
As we left her home, I felt very sorry that I had misjudged both mother and daughter. Neither had been aware of how the television had distracted us.
Even though I had not spoken my feelings, I had not controlled by thoughts. My judgment had been based on little or no understanding of the situation. Since that experience, I have always worked to control my thoughts and not be so quick to judge others.