Gospel Story Finder

A boy in my class is mildly handicapped. (I will call him Joe, not his real name.) He is a slow learner, and he stutters, so everybody thinks he is odd. One day at school when I sat by him, a mean boy thought he was being clever by picking on him. But I didn’t think it was clever at all. Joe went and told the teacher. When the teacher came over, I stood up and told her about other mean things that had been done to Joe that he had not told her.
This summer my mom was talking to his mom, and she told my mom that just about every day after school Joe came home crying. When she said that, it made me feel so good that I had been nice to him.
Lisa Miller, age 9Great Falls Fifth Ward

Even now there is a rapidly growing group of Jewish Christians. These are Jews who believe that Jesus was, indeed, the Messiah. Quite by accident I met a young couple who held that belief. Early one morning I entered a small stationery store in Jerusalem and was greeted by a friendly couple who spoke excellent English. We chatted for a few moments, and they were impressed by my Mormon attitudes, so they invited me out to lunch with them later that afternoon. After a very pleasant meal of Hungarian goulash, we talked for three hours, mostly about the similarities in our religious feelings. They were fascinated by the story of Joseph Smith and the idea of a personal, tangible God. They were especially interested in the Latter-day Saint concept of family unity and exaltation. They warmed to an invitation to attend our branch services in Jerusalem and expressed a desire to learn more about the Church. As we talked, I made a mental note to send them a copy of the Book of Mormon with my personal testimony written on the flyleaf.

The day after I graduated from high school in 1976, I left with a friend for a weeklong road trip from Utah to Canada. We borrowed my grandma's car and packed it with the essentials: two sleeping bags, several cans of fruit cocktail, and a couple dozen frozen burritos.
The trip was great until the last few days, when we ran out of food and most of our money. Then, somewhere near Coeur d'Alene, Idaho, we noticed that we were almost out of gas. We found a gas station, but the price of gas was 20 percent higher than we had paid in a previous town. Thoroughly offended by this literal example of highway robbery, we kept right on driving, thinking to ourselves, "We'll show them who's smart." Well, 15 miles down the road, in the middle of nowhere, we ran out of gas. We hitched a ride back to the town and humbly begged for the use of a gas can. Two hours later we were back on the road, a little humbler, a little poorer, and hopefully a little wiser.

In 2016, Jayne Kyprianou was serving in the stake Primary presidency of the Poole Stake. After hearing Elder Kearon’s April 2016 talk, “Refuge from the Storm”1, the Primary presidency wanted to do something to help refugee children who were arriving in their area.
After a lot of prayer and discussion, they ended up hosting an online auction and a cake sale. They beat their goal of raising £500, by raising almost £1,800.
The money raised was used to buy items for educational packs for the refugee children. These would be packed by stake Primary children in a forthcoming Primary conference.
During that time, the stake public affairs directors, Brother Roger Head and Sister Moira Head, began to have contact with Unity in Vision, Bournemouth, a voluntary group founded by members of ethnic minorities.
Unity in Vision was invited to attend the stake’s Primary conference, and this was the start of a great working relationship between the Church and Unity in Vision.
Following this, the stake became involved in hosting monthly lunches at Bournemouth Chapel, refugees cooking the meals and practicing their English as they did so. The lunches were open to the local community.
These lunches involved not just people from Unity in Vision, but also representatives of the Westbourne Rotary Club (a local branch of the global Rotary organisation of volunteers). Through the work of Greg Singleton, of Westbourne Rotary Club, funding and grants were awarded to help with the lunches and to put on an educational course for refugees and asylum seekers.

When I was a young man living in a city called Namur in Belgium, there was a large river separating it from an adjacent city on the other side of the river. At that time, only one bridge connected the two cities. It had been built and rebuilt over the remnants of a bridge built centuries before by the Roman conquerors. It had become too narrow for the traffic, and there were too many small arches to allow the passage of large boats and barges. A new bridge was necessary, wider and with only one arch. The work to establish the foundations soon started on both sides of the river. Rapidly, two huge metallic arms began to stretch from each side with the aim to meet together in the middle of the river. I was fascinated by the engineering and rode my bicycle almost every day to watch the progress of the work. Finally the day came when the centerpiece, a cornerstone made of steel, was going to link the two arms together. Crowds were now watching with me the delicate operation, the final step that would join the two arms together and permit crossing the bridge for the first time. When it took place, people applauded, workers embraced; the obstacle of the river had been conquered and overcome.

A positive experience from my life may illustrate the power of example:
Some years ago as a police officer assigned to a ghetto area, I encountered the problem of foul language among my fellow officers and many of the citizens of the area. I simply did the best I could to maintain the standards we are taught, by (1) refusing to use foul language myself, and (2) discouraging offensive talk whenever I could without offending others in the process. I soon noticed that in my presence the use of foul language was at a minimum. I felt that the other men respected and honored my example, even though they did not accept my standards for themselves when they were out of my presence. I never asked for this deference; it was given almost unconsciously.
I think I appreciated this deference the most the night an angry citizen who was quite prominent in the community made a complaint against me for excessive force and abuse when writing him a traffic citation. Because of this citizen’s position in the community and to calm him, it was likely that I would receive a reprimand. However, in his complaint this citizen swore that I had used foul language and cursed him. My fellow officers and superiors, knowing that I would not have done such a thing, immediately rejected the complaint on that basis.
I believe that when we first decide how we will act, and then follow the course we have chosen and endure in it, others who associate with us will be encouraged to follow that example. Many people will recognize the merits of decent action and some may in time begin to act decently themselves. At the very least they will begin to understand it, and although they may not accept it for themselves, they will respect our actions and even insist that others respect our actions. If they do accept our example, they will endure in this course long after we are gone and will become an influence on others as well.
Certainly there are times when firmness, tempered with love, is required. I like the example of a well-known lecturer who, after the speech to a group of college students, was answering questions from the audience. One young man prefaced his question by commenting on some of the negative effects of television on our society. In particular, he mentioned “women and their lousy soap operas.”
The speaker didn’t let the remark pass. “Before I try to answer your question,” he said, with kindness in his voice, “let me say that I am uncomfortable with the feelings you expressed about women and soap operas. I think it’s an unfair and inaccurate stereotype. And even if it were true, we men have enough bad habits of our own that we should be very timid indeed about giving any kind of criticism …” And then he went on in a friendly way.
No one in the audience was offended. In fact, an invisible wave of approval swept through the audience, and, to his credit, the young man nodded, acknowledging that he felt chastened but not offended. The rest of the discussion was very relaxed and open.
It seems to me that sustaining the Lord’s example for us is not such a fearful thing when we do it in this way. My experience is that by taking this course, not only will we not offend our fellow workers and friends with complaints and indignant lectures, we will, in fact, make it comfortable for them to honor our feelings and be encouraged by our actions to change their own attitudes. Righteous influence through example requires patience, tolerance, and long-suffering, but it can bring about change.

Noting the unwavering, absolute position of the North Star, one writer told the contrasting story of a young boy who became lost on a camping trip. When his father finally found him, his father asked if he had remembered to pick out something in the landscape that he could always see. This, his father said, would have helped him to fix a steady position. The boy said, “I did.”
“What was it?” the father asked.
“That rabbit over there,” the boy said.
Young men of the Aaronic Priesthood, fix your gaze on the unchanging standards of the gospel and not on the moving rabbit.

Her last acts were so typical of her. She was up preparing breakfast for her family. I heard her drop a dish and give a little moan. As I rushed from my study, thinking she had injured herself, I found that she was suffering from a stroke that was causing her to lose the use of her right arm. I quickly picked her up and carried her in to a little couch I had just recently convinced her that she should have near her kitchen so she could rest during the day.
There was terror in her eyes as the paralysis started to spread down her side. I told her I was going to rush a call to the doctor. She said, “First, give me a blessing.” As I laid my hands on her head that morning, the Lord in his great mercy let me know that her time had come. As I left the room to call the doctor after that blessing, she was literally fighting to move her right arm and her right leg. And the last words I heard her utter were, “I will not live as a half a person.”
Her next two hours, her last in mortality, were the only two I know of in her life that she was not carrying her full load and a little extra for someone else. The Lord in his mercy has let her pass through the veil and relieved her from her anxiety and pain. Now she is whole again, and I am certain paradise is a much more joyful place because she is there.

One of the biggest delights for Chelsea is helping the children she directs gain an appreciation for Shakespeare’s writing, as well as a better understanding of the gospel through the good things his works teach. She recalls one experience when she was trying to help a young girl understand her role as Katherine in The Taming of the Shrew.
“There’s a speech that Katherine makes about how wives need to obey their husbands and how both need to be partners and work together. The girl playing Katherine had no idea what the speech was saying, so I was telling her how husbands and wives should love each other.
“Another girl was listening and said, ‘Isn’t that in the scriptures somewhere?’ and then this little girl’s face just lit up and she said, ‘Oh, yeah! I know that scripture!’ talking about the New Testament where it says, ‘Husbands, love your wives’ (Eph. 5:25). It was fun to watch her read the speech after that because I knew she understood it.”

From the time I was eight years old until I was fifteen, my parents owned and operated a flower shop. It was a family business, and everyone in the family—my parents; my older sister, Pat; my younger brother, Steve; and I—helped in either the shop or the greenhouse. We all helped in delivering the orders.
During the spring, I transplanted flowers in the greenhouse after school and on Saturdays. Another of my responsibilities was to water all the flowers and green potted plants in the large showroom. My father also worked for the railroad, so while he was gone during the day, my mother operated the shop. Holidays were very busy times in the shop. We often worked long into the night, getting orders ready.
Every summer my parents closed the flower shop for two weeks so that we could go on a family vacation. We often went to Yellowstone National Park in Wyoming. One year we visited a redwood forest in northern California.
When I was about twelve, my parents planned the most exciting trip of all! My father ordered a new car from Detroit, then scheduled his vacation for the following summer, when it would be ready. Our plan was to take the train to Detroit, pick up the car, drive east to New York City and Washington, D.C., and then drive home. We were all very excited that whole year as we planned the trip. By the time school was out for summer vacation, we could not think or talk about anything else.
One day, about two weeks before we were to leave, Dad came home from work with a worried look on his face, and I knew that something was bothering him. He told us that some unexpected things had come up at his office. He would not be able to leave, and we could not take the vacation we had planned. It was hard to believe what we were hearing, and the disappointment was almost more than we could bear. Dad said that Mother, my older sister, and my aunt would take the train to Detroit and pick up the car. I would have to stay home to take care of Steve, who was eight.
At first I felt it was unfair that I should be the one to stay home, but my father explained that my sister, who was then sixteen, could help Mother with the driving, and I was needed to help with my brother. I felt an ache in my heart that I didn’t think would ever go away.
One day after my mother and sister had been gone about a week, Steve was playing with some of his friends in the field up the street. They had made a fire and put a can of water on it. One of the boys accidentally kicked the can, and the boiling water splashed all over Steve’s stomach, burning him badly.
For the next week, I sat with him as he lay on the couch, unable to move. I found things to do with him that helped to get his mind off his pain. We played lots of games. One of our favorites was Fish, a card game. I also read to him. My father told me how thankful he was to have me there. I found that I was no longer thinking about my disappointment; instead, I was thinking about how I could help my brother feel better. And the ache in my heart was gone.
Dad surprised us at the end of the week—the three of us got on the train for Denver, where we would meet my mother, aunt, and sister. I will never forget seeing my brother stretched out on the train seat, unable to sit up because the burn on his stomach had still not healed. For a few days, we stayed with my uncle who lived in Denver; then the six of us drove home in our new car. Even though the trip was shorter and less scenic than a trip to the East Coast, it was enjoyable because our family was all together.
Giving up the trip to Detroit, New York City, and Washington, D.C., was a very difficult experience for me, yet I knew how much it meant to my brother to have me there. I understood why my family needed me to stay home, and it gave me a good feeling to know that I was needed and that I had chosen the right. My brother and I became very close through this experience. We found that we enjoyed spending time together long after he recovered from the burn. As adults, we are still close.

Walking through town one June afternoon on my way to a business meeting, I was prompted to stop and look inside a tavern’s open door. All I could see was a long bar and a row of stools. I turned and left. I had no interest in being in such a place; in fact, I did not want to be in such a place. But as I continued walking up the street, I had the strongest feeling that I should return and investigate further.
Curious, I turned around, walked back to the tavern, and looked through the doorway. “This is rather a foolish thing to do,” I thought, especially when I saw only the bartender behind the bar. So I continued in my walk. But as I waited at the corner for the traffic light to change, I felt an even stronger prompting to go back to the tavern. I went back.
The tavern appeared empty. Even the bartender wasn’t in the room. I walked toward the rear of the room. Then I noticed the figure of a man in the corner, seated on a stool and hunched over the glass in front of him. Something seemed familiar about the ragged, unshaven face.
I moved closer, and the memory of someone from my past came to me. The man was about the right size, small and rather frail. Could it be Deuce? (His real name was Dwayne.) I hadn’t seen Deuce for almost eighteen years. But how could he be in this condition? “Deuce, Deuce is that you?” I asked. The man look around vaguely but didn’t respond. “Deuce, what are you doing here? I can’t believe it’s you!”
But it was him. We had been close friends in our teenage years.
Deuce and his twin brother, Ace, had had a good relationship with their parents but had received little guidance from them. Their father had been a hard-working barber who had cared for his lovable but alcoholic wife.
Deuce had had polio as a child, which left him with a bad limp and impaired use of one arm. A couple of serious accidents as a teenager left him having to use a cane. But these handicaps only seemed to concentrate his ability to paint. He was a talented oil painter and took his work very seriously. His paintings were vivid and life-like; I still remember his painting of a tiger that seemed to leap from the canvas.
I lost contact with Deuce when I went into the navy for several years. I had heard that Ace had also joined the navy and was subsequently reported missing.
“Huh! Who’s that?” Deuce responded sluggishly.
“It’s Richard, your old friend!”
His eyes lit with vague recognition. He looked as if he might cry. He was obviously in bad shape physically, and it appeared that he hadn’t been eating regularly. I finally convinced him that I was real and coaxed him off the bar stool. He could barely walk, even with the walker he now used. I took him to a nearby restaurant, where I got him to eat a little food. As he began to talk more sensibly, I discovered that he had no money and was sharing a room in a cheap hotel.
“Look, Deuce, I’m really late for an important appointment, but I want to spend some time with you,” I said, before taking him to his hotel with instructions to bathe and shave. Later, I picked up a change of clothes for him at a men’s store and returned to help him dress. We drove home, and I introduced him to my wife, Verna.
I related the story of our reunion during dinner, and then told Verna of my earlier friendship and boyhood experiences with Deuce and his family.
By then, he was quite clear in his thinking and was able to tell the harrowing story of how he had been driven to his present condition.
He described the shock of losing his twin brother. Several years later, his mother had died of alcoholism, and then his father had been killed in an automobile accident. Working as a commercial artist, he had tried to forget his problems by drinking. He eventually lost his job and lived on a small disability pension. This downward trend in his life had continued for many years. He had given up all hope and had been in total despair when I found him.
After I took him back to his hotel, Verna and I talked long into the night about his situation and possible solutions. He was obviously incapable of helping himself. “We can’t leave him where he is!” Verna said.
“But what can we do?” I asked.
“If nothing else, we’ll just have to bring him here,” she replied.
The next day at work, I couldn’t get Deuce off of my mind. In the afternoon I went searching for him. He was confused by my invitation, but agreed to come and live with my family. We gathered up his few possessions and went home.
It was a big decision for my family—not because we didn’t have room, but because having a strange man around the house was awkward at first, even if he was harmless. He was, in fact, quite pathetic. He had to use his walker to get around, and because his bedroom was in the basement, getting up and down the stairs several times a day was a tremendous challenge.
My family soon accepted Deuce. Good food, rest, companionship, and love helped him recover. The children loved him because he was so gentle and understanding. But the effects of the years of alcoholism were hard to overcome. His physical impairments and extreme loss of normal movement made recovery difficult and total recovery impossible. For the first month, he was content to just recuperate. At times, he tried to help the children with chores or Verna with household tasks, but he was too shaky and unstable.
Deuce often wanted alcohol, but Verna and I firmly refused him any, and there was no way he could get it himself. Frequently, he would break out in a cold sweat and shake. But with no additional alcohol to reinforce what was already in his system, he eventually gained control of himself.
With his recovery came restlessness, and Deuce decided that he should try to again develop his former talent. I built him a special heavy-duty easel that would not only hold the canvas but also help steady him, since he was still very shaky.
It had been years since he had painted, and he was disappointed and frustrated with his first attempts. But eventually he was able to paint a sea scene for Verna to show his gratitude. Many paintings followed, and I helped him sell a few of them. His former talent, however, never fully returned.
He soon became very much a part of our family. And although he had never been religious, he started coming to church with us. Verna and I had joined the Church after we were married, and Deuce was impressed with the obvious changes he had seen in me. He met with the missionaries and was baptized. The doctrines of the Church excited him, especially the idea of being resurrected to a whole and fit body, and the promise of being with his family again.
Although he found his new faith stimulating and enjoyed his new experiences, he felt concerned about being a burden on our family. He knew, however, that his limited capabilities restricted him from ever being independent again.
About this time, a second miraculous reunion occurred. On one of my monthly business trips to Portland, Oregon, approximately four hundred kilometers from our home in Seattle, Washington, I checked into a hotel I had never used before. To my amazement, the luggage attendant that assisted me with my bags was Deuce’s long-lost twin brother, whom we had believed to be dead.
Ace was overjoyed to see an old friend and to learn the whereabouts of his twin brother. A reunion was quickly arranged, and Ace, divorced and living alone, welcomed the opportunity to provide a home for Deuce.
My family kept close contact with “Uncle Deuce” until his death, prematurely brought on by his frailties and years of drinking. But he had found the gospel and had made many wholesome and eternal friendships.

Every day last autumn when mail was delivered in Baytown, Texas, one six-year-old boy found a letter addressed just to him. “It would make me happy when I wasn’t feeling too happy,” says Lance Brunson, who is confined to his home with complications from a severe skin disease.
The letters were from an “older” friend, seventh grader Sarah Ferguson, affectionately called “Little Miss Sunshine” by Lance’s family. Sarah has been creating and sending letters to Lance since mid-October 1988. “She has really been a bright spot for us,” said Joy Brunson, Lance’s mother.
Sarah first learned about Lance’s condition from her mother, Melanie Ferguson, who had taught Lance in Primary in Baytown Ward, Houston East Texas Stake. Sister Ferguson and Lance’s classmates put together a card to send to Lance after his illness forced him to be homebound. Sarah liked the idea and decided to send one, too—and has kept sending them ever since.
“I try to give Lance something to do, something to make him happy,” Sarah said. She admits she finds some of her ideas in card shops, but her letters are original, with handmade cards, puzzles, quizzes, riddles, and art lessons.
The rare skin disease Lance has is caused by some of his internal organs—kidneys, pancreas, spleen—not functioning to capacity. It causes severe itching and burning and deep peeling to the point that Lance can’t stand to wear any clothes and can only wrap up in a sheet or blanket.
His mother says, “Last fall Lance couldn’t sleep sometimes for two or three days. He would lay for days in the fetal position. We had to carry him to the bathroom. This lasted for almost six weeks. It was his worst time. And during this time Sarah’s letters arrived daily. Sometimes Lance was too sick to look at them, but he would smile when we showed him the letter. And most often that was the only smile we saw from him all day.”
“We didn’t get mail every day, but we’d at least get Sarah’s letter,” Lance said. “Even when she was sick!” he exclaimed. A siege with the flu did not cause her to miss a single day.
Lance’s gratitude to Sarah is spoken with childlike simplicity, “Thank you for sending me all these letters. I love you.”
What does Sarah think about her acts of kindness? “It’s no big deal, really,” she shyly comments. However, the community of Baytown feels Sarah’s heroic efforts are a “big deal.” She was featured in a local newspaper story, and honored by a service organization which awarded her a plaque that now hangs in city hall.
Ask her why she kept sending letters daily for those first few months, she answers, “Because Lance’s mom appreciated it so much and said it made Lance happy. Besides, I know how it feels to be sick and at home. My dad has been sick ever since I can remember. I know how he feels. It gets boring and you need something to keep you busy.” Sarah’s father, Ira, has been going through operations and skin grafts for the past nine years after suffering third-degree burns in an industrial accident.
Sister Brunson expresses her appreciation for what Sarah has been doing for Lance. “She is sacrificing her time, talent, and energy for my child,” she said. “The humble spirit of an incredible young Beehive has richly blessed my household.”
Lance is feeling better now. He attends school and church some of the time, and he was well enough to participate with Sarah and other ward members in the road show last spring. But his trials are not yet over. He has days when he is in great discomfort. And, although he sees Sarah more often now, he still gets a letter at least once a week from her.
Because of the six-year age difference, Sarah and Lance don’t have a lot to talk about with each other. But one night last spring after road show practice Sarah softly said, “Bye, Lance.” And Lance turned and smiled at her and simply said back, “Bye, Sarah.” Lance’s mother comments, “You could see this bond—a look in their eyes that they have shared something. A great deal of love passed between them.”

I’ve been praying for a miracle for months.
In September of 2019, I went in for sinus surgery, and there was an unexpected complication that made me lose function in one eye. I had emergency surgery to try to fix the damaged eye, and my surgeon felt confident that it would be completely healed within three months. I also received several priesthood blessings where, each time, I was promised a full recovery.
But those three months came and went, and nothing changed.
I’ve been promised healing. Multiple times. But I’ve had surgery dates fall through and other setbacks and disappointments, and my eye is still far from healed.
This experience has brought me months of mental, emotional, spiritual, and physical struggle. But every time I get another blessing, I’m always promised that I’ll be healed.
This got me thinking. What do we do when we’re waiting for miracles that don’t seem to be coming and when heaven seems silent? How can we move forward when we’re stuck in one of those in-between zones that life throws at us sometimes?
I’ve been chewing on this question for a while now, trying to make sense of my situation. I’ve also been thinking about all the miracles I’ve read about in the scriptures.
I studied all the times Jesus performed a miracle or healed someone during His ministry. And, to be honest, I was upset at first, because every single time someone was brought to Christ, He healed them immediately.
The woman with an issue of blood touches His robes, and instantly she’s healed. (See Mark 5.)
The man born blind asks for healing, so Christ tells him to wash in the pool of Siloam. And in the moment he does, he’s healed. (See John 9.)
The leper seeks to be healed, and—in an instant—he’s completely cleansed. (See Matthew 8.)
Jairus’s daughter who has died is told to rise from the dead by the Savior, and she does. Right away! (See Mark 5.)
The man who is possessed is immediately set free when Christ calls out to him. (See Luke 4.)
This didn’t make any sense to me. All these miracles were instantaneous, so how come I was still waiting on mine? It seemed so unfair.
But after some pondering, the truth hit me: even though all these miracles were immediate, those who were healed had dealt with their hardships and sufferings for a long time beforehand.
The woman with the issue of blood suffered for 12 years and had exhausted all her emotional and financial resources before her miracle came.
The blind man knew nothing but blindness for his entire life before he was blessed with sight.
The leper suffered the terrifying onset of the leprosy and the pain of the disease, living as an outcast for who knows how long before he was healed.
Jairus’s daughter had suffered to the point of death before her miracle came.
The possessed man had been bound by the unclean spirits for some time before there was an opportunity for freedom.
This showed me that sometimes miracles don’t come right when the suffering begins. Each person had a journey with their pain and struggles before they were healed. And while some journeys were longer than others, the miracles of healing always came.
I wish I knew how long my journey with this trial will last, but maybe not knowing is the point. Challenges bring opportunities. We can choose to let our struggles shape us and mold us into the best version of ourselves. We can use this time of waiting to draw closer to the God who made us. We can connect and empathize with others in their suffering.
We always have a chance for good, growth, and development when we’re waiting on a miracle.
I hold on to hope and faith that my miracle of healing will come and that one day the promises I’ve received will be fulfilled. But in the meantime, I can be present in my journey with this pain. I can use this waiting time to become better, wiser, stronger, kinder, more patient, and more humble. I can deepen my relationship with Heavenly Father and my Savior, Jesus Christ.
Whatever miracle or promise you might be waiting for right now, no matter how long you’ve been waiting, don’t lose hope. Whatever Heavenly Father has promised you will come. But miracles come in His time and not our own. Don’t lose hope in Him. Don’t think heaven is silent. He is preparing the way for you. Focus on the present and do what you can do to move forward today in your journey. One step at a time. Keep holding on tight to hope as you wait for your miracle.
It will come.

President Oaks then told me a story. I still remember the principle. Opening a large chest filled with coins, a grandfather invited his grandchildren to collect all the coins they could. Excited, the grandchildren gathered handfuls of the more plentiful but less valuable coins, such as pennies, nickels, and dimes. However, one granddaughter carefully chose only a few coins. Her grandfather asked why. She replied, “Grandpa, all my coins are gold pieces.”

For you to feel that urgency, I first share the story of Noelle Pikus-Pace, one of those Latter-day Saint athletes. In Noelle’s event, the skeleton, athletes build momentum as they sprint and then plunge headfirst on a small sled. With their faces inches above the ground, they race down a winding, icy track at speeds that top 90 miles (145 km) an hour.
Remarkably, years of preparation would be considered either a success or a disappointment based on what happened in the space of four intense 60-second runs.
Noelle’s previous 2006 Olympic dreams were dashed when a terrible accident left her with a broken leg. In the 2010 Olympics her dreams fell short again when just over one-tenth of a second kept her from the medal stand.
Can you imagine the anxiety she felt as she waited to begin her first run in the 2014 Olympics? Years of preparation would culminate in only a sliver of time. Four minutes total. She spent years preparing for those four minutes and would spend a lifetime afterward reflecting on them.
Noelle’s final runs were virtually flawless! We will never forget her leap into the stands to embrace her family after crossing the finish line, exclaiming, “We did it!” Years of preparation had paid off. We saw her Young Women medallion around her neck as the silver medal was placed there beside it.
It may seem unfair that Noelle’s entire Olympic dreams hinged on what she did during just four brief minutes. But she knew it, and that is why she prepared so diligently. She sensed the magnitude, the urgency of her four minutes, and what they would mean for the rest of her life.

During her last class that day, Kim had a hard time staying awake. It wasn’t too surprising since she’d been out late the night before with Derek.
She looked around for something to keep her eyes open. In the vacant desk across the aisle from her, she noticed a tattered notebook that someone from a previous class must have left. She picked it up and started thumbing through what was some kind of personal journal. There was no name on the cover.
I shouldn’t read this, she thought to herself. But she did.
September 11At church today the bishop talked about chastity. He told us to be faithful to the person you’re going to marry even though you don’t know who it’s going to be. Sounds like maybe a good idea, but it would be a lot easier if I at least knew her name and what state she lived in. I hope she’s doing the same thing for me wherever she is. I wonder what she’s doing this very minute.
Kim read the entry over again. This is written by a guy, she thought, a guy who goes to church and thinks about chastity. She shook her head. There’s nobody like that in this school, at least not that I’ve ever met.
She forgot about being sleepy and also about Mr. Hadley’s lecture as she read the next entry in the journal.
September 15I’ve got a chance to get a job after school and on Saturdays. I’d be working at Sooper Dooper. If I work, it’ll mean I won’t be able to go out for basketball so I don’t know if I want to do it or not. One thing’s for sure, I need to save some money for my mission.
September 21Started watching a movie on TV tonight. In the movie a guy meets a girl, and five minutes later the two of them are talking about sleeping together. Well, that was enough for me. I turned off the TV and ran two miles. It started to rain while I was out there. I got wet, but I didn’t care because it was so nice out. There was nobody else outside except me. I guess they were all inside watching TV.
This guy isn’t real, she thought. I’ve never met a guy who turns off the TV in that kind of scene.
The bell rang and everyone got up to leave. Kim knew she should give the notebook to Mr. Hadley, but she wanted to read some more. She took it with her and stuffed it in her book bag just as Derek showed up to take her home.
He was excited. “Guess what. I just got a long-distance call in the football office. You’ll never guess who it was. Go ahead, guess.”
“I don’t know.”
“The offensive coordinator from Tennessee. Can you believe it? He wants me to fly out there and visit the campus. He says they think I’d fit in real good with their program. They want me.”
“That’s great, Derek. Way to go.” She hugged him.
“You know what this means? It means I’m going to be a superstar. We have to celebrate.”
“I’m really happy for you, Derek. But I’m just not in the mood for celebrating,” she said.
“Why not? What’s the problem?”
“Nothing. I just don’t feel like it today, that’s all.”
“There must be a reason.”
“I just don’t want to. All we’ll end up doing is making out. Can’t we go out on a real date?”
“Date? Okay, I’ll get us a couple of six-packs and some nachos.”
“No, Derek. Not today. I have to study tonight anyway.”
“Maybe you’ll change your mind.”
They started outside to Derek’s car. “Derek, you know most of the guys who go out for sports. Have you ever known any basketball players on the team who believe in chastity?”
Derek was puzzled. “Chastity? What’s that?”
“It’s waiting until you’re married,” she said.
“That’s a joke, right?”
“No, I’m serious.”
“Come on, Kim. There’s nobody like that around here.”
“That’s what I thought too, but now I think maybe there’s at least one.”
“Well, even if there is, so what? He’s nobody you’d be interested in.”
“Why do you say that?” Kim asked.
“Admit it, Kim. One of the reasons you like going with me is because when we walk into a dance after a game, everybody turns and looks at us. Everyone in school wishes they were like us. We’re the ones who make things happen. Let’s face it. You like the attention as much as I do.”
She decided to bring the journal notebook home with her. As they walked to his car, Derek draped an arm around her shoulder. As soon as they got in his car, he leaned over and kissed her. “Are you sure you don’t want to go with me now?” he asked softly.
“I’m sure.”
After dinner Kim went to her room and read more from the notebook.
October 7Went to general priesthood meeting with Dad. Afterward he took me out for pizza. We had a good time. I can’t believe it, but he played video games with me while we waited for our pizza. He’s pretty bad at it, but at least he tried.
October 22Took Tamra to homecoming. We had a good time, but I wish she didn’t live so far away. If there were just one more member of the Church at school, someone I could talk with sometime, like at lunch.
Kim wanted to know more about the boy who’d written this. She remembered a girl who had a class in the same room just before her class. She phoned. “Does anybody sit in the fourth desk in the row next to the door in social studies?”
“How should I know?”
“Just think about it, okay?”
“Fourth desk, huh? Let me think. Karen Wilson sits in that seat. Why do you want to know?”
“No reason. I’m looking for a guy who sits in that desk. It must be in one of the earlier classes.”
“How can you think about anyone else when you have Derek?” the voice on the phone questioned.
Kim started to watch TV. After about 10 minutes, a man and a woman ended up in bed together. He wouldn’t watch this, she thought to herself. She turned the TV off and went to her bedroom, where she read some more.
November 6Sometimes being the only member of the Church in school is really hard. All the friends I had in junior high are all drinking now. It seems like I’m the only one left who isn’t.
November 9Went to see the bishop for a birthday interview. I told him how hard it is to be the only Church member in school and how alone I feel sometimes and how much I wish there was a girl here who believed the same as I do. He suggested I write letters to the girl I’m going to marry and give them to her after I’m married. So maybe I’ll do that. Here goes.
To the girl I’m going to marry someday:
I don’t even know your name or where you live or anything about you, but I know you’re growing up some place the same as me. Do you ever get discouraged? I do. I have friends at school but nobody I can really talk to about what I’m thinking because none of them believe the same way. I just want you to know I’m trying to live the way I should. I’m doing okay so far, but it’s not easy sometimes. All my friends are drinking now, so there’s not much I can do with them anymore on the weekends. I run along a bike path when I need to think. I really wish we could spend some time together now.
I’ll be glad when I finally get to meet you. I want to live so I never do anything that I’d be ashamed to tell you about.
There are a lot of things I need to do now to prepare for the future. Right now the biggest thing is to save up for my mission. And after that I need to try to figure out what I want to do for a living.
I’ve been thinking about you lately and about when we get married. Sometimes it’s hard not to think about the things that go with marriage. But I guess I can stand holding off until you’re my wife. My bishop says it’s worth waiting, to make it the way God wants it to be.
Guess what. I love you even if I don’t know your name or where you live.
Love, your future husband,Mike
She read through the entire journal. The last entry had been written just a week before.
February 17The missionaries came and asked us to try to find somebody they can teach. We all said we’d try. I wish I could find someone at school who wants to know about the Church, but about the only time anybody mentions Mormons is when classes study about the pioneers. Our family set a date to introduce somebody to the gospel. It’s two weeks from now. We don’t know who it’s going to be, but we’re praying as a family that one of us will be able to find someone.
Kim set the notebook down. Now she felt a little guilty for invading someone’s privacy. But she also felt she’d never known anyone as well as she knew this person. She would have liked to read it every night, but she promised herself that she’d turn it in to lost and found.
What do I know about him so far? she thought as she stood at the window looking at the street. His first name is Mike. He took a girl named Tamra to homecoming. He has a birthday in November. He never went out for basketball. Instead he works at Sooper Dooper.
She went through her high school yearbook from last year and wrote down a list of everyone with the first name of Mike or Michael.
The phone rang. It was Derek.
“Michigan wants me too!”
“That’s great, Derek. I’m really glad for you.”
“I just got off the phone with one of the coaches. He’s flying out to see me next week. Tennessee would be okay, but playing for Michigan is what I’ve always dreamed of since I was a little kid. Can you imagine playing in front of 106,000 people? You could go to college there too. We have to celebrate now, Kim. I’ll be over in a minute to pick you up.”
Kim knew what that meant. “Derek, you could come over and be here with my family, but I don’t want to go out.”
“Look, there are plenty of girls who’d jump at a chance to go out with me.”
“I know that.”
“So what’s your problem all of a sudden?”
“I know you’re a super athlete and everything, but I don’t know, maybe that isn’t enough.”
“Not enough? What are you talking about? What else is there to life if it’s not this? You, me, football.”
“I’m not sure, but I’ll be sure to tell you if I ever find out.”
“Look, I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but some girl is going to party with me tonight. If it’s not you, then it’ll just have to be somebody else.”
“I don’t always have to do what you want me to do.”
“What’s going on here anyway? This is the biggest day of my life, and you’re trashing it.”
“Sorry, but I just don’t feel like going out with you tonight,” she said.
“Well, I guess that’s it then. I’ll find somebody else. No problem.”
“Is that all I am to you, Derek? Just somebody who’ll go along with whatever you have in mind to do?”
He swore at her and then hung up.
The next morning Kim decided to find out who’d written in the notebook. Before school started she lingered across the hall from the classroom where she’d found the notebook. A girl sat in the desk she was interested in.
During second period she got permission to leave her class for a few minutes. She walked by the room again. There was a boy sitting at the desk where she’d found the notebook. Somehow she knew he was the one she was looking for. At first she was disappointed. She couldn’t remember seeing him around. He’d never been at any of the parties she’d gone to. He wasn’t in student council with her. She didn’t even remember him from any of the dances or parties she’d attended. He wasn’t a star athlete like Derek.
“He’s just average,” she whispered to herself.
The class was taking a test so everyone’s eyes were on their papers. She stood there in the hall and stared at him. Kim couldn’t decide what to think. He’ll never be like Derek, she thought. If I went with him to a dance, none of the girls would tell me how lucky I am. Derek will probably play pro football. Someday he’ll be rich and famous. People will always look up to Derek.
But this guy is just another boy. He isn’t as tall or as well built as Derek. It’s not too late for me to get Derek back. I’d be crazy to break up with him for someone like this. Besides, this guy probably wouldn’t even want to go with me because I’m not a Mormon. At most, we’d just end up being friends, she reasoned. I’m not sure I could even live the way he does. He’s sort of cute, I guess, but on a scale of one to ten, Derek’s a nine-and-a-half and this guy’s a—I don’t know—a six. But at least if we were spending time together, we might go on a real date occasionally instead of always doing what Derek wants.
Her thoughts trailed off because she noticed him look up. He must have been aware that someone was staring at him because he glanced through the door at her.
Kim smiled and pointed to the notebook. “Is this yours?” she mouthed the words.
He smiled and nodded his head.
“I’ll wait for you,” she mouthed again.
He turned in his exam early and came out to see her. The halls were still empty, and they were alone.
“I found this,” she said. “I would have turned it into lost and found, but I saw it was like a diary and I didn’t want people reading it.”
“Thanks.”
“No problem.” She gave him the notebook. “Oh, my name is Kim.”
“I’m Mike Simon. Well, thanks for getting this back to me.”
She knew that if he walked away she’d probably never talk to him again. She didn’t want that to happen because at least once in her life she wanted to know what it was like to have a friend who didn’t demand a price for his friendship. She’d never had that before. She knew she was giving up Derek and all he could offer her, but more than anything she wanted to have a real friend.
Just then the bell rang, and the door flew open. People crowded on either side of them as they stood in the hall.
“Well, thanks again,” he said. He turned to walk away.
I can’t let him get away, she thought. “Wait,” Kim called out.
“What?”
“I’d like to talk to you sometime, but not now because I’m really busy this week.”
“I understand. You go with Derek Reeves, don’t you?”
“I did. We just broke up. Well, I have to run now too. The reason I’m so busy is because I’m doing a report in social studies about Mormons and I’m having a really hard time finding anything. Well, see you around sometime.”
She walked three steps before he realized what she’d said.
“Wait a minute,” he said.
She turned around.
“I could help you. I’m a Mormon.”
“No kidding? That would be great if you could help me.”
They leaned against the lockers in the hall and set up a time for her to go to his house and meet the missionaries so they could teach her about the Church.
In her next class she promised herself that sometime she would tell him the truth about what had happened with the journal. But not now. Right now she just wanted to see what it was like to have a friend like him.
Maybe he’s the real superstar in this school, she thought, smiling. Maybe he’s a superstar in the things that really matter.

Before he came to the missionary training center, he was discussing with a missionary about temple work. The thought came to him that his parents had given him life and done everything for him, and this was something he could do for them. He printed the temple ordinance cards and brought them with him. Elder John had the opportunity to attend the temple and to do the necessary ordinances for his mother and father. On 12 December 2023, Elder John was able to participate in having his parents sealed together, and he was then sealed to his parents. He felt as if his mother was asking him again “Brother Isaiah, do you know that this Church is the perfect Church?”
In his mind he, once again, answered “Yes, mom, I love the Church and know it is true.”
He knows that someday they will all be together, and that brings him great joy and peace.

A freshman in college! I could hardly believe the excitement I felt at being on my own, of being free to make my own choices and be my own person. I quickly found out there was much more to university life than just going to school. I became immersed in the fun activities of college life, and many, many nights I stayed up past the moon.
Saturday nights in particular were a problem because everyone knew there were no classes the next day. My previous 100 percent attendance at church became a thing of the past. I logged so little sleep before my 9:00 A.M. Sunday meeting that crawling out of bed seemed physically impossible. On mornings when I was able to drag my limp body to the church doors—late, of course—even the hard, wooden benches seemed to invite me to stretch out and sleep.
Needless to say, I wasn’t getting much out of the meetings. Finally one Sunday I realized I hadn’t been to church for two weeks in a row. My conscience bothered me. Maybe that’s why I began reading in the Old Testament. If I couldn’t get to my formal meetings, maybe I could at least learn something on my own.
Then I noticed a scripture I had highlighted during some previous reading. The words seemed to almost grab me and shake me.
“I have taught thee in the way of wisdom; I have led thee in right paths. … Take fast hold of instructions; … for she is thy life. Enter not into the path of the wicked, and go not in the way of evil men” (Prov. 4:11, 13–14).
It was as if my Heavenly Father were saying, “You should know better!” All of my life, loving parents, teachers, and leaders had taught me “the way of wisdom.” I had been led “in right paths.” I ought to have had enough understanding to know how to do what is right, to remember the Sabbath day and keep it holy.
For the first time since I’d been at school, I realized the awesome responsibility I held for my own spirituality. It wasn’t up to my parents or other adults to keep me from the “path of the wicked.” I had to do it myself.
I guess I’m still something of a night owl. And I probably could do better at making sure I’m 100 percent prepared for the Sabbath. But since the day I read that scripture, I’ve learned that I’d better get some sleep on Saturday night if I want to be sharp on Sunday. It has become a priority in my life.

While the men worked on a shallop (small open boat) from the ship, hauling it up onto the beach for repairs, the women went ashore to wash clothes. After the shallop was repaired, Miles Standish, the military captain of the colony, with Captain Jones and a group of men, most of them Pilgrims, set out to explore. Daily they prayed for guidance.
On December 21, the travelers stepped ashore at the site of a deserted Indian village. Old and weathered cornstalks rattled in the breeze where land had been cleared. A brook sparkled and babbled down a hillside. Nearby was an excellent harbor. In one field was a great hill that commanded a view of the sea and land roundabout. Why the place had been deserted was a mystery.
“We’ll build our new Plymouth here,” Captain Standish announced.
When they returned to the Mayflower, William White looked anxiously about the deck for his wife, Susanna. Then he saw her coming toward him. Placing a tiny bundle in his arms, she said, “My husband, our little son was born while you were gone.”
Tenderly, William uncovered the tiny pink face. “So our little traveler has arrived,” he said, beaming.
Standing by, Governor Carver exclaimed, “Aye, William, your little son is the first white child we know of to be born in New England. He should be called Peregrine (traveler).”
“Peregrine White,” William mused. “That is what he shall be called.” Then noticing Ellen’s eager upturned face, he asked, “Do you want to hold the baby?”
“Oh, yes!” she exclaimed. Gently he laid the bundle in her arms, and Ellen smiled with pleasure.

I left my parents’ home, when I was 21 and went to stay with my uncle. I started going to the college at the Institut Superiéur des Techniques Appliquées.

Lacking money to pay for food or transportation, I still went to school, sometimes doing the auto stop, begging for help. I cried sometimes standing on the street—waiting and waiting. I never felt discouraged by my situation. I did that for three years. Then I attended another university for five more years. It was difficult, but I never gave up.

I still remember my dad’s counsel, “My son, if you do not learn the cost of a loaf of bread, you will never know what your life truly means.”

I started doing small jobs here and there. I tutored students. I did everything that was honorable to do. Sometimes people mocked me, but I knew what I was doing. It was for my life.

With my small income, I paid my tithing and saved to pay for my education. I will always be grateful to my mentors, my parents, my priesthood leaders, and friends who were there to encourage me. Those experiences in my early life helped to build who I am today.