Gospel Story Finder

I went to the swimming pool with my mom and little brother. A boy I didn’t know started bugging me and my brother by pulling on us. My mom told him to leave us alone. Later, I was practicing swimming, and the boy came up to me and asked if I could teach him to swim. I taught him what I had learned in my swimming class. He was glad for the help and was nice to me after that. I felt good for helping him.
Seth Root, age 8St. George, Utah

I walked briskly toward the shore, swinging my pail. Molly had trouble keeping up with me. We were twins, but I was tall for eleven, and my steps were longer than hers, especially when I wanted to get somewhere in a hurry.
“Wait up, Paddy. You not be going to a fire!”
We were on our way to collect periwinkles that hid among the stones at the water’s edge. These we sold to Mr. Moylan. He, in turn, made a profit on them from customers in England and France who enjoyed eating the marine snails. In this way Molly and I earned our pocket money. I was saving for a bicycle; Molly, a fiddle.
“The carrageen moss,” she reminded me. “Let’s be getting that out of the way first.”
Our whitewashed, thatched-roof cottage on the west coast of Ireland was but a hundred yards from the sea. The red carrageen moss drifted in on the water, and all we had to do was scoop it up and stuff it into a sack. Mother cooked it with milk to make a sweet jelly pudding.
As we reached the shore, Molly said, “I’ve worrisome news to tell you, Paddy!” She pushed back her red hair and looked anxiously at me. “Timmy’s brother let it slip yesterday that Tim already had four pounds fourteen shillings saved for that bike of Gerald’s you both be wanting.”
It was bad news. I had just a little over three pounds put away. I couldn’t afford a new bicycle, and Gerald’s was the only secondhand one in the area at the bargain price of five pounds. In good condition, it was up for sale only because Gerald’s rich uncle, who owned a cannery in Dublin, had sent him a fine new bicycle for his birthday.
“I must get that bike, Molly,” I muttered. “I hope I find lots of periwinkles today for Mr. Moylan to buy.”
She nodded. “Me too.”
I really needed Gerald’s bicycle. Molly and I and out two younger brothers had only one bike between the four of us. This fall Mike and Dan would be going to school with us, and we’d be having to take turns riding it to school—two riding double and two walking. It was a forty-minute walk each way. If I got the bicycle, we could all ride to school.
“I guess you want a bicycle as much as I be wanting a violin,” Molly said as we stuffed the moss into a sack. “I’ve but three pounds twelve shillings saved, and it’s grateful I am that Mr. Healy is willing to let me have his fiddle for only six pounds. ’Twill take me a while yet to save it all, but there’s no hurry, since I can practice on it in the meantime.”
Molly took music lessons—her one luxury—and practiced faithfully on the borrowed instrument she hoped to buy. It was her dream to play in concerts—she loved it that much—and she seemed to have plenty of talent for it. If ever a girl enjoyed practicing her music, it was Molly O’Sullivan. I hoped her dream would come true.
We were very close, Molly and I. I loved my brothers, but Molly was special—not just because she was my twin, but because she seemed to understand me better than anyone else; and she had a sweet, loving nature. I never heard her fight with anybody. She was the peacemaker in our family.
Our sack full of moss, we fell silent as we concentrated on finding periwinkles.
Suddenly I glimpsed a claw and shouted, “Hey, a lobster!”
Lobsters were a rare find on our shore. With a stick I poked around under the rock until it scuttled out. I pounced on it triumphantly and dropped it into my pail.
“Good for you!” Molly cried. “Do you suppose there be one for me under that rock?”
I poked under the rock again, but with no luck. Then, glancing up at the sky, I said, “There’s a storm brewing, Molly. We’d best be leaving.”
“But I haven’t found enough periwinkles yet.”
“There’s no time now. We have to hurry.”
We scooped up some salt water into our pails to keep the periwinkles alive longer, then hastened to Mr. Moylan’s cottage. He gave us a few shillings apiece for our catch and a few extra for the lobster. Molly and I got home just as the storm broke.
That night, after a good supper of beef boiled with cabbage and potatoes—and carrageen pudding for dessert—I lay brooding in the big bed I shared with my two brothers. I was still one pound short of the money I needed. I knew I could make sure of getting Gerald’s bicycle by borrowing the money from my father. But Timmy and I were friends, and we had made a bargain. Since we both wanted the same bicycle, we were to save only money we earned ourselves. The first one able to pay the five pounds would get the bike. Gerald had promised not to sell it to anybody else. And now Tim needed only six more shillings!
Borrowing from my father would be cheating, but I needed that bicycle—not just to ride to school but also so I could earn more money for the things my father couldn’t afford to buy for me. I needed it more than Timmy did; he had only one brother to share their one bike. I wished I hadn’t made that bargain with him.
When I awoke in the morning, the bicycle was still on my mind. It was all I could think about as I harnessed the family donkey to a cart holding our water barrel. It was my job to get the day’s supply of water each morning from our well, which was some distance from the house. I had to pump the water into a bucket and then pour it into the barrel. It took many bucketfuls to fill the barrel.
If only I had a couple of hours all to myself each day for collecting periwinkles, I thought wistfully as I pumped and poured. But I knew there was too much work to be done on our forty acres of farmland. We all had our chores—chickens and pigs to feed, the cow to milk, potatoes to dig out of the fields, corn to cut, barley to bind into sheaves, turf to cut out of the earth for the fire, and more.
As soon as I could manage a break in my chores, I hurried out to where my father was reaping barley. Dad’s a big man and a hard worker, but he had hurt his back, and it had slowed him down some.
“Dad, might you be doing me a favor, I wonder? Like lending me a pound?”
“For that bicycle, Padraic?” My father always called me by my proper Irish name.
“Yes, sir. I’ve got to buy it before Timmy does, and he be needing but six shillings more for it, the last I heard.”
My father did not know about the agreement between Timmy and me. He would not have given me the pound had he known. “A bike of your own means a lot to you, eh, laddie? Wish I could get it for you, but I be trying to put money aside for some sheep. ’Tis hard enough to pay for your sister’s music lessons.”
“I know. But she’s deserving of them. Could you just lend me the money? I’ll pay you back from the periwinkles.”
“Very well, Padraic. Run along and tell your mother to take it out of the sheep money.”
“Thanks, Dad!”
I gulped down my lunch in a hurry that day so that I’d have time to go to Gerald’s with the five pounds.
I strode along whistling merrily, thinking of all the good the bike was going to do me. By getting home fast from school each day and having extra time for periwinkle hunting, I’d soon earn enough to buy the pocketknife I’d always wanted, the one with a nail file, a can opener, a tiny pair of scissors, and other useful gadgets. It even had a wee saw. A survival knife, it was called. It made my heart swell just to think about owning such a pocketknife.
But then a still, small voice spoke inside my head. Or was it inside my heart? “You made an agreement,” it whispered, “and now you’re going back on your word. You’re a cheat, Paddy.”
The cheery whistling died on my lips.
“How would you like it if Timmy had got the money from his dad and had already bought the bike?” the voice continued.
Not wanting to think about it, I shrugged and pursed my lips once more. But nothing came out. I no longer felt like whistling, but I pushed on determinedly.
“Listen, Paddy—”
“You hush up!” I yelled at the voice. “I be needing that bike more than Timmy.”
“More than your self-respect?” the voice inside me persisted.
“Hush up! Didn’t I tell you to hush up?”
“Just one thing more, Padraic O’Sullivan. Do you recall a certain scripture you heard in church last month? You even looked it up, remember? Hebrews 13:18.”
It came to me then, those words from the Bible: “… we trust we have a good conscience, in all things willing to live honestly.”
I caught my breath. It was almost as if God were speaking to me! Wasn’t the Bible His holy word, one way He communicated with people? I stood motionless, torn two ways. Finally I murmured, “Good-bye, bicycle.” Then I turned and started for home. At first I dragged a little. But with every step, my heart grew lighter. I returned the borrowed pound, mumbling something about waiting and taking my chances on getting Gerald’s bike. My father gave me a searching glance but asked no questions, for which I was thankful.
A little later I came across a tearful Molly in the barn. “What’s ailing you, girl?” Molly almost never cried. “Sure and it be not bad enough to cry over?”
“Yes it be,” she sobbed. “Mr. Healy sent word he’s moving to Dublin next week to live with his married daughter. ’Tis all so sudden! If I be buying his violin, it must be now. He’s willing to lower the price by half a pound, but ’tis still more than two pounds short I am. And if I don’t buy it, how will I practice?”
Molly tried to stem her tears, but I knew how she must feel. The price of Mr. Healy’s fine instrument was a bargain. With all the hard work and love Molly had put into practicing on it, she deserved to have it for her own. When you come right down to it, Paddy O’Sullivan, I told myself, she’s more deserving of that fiddle than you are of that bicycle.
“If it were just a few shillings, I’d ask Dad,” she went on through quivering lips, “but—”
“I’ll tell you what, Molly girl,” I said, interrupting her. “Let’s really rush and finish the chores today. If we get done early, we can ride double into the village to see Mr. Healy. And bring your money. Maybe something good will happen.”
At Mr. Healy’s, the amount my sister lacked I contributed out of my own savings. What radiance shone out of Molly’s face! Her joy filled my own heart. Surely this made up for the wrong thing I had almost done today.
“Oh, Paddy!” The happy tears in Molly’s eyes were replaced by a look of anguish. “B-But now you’ll be having no chance at all to buy Gerald’s bike.”
“Bike?” said Mr. Healy. “Be ye seeking a bicycle, Paddie? Well now, and don’t I just happen to have an old one sitting out back. You can have it for whatever it be worth to you. Come, I’ll show you.”
The bike was somewhat rusted and missing a couple of spokes, but a coat of paint would do wonders for it. It even had a basket! I handed over the rest of my money quickly, for fear the old man might change his mind.
“Thank you kindly, sir. Come on, Molly. Now each of us will be riding a bike home.”
Molly kissed the old man on the cheek. “I’m sorry to see you leave, Mr. Healy. I hope you’ll be happy in Dublin.” She planted a kiss on my cheek too. “I’m so glad for you about the bike, Paddy. And for myself to be having such a brother!”
I grinned self-consciously. “Turns out ’tis myself I did a favor for. When I came here to help you out, I had no idea ’twould mean a bike for me too. ’Tis almost like … like a gift from heaven!”

Kylie stepped onto the big yellow school bus, trying not to look right at Marsha, the bus driver. Marsha always gave Kylie a look that made her feel like a bug under someone’s shoes.
“Sit down and be quiet!” Marsha barked over her loudspeaker. Kylie slipped into a seat next to her best friend, Tanisha.
“Is she ever in a good mood?” Tanisha whispered to Kylie.
“I don’t know why she’s so mean,” Kylie whispered back.
Just then, Marsha yelled, “Boy in the blue shirt! Turn around and face forward!”
Kylie and Tanisha looked at each other and frowned. They used to tell each other jokes on the bus ride, but now they were afraid to—Marsha might yell at them.
On the way home, Marsha yelled at a girl for talking too loud. Kylie didn’t say a word. When she got home, she sat down and put her head in her hands.
“Is something wrong?” Mom asked.
“I don’t know why our bus driver is so mean,” Kylie said. “Why does she hate everyone?”
“Maybe she feels sad,” Mom said. “Maybe she needs a friend.”
Kylie hadn’t thought of that, but it made sense. Anyone could become grumpy without friends.
Then Kylie had an idea. She got out some paper and folded a card. On the front she drew some flowers and wrote, “To Marsha.” On the inside of the card, she wrote: Dear Marsha, My name is Kylie. I have one sister and one brother. I like to draw. Thanks for driving the bus for us! Love, Kylie.
Kylie was nervous on the ride home the next day. Her hands shook as she pulled out the card. At her stop, Kylie handed Marsha the card, then ran out the door.
Kylie thought about it for the rest of the day. She wondered if Marsha would be angry about the card.
The next morning Kylie walked to the bus on jelly legs. She thought Marsha might yell at her. But when she looked up, Marsha gave her a big smile—something Kylie had never seen on her face before.
And then—even stranger—Marsha handed Kylie something. It was a postcard!
Kylie read the postcard on the bus ride to school.
Dear Kylie, Thank you so much for the card! No one has ever been so kind before. It sounds like you have a nice family. I don’t have a family, but I do have three cats I rescued from the shelter. Thanks for thinking of me! Love, Marsha.
Marsha didn’t say an angry word the entire ride.
“What’s that?” Tanisha asked, pointing to the postcard.
Kylie grinned. “A letter from my new friend!”

The idea for what turned out to be a two-year mission began on a spring day in 1997 when Ryan and his dad, Todd, were returning home after mowing church lawns around Parowan, Utah, his hometown. When their truck broke down, Ryan suggested they ride a lawn mower back to town. During the ride Ryan said, “Dad, why don’t we ride this lawn mower all the way to Salt Lake and mow the state capitol lawn?”
His dad replied, “Why don’t you ride it all the way to Washington, D.C., and mow the White House lawn!” Ryan began dreaming about his name appearing in the Guiness Book of World Records for the longest lawn mower ride in history.
But something was missing. Ryan and his family felt they needed a greater purpose for such an undertaking.
Shortly after, while Ryan’s father was getting his truck repaired, his mechanic, a neighbor, confided that their three-month-old daughter, Whitnie, had a rare disease requiring a liver transplant. The cost would be enormous, and the Penders had limited insurance and funds.
Ryan’s heart went out to the Penders. He wanted to help, but what could he do? Perhaps his goal to mow the White House lawn could work together with a fundraising project for Whitnie! Why not hand out cards to the people he met along the way asking for donations to be sent to a special fund? People could pledge money for each mile he drove.
The Tripp family members all wanted to help, and wheels were set in motion. They charted a course from Parowan to Washington, D.C.; they obtained local police permission for Ryan to drive the lawn mower along state and city roadways, and a large lawn mower manufacturer generously donated a machine. Ryan’s mom, Diane, his two sisters, Tiffany and Chantel, and his brother, Robbie, agreed to temporarily take over the lawn-mowing business.
On August 15, 1997, Ryan began his 3,116-mile cross-country lawn mower drive, with Grandpa and Grandma Meidlinger leading the procession by car and his dad following Ryan in their truck.
Sound like fun? Picture yourself driving a lawn mower at 10 mph, 10 to 12 hours a day, for 42 days through blistering heat, rain, and wind. For the first few weeks, Ryan had lots of fun. He signaled his dad on their walkie-talkies, waved to passing cars, listened to music on his CD player, looked at the scenery, and made all kinds of noises as he drove along.
Then he ran into a problem. One day he was particularly tired from their early morning starts and dozed off listening to his music. He awoke to the blasting horn of his father’s truck behind him, just as his lawn mower was careening off the side of the road. His CD days were over.
After that, the hours became long, and it seemed the cornfield-lined roads would never end. “Sometimes I got a little antsy and wanted to get off my lawn mower and go do things a normal boy would, especially when it rained. It got kind of hard to just sit there and drive along the road,” he recalls. The trek became a challenge to Ryan.
However, each challenge brings its own reward, and Ryan’s was time for serious thinking. He thought about his plans for the future; he thought about the importance of never giving up, of keeping promises and commitments; and he thought about how nice it was to have his dad so close. Reaching his father on his walkie-talkie at any time reminded him of talking to another Father: “It was kind of a lesson to me about how close my Heavenly Father is and how I can reach Him through prayer whenever I need something,” Ryan says.
Thinking about his own supportive family, Ryan’s thoughts often turned to little Whitnie. He understood her family’s love for her and knew he must do whatever was needed to help.
Ryan began to see a much greater purpose in this trip. Breaking records took a distant second to helping Whitnie. And as he thought about her, and others he learned about along the way, Ryan’s prayers took on new meaning. “My dad and I would pray every morning before we started and again when we got back to the hotel,” he says. They prayed for safety, for Whitnie, and for all the people needing transplants.
Finally, Ryan’s quest ended at the U.S. Capitol. Senator Orrin Hatch of Utah, other government officials, press members, and TV viewers watched as he mowed the Capitol Hill lawn. The trip was successful—Ryan broke the record and, more importantly, raised $15,000 for little Whitnie, who received her transplant that same year.

Childhood abuses or neglect of children that occur after birth are more publicly visible. Worldwide, almost eight million children die before their fifth birthday, mostly from diseases both treatable and preventable.4 And the World Health Organization reports that one in four children have stunted growth, mentally and physically, because of inadequate nutrition.5 Living and traveling internationally, we Church leaders see much of this. The general presidency of the Primary report children living in conditions “beyond our imaginations.” A mother in the Philippines said: “Sometimes we do not have enough money for food, but that is all right because it gives me the opportunity to teach my children about faith. We gather and pray for relief, and the children see the Lord bless us.”6 In South Africa, a Primary worker met a little girl, lonely and sad. In faint responses to loving questions, she said she had no mother, no father, and no grandmother—only a grandfather to care for her.7 Such tragedies are common on a continent where many caregivers have died of AIDS.

Allow me to share some of these miraculous blessings from letters and accounts I have received over the past four years. A humble couple from Idaho met fear with faith when the Lord called them to Russia. They wrote the following acceptance letter: “No one would have imagined we would be called to this assignment. We have no idea how we will learn the language or manage to be of service, and although we accept with much trepidation, going completely on faith, we know that the Lord and His prophet know more than we do where we should serve.” Ten months later the Stockholm Sweden Temple welcomed 30 Saints from a small branch in Russia led by this couple from Idaho who had barely begun to learn the Russian language. The scriptures tell us, “God has provided a means that man, through faith, might work mighty miracles.” Thus, God’s work is carried out by His children: “That faith also might increase in the earth. … That the fulness of my gospel might be proclaimed by the weak and the simple unto the ends of the world.”

Ty woke up late and shoved on his glasses. He knelt for a quick prayer and then ran to feed his family’s huge poodle, Fifi. But Fifi had jumped the fence. Again. It took so long to find Fifi, Ty barely had time to feed himself. He grabbed a piece of toast as he ran out the door.
“Bye, Dad,” he shouted.
“Make good choices!” Dad called back, just like every morning.
Good choices. Ty thought about the biggest choice he had to face at school: what to do about Bobby Miller. Bobby was the biggest, meanest kid in the whole third grade.
Ty zipped down the street on his green bike. He’d have to hurry to get to school before Bobby. His legs pumped, the wind rushed into his face, and finally he saw the school up ahead.
Oh no! Bobby was already at the bike rack. Don’t turn around, Bobby! Ty thought. Just keep walking right to your class. But no such luck. Bobby finished locking up his bike just as Ty skidded to a stop in front of him.
“Looks like I beat you again, Ty-Ty,” Bobby said. He kicked Ty’s bike over, just because. Ty landed on the ground in a tangle of arms and legs and bike wheels, and Bobby ran off laughing.
How can I ever stop him from doing that? Ty thought. He got up off the ground and locked up his bike.
The rest of the morning went OK. Ty was just grateful Bobby wasn’t in his class this year.
When the recess bell rang, Ty ran out to play kickball. But as he ran toward his friends in the field, he didn’t see a game going on. As he got closer, he could see why. Bobby had stolen the ball and was running around the field throwing it at people. “Strike!” he yelled as he knocked Emma over. Then he threw the ball and knocked off Bryce’s glasses. Bobby just laughed and held them high over Bryce’s head. “Try to get ’em, shortie. I dare you.”
For a second, Ty hesitated. He definitely didn’t want Bobby to notice him. But Bryce needed help. Ty took a deep breath. He marched over and grabbed the ball where it had rolled. “Give his glasses back, Bobby.” He tried to look fierce.
Bobby just laughed. “Oh, Ty-Ty! I’m so scared.”
“You’re ruining everyone’s recess. Please stop.”
“Whatever, Ty-Ty.” Bobby tossed the glasses and stomped off.
Ty let out a big breath. “OK, everyone! Let’s play some kickball.” He hoped he didn’t see Bobby again today. Fingers crossed, he thought.
But when school got out, there was Bobby at the bike rack again. He grabbed Ty’s bike handle before he could walk away. “I dare you to fight me,” he said.
Ty shook his head and pulled his bike out of Bobby’s grip. The kids around them were all turning to stare.
“You thought you were so tough at recess, but who’s a chicken now?” Bobby taunted.
Someone laughed, and Ty felt his cheeks get warm. After everything that had happened today, maybe it would be OK to take Bobby’s dare and fight him. Somebody needed to teach Bobby a lesson! Besides, what if everyone thought he was a chicken?
Then Ty had another thought. Taking Bobby’s dare wouldn’t make me tough. It would just be a really bad choice.
“Chicken!” Bobby grabbed Ty’s shoulder as he walked away. “Come on and fight me. I double-dare you!”
Go to “Family Night Fun” for an activity to go with this story and to learn what to do if you’re being bullied.
Ty had already made his choice. He turned around. “You know what, Bobby? I’d rather be a chicken than take your dare.” Bobby just stared while Ty got on his bike and rode off.
And you know what? He didn’t feel like a chicken at all.

“Faith in the Lord Jesus Christ” by Elder Gene R. Cook (October 1982 issue) greatly impressed us. We read it several times. We feel that if everybody, not just missionaries, followed those six steps which he mentions, a lot of problems would be solved.
We are serving in the Australia Perth Mission, and we were able to bring one of Heavenly Father’s sheep into the fold by following the second step Elder Cook mentions: “Commit Yourself.” We know that we as missionaries weren’t the ones who converted this man. He was converted by the Holy Ghost, whom Christ said he would send to declare all truth. But we had great satisfaction in playing our small part in the conversion of one of our Father’s children. We thank Elder Cook for his comments on faith. We urge all members to apply his counsel in whatever they do. With faith in the Savior all things are possible.
Elder Birrel and Elder LynnAustralia Perth Mission

Many years ago this conference heard of a young man who found the restored gospel while he was studying in the United States. As this man was about to return to his native land, President Gordon B. Hinckley asked him what would happen to him when he returned home as a Christian. “My family will be disappointed,” the young man answered. “They may cast me out and regard me as dead. As for my future and my career, all opportunity may be foreclosed against me.”

“Are you willing to pay so great a price for the gospel?” President Hinckley asked.

Tearfully the young man answered, “It’s true, isn’t it?” When that was affirmed, he replied, “Then what else matters?” That is the spirit of sacrifice among many of our new members.

Soon after the Nagas joined the Church, their branch president encouraged the family to prepare to go to the temple. “Every time he spoke of the temple, he had tears in his eyes,” remembers Brother Naga. “And every time I saw that, I said to myself, It must be true. His testimony penetrates to my soul.”
Maryann and Inosi accepted the challenge. But they had no savings. How could they manage the trip financially? The couple decided that their family could quit eating beef and stop drinking cocoa and milo (a cereal drink). Instead, they would eat bele (a vegetable similar to spinach) and tinned fish and drink lemon-leaf tea; they would put away the money they saved on food and use it to travel to the temple. When they told their four young daughters of their plan, “they loved the idea,” remembers Brother Naga. “And they reminded us of our goal continually.”
About that time, Inosi and Maryann moved their family to Suva. They had lived in furnished quarters in Nausori, so they had no furniture for their new home; they spread mats on the floor on which they slept and ate. Some friends and family members ridiculed them. “They thought that since I was a civil servant, I should be able to afford nice things,” says Brother Naga. “But we wanted to save our money for the temple trip.”

The after-school job. It can range from scooping ice cream to mowing lawns, and at one time or another, most people have one to earn spending money, or save for a mission or college education. But two teenagers in Logan, Utah, have found that monetary gain is not the only reward for working hard.
Using the local community center in Logan, Lynette and Nicole Sieger teach dance lessons to nearly 80 students each week—at no cost. That’s right, Lynette and Nicole put in long hours every week teaching, choreographing, and explaining for free.
“This job takes lots of patience, but I love it,” says 16-year-old Nicole, who teaches three or four ballet classes each afternoon. “I absolutely love dance,” she says.
Thirteen-year-old Lynette echoes those sentiments by saying, “I really love little kids. They’re just a lot of fun to be around.”
Both sisters also teach love and affection while they instruct their students on the finer points of tap and ballet. While one gives help and instruction, the other is never far away, holding a child on her lap or whispering words of encouragement.
The sisters learned to dance in Texas, where they lived until just a few years ago. When they moved to Logan, they taught the free classes as an audition for a teaching job at another dancing school. When the job fell through, the sisters decided to continue teaching their classes anyway, at no cost to the students.
“I think you really have to be disciplined to do it,” says Lynette. “But it really is worth it to pass along something to people who may not otherwise get the chance.”
Nicole sums up her feelings by saying, “I couldn’t do this if I didn’t think it was important. Helping others create something of beauty is one of the most important things I can do.”

The Bengaluru Stake presidency wanted to visit members as part of their ministering efforts. One Sunday they went to a hospital to visit a member who needed a surgery. They had a pleasant visit giving hope to the family to know that all will be well. The surgery could not happen as the sugar levels were not within the level needed. A priesthood blessing and a promise was given that his surgery would take place soon. After a day, the surgery was performed and it was successful.

Shyness and nervousness have always made my life difficult. High school and college were trying because I was too afraid to answer questions verbally. Job interviews were equally hard, and it was difficult for me to secure employment.
After I joined the Church, sometimes I did not go to Church meetings for fear of being asked to offer a prayer. I felt bad having a testimony and not sharing it with my brothers and sisters, but I was too nervous to speak up. One Sunday I was asked to offer a spiritual thought the next week. As I walked home after church that Sunday, I thought seriously of never returning.
But that afternoon, I decided to have a nap. Before I dozed off, my six-year-old son, David, walked into the bedroom holding a copy of the Pearl of Great Price. He had opened the book to Moses, chapter 6, and he asked me to read it to him. I reluctantly told him I was tired and quickly closed the book. He pleaded, “Please, Mommy, just read here!” He again opened to Moses, chapter 6, his little fingers pointing to verse 31. I started to read:
“And when Enoch had heard these words, he bowed himself to the earth, before the Lord, and spake before the Lord, saying: Why is it that I have found favor in thy sight, and am but a lad, and all the people hate me; for I am slow of speech; wherefore am I thy servant?
“And the Lord said unto Enoch: Go forth and do as I have commanded thee, and no man shall pierce thee. Open thy mouth, and it shall be filled, and I will give thee utterance, for all flesh is in my hands, and I will do as seemeth me good” (Moses 6:31–32).
Even before David asked me to explain these scriptures, I had a new feeling within me. In the best and simplest way I could, I spoke to him in Kiswahili, our native tongue, and explained that the Lord promised to help Enoch; the Lord said He would make Enoch’s weakness his strength (see Ether 12:27). David smiled at me and told me to continue resting.
I did not go to sleep but spent the time pondering the realization that I am a special child of God. He had a purpose in sending me to earth.
The next Sunday I was nervous, but I gave the spiritual thought. I was later called as a Relief Society teacher, and with the help of the other sisters and my loving Heavenly Father, I was able to teach the lessons. Currently I am the first counselor in the Relief Society presidency of the Parklands Branch, Nairobi Kenya District.
It is amazing how the scriptures can bring light into our lives, both spiritually and temporally. I have continued to find joy and peace through reading the scriptures.

Years ago, while serving as a stake president, I submitted a recommendation for a brother to serve as an ordinance worker in the temple. After explaining what a wonderful ordinance worker he would be, I inadvertently pressed “Do not endorse,” which submitted the recommendation. After unsuccessfully trying to recall the message, I called the temple president and said, “I have made a horrible mistake.” Without hesitation, this good temple president said, “President Eyre, there is nothing that you have done that can’t be forgiven and ultimately corrected.” What a great truth. Indeed, Jesus Christ is “mighty to save.”

“She is the type of child any parent would want to have,” Uncle Isaac says. “She likes being honest. If she does something wrong, she tells the truth about it.” He shares other examples of her honesty. When a schoolteacher gave her too high a mark by mistake, she took the paper back to the teacher and corrected the error. Another time, she came home from buying yams and realized that she still had all the money. She immediately returned to the yam vendor and paid for her purchase. The lady was so pleased that she gave Adjoa a free piece of meat.

A friend called me one evening while I was driving home from work, and when he asked how I was doing, all kinds of emotions bubbled to the surface. I had been feeling concerned about some questions I was having. Certain aspects of the Church didn’t seem to be adding up for me. I felt frustrated that answers to my questions hadn’t been made clear. And even though I’m not typically an angry person, I felt mad and upset. I had been wrestling with my questions for a while, and I didn’t know what to do.
As I pulled into my driveway, I spit everything out. I told him about the questions that were bothering me and how I had been feeling. After our conversation, I felt a lot better. And it wasn’t because he had all the answers for me—he didn’t. However, he was willing to just listen to me. He validated how I was feeling and helped me to know that I wasn’t the only person with questions. My questions weren’t a reflection of a lack of faith on my part, and it was OK to be unsure.
I still don’t have answers to all my questions. One of the biggest things my friend helped me to do was to realize that I don’t have to have all the answers right away. As time has passed, answers have come to me in bits and pieces. I trust that God has the answers and that He is watching out for me. I have hope that answers will come when I need them. And that’s enough for me right now.

When I went with my father to the Buenos Aires Argentina Temple, I got to see many beautiful places and many sacred rooms inside. It was an open house, so for a few days many people could see the temple. Soon I will be old enough to enter the temple and do baptisms for the dead. I love Jesus Christ and my family.
Guido R., age 10, Argentina

This was the same canal in which I was later baptized into the Church, and this is the same canal from which I hauled water to the trees and plant life about our home. I was the smallest of the boys, so I was given this work. We called the transportation a “lizard.” Did any of you ever see a “lizard”? We made it with a Y-shaped tree limb. In the center we fastened a barrel and hitched one horse to the “lizard.” I drove it to the canal, where I dipped up barrels full of canal water, then drove the horse one block to the home where I dipped out the water for the plants and flowers.
My father made a great effort to surround the new home with every kind of flower and save them in those late summer days when water was so scarce. It was also my job to drive the horses and cows to the canal for their drinking water.

As members of the Church enter the London Temple, immediately ahead of them is a reception desk. To the right of this desk, a painting shows a row of buildings in the distance with a bridge in the foreground. The stone bridge crosses the river Monnow and is the way into the little castle town of Skenfrith near Abergavenny.
The river is quite deep in places, and the right-hand side looking from the Bell Inn has steps leading down to the river.
This is the place where the first recorded convert baptism in South Wales, of James W. Palmer, took place on 13 April 1840. The baptism was performed by Wilford Woodruff, one of the Quorum of the Twelve, then serving as a missionary in the British Isles.
James W. Palmer kept a journal while serving as a missionary after his baptism. It includes the following entry in November 1840: “I preached at Skenfrith.” A later journal entry reads, “We now visited Skenfrith again… On Monday I baptised John Preece and William Williams in the river Monnow”.
Thus the story comes full circle, as the first convert to be baptised into the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in Skenfrith is subsequently instrumental in the conversion and baptism of further converts, there in the river Monnow.

Since President Thomas S. Monson announced the change in age for missionary service, youth all over the Church have eagerly responded not only to the invitation to serve but also to the invitation to prepare to serve. And one way to prepare is to learn more about what’s in store if you become a full-time missionary.
Some youth in Norway did exactly that during a day-long “Missionary Experience” hosted by one of the wards in their stake.
The youth gathered at the meetinghouse in a room that represented a missionary training center. “We received an assignment to learn about a country,” says Jakob R. “It gave us a feeling for what it must be like to receive a mission call and know that you could be called to a place that’s different from what you’re used to.”
“Then we went next door to meet a returned missionary who was playing the role of a mission president,” says Simon W. The returned missionary and other returned missionaries talked about what to expect while serving a mission. “I thought it was really neat to learn from returned missionaries what to expect during a full-time mission,” Simon says. Participants also received a name badge, were assigned a companion, and were instructed to remain with their companion at all times.
Workshops taught the youth about developing spiritually but also about managing temporal needs such as doing laundry, following a budget, and staying in good physical condition.
“I particularly enjoyed the workshop about how to start gospel conversations,” says Inger Sofie J. “That’s something I can start doing right now.”
“I enjoyed discussing how to use Preach My Gospel,” says Karl Frederik O. “I had always thought that missionaries had their own list of scriptures to learn, but I found out that what I’m already doing in seminary will help me as a missionary and so will what I’m already studying in Preach My Gospel.”
Many young men said that one of the most memorable workshops included hands-on experience with ironing a white shirt. “It reminded me that there are a lot of practical skills I can work on to get ready for a full-time mission,” says Jakob.
“I learned that there is a lot I can be doing right now to join with the full-time missionaries serving here so that we are all part of the same team,” says Sarah R. “Members are missionaries too.”
As a reminder that missionaries serve all over the world, refreshments featured recipes from a variety of nations. “That reminded me that I should try new foods now so that I’m used to trying things I don’t eat all the time. That will help me to adjust more quickly if I’m called to a place where they eat things I’m not used to,” says Simon.
“At the end of the day, after we heard the testimonies of two of the youth and two newly returned missionaries, we sang the hymn ‘Called to Serve,’” says Liss Andrea O. “I felt that if I keep singing this hymn all the time, I will have a constant reminder that when we are missionaries, we are serving Heavenly Father and He will bless us.”
By the end of the day, the youth in the stake understood that not only are they preparing for potential missionary experiences but that they can have missionary experiences right now and through the rest of their lives.