Gospel Story Finder

Andrea could see the large granite pillar from the van window before she and her Primary class pulled into the parking lot. Sister Birchall had told them that the monument was 38 1/2 feet tall, one foot for every year of Joseph Smith’s life.
Andrea’s friend Becky squirmed excitedly on the seat next to her. “We’ll really get to be where Joseph Smith was born!” Becky said.
Andrea had been looking forward to this Primary activity since Sister Birchall had announced their class was visiting Sharon, Vermont, just a short drive away. Andrea had prayed that she would feel the Holy Ghost here. She wanted to have a spiritual experience like the people who bore their testimonies at church. The scriptures say that if you ask in faith, Heavenly Father will bless you. Andrea believed that was true.
A light rain was falling when the class pulled into the parking lot. A senior sister missionary was waiting for them.
“Hello!” she called. “I’m sorry that we don’t have the music playing through the trees for you right now. We usually do, but we turned it off because of the rain. Maybe you can hear it before you leave.”
Andrea liked the missionary, whose black name tag read Sister Grant. She reminded Andrea of her grandma. Sister Grant and Elder Grant told the class stories about Joseph Smith and showed them where he was born. After the tour, the missionaries let them look around the museum.
“Andrea, come see this!” Becky called. She was pointing at a painting of Lucy Mack Smith.
Elder Grant walked up behind the girls. “She was a great woman. Even before Joseph had the First Vision, she and her family were close to the Holy Ghost. They often liked to go out into the woods to think and pray.”
Andrea remembered her goal to feel the Spirit today. When people at church said they felt the Holy Ghost they usually cried. Andrea hadn’t felt like crying even a little today.
Sister Birchall walked in and told them they would be leaving in half an hour. “The rain has stopped, so you can go look at the monument now.”
Andrea looked over at Becky, who was talking to another girl from their class. This was Andrea’s chance.
She left as quickly as she could and walked toward the woods behind the monument. To the left, Andrea saw a small clearing. “Perfect,” she thought.
She walked into the middle of the weeds and knelt down, placing her coat under her knees so they would not get wet. “Maybe I’m in the same place that Lucy went to think and pray,” she thought.
Andrea closed her eyes and again prayed for the Holy Ghost to be with her. She didn’t feel anything. Andrea was confused. Why wasn’t she crying? Disappointed, she got up and walked out of the clearing. There was a small dirt road behind the monument. Andrea decided she had enough time to walk down it a little way. As she walked through the tall trees, Andrea noticed that there was a peaceful feeling in these woods—quiet and calm like a chapel. The air smelled fresh and clean from the rain, and everything was a bright, clear green. She also noticed that the sun had come out from behind the clouds and was reflecting off the wet leaves and pine needles in bright glints of light. She added a happy skip to her walk.
A little bubble of happiness was growing inside Andrea, and became so big that she thought she would burst with joy. She wanted to start singing and laughing at the same time.
She didn’t go too far into the woods before she turned around. As she walked back, she began to hear the sound of an orchestra and choir singing through the trees—probably the music Sister Grant had mentioned. It sounded like the song of angels, pure and sweet. Andrea stopped to listen to the words. “When thru the woods and forest glades I wander,” the choir sang. “Then sings my soul, my Savior God, to thee, How great thou art!”* The words described exactly how Andrea felt—like her soul was singing. She felt happy! Except for one thing. She still hadn’t felt the Spirit.
Becky spied Andrea as soon as Andrea got back to the monument. “Come see the sunspot!” she said excitedly. Andrea didn’t know what Becky was talking about, but she let Becky pull her up the hill.
From the top of the granite pillar shone a dazzling light. Andrea put her hands up to shield her eyes.
“Isn’t it amazing?” Becky said. “Sister Grant says that it’s the sun shining off the top of the polished rock.”
“It’s beautiful,” Andrea said. She stood in awe for several minutes. She felt a little sad. “This would have been the perfect trip if only I had felt the Holy Ghost,” she thought.
Suddenly, like the light reflecting off the pillar, a thought shone into her soul. She had felt the Spirit! The Holy Ghost didn’t just make people cry. It also made them feel peaceful and happy, like she had felt in the forest! Andrea again felt the same bubble of joy growing inside. She then understood that Heavenly Father had answered her prayers.
As they drove away, Andrea kept her eyes on the granite monument until it disappeared behind the tops of the trees. She knew that the Lord had blessed her and given her the witness she desired.

Many years ago, while serving as a bishop, I invited a young man to serve a mission. He refused. It set me back; I had not anticipated his refusal. He claimed that he did not have a testimony, and he felt that it would be hypocritical of him to serve without a testimony. Six months later I issued the invitation again and received the same response. This time the Spirit came to my rescue. I said, “Young man, answer me some basic questions. Is there a God in heaven?”

“Well, of course there is. If I didn’t believe there was a God, I wouldn’t pray.”

I said, “Thank you. Is Jesus the Christ?”

“Yes, of course He is. I’ve never doubted that fact. He is the Son of God; he is my Savior.”

“Was Joseph Smith the Prophet of the Restoration?”

“Oh certainly, Bishop,” he said. “I feel certain that he received a divine commission from God to perform his work.”

I said, “One more question. Is David O. McKay a Prophet today?” (This was many years ago.)

A big smile crossed his face, and he asked, “When do I leave?” He had the testimony all the time. He just had not realized what a testimony was and how to verbalize it.

Carlos was excited for Christmas. This year there was something different in his home. A large tree made of shiny green paper was attached to the door.
Mom, why is there a tree on the door?
We’re going to do something a little different for Christmas this year.
Carlos wondered what would be different. His sister, Araceli, and his little brother, Diego, wondered too.
I made these paper ornaments for the tree. Each day we will write something about Jesus Christ on an ornament and then put it on the tree. By Christmas Eve, the whole tree will be covered!
Carlos liked that idea. Araceli ran to the ornaments and grabbed a red pencil.
Jesus was baptized.
That’s a good one. Can I write that Jesus did many miracles?
That would be perfect. You both have great ideas!
Every night after dinner, Araceli and Carlos made another ornament and put it on the tree. Diego helped by saying, “I love Jesus!”
When it was hard to think of more ideas, they looked in the scriptures. Carlos didn’t know there were so many verses about Jesus!
On Christmas Eve the whole family sang songs and read the ornaments they had put on the tree. Carlos was happy he knew so much about Jesus. He was all ready for Christmas.

In Malaysia, the idea of dating one’s spouse after marriage is almost unheard of. My husband and I first learned about this counsel from books and magazines and from American Church members who lived in our branch in the city of Kuala Lumpur. When we heard of the good that can come to a couple who continue to court each other after marriage, we decided to try this “foreign” idea.
In the beginning it was easy for us to spend an evening together because we had no children to worry about. However, when our children began to come one after another, we had to devise new ways to date each other. Because finding a baby-sitter for the evening is difficult, we have had many dates at home after the children are in bed. These home dates are in no way inferior to those we occasionally have outside our home.
We have found a number of activities we enjoy doing together. Sometimes we watch a videocassette while munching snacks and sipping soft drinks, just as we would at the movie theater. Other nights we play computer or board games. Our evenings spent in these activities always end with laughter.
One regular activity is putting together our family photographs on a large poster. Later we frame the finished poster and hang it on our stairway wall. We now have quite a few posters, so we rotate them from time to time. Evenings spent making posters are not only fruitful, but they also bring warm and sentimental feelings to our hearts.
One Valentine’s Day I prepared a candlelit dinner for two. With soft music in the background, the atmosphere was truly romantic. Dating each other regularly has helped increase the romance in our marriage.
Our list of activities for home dates continues to grow. We have found that dating each other is about finding ways to spend time together and about taking time to build and nourish each other. When days are difficult and challenging, I look forward to our home dates when we can spend time together just talking.
My husband and I have found this “foreign” idea to be of great help in strengthening our marriage.

I don’t think anybody on either side of the Iron Curtain expected the Cold War to end. But Heavenly Father had a different plan. In 1975, unbeknownst to us, President Spencer W. Kimball (1895–1985) had invited Latter-day Saints to “join in a serious continuous petition to the Lord to open the gates of the nations and soften the hearts of the kings and the rulers to the end that missionaries may enter all the lands and teach the gospel.”1
Two years later, President Kimball visited Warsaw, Poland. One morning, accompanied by a small group of his associates, including Elder Russell M. Nelson, President Kimball left his hotel, walked by the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, and entered Saski Park. Not far from a large fountain that still stands there today, he knelt and rededicated Poland for the preaching of the gospel.
A decade of unrest and mass protests followed. While the adults distrusted and opposed the political leaders, many young people questioned some of the values, traditions, and attitudes of their parents. My friend Jakub and I felt disillusioned with Christianity as we understood it. He lost interest in religion in general, while I was drawn toward philosophies that originated in Asia.
In April 1990, Jakub and I hitchhiked to Austria. In Vienna we met two nice women standing on the sidewalk of a busy street. One of them was holding the Book of Mormon in Polish. She told us about Jesus’s visit to the people of ancient America and promised to mail the book to our homes if we gave her our addresses. We also opened our address books and copied addresses of many of our friends. We thought it would be a nice surprise for them to receive a gift.
A few months later the Poland Warsaw Mission was established, and four missionaries arrived in our city. Later, I learned that the large number of “referrals”—our friends’ addresses—played a key role in the decision to open our city for the missionaries. To my surprise a few months later, Jakub told me that two “Mormon” missionaries had visited him and that he had decided to join their church.
I was hurt by his announcement. I had tried for years to interest him in religion but with no success. How could strangers from a different country suddenly convert him? I was determined to face them and show Jakub they had no chance in a debate with me.
When I saw the two young, smiling missionaries standing in the doorway of my parents’ apartment, I forgot about my goal to prove them wrong. They were happy and funny. They asked me lots of questions about myself and my beliefs. They respected my convictions. Later they told me that during that first meeting with the arrogant guy with long hair and ripped jeans who was smoking cigarettes, they had a hard time imagining I would ever be interested in becoming a follower of Jesus Christ. But I felt something special in their presence, and I was intrigued that their Church was the only Christian denomination I knew of that believed in a premortal existence.
I was also impressed with their testimonies and the strong convictions of Jakub and Robert ?elewski, his new friend from the Church. Robert was a psychologist, an intelligent but down-to-earth man whose insights and experiences strengthened my interest in the religion of the Latter-day Saints.
Everything the elders, Jakub, and Robert told me was fascinating, especially the doctrine of the plan of salvation, starting with premortality and ending with the three degrees of glory. But I didn’t see any point in joining the Church until I was able to grasp more fully their unique beliefs. My understanding of Christianity was that anciently, God performed miracles, sent angels, and called prophets, but all those things belonged to biblical times. Once the Bible was completed, humanity no longer needed miracles and revelation because scripture contains all we need to know.
A breakthrough came during our discussion about the Great Apostasy and the Restoration of the fulness of the gospel through the Prophet Joseph Smith. I realized that their beliefs were more consistent with the Bible than the claim that the Bible had replaced prophets and revelation. I felt real joy when I realized I might be living in modern “biblical times.”
I was ready to ask God sincerely for personal revelation, but an answer did not come. Finally, I said, “Heavenly Father, if You called Joseph Smith as Your prophet, I will obey every commandment You revealed through him.” Then the answer came to my heart and mind with surety, and I knew that God had restored the fulness of the gospel and that it is found in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Jakub was baptized on November 3, 1990, and remained faithful until dying in a tragic hiking accident two decades later. I joined the Church on January 11, 1991, determined to serve a mission. Robert was called as the first local president of our branch and drove me all the way to Freiburg, Germany, so I could receive my temple endowment. During my last interview with him, I promised to return to Poland after my service in the Illinois Chicago Mission to use my missionary experience to strengthen the Church in our country.
Two years later, my mission president convinced me that I should get my education in America at Brigham Young University. But I never forgot my promise to Robert.
After getting married in 2000, I moved back to Poland with my wife, who, in 1988, had been an extra in the sixth episode of The Wonder Years. We attend Church meetings in Krakow, raising two boys and keeping in close touch with our two older children. Our older son recently announced he has decided to serve a full-time mission.
In the summer of 2021, I took my family to Berlin, where I showed them the spot where the wall used to stand. It no longer stops God’s servants from sharing the message of the Restoration with the people of Eastern Europe. God’s miracles continue in our day.

After the boxes were prepared to go again, they were finally ready to be given to the coordinators at the hospice office, which was just down the street from the business where the boxes were being stored. But this time the youth decided that loading piles of boxes into a car for transport wasn’t such a good idea. After all, that was what had damaged many of the wrapping jobs the first time around. They decided that since the boxes had such a short way to travel, they would form a human chain from the location where the boxes were being stored to where they needed to go.

There aren’t too many LDS youth in West Plains, so they invited Primary children, adult leaders, and anyone else who wanted to help. They donned elves’ caps and spread out right through the heart of downtown West Plains. The boxes were handed from one person to another, and soon they were all safely at their destination, ready to be filled with food from the West Plains Ward and other community groups.

The group attracted a bit of attention from passersby, who were invited to join in. They didn’t have many takers, but several people did find out where they could donate food to go inside the boxes.

“Doing a project like this really makes you feel good,” says Heather Camier, a Beehive. “It’s great to work together as a group for a good cause. It’s the best this time of year; it really makes it feel like Christmas.”

Siedeh took a big breath and walked into her new classroom. It was her first day in fourth grade.
Last year, Siedeh was in second grade. She did so well that her school let her skip third grade. Siedeh was excited to do harder math problems and read more books in fourth grade. But she wasn’t happy that she would have to leave her old friends.
As she looked around the room, Siedeh felt small. All of her new classmates looked older and taller than she was. What if she didn’t belong?
She chose a desk and sat down. A tall girl sat next to her. “Hi,” Siedeh said.
“What are you doing here?” the girl asked. “I thought you were supposed to be in third grade.”
“The school moved me up a grade,” Siedeh said nervously.
The girl made a mean face. “Well, I don’t care how smart you are. You’re still just a baby.”
Siedeh felt awful inside. For the rest of the week, she was too scared to talk to any of her classmates. Each time she heard someone laughing or whispering, she frowned. They were probably saying mean things about her.
Just when she thought things couldn’t get any worse, Siedeh got a math test back. She wanted to cry when she looked at her score. Math was her favorite subject. She had never scored this low on a test before.
When she got home, Siedeh couldn’t hold back her tears. “I don’t have any friends,” she told her parents. “I don’t belong in fourth grade. I’m not smart enough.”
“I’m sorry it’s so hard,” Siedeh’s mother said. “But you are smart. And you are still learning.”
Siedeh wiped her eyes. “I wish I could go to third grade instead.”
Dad was quiet for a moment. “Would you like a priesthood blessing?” he asked.
Siedeh nodded. Maybe a blessing from Dad would help her feel better.
Siedeh sat on a chair, and Dad put his hands on her head.
“I bless you that you will not be afraid,” Dad said. “And I bless you to love your new classmates. As they get to know you, they will love you too.”
A calm feeling spread through Siedeh. She felt that her dad’s words were what Heavenly Father wanted her to hear.
After the blessing, Mama helped Siedeh work on her math problems. Soon Siedeh was feeling a bit better.
The next day at school, Siedeh remembered her blessing and tried to be brave. She smiled at her classmates. When she showed love, she felt less afraid of them! Some of them were even really nice. She worked hard to learn, and soon her grades improved too.
By the end of the school year, Siedeh had many friends. She was glad Heavenly Father had helped her be brave. And she was grateful she could always have the blessing of priesthood power to help her.
This story took place in Liberia.

Danielle Menlove, a Beehive from Sandy, Utah, has running in her blood. Her parents, both runners, noticed something special when she beat her mother in a race at seven years old. Now she holds four USA national track and cross country titles and numerous records.
Danielle started winning big races when she was just 10 years old. She now holds the USA Track & Field—Utah youth records for the 11–12 age group in the 800m, 1500m, and the 3000m. In the 13–14 age group, Danielle holds the records in the 1500m and 3000m.
Danielle has learned that track involves enduring to the end. And she learned it the hard way. At the USATF National Junior Olympic Track & Field Championships in 2005, she accidentally stopped a lap short. She says, “I was in first place, and I had a 100m lead, but I stopped and started walking off the track.” When an official told her she had a lap to go, Danielle scrambled to rejoin the race. She still took second.
Recalling the event, Danielle says it helped her learn to finish strong. “It was a good thing to happen because I made the mistake once, and I’ll never make it again.”

My brother Eric is a unique individual. He was born seven weeks prematurely and has had health problems his entire life. Two strokes, as a baby and at the age of two, left his right side partially paralyzed and destroyed a third of his brain.
When he was ten, he began having seizures, so we took him to a neurologist. After reviewing his CAT scans, the doctor came into the room expecting to see a drooling, severely retarded child. Instead, he met my brother, the electronics wizard and family clown. The doctor thought someone had accidentally switched scans. That’s because he didn’t know the miracle, my brother.
Eric’s brain damage left him with problems. He had a limited attention span and lacked many of the “normal” behavioral inhibitions. It was not uncommon to see him walk along and suddenly burst into an absurd song and dance. Those who didn’t know him thought, “Who is that?” But those who did know him thought, “That’s Eric.”
Eric was born a year and a half after I was. Our older brother, a headstrong toddler, demanded a lot of attention. Eric’s health problems also required a lot of my parents’ attention. As a result, my parents couldn’t give me as much attention as they, or I, would have liked. For years I resented Eric. “He’s a mistake,” I thought. “I’m really the youngest.” I tormented him and punched him and tried to make him miserable. But Eric always smiled at me and never hit me back.
One night I did something that made Eric cry, and when I did I felt like the lowest and the worst. Eric was watching TV. We had been fighting over something, so I started making fun of his disability. I never had before. I must have felt malicious. I made my hand look like his right hand, curled up and spastic, and I limped around and talked gibberish while I drooled.
The thing I remember most, as Eric started crying, was that he looked down at his crippled hand and hugged it to his chest. At that moment I wished the floor would swallow me, and I think I tasted what hell might be like.
Our relationship changed after that incident. As we grew older I tormented him less, and when I did, he fought back. We basically ignored each other until our family moved to California one summer.
When school started, Eric and I were the only people we knew at school, and we had to rely on each other. Instead of eating lunch by myself, I met Eric and we sat on the stone steps together. As we dug through our brown bags and munched ham sandwiches, I was surprised at the growing number of people who waved at, talked to, and sat down beside Eric. His cheery grin, relaxed attitude, and silly jokes soon had us in the middle of a noisy group of friends. Others saw in Eric what I had kept myself from seeing, and they showed me his strength, his dedication, his strange but hilarious sense of humor, and his amazing ability to shrug off pain.
One lunchtime Eric was a couple of minutes late. He spotted our group and sprinted across the sloping lawn, gripping his brown sack in his good left hand. His backpack bumped against him, his shirttail billowed, and his shoelaces straggled behind him. His weak right ankle tangled with his charging left foot, and he went down in a heap. He tried to catch himself, but his right arm crumpled and he plowed the grass with his face.
A couple of guys and I jumped up and ran to him. By the time we reached him, he was sitting up in the middle of his spilled backpack and smashed lunch. Dirt and grass smeared his nose and forehead, and he had a bloody scrape on his chin. He grinned up at us and said, “I hate it when that happens!”
One of the guys asked him incredulously, “Did you do that on purpose?”
Another example of his determination was when he joined the swim team. I had swum the year before and lettered in water polo. Eric decided he’d like to take a crack at competitive sports. He never missed a practice, even though he never placed higher than last in any meet. Sometimes he ended up in the wrong lane because his left side was so much stronger than his right, and he often worked up such momentum that he crashed into the concrete pool sides. But by the end of the season, he had halved his personal best time for the 50-meter freestyle.
Eric has been an example to me, even when I wouldn’t admit it. He taught me how to be tolerant of other people’s differences, how to overcome and overlook weakness, and how to find strength. He taught me to use what I have and to never give up. He showed me the value of being myself and how to love without condition.

This lesson was brought home to one Latter-day Saint mother after a trip to the store with her daughter. None of the packages of hair bows on the shelf had exactly the right selection of colors, but it was possible to open and reseal the packages, so the mother removed unwanted bows from one package and replaced them with bows in preferred colors from another package. Both packages still had the same number and quality of hair bows; only the colors were different. But the mother was troubled for days after making the purchase. Finally she saw the problem clearly; she had manipulated the truth to her own advantage, in effect bearing false witness. Humbly, she asked her daughter’s forgiveness for teaching a lesson in dishonesty, and the two of them discussed how they could make amends.

The years since my mission have provided opportunities for the fulfillment of those missionary promises. I returned home to marry my high school sweetheart, Christine Swensen. She is a wonderful companion, and I love her dearly. As a registered nurse, she worked helping us to get through dental school. As school was drawing to a close and our sixth wedding anniversary was upon us, we were still without children. Then a door opened and an opportunity presented itself, and Ashley came into our lives. Our dear, precious Ashley.
A year later we traveled to Bolivia to bring Joshua home from an orphanage. He was two years old. I can still see that beautiful little boy walking to me with outstretched arms, saying, “Papa, Papa.”
Megan then joined us, not even twenty-four hours old when we brought her home. Then back to Bolivia for Daniel, five months old when we held him for the first time.
Several years later, while I was presiding over the Mexico Merida Mission, Jennifer joined our family—a beautiful two-week-old Guatemalan baby girl born in Mexico. She opened the hearts of our missionaries and members in southern Mexico. Natalie Joy came into our family three weeks before our mission ended. Her middle name, Joy, is an eternal reminder of the witness we received that she should be included in our family.
After sixteen years of marriage and six adoptions, Anne and Andrew naturally joined our family, to the joy and happiness of their brothers and sisters. As a family, we are forever grateful for the binding and sealing effect the temple provides for the members of Jesus Christ’s church.
With special promises made to the Lord under the stars in Bolivia at Easter time 1968, there is not a day goes by but that Chris and I embrace our children and feel of God’s love for all of His children. And now, as with Easter 1968, for me Easter season 1995 will be one never to be forgotten.

A good example of this is found in a little story which I heard recently. A young boy was playing baseball with his friends when his mother’s voice came loud and clear, calling, "Charlie, Charlie!" He instantly threw down his bat, picked up his jacket and cap, and started for home.

"Don’t go yet; finish the game!" cried the other players.

"I must go right this minute. I told my mother I would come when she called," was Charlie’s response.

"Pretend you didn’t hear," said the boys.

"But I did hear," said Charlie.

"She won’t know you did."

"But I know it, and I’ve got to go."

One of the boys finally said, "Oh, let him go. You can’t change his mind. He’s tied to his mother’s apron string. He’s such a baby he runs the minute she calls."

As he ran off, Charlie called back, "I don’t call it babyish to keep one’s word to his mother. I call it manly, and the boy who doesn’t keep his word to her will never keep it to anyone else."

Years later Charlie became a prosperous businessman and president of a large corporation. His associates always said "His word is his bond," and during a press interview on one occasion he was asked how he acquired such a reputation. His response: "I never broke my word when a boy, no matter how great a temptation, and the habits formed then have clung to me through life." (Adapted from "True and Faithful," in Moral Stories for Little Folks, Salt Lake City: Juvenile Instructor Office, 1891, p. 122.)

As the Saints arrive in the Salt Lake Valley, they begin to find happiness in the fertile and untouched basin. They plant crops. They sing songs and dance. They have found a home where none will come to hurt or make afraid. Or have they?
The chipper of crickets comes from above and behind the audience, and then the pioneers on stage begin to stomp wildly, threshing their arms and feet to kill the two-inch black insects. Louder and louder the sounds come until the Saints fall on their knees and pray for deliverance. Finally the calling of sea gulls fills the air—relief is near and the balcony chorus changes the shushing and finger clicking of cricket sounds to a song of thanksgiving.

Growing up, I thought I knew what serving a mission would be like. My older siblings had served missions, I had seen movies about missionaries, and I was ready to get to work. But as my mission got closer, my plan quickly fell apart.
Because of the COVID-19 pandemic, I was reassigned from my original call in the Philippines to my home country of Australia. When I arrived in the mission field, my experience was different than what I had expected. I desperately wanted to go home.
After I talked with my mission president, he gave me the option to finish my mission early and return home—exactly what I wanted. But when I was presented with that choice, I felt an overwhelming feeling from the Spirit that I should stay in the mission field.
I had a choice to make: act on revelation or act on my own desires.
Because of past experiences following promptings, I trusted that even though it wasn’t what I wanted to hear, this prompting to stay on my mission would ultimately be for my good.
I ended up serving a full two years and completing my mission. I wish I could say that the remainder of my time was super easy, but it wasn’t. However, the things I learned, the daily habits that connected me with Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ, and the deeper testimony I gained from serving have kept me grounded in the gospel.
Elder David A. Bednar of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles addressed this sort of situation when he said: “Very rarely does one prompting bring an answer. There’s almost always a sequence, ‘line upon line, precept upon precept’ (2 Nephi 28:30).” Even though my mission was tough, I was able to press forward with hope that God had a plan for me and that my struggles wouldn’t be in vain, because of the revelation I had received.

“This was a once in a lifetime experience to be part of a team of like-minded people, freely giving of their time and enjoying being part of the community,” reflects David Cook about his experiences serving as a volunteer for the Commonwealth Games held in Birmingham this past summer.
David is a member of the Church and worked within a team of 14,000 other volunteers who were critical to the successful operation of the games.
His role, experiences, and feelings along with other volunteers in the games who are also members of the Church living in the greater Birmingham area are shared below.
David Cook, Coventry Stake
David was selected to assist in the interview process from September through December of 2021, to pare down over 40,000 applicants to the 24,000 who were eligible for an interview. After reviewing applications and a 30-minute interview, 14,000 individuals were finally selected to receive one of over three hundred roles as a volunteer. He later provided training for specific roles at the games’ venues and looked after the welfare of the volunteers.
He says, “I interviewed amazing people, I served with amazing people. I worked with amazing people.”
David recalls that those applying for roles as volunteers often expressed the sentiment, “The games are an opportunity for me to give something back to the city that has helped me so much and that I have enjoyed. It has meant so much to me.”
According to David Cook, there were over 6,000 athletes and officials at the Games. “We all agreed that this was a ‘once in a lifetime’ experience as the games happen every four years and could occur in any Commonwealth country. It is unlikely that they will be in Birmingham again in my life.”

Three weeks before Christmas Dad gathered the family together for family home evening. He and Mom sat on the couch, while the four children, Lisa, Janie, Brian, and Kevin sat on the floor. “I have something important to tell you,” he said soberly after the opening song and prayer. “You know that I’ve been laid off from my job until at least January, so I’m afraid that there won’t be many Christmas presents this year, even from Santa. I hope that you children won’t be too disappointed.”
“Can we still put up our Christmas decorations?” Lisa asked.
“We can decorate the house with the things we have packed away,” Mom answered. “Christmas will still be Christmas, even without a lot of presents.”
“Are we still getting a baby?” Kevin piped up. “That would be the best Christmas present.”
Dad nodded. “The adoption agency called last week and said that our baby from Korea would be coming anytime.”
“Is the baby a boy or a girl?” Janie asked.
Dad chuckled. “We won’t know until the baby arrives. That’s going to be a surprise.”
“Surprise!” Brian repeated, clapping his hands.
“Where’s Korea?” Lisa asked.
“Korea is across the ocean. This baby doesn’t have any parents and needs a loving mother, father, brothers, and sisters.”
“We have all those things in our family!” Janie exclaimed.
“That’s right,” Dad said. “We want to give the love we have to this baby too. Now, let’s have our lesson.”
After family home evening was over and the younger children were in bed, Lisa pulled the four flannel stockings out of the box in the closet. Each had a child’s name on it in red flannel letters. Her own looked old and worn after eleven years. Next came Janie’s, then Kevin’s and Brian’s. Brian’s stocking was the newest and looked the best. Next Christmas Mom would make another stocking for the new baby.
“May I hang them on the mantel, Mom?” Lisa called into the kitchen.
Mom came to the door, wiping wet hands on her faded jeans. “Just yours. I’m sure that Janie and the boys will want to hang their own stockings in the morning.”
Lisa nodded. I hope that at least our stockings are filled to the top with goodies, she thought. It will be hard enough to see a tree without all the usual wrapped packages under it. Of course, acting out the story of Jesus’ birth is special, and we’ll still do that.
Each Christmas Eve the family acted out the story while Dad read aloud from the Bible and the Book of Mormon. It was Janie’s turn to be Mary this year, and Kevin would play Joseph. Lisa supposed that she would be the angel and Brian a little shepherd. He was too big to be the Baby Jesus, so they’d have to use a doll for that role this year.
The family made December as special as they could without spending any money. The mountains near their home had lots of good pine trees, and after getting the necessary permit, they cut down a little one and hauled it home in their station wagon. Then they unpacked boxes of ornaments and decorated the tree.
The children created cards out of red and green construction paper decorated with glitter. They wrote poems for the greeting inside, then delivered them to friends and neighbors.
This year Christmas Eve was on Sunday, and the family all participated in the Christmas programs at church. Lisa enjoyed singing the Primary songs and listening to the ward choir during sacrament meeting.
On the drive home Lisa thought about their tree and the few gifts under it. It was difficult not to feel disappointed.
As they walked in the door, the telephone rang. Mom answered it. At first a look of surprise crossed her face, then she cried, “Oh yes! We’ll be there as fast as we can.” She hung up and turned to the family. “Lisa, can you tend the younger children for a few hours? Dad and I need to go to the airport.”
“Now? Today’s Christmas Eve.”
Mom nodded as Dad hurried to get their coats. “I think we just might have a surprise gift for Christmas. We’ll have our program when we get back tonight.”
The children waved good-bye from the window, and Janie murmured, “I wonder what it is. Mom and Dad were so excited. Maybe it’s the baby! Or it might be that Grandma’s coming from California.”
Lisa smiled at her sister. “I don’t think it’s Grandma—we’d have been getting a room ready for her. I guess we’ll have to just wait and see.”
The rest of the afternoon Lisa kept her brothers and sister occupied with stories and games. It was nearly dinnertime when their parents returned.
The front door opened with a whoosh of cold winter air, and Lisa, Janie, Kevin, and Brian ran to the door, practically stumbling over each other. “Where’s Grandma?” Kevin asked excitedly.
Mother laughed. “It’s not Grandma, honey, but it is somebody we’ve been waiting for.”
Dad went over to the couch, opened his great, heavy coat, and pulled out a large bundle. The bundle was a huge red and green stocking with blue and gold bows tied all over it. Inside was a baby boy with black hair and brown skin.
He opened his tiny almond eyes and blinked sleepily. On his head perched a red santa hat with a shiny silver bell.
Janie cried, “Our stockings on the mantel might be empty right now, but this one’s full to the top!”
Lisa thought that she would burst with happiness. Everybody was smiling at everybody else, and there were tears in Mom’s eyes.
“We have our Christmas baby now,” Kevin cried, and he hurried to set up the manger bed with Janie’s doll cradle.
“Please get me the scriptures, Lisa,” Dad said. He gave her a warm, understanding look, and the heavy, anxious feeling she’d had the past three weeks lifted from her heart.
Lisa pulled the book of scriptures from the bookcase. When she gave it to Dad, he gently put the baby in her arms. It didn’t matter anymore that there weren’t many presents under the tree. They had each other, and the spirit of Jesus Christ had come to their house that night through a tiny baby from halfway across the world.

In eighth grade I was in a book club. Each month we met to discuss a book, and at the end of the year we had a competition to see whose team knew the most about each book. One rule we always upheld was to read only clean books.
One month, when I started reading the next book, I felt like it wasn’t clean. But I needed to read it if I wanted my team to win the competition. I couldn’t let them down. A few chapters later, the book got worse. Finally, I put it down. I knew that I couldn’t read it—my spiritual cleanliness was worth more than winning a competition.
But I was so worried about telling my team. The night before our club’s meeting, I prayed to Heavenly Father to help me have courage to face them.
The next day I was really worried. I sat down with my team. Once the meeting started, I was about to explain to everyone that I couldn’t read the book. But before I could, the leader got up and apologized. She explained that she hadn’t read the book before putting it on our booklist and didn’t realize what was in it. She said she would take it off the list. When I got home, I thanked Heavenly Father.
I know that when we uphold our standards, the Lord watches over us. He doesn’t always take care of the situation as He did for me, but He will always give us the courage to make good decisions.
Ashleigh A., Utah, USA

Twenty years later as a bishop, I had the opportunity to see the effectiveness of a council not just in the meetinghouse but also in the mountains. During a Saturday activity, a member of our quorum had been lost in the forest overnight. As far as we knew, he was alone and without warm clothes, food, or shelter. We searched for him without success.
My memory is that we prayed together, the priests quorum and I, and I then asked each to speak. I listened intently, and it seemed to me that they did too, to each other. After a while, a feeling of peace settled on us. I felt that our lost quorum member was safe and dry somewhere.
It became clear to me what the quorum was to do and not to do. When the people who found him described the place in the woods where he had gone for safety, I felt that I recognized it. But the larger miracle for me was to see a united priesthood council’s faith in Jesus Christ bringing revelation to the man with the priesthood keys. We all grew that day in the power of the priesthood.

And it was Lester who taught me the "What-If" Game.
"What if one day yer flying along and ya smell smoke?"
"What if one day yer puddling along up there, minding your own business, and all of a sudden. …"
He had hundreds of what-ifs.
One evening as we were flying back and forth across an Ohio summer sky, polishing up a few maneuvers I’d need for my private pilot’s flight test, Lester suddenly reached up without warning and cut the switch on the plane’s engine. My heart stopped along with the propeller. Then he sat back, pulled his cap down over his eyes, folded his arms, and feigned sleep.
I panicked.
I’d stood on the ground and watched Lester come in dead stick a hundred times. So I knew it could be done. But Lester was good—and he’d been flying for 500 years! I was just a kid!
My neck was starting to unscrew from my shoulders as I swiveled my head trying to pick the best cornfield, wheatfield, hayfield, highway, Lake Erie, any place to land! We’d drilled on this a hundred times! But it was always with the engine idling. This was different. The gentle kick of an idling propeller was gone and the altimeter was unwinding—fast!
I finally spotted a good field and started to align the nose with it. It would be a tricky approach. We’d have to cross some woods and then slip quickly into a field I knew would be much too tight. But if I did it perfectly and then kicked it into a groundloop just as we reached the far side fence …
Lester stirred. "Why don’t ya use Bunch’s strip?" he asked, pointing downward. "You didn’t look right under us. We’re right over top of Bunch Woods’s home strip!"
He was right! Straight below us was about 1,200 feet of beautiful Ohio grass with Bunch Woods’s house and plane sitting smack at the end.
When we stopped rolling after landing, Lester sat up, set his cap back on straight and said, "Mebbe ya better play the What-If Game more often." He turned to look at me and his face was serious. "Because, ya know, it’s not a matter of if you’ll ever have an emergency in flight, it’s a matter of when. And when it happens, you’ll be glad you stretched for excellence instead of just being good."

Ninety-nine percent of the students at the Church’s Liahona High School are members of the Church. Sione Tu‘alau Latu, who attended in the 1950s, was not. Like many students not of our faith who attend, Sione gained a testimony and was baptized. He remembers: “I came from a poor family with nine children. We lived on a small island. My father died before I was born, and I wanted to do something to help. I decided to try and go to the Church College [now Brigham Young University—Hawaii], but I knew I would have to pass a difficult government exam. I was afraid. I had been taught that if you fast and pray, the Lord will give you the answer. So I began to look for a place to pray in private. On my way home from school, I passed a taro field with its tall, broad-leafed plants. I thought, If Joseph Smith can pray in a grove of trees and get an answer to his prayers, then I can pray here and get an answer to my prayers. I began to fast and returned to the taro patch. I made sure nobody was around, and then I knelt beneath the broad taro leaves. I prayed for what seemed like a long time. I felt so close to my Heavenly Father. When I got up, my shirt was wet with tears.”

Sione Latu passed the test and got a scholarship. “I knew these things came to me in answer to my prayer under the taro plant,” he remembers. “I knelt and thanked the Lord and promised Him I would come back and help my family and my country.”

Brother Latu did come back and has served his people as a longtime Church leader and a gifted businessman. He is well suited for his calling as director of public affairs for the Church, where he sees the growing positive effect Latter-day Saints are having on the nation of Tonga.