Gospel Story Finder

Bert was left fielder on the Cubs Little League team. But most of the time he just sat on the bench. So when he did get a chance, he knew he had to do his very best—he had to be a winner.
One day during a game their left fielder kept dropping the ball. Suddenly the coach hollered, “Bert, get out there. I’m taking Fellini out of the game.”
“Does he mean me?” Bert asked in surprise. He clutched his mitt, thrilled and half scared.
“Sure, sure,” answered a teammate, poking Bert to make him move. “Hurry!”
Bert sprang up from the bench. “OK, coach!” He hustled out to the field. The coach wants me in now, he puzzled, with a Sox player on first and the score tied?
Bert ran toward the third baseman, a boy named Harvey.
“Be ready,” Harvey said. “They’ve got some big hitters coming up.”
“You bet,” Bert declared, punching his mitt hard with his fist. He’d show them. He just had to do a good job. And if he could, it would be the greatest feeling in the whole world. Suddenly he felt confident about his playing. All week he’d been practicing snagging flies and scooping up ground balls. He remembered what their coach always said—“Play to win: that’s what counts.”
The coach motioned to Bert to go farther back. A strong hitter must be coming up, the boy decided.
The Giant player, number eleven, came up to bat—a big guy. The pitcher wound up and zinged one over the plate. Number eleven swung … and missed. But there was plenty of power there. If he connects with the ball, it’ll really go, Bert thought. His hands felt hot and slippery. The batter swung again. What luck! Strike two. Then there was a foul ball. But what a crack of the bat! The ball went so far over the fence they had to send two kids out to hunt for it.
The batter took his time now. He rubbed his hands and hiked up his pants. Bert shivered in his shoes.
Suddenly the batter swung again, and snap went the bat. He had hit the ball, and it was coming like a bullet … straight toward left field. It was coming right toward Bert now, high and fast. Bert leaped in the air, reaching. It was like trying to catch a bird out of the sky. Then he fell over backward, rolling and rolling.
“Oh no!” Bert cried, his face full of dust. But he got back on his knees, and his hands were still clamped together. Everyone was shouting. He stood up. He held out his mitt and there was the ball cradled in it. Am I lucky! he thought excitedly. What a miracle. It could have been a homer—should have been, really.
Harvey ran over and pounded him on the back. “Great catch, Bert. He almost had a homer!”
“Yeah,” Bert said with a grin. “It was a lucky catch, wasn’t it?”
“Way to go, Bert!” the coach called, smiling.
Boy! Being a winner’s the greatest, Bert thought.
But just then Bert saw the batter walking back toward his team. He was all slouched over, and his cap was pulled down low over his face. He gave a quick rub to his eyes. And Bert realized that even winning isn’t one hundred percent perfect … for everyone.

Jennifer Hayman, 15, of the Lafayette (Indiana) Ward has been rewarded for her hard work and for keeping the Sabbath day holy.
Jennifer and her four-year-old quarter horse, “Something Savvy,” won the overall grand champion gelding prize at the Indiana State Fair. Interested in training, Jennifer has shown horses since she was seven. She was once told by a trainer that she needed to show on Sundays; otherwise she would never have enough experience to make it to the top. Jennifer and her family chose not to participate in Sunday horse shows. “I guess we showed them it can be done,” said Jennifer.

Happy Grandpa Day!
Hmm? You mean Grandpa’s birthday?
We know you miss him a lot, and we do too.
So today we want to celebrate him. We’ll do all his favorite things together!
Grandpa’s flowers are growing so well!
Stroganoff was Grandpa’s favorite meal. I made it for him every Sunday!
Mmmm.
Remember that GIANT sandcastle he helped us build? It was as big as me!
Thanks, kids. It was a great day.
We love you, Grandpa! And we know we will be with you again someday because of Jesus Christ.
You can share family memories on FamilySearch.org!

“The head of the presidential guard has announced that we are going to have a big party because our performance was so great!” shouted one of the guards.
I should have been happy, but as soon as I heard the news, I started to pray. I knew that our celebration would become a drinking party. I was spiritually strong enough not to drink, but I did not want my fellow guards to have a hard time because of me.
Military duty is mandatory for all South Korean young men, so I joined the army right after I finished my full-time mission. I was assigned to the presidential guard. My fellow guardsmen knew that I would never drink any alcoholic beverage because I was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. When the party was announced, they started to become nervous because they would be in trouble if I did not drink when our commanding officer gave the order to do so at the party.
There was a tradition that at celebrations the commander would stand before each guard, one at a time, and fill the guard’s glass with liquor. Then the guard would hold up the glass and say, “Thank you, sir!” and drink the liquor at once.
In military life, disobeying any order from a senior officer is insubordination and can cause big trouble not only for the person disobeying but also for the members of his corps. In the worst case, insubordination could even result in being sent to jail, and this made my fellow guards nervous.
The day of the party arrived, and we 10 guards sat around the table. Each had an empty glass in front him. I was sitting in the third chair. Our commander entered and filled the first glass. The guard held up his glass and said, “Thank you, sir!” Then he drank.
Our commander moved to the second guard and did the same. Then it was my turn. I was ready to keep the Word of Wisdom, and I kept praying in my heart for the sake of my fellow guards. When our commanding officer filled my glass, with a loud voice I said, “Thank you, sir!” Then I was going to say I was sorry and could not drink.
At that moment, his secretary entered and said, “Sir, you have a phone call.” Our commander turned to him and said, “I’m busy.”
I was still holding the glass when the secretary added, “Sir, it’s the president.” Our commander replied, “Oh, OK,” and then he immediately left.
Suddenly the second guard switched his empty glass with mine and quickly drank the liquor. Soon afterward our commander returned, saw my empty glass, and said, “Oh, you finished already!” Then he moved to the fourth guard. Everyone took a deep breath and relaxed.

Our family recently acquired a personal computer, and I enthusiastically set about learning to use it. Having artistic interests, one thing that I found fascinating was a paint program. The first day I had great fun using circles and lines of varying sizes to create simple pictures. The magic of computers was mine!
A couple of days later, as I was exploring the various functions of this same program, I discovered a wealth of type styles and sizes that I could call up and reproduce on the screen. Then I found some preset designs and borders. Now I could make signs and posters. I had arrived!
Eventually, I found in the manual some detailed pictures that could be created with my program. I tried but found it impossible to reproduce them because of the clumsiness of drawing with the mouse attachment. I decided that I must lack some basic coordination gene and resolved to stick to what I already could do.
Then I learned about a command that would magnify an area of any picture so that it could be added to or taken from one small dot at a time. With this knowledge I finally, painstakingly created a picture that was the equal of any example in the manual.
I am still learning new ways to use my computer. But, more importantly, my experience with it has convinced me of the need to continue daily in learning new ways to make the gospel a living, directing force in my life.

Recently a young father bore his testimony regarding his contribution to the temple fund. His challenge by his bishop was to accept a suggested assessment for the contribution to the temple fund. This amount totaled nearly all he had saved through the years to build his own home. After discussing this with his wife and his children, they decided to give to the Lord all they had in their savings account for the building of the temple in Tokyo, and they gave up their dream of a new home.
One day, not too long after making this contribution to the bishop, the man’s superiors called him into the office and unexpectedly gave him a promotion in the company, with a large increase in his salary, and also with the promotion came an allowance for a new home.

Nodoka T.

“I was nervous when the counselor asked me to go to stake Young Women camp for the first time,” says Nodoka T. of Okinawa, Japan. “I decided to pray. After my prayer I felt comfortable, so I decided to go.
“From the very first day, I was able to make new friends. The young women were so nice and kind to me; my fear soon disappeared. And I learned to purify water, tie knots, make bandages, perform rescue breathing, and find edible plants!”

On one occasion, one of my daughters came to me and asked me to keep her cell phone for a week. She said that she felt it was consuming too much of her time and attention and she wanted to reset her priorities. I put her phone on a shelf and she reclaimed it a while later. I loved the desire for self-mastery she demonstrated and the introspective analysis she practiced as she sought to act and not be acted upon.[10]

One Sunday afternoon when I was a bishop, a very disillusioned woman came to talk with me. She and her large family had recently moved into our ward. She told me that while she was growing up she had been taught many times that if she lived a faithful life and sought spiritual guidance, she would find her “one and only eternal companion,” and that temple marriage and righteous living would guarantee her a successful marriage. She had tried to follow this counsel, but after many years of an apparently happy marriage, her husband abandoned her for another woman, leaving her with many children and no financial foundation.
“What went wrong?” she asked. “Doesn’t God keep his promises?”
After attending to her feelings of pain and confusion, I reassured her of God’s love and suggested that the problem wasn’t with God or with her, but with her former husband—and with people who had led her to believe some things that just aren’t so.

My point is illustrated in a story by an unknown author that has appeared under many titles:

Years ago there was a very wealthy man who shared a passion for art collecting with his devoted young son. Together they traveled around the world, adding only the finest art treasures to their collection. Priceless works by Picasso, Van Gogh, Monet, and many others adorned the walls of the family estate. The widowed elderly man looked on with satisfaction as his only child became an experienced art collector. The son’s trained eye and sharp business mind caused his father to beam with pride as they dealt with art collectors around the world.

As winter approached, war engulfed the nation, and the young man left to serve his country. After only a few short weeks, his father received a telegram. His beloved son was missing in action. The art collector anxiously awaited more news, fearing he would never see his son again. Within days his fears were confirmed. The young man had died while rushing a fellow soldier to a medic.

Distraught and lonely, the old man viewed the upcoming Christmas holidays with anguish and sadness. The joy of the season that he and his son had so looked forward to would visit his house no longer.

On Christmas morning a knock on the door awakened the depressed old man. As he walked to the door, the masterpieces of art on the walls only reminded him that his son was not coming home. As he opened the door, he was greeted by a soldier with a large package in his hands. He introduced himself to the man by saying, “I was your son’s friend. I was the one he was rescuing when he died. May I come in for a few minutes? I have something to show you.”

As the two began to talk, the soldier told of how the man’s son had shared with everyone his and his father’s love of fine art.

“I’m an artist,” said the soldier, “and I want to give this to you.”

As the old man unwrapped the package, the paper gave way to reveal a portrait of the man’s son. Though the world would never consider it the work of a genius, the painting featured the son’s face in striking detail. Overcome with emotion, the man thanked the soldier, promising to hang the picture above the fireplace. A few hours after the soldier had departed, the old man set about his task. True to his word, the painting went above the fireplace, pushing away thousands of dollars worth of art. And then the man sat in his chair and spent Christmas gazing at the gift he had been given.

During the days and weeks that followed, the man realized that even though his son was no longer with him, the boy’s life would live on because of those he had touched. He would soon learn that his son had rescued dozens of wounded soldiers before a bullet stilled his caring heart. As the stories of his son’s gallantry continued to reach him, fatherly pride and satisfaction began to ease his grief. The painting of his son became his most prized possession, far eclipsing any interest in the expensive pieces for which international museums clamored. He told his neighbors the portrait of his son was the greatest gift he had ever received.

The following spring the old man became ill and passed away. The art world was in anticipation that with the collector’s passing, and his only son dead, those paintings would be sold at auction.

According to the will of the old man, all of the artworks would be auctioned on Christmas Day, the day he had received his greatest gift.

The day soon arrived, and art collectors from around the world gathered to bid on some of the world’s most spectacular paintings. Dreams would be fulfilled this day, and greatness would be achieved as many would be able to claim, “I have the greatest collection.”

The auction began with a painting that was not on any museum’s list. It was the painting of the old man’s son. The auctioneer asked for an opening bid, but the room was silent.

“Who will open the bidding with $100?” he asked.

Minutes passed, and no one spoke. From the back of the room came a voice, “Who cares about that painting? It’s just a picture of his son. Let’s forget it and move on to the good stuff.” Many voices echoed in agreement.

“No, we have to sell this one first,” replied the auctioneer. “Now, who will take the son?”

Finally, a neighbor of the old man spoke, “Will you take $10 for the painting? That’s really all I have. And since I knew the boy, I’d like to have it.”

After more silence, the auctioneer said, “I have $10. Will anyone go higher?” Then the auctioneer said, “Going once, going twice, gone.”

The gavel fell. Cheers filled the room, and someone exclaimed, “Now we can get on with it and we can bid on the real treasures!”

The auctioneer looked at the audience and announced the auction was over.

Stunned disbelief quieted the room. Someone spoke up and asked, “What do you mean, it’s over? We didn’t come here to bid on a picture of some old guy’s son. What about all of these other paintings? There are millions of dollars worth of art here! I demand that you explain what is going on!” Other voices raised in agreement.

The auctioneer raised his hand and the room quieted. He then replied, “It’s very simple. According to the will of the father, whoever takes the son gets it all.”

Just as those art collectors discovered that Christmas Day, the message is still the same: Because of the love of the Father—a Father whose greatest joy came from His Son, who went away and gave His life rescuing others—whoever takes the Son gets it all!

[A man arrived] home from work to find a very small girl sitting on the curb in front of his house, crying. He asked if he could help. Through her sobs she explained that she was lost. He told her that this was his house and his wife was inside. He told her he knew she shouldn’t go with strangers, but if she felt comfortable going inside, he and his wife would try to find her home. They went into his house, and his wife, Linda, began to console the little girl. “I’m sure you must be very frightened,” she said.
“I was frightened,” the girl responded, “until I saw the picture of Jesus hanging on your wall. Then I knew I would be safe.”

When Elder Ballard was a young bishop, a rowdy nine-year-old boy caused his Primary teacher a lot of angst. After several weeks the teacher escorted the boy into the bishop’s office and said, “Bishop, here’s one of your flock. Tend it.”

Bishop Ballard wasn’t sure what to do. But at that moment an impression came: ask the child to report every week about his behavior in Primary. Bishop Ballard issued that challenge, and it changed the boy’s attitude. The child saw that he could do things differently.

“I didn’t have that idea of accountability in mind before he landed on my doorstep,” Elder Ballard says. “But the Lord, by the power of the Spirit, inspires a worthy and a righteous teacher or leader to know what to do and what to say to bring the best out of anyone, in particular our young people.”

Incidentally, that nine-year-old turned out to be “terrific,” Elder Ballard says. He served a mission, married in the temple, and became a great leader.

The first winter in the Salt Lake Valley was hard for the Smith family. Food and shelter were scarce. When summer came and the family finally had a crop, Mary insisted that they pay a full and honest tithe. In those days, tithing was often paid in goods. Mary selected her best potatoes and headed for the tithing office. When William Thompson, a tithing clerk, saw her, he questioned her need to pay tithing, because she was so poor. Mary retorted, “William, you ought to be ashamed of yourself. Would you deny me a blessing? If I did not pay my tithing I should expect the Lord to withhold His blessings from me; I pay my tithing, not only because it is a law of God but because I expect a blessing by doing it.”

Mary continued to pay her tithing, whatever her circumstances. She remained independent, raising chickens, sheep, and cattle. Her faithfulness impressed her children with the importance of tithing.

In the summer of 1993, Sister Bateman and I received an assignment to serve in the Asia North Area, which included Japan, Korea, and far east Russia. The opportunity to live and work in that part of the world was exciting. We had lived in Europe and Africa earlier, but Asia was new to us. As a member of the area presidency, I had responsibility for the stakes, districts, and missions in the three countries. One of the key assignments was to conduct mission tours. Each mission of the Church is visited annually by a General Authority, usually a member of the area presidency. The presidency member and his wife travel with the mission president and his wife throughout the mission, visiting and interviewing missionaries.

Shortly after our arrival in Japan, a mission tour was scheduled for the Fukuoka Mission on the island of Kyushu. Sister Bateman and I were to meet with President and Sister Cyril Figuerres and tour the mission. A few days before the tour began, a tropical storm, one of the worst in the history of Japan, struck Kyushu with typhoon force, wreaking havoc across the island. The city of Kagoshima on the island’s southern tip was particularly hard hit as roofs were ripped off buildings, homes were demolished as they slid down mountainsides, trains came to a halt, and cars were swept into the ocean. Initially, there was concern about the safety and welfare of the missionaries and Saints, but reports confirmed that everyone was safe.

A few days later we learned of many acts of service that the missionaries had rendered during the storm. Missionaries had directed traffic at busy intersections where stoplights had failed. Two missionaries had helped a man change a flat tire in the midst of the gale as the owner was unable to secure his car on the jack and remove the good tire from the trunk. Throughout the island missionaries had assisted people in protecting their homes and personal belongings. Over and over the missionaries demonstrated love for the people through acts of kindness and service. In the week immediately following the storm, missionaries spent hours and days cleaning homes of thick layers of mud and helping with repairs.

Approximately one week after the storm, Sister Bateman and I met President and Sister Figuerres in Fukuoka on the north end of the island and then flew to Kagoshima to begin the mission tour. We drove from the airport to the chapel where the missionaries were waiting to begin a zone conference. As we entered the parking lot, we noticed the missionaries standing outside the chapel in a line waiting to greet us. I remember that as we got out of the car and approached the missionaries, the Spirit was so strong that it brought tears to our eyes and we could hardly contain our feelings. Their countenances exuded light. They were clean and well dressed, and their mannerisms reflected an inner peace and humility. A strong impression came that they had had an extraordinary experience—a refining one—as they had become Ammon-like servants to the Japanese people and to the Master. The discussions that ensued in the zone conference, the lessons taught, and the testimonies borne confirmed our impressions.

After the conference Sister Bateman and I discussed what we had seen and felt. We wondered if the experiences associated with the storm were primarily responsible for the special spirit that prevailed among the Kagoshima missionaries. Obviously they had been impacted by the events. But as we continued the tour and observed missionaries in other parts of the mission, we found a similar pattern of faith, obedience, and motivation to serve. We eventually concluded that there were a number of reasons for the faith and power displayed by the missionaries: the mission president was an effective teacher; the missionaries were obedient and responded to his teachings; and, like Ammon and the sons of Mosiah, they studied the scriptures, they fasted and prayed, they worked hard, and they “taught with power and authority” (Alma 17:2–3).

“Spiritual strength frequently comes through selfless service.
“Two weeks ago I received a touching letter from a father of seven who wrote about his family and, in particular, his son Jason, who had become ill when 11 years of age. Over the next few years, Jason’s illness recurred several times. This father told of Jason’s positive attitude and sunny disposition, despite his health challenges. Jason received the Aaronic Priesthood at age 12 and ‘always willingly magnified his responsibilities with excellence, whether he felt well or not.’ He received his Eagle Scout Award when he was 14 years old.
“Last summer, not long after Jason’s 15th birthday, he was once again admitted to the hospital. On one of his visits to see Jason, his father found him with his eyes closed. Not knowing whether Jason was asleep or awake, he began talking softly to him. ‘Jason,’ he said, ‘I know you have been through a lot in your short life and that your current condition is difficult. Even though you have a giant battle ahead, I don’t ever want you to lose your faith in Jesus Christ.’ He said he was startled as Jason immediately opened his eyes and said ‘Never!’ in a clear, resolute voice. Jason then closed his eyes and said no more.
“His father wrote, ‘In this simple declaration, Jason expressed one of the most powerful, pure testimonies of Jesus Christ that I have ever heard. … As his declaration of “Never!” became imprinted on my soul that day, my heart filled with joy that my Heavenly Father had blessed me to be the father of such a tremendous and noble boy.’”

The Prophet’s parents, Joseph Smith Sr. and Lucy Mack Smith, married in Tunbridge, Vermont, USA, in 1796. After six years of fairly successful farming, the Smiths moved to nearby Randolph to try their hand at storekeeping.3

The line of goods Joseph Sr. acquired with the help of Boston-based creditors moved quickly to eager new customers—not for cash but for promises of payment once harvests came in at the end of the growing season. As he waited for promised payments to pay off his creditors, he jumped into a new investment opportunity.

In those days Chinese markets were clamoring for crystallized ginseng root. Though Joseph Sr. had a hard-cash offer from a middleman for $3,000 for the ginseng root he had collected and prepared for shipment, he decided on the riskier but potentially more lucrative strategy of taking the product to New York himself and contracting with a ship’s captain to sell his goods in China on consignment. By eliminating the middleman, he stood to make as much as $4,500—an immense sum in those days.4

As bad luck or sinister planning would have it, Joseph Sr.’s shipment ended up on the same boat carrying the son of the middleman with whom he had declined to do business. Taking advantage of the situation, this son sold the Smith ginseng in China “at a high price” and kept the proceeds while spinning tales that the venture had been a bust, producing only a chest full of tea as reward.5

Meanwhile, just as this swindle was unfolding, the payments for a large inventory of merchandise had fallen due at the Smith store. In the face of demanding creditors, the Smiths hit a desperation point. To pay their debts, Lucy gave up a wedding gift of $1,000 that she had saved for years, and Joseph accepted $800 for the family farm in Tunbridge.6 The farm was the one thing that would have at least guaranteed a modicum of economic stability and long-term physical security in the often harsh world of the early American frontier. Now, penniless and landless, the Smiths would be forced to move eight times in 14 years, constantly looking for a way to provide for their family.

At least one of those moves was triggered by the financial difficulty of accumulated medical bills incurred from the 1813 typhoid fever epidemic that struck all the children of the Smith family with great and debilitating force. A few weeks after Joseph’s fever had passed, he experienced tremendous pain in his shoulder. A local doctor misdiagnosed the pain as a consequence of a sprain. Two weeks later, when the pain had escalated to excruciating levels, the doctor returned and discovered a pool of infection linked to Joseph’s extended fever.7

A lancing of the sore area drew out a quart of infected matter, but the procedure was incomplete, and new infection moved to Joseph’s lower left leg. For this, a surgeon was summoned. He made an eight-inch (20 cm) incision from the knee to the ankle, which eased the pain somewhat. But the infection, unfortunately, shot into the bone.8

At this point the family sought the latest medical advice from leading authorities at Dartmouth Medical College. Lucy insisted that the most logical and customary procedure, amputation, not be used. Instead, the Smiths would try a new and painful procedure—one without promise of success. Doctors would open Joseph’s leg and bore two holes in each side of the bone. Then they would chip off three large pieces of the bone to remove all the infected area.9

All of this was to be done without the advantages of today’s general anesthesia. As a consequence, the family was urged to give Joseph alcohol or to tie him to the bed so he would not jerk away in pain during the delicate procedure. At the tender age of seven, Joseph refused both options. Instead, he made two requests—that his father hold him and that his mother leave the room.10

When Joseph’s cries became so great that his mother could not be kept away, twice she entered the room over his pleading objections. What she saw seared an indelible memory. There was Joseph lying in a blood-drenched bed, “pale as a corpse, [with] large drops of sweat … rolling down his face, whilst upon every feature was depicted the utmost agony.”11 Fortunately, the operation was a success, but Joseph would spend the next three years on crutches.

Many years ago, a man in my stake was dying from cancer. He was a good, faithful High Priest. His Bishop called me on the phone and said: "President Walker, Brother Bolyard is bed-ridden and near the end of his life. His recommend will soon expire and he would like to renew it. He can't come to the office, so I would like to go to his home to give him his interview. Would you be willing to accompany me?"

Gladly, I went to the man's home with the Bishop. In turn, we each asked him the temple recommend questions, and signed his recommend. When I handed it to him, he smiled and said: "Thank you, President. I'm going to put it right here on my night stand, so that when they come to get me, they'll know I have a current temple recommend."

I was deeply impressed with the faith and devotion of this wonderful man. Each of us would be wise to follow his example - always have a current temple recommend.

Several years ago while my parents were helping the Relief Society organize some clothes, shoes, and other items to be donated to the needy, my father noticed a well-kept pair of shoes in the middle of a pile of items. At that moment he felt a strong impression to keep the shoes.
My mother laughed and said, “This pair of shoes is three sizes too small for you. They wouldn’t even fit!”
My father, however, strongly insisted. After several jokes from the sisters, they finally allowed him to keep the shoes.
As soon as he arrived home, he cleaned them, filled them with newspaper, and placed them in a box on top of his dresser. We received instructions not to touch the box. For five years it remained in the same place.
One day a new family moved into the house next door. They had two children and a six-month-old baby. My sister and I immediately became friends with their two girls, who were our age. We shared with our new friends what we were learning in church, and we invited them to Primary. They were excited and eager to learn more about what we had shared with them.
After returning home from Primary, they didn’t stop talking about the Church with their parents. Our parents then invited the whole family to hear the missionary lessons and go to church. They joyfully accepted. They loved the lessons, and we were excited to attend church with them.
But when Saturday came, their daughters seemed disheartened. When we asked what was wrong, they said their parents no longer wanted to go to church.
We were disappointed and asked Daddy to talk with their parents. When he told them about the blessings of attending church, the father replied, “Yes, I know all of this. The problem is that I haven’t worn any other kind of shoe besides my sneakers in a long time, and I know that we should go to Church meetings well dressed.”
At that moment my father looked at my mother. She knew exactly what to do. The shoes in the box on top of Daddy’s dresser fit our friends’ father perfectly, and the entire family went to church. It was a wonderful Sunday for them and for us. Soon they became members of the Church, and today they are a beautiful eternal family.
I know that my father received direction from the Holy Ghost to keep those shoes. As a result, I always seek His guidance in looking for families ready to hear the gospel. I know He prepares families, and I know we need to look for them and bring them to Christ.

When I first entered Young Women, I felt alone because I had left my friends in the Valiant class. However, I tried to support the young women, and they also supported me, and I was able to make new friends and interact with them. I no longer felt alone, and that made me happy. Now I am the president of the Beehives, and if I see a new sister who feels uncomfortable being with us, I talk with her, explain what we do in class, and make her feel that she is part of us.
Gredy G., 14, Lima, Peru

The center of St. Petersburg, crisscrossed by canals, is full of palaces, monuments, statues, churches, gardens, and museums. For seminary students from the Obukhovskii Branch, it seemed a perfect place to talk about their love of seminary, their love for the scriptures, and their love for their city.
Julia Shaikhulina reminisces about returning from a trip to the Stockholm (Sweden) Temple. “I wondered how I’d feel coming home, since going to the temple is such a wonderful experience. But it was autumn, and as our bus drove across the city, the trees and the buildings were bathed in a golden light. It made all of the buildings look beautiful. And I said to myself, I know that I love my city. It made me feel like I wanted to share the gospel with everyone.”