Gospel Story Finder

My missionary companion and I weren’t getting along so well. Sister Reynolds* and I were as different as—well, just think of any two opposites and you’ll have a fair idea of how different we were. We were like day and night, hot and cold, lobster and lunchmeat.
For example, my idea of Christmas decorating was to set out a miniature Nativity scene. Her idea involved covering every available surface with either tinsel, Christmas lights, fake snow, or all of the above.
Sister Reynolds thought an essential P-day activity was to grab the garden hose and have a water fight or apply a fresh coat of polish to her nails. My essential P-day activity was to grab the garden hose and wash the car or polish my shoes.
Or do yard work.
That usually consisted of nothing more than firing up the mower and taking it for a few turns around the front lawn, which was only slightly bigger than your average hankie. But one day I decided I was going to prune the hibiscus tree.
Now I’m no gardener. If killing houseplants were a crime, I’d be on death row by now. But this tree—like my companion—had been a source of irritation to me for some time. It was just so big. Its towering branches extended a good foot or two above the roof, and its dark foliage was so thick and dense that it obscured the view from our front window. And worst of all, it blocked out the sunlight, making our front room appear dim and gloomy.
Something had to be done, and although I had never pruned a tree myself, I had read about it often enough in the scriptures. How hard could it be?
I found a pair of pruning shears in the garage and went to work. As I worked, I thought of how the Savior often used examples from nature in his teachings. I wondered if I could illustrate a gospel principle by pruning a tree. I thought of how sometimes being cut back helps us be what God intended us to be. I also thought how bad habits, selfishness, and pride are like overgrown branches that stop trees from having the strength to bring forth the “good fruit” of joy and service.
Feeling quite pleased with this little analogy, my thoughts turned to my fun-loving companion. Now there’s someone whose tree needs a little trimming, I thought in exasperation. With each snip of my pruning shears, I imagined some habit or shortcoming I would love to cut off my companion.
Wakes up late. Snip! Plays practical jokes. Snip!
Snip! Snip! Snip!
I guess I got a bit carried away. When I stood back to survey my work, leafy branches and hibiscus flowers littered the ground. And the tree looked a bit like a Marine haircut.
It will probably fill out in a few weeks, I convinced myself.
A couple of months passed, and all the while my companion and I worked hard to overcome our differences. When Sister Reynolds’s transfer came, we parted on good terms.
I probably would have forgotten all about the hibiscus episode except that I stayed in the area for another month. And another and still another.
As it turned out, I spent the last eight months of my mission there. I had plenty of time to watch that poor hibiscus tree slowly shrivel up and die.
Those eight months also gave me plenty of time to make a few other observations. I noticed how sad it is to have a dried-up stump in your yard where there used to be a vibrant display of beautiful, tropical flowers. I also began to realize just how hot a room can get without any foliage to block the sun’s scorching rays.
Lastly I realized just how foolish and proud I had been to ever prune that tree in the first place.
Gospel principles began occurring to me. I thought of how sometimes we get so busy criticizing others and thinking about how they should change that we can’t see what we really need to change is the way we’re looking at things. I needed to open my eyes to the good in others and begin appreciating their true worth and beauty. Of course I thought about my former companion and how wrong I had been to want to prune away her beautiful branches.
What I had thought was her impulsiveness was actually a lovely quality called spontaneity. And her “irreverence” was something most people recognize as light heartedness. She could enjoy herself in all situations.
Sister Reynolds’s personality, I figured out, suited her abilities perfectly. That’s why she could do the work. She was just like that hibiscus tree.
As I look back on this experience, one lesson stands out. Pruning is best left to gardeners.

The young women in the Salt Lake Eagle Gate Stake’s 18th North Ward have a unique way of doing work for the dead. Many of them have done the conventional things lots of teenagers do: finding names, doing baptisms at the nearby Salt Lake Temple, and keeping records of their own lives to pass on to future generations. But this activity has been a little different.
The Salt Lake City Cemetery is within walking distance of the girls’ homes, and they have spent many hours there, working to revive the memory of a woman who seems to have been nearly forgotten. The headstone at the grave was never very large, and after more than a hundred years of cold winter storms and summer heat waves, it was crumbling, the name completely worn off.
The girls took some time to learn about the woman buried there. Her name was Sarah Melissa Granger Kimball. She was a Relief Society president for 41 years in a ward near the girls’ homes and worked tirelessly as a wife, mother, and educator.
The girls decided that a woman who had contributed so much to the lives of women who were the early settlers of Utah deserved a little more recognition than the tired old headstone afforded her.
So they got to work. First, they listed the work that needed to be done and divided it into individual assignments. Crissy Renda was the group’s researcher. Rebecca Priggemeyer documented the group’s progress on film. The other girls helped in various aspects of selecting a new monument to mark the grave, and they each participated in keeping a journal about their feelings and insights during the project.
“I used to think of Relief Society as something for people old or boring,” says Elizabeth Clark. “But learning about Sarah, I realized that she was energetic and really dedicated to making women’s lives better. The way I feel about Relief Society has really changed.”
It isn’t every day the Relief Society general presidency, the general board, and a representative of the Young Women presidency show up to a Young Women activity. But this was no ordinary activity.
When the time came to place the headstone, the Young Women wanted to do something special. They had spent countless hours researching Sarah’s life, and they wanted to pay tribute to Sarah for what they had learned from her.
“I am so grateful for everything that Sarah has done for the women of the Church,” Crissy says. “By researching her life, I have come to feel a closeness to her.”
Many of Sarah’s accomplishments are listed on the back of the monument the Young Women erected. At age 15, Sarah was invited to be educated with the School of the Prophets. She founded the Ladies Society of Nauvoo. She helped build the first Relief Society hall and Relief Society granary. She served as the first president of the Utah Women’s Suffrage Association, where she was a strong voice in the campaign to give women the right to vote. She also served in the general Relief Society presidency for 12 years.
As these young women did this unique work for the dead, they discovered that their work was a fulfillment of prophecy. Sarah was promised by Joseph Smith that because of her devotion she would be remembered from generation to generation.* As the young women uncovered stories about Sarah, they learned of her dedication to the Church. They believe the stories of her dedication will shape their lives and keep the memory of Sarah alive.

As we are still getting to know each other here at BYUH, I thought some of you might want to hear about how Monica and I met.
I went to college, and I was a little bit younger than everyone else. I had a cousin who lived in Provo, Utah, and I spent a lot of time hanging out with her friends. They were in high school and were my age. Monica was a part of that friend group, and we somehow never overlapped or connected in any way. Monica's brother even came and spent some time with his friends at my house, and I still never met Monica.
I was home from my mission a few years later, and Monica was at my cousins' house with her friends. My cousin told Monica that I was home from my mission and that she should go on a date with me. Monica looked at Amy and said, "I don't know who that is. What are you talking about?" The rest of Monica's friends were there and remembered who I was, but Monica had never met me; I had never met her, and we had no recollection at all. So, Amy said that we needed to get together.
She arranged for us to spend time together in a group setting, and I picked Monica up for a fireside, and we spent some time together there. There is some disputing over the next events; whether I didn't call back or she didn't answer... I don't know what happened, but nothing happened for several months. Maybe her younger brother didn't pass the message on, but several months later, I woke up on the 4th of July, and I woke up and thought, I should go run the 10k in Provo. I signed up and registered for the race and went to the starting line. When I was there, I saw Monica and some of her friends. I started chatting and reconnecting with Monica.
I made a mental note that I needed to beat her in the race so that I could wait for her and talk to her afterward. At that point, we found out that we were both signed up for the same marathon a few months from then. We decided to train together, and after running about 200 miles together, we went out on an actual date. Six months later, we were engaged, and six months after that, we were married.
I am inspired by her example of faith and confidence in doing what God would have us do. I am grateful to be on this eternal journey with Monica and appreciate all the love and support she provides for this vital work that we are doing.

I plead that we will not procrastinate and that we will heed our Lord’s commandment to live the law of the tithe. I know of two missionaries who visited a very poor family. The family’s home was made of pressboard and sticks, with a dirt floor and no electricity or beds. Each evening the father, a farm laborer, spent his entire day’s wages on groceries for dinner. Departing from their humble home, the senior companion thought to himself, “The law of tithing will surely be a stumbling block to this family. Perhaps we shouldn’t bring it up for a while.” A few moments later, the junior companion, who had grown up in similar circumstances in his own country, voiced his own thoughts aloud: “I know the principle of tithing isn’t taught for four more discussions, but can we please teach it the next time we visit? They need to know about tithing now because they need the help and the blessing of the Lord so much.”
This missionary understood that “there is a law, irrevocably decreed in heaven before the foundations of this world, upon which all blessings are predicated—And when we obtain any blessing from God, it is by obedience to that law upon which it is predicated.” The Lord wants to bless this family and anxiously awaits their obedience so He can.

The big thing about telling derogatory things about people is that in doing so we counteract the ability of others to forgive those people. Once when I was a new deacon, I found out why one of our home teaching families was not letting us visit them. I was telling my younger brother about this. My dad came up and told me I should not be repeating those things. I have come to realize that he was right, and we should not say bad things about people. Derogatory and bad things definitely do not fall under what we say we seek after in the 13th article of faith.
John Pack Lambert, 16Sterling Heights, Michigan

“I can remember my first big fishing trip. I was ten years old, and we went to Mackay, Idaho. My father taught me how to put the worm on the hook, and it was very distasteful to me. I kept thinking, Dad, why can’t you do this? I don’t want to do it. When I asked him, though, he said, ‘If you’re going to learn to fish, you have to learn to do everything.’ And so he made me put the worm on the hook. Then, when I caught my first fish, I didn’t know what to do with that wiggly, slippery thing. My father taught me how to clean the fish: I had to hold it in one hand and cut it open and clean out its entrails, which was a very unpleasant job for me. But I could see my father’s wisdom—without actually doing all that a task requires, we often don’t learn everything we need to know.”

Illustrations by Shauna Mooney Kawasaki
Boy: Hey! What do you two think you’re doing?
Matt: What does it look like? We’re cleaning up this vacant lot.
Boy: Why?
Mandy: Heavenly Father gave us a beautiful world. We’re just trying to help keep it that way.
Boy: Oh, right, the two of you are going to save the earth all by yourselves!
Mandy: Two not enough? Join us, and we’ll be three.
Boy 2: Hey! What do you three think you’re doing?

Perhaps a personal experience will help to illustrate the point. When I was a young resident physician at Boston Children’s Hospital, I worked long hours and traveled between the hospital and our home in Watertown, Massachusetts, mostly by bicycle since my wife and young family needed our car. One evening I was riding home after a long period in the hospital, feeling tired and hungry and at least a bit discouraged. I knew I needed to give my wife and four small children not only my time and energy when I got home but also a cheery attitude. I was, frankly, finding it hard to just keep pedaling.
My route would take me past a fried chicken shop, and I felt like I would be a lot less hungry and tired if I could pause for a piece of chicken on my way home. I knew they were running a sale on thighs or drumsticks for 29 cents each, but when I checked my wallet, all I had was one nickel. As I rode along, I told the Lord my situation and asked if, in His mercy, He could let me find a quarter on the side of the road. I told Him that I didn’t need this as a sign but that I would be really grateful if He felt to grant me this kind blessing.
I began watching the ground more intently but saw nothing. Trying to maintain a faith-filled but submissive attitude as I rode, I approached the store. Then, almost exactly across the street from the chicken place, I saw a quarter on the ground. With gratitude and relief, I picked it up, bought the chicken, savored every morsel, and rode happily home.
In His mercy, the God of heaven, the Creator and Ruler of all things everywhere, had heard a prayer about a very minor thing. One might well ask why He would concern Himself with something so small. I am led to believe that our Heavenly Father loves us so much that the things that are important to us become important to Him, just because He loves us. How much more would He want to help us with the big things that we ask, which are right (see 3 Nephi 18:20)?

February 5Dear Elder Green,
My Primary teacher said that we should write to a missionary twice a month—that you need letters, and we’ll get blessings. She also said that she’d have an ice-cream party for anyone who wrote.
My name’s Jeffrey. I’m eleven. I don’t have any brothers or sisters. Mom thinks that writing to you is good, but my dad thinks that it’s dumb. He doesn’t belong to the Church, and he can’t understand why anybody would give up two years to knock on doors and bother people. Two years is a long time. I know that you’re coming home in a few months. What do you think?
Write back soon.
Sincerely,Jeffrey
February 19Dear Elder Green,
Wow! I never thought you’d write back so fast! Thanks for the cool stamp too. I’m starting a stamp collection with it.
I showed Dad your letter. At first he laughed as he read it, but he stopped laughing after a while. I especially liked what you said about Joseph Smith and the Book of Mormon.
Now Dad wants to know why we need more scriptures when we already have the Bible. I tried explaining, but got mixed up.
School is OK. I made an ashtray for Dad in art.
Sincerely,Jeffrey
March 5Dear Elder Green,
Thanks for the letter and stamps.
Your answer to Dad’s question was interesting. You’re right—how else were the ancient people in America going to get the gospel? And of course they’d write down what their prophets said!
Dad frowned when I showed him your letter, but when I asked him if it made sense, he nodded. Then he said it would make more sense if you could be sure the Book of Mormon was true. Otherwise, it is just a good story. I offered to lend him my Book of Mormon, but he said no.
School is still OK. I got an A in math, but social studies is awful! Who cares about the exports of some strange country, anyway?
Love,Jeffrey
March 19Dear Elder Green,
I couldn’t believe your package arrived with cool stamps and wasn’t for me! I thought it wasn’t fair for you to send something to Dad, but he gave me the stamps and was happy you sent him the Book of Mormon.
I was really surprised. Mom’s tried to give him one lots of times. He always said, “Don’t pressure me,” before—but this time he smiled! He read what you wrote on the inside cover. I wish I had a testimony like that. Dad didn’t know what you meant by saying Moroni 10:4 was the answer to how he could know that it was true, so I showed him where it was. When he read it, he got a funny look on his face and said something about “giving it a try.”
Social studies is still a pain. I work hard and don’t get anywhere. What’s the point?
Love,Jeffrey
April 2Dear Elder Green,
Don’t you get discouraged? You’ve been doing missionary work for almost two years and still haven’t had a single baptism? That’s hard! Why aren’t you sad?
I guess I’ll keep on trying, too, to work on social studies.
Dad says that’s what Nephi did—he kept trying even when it was hard. He read that last week and really liked it. I gave him your list of other scriptures to read in the Book of Mormon. He said that you were “pushy,” but he folded it up and is using it as a bookmark.
Love,Jeffrey
April 16Dear Elder Green,
Was it hard being transferred?
I don’t like changes much. I told Dad that. He said that change is hard sometimes, but that the four sons of Mosiah had to go different places in their mission, too, and the Lord stuck by them.
He also said some changes are really good, even if they’re hard. He didn’t say why he said that, though.
Love,Jeffrey
May 7Dear Elder Green,
Mom’s started planting the garden. I wanted to plant stuff too. When I showed my dad what I wanted to grow, he poured the seeds out into his hand, then said Alma had talked about planting seeds, and if they grew, they were good seeds.
I asked Dad if he was going to plant something too. He got a funny look on his face again and said he just might—but he didn’t even help us with the garden!
Love,Jeffrey
May 21Dear Elder Green,
I laughed at your letter. Dad smiled at the part where you said that good seeds are important but so is preparing the ground. Mom’s been rototilling and fertilizing to beat the band. You don’t just stick seeds into any old dirt and expect them to grow, she said.
I don’t understand what you meant about church meetings being a good soil-preparer. We don’t do gardening at church. We just listen to talks and sing songs and stuff. Dad nodded when he read it, though. He said he’s going to meetings with us next week!
Love,Jeffrey
June 4Dear Elder Green,
Two missionaries stopped by our house! Dad asked if Mom had sent them. They told him you did!
Dad let them in! They were really nice. They didn’t feel like strangers at all. They’ve been here three times already; once was for dinner. I can’t believe how much they ate!
They laugh sometimes, but other times they’re really serious. I told Dad that I want to be a missionary when I grow up. He said I’m doing a pretty good job already, and he went to church with us last week. It was great!
On his birthday, I gave Dad the ashtray I’d made him at school. He said he’d give it a place of honor on his desk—and store paperclips in it!
I know you’re coming home soon. I can’t wait to meet you!
Love,Jeffrey
June 18Dear Elder Green,
You’re coming home on the 27th, so this is the last letter I’ll write to you.
You sent Dad a letter, too, but I don’t know what it said. Dad took it upstairs to his bedroom and didn’t come down for a long time.
I know that you didn’t get to baptize anyone on your mission, but you taught lots of people, and that’s important too. See you soon.
Love,Jeffrey
June 20Dear Elder Green,
I’m glad that you’re returning from your mission on the 27th. Would you be available on the evening of June 29th? I’ve spoken to the bishop here, and I’d like you to be the one to perform my baptism.
Love,Jeffrey’s dad
P.S. Thank you.

Sustaining him in the many challenges of life, including a long series of life-threatening illnesses, was the inner strength he received in his devotion to Church callings. Even as a boy, he felt an urgency to be about his Father’s business. While tromping hay for his older brothers one hot summer afternoon, he heard the bell for Primary ringing about a mile away. Ignoring his brothers’ insistence that he miss Primary and stay with his job atop the hay, young Spencer slipped off the wagon, unseen by his brothers, and was nearly to the meetinghouse before they discovered his absence.

On a rare break from working on our family farm in southern Idaho, my brother, several of his friends, and I went to a motorcycle park outside of Boise, Idaho. We rode up and down the backcountry on our motorcycle for hours, having a lot of fun. It was a wonderful break from the rigors of our busy summer.
One of my brother’s friends had a four-wheeler. At the time, four-wheelers were very expensive, so there were very few of them on the trails. Knowing this was a rare opportunity to ride one, I asked the owner if I could take it for a short ride. He kindly said, “You bet!”
Because we had been taking a short break to eat and have a drink of water, I did not have my helmet on when I asked him if I could ride the four-wheeler, so when he said yes, I excitedly climbed onto it without much thought for safety. I pulled the rip-cord ignition and felt the engine come alive beneath me. I was so excited; this was my first ride on a four-wheeler!
It soon turned into a first for me in learning a lesson I had not anticipated that day. I put the four-wheeler into gear, and it lurched forward as if it were just as excited to have me ride it as I was to be on it. Just as it went forward I heard a voice say to me very clearly, “Put your helmet on.” I thought the voice was my brother or maybe one of his friends. I turned and looked at them, but they were all facing away, sitting on the tailgate of our pickup, talking and laughing, paying no attention to me.
I stopped the four-wheeler, got off, and put on my helmet. I thought very little of the voice and its directions until a short time later. Once I was back on the four-wheeler, with my helmet on, I rode up a ravine to access the trails. I had a blast! It was so much fun. After about 10 minutes I began the descent back down the ravine to my brother and his friends.
On my way down I neglected to pay attention to the ruts carved into the trail from motorcycles that had ridden on it after a rainstorm. Unfortunately, the four-wheeler’s right front tire settled into a rut, which made a 45-degree turn to the left of the trail in front of me. Before I could apply the brakes, the four-wheeler pulled hard to the left, but I did not. I flew over the handlebars and landed several feet down the trail. I landed directly on top of my head.
Fortunately, I had not been moving at a very high speed, so the impact was not very painful, nor did I hurt myself in any way. As the four-wheeler sat just off the trail, idling quietly, I pulled my helmet off to inspect the damage. I noticed the top of the helmet was scratched and damaged severely from the impact on the hard trail. In an instant I remembered the voice that had said, “Put your helmet on,” and I uttered a quiet prayer of gratitude to my Heavenly Father.
It has been very rare for me to actually hear a voice prompt me, but on that day a voice protected and preserved me. I know it was the Holy Ghost. I do not know why I was preserved from the harm and pain I might have experienced, but one thing I do know: our Heavenly Father lives and is mindful of all of His children. I know God loves us. I know He loves me. I am deeply grateful for the gift of the Holy Ghost and its protective promptings.

I recently traveled to the beautiful island of Moloka’i to attend sacrament meeting and visit with members of the church and others. These sweet people were among the first to send supplies by boat after the fires, including much-needed fuel for generators, to the shores of Lahaina—fuel, that I might add, that is far more expensive on Molokai than on Maui. They understand the meaning of “[loving] thy neighbor as thyself.” [13]

This was a special Sunday for me. I watched a group of friends and family gather together to literally lift Brother Arlan Angco, an amazing husband and faithful father to two teenage daughters, into a specially prepared recliner-chair they brought into the chapel. Though he was terminally suffering from the terrible effects of cancer, he insisted on worshipping in person and partaking of the sacrament with his loving ward ‘ohana. He understood that he would soon meet the same Savior Whose emblems he sought on this particular day.

I will forever treasure watching loved ones ensure he was comfortable as they helped him carefully partake of the bread and water.

I also visited with him and his family in their home that afternoon. It was holy ground. My counselors and I blessed him. Then, with one of my counselors carefully supporting Brother Angco’s hand on his wife’s head, we blessed her as well. He passed away just a little over one week later. I am eternally grateful for this experience. His faith changed me.

I’d like to share a bit of my story with you.

In a way, it began in my college days at Brigham Young University in Provo. Like many of you, I struggled with choosing a major. My dilemma, if one can call this a dilemma, was that I loved too many subjects – Math, English, History, Biology, Home Economics, Accounting, even Horticulture. Everything was fun and fascinating to me. So narrowing it down to a single major – that was tough. Like many of you, I changed my mind, more than once! After much prayer and careful thought, I eventually chose to pursue a Bachelor of Science degree in Geography with an emphasis in Travel and Tourism.

Did the Lord guide me in my decision? I believe so. The world of travel was an exotic choice of major for this small town girl. I come from a family of educators – parents, grandparents, aunties and uncles. Most of them teachers. I thought I too would be a teacher. So you may all chuckle, but back then for me, choosing a degree in Travel and Tourism was going out on a limb! However, as it turned out, the Lord guided me to choose a degree which would eventually help supplement my family’s income in a place where tourism was the number one industry – Hawaii.

The Lord continued to guide me in a way that would lead me here to Brigham Young University–-Hawaii. On September 11, 2001, the tragic bombing of the twin towers in New York City had a drastic effect on the tourism industry. Air travel almost ground to a stop for a time. Within a month of that tragedy, the agency for which I worked made the decision to shut its doors.

Now a year previous to this event, my husband’s employment seemed shaky for a time and so I sought out another part-time job and interviewed for the position of an academic advisor here on this campus. However, my husband’s job stabilized and I was prompted by the Spirit to withdraw my application. Months later, when I was facing unemployment in the travel industry, I admit that I questioned that earlier prompting I had received to withdraw that application! Why had the Lord told me to let that opportunity pass by? My ability to help sustain our young family was now uncertain.

I should not have questioned. The Lord was still mindful of me and helped me immediately secure part-time employment at a local elementary school. I say immediately because this new job opportunity came the week before my last day of employment at the travel agency. Upon the kind recommendation of a friend, I applied for an opening at the elementary school and was hired. The Lord does work in mysterious ways because the principal later told me that he had seen me working with his grandchildren in the Primary organization and that was one of the things which prompted him to hire me. So this is a testimony to everyone here that all experience is to our benefit. Every calling you receive from the Lord will add to your skills and help you develop into the person the Lord knows you can be.

So right now you are all thinking, “Wait, that can’t be the end of the story because Sister Ching is not yet here at BYU–Hawaii!” Almost a year passed when I once again saw an opening for the same position for an academic advisor that I had interviewed for 18 months previously. I immediately felt a confirmation of “now is the time” and fortunately, was offered the position when I applied. I knew that I was where the Lord wanted me to be. Part of my testimony that confirms this to me comes from my patriarchal blessing. I’ll share just a small part of it in which the Lord tells me that men and women will come to me for counsel and advice in the activities of their lives. To the shy, young girl who received this blessing, this sentence from my patriarchal blessing was almost unimaginable at the time. Now, this sentence of my blessing is clearer to me.

I haven’t shared this experience widely with a lot of people previously because it is very personal and sacred to me. Perhaps to others, my story may seem insignificant when you look at the big plan. It’s true, my story is a miniscule piece of the Lord’s larger plan. But to me, this is further testimony that He truly cares for each one of us individually and will guide our path if we allow Him to.

He served two missions. The first was in behalf of the Young Men’s/Young Women’s Mutual Improvement Association (YMMIA), working with the youth in southern Utah settlements. The second call came a week after his May 1892 marriage to Lucy Emily Woodruff. His new wife joined him in the Southern States Mission where they both served in the mission office.
In those days, persecution against Mormons was still rampant in the Southern United States. Elder Smith was once with a group of fellow missionaries in a log cabin that was under seige by a mob. While the missionaries huddled against the floor, a barrage of bullets poured into the room. Yet, through all this experience, there was no bitterness on Elder Smith’s part, just a determination to work harder to “share the gospel with the rest of God’s children.”

During the summer, I was able to work with the missionaries, and had the opportunity to share my testimony. At first, it was hard. People asked a lot of questions, and I began to have doubts.
But then I prayed a lot, and the sister missionaries prayed with me. I also fasted. I asked Heavenly Father to help me feel the Spirit and to replace my doubts with something of which I was certain.
As I continued to bear my testimony, I saw my doubts change to understanding. I saw that the things I believe in are not just things that I know about; they are things that I know are true. The gospel does so much to bless me, and I can say with certainty that I know these blessings come from God. And I learned that even if other people don’t accept my testimony, I can see the influence of my testimony on them.
When we bear witness of the gospel to those around us, even if certain people don’t accept it, we have done our part and they have their agency. But maybe we have planted a seed with them, and the seed will grow.

To illustrate the second great stabilizing force, I relate another experience. Some years ago, I was serving as a young bishop. We were holding a ward social around a swimming pool near the apartment where most of the ward members lived. I was introduced to a new member of the ward—a young woman by the name of Carol. Carol had cerebral palsy. She walked with great difficulty; her hands were crippled. Her kind and dear face was also affected, as was her speech. But as I would come to understand, to know Carol was to love her.
I had only to wait a few minutes to begin learning the great lesson she would teach. While we were talking, we watched a tall, very athletic young man dive off the diving board and seem to injure himself slightly. He got out of the pool, holding his neck, and went and sat under a tree. I watched as Carol struggled to prepare a plate of food and with great difficulty delivered it to him—a guileless act of service, of “good works.” Carol’s good works became a legend. She cared for the sick; she took food to the hungry; she drove people places; she comforted; she lifted; she blessed.
I walked with her one day on the sidewalk that passed through the apartment complex where she lived. From the windows, from the balconies, from the porches came cries of “Hi, Carol!” and “How are you doing, Carol?” and “Come up and see us, Carol!” Occasionally someone would say “Oh, hi, Bishop.” It was clear that Carol was loved and greatly accepted through her wonderful good works.
My most vivid recollection of Carol occurred in the spring of that year. The ward had agreed to participate in the stake five-kilometer fun run—an oxymoronic term, to be sure. Carol wanted to be with the rest of the ward members, but we didn’t see how it would be possible. For her, just walking was a great difficulty. Nevertheless, she was determined. She struggled and trained each day to increase her endurance.
The race finished in the stadium. Two or three hundred of us were in the stands by the finish line, drinking juice and catching our breath. And then we remembered Carol—she was left somewhere back on the course. As we ran out the entrance of the stadium to find her, she came into view, struggling to breathe, barely able to walk, but determined to finish. As she started around the track toward the finish line, a wonderful thing happened. Suddenly the track was lined on both sides with hundreds of cheering friends. Others were running alongside to support and hold her up. Carol had finished the race.

When Lisa was nine years old, she felt unhappy and out of sorts much of the time. Everyone in the family wondered why she was so grumpy. One night as she walked into her bedroom, she saw her Book of Mormon by the door.
Of course I’m not happy, she thought, I haven’t been reading the scriptures. That night she read a few verses. She decided that she would read every night. As the days passed, she felt happier and more peaceful.
This habit of reading the scriptures every day, even just a few verses, has blessed her ever since.

“When President Russell M. Nelson announced the temple for Puerto Rico, I was alone in my room, watching General Conference, and the emotion was so great that I cried, I thanked Heavenly Father for answering my forty-year prayer.” expresses María del Carmen Carrasco Caraballo, from the Ponce 1st Ward, Ponce Puerto Rico Stake.

Although due to the COVID-19 pandemic the work was stopped in March 2020, they felt confident that everything would be resolved. “I clung, with all my heart, to the knowledge that God’s timing is perfect, and I felt peace,” says Sister Carrasco Caraballo, happy that the work was resumed in May of that same year.

Sister María del Carmen Carrasco, from the Ponce Puerto Rico Stake, along with a group of her from her Ponce 1st Ward, are preparing in the Santo Domingo Temple and have been set apart to serve as ordinance workers in the temple in her country.

“After forty years of waiting for this great blessing, our sights are on the temple and the ordinances that are performed there. Our goal is to be able to serve in the Puerto Rico Temple,” she says.

While the temple is being built, this sister has focused on teaching Primary children the importance of family history and temple work for a Latter-day Saint. On the other hand, she has increased the search for data to strengthen her family history and strives every day to stay worthy to enter the House of the Lord.

When I was about seven years old, my uncle built us a new house. After we moved in, he started building the home next to us. It was to be the home of my friend Johnny. One day after school, Johnny and I were walking home, and Johnny excitedly told me that they now had electricity in their house. He wanted to show me, so we anxiously ran to his new home that was nearing completion. There were no workers around, so Johnny plugged in a construction lamp in the living room and ran down the hall to the electrical circuit box where he turned on the electricity. Sure enough, the lamp turned on. We were excited, and I told Johnny that I wanted to try. He turned the electricity back off. and the plan was then for me to plug in the lamp, and he would turn the electricity back on. Johnny was down the hall out of site and waited a time for me to get the lamp plugged in. Then he turned the electricity back on. Unfortunately, I was still holding onto the plug, and the electricity shot up my arm and down the side of my body and out my right foot. When it did this, it caught my clothes on fire along with the new carpet.

I don’t remember much about the experience after that. I remember someone pushing me to the ground outside to put the fire out. I don’t remember the trip to the doctor, but I do remember lying in a tub of cold water and then laying on my bed with pillows all under my right side. I also know that I received a priesthood blessing that night from my dad. I don't remember the words that were spoken, but I know at that moment, my father was the Lord’s hands as he blessed me, and I was healed. Today, I do not have a single mark on my body to remind me of that experience, just a lasting impression on my heart of the power of the holy priesthood.

Illustration by Emanuele Nicoletti Serra
As a child, I paid tithing faithfully without ever thinking of holding back the money for myself. But at 17, I faced a defining moment when I had to decide if being a full-tithe payer was really what I wanted.
As a senior in high school, I’d been working part-time at a fast-food restaurant for a year and a half. At the beginning of the school year, I’d convinced myself that I needed more time for homework, school choir activities, and the rehearsals and performances for a musical in which I’d received a small part at a local theater. So I quit my job.
I had always set aside my tithing as soon as I cashed a paycheck, but a few months before quitting the job, I stopped paying tithing. Instead, I unwisely used the money for other things, putting what was left in my savings account.
In late December, I had an appointment for tithing settlement with my bishop. It turned out to be a very uncomfortable experience. He asked if I was a full-tithe payer. I told him the truth—I was not. I think I owed about $65. I had twice that much in the bank, but I didn’t want to use any of it, because without a job, I needed money for gas, dates, and other “important” expenses.
I thought my bishop would simply encourage me to do better next year and make a note that I was a part-tithe payer. But no. He invited me to make a commitment to pay the Lord what I owed. I wasn’t expecting that, and I would not commit. I told him I’d think about it, but I had no intention of paying.
Over the next few days, strange things happened. Until now, the bishop and I had rarely seen each other except on Sundays. But that week, I saw him every day—at the store, at youth activites, and more. Each time he’d greet me with the same question: “Have you made a decision?” And my response was always the same: “No.”
After several days of these unusual meetings, I finally realized that the Lord was using my bishop as a reminder for me to do the right thing. In my heart I always knew what I should do, and finally, wanting to be obedient, I withdrew the tithing money from my savings account and paid all that I owed that next Sunday.
Even though I knew I’d done the right thing, I was still worried about having very little money in the bank for the rest of the school year—and no job.
Then came the phone call. Two days after I paid my tithing, the manager of the fast-food restaurant I’d worked at called me. She was desperate. Several employees had recently quit, and she pleaded with me to come back to work—immediately.
For a moment I didn’t know what to say. While I welcomed the job offer and the income it would provide, I hesitated to accept because the one negative aspect of the job during the year-and-a-half that I had previously worked there was the requirement that I work on the Sabbath. As a result, I had missed many Church meetings and activities.
Suddenly, as if reading my thoughts, my manager said, “And if you come back, this time you won’t be required to work on Sundays.”
Some might say this was just a coincidence, but I knew better. I accepted the job offer with the firm belief that the Lord was now blessing me for being obedient to His law of tithing.
I know the Lord used my bishop, who showed up day after day and wouldn’t take no for an answer. Ever since then, I’ve come to understand, in a very personal way, these words of King Benjamin: “He doth require that ye should do as he hath commanded you; for which if ye do, he doth immediately bless you” (Mosiah 2:24; italics added).
The author lives in Arizona, USA.