Gospel Story Finder

Many years ago, as a high school ­student, I had the opportunity to become acquainted with several Catholic nuns who lived in a convent in my hometown and worked in the nearby Catholic hospital. As their schedules permitted, I often spent time with them, walking in the park or visiting in the parlor of the convent.
One afternoon I happened to be talking with Sister Columba. She was a tiny, elderly woman who had been a member of the Irish Army before she became a nun. That day she was sharing with me the profound love that she had for our Savior, Jesus Christ, and as she spoke, tears were streaming down her face. It was a powerful spiritual moment that touched me in the deepest center of my being.
After I left that day, I pondered Sister Columba’s testimony of Christ. I had grown up as a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and I had attended my church meetings and seminary classes. I had frequently borne testimony that the gospel of Jesus Christ was true. And yet I couldn’t comprehend how it could be, with all of this truth, that I had never felt anything for Jesus Christ—certainly nothing like the level of worship and gratitude that I had experienced from Sister Columba.
That afternoon with this frail nun in the quiet parlor of the convent became the definitive moment of my spiritual growth, as it launched a quest to know my Savior that has shaped my entire life.

I was raising our children in the Church, but within a few years, our children decided they would rather spend Sundays boating with their dad than attending church with me. I was devastated. One day in 1975 I talked to my stake president and told him that I had decided I needed to leave the Church because it was breaking up our family. He patiently listened and said, “Do what you must, but be sure that your Father in Heaven approves.” So I went home and fasted and prayed. That was the second memorable prayer. The answer that came was the impression that I was the link in the gospel chain for my family; if I broke that link, everyone would be lost. I knew the answer came from God, so I committed to never leave the Church. And I never did.

A few weeks later, my mom and I went for a vacation to Idaho with her sister. A couple of my cousins invited me to a youth dance at the church, and I had a great time. I danced with a young man who had received a mission call to Korea. He asked if he could write to me, and I agreed.
In his first letter, this young man shared missionary experiences with me and bore his testimony of the gospel. I don’t know whether I was swept off my feet by him or the Spirit. But after all those years of inactivity, I decided to go back to church and check things out.
I roped one of my older brothers into going with me so I wouldn’t have to sit alone. I don’t remember the meeting at all. I just remember thinking, “Everybody must be looking at me and saying, ‘Look, Gretchen is at church. I wonder why.’ ” I was so uncomfortable by the end of the meeting that I planned a quick escape as soon as the closing prayer ended.
That’s when something happened that changed my life forever. Four girls I remembered from Primary ran up and surrounded me. They were so happy to see me at church, and I felt their sincerity. They asked if I would come back later that night to a youth fireside. I agreed and then left for home.
I talked my brother into going with me again. At the fireside, a man stood to speak and said he felt impressed not to give his prepared talk but to share his testimony and then let us do the same. All of a sudden, my whole being felt on fire. I don’t know how long it took me to get up, but I stood and bore my testimony that now I knew why I had been feeling unhappy and lost. It was the gospel that was missing in my life. I knew I needed to make some changes.
Now, almost 30 years later, I am still grateful to those young women who didn’t let me escape the chapel that day. I later met and married a returned missionary in the Idaho Falls Temple. We have four children, three of whom have married in the temple. Our oldest son served a mission, and our last is now planning to go on his. I have served in the Young Women program of the Church. Each time I teach a lesson on service, I share my life-changing experience in hopes that the same will be done for others as was done for me.
I believe my simple prayer was answered on that mountaintop. Heavenly Father does hear and answer our prayers. And my prayer was answered because four girls chose the right. They put their arms around a lost soul and invited her back. There are Gretchens out there who need to be brought back. You never know whose life can and will be changed forever if you will just reach out and be a loving, caring friend.

Countless are the reports we have heard during the past three and a half weeks of those who were touched in some way—either directly or indirectly—by the events of that day. I should like to share with you the comments of a Church member, Rebecca Sindar, who was on a flight from Salt Lake City to Dallas on the morning of Tuesday, September 11. The flight was interrupted, as were all flights in the air at the time of the tragedies, and the plane grounded in Amarillo, Texas. Sister Sindar reports: “We all left the plane and found televisions in the airport, where we crowded around to see the broadcast of what had happened. People were lined up to call loved ones to assure them we were safely on the ground. I shall always remember the 12 or so missionaries who were on their way to the mission field on our flight. They made phone calls, and then we saw them huddled in a circle in a corner of the airport, kneeling in prayer together. How I wish I could have captured that moment to share with the mothers and fathers of those sweet young men as they saw the need for prayer right away.”

Before I was baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints at age 14, my family lived in a house that belonged to Sister Gladys, a member of the Church. I was not interested in anything Sister Gladys said about the Church because I believed I was happy as I was.
Then, after much suffering, my father died. My mother and I loved him with all our hearts. His death did not leave my mother and me well off—either economically or spiritually.
My life became filled with bitterness and pain. Sometimes I thought God did not love me and had forsaken us. My mom had to go to work, and I was alone all day, crying and remembering the things we had done with my dad. I didn’t have many friends and didn’t want to do anything.
One day, Julian, Sister Gladys’s son, asked me if I wanted to talk to the missionaries. I told him no at first, but he seemed so disappointed I decided I would.
The missionaries greeted me kindly and introduced themselves. They looked so happy I decided to take the discussions.
During one of the discussions, they told me I could see my father again, he could be baptized by proxy, and we could be an eternal family. From that moment, I knew God had heard me and He loved me greatly. I decided to be baptized.
After my baptism, I wanted to share the truth with my mother, but she was not interested. We argued a lot because I had changed religions.
I kept praying and hoping that someday my mother would be baptized. After three years and many prayers, her heart was softened and she joined the Church. Now we live very happily, and our goal is to be sealed in the temple. And as if these were not enough blessings, the Church is now building a temple in my country!
I know that this is the true Church and that God loves us very much. I know that I am going to see my father again and that we can be a happy, eternal family.

In November 1998, a lady named Miss Sugimoto came to our school to teach us about Japan. She told us that they have tea ceremonies in Japan and that we were going to have one, too. I know that I’m not supposed to drink tea, and I started to feel scared inside. I said a prayer to Heavenly Father and asked for help. I then remembered a story that I had read in the Friend magazine about a girl who had to make the same decision I had to make. When the day came for the tea ceremony and they put the cup in front of me, I explained that I didn’t want to taste it.
After I had made my decision not to drink the tea, a friend tried to make me change my mind. She said that if I didn’t drink it, she wouldn’t be my friend anymore. Even though she said that, I didn’t drink it. I know that I made the right decision and that Heavenly Father knows it, too.

A few weeks later President Hinckley came for the dedication. A press conference was arranged for the prophet to meet with the press. He stated nearly the same words of President Kufor. He said, "This temple will not only bless the lives of the members of the Church; it will bless the entire nation of Ghana and all of West Africa."

The day before the dedication the prophet held a fireside for members of the Church. They came, some traveling for days, to see and hear a prophet of God. As he stood to address them, he said, "I'm getting old, you probably won't see me again and I won't see you again in this life, so listen very carefully; what I have to say is very important." He continued, "I am going to tell you four things that you need to do to be acceptable to the Lord, to retain your testimony of the gospel of Jesus Christ, and to be worthy to enter this beautiful house of the Lord."

"First," he said, "You must pray daily." As he talked to them about prayer, it was as if he were a loving grandfather speaking to his grandchildren. He said, "Think of the miracle of prayer! Imagine--here we are--just mortal people and we can kneel and pray to our Heavenly Father and He hears us! Now, all of our prayers might not be answered as soon as we would like, or the way we would like, but He hears them. It's a miracle."

Through all ages of time, the commandment has been, "Ask of God; ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find, knock, and it shall be opened unto you."[7] Our Heavenly Father loves you; you are His children. He is always there for you if only you will ask in humble daily prayer. President Hinckley ended by saying again, "Isn't it a miracle that we can pray to our Heavenly Father and know that He answers our prayers? Well, it's marvelous!" Can't you just hear President Hinckley saying that?

Next he counseled them to have daily scripture study.

Next, President Hinckley counseled the Ghanaian Saints to attend their meetings.

The last thing President Hinckley talked about was tithing. He admonished the Saints to pay their tithes and offerings.

I pulled a book from my shelf the other evening. I read again the life of Mary Fielding Smith, wife of Hyrum Smith, sister-in-law of Joseph Smith, mother and grandmother of two presidents of the Church. A convert to the Church, originally from England and then from Canada, she came to Kirtland in her late 30s. There she met and married Hyrum Smith, who was left with six children after the death of his first wife.
Mary loved him and brought an added dimension into his life. In that process she set a course which brought her happiness only to be followed by immeasurable sorrow, for there was laid upon her a terrifying and fearful responsibility which took her from Nauvoo across Iowa to Winter Quarters and, in 1848, on the long trail that led to the Salt Lake Valley. At the age of 51 she was worn out, weary from the struggle. She passed away September 21, 1852.
Her life is the epitome of the Relief Society woman of those days. In fact, some of her experiences predated the organization of the society in 1842.
Mary’s boy Joseph was born at a time when her husband was snatched away by the mob militia then terrorizing Far West. Hyrum and the Prophet Joseph were taken to Liberty, Missouri, where they were imprisoned. Under the compulsion of Governor Lilburn W. Boggs’s extermination order, she left Missouri with the stepchildren for whom she had taken responsibility, as well as her own son. Her sister Mercy placed Mary, who was seriously ill, on a bed in a wagon box with her infant boy cradled at her side.
In February 1839, when winter was still upon the land, they traveled east across the state and then across the Mississippi to Quincy, Illinois, bumping along in a springless wagon where every jolt brought pain.
When her husband and the Prophet escaped from Liberty Jail and came to Quincy, life again improved. The Saints moved to what became Nauvoo and established their beautiful city on the Mississippi. But their peace was short-lived. Her little boy was less than six years old when a knock came at night on her window and a man said, “Sister Smith, your husband has been killed!”
Joseph F. never forgot his mother’s weeping through the night.
Her world was shattered. She was on her own now with a large family to care for. In the summer of 1846, they bade their comfortable home good-bye and rode a flatboat across the Mississippi. Taking matters into her own hands, she was able to trade, borrow, and barter for ox teams and wagons.
While living in Winter Quarters, she and her brother went down the Missouri River to purchase provisions and clothing. They had two wagons, each having two yoke of oxen. Camping for the night, they discovered in the morning that their two best oxen were gone. Young Joseph and his uncle spent the entire morning looking for the lost animals. They found nothing. Disheartened, he returned to tell his mother. Their situation was desperate, terribly so. As he approached, he saw her on her knees praying fervently, speaking with the Lord about their problem. When she arose to her feet, there was a smile on her face. She told her son and her brother to get their breakfast and she would look around. Following a little stream of water, and disregarding the words of a man who was in the area, she went directly along the bank of the river.
Pausing, she called to her son and brother. She pointed to their oxen, which had been tied to a clump of willows growing in the bottom of a deep gulch. The thief, who had tried to misdirect her, lost his prize and they were saved.
Mary’s faith imprinted itself in her son’s boyish heart. He never forgot it. He never doubted her closeness to the Lord.
All of you are familiar with her experience when one of her oxen, exhausted and worn, lay down to die while they were en route to these valleys in the West. In a mixture of utter desperation and simple faith, she secured consecrated oil and asked her brother and an associate to administer to the ox. They did so. It rose to its feet with a renewal of strength and carried them for the remainder of their long journey.
Such was the faith, sweet and simple and beautiful, which graced this woman’s life. She walked in the light of the Lord. She lived by that light. It guided her in all of her actions. It became the lodestar of her life. She exemplified the tremendous faith of the women of this Church—the women of the Relief Society, who today on a thousand fronts carry on the dedicated work of this remarkable organization.

As mission president, he again found the Book of Mormon to be a constant source of inspiration, and he used it extensively in zone meetings and in counseling with the missionaries. He was an efficient, compassionate mission president. One of his missionaries, Wayne L. Gardner, remembers serving in an outlying area and receiving the assignment to make arrangements for a conference. “Everything went wrong,” he says. “I had scheduled a building for us to meet in, but at the last minute it was cancelled. By the time I got to the airport to get the president, I was late and he had been waiting. I forgot to ask the taxi driver to wait for us, and there weren’t any others in sight. We were stranded.
“Even though I could see frustration in the president’s eyes, he put his arm around me and told me he loved me. He was so patient and understanding. I hope I never forget that lesson.”

When I was a young woman, my world was my family and friends. But when I found the gospel of Jesus Christ, much of this world was lost to me. Friends teased me because I lived the Word of Wisdom, honored the Sabbath, and tried to keep the commandments. Schoolmates cut off friendships with me. My parents at first refused to give me permission to be baptized, and my father even stopped speaking to me. For a young girl, such personal losses might be considered quite a sacrifice. But God knew that these “sacrifices” for His Church and kingdom would in reality bring not loss but gain.
The Lord taught: “Except a corn of wheat fall into the ground and die, it abideth alone: but if it die, it bringeth forth much fruit. He that loveth his life shall lose it; and he that hateth his life in this world shall keep it unto life eternal” (John 12:24–25). We are accustomed to defining our losses as sacrifice and our increases as gain. But often our losses are actually the beginning of what will later be a great harvest.
A famous doctor once visited a dejected and despondent old woman. He found that she was alone and separated from the world but that she also had a beautiful greenhouse where she raised African violets. The doctor gave the woman a prescription. She was to subscribe to her church’s newsletter, and whenever there was a baptism, marriage, sickness, or death, she was to send an African violet. Following the doctor’s instructions, the old woman gave away hundreds of potted plants. At her death the newspaper headline read, “The Queen of African Violets Passes Away and Is Mourned by Thousands.” What turned this dejected old woman into someone loved by so many? It was giving to others, not keeping for herself.
Sometimes what we must give up is not a possession but a cherished dream. Growing up in Taiwan, I had always dreamed of going to school in England. After receiving a university degree and studying in the United States, I returned home and made arrangements to continue my studies in England. At this same time I received a calling in the Relief Society. At first I planned to accept the calling for a short time—just until I left for England. Then after much consideration, I decided to postpone my studies abroad for a year.
It was during this year when I was “sacrificing” my studies in England that an amazing blessing came into my life. One day as I was walking by a bulletin board at church, I saw a notice that the Church’s Translation Department was seeking to hire a Chinese language supervisor. I felt the Holy Ghost prod me to apply, but I hesitated. The year was almost up, and it was time for me to go to England. But the Spirit encouraged me, and I applied and was hired. For me, working as a language supervisor for the Church is not just a job. It is a great privilege and blessing. But I could never have received this blessing if I had not been willing to give up my dream of studying in England.
Do we sometimes hold onto our one grain of wheat, not willing to impart it, so that in the end it remains just a single grain? Or do we trust that, planted and cultivated, this single grain can become fruit? Giving up friends, possessions, or dreams can certainly be a trial. But I have learned that, with faith in God’s plan for us, we can confidently plant our grain of wheat, trusting in the bountiful harvest to come.

Seventeen-year-old Charlee Hawkins loved life. A member of the Cullumber Ward, Gilbert Arizona Stake, she could always find something positive in the most difficult situations. Even when she faced her life’s hardest challenge of being diagnosed with cancer, Charlee kept smiling and found things to laugh about.
Charlee’s battle began at age 15, when a small bump appeared on her left index finger. She thought it was simply a result of practicing her golf swing as she prepared to play on the girls’ golf team at Gilbert High School.
When she had the bump removed, test results showed that Charlee had a very rare and very aggressive form of cancer, known as epithelioid sarcoma. The only effective treatment was surgery. Charlee’s finger was quickly removed.
Charlee handled the situation with humor instead of despair. She nicknamed herself “Nine” and never hid the fact that one finger was missing.
Five months later, during a routine test, doctors discovered spots in her lungs—the cancer had spread. They explained that chemotherapy wasn’t usually successful with this type of cancer and that it was impossible to remove the tumors. Charlee decided to give chemotherapy a try anyway.
The treatment made her lose her hair, but she refused to wear a wig and didn’t like hats. She told others that she might be the only “nine-fingered, bald-headed” girl they’d ever meet.
In January 2004 she celebrated what she called her “Handiversary.” It had been one year since her finger was amputated. She and her friends wore matching “Nine” T-shirts. She made hand-shaped sugar cookies with pink frosting and one finger missing.
Charlee attended two weeks of her senior year in the fall of 2004 but was too sick to continue. She had her heart set on graduating from high school, so she got her class assignments by e-mail and continued to work toward her diploma.
Charlee’s health progressively declined. The family set up a Christmas tree in her bedroom and celebrated Christmas around her bedside. Her Young Women class often came to visit her. Despite her trials, her friends and family never heard her complain.
By January 2005, Charlee’s strength was nearly gone. Sister Hawkins recalls a conversation she had with her daughter when Charlee was in excruciating pain. Charlee said, “I’m ready to go.” Her mother says she felt the Spirit guiding her as she explained to her daughter that Heavenly Father has a moment for each of us and that her moment was near. Then she felt the Spirit fill her daughter and ease her pain. Charlee said, “I’m ready to go home.”
“When she added the word ‘home,’ I knew that she knew that this place is only temporary,” says Sister Hawkins. “The veil must have been so thin that she felt safe because she knew that place was her home. It brought me such comfort and peace. I knew then that I had to let her go.”
The next day at school, classmates celebrated Charlee’s second “Handiversary” without her. They lined up for a photo with a sign saying, “We love you, Nine.” Charlee’s family provided the four-fingered cookies.
Four days later, on January 25, an assistant principal from Charlee’s school called to check on her. When she learned that Charlee wasn’t doing well, she asked if the administration could come and present Charlee’s diploma to her that afternoon. At 2:00 p.m., Charlee received recognition for what she had worked so hard to achieve.
Less than 45 minutes after her private graduation ceremony, Charlee died. Her life had touched so many. More than 1,500 people attended her funeral.
“She had an amazing attitude, a spirit that just radiated, and a great sense of humor,” says her mother. “That carried her, and that carried us.”
Charlee’s influence is still being felt. The family continues to hear from those who say her example encourages them to be better and to improve their lives. Some of her friends who are serving missions are using their experiences with Charlee to help teach the plan of salvation to others.
“She lived every day to the fullest,” says her mother. “I believe she did what she was supposed to do. She knew how to live, and she knew how to die.”

Have you ever met a ten-year-old school teacher? No? Well, meet Ellen Morgan, a pretty blond with a sunshiny smile. Ellen, along with her sisters Anna (12) and Claire (8), set up a summer “school” for children in their neighborhood.
Ellen lives in southern Idaho, right beside the Snake River near a place called Thousand Springs. It’s not easy to organize a neighborhood school when your nearest neighbor lives almost a mile away, but the Morgan sisters were determined to earn money for school clothes. Besides, teaching reading sounded like more fun than baby-sitting or doing yard work. They got busy in the old, one-room schoolhouse that their father fixed up on their property, and they sent out announcements that Thousand Springs Academy Summer School was about to begin.
Eight students came. Three days a week for six weeks Ellen and her sisters taught phonics, reading, arithmetic, and music. They also had nature walks, games, recess, and a nutritious snack every day. On the Fourth of July, the students put on a patriotic play for their families.
Teaching school comes naturally to Ellen. Her parents, Randall and DeAnna Morgan, used to be schoolteachers; now they make educational films. Her grandfather owned a business college, her grandmother and great-grandmother were teachers, and several aunts and uncles have taught school.
Ellen has four other brothers and sisters besides Anna and Claire: Jess (14), Bo (6), Laddie (3), and Jane (1). Everyone has inside and outside chores (Ellen takes care of the chickens), and there are many interesting things to do right on their own property. In summer they ride their horses, raft on the Snake River, wade in ditches, and swim in a nearby hot spring. In winter they cross-country ski, put on plays, and have cozy evenings reading aloud. It’s fun getting snowed-in, because that means having school and church at home.
When Thousand Springs Academy Summer School ended, the old schoolhouse was soon bustling again with the Morgan children’s latest project: the Thousand Springs Rural Community Library. Ellen and her older brother and sister collected hundreds of good books for young readers. When they have finished cataloguing the books, the library will be open two days a week, and it will have guest lecturers, story hours, and plays.

One father could not forgive his son for departing from the path he had been taught. The boy had friends the father did not approve of, and he did many things contrary to what his father thought he should do. This caused a rift between father and son, and as soon as the boy could, he left home and never returned. They rarely spoke again.

Did the father feel justified? Perhaps.

Did the son feel justified? Perhaps.

All I know is that this family was divided and unhappy because neither father nor son could forgive each other. They could not look past the bitter memories they had about each other. They filled their hearts with anger instead of love and forgiveness. Each robbed himself of the opportunity to influence the other’s life for good. The divide between them appeared so deep and so wide that each became a spiritual prisoner on his own emotional island.

On my mission in Taiwan, my companion and I spent a little time during one preparation day at the National Palace Museum in Taipei. The main attraction is a piece of art called the Jadeite Cabbage. So many people were admiring it, but all I saw was a cabbage carved out of jade. It was pretty, no doubt, but there must have been something I was missing.
When we finished at the museum, I asked my companion, “What did you think of the Jadeite Cabbage?”
“I love that piece of art!”
“Why?” I asked. “It’s just a cabbage.”
“Are you kidding? The Jadeite Cabbage is a metaphor for my life!” she exclaimed.
“The cabbage?”
“Yes! Don’t you know the story?”
“Apparently not.”
She told me the story. And she was right. It became the metaphor for my mission and my life.
For a jade carving to have great value, the jade has to be one solid color. Carvings made out of perfect jade sell for high prices because it is nearly impossible to find perfect jade. The Jadeite Cabbage is green on one end and white on the other, and it has cracks and ripples. No skilled carver would waste time on such a piece of jade, until someone came along whom the Chinese call a master carver.
If this jade could talk, I can imagine the conversation it would have with this new carver. I imagine the carver picking up this piece of jade.
“What do you want?” the jade would ask.
“I am looking for jade to carve,” the carver would say.
“Then find another piece. I am of no worth. I have two different colors so intertwined that you’ll never separate them. I have cracks and ripples in me. I will never be of any worth. Don’t waste your time.”
“Oh, you silly little jade. Trust me. I am a master carver. I will make a masterpiece of you.”
What makes the Jadeite Cabbage so amazing is that this anonymous master carver used the weaknesses of the jade—the two colors, the cracks, and the ripples—to make the cabbage all the more lifelike. The opaque white part became the stem of the cabbage, and the cracks and ripples make the leaves come to life. If it weren’t for the “weaknesses” of this jade, it could not have looked so real.
Because of the beauty of this piece of art, it became a gift for one of the royalties in China and adorned the halls of beautiful Asian palaces until it ended up at the museum in Taiwan.
It reminds me of Ether 12:27: “If men come unto me I will show unto them their weakness. … My grace is sufficient for all men that humble themselves before me; if they humble themselves before me, and have faith in me, then will I make weak things become strong unto them.”
After I saw the Jadeite Cabbage, this scripture began to take on new light. We are all like this piece of jade, except that we are still in the process of being carved. We must trust the master carver, Jesus Christ, who will take our weaknesses and make them strengths. We, in our imperfect view, sometimes focus on our imperfections and then despair because we think we’ll never measure up. But our Savior, Jesus Christ, sees us as we can become. As we allow His Atonement to work in our lives, He will shape us into masterpieces who will one day live with the King of kings.

Years ago, we had an unexpected visitor to our ward in Tennessee. Her name was Jacque.

Jacque told us that twenty years earlier, she had worked for a newspaper near Nashville, editing the religion section. The paper was preparing an article about the Church. She wanted to interview a member, but she didn’t know any.

So she turned to the phone book. For those under thirty, a phone book was like a paper Google—except it only had names, addresses, and phone numbers.

She called the number listed for the Church. Surprisingly, someone answered. She explained why she was calling. The man told her he was busy at the moment, but if she could come by the church on Wednesday, he would make time for her.

As Jacque described that meeting, her voice softened. She said the man was kind, gracious, and genuinely interested in her. Then she whispered, “I think he’s the most Christlike man I’ve ever met.”

Two decades passed.

One day, Jacque was walking through a business park when she noticed a door that read: “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints – Tennessee Nashville Mission.”

Her memory prompted her. She walked into what was the mission office and told her story to the senior missionary at the receptionist desk. The missionary gave her the address of the church and the time sacrament meeting started.

The very next Sunday, Jacque was sitting in the overflow of our chapel.

I asked if she remembered the man she met years earlier. Without hesitation, she said, “I’ll never forget him. His name was Todd Christofferson.”

Six weeks after her first visit to our ward, Jacque was baptized. At her baptism, the bishop invited her to share a few words. She stood at the pulpit, hair still wet, and thanked everyone for being there and for becoming her new church family.

Then, reflecting on that meeting with President Christofferson, she said: “Brothers and sisters, I hope you’ll remember that your lives may be the only Book of Mormon that someone will ever read.”

That thought has never left me.

I remember one evening driving straight from work to visit one of the sisters I ministered to. It had been a rough day, and I wasn’t feeling particularly well. I felt like I had nothing left to give and didn’t feel entirely charitable. I felt to say a little prayer with faith in my heart as I drove that this sister would somehow be blessed with what she needed despite my lack. As my companion and I talked with this sister about her family, her busy life, and what we could do to help, I felt the Lord’s love pour into me. I felt of His love for her, for her family, and for me.

We played with her little children as we visited. And I left that night feeling like a different person. I knew I had energy and strength given to me. I knew I had felt a bit of heaven in that home. We all felt lifted by His love.

I found joy in loving this sister and in bringing her the Savior’s relief. Our experiences leading up to ministering aren’t always convenient or joyful. Just like anything that is important, there are usually some hurdles. But when you do minister, you don’t regret being His hands and ears. You don’t regret bringing His love and relief.

Immediately, I contacted the Church’s area legal office, and they hired an attorney to seek Sister Llanos’s release. This attorney was not a member of the Church. He committed to help us but expressed pessimism. He explained that mere possession of a military bullet by nonmilitary personnel is a serious crime, regardless of a person’s intent.
Later, Sister Llanos told us she had picked up the bullet off the street in her last area. She thought it was a souvenir. The bullet, after all, resembled the souvenir key chains sold outside an old silver mine in one of her previous areas. Government investigators, however, treated her like a terrorist. Within a few days, Sister Llanos was moved from the airport jail to a high-security prison where the worst female criminals were housed.
Prayers for Sister Llanos’s prompt release began immediately. Janeen and I invited the 115 missionaries serving in our mission to exercise faith that we could see a miracle, if it was the Lord’s will. I contacted the mission presidents in Mexico City, the Costa Rica San José East Mission, and the Mexico Missionary Training Center, and they invited their missionaries to join us in prayer.
Inside the prison walls, Sister Aketzaly Llanos never lost sight of her purpose as a representative of Jesus Christ.
Inside the prison walls, Sister Llanos never lost sight of her purpose as a representative of Jesus Christ. She taught her nine cellmates to pray by offering morning and evening prayers as a group each day. She also taught them about their divine identity.
One of her cellmates declared, “I am a really bad person for what I did to get in here, and God hates me.” Sister Llanos looked her in the eye and said, “No. You are not a bad person. You’re someone who did something bad. But you are a daughter of God, and He loves you!”
Another cellmate recounted a dream she’d had a few weeks before Sister Llanos was arrested. The cellmate dreamed that a quetzal bird had flown into the prison to help her. Before Sister Llanos joined the Church, she had had a picture of a quetzal bird tattooed on her back. When the cellmate saw the tattoo, she knew she should listen to Sister Llanos’s missionary message.
Sister Llanos taught her about the Restoration of the gospel of Jesus Christ and gave her the copy of the Book of Mormon she had brought with her to prison—the same copy sister missionaries had given Sister Llanos five years before when she investigated the Church.
A preliminary trial was quickly scheduled in Mexico City. Janeen and I went to testify in person. When we met the legal team outside the courthouse, the attorney was visibly nervous, pacing up and down the sidewalk.
I took him aside and said: “Today you are going to feel more calm and more peaceful than you have ever felt in a courtroom. Let me tell you why. More than 500 missionaries and their families are praying for you and your success today. They’re also praying that the judge will have a softened heart and that he will release Sister Llanos from prison.”
The attorney’s eyes filled with tears, and he expressed his appreciation for the faith and prayers of so many people in his behalf.
At 10:00 a.m. the trial started, but I was required to wait outside until my turn to testify. Two long hours passed. Then the courtroom guard came out and said the judge didn’t need to hear my testimony—he’d already made his decision.
Anxiously, I entered the courtroom, and the judge began to speak. He spoke about the law Sister Llanos had violated and about the serious charges she faced.
“Disregarding all that,” he continued, “I believe the evidence that has been presented about Sister Llanos’s good character.” Then he quoted an obscure part of the law that allowed him to grant mercy, and he immediately released her.
Sister Llanos with Sister Janeen Redd, into whose arms Sister Llanos collapsed upon her release from prison.
This was the miracle we had sought! Instead of being sentenced to four or more years in prison, Sister Llanos was free to go. After the hearing, her attorney said that that day was one of the most significant days of his professional career.
“I truly felt God at my side,” he said. “I want to learn more about your beliefs.”
I invited him to the Mexico City Mexico Temple Visitors’ Center. “You will see other missionaries there as good as Sister Llanos,” I told him. “You’ll see the sparkle in their eyes, and you will ask yourself why.”
Twelve hours later, Sister Llanos was released, still dressed in prison clothes. She collapsed into Janeen’s arms. Once we all stopped crying enough to speak, Sister Llanos exclaimed, “President, I got some referrals in prison!”
This entire experience confirmed that “God has not ceased to be a God of miracles” (Mormon 9:15). I have no doubt that the faith and prayers of many good people helped an attorney argue his case and softened the judge’s heart.
Because Sister Llanos was arrested, several imprisoned women received hope through the gospel of Jesus Christ, an attorney sprouted a seed of faith, and we were strengthened in our conviction that God can use us to further His work no matter where we are.

The gospel should break down all such divisions of language. And great men generally tend toward simplicity. I remember a lecture by Bertrand Russell to the Philosophical Society in Lund, Sweden, in 1934. It was beautifully lucid. It was a kind of dance of simple language, but something very subtle was conveyed by it. Afterwards the chairman of the society told me that he had been disappointed in the lecture; it was far too obvious, he said. I suggested to him that that simplicity had cost Bertrand Russell most of a lifetime. But the chairman didn’t understand.

—The desk clerk at the hotel had been studying with the missionaries for months, but few of those at the conference knew it. He thought he would watch and find out if Saints really practice the principles of the gospel.
“What I’ve seen here with these kids has really made me think,” he said, noting that he was particularly impressed when a young lady turned in a $20 bill she found in the hall.” A lot of people would have just kept it,” he said. “It’s nice to see honesty for a change.”

I always wanted to serve a mission, but when I turned 18 years old, the pandemic started. I didn’t feel ready to serve, so I started college, and I received a great scholarship. Many people recommended that I shouldn’t go on a mission. I felt like I was losing my desire to serve.
But then in general conference President M. Russell Ballard said, “If you are still in the age range for missionary service but have not served yet due to the pandemic or other reasons, I invite you to serve now.”1 When he said the word “now,” I felt as if he were speaking to me—that I must serve a mission now. Since that day I prayed about it and received confirmation that it is time for me to serve the Lord.
I have received a lot of criticism about my decision. My scholarship was even cancelled. But my desire to go is strong enough that none of those things matter. I was called to serve in the Guatemala Quetzaltenango Mission. It’s so special because my parents were sealed for eternity in Guatemala.
If you are wondering if you should serve a mission, it’s not too late! Always trust in Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. They will guide us and bless us with things we cannot imagine.
Enoc M., Dominican Republic