Gospel Story Finder

In 2019, one of the missionaries who found and invited us to follow our Saviour, Jesus Christ, told my wife, Lupe, and me a story. He said that in 1990, he and his companion knelt in prayer, seeking to know the will of the Lord. They were led to a particular street where they knocked on every door, but no one wanted to hear their message.
As they were about to leave, he felt impressed to go back and try again. Obedient, they began knocking on the same doors they had knocked on before, and when they got to the sixth house, I was sitting outside. So began my knowledge of the gospel of Jesus Christ.

One Sunday my counselors and I visited a Church meeting. We gave talks about the temple and the special things that happen there. After the meeting, a 12-year-old boy named Colby came up to me and shook my hand. We chatted about the temple. Then I challenged him to find a family name to take to the temple.
A short time later, I got a letter from Colby. Here’s what Colby told me:
“I went home and found a new name. It turns out that I found my third great-grandfather!
“A while later I went to the temple and got baptized for him. It was really special because my brother got to baptize me and my dad got to confirm me for him.
“I felt a warm feeling inside that brought peace. I feel like what I did for my grandfather was really good because now he can go to the celestial kingdom to live with his family. For the whole rest of the day, I felt really good inside.
“I also found out that no one knows who my third great-grandpa’s parents were, so I can find their names and take them to the temple too!”
What an outstanding example Colby is! No matter how old you are, you can be an example to your family and friends. You can share the gospel with everyone you know—even your ancestors!

In my senior year at Brigham Young University, I entered the national Woodrow Wilson Fellowship competition, named in honor of a former U.S. president. An important part of this competition is a traditional half-hour private interview, in which three judges may ask each applicant any questions they please. My interview went fairly well until about halfway through, when one of the examiners suddenly changed the subject. My file had contained a copy of my article for a BYU publication on the Book of Mormon, and that was the source of his question. Challengingly, he demanded, “Doesn’t the Book of Mormon just steal from the Bible?”
The next five minutes were nervous ones for me. I undertook to show that the Book of Mormon differed from the Bible in several crucial ways. For instance, in the Sermon on the Mount, which appears in both books, the King James text reads: “whosoever is angry with his brother without a cause shall be in danger of the judgment.” (Matt. 5:22; italics added.) The italicized phrase appears to be an interpolation that was added to the text well after it had been written by Matthew. The earliest New Testament manuscripts do not have it; neither does the Book of Mormon. (See 3 Ne. 12:22.) I also pointed to numerous differences between the selected Isaiah passages cited in the Book of Mormon and the same passages in the Bible, to important similarities between Book of Mormon imagery and nonbiblical Jewish imagery (especially in regard to the tree of life and to the significance of Joseph), and finally to the original poetry as part of the writings of the Book of Mormon prophets.
At least two things make me think that my answer was convincing. First, one of the other professors finally asked the challenging professor quite pointedly, “It doesn’t sound like stealing to me. Have you ever read the Book of Mormon?” And second, I received the fellowship.

Prior to our experience of losing Benny, there was another particularly difficult time in my life when my faith and belief in myself were tested. One night I found myself praying to the Lord that He would bring me home. Life was hard, but I knew the Lord loved me. I felt that if I could return to His presence, everything would somehow be okay. This is now a prayer I am incredibly grateful the Lord didn’t answer in the way I had hoped at the time. In that moment, instead of calling me home, the Lord touched my heart with the closest thing I have ever had to a vision—a vision that changed my perspective and that has buoyed me up as challenges have come into my life, including losing our sweet Benny.

As I prayed that night all those years ago, I felt the Lord give me perspective about my choice to come here. This certainly isn’t doctrine, but I share this personal and meaningful experience in the hope that it may be meaningful for you in some way too.

In this vision I felt I could see the War in Heaven. I don’t know about you, but for some reason the War in Heaven had always felt very impersonal to me—like we were all up in heaven together, standing around in an almost pep-rally-type way as teams were being picked. We had to choose our team in this very loud and chaotic scene. I am not sure why this had always been my thought on the War in Heaven—maybe because we refer to it as a war, which would imply some sort of chaos.

But this night I had a very different perspective. Instead of being amidst a crowd, I pictured a very personal experience with a loving Father in Heaven. I pictured Him sitting me down individually and presenting to me the plan to follow His Son, which would include coming to earth, getting a body, and facing the inevitable difficulties of life.

In all of my premortal and angelic exuberance, I saw myself saying, “Yes, yes! Of course that is what I want! I know I can do it! Send me down!”

But then I pictured a wise and kind Father gently putting His arm around me and in a calm voice saying, “But Tiff, it is going to be hard. Life isn’t going to be easy. When you are twenty, your first marriage is going to end. At thirty, you are going to face the reality of being a victim of sexual violence. At forty, you are going to lose Benny. Are you sure this is what you want to do?”

I then pictured myself taking a moment, looking at this plan that the Lord had designed just for me, and then, with all the faith my eternal self could muster, even more resolutely saying, “Yes, of course that is what I want. I know I can do it.”

As members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, one of the core tenets of our faith is the gift of agency. We believe that our agency existed before we came to earth and that we made the choice to keep our first estate and come here. In thinking about that choice—and having the perspective that I believe the Lord blessed me with during that particularly challenging time in my life—I realize that if all that life was meant to be was hard, I wouldn’t have signed up for it! I don’t think any of us would have. But when I made this choice—when we made this choice—I believe we had an eternal perspective that helped us to understand that the eternal joy available in and through the Savior far exceeded any earthly pain or struggle we would face.

Yes, I believe we knew life would be hard—to what extent I am not sure—but I also believe that our eternal selves believed in the Lord and believed in our ability to face this earth life and come out on top. Whenever my mortal mind starts to doubt, I remind myself of this ­experience, and I trust the “eternal Tiffany” who, with a grander perspective, believed she could withstand the storms of life with the Lord’s help.

Jeremy’s family forwarded his regular e-mails, in which he told of the people he was helping. On one occasion, he sent me a tape. I sat on the floor with my college roommate and listened. He talked about his faith and bore testimony of his beliefs. Inwardly, I had been searching for such conviction. My roommate was in tears at the sound of something so powerful. She asked me if I had read the Book of Mormon, and her question ate at my conscience. Could I actually know a church without having studied its scripture? I decided to read the Book of Mormon.
Two weeks later missionaries began to teach me. I prayed that God would help me make the right decision so that my conscience would be at ease. By the end of the lessons, my eyes had been opened to something I knew to be right.
My mother asked me to meet with a leader in our church. I knew him to be a very bright scholar and was somewhat intimidated. But the man I thought would confound me and have all the answers had none. All he could tell me was that many believed these matters, so who was I to question? He told me how disappointed my parents would be, and my heart ached. I had never outright disobeyed my parents. But how could I continue to be a part of something I knew was wrong? I had to stand up.
In the font, I knew the rest of my life would be different. It would be a lot harder, but I realized that part of growing up is making choices that are right. As I leaned back into the water, I felt peace! I could hardly believe the joy. I had decided what I believed and took courage in my own conviction.
My parents took back my credit card, my cell phone, and my car. They ignored me for a few months and would not let me speak to my brothers. My sister also found it difficult to accept me for a while. I moved to Utah for college, where I met a wonderful man and fell in love. My parents would not meet my husband when we were married, but now those tensions are slowly resolving, and I am in hopeful pursuit of my eternal family.
Growing up, trusting my decisions, and receiving consequences was not easy. But such joy has entered my life because I made the right decision. That moment of peace at my baptism has guided my life. Every big decision I make must have that peace, or I cannot live with it. I believe that if we choose what is right, we can get through anything.

Four years after Grandfather joined the Church, my father, then a young lad eight years old, accompanied his family and the members of two other families to a baptismal service. Grandfather was to baptize his young daughter and the daughters of a neighboring family on that cold December 3, 1899. As they traveled toward the stream at Reynold’s Mill, they were approached by three men on horseback. When the men asked where they were going, Grandfather explained their intentions. The leader threatened to bring a mob upon them if they carried out the baptismal service. Grandfather informed him that he and the 20 people with him would complete their errand regardless of what the man and his associates did. Grandfather and his party continued their journey to Reynold’s Mill.
Arriving at the mill they located a secluded spot for the baptism. The hill above the river was covered with trees, scrub oak, and ivy. My father, young John, was perched on a fallen tree that stretched out across a sandbar into the slow-moving stream. Here he could observe every detail of this sacred ordinance. Grandfather waded out into the stream to find the right depth and then returned to the riverbank for prayer. In the quiet of the prayer John heard the sound of a cracking limb. Opening his eyes and glancing quickly up the hill through the trees he saw the men who had stopped them earlier. They had arrived with a mob to carry out their threat. One of them was by a pile of rocks and was ready to pelt the baptismal participants. Suddenly all eyes were opened as a big redbone hound owned by the leader of the mob bounded down to within a few feet of my father. Young John looked fearfully at the hound as it growled menacingly. These men and their associates were determined to stop the baptisms from being performed. My Grandfather Pinegar courageously proceeded with the services.
Convinced now that these Mormon families were unafraid of his threat, the mob leader commanded his dog to attack Grandfather Pinegar. At this moment an amazing thing happened. The dog let out a low growl and his hair bristled like that on an angry hog’s back. Suddenly it bared its teeth and turned on its master, leaping at his throat and knocking him to the ground. The rest of the mob fled in fear when they saw the dog turn on its owner. As soon as the astonished leader could free himself from his dog, he left in hurried pursuit of his associates, with the dog yelping close at his heels.
A miracle had occurred! The Pinegar family and their neighbors thanked the Lord for their deliverance, and the baptismal service continued without further interruption.
That evening the families returned to Grandfather’s home. After darkness had fallen upon the mountain cabin, the troublemakers returned and again threatened to mob my grandfather and his Mormon friends. As they taunted him from the gate, Grandfather commanded them in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ to leave. The mob departed and did not return.

I have not always been grateful for opportunities to speak in public. As a girl, I was very shy. Even talking to people was challenging. Through my teens, public speaking of any kind, even small groups, was hard for me.
When I was eighteen, I began college. As you know or will soon find out, speaking in front of a class is often required. In one of my first semesters, I took a class that required an in-class presentation. I prepared my presentation, and on the assigned day, each class member took a turn giving their presentation. I deliberately sat in the back of the class so that I could be one of the last students to present. I was really scared. The closer it got to my turn, the faster my heart beat. When the person right before me got up to speak, I also got up. And I walked right out of the classroom! I did not go back in. I was so scared of speaking in front of everyone that I chose not to do the assignment. I was fortunate and somehow managed to still pass the class.
Looking back on that situation, I now understand that fear made me run away from my presentation.

The General Authority who married Brother and Sister Hunter gave them some advice they took very seriously: Stay out of debt; never buy anything until you have the money to pay for it. They followed that counsel, sticking with it throughout their married life and teaching it to their children.
That counsel proved to be extremely valuable when the bank where Howard was employed failed during the Great Depression of the early 1930s. Out of work, but also out of debt, Brother Hunter quickly found other employment.

“How long is it until my birthday?” Jonathan asked Mother one cold, snowy day when he couldn’t go outside to play.
“Four months,” Mother said. “Why?”
“Oh, I just wondered. How long is it until Susan’s birthday?”
“Don’t you remember? Susan’s birthday was just last month,” Mother said. “It will be eleven months before she has another one.”
“Oh,” Jonathan said. “Christmas was last month too.” He sighed as he walked down the hall. More than anything, he liked times like Christmas and birthdays.
“I like getting presents,” Jonathan told his dog, Wags, when he got to his room. “I like giving presents too. I wish today was Christmas or a birthday so we could have presents.”
Suddenly Jonathan realized that he hadn’t asked Mother about her birthday or Dad’s. He ran back to the kitchen.
“No,” said Mother, looking up from the big pot of soup she was stirring. “Neither Dad nor I have one today. Why do you keep asking about birthdays?”
“Oh, I just like them.” Jonathan trudged back to his room. He opened the bottom drawer of his dresser, where he kept his special treasures. “If it was Mother’s birthday,” he told Wags, “I could make her a crayon print with these leaves I saved. Mother liked the crayon print I made her at kindergarten. She liked it a lot.
“If it was Dad’s birthday,” he told Wags, “I could give him this nice block of wood I found in the park last week. Dad’s always looking for wood that he can carve into animals.
“If it was Susan’s birthday,” he told Wags, “I could give her five of my best marbles. They would look very pretty at the bottom of her fish tank.”
Jonathan gave a deep, big sigh. “Oh, Wags,” he said, “I do wish it was someone’s birthday, or Christmas, or any day at all when I could give a present!”
Then he smiled, “Maybe, just maybe, today is a day when I can give presents. He grinned a big grin. “Yes, it is!” he told Wags. Then he went to work.
First, he put his pretty leaves under a sheet of paper. Carefully he rubbed across the paper with red and yellow and orange crayons.
Next, he took out the block of wood and wiped it with tissue paper so that it would be nice and clean for Dad to carve.
Finally, he counted out five of his prettiest marbles.
“It’s time for dinner,” Mother called.
Jonathan carried his presents to the dinner table and placed them beside the right plates.
“Presents for everyone!” he exclaimed when Dad and Mother and Susan sat down.
“But it isn’t our birthdays,” said Mother. “I told you that.”
“And it isn’t Christmas,” Susan and Dad said at the same time.
“No, it isn’t a birthday or Christmas,” Jonathan said. “It’s another special day I thought of—it’s today! And I decided that today was the best day for giving ‘just because I like you’ presents!”
“What a lovely idea,” Mother said. “As soon as we’ve eaten, I’ll hang up this picture where we can all enjoy it.”
Dad said, “This block of wood is just the kind I like for carving.”
Susan said, “The marbles are really pretty. Thank you, Jonathan.”
Jonathan was smiling from ear to ear. He had more treasures in his bottom drawer, and lots of friends he could give presents to on another “just because I like you” day.

Recently, while touring a mission, I met with missionaries which demonstrated many examples of faithfulness and all that the word implies. One of the missionaries is Elder Brad Bagan. He is a quadriplegic. He was injured playing in a neighborhood football game. He has very limited use of his hands. With great determination and persistence he has developed the ability to stand with a walker and pull himself along for short distances. He is a successful and happy missionary and an example of faithfulness to all the missionaries and members in that mission, and to all others who know him. He speaks with boldness and love. The companions who serve with him come to realize that if he, with all of his personal challenges, can successfully and cheerfully do missionary work they have no reason or excuse to keep from laboring themselves with all their heart, might, mind and strength. Through his demonstration of faithfulness he has shown many the way to victory on the path of happiness.

While this young elder was at the Missionary Training Center in Provo he had the opportunity to go the Provo Temple which is only a few blocks from the Missionary Training Center. Because of his severely debilitating physical condition it took him about two hours to make his arduous journey up the gently sloping hill to the temple on a very cold and windy day. When the MTC president learned about Elder Bagan's experience he felt very sad and told the Elder he would have been happy to provide transportation for him. Elder Bagan's response was impressive. He told the President not to worry or be concerned about what had happened. "It was worth it." The Prophet Joseph Smith taught that the pursuit of Holiness also keeps us on the pathway to happiness. The temple is a place of holiness and being worthy to enter there is essential to our eternal happiness. Whatever effort is required of us to go there will indeed be "worth it."

As she became a young adult herself, Ioana wanted to do the same and help others feel welcome in the Savior’s Church. Though she felt nervous about reaching out to people she didn’t know, she was learning to listen to the Holy Ghost and trust the promptings she received.
When another young woman joined, Ioana got up the courage to talk to her. They discovered a mutual interest in music, and Ioana offered to teach her to lead the singing. Before long they were spending time together, serving as branch pianist and music leader.
“As I prepared myself to receive the guidance of the Holy Ghost, I started to notice Him putting thoughts in my head, answering my questions, prompting me,” Ioana said. “There were times I didn’t know what to say, and then something would come. It felt right when I said it. I’m learning to trust the Holy Ghost.”
She learned that often the things that help others feel like they belong aren’t big. For her, it was being included in Sunday School or activities, playing sports or crazy games, baking cookies, and having dance nights. “It wasn’t fancy. It was just having a good time or being able to talk. And when it’s connected to something spiritual, that can make it extra special.”

When Grandma and Grandpa Johns left to serve a mission to the Bern Switzerland Temple, their family members resolved to follow their example. In their own way, they would be missionaries, too.
Kyle was in the fourth grade and took the challenge very seriously. When he asked his mother what he could do to be a missionary, she answered, “You have to find someone, be a good friend to him, and then wait and see what happens.”
When the new school year began, Kyle looked around at the members of his class. Pedro, a boy from Mexico, looked like he needed a special friend. Soon Kyle and Pedro were talking and playing together. Kyle invited Pedro to his home to play, and he often went to Pedro’s home.
Because Sunday was a special day for Kyle and his family, he and his brothers did not play in their neighborhood or have friends over to their home on that day. Instead, their family went to church and enjoyed family activities together afterward.
Pedro didn’t understand. His family didn’t have rules like Kyle’s family, and he could do whatever he wanted to on Sunday. Kyle’s mother suggested that he invite Pedro to Primary. Maybe then he would understand why Kyle’s family chose to do what they did on Sunday. Kyle told Pedro, “Come with me to Primary, and we can be together on Sunday mornings. You can ride with us, and we’ll take you home afterward.”
Pedro was interested. He asked Kyle to come with him to ask his father for permission.
When Kyle asked Pedro’s father, he answered, “If Pedro wants to go, then it is all right with me.”
The next Sunday found Kyle and Pedro together in Primary. The teacher was very kind and welcoming. When the class was ending, he gave an assignment to the class from the scriptures for the following Sunday. Kyle had his own copies of the scriptures and took them to Primary each Sunday. He was eager to do the assignment the teacher made. So was Pedro, but he didn’t have any scriptures of his own. He went to his father and asked if he could have a set. Even though Pedro and his family were not members of the Church, his father saw how much it meant to him to have his own set of scriptures. He decided that they were all good books and bought them for Pedro.
The boys continued to attend Primary together. One Sunday, the teacher gave the boys a list of scriptures to study and asked them to have their parents explain the meanings to them. He made new scripture assignments each week for several weeks.
As they studied, Pedro and Kyle became more and more interested in the gospel. They had a lesson on baptism and learned that the Lord requires it of everyone. They also learned how it is administered and by whom. As they helped Pedro with his reading assignments in preparation for his Primary class each week, Pedro’s family found this information new and interesting.
One day, Pedro asked Kyle, “Do you think my dad would let me be baptized?”
They decided that they would go ask Pedro’s father together. Imagine how surprised Pedro’s father was when they walked up to him and Kyle asked, “Can Pedro be baptized into my church?”
Pedro’s father said, “I’ll have to think about it before I give you an answer. I know a member of your church. I’d like to talk with him before I give my answer.”
Pedro’s father talked with his friend, who happened to be serving in Kyle’s ward as the mission leader. Soon an appointment was made for the missionaries to begin teaching Pedro’s family the gospel. The family studied and worked with the missionaries to gain testimonies. Pedro and his brother were ready to be baptized first. As their father and mother watched them enter the waters of baptism, the Spirit whispered to them that what was taking place was true and correct. They decided to prepare themselves for baptism.
As Kyle rode home with his family after the baptism of his friend, he told his mother, “Tomorrow Pedro and I will look around our class and find another person who needs a friend. Then we will invite him to Primary!”
Kyle was very happy to write to his grandma and grandpa in Switzerland and tell them of his experience as a missionary. He ended his letter by saying, “Everyone can be a missionary. You just have to be a good friend and then wait and see what happens!”

"Some years ago, he (Elder Steuer) served as a mission president in Sao Paulo, Brazil. It was his practice with newly arriving missionaries to give them real "missionary experiences" on their very first day as full-time proselyting missionaries. To do this, after their orientation and a dinner at the mission home, they would be sent out that evening with their assigned companions. The seasoned missionary would take the new missionaries out either tracting, street contacting, or giving discussions.

"In one of the groups of new missionaries, there was a Brazilian elder who came from far north of Brazil. It took this missionary about three days travel by bus just to reach the MTC in Sao Paulo for his initial training. On that first evening, after having a good meal, President Steuer announced that the new missionaries would then go out and do missionary work. This new missionary's companion decided they would go tracting, a frightening experience for this shy new elder. The senior companion said he would take the first door and told his companion to watch closely how it was done as the second door would be his.

"The young elder protested, saying he was too frightened, but his companion proceeded to the first door. When this young elder knocked on the second door, the senior companion stepped back and indicated for him to proceed. He shrank back. When the door opened, to the young elder's utter astonishment, the person standing there was his older sister. She had run away from home three or four years earlier. The family had not heard from her since and had no idea where she was, or even if she was still alive. One can imagine the sweetness of that reunion and the tears of joy that were shed that night.

"As he concluded this story, Elder Steuer said two things that deeply impressed me and made the point I'm trying to make. He said, "Not only was his sister one of the first nonmembers he contacted in the mission field, but she became his first convert baptism as well." Then he added,

"As you think about that... , remember, at that time there were between thirteen and fourteen million people in Sao Paulo!"

With my profession as a nurse and my job here at BYU, I have the opportunity to work both locally and abroad with the sick in hospitals and various communities. Much of what I see is humbling and life changing. I would like to relate an experience of service I had a few years ago.

I was in a hospital in a developing country doing research for my doctoral project. In many hospitals or healthcare facilities in third-world countries, medicine is not available to the patients from the hospital itself. If the doctor feels the patient should receive a particular medicine, even if it is lifesaving, a prescription is written out to the family, and they need to take it to a pharmacy, pay for it, and then bring it back to the hospital for administration to the patient. Understandably, this is difficult for many patients, and they do not get medicines, as their family simply cannot afford them.

Partly due to these situations, it is not uncommon for there to be many beggars just outside the hospital grounds with their hands outstretched for money. But once you get in the gates of the complex, you usually aren’t asked for money. As I was an obvious foreigner, I was asked for money many times a day. In fact, I had become quite calloused to this situation.

I had been in the hospital working a few days in the intensive care unit. As I was doing research, I was observing and taking notes on the care that the patients were receiving. Little did I realize that people were also watching and noticing me. I was walking across the hospital campus and a little lady came up to me. She introduced herself and said she had been watching me in the intensive care unit; her son was a patient there. She stated that her son was unconscious from a car crash. He was on a ventilator and not doing well. I could not remember which patient was her son. As she continued explaining the situation, she started pulling out a piece of paper.

I saw it and thought, “Oh, this is it. This is a prescription, and she is going to ask me for money.”

I then thought about the twenty-dollar bill I had in my pocket. I don’t carry a lot of money with me when I travel, and I had been waiting all week to eat in the hotel restaurant and order the roast beef, which is delicious and cheap compared to American standards. I told her I couldn’t give her any money and walked away. She was just another beggar.

I walked away quickly, and after a few moments I turned around and looked at her. She was looking around with a look of “What do I do now?” My heart was pierced. I couldn’t believe I was so eager to eat roast beef over giving this woman money that would possibly enable her son to live. I couldn’t allow it! I quickly ran back down the steps and said, “Espera, Senora—wait! I have money to give you.”

She accepted my twenty-dollar bill with tears in her eyes. And tears were in mine also.

The desire to help another was strong. I am glad I had this experience, because I have been able to reflect on it a lot. I call it my personal parable of the roast beef.

Children have the capacity for compassion. They have no fear to express their genuine feelings. In the popular movie entitled Home Alone, a scene near the end grips the viewer’s emotions and causes that familiar lump to fill the throat. The scene takes place in a chapel; the time is Christmas; the two lonely characters are seated next to one another on a church bench. The older man, who lives by himself, is estranged from family and bereft of friends. His next-door neighbor, played by McCaulay Culkin, is the lad left “home alone” by his family, which had departed for a European vacation, inadvertently forgetting this one small family member.
The boy asks the lonely man if he has any family. The gentleman explains quietly that he and his son and his son’s family have parted ways and no longer communicate. In the innocence of youth, the boy blurts out the plea, “Why don’t you just call your son and tell him you are sorry and invite him home for Christmas!”
The old man sighs and responds, “I’m too afraid he would say no.” The fear of failure had blocked the ability to express love and to voice an apology.
The viewer is left to wonder concerning the outcome of the conversation, but not for too long. Christmas comes; the boy’s family returns. He is pictured at an upstairs bedroom window looking in the direction of the old man’s sidewalk. Suddenly he views a tender scene as the neighbor welcomes his returning son, his daughter-in-law, and their children. Son embraces father, and the old man buries his head against the shoulder of his precious son. As they turn to walk on, the old neighbor looks upward to the bedroom window of the house next door and sees his small friend observing the private miracle of forgiveness. Their eyes meet, their hands express a gentle greeting of gratitude. “Welcome home” replaces “Home alone.”

“Why do we have to come so early?” Ashley grumbled as she and her parents and brothers sat down in the chapel. Mom and Dad wanted the family to be at church a whole 15 minutes before sacrament meeting started! She’d barely had time to eat breakfast and brush her teeth before it was time to go.
“I like to watch people as they come in,” Mom said.
Ashley noticed Mom looking at the people as they walked into the chapel.
“What are you looking for?” She glanced at the Mendez family as they walked in, but she didn’t notice anything different from usual.
Mom’s gaze moved from one person to the next. “I’m trying to see who might need some extra love.”
“How can you tell?” Ashley asked.
“I notice if anyone seems sad,” said Mom. “Or worried.”
“But how do you know?”
“I look at their faces, especially their eyes,” Mom said. “People’s eyes often show their true feelings.”
“Huh. I guess that makes sense.” Ashley paid closer attention to the people around the room. Mom was right! Some ward members had eyes that seemed a little sad. Sister Henderson looked like she’d been crying. Brother Henderson wasn’t there. Ashley remembered her parents saying that he was very sick with cancer.
Mom wrote down some names in a notebook she kept in her purse. Then the prelude music started, and she put away the notebook.
Later that day Ashley found Mom writing cards. “Are those for the people we saw at church?”
Mom looked up from her writing and nodded. “This is just my little way of helping others. We can’t always take away their problems, but we can try to help. A card shows that someone cares. It’s like an extra dose of love.”
An extra dose of love. Ashley liked that! “How can you know everyone who needs a card?”
“I can’t,” said Mom. “That’s why I pray first. I ask Heavenly Father for His help.”
“Does He tell you who needs a card?” Ashley asked.
“Sometimes I keep thinking about a person. That’s one of the ways the Holy Ghost can speak to us.” Mom signed the card she’d been writing. “I don’t know all the problems people have. Only Heavenly Father knows that. But I want to help where I can.”
Ashley remembered that Mom had wanted a box of cards and stamps for her last birthday. Now Ashley knew why.
That night Mom put a stack of stamped cards on the counter, ready for tomorrow’s mail.
“How many did you write?” Ashley asked.
Mom smiled. “Eight today. I may write a few more during the week as I think of people.”
Ashley thought of her friend Janine, whose parents were getting divorced. Janine was really upset about it and had been crying after school. “Can I use one of your cards?” Ashley asked. “I want to send one to Janine. Maybe it’ll help her feel better.”
“Of course you can.”
Ashley searched through Mom’s box of cards and picked one with bluebirds on it. She found a pen and started to write. “Dear Janine. …”

On a ski trip to a large resort, some friends and I decided to split up and check out the various runs. We planned to meet later for lunch and compare notes on the runs for the afternoon.
I rode several lifts and enjoyed different runs. It was a glorious day. A storm had just passed, and everything was fresh and white.
I traversed the mountain to a run which is used less frequently than others. It had a very long ski lift and there were few people in line. I was alone on my chair and I stretched my arms across the back of the chair to enjoy the sensations of the morning. The world seemed a very friendly place. The bright sun shone in a deep, blue sky. The trees were dark, almost black, and contrasted with the brilliant white of the snow. Now and then I passed over tracks made by a rabbit or some other small animal. The sun was pleasant on my face, and the cold, bracing air felt good in my lungs. I took long, deep breaths and involuntarily broke into a wide grin.
I was enjoying all that was around me and wished for someone to share it with. Then I thought of my Heavenly Father. It was through his plan that I’d come to this earth to enjoy these things. I thought of his love and concern for me and felt I should express my gratitude to him. I prayed aloud. I told Heavenly Father how good it was to have a physical body that I could exercise and sense the beauties of this world with. I told him how I felt about the colors around me, and the great feeling of the warm sun mixed with the cold air. I told him that I loved him and was happy that he loved me enough to give me these things.
I had been praying to express my happiness to my Heavenly Father, but I also realized that my prayer was an attempt to make him happy. I thought of my earthly parents and how they enjoy hearing about the fun, exciting things of my life. Wouldn’t it gladden my Father in Heaven to hear about my joy?
The rest of that day was very special. I spent much of it sharing with my Heavenly Father the things around me. The more I shared the more I appreciated. It was wonderful to know I had found another way to express my love for him.

I could see the young deacons losing interest as my mission companion talked. He was explaining the importance of doing missionary work at their age—planting seeds with their friends.
One young man finally spoke up, “What can I do? I’m only 13. My friends aren’t interested in the Church, and even if they were, their parents wouldn’t let them join.” My companion persisted with the young men, but my mind drifted back to when I was about 12 years old.
I had a best friend, Chris. We did everything together. But whenever a group of us would gather to do something “crazy,” like throw snowballs at cars or toilet paper a house, Chris would always back out. He said his parents would be mad if they found out.
Then one day I talked Chris into stealing tennis balls from the people on the local courts. He followed me, even helped me gather a handful of balls, then took off with me through a hole in the fence. When we arrived at my house I noticed Chris’s face was white.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“We’ve got to take those balls back,” he blurted out.
“No way, they’re ours now,” I replied, but Chris grabbed them and started to run. I’ve always been faster than Chris, but I couldn’t catch him that day. He ran right to the tennis players and gave every ball back. He said he was sorry and then did something I’d never seen before. He asked them for forgiveness. I just knew we were going to be turned into the police, but the men let him go.
When we got home I had a few questions for my best friend.
“I’m a Mormon,” he said.
“I know. You told me.”
“But I didn’t tell you how important my church is to me.” He went on to explain the standards of honesty he had been taught and how he could not feel right about stealing.
Six weeks later I found myself in a font, full of water, ready to be baptized a Latter-day Saint.
Suddenly I came back to the deacons in front of me. I don’t know if it made much difference to those boys, but I was able to say it was an active young man their age who brought me into the Church. I told them they could and should do missionary work. They could plant seeds with their example, just as Chris had done.

Back at the Kowloon stake center, Wen Sak Han (Sonya Wen), 16, Laurel class president of the Kowloon City Ward, is busy working with the Young Men and the Young Women of her ward on a service project. They are clipping illustrations from an old manual and preparing a bulletin board about family home evening.
"I’ve been a member for a year now," Sonya said. "I am quite happy that I joined the Church. I look upon it as the turning point in my life, both in my behavior and in my psychological development. In the past, I was easily tempted by evil things. But now I have principles to follow, and though I may be tempted I have a reason not to give in."

One Sunday morning I was asked if I’d like to have home teachers visit me. I had just recently been divorced and was having a hard time facing my new life as a single mother with two small children. I said I would appreciate a visit. At the time, I was feeling bitter about my situation and felt alone in my struggles.
The following week, two good brothers came to my home. During their visit they asked the usual questions and shared a short gospel message with my family.
Then these good brothers asked, “Sister Nereida, what can we do to help you?”
Without thinking much about it, I told them the light bulbs were out above the stairs going up to the second floor. I had replacement bulbs, but I couldn’t reach high enough to change them, and I worried about using a ladder on the stairs. I also told them that I had no working lights in the backyard.
Right away they got up. One went out to his car and returned with a tool chest. He was almost six and a half feet (1.9 m) tall, so he climbed the stairs and changed the bulb without any problem. Meanwhile, his companion went to the backyard and noticed the wire connection was reversed. In no time he was able to fix it.
How grateful I have been to my home teachers over the years for their simple act of kindness, love, and dedication and for the wonderful lesson they taught me. My home teachers were truly angels who not only brought light to our home but also brought the peace, hope, and safety of the gospel, which brings light to any kind of darkness.