Gospel Story Finder

Elder Ulisses Soares told the story of a boy who followed the example of Captain Moroni. The boy saw his classmates looking at bad pictures on their cell phones. He had to make a quick decision. He was filled with courage and told his friends that what they were doing was not right. Most of his classmates made fun of him, but one friend decided to stop looking at the pictures. Elder Soares said we can be strong like Captain Moroni and stand up for our testimony of truth.

Both boys eagerly participate in the Scouting program. In New Brunswick, boys seven years old and younger are Beavers. As a Beaver, Stephen is learning to share, be a good sport, and work with others. In Cub Scouts, Jason has earned his sports badge by jumping over a rope. He was the only one who didn’t knock it down! He also earned his artist badge by drawing a picture, and his pet-care badge by caring for and feeding the family cat and one of the dogs.

The ice glowed with a cold bluish hue around the edges of the rink, but in the middle, it was white where the cutting edges of skates had scarred the smooth surface. Huddled to one side of the rink was a group of toddlers, rocking unsteadily on the narrow blades as they clung to their mothers. It was the first time most of them had ever seen a skating rink, and it would be their first experience with ice skating.
One little girl with straight blonde hair was anxious to get started. Her mother helped her onto the ice. She tried a few running steps, but the skates slid out from under her. She went down hard, falling back and hitting her head with a resounding crack on the ice. The cry was one of sincere pain. Holly Cook, the toddler, wanted to end her skating career then and there.
“On my fourth birthday, Mom took me down to the ice rink which had just opened and signed me up for a group lesson. When I hit my head, I didn’t want to go back on the ice after that.”
But she did. Holly’s mother wiped away the tears, comforted her, then helped her again stand on the ice.
As a four-year-old, Holly Cook did try again, and since that time trying again has become a part of her daily life. She has spent hours and hours perfecting the intricate moves that make figure skating look deceptively simple when she’s on the ice. For 11 years she has honed her talent, skill, and grace, until now at age 15 she is one of the best—one of the 10 best women figure skaters in the United States and in the world. Competing in her first senior Nationals, Holly came in tenth. In her first international competition in Yugoslavia, she placed eighth. Just a few months ago in an international skating competition known as the Coupes des Alpes, she took first.

Katie Lewis is my neighbor. Her older brother, Jimmie, is battling leukemia. But like the faithful Latter-day Saints they are, the Lewises turned to God with urgency and with faith and with hope. They fasted and prayed, prayed and fasted. And they went again and again to the temple.
One day Sister Lewis came home from a temple session weary and worried. As she entered her home, four-year-old Katie ran up to her with love in her eyes and a crumpled sheaf [stack] of papers in her hand. Holding the papers out to her mother, she said enthusiastically, “Mommy, do you know what these are?”
Sister Lewis smiled through her sorrow and said, “No, Katie. I don’t know what they are. Please tell me.”
“They are the scriptures,” Katie beamed back, “and do you know what they say?”
Sister Lewis knelt down to her level and said, “Tell me, Katie. What do the scriptures say?”
“They say, ‘Trust Jesus.’”
Sister Lewis said that as she stood back up, she felt arms of peace encircle her weary soul and a divine stillness calm her troubled heart.

“When I thought that the last thing I said to my little brother was, ‘Don’t be late to class today’ instead of ‘I love you’ … You never understand how important someone is to you until you think they are gone,” says Lacy Stockwell, 18. Lacy had spoken to her freshman brother, Taylor, in the cafeteria just seconds before the shooting erupted. As she ran from the cafeteria, she’d been unable to find him.
Of her reaction at finding her brother safe, Lacy says, “It was incredible when I saw him. We yelled each other’s names and ran down the hall to each other and hugged. I can’t express the emotions I felt.”

A Primary teacher shared the following example. “Today,” she said, “our five- and six-year-old class made love necklaces. Each child drew pictures on strips of paper: one of themselves, one of Jesus, and some of members of their family and loved ones. We glued the strips into circles that looped through each other to make a chain that we turned into love necklaces. As they were drawing, the children talked about their families.
“Heather said, ‘I don’t think my sister loves me. We are always fighting. … I even hate myself. I have a bad life.’ And she put her head in her hands.
“I thought about her family circumstances and felt that maybe she did indeed have a hard life. But after Heather had said this, Anna, down at the other end of the table, responded, ‘Heather, I am putting you in my necklace between me and Jesus because He loves you and I love you.’
“When Anna said that, Heather crawled under the table to get to Anna and threw her arms around her.
“At the end of class, when her grandmother came to pick her up, Heather said, ‘Guess what, Grandma? Jesus loves me.’”

I attended with my family the branch of the Church in Frankfurt, Germany. We were blessed with many wonderful people in our little branch. One was our branch president, Brother Landschulz. …
One Sunday, President Landschulz asked if he could speak with me. …
[He] invited me into a small classroom—our chapel did not have an office for the branch president—and there he extended a call to me to serve as deacons quorum president.
“This is an important position,” he said, and then he took his time and described why. He explained what he and the Lord expected of me and how I could receive help.
I don’t remember much of what he said, but I do remember how I felt. A sacred, divine Spirit filled my heart as he spoke. I could feel that this was the Savior’s Church. And I felt that the calling he had extended was inspired by the Holy Ghost. I remember walking out of that tiny classroom feeling quite a bit taller than before. …
… I felt honored, and I wanted to serve to the best of my ability and not disappoint either my branch president or the Lord.
I realize now that the branch president could have merely gone through the motions when he called me to this position. He could have simply told me in the hallway or during a priesthood meeting that I was the new deacons quorum president.
Instead, he spent time with me and helped me understand not only the what of my assignment but, much more important, the why. …
… It is an example to me of the motivating power of priesthood leadership that awakens the spirit and inspires action.
President Dieter F. Uchtdorf, Second Counselor in the First Presidency, “The Why of Priesthood Service,” Liahona and Ensign, May 2012, 58.

My mother was a great delegator. Each Saturday morning as my brothers and sisters and I were growing up, we received housecleaning assignments from her. Her instructions to us had been learned from her mother: “Be certain you clean thoroughly in the corners and along the mopboards. If you are going to miss anything, let it be in the center of the room.”
She knew very well if we cleaned the corners, she would never have a problem with what was left in the center of the room. That which is visible to the eye would never be left unclean.

Illustrations by Juan Caminador
Shannon was sitting in Primary. She was listening to Sister Tayson teach a lesson. The lesson was about following Jesus and Heavenly Father.
Sister Tayson put papers on the floor. The papers looked like stepping-stones. Each one was something that leads us closer to Heavenly Father. Sister Tayson read each one. They said:
“Be baptized.”
“Receive the Holy Ghost.”
“Go to the temple.”
Shannon frowned. She wasn’t old enough to do those things. But then Sister Tayson put down another step.
“Can you read this stone?” Sister Tayson asked Shannon.
Shannon was just learning to read. She looked at the paper stone and read, “Pray.” She thought about that.
“I can do that!” she said. She felt happy.
Sister Tayson smiled. “You can do lots of good things!”
She asked other children to read stepping-stones. They said:
“Say nice things.”
“Go to church.”
“Help with chores.”
Shannon felt better as Sister Tayson showed each step. She knew she could follow those steps. She didn’t have to wait to follow Jesus! She didn’t have to wait to follow Heavenly Father! And when she was older, she could do all of the things on the stepping-stones.

Despite Grandma’s illness, everything she does for me is because she loves me.
Photograph courtesy of the author
“Where have you been, my child?” my grandmother asked as she answered my knock on her door. I had just returned from a full-time mission to El Salvador. Grandma’s eyes brimmed with joy at seeing me again. Her arms felt soft and warm as she wrapped them around my neck.
We had a fun conversation as I answered her questions about my mission. I became emotional as I told her about the people, food, hard work, and miracles of my mission. After I had finished, she suddenly became quiet. Then she asked, “Where have you been, my child?”
Apparently, she wasn’t listening. So, we started our conversation again. Barely 20 minutes later, she asked for the third time, “Where have you been, my child?”
Something was wrong. I soon found out that about a year after I had left on my mission, my grandmother was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease.
I felt a great desire to help Grandma. For two years, I had preached the love God has for His children. Now I had an opportunity to live those teachings. Though I knew it would be difficult, I offered to move in with her so I could help her.
The first few months were the hardest. As in the mission field, having patience and controlling frustration became a full-time job. And as during my mission, I had to accept God’s timing and purposes as I learned to love my grandmother as Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ love her.
Living with Grandma is sometimes like living with three different people. Sometimes she cannot bear to have someone else in the house. Sometimes she wants my care and attention, happy she isn’t alone. Sometimes all she can think about is what to feed her grandson who just returned from his mission. “Don’t do that!” can quickly become “Why don’t you do that?”
My grandmother, nevertheless, has been a great blessing to me. I know that despite her illness, everything she does for me is because she loves me.
My grandmother’s sweetest and most sincere words come every time I return home from school or work. With a tender look, she hugs me, kisses my cheeks, and lovingly asks, “Where have you been, my child?”

The desire to help another, the quest for the lost sheep, may not always yield success at once. On occasion progress is slow—even indiscernible. Such was the experience of my longtime friend Gil Warner. He was serving as a newly called bishop when “Douglas,” a member of his ward, transgressed and was deprived of his Church membership. Father was saddened; Mother was totally devastated. Douglas soon thereafter moved from the state. The years hurried by, but Bishop Warner, now a member of a high council, never ceased to wonder what had become of Douglas.
In 1975, I attended the stake conference of the Parleys stake and held a priesthood leadership meeting early on the Sunday morning. I spoke of the Church discipline system and the need to labor earnestly and lovingly to rescue any who had strayed. Gil Warner asked to speak and then outlined the story of Douglas. He concluded with the question, “Who has the responsibility to work with Douglas and bring him back to Church membership?” Gil advised me later that my response to his question was direct and given without hesitation: “It is your responsibility, Gil, for you were his bishop, and he knew you cared.”
Unbeknownst to Gil Warner, Douglas’s mother had, the previous week, fasted and prayed that a man would be raised up to help save her son. Gil discovered this when he felt prompted to call her to report his determination to be of help.
Gil began his odyssey of redemption. Douglas was contacted by him. Old times, happy times, were remembered. Testimony was expressed, love was conveyed, and confidence instilled. The pace was excruciatingly slow. Discouragement frequently entered the scene; but, step by step, Douglas made headway. At long last prayers were answered, efforts rewarded, and victory attained. Douglas was approved for baptism.
The baptismal date was set, family members gathered, and former bishop Gil Warner flew to Seattle for the occasion. Can we appreciate the supreme joy felt by Bishop Warner as he, dressed in white, stood with Douglas in water waist deep and, raising his right arm to the square, repeated those sacred words, “Having been commissioned of Jesus Christ, I baptize you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost” (D&C 20:73).
He that was lost was found. A 26-year mission, marked by love and pursued with determination, had been successfully completed. Gil Warner said to me, “This was one of the greatest days of my life. I know the joy promised by the Lord when He declared, ‘And if it so be that you should labor all your days … and bring, save it be one soul unto me, how great shall be your joy with him in the kingdom of my Father!’” (D&C 18:15).
Were the Lord to say to Gil Warner today, as He said to Adam’s son long years ago, “Where is Douglas, thy brother?” Bishop Warner could reply, “I am my brother’s keeper, Lord. Behold Douglas, Thy son.”

It reminds me of two trees that were close to my home when I was growing up. The one was a Russian olive and grew right in our yard. It was watered every time the lawn was watered, and in that kind of protected environment it grew to be a beautiful tree. Yet one night a tremendous wind came up. Trees all over town were blown down, and with them went our Russian olive. We had watered it so well that the roots did not have to reach down into the soil; and because they were so close to the surface, the tree toppled over.
The second tree withstood the gale. It was a tremendous cottonwood, which still stands in the lane just half a block from where I was born. This tree was in the fullness of its growth when I was a child. It has always stood by itself, completely exposed to the elements, with nothing but a ditch running by, which most of the time is dry. It is gnarled and tough, and its roots have had to sink deep in order to drink of the water of life; but because its roots were forced downward, it lives. I was out home the other day and noticed that most of the trees around this cottonwood are gone. But in all of its power and majesty, it still hangs on.

Sarah: It’s time for an Official Children’s Conference. Let’s decide what to do while Mom is running errands.
Laura: We should play pioneers! We can pretend our pillows are bags of flour and drive “wagons” to Utah.
Chris: Let’s make cookies instead!
Alicia: I think we should go outside and ride our bikes.
Robert: I want to look for insects.
Sarah: Those are all great ideas, and I think we should try them. But what if we did something nice for Mom? She looked like she could use some cheering up.
Laura: Well, Mom likes it when we play pioneers.
Chris: She likes cookies.
Robert: And looking at bugs.
Alicia: She loves it when we go outside.
Sarah: Hmm … Maybe we could find something extra special to do, though. Something to help her out.
[Everyone taps their chins while they think.]
Laura: [Laura jumps up and down.] I know! We could clean up The Desk. It’s covered in all sorts of stuff, like crayons, pencils, schoolwork, toys, and mail.
Chris: That would be a really big job.
Alicia: How will we do it?
Robert: It will take forever!
Laura: But we can try.
Sarah: Let’s do it! Everyone pick just one thing to do.
Chris: I’ll stack up the mail.
Alicia: I can put the toys away!
Robert: I’ll organize everyone’s schoolwork.
Laura: I’ll line up the crayons and pencils by color!
Sarah: There are a few things I don’t know what to do with. I’ll put them in a box.
[Everyone steps back to admire how clean The Desk is.]
Chris: Wow!
Robert: That went by really fast.
Alicia: And Mom will love it.
Sarah: Now let’s do something fun!
Laura: That was fun. Maybe even better than playing pioneers!

I would like to share with you a personal experience. When I served as bishop many years ago, a fine young man in our ward had fallen in love before being called to serve his mission. He made it known that he was going to get married and would not be available for missionary service. I worried how I was going to approach this young man because I felt an urgency as his bishop to see that he served our Father in Heaven as a missionary. When I invited Doug into my office, I approached him in a different way than I had ever approached a prospective missionary. I was prompted to say, “Doug, the Lord wants you to serve a mission.” Doug said he was not going to serve a mission because he was going to be married. I asked him to get together with his sweetheart and his parents and to fast and to pray. I asked him to come back within a week and tell me what he was going to do about the fact that he had been called to serve the Lord.
One week later, with a great deal of emotion, Doug said to me, “Bishop, we did what you asked us to do. I cannot ignore a call from the Lord. I desire to serve. How do I proceed?” Doug served his mission. In fact, he served as a counselor to his mission president. Upon returning, he married his sweetheart. She waited for him—that is not always the case, and it may not always be best that they do—but in Doug’s case it worked out. He has since served as a bishop and presently serves as the first counselor in his stake presidency. His mission was one of the most important training periods of his life.

Another friend, a girl in his ward, stopped by after school to read to him. Although they had not been particularly close before his accident, now she was willing to give her time to help him. He often felt ashamed because he knew that if their roles had been reversed, he would not have been there reading to her.
What if she had been burned and was in thehospital? This horrible thought kept rushing through my mind. Would I be found at her bedside? I don’t think I was a bad young man. I had a job to earn money for my car and my clothes. What made me cry inside was that I knew I wouldn’t have been there with her. And yet such a great personal service she was giving to me! I could never tell her what I felt inside, so to pay her back I made this one great commitment: when I got out of the hospital, when I could walk, when I could see, when I could do things, I would try to give of myself through service to other people as she had done to me.
When I got out of the hospital and tried to find people who had problems and tried to help them, I got away from my own problems and stopped dwelling on myself and wallowing in self-pity. I started learning that great lesson—what is on the inside really is most important. Beauty comes from within, not from without.

When I was first called to be a bishop, I inherited a large ward. Many of the eight hundred or so members did not come out to church. I had never met them and resolved to do so.
One Sunday afternoon in November, I went to visit an inactive family. As I came up to the house, a woman was sweeping the porch. I introduced myself as the new bishop and asked if her husband was home.
“Yes,” she said, “but he won’t talk to you. We are tired of being bothered. My husband asked the other bishop to take our names off the records of the Church. We don’t want home teachers. We don’t want people collecting fast offerings. We just want to be left alone.”
She changed her grip on the broom. “Now get out,” she said. “Get off my porch, get out of my yard, and don’t come back.” The broom was coming at me as I backed down the steps. I stammered a few words of apology, which were ignored. “Git,” she said, and I did.
I didn’t sleep well that night. I had been humiliated. Worse still, it seemed, my office had been treated with disrespect. By Tuesday night, I had almost decided that the woman and her husband should be excommunicated. A wise counselor, and a careful reading of the instructions from Church headquarters, persuaded me otherwise.
I said hello to them on the street occasionally after that, but I never returned to the home. However, we did assign a relative to visit there each month to watch over them. As far as I know, no gospel message was given, and no other significant Church contact was had with that family during the years I served as bishop.
After a time the ward was divided. I was released and was called to be stake president. On another Tuesday night some years later, one of our bishops came to the stake office and asked if I would be available later in the evening to interview an older couple for a temple recommend. He had been working with them for months, and they were finally ready to go to the temple.
He said, “You may know them, President,” and he mentioned the name of the woman with the broom.
I could hardly wait for that interview. About nine o’clock the bishop brought a well-dressed, elderly couple to my office and introduced them. I recognized them as the same people I had known before, but they were different somehow. I invited the good sister to come into the office first. I asked her if she knew who I was, and she replied, “Oh yes, you are the stake president.”
“Do you remember a Sunday afternoon in November, thirteen years ago?” I asked. “A young bishop came to your door and wanted to know if you and your husband would like to become more active in the Church. Do you remember turning him away?”
“I don’t remember anything like that,” she said. “I’m sure I would never have done such a thing.”
Then I said, “I have another question. Why have you waited so long to come back to the Church?”
“Well, we always knew we would have to get active again someday,” she replied. “We wanted to. We just never got around to it. My husband used to smoke a lot, and he didn’t feel comfortable going to church. I prayed for years that he would quit. When he started to have health problems a couple of years ago, it just seemed like a good time to go back.”
I finished the interview and talked with her husband as well. They were completely worthy. Shortly afterward, they went to the temple to be sealed.
Now, did you notice the elements of their return? It wasn’t easy. They had always known. She had prayed for years. There was a lot of wasted time. Finally, before it was too late, they talked to the bishop, repentance took place, old attitudes and habits were forgotten, and they came back.

Linda and Robbie came poking down the stairway of the old farmhouse where Grandma and Grandpa lived. They always dawdled when it was time to go home.
“Hurry up!” Mom called out. And Dad’s voice came from outside, urging them to get a move on.
The children hurried a little faster, but not much. They hugged Grandma and Grandpa good-bye and then got into the back of the car. When Dad turned the ignition key, there was a strange whirring noise. When he tried to start the car again—nothing.
“Oh, no!” he cried.
Grandpa walked over to the car. “What is it, Ben?”
Dad shook his head. “The starting motor’s on the hummer.”
“Won’t the car go?” Robbie asked.
“No, it won’t,” Dad replied.
“Then I guess we’ll just have to stay here for Thanksgiving,” Linda said, a note of hope in her voice.
“I have to get home for that business meeting tomorrow,” Dad agonized. “But how can I?”
“Well,” Grandpa suggested, “you could take my car.”
Dad looked surprised. “You mean Lisbeth? That old Model T?”
“Only car I have,” Grandpa replied.
“I wouldn’t dare,” Dad said. “I’ve never driven a Model T. Besides, it—it might break down!”
“It’s easy to drive,” Grandpa persuaded, “and it’s been running for over fifty years. Don’t think it’ll break down now.”
“Oh, let’s!” Linda said. “I love Lisbeth.”
Grandpa and Dad went out to the barn, and Linda and Robbie trailed along behind. Grandpa opened the barn door, and there waited Lisbeth—shiny and black. Her top was folded down for nice weather, and there were side curtains to snap in place when the top was up during bad weather.
There were two little levers on the steering wheel, and Grandpa adjusted them just so, then he went around in front of Lisbeth and took hold of the crank. He turned it a couple of times and Lisbeth started. The children climbed in back, with Grandpa and Dad in front. Grandpa told Dad what to do. Dad drove Lisbeth around the barnyard and between the chicken coops a couple of times to get the feel of it. When he felt confident that he could drive it, he parked the Model T beside his own car. After they had loaded everything and everyone into Lisbeth, Dad released the hand brake, then pushed one of the foot pedals, adjusted the throttle lever, and they were on their way down the lane.
Lisbeth’s engine was noisy. Her body rattled, and the ride was not very smooth. Dad frowned. But Mom hid a grin, while Linda and Robbie squealed and bounced up and down on the back seat. At the end of the lane they pulled up onto a blacktop road. Lisbeth ran more smoothly and rattled less, but she was slow. “It’ll take a week to get home at this rate,” Dad muttered.
“Pull her ears down,” Robbie said, pointing to the little levers on the steering column. “That’s what Grandpa does.”
Dad pulled the little levers all the way down and Lisbeth ran faster, but not much.
Dad pulled into the first service station they came to. The station man looked at the old car and frowned. “That’s Mr. Jackson’s car,” he said. “What are you doing with it?”
“He’s my grandpa,” Linda piped up. “We had to borrow it.”
“I’d like the tank filled,” said Dad, getting out of the car and removing the front seat cushion that covered the gas tank. “And please check the oil and tires too.”
Soon they were on their way again, rolling along a superhighway.
The newer cars whooshed past. Horns honked, and people laughed and waved. Linda and Robbie waved back, and Dad hunched down lower in the seat.
Then Robbie said, “Uh, oh. There’s a police car right behind us with its red light flashing.”
Dad pulled onto the shoulder of the road and stopped. The policeman parked behind their car and came up to them.
“What’s wrong, officer?” Dad inquired.
“See that sign just ahead?” the officer asked, pointing. “It says you have to drive at least forty-five miles an hour on this freeway.”
Dad nodded. “I’d be glad to, officer, but Lisbeth—this car—just can’t quite go forty-five miles an hour.”
“Then you’ll have to leave the freeway at the next off ramp,” the officer said. “Sorry.”
Dad drove down the off ramp to an older, rougher road. “I don’t think we’ll make it home today,” Dad said. “I’m sure Lisbeth doesn’t have very powerful lights. If dark catches us, we’ll have to stop at a motel.”
“Like a vacation!” Linda shouted. “That’ll be fun, huh, Robbie?”
Lisbeth bounced and clattered along, and the sun dropped lower and lower in the sky. Dad turned the lights on, but they weren’t very bright. A little later Dad pulled into a motel, and they rented a big room for the night. The family played games, watched TV, and then went to bed.
Early the next morning Dad got everyone up. Linda and Robbie grumbled, but Dad paid no attention. “I have to get to my business meeting before noon,” he said, “and Mother needs to do some shopping for Thanksgiving tomorrow.”
Lisbeth didn’t much want to start, and Dad had to crank and crank, but finally the old engine came to life and the family was on its way. They watched the sun come up, then they saw their town just ahead.
Linda sighed. “We’re almost home. I wish we were just starting. Lisbeth is lots more fun than our car.”
Dad grunted. They started down Main Street but soon came to an intersection where a policeman came toward them, waving his arms.
He gave them a big smile and motioned for them to go right on down Main Street, although he was directing other cars onto a side street. Dad drove on, then had to slow down to keep from running over a clown riding a motorcycle. Another clown rode up behind them, then both clowns began riding their motorcycles round and round Lisbeth.
Linda looked on down the street where there was a band, horses, more clowns, and big floating balloons. She looked back and saw more of the same.
“Whoopie!” Robbie called out suddenly. “We’re in a parade!”
And they were—in a big Thanksgiving parade. At first Dad frowned, then he looked at Linda and Robbie and laughed. “Guess I’ll just have to be a little later for that meeting than I thought,” he said. “But I’ll be thankful if I get to it at all.”
Mom gave him a hug. “I’m glad that you can see how much fun the kids are having.”
Linda took a deep breath and looked back and forth as they drove slowly down the street between the crowds of people.
“I’m thankful for Grandma, Grandpa, and Lisbeth,” she said. “This is the most fun ever.”
Lisbeth chugged along to the end of the parade, then on home. Dad turned off the engine. “Whooee!” he sighed. “We’re all glad that’s over, aren’t we?” he asked with a sly grin.
“Oh, Dad, that was fun,” Linda said. “It isn’t every day we get to ride in a parade!”

During the past year I’ve become friends with a young woman who belongs to another faith. As we became better friends, I felt like I needed to share the gospel with her. It wasn’t an easy thing to do, because I’d had a bad experience with another friend I had tried to share the gospel with. But I repeatedly felt the promptings of the Spirit and decided I needed to follow through.
I began inviting my friend over to my house to spend time with my family and to feel the Spirit. I know that it was the strength of my family and the spirit in our home that made her want to know more about the Church, because she soon wanted to know why we were so happy. After a few weeks, I gave her a Book of Mormon with my testimony written in the front. She has since begun attending church in her area and was even asked to give a talk recently!
This young woman has been such an example of strength to me. It has been incredible to talk to her and hear her say that she has a sure faith in our Heavenly Father. She knows that if she does what is right, her family will be blessed and may feel the Spirit as she does.
Having seen someone take the first steps on the path to conversion, I now see just how blessed we are to have the priesthood, the temple, and all of the other blessings that come with the gospel. It excites me to share those blessings with others, and I can’t wait to do so as a missionary of the Lord.

A few years later, when I was a teacher in the Aaronic Priesthood, our family moved to a different area. I was called to be what we now know as a home teacher to Brother Haymond, my hero from Primary days. I asked if he could tell me all about the story of his racing experience. It was very exciting to be able to hear from him, in person, about the event which had been such an inspiration to me earlier.

You may have heard a report from Osaka, Japan, about the Kansai International Airport’s world record—something almost unbelievable. After 30 years of operation and processing hundreds of millions of pieces of cargo, carry-ons, and cases, this airport has not lost one item of luggage.
Not one single piece!
How is such a thing possible?
Tsuyoshi Habuta, the airport chief of baggage operations, believes losing luggage should never happen “because luggage is precious to passengers.” That attitude permeates through his entire staff. The airport’s success, he says, is all part of a commitment to “thoroughness and an attention to detail.”
The Japanese people have developed a reputation for such attention to detail. They have a principle, kaizen, that encapsulates a mindset of constantly searching for and implementing minor improvements. This practice requires a quiet discipline of always looking for small ways to make processes better. They take pride in the fact that these improvements almost always come from those doing the everyday work.
Over the years, the staff at Kansai Airport has developed a process that makes the goal of not losing passengers’ bags a reality. They train employees rigorously and constantly ensure that every bag is counted, tracked, and cared for. They make meticulous and multiple manual checks that complement a sophisticated automated system.
Fragile items such as musical instruments are often hand-delivered to passengers. Staff members do small things such as placing bags on conveyor belts with handles facing outward for easier retrieval by passengers.
When you hand off your luggage at Kansai Airport, you get a sense that they are saying to you, “We have your precious belongings. We are responsible for them now. We will return them to you.”