Gospel Story Finder

Becca Briggs of the Oakhills Fifth Ward, Oakhills California Stake, has really got things cooking. Becca was selected as one of 26 finalists in Seventeen Magazine’s National Menu Planning Competition, and went on to place with the top five winners, for which she received a special citation for her “Junior Prom Dinner for Two” entry.

“I’ve always liked to experiment with fancy foods and interesting recipes,” said Becca. “I’d watch my mom cook when I was little, and decided that I wanted to learn how, too, so I started cooking back then. When my foods teacher at high school encouraged me to enter the Seventeen Magazine contest, it just seemed natural.”

So Becca and the 25 other finalists (including Jennie Balliff from the Oak Hills Sixth Ward, Provo Utah Oak Hills Stake) were off to the Culinary Institute of America in Hyde Park, New York, for the final competition where they would whip up their delectable dishes for the judges.

“It was fun cooking in the huge kitchens there and getting to know the other finalists from across the United States,” said Becca. “A lot of people asked me about the Mormons when they learned I was from Utah. I told them that I believed in God, and explained the Church and our beliefs to them. It was a good missionary experience.”

Becca’s prize-winning menu included salmon in pastry with cheese sauce, cream of leek and potato soup, chocolate mousse, and fresh strawberries dipped in chocolate. You might like to try one of her recipes.

As a teen I studied in a technical school for young men. It was hard to be a member of the Church in an atmosphere where there were other beliefs or no beliefs at all. Being the only member in school was difficult because I felt alone; I felt different. My classmates were relatively good, but many didn’t share my principles.
I remember well one time when they wanted to get me to smoke. They didn’t say it directly. Instead, one of them lit a cigarette while we were in our classroom waiting for the professor. We weren’t supposed to smoke inside the school.
I was sitting in the back. The guys at the front of the room lit the cigarette, and they each took a puff and passed it on. Everyone was watching to see it get to me. Finally the guy in front of me took a puff and turned around.
I didn’t take the cigarette.
He said, “Come on. Go ahead.”
“No, I’m not going to smoke.”
He took the cigarette and put it to my mouth. So I hit him. He hit me back. Then almost everyone in the room started to fight, though we quickly calmed down before the professor got there.
Now I’m not saying that was the right way to respond, but I was only 13. I didn’t know how to respond. I just knew no one was going to make me smoke.
After class I found the boy I had hit and asked his forgiveness. With some emotion, he told me, “No, I’m the one who needs to ask your forgiveness.”
If I had lowered my standards, would the Holy Ghost have stayed with me? Or would I have lost my guide?
By choosing the right, I allowed the Holy Ghost to be my companion. With Him as my guide, I had help making the right decisions, and my testimony was strengthened.

When I was younger, my family was not active in the Church. I remember very few instances when I went to Primary. I attended church on special occasions such as Christmas, Easter, baptisms, or blessings. Then, when I was about 13, my family moved from one end of town to the other. I attended the same school and had the same friends. The only difference now was our new ward. Because of this move, everything changed.
One girl in my new ward called me faithfully every week to invite me to church and Mutual. The meetinghouse was just through my backyard. Although I could have walked, she would offer me a ride. She fulfilled her calling as Beehive class president, and I started coming to church. At first, I came because I felt bad saying no. But it wasn’t long before I was coming on my own. I loved being in church, I loved the scriptures, and I loved the girls in our ward.
My freshman year in high school, however, I chose not to take seminary. I thought I didn’t have room in my schedule. I didn’t understand how important seminary was. My friends could say nothing but good about seminary, so I decided to adjust my schedule so that I could take it.
Seminary gave me a fresh outlook on the gospel. Through seminary my testimony of the scriptures developed. I read the entire New Testament and learned about the Atonement of Jesus Christ. My testimony grew at an overwhelming speed. Once again I felt the peace and love the gospel provided me, and I wanted my family to feel it as well.
I began to urge my family to come with me to sacrament meeting. I told them I wanted us to be an eternal family. To encourage them, I would wash everyone’s church clothes on Saturday night so that the excuse “I don’t have anything to wear” was no longer an option. I told them that I had a testimony of the gospel and that I wanted to share it with them. Most important, I prayed. I prayed that my family could know the Spirit the way I did. I wanted them to go to church so that we could someday be sealed in the temple.
It started slowly and took some time, but one warm August morning, my prayers were answered as we were sealed in the Portland Oregon Temple. I felt the Spirit stronger at that moment than ever before. I knew my family could be together forever. To this day I cannot thank my Heavenly Father enough for this wonderful blessing.
Now I am trying my best to be a good example and friend to everyone around me so that perhaps I can do for them what was done for me.

When Joseph J. Daynes was sixteen-years-old, he was appointed Tabernacle organist. He was small for his age, and he worried because he couldn’t quite reach the foot pedals of the new organ. He decided to add pieces of cork to the soles of his shoes so that he could reach the foot pedals and play the necessary notes.
Joseph’s family had immigrated to the Salt Lake Valley from England when he was eleven. He had walked most of the way across the plains, carrying a small organ strapped across his shoulders. He had shown great talent when only four, and he eventually composed many hymns and marches for the Church. Two of his songs for children are “Let the Little Children Come” (Sing with Me, B-14) and “Children of the Saints of Zion” (Sing with Me, B-84).

“Hey, Mike, let’s run out to the silo,” Lance called to his younger brother as he ran past him.
“Wait up!” Mike ran as fast as he could to catch up.
The two boys lived on a big farm in the country with their mother and grandfather. They loved the fresh air, the open space, and the green fields that turned gold in the fall. But most of all, they loved the silo. To Mike, it looked like a giant soup can without the label.
As the boys got closer to it now, they could see its rusty patches, dents, and cracks. Once Mike had asked Lance about them. Lance explained, “You know how Grandpa’s face is kind of wrinkled and how he has brown spots on his hands? It’s because he’s old. Well, that’s how it is with the silo. I bet it was shiny and smooth when it was new.”
For two boys with active imaginations, the silo was all sorts of things. Some days it was an ancient castle. Sometimes they pretended it was a tall skyscraper or a pirate ship. Mike especially enjoyed standing in the center of it and yelling as loud as he could, then hearing his echo bounce off the curved walls.
When the boys reached the silo, Lance said, “Let’s play spaceship.” For the next twenty minutes, they pretended to soar through space and discover new planets.
They took turns climbing to the top of the steel ladder rungs welded inside and outside the silo, pretending that they were on the spaceship’s observation deck. Just as Mike spotted a new planet, Mother’s voice brought both space explorers back to earth.
“Mike! Lance! Time for supper.”
During supper, Grandpa asked the boys what they had been up to.
“We were playing spaceship in the silo,” Lance said.
“You boys sure enjoy that old silo, don’t you?”
“You bet,” Mike said. “Grandpa, can I ask you a question? Back in the old days, what was the silo used for?”
“Well, it was kind of like a big closet to store things in,” Grandpa said. “When this farm was in full swing, we needed somewhere to store all the feed for the cattle.”
Mike’s eyes grew big. “You mean you filled the whole silo with just feed? You must have had a lot of cattle!”
“We did. I remember when my papa had the silo built. I was just about your age. It was new and shiny, and one of the tallest things I’d ever seen.”
After supper, Mike cleared the table, and Lance helped Mother wash the dishes. When the dishes were done, Lance asked if he and Mike could go play.
“No,” Mother said. “I want to talk to you both. Let’s go into the front room.”
From the look on Mother’s face, Lance knew that she had something serious on her mind. The boys followed her into the front room and sat down.
“I know how much you enjoy playing in the silo,” she began, “but today I had a strong feeling. Right before I called you in for dinner, I felt that you shouldn’t play in it anymore.”
“But Mom, that’s our favorite place to play!” Lance cried.
“Yeah, Mom!” Mike frowned.
“I know you like playing there. But I can’t deny what I felt. You’ve learned about the Holy Ghost at church, and we’ve talked about Him at home. Mike, what does the Holy Ghost do?”
“He helps us figure things out.”
“Yeah, and He helps us know what’s true,” Lance added. “But what does that have to do with the silo?”
“And that’s how you feel about the silo?” Lance asked.
“That’s right. I can’t give you any other reason except that I strongly feel you shouldn’t play there anymore.”
Later that night, when they were both in bed, Mike asked, “Lance, do you really believe what Mom said about the Holy Ghost?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“How come?”
“I’ve never told anyone this, but do you know Bobby Morrison?”
“The tall kid with red hair?”
“That’s the one. Well, last year he and I planned how to cheat on a history test. I’m not going to tell you what the plan was, because I don’t want you trying a dumb stunt like that.”
“If it’s so dumb, why did you do it?”
“Well, I’m getting to that part. When the test started, it was like I could feel this voice. And it was really strong. It said, ‘You know it’s wrong to cheat.’ After that, I just couldn’t go through with it.”
“And that voice was the Holy Ghost?”
“Yeah. So I know that there is a Holy Ghost. If Mom says that He spoke to her, I believe her.”
“So you’re not even going to sneak over to the silo?”
“No.”
“Well,” Mike said reluctantly, “I guess I won’t either.”
The next few days were hard for the boys. They had to think of new games to play that didn’t involve the silo. One afternoon Lance said, “Let’s put a puzzle together.”
“Ah, who wants to do that?” Mike groaned.
“Do you have any better ideas?”
Since Mike didn’t, they set up a table on the porch and started working on a puzzle. But Mike had a hard time concentrating—his eyes kept wandering in the direction of the silo. The good old silo. “Too bad we can’t play there anymore,” he thought miserably.
“Hey, stop daydreaming,” Lance said.
Before Mike could reply, Mother came out with a pitcher of cool lemonade.
As the three of them drank from frosty glasses, they heard a low rumble. The ground trembled, and the puzzle pieces on the table started doing a crazy dance.
“Look!” Mike pointed at the silo.
It wobbled and leaned to one side. The rumble grew louder while another sound filled the air—the sound of metal scraping, grinding, and ripping. A great cloud of dust rose up as the silo crashed to the ground.
Grandpa came running out of the house. “What in the world?” Then he saw the silo. “Oh! Oh, my!”
That night Mike lay in bed awake. Mother really had been prompted by the Holy Ghost. He was glad that he and Lance had listened to her. He promised himself and Heavenly Father that he would live the kind of life that would allow him to hear for himself the Holy Ghost’s still, small voice.

I learned another lesson from my mother. As a girl she had diphtheria and nearly died. Later she had spinal meningitis. Her father died young, and so my mother and her brothers helped support their mother.
All her life, she felt the effects of the trials of illness. In her last 10 years of life, she required multiple operations. But through it all, she proved faithful to the Lord, even when bedridden. The only picture on her bedroom wall was of the Savior. Her last words to me on her deathbed were these: “Hal, you sound as if you are getting a cold. You ought to take care of yourself.”
At her funeral the last speaker was Elder Spencer W. Kimball. After saying something of her trials and her faithfulness, he said essentially this: “Some of you may wonder why Mildred had to suffer so much and so long. I will tell you why. It was because the Lord wanted to polish her a little more.”

Seven-year-old Joseph has grown up around water. Or rather he has grown up with water all around him—surrounded by the cold waters of Lake Titicaca in Peru. That’s what happens when you live on a small island made of floating reeds.
Joseph and his family are part of the Uros people, who have built and lived on floating islands on Lake Titicaca for hundreds of years. They fish in the lake. They bathe in the lake. They row across the lake to get from island to island.
You might think that Joseph, being so used to the water, wouldn’t be nervous about standing in a baptismal font in a few months to be baptized. But he feels the same way many other children feel.
“I’m excited,” he says. “But I’m worried about going under the water.”
With water all around them, Uros children are taught to be careful with water. So after Joseph told his parents about his worries, the family talked about baptism during family home evening, and Joseph and his father practiced what to do.
“My father will baptize me,” Joseph says. “He helped me to not be so afraid.”
Now Joseph is diligently preparing for his baptism. He is trying especially hard to pay attention during Primary and to learn the Articles of Faith. He knows that will help him now and in the future.
“I’m going on a mission,” he says. “Like Nephi said, I will go and do the things the Lord commands” (see 1 Nephi 3:7).

We, too, can choose whether to forgive those who have hurt or offended us, or to remain angry with them. Eight-year-old Nils Evensen from South Jordan, Utah, has learned to follow Nephi’s example of being forgiving. When Nils turned eight, he saved all his birthday money and bought a toy that he really wanted. He was always very careful to put it away after playing with it so that it would not get broken. One day, a friend accidentally sat on the toy and broke it. Nils’ eleven-year-old sister, Linnea, said that instead of getting angry with his friend, Nils told him, “It’s OK—we can glue the pieces back on.” Because Nils chose to be forgiving, he was able to keep a friendship that might have been badly hurt if he had chosen to get angry.

“Sammy, it’s time to leave!” Mom called.
Sammy closed his book about spiders, put it in his backpack, and raced to the car. He had been waiting all week for his family’s camping trip. As they drove along, he could hear his parents talking in the front seat.
“The weather report said we might have a thunderstorm in the next day or two,” Dad said to Mom.
“Does that mean lightning?” Sammy asked. Suddenly he wasn’t so excited about camping.
“There might be a little rain,” Dad explained. “But we’ll be careful. We can always get in our car if there’s any lightning.”
Sammy didn’t feel much better. He loved reading about bugs, volcanoes, and even lightning, but all those things were much less scary on the pages of a book than in real life.
At the campsite, Sammy quickly forgot his fears. He played with his brothers, helped Dad set up the tent, and watched the campfire crackle to life. He went hiking, played games, and roasted lots of marshmallows.
On the last night of the camping trip, Sammy looked up at thousands of stars spread across the sky. A cold wind made him shiver, so he ran inside the tent, snuggled into his sleeping bag, and quickly fell asleep. A few hours later, a loud boom made him jump. Thunder! He ran to the tent door and tried to unzip it.
“Sammy, stay here!” Mom said.
“But, Mom, shouldn’t we go get in our car?” Sammy asked. His knees felt wobbly, and he let Mom pull him onto her lap.
“There are a lot of trees and a big open meadow between us and the car,” Mom said. “I think we’re safer here in the tent for now.”
Sammy started to cry. A bright flash lit up the tent, and then came the crashing thunder. Mom held Sammy close. “The storm will be over soon,” she said. “Let’s ask Heavenly Father to help you not be afraid.”
Sammy slid onto his knees on the hard, bumpy ground. The lightning flashed again, followed by more thunder. “Please help me feel better and not be afraid. Please bless the wind to blow the clouds away so the lightning will stop,” Sammy prayed.
He ended his prayer and got back into Mom’s arms. She held him while they listened to the wind and the rain. Slowly, his shivering and crying stopped.
He jumped when the lightning flared again, but the thunder was much quieter this time. “It’s farther away, Mom!” he whispered.
The raindrops were slowing down too. It was several minutes before lightning lit up the tent again, and it was already so far away that they couldn’t hear the thunder.
“Heavenly Father answered your prayer,” Mom said.
Sammy smiled in the dark. He still felt a little nervous about the lightning, but he was warm throughout his whole body. His prayer had been answered. The storm was blowing away, and he was safe. Best of all, he knew Heavenly Father loved him and was listening to his prayers, even in the middle of the night when he was far away from home.

When I found out that a little girl in my ward named Courtney had cancer, I wanted to help her. I have a little brother the same age as Courtney, and I knew I would be sad if my brother was going through what she is. So I found a way to raise some money for her treatments!
My Three Little Pigs
I had three pigs—Oreo, Lightning, and Rosie. I took care of them since they were babies. I loved giving them marshmallows, taking them for walks on leashes, and spending time with them. I was planning to sell one of my pigs at the county fair to help save up for my goal to become a veterinarian.
I Wanted to Help
Just before the county fair, I found out that Courtney was sick with cancer. My neighborhood decided to have a garage sale to raise money for her treatments. When I saw everyone else working so hard, I wanted to do my part, but I didn’t have any money to give.
The Day of the Fair
I decided to use the money from selling my pig at the fair to help Courtney. When the day of the fair came, I was a little sad because at first my pig wasn’t raising much money. But when people at the fair heard that the money was for Courtney, they wanted to pitch in.
We Helped
I got to give the money from my pig to the garage sale fundraiser. By the end of the fundraiser, we had helped raise a lot of money for Courtney’s treatments.
Courtney’s Courage
Courtney is done with cancer treatments, but she goes back for tests to make sure she’s still healthy. Her hair is growing back, and she loves having more energy. She always has a good attitude and a smile. Courtney and her family are grateful for how much Heavenly Father has blessed them.

Emily peered through a rain-lashed cottage window at the storm raging outside. Gigantic waves were crashing right over the dunes that protected their little fishing resort from the Atlantic Ocean.
“Mama!” she cried, “Don’t you think we ought to get out of here? It’s a terrible storm!”
“Get away from that window,” her mother whispered from the couch. “If it breaks, you’ll be hurt by flying glass. I just can’t think what to do. My head hurts, and I feel so sick and cold. Pile another blanket on me, will you, dear?”
Emily did, then tried to think of what else she could do. The cottage was perched on a narrow strip of barrier beach separating Cape Cod from the ocean by about five miles of normally calm water. It could only be reached by a boat or by driving twenty miles from a coastal town. There was no electricity, telephones, or running water. This late fall weekend, Emily and her parents had driven out for one last visit to catch some sun and to close up the cottage for the winter. Emily’s dad had gone fishing in their boat before Emily or her mother were awake and wasn’t back yet. If he’d known how sick Mother is, Emily thought, he never would have gone.
Emily’s mom looked white and weak. “We’re the only ones on the beach today,” she said, her teeth chattering. “If we drove out, we’d be stranding your dad. Besides, if the storm is going to be severe, the coast guard will raise the storm flag. Look out the back window and see if it’s flying.”
Emily ran to the window that faced the mainland. She steadied the powerful binoculars on the window sash, focusing on the lighthouse and the Coast Guard station beside it. But the storm-warning flagpole wasn’t there. It must have been broken off by the wind, she thought.
As she stared through the binoculars, an enormous wave crashed upon the bank under the lighthouse. Great chunks of paving tore away and fell into the rolling sea.
“Mama!” she cried, terrified. “The flagpole is down, and the lighthouse banking is crumbling. The waves are awful!”
“Try the radio again,” her mother whispered.
Emily turned the dials of the battery radio again and again, trying to reach a station, but all she heard was static. The cottage smelled of damp wood, and it shook in the wind. The roar of the storm was unrelenting. She clutched Clover, her tiny white kitten, and tried not to cry. Her dad was out in this storm. What if his boat capsized?
Suddenly, as she stared out the window, Emily saw their car tossed into the air by a gigantic wave. “Mama, get up, get up,” she screamed. “The car is gone. We have to get out of here somehow!”
Her mother’s eyes were glazed now, and her lips were cracked. She tried to talk, then lay back and closed her eyes, instead.
Emily looked out the window again and could see nothing but water. The waves had beaten down most of the dunes and were reaching higher and higher. The roof of the house next door went floating past, tumbling end over end and finally breaking into pieces. “The Jenkins house is gone!”
But her mother was either asleep or unconscious. Emily began weeping with fear—great tearing sobs that shook her small frame and left her gasping for breath. “Heavenly Father, please help us!” she prayed.
Feeling a little more calm, she said aloud, “There must be something you can do. Think, Emily, think!”
As she looked around her for ideas, a thought slipped quietly into her mind. The old ship’s lantern! Maybe I could signal with it.
She ran into the tiny kitchen, pulled the stepladder over to the cupboard, and climbed up to get the big kerosene lantern that had once hung in a captain’s cabin on a clipper ship. Dad always kept it filled and trimmed for emergencies. It was sturdy and swung from a gimbal that kept it steady even in a high wind.
With trembling fingers she lit the lantern. Then she ran out to the back porch and looked for a place to hang it. The beam with the hook, the one that usually held her dad’s fishing boots, was too high for her to reach, so she raced back to the kitchen and dragged the stepladder out to the porch. Climbing up, holding the lantern carefully so that the kerosene in it wouldn’t spill, she hung it on the hook.
If anyone could see the light from across the raging waves, it would be the lookout in the Coast Guard station. But as Emily peered through the drenching sheets of rain, she thought, It’s not good enough. No one will know what the light means. I need something to make a signal with.
Searching the woodpile by the stove she found a small sheet of plywood. Frantic with haste, she scrambled up the ladder again and started passing the plywood back and forth across the glow of the lantern, creating three short, three long, three short intervals of light—SOS—over and over again. She tried to count out loud to keep it regular. The rain whipped her long brown hair around, sometimes stinging her eyes. Three short, three long, three short—would anyone notice? Could anyone even see such a tiny light across the miles of turbulence?
Soaked to the skin, shivering, and miserable, she kept on. Her arms trembled with fatigue. Her legs ached from trying to keep her balance in the howling wind.
Suddenly she heard a shrieking and rending above the constant roar of the storm and almost lost her balance. A whole house came sweeping by the porch, breaking up in front of her eyes. A refrigerator was flung into the air and landed almost at her feet. A propane gas tank went sailing by like a kite. The waves were now as high as the ground the cottage was on and pounding higher each minute. She could feel its timbers shaking. Numb with fear, she felt like a mechanical doll. Don’t think. Just keep moving the plywood.
Listen—what’s that? Over the roar of the wind, she heard the thrum of a powerful engine. Then she saw a searchlight coming closer, sometimes hidden by the surf, then reappearing. The Coast Guard must have seen her signal.
“Over here!” she called but knew that they couldn’t hear her. She didn’t dare stop signalling. What if the house blew down before they arrived? On and on she worked. Three short, three long, three short.
Then, miraculously, the boat was there. Voices shouted through the howling wind. Strong arms lifted her from the ladder and set her in the bow of the boat. “Check the house,” she heard someone cry.
“Clover, Clover,” Emily screamed when a wet ball of white fur was thrust into her arms. Soon her mother was carried out and placed in the bow under a canvas shelter. Engines roaring, the boat backed away from the cottage.
“You were great to signal like that,” one man shouted to Emily over the wind, wrestling the boat around to face the mainland. “We didn’t know anyone was out here. You’d better get under cover. We’re not out of this mess yet.”
Emily curled up close to her mother, whose eyes had fluttered open for only a moment while she was being rescued. Clover was buried under Emily’s arm, shivering and still frightened. Emily prayed for the man steering the boat—and for her father out somewhere in the storm.
Mountainous waves rose all around them. The boat reared and bucked and plunged. Emily glimpsed debris sweeping by—a chair, a green cooler, a door.
“There goes your house,” one of the men called. “There’s nothing left now but ocean—not even sand. We got you off just in time.”
“We’re almost there,” the pilot shouted many minutes later.
Emily peered over the canvas and saw a sight that she would never forget. Most of the boats anchored in the harbor were thrown up on shore, smashed and broken by the storm. The pier had been swept away, and the fish house was dangling over the water, swaying crazily in the wind, half its foundation gone.
Emily later remembered little of landing, thanking her rescuers, or riding to the hospital in a wailing ambulance. Sometime later, Uncle George gently shook her. “Wake up,” he said. “It’s time to go home.”
“Where’s Mom?” she asked sleepily. “Where’s Clover? Has Dad come back?”
“Your kitten’s in the car. Your mother’s in intensive care, and the doctor says that she’ll be fine. Your dad …” He shrugged and looked away. “He’s a good seaman. He’ll be OK.”
For five days and nights the storm raged. Emily’s mother finally came to stay with her at Uncle George’s, shaken and weak but a lot better.
On the fifth day, Emily’s father chugged into the harbor. He was starving, cold, and exhausted; his boat was badly damaged. He had thrown out sea anchors, he explained, and had miraculously ridden out the storm.
“You were so brave!” he told Emily, hugging her. “To think of signaling like that and staying with it so long! You must have been frightened.”
“I was,” she said, stroking Clover, “but I prayed.”
He held her close. “So did I.”

Years ago, I found a summer job on an oyster boat in Long Island Sound. Four of us lived together in an area not much larger than the cab of a big semi-trailer truck. At first, I was considered a spy for the owner, and then a boy who didn’t have courage to “live like a man.” The others really gave me a bad time. Finally, when they understood that I would not do wrong things to prove I was a man, they left me alone, and we became friends. And then privately, one by one, they asked for help.
You know what is right and wrong. Be the leader in doing right. At first you may not be understood. You may not have the friends you want right away, but in time they will respect you, then admire you. Many will come privately to receive strength from your spiritual flame. You can do it. I know that you can do it.

Matthew told the congregation that in his family’s discussion of a “perfect day,” “we came to understand the need to perfect ourselves a little each and every day. For some months, my wife Joan has been very ill, and her illness has affected the entire family. We have come to rely upon the Lord more and to daily seek his guidance, and we have come to better recognize and understand the power of the priesthood. For our ‘perfect day,’ we agreed that we continually need to be supportive of each other, and to live worthy of the blessings we receive.”

Now, a year after her son’s death, Jesusita was still living in San Marcos. On the first Sunday in July 1916, the Saints held a testimony meeting, and each member of the branch bore witness of the gospel and the hope it gave them. Then, on July 17, the anniversary of the killings, they met together again to remember the martyrs. They sang a hymn about the Second Coming of Jesus Christ, and Casimiro Gutierrez read a chapter from the New Testament. Another branch member compared Rafael and Vicente to the martyr Stephen, who died for his testimony of Christ.6
Jesusita remained a pillar of faith for her family. “Our sorrows have been grievous,” she wrote in a letter, “but our faith is strong, and we will never forsake this religion.”7

“Easter is a good time to think about Jesus and to remember His Resurrection,” Sister Rojas said. She held up a picture of Jesus. “Because of Him, people who have died can live again.”
Alonso looked up when his Primary teacher said this. Does that mean I can see my parents again? Alonso wondered.
Mamá had died years ago. Alonso didn’t remember her well, but he liked looking at pictures of her. Then Papá died too.
Now Alonso lived with Abuela, his grandmother. She had been teaching him about her church, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He was going to be baptized and confirmed next year, when he was old enough.
Then Sister Rojas held up a picture of a white building. “Another amazing gift from Jesus is temples. This is one of the temples here in Chile.”
Alonso looked at the gold statue on top of the building. It was beautiful! He wondered what happened inside.
“Temples are where families are sealed together forever,” Sister Rojas said. “This temple in Santiago is where I was sealed to my parents after we joined the Church. Because we were sealed, I can be with them even after this life.”
Alonso felt excited when he heard that. “Could I be sealed to my parents?” he asked. “Even though they already died?”
Sister Rojas nodded. “Yes! That’s one of the reasons temples are so important. They bless all of our family members, including those who have died.”
For the rest of the day, Alonso kept thinking about temples. He asked Abuela to teach him more. She talked about the white clothes people wear inside and the beautiful artwork on the walls.
“Best of all, it’s where you can be sealed to your parents,” Abuela said. “We’ll ask two people from the ward to stand in for them during the sealing.”
“Can we go tomorrow?” Alonso asked. “I want to be with Mamá and Papá forever!”
Abuela smiled. “I’m glad you want to go,” she said. “But the nearest temple is in Concepción. We don’t have enough money for bus tickets.”
“I’ll help save for the trip!” Alonso said.
From then on, whenever Alonso found a coin on the street or had a chance to earn some money, he paid tithing and then added the rest to their temple fund.
After months of saving, Alonso and Abuela finally had enough money to travel to the temple. They asked Brother and Sister Silva to come with them. On the day of the trip, they took a long bus ride to the city of Concepción. It was almost sunset when Alonso spotted something gold in the distance.
“I can see the angel Moroni!” Alonso said, pointing to the statue on top of the temple’s blue dome roof.
They spent the night at an apartment next to the temple. In the morning, Alonso went inside the temple for the first time. He saw a big picture of Jesus inside. He and Abuela got dressed in white. He felt happy and peaceful.
When it was time for the sealing, Alonso walked into a beautiful room with mirrors on the walls. A temple worker showed Alonso, Abuela, and the Silvas how to kneel around a special table called an altar. It was covered in soft fabric.
Brother and Sister Silva were there for Alonso’s mom and dad. Abuela was there for his sister who died before Alonso was born.
Closing his eyes, Alonso imagined his family all together.
I can’t wait to see them again, Alonso thought. I’m so grateful families can be together forever!

A few years ago my back started hurting. I was kind of worried, so I went to see our family chiropractor. He took some X-rays, saw something weird going on, and recommended me to a specialist.
I was right. There was something wrong. The specialist told me I have a condition called ankylosing spondylitis. It’s a form of arthritis where your spinal joints get inflamed and your spine tries to fuse itself together.
My prescription was to exercise and stretch four or five days a week for about 20 to 30 minutes. If I don’t, my back starts to hurt again. Ankylosing spondylitis can also lead to other serious health problems.
Someday I may have to treat my condition with drugs, but for now, I stretch every day. I also go to the gym several times a week. Recently, I went for a checkup. The doctor told me that because I was diligent with stretching, my spine is in a lot better shape than many people my age.
I’m thankful for my body despite its limitations. I try not to focus on my health problems and just use my body the best I can. A few months ago, I found out that the lead singer of one of my favorite rock bands also has ankylosing spondylitis. Rather than complain, he said a lot of the great things in his life have come from struggling.
I try to remember the fact that Jesus Christ suffered every pain for us. He knows the mental and physical pain of any condition, including ankylosing spondylitis. He is the most equipped to help us, and He has helped me be grateful for my body and its abilities.
Samuel M., 21, Utah, USA

Imagine having a best friend that you teach, spend every minute with, and then have to give up after only one year. For Jeremy Neff, a deacon in the Ruby Valley Nevada Branch, this scenario has already happened once and is likely to happen again.
Jeremy is a guide dog trainer. His first dog, Elvis, a yellow labrador, became his best friend as he brought him to school, to ward basketball games, and even to the grocery store. But after a year of training, the time came for Jeremy to give Elvis away.
Parting was difficult for Jeremy, but he says he learned a lot and is excited to train another guide dog. “It teaches you to be very patient,” Jeremy says.
It has also opened up many opportunities for Jeremy to answer questions about himself and Elvis. As Jeremy answers the questions, you can be sure he’ll bring up his values and beliefs. After all, Jeremy is an expert in giving guidance.

“Hurricane leaves hundreds homeless … Civil war leaves families to starve … Street crime on the rise …”
Flipping through the TV channels or browsing through a newspaper can bring up horribly sad images. But what’s really sad is, there’s nothing you can do about it, right? Wrong. Just ask the youth of the Canby First Ward outside Portland, Oregon. They were frustrated with feeling powerless, so they figured out a way to make a difference.
“I wanted to help people in need,” says John Stone, “but I didn’t know how to do it.”
John and the other LDS youth in Canby wanted to find the best way to donate and be sure that their help actually reached those in need. Little did they know they would find their answer in their very own church.
They learned that Deseret Industries funnels excess clothing and other donations to the Sort Center in Salt Lake City, which then processes the items and sends them around the globe. Because Portland has one of the 15 Deseret Industries locations in the world, the youth organized a D.I. drive by contacting ward members and neighbors and asking them to donate clothes. But they weren’t going to ask others to do something they wouldn’t do themselves. They wanted to give their unknown friends throughout the world the shirts off their backs—literally.
“I had clothes that I wanted to give to these people, so this was a perfect opportunity,” says John’s sister, Laura Stone. “I just want to make it better for people in Africa, Bosnia, and everywhere else. If they need something more than I do, I want them to have it.”
Crystal Powell and her 12-year-old sister, Brook, felt so strongly about helping that they convinced their parents to come home early from family vacation so they could participate in the D.I. drive.
“Sometimes I feel so small, seeing all these people that need so much help,” says Crystal, 15. “I was not going to miss this chance to do my part, even though it is really small.”
Youth in the Canby First Ward already know the value of service. “We get the best turnout at service projects,” says Brandon Crum, a priest. “Service activities are far more memorable than anything else we do.”
They fixed up the local full-time missionaries’ yard, weeded a cemetery for the Memorial Day holiday, and cleaned the Canby Pond, which Michelle Sajovic said was “bad news” until they worked their magic on it.
“People around here recognize that our church is very service oriented,” 18-year-old Michelle said.
But how do you help when tragedies strike far away?
“Take the Mississippi floods,” says Blair Entze, 14. “I just wanted to go over there and help fill bags of sand myself. But I know I can’t just go wherever the problems are and try to solve them.”
Blair understands how the Church accomplishes service: “And see that all these things are done in wisdom and order” (see Mosiah 4:27). We should help our brothers and sisters, and the Lord has provided wise and orderly ways to do so.
“It’s overwhelming to think that our clothes are going to go all over the world,” says Ashlee Edwards, 16. “It gives me peace to know that I’m helping.” A little love can go a long way. And in this case, it went all around the world. Maybe someday, if enough people believe they can make a difference, the headlines will read:
“Children are healthier … Peace returns after years of war … LDS Church service opens the doors for missionary work.”

When I was in high school, I got offended about some of the Church doctrine. It eventually led me to become less active. I attended some activities at another church that helps people spiritually, and yet my joy was not full, as if there was something missing.
It took me time to find what was missing, but one day after I prayed, I opened my eyes and I saw my Book of Mormon on my table. I was about to go to sleep when a thought came to me, saying, “I was born a Mormon. How come I haven’t finished the Book of Mormon?” So that day I decided to finish reading the Book of Mormon, and after many years, I have finally found the missing piece of that happiness here in the mission field.

After an eventful evening in Australia in 1998, my best mate asked if I could give him a lift. On our way to his home, our conversation turned to our basic beliefs. He was an atheist, and I was a Latter-day Saint. I had always known that there was a God; he had always believed that there was no God.
That evening I did something I had never done before. Just before I dropped off my friend, I told him I know that God lives, that Jesus is our Savior, and that Joseph Smith saw Them in vision.
I had often talked about these things with him, but I had never told him that I knew them to be true. I realized, however, that if I were to leave him with a lasting impression, I would have to leave him with my testimony of these things.
As he opened the car door, he shook my hand and said, “Hey, man, that’s cool. We all need to be firm in our beliefs.”
The problem, however, is that I didn’t know—not really. At the time, it felt right to say those things, but I had never received a spiritual confirmation of their truthfulness.
I had a 20-minute drive home. Those 20 minutes changed my life. As I reviewed our conversation, I started to think about my life and the direction I was headed. While I was thinking, the hymn “I Know That My Redeemer Lives” came into my mind and penetrated my soul. I started to sing aloud:
I know that my Redeemer lives.
What comfort this sweet sentence gives!
He lives, he lives, who once was dead.
He lives, my ever-living Head.
As I sang, tears came to my eyes as the Spirit witnessed to me the truthfulness of those words and confirmed that my testimony was true. I realized then that a testimony can be found in the bearing of it.
I will never forget the Spirit witnessing to me the truthfulness of my testimony. I know that my Redeemer lives because the Spirit witnessed it to my soul—a witness I was happy to share a short time later as a full-time missionary.