Gospel Story Finder

This project helped 11 villages with 18,000 people. In short, the people of Gubbi Taluk in the Tumkur District needed water. During the summer months, women would have to walk four kilometers to bring drinking water to their homes. The people have some wells, but they are very dirty, causing waterborne illness, diarrhea, cholera, skin diseases, etc. This area also has seen farmers commit suicide as they cannot carry on their debt and are unable to bear the sight of their starving children.
LDS Charities (LDSC) partnered with St. Thomas Mission to dig three new borewells and three new tower holding tanks along with repairing two existing towers and tanks. The contractor also enjoyed helping to create one water tank for the farmers’ livestock and several washing stations for each village. The finances came from LDSC, but the people, connections, and trust came from the Mission. Father Francis said, “We believe that you are angels sent by God to the people to quench their thirst.”
The government was not able to do this project due to the scarcity of funds, and so they are thankful to LDSC for having taken up this project. When the wells were dug and the water burst from the ground, the people were leaping for joy and they said, “LDSC is a gift from God.”
One village woman said, “Now I can get water every four days with many pots, instead of walking long distances every day to fill one pot.”

After sacrament meeting, Jake followed his mother out of the chapel. “Oh no,” she said. “I forgot my scriptures.” Struggling to hold his squirming sister, she turned to Jake. “Would you please get them for me?”
Jake went back into the chapel. Everywhere he looked, papers littered the floor and the benches. “What a mess!” he muttered, picking up the book and hurrying to his mother.
In Primary, he forgot all about the litter until Sharing Time, when Sister Ranzenberger talked about feeling reverence for the Savior. “Love for the Savior includes respect for Him and His house,” she said.
Jake knew that the litter in the chapel showed a lack of respect for Jesus Christ. As he walked to class, he thought about what he could do to help. An idea came into his mind that made him smile. “Brother Vargas,” he said as the class sat down. “I’d like to call a special Blazer Patrol meeting for just a few minutes after class. Is that all right with you?”
Brother Vargas looked at him curiously. “Sure—you’re the Patrol Leader. I guess I can stay a few minutes.”
“Good,” Jake said. “We’ll meet in the chapel.”
After the lesson, the boys eagerly walked down the hall to the chapel. Bud shoved Jeff, knocking him into a picture of the Savior. Tim bounced a small rubber ball off the ceiling, and John ran his hand along the wall.
Inside the chapel, the boys formed a circle around Jake.
“What’s up?” Bud asked, casually dropping a gum wrapper on the floor.
Jake motioned with his hand as he said, “Look around you.” The patrol noisily looked around.
“It’s the chapel,” Tim said. “So what?”
“Look again. Really look.”
The boys quieted down and looked around the room.
“It’s kind of messy,” Bud said softly, stepping on his gum wrapper to hide it.
“That’s right,” Jake said. “So the Blazer Cobra Patrol is going to take five minutes now to pick it all up. Then it’ll be neat when the First Ward comes in.”
Tim headed for the door. “My mom’s waiting for me. I have to go.”
Jeff grabbed his arm. “She’s talking to Sister Williams, and you know how long that takes.”
The boys set to work picking up paper and straightening books. With Brother Vargas’s help, the job was finished in a few minutes. Afterward they stood in the back of the chapel, looking it over.
“It looks a lot cleaner,” John said.
“It looks good,” Jake agreed. “So good that I think we ought to do it every week.”
Brother Vargas smiled at him. “I think that sounds like a great idea—and though I need to clear this with the bishop, I’m sure that he’ll be delighted.”
Tim groaned. Some of the other boys rolled their eyes, but no one said anything. As they walked out the chapel doors, Jeff noticed the picture of the Savior and straightened it.
For the next few weeks, the Cobra Patrol tidied the chapel after class. One Sunday as they worked, Tod Tapu from the First Ward walked in. “What’s this?” he sneered. “The mighty Cobra Patrol picking up paper?” He laughed. “Maybe we ought to call you the Paper Patrol.”
“You’re just sore because we won all the awards at Blazer Camp,” Jake answered.
“Sure—keep thinking that. But you won’t catch our Wolf Patrol picking up paper.”
Brother Vargas picked up a tissue lying at Tod’s feet. “That’s too bad. I’ve seen the chapel after your ward’s finished, and it could use some picking up too.”
After Tod left, Tim muttered, “Paper Patrol! It’ll be all over the stake. Everybody’s going to call us the Paper Patrol.”
Jake started laughing. “What’s wrong with that? Let’s be the Paper Patrol. This is our chance to make a difference.”
As word of the Paper Patrol spread through the ward, something unusual began to happen. Children and adults started picking up paper as they left the chapel for their classes. Each Sunday there was less and less clutter for the boys to pick up. The halls and classrooms were cleaner too. Even the reverence in the chapel seemed better.
People stopped them in the halls to thank them. “Good job, Blazers,” Sister Ranzenberger said, beaming at them. “You’ve made a difference to the whole ward.”
One Sunday the bishop came in and gave them a hand straightening up. “Everybody needs to do his part in showing respect for our church buildings,” he said as they worked. “If everyone followed your example, the whole ward would be more reverent.”
Two weeks later, Jake had an interview with the bishop after church. When he arrived at the building, the First Ward was just leaving. He decided to see if the chapel was as messy as Brother Vargas had said. He opened the door and peeked in, then quickly shut it. Inside, Tod Tapu and the Wolf Patrol were picking up paper.
He stood in front of the closed doors for a moment, just smiling. Looks like there’s a Paper Patrol Two in the stake! he thought.

Merrilee Webb came to BYU-Hawaii as a choir director for a one year contract. She was a fireball, energetic, excited about life learning, music and people. She reminds me of the Duracell bunny, because she never seemed to run out of energy. The first day of class, she had 4 boys in the men’s choir, and 25 women in the women’s choir. She took it upon herself to recruit as many students as possible, roaming the hallways, dorms, cafeteria, and the aloha center looking for students to sing. “Everyone can sing,” was her motto. She was successful and her enthusiasm was contagious. She inspired and excited her students to sing a variety of songs. She would take the time and explain the meaning of each song, highlighting the descriptive language being used, the musical terms and so forth. I remember watching students literally running to her class, not because they were late but because they didn’t want to miss a minute of class time. Her goal was to memorize each of her students by name and face, and she would pray for them individually. Her class would host weekly Wednesday devotionals, and she would pray to see which student should offer their spiritual thought or story that week. It was a highlight of the week and the students were always eager to see “who’s turn was next.” We soon realized that Sister Webb truly led by the spirit. We witnessed time and time again how these devotionals ending up being a forum/venue for stories from students around the world, about sacrifices, major challenges and circumstances that were heart wrenching. However, the joy was seeing students testimonies strengthened and shared freely. We have memorable experiences of concerts where many of us, along with the audience felt the influence of the spirit and the spirit of angels singing along with us. She was so much more than a music teacher. She taught us to love the Lord, to be worthy of the prophets presence, to resolve conflicts, lift others burdens and sing with bright eyes and joyous spirits. My youngest daughter, Kieiki had one last semester to complete before graduation. She was the Student Body President at the time, her schedule was full with 21 credits. She had one more required class to take to complete her Minor in Economics. She came to me and explained that her Economics class was at the same time as Sister Webb’s class and this was the last semester Sister Webb would be teaching at BYU-Hawaii. She had a choice to make; graduate with a Minor in Economics or sing in Sis. Webb’s choir. She said, “I need to take Sister Webb’s class. I need that spiritual strength more.” I agreed and she has never regretted that decision. We both count the blessings of Merrilee Webb’s influence in our lives. She would remind us before each concert that this is not a performance, instead this is an opportunity to share the gospel, the spirit, the message through song, go and teach the people through your singing. Share the messages of inspiration, goodness and peace. I know that hearts and lives changed because Merrilee influenced her students to aspire to greater heights spiritually. I was changed for good and count her as one of the true spiritual giants in my life. I took Sister Webb’s class every semester for the three short years she taught at BYU-Hawaii. During that time both choirs grew to over 100 students enrolled every semester. Merrilee was also selected by students as Teacher of the Year by students two of the three years she taught at BYU-Hawaii. It would have been three years but the rules would not allow the same teacher to be awarded in consecutive years. The awards of man cannot be compared to pleasing the Lord by serving his children in exact obedience and humility as the Savior did.

“Sickness can do a lot of good things,” says Michael, who is suffering from kidney failure. Because his illness has increased his gratitude for the gospel, he says, “it is a good trial.”
I was born in Ethiopia in 1942 and went to Poland to study in 1965. In 1991, I met the missionaries and joined the Church. I have served as a branch president for three and a half years. I served as a counselor in the mission presidency for 12 years. I was a branch president again and then a district president. Then I became sick with kidney failure.
Now I can do only a few things in the Church. I try to attend on Sundays.
At first I was angry.
“Why me?” I prayed. “I have served you, Lord.” After a while, I understood. The scriptures say, “He that hath faith in me to be healed, and is not appointed unto death, shall be healed” (D&C 42:48).
This verse says we will be healed if we’re not meant to die.
Church members keep praying for me, but my health is getting worse. They think their prayers are not heard, but they are heard because they become better people and because I feel the love they show to me.
Even if I was healthy, how much time would be left at my age? Still, a lot is before me.
I like to go to the scriptures and find heroes who help me. When I was healthy and serving, I liked to follow Nephi, but now many times I think of Job. He was a good man, and he suffered too. There is always hope in the gospel.
In a city like Bydgoszcz, if I want to visit the mayor, I’ll not have a chance because I am too small for that. But through the gospel, the door is always open to call on God. That is why I love my church.
I have the Church. I have a way of contacting God through prayer, through fasting, through all the things we do. What else do I need?
Sometimes I say to myself, “Maybe that’s why I am sick—so that I could understand what a great thing I am in, what a great cause this is.”
I see my wife, Renata, become sad because I am sick. I wouldn’t like that to happen, but sorrow is a by-product of love. If she didn’t love, she wouldn’t be sorry. Love helps you feel that you are not alone and that there are people who care.
To die is nothing. Everybody will die. It depends on how we approach death. I know that God lives. He loves us all—me too. That’s what I can say.
Michael’s illness has been a difficult trial for his wife, Renata. “I see my wife become sad because I am sick,” he says. “But sorrow is a by-product of love. Love helps you feel that you are not alone and that there are people who care.”
Despite the limitations caused by his illness, Michael still finds ways to serve and uplift those around him.
Michael finds hope and direction in the scriptures. When he was healthy and serving, he admired Nephi. “But now many times I think of Job,” he says. “He was a good man, and he suffered too.”

“Look at that boy,” Ike sneered from across the campfire. “See how scared he looks when we talk about killing old Three Foot. You’d think we were up here hunting cougars instead of a mangy, thieving coyote. Mr. Penry should have kept that Indian back at the ranch to wash dishes or something!”
“I wish he had,” Gray Hawk murmured. He flushed at the men’s laughter and ridicule and slipped away to his bedroll. Can’t they tell the difference between fear and distaste? he thought resentfully. I don’t want to kill anything except for food.
Gray Hawk believed that the land belonged to the coyote, too, and that its existence is important in the overall plan of life. It has sensitive ears, sharp eyesight, a keen nose, and is extremely intelligent—except when it came to a rancher’s property rights. If it is hungry and could not find a young rabbit for its young, it will steal a chicken—a small price to pay for the rodent control provided by coyotes, the boy felt. But old Three Foot had raided the Penry ranch chicken yard and so he was to be hunted down and killed.
Gray Hawk had worked at the Penry ranch since March. He was an expert rider and liked the job until the balding, red-bearded Ike had been hired. The big man disliked Indians. He said so loudly and often. The youth had accepted good-natured gibes from the other men, but Ike was cruel. His remarks were stinging insults, meant to nibble away chunks of Gray Hawk’s pride. The youth’s small salary helped his family and he knew they needed it. Gray Hawk sighed and snuggled deeper into his blankets.
Early the next morning a rider came out to take the cowhands back to work in the north pasture. To Gray Hawk’s dismay, only he and Ike were left to continue the hunt for the wily Three Foot!
Ike was furious. “Not much chance of catching him unless I do it by myself,” he grumbled to the men as they left. “That Indian wouldn’t see Three Foot if he were running alongside his horse! Look how he’s hung back and let us do all the tracking.”
Late that afternoon Ike spotted the distinctive trail by a waterhole where tracks led off toward some high bluffs to the east. The big man loosed a yell of triumph and streaked off. Gray Hawk followed more cautiously. Loose rocks provided dangerous footing for a fast-moving horse.
Gray Hawk shouted a warning when he saw a large prairie dog village ahead. He knew the area would be riddled with holes and burrows. But Ike didn’t seem to hear his cry. He raced straight ahead, his eyes on the bluffs, searching for the elusive gray coyote the Indian youth had already spotted twice. Then Ike saw the loping figure, pulled out his rifle, and fired without really taking aim. There was a shrill yap of pain, and the coyote dropped out of sight behind a rock. Gray Hawk felt sick.
“I got him! Got him with one lucky shot!” Ike yelled triumphantly, just before his horse stumbled and went down. The big man somersaulted through the air and hit the ground with a bone-jarring crash. Gray Hawk leaped from his saddle and raced to his fallen companion who was lying motionless. Ike’s horse struggled to its feet and shied away as the youth approached.
Ike’s usually ruddy face was as white as the underside of a toad. His right leg was twisted and bent at an awkward angle. Gray Hawk was glad that Ike was unconscious as he worked to straighten the man’s broken leg.
The Indian boy’s search for sticks for a splint led him to where he had seen the coyote go down. He noticed a few splotches of blood, but the animal was gone. A glance at the tracks showed that the coyote Ike had wounded was not Three Foot. The youth was glad it had escaped.
Darkness had come by the time Ike regained consciousness. Gray Hawk was preparing supper, his face impassive in the red glow of the fire. He glanced up as Ike groaned and struggled to sit up. His fingers touched the thick bandage covering his throbbing head. Bewildered, he saw that the youth had splinted his leg and bound it with strips of blanket. It wasn’t easy for Ike to express his gratitude, nevertheless he mumbled his thanks. Gray Hawk understood and returned a pleasant nod.
A full moon rose and it seemed ironic that three coyotes would position themselves on high points around the camp for a “sing.” It was not the yapping of dogs. First one and then another would break out into a series of barked phrases. Gray Hawk wondered if Ike noticed the constantly changing intonations and inflections. Each animal took a turn, as though they were discussing the intruders, asking for and advancing opinions.
“Listen to those varmints,” Ike said suddenly, laying his empty plate aside. “It sounds like they’re carrying on a conversation.”
“Maybe they are,” Gray Hawk said, grinning, “and it’s not likely that what they’re saying is very complimentary to us.”
“Do you reckon they’re mourning the death of the one I killed today?” Ike whispered thoughtfully.
“No. You only winged it, and not very seriously from the little blood I saw,” Gray Hawk replied. “It wasn’t Three Foot. This one was smaller and left a set of four good tracks.”
“Then I busted my leg and went through all this for nothing!” Ike growled. But he didn’t seem as angry as Gray Hawk had expected.
At dawn Gray Hawk made Ike as comfortable as possible and placed food and water within reach before leaving for the ranch. A wagon would have to be driven out to take the injured man back to the bunkhouse. It would be the next morning, at the earliest, before help arrived. Ike looked apprehensive as the Indian youth prepared to leave.
“Be careful,” Ike said gruffly. “If anything happens to you, it might take a spell before Mr. Penry gets worried and sends someone out to find us.” Gray Hawk nodded and mounted his horse.
As the sun rose, Ike grew bored and restless. He thought about cougars and rattlesnakes and stiffened with fear when some loose stones rattled down the slope. Then he burst out laughing as two surprised coyote pups tumbled down in a tangled wad. The man remained quiet and watched the plump pups struggle to their feet and make several unsuccessful attempts to climb back up the bluff. He caught a glimpse of their worried mother on a high ledge, and noticed a wound on her right shoulder.
Finally, one of the pups seemed to realize that continued assaults on the bluff were useless. While his sister whined shrill cries of distress and clawed at the rocks, he sat down and stared at Ike. His instinct told him the crippled man was an enemy, but a harmless one.
Time passed slowly. Ike leaned against a boulder, grateful for the shade as the temperature rose. He laughed at the way the pups romped and wrestled with each other like regular dogs, growling with mock ferociousness. The fluffy balls of fur didn’t look like coyotes. Ike favored the young male. He had even whistled and tried to lure it closer, but it was too wary. Gray Hawk would not have believed how much pleasure the company of the small frolicking coyotes gave Ike.
The big man sighed and reached for one of the water canteens. He drank deeply and wiped trickles of water off his beard. One pup watched with bright eyes, then whined enviously. The romping and playing had left him very thirsty.
Ike looked at the canteen, then at the coyote. He had another full one, but help could be several days away if Gray Hawk found the ranch deserted and had to ride to the north pasture. Besides, it was ridiculous to even think of sharing precious water with coyotes!
“You’re not getting any!” Ike growled, trying to stare the pup down. Nevertheless the young coyote detected a friendly note in his voice. He stiffened his front legs and dashed closer in a mock attack, then back, and sat down panting. How long can they live in this heat without water? Ike wondered. He had sighted the worried, pacing mother several times, but, so far, she had never left the ledge. His gun was beside him, but Ike no longer felt like killing coyotes—not even old Three Foot, who had probably sired the pups.
The pups grew listless in the heat. They curled together at the base of the bluff where a small outcropping cast a shadow. Ike became more and more worried as they slept. Suppose they were dying! He poured water onto his plate and pushed it toward them as far as he could reach, then he whistled shrilly, waking the coyotes. The female arose first and stretched her quivering muzzle toward the water. She took a few cautious steps before a warning growl from her brother stopped her.
“Stop being so all-fired suspicious!” Ike scolded. He took a stick and pushed the water closer to them. His rugged face split into a wide grin when the female crept to the plate and began to lap the water. The male abandoned his caution and joined her when he saw that Ike was still leaning against the boulder.
Ike awoke during the night and remained motionless as he watched a gray shadow slip in close to the pups. The mother sniffed her young then stared toward the man. The happy pups licked her face and pawed at the probing muzzle, but she was in no mood to play. The reunited family soon faded into the darkness.
Moments later, another coyote “sing” began. Ike wondered if he only imagined a more joyful note in the yapping cries. He snorted. Then he remembered the enjoyment he’d had watching the pups during the day. “Still … those pups were cute. I don’t intend to track down another coyote as long as I live, not after getting acquainted with those little rascals.”

When my wife and I were young parents with little children at home, we challenged our children to memorize the Articles of Faith. The prize, or reward, for completing them was a night out with Dad. We were pleased that our three oldest completed the challenge. When our seven-year-old son first memorized all 13 Articles of Faith, we sat down to pick out a night and activity that we could do together. I was so busy with work, social activities, and Church responsibilities that I couldn’t give my son a night out for about two weeks. He was sorely disappointed. However, I found that in the city where we lived there was an all-night bowling alley. We immediately picked a date and chose to start our activity at 5:00 in the morning. Our plan was to get up at 4:00, have breakfast, and then go downtown.
When that day arrived, I felt someone shaking my shoulder very early in the morning. As I tried to open my eyes I heard my son say, “Is it time, Dad?” I looked at my alarm clock; it was only 2:00 a.m.!
“Go to sleep, Son,” I said. “It’s not time yet.”
An hour later the same thing happened. “Dad, Dad, is it time to go?” After sending him to bed for a second time, I couldn’t help but feel his excitement.
Then at 4:00 a.m. we got up, had something to eat, and left for the bowling alley. We had a wonderful time.
I wish I could say I had regular and memorable activities like that with all my children, but I can’t. I’m one of those parents who ofttimes wishes he could go back and do some things over.

When I left to serve a mission, my mother and sister were members of the Church. Six months later my mother wrote me a letter, saying, “I found an extra copy of the Book of Mormon in our home. Your father said I must have put my book in the wrong place. I’m so excited. Something is happening.” We later found out that four months after I left, my father stopped the missionaries in the street to ask them what a mission was like, where they ate and slept, how they were supported, and what their schedule was. He wanted to know why this Church was more important to me than anything else.
Eight months after I left, I received my first letter from my dad. He wrote, “On 2 December 2000, I was baptized. Little by little I learned about the gospel. I am so proud of you. I’m so proud of my girl who didn’t give up and pulled us onto this path.” By the time I finished my mission, all of my family members were converted to the gospel and many relatives and friends had decided to join the Church.

Brigham Young was in Peterborough, New Hampshire, when he received news that the Prophet Joseph Smith had been killed. He immediately left New England and returned to Nauvoo. Within two years, he would start leading groups of Mormon pioneers to the West.
Not far from Peterborough—in an area that today is in the Nashua New Hampshire Stake—Latter-day Saint youth had their own pioneer trek in 2009. But the journey began long before anyone started pulling a handcart.
To gain spiritual strength, many of the pioneers sought temple blessings before leaving Nauvoo. Like those early Saints, members of the Nashua stake took the opportunity to participate in temple work and other activities that would strengthen them. They focused on preparing for two journeys: the 17-mile handcart trek they were about to make and the spiritual journey they would undertake.
They did this through the “Trail of Faith Award,” which stake leaders invited all members of the stake—not just the youth—to participate in. Many of the goals of the program, which began in January, overlapped with requirements from Duty to God, Personal Progress, and the Brand New Year fireside. Other challenges were specific to the stake. All of them helped participants draw closer to Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ.
“Trail of Faith helped me realize that we weren’t just going on a 17-mile hike or having another youth conference,” says Alexander Petrie, 16. “This was something a little bit different.”
One of the things that made it different for Alexander was memorizing several hymns, including “Press Forward, Saints” (Hymns, no. 81). “Later, when I was on trek and it was getting a little bit tough, the words of that hymn kept going over and over in my mind,” he says. “I really felt strength from its words. I’ve realized that hymns are a good thing to memorize and to have in our mind anytime we encounter something difficult. I’m so grateful that the Trail of Faith Award helped me prepare.”
Alden Durham, 12, was not yet old enough to participate in the trek, but, along with his family, he completed the Trail of Faith Award. Two of his most memorable goals involved daily scripture study and journal writing. “When I do these things, I feel the Spirit more, and I definitely act different when I feel the Spirit. I try to be a better brother to my four sisters.”
Alexander Jeffrey, also 12, said his favorite goal was performing baptisms for the dead at the Boston Temple, something he had done only once before. “Doing the Trail of Faith gave me a new understanding and got me better prepared for doing some of these goals and habits on my own,” he says.
Participating in temple work was meaningful for Julia Parker, 16, as well. “It was really neat to take names of people who were related to us—our own ancestors,” she recalls. “When I went to the temple, I thought about them as individual people with individual lives and individual interests. I thought about their testimonies and their experiences and their trials. It was really cool to feel connected with them.”
Upon completing the Trail of Faith Award requirements, stake members were given a small medallion so they could remember things they had experienced and felt. “I came out with a medallion at the end,” says Emily Durham, 17, “but I also came out with a stronger testimony.”
After months of preparation through the Trail of Faith Award, firesides, and other stake-wide activities, the group was ready to embark on its three-day, two-night, 17-mile journey.
The area they live in is rich in American history, so in many ways, the trek experience wasn’t much different from things that youth in the Nashua Stake participate in regularly at school. After all, Emily points out, “Those of us who grew up here have gone on walks at Walden Pond and taken field trips to Sleepy Hollow Cemetery,” she says. But remembering pioneer heritage at youth conference was somehow different.
Elizabeth Jeffrey, 15, agrees. “You dress up, pull handcarts, and have a fun, spiritual experience with your friends,” she says. “I expected that. What I didn’t realize was how hard it would be—the actual, physical pulling over hills and rocks and things.
“We were only walking 17 miles; the pioneers walked over a thousand miles to Utah,” she continues. “I think about them differently now. Instead of a Sunday School story on a page, I believe I can now feel a little bit of their struggles and their pains and their great joy. It all became more real when I went on trek.”
As the youth and their leaders completed the trek, other stake members gathered at a local park for a “Welcome to the Valley” celebration. McKenna Gustafson, 14, remembers feeling “so happy” when she was greeted by the cheering of more than 900 people.
“I saw my younger brothers and sisters running toward us, and I started crying,” she remembers. “I thought about what it will be like in heaven when we see our family and friends who have gone before us and what an awesome reunion that will be.”
As exciting as “Welcome to the Valley” was, it wasn’t the end of the trek experience—not really. In many ways, the trek started friendships with neighbors and community members who had watched the youth over the last 72 hours or heard about the trek through local news coverage.
Anna Parker had an opportunity to connect with neighbors as she and her peers passed through one community. Anna immediately noticed that some of the women there were on horseback, so she told them how much she loved horses. She also explained to them what the youth group was doing and then invited the women to join the youth that night for country dancing. One of them came and even stayed for a short devotional afterward. She was so impressed by the youth that she asked to learn more.
Other youth shared the gospel by telling their friends how they were spending three days of their summer vacation. Others got to know people in the community who had made the trek possible. Youth and adults became friends with kind community members who agreed to let the 150 youth and adults camp on their private property; one of the couples who did so came to a testimony meeting, shared their own feelings, and invited the youth to return.
“In planning trek, we wanted the youth of the stake to recognize that they can do hard things,” says President Mark Durham of the stake presidency. “Trail of Faith and trek were both part of that.
“What the pioneers did is just unbelievable, but they took it a little bit at a time, and they had their testimony and their faith as a foundation. We can also move one foot in front of the other foot, just like they did.”
James Parker, 18, says that his experiences last summer have helped him to be more diligent in living the gospel and to have a better attitude about the things he is asked to do as a Church member today.
“The pioneers had to get up every day and make a conscious decision to pull their handcarts miles and miles. Trek was a good reminder of the sacrifices they made for the gospel,” he says.
“We’re not asked to do anything as dramatic as that, but I can get up every day and consciously decide to pray and read my scriptures and be reminded of what the gospel is worth to me. Because of trek, I know how much the gospel of Jesus Christ was worth to the pioneers, and their sacrifice makes it more valuable to me.”

In our suburb of Chicago, Illinois, USA, fewer than 20 Latter-day Saint youth attend a high school of about 4,400 students on two separate campuses. We have been pleased with the education our son has received, and many good families with high standards live in our area.
In the spring of our son’s junior year, he was invited to a school dance. His date wore a beautiful, modest dress, and we were eager to hear how their night went. When he came home, he said, “I will never go to another school dance!” He said students had engaged in provocative dancing, which the administration did nothing to stop. I was appalled.
I am a part-time employee of this school district, and a couple of days after the dance I sought out a vice principal. He is a man of integrity, and I felt that he would listen to my concerns. He recommended that I write to the high school principals.
I prayerfully considered what to say and decided to tell them I was disappointed with the inappropriate dancing and that nothing was done to stop it. The bar had been set high for academics, so why not for all activities?
Several months passed, and I thought my letter had fallen on deaf ears. But one day, during back-to-school registration, a vice principal asked me, “Are you the mother who wrote the letter about the school dances?”
“Yes, I am,” I replied.
“I want you to know that your letter has caused quite a stir!” he said.
I learned that one of the principals wasn’t convinced that changes needed to be made until he asked a few students their opinion. Everyone had the same reply: “We will never go to another school dance! They are too disgusting!”
The administration then implemented rules of dance etiquette, which would be enforced during an upcoming homecoming dance. The principal informed students that they would be asked to leave if they disregarded the rules.
I anxiously awaited our son’s return from the homecoming dance. When he arrived, he said students who had tried to get away with the old behavior were removed. He said it was the best dance he had ever attended.
I wrote to the administration, thanking them for making this one of the best school dances in a long time. The vice principal I knew responded: “Thank you for starting that conversation last spring. Without your input we might not have moved forward in this area.”
I have since found out that most of the schools in our county are adopting these new dance rules, so thousands of students will now be able to enjoy school dances.
I pray that the Lord will bless all of us to find the courage to speak out and up for what we believe. I learned that one person can make a difference.

It was Saturday, and there was work to do at my law office. But as stake president, I had committed to attend a service project with our stake Relief Society sisters. The sisters would be visiting sick children and expectant mothers in the Sergio Bernales de Collique-Comas Hospital in Lima, Peru. They would lend spiritual support, as well as deliver quilts and toys they had made during the year.
As I left behind everything else I had to do and headed for the hospital, the words of the first of many scriptures I thought of that day came to me: “When saw we thee sick, or in prison, and came unto thee? And the King shall answer and say unto them, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me” (Matt. 25:39–40).
A warm, peaceful feeling flooded my heart, and I knew this would be a special experience. The Spirit also whispered to me that the Lord had called me as stake president to love and help others—especially the sick and afflicted. Throughout the day, thoughts of our Savior and His compassionate ministrations were never far from my mind. In our small way, we labored to be like Him.
When I arrived at the hospital, I was greeted by the 60 warmest hearts and the 60 warmest smiles I had ever seen. And as the Relief Society sisters entered the hospital, I watched this sad and gloomy place begin to be filled with light and joy.
“It came to pass that Jesus blessed them … , and the light of his countenance did shine upon them” (3 Ne. 19:25).
When our visit was over, I felt that each of those who had visited the hospital that day was a new person. As I saw the beautiful smiles on the sisters’ faces, I realized that when we give care and service to our fellow beings, we feel the true joy that comes from serving God.
“If ye know these things, happy are ye if ye do them” (John 13:17).

Tami liked to go to Primary. She liked learning about Jesus, she liked to sing, and she liked her teacher, Sister Brown.
Tami liked everything about Primary except for one thing. She couldn’t sit with Mom. Mom taught a different Primary class.
Mom, I want to sit with you.
You need to sit with your Primary class, and I need to sit with mine.
Tami walked to the chairs where her class was sitting. She was not happy.
Tami saw that Jamie was sitting all by herself. Jamie was new to Primary. She was crying.
Tami sat in the chair next to Jamie.
Don’t cry. It’s OK.
I want my mom.
I know, but Sister Brown is really nice. I’ll sit next to you so we can be together.
Thank you.
Tami saw Mom smiling at her. It felt good to help Jamie. She was glad she was sitting in her own seat.

When they talked to their parents about going on missions, the two young men expected sterner opposition. Perhaps the elder Moreiras did not withhold their permission because they were grateful for the Church’s influence on their sons. Nevertheless, the parents—particularly Tino and Quim’s mother—resisted the idea of changing religions themselves.
But the influence of the gospel continued to work in the lives of Quim and Tino’s family. Shortly after Tino entered the mission field, their father was ready for baptism. Tino, who was working nearby, had the privilege of baptizing him. Their mother declined at first even to read her sons’ letters from the mission field. Quim sent one letter home, however, with a special prayer that she would read it and be touched. His prayer was answered, and it was not long until she was baptized by her husband.

Moses’s son Lewis stepped into those boots, although he was not a left-footer. He played for the East Ardsley High School team and later played soccer, rugby, and cricket for the West Riding Auto Company. In 1940 he was called into the army. Serving in the Duke of Wellington Regiment, he rose to the rank of master sergeant in the infantry. He fought in France and Germany and along the way played on army soccer teams. He won’t talk much now about the fighting, but he speaks with relish about the soccer. He rose from his company team to the division team and then to the regiment team, the top of the heap. After the war his team toured Germany playing other army teams. They beat the Grenadier Guards in Dusseldorf Stadium in the semifinals of the army-wide championship and finally lost to the Royal Engineers in overtime in the championship match. Most of England’s finest young soccer players were in the military, so Lewis, an amateur, held his own with the elite of professional soccer until being demobbed (discharged) in 1946.

Shortly after completing my master’s degree I contemplated returning once again to further my education with a doctorate degree. I began preparing applications to doctoral programs and fasted and prayed that I would know which course would be best for me to take. The answer to my prayers came in the form of the still, small voice whispering that a doctoral degree was not needed for the next service I would be asked to provide. I withheld my doctoral applications with the exception of one that was already submitted. The Spirit then came even stronger—indicating that a doctoral degree would not be needed for the service I would provide next. The prompting came so strongly that I began to pray that I would not be accepted. I was not accepted into the graduate program, although my friend Jane was. It was a bittersweet experience, and yet we both went forward in faith.

A few short months later I received the calling to serve as one of the Relief Society presidents at the Utah State Prison. It was a deeply spiritual experience and a unique opportunity that required me to serve with all of my “heart, might, mind and strength” (Doctrine and Covenants 4:2). Serving in this position continually reminded me of our divine heritage and the love that our Heavenly Father has for us. On the first Sunday that I attended meetings at the prison, the Spirit bore witness to me that I had been prepared to serve in this calling. I had been prepared spiritually, educationally, and by unique life experiences.

Our family lived in Hamburg, Germany, during World War I when food was rationed. City-dwellers often tried to purchase food from farmers, who sometimes had a little surplus. When I was fourteen years old, my mother gave me money for a railroad ticket and sent me to the country to try to buy food.
After a two-hour train ride, I arrived at a village where I began walking door to door. Though I visited more than forty houses, no one would sell me anything.
I was determined not to return home empty-handed and decided to walk the 4.5 kilometers to the next village where the train did not go. After walking about forty-five minutes and visiting all the houses along the way, I found a farmer who sold me forty-five kilos of potatoes. I could not believe my luck! The most I had hoped for was some butter or a few kilos of bacon.
The farmer lifted the sack of potatoes crosswise onto my shoulders, and I started back the way I had come. Before long, I realized the difficulty of my task—the potatoes weighed at least as much as I did. If I dropped my load onto the roadside and rested, I feared that I might not be able to lift it back onto my shoulders.
In the midst of this dilemma, I recalled my mother, who had taught me the scriptures and the power of prayer. I remembered an episode in the Book of Mormon where the Nephites, who were in bondage to the Lamanites, asked the Lord to lighten their burdens. The Lord had answered their prayers, and it occurred to me that the Lord might also lighten the weight of my burden. (See Mosiah 24:15.)
I began to pray. Instantly, I felt as if the load had been taken off my shoulders. I was able to walk with ease all of the way to the train station without resting.
At the station, another miracle occurred. Village police had the authority to confiscate any food found on passengers. Many people tried to hide their food, but there was no way I could hide the forty-five kilo sack of potatoes. However, as I boarded the train, nothing was said and I was allowed to take the potatoes home to my mother.
My search for food brought my family the physical nourishment we needed during a difficult time and developed in me an unshakable testimony that the Lord hears and answers prayers.

May brings Teacher Appreciation Week, and youth of the Jurupa California Stake did not let their teachers be forgotten. Each student invited the best teacher he or she had ever had to a teacher appreciation dinner held at the stake center.
During the dinner, the young men and young women provided musical entertainment, and Bishop David Hanson of the Jurupa Fourth Ward spoke about Christ as the Master Teacher. Many of the 50 teachers who attended the dinner wrote thank-you notes commenting on how impressed they are with the youth of the Church and with the Church’s emphasis on education.

Much of what I know came from my family. When I was about eight years old, my wise mother asked my brother and me to pull weeds with her in our family’s backyard garden. Now, that seems a simple task, but we lived in New Jersey. It rained often. The soil was heavy clay. The weeds grew faster than the vegetables.
I remember my frustration when the weeds broke off in my hands, their roots stuck firmly in the heavy mud. My mother and my brother were soon far ahead in their rows. The harder I tried, the more I fell behind.
“This is too hard!” I cried out.
Instead of giving sympathy, my mother smiled and said, “Oh, Hal, of course it’s hard. It’s supposed to be. Life is a test.”
In that moment, I knew her words were true and would continue to be true in my future.

It would be safe to say that the bassoon is not one of the more common instruments for a teenager to play. But for Mike Munson, a 16-year-old priest in the Augusta Ward, Augusta Maine Stake, the bassoon has been a part of life for several years and a key to rewarding experiences.
Mike plays several instruments, among them the piano, bassoon, tuba, and organ, but it was because of his talent with the bassoon that he was invited to play with the Navy Band for one performance.
“They chose high school musicians from the Kennebee Valley area,” Mike explained. “But it was still a surprise for the bassoonist in the Navy Band when he saw me. ‘A bassoonist!’ he said. He told me they run into a few here and there, but he seemed glad to see me.”
Mike began playing the bassoon after several years as a pianist. Now he performs with the Augusta Symphony Orchestra, and the Brunswick Regional Youth Orchestra and also plays the piano in a jazz band. He is also involved with several musical groups, including a brass quartet, at Cony High School.
He practices several hours every day, a double duty because he must practice both bassoon and piano. “Schoolwork comes first,” he said, “and with rehearsals and school sessions I play almost every day. I try to practice at home daily, too, but I can’t always do it. I try to squeeze in enough time.”
The practice has paid off in awards. Mike has earned high ratings in regional and state high school competition for both bassoon and piano. He has also been a member of the all=state orchestra and band and been highly rated at the Solo and Ensemble Festival at the University of Maine at Orno.
Mike is a ward organist and is also often called on to play the piano at Mutual. He says his involvement with music has provided a way for him to talk to people about the Church.
“It usually surprises people when they find a Mormon in Maine,” he said. “But through talking about music and sharing ideas in that area, they usually are willing to share my ideas about the gospel, too.
“Music is a means of sharing with others. People receive joy from any type of art, and musicians enjoy sharing what they create,” Mike said.
“You have to have a great desire to be a musician,” Mike added. “If you don’t, you won’t make the necessary effort.” He should know. He’s worked long, hard hours to make himself good.

“Our first night out after starting on our journey, we camped on the prairie; Father had unyoked the cattle and turned them out to feed on the grass. He had to look after them to keep them from straying away. We had picked up enough fuel to make a good fire and Mother was preparing supper, when all at once there came up a most terrific thunderstorm. The rain poured down in torrents and we were all drenched. Although we got into the wagon as soon as we could, the wind blew the rain with such force that the wagon was very little protection. Of course, the fire was put out which didn’t help the preparations for supper that night. However, the next morning the sun shone bright, everything got dry, and we continued on our journey.”

Kumifonua (Fonua) Taumoepenu found that the strength of conviction may come even after periods of loss and inactivity. Shortly after his baptism in 1995, Fonua served in many positions in the Church. He also worked for a soft drink company and was very successful, rising quickly through the ranks. But he was frequently away from home and found himself slowly moving away from his spiritual convictions. After a time he even began engaging in activities he knew he shouldn’t.
One day Fonua ran into a group of men who, though unprovoked, beat him so badly he had to be taken to the hospital. While there Fonua began to reflect on his life and the poor decisions he had made. “I realized something was wrong with the way I was living,” he says. “My example caused my children to make poor decisions too. They were doing things they shouldn’t do.”
Fonua decided it was time to change. He worked hard to repent, became worthy to enter the temple, and began attending regularly. One evening in the temple, he reflected on his life. “I knew I was worthy to be there,” he says, “but I felt uncomfortable. I looked back on my life and evaluated what I had done. I had not been a good servant of the Lord. And I needed answers too. I wanted a new job that would make it easier to stay clean.”
Fonua had just been offered a well-paying job in New Zealand. His family had encouraged him to take it because such jobs were hard to come by. “But I worried about leaving my family in Tonga and about how I would stay clean living so far away,” he says.
While in the temple, Fonua offered his heart in prayer to Heavenly Father. “I made a commitment to myself and to God that I would do what He wants for me. It was different from any commitment I had ever made before. And I received an answer there in the temple about how I could permanently change my life.”
Instead of taking the job in New Zealand, Fonua decided to stay in Tonga and look for better work. During this time, he was called as a temple worker. As he served faithfully, he says, “the Lord blessed me for righteous choices.” Fonua soon gained a major contract cleaning buildings. “It was a tremendous blessing. I could stay in Tonga with my family, take care of them, and serve in the temple.
“All that I have, all my blessings, come from being a servant of the Lord. I will never forget that moment in the temple. Even my children have been blessed. Before, they had caused a lot of trouble for Church members. But they’ve changed. They participate in church. There’s a great happiness in our home now—all because of the Lord.”