Gospel Story Finder

Athena Dayley, a senior at the American High School, is often the translator for the Young Women. She finds it challenging but fun. “It is so neat to be able to talk to someone in another language,” Athena says, “but translating at church is really hard, and I get flustered at times and can’t remember what is being said or comprehend the meaning of what I’m translating. All I’m doing is parroting words.”
But the youth have discovered that sometimes spiritual moments transcend the language barrier.
“I seldom cry at movies,” Athena says, “but at girls’ camp the Spirit was so strong that even if I couldn’t understand the words, I couldn’t help but have tears in my eyes.”

It was 1935, and in the middle of the Great Depression. Many men were out of work, so we were lucky that Dad had a job that summer as a miner in the Oro Del Rey Mine. All of us children got to live in a tent in Goshute Canyon. We played in the creek, and we even had a pet horned owl.
But one afternoon, I noticed that my parents looked worried.
“What are we going to do?” Mama asked Dad.
Dad’s shoulders hunched. His face was dusty with dirt from the mine. “I don’t know,” he said. “They’ll pay me eventually. Just not now.”
“Well, we need money,” Mama said. “The children need to eat.”
They were silent. What would we do if Dad didn’t get paid? My sister Carol came over by me. She looked scared, so I squeezed her hand.
Finally, Dad said, “I think we need a family prayer.”
Our whole family knelt in the dirt. Dad said the prayer. He asked Heavenly Father to help us know what we could do.
Afterward, I started walking toward the old wood stove where Mama had put the doughnuts she’d been frying. She made the best doughnuts, all golden brown with flecks of sugar. I was just reaching for one when—
“Stop!” Mama yelled.
I stared at her.
“We can sell them!” she said. “Don’t you think my doughnuts are good enough that people would buy them?”
I nodded. “Of course they are!”
“You kids can take them door to door when you go into town before Primary on Wednesday afternoon,” Mama said.
So that’s what we did. We sold a dozen doughnuts for a dime. We did it week after week.
Then one awful day Mama said, “We’re out of yeast, and I don’t have a penny to buy more.” She sat down and put her head in her hands.
“Are you all right?” I asked.
“Shh,” she whispered. “I’m praying.”
I folded my arms and closed my eyes too.
A few minutes later, Dad pulled up in our old car. He’d been down in the valley getting the mail. He handed a fat envelope to Mama. “What do you think is in that?”
Mama opened it and gave a little gasp. With shining eyes she pulled out a sample packet of yeast!
“But, Mama,” I asked, “when the baking company sent out that sample, you hadn’t even prayed yet.”
“True,” Mama said. “But in Isaiah the Lord says, ‘Before they call, I will answer.’”

On Wednesday afternoons I have a very special job. I bag fifteen newspapers in plastic bags, load them into my red wagon, then go up the street to deliver newspapers and to check on my neighbors.
My first stop is always the Baxters’ house. Every spring a robin builds a nest in the tree by their front door. After the eggs have hatched, I always carefully lay the newspaper on their front steps so that I don’t scare the baby birds.
The next house is Mrs. Kirkham’s. She loves flowers. When I leave her paper, I like to count and see how many tulips have bloomed. One summer she gave me a pink rose to take home to my mother. I carried it straight home so that it wouldn’t get squashed in the wagon.
The Statlers, who live up the block, are gone most of the summer, visiting their grandchildren. I don’t deliver a paper when they’re gone, but once I had to chase a stray cat away from their birdbath.
When it’s really hot, Peg Jackson and her baby, Ryan, wait for me with a glass of ice-cold lemonade. I know I’m half done with my route when I get to their house, so I sit in the shade on their front porch to rest for a minute.
At the end of the street, I cross carefully over to the house with the white picket fence. Mr. Weber lives there. He’s pretty old, but he usually shuffles out to the sidewalk when he sees me coming. Sometimes he “trades” me something for the newspaper. Once he gave me a sackful of zucchini from his garden. Mom made it into bread, and I took a loaf back to him. He said that that was a good deal.
My next favorite place is the Morris’s big house. Mrs. Morris is an art teacher, and in October they have fantastic jack-o’-lanterns on their front steps. Sometimes they have scary monster faces or scenes from fairy tales carved into them. They’re amazing!
There’s a small creek in the trees by the Changs’ house. When the water starts getting ice on the edges, I know that soon I’ll be using my sled instead of my red wagon to haul papers. When the creek is frozen solid, the Changs let me pull my sled right across it so that I can get out of the cold quicker.
When I get home, I always have a treat. Do you know what I like best when I’m cold? Hot chocolate. First it warms my hands and my face, and then it warms me inside.
After paying my tithing, most of the money I earn for delivering papers goes into my missionary savings fund. Mom says that my paper route is preparing me to be a missionary in other ways, too. I’m learning to be a good walker in all kinds of weather, and I’m learning to really care about people and to serve them. I think that’s a pretty good deal for Wednesday afternoons. Don’t you?

In a few months I would graduate from college and, I hoped, have my first baby. My husband was as eager as I was to start having children.
One year, four months, dozens of negative pregnancy tests, five negative ovulation tests, two miserable months on medication, and thousands of tears later, we had no baby and little hope for natural conception. When the doctor’s office called and offered to refer us to an infertility specialist, we declined. Too stressed to handle more, we needed a break. Before I hung up, the nurse said, “Call us if you have a miracle.”
Miracles are, well, miraculous. They come big and small. They come when we least expect them and when we desperately need them. And sometimes we pray and pray until our knees are sore for the miracle we want, but then God gives us the miracle we need.
For a long time we prayed desperately for a child, but the heavens seemed silent. Eventually it occurred to us that we were praying for the wrong thing. God knows what blessings we need and when we need them. He sees the big picture. We see right now. So we changed. We stopped praying for what we wanted and instead started saying “thank you.”
Heavenly Father, thank Thee for blessing us with each other.
Thank Thee for caring family and friends.
Thank Thee for the children around us whom we can enjoy until we have our own.
Thank Thee for doctors and science that help uncover what does and doesn’t work in our bodies.
And (now the hardest thing to say) thank Thee for this trial.
Being grateful for the very thing breaking our hearts was hard, but we knew that Heavenly Father loved us. So somewhere in this trial were blessings. We would never find the blessings if we let the trial overtake us. Instead, we chose to be grateful—and when we did, the blessings became clear:
We relied on each other more, shared our feelings more, loved each other more.
We relied on the Lord more and prayed more.
We grew closer to the Savior, felt His presence more, loved Him more.
We felt the love of family and friends who were praying for us.
And once we acknowledged all these blessings, we were overcome with the purest, sweetest peace imaginable.
That we weren’t having a family right then didn’t mean God didn’t care. We just needed to trust in His timing, and we needed His peace to keep that trust alive. We needed His peace to bind up our breaking hearts and give us the faith to keep moving forward.
Peace was the miracle we needed—not the miracle we’d been begging for, but the one we needed most.

The Turay family resettled in Bo, Sierra Leone. Although there was no Church presence there, they were encouraged to stay and help establish a branch. They started a home group with only the five members of the Turay family. Not long after they started talking to people about the Church, missionaries arrived, and the first baptismal service was held in Bo. On that special day, 31 people were baptized in the Sewa River. Mohamed was soon called to preside over the new Bo Sierra Leone District. Under Mohamed’s leadership, one small branch eventually grew into four branches.

Jack feels he is well prepared for the mission field, but when his call came, he was stunned. He will be serving in the Japan Nagoya Mission. He was surprised that with his reading disability, he would be called to learn such a difficult language as Japanese.

“I was confident I would go to an English-speaking mission,” he said. “When I went to take the language aptitude test, I asked the girl who administered it which were the hardest languages, and she said both Chinese and Japanese were challenging. I thought, good—at least I won’t have to worry about them. Then when I got my mission call, I was surprised.”

But Jack doesn’t worry about the battle with the language. “When you’re doing the work of the Lord, he’s going to help you out. When I first got a Book of Mormon, I found it really hard to read, but since I started reading the scriptures, my reading has improved, and it’s the first time I can really see that improvement.”

Jack pulls out the scriptures, and reads, out loud, his favorite: Alma 32:28. It talks about the faith he needs to serve, and the faith the people need to receive his message: “Now, we will compare the word unto a seed. Now, if ye give place, that a seed may be planted in your heart, behold, if it be a true seed, or a good seed, if ye do not cast it out by your unbelief, that ye will resist the Spirit of the Lord, behold, it will begin to swell within your breasts; and when you feel these swelling motions, ye will begin to say within yourselves—It must needs be that this is a good seed, or that the word is good, for it beginneth to enlarge my soul; yea, it beginneth to enlighten my understanding, yea, it beginneth to be delicious to me.”

As Jack reads that scripture, you notice that he reads clearly and precisely; he doesn’t stumble over a word.

Hey Jack—did you know you just read that scripture perfectly?

“I did? Wow, well thank you. I guess I’m getting a lot of help.”

Richard M. Romney, Utah, USA
When those planning our ward Christmas social asked me to visit a certain less-active member and invite him to participate in the program, I have to admit I was nervous. I had met Darren only once before, when he had participated in an earlier ward activity. He had worn a motorcycle headband across his forehead. His long white hair was tied in a ponytail, he had a full white beard, and his arms were covered with tattoos.
Now, accompanied by a committee member, I was standing on Darren’s doorstep, wondering what he might say. He asked us to step inside, and we told him why we were there. He said, “Oh, I’d love to do that!”
He did an amazing job, helping to make the activity meaningful for so many. A short time later, my ministering companion and I were asked to visit Darren regularly. He always seems glad to see us, and we’ve had some delightful conversations. I’m grateful the inspiration to invite him to participate in the program of a ward activity led to a cherished relationship.

While serving a mission in England, one morning I read Acts 11:28, which briefly mentions a prophet named Agabus who prophesied of a famine that eventually came to pass in the days of Claudius Caesar. At the time I didn’t give the seemingly insignificant verse much thought.
Two days later my district leader, Elder Gallafent, telephoned and said he wanted to do a companion exchange the next day. The next morning my companion and I took a bus to Southampton, where we met Elder Gallafent and his companion, Elder Langston. I set out contacting people door-to-door with Elder Langston while the other two drove back to Winchester.
Our morning had been uneventful until we knocked on a certain door just before lunch. The woman who answered the door was a neighbor visiting from the house next door. I soon learned that the woman who lived there was in the living room within reach of my voice.
When I announced we were missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, the woman in the living room yelled that she was of another faith and knew all about the “Mormons” and wasn’t interested in learning more. When I replied that everyone should be interested in a living prophet on the earth, she cried, “That’s not so! There are no prophets on the earth! Jesus Christ was the last prophet.”
Then something strange happened. A question came to my mind: “What about Agabus?”
I immediately called out, “What about Agabus?” There was a long pause. Then the woman responded, “Who’s Agabus?”
“A prophet who lived after Christ and who prophesied of a famine that came to pass,” I said.
She asked me, “Where did you read that—in your Mormon Bible?”
“No,” I replied, “in the book of Acts, chapter 11, verse 28.”
“Show me,” came the skeptical voice. The neighbor let us enter, and Elder Langston and I made our way down a small hallway into the living room, where a woman in her 40s was seated on the sofa.
I opened to the scripture and handed her the Bible. After she finished reading, she didn’t know what to say. I told her of the living prophet on the earth at that time, President David O. McKay (1873–1970). I testified of the Prophet Joseph Smith. The Spirit was so powerful that I knew she could feel it.
Elder Langston and I left two copies of the Book of Mormon—one for this woman and one for her neighbor. I walked away feeling like I was floating on air. I was sure she would be baptized. Why else would I have remembered Agabus?
The following Sunday at church, I rushed up to Elder Gallafent and Elder Langston and asked, “Did you go back? What happened? Tell me!”
They told me they had gone to her home to give her the first discussion but were turned away. She returned the Book of Mormon we had given her.
I couldn’t believe it. I sat through church wondering why I would receive such a wonderful prompting and then have it result like this. I was terribly discouraged, but I tried to put it out of my mind.
The next Sunday as I walked into the church foyer, Elder Langston ran up to me with an ear-to-ear grin.
“Remember that woman we left the Book of Mormon with?” he asked.
“Of course,” I replied.
He then reminded me that we had left two copies of the Book of Mormon—one with the woman and one with her neighbor. The neighbor had never taken her copy home. So, without the knowledge of the woman of the house, her daughter had begun to read that copy and wanted to know more about the Church.
The woman eventually took the missionary discussions with her daughter, and both were baptized.
As I look back more than 30 years and recall the question that came to me, “What about Agabus?” I am reminded of another scripture: “But the Comforter, which is the Holy Ghost, whom the Father will send in my name, he shall teach you all things, and bring all things to your remembrance, whatsoever I have said unto you” (John 14:26). I am grateful that as a missionary I was able to have the Spirit bring to my remembrance the significance of Agabus. The Holy Ghost truly was my teacher that day.

Several weeks ago I took the New Era to work. I was going to read it on my break. Several people asked if they could look through it. They said they had never seen a magazine like it. They enjoyed the stories and said it made them feel good all over.
I learned that the New Era is a great missionary tool. It has helped me explain many of my beliefs to my co-workers.
Rochelle JohnsonSan Antonio, Texas

“For family night tonight we’re going to go over our year’s supply,” Mr. McKinley said. The turned up noses and moans from the children on the couch let him know that his announcement was not being received well, but he ignored that and went on. “Well, Honey, how do things in the storeroom look?”
“Not too bad,” replied Mrs. McKinley, “but I do plan on canning cherries, apricots, and all the peaches I can get this year. I ought to do some applesauce too. That’ll mean a lot of help from you girls.” There were more moans of protest; then she went on. “Like I said, we’re not too bad when it comes to food supplies, but I’ve been thinking, if it ever comes to a point where there are no stores to go to like the prophet said, well, food won’t be the only thing we’ll need to have on hand. What about things like toothpaste?”
The younger children caught on immediately and made a game of it.
“Or soap,” one added.
“Or toilet paper,” another giggled.
Fifteen-year-old Lori, who had been tuned out up until now, suddenly came alive. “Or makeup!” she exclaimed, but immediately became embarrassed at having voiced her thoughts.
“Makeup?” her older brother, Keith, said incredulously. Keith was almost three years older than Lori and seemed to find pleasure in constantly teasing her.
“Is Lori going to get a year’s supply of makeup?” asked Bob, a younger McKinley. “That’s dumb!” The other children agreed and began to giggle.
“Now hold on a second,” Keith put in. “Maybe it’s not so dumb after all. Maybe Lori’s doing us a favor. I mean, if we’re all going to be suffering from starvation, we don’t need to suffer from having to look at her real face too!”
Bob took the lead from his elder brother. “Maybe it’s not for us after all. I’ll bet it’s so she can look good just in case Tony Wilkins comes over to borrow a cup of whole wheat flour during the famine.” Bob batted his eyelashes and flipped a lock of imaginary hair over his shoulder, while Keith pretended to be starving and begging for some food. The two little McKinley girls laughed with delight at their brothers’ antics and began chanting, “Lori’s got a boyfriend.”
Lori wasn’t amused. “Cut it out,” she said crossly. “I was just joking. Don’t you guys know a joke when you hear one?”
That only egged the boys on. But soon dad intervened and order was restored. The rest of the evening was spent evaluating the family’s preparedness needs, but Lori was miles away. She hadn’t been completely truthful when she said she’d only been joking. In fact, it was a lie. She was seriously considering putting in a supply of makeup. After all, just because a girl was going through hard times didn’t mean she had to look it. So while the family discussed how many bars of soap and boxes of laundry detergent it would take to get them through a year, Lori tried to figure how long a tube of mascara would last her and where she could hide 12 containers of lip gloss.
It was only a few days before Mrs. McKinley was able to get a lug of cherries, and Lori found herself stuck in the kitchen early in her summer vacation. Not that canning was so bad—her mother made the job as pleasant as possible—but it seemed as if she had to do most of the work. It was true that she could fill three bottles with cherries in less time than it took for her two younger sisters combined to get one bottle half full. Their deep purple tongues and lips gave evidence to part of the reason for this. Despite mom’s constant warnings not to eat too many cherries or they’d end up with a stomachache, it seemed to Lori that every other cherry ended up in their mouths rather than the bottles. And when mom wasn’t looking, they made a game out of spitting the seeds at each other.
Lori really didn’t mind helping out, though. In fact, she was just beginning to enjoy herself when the back door swung open and in walked Keith followed closely by Tony Wilkins with a basketball under his arm. Lori ducked her head. All she’d had time for that morning was a quick face washing and a hasty ponytail. She wondered how Keith could be so callous as to bring Tony here when he knew they were canning. All she could hope for was that he wouldn’t notice her. She wondered if there was some way she could crawl under the kitchen sink without being noticed.
“Well, well, well,” Keith said grandly, “so the women of the McKinley family are busy putting up our year’s supply!” The younger girls giggled and threw cherries at him.
“Whoa,” mom commanded, stopping their siege before it really got started. Keith nudged Tony as if he’d missed his cue, and mischievous grins spread on their faces.
“Hey, Lori,” Tony said, “I’m really surprised to see you canning cherries. I mean, I understood you were more concerned about storing things of greater necessity, like makeup.” Lori’s face went red with anger and embarrassment, and the boys knew they’d hit their mark. She kept her head down while they rummaged in the fridge. They soon found two bottles of pop, and after grabbing a handful of cookies, headed back outside.
Lori stood silently at the sink. The more she thought about it, the angrier she became. When Keith came in alone later that day, she met him at the door with a glare.
“How could you?” she began coldly, but the coldness soon rose to hysteria. “You’re the most awful brother anyone could have, telling Tony about my makeup. You’re terrible; I wish I didn’t even have a brother.” With that she burst into tears and ran upstairs to her room.
Keith, who had been enjoying her outburst as a sign of his victory, was stunned by Lori’s tears. He had badgered her an awful lot before. He had seen her red in the face with anger and heard her yell until he thought she’d break a blood vessel, but he’d never seen her cry.
“We were only joking,” he explained half to himself and half to his mother who had entered in time to see the episode. “I didn’t think she’d take it so seriously.”
“Well,” Mrs. McKinley explained, “things like that and crushes on boys like Tony are awfully serious when a girl is 15. It would help if you were a bit more considerate to her.”
“I guess you’re right,” he admitted. “I did push it a bit too far.” He thought for a moment, then headed for the door. “I’ll be back in a while,” he said to his mother.
It was almost dinner time when Lori heard a tap on her bedroom door. She had spent most of the afternoon there crying and scolding herself for crying in front of Keith. “You should’ve been tough. Now he knows he’s got you and he’ll never let up.”
Lori sat up. “Who’s there?” she called.
“Me, Keith.”
“Go away.”
“No, please let me in. I just want to talk to you. No jokes, I promise.”
Lori finally relented. “The door isn’t locked.”
Keith came in cautiously. “How’s it going?” he asked.
“I’m okay, no thanks to you.” She wanted to say something about her crying and spending the afternoon in her room having nothing to do with his and Tony’s dumb joke, but she couldn’t think of anything that sounded very convincing.
“Here,” Keith held out a slip of paper to her. “I guess it’s sort of an apology.”
On the paper was scrawled a hasty attempt at poetry:
The typical Mormon family
Is concerned with preparation,
For times of famine, drought, or need,
Or just plain desperation.
So the father builds a storage shed
And fills it full of wheat,
And the brother stacks the logs for fuel
In piles tall and neat.
Home production is a project
The Mormon mothers take up,
But the typical teenage girl just wants
A year’s supply of makeup.
Lori couldn’t help but smile as she read the poem. “Typical, huh? So you really think I’m typical, not weird?”
“Oh no, not weird. If anything maybe a little abnormal, but only if the ‘ab’ meant above.” Keith noticed that it was kind of fun to tease Lori this way; it made her smile. “I mean, there aren’t many girls who are thinking far enough ahead to worry about how they’re going to look in the coming hard times, and we guys appreciate a girl who cares about how she looks.”
Lori grinned at his earnestness, but then her face fell. “What about Tony? I’ll bet he thinks I’m weird.”
“Oh, no,” Keith put in hastily. “In fact, he told me he thought you were good-looking!”
“Really? What did he say, I mean exactly.”
“Well … uh …”
“Come on, word for word.”
“Well, his exact words were, ‘I don’t see why a cute little kid like her should be worried about makeup.’”
“A cute little kid, huh?” Lori said with disappointment. “And I bet you agreed.”
“No,” Keith defended. “As a matter of fact, I said, ‘She’s not really a little kid. She’s only three years younger than we are, and when we get home from our missions, that’s probably just the age girls we’ll be looking at.’ And he said he hadn’t thought of that before and agreed. Then he said maybe he’d have to take a second look at you.”
Lori squealed with delight. “Oh thank you, Keith!”
He just smiled and shrugged. “How’s your makeup supply coming?”
Lori hesitated, then opened up the bottom drawer of her dresser and took out a sweater that was folded on top. Under it was a box with six tubes of mascara. “That’s all I’ve been able to get so far, and I spent all of my babysitting money on that. You should’ve seen the funny look they gave me at the drug store when I bought six mascaras.”
“If you think they looked at you funny, you should’ve seen the look they gave me when I bought four tubes of ‘kissing potion.’”
“What?”
In answer, Keith stuck his hand in his pocket and pulled out four dainty glass tubes filled with lip gloss. “The prophet says to get our supplies in as fast as possible, and I figured you might be able to use some help.”
“Thanks, Keith,” Lori said warmly. “I guess you’re not such a bad brother after all.”
“Yes,” said Keith, using a deep voice and sticking his chest out melodramatically, “the true character of us good guys always comes out in the end.”
Laughing, Lori threw a pillow across the room at him, just as mom’s voice drifted up the stairs calling them to dinner.

“I spent eighteen years teaching and fulfilling my responsibilities as a priest,” says Hsieh. “I was very busy, but I wasn’t happy. I had had the opportunity to study in Europe; I had been a teacher, a student, a professor, a chaplain, a seminary director—my life was colorful—but there was a spiritual void.”
And there were rules and customs within the Catholic church with which Hsieh was uncomfortable, such as the ban on certain books—and he liked to read and study all he could. Another problem that bothered him as an ordained priest was the Lord’s statement: “It is not good that the man should be alone” (Gen. 2:18).
“This particular scripture became a vivid reality for me once when I was seriously sick and there was no one close to take care of me. I felt very alone. I realized the need for a companion to share my life. I decided then that being alone forever wasn’t right.”
This combination of feelings built up over time. Finally, in 1973, he asked to be released from his priestly vows. He resigned from Fu Jen University and was immediately hired by National Cheng Chi University in Taipei. There, one year later, Hsieh met, courted, and married one of his university assistants. He was about fifty years old at this time.
“But giving up the priesthood was difficult for me,” he says. “I had been a priest for so long. Now I had given up everything that I had lived for up to that point in time. I missed sharing my knowledge and understanding of the gospel, something I had been able to do as a priest. I thought about becoming a minister in another church that allowed priests to marry. But because of my belief in the Catholic church, I couldn’t make that change.”
Three years after his marriage, Hsieh was alone in his home when two young men knocked on his door. “They asked to talk to me, and I said I had no time and no interest in whatever they wanted to talk about.
“But as I thought about them, I became more curious. I wanted to know who they were and what they were doing in Taiwan, so I looked out from the balcony of my apartment and saw them going from door to door. I waited for a long time for them to come out of one of the apartments, and then I called to them to come back to mine.
“The first question I asked them was, ‘Are you missionaries?’ When they answered yes, I questioned them about their religion. Many of my questions were left unanswered, and I didn’t feel satisfied with our first conversation.
“That evening, as I discussed their visit with my wife, she reminded me of the Lord’s admonition to ‘beware of false prophets.’” (See Matt. 7:15.)
When the missionaries made a return visit, Hsieh was not going to let them in, but he didn’t want to be impolite. For the entire evening, Hsieh explained to the missionaries what true religion should be. He did not tell them that he had been a Catholic priest, but they felt encouraged by his knowledge of Christianity.
One of the missionaries, Donald B. Cenatiempo, wrote of the experience, “I felt as if we were the students and he was the teacher. We could tell he was a very intelligent and religious man.” The missionaries asked if they could return, and Hsieh said yes. The visits became a weekly ritual.
“I didn’t want to send them away,” Hsieh remembers. “I thought that if their church were true, it would have a prophet and continuing revelation. I asked them why their church didn’t have crosses or crucifixes, and they said, ‘Because Christ is risen; Christ lives. If one of your friends or parents dies,’ they said, ‘do you take out a photograph of them dead and show it to everyone?’ I was spiritually touched by the wisdom of their response.”
Hsieh started to read the Book of Mormon and the Doctrine and Covenants, which he especially liked because it is a record of the Lord speaking to man in these latter days. He asked for other books to read, and the missionaries gave him a copy of A Marvelous Work and a Wonder, by Elder LeGrand Richards.
“We told Brother Hsieh that it was possible for him to receive the priesthood and perform certain duties within that priesthood,” Elder Cenatiempo wrote. “Brother Hsieh understood as well as anybody could in his stage of spiritual progression what it would mean to hold the priesthood—the true priesthood of God.”
Hsieh explained to his wife what he had read, and she found it very interesting. Together, they began to study and pray for understanding. Eventually, Hsieh’s wife announced to the missionaries, “We have prayed and we feel it best to be baptized together.” They were baptized in December 1977.
In the years since that special event in their lives, they have developed strong testimonies that they enjoy sharing with others.
“We have always said that we would be willing to do whatever the Lord wants us to do,” says Brother Hsieh. “And we’ve always tried to use every opportunity and every talent he has given us to help build up the kingdom of God on the earth and to share the gospel message.”
Some unique opportunities have opened up to Brother Hsieh to do this. He has lectured seven times at the International Conference for Christian Professors. “They are interested in the Church because it is quite new and unique in modern Christianity,” he says. “The Lord has given me many opportunities to bear my testimony to these scholars.”
Currently, Brother Hsieh, a member of the Mu Cha Ward, serves as a high councilor in the Taipei Taiwan West Stake and has assisted in work on a second Chinese translation of the Book of Mormon.
“The gospel is the love of God,” he says. “It is important that all men and women hear this message. What we do, we do for the glory of God and the salvation of souls. Friendship is the method by which we share the gospel. The final goal for all is salvation and exaltation.”

When I was a young mother of several small children, at the end of days filled with diapering, dish washing, and disciplining, no one sang more emphatically the Primary song “I’m so glad when daddy comes home.”15 I’m sad to admit, however, I was not always cheerful when Craig seemed to bounce through the door after a hard day of work. He always greeted each of us with a hug and kiss and turned many difficult and sometimes disastrous days into delightful daddy times. I wish I had been a little less preoccupied with the endless list of to-dos still to be done and had more wisely focused, like he did, on things that mattered most. I would have stopped more often and enjoyed sacred family time and would have thanked him more often for blessing our lives!

Football player Tom Brown was in line to be the starting quarterback, but went to the Canada Winnipeg Mission instead. After returning from the mission field, he filled in when the starter was injured, and led the Falcons to an upset against Brigham Young University, earning a share of the 1995 conference championship.
“Before my mission, I tried to justify all the good I could do as a football star,” Tom says. “But I had always planned on a mission. I finally told [the coach] I’d love to start, but it would have to be when I returned. It’s been good to come back and play again. But no athletic experience could ever overshadow what you learn on a mission.”

The night before Christmas had always been filled with wonder for my sister Phyllis and me. We spent hours guessing what surprises would await us in the morning. There were always two Christmas surprises that were the same—one for me and one for Phyllis.
“Ellie, do you remember how excited we were the year we found the baby dolls sitting in twin high chairs?” Phyllis asked. We were sitting in the bedroom we shared, too excited to sleep.
“Yours was wearing the blue outfit, mine was in pink,” I said.
“And wasn’t it fun the year we got those matching doll beds?” she asked.
What would our surprises be this year? Roller skates? Play dishes? Fancy dresses? We giggled with excitement.
“Listen!” Phyllis suddenly exclaimed. “I hear Dad’s car pulling into the driveway!”
We dashed to the window, pressed our faces against the cold glass, and peeked out into the darkness of Christmas Eve. From our second-story window we looked down onto the driveway and saw something in the back of Dad’s car. Something pink.
“Is it something for us?” Phyllis whispered.
“Well, something pink wouldn’t be for any of our brothers!” I said. We covered our mouths, trying to quiet our laughter.
“Then the something in the car has to be for us!” Phyllis said. “Our two somethings!”
We scurried back to bed and snuggled beneath our blankets, wrapped in warmth and anticipation. We scarcely slept all night.
When morning finally arrived, Phyllis and I, our three brothers, and our older sister lined up to go into the living room. When Mother gave the signal, we rushed in, then stood dazzled by the glowing tree. It sparkled with its colored lights, shimmering icicles, our homemade paper chains, and loved ornaments.
Phyllis and I stood entranced, ready to burst with excitement. At the same time, our eyes fell on the Something Pink. It was a dresser, about four feet high. We gazed at the piece of furniture, with its mirror and still smelling of pine and fresh paint. We loved it!
Then, slowly, our awe turned to puzzlement. We whispered to each other, “Where’s the other dresser? Which one of us is this for?”
Mother took us aside and gently told us, “Girls, there were two—one for each of you. But last night your father thought of a widow and her family. They don’t have much, and she has two daughters. Your father wondered what kind of Christmas they would have. He took the other dresser to their home last night. This one is for you girls to share.”* * *
That Christmas was long ago. Phyllis and I shared and loved that pink dresser through childhood until each of us married. The dresser went from holding mittens and pretty rocks to holding dance programs and our marriage announcements.
Now, with daughters, granddaughters, and great-granddaughters of our own, our Christmas surprise has been lovingly moved from one home to another and shared by many girls. Mothers have told their daughters the story of the pink dresser, and they have told their daughters.
If our little, worn pink treasure could speak, it might say that many girls have grown closer together because of a present two sisters shared, and a present they never received.

Growing up, religion was not a part of my life. Raised in a secular environment, I chased worldly success, dedicating myself to a demanding career as a banker. I worked over 100 hours a week, sacrificing health, relationships, and personal fulfillment in pursuit of professional achievements. Outwardly, I seemed successful, but inwardly, I was empty. Stress and discouragement became constant companions, leading me to rely on alcohol and medication to numb the growing void in my life.
In February 2024, my world shattered when I was laid off amid a wave of redundancies in the banking industry. I felt worthless, as if my identity and purpose had been stripped away. Spiraling into despair, I sought solace in the very habits that were destroying me. My health deteriorated and in March 2024 I suffered a heart attack—a moment that would change my life forever.
I will never forget the events of that day. The symptoms came suddenly: cold sweats, a racing heartbeat and, eventually, unconsciousness. As I regained some awareness, I sensed a profound spiritual presence surrounding me. Confused and desperate, I called for help, only to feel lost and disoriented. Then something extraordinary happened.
When the paramedics arrived, one of them called me by name—a stranger who radiated calm and love, unlike anyone I had encountered before. The other paramedic stood in the shadows, his presence darker and less comforting. As I lay there, caught between life and death, I heard a clear voice in my mind: “I gave you the wisdom and it’s time for you to use it.” I realised I was experiencing something divine.
The first paramedic, whom I now believe was an angel, reassured me, his presence filling me with peace. I prayed earnestly, confessing my struggles and seeking repentance. Every time I mentioned the greatness of Jesus Christ, the angel smiled, his joy and love enveloping me. Meanwhile, the second paramedic growled, but the angel silenced him with a single look.
The angel asked if I wanted to “go home.” Though confused, I understood this as a spiritual call to return to the life I had been given and to change my ways. As the ambulance ascended through a dark, symbolic path, I felt my heart align with Heavenly Father’s will. The angel revealed his name as Mark, a connection that deepened my faith in the scriptures I had been studying.
After arriving at the hospital, I was diagnosed with cardiac vasospasm and pericarditis—serious conditions that could have been fatal. The doctors called my survival fortunate, but I knew it was a miracle. At that moment, I understood that Heavenly Father had intervened to guide me back to Him.
Since that day, my life has transformed. I have committed myself to living according to God’s commandments and have found peace and purpose in the gospel. I now know that Heavenly Father’s love is infinite, His patience unending, and His guidance constant.
To anyone struggling with feelings of despair or unworthiness, I testify that Heavenly Father never gives up on His children. His mercy and grace are always within reach and through repentance and faith, we can find our way home to Him.

Ethan scratched Jackson behind the ears. “Just a couple of days now, and my baby sister will be here,” he said to the big black dog. Ethan traced his finger across the map spread out on his desk. “Right now they’re in Colorado,” he said. “They will drive all day, and then they’ll be in Oklahoma, where the baby is.”
Ethan smiled and closed his eyes. He imagined helping Mom feed the baby and rock her to sleep, the way he helped with his little cousins. Having a sister was going to be great!
Ethan grabbed his baseball mitt. “Come on, Jackson,” he said. “Let’s go outside.”
Just then, Grandma came into his room. “Can I talk to you for a minute?” she asked.
“OK,” Ethan said, tossing a ball and catching it in his mitt. “Do you think Mom and Dad are past Colorado yet?”
“Well, that’s what I need to talk to you about,” Grandma said, sitting down on his bed. “Your dad just called because they are on their way home.”
“Already?” Ethan asked. “They must have driven really fast!”
“No, honey,” Grandma said. “They got a call saying the baby wouldn’t be placed for adoption after all, so they turned around.”
Ethan dropped his baseball. “My sister isn’t coming?” he asked.
“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” Grandma said. She held out her arms to him, and they sat together for a long time.
When his parents pulled into the driveway, Ethan was waiting on the front step.
“Hi, buddy,” Dad called to him.
“Hi.” Ethan tried to smile, but his mouth wouldn’t cooperate. He ran to give Mom a hug.
“Let’s go inside and talk about what happened,” Dad said.
Sitting on the couch between Mom and Dad, Ethan felt happier—but somehow empty inside too.
“We can keep trying to find a baby, right?” Ethan asked. “We’ll find me a brother or sister soon.”
“Maybe someday,” Mom said. “But not right away.”
“Why not?” Ethan asked, frowning.
“Trying to adopt a baby is hard,” Dad explained. “And it costs a lot of money.” He patted Ethan’s knee. “Your mom and I have prayed and talked about it, and we feel that for now we can be happy with what we have—each other and you.”
Ethan jumped off the couch. “You mean I’ll never have a brother or sister? I’m going to be alone forever?”
“Ethan, you’re not alone, even though I know sometimes it might feel that way,” Dad said. “You have us, and Jackson, and your grandparents and uncles and aunts and cousins.”
“And so many friends who love you too,” Mom said.
Ethan nodded. But still the emptiness inside him ached.
“Most important,” Dad said, “you can always have the Holy Ghost with you—just like you were promised after you were baptized.”
Ethan thought of all the people who were with him at his baptism. Then he looked across the room at the picture of his family: Mom, Dad, and himself. He imagined that Jesus was in the picture with them too. And that thought made him feel a little better.
“Then I won’t be alone,” Ethan said. “I’ll be OK.”
Mom and Dad gave Ethan a tight hug. Then Ethan said, “Hey, Dad, let’s play ball.” And he ran to his room for his baseball mitt.

Every evening after dinner is over and the dishes are washed and dried, Klees and I scrub our faces, brush our teeth, and put on our pajamas. Papa sits in the rocking chair, unbuttons the top button on his shirt, and rolls up his sleeves. Mama sits on the couch, takes off her shoes, and tucks her hair behind her ears. Then we are all ready for our special time.
“What shall it be?” Papa asks.
Sunday I lifted Papa’s golden trombone from its stand and carried it over to him. Klees followed with the mute for Papa to use so that the people in the apartment below wouldn’t be disturbed. “A concert by Papa!” we announced.
Monday Klees picked up Mama’s clarinet, and we watched her open the green-gold case and assemble the shiny black pieces. “A performance by Mama,” we declared.
Tuesday I took my wooden recorder out of its cloth bag while Klees unlatched the toy box and grasped the shiny tin drum. “It’s a program by Klees and Katrina!” Papa exclaimed.
Wednesday we all played together with Papa beating time as he rocked back and forth, back and forth in his rocking chair.
“Let’s sing now,” Papa said. “Do you know this song?” and he began to hum.
“Oh, yes!” We all joined in.
“Do you know this one?” We each took a turn humming, then singing hymns and lullabies, rounds and carols.
Thursday Papa and Mama set thick music books on the heavy metal stand and played duets. I closed my eyes and saw colors swirling in my head. I got up very quietly and fetched paper and crayons, and Klees and I drew pictures of how the music made us feel.
Friday Mama sang nursery rhymes. Klees and I made the eensy weensy spider climb up Papa’s “waterspout legs.” We pretended to be blackbirds and “snipped off” Mama’s nose. We all joined hands to “Ring-Around-the-Rosy,” and we all fell down.
Saturday Papa played dance tunes, and Klees and I hopped about the room. “Let’s all dance!” Papa said. He pushed the couch and the chairs against the wall and started a record.
“This is how you do it,” he explained. He showed me how to waltz, and Mama taught Klees. We danced through the room, out into the hallway, and back.
The music on the next record was livelier.
“A polka!”
Papa and Mama whirled round and round, faster and faster. Klees and I clapped our hands until the music stopped.
Tonight is Sunday again, and there is a special religious concert on the radio. Papa twists the knobs until the sound enters our room, loud and clear, from a faraway city. He sits in his rocking chair and rocks back and forth, back and forth. Mama lies on the couch, her head on a patchwork pillow. Klees curls up next to Mama, and I climb onto Papa’s lap. It is as if the music is being played just for us.
When our special time ends, Klees and I kiss Mama and Papa good night, say our prayers, then crawl into bed. The house is quiet, but there will be music again tomorrow. Music and love.

In 2006 I was taking an anthropology class at a Catholic college. Our teacher assigned us to conduct research about a particular religion and present it to the rest of the class. I chose to make my presentation about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints—after all, I had been a member for 21 years. I knew this would be a rare and marvelous opportunity to share what I believed with 40 colleagues and friends.
During the two months I had to prepare my presentation, I struggled to find a simple way to present the doctrines I hold dear in a way that my classmates would understand. I wasn’t sure what points I should make or how I should make them. When my presentation was a week away, I still didn’t know what to do. In desperation, I prayed and asked for the Lord’s help.
My answer came in the form of general conference, which was held that weekend. During the April 2006 conference, President James E. Faust (1920–2007), Second Counselor in the First Presidency, gave a talk titled “The Restoration of All Things.”1 I felt the Holy Ghost confirm that the truths President Faust shared—and the way he shared them—were a pattern I could follow in giving my presentation.
I downloaded a copy of the talk from the Internet following conference and used it as the basis for preparing a slideshow presentation, which I delivered the next week. I had been allotted 20 minutes, but because of all the questions my teacher and classmates posed, the presentation lasted 40 minutes—the entire duration of the class.
When I finished, our teacher pointed out that none of his students had ever made such a good presentation. He gave me a high grade and told me that the only reason I didn’t get a perfect score on my presentation was because I hadn’t shown impartiality to the theme.
I later shared with the teacher the Liahona web page, where he could find President Faust’s talk and others he might find helpful. I also gave him a copy of the Book of Mormon and asked him to read it, inviting him to talk with me afterward.
I was grateful to learn that the presentation had influenced some of the students as well. Throughout the rest of the year, I saw evidence of the difference it had made in their lives. One of them even received the missionaries in his home, which gave us a great opportunity to continue our conversation about the gospel of Jesus Christ.
I am grateful for the opportunity I had to share my beliefs with my classmates. But more important, I am grateful that I came to learn that the Lord answers our heartfelt prayers through the words of modern prophets and apostles.

I know that you have a great feeling if you live that law. As I say, I give the credit to my parents. I remember after we were married—my wife and I—that I was working my way through school and I was working at the post office eight hours a day and carrying a full course of law. We had lost a baby, and we had a large hospital bill. I decided to quit the post office and start the practice of law. I quit in September and failed to pay tithing in September because I had built up a retirement benefit with the government that was to be paid to me in November, with which I felt I could pay my tithing. But it didn’t come in November and it didn’t come in December. I had to report that year to my bishop that I had not paid a full tithe. But I did not feel good about it, so I kept a record and paid it in installments at 8 percent interest until I had paid the deficit in full. I had a good feeling after I got it paid. I knew the Lord had understood and accepted my performance.

Milena Montrasio
Milena Montrasio wanted God to tell her that another baptism was not necessary, that there was no reason to face the social and family consequences of changing churches. But that was not the answer she received.
Doctrines taught by the Latter-day Saint missionaries had answered questions that had always troubled her—questions like “Why did God demand such a painful sacrifice of his own son?” As for the Book of Mormon, “I never doubted it was the word of God,” she recalls. Her husband had not understood why she cried when she read it. “Because I am so happy,” she had explained.
Though Milena’s husband had been present for the missionary discussions, he showed no interest in religion. When Milena told him she planned to be baptized, he angrily said she would be disgracing the family by leaving the dominant church in their society. He threatened to leave her if she did it.
She had always stood by him whenever he needed her, and now he could stand by her, she replied. She would not be baptized if he opposed it, she said, but “I will live as if I were baptized, because the testimony I have received is too strong to deny.”
Her firmness moved him to listen again to what the missionaries had to teach. The Montrasios were baptized together in 1985. He is bishop of the Milan stake’s Monza Ward, and she serves in several positions, including ward Young Women president.