Gospel Story Finder

Unemployed people came to the center, and after watching a recorded news story about Victor, they often were motivated to successfully search for and obtain employment.
“They said, ‘We don’t have any excuse,’” recalled Sister Long.
On the last day of their mission, the Longs, having not yet met Victor in person, wanted to find and thank him for his help. They found him working in the temple. They wanted to do something to help this man who has helped so many others. After returning home, they began making plans to help Victor receive prosthetic legs.
The Longs found a company in the United States willing to donate prosthetics, but when Brother and Sister Penafiel arrived in Utah in June 2006, they discovered that because of a miscommunication, prosthetic feet had been donated but not legs. Because their visas would soon expire, Victor and Mercedes had until July 24 to raise the necessary money for the legs.
Media organizations in Utah did news reports on Victor, and a donation fund was set up. Donations both small and large began coming in. “It was something that was beyond our comprehension. God helped us understand in that instant His love and His power,” Victor said.
With the donations, enough money was raised for the prosthetic legs. Victor looked forward to the long-anticipated ability to again “walk, walk, walk.” On July 13, 2006, Victor took his first steps in more than 30 years as he began the physical therapy process.
However, the prosthetic legs caused excruciating pain. After being unable to adjust to them, he visited another specialist. The pain resulted from a nerve problem that would likely worsen if he continued using the prosthetics and that doctors recommended against trying to repair surgically.
Victor was sad that he would have to give up his new legs, but in typical Victor fashion, he turned the experience into something positive, expressing thanks that the doctors discovered the nerve problem.
Then Victor donated his prosthetic legs—and with them his dream to “walk, walk, walk”—to the company that provided them, so that they can be donated to people in Haiti.
“At least they’ll help someone,” said Victor. “Not just one person, but two. They’ll be a great help. That’s how I see it.” Instead, Victor received a motorized wheelchair.
“I don’t know why all of this happened,” he said. “But I know it wasn’t a surprise to the Lord. We don’t always comprehend how He works. But he manifests His powers in many ways. I know He knew about this nerve problem before I came, even though I didn’t. Yet, He brought me here. Now we have to wait to see why He brought this all to pass. He knows. For that I feel fine. Because I know He knows what he’s doing.

The restored gospel first came to Ecuador in 1965. On October 9 of that year, Elder Spencer W. Kimball of the Quorum of the Twelve stood on a hilltop in Quito and dedicated the land, praying that its people might “transform their lives and be organized to carry forth the great program” the Lord had established. He pleaded with the Lord to bless the Indians native to Ecuador “that they may be filled with the glorious truths of the gospel” for which “they have waited so long” (History of the Andes Mission, 9 October 1965).

One day while climbing on Timpanogos they were probing with their ice axes to make sure that they were over solid rock and broke loose a huge snow cornice for two or three hundred yards along the ridge. They were left standing with their toes over the edge of the abyss while a full-fledged avalanche thundered down the slope away from them.

On another occasion they were actually caught in an avalanche, but it was “just a little one—only up to our waists.”

A true story from Germany.
“Nobody understands me!” Gabriela shouted as she slammed her bedroom door. Today had been a hard day. Someone at school had made fun of her. And when Gabriela came home, she was grumpy and got in trouble with Mutti (Mom).
Gabriela flopped onto her bed and started to cry. Tears ran down her cheeks, and her chest felt tight with anger. She didn’t like feeling this way.
She remembered learning in Primary that she could pray to Heavenly Father whenever she needed help. She wanted to say a prayer to help her feel better, but she was too upset to focus. She closed her eyes and took some deep breaths. What could she do to calm down?
After a few seconds, a thought came to her mind.
Think of things you are grateful for.
She opened her eyes and looked around her room. There was a picture on the wall of Mutti and Vati (Dad). Gabriela loved her family, even when she was frustrated with them.
“I’m grateful for my parents,” she said.
Then she thought about her cousins Gwendolyn, Lydia, and Thomas. They always shared their toys with her and made her laugh. She loved playing with them.
“I’m grateful for my cousins,” Gabriela said.
Then she looked out her window.
The sun was setting, and the sky was filled with beautiful colors—orange, red, yellow, and pink.
“I’m grateful for sunsets,” Gabriela said.
And then she thought of more things. She was grateful for the lunch she ate at school today. She was grateful for her friends. She was grateful for the apartment she lived in.
It was fun thinking of things to be grateful for! Gabriela had never realized how many good things were in her life.
She knew that the Holy Ghost had given her the idea to think of her blessings. Her heart was peaceful now. She felt ready to pray.
“Dear Heavenly Father,” she said. “I’m sorry that I was angry at Mutti. Thank Thee for helping me feel calm and happy again. Thank Thee for sending the Holy Ghost to remind me of my blessings. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
She walked out of her room. Mutti and Vati were in the kitchen making dinner. She gave Mutti a hug.
“I’m sorry for getting mad at you,” Gabriela said.
“That’s OK,” Mutti said. “Thank you for apologizing.”
They sat around the dinner table and blessed the food. Then Gabriela had an idea!
“Let’s go around the table and each say something we’re grateful for,” she said.
Vati smiled. “That’s a good idea!”
“I’m grateful for soap,” Mutti said.
Vati thought for a second.
“Pizza,” he said. They all giggled.
Then it was Gabriela’s turn. She already knew what she wanted to say.
“I’m grateful for prayer.”
Illustrations by Simini Blocker

Fast forward 12 years from my graduation day. I was having a moment of discouragement. Life seemed too full. Motherhood had been more challenging than I had anticipated. I sat at my easel crying, wondering if I would ever really be able to become the great artist I had dreamed of being. I felt impressed to pull my old journal off the shelf, and I turned to my entry on April 30, 2006, the day after my graduation. I had totally forgotten my remarkable experience with President Nelson! Somehow the whirlwind of life had almost eroded it from my memory. There before me were words from the current prophet, “Absolutely!” The tears turned to ones of gratitude as I looked back at all I had been able to accomplish since that time, and I also looked forward with hope.

Early in their marriage the Scotts lost two children. A daughter died just before birth, and six weeks later their two-year-old boy died in heart surgery. Hard as it was, “it was a real testimony-strengthening time for us,” says Sister Scott. “We knew it was the will of the Lord. As I look back on it now, I wonder how we were so strong about it. But there are many blessings that come from these sadnesses.”

One hot summer day, some workers were doing repairs to the street outside President Smith’s home. As the work intensified and the sun grew hotter, the workers started using obscene and profane words. Soon one of the neighbors approached and scolded the workers for their offensive language, pointing out that George Albert Smith lived nearby. Unimpressed, the workers began to swear even more.
Meanwhile, President Smith was in his kitchen preparing a pitcher of lemonade. He brought it out on a tray with some glasses and said to the workers, “My friends, you look so hot and tired. Why don’t you come and sit under my trees here and have a cool drink?”
Humbled and grateful, the workers accepted his offer, and after their welcome break they finished their work respectfully and quietly.3

World leaders are recognizing the need to learn more about the Church as they become aware of the presence of a growing religion in their area or notice the good works the Church is doing through its humanitarian arm. Two leaders recently made separate visits to Salt Lake City to tour Temple Square and learn more about the Church.
Chile’s First Lady
Chile’s first lady, Luisa Durán de Lagos, visited Salt Lake City on September 21, 2004, to personally thank the Church for the many humanitarian efforts taking place in her country.
Mrs. Durán de Lagos met and talked with the First Presidency before touring the Humanitarian Center. Elder Jeffrey R. Holland of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles gave the tour, ending it with the presentation of a gift: 600 computers donated by Brigham Young University to be used by schoolchildren in Chile.
“I came here because I wanted to personally thank the Church for what it has given us,” she said. “We have received from the [Church] assistance with ‘Chile Solidario,’ a program designed to help Chile’s poorest families arise from poverty.”

The big husky leaped at Jack Norbon, who tumbled backward in the snow, struggling with the dog. They wrestled in the soft drifts, play-growling at each other.
Finally Jack shouted, “Enough, Nanook!”
The dog stopped, panting. His amber eyes glowed with affection for the boy, who scratched Nanook lovingly behind his ears.
Jack glanced at four other huskies tethered nearby. “A guy never had better friends than you,” he told them.
The dogs yelped and leaped when he spoke, but all the while they eyed a large pan of food he had brought.
Jack visited each animal, dishing out gobs of cornmeal and dried fish cooked together.
“You might not have won any ribbons at the Alaska State Fair last week,” the boy said fondly, “but you aren’t built for speed, just good old-fashioned hard work.”
The dogs were huge Mackenzie River huskies—broad of shoulder with deep chests and wide feet. Strong muscles rippled under their think fur, and Nanook, the smallest, weighed ninety pounds. Jack had purchased them from a trapper when they were pups.
When he had finished ladling each animal its share, Jack gave them a final pat and returned to the house. He was hungry himself, for he had worked hard all day helping the family to get ready to leave for town so Jack could attend a regular school. Until now, he had taken lessons by correspondence. “Lessons by mail are fine,” his mother had said, “but a thirteen-year-old boy needs friends.”
Jack admitted it would be a nice change. He did get lonely sometimes, even with the dogs. Town was twenty miles from the small mine that his father owned, and Jack rarely saw anybody his own age.
As Jack entered the living room, his father looked up from a book he was reading. “I’m proud of the way you helped today,” he said. Then he cleared his throat, hemmed a minute, and added, “I’m afraid you’re going to have to sell your dogs, Jack.”
The boy stared at his father, scarcely understanding. “Sell them? But why, Dad? I don’t understand.”
“We can’t have dogs in town, son. Out here where they earn their keep it’s different. But we just can’t afford to have them lying around in town.”
“But, Dad, they’re my best friends. I can’t sell them!” exclaimed Jack.
Dad’s voice was firm. “If the mine had paid better this year, we could have kept them. As it is …” Then in a reasoning voice he added, “Jack, they eat like horses. You know that.”
The boy groaned. He knew his dad was right. “If only they had won some prize money at the races last week,” he agonized.
“It would have helped,” agreed his father. He put his hand on Jack’s shoulder. “I know what they mean to you, and I’m really sorry.”
“It’s all right, Dad.” Jack sighed. “If the dogs can’t pay their way, I shouldn’t expect anybody else to do it. But I wonder where I can sell them.”
“Ron Snite at the Weasel Mine has offered $500 for them.”
Jack drew back. “Old Snite! Dad, he beats his dogs. I’ve seen him do it.”
“We’ll make him agree not to.”
“I don’t think he’d live up to the agreement. He thinks all dogs are brutes and that’s the way he treats them.” Jack was growing desperate. “Can I try to find another buyer first?”
His father nodded. “Of course. You have a week before we’ll be moving.”
When Jack sat down to eat supper, he found that his appetite had vanished. The thought of Snite getting his beautiful team made him feel sick. There just has to be another buyer somewhere! he thought.
The next few days were hectic for Jack. Helping with the packing and trying to interest people in the Mackenzies forced him to keep long hours. He traveled all over the territory, trying to find a place for his team, but the answers were pretty much the same, “Sorry, Jack, just haven’t got any place to keep those giants.”
For the first time, the boy was sorry the dogs weren’t racers. “Then you’d be smaller, and not so much of a problem,” he said to Nanook. “People don’t want to fuss with big dogs.” Even when Jack pointed out that Nanook was one of the best leaders in the country, the answer was always, “No, thanks.”
One day Snite himself paid Jack a visit. His little beady eyes glittered evilly. “Your dad promised me those dogs,” he growled. “I hear you’ve been trying to sell them elsewhere.”
“They’re mine till they’re paid for,” replied Jack evenly. “Until then I can sell them to anybody I choose.”
Snite grinned, revealing yellow, snaggly teeth. “I’ll get them,” he vowed. “Nobody but me can feed those monsters.”
Yeah, thought Jack glumly, the reason you can feed them is that you won’t feed them enough. And his heart ached when he thought of what could happen to them.
The day after Snite’s visit, Dad went to town to look after their new house, leaving Jack and his mother alone.
His plan was to return the following day, but that night a terrible storm raged across the land. The snow whipped into great drifts and the wind lashed and howled until daylight. The storm left telephone lines strewn through the trees, and the town road had practically disappeared.
“Dad will be lucky if he gets back in a week,” said Jack at breakfast.
“I suppose that makes you happy,” his mother replied with a knowing smile.
“I just hate to sell the dogs to Snite, Mom.”
“I know, son, but you can save the money for college. Years from now, the dogs will be helping you like the good friends they are.”
Jack admitted that that was true, but somehow the thought didn’t cheer him much. The money wouldn’t make up for the damage to the team if they were sold to Snite.
That evening Jack went to feed the dogs. Because darkness comes early in the Alaskan winter, he stumbled through the drifts to visit each animal. He had just reached behind Nanook’s ears for a goodnight scratch when he heard a scream from the house. It was his mother’s voice.
Floundering across the yard, the boy crashed through the door. His mother was lying on the floor, pale and in much pain.
“It’s my leg,” she gasped. “I was cleaning the shelves above the sink and slipped off the chair.”
The leg was bruised and swollen, and there was a peculiar bump halfway up the shin. “I think it’s broken,” she said weakly.
Jack knew he shouldn’t try to move his mother if her leg were broken, so he put a pillow under her head and covered her with a blanket. Meanwhile, his mind was racing frantically. What shall I do? The telephone lines are down, so I can’t call town for a doctor. And the mine vehicles could never get through the drifts.
Whenever his mother moved, she moaned, and Jack knew he was going to have to do something quickly. “I’ll go to town and bring back a doctor!” he declared.
“It’s dark and twenty miles to town,” protested his mother. “I’m afraid you couldn’t make it.”
“Nanook can find his way blindfolded,” Jack assured her. “And something has to be done now, Mom.”
Jack swiftly hitched up the dogs, then checked back in the house to make sure the stoves were stocked with fuel. He covered his mother with more blankets and answered her anxious eyes with a grin. “Don’t worry, Mom. Those dogs and I can go anywhere in the world.” Then he kissed her and dashed to his waiting team. “Mush!” he cried, and the dogs leaped at their harnesses. Though it was pitch black, the team swung out unerringly onto the drifted highway.
“Haw!” yelled Jack, and Nanook, who was in lead position, turned left toward town.
Through the inky darkness they sped, the sled bursting through three-foot drifts in billowing sprays. Over hills and down long valleys the dogs and boy swept. Sometimes Jack rode on the rear runners, but most of the time he ran behind with his hands on the handlebars. It was so dark, he couldn’t see the shoulders of the road, but Nanook held a true course.
An hour passed, but the team’s strength didn’t flag. If anything, their speed increased as they warmed to the job. The night was cold, but Jack was soaked with perspiration as they pushed forward at a mile-eating pace.
Racing dogs might be faster, he thought, but they’d have lost this race. This is a trail that only dogs with stamina can handle.
At one place on top of a huge drift the sled tipped over. Jack tumbled in an avalanche of snow, and the sled landed on top of him. He felt a sharp stab of pain, but quick testing proved he’d only pulled a muscle.
On through the night they lunged, and the boy and his team reached town in just over two hours. Jack ran to the nearest store and called his father at their new home.
“I’ll get Doc Nelson,” his dad answered after Jack explained the problem. “He has a motorized snow car that will go anywhere. You come on to the house.”
But by the time Jack reached their new house, his father had already gone. The boy unhitched the dogs, scrounged some food and water for them, and then bedded them down. “You’re winners,” he said proudly. Then he put his arms around Nanook’s neck and added, “I’m sure going to miss you, my friend.” The husky lavished warm licks on him.
Late that night when Jack’s father returned, he looked tired, but happy. “Mom’s going to be all right,” he said. “Thanks to you, she’s in the hospital resting.”
“No, Dad,” Jack shook his head. “It’s thanks to the dogs.”
Dad considered a moment, then he went to his desk and wrote a note. He gave it to Jack to read—“Mr. Snite, sorry, but we plan to keep the dogs. Ten thousand dollars couldn’t buy them now. John Norbon.”
“You were right, Jack,” said the boy’s father. “You could never sell such good friends.”

Along with my unclean language came other bad habits and bad crowds. And when I finally decided to clean up my language, I was engulfed in other sins I needed to clear up. But this time I had decided to quit for the right reasons. Because I wanted to repent. I wanted to be clean in God’s sight, and not just to act ladylike.
This was no short process. And it was hard—hard to regain control of my life and rebuild my testimony. Speech might seem like a small thing when there are so many other worse things we could be doing. My first offense seemed so innocent at the time. I realize now that the world tries to make sins—regardless of their size—look insignificant, but any sin offends the Spirit. And when the Spirit wasn’t with me, I wasn’t under God’s influence and I grew farther from Him.
Putting my decision into action brought the Spirit back into my life. I could again feel the Lord’s guiding influence, and He helped me with all the other problems in my life when I was sincerely trying.

Secondly, I speak of a young man who entered the mission field worthily but by his own choice returned home early due to same-sex attraction and some trauma he experienced in that regard. He was still worthy, but his faith was at crisis level, his emotional burden grew ever heavier, and his spiritual pain was more and more profound. He was by turns hurt, confused, angry, and desolate.

His mission president, his stake president, his bishop spent countless hours searching and weeping and blessing him as they held on to him, but much of his wound was so personal that he kept at least parts of it beyond their reach. The beloved father in this story poured his entire soul into helping this child, but his very demanding employment circumstance meant that often the long, dark nights of the soul were faced by just this boy and his mother. Day and night, first for weeks, then for months that turned into years, they sought healing together. Through periods of bitterness (mostly his but sometimes hers) and unending fear (mostly hers but sometimes his), she bore—there’s that beautiful, burdensome word again—she bore to her son her testimony of God’s power, of His Church, but especially of His love for this child. In the same breath she testified of her own uncompromised, undying love for him as well. To bring together those two absolutely crucial, essential pillars of her very existence—the gospel of Jesus Christ and her family—she poured out her soul in prayer endlessly. She fasted and wept, she wept and fasted, and then she listened and listened as this son repeatedly told her of how his heart was breaking. Thus she carried him—again—only this time it was not for nine months. This time she thought that laboring through the battered landscape of his despair would take forever.

But with the grace of God, her own tenacity, and the help of scores of Church leaders, friends, family members, and professionals, this importuning mother has seen her son come home to the promised land. Sadly we acknowledge that such a blessing does not, or at least has not yet, come to all parents who anguish over a wide variety of their children’s circumstances, but here there was hope. And, I must say, this son’s sexual orientation did not somehow miraculously change—no one assumed it would. But little by little, his heart changed.

He started back to church. He chose to partake of the sacrament willingly and worthily. He again obtained a temple recommend and accepted a call to serve as an early-morning seminary teacher, where he was wonderfully successful. And now, after five years, he has, at his own request and with the Church’s considerable assistance, reentered the mission field to complete his service to the Lord. I have wept over the courage, integrity, and determination of this young man and his family to work things out and to help him keep his faith. He knows he owes much to many, but he knows he owes the most to two messianic figures in his life, two who bore him and carried him, labored with him and delivered him—his Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ, and his determined, redemptive, absolutely saintly mother.

While in Carriacou, Elder Nathan Wilkinson saw some people living under other people’s homes in dirt dugouts. “We saw so many people turn down food because they didn’t think it was adequate. I learned that a positive attitude, counting your blessings, and being grateful for what you have is very helpful, especially in difficult times.”

6 Priscilla Gould. Priscilla died after having five children. After she died, Samuel married her cousin, who then raised Priscilla’s children.

Thomas woke up one sunny morning to the sounds of his big brothers, Jonathan and Matthew, talking quietly. He smiled as he realized it was Sunday. Thomas loved Sundays. He loved looking handsome in his Sunday clothes. He loved singing Primary songs. And he especially loved his Primary teacher, Sister Brandon. He couldn’t wait to go to church!
Then Thomas frowned. He remembered that church didn’t start until after lunch. Sunday mornings seemed to drag on forever. What could he do until it was time to get ready for church?
After breakfast, Mom came into Thomas’s room. “Thomas, hurry and put away your toys,” she said, smiling. “We’re going to do something new that I think you will like.”
Thomas quickly picked up his toys and went into the living room, where his brothers and sisters were waiting. “Today we’re going to do Sunday stations,” Mom announced.
Thomas had never heard of Sunday stations before. He hoped he would like them.
“One station will be at the table,” Mom explained. “Two will be on the couches, and one will be at the computer. You will have 10 minutes at each station.”
Now Thomas was really curious. Usually he wasn’t allowed to use the computer on Sundays. Mom gave a few more instructions and then let each child go to a different station.
Thomas headed straight for the computer, but his sister Katrina had beat him to it. So Thomas sat down at the table instead. There he saw the Faith in God and Duty to God booklets that belonged to his sisters and brothers. “What can I do here?” he asked Mom. “I’m not old enough to have a Faith in God book.”
Mom pointed to a sheet of paper and a box of markers. “You don’t have a Faith in God book yet, but you do have faith, and you can make a goal to help it get stronger,” she said.
“How?” Thomas asked.
“Well, just think of something you can do this week to follow Jesus,” Mom suggested. “Then write your goal on this paper so you can remember it.” Mom patted Thomas on the back and set the kitchen timer for 10 minutes.
Thomas thought hard about how he could follow Jesus. He watched Mom helping his brothers and sisters with their stations. “I know,” he thought. “Mom is like Jesus because she is nice.” He smiled as he carefully wrote the words I will be nice on his paper.
Mom came over and gave Thomas a hug. Then she showed him where his sister Miriam had glued her picture inside the cover of her booklet. Mom drew a square on his paper, and Thomas drew a picture of himself in his Sunday clothes and colored it with markers. He was admiring his picture when the timer went off.
The next station was the computer. Mom explained that Thomas could send an e-mail to someone he loved. He decided to send a message to his cousin Moroni, who had been sick. “Hi, Moroni,” he wrote. “How are you? I hope you are feeling better.”
Just then the timer went off. “Time sure goes by fast when I’m doing stations,” Thomas thought. Then he typed his name, clicked on “send,” and hurried to the couch.
At the next station, Thomas found a phone. “I know what this is for,” he thought. Mom helped him dial Grandpa’s phone number. Thomas was surprised to learn that Grandpa didn’t know about Sunday stations. Usually, Thomas was the one who had a question, and Grandpa had the answer. So Thomas explained about Sunday stations. He and Grandpa had a great time talking. When he heard the timer, Thomas said, “I love you, Grandpa!” and handed the phone to Mom.
The reading station on the couch was Thomas’s last station. Mom listened to Thomas read the story of Captain Moroni and the title of liberty. Then they had just enough time for Mom to read a letter in the Friend.
When the timer went off for the last time, everyone stood up and stretched. “Let’s pick up and make lunch now,” Mom said. Wow! It was lunchtime already. Then it would be time to get dressed for church.
As Thomas gathered the magazines and scripture storybooks from the couch, he had a happy feeling inside. “Mom,” he asked, “can we do Sunday stations again next week?” He could tell by Mom’s smile that they would.

A husband and wife who have consistently and happily followed the counsel of the Brethren in their lives were grieved by the difficulty they experienced in having children. They expended substantial funds working with competent medical professionals, and, after a time, they were blessed with a son. Tragically, however, after only about a year, the baby was the victim of an accident that was no one’s fault but that left him semicomatose, with significant brain damage. He has received the best of care, but doctors cannot predict how things will unfold going forward. The child this couple worked and prayed so hard to bring into the world has in a sense been taken away, and they don’t know if he will be returned to them. They struggle now to care for their baby’s critical needs while meeting their other responsibilities. In this supremely difficult moment, they have turned to the Lord. They rely on the “daily bread” they receive from Him. They are aided by compassionate friends and family and strengthened by priesthood blessings. They have drawn closer to one another, their union perhaps now deeper and more complete than might otherwise have been possible.

When the chemotherapy began, so did the inevitable side effects, including hair loss. I don’t know why it bothered me so much, but it did—probably more than it bothered Chris. At first, there was hair on his pillow. Then it was in the sink. Finally, Chris shaved off what hair was left. Later that afternoon with Chris napping on the couch, the two Bens and Jeremy knocked at the door. As they came in, they doffed their hats to show Chris their cleanly shaved heads. They laughed together and watched a video of them all shaving each other’s heads.
“Now I wasn’t the only one with a shaved head. I just had the smoothest,” explained Chris.
A few days later at school, the four boys were walking down the hallway when a girl said, “They look like they have cancer.” Alone, that remark could have been devastating. Together, they just laughed about it.

I remember reading the account of a man who, just after the passing of his wife, opened her dresser drawer and found there an item of clothing she had purchased when they visited the eastern part of the United States nine years earlier. She had not worn it but was saving it for a special occasion. Now, of course, that occasion would never come.
In relating the experience to a friend, the husband of the deceased wife said, “Don’t save something only for a special occasion. Every day in your life is a special occasion.”
That friend later said those words changed her life. They helped her cease putting off the things most important to her. Said she: “Now I spend more time with my family. I use crystal glasses every day. I’ll wear new clothes to go to the supermarket if I feel like it. The words ‘someday’ and ‘one day’ are fading from my vocabulary. Now I take the time to call my relatives and closest friends. I’ve called old friends to make peace over past quarrels. I tell my family members how much I love them. I try not to delay or postpone anything that could bring laughter and joy into our lives. And each morning, I say to myself that this could be a special day. Each day, each hour, each minute is special.”

When the two ladies first knocked on our door, I didn’t know what to think. They called themselves “sisters” and said they were missionaries for a church with a long name I couldn’t remember. I had never heard of that church and they didn’t look like missionaries to me. The missionaries I knew from other churches were older-looking men and women. They didn’t pay much attention to us because we were just children, even though I was almost ten years old and some people said I was a young man.
My mother invited the missionaries inside and they told us a story about a boy named Joseph who had a vision, just like the prophets in the Bible stories. When Joseph was eighteen, he was praying one night and an angel called Moroni visited him. The angel told him about some gold plates that were hidden in a mountainside. The angel told Joseph where to look for the plates and what to do with them. Imagine what it would be like if an angel came and told you about a secret hiding place for real gold plates! It sounded like a wonderful adventure. I was curious to know more about those gold plates.
The sisters showed us a book. They said it was from a translation of the plates that had ancient writing on them. God had given Joseph the power to translate the writing into a language we understood. All this happened in the United States, but the sisters said the book was for everyone, including everyone who lived in my country of Brazil. They left the book with us and told us to read it and pray about what we read. Mother kept it and asked them to come back another day.
Missionaries from other churches had visited our home before, so I didn’t think very much about the book or the sisters. Usually after some big discussions that I couldn’t understand, the missionaries would stop coming and mother would tell me that she didn’t believe what they taught her. I thought the same thing would happen with these two sisters, even though I thought they were nice.
But these sisters kept coming back. And each time they taught us, mother said she believed in what they said and wanted them to teach her more. I liked them more each time they came and I was as excited to see them as my little brother and sister were. The sisters taught lessons that I could understand and asked me questions that I could answer. They even wanted us to ask them questions if we didn’t understand. Then we would all play games together. The sisters said I was lindo with my straight brown hair and big brown eyes. I turned red because not very many people said I was handsome.
Soon we were going to church and doing things with the children in the Primary. My teacher was very friendly and even asked me to be one of the wise men in the festa de Natal, the Christmas play. My brother and sister were asked to sing in the choir. I read about the birth of Jesus in the Bible to memorize my part. The reis magos [three Magi] were important men and I was happy to play the part of one.
By this time, the sister missionaries asked us to be baptized. When I talked to mother about it, she said she prayed and knew what the sisters taught was true and she felt good about the Church. She knew the Book of Mormon was from God and she wanted me to know too. When I prayed about what the sisters taught, I felt good, but I wasn’t sure that I had a testimony of the Book of Mormon like they said I should have.

I remember one day going to my office and seeing outside the door of the faculty person next to me (a bishop) a young lady with a distraught look on her face. She waited and kept knocking on this door for some time, but my colleague was out. There was something about her appearance that was compelling to me, and so I said, “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to interrupt, but you look distraught. Is there anything that I can do?”
She said, “I’m waiting for Brother So-and-so. He’s my bishop, and he seems to be out.”
I said, “Is there anything I can do?” So she came into my office, we talked, and I found that this young lady was a cousin of mine, a woman of about 38. When she found that we were kin, the tragic story of her life began to unfold. I began to see the despair and the disappointment and the frustration and the hopelessness that she was experiencing at that point in her life—single, never married, distraught, worried about her future. Later, she undoubtedly received help from her bishop, but I as a kinsman tried to work for a period of months in a helping relationship with her, to talk with her, to sustain her, to counsel her as best I could. She finally decided that it was best that she go back with her family and help take care of her mother, who was an invalid. So she went home and was somehow able to put off her despair, invest herself intently again into the affairs of those things spiritual. Then came the time when I received a telephone call and later an announcement that she had met a young man whose wife had died and left him with five children. I was able to greet her in the temple when she was sealed to her companion and became the instant mother of five children. I have hope that at certain points my strength might have been a help to others. I pray that the strength you may have might be a help to those who are faltering in their race of life.

Elder James E. Talmage, who authored Jesus the Christ, stated:
“I was called and ordained one Sunday morning, … and that afternoon was placed as a sentinel at the door of the house in which the Saints had met for worship. As soon as I had been ordained, a feeling came to me such as I have never been able to fully describe. It seemed scarcely possible, that I, a little boy, could be so honored of God as to be called to the priesthood. I had read of the sons of Aaron and Levi who were chosen for the sacred labors of the Lesser Priesthood, but that I should be called to do part of the service that had been required of them was more than my little mind could grasp. I was both frightened and happy. Then, when I was placed on duty at the door, I forgot that I was but [a] … lad; I felt strong in the thought that I belonged to the Lord, and that he would assist me in whatever was required of me. I could not resist the conviction that other sentinels, stronger by far than I, stood by me though invisible to human eyes.
“The effect of my ordination to the deaconship entered into all the affairs of my boyish life. I am afraid that sometimes I forgot what I was, but I have ever been thankful that ofttimes I did remember, and the recollection always served to make me better. When at play on the school grounds, and perhaps tempted to take unfair advantage in the game, when in the midst of a dispute with a playmate, I would remember, and the thought would be as effective as though spoken aloud—‘I am a deacon; and it is not right that a deacon should act in this way.’ On examination days, when it seemed easy for me to copy some other boys’ work or to ‘crib’ from the book, I would remember again,—‘I am a deacon, and must be honest and true.’ When I saw other boys cheating in play or in school, I would say in my mind, ‘It would be more wicked for me to do that than it is for them because I am a deacon’” (Incidents from the Lives of Our Church Leaders: Course of Studyfor the Quorums of the Priesthood: Deacons, 1914, pp. 135–36).