Gospel Story Finder

I had to do a school project about how I can make the world a better and more beautiful place. I couldn’t come up with an idea, but then I felt the Spirit and thought of an idea. Sharing the gospel would make the world a better place. I drew a poster showing a family being taught by the missionaries. Jesus wants us to share the gospel with everyone before He comes again. When we share the gospel, we prepare the world for Jesus to come.

President Romney tells an interesting experience he had with regard to following the living prophet:
“One day when President Grant was living, I sat in my office across the street following a general conference. A man came over to see me, an elderly man. He was very upset about what had been said in this conference by some of the Brethren, including myself. I could tell from his speech that he came from a foreign land. After I had quieted him enough so he would listen, I said, ‘Why did you come to America?’
“‘I came here because a prophet of God told me to come.’
“‘Who was the prophet?’ I continued.
“‘Wilford Woodruff.’
“‘Do you believe Wilford Woodruff was a prophet of God?’
“‘Yes,’ said he.
“‘Do you believe that his successor, President Lorenzo Snow, was a prophet of God?’
“‘Yes, I do.’
“‘Do you believe that President Joseph F. Smith was a prophet of God?’
“‘Yes, sir.’
“Then came the ‘sixty-four dollar question.’ ‘Do you believe that Heber J. Grant is a prophet of God?’
“His answer: ‘I think he ought to keep his mouth shut about old age assistance.’” (Conference Report, April 6, 1953, p. 125.)

A young mother knelt beside her three-year-old and listened to his heartfelt bedtime prayer. As he gave thanks for his big brother, for snow, for clouds, and for pizza, she tried to remember the last time she had thanked the Lord for such things. She realized that, although she always thanked our Heavenly Father for health, family, and the gospel, she had forgotten to remember the plain, the ordinary, the simple blessings of her own life. When she began expressing daily gratitude for all these blessings, she saw the world with new eyes. She found that grief and hardship became easier to bear and that she was spiritually nourished (see Lisa Ray Turner, Ensign, July 1992, pages 51–52).

After I returned home from serving in the Guatemala Guatemala City Mission, I also traveled to Provo, Utah, to attend BYU. I was grateful for the kindness and support of so many people to help get me there. However, money was still going to be short.

Soon after I arrived in Provo, Thelma and I reviewed our financial situation. We both concluded that even with my working part-time, we did not have enough money to pay my rent and hers for the entire school year. Thelma never doubted that we would make it through that trial though. She trusted that the Lord would provide a way. Less than a week later, Thelma received a letter from BYU’s Spanish department. As she opened it, she turned to me and exclaimed, “This! This is how we are going to pay your rent!” The letter informed her that she had been accepted as a teacher’s assistant, which would increase her income.

During the era of the Great Depression, BYU, like many areas of the United States, was impacted by this part of history. In a BYU Magazine article several years ago, the following was published about this time:
The university wrestled with its own financial challenges—including a 22.5 percent pay cut for faculty and the recurrent threat of closure. Yet, partly because most Church junior colleges had closed by 1933, BYU enrollments increased 50 percent during the 1930s. By using federal grant money to fund hundreds of campus jobs, and by reaching out in other ways, faculty and administrators did what they could to help students who struggled. [“Stories of the Century,” comp. Mary Lynn Bahr, BYU Magazine, Winter 1999–2000, 24]
The BYU Magazine article also quoted Wilford Lee’s memories of his early experiences when he registered at BYU in 1931:
The school was struggling. . . . They were still accepting gallon jugs of blackstrap molasses from the Dixie [Southern Utah] students as part payment on the student’s tuition. . . .
I will always remember the Y as the poor man’s school; and since I was one of the poorest of the poor, I will always remember those days as a real struggle for existence. [Wilford Lee to James R. Clark, 23 January 1974, BYU Centennial History Faculty Survey Papers, L. Tom Perry Special Collections, Harold B. Lee Library, BYU; quoted in Ernest L. Wilkinson, ed., Brigham Young University: The First One Hundred Years, 4 vols. (Provo: BYU Press, 1975–76), 2:258]
Now I am guessing none of you paid for your tuition this year with molasses, but my hope is that this story gives you a glimpse of the impressive history of this university and the sacrifices made by students, faculty, and administration to keep it thriving.

Representative of these many noble examples is this young man from Brazil:
Fernando Requino was attending a sacrament meeting in his small branch when he heard the mission president emphasize President Kimball’s declaration that every young man should prepare himself for missionary service. Until that time he hadn’t thought it possible or necessary to even consider serving a mission. He had begun an apprenticeship; he supported himself and earned only enough money to pay for his schooling. His parents were not members of the Church nor were they sympathetic to his affiliation with the Church. Still, the words of the prophet pulled at his heart and mind.
One morning he met privately with his father and told him of his love and respect for him. Drawing upon all the courage he could muster, Fernando looked straight into his father’s eyes and with a soft, humble voice he said, “Father, I want your permission to go on a mission for the Lord, to serve as a missionary in my church.”
His father objected strongly. He reminded Fernando that he had no financial resources with which to pay for such an undertaking. With tears coursing down his cheeks, this son faced his father and answered that he was ready to sell the plot of land that was his inheritance and use the money obtained to finance his mission.
Fernando told his father how a prophet of God had asked every young man to prepare and to go on a mission for the Lord. He told how he himself had fasted and prayed for three days and how the Lord had shown him what to do to fulfill his priesthood responsibility. The father’s heart was softened, and he put his arms about Fernando and together they wept. “If you want to go so much that you are willing to sacrifice your entire inheritance,” said his father, “Then you will have my permission to go. You will not have to sell your property. I will provide the financial support for your mission.”

My friend Annika had been hanging out with me and my other Latter-day Saint friends for a few years. Because she spent so much time with us, she learned many things about our standards and what we believe in.
One night I was texting Annika about the gospel and decided it was the perfect opportunity to share my testimony with her. I also felt like I should invite her to come to church. I was a little nervous that she would say no, but I knew that I was doing the right thing and that it would be OK no matter what. I texted her my testimony and asked her to come to church, and she said yes!
The Sunday that Annika came to church, we were studying about the Godhead. She already knew most of the other youth in the class, so we all worked together to help her learn. If she didn’t understand something, we tried to explain it to her. This led to great discussions where most everyone was commenting. Because so many people were sharing ideas, Annika felt comfortable asking questions and got to hear pieces of her friends’ testimonies.
During the lesson, Annika was overwhelmed with joy and peace because she felt the Holy Ghost. She learned that Heavenly Father, Jesus Christ, and the Holy Ghost are three separate beings, and she learned a little bit about the plan of salvation. She also learned that Heavenly Father loves us so much that He sent His Son to earth to die for us, and she learned how much Christ loves us, because He atoned for us.
At the end of the lesson, my Sunday School teacher invited us to go home and look up scriptures that could help us learn more about the Godhead. I completed this assignment. Later, during a discussion with Annika and the missionaries, I talked about the scriptures I found.
It was a wonderful experience to watch Annika learn about Heavenly Father, Jesus Christ, and the Holy Ghost. It made me realize how many people don’t know about the Godhead. Just like Annika and I did, we can all grow closer to Heavenly Father, Jesus Christ, and the Holy Ghost when we learn more about Them.

Toward the end of World War II, my father was drafted into the German army and sent to the western front, leaving my mother alone to care for our family. Though I was only three years old, I can still remember this time of fear and hunger. We lived in Czechoslovakia, and with every passing day, the war came nearer and the danger grew greater.
Finally, during the cold winter of 1944, my mother decided to flee to Germany, where her parents were living. She bundled us up and somehow managed to get us on one of the last refugee trains heading west. Traveling during that time was dangerous. Everywhere we went, the sound of explosions, the stressed faces, and ever-present hunger reminded us that we were in a war zone.
Along the way the train stopped occasionally to get supplies. One night during one of these stops, my mother hurried out of the train to search for some food for her four children. When she returned, to her great horror, the train and her children were gone!
She was weighed down with worry; desperate prayers filled her heart. She frantically searched the large and dark train station, urgently crisscrossing the numerous tracks while hoping against hope that the train had not already departed.
Perhaps I will never know all that went through my mother’s heart and mind on that black night as she searched through a grim railroad station for her lost children. That she was terrified, I have no doubt. I am certain it crossed her mind that if she did not find this train, she might never see her children again. I know with certainty: her faith overcame her fear, and her hope overcame her despair. She was not a woman who would sit and bemoan tragedy. She moved. She put her faith and hope into action.
And so she ran from track to track and from train to train until she finally found our train. It had been moved to a remote area of the station. There, at last, she found her children again.
I have often thought about that night and what my mother must have endured. If I could go back in time and sit by her side, I would ask her how she managed to go on in the face of her fears. I would ask about faith and hope and how she overcame despair.
While that is impossible, perhaps today I could sit by your side and by the side of any who might feel discouraged, worried, or lonely. Today I would like to speak with you about the infinite power of hope.

André
After living in Brazil for some time, our stake president came to our house and called me to serve as bishop. I somehow knew I was going to be called. For a couple of nights before my call, I couldn’t sleep. I was thinking and studying.
Giselle
I wondered what was going on. I saw him change before his call.
André
When I started my calling, our ward had 80 active members. When I was released, many more attended church regularly, and 12 missionaries went into the field from our ward. It was great!

Hi! My name is Juan Bautista, and I’m from Argentina. I shine my light by sharing the gospel.
My best friend Facundo and I have known each other since we were five. We both love football! I invited him to a lot of Church activities.
Once when Facundo was having dinner with us, he asked, “Why does your family always pray?” I said it’s because Heavenly Father blesses us, and this is how we thank Him. He was amazed!
Facundo came to a family home evening when my brother Benjamin was getting ready for baptism. Facundo felt the Spirit, and he asked if he could get baptized too! My father then talked to Facundo’s parents.
The missionaries taught Facundo’s family. Then Facundo and his sister Augustine both got baptized! His parents come to church, but they haven’t been baptized yet.
Facundo asked my mom if he would ever know as much as I do about God. She smiled and said that if he studies his scriptures and prays, he could learn even more!

I went outside and saw some new neighbors moving in. One of the kids was my age. Her name was Hannah. I remembered there was a Primary activity that very day, so I asked her if she wanted to go. She asked, “What time?” I said, “four o’clock at the church.” She asked her mom and then said OK. I knew at that moment that Jesus and Heavenly Father were happy that I was being kind, because I felt warm inside. Now Hannah and I are best friends.

These ideas contained in the gospel of Jesus Christ are truly life changing. Years ago, I taught an LDS doctrine and philosophy course during the summer session at the institute of religion adjacent to the University of Utah. As I became acquainted with the class members on the first day, one of the students introduced herself as a nonmember. She was a very bright, attractive third-year student majoring in history and political science.

She asked a lot of questions and participated freely in class discussion; her presence in the class helped to stimulate all of us.

Generally, things seemed to be going along well in the class. We had discussed our Latter-day Saint ideas relating to the nature of the Godhead, man's relationship to God, revelation from God to man, and so on.

Then, three weeks before the summer session was to end, she stopped coming.

I wondered and worried about what I might have unintentionally said that could have offended her in any way.We had no further contact until September, when students began registering for the fall quarter. She called my office and arranged to come and visit for a few minutes.

When she arrived, her conversation went something like this:

Last summer, I registered for your course so I could find out more about what you Mormons believe. I had met a medical student who was a returned missionary. We had dated a few times, and I was interested in him. I decided I wanted to find out more about his beliefs in a setting where he was not present and where I would feel free to ask any questions I had on my mind.

As it turns out, all that is behind us. We are not going together anymore.

She glanced down at her handkerchief that she had wound around her fingers and continued, "I suppose you are wondering why I stopped coming to your class last summer."

I nodded, and she continued:

Well, on the first day that I missed the class, as I was walking across campus toward the institute building, the thought crossed my mind, 'What if all this is true?' That thought -- as she said it -- spooked me so badly that I decided not to go back to class again. I would just drop the course and get away from it. I returned to my own church. I joined the choir. I even joined the civic action program sponsored by the church. I was there every Sunday and in between. I immersed myself in all the activities, but in spite of all my efforts, the ideas would not let me go.

Is there something more that I could study about the Church?

She enrolled in a Book of Mormon course, met with the missionaries, and became a member of the Church--all because "the ideas would not let her go." She later married and moved to the Northwest. I don't know whether she has continued to be active in the Church or not, but I think one thing is sure: she will never be the same again. Once the powerful ideas of the gospel stretch our minds and spirits, and after knowing and believing even some of them, we are never again the same.

Bronwyn sighed deeply as she gazed out the window of the small thatched cottage. She had been idly watching Mrs. McKay across the street talking again to the two tall men. Mrs. McKay’s husband had died ten years ago, a year before Bronwyn was born, and the woman had to work hard to support herself and her five children. She left early in the morning and didn’t return until long after dark. Then the lights burned late into the night as she washed and sewed and cooked for her family. She seldom visited, but went her way unsmiling, wrapped up in her own problems. She certainly looked happy now, however. Suddenly Bronwyn realized that that was what was unusual about her neighbor—Mrs. McKay was smiling!
Bronwyn turned from the window, her thoughts again on Mam. Mam didn’t smile much anymore either—not since Dad had died two years ago. How different it had been then, with laughter, singing, and hugging.
Dad had worked long hours in the coal mine. He would leave early in the morning, while it was still dark, and wouldn’t return until long after the sun had gone down in the evening. In the Welsh mining towns of the 1840s, a man could go for months without seeing the sun, except on the Sabbath.
Oh, the sunshine Dad brought into their home when he was there!
Mam would begin supper, and Bronwyn would hop around like an excited little bird, knowing that soon her father would be home. Mam would work quietly at the fire, heating the delicious stew she made so well, while oatcakes were delicately browning to the side of the bubbling pot. Mam would be humming, and Bronwyn would set the table, fill the mugs with frothy milk, and cut thick slices of rich brown bread.
Finally Bronwyn would hear her father’s deep, laughing voice shouting farewells to his work companions, and the door would fly open. “Mair!” he would call, and he would lift his wife from the floor in a fierce embrace.
Bronwyn always waited in the far corner, for she knew her father would gently set her mother down, open his arms wide, and shout, “Bronny! Where’s my Bronny?”
And Bronwyn would race across the room and leap into his outstretched arms.
After supper Bronwyn and her mother would wash the dishes, and the rest of the evening would be filled with Dad’s booming voice as he danced Bronwyn and her mother around the room. Later, before Bronwyn fell asleep, she would hear her parents’ quiet voices as they sat at the kitchen table.
Then one evening there was a knock at the door just as Mam was starting supper. When she answered the door, she saw Mr. Walters, the mining foreman, standing on the stoop. Mam’s face turned white as she stared at the little man, and Bronwyn felt a tightening in the pit of her stomach. She never took her eyes from Mam, and when Mr. Walters removed his hat and said, “I’m sorry, Mair, there was a cave-in … ,” Bronwyn saw her mother crumple speechlessly to the floor.
The next few days after that were a blur: neighbors coming and going, Mam lying on her bed as she never did during the day, food being brought in, and women taking Bronwyn in their arms and crying.
Bronwyn wasn’t allowed to go to the funeral, and when her mother came to pick her up at the neighbor’s house, Mam’s eyes were dull and her face had a pained look that never quite left it. In the two years since the funeral, Bronwyn rarely saw her mother smile.
“Bronwyn?” Mam’s voice brought Bronwyn’s thoughts back to the present. “Are you ready? We’re going to the chapel on Altwyn Street again.”
Bronwyn’s heart sank, but without comment she quickly tied her bonnet. How many different churches have we gone to this year? she wondered. She knew what her mother was looking for but so far had been unable to find. Bronwyn had heard a neighbor speak of it once to her mother: “Mair, it’s been nearly a year since your Iorwerth died. You’ve got to start living your life again. You should remarry, give Bronwyn a new father.”
Mam had sat serenely in the rocking chair by the fire. “I don’t need another husband, Mrs. Rees. And Bronwyn doesn’t need a new father. I have no doubt that we will be together again with Iorwerth in the next life.”
Mrs. Rees looked shocked. When she regained her voice, she spoke with terrible finality. “Mair Jones, wherever did you get such an idea? Didn’t your wedding vows say ‘till death do you part’?”
“Mam,” Bronwyn had asked hesitantly after Mrs. Rees had left, “is what she said true? Will we never see Dad again?”
Mam held Bronwyn so tightly that it hurt, yet Bronwyn felt a flood of relief when her mother whispered fiercely, “Don’t you ever believe that, Bronwyn. Ever! God would not allow so much happiness in a family, then snatch it away from us forever.”
And that was when they had started going to different churches. After meeting with a new congregation for a few weeks, Mair would find an opportunity to speak to the minister alone while Bronwyn waited outside. Sometimes her mother would be in there for a long time. Sometimes she would stride out of the church after only a few moments. But the outcome was always the same. Mair would come out, take Bronwyn firmly by the hand, and resolutely march home, repeating over and over, “They’re wrong. I know they’re wrong. We belong together.”
The Altwyn Street church was on the other side of Pontygwyn. As they trudged down the dusty road, their long, heavy skirts rustling against their shoes, Bronwyn asked, “Are you going to speak to Reverend Hugh today?”
Mair’s grasp tightened on Bronwyn’s hand. “I hope to catch him after the service.”
Mair wasn’t with the minister long. The determined look on her mother’s face as she emerged from the minister’s office answered Bronwyn’s unspoken question. And she wondered, Can all the ministers be wrong? Is Mrs. Rees right? Will we never be with Dad again?
Later that week, while her mother washed the clothes she had started taking in after Dad died, Bronwyn entertained herself by swinging back and forth on the front gate. She was so involved in counting how many times she could slam the gate without falling off that she didn’t see the two men turn the corner until she had swung against one of them and had fallen into his arms.
“Mae’n ddrwg gen i (I’m very sorry),” she gasped. Only when she got over her embarrassment did she recognize them as the strangers she had seen talking to Mrs. McKay.
“You needn’t be sorry,” the one with blond hair said, laughing. “It would be fun to swing on a gate again.” Ruffling Bronwyn’s long dark hair, he and his friend hurried on their way.
He talks differently than we do, Bronwyn thought as she watched them cross the street. He used the right words, but they sounded funny. She watched them knock on Mrs. McKay’s door and noticed her neighbor’s bright smile as they entered the house.
“Are we going to a different church today?” Bronwyn asked Mam the following Sunday.
“No,” her mother answered. “I thought we would take a lunch and go picnic by the river.”
Unable to believe her good fortune, Bronwyn hurried to help Mam pack some cheese and bread and boiled eggs into a small hamper. Soon they were striding down the road. It was a beautiful spring day, and Bronwyn was alive with enthusiasm. She would run ahead, dash back to hurry her mother along, then race off to the side to pick some wildflowers. And each time Bronwyn looked up at her mother and saw the relaxed flush on Mam’s cheeks, she wanted even more to dance with joy.
“It’s a good day, isn’t it, Mam?”
Mother smiled suddenly and answered, “Yes, Bronny, it is. I don’t know why, but I feel like it’s a very good day.”
It was then that they heard the singing. It seemed to come out of nowhere, but as they walked closer to the river, they saw a small cottage just ahead of them, and the music was coming from it. Curious, they approached and read the neatly printed sign to the right of the door: THE CHURCH OF JESUS CHRIST OF LATTER-DAY SAINTS.
“What does that mean, Mam?” Bronwyn whispered.
Her mother shook her head slowly, and they both peered in through the open door. Perhaps a dozen people were now standing about, chatting quietly.
“Is this a church, Mam?”
“That’s what the sign says,” Mair answered, looking puzzled.
“It’s different from any other church I’ve ever seen,” Bronwyn said as she looked at the small cottage.
“Let’s go on,” Mair urged, taking Bronwyn’s hand. “Some of the people are beginning to leave.”
But Bronwyn had seen the two tall strangers inside, and she pulled back excitedly. The young men were coming toward them now, and suddenly—unable to explain why—Bronwyn very much wanted them to talk to her mother, to make her mother smile the way they did Mrs. McKay. “Wait, Mam,” she said urgently, “they want to talk to us.”
“Mair! Bronwyn!” To their astonishment, Mrs. McKay rushed over to them just ahead of the two young men.
Bronwyn suddenly felt shy, and her face reddened as the tall blond man knelt beside her and smiled. “Isn’t this the little gate-swinger?”
Bronwyn glanced up at her mother, who stood looking bewildered. “You know Bronwyn?” Mam asked.
“Mair,” Mrs. McKay was saying, “how strange that you would appear at the door like this! I have been telling the elders that I had a neighbor who very much needed to hear their message.”
“Elders?” Mam repeated.
The blond man turned to her. “I’m Elder Butler. My companion and I are missionaries for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. We have come all the way from America to deliver the message of Christ’s restored church.”
“They’ve been teaching me, Mair,” continued Mrs. McKay. “Let them talk to you too.”
“Mam, they’re nice,” Bronwyn added. “They make Mrs. McKay smile. Maybe they can make you smile too.”
Bronwyn took her mother’s hand, and they entered the small building with Mrs. McKay and the two young men. But Bronwyn’s heart sank as her mother said, “I have been to many churches, and none of them have been able to answer an important question to my satisfaction. Before we go any further, I want to ask you just one thing: Can Bronwyn and I ever be with my deceased husband again?”
Tears of joy streamed down Mrs. McKay’s face as Elder Butler answered kindly, “My dear Mrs. Jones, yes, you can. You and your daughter can be reunited with your husband as a family forever. Won’t you sit down and let us tell you about it?”
The look of peace that spread over Mam’s face sent shivers of happiness and excitement down Bronwyn’s back. And as she and her mother sat down to listen, she understood why this day was indeed a very good day.

COLIN: I still had my fair share of tough experiences, but I also had some good experiences. It was like half and half. I discovered that a lot of people are going through tough times, and that the gospel can remind them to look at the good side of life. One lady we taught was discouraged, and we talked to her about trying to be happy, about the real meaning of life and the plan of salvation. Later on, just as I left the mission field, she was baptized. I felt really good inside because I felt the Spirit, and I know she did too.

This type of ultimate concern can be seen in the example of
the young bishop who, against pressures and problems and at considerable inconvenience, traveled to another city to visit a bereaved widow on the eve of her husband’s funeral. The couple had long since moved from the bishop’s area, but he had made the effort to be with his good, wonderful old friends at this tender time. He found the elderly lady standing alone beside the body of her beloved of more than half a century. As he comforted her, she said through her tears, “Oh bishop, I knew you would come.” [Hanks, Gift of Self, 61; emphasis in original]

Let me share with you a time of waiting upon the Lord in our family. We asked our teenage children to be home by 9:30 on a Saturday night. There would be an envelope waiting. One of the children read aloud, over the signature of the First Presidency, a mission call for our family. Suddenly everything changed—the future of the football team, the dance company, violin and piano lessons, lawn jobs, friends, and dreams. There were tears.

We went from room to room that night wiping wet cheeks and rubbing backs. In our seventeen-year-old son’s room we found him ramrod straight on the edge of his bed looking across to his bulletin board, where there were pictures of his football team, his brother on a mission, his family, the prophet, and Jesus Christ.

By morning all eyes were dry, and sitting on the second row in sacrament meeting, we sang, “I’ll go where [and when and how and why] you want me to go, dear Lord.” 27 We waited to find out where that would be. We waited as we put our lives in order, shifted vision, adjusted expectations, and squared our shoulders. We watched through each new step, through the living of it, and through what was hard and what was wonderful, until years later each child, in his or her own way, said, “Everything that is good in our lives is because we served.”

“It will be all right,” she soothed. She continued her rhythmic weaving for a few moments, then stopped. “How long has it been since I told you about the time I saw the Savior?”
“Many months.”
“Then listen again.” After a pause, she quietly began her story. “When I was a small child, word reached us that a great man was coming to preach in our city. Soon a crowd of people gathered right below the temple.
“My parents thought that I was too young to be in such crowds, so they left me home with my brother, Jesse.”
Johanan nodded in understanding. His parents left him home with his little sisters on market day.
“Jesse wanted to go,” Grandmother continued, “so he swore me to secrecy and we walked toward the crowds. We wriggled our way through the people until we could see Him. We stood still, just staring at Him.”
“What was He like?” Johanan asked earnestly.
“He was like other men—He had two eyes and one nose—yet He was very different. I knew when I saw Him that He loved me and everyone there. I felt something special, a kind of reverence.”
Johanan sighed, “I wish I could have seen Him.”
Grandmother nodded. “One by one He took the children from the multitude and blessed them. Jesse and I walked forward. Soon His arms were around me, and He talked to me. I don’t remember what He said. I remember that I knew that He was the Savior.”
They sat quietly thinking for several minutes before Grandmother looked down at her weaving and picked up the shuttle again. “Don’t worry, my son. He told us what to do.”
Johanan, too, knew the prophecies. When the signs were right, they would leave their home and flee Jerusalem. He looked at the bags and goatskins stacked in the corner. His family was ready to leave whenever the time came.
That afternoon he was herding the goats into the corral when his father walked swiftly up the path, calling to him. “Come, Johanan! Hurry!”
Johanan ran toward his father.
Father gathered the family together. “It is time. I don’t understand why, but Gallus has removed his men from the walls. If we go quietly, I think that he will let us leave. You all know what to do,” Father said. “Now hurry.”
Johanan ran to all their Christian neighbors to make sure that they knew that it was time to leave.
People laden with bags and baskets began streaming out of their houses.
“Where are you going?” one man called out. “You’re not leaving? You cannot. The soldiers will kill you. It’s safer to stay here behind the walls.”
His father stopped and called to him, “Come with us. It’s the only safe thing to do!”
The neighbor waved his hand in disgust. “You Christians—you’re all crazy!”
“Please come!” Father pleaded again, but the man just turned his back.
Johanan remembered how hard his father had worked the past few months to warn everyone that the time to flee was close at hand. Few had listened to him.
“We can do no more,” Father now said sadly. He gathered the family together and joined the rest of the Saints as they poured out through the gates of the city.
They walked as rapidly as they could. Grandmother was having trouble keeping up, so they slowed their pace. It was growing dark by the time they climbed a small rise above Jerusalem. Stopping to rest, they turned to look at their city one last time. Johanan had thought he’d feel sadness to leave his home. Instead, he felt a great joy because his family was safe and all together.
As they watched, the armies of Gallus closed ranks and Jerusalem was encircled once again.
Silently the family turned and began to walk. Johanan stayed close to his grandmother in case she needed him. His heart felt very full. He felt his testimony of Jesus Christ growing. His family had been saved because they had listened to and believed His message.
Grandmother had seen and touched Him. Johanan knew, without seeing, that Jesus was the Christ. He knew because the Holy Ghost whispered it to him.

Sarah listened as Mom talked on the phone. She was telling Dad how Sister Evans’ car had a flat tire, so Mom had given her, her baby, and her groceries a ride home. Sarah heard Mom say, “I did my good deed for the day.”
Sarah was puzzled. She wandered into the family room where her big brother, Christopher, was busy folding the laundry. “What’s a good deed?” she asked.
“A good deed is something helpful that you do for someone,” Christopher explained. “For example, if you helped me put away these clothes, you would be doing a good deed.”
“OK, I’ll help,” Sarah said. She scooped up a stack of towels and hurried to the bathroom to put them away. Before long, the job was done.
“Thank you, Sarah,” Christopher said.
Sarah smiled. “You’re welcome,” she said. “I guess I did my good deed for the day.” She went to tell Mom what she had done. On the way, she saw her baby brother, Adam. He was standing in front of Dad’s big easy chair, looking very unhappy. His ball was on the chair, just out of his reach.
“Oh, Adam,” Sarah exclaimed, “I’ll help you!” She ran to the chair, grabbed the ball, and handed it to Adam. He smiled, threw the ball, and toddled off after it.
“Now I’ve done two good deeds,” Sarah said to herself as she continued to search for Mom. She found her in the kitchen, fixing dinner. “May I set the table?” Sarah asked.
“Of course you may,” Mom answered. “I’m always happy to have you as my helper.”
“I’m doing good deeds today,” Sarah announced as she set the table. “I helped Christopher, then I helped Adam, and now I’m helping you.” She paused, then asked, “What’s a good deed that I can do for Dad?”
“When he gets home from work, you can give him a hug and tell him that you love him,” Mom suggested.
Sarah laughed. “I always do that,” she said. “That’s not a good deed.”
“It is a good deed,” Mom said. “Your dad looks forward to your hug and ‘I love you’ all day long.”
Just then they heard Dad opening the garage door. “Here I go!” Sarah said. She ran to Dad and jumped into his arms. “I love you, Dad!” she declared, giving him a great big hug.
“And I love you, Sarah,” he said, carrying her into the kitchen. “Tell me what you did today.”
Sarah beamed. “I did lots of good deeds.”
“Good for you!” Dad set Sarah down and gave Mom a kiss. “I called Sister Evans and told her that I would change her tire right after dinner.”
“That will be your good deed for the day, Dad!” Sarah declared. “It’s a good thing Sister Evans had a flat tire today or we wouldn’t have been able to do so many good deeds!”

One of the biggest blessings during my time of service has been learning the importance of acting on promptings when they are received. When the Spirit tells me to do something, I try to do it, no matter how small it may seem. For instance, I felt prompted to pray for rain while teaching a family for the first time. The little ranchero where I am serving has been in drought for several years and rarely sees rain, but the Spirit prompted me to ask for rain. That night, it rained. This made such a strong impression that the family asked us to return to continue to teach the gospel.

When I was 17, my oldest brother, John, passed away. He was only 27 and left behind a wife and young son. I could not have endured through this tragedy without the scriptures to lead and guide my life.
If you have ever had anyone close to you pass away, then you know the pain that strikes in every part of your being. It hurts for a long time. Even though we learn to be happy again and move on, no matter how much time passes, there’s still a pain.
When my brother passed away, I learned that it was OK to let myself hurt. It was OK to be sad. I didn’t need to be so strong all of the time. Sometimes there are challenges where we have to rely on others. And I learned I had to rely on the Lord.
About nine months before my brother passed away, I had prayed to my Heavenly Father to find a scripture I could use as a theme in my life that year. I was reading my scriptures and came across Proverbs 3:5: “Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding.”
This scripture struck me with such force that I knew this was supposed to be my theme scripture for that year. For the next nine months, I tried to “trust in the Lord.” In every experience I went through, those words would echo in my mind.
About a week after John’s death, the words in Proverbs echoed in my mind again, and I realized why the Lord wanted me to practice trusting in Him. When my brother passed away, I could have asked my Heavenly Father, “Why? Why did this have to happen to us?” But that question never crossed my mind, because for nine months the Lord had been preparing me to trust in Him. Instead, I was ready to bring comfort to other family members around me who needed it. I felt the peace that comes from the knowledge that family is eternal, and I knew that I hadn’t seen John for the last time. Although at times I feel that pain that comes from losing someone you love, I know that my family can be together again after this life. This scripture in Proverbs brought me hope, peace, and guidance in a time of great need.