Gospel Story Finder

Life was good for 15-year-old Sarah Jane Marler—about as good as it could get in Port Gibson, Mississippi, in 1850. As the oldest daughter of a wealthy land owner, Sarah Jane enjoyed many of the comforts of the Old South: a beautiful and spacious home, many servants, and a bustling social life.
Along with her parents and seven brothers and sisters, she joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in 1845. Now she had the blessing of the restored gospel, too.
Yes, life was good for Sarah Jane, almost perfect. Then her parents, Allen and Harriet Heath Marler, made a decision to leave, to sell their land and most of their possessions, and join with other pioneer Saints in the Salt Lake Valley. In early March of 1850, along with Sarah Jane’s uncle Samuel Heath, his wife and two little boys, her family left tender ties and a warm climate to make the long, arduous journey to a new life in Utah territory.
How did Sarah Jane feel? Did she pout? Did she cry? She probably felt like any modern-day teenager does when facing a forced move. Sad to leave her friends, maybe a teensy angry with Mom and Dad, and most certainly knots-in-the-stomach scared! After all, she would never see her Mississippi home again.
During the first part of their journey the two families traveled by riverboat up the Mississippi and Missouri Rivers headed for St. Joseph, Missouri. However, before they reached their destination, the dread disease cholera broke out in the family. One of the children was seriously ill. The riverboat captain, fearing his boat would be quarantined if a sick person was found aboard, insisted that they leave the boat at once. It was night, and the small band went by foot in cold and drenching rain to find refuge in St. Joseph. The child died in his mother’s arms. And within hours all members of the family, except Sarah Jane, were violently ill.
Can you imagine Sarah Jane’s desperation? Her loneliness and isolation must have been overwhelming as she ran through the streets of St. Joseph begging for help. The people of that community were sympathetic but so fearful of catching the disease themselves they dared not come near her family. She must have thought, I’m the only one! I’m the only one who can help! The fear in her heart must have been unbearable. For days, she was doctor and nurse to her family.
Sarah Jane’s father, three of her sisters, and her two boy cousins died. She served as midwife for her mother, who bore a premature baby girl who died, too. She then had to be mortician for her family. After begging again, help came, and she was finally able to bury her loved ones.
In a few weeks those remaining were well again. After much prayer, Sarah Jane’s mother and uncle decided to continue west. A row of graves, large and small, left behind a story of tragedy and sacrifice. But they moved on, arriving in the Salt Lake Valley on October 2, 1850.
Sarah Jane Marler was my great-great aunt. Her courage and faith, borne of a powerful testimony of the gospel for one so young, has been an inspiration in our family for generations.
I often wonder, could I have done what she did?

Medgine Atus doesn’t remember the first time she was “baptized,” but her family does. When Medgine was three years old, a friend of the Atus family was getting ready to enter the font for his baptism. Medgine followed him and fell right into the water!
“I had to jump in with all my clothes on and rescue her!” says her father. She wasn’t hurt, and now the family jokes that Medgine was so active in the gospel that she was “baptized” twice—once when she was three and once when she was eight. Medgine, now 11, is a member of the Haitian-speaking Morningside Branch, Hialeah Gardens Florida Stake.

The problem with Christmas this year was what to do about Grandma. She’s usually the one to solve the problems, not cause them, so everyone was caught off guard when she made her announcement at Thanksgiving dinner.
“I don’t want anyone to give me any Christmas presents this year,” she said. “I don’t need anything, and I’ve run out of places to put things.”
“Oh, Mom,” Dad said, “you don’t mean that.”
“Yes, I do,” she insisted. “All my cupboards and closets and drawers are full. My china cabinet hasn’t one square inch in which to put another knickknack, and I have enough perfume to last until the millennium. I’m going on a diet, so I don’t want any fattening food around. When I say I don’t want any gifts, I mean it!”
We all knew she did. When Grandma got that tone in her voice, no one argued. She wasn’t angry, just firm.
The hard part was that everyone wanted to give Grandma something. She was one of our favorite people. If you had a wild wish for something silly, or frivolous, or just plain dumb, you could count on her to understand and come through with it. If you needed something comfy or cozy or cute, she made it for you. No matter what lopsided, glue-splotched project you brought home from school, she loved it, praised it, and hung it on her bulletin board. She had as many friends as a dandelion has petals, and she was always doing fun and thoughtful things for them. Everyone remembered her at Christmas.
When she said, “No presents this year,” everyone in the family recognized that Grandma was going to be a problem. They met at our house to decide what to do about her. As the oldest of the brothers and sisters, Dad led the discussion. “What are we going to get Grandma for Christmas this year?” he asked.
She said she didn’t want anything,” Mom reminded him.
“Surely she didn’t mean that,” Aunt Gracie said.
“I think she did,” Uncle Bob said.
“We’ll just have to think of something she will want,” Dad insisted.
“Why?” asked Uncle Jack.
“Because it’s Christmas, that’s why,” Dad answered.
Aunt Nan thought she must have some secret desire. Uncle Bob didn’t think she’d ever tell, if she did.
“Then we’ll have to figure it out,” Dad challenged.
“I know what it is,” I said.
No one heard me. They talked about microwave ovens, clock radios, and electric skillets.
I tugged on Dad’s coat. “Dad,” I whispered, “I know what she’d like.”
“Don’t bother me now, Janie,” he whispered back. “I’m busy.”
They talked about this and that and everything else and didn’t come even close to guessing the right thing. Finally I couldn’t stand it anymore, so in the middle of the confusion, I shouted, “She wants a red wagon!” Then I ran from the room before anyone could get mad at me for interrupting. When I listened through the heater to see what they thought of my idea, everyone was laughing.
“Well that’s one way to make sure there is something for Janie to play with when she goes to Grandma’s house,” Aunt Gracie said.
I gave up and went to play.
Later, when the uncles and aunts had gone home, Dad asked me what was the big idea shouting out like I had.
“Because Grandma does want a red wagon.”
“What makes you think so?” he asked.
“Because she always borrows mine,” I told him. “She comes over to get me to help her in her yard, and she says, ‘Can we use your wagon?’ and we put it in the back of her car and use it to haul plants or weeds or other things, and then she brings it back. The last time I was over there, she said, ‘I always wanted to have a wagon when I was little, but I never got to because I was a girl. In those days girls had their toys and boys had theirs. The only way I could take my dolls for a ride was to borrow my brother’s wagon. But it wasn’t mine, and I’ve always wanted one.’”
“Grandma already has that big wheelbarrow,” Dad reminded me. “Grandpa bought it for her birthday the year before he died.”
“But it tips the plants over, and when she gets to where she’s going, they’re all in a mess. Besides, it’s almost too big for her to handle. She’s tough, but she’s not very tall.”
“You have a point,” Dad said. “But a red wagon for a grandma?”
“Why not?” I wanted to know.
“It seems so silly.”
“I don’t think so,” I said. “I think it’s a neat idea.”
Well, everyone was supposed to watch Grandma and listen to her and see if they could figure out what she really wanted for Christmas. All they found out was that she didn’t want anything. She kept reminding them over and over again.
I couldn’t understand why no one took my idea seriously, because I could see more and more ways it would be convenient for Grandma to have that wagon she always wanted. She could take it to the grocery store on nice days when she wanted a little exercise, to the post office with packages, or just out to the street with her garbage can in it. And it would be perfect for her to pull along as she worked in the garden. I’d even figured out a little rack to hold her trowel, scratcher, scissors, and snail bait. The rack would fit in the front of the wagon and leave plenty of room for plants or weeds. I knew that she would love it.
Finally, because they really couldn’t think of anything else, the family members decided to chip in and buy the biggest, reddest, fanciest wagon they could find for Grandma. The handle was just the right length, and the wheels rolled along so easily that it seemed to be floating. It was beautiful!
They decided to leave it in the backyard because she was so determined not to have any presents under the tree.
“She’ll notice it out the window,” Aunt Nan said, “and if she doesn’t like it, we won’t be embarrassed, because she’ll think it belongs to one of the children.”
But I wanted to make sure that she knew the wagon was hers, so I painted “Grandma” on it in big white letters.
I was the one who got to sneak it out of the car and put it behind the house on Christmas Eve.
Christmas morning came, and I didn’t want to open my packages until I found out how Grandma felt about her present. It would be an awful day for her if she didn’t like it, because there wasn’t one gift wrapped up for her.
It wasn’t far to her house, so I hopped onto my bike and rode over. She saw me coming out the front window, waved, and threw open the door to yell. “Hurry, Janie! Hurry!”
She sounded so desperate that I wondered if she was having a heart attack, and when I got closer and saw the tears running down her cheeks, I felt terrible. She must be awfully sad or mad! I thought. But then I saw that she was smiling!
“You’ll never believe it, Janie!” she cried. “After all these years, I got my wagon! It was sitting right out there in the middle of the back lawn.”
“Wow!” I said, “That’s super!”
“I thought I didn’t want a thing this year,” she went on, “but someone knew exactly what I’d like.”
“I wonder who it was,” I said, trying to sound innocent.
She grabbed me in a big hug, and I snuggled close to her.
“Someone who prints just like you do,” she whispered.
I never could fool Grandma.

Last year I met an inspired bishop and his wonderful wife. On a recent Saturday morning, they were driving to their son’s baptism and suffered the tragic and sudden loss of their darling two-year-old daughter, Tess.

The next morning their ward members gathered for sacrament meeting filled with compassion, also suffering over the loss of this perfect little girl. No one expected the bishop’s family to be at church that morning, but a couple of minutes before the meeting started, they quietly entered and took their place.

The bishop went to the stand and walked past his usual seat between his counselors and sat down instead between his priests at the sacrament table.

During that anguished and sleepless night before of searching for understanding and peace, he had received a strong impression of what his family most needed—and what his ward most needed. It was to hear the voice of their bishop, their ward Aaronic Priesthood president, their grieving father, pronounce the promises of the sacramental covenant.

So, in due course, he knelt with those priests and spoke to His Father. With the pathos of that occasion, he pronounced some of the most powerful words that anyone is ever allowed to say out loud in this lifetime.

Words of eternal consequence.

Words of ordinance.

Words of covenant.

Instruction that connects us to the very purposes of this life—and to the most magnificent outcomes of Heavenly Father’s plan for us.

Can you imagine what the congregation heard in that chapel that day—what they felt in the words that we hear every Sunday in our chapels?

“O God, the Eternal Father, we ask thee in the name of thy Son, Jesus Christ, to bless and sanctify this bread to the souls of all those who partake of it, that they may eat in remembrance of the body of thy Son, and witness unto thee, O God, the Eternal Father, that they are willing to take upon them the name of thy Son, and always remember him and keep his commandments which he has given them; that they may always have his Spirit to be with them. Amen” (Doctrine and Covenants 20:77).

And then: “O God, the Eternal Father, we ask thee in the name of thy Son, Jesus Christ, to bless and sanctify this [water] to the souls of all those who drink of it, that they may do it in remembrance of the blood of thy Son, which was shed for them; that they may witness unto thee, O God, the Eternal Father, that they do always remember him, that they may have his Spirit to be with them. Amen” (Doctrine and Covenants 20:79).

This good father and mother testify that that promise has been fulfilled. They do, in fact, to their everlasting comfort, “have his Spirit to be with them.”

When Elder Ballard was a young bishop, a rowdy nine-year-old boy caused his Primary teacher a lot of angst. After several weeks the teacher escorted the boy into the bishop’s office and said, “Bishop, here’s one of your flock. Tend it.”

Bishop Ballard wasn’t sure what to do. But at that moment an impression came: ask the child to report every week about his behavior in Primary. Bishop Ballard issued that challenge, and it changed the boy’s attitude. The child saw that he could do things differently.

“I didn’t have that idea of accountability in mind before he landed on my doorstep,” Elder Ballard says. “But the Lord, by the power of the Spirit, inspires a worthy and a righteous teacher or leader to know what to do and what to say to bring the best out of anyone, in particular our young people.”

Incidentally, that nine-year-old turned out to be “terrific,” Elder Ballard says. He served a mission, married in the temple, and became a great leader.

When I returned home to the southern Philippines in 2016 after serving an honorable mission in the northern Philippines, I was looking forward to attending Brigham Young University–Hawaii and experiencing all the other adventures awaiting young adults.
Suddenly, however, I started losing weight. My doctor diagnosed hyperthyroidism. She scared me with the implications if the disease went untreated.
Despite treatment, my body began to change. My eyes started to bulge, and I became very skinny. I avoided having my picture taken and even looking in the mirror because of my appearance.
Medication slowly began to help. But three years later, I was diagnosed with a second malady—a depressive disorder. These two sicknesses robbed me of self-confidence. I struggled to get out of bed to attend school, and I felt incapable of serving in the Church.
I was angry that God had allowed this to happen. I wondered why I should serve with all my heart and soul if doing so just brought trials? I took comfort, however, from these words by President Jeffrey R. Holland, Acting President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles: “Broken minds can be healed just the way broken bones and broken hearts are healed.” I cried when I heard those words. I had a broken mind that needed healing.
I was raised in a faithful home, and my faith in Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ remained intact despite the pain and uncertainty. Gradually, I accepted and adapted to my new circumstances.
Now, eight years later, I am no longer slowed by my maladies. I accept them as a part of life. I feel whole. I can serve and live life fully, though health challenges may continue my whole life. I’ve learned that patiently enduring is part of mortality (see Doctrine and Covenants 121:7–8). I’m learning to drink my bitter cup and remain strong.
I now work in the personnel department of an artificial intelligence company and take online classes at night from Brigham Young University–Pathway Worldwide. I’ve stopped asking “Why me?” and have started asking “What I can learn? How can I benefit from this experience?”
Looking back, I see that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ were with me all the way. Going forward, I know in whom I can trust (see Proverbs 3:5–6; 2 Nephi 4:34).

Yet life has never been easy for Brady. When he was three years old, he was hospitalized with a collapsed lung and pneumonia. When his condition suddenly worsened, I called his father and suggested that he come back to the hospital because I was sure that Brady could not live more than a few hours. When Brother Blaser arrived, he asked me to join him in administering to Brady. Brother Blaser gave his son another powerful blessing, promising him not only that he would live but that he would be running up the hospital hallway the next day!
As a doctor, I thought, Steve, you can’t promise him that he will run tomorrow—he is struggling just to live!
The next morning Brady ran up the hospital hallway to greet me!

I love to build rockets and learn French and Korean in my spare time. Recently, I felt inspired to help the firefighters fighting the fires in Colorado. I decided to make firefighter grab bags. The bags had water bottles, a bandana, a granola bar, antibacterial wipes, sunscreen, and hand sanitizer. Many people donated money and supplies toward my project. When I delivered the bags a warm, calm feeling touched my soul. Seeing the appreciation in the eyes of the firefighters let me know how important service really is.
Lindsay C., 15, Colorado, USA

One of the most important times I had a prayer answered was with my whole family. A few months after my cousin Christian finished his mission, he was driving late at night on a mountain canyon road. He and another car crashed into each other. The other driver was fine, but my cousin was taken to the hospital by helicopter.
Christian had serious injuries all over his whole body. He went into a coma, and the doctors didn’t think he would wake up. Our family decided to fast and pray. My parents, sisters, grandparents, aunts, uncles, and all my cousins took turns fasting for Christian. I fasted on a school day. I had to explain to my teacher and classmates why I wasn’t eating lunch that day. I really didn’t mind going without food for a day because I was fasting for my cousin.
Heavenly Father answered our prayers, and Christian eventually woke up from his coma. He still doesn’t have his full abilities back, but he has made some progress. I know Christian has a long recovery ahead of him. We still pray for him. Anything is possible with Heavenly Father’s help.

Untreated mental or emotional illness can lead to increased isolation, misunderstandings, broken relationships, self-harm, and even suicide. I know this firsthand, as my own father died by suicide many years ago. His death was shocking and heartbreaking for my family and me. It has taken me years to work through my grief, and it was only recently that I learned talking about suicide in appropriate ways actually helps to prevent it rather than encourage it. I have now openly discussed my father’s death with my children and witnessed the healing that the Savior can give on both sides of the veil.

Marie Purcell, of the Massey Park Ward in the Auckland New Zealand Papatoetoe Stake, experienced the joy of this work when she and her parents sealed her beloved grandfather, Afele Schwenke, to his family—a blessing he did not receive in his lifetime despite his faithfulness and service to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Afele Schwenke, born on April 10, 1912, was deeply rooted in his faith and dedicated to his family. Together with his wife, Soala, Afele served the missionaries of Malaela Aleipata for nearly two decades. The couple opened their home to the missionaries, insisting they stay in their Western-style house while Afele, Soala, and their children lived in their Samoan fale. His generosity left a lasting impact, and his home became a place of gospel teaching.
Although Afele had a strong testimony and faithfully paid his tithes, he struggled with fully living the Word of Wisdom. His love for the Church never wavered, but he passed away in 1967 without receiving the blessings of the temple.
Years later, while reviewing family history records, Marie and her parents discovered that her mother’s sealing to her parents had not been recorded. Marie immediately felt a strong spiritual prompting—not only did her mother’s sealing need to be done, but also her grandfather Afele’s. His face came to her mind, and she knew that temple work needed to be completed.
Trusting this prompting, the family scheduled a sealing appointment. However, when they arrived at the temple, Marie realized they were not fully prepared with the required documents. They proceeded with other ordinances, but in the sealing room, both Marie and her mother felt a distinct sadness at leaving the ordinance undone.
Determined to finish the work, Marie and her parents scheduled another appointment. On April 6, 2024, they returned to the temple, fully prepared. Marie and her father would stand as proxies for her grandparents.
When the sealer called her mother’s name, a deep feeling of peace washed over them. Marie remembers tears flowing as they completed the ordinance.
Through the Atonement of Jesus Christ and the sacred work of the temple, Afele Schwenke and his wife, Soala, received the blessings of eternity.
As saviours on Mount Zion, we can offer our ancestors the same gift of exaltation Christ offers to us. Reflecting on the experience of sealing her grandparents, Marie shared, “I testify that the joy that comes from participating through family history brings eternal happiness.”
“I have felt those on the other side of the veil through this great and marvelous work. And I know that they embrace with excitement receiving these sacred ordinances, as I embrace with joy on this side of the veil uniting my eternal family.”
The sealing power reminded her that the blessings of the Atonement extend beyond the veil. As Doctrine and Covenants 128:22 invites, “Shall we not go on in so great a cause?”

Melinda left her house holding the key Mrs. Roberts had given her. “I’m off to work,” she said. She liked the way that sounded. “Not every 11-year-old has a job,” she thought.
She walked to the Robertses’ house and opened their mailbox. The Roberts family would be gone until Thursday, and they had hired Melinda to get their mail and do other chores at their house every day.
Melinda went into their house, put the mail on the kitchen table, and filled the cat’s food dish. Then she went into the family room to water the plants. It felt strange to be in her neighbors’ house alone.
In a corner of the room she saw a shelf filled with glass figurines. Each one was a little girl in a fancy dress. She picked one up and looked at it carefully. On the bottom it said, “Michelle.” Melinda wondered if each of the figurines had a name. She picked up another and turned it over. It was named Rebecca.
Melinda picked up another glass girl, one in a pretty yellow dress. As she turned it over, it slipped from her hand and fell to the floor. Melinda gasped and knelt down quickly to pick it up. Its head and one of the legs had broken off.
“Oh no,” she thought. “What am I going to do? Mrs. Roberts is going to be so mad at me!”
She put the head back on the figurine and was surprised to see that she could hardly tell it was broken. When she put the leg back, she found that the little girl could still stand up.
“If I put it back just right, Mrs. Roberts won’t even know it’s broken,” she thought. “If she picks it up or bumps the shelf, it will fall apart, but she’ll think she broke it herself. No one will know it was me.”
Melinda had a sick feeling as she walked home. She wondered if she should tell Mrs. Roberts about breaking the figurine. “But she trusted me,” Melinda thought. “She’ll never trust me again if she knows I broke something in her house.”
Melinda went to the Robertses’ each morning for the next two days. She was careful not to go near the shelf where the figurines were. She didn’t even want to look at them.
On Thursday afternoon, the Robertses’ car was back in their driveway. Melinda walked over to return their key. Mrs. Roberts thanked her for doing such a good job and gave her an envelope with money inside. Melinda could hardly speak. She felt awful. “It’s just a little glass girl,” she thought. “It’s not a big deal. And they’ll never know I did it.”
That night after dinner, Melinda’s father opened the Book of Mormon for family scripture study. They were reading about Helaman’s stripling soldiers.
Melinda and her brothers listened as Dad read Alma 53:20: “And they were all young men, and they were exceedingly valiant for courage, and also for strength and activity; but behold, this was not all—they were men who were true at all times in whatsoever thing they were entrusted.”
“They were super brave,” Nathan said.
“And strong,” Tyler added.
“They were strong and brave enough to fight,” Mom agreed. “That’s what the first part of the scripture says. But in the next part, it says something more about them—that they used their courage to be true. They stood up for what was right.”
Melinda looked at her Book of Mormon and read the words again. She had been entrusted with something, and she had not been true.
A little while later, Melinda stood at the Robertses’ door. Mrs. Roberts looked surprised to see her. “Hello,” she said. “Did you forget something?”
“Yes. I mean, no. I need to tell you something.” She took a deep breath. “I broke one of your little glass girls. I put it back so you couldn’t tell it was broken. I’m sorry I broke it, and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about it before. I was just scared, I guess.”
“Why don’t you come in and show me what you broke?” Mrs. Roberts said.
Melinda followed her neighbor into the family room and pointed out the girl in the yellow dress. When Mrs. Roberts picked it up, its head and leg fell off. “I would never have known it was broken if I hadn’t picked it up,” she said. “Well, it can be glued. I broke another one once, and I glued it.” She picked up another figurine and showed Melinda. “You can hardly tell, can you?”
Melinda shook her head. She hadn’t noticed the crack in the other one. “I really am sorry,” she said.
“It’s OK. I’m glad you came back to tell me the truth. That took a lot of courage. You know, we’ll be going out of town again next month. Would you like to help out at our house then too?”
Melinda looked up. “Do you trust me? Even after I broke something?”
“You’ve shown that you are very trustworthy. You told the truth when you didn’t have to. I’ll be glad to have you work for us again.”
“I won’t touch the figurines. I promise.”
“That’s fine. Thank you, Melinda, for coming over tonight.”
The heavy feeling Melinda had felt for days was gone. She felt as light as a feather as she skipped home.

“Hurry up! I want to see the lions,” Billy said, tugging on his sister’s sleeve.
“I’m coming,” Helen said. She jumped off the bench and grabbed Billy’s hand. They trotted off to see the lions.
When they reached the lions’ cage, they saw a man holding a camera and a little notebook. Children were gathered around him. A lady introduced the man. “Children, this is Mr. Maier,” she said. “He is an author visiting from New Jersey.”
An author! Helen liked meeting new people, especially famous people from far away.
“I travel from place to place and write about what I see,” Mr. Maier told the children. “Do any of you have a question for me?”
Helen raised her hand high in the air. Mr. Maier asked her to come to the front of the crowd. Helen scooted through the crowd until she stood near Mr. Maier.
“What are you writing about today?” Helen asked.
“Today I’m writing about Utah,” he said. “Why don’t you tell me about yourself?”
Helen felt her heart start to beat faster. What could she think of to tell a famous author?
“Well, I’m 10 years old,” Helen said. Then she paused. Surely she could think of something more important. “And I’m a Mormon,” she added.
“A Mormon?” he asked. “Tell me more.”
“Well, my great-great-grandfather was Brigham Young, one of the prophets of our Church,” Helen replied. “And this Church is the true faith.”
“Is it really?” he asked.
“Yes, it is,” she said. “What is your religion?”
“I don’t have a religion,” Mr. Maier said.
Helen was surprised. “Why not?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” he answered. “But maybe you can pray for me so I can be blessed too.”
“I can do that,” Helen said.
Then Helen got an idea. “Why don’t you get baptized in the true faith?”
Mr. Maier smiled. “That’s kind of you,” he said. “I think I would like to learn more about this faith first.”
When Mr. Maier returned home to New Jersey, he wrote a newspaper article about Helen. He called her a “zealous little Mormon girl.” He meant that she was enthusiastic and devoted to her faith. Mr. Maier was so impressed with Helen that he wrote to her and sent her copies of his books.
A few years later, Mr. Maier passed away. When Helen was older, she received permission from Mr. Maier’s family to have his temple work done. Thanks to Helen, a young man was baptized in the temple for Mr. Maier in the “true faith.”

“Telephone for you, Debra.”
“Got it downstairs.”
“Please hang up up there, Mom,” she thought. “This could be important.”
The Publications Dance was exactly a week away, and she had really been working on Ralph lately. Maybe, just maybe …
“Hello, Debra? This is Rick Meyers.”
“Oh … uh, hi.”
“You know who I am, don’t you? We’re in the same history lecture.”
She knew who he was all right. He had about the worst case of acne in the whole school.
“Yeah, sure. How are you?”
“Great. Listen, the reason I’m calling is about the Publications Dance next Friday night. Would you like to go?”
“Uh … gee … well … I’m really not sure. I mean, I’d like to, but my dad said something about some kind of a family activity that weekend, and I really ought to check with him first.”
“Oh, sure, I understand. Would you like me to call back this evening when he’s home from work?”
“Yeah. Okay. Anytime after dinner. That would be okay. Uh, thanks for calling, Rick.”
“Talk to you later. Bye.”
“Bye.”
Oh, groan! Rick Meyers! What to do now? He was a nice enough guy. He wasn’t a juvenile delinquent or anything, but she didn’t want to be seen with the worst case of adolescent acne in the school. She would only have to be seen with someone like that a couple of times, and it would be social suicide. People would think she liked him, and she’d never get anyone else to ask her out.
But there were other problems. If she told Rick no and then someone else called, she couldn’t very well turn around and say yes. Maybe Rick would be there with someone else, or maybe someone would tell him. And she didn’t want to hurt his feelings. She just didn’t want to go to the dance with him. Everyone would be at the dance. That’s all anyone had talked about in the cafeteria annex for a week or more.
Oh, rats! Where did a girl go for advice at a time like this? To her mother? Her dad? The bishop? Come to think of it, the bishop had said something about this very situation at a fireside one night. He had said, “You owe any decent young man who asks you out the courtesy of consideration. You should look beneath the surface when choosing your friends.” He had said that. Those very words. So, there it was. Like it or not. When Rick called back she’d have to tell him yes.
For the rest of the week Debra avoided the cafeteria annex. She made up an excuse about a big exam and spent her lunch hours in the library. A couple of times she saw Rick in the halls, but she always managed to duck somewhere so she wouldn’t have to talk to him, or heaven forbid, be seen walking down the hall with him.
She decided not to make a new dress. Who cares? The dirndl skirt and blouse would be fine. When she finally mentioned the date to her parents, she left out the acne. Her mom thought a bad complexion was about the worst thing in the world. She was always pointing out girls downtown or in the doctor’s office or somewhere and saying, “Aren’t you lucky your skin doesn’t look like that?” She could imagine the look her mother would have on her face when she opened the front door Friday night and saw Rick standing there.
Friday night arrived, just as she had suspected it would. Debra didn’t particularly care if she looked devastating or not, but she managed to be a little late getting ready anyway. She found Dad and Rick chatting quite pleasantly when she walked into the front room. Mom had straightened things up and had lit a fire in the fireplace.
“Ready to go?”
“Uh huh. I guess you’ve met my parents.”
“Yes. And it’s been nice talking to you, sir,” he said, shaking hands with her father and nodding to her mother. They said good night and stepped outside.
It was nice out. The sky was still azure, and there was a fair sprinkling of stars already. Rick’s car was empty. He hadn’t said anything about doubling with anyone, but she had been hoping there would be someone else along. Probably the boys weren’t any more enthusiastic about double dating with him than the girls were about going out with him.
“I hope you’re hungry,” Rick broke in.
“Hungry?” Now? at 7:30? It was standard procedure to go somewhere after the dance. Not before. Either to the Pizza Hut or to Sneldons for ice cream.
“I probably should have warned you in advance so you’d save your appetite. My Mom’s cooked up a whole bunch of Tahitian food, and my brother and his family are coming over.”
“Tahitian food?”
“Yeah. It’s the best. And Mom really knows how to cook it. She learned when we were in Tahiti.”
“You were in Tahiti? I didn’t know that.”
“Yeah, we were for three years. My parents presided over the mission there.”
“Your parents did? I thought mission presidents were always old and retired.”
“Well, a lot of them are. I guess my folks are pretty old compared to yours. I’m the baby of our family.”
“So, you’ve been in Tahiti for the last three years?”
“Just about. We only came home this summer.”
“Where did you go to school?”
“Well, that was a problem. The closest good schools were in Auckland, New Zealand.”
“Boarding schools?”
“Yep.”
“And how did you like it? I’ve always thought it would be fun to live away from home.”
“It was. It was a lot of fun, and I made some very good friends, but I really missed my folks. They’re the greatest.”
They really were. His mother was warm and welcoming. His father was a real tease. His older brother, Bob, was there with his wife and two little boys who plainly adored their uncle Rick. Debra noticed Bob’s complexion was a little rugged, too, like maybe he’d had skin problems when he was younger. His wife was cute though. She looked like she might have been a cheerleader somewhere. They were a jolly group. They laughed, and joked, and horsed around with the kids, and ate, and ate, and ate, until Debra started worrying about the snaps holding on her waistband. She was amazed when Rick said, “Hey, we’d better get going, or there won’t be any music left.”
Surprisingly enough, Rick’s dancing wasn’t half bad. And he had so many interesting things to talk about. She never had to worry about what to say next, and when they occasionally did slip into a few minutes of silence, it didn’t seem awkward. She didn’t find herself plotting endlessly to keep things bubbling along. It had always seemed very important to bubble when she was on a date.
They talked about the places they had been, and about families, and about the Church. Debra had a straight A average in seminary, but Rick knew things about the gospel she had never heard of. They were in the middle of a great discussion on free agency when Rick interrupted with, “I guess this is the last dance. Want me to get your coat now and avoid the rush?”
“No, let’s dance. I don’t mind waiting.” She closed her eyes for a second and then looked up at him. He still had about the worst case of acne she had ever seen. But he did have nice eyes. And a very nice smile. And she couldn’t remember when she had had more fun on a date.

Sabrina, 18, remembers the sister missionaries coming to home evening when she was 10. “They taught me simply but firmly that God reveals truth through prayer. They said I needed to kneel down and ask Heavenly Father in humility to give me a testimony. ‘Me kneel down?’ I thought to myself. A few days later, Mom wanted to go for a walk with my sisters and me. Even though the sun was shining and I wanted to go with them, something stopped me. I knew it was the perfect time. I knelt down in the dining room. I pleaded with Heavenly Father to let me know if the Book of Mormon was true. I asked Him if the principles I was taught in church were true. Five minutes went by. After I ended my prayer I remained on my knees. Suddenly, a ray of light illuminated my face. I could not understand this, because the house was dark. But there was a small window in the kitchen without a curtain, and the light was coming from there.
“I felt so happy. I realized that my Father had answered my prayer in this way. Now I have a testimony of all these things, and I know they are true. I know that prayer has tremendous power.”

One of our missionaries, Sister Benson, who is attending with us this session, shared with me her desire to help her young brother. At that time, he was preparing to attend college and wasn’t sure about serving a mission. I felt impressed to invite Sister Benson to read the Book of Mormon during the first four months of her mission, marking her favorite verses, and then to send that copy to her brother.
Sister Benson sent the marked copy of the Book of Mormon and invited her brother to read from it each night. She later shared with me: “Before my mission, my brother wasn’t sure if he wanted to serve a full-time mission. Slowly, over time, as he read the Book of Mormon, he found increasing joy in his life and began to consider serving a mission.”
Two weeks before Sister Benson completed her mission, her brother received his mission call. He is now serving in the Mexico Tuxtla Gutiérrez Mission. Through the Book of Mormon, Elder Benson came to see his life with spiritual clarity, which led him to serve the Lord and trust that things would work out. That decision was a miracle—influenced by the power of the words of Christ.

For a while when he was 14, Aleksey Kulikov was a man without a country.
Though his mother was from St. Petersburg, she had taken work in Nuremberg, Germany. While there, she and Aleksey met the missionaries, studied the gospel, were baptized, and became active Latter-day Saints.
Now they had to leave Germany. The government said noncitizens on work visas must return to their homelands. To make matters worse, Aleksey and his mother were told their papers were no longer valid in Russia.
“Officially,” Aleksey explains, “we had no citizenship anywhere.”
Things seemed pretty dark, but Aleksey and his mother knew about faith.
“I remembered what the missionaries taught me,” Aleksey says. “If you have problems, then pray about them. So we asked Heavenly Father to bless us.”
From then on, the trip became easier. “We found out we did have Russian citizenship. When officials found out we were carrying all we owned, they waived the luggage restriction. At the Lithuanian border, some kind soldiers took pity on us and kept us from being forced off the train. They even called ahead to the next border and asked them to let us pass. So we came without trouble to St. Petersburg.”
After six years, they were home. But what would the city be like, now that the Soviet Union was gone? What would the Church be like, compared with their wonderful friends in Nuremberg?
“We were delighted with what we found,” Aleksey remembers. “The city had a happier feeling. Some beautiful buildings were being renovated. But best of all, we found there is a new dawn of the Church in St. Petersburg. We knew the gospel had been restored, but now we know it’s been restored here too.”
Aleksey is now 17, a member of the Nevsky Branch. His greatest desire is to serve a full-time mission, “perhaps in Germany.” But it doesn’t matter where he’s called. “I know there’s gospel light to share wherever you go,” he says.

Another of the great missionaries of the Church, who later became an apostle, was Parley P. Pratt. In 1830 Parley was twenty-three and serving as a missionary in Ohio. While in the course of his travels he was arrested falsely and taken to court. Ordered to pay a heavy fine, he had no money, so the judge committed him to prison. It was late at night, and there was not time enough to travel to the prison, which was several miles away, so Parley was taken by an officer to a hotel to spend the night. After the night’s rest and breakfast, he was taken to the public square by the escorting officer, Mr. Peabody, ready to be taken to prison. Here is the episode as Parley told it:
“Said I, ‘Mr. Peabody, are you good at a race?’ ‘No,’ said he, ‘but my big bulldog is, and he has been trained to assist me in my office these several years; he will take any man down at my bidding.’ ‘Well, Mr. Peabody, you compelled me to go a mile. I have gone with you two miles. You have given me an opportunity to preach, sing, and have also entertained me with lodging and breakfast. I must now go on my journey; if you are good at a race you can accompany me. I thank you for all your kindness—good day, sir.’”
Parley then took off on a dead run. By the time Mr. Peabody had gotten over his astonishment and was able to stir himself to action, Parley had covered 200 yards, leaped a fence, and was running through a field to the forest. The officer came hallooing after him and sent his huge dog to seize him. The dog overtook Parley in due time and was about to grab him, when Parley, in a moment of inspiration, reached out his arm and pointed in the direction of the forest, all the while imitating the officer by yelling “Stu-Boy.”
“The dog hastened past me with redoubled speed towards the forest; being urged by the officer and myself, and both of us running in the same direction. Gaining the forest, I soon lost sight of the officer and dog, and have not seen them since.”6
No one could have warned Parley Pratt of the danger his mission might place him in, but once there he didn’t fail to see the humor of his situation and turn what could have been a “cost” into a “benefit” in an experience to be enjoyed in retrospect.

Victor was born three months premature. As a result, he has several disabilities and was unable to walk until he was seven years old.
I was born three months premature Doctors were saying that I probably could not do anything, but my mother was always trying to find different sources to help me. For years, I received different treatments, but I still couldn’t walk.
Finally, my mother found a treatment that could possibly help me start walking. She decided before doing that to ask the missionaries to give me a blessing. After I received the blessing, we went to the doctor. The treatment was just different physical exercises. Eventually, after doing those exercises, I started walking.

Raphael Queiroz eyes the volleyball net, tosses his ball high, then runs a few steps forward and leaps. For a moment he hovers above the floor, seeming to defy gravity. A split second later he meets the volleyball and drives his hand into it. The ball flashes over the net at a terrifying speed.
Anyone watching might wonder how an opponent could return the missiles Raphael launches. “Wow!” is the only response one stunned observer can make.
Raphael just shrugs—but with a hint of satisfaction in his serve. “Actually,” the unassuming Brazilian says, “I prefer soccer. But since I’m not agile enough to play the game well, I play volleyball.”
Perhaps it’s his size. At 6 feet 5 inches (196 cm) and 205 pounds (94 kg), he may not be as quick as smaller, lighter players. But he certainly has the height and weight to put a volleyball only fractions of an inch over a net with such power that only the brave would want to intercept it.
Soccer may be Raphael’s sport of choice, but volleyball is most definitely his game. And he is really good at it. He is so good, in fact, that he played in the final game of the high school volleyball nationals. “That,” Raphael says, “was one of the three happiest days of my life.”
And the other two? “The day I was baptized a member of the Church and the day I received my patriarchal blessing.”
At 19, Raphael de Morais Queiroz of the Jardim Massangana Ward, Recife Brazil Boa Viagem Stake, has learned a couple of important lessons some people never learn. He knows that when you place the Lord first in your life, good things happen. He also knows that sometimes you have to adjust your dreams to take advantage of the talents and opportunities the Lord gives you.
Raphael’s parents joined the Church before he was born, so he grew up in a gospel-oriented home.
“Growing up in the Church, you’re taught from a very young age the principles of the gospel and the importance of keeping the commandments,” he says. “But you still need to get your own testimony.”
Raphael remembers one day in seminary when the class was watching a video about the death of the Prophet Joseph Smith. “I started crying. ‘Why?’ I asked myself. As I concentrated on what I was feeling, the answer came: I was receiving a witness from the Holy Ghost that Joseph Smith is a prophet and that the Church is true.”
He smiles at the memory. “Good things happen in seminary,” he says.
Good things happen at church, too. During one priests quorum lesson, he felt impressed to get a patriarchal blessing. “In preparing for it, I did some studying, then went to the bishop, and he sent me to the patriarch. I was overwhelmed by what I heard. The Lord entrusted me with a lot. I love my blessing.”
Since those experiences, he has found his testimony strengthened in other ways. Scripture study is one of them. He especially likes the Book of Mormon. “I admire Nephi,” Raphael says.
Like Nephi, Raphael was born of goodly parents. Family is important to him. He feels particularly close to his only sibling, 18-year-old Gabriela.
“To me, Gabriela is an example of righteousness,” Raphael says. “She always follows Church standards.” He points out that she attends seminary twice a day—once early in the morning and again in the evening.
When asked why, she says, “I love learning the gospel. I get a different perspective in the different classes. Then, too, I have friends in the evening class I like being with. Mostly, though, I love feeling the Spirit. I feel it often in seminary.”
For Raphael, his sister illustrates how placing the gospel first in your life can give you strength to resist worldly pressures. “Having a gospel perspective helps us meet our challenges,” he says. “It teaches us to stay away from temptations. Although I’m not free from temptations, I always try to avoid them. Youth need to learn how to avoid temptations by deciding ahead of time how they will handle them.”
He knows well the temptations athletes face. “As an athlete, I always do what athletes do, but not the bad things—I don’t break the Word of Wisdom or do the other things young men sometimes do. I try to set an example as a Latter-day Saint.”
“At first,” he says, “my friends thought my choices were funny. But later they respected me for my standards.”
It was a friend who introduced Raphael to volleyball. In 2001 a teammate on his soccer team in Recife pointed out that some private high schools offer volleyball scholarships. At the time, Raphael was trying for a soccer scholarship but found his physical assets kept him from playing at the level the coaches wanted. But he seemed to have an unexplored talent for volleyball. “So I played volleyball until I got good at it,” he says. He became so good that he was able to secure a full scholarship to a private high school.
At school, he played in the Recife city championships, then in the regionals in northeast Brazil, one of the most important tournaments in the country. But his success didn’t end there. Not long afterward, he was asked to join the Pernambuco State team to prepare for the national high school tournament. His team won almost all its games, losing only in the final match. He has the medals to show for it.
“As a volleyball player,” he says, “I’ve learned to play as a member of a team. One person can’t win alone. You have to look out for one another and help one another.”
In the same way, the Church has taught him to play as a member of the Lord’s team. “The Church has taught me to teach and care for others, to always watch for when people need help. There’s no better place to learn to live the gospel than in the Church. The Lord wants all of us to practice the gospel. That’s why I’m going on a mission.”
Raphael will be giving up a college athletic scholarship to do so. Recruited by several schools, he was tempted to accept a scholarship from one of them. But at this point in his life, he would rather serve on a mission than serve on a volleyball court. He knows he is making the right choice.
“As much success as I have had in sports,” he says, “I want to do better as a missionary. I feel that no matter where I go, I can do well—if I let the Lord coach me.”