Gospel Story Finder

Moisés swung open the gate and walked into the car parts shop. School was over, and it was time to help Papá at work. Moisés grabbed a broom and started to sweep. He liked to help Papá. He even got to earn some money.
Soon it was time for Moisés to leave. He said goodbye to Papá and started to walk home. He felt sad as he walked. It always felt strange to go home without Papá. Moisés’s parents were separated. He and his seven siblings lived with Mamá. Papá lived somewhere else. Mamá worked three jobs because they didn’t have much money. It was a hard time for all of them.
One day there was a knock at the door. It was two missionaries. They shared a message about Jesus Christ. They also taught about a prophet named Joseph Smith. Moisés felt something special inside as he listened.
The missionaries kept coming back to teach Moisés, Mamá, and some of his siblings. Moisés and his family started going to church. They read the Book of Mormon. They stopped drinking coffee. They even chose to be baptized!
Moisés learned that Heavenly Father loved him. And even though things were still hard for his family, he felt more comfort and peace.

One of the most memorable activities that I participated in as a youth was a large dance festival. I am quite certain I never would have volunteered for such an activity. However, with some coaxing, I accepted the invitation to participate, even though at first I wasn’t thrilled about the idea.
We practiced a lot, and learning the dances was a slow process. I am grateful for dedicated instructors, for a patient dance partner, and for my mother, who sewed my costume and encouraged me to do my best.
The festival was held at a football stadium. I had never participated in something so large. Each group entertained the crowd as we performed choreographed dances in colorful costumes. Then the football field literally filled with dancers as all of us performed a closing number together. It turned out to be an impressive show.
I enjoyed that dance festival a lot more than I thought I would. It allowed me to view the Church in a different way. I saw vast numbers of youth having a great time. I met new friends, I developed new skills, and I played a small part in a big production that entertained thousands.
Because I accepted the invitation to dance in that festival—and other invitations that have come to me in the Church—my life has been blessed, and I have had the chance to bless others. I feel so privileged to have had so many wonderful experiences as a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

Let me conclude with an account of two men who are heroes to me. Their acts of courage were not performed on a national scale but rather in a peaceful place known as Midway, Utah.

Long years ago Roy Kohler and Grant Remund served together in Church capacities. They were the best of friends. They were tillers of the soil and dairymen. Then a misunderstanding arose which became somewhat of a rift between them.

Later, when Roy Kohler became grievously ill with cancer and had but a limited time to live, my wife, Frances, and I visited Roy and his wife, and I gave him a blessing. As we talked afterward, Brother Kohler said, “Let me tell you about one of the sweetest experiences I have had during my life.” He then recounted to me his misunderstanding with Grant Remund and the ensuing estrangement. His comment was “We were sort of on the outs with each other.”

“Then,” continued Roy, “I had just put up our hay for the winter to come when one night, as a result of spontaneous combustion, the hay caught fire, burning the hay, the barn, and everything in it right to the ground. I was devastated,” said Roy. “I didn’t know what in the world I would do. The night was dark, except for the dying embers of the fire. Then I saw coming toward me from the road, in the direction of Grant Remund’s place, the lights of tractors and heavy equipment. As the ‘rescue party’ turned in our drive and met me amidst my tears, Grant said, ‘Roy, you’ve got quite a mess to clean up. My boys and I are here. Let’s get to it.’” Together they plunged to the task at hand. Gone forever was the hidden wedge which had separated them for a short time. They worked throughout the night and into the next day, with many others in the community joining in.

Roy Kohler and Grant Remund have passed away. Their sons have served together in the same ward bishopric. I truly treasure the friendship of these two wonderful families.

When I was 13, after eight years of living in a farmhouse with acres of land, my family moved into a suburban neighborhood. Our beautiful golden retriever, Tissue, didn’t exactly like these new conditions. She barked the entire first night we were there. And our neighbors decided to pay us a visit.
Our parents weren’t home at the time, so it was my sister who had the bad luck to answer the door. The neighbors blasted into us with their angry words. They said we’d better get our dog quiet if we knew what was good for us!
I didn’t know what else to do, so I climbed into the doghouse with Tissue. I stayed there for hours with her head on my lap until she finally fell asleep.
When my parents came home, they were upset at what the neighbors had done. But after that night I never heard Mom and Dad complain about it again. So I figured they’d forgotten the whole thing. But I was wrong. A month later my dad asked me if I wanted to help him get even with the neighbors.
I nodded quickly in agreement. Payback! Dad sent me to the garage to grab two shovels. I had no idea what kind of payback he had in mind, but I walked next door with him willingly.
I should’ve known something was fishy right away. I saw our neighbor in his front yard struggling with a wheelbarrow and shovel. All by himself, he was trying to haul a huge pile of dirt to his backyard. With how big that pile was and how slow he was going, it would take him forever to finish.
Without saying a word, Dad walked up to the mound, dug in his shovel, and started filling the wheelbarrow. Our neighbor stared at him in silent confusion. Following Dad’s example, I pitched in and we quickly filled the wheelbarrow. We kept at it until the entire mound was gone.
I’m not sure exactly what the man thought about us helping. For me, though, I felt a healing in my soul as we served our neighbor.
That day my dad taught me a lesson he’s taught me many times since: being kind is much better than getting even.

The Neels have been reading the scriptures in the morning as a family and studying the plan of salvation. That helps to strengthen Drew’s understanding of where he came from, why he is here, and where he is going. At one of those family discussions, his parents talked with him about a special experience that took place when he was born. “Just when you were getting here, there were problems,” his father explains. “But thanks to faith and a priesthood blessing, both you and your mother pulled through.”

The oiled-paper windows of the cabin were barely light when Clarinda awoke. Back in their beautiful New York home she would have snuggled deeper into the warm featherbed and slept on until Mother came to gently tease her awake. Then she would have run happily downstairs for a breakfast of ham, eggs, and hot biscuits with butter and honey. Never would her stomach have growled with hunger as it did now.
But that was a year ago, before there were so many things to be afraid of. Everything was different now. Hot tears pushed at her eyelids.
“You must be braver than that, Clarinda,” her father would say if he could see her now. “You can’t let your fears control you. Courage is what it takes.”
But that was the problem. She had no courage.
Beside her, Elizabeth and Baby Sarah stirred in their sleep. Pushing the quilts aside, Clarinda leaned over and peered under the bed, listening carefully. She heard nothing, not even her brother Jeremiah behind his corner curtain.
With the warmth of spring, rattlesnakes had suddenly appeared throughout the settlement. Sister Andersen had even found one on her table. Clarinda shuddered at the thought. She feared snakes more than wolves or Indians. When she was certain that nothing slithered beneath her bed, she stepped onto the hardpacked dirt floor. Shaking her clothes to get rid of any creepy-crawly things, she dressed, moved quietly to the fireplace, and stirred up the fire.
She was measuring the last of their cornmeal into the kettle when a loud rattling sound made her scream and jump aside.
“If I’d really been a snake,” laughed Jeremiah, tossing Sarah’s gourd rattle at her, “you’d be bit for sure, jumping like that.”
Clarinda ducked her head in shame as she felt a hot flush spreading across her face.
“Did you hear the wolves last night?” Jeremiah teased. “Sounded like they were right outside the door.”
When she didn’t answer he bent and kissed the top of her head. “You’ve got to find some courage somewhere, Clarinda,” he said gently. “It eats your insides to be so full of fear.”
“You want some breakfast?” Her voice was calm, but inside she ached with crying that hadn’t come out yet.
“No, thanks, it’s my turn at guard duty,” Jeremiah answered. “Besides,” he added, looking into the boiling kettle, “there’s not enough.”
“I’m not hungry. I’ll go without,” protested his sister.
Jeremiah shook his head. “We all did too much of that this winter. But don’t you fret. Pa’ll be back with supplies any day now. In the meantime, I’ll wash off some more roots and eat them.”
Clarinda followed him as he shouldered his rifle and unlatched the door. “Courage, little sister,” he urged. “The Lord will protect us.”
She sighed as she relatched the door securely behind him. In her heart she knew the Lord would protect them, but her mind couldn’t seem to shake loose the fears. It isn’t fair. Why does Jeremiah have all the courage while I have none? she wondered. Isn’t there some way that courage can be shared?
Bending, she rearranged the coarse rope stretched across the doorway. She had heard that snakes wouldn’t crawl over a scratchy rope. “It had better work,” she murmured.
The rest of the morning Clarinda was too busy to worry about her fears. She dressed and fed Sarah and Elizabeth, scoured the kettle and bowls with rushes from the lake, swept the dirt floor, cleaned the hearth, chopped more roots for a watery stew, and three times replaced the rope that Elizabeth kept dragging away from the door. She even became brave enough to open the door for some fresh air while she shook the bed quilts.
Clarinda’s family had left a beautiful home and struggled across the plains for this—a cold dirt-floored cabin. They had nearly starved to death during the long winter. Her mother, like so many others, had died from the hardships. Now, there was fear of Indians—and snakes!
Clarinda shivered. “Are you afraid?” Elizabeth asked.
“Of course, I’m afraid! Who wouldn’t be?” Clarinda grumbled.
“Heavenly Father loves me. I’m not afraid,” said Elizabeth softly.
Clarinda flung herself on the bed. Even her little sister had more courage than she did. When she finally stopped crying, Elizabeth was gone and Sarah was crawling toward the open doorway.
Frantic with fear, Clarinda grabbed Sarah, put her on a quilt in the corner of the cabin to play with her gourd rattle, and dashed outside. “Elizabeth!” Her throat felt so pinched she could hardly call out. “Please come play with me. I’m lonely.” Earnestly she prayed, “Heavenly Father, please let me find her before the Indians or the snakes do.”
Even before she said amen, Elizabeth’s head appeared around the corner of the cabin. “Here I am. I was hiding!” she giggled.
Clarinda was too thankful to scold her. “Come keep Sarah and me company, and I’ll fix you some lunch.”
Inside, Clarinda carefully latched the door and replaced the rope. Sarah still gurgled happily on her quilt. The sound of her rattle filled the cabin. But then Clarinda froze—there were two rattling sounds. One was Sarah’s gourd, but the other … she fought back the scream in her throat. Curled on the floor in front of Sarah was a huge rattlesnake.
She shoved Elizabeth across the room, away from the snake.
“Elizabeth, climb onto Jeremiah’s bed quickly!”
Even as she spoke, Clarinda moved quietly to the hearth and grabbed the fire poker. She would have only one chance. If she missed, the snake would strike Sarah.
Silently, she prayed for courage and a good aim as she swung the heavy poker … again and again. At last, she carried the lifeless snake, dangling from the poker, to the doorway and flung it outside, almost in Jeremiah’s face.
“What … ? How … ?” Jeremiah stood in the doorway, pale and shaken.
Clarinda was still trembling, but somehow she didn’t feel quite so afraid anymore. “I found some courage,” she murmured.
Jeremiah put his arm around her shoulder and held her close. “I knew you would, little sister,” he said quietly. “I knew you would.”

While serving as a missionary in the Philippines, I met Maria Jocelyn Castillo, or Jocey as she was called.
We taught Jocey and her cousin Nestor the first discussion. The Spirit was strong, and Jocey agreed to read the Book of Mormon in Tagalog, the national language.
On our next visit, we found an excited Jocey and Nestor and about five new faces. We taught another first discussion to Jocey’s sister Julie and some neighboring cousins.
After that the discussions went great. Jocey read all her assignments and started reading the Book of Mormon on her own. She soon committed to baptism. But as we got closer to her baptism, I could feel some concerns. I knew why. Jocey had only one leg and used a crutch to get around. She also wore a handkerchief on her head. On our third visit, we learned that Jocey had cancer and three years earlier had had her leg amputated. That had only slowed the disease. She started painful chemotherapy, and when her hair fell out, wore a handkerchief on her head.
We hesitantly invited Jocey to attend church. I say hesitantly because Jocey lived about two miles from the church at the bottom of the biggest hill in the area. She had only one leg and not a lot of money for transportation; I really didn’t expect to see Jocey at church.
Sunday came, the meeting started, and 20 minutes later I saw Jocey and her cousin walk through the gate. I could see a wince of pain on Jocey’s face with each step. When she saw me, she smiled. I turned away so she wouldn’t see the tears in my eyes. I thought of the times I had missed church because my head hurt or I was too tired. I thought of the sacrifice she was making to get to church.
Jocey never missed a Sunday. I knew the cancer was taking its toll as she coughed and tried to cover her pain. When her baptism day came, she told me she wasn’t ready. She wanted to be baptized, but she thought she would be embarrassed to remove her handkerchief with everyone watching. I said a quick prayer and was able to reassure her. She grabbed her change of clothes and a towel, smiled, and said thank you.
I’ve never felt the Spirit stronger than I did at her baptism. Jocey cried, and so did the others in attendance.
Jocey didn’t stop there. She helped the rest of her family, her next-door neighbors, and friends in their conversions. Finally, her mother joined.
Cancer progressed quickly, and Maria Jocelyn Castillo moved on to the next life. It was hard for me to become friends with such a wonderful person, then watch her die. Finally, I realized how blessed I had been to have been able to help such a young woman become closer to the Savior.
On the day of the funeral, the members of her ward helped with the service, showing that great love King Benjamin talked about. As they lowered the casket into the grave, Jocey’s emotional mother fainted and lay unconscious for about 30 seconds. When she came to, she looked up and said softly, three times, “Alam ko na saan,” which means, “I know where now.” And she calmly walked away.
I learned from Jocey how important the Church is, and how much light the gospel can bring to our lives and the lives of our families and friends. I will always remember Jocey.

One of the first things I did as a member of the Church was read the Book of Mormon. Reading it helped strengthen my testimony of the Prophet Joseph Smith. I learned that if the Book of Mormon is the word of God, then Joseph Smith is a true prophet of God and The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is the true Church upon the earth. I shared my beliefs with my family, and a few years later my mother, brother, and sister were baptized.

I had an experience like yours. I wanted so much to be able to tell the bishop, but I thought he would have little respect for me as a member of his ward. I prayed about it for a long time. I was finally comforted enough by the Spirit to be able to tell the bishop about my problem. After I told him what I had done, he let me know that what I had done was wrong but that he still loved me and so does my Heavenly Father. He let me know that there is a way back and that is by repentance. Repentance is such a wonderful process. I beg you to give it a try. The Lord is waiting for you!
Name withheld

Aside from providing a meetingplace for the little group of Saints, the new chapel has brought other blessings. Leonor Machua heard of the new meetinghouse just before leaving on a brief trip to Guayaquil, Ecuador. While in Ecuador she asked someone about the new building and the religion it represented. The stranger answered her questions and suggested she meet with missionaries once she returned home. A few days later she saw the missionaries on a street corner and accepted the invitation to be taught. Sister Machua was baptized immediately after the Saturday afternoon session of general conference in October 2009, the first person to be baptized in the new meetinghouse’s baptismal font.

Brigham Young wrote in his journal:
“I started from Montrose on my mission to England. My health was so poor I was unable to go thirty rods to the river without assistance. After I had crossed the river I got Israel Barlow to carry me on his horse behind him to Heber C. Kimball’s, where I remained sick till the 18th. I left my wife sick with a babe only ten days old, and all my children sick and unable to wait upon each other. …”1
An economist could hardly condone the decision of Brigham Young to leave his family in such dire conditions to go off to England as a missionary. An economist learns to make decisions on the basis of what might be called a prudential value system, that is, a value system in which one counts the costs, compares them with the benefits, and follows that course of action for which the rewards are greatest. He makes a cost-benefit analysis and justifies his actions not by appeal to past authority or to previously formulated principles but by their expected future effects. The ethic is sensible and rational. We have come to respect it as a good system by which to make decisions.
By this ethic, though, Brigham Young’s action seems ill-considered, if not totally unjustifiable. Had he relied on the evidence of a cost-benefit analysis, he would likely not have gone on a mission at all: the cost in certain pain and possible death seemed to far outweigh the benefit in uncertain conversions in a far-off land.

One Sunday right in the middle of the branch sacrament meeting, a woman walked in the door off the street. She was a homeless woman who was wearing dirty, ragged clothes, coughing, choking, and blowing her nose into a filthy handkerchief. In a loud, hoarse voice she said, “I want to sing! I want to pray!” and walked right to the front row and sat down next to a member who was wearing a white blouse, leaned against her, and laid her head on her shoulder. The member immediately put her arms around this guest and held her in her arms throughout the remainder of the meeting. It happened that the speaker had been talking about the parable of the good Samaritan as the woman had come in. As this woman coughed and choked, the speaker continued telling of the parable. As he came to the end of his talk and was quoting a relevant scripture, suddenly, in a loud voice, this homeless woman finished giving the verse that the speaker had begun. In talking of this after sacrament meeting with the speaker, we thought it had probably been a long time since someone had affectionately put an arm around our visitor. We wondered what better illustration you could have of the parable of the good Samaritan than what we had just seen, and we were reminded of the Savior’s words that preceded His telling of that parable: “Thou shalt love … thy neighbour as thyself.”

The student council election results are in.
Matt told me the bad news. How are you doing?
I’m really disappointed.
I’m sorry you lost. But I’m also very proud of you.
Really?
Of course. You had some great ideas for your school, and you worked hard to get elected. You can feel good about that.
The next morning …
You’re right, Mom. I did my best. Now I’ll share my ideas with the new council. And next year I’ll start earlier, meet more students …
Will I be calling her “President Mandy” someday?

Elder Pierre Sewell and Elder Keown Dyson, whose mothers are sisters, received their calls in March 2020 just as the country was going into lockdown. Elder Dyson was excited to receive his call to serve in the Jamaica Kingston Mission, which is where he had always wanted to go. Elder Sewell had also wanted to serve somewhere far away but thought there was little chance of that, now that his cousin was going to Jamaica! However, just a few days later, he was thrilled to see he would serve in the Philippines Legazpi Mission, Tagalog speaking.
Having started his mission 21 July 2020, Elder Sewell’s day now consists of getting up early, personal study and language study with a long wait before companion study because his companion is in Wyoming! Two three-hour Zoom lessons follow, finishing at 10 p.m. Elder Dyson’s day also starts early but with teachers based in their homes near the Preston MTC, the lessons do not finish so late. His companion is from Poole, UK and the other members of the district are in seven other European countries. Elder Dyson has already had the opportunity to teach remotely.
Many mission experiences now are using technology to teach, and the physical distance does not seem to matter.
Elder Sewell says this is the generation of technology and the Church has been prepared for this time. Due to current restrictions and visa hold-ups, the two cousins are to be temporarily assigned to missions in the UK, Elder Dyson to London and Elder Sewell to Manchester. Both are happy to serve and work on the Lord’s timetable.
Both elders received their temple endowments on 25 August 2020, saying it was a very special experience and they really felt the spirit. They felt blessed to attend the London England Temple, which had just reopened for live endowments. The only patrons in attendance were the two of them and their respective parents.
Despite the pandemic, missionary work is progressing. We can see the Lord’s hand not only in providing well-prepared missionaries but also in providing tools to reach more of our Heavenly Father’s children than ever before.

The second example occurred more recently, in the United States.
I was in a hurry to make a close plane connection in a large city, so I was somewhat concerned at the large number of people and their slow movement down the crowded hall. I moved in and out as best I could without jostling others.
I noticed a fairly concentrated group up ahead. There seemed to be some reason for the slowdown since I could see open spaces farther ahead. As I came to the slowed group I could see a young lady slowly making her way forward with braces and canes. She was terribly crippled but doing the best she could. Most people, as they saw the situation, slowed down and patiently let her go at her own speed.
Just ahead of me, two big, strong, brown-skinned young men had just had their rapid pace slowed and could see the reason why. One turned to the other and in his native tongue said, “Ta’ahine faikehe eni ‘Oku totonu ke puna ia ki tu’a ka ta o!” which roughly interpreted is: “What a crazy girl. She ought to be thrown out so we could move!”
I knew of no Tongans living in this area of the United States. Hawaii, California, and Utah, yes, but here? Since I had served a mission in Tonga, I quickly replied to the two young men, “Oua na’a mo lau’i ae ta’ahine oku si’i heke, he taha, ko hono fo’ui,” which is more or less: “You shouldn’t speak bad about the poor girl. After all, it’s not her fault.”
They whirled around to see who on earth spoke to them. They had a combination of embarrassment and disbelief on their faces. All they saw was a typical American man in a business suit, carrying a briefcase, and scolding them with his eyes.
They just sort of disappeared down the next opening with mutterings of disbelief and dismay, “How did he know? Who was that? We better watch what we say, etc.”
I have often thought that the statistical chances of those circumstances occurring as they did—with the relatively small number of Tongans in the United States, the even smaller number in that large city, and the even smaller number of white people who could speak Tongan—were so small as to be almost nonexistent.

When I was 30 years old, I was visiting the Nagoya mission as part of my work. After the meeting, the mission president kindly arranged for the elders to drive me to the airport. However, as we reached the intersection at the bottom of a long hill, a large truck came barreling down from behind us at great speed. It rammed into the rear of our car and propelled it forward more than 70 feet (20 m). The terrifying part of all of this was there was no driver. The rear of our car was compacted to half its original size. Fortunately, both the elders and I survived.
However, on the following day, I began experiencing pain in my neck and shoulders and developed a severe headache. From that day, I couldn’t sleep and I was forced to live each day with both physical and mental pain. I prayed to God to please heal my pain, but these symptoms lingered on for about 10 years.
At this time, feelings of doubt also began creeping into my mind, and I wondered, “Why do I have to suffer this much pain?” However, even though the kind of healing I sought was not granted, I strove to be faithful in keeping God’s commandments. I continued to pray that I would be able to resolve the questions I had about my trials.
There came a time when I found myself struggling with a few additional personal issues, and I was agitated because I did not know how to cope with this new trial. I was praying for an answer. But I didn’t receive an answer right away. So I went and talked with a trusted Church leader.
As we were talking, with love in his voice, he said, “Brother Aoyagi, isn’t your purpose for being on this earth to experience this trial? Isn’t it to accept all the trials of this life for what they are and then leave the rest up to the Lord? Don’t you think that this problem will be resolved when we are resurrected?”
When I heard these words, I felt the Spirit of the Lord very strongly. I had heard this doctrine countless times, but the eyes of my understanding had never been opened to the extent they were at this time. I understood this was the answer that I had been seeking from the Lord in my prayers. I was able to clearly comprehend our Heavenly Father’s plan of salvation and understand anew this important principle.
Let’s now consider that rear-end collision in Nagoya. I could have died in that accident. Nevertheless, through the Lord’s grace, I miraculously survived. And I know that my sufferings were for my learning and for my growth.5 Heavenly Father schooled me to temper my impatience, to develop empathy, and to comfort those who are suffering. When I realized this, my heart was filled with feelings of thankfulness toward my Heavenly Father for this trial.

I am grateful that I was taught as a child how to plant seeds. Through the miracle of life, we planted the seeds and produced delicious fresh peas, corn, carrots, turnips, onions, and potatoes from our own garden. I clearly remember a most meaningful experience when my grandfather showed us how to sow alfalfa seeds by hand. He had plowed and harrowed the ground to prepare the seedbed. Then he took a handful of seeds, and with a wide swing of his arm he artfully scattered them as he paced across the field in geometric patterns. Although birds ate some of the alfalfa seed, the crop grew, and the stand was rich and plentiful for many years.

Thinking back to my first ward road show, I distinctly remember the early-morning practices, the prayers, the talking to others as we waited to perform our parts, and the camaraderie we felt as we painted scenery, practiced, and learned together. These were the times when I watched how the gospel worked in the real lives of real people. I saw how my advisers handled problems, how leaders reacted under pressure, how spouses related to each other, and I made silent decisions about living the principles I was being taught on Sunday. I felt the Spirit as we prayed for miracles, such as remembering our parts or the health of one of the youth.
I don’t remember my lines from that road show, nor do I remember all the other particulars. But I do remember how I felt as we performed and as I looked into the faces of my ward members and saw their approval and felt their love.

With hymnbooks in their hands, a group of bleary-eyed seminary students packed pillows and quilts with them. They were barely awake as they gathered at the church on an early Saturday morning. But with the first chords of hymn number one, “The Morning Breaks,” the seminary students from Pleasant Grove, Utah, started a marathon. It would take them more than 13 hours to complete. There was no running involved—just singing. Lots and lots of singing. The seminary students were attempting to sing every hymn in the hymnbook in a single day.
The idea started two years ago when Mike Laudie and his older brother Jim were waiting to be interviewed for temple recommends. They started playing the piano and singing hymns. “We just thought, Wouldn’t it be cool to sing all the hymns in one sitting,” said Mike. At that time, Jim organized and held the first hymn marathon at the Pleasant Grove seminary. Then, this year, Mike was on the seminary council and proposed that the seminary try it again.
First, the seminary council asked the 1,200 seminary students to vote on their favorite hymns. After every 20 hymns, the group would sing a hymn from their top 25 choices. The plan was to save the top-10 vote getters for the last hour of the marathon. Fortified with plenty of doughnuts and juice, they started singing. A few students like David Anson stayed the whole 13 hours. He said, “Music means so much to my life. It has touched me for good.” Others had to come and go as their work schedules allowed. With some talented accompanists spelling each other, the number of singers fluctuated throughout the day between a few dozen to nearly 200. Even if they had come earlier in the day, most who participated came back for the last hour.
The message of the hymns came across strongly for some. They felt the power of beautiful words combined with pleasing melodies. Tyson Peery noted one meaningful line. “There are a lot of hymns we don’t know. But when we sang, ‘There Is Sunshine in My Soul Today,’ one of the lines says, ‘And Jesus listening can hear, the songs I cannot sing.’ That really hit me.”
Another meaningful hymn to the group was “A Poor Wayfaring Man of Grief.” Brett Munden said, “I love that song because when I sing it I think of Joseph Smith in Carthage Jail. He asked John Taylor to sing that song for him. It’s my favorite hymn because it was Joseph’s favorite.”
For many, the hymn marathon became more than just an endurance feat. Sarah Overson said, “I thought of the hymn that says, ‘Angels above us are silent notes taking’ (see Hymns, no. 237). I know that God was pleased with us singing praises to Him all day long. Singing hymns is like praying. It was to show Heavenly Father that I was willing to sacrifice my time to ‘pray’ to Him. I want Him to know that I’m willing and trying to improve my habits and keep the commandments.”
These are the 10 hymns the Pleasant Grove seminary students voted as their favorites:
The Spirit of God
A Poor Wayfaring Man of Grief
Praise to the Man
I Stand All Amazed
How Great Thou Art
If You Could Hie to Kolob
Called to Serve
True to the Faith
We Thank Thee, O God, for a Prophet
Come, Come, Ye Saints

Over the years, Kumar met two other mission presidents and occasionally had the opportunity to take some couple missionaries on tours which also had a positive influence on him. After talking with some good members, Kumar decided to take the missionary lessons.

Kumar remembered the first lesson when President Roshan, Negombo branch president, told him he shouldn’t worry if a tour group commitment prevented him from coming to church sometimes. He assured him that this church is not for perfect people but those who are striving to become perfect.

Kumar exclaimed, “This was wonderful to my ears,” as this issue of missing church after committing himself to Christ weighed heavily on his mind. Now he could progress with a clear conscience and learn more about the restored gospel of Jesus Christ.

“The Book of Mormon was very nice to read. It helped me feel closer to my wife and more comfortable with my family,” says Kumar. In December of 2019, Kumar was baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.