Gospel Story Finder

Elder Eyring: Throughout my life, the scriptures have been a way for God to reveal things to me that are personal and helpful. When I was a little boy, I was given a small Bible. If I remember correctly, it was only the New Testament. For some reason, I was drawn to 1 Corinthians 13, which is about charity. Somehow, even in my childhood, I knew that for me that chapter was about the family I would have someday. Years later, before I was married, I received a patriarchal blessing. In that blessing, the patriarch described the feeling that would be in the home I would someday have. He described exactly what I had felt years before when I read 1 Corinthians 13.
The scriptures were one of the ways God spoke to me—even when I was a child—about my needs, my situation, and my life. They still are. Since our needs change over a lifetime, God has different things to tell us at different times.

Sophie had hurried back to the woodland pasture to look for the cow she had somehow left behind. There is so much to learn about farming and animals in this new country, she thought, sighing. Sophie and her brother and their parents had emigrated from Germany to a farm near the base of the Ozark Mountains and everything here seemed difficult and strange.

Searching frantically for the lost animal, Sophie finally sighted it lying in the tall grass. When she got closer, she saw a gash in the cow’s flank. It didn’t look too serious, but the cow still refused to get up. She lay there rolling her eyes and mooing plaintively. Papa had once said that fear sometimes made animals and people stop trying to help themselves, and Sophie guessed this was the trouble with the cow. Still, she pleaded and patted and shoved, but the animal wouldn’t budge.

Every day in good weather, it was Sophie’s job to drive the cows here to graze, to watch and tend them, and to drive them back home again in the late afternoon. Although the animals usually stayed with the bell cow, this one must have strayed while Sophie ate her lunch or while she waded in the brook. Papa will punish me and I deserve it, thought Sophie. But oh, how I wish we were safe at home.

Safe at home! The words bounced in her head, and her heart began to thump. She had often heard the cry of a panther in the distance when she drove the herd homeward. Papa had told her that panthers sometimes lure people to them with a cry like that of a lost child. Sophie shivered. It was frightening to be out here all alone.

The girl knew that even if the cow were willing, it would be unwise to drive it home through the darkness. She called to Shep and jogged out onto the dirt wagon lane. Inside the thick tunnel of overhanging branches and hazel brush, it was already growing gloomy, and she had more than a mile to run before she would be home to ask Papa what to do.

Sophie’s golden braids flopped wildly as her bare feet kicked up puffs of dust on the road. “Oh, dear!” she exclaimed suddenly, remembering that it was market day and Papa and Willie would stay in town overnight. They were counting on her to be safely at home with Mama, who was expecting a baby.

Sophie knew she had to let Mama know what had happened. Reaching home at last, she burst into the kitchen. Mama was at the wood stove stirring something in the kettle. Breathlessly, Sophie began to tell her mother about the hurt cow. Mama’s usually bright expression changed to a look of concern. For a long moment she concentrated without speaking.

At last Mama said in a calm voice, “We must do what we must do. It will be for you and Shep to watch out for our cow and I will be fine here alone. But we must make a good plan.” She rested her arm on Sophie’s shoulder, thinking. After a while Mama raised her head and spoke with assurance. “Now, this is what you should do. First fetch a rope and make a leash for Shep so he will stay close to you. Then take a torch with you and watch over the cow until morning.”

Sophie’s heart leaped. Allnight? Alone with only Shep? But Mama was pushing her into action with more words. “Come to the shed. I will light the torch. There is no time to lose.”

Sophie was soon loping along the lane with a lighted torch in one hand, Shep’s rope in the other, a blanket roll on her back, and a bottle of turpentine for the cow’s wound in her apron pocket. There was no time to be afraid. She must be brave and Mama said she would be praying for her safety.

In the torchlight, Sophie could see the cow, quiet now in her fear. She wedged the torch in a hole of a tree stump and tied up Shep. Moving as fast as she could, she gathered wood to make four bonfires around them.

Finally, Sophie knelt beside the cow and carefully poured turpentine into the wound. The animal rolled her eyes and bawled loudly as the medicine burned into her flesh. Once or twice she tried to get up, but Sophie held her head down, patting and talking soothingly to her. At last, the cow seemed to sense that the girl was trying to help and she grew quiet. Only the involuntary flinching of her side told of her pain.

Sophie lit two of the bonfires when it was dark and then beat out the torch. Mama had said to keep it ready to relight if some animal dared come too close. The plan was to keep two fires burning all night.

Sophie spread her blanket near the cow and then petted her until the animal’s eyes closed in sleep. The hours seemed to drag, and the silence was vast and deep. Now and then, a twig snapped. Once when Shep heard a faraway lonely cry, he opened his eyes and growled deeply. Sophie felt her scalp tingle. An opossum hanging by its tail overhead startled her before it moved away. More than once she felt like crying.

When Sophie lighted the last two fires, she prayed they would burn until dawn. What if they don’t? she wondered, then pushed the thought away. She dared not think about it.

At last it began to grow light! Sophie let out a sigh of relief. The long nightwatch was over and all would be well. Now she could kick dirt over the dying embers and untie Shep. She looked toward the cow and was surprised to see the animal struggling to her feet! The wound was beginning to heal already. The cow put out her big, rough tongue and licked Sophie’s hand.

Sophie breathed a prayer of thanks, then gave the cow a hug and said, “Come on, love. It’s home at last for you and me!”

Third, I was introduced to the missionaries and the Church when I was eight. I was invited to see the dedication of the first LDS Church building in Ethiopia on Sunday, November 30, 2003. At the dedication I felt the powerful influence of the Holy Spirit, and the missionaries in attendance radiated joy, happiness, and that same powerful spirit. I remember thinking that I wanted to be just like them. But I had no idea how I could ever reach this goal.

The fourth miracle came soon after. A family in the United States adopted me. My new father picked me up from the orphanage and took me home. We started the process of becoming acquainted, and I began to settle into my new environment.

Numerous challenges surfaced immediately upon my arrival. Everywhere I went people laughed at my English. My limited education caused problems in school. I prayed for help, and then I worked harder and smarter to close the knowledge gap, especially with English. Once again Heavenly Father answered my prayers. Two years later I proudly skipped a grade.

Then my home life fell apart. Prayers to the Lord, high personal goals, and a deep desire to succeed carried me through that extremely tough time. Finally, with a social worker’s help, my father and I agreed to terminate the adoption. This was a time for prayer, patience, faith, and help from Heavenly Father.

Now 15 years old, I went to live with a foster family for about a year. That was when the fifth miracle came. While sleigh riding with two friends, I met an LDS family with two nice daughters. During the ride home, one of the daughters spoke up, saying, “I think the Lord wants us to adopt Ephrem Smith.” Remarkably, the other three members of the family had also received the same inspiration. The father worked with the Department of Social Services, and soon I moved to my new home. From the very beginning my amazing new father gave me agency. For example, he explained that their family goes to church on Sundays. He allowed me to choose to join them or stay home; he said that they still would love me if I chose not to attend church. I chose to attend church, and I have since made many other righteous decisions.

Miracle six came as I received a testimony of the gospel. One Sunday I sat in sacrament meeting singing “I Stand All Amazed” (Hymns, no. 193). Huge tears began running down my cheeks as I received a personal testimony that Jesus is the Christ and that the Church is His Church.

Finally, nine years later, I knew how to become like those missionaries! The missionary age was now 18, but my adoption had not yet been finalized. I waited seven long months until my adoption was completed. Finally, my missionary papers could be submitted. Four days later I received my mission call. In just one week the Lord blessed me with final adoption papers and a mission call. I treasure both papers exceedingly! They are my seventh miracle. Yes, indeed, it took many miracles along the way from that mud hut in Ethiopia to my treasured mission.

In home evening we learned about how we can use our talents to bless others and help them feel God’s love. We read about Jesus teaching the people that they should share their light instead of hiding it. Then we talked about ways we could share our light through our talents.
Our mom suggested we play our instruments for people at a retirement home near us. At first, we were excited to play. But when we got to the retirement home, we felt nervous. We felt even more scared as we walked into the room where we were going to perform.
But when we started playing, we felt calm. The people tapped their feet and sang along to our songs. We had fun playing, and we felt happy seeing the smiles on their faces.
Since then, we’ve played at other retirement homes, and we want to keep doing it. Learning to play a musical instrument takes a lot of time and hard work, but we know Heavenly Father is proud of us for developing our talents and sharing them with others.
Illustration by Tania Rex

That support group comes through for less dramatic problems, too. Melissa dated a nonmember for a while. Melissa says they were too serious, and she felt that it wasn’t leading her toward the temple marriage she has as a goal.
“I knew I needed to end it,” says Melissa. “It was really tough, probably the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I knew it was the right decision, though, and the girls really helped me through it.”

Paul loved to save dimes. He saved shiny new dimes and tarnished old dimes. He saved the dimes he received for his birthday.
Grandma would give Paul dimes after he pulled the weeds in her flower garden. Grandpa would give Paul dimes for helping him herd the cows into the barn for milking.
Father would give Paul dimes for helping with the yard work. Mother would give him dimes for watching his little brother.
Paul had a lot of dimes, but no place to keep them. He put dimes in his sneakers, but they hurt his feet when he walked. He put dimes in his pockets, but they fell out when he ran and jumped. So Paul took all his dimes and put them on his dresser. He kept putting more and more dimes on his dresser. Soon the top of the dresser was full of dimes.
One morning at breakfast Mother said, “You have so many dimes on your dresser that I can’t dust it.”
“And I have no place to set my new goldfish,” said his big brother.
“I have an idea,” said Father. “I’ll show you when I come home from work today.”
When Father came home, he was carrying a box. He handed it to Paul. Inside it were many green paper tubes, an envelope with the bishop’s name on it, and a small jar.
“How will these help me with my dimes?” asked Paul.
“Come with me, and I’ll show you,” said Father.
They went to Paul’s room. Paul made lots of piles by counting ten dimes into each pile. Father had him put one dime from each pile into the envelope. Then Paul recounted the remaining dimes the same way. Every time he had five piles of ten dimes, Father put them into a green tube and closed it. When no more tubes could be filled, Paul put the leftover dimes into the jar and put it on the dresser.
“What do we do now?” Paul asked.
“Let’s see how much money you put in the envelope so that we can fill out the tithing slip,” said Father. “Then you can take your tithing money to the bishop on Sunday. Tomorrow after work I’ll take you to the bank, where you can turn in your rolls of dimes. The bank will keep your money in a savings account.”
The next day Father took Paul to the bank. The lady behind the desk took all of Paul’s neatly wrapped dimes. She gave him a small book with his name printed on it. Inside, the book it told him how much money he had given the lady.
On Sunday Paul went to the bishop’s office. He proudly gave his tithing envelope to the bishop.
“Thank you,” said the bishop. “I’m sure that the Lord will bless you for paying your tithing.”
Paul felt very happy. He knew the Lord had already blessed him.

Gemma and her friend Harper sat under the tree in front of Gemma’s house. The tree was full of pink blossoms. It was a lovely day.
“Guess what?” Harper said. “My cousin is graduating from elementary school.”
Gemma picked at the grass. She wished she were graduating too.
“That’s cool, I guess,” she said.
“We are going to have a big family party to celebrate,” said Harper. “My cousin gets to go to middle school next year. He is so lucky!”
“My brother already went to middle school,” said Gemma.
“Did you know in middle school you get your own locker?” Harper asked.
“Yes, I know!” Gemma said. “I just told you—my brother already went to middle school.” Why does Harper keep bragging? Gemma thought. She’s not giving me a chance to say anything!
“And gym! They get to go to gym every day,” Harper said. “My cousin said—”
“Harper, I don’t care what your cousin said,” Gemma said. “I already know all about middle school.”
Harper stared down at the blossoms that had fallen from the tree. Gemma’s face felt hot. She didn’t know what to do or say.
At last Gemma stood up. She brushed the dirt off her pants and ran into her house.
Why did she get so mad? Harper didn’t do anything wrong. Gemma sat on the edge of her bed and took a deep breath. She wished she hadn’t said that to Harper. It hadn’t been kind at all.
She looked at her desk and saw a peach-colored binder with shiny hearts. It was the baptism book her mom had made. Inside were pictures from her life and notes from family and friends. She grabbed the binder and flipped through the pages.
She noticed one note. It read, “I want you to know that Heavenly Father is proud of your choice to be baptized. When you make mistakes and repent, He will forgive you. Repentance is a good thing!”
Gemma took a deep breath. The way she treated Harper was not a good choice. But she knew what to do now.
She ran outside and sat down by Harper. Harper looked down.
“I’m sorry for what I said. I shouldn’t have been so rude,” Gemma said.
Harper looked up. “That’s OK. I know you didn’t mean it. Thanks for saying sorry.” She gave Gemma a blossom that had fallen from the tree.
That night, Gemma told Mom what had happened. “Harper forgave me,” Gemma said. “But I still need to repent to Heavenly Father. Will you help me?”
“Of course,” Mom said. She gave Gemma a big hug. “Do you want to pray about it right now?”
Gemma and Mom knelt down.
“Dear Heavenly Father,” Gemma prayed, “I’m sorry I was so mean to Harper. I want to repent and do better.”
Gemma felt good inside as she prayed. She was glad she could fix things with Harper. And with Heavenly Father. Repentance was a good thing!
This story took place in the USA.
How do you feel when you repent?

I’m having a birthday party next weekend, on the 23rd. We’re going to Funland Park at two o’clock. Can you come?
I’d love to! Let me check with my mom.
Yes! I’m starting to fit in. Allie is really nice. Her party should be fun.
I know it’s on a Sunday, but maybe it would be OK just this once. Besides, I don’t want to hurt Allie’s feelings.
If I ask Mom and Dad, they’ll probably tell me it’s my decision. What should I do?
The next day at school …
I’m sorry I can’t come to your party. I’m glad you invited me, and I hope you have a great birthday. Can we hang out another time?
Can we bake some birthday cookies to take to my friend Allie this weekend?

Now a second story . . . the August 2006 Ensign provides a touching story of Liz Shropshire, who was a single adult member of the Church living in California. Liz was also a music teacher and composer. She decided to “visit Austria because of its rich musical heritage.” “Shortly after Liz purchased her ticket to Europe, she heard a heartbreaking radio account about the ‘ethnic cleansing’ of minority groups then taking place in Kosovo. Liz says that as she heard of the suffering of these people, her heart became so filled that she felt that she needed to be there”. To make a most touching story short, she did go to Kosovo to share her musical gifts with the suffering. Her music brought a glimmer of joy to hundreds and then thousands of people who had so little joy in their lives. Over time she spread her message of hope through music to other countries—benefiting now over 8,000 people. Liz says, “I knew that what I’d been doing in Kosovo felt more right than anything else I’d done in years. Before I came, I felt I’d just been living for myself. Looking at various experiences I’d had in my life, I felt that this was something I’d been prepared to do. I used to think that being rich simply meant having money. But I have realized that being rich means being able to share whatever it is we’re blessed with. Although I have never had less of the things of the world than I have now, I have never been so rich.”

When I was a deacon, the ominous signs of the Great Depression began to appear. Tens of thousands lost their jobs. Money was scarce. Families had to do without. Some young people did not ask their mothers, “What’s for dinner?” because they knew all too well that their cupboards held very little.
My parents were hardworking. They made every penny stretch as far as possible. That was probably the major reason everything they gave me was always two or three sizes too large.
I was 12 years old when I received my first pair of ice skates, so large that I had to stuff a third of the toe space with cotton.
When I took them out of the box, I looked up and said, “Mother, I can’t skate with these.”
“Be grateful for what you have, Joseph,” she’d say. And then, the phrase I had become so accustomed to hearing, “Don’t worry; you’ll grow into them.”
A year later, what I wanted more than anything else was football shoulder pads and a helmet. On Christmas morning, I opened my packages and there they were, shoulder pads and a helmet, except they were sized to fit Goliath—who, by the way, was six cubits or about nine feet tall.
“Mother, they’re too big,” I said.
“Be grateful for what you have, Joseph,” she said again. “Don’t worry; you’ll grow into them.”
Prior to high school I played a lot of neighborhood football. When I put on the new equipment, the shoulder pads hung so far over my shoulders that about the only things they protected were my elbows.
Even though I stuffed cotton and newspaper in the helmet, it jostled every time I took a step. When I ran, it would turn and turn until the only way I could see where I was going would be to look out through the ear hole.
One time I rambled for a long gain at full speed right into a tree. Each time I was tackled, the helmet would spin 180 degrees and I’d get up looking like my head had spun with it. Then I would have to repack the cotton and newspaper as best I could, put it back on, and head back to the huddle.
My father was truly a great man. I remember one day putting my feet in my father’s shoes. I was amazed at the size. Would I ever be big enough to fill his shoes? Could I ever grow into the man my father was? I wondered.
I think back on those days with some tenderness. Curiously enough, I also look back with tenderness to my dear mother’s encouraging words, “Don’t worry, Joseph; you’ll grow into them.”
In a similar way, we all need to learn how to “grow into” our responsibilities as priesthood bearers.

The minute Robert woke up he knew the weather was still stormy. He was glad. Maybe I can stay home from school today, he thought.
Ever since he and his parents had moved to Pinehills in late summer, Robert had been unhappy. Each school morning when he awoke he felt a nagging dread in his stomach.
Robert dressed and went into the kitchen where his mother and father stood in the doorway, looking out at the dark day. He was still clinging to the hope that his mother would let him stay home, but all she said was, “Be sure and wear your warm shirt, Robert.” There was not a word about staying home.
A horse’s hooves sounded outside. A man called, “Ready, Mr. Shaft?”
Robert’s father answered, “Be right with you,” as he put on his yellow slicker and hat.
“Are you going to help build up the dam on Indian River?” Robert asked his father.
“Yes. Every man in town is needed there, Robert. After a week of rain Pinehills’ reservoir is in danger of spilling over.”
Robert’s mother looked worried. “Indian River runs right beside the schoolhouse,” she said. “What if the dam should break?”
Robert’s father tried to ease her concern. “Don’t worry, Mother,” he said. “We’ll be there to watch it all day.”
After his father had gone Robert sat down at the table. He wasn’t hungry and he wanted to say, “I don’t feel well, Mother,” or, “Maybe I should stay home to be with you,” but she would know he was only making excuses.
“Eat your breakfast or you’ll be late for school,” Mother insisted, so Robert choked down a few mouthfuls and then, with dragging footsteps, he set out under gray clouds that sagged nearly to the tops of the trees. Down the hill he trudged, his feet swishing through the wet leaves. He sniffed the brown smell of mud. I wish I could walk to some faraway, enchanted place and never have to go to school again, he thought.
But Robert soon reached the clearing where the one-room schoolhouse stood.
Two girls immediately ran up to meet him. Freckled Rebecca skipped on one side of Robert, and Patricia walked on the other side of him. Together they chanted, “Bobby Shafto’s gone to sea, Silver buckles on his knee. He’ll come back and marry me. Pretty Bobby Shafto.”
Then both girls giggled and Robert continued on to school, feeling miserable and lonely. He couldn’t remember who first used the nursery rhyme to tease him, but soon every child in school began chanting, “Pretty Bobby Shafto!” whenever they saw him. Robert felt he didn’t have a single friend.
When he reached the schoolhouse, Robert slumped in his seat in the back row where he was the only sixth-grader. He watched the teacher write words on the chalkboard. Robert thought Miss Parker was the one pleasant thing about school.
Turning around she asked, “Has the rain started again, Robert?”
“No, Ma’am, but the clouds are full,” he answered.
“Oh, dear,” Miss Parker said, looking worriedly out the window. “Maybe I should send the children home. Indian River runs so near the school.”
“My father said every man in town is watching the dam,” Robert told her.
“Well, then I’ll begin school,” she said. “Will you please ring the bell for me?”
Students hurried past Robert as he stood beside the door clanging the brass bell. No one spoke to him except to whisper, “Pretty Bobby Shafto!” or tease, “Where’s the silver buckles for your knee?”
Slumped in his seat, Robert watched Miss Parker as she listened to the first-graders read. He couldn’t help smiling when Amy Andrews read aloud. She looked too tiny to be in school.
A rumble of thunder and a crackle of lightning made Robert and the other children jump. Just as Miss Parker said, “Don’t be frightened!” another rumbling noise shook the schoolhouse. It was the loudest sound Robert had ever heard, a heavy shuddering rumble very different from thunder.
Everyone in the room except Robert sat so still they appeared frozen. He rushed to the door and shouted, “The dam broke! Here comes the water!”
The boys and girls began to cry as Miss Parker ran to the door and stood beside Robert. They looked out at the water swirling and roaring only a few feet away from where they stood. No longer held by the dam, the water leaped from the riverbed, rushing toward the schoolhouse. Water was coming inside the schoolroom now and Robert’s feet were wet.
“Robert, help me push my desk under the attic trapdoor,” Miss Parker directed. “Then lift the children up to me if you can.”
Robert and the teacher shoved the desk beneath the little opening in the ceiling. He put a chair on the table, then climbed up to push the door aside and helped her into the attic.
“Get in line by grades,” she called down. “Youngest first. Robert will lift you up to me.”
One by one, as the water rose higher in the room, the children climbed onto the desk. Straining, Robert lifted each child high enough for Miss Parker to grab his wrists and pull him into the dim, dry attic.
When the last child in line was safely inside Robert started to climb up himself. “Amy? Where’s Amy Andrews?” Miss Parker called.
The other children cried, “She isn’t here! Where’s Amy?”
Robert jumped off the desk into the still-rising water and began to search the schoolroom. He finally found Amy clinging to a chair that had floated into a corner.
“Put your arms around my neck, Amy,” Robert told her. “Hold tight so I can lift you into the attic.”
But Robert’s legs weren’t strong enough to carry both of them through the swirling water. No matter how hard he struggled, he couldn’t reach the desk.
Up in the attic the children kept calling, “Come on, Robert!” He saw Miss Parker’s anxious expression just as the rushing water swept him off his feet and through the open door.
Robert never knew exactly what happened next. He only remembered swimming as hard as he could with Amy’s arms wrapped tightly around his neck. Then they were on a log that swept them swiftly downstream.
Robert couldn’t tell where they were. Sometimes it seemed he and Amy stayed in one place while trees and houses rushed by. Other times he looked down at the racing water and grew so dizzy he was afraid he would fall off the log. Then he’d shut his eyes and tell Amy softly, “Don’t let go!”
At a place where the river curved, the log slammed into a high bank and stuck there, but Robert knew he couldn’t climb the steep, muddy bank. His legs felt like soaked wood and it was almost more than he could do to hang onto the log with his weary arms. Amy was crying and Robert held her close as he prayed, “Heavenly Father, please send someone to find us.”
The long hours seemed to creep slowly by. At last the most welcome sound Robert had ever heard came from the bank above them. It was his father’s voice. “Here they are!” he shouted. “I’ve found Robert and Amy and they’re alive!”
It was two weeks before the flood damage was cleaned up and the school could reopen. And as Robert set out through the early morning sunshine he wondered how it would seem to be back in the schoolroom again. He was glad he had been able to help Miss Parker but he dreaded the teasing of the children as much as ever.
Walking slowly, Robert was nearly to the schoolhouse when he heard someone shout, “Here he comes!” Then someone else called, “It’s our Bobby Shaft who went to sea!”
Suddenly Robert was surrounded by all the boys and girls in the little school. Everyone was happy to see him. And even the old nursery rhyme sounded good when Amy Andrews ran up, slipped her small hand inside of Robert’s big one and said, “My pretty Bobby Shafto!”

I began to more fully understand the gospel of Jesus Christ when I was serving in the Nigeria Lagos mission from 2015 to 2017. The understanding came when I sat down to read and ponder the scriptures and the lessons that I taught my investigators. Sometimes I asked myself how my parents became members of the Church because teaching people the gospel and their understanding of what you teach became a concern to me. I knew that I was teaching the truth, but their commitment was not enough to convince me that I was doing my best as a missionary.
I had a good trainer who always advised me to write down concerns and questions from our investigators to guide me how to study and teach, to meet the needs our investigators, as the Spirit directs. I did what my trainer told me and during my personal and companionship study I did my best to review all the concerns and to pray for God to inspire me with divine truths to teach people.
During my missionary service, I felt the love of teaching the gospel of Jesus Christ because I knew our Heavenly Father loves me and wants me to understand how my parents became members. I have the need to feel others’ understanding about the restored gospel of Jesus Christ and the need for me to improve my learning and teaching skills as a missionary.

Dear Jen* and Kersten: Do you know what the answer to number seven is?”
The words were scribbled hastily on a wadded-up piece of paper and handed to us by Shane, one of the most popular students in our high school class. I nervously glanced at Jen as she read the words on the paper. We were taking a math test, and our teacher had stepped out of the classroom for a moment. Shane had taken the opportunity to hand us the paper without getting caught.
I thought back to my conversation with Jen that morning as we walked to the end of the street where our bus would pick us up.
“Don’t you think Shane is the most gorgeous guy in our math class?” Jen asked me.
“Try the most gorgeous guy in the entire school!” I said. “If he ever gave me the time of day, I would be the happiest girl in the world!”
When we arrived in fifth period math class, Shane, who usually ignored us, started up a conversation.
“Hi. Did you study for the test?”
“Sure,” I said, flashing a smile. “Did you?”
He said that he had, but he was still a little nervous.
I understood what he meant. Even though I had studied hard, I could feel my palms sweating as Mr. Harrison passed out the exam.
Just as they were sweating now, I thought as I took the note back from Jen. I knew that cheating was wrong, but Shane had actually passed me a note! Maybe if I helped him, he would pay more attention to me, or maybe even ask me on a date! My daydreams of dating Shane became more elaborate as I passed back the note with the answers Jen and I had written on the paper.
As I finished my test, the smell of chalk and pencil lead suddenly seemed to overpower me. I felt sick to my stomach. When Mr. Harrison collected the tests, my hands shook as I gave him the papers. I felt so guilty! I hadn’t expected to feel so awful. I looked at Jen and could tell she felt the same way.
When the class was finally over, Jen asked me to wait while she went to talk to Mr. Harrison.
I wondered what she was talking to him about, and I nervously peered through the door from the hallway trying to read their lips.
After a time I saw Mr. Harrison smile and pat Jen on the back as she turned and walked slowly towards me.
“What was that all about?” I asked nonchalantly. She told me that she had admitted to Mr. Harrison that she had cheated on the test.
“What?” I looked at her, dumbfounded.
“Don’t worry, I didn’t tell on you or Shane. I just knew I had done something wrong, and I felt so bad I wanted to repent.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing and asked her what the teacher said. He told her that he was disappointed in her for cheating and hoped she would never do it again. Because she had the courage to admit it, he would only drop her score one letter grade instead of giving her a failing mark.
At that time in my life, I didn’t think I would ever understand why Jen would risk failing a test just so she could feel better about herself. I never admitted cheating to Mr. Harrison or to my parents. In fact, I forgot about the incident completely until three years later, when I found myself being taught by the Mormon missionaries. I remembered Jen, who I knew was a Latter-day Saint, risking so much to repent, and I finally understood. Though she may never know it, her example three years earlier helped me to understand the importance of integrity.
As I read the scripture in Matthew 7:16 [Matt. 7:16]: “Ye shall know them by their fruits,” I thought of Jen and all the other members of the Church who had set good examples for me. That’s when I decided to join The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Shane never did ask me out on a date or even talk to me again. But as I went into the waters of baptism, I really did feel like the happiest girl in the world.

When I was a teenager, my family rented a small home in Laie on Loala Street for six weeks during the summer. We spent most of our days on Hukilau Beach, trying to avoid the “blue bubble” jellyfish, riding bicycles around the neighborhood, and drinking gallons of guava nectar. We visited the pineapple fields, hiked to waterfalls, and toured historic sites. This was a summer to remember for a 13-year-old boy! However, while these experiences were fun, I was impacted most by something more meaningful—the loving and welcoming nature of our neighbors.
Even though we were staying in Laie for only a short time, those around us reached out. Families invited us into their homes for dinner. Kids in the neighborhood extended a hand of friendship. We were even asked to participate in the local ward’s annual beach barbecue and talent show. We were accepted, included, and valued.
We felt like we belonged.

“I was twenty-eight years old when I joined the Church, and I wanted to have my father’s permission. I went to him and asked for his blessing, and he said, ‘Let me think about it.’ The next morning, he said, ‘I have two questions for you. Number one: Have you really investigated this church?’

“‘Yes sir.’ I answered.

“‘Question number two: Are you really convinced that it’s true?’

“I said, ‘Yes.’

“‘Then you have to be baptized,’ he replied. ‘If you are convinced that something is right, you must do it.’

“His integrity was a strong influence in my life. I personally believe that everything has its roots in honesty.

I saw a young man nearly overwhelmed by a new call not long ago. The Lord had inspired His servant to call him to be the president of a stake. The young man had never been a bishop. He had never served in a stake presidency. The stake had in it many men of greater maturity and experience.
He was humbled when he heard the call. His wife through tears said to the servant of the Lord who called him, “Are you sure?” Her husband said quietly that he would serve. His wife nodded her support, tears streaming down her face. As you might have done at such a time, he wanted to talk with his father, who was far away. He called him that afternoon on the telephone. His father has been a dairy farmer all his life. He raised the boy into a man through milking cows and letting his son observe him stop to talk with neighbors to see how they were doing. The next morning, in his first talk as a stake president, this is how he recounted the conversation with his father:
“Many of you that know me know I am a man of few words. I must have gotten that from my father. As I called him yesterday to let him know that I was being called as a stake president, his one response to me was, ‘Well, you better do a lot of praying.’ That was his counsel to me. What better counsel could he give?”

My conversion story is kind of different. It started because my best friend, Calvin, is a member of the Church. We have a mutual friend who is not a Church member and who one day thought it would be funny to go online and have a Book of Mormon sent to me. That friend meant it as a joke, but I was actually interested in it, because although Calvin and I were such great friends, I felt like it was a whole part of him I didn’t know about.
The Book of Mormon came in the mail, and I started reading it. Sometime later, Calvin invited me to a Mutual activity. We went to the park and played volleyball, and I had a lot of fun with the youth. They made me feel welcome, so I kept going to the combined activity every month. After a few months, I made a couple of friends in the Young Women group. I decided to go one night to a Young Women activity, and I loved it. I started going every week.
Calvin invited me to church one week, and it happened to be general conference. It was like nothing I had ever experienced, and I was in awe. I kept going to church every week I could. After a couple months of regularly going to the activities and to church, I really wanted to talk to the missionaries about being baptized, but I knew I had to take lessons first, and I wasn’t sure how to ask them. I had talked to Lindsey, a good friend I made in Young Women, about how I really wanted to be baptized, so she asked the missionaries about the lessons for me. After that, every Wednesday before the Mutual activity, I would come an hour early with Lindsey, and we would have a lesson.
During the missionary lessons, I never questioned anything about the gospel, because it was like I’d known it all my life but just hadn’t known what I knew. I took the lessons for about a month and half, and then the missionaries asked me if I wanted to get baptized. I was really excited. I couldn’t wait to tell everybody; I was filled with joy.
Before I was able to be baptized, my mom asked me a lot of questions, because she wanted to see if I knew what I was getting into. But I knew it was something I really wanted to do, and I knew the standards I would need to keep. After hearing how much I knew about the Church and how I understood I would be changing my lifestyle, my mom allowed me to be baptized.
On the day of my baptism, the friends I had made came to support me. Lindsey and another friend, Jameson, gave talks, and Calvin baptized me. It was such a beautiful day. I was grateful for the support of my friends, and I felt close to my Savior Jesus Christ.
Through friendship—even through a friend who wasn’t a member—I have come to know that the Book of Mormon is truly another testament of the Savior Jesus Christ, that Joseph Smith was a prophet called of God to restore Christ’s Church on the earth in the latter days, and that Heavenly Father has a plan for His children. I know that an individual can bring a friend into the gospel by small and simple means. I will never forget the friends who shared the gospel with me.

My good friend Don Pearson shared an experience that highlights this influence. One night his four-year-old son asked him to read a bedtime story. Eric had picked out his favorite book: The Ballooning Adventures of Paddy Pork, a story about a family who lived on the isles of the sea and traveled from island to island by hot-air balloon. It was a picture book that had no words, so Brother Pearson made up words to the story.
“Paddy is in a hot-air balloon. He is landing on an island now. He is dropping a line over the side of the balloon.”
Eric stopped him. “Dad, that is not a line. It’s a rope.”
Brother Pearson looked at Eric and back at the picture book, and then he continued: “Paddy is getting out of the balloon and climbing down the tree. Oh no! His coat is caught on a limb!”
Again Eric stopped him. “Dad, that’s not a coat. It’s a jacket.”
By now Brother Pearson was somewhat perplexed. He said, “Eric, there are no words in this book, just pictures. Why do you insist that it’s a jacket?”
Eric answered, “Because Mother told me.”
His father closed the book and said, “Eric, who do you think is the last word, the ultimate authority in this house?”
This time Eric thought carefully before he answered, “You are, Dad.”
Brother Pearson beamed at his son. What an exceptional answer! “How did you know that?”
Eric quickly responded, “Mother told me.”

It got rave reviews.
The Shropshire England Star called it “jolly,” “most commendable,” and “excellent!” Sound like a smash-hit musical comedy? Well, it was actually a ham soufflé.
But the ham soufflé did have the help of four other courses and the culinary expertise of nine teachers in the Telford England Ward. The quorum had received catering lessons from their adviser and had decided to put their new talents to the test.
They invited 75 member and nonmember guests to their dinner. For two hours everyone feasted on grapefruit, consommé, fresh vegetables, ham soufflé, chicken chausser, and creamed potatoes, with English trifle for dessert.
The group began at 8:00 A.M. to cook and decorate. The women’s editor of the Shropshire Star wrote, “Most cooks would have flaked out. But that’s the sort of spirit you might expect to find among church members who actually helped with the building of their own chapel. And it’s clear that the youngsters are made of the same stern stuff.”
Besides the press, a local candidate for Parliament also attended the dinner. The newspaper noted that the nonmembers saw “with some envy that none of the church members needed alcohol to enjoy themselves.”
Perhaps the old saying will change to read, “The way to a convert’s ear is through his stomach.”

People at the Visitors’ Center will ask us often, “How did you get called to Hawaii, you must’ve known someone!” I explain to them that i was the managing director for the missionary department for many years, and they say, “Ah, that’s the connection.” And i say “Yes, no.” When i retired, Elder Dallin H. Oaks said to me, “What’re your plans?” And i said, “Our plan is to serve a mission.” He said, “Where do you want to serve and what do you want to do?” And I said, “Elder Oaks, we offer no thoughts on where or what. We leave that in the Lord’s hands, and trust that you’ll know where the Lord would have us serve.” So, we were surprised as anyone else when our call letter came and we were invited to come to Hawaii.