Gospel Story Finder

On Sunday, November 26, 1990, I was on the bus, on my way home from our Asian branch in Lynnfield, Massachusetts. I sat by an 11-year-old girl and her 6-year-old brother. I had seen them at our branch, but I didn’t know their names. I did know they were not members yet.
In her hands, the girl was holding a children’s book of Bible stories. She was flipping through the pages, looking at the wonderful pictures. “Look!” she said with surprise, pointing to a picture of Jesus kneeling by a rock, praying, with blood coming out of every pore.
Turning to me she asked, “Why does Jesus look like that?”
“Because he is suffering for the sins of the people. He’s full of pain.”
Again she asked, “Why?”
So I said, “Here, do you want me to read to you?”
I started from where Jesus was kneeling and praying, and every story that I came across I explained. The words just came out, and I knew the children were getting into the story because when they saw Jesus nailed to the cross, they were scared for him. And when they saw he was resurrected, they were happy.
I think I explained the entire story to them from the book and with my own words. And when I asked them questions, they both kept raising their hands as fast as they could.
Finally, the little girl looked up at me and asked, “Is it true?”
I looked down at her and said, “Yes, yes, it’s true.”
And as I nodded my head, I knew myself that it was solid truth. I realized right then and there that I did have a strong testimony of Christ. I bore my testimony of the things that I knew in my heart were true. I know the Spirit was with me. I felt it. I felt the sensation of it—the warmth, the peace, the love.
From then on, I wanted to tell the whole world about Jesus Christ. I wanted everyone to feel that happiness too.

Alex Clinch of Sutton Coldfield, England, enjoys sports and has had success in several. He attends Riland Bedford School, where he is a house captain. He plays on most school teams and serves as captain of several. He led his teammates to victory when they won the Sutton Schools Athletic competition, the Basketball Cup, rugby finals, and table tennis inter-school competition. They were runners-up in the Birmingham Schools League Football finals.
Alex is in his third year of seminary. He was invited to play for the Sutton Town Football League team, a prestigious honor, but refused because it involved playing on Sunday.

When I was six years old, my mother took me to the groundbreaking service for our new chapel in Santa Monica, California. As we arrived, Mother noticed that I had brought the small sand shovel that I usually took on our family outings to the beach. I had hoped that I could help by digging some ground at the chapel site. They let me use my shovel that first day, and my faith was increased because I helped to build a church for our Heavenly Father. My, how good I felt! The seeds of service and faith were planted in my heart. It is my wish to keep that same feeling of faith and desire to serve that I had as a six-year-old child.

When I was a new convert, I attended a class where a missionary couple taught about the temple. As the elder taught, he mentioned that in order to receive exaltation, you needed to attend the temple to receive temple ordinances. I did not even allow him to finish before I asked, “Do you mean those of us who live many miles away from the temple will never receive exaltation?”
In an instant, the teacher walked toward me. He placed both his hands on my shoulders and, looking straight into my eyes, declared, “If you live the gospel, you will enter the temple.”
I wondered how true his words could be. If all the belongings of my family were sold, the money would not be enough to buy the ticket to the temple and back, so I did not take him seriously.
A few years later I was called on a mission. Guess where? Cape Town, South Africa. I would have the opportunity to go through the Johannesburg South Africa Temple before and after my mission. I couldn’t believe it!
I was humbled to recall the words of the elder. I learned never to doubt that “with God all things are possible” (see Mark 10:27).

I saw this in my parents’ marriage. In my mother’s final illness, the more uncomfortable she became, the more giving her comfort became the dominant intent of my father’s life. He asked that the hospital set up a bed in her room. He was determined to be there to be sure that she wanted for nothing. He walked the miles to work each morning and back to her side at night through those difficult times for her. I believe it was a gift from God to him that his power to love grew when it mattered so much to her. I think he was doing what Jesus would have done out of love.

I didn’t have a lot of friends when I was 15. Or at least that’s the way it seemed. I really wanted to fit in, but most of the time I felt like an outsider.
One warm Sunday morning I shoved my hands in my pockets, ducked my head, and started walking to sacrament meeting. I heard a car behind me but didn’t pay any attention until it pulled up next to me at the curb. It was a classy, bright red outfit. I was surprised that I knew the driver. It was a guy I’ll call Tom.
I’d known Tom most of my life. He was a natural leader. His parents were active, and he usually went to church. We didn’t hang around together at school because Tom ran with a crowd that didn’t think much of me. Tom was athletic, good looking, and popular. I was surprised that he bothered to stop.
“Hey,” Tom said, “where are you going?”
“To church,” I answered awkwardly. “Where did you get the wheels?”
“It belongs to my cousin,” Tom smiled, patting the steering wheel. “He lets me use it.”
I stepped back for a better look. The red car was sleek and shiny, and the engine rumbled like an earthquake. There was music playing that sounded like a live band in the back seat. I hoped Mom would let me drive her rusty clunker when I got my license, but “the green box” was as ugly as a soup can. I shook my head and sighed hopelessly.
“Do you want to go for a ride?” Tom offered.
I was stunned. “Sure,” I said, “but I can’t be gone very long. I’ve got to set up the sacrament.”
“Let someone else do it,” Tom sneered.
I believed my priesthood responsibilities were important, but here was a chance to spend time with someone popular. No one would care if I was late, and I was sure the sacrament would get done without me.
“All right,” I agreed. “Where are we going?”
Tom smiled. “I promised the girls a ride. Jump in. We’ll find them and look up some fun.”
When I realized the offer was more than just a ride around the block, my stomach flopped and my mouth filled with cotton. A thousand thoughts filled my head. This could be my big chance! The girls Tom knew were popular and pretty. If I showed up with him, there was a chance they might like me. It could mean a whole new image. And yet …
Tom’s face clouded over. “Are you coming?” he demanded.
I tried to answer, but the noise I made sounded like I was strangling. I couldn’t seem to move my feet.
“I guess you’re scared,” he concluded as he jammed the car into gear. “Well, it won’t take me long to find someone else.”
Tom punched the pedal and took off like a shot, leaving a patch of rubber to remind me what a fool I was. I stood and stared after him with my mouth open.
“He’s right,” I told myself miserably. “I am scared.” I felt terrible. “Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!” I muttered, kicking the curb so hard my toes hurt.
I went to church, but I couldn’t pay attention to the meetings. I was sure that Tom would never ask me to ride with him again (I was right) and that he would tell everyone what a geek I was (right again).
After the meetings I went straight to my bedroom and beat up my pillow. Church had cost me a chance to be with Tom and his cool friends. I felt sick about it and called myself names until I couldn’t think of any more. Finally I went to sleep just to get away from myself.

Sometimes we feel that we don’t have any particularly important gifts. One day, a discouraged sister pleaded, “Lord, what is my personal ministry?” He answered, “Notice others.” It was a spiritual gift! Since then, she has found joy in noticing those who are regularly forgotten, and God has worked through her to bless many. While some spiritual gifts may not be prominent by the world’s standards, they are essential to God and His work.7

Tragically, some believe their sins are so serious they can never be forgiven. President Spencer W. Kimball told of a woman who confessed a serious sin but said, “I know that I … can never be forgiven.”

President Kimball replied, “You can be forgiven.” Together they read scriptures detailing the Savior’s willingness to forgive, including Matthew 12:31–32 [Matt. 12:31–32], where the Lord says he will forgive every sin except “blasphemy against the Holy Ghost.”

With renewed hope, she looked at President Kimball: “I believe you. I shall … obtain that forgiveness.” She returned sometime later “a new person—bright of eye, light of step, full of hope.” She had repented and felt the Lord’s healing forgiveness (The Miracle of Forgiveness [1969], 340–42).

I was 15 when I learned a truth about my talents—or more precisely, my lack thereof—in one particular area: I couldn’t sing.
I’d tried out for a community play, and my a cappella solo sounded so bad that halfway through an accompanist came up and started playing along out of pity. After that, I vowed nobody would hear me sing again. It was time to move on and find another hobby because one humiliating experience was plenty.
However, my big brother Dan, who was an incredible singer, had other plans. Months after my audition, he asked why I was so terrified of singing lately.
“I’m horrible,” I told him. “I can’t sing.” Dan didn’t believe me. Despite my protests, he convinced me to sing something right there. I was nervous.
I can’t recall what I sang, but it was short, barely audible, and seemed proof that I had no discernible singing talent. What Dan said next, I’ll remember the rest of my life. “There,” he told me, “I knew you had a good voice. You just have to practice.”
In Doctrine and Covenants 38:25 we are taught to “let every man esteem his brother as himself.” If Dan had made fun of me and my singing, as many older siblings might have done, he certainly would have ensured my singing silence, perhaps for a lifetime. Instead, Dan lifted me up. He encouraged me.
In the end, I followed his advice and practiced. To my surprise, I gradually improved. Singing became a great joy in my life. I sang in many choirs throughout high school and then in college and beyond. Singing remains one of my deepest joys.
The Savior taught: “Behold, do men light a candle and put it under a bushel? Nay, but on a candlestick, and it giveth light to all that are in the house” (3 Nephi 12:15). I’ve been able to let that light shine, enjoying and sharing music for many years now, but I never could have done it without the encouragement of my brother Dan.

Illustrations by Arthur Lin
“Let’s get more sticks!” Callie said to Marco.
Marco looked at the sky. “I have to go home. It’s almost sunset.”
“But we haven’t finished our fort yet!” said Callie.
“Sorry!” Marco called out as he jogged toward the backyard gate. “I have to be home before the Sabbath!”
Callie sighed. There were great things about being Marco’s friend, and there were hard things. Well, mostly just one hard thing. The hard thing was that they didn’t have very much time to play together. Even though they were in the same grade at school, they weren’t in the same class. They didn’t have the same recess. Plus, they both spent the Sabbath with their families. In Marco’s church, the Sabbath was Saturday. It started at sunset on Friday night. For Callie, the Sabbath was Sunday.
And the good things? There were lots of them. One was that Callie never had to worry that Marco would swear, try to get her to do bad things, or watch things that weren’t good. He and his family went to a different church, but they believed a lot of the same things Callie did. Like they believed in keeping the Sabbath day holy, even though they had it on a different day.
Callie set down her armful of sticks and went inside.
“Did Marco go home?” Mom asked.
“Yeah,” Callie said, slumping into a kitchen chair. “We hardly ever get to play.”
“Maybe you two can get together Friday. It’s a school holiday,” said Mom.
“OK,” Callie said, cheering up. She would get everything ready so when Marco came over, they could start working on the fort right away.
During school later that week, Callie’s teacher made an announcement. The whole third grade was going to watch a movie together.
“Yes!” Callie said. She put her lunch box into her backpack and went into the common area between the classrooms.
Everyone found a place to sit on the floor, and the teachers turned off the lights. Callie got excited as the movie began. It was about some boys building a fort in the woods, just like she was building a fort with Marco! If we ever finish it, she thought. She shook her head and focused back on the screen.
But as the movie went on, Callie noticed that some of the words in it weren’t very nice. She started to feel more and more uncomfortable. She didn’t know what to do.
Just then, she felt a tap on her shoulder. It was Marco! He had crawled all the way through the crowd of students to talk to her.
“Callie, I don’t think we should be watching this,” he whispered. “I think we should go ask our teachers if we can read instead.”
Callie breathed a sigh of relief. It felt good to know someone else felt like she did. “Yeah. I don’t like this movie either.”
She and Marco stood up and tiptoed around their classmates until they reached their teachers. Marco went to his teacher, and Callie went to hers. She asked if she could read a book instead of watching the movie, and her teacher said yes.
As Callie went into her classroom to read, she saw Marco doing the same thing. He gave her a thumbs-up and a smile. Callie smiled back. Having a true friend was even better than having a finished fort.

Zulma sat on one of the church benches and smoothed the skirt of her school uniform. Colored light shone through the stained-glass windows, and a cross stood at the front of the chapel. Zulma went to a church school, so she went to worship services twice a day with the other students. Zulma liked her church. She loved Jesus and loved to learn about Him.
She sat quietly as the priest began to talk. But today something felt different. Suddenly a new thought came into her mind and heart: There is more truth out there.
Zulma scrunched her eyebrows. More truth? What did that mean?
The thought came again. There is more truth.
Zulma closed her eyes and focused on what she was feeling. She had learned lots of good things at church. But now she wondered if something was missing. Maybe there was more that God wanted her to know. But how could she find it?
Later she talked to her older brother, Alberto, about her thoughts.
“You think there’s more truth out there?” Alberto asked.
Zulma nodded. “I want to learn about other churches,” she said.
“OK,” Alberto replied. “I’ll go with you!”
For several years, Zulma and Alberto visited different churches. After one church service, Alberto said, “That church taught good things.”
Zulma agreed, but they still felt like something was missing, so they kept searching.
One day Alberto raced up the steps to their house. “I found the church we’re looking for!” Alberto said. He gave Zulma a big hug.
Zulma’s eyes got wide. “Where? How?”
“My friend met some missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints,” Alberto said. “I listened to them, and I believe what they taught!”
Zulma and Alberto were so happy that they danced all around the house. But then Zulma got some bad news. Mamá didn’t want her to meet with the missionaries. “You’re only 12,” Mamá said. “You’re too young.”
Since Alberto was older, he was allowed to keep meeting with the missionaries. A few weeks later, he was baptized.
Zulma kept asking Mamá again and again if she could learn from the missionaries. Finally, Mamá said yes.
When the missionaries taught Zulma, she felt warm in her heart. One of the missionaries had a hard time speaking Spanish, but it didn’t matter. What mattered was how good Zulma felt. When she learned about Joseph Smith and the Book of Mormon, she knew she had found the truth she was looking for!
Zulma wanted to be baptized. But what would Mamá say? Zulma was so happy when Mamá said yes!
On the day of her baptism, Zulma dressed all in white. She knew God loved her. She knew He knew her. And she knew that He had helped her find His restored Church!
Here is Zulma as a young girl in Uruguay. On the right is a photo of her today with her husband, Elder Walter F. González of the Seventy.

But Father and Stepmother made it difficult for me to attend church.

One day after I came home from a Young Women activity, Father stomped into the den, swore at me, grabbed my scriptures, and tore them into pieces. Flakes of white paper floated and drifted in the air, gracefully and gently landing on the floor, where my teardrops also fell.

It was like a nightmare I could not wake up from.

When I turned 21, I expressed a strong desire to serve a full-time mission. Father responded by disowning me. On Chinese New Year’s Eve, when most people went home to be with their loved ones, I was expelled from home.

On June 4, 1994, I reported to the Taiwan Taichung Mission as a full-time missionary. I pinned a black name tag on my coat, just like the elders who had come to visit my family years before. I was humbled. I was honored. I was blessed.

I’m grateful that our youth leaders planned a visit to the temple. As we were preparing for this trip to Apia, Samoa, we were happy for this rare opportunity. We joyfully went into the temple to do baptisms for the dead—for those who are in the spirit world waiting for us to find our family history and do work for them.
During baptisms, I saw a young man in our group baptized for Faataga Agavale, my grandfather. I felt tears of joy in my eyes, and I knew his spirit was there. I was very happy we were able to do work for him in the temple.
Saini Agavale, Samoa

And that’s where Zenaida Akimova comes in. An older woman in the neighborhood, Zenaida was a friend of Anna’s mother, Alla, and was quickly becoming a friend of the entire family (which also includes Anna’s father, Konstantin, and her brother, Aleksander, also known as Sasha). Zenaida knew they were members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, but she wasn’t sure exactly what they meant by that.

“Keep learning more about it,” Anna invited, “and you’ll see what we mean.”

Zenaida thought about what she already knew. For example, this family treated each other well.

“They were always kind and courteous to each other,” she says. “But most of all they genuinely cared about each other.”

She knew—and had personally witnessed—how important the Church is in their lives. She knew about family history, since Alla had told her about the hundreds of names she has researched. She knew the Sterligovs went on trips to a sacred place called a temple. She knew about Konstantin’s commitment to service as president of the Moscow Russia East District.

Soon Zenaida was meeting with the missionaries, praying, coming to church. She was asking more and more questions, getting more and more answers. Thanks in part to Anna’s constant comments about the Book of Mormon, Zenaida longed to read and understand that holy scripture.

But there was a problem. Zenaida is legally blind. She can’t see well enough to read. She doesn’t know Braille, and even if she did, there is no Braille edition of the Book of Mormon in Russian.

So Anna and Alla developed a plan. Each evening they would read aloud and record several chapters from the Book of Mormon. The following morning, they would deliver the audiocassette to Zenaida. She was thrilled as she learned about Lehi, Nephi, and other prophets. Tape by tape, week by week, her testimony became firmer and clearer. Like the colorful pictures in Anna’s copy of the Book of Mormon, the stories came alive in Zenaida’s mind.

When Anna was busy, Alla recorded. When Alla was busy, Anna recorded. Sometimes Sasha or President Sterligov read into the tape recorder. But every day, verse by verse, chapter by chapter, the tapes were prepared.

“I wanted Sister Akimova to have the same experience with the Book of Mormon that I had,” Anna explains. “The first time the elders showed me the book, I knew it was true. I had no trouble believing it, no doubts. So it was easy for me to tell her how I felt about it and easy to record it for her, since I read it every night anyway.”

Now it is one week before Zenaida’s baptism. She has come to meet with the missionaries once again in the Sterligovs’ apartment. There is a feeling of happiness and hope in the air.

“I am ready to be baptized,” Zenaida says. “I am looking forward to the day. This family has been so great to me. I have my Book of Mormon tapes because of them, and I can listen whenever I want to. I have their example and their love, and with that, I’m ready to begin a new life. I may not be able to see clearly enough to read, but thanks to Anna and Sasha and President and Sister Sterligov, I am starting to see exactly what the gospel means.”

Just before the San Salvador El Salvador Temple was dedicated, my family and I decided to serve at the open house and help those who were not members become acquainted with the gospel of Jesus Christ as they visited the temple. I was assigned to be a guide and speak with people about each room in the temple, the sacred covenants we make there, and how our lives change when we keep those covenants.
My shift came, and I started my tour. I had just barely gone out of the room when someone requested an additional guide since a large group had just arrived. I was told to go back to the greeting room to have another group assigned to me.
When I reached the room, I was again asked to change my assignment and show a video to people who were just arriving at the temple. I felt sad that I wasn’t able to speak with people and tell them about the temple.
About half an hour later, a group from the United States arrived who didn’t speak any Spanish. Several volunteers were running around looking for someone who spoke English and could guide this group. That’s when I understood that the Lord sends us where He needs us, not necessarily where we want to be. I was the only one who knew how to use the video and give the words of welcome in English. The Americans were glad and when they were leaving, they thanked me for receiving them so warmly.
At the end of the day, I felt thankful to the Lord for showing me that when we do things the way He prompts us, we will feel satisfied with our work.
Erick A., El Salvador

“Time for bed, Ethan.”
“Just five more minutes, please, Dad?”
“You’ve been studying that word list all evening.”
“But I have to know every word to beat Blake in the spelling bee tomorrow. He’s the best speller in class, and he’ll be sure to wear his lucky socks.”
“Lucky socks?” Dad questioned.
“He has the ugliest pair of socks I’ve ever seen—red with little gray and white diamonds. He wears them every Tuesday when we have our spelling test, and he’s only missed one word all year.”
Ethan’s father laughed. “And you think that it’s because of his socks?”
“It must be,” Ethan said. “Blake even says so.”
“Well, you won’t do well at the spelling bee if you’re tired, so off to bed now.”
“All right. These words are all beginning to look alike anyway.”
The next day after lunch Mrs. Miller said, “Class, today is the first round of our spelling bee. The words that you draw from the box today are from past tests. Tomorrow we will use the new words from the list I handed out yesterday. Cindy drew number one, so she will be first.”
Cindy stirred the folded slips of paper in the box, picked one, and handed it to her teacher. Mrs. Miller removed the tape, unfolded the paper, and read, “Official.”
Cindy smiled. “Official,” she repeated. “O-f-f-i-c-i-a-l. Official.”
“Correct,” Mrs. Miller said. “Blake, you’re next.”
“Come on, socks, do your stuff,” Blake muttered, handing a word slip to the teacher.
“Community,” Mrs. Miller said.
“Community. C-o-m-m-u-n-i-t-y. Community.”
“Correct.”
Ethan drew special and spelled it correctly. By the end of the seventh round, only Mary Ann, Blake, and Ethan had spelled all of their words correctly.
“Time’s up,” Mrs. Miller said. “We’ll start tomorrow with the new words.”
After school Blake asked Ethan if he wanted to play baseball.
“Aren’t you going to study for the spelling bee?” Ethan asked.
“Nope.”
“But the new words are a lot harder than our old test words were today,” Ethan said.
“I don’t have to study. I’ll just wear my lucky socks again. They worked for me today, didn’t they?”
“Well, I suppose, but …”
“You’ll see,” Blake said.
At supper that evening Ethan asked, “Dad, do you think that lucky socks can really help someone spell well?”
“Are you kidding!” Ethan’s sister chortled. “Socks have nothing to do with spelling well.”
“That’s true,” Ethan’s father agreed. “Let’s set up a hypothetical situation: All the students have studied and know the words, and one student has a special good-luck charm—”
“Like Blake’s lucky socks?” Ethan broke in.
His father nodded. “This student really thinks that the charm will help him, and because he believes that he has more ‘luck’ than anyone else, he has more confidence and he does do better.”
Ethan thought for a minute. “But what if he doesn’t learn the words and only counts on his lucky socks?”
“What do you think, Ethan?”
“I think that he’s in a lot of trouble.”
“I think that you’re right,” his father agreed, smiling.
“Today,” Mrs. Miller explained the next morning at the beginning of the spelling bee, “all of you will take part, but yesterday’s three finalists may each miss two words before being disqualified. The rest of you may only miss one. The winner will go to the all-city contest next week.”
“Blake, you will be first,” Mrs. Miller said.
“Go, socks,” Blake said, grinning as he picked a word out of the box.
“Definition,” Mrs. Miller read.
“Definition,” Blake repeated, his smile fading. “D-e-f-a-n-i-t-i-o-n. Definition.”
“I’m sorry Blake,” Mrs. Miller said. “That’s incorrect.”
Blake sat down and tugged on his socks. If he missed one more word, he would be out of the competition.
Blake and Ethan both advanced to the third round, along with four other students. When it was his turn, Blake stirred the words in the box twice before finally handing one to Mrs. Miller.
“Vegetable.”
Blake looked confused.
“Vegetable,” Mrs. Miller repeated.
“Vegetable. V-e-j-t-a-b-e-l. Vegetable.”
“I’m sorry.” Mrs. Miller shook her head. “I don’t understand it, Blake. You’ve always done well before. Didn’t you study the word list that I gave you?”
“Well, no,” Blake admitted. “I didn’t think I needed to this time.”
“Why did you think you didn’t need to study this time?” Mrs. Miller asked.
“Because I’m wearing my lucky socks,” Blake said impatiently, pulling his pant legs up so that Mrs. Miller could see his red socks. “My mother washes them every Monday, I wear them every Tuesday, and I always do well on my spelling tests.”
“Blake, don’t you think that studying the workbook every Monday is what really helped you to learn the words for the test on Tuesday?” Mrs. Miller asked.
Blake dropped his pants legs back down over his socks and slowly nodded in agreement.
Only Ethan and Mary Ann remained after the fourth round, and Ethan drew the word apothecary. He couldn’t remember if the sixth letter was an e or an a. He spelled it with an a, and because he had missed poinsettia earlier, Mary Ann was the winner.
“I’m sorry you didn’t win, Blake,” Ethan said on their way to lunch.
“Thanks, Ethan, but I should have studied. I’m sorry that you didn’t win.
You must have worked hard on those words.” “I did,” Ethan admitted. “But so did Mary Ann. She won fair and square.”

It is to this place of peace that Dilcia and her friend Kelsia St. Gardien, 14, came not long ago. Both are members of the Mirador Ward of the Santo Domingo Dominican Republic Independencia Stake. Both have been to the temple before to do baptisms for the dead. But on this day they came simply to walk in the gardens, to talk, and to feel from outside the building the Spirit that the temple carries within.

The two friends walk past the pole where the flag of their nation unfurls in a gusting breeze. “Even the flag at the temple reminds us to be faithful,” Dilcia says. “It is more than just colors. It contains the motto Dios, patria, libertad [God, country, liberty] and shows a Christian cross and the Bible. It reminds us that our country was founded by people who believed in God and that God is still important here.”

They also walk past the entrance to the temple, where the words Santidad al Señor, la Casa del Señor (Holiness to the Lord, the House of the Lord) are inscribed above the doorway, as they are at every temple.

“Whenever I read those words, I am filled with a powerful witness that they are true,” Dilcia says. “I remember coming here with our Mutual group one evening, just to visit the grounds. After we were done, the bishop asked us what we felt here. We talked about it and came up with a one-word answer: peace.”

And Kelsia and Dilcia walk away thinking of that perfect one-word answer … perfect because the temple is the place of peace.

Mariam Conarroe, 12, yawned. She was tired and had a right to be. “Only three days,” she said to herself. “And we’ve done everything.”
Even before the trip began, the schedule had been full. Six months ago, as part of the preparations, everyone had been challenged to read the Book of Mormon. There had been regular reminders and repeated encouragement. Everybody had at least read some of it. Then there was the planning, and the preparation—how many times had they talked in Young Women classes about coming here, about how fun this would be?
Then—was it just a few days ago?—Mariam remembered getting up early, piling into trucks and cars, getting teased and teasing back, and suddenly being in Vernal, at a service station where Tyrannosaurus rex waves at motorists, urging them to buy gasoline.
From there the next three days rushed by in a blur. A visit to the bone quarry at Dinosaur National Monument. Two hours at a water slide. Pitching tents for camp. Skits and talks and firesides. Washing your hair with the help of a bucket. Floating the Green River—not once, but twice. A morning spent alone, reading the Book of Mormon and praying. Testimony meeting. A service project clearing aspen seedlings at the base of a fire lookout tower. Biting into juicy, sweet fruit at a watermelon feast.
Mariam yawned again, tired but happy.
“It’s been busy.”
She felt something comfortable, but it was more than the glow from the campfire. There was a wonderful feeling inside of her, a knowledge that here among leaders and friends she could do good things and be accepted.
She wrapped her quilt around her. It sure felt nice to be warm.

Not long ago, we invited two sister missionaries over for lunch. After we finished eating, we asked them to leave a spiritual thought with us. They were well prepared and introduced a scripture reading and marking exercise to us. They had brought a fresh copy of the Book of Mormon and a set of colored pencils. We accepted the invitation of the missionaries. Since then, our daily Book of Mormon family scripture reading has changed. In every chapter, we mark with different colors the passages related to Jesus Christ as we discover them. Every time, this little exercise reminds us of our missionaries.
When the missionaries presented this, we immediately recognized it as a scripture study exercise suggested in Preach My Gospel. As a family, we are so thankful for this great and powerful missionary tool.

Alma Elizabeth’s father had trouble walking. In Sweden he had been a concert violinist and an orchestra director. Then rheumatism crippled him. Slowly he learned to use his hands and feet again, but it was difficult and painful. Elizabeth’s father was unable to walk as fast as the wagon train was moving, and he insisted that his family continue with the wagon train, promising to overtake them later.
Her father struggled on until he saw a light. It was a camp of soldiers on their way to the Civil War. One soldier spoke Swedish. When they learned that Alma Elizabeth’s father was a musician, they found a violin and he played it for them. In the morning they took him on horseback and overtook the wagon train.