Gospel Story Finder

My family was flying from Buenos Aires, Argentina, to a town in the north of that country called Posadas. I am 15, and although I had been on airplanes before, I was not used to flying in a plane as small as this one. It held about 50 people and must have been about 50 years old. I got a shiver down my back at the thought of crashing, but dismissed it. The plane was a little shaky, like me at that moment, but I was not terrified because I was with my family.
As we began to cross over a large body of water the plane started to tremble and shake a lot. That was when I felt terror. So I closed my eyes and, almost instinctively, said a prayer. I had learned to always pray when in trouble.
As I was asking my Heavenly Father for protection I felt a calm assurance that everything would be all right. I opened my eyes and looked out my window. It was early morning, and while I had been saying my prayer the sunlight and the lake had merged to make the sky and water a deep blue—both foaming with puffs of heavenly white. It was one of the most beautiful sights I had ever beheld. My fear was gone, and the clouds that once caused the plane to tremble now seemed like Heavenly Father’s loving arms.
Safe in the knowledge that the Lord was watching over us, I began to study the water and the sky for some time, imagining the raging storms that must occur in both. And I thought about my own life, with all of the daily problems, or storms, that I am constantly getting caught in.
Though I’ve been a member of the Church all my life, I had never realized so fully the influence Heavenly Father can have. I knew he has provided an escape from the storms of the world. I realized that by praying, and by holding to the iron rod, I can rise above the storms and reach the emotional and spiritual heights where I can feel his love.
For 15 years I had prayed every day, but I never knew if it was really helping. But on that day in the sky over Argentina, a simple prayer opened my eyes. It was only a starting point, but it helped me understand how much love Heavenly Father has for me. That’s one of the many ways I know that he lives and that I should always call on him in prayer.

Even President David O. McKay went through this mental process as a teenage boy. He has told us about kneeling by a serviceberry bush as a boy in Huntsville to find out once and for all about the truth of the work. May I quote President McKay as he tells of that occasion:
“I knelt down and with all the fervor of my heart poured out my soul to God and asked him for a testimony of this gospel. I had in mind that there would be some manifestation; that I should receive some transformation that would leave me absolutely without doubt.
“I got up, mounted my horse, and as he started over the trail, I remember rather introspectively searching myself and involuntarily shaking my head, saying to myself, ‘No sir, there is no change; I am just the same boy I was before I knelt down.’ The anticipated manifestation had not come. …
“However, it did come, but not in the way I had anticipated. Even the manifestation of God’s power and the presence of his angels came; but when it did come, it was simply a confirmation, it was not a testimony.” (Treasures of Life, [Deseret Book Co., 1962], pp. 229–30.)

In my growing-up years in Germany, I attended church in many different locations and circumstances—in humble back rooms, in impressive villas, and in very functional modern chapels. All of these buildings had one important factor in common: the Spirit of God was present. The love of the Savior could be felt as we assembled as a branch or ward family.
The Zwickau chapel had an old air-driven organ. Every Sunday a young man was assigned to push up and down the sturdy lever operating the bellows to make the organ work. Even before I was an Aaronic Priesthood bearer, I sometimes had the great privilege to assist in this important task.
While the congregation sang our beloved hymns of the Restoration, I pumped with all my strength so the organ would not run out of wind. The eyes of the organist unmistakably indicated whether I was doing fine or needed to increase my efforts quickly. I always felt honored by the importance of this duty and the trust that the organist had placed in me. It was a wonderful feeling of accomplishment to have a responsibility and to be part of this great work.
There was an additional benefit that came from this assignment: the bellows operator sat in a seat that offered a view of a stained-glass window that beautified the front part of the chapel. The stained glass portrayed the First Vision, with Joseph Smith kneeling in the Sacred Grove, looking up toward heaven and into a pillar of light.
During the hymns of the congregation and even during talks and testimonies given by our members, I often looked at this depiction of a most sacred moment in world history. In my mind’s eye I saw Joseph receiving knowledge, witness, and divine instructions as he became a blessed instrument in the hand of our Heavenly Father.
I felt a special spirit while looking at the beautiful scene in this window picture of a believing young boy in a sacred grove who made a courageous decision to earnestly pray to our Heavenly Father—a Father who listened and responded lovingly to him.
Here I was, a young boy in post–World War II Germany, living in a city in ruins, thousands of miles away from Palmyra, New York, in North America and more than a hundred years after the event actually took place. By the universal power of the Holy Ghost, I felt in my heart and in my mind that it was true, that Joseph Smith saw God and Jesus Christ and heard Their voices. The Spirit of God comforted my soul at this young age with an assurance of the reality of this sacred moment which resulted in the beginning of a worldwide movement destined to “roll forth, until it has filled the whole earth” (D&C 65:2). I believed Joseph Smith’s testimony of that glorious experience in the Sacred Grove then, and I know it now. God has spoken to mankind again!

Sitting at the computer desk, I deftly steered through the colorful world of the video game I was playing. My character was in a battleground, and I was on my way to reclaim a base that the enemy had just captured.
From the kitchen, I heard my mother’s voice. “Weren’t you going to clean up in here?”
I broke my concentration long enough to respond, “In a minute.” But a minute turned to 10, and then 30. When the match was finally over, I logged off, surprised that my mother hadn’t bothered me again. I shuffled into the kitchen, expecting to find a pile of dirty dishes waiting for me.
Instead I found the sink empty, the counters wiped clear—the whole kitchen spotless. I felt guilty, knowing that my mom had cleaned it herself when I failed to appear. But I shrugged it off, telling myself I would help Mom later, and went to bed.
I can’t recall if I ever made up for that broken promise, but I can remember similar instances when I chose a virtual world over the real. I played video games throughout adolescence but became very involved with a multiplayer online game from the age of 16 until I started college at 18. I devoted hundreds of hours to boosting my character and my virtual skill set. I spent less time with my family, opting to complete quests with my in-game friends instead.
And it wasn’t just the game; I spent hours online watching videos, checking blogs or social networks, often running across or choosing to view material that I knew was below my standards.
As my virtual stature grew, my spiritual strength was shriveling. I became desensitized to living in the real world. I didn’t feel good about myself, and my priorities became unfocused. The virtual world had a grip on me, and I wouldn’t force myself to get real. I could sense the weakness within me but was unwilling to stop spending “money for that which is of no worth, [and my] labor for that which cannot satisfy” (2 Nephi 9:51).
I wish I could say that I eventually came to my senses and threw the game out, realizing how much of my time it wasted. Sadly, this was not the case. I stopped playing only because the Internet filter at my college dorms blocked it.
But I saw this as a chance to change. As I started my first semester, my focus shifted from building up my virtual character to realizing my true potential. Without the fantasy world distracting me, I tuned back in to the Spirit as it spoke to me of “things as they really are, and of things as they really will be” (Jacob 4:13).
In the six months or so that followed, I had the time and focus to do some incredible things. Instead of spending hours acquiring better armor, I studied my scriptures and learned to put on the armor of God (see Ephesians 6:10–17). Instead of honing skills that did me no good outside of a video game, I unearthed practical talents that allowed me to better serve others (see Matthew 25:14–29). I magnified Church callings, studied hard, and earned grades I felt good about. I made many new friends and (gasp!) even dated some.
Sometimes I missed that animated world, the competition and challenges, the in-game experience, the online friends I had made and played with. But as I thought about the changes I had seen in my life and myself, I knew I was fuller, happier, and more at peace with the things giving up the game had allowed me to gain.
When I later listened to Elder David A. Bednar give his fireside address “Things as They Really Are,” I thought back to that moment in the kitchen and other times I had disconnected from things as they really are. I had nothing of value to show for the time spent passively plugged in or logged on. What if? I asked myself. What if I had spent more time practicing musical instruments instead? or helping my mom? or laughing with my younger sister? I regretted wasting so much time.
I have learned that you can create true happiness, both now and as you plan for the future, only by being present and active. Invest in eternal things, and “lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth,” or in video games, “but lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven” (Matthew 6:19–20). The wonderful thing about real life is that it won’t fade after a computer or console is turned off. Things we work for and gain here—like a body, memories, experiences, talents, and family—will be ours forever. As we live righteously, we are promised the ultimate level-up: eternal life.
That is what makes living IRL—in real life—truly great.

by Glenn Latham
This is a true story about a Wonderful Pest.
We have six children, four lovely daughters and two fine sons. All of our children have progressed nicely through the programs of the Church, including the Scouting program for the boys.
Unfortunately, we parents never caught Scouting fever, so neither did the boys. Consequently, our oldest son graduated from the Aaronic Priesthood program having attained the rank of Life Scout, falling several merit badges short of the coveted rank of Eagle (coveted by his parents, that is).
Like older brother, like younger brother, number two son saw Scouting primarily as an avenue for fun, with some resentment reserved for “all the clunky requirements.” And true to form, his parents were only a mild irritant to him to “get with it”; hence, the weeks and months toward the end of eligibility flew past with little hope of an Eagle landing. “After all,” we reasoned, “how influential can we hope to be when, after making several very attractive offers to encourage our son, he replies, somewhat disdainfully, ‘I don’t even want to be an Eagle Scout.’”
Enter our Wonderful Pest.
At the height (or depth) of our son’s lethargy and our resignation, Jeff Sessions, our Wonderful Pest, moved into our ward, the Third Ward, North Logan Utah Stake. He is an unassuming, determined, soft-spoken young fellow, married, the father of four precious children, and a graduate student at Utah State University. His talents were soon recognized, and before long he was called to be the priests quorum adviser—and to him that meant Scouting.
Our Wonderful Pest is one of those goal-oriented, management-by-objective types. For the priests quorum the goal was clear—100 percent Eagle Scouts (much to the dismay and discomfort of the quorum members).
With goal in hand, W. P. wasted no time. The strategy was simple: divide and conquer. None of this “let’s all get an Eagle together” stuff. He went after each boy individually. Then the phone began to ring, every day and twice on Sunday, at least. It went like this:
Ring, ring.
“Allen, it’s for you. It’s Jeff.”
(Mutter, mutter) “That pest. I’ll get it down here. Hi, Jeff. At your place? Now! Okay, I’ll be there in a few minutes. (Grumble, grumble) I’m going to Jeff’s. I’ll be back in a while.”
Not infrequently, W. P. was found at our front door following up on an assignment, just checking, or picking up our son to take him to some merit badge activity with, of course, a stop on the way home to get some pizza, doughnuts, a root beer, or whatever. In which event it was “grumble, grumble; munch, munch.” Allen always returned with a smile on his face, and he always returned one step closer to another merit badge. And so it went:
Ring, ring
Knock, knock
Grumble, grumble
Munch, munch
Merit badge, merit badge
Recently through the front door bounded our 17-year-old bundle of young male energy. “Guess what, Dad?” he proudly exclaimed with animated enthusiasm. “You’re looking at an Eagle Scout! And to think that only a few months ago, I didn’t even want to be an Eagle Scout. It’s all because of that pest, Jeff.”
“Yep,” I replied, “our Wonderful Pest.”
This scenario was duplicated in the homes of ten other priests resulting in the accomplishment of Jeff’s goal, all members of the priests quorum receiving the Eagle Award.

As a young elder, I had been called to the old Primary Children’s Hospital that once stood on North Temple Street in Salt Lake City. There were children to be blessed. It was the Christmas season. I had never been in a children’s hospital before.
As our group entered the foyer, we noticed an attractively decorated Christmas tree, with beautifully wrapped gifts beneath its boughs.
A feeling of sympathy welled up within me as I noticed these tiny children, many with legs or arms in large plaster casts. Some were ever so weak and pale.
A young lad called out to us, “Will you give me a blessing?” Of course the blessing was given. I shall ever remember placing my hands on the tousled head of that faithful boy who was desperately ill. As we left his side, he looked up into my eyes and said, “Thank you, Brother Monson.”
We walked away, only to hear him call out, “Oh, Brother Monson, merry Christmas to you.” I could scarcely see him for the tears in my eyes. He had that glow about him that comes only at Christmastime. That boy trusted in his Heavenly Father. He acknowledged the priesthood of God. His faith was unwavering. I felt I was on holy ground.

Except for a few cries from toddlers, everything was quiet. I stared forward and waited for the sacrament tray to make it to the end of the row so that I could pass it to the next row. I wondered how long it would take before it would reach me and I could continue on with my duty.
As I waited, a thought my priesthood leader had shared came to my mind: “During the sacrament you should be thinking about the Savior,” he had said.
I tried to follow his advice, but my thoughts soon switched to something that had recently happened to me. Giving up, I passed the tray to the next row and began waiting and wondering again.
Then I heard a soft voice behind me. I listened and realized that it was a girl speaking to her little brother. The girl said, “Do you know what the bread and the water mean?” The brother answered, “No.” They were silent for a moment. Then I heard, “They represent the body and blood of Christ.”
Immediately after she said that, my heart filled with the Spirit, and my thoughts didn’t drift anymore from the meaning of the sacrament. I will never forget that small reminder from a young girl and her brother.

After nursing school, I came to work in the intensive care unit at a children’s hospital. I had a desire to learn and gain experience, to prove myself. I did not imagine, however, that it would be so difficult—both physically and emotionally. I could not understand why the world is so evil that even parents can cause irreparable harm to their own children. Nor did I understand why God allows children to die. After one year of work in the hospital, my soul was exhausted.
Then I learned that members of my family were having discussions with Latter-day Saint missionaries. I worked long shifts and could not be at home when those discussions took place. Soon my sister and mom were baptized. And I felt like I was left alone with questions and unresolved problems. Despite my family trying to arrange a meeting for me with the missionaries, I did not want to see them. But once when Sisters Johnson and Marchuk visited, I joined their conversation. The next time, they taught me a spiritual lesson, and I was able to find answers to questions I had struggled with for a long time. Soon I was baptized and confirmed.
Since I became a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, I have felt sustained by my faith in Jesus Christ. I have experienced again and again the power of prayer and feel that I have come from darkness to light. Six years in the Church have given me a conviction that Jesus Christ is my Savior. And because of Jesus Christ, I now have an opportunity to become closer to my Heavenly Father.

Third, the pioneer sisters had “spunk.” Spunk is a sixteenth century word that meant spark, like a spark of light. More recently it has come to mean a lively creature; someone who has spirit, mettle, pluck. To show spunk or spirit means to stand up, to assert oneself spiritedly or courageously.

Sarah Rogers Driggs, who as a child had sat on the knee of the Prophet Joseph Smith and whose brother had served in the Mormon Battalion, felt such an independence of spirit. One day she was out raking the yard when Starling Driggs, a fellow who had been courting her, hurried up to her and said, “President Brigham Young told me to tell you he wants to see you up at his office.” It seems that the prophet had called Starling to go with a company to help settle San Bernardino, California. Starling told President Young he was willing to go if he could take along Sarah as his wife. He said he liked her but she didn’t seem to like him. When Starling came running up to her, Sarah thought she knew what was in store, so she quickly replied, “You go back and tell President Young, Starling Driggs, that he’s got as much shoe leather to wear out as I have, and he can come here if he wants to see me.” Then after Starling had gone, she hurriedly got cleaned up and went to the President’s office. After receiving the call to go to San Bernardino as Starling’s wife, she accepted and made the trip. Unfortunately, Starling lost his life in a threshing machine accident a few years later. Sarah did not remarry, but sustained herself and family by keeping a boardinghouse. When she was troubled by a molester, according to her family, she simply hauled out her six gun and demonstrated how accurately she could shoot.12

As I spread the threadbare but clean tablecloth over our table, I glanced out the window. My husband and I and our two children were living in the small, rural village of Hämeenkyrö, Finland, in the 1960s. I saw my four-year-old daughter, Marika, and three-year-old son, Petri, playing with our dog on our small patch of green grass. My husband was tending to some chores in the garden. I straightened the cloth, and when I looked up again I saw a stranger walking up the path to our front door. She was a gray-haired woman and seemed to limp a bit. She didn’t look poor by any means; she wore a beautiful flower-print dress and a long apron. In her hand was a bulging bag.
My children followed her as she came into our kitchen. “Excuse me for entering your home like this,” she said, “but I had to come.” She hefted her bag onto the table. It was full of food. As the butter, meat, sausage, and freshly baked bread made their way onto the table and then into my children’s hands, tears came to my eyes.
“Can you be our grandmother now?” Marika asked the woman.
“If I may!” our guest answered. “I’d be happy to, and you can call me Aunt Toini.”
In that moment I recalled my prayer to Heavenly Father: “Please send someone to help us!” Aunt Toini was an answer to my prayers, and not only did she bring us food, she also brought lessons of love.
Life was simple in Hämeenkyrö. We had bought a small house by a beautiful forest. I had recently joined the Church, but my husband was not interested in the gospel. We were trying to be self-reliant. We grew potatoes and other vegetables in our garden. I sewed the children’s outfits and patched our clothes. We needed and were thankful for surprise packages of clothing my mother sent from northern Finland.
But as time went on, things got worse. Our family had to strictly ration food. At times my husband and I would eat only potatoes so the children would have a bit more. This is when I started my pleading: “Dear Lord, please send someone to help us!”
I found a job, but it didn’t help enough. There wasn’t much of my salary left after meeting my expenses, including bus fare and the babysitter’s payment.
Though we struggled I always taught my children to be grateful for all we did have. Petri often blessed the food: “Thank You, Heavenly Father, for this porridge, but could You please give us a piece of sausage too, if You have some?”
At those times I pleaded even more, “Please send someone to help!”
As she carried water from the well, I offered a different prayer: “Thank You, Heavenly Father! Blessed be the full bag and 20 marks!”
Every Saturday Aunt Toini came at the same time, with the bag full of food and 20 marks. She never asked how she could help; she just went to work. Occasionally she would stay at our house for a day or two. At those times she would always be the first to get up in the morning to make the porridge. She bought us some new pots and pans when she noticed the need. Sometimes she would wash our laundry by hand.
The weeks went by quickly as we looked forward to Saturdays and Aunt Toini’s visits. I would sometimes tell her about the Church, and many times we prayed together. Marika and Petri were very happy every time she came, and Aunt Toini never forgot to bring some sausage for Petri. It seemed she enjoyed the time with our family, and I thought perhaps we were giving something back to her.
Aunt Toini visited us regularly for three years. Then one Saturday she didn’t come. Nor did she come the following day. Later we learned that Aunt Toini had just left a shop and was heading to our small cottage when she collapsed to the ground, never to recover.
My husband and I and our children attended Aunt Toini’s funeral. We didn’t know anyone when we arrived, and we didn’t know when it would be appropriate for us to lay our flowers on her grave. We decided to be the last to lay down our flowers, to express our gratitude, to say good-bye.
After the funeral a woman approached us and told us she was Aunt Toini’s daughter. “You could have laid your flowers down first. You were so dear to our mother,” she said. “What was the power that changed her? She used to be a stingy and selfish person. But during the last three years she changed into a new person. She was so tender and loving.”
I didn’t know what to say except, “It was love.”
Though it has been more than 40 years since I first met Aunt Toini, I am still learning from the lessons she brought along with her bag of food. She was my teacher. She taught me how to long for forgiveness and how to give service and help. And now I realize that though she came to feed us, she too had been fed.

I spoke recently to a young father who has lost his job in the recent economic crisis. He knows that hundreds of thousands of people with exactly his skills are looking desperately for work to feed their families. His quiet confidence led me to ask him what he had done to become so confident that he would find a way to support his family. He said he had examined his life to be sure that he had done all he could to be worthy of the Lord’s help. It was clear that his need and his faith in Jesus Christ were leading him to be obedient to God’s commandments when it is hard to do. He said that he saw that opportunity as he and his wife were reading in Alma where the Lord had prepared a people to find the gospel through adversity.
You remember the moment when Alma turned to the man who led the people in distress. The man told him that they had been persecuted and rejected for their poverty. And the record goes:
“And now when Alma heard this, he turned him about, his face immediately towards him, and he beheld with great joy; for he beheld that their afflictions had truly humbled them, and that they were in a preparation to hear the word.
“Therefore he did say no more to the other multitude; but he stretched forth his hand, and cried unto those whom he beheld, who were truly penitent, and said unto them:
“I behold that ye are lowly in heart; and if so, blessed are ye.”4
The scripture goes on to praise those of us who prepared for adversity in the more prosperous times. Many of you had the faith to try to qualify for the help you now need, before the crisis came.
Alma continued, “Yea, he that truly humbleth himself, and repenteth of his sins, and endureth to the end, the same shall be blessed—yea, much more blessed than they who are compelled to be humble because of their exceeding poverty.”5
That young man with whom I spoke recently was one who had done more than put away food and a little savings for the misfortune which living prophets had warned would come. He had begun to prepare his heart to be worthy of the Lord’s help which he knew he would in the near future need. When I asked his wife on the day he lost his job if she was worried, she said with cheerfulness in her voice, “No, we’ve just come from the bishop’s office. We are full-tithe payers.” Now, it is still too early to tell, but I felt assured as they seemed to be assured: “Things will work out.” Tragedy did not erode their faith; it tested it and strengthened it. And the feeling of peace the Lord has promised has already been delivered in the midst of the storm. Other miracles are sure to follow.

Someone occasionally says that there was so much of sacrifice in the early days of the Church, but there is no sacrifice today. The observer goes on to say that in pioneer days people were willing to lay their fortunes and even their lives on the altar. “What has happened to the spirit of consecration?” some of these ask. I should like to say with great emphasis that this spirit is still very much among us. I have discovered that no sacrifice is too great for faithful Latter-day Saints.

Only a week ago a man was recommended for a responsibility in a distant land. After I had checked out his worthiness and his capacity, I called him and talked with him. I wanted to know about his circumstances. I asked when he would be due for retirement from his employment. He indicated in about five years. I asked what leaving now would do to his future retirement income. He told me that it would mean a very substantial cut in that income. After going into this and other matters, I felt to excuse him.

He called back the next morning to tell me that he and his wife had discussed it, and they were ready to leave any time. He said they would not worry about the future, that they had faith to believe that a way would be opened to them to take care of their needs if they were willing to do that which the Lord asked of them. He went on to say that the Lord had been so good and generous to them and to their children that they would be willing to do anything to show their gratitude. They did not have a great abundance of the things of the world, but they had enough for their basic needs; and more importantly, they had the gospel of Jesus Christ and all of the blessings that flow therefrom.

At 6:00 A.M. on Thursday, August 11, 1976, Bobby Elkington, Bishop Brian W. Hunt of the Temple View Third Ward (Temple View New Zealand Stake), and Bardia Taiapa met in the Temple View chapel. There they turned over the $30.00 earned by the early morning seminary class of the Temple View New Zealand Stake for their brothers and sisters on the Gilbert Islands. The money was raised on two successive Saturdays when the class members made doughnuts and sold them at stake leadership meeting and around the Temple View community. It’s a very enthusiastic seminary class that will get up at 5:00 A.M. and earlier to go to class, raise $30.00 for a struggling seminary group, and then raise another $16.00 for their own activities.
Many of the youth have 100 percent attendance records.

The ferry was sitting low in the heavy seas, bumping the waves like a fat mallard barely making headway. As it inched closer to the dock you could see the captain in the wheelhouse surrounded by young men. The whole boat seemed covered with people, and the forward deck and rails were packed with eager young faces with a few adults interspersed.
The moment the ferry nudged the pilings and the heavy ropes were thrown ashore, people in Scout uniforms started pouring onto the dock.
Australian Scouts of all sizes were everywhere for a moment, and then they quickly formed a human chain from the dark interior of the boat, leading up into the light and out onto the dock. Supplies started flowing down this human chain. Boxes, billies (pails), tins, sleeping bags, tents, packs, and enough oil drums and surplus army ammunition boxes and weapons boxes to establish a beachhead were piled on the wharf. In no time at all the gear was sorted and loaded onto backs or carts pulled by more Scouts and Explorers, and the first Hobart Australia Stake all-LDS Scout camp was underway.
Sixty-eight excited Tasmanians climbed off of the ferry for their adventure on Maria Island. Many had never seen or met the people from the other wards. They also brought many of their nonmember and non-Scout friends. And they had many good leaders, including their stake president and several bishops and fathers, in addition to their Scoutmasters and other priesthood leaders.

The first recorded glimpse of a celebration is written on Christmas 1843 by the Prophet Joseph Smith. The entry marks a new outlook among Mormons toward the day:
“This morning, about one o’clock, I was aroused by an English sister, Lettice Rushton, … accompanied by three of her sons, with their wives, and her two daughters, with their husbands, and several of their neighbors, singing, ‘Mortals, Awake With Angels Join,’ which caused a thrill of pleasure to run through my soul. All of my family and boarders arose to hear the serenade, and I felt to thank my Heavenly Father for their visit, and blessed them in the name of the Lord. They also visited my brother Hyrum, who was awakened from his sleep. He arose and went out of doors. He shook hands with and blessed each one of them in the name of the Lord, and said that at first he thought a cohort of angels had come to visit him, it was such heavenly music to him.”
Later in the day the Prophet wrote the following took place:
“A large party supped at my house, and spent the evening in music, dancing, etc. in a most cheerful and friendly manner.”

I have a pet goat named Cashmere. I feel like I’m her mom. I give her food and water. I brush her hair. I put her in the barn at night to protect her. Sometimes she tries to get out. Cashmere doesn’t understand that staying in the cage protects her from getting lost, from animals, and from other dangers.
Sometimes we are like my pet goat. We have lots of shepherds in our lives. Some of them are our parents, our teachers, and our bishops. Our shepherds help us do what’s right and stay away from danger—if we listen and follow them. Jesus Christ is the best shepherd. I want to be one of the sheep in Jesus’s flock.Quincey B., age 10, Texas

Sister Martha Marin of Veracruz, Mexico, confronted some of her fears as she served full-time in the employment resource center in Puebla, Mexico. She was uncomfortable using computers, an important part of the employment center. But with the help and support of her companion and the others she worked with, she learned the necessary skills. “This obstacle has turned into a blessing,” she says. “I know that I am not alone in this work.”

He was concerned about how to raise his three children—sons, Randrianandry and Sedinirina, and daughter, Nirina. He was unhappy that his short temper had led to challenges in the family. He wanted to be a kinder parent.
“I decided I was the one who had to change because I saw who I had become,” he said.
But his sons say the biggest change they have seen is in their father’s temperament. They describe him now as an example of humility and kindness. Roger said the gospel convinced him that he had to change. Since he began studying it, Roger has tried to fill his life with good things.
“Because of the teachings of the gospel, I never lose my temper,” he said. “Sometimes there are provocations, but the gospel is in my heart, in my head, and in my spirit. It helps me stay calm.”
When upsetting situations arise, Roger is the one who calms down family members and reminds them to act as the Savior would.
“My father became humble and now cares for our family with love,” Sedinirina said. “When I look at the change in him, I’m so grateful for Heavenly Father, for the gospel, and for being members of the Church.”

Eric’s father had a tiny farm out in the country. He had taken the family to work on the farm, but Eric remained at home in his shed, alone. Meanwhile, his sores enlarged to huge wounds and infection entered into his bones, a life-threatening condition called osteomyelitis.

When he was 18, Eric saw his friend Emmanuel Ofosu-hene speaking English with an obruni (white man). The obruni was a Mormon missionary, Elder Old. “I only spoke Twi, but Emmanuel interpreted for me: ‘I am so sick I think I will die. Can you help me know what to do so I can go to heaven?’

“Elder Old and his African companion sat with me and taught me. For some reason, they started with the Word of Wisdom. I knew they were speaking the truth because I already knew coffee and tobacco were bad.” They also gave Eric a brochure about the restored gospel of Jesus Christ and invited him to church.

“When I went, I saw this Church was different,” he says. “It was reverent.” Even though it took him an hour to push himself to church in his wheelchair, Eric loved the meetings. “I wanted to go up front and be with people,” he says. “But I stayed at the back because I knew I smelled bad.”

Eric told the missionaries, “What I am learning is true.” He also told them he wanted to be baptized, but doctors had warned him not to get his wounds wet. “I will rely on God to provide answers,” he said. He attended church for about a year and then became too ill and weak to wheel himself there.

Eric’s mother, Lucy, met the missionaries, studied the gospel, and was baptized in 2015. But because her broken leg had never been properly set, it was painful for her to walk. Attending meetings was a challenge for her, as well.
Eventually, Eric was taken to the hospital again. In Ghana, patients have to provide their own water, food, bedding, medicine, and bandages. If they have no money, they are not treated. Eric’s mother and sisters did what they could. Eric received food and medical attention infrequently, so he grew weaker.

Then Eric received some unexpected visitors. Missionaries, Sister Peprah and Sister Nafuna, had seen his photograph at the church and came to see him in the hospital and brought him food. It had been a year since he had been to church, but he told them he still wanted to be baptized.
A few days later, Eric’s sister visited him and found him very ill. She ran home and told their mother. Though their mother had suffered permanent leg damage in the accident with Eric, she walked to the hospital, wincing with every step. “You must come home,” she told Eric. “If you’re going to die, I at least want you near.”
The next morning, the sister missionaries came to the house. “You weren’t at the hospital,” Sister Peprah said. “So we came here.” With them were Elder and Sister Wood, senior missionaries from New Zealand. They took inventory of needs and promised to return.
A few days later, Eric’s father took the family back to the farm—except Eric, who found himself alone again and without food or water. When Elder and Sister Wood returned and discovered Eric alone and hungry, they brought him food and water. They returned the next day and noticed fluid running down his leg and found a huge open ulcer on his thigh. They immediately took Eric back to the hospital.
The Woods learned of a medical humanitarian team from the United States that would be coming to Ghana. The team would perform surgery for Eric without cost. The surgeon treated the ulcer on Eric’s leg. But when he saw the severity of Eric’s wounds, as well as the osteomyelitis, he determined he could not do all the necessary procedures in Ghana. Based on his recommendation, the humanitarian organization initiated a process that would eventually bring Eric to the United States to receive additional treatment and permanently close his wounds. In addition, a shelter in Winneba, Ghana, run by members of the Church, agreed to have Eric live there when he returned so that he could attend school and complete his education.
While in Utah for surgery, Eric visits the reflecting pool near the Salt Lake Temple. Eric says he loves the feeling of peace he finds at the Salt Lake Temple.
Elder Wood, an engineer by profession, rebuilt Eric’s hand-pedal tricycle. He performed a similar overhaul on his wheelchair. He also counseled with President Cosgrave of the Ghana Kumasi Mission, a medical doctor. They felt Eric could be baptized if proper precautions were taken.
Eric shows his tricycle to his mother and siblings after senior missionaries repaired it.
“Elder Wood wrapped my body in plastic, with tape around the plastic,” Eric explains. “Then he carried me into a font filled with water treated with disinfectant. I was baptized on June 26, 2016.” Eric had relied on the Lord, and the Lord had provided a way.
Today, Eric is studying to become a computer technician. But also feels he can influence others through music—he likes to rap in Twi. His upbeat message talks about how God rescued him. One of his favorite scriptures says, “Look to God and live” (Alma 37:47). And he still says, “I see God in everything.”
He adds, “I don’t want anyone to think the way Heavenly Father has blessed me is identical to how He will bless them. But He will bless those who trust Him. When you have to deal with hard things, pray and trust God.”
Eric looks forward to a bright future. He’s studying to be a computer technician and also feels he can inspire others with music.

Eric Wade, a deacon in the Driggs First Ward, Driggs Idaho Stake, has won the right, two years in a row, to participate in the National Spelling Bee. This year he took sixth place nationally. He was defeated by the word circumforaneous. He prepared for the event by studying words from 1 1/2 to 2 hours a day.
When not brushing up on spelling words, Eric enjoys sports. He plays football, basketball, baseball, and participates in wrestling. He has won a local junior championship in racquetball.