Gospel Story Finder

My wife had a birthday a few months ago. Being a dutiful husband, I determined we should go out to a movie together. We scanned the movie advertisements in the newspaper to find one that had the proper rating we thought we could enjoy watching. We picked out one with a PG rating, only to find after just a few minutes in the movie, the language was such that we could not tolerate it. I was embarrassed to come out and see the crowd standing in line. I didn’t want them to observe me coming out of a movie that had such vulgar language.

I had a particular experience in my life that showed me how using the wrong word can shock those who do not expect such an utterance to come from you. I was in boot camp in the Marine Corps during World War II. Of course, the language among my fellow Marines was not of the caliber that you would want to repeat. Being a recently returned missionary, I determined I should keep my language above the level which they were using. I endeavored consistently to keep from saying even the simplest and most common of swear words.

One day we were on the rifle range firing for our final qualification scores. I had done well in the 100-, 200-, and 300-yard positions. Now we were back at the 500-yard position. All I needed was a reasonable score—just hitting the target without even having to hit the bull’s-eye, and I would make Expert Rifleman. We had been charged up with the desire to excel and be the top platoon in firing for qualifications. I tensed up at the 500-yard standing position, and on my first shot threw my shoulder into the rifle. Of course, the flag waved—I had missed the target. And likewise, I missed the opportunity of being named an Expert Rifleman.

Out of my mouth came a little four-letter word that I had determined never to use. Much to my shock and chagrin, suddenly the whole range stopped firing and everyone turned and looked at me with their mouths open. Any other Marine firing from that position that day could have used the word I used without anyone paying attention. Because I had determined that I would carry the standards of the mission field into the Marine Corps, everyone was shocked when I forgot myself.

Let me illustrate. I am very concerned about the tendency of members to disregard the counsel of the bishop or, at the other extreme, to become overdependent upon him.
I decided to speak in general conference about the bishop.
I prayerfully prepared, and there came to mind a conversation from 50 years past. It served my need as a teacher—served it perfectly. I quote now that conversation just as I did in general conference:
“Years ago I served on a stake high council with Emery Wight. For 10 years Emery had served as bishop of rural Harper Ward. His wife, Lucille, became our stake Relief Society president.
“Lucille told me that one spring morning a neighbor called at her door and asked for Emery. She told him that he was out plowing. The neighbor then spoke with great concern. Earlier that morning he had passed the field and noticed Emery’s team of horses standing in a half-finished furrow with the reins draped over the plow. Emery was nowhere in sight. The neighbor thought nothing of it until much later when he passed the field again, and the team had not moved. He climbed the fence and crossed the field to the horses. Emery was nowhere to be found. He hurried to the house to check with Lucille.
“Lucille calmly replied, ‘Oh, don’t be alarmed. No doubt someone is in trouble and came to get the bishop.’
“The image of that team of horses standing for hours in the field symbolizes the dedication of the bishops in the Church and of the counselors who stand by their side. Every bishop and every counselor, figuratively speaking, leaves his team standing in an unfinished furrow when someone needs help.”3

In 1981, my father, two close friends, and I went on an adventure in Alaska. We were to land on a remote lake and climb to some beautiful high country. In order to reduce the load we would have to personally carry, we wrapped our supplies in boxes, covered them with foam, attached large colored streamers, and threw them out the window of our bush plane at our intended destination.
After arriving, we searched and searched, but to our dismay, we could not find any of the boxes. Eventually we found one. It contained a small gas stove, a tarp, some candy, and a couple packages of Hamburger Helper—but no hamburger. We had no way to communicate with the outside world, and our scheduled pickup was a week later.
I learned two valuable lessons from this experience: One, do not throw your food out the window. Two, sometimes we have to face hard things.
Years before, during our misadventure in Alaska, I had quickly learned that blaming our circumstances on others—the pilot launching the food out in fading light—was not a solution. However, as we experienced physical exhaustion, lack of food, sickness, and sleeping on the ground during a major storm with only a tarp to cover us, I learned that “with God nothing shall be impossible.”

I was sitting in my advanced neuroscience class during my last semester of undergraduate work at Brigham Young University. One of my favorite things about BYU was that most of my classes began with a prayer. This morning, it was Josh’s turn to pray (name has been changed).
I had met Josh in a biology class the previous year. He had a quiet confidence that set him apart from the other premedical students, and he was someone I looked up to. He seemed to get good grades effortlessly. While the rest of us scrambled for scientific research experience to pad our graduate school applications, he had chosen to study with a renowned religious scholar instead.
In contrast, my own college experience had been frustrating. I didn’t do poorly, but I was never the top student in any of my classes. Despite the time I spent doing homework and working with professors, I never felt that I was performing as well as I could have. What was Josh’s secret? What was he doing that I wasn’t? That morning, his simple prayer held the answer.
He began by reverently addressing Heavenly Father. He respectfully thanked Him for the opportunity to be at school that morning and to learn from our accomplished professor. He thanked God for blessing us with good minds. Then he asked Him to help us remember that our talents and gifts were not ours alone but to be used in His service. He humbly concluded by asking that we be blessed with the Spirit that morning so that we could internalize what we were taught and ultimately use that knowledge to perform well on our tests, provide for our families, and serve our fellowmen.
I was touched and edified by Josh’s prayer. His attitude toward learning was quite different from mine. While I had felt I was entitled to a college education, Josh seemed truly grateful for the opportunity to learn. My goal was to get into medical school and make a good income as a doctor, but Josh was praying that what he learned would make him a better servant.
I believe our Heavenly Father blesses those who will, in turn, bless His children. When we have service as a goal, I believe that God will aid us in our righteous endeavors. As a result of Josh’s class prayer, I resolved to be more grateful for my blessings and opportunities and to approach my education with the goal of serving others better.

You have had such experiences. It may have been when you chose to attend a sacrament meeting. It was for me on a Sabbath when I was very young. In those days we received the sacrament during an evening meeting. The memory of one day more than 65 years ago, when I kept the commandment to gather with my family and with the Saints, still draws me closer to the Savior.
It was dark and cold outside. I remember feeling light and warmth in the chapel that evening with my parents. We partook of the sacrament, administered by Aaronic Priesthood holders, covenanting with our Heavenly Father to always remember His Son and keep His commandments.
At the end of the meeting we sang the hymn “Abide with Me; ’Tis Eventide,” with the words in it “O Savior, stay this night with me.”3
I felt the Savior’s love and closeness that evening. And I felt the comfort of the Holy Ghost.

My mind has been much on this topic because of an experience our family has had in the last few months. Our daughter and her husband took a while to find each other and then, though they wanted children with all their hearts, over a number of years had difficulty realizing that dream. They prayed and they sought priesthood blessings and medical help, and eventually were thrilled to learn they were expecting twins.
Things did not go smoothly, however, and three and a half months before the babies were due to arrive, the mother-to-be found herself in the labor and delivery section of the hospital. The doctors at first were hopeful that they could stop the labor for a few more weeks. Quickly, however, the question became, would they even have the 48 hours necessary for medication to prepare the babies’ immature lungs to function?
A nurse came in from the newborn intensive care unit to show the couple pictures of the machines the babies would be hooked up to if they were born alive. She explained the risks for eye damage, for lung collapse, for physical impairment, for brain damage. The couple listened, humbled yet hopeful, and then, despite all the doctors could do, it was obvious that these babies were coming.
They were born alive. First the baby girl and then the baby boy—weighing less than four pounds together—were rushed to the intensive care unit and put on ventilators, with umbilical tubes and intravenous lines and constant attention. They can’t have too much light, they can’t have too much noise, their chemical balances need constant monitoring, as the hospital, with millions of dollars of equipment and many wonderful doctors and nurses, attempted to replicate the miracle of a mother’s womb.
There are multitudes of little miracles every day: a collapsed lung heals and then, despite the odds, continues to function properly; pneumonia is beaten back; more deadly infections invade and are overcome; IV lines go bad and are replaced. After two and a half months, the baby boy has gained two pounds and can breathe with an oxygen supplement. His ventilator is gone, he learns to eat, and his grateful parents take him home with monitors attached.
The baby girl keeps pulling her ventilator tube out, setting off alarms across the nursery. Maybe she wants to keep up with her brother, we think, but her throat closes off each time, and she just can’t breathe on her own. Her throat is so inflamed that at times the respiratory therapists have great difficulty reinserting the tube, and she almost dies. Her normal progress is stymied by her continued dependence on the ventilator.
Finally, after her baby brother has been home for two months, the doctors feel they are forced to suggest surgery for her—a surgery that will allow her to breathe by opening a hole in her throat, a surgery that might solve the stomach problems by opening a hole in her side, but a surgery that will impact her little body for many more months and maybe for the rest of her life. As the parents wrestled with this decision, a beloved aunt sent a message to all the family. She explained the situation—the critical issue of timing, the importance of getting off the ventilator—and suggested that we join our faith once again, and in prayer and fasting ask for one more miracle—if it was the Lord’s will. We would culminate our fast with a prayer the evening of December 3.
Let me read from a letter that was sent to the family the morning of December 4. “Dearest Family, Wonderful news! Blessings from the Lord. Our heartfelt thanks for your prayers and fasting in behalf of our little girl. Yesterday morning she came off the ventilator and has been off for 24 hours at this writing. To us, it is a miracle. The medical staff are still guarded about predicting the future, but we are so grateful to the Lord and to you. We are praying that this will mark the beginning of the end of her hospital stay. And we even dare to hope that she’ll be home for Christmas.”
She did make it home for Christmas, and both babies are currently doing “just fine.” Our family has had its own “parting of the Red Sea,” and we are prepared to testify that there is today, as there was yesterday and will be forever, a “God of miracles” who loves His children and desires to bless them.

Joby lay in bed, watching the morning light peek between his curtains. A new day was waiting for him to come outside and greet it. For a new day, it sure is filled up with a bunch of stuff already, he thought. There was a bed that had to be made and a dentist appointment that was sure to happen because Aunt Viola was taking him, and she never forgot anything. If that wasn’t enough, his mother was going to cook string beans for dinner. They were the worst food, Joby was sure, that Heavenly Father had put on the earth!
What the new day wouldn’t be filled with was the bubble gum card he had traded yesterday for a candy bar. He had eaten the candy bar, and it was gone, just like his card. And there wouldn’t be the hamster he had been wanting for longer than he could remember. Going to the dentist with Aunt Viola, making his bed, and having to eat string beans were trials and tribulations that would be more bearable if he had a hamster. He even knew what he’d name his hamster—Agatha—if he ever got one.
Joby climbed out of bed, making sure that he was quiet. He didn’t want to wake up Old Bear, his stuffed panda. He crossed his room to where a little tin box sat on his dresser. He picked up the box and emptied out the dimes, nickels, and pennies into his hand and counted them. They would buy Agatha as soon as he had another dollar and a half.
Joby knew that his father would have helped him get a hamster if he could, but he was a writer and work had been scarce for some time. It was all his father could do to keep a roof over their heads and pay Joby a penny for every grasshopper he carried out of the garden to the field. Dad didn’t like to hurt anything, not even bugs.
One Sunday Joby and the rest of his family, except Dad, were sick with the flu and stayed home from church. When his father came home, he had the strangest look on his face—the same kind of look that he got when he bore his testimony. Saying that he had something important to discuss with everyone, he called a family council. Joby curled up in a blanket on the couch wit his mother and sisters, Michelle and Patience, on one side, and his brothers, Matthew and Nathan, on the other.
Dad explained that the bishop had said additional funds were badly needed to finish building the Jordan River Temple, located a few miles south of them. The bishop was asking every member to give all the money that they could to the temple fund so that the Lord’s work could go forth. He had promised that every family that willingly sacrificed and gave all that they possibly could, including money saved for vacations, would be blessed twofold and would still be able to do all they had planned to do. Joby’s father concluded, “I know that the bishop is right and that what he said was true.”
Joby’s parents had worked hard to save $600 for a family trip to visit Joby’s grandparents who lived in California. Grandpa had been sick for a long time, and the whole family really wanted to visit him. It had been a long time since they had gone on a vacation together. “What should we do with the money?” Dad asked now.
Eleven-year-old Michelle said without thinking twice, “Give it to the bishop. Temple work is real important. Even more important than going on a vacation.”
Joby’s father’s eyes filled with tears. He tried to talk, but he couldn’t. Mom blew her nose and asked three-year-old Nathan to hand a tissue to his father.
“I think we should help Heavenly Father, too,” Matthew volunteered.
“Me, too,” Nathan agreed. Dad turned to Joby, who was holding Old Bear close, the same way his mother was holding his brother Nathan. Joby was quiet a long moment, then got up and left the room with Old Bear. His father looked at his mother, certain that Joby was heartbroken, maybe even angry, about giving up the trip.
A few moments later Joby returned, holding his little tin box. He took off the lid and placed the can in his father’s lap. Joby looked down at the shiny coins that had lit his dreams. Then his eyes found his father’s. He smiled and said, “I want to help Heavenly Father build his temple too.” When his father’s eyes again welled up with tears, Joby said with concern, “Don’t cry, Daddy—I want to give it.”
“I know you do,” his father said softly as he drew the small boy into his arms. “And you’ll be blessed for it. We all will.”
Shortly thereafter the bishop announced that, thanks to everyone’s contributing all he could, the temple fund needs had been met.
And his promise about those who gave from their hearts being rewarded by the Lord came true too, Joby’s father got a writing assignment—then another, and yet another. He was so busy that he had to turn the following one down. The family’s income didn’t just double, as the bishop had promised, but more than quadrupled! Joby and his family were not only able to go see their grandparents, but he and his brothers and sisters were now given a weekly allowance.
Within a few weeks, Joby and Old Bear witnessed a dream come true—they had a new roommate, Agatha the hamster! In his prayers that night, Joby thanked Heavenly Father for his hamster and for being able to help in the completion of the Jordan River Temple. When his father tucked him into bed, he told Joby that his sacrifice was one of the main reasons the family had been so blessed.
“But I only gave two dollars,” Joby said, wondering.
Joby’s father pushed a strand of hair from the boy’s eyes and gazed at him in the soft lamp light. “It’s not important how much we give, Joby—it’s how we give. You gave everything you had, money you’d been saving for something you wanted as badly as you’ve ever wanted anything. And you gave it freely, with all your heart. God judges us by our heart deeds. And your heart is as big, Joby, as the sun coming up in the morning.”
Joby didn’t seem to mind making his bed or going to the dentist much anymore. He didn’t even mind string beans. He had a hamster that made up for it. And he had a feeling of joy that nobody could ever take away. He had helped Heavenly Father build a temple! And he would try to fill every day with deeds and actions that would allow him to go to that temple one day and there continue to help his Heavenly with His work.
Note: In May 1992, Joby Goldrup went to the Jordan River Temple and there received his endowment in preparation for serving a full-time mission in the Italy Padova Mission.

The Prophet’s natural disposition to do good was demonstrated during Zion’s Camp. In May 1834, the Prophet and his brethren were in the process of pitching their tents on the Illinois prairie when some of the brethren suddenly discovered three rattlesnakes and were about to kill them. The Prophet immediately intervened, teaching: “Let them alone—don’t hurt them! How will the serpent ever lose his venom, while the servants of God possess the same disposition, and continue to make war upon it? Men must become harmless, before the brute creation; and when men lose their vicious dispositions and cease to destroy the animal race, the lion and the lamb can dwell together, and the sucking child can play with the serpent in safety” (History of the Church, 2:71). The Prophet Joseph lived as he preached.

Many years ago, before leaving to become president of the Canadian Mission, headquartered in Toronto, Ontario, I had developed a friendship with a man by the name of Shelley, who lived in my ward but did not embrace the gospel, irrespective of the fact that his wife and children had done so. Shelley had been known as the toughest man in town when he was young. He was quite a pugilist. His fights were rarely in the ring but rather elsewhere. Try as I might, I could not bring about a change in Shelley’s attitude. The task appeared hopeless. In time, Shelley and his family moved from our ward.

After I had returned from Canada and was called to the Twelve, I received a telephone call from Shelley. He said, “Will you seal my wife and me and our family in the Salt Lake Temple?”

I answered hesitatingly, “Shelley, you first must be a baptized member of the Church.”

He laughed and responded, “Oh, I took care of that while you were in Canada. My home teacher was a school crossing guard, and every weekday as he and I would visit at the crossing, we would discuss the gospel.”

The sealings were performed; a family was united; joy followed.

The Young Men and Young Women of the Terreton 2nd Ward, Roberts Idaho Stake, collected and made toys for children in Acuna, Mexico.
The Young Women crocheted the clothing for 32 dolls. The Young Men made trucks, slingshots, and sets of blocks. A missionary couple from the Terreton 2nd Ward had been working with the people in this area of Mexico. The couple suggested the service project to the young people, who met the challenge with enthusiasm.

Ryan and I both received the Melchizedek Priesthood about six months after I moved in. I had chosen to wait until after my mission to attend college so I could work to save for my mission. Ryan was already established in a trade, and he decided not to go to college either. After work we often hung out together.
Once, we stayed up most of the night trying to get through the book of Alma as Ryan read the Book of Mormon for the first time. It was exhausting but spiritually energizing. It was also great to see the changes Ryan was making in his life. He gave up old habits, created better ones, and changed some of his friends so he could be with people who shared his standards.
I had been looking forward to my mission since I had started going to church a few years before. Ryan wasn’t sure if he would go. While hanging out, we discussed my mission and my excitement to serve. As I encouraged him and answered gospel questions, I gained more confidence in my own abilities to serve as a missionary. Ryan was old enough to go but struggled with his decision.
“I wasn’t sure if my testimony was strong enough, even though I felt good about the Church at the time,” he said. “I did want to go, but it was really difficult to leave family.”
The day finally came when I could start filling out my mission papers. When I told Ryan, he surprised me by saying he had decided to serve as well. Our mission calls arrived on the same night. Ryan left to serve in Canada a month before I started my mission in France.
When I came home two years later, I looked up all the priests I had worked with. It saddened me to learn that some had stopped going to church shortly after I left, but I was happy to see Ryan again. He had served an honorable mission, and just as with Alma and the sons of Mosiah, I had more joy to see that he was still my brother in the Lord (see Alma 17:2).

It seemed the year 1987 would never arrive. This was the year I would turn 18 and be able to serve in the Brazilian Air Force. When I could, I enlisted and dedicated myself entirely to serving my country.
After a Church leader challenged us to share the gospel, I decided to seek out someone who might be interested in the Church. After many frustrating attempts and feeling somewhat discouraged, I was reading the scriptures in my bunk when I noticed another serviceman kneeling in reverent prayer.
I decided to inquire about his religious affiliation. His response was like a ray of sunshine. He told me he had observed my lack of inhibition in praying at mealtime and before bed. He had always had the desire to pray but had never found the courage. Finally, he resolved to do it, even though he didn’t know exactly what he would say in his prayer.
I asked him, “Would you like to learn how to say a prayer?” His response was a very definite yes. That night I taught him in essence the six missionary discussions and bore my testimony. The Spirit testified clearly to the two of us that it was all true.
The weeks passed, and he accepted my invitation to go to church. He began hearing the discussions from the missionaries and participating in ward activities.
One day during lunch, after saying a prayer, he looked into my eyes and said, “I have decided. I want to be baptized.” His words were like the resounding of a cannon in my heart. I was surprised and happy, and he added to that when he said, “And I want you to baptize me.” Then it was too much. Unable to contain my tears, I embraced him, and he said to me, “Thank you, my friend.”
With the passing of time, we sent in our missionary applications, and he actually ended up leaving on a mission before I did. Today we are far from one another, but we have a strong link that will unite us beyond this mortal life. He married in the temple and has a beautiful family.
I am thankful for the inspired leader who challenged me to share the gospel with those around me and to be an example for others.

From Florida:
“As I knelt in prayer, I expressed a sincere desire to share the gospel with someone and asked my Heavenly Father to please send someone to me.
“The very next morning there was a knock on my door, and it was a neighbor wanting to borrow a pan. Although she had lived by us for some time, we had not had much contact. Two days later both she and her husband came over to visit with us. During our conversation she mentioned that they had been looking for a church. I told her how my husband and I were once in that very same position and how our church filled that very special need we had. We invited them to church that Sunday, and they eagerly accepted. Afterward, we asked them if they would be interested in learning more by having the missionary lessons in our home. They told us that, indeed, they would be interested.
“On Christmas Day, my husband baptized and confirmed them members of the Church. They have grown so strong, and they set a shining example to all. They are looking forward to the day when they and their new baby girl can be sealed in the temple for time and eternity.”

Years ago on Christmas Eve, a cousin lost a little five-year-old boy to quick-pneumonia. The family gathered around the casket for the family prayer. A small blanket, made by his mother, lay folded across the little boy’s feet.
Just as they were to close the casket, my mother stepped forward, put her arm around the grieving mother, and helped her unfold the blanket and tuck it around the little boy. The last his parents saw of their little son, he was asleep, covered with that favorite blanket. It was a very tender moment. That is what grandmothers do!

The Lord’s work began for Walter immediately after his baptism in 1950. His parents and brother and sister had returned to Germany with plans for Walter to rejoin them after he sold the family farm in Santa Catarina. But when World War II broke out, Walter stayed in Brazil, and in 1946, he married Edith Altman, a Swiss immigrant. They moved to São Paulo, where Walter worked as a furniture maker and where the question of religion soon arose in their home.

Edith attended church services regularly, but Walter refused to accompany her. He would become a dedicated member of a church only when he could find the true church, he said. He had a feeling such a thing existed. So after Walter left for work every morning, Edith would kneel and ask God to show them the true church. Five months later, in November 1949, American missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints knocked on their door.

For five months Walter studied with the missionaries, read the scriptures, and attended Church meetings. He gradually became convinced that this was the true Church, and on 20 March 1950, Walter Spät was baptized. Edith joined the Church in October of the same year. Having been a member of a strict Protestant denomination, she had difficulty accepting certain aspects of LDS life, particularly dances held in the church building. “Only after I read the Book of Mormon several years after my baptism,” she says, “was I truly convinced that this was the Lord’s church.”

One year for Christmas, my family decided to give the money we would have spent on gifts for ourselves to a family who could use some help. We prayed to know whom to help. I kept the money in an envelope in my purse so I would be ready when the prompting came.
A few days before Christmas, my kids went sledding. When I arrived at the hill to pick them up, I watched as they made one more fun run down the hill.
Soon, I noticed two little girls who were not dressed for the cold weather. They wore rain boots, pants with holes in the knees, spring jackets, and one mitten each from the same pair. They were having a great time sliding down the hill on a piece of cardboard.
As I watched them run up the hill to their mom, I felt an unmistakable impression that this was the family we needed to help. I walked over to speak to the mother. When she turned around, I was stunned to realize I knew her.
I am grateful I reconnected with this dear sister. That day, not only did Heavenly Father answer the prayers my family had offered to find a family to serve, but He also blessed me with an opportunity to forgive myself for a previous mistake. I had not expected this gift, but it’s one I’ll never forget.

In eighth grade I was in a book club. Each month we met to discuss a book, and at the end of the year we had a competition to see whose team knew the most about each book. One rule we always upheld was to read only clean books.
One month, when I started reading the next book, I felt like it wasn’t clean. But I needed to read it if I wanted my team to win the competition. I couldn’t let them down. A few chapters later, the book got worse. Finally, I put it down. I knew that I couldn’t read it—my spiritual cleanliness was worth more than winning a competition.
But I was so worried about telling my team. The night before our club’s meeting, I prayed to Heavenly Father to help me have courage to face them.
The next day I was really worried. I sat down with my team. Once the meeting started, I was about to explain to everyone that I couldn’t read the book. But before I could, the leader got up and apologized. She explained that she hadn’t read the book before putting it on our booklist and didn’t realize what was in it. She said she would take it off the list. When I got home, I thanked Heavenly Father.
I know that when we uphold our standards, the Lord watches over us. He doesn’t always take care of the situation as He did for me, but He will always give us the courage to make good decisions.
Ashleigh A., Utah, USA

I recently received a letter from a young man which reflects the spirit of love that helped to make firm a testimony of the gospel:
“Dear President Monson:
“Thank you for speaking to us at the National Scouting Jamboree held at Fort A. P. Hill, Virginia. On the tour that we took we saw a lot of famous places like Niagara Falls, the Statue of Liberty, the Liberty Bell, and many other places. The one I enjoyed the most was the Sacred Grove. Our parents had written us all letters to read by ourselves while in the grove. After I had finished the letter my parents had written to me, I knelt in prayer. I asked if the Church was really true and if Joseph Smith really did see a vision and is a true prophet of God, and also if President Hinckley is a true prophet of God. Right after I was done praying, I felt this feeling of the Spirit that these things were indeed true. I had prayed before about the same things but never received such a powerful answer. There was no way that I could deny that this Church is true or that President Hinckley is a prophet of God.
“I feel so blessed to be a member of this Church. Thanks again for attending the Jamboree.
“Sincerely,“Chad D. Olson
“P.S. We gave our tour guide and our bus driver a copy of the Book of Mormon with our testimonies in it. They are the greatest! I want to be a missionary.”
Like Joseph Smith, this young man had retired to a sacred grove and prayed for answers to questions phrased by his inquiring mind. Once more a prayer was answered and a confirmation of the truth was gained.

The hot Venetian sun fills the upstairs room where the teenagers are discussing their upcoming activities. They’re using hesitant, mispronounced Italian, broken English, and some French, so the communication can’t help but break down.
Finally, one of the American boys turns to an Italian boy and translates into German. “Capito!” (understood), the boy replies, and the Young Men/Young Women group continues their discussion.
In September 1985 the Venice Italy Stake was created and the Vicenza Italian Branch and American Serviceman’s Branch were united to become the Vicenza Ward. Together, the youth of the ward are striving to strengthen their testimonies, grow in the gospel, and become united while overcoming language, cultural, and national barriers that in many parts of the world could seem insurmountable.
Vicenza is in northern Italy, where cultures have been blending and languages have been mixing, not for centuries but for millennia. In the shadow of the Alps, on the site of an ancient Roman camp not far from the Brenner Pass into northern Europe, Vicenza has been a trading area and cultural melting pot since the third century B.C.
Vicenza was first conquered by Romans, then by barbarians sweeping out of northern Europe to topple the Roman Empire, then by several medieval city-states, and then absorbed by the Venetian Republic in the 14th century. In the 1800s, it was conquered by Napoleon, then controlled by Austria until it became part of the new Italian nation in 1848.
The young men and women of the new Vicenza Ward are like the city itself, a montage of backgrounds, personalities, and nationalities. There are Americans whose fathers are stationed at a nearby military base, Italians from several areas of the country, and a German-American family. The youth are enthusiastic and bi- or tri-lingual, and strive to bridge the communication gap that separates them as much as the cultural differences.
With such diverse backgrounds and languages, Church lessons are different and more condensed than they are in a typical ward. When a missionary is not available to translate a lesson, one of the youth may try to help. But since the young people are more familiar with colloquial terms or schoolbook Italian or English, translating gospel concepts can be quite a challenge.
Some of the newer and younger youth find it difficult as well as distracting to wait for the translation, and they lose their train of thought. The older students, however, most of whom are studying languages, find this a challenge and a benefit.
“I really like how it helps me learn English better,” says Denis Evolani, a 15-year-old who is fluent in German and French and is currently studying English.
Most of the Americans are studying Italian, but many of them are new to Italy and don’t understand much. “I wonder sometimes why I can’t stay where I want to be, where I can understand the language,” says Donna Kennedy, whose family recently arrived in Italy. “But though it’s difficult now, I know that when I leave I’ll wish I didn’t have to.”
Athena Dayley, a senior at the American High School, is often the translator for the Young Women. She finds it challenging but fun. “It is so neat to be able to talk to someone in another language,” Athena says, “but translating at church is really hard, and I get flustered at times and can’t remember what is being said or comprehend the meaning of what I’m translating. All I’m doing is parroting words.”
But the youth have discovered that sometimes spiritual moments transcend the language barrier.
“I seldom cry at movies,” Athena says, “but at girls’ camp the Spirit was so strong that even if I couldn’t understand the words, I couldn’t help but have tears in my eyes.”
American Marc Dayley, 15, who attended the Young Men camp in the Alps, agrees. “You can feel the Spirit so strongly when someone is speaking about the Church, even if you can’t understand the words,” Marc explained. “Listening to other testimonies at camp really strengthened my own.”
The youth activities are very difficult to plan because school schedules for the Italian and American nationalities are very different. The Italian youth go to school six days a week, from 8:30 to 12:30, while the Americans attend school on post five days a week, 8:30–3:30, with many extracurricular activities and sports lasting until 6:30.
The Italians observe “riposo,” when shops and businesses close from 12:30 to 4:00, then reopen until 7:30, and the people often enjoy activities from 8:00 to 11:00 P.M., when most Americans are studying. Stake youth activities are often scheduled on Italian holidays, when American students must go to school. The large boundaries of the stake force many youth to commute an hour by train, so it is very difficult to schedule seminary or activities during the week.
“There are not as many youth activities here as in the States,” says Marc. “But I like the ward dances we have had where we’ve invited other youth from the stake, even if it’s more challenging to flirt with girls in a foreign language.”
Some activities, like volleyball, soccer, dancing, and camping, are universal, and can be enjoyed equally by all; while others, like scripture chases, Church knowledge games, and drama, are far more difficult because of the language problems. Food is another thing. Some youth are hesitant to try pumpkin pie, hot dogs, pizza romano (with anchovies), and other foods that may look or taste different. Yet they usually try some of everything and generally admit they like it “a little.”
These youth enjoy an opportunity to live in Europe and to gain an appreciation of another culture, whether it is the Americans viewing priceless Renaissance art or the Italians learning to play football. But they admit that it’s hard at times to be a member of the Church in Italy.
“In the States, most people know what the standards of the Church are, so it’s easier there,” Donna explains. “Here there are more temptations because they don’t know automatically what you stand for or what to expect from you.”
“It’s hard here,” Athena adds. “School activities are set up on Sunday and everyone plays soccer and goes to the movies. Here you’ve got to set your own standards for yourself and stand by them. It has strengthened my testimony.”
But despite the challenges, the youth are growing in unity, not just as a ward youth group but as citizens of the world. This was brought home forcibly to the young women when they participated in an activity that was conducted worldwide. They tied their written testimonies to balloons and released them into the Italian skies.
“I thought of all my friends in Arizona,” Donna said, “and I felt close to them, even though we are far away.”
Living in the mission field, or anywhere in the world as a Mormon youth, is not always easy, nor is gaining a testimony and understanding other cultures and people. But in the Vicenza Ward, the youth are learning to help each other by appreciating each other’s differences and reveling in their similarities.

Certainly this was the thinking of Florence Chukwurah of Nigeria when she was assigned to visit teach a sister who was having difficulties in her marriage and in her home, making it necessary to meet at the marketplace for a visit. After listening to and observing this sister’s challenges, Sister Chukwurah asked her husband for a priesthood blessing so that she might know how to help this troubled sister. Following the blessing she felt prompted to discuss with this sister the importance of tithing. “She tearfully told me that she did not pay her tithes because she was not making enough money,” Sister Chukwurah remembers. “I suggested that she and I discuss Malachi 3:10 and that we do so in my house so we could relax and be alone for the discussion. She consented. After our discussion I encouraged her to exercise her faith and pay her tithes for at least six months. I bore my testimony to her by the Spirit.”
Sister Chukwurah testifies that within a few months of this meeting, this sister’s circumstances changed dramatically. Her daughter received a scholarship to complete her high school education, her husband worked with the bishop to become active and accept a calling, husband and wife teamed up to improve their financial situation and their relationship, and eventually they became an inspiration to others.