Gospel Story Finder

One who escaped a brush with gang life is Ath Ket, 16, a Cambodian by birth. Ath recalls what his life was like before he encountered the Church: “It was pretty bad. I used to hang around gang members a lot.” And if he hadn’t met the elders that day four years ago as he walked along the Boston Common? “I’d probably be hanging around, fighting, stealing cars, drinking.”
But Ath did meet the Elders and did agree to hear the lessons. He had already been baptized into another church, but the missionaries’ message rang true. “I feel good about the Church. Now I know it’s true. I learn more about it every day.”

When I was a young man, I had decided not to go on a mission. After a year in college and a year in the army, I had a good job at a local hospital as an X-ray technician. Life seemed to be going well, and a mission didn’t seem necessary.
One day, Dr. James Pingree, a surgeon at the hospital, invited me to lunch. In the course of our conversation, he discovered that I was not planning on serving a mission, and he asked why. I told him I was a little older and it was probably too late. He told me that wasn’t a very good reason, saying that he had gone on his mission after he had finished medical school. Then he bore testimony of the importance of his mission.
His testimony had a significant impact on me. It caused me to pray as I’d never prayed before—with real intent. I could think of a lot of reasons not to go on a mission: I was shy. I had a job I liked. I had a scholarship possibility that wouldn’t be available after a mission. Most important, I had a girlfriend who waited for me while I was in the army, and I knew she wouldn’t wait another two years! I prayed to get confirmation that my reasons were valid and that I was right.
To my frustration, I couldn’t get the easy yes-or-no answer I was hoping for. Then the thought came to me: “What does the Lord want you to do?” I had to acknowledge that He wanted me to serve a mission, and this became a decisive moment in my life. Was I going to do what I wanted to do, or was I going to do the will of the Lord? That is a question we would all do well to ask ourselves often.
Gratefully, I chose to serve a mission and was assigned to labor in the Mexico North Mission.

Devastating earthquakes and tsunamis have recently occurred in diverse places, including Chile, Haiti, and the islands of the Pacific. A few weeks ago Presiding Bishop H. David Burton, Elder Tad R. Callister, and I were able to meet with the Saints who had lost family members as a result of the tsunami that hit the eastern side of Samoa last September. The chapel was full, and it was an emotional meeting. We were able to assure these choice members that because of the Atonement of Jesus Christ, they can be reunited with the loved ones they have lost.

The stake president, Sonny Purcell, was driving his car when he saw the enormous wave coming far out at sea. He honked his horn and stopped children on the road walking to school and warned them to run for higher ground and safety as fast as they could. The children followed his instruction. He frantically drove, reached his four-year-old daughter, put her in the car, and then tried to get to his mother. Before he could reach his mother, the wall of water picked up his car and swept it over 100 yards (91 m), where it lodged in a tree. He scrambled to secure his daughter on top of the car and then swam to rescue his mother, who was clinging to a branch of another tree near their house. With great effort he swam with her to the car and safety. Many were not as fortunate. They did not have time to get to higher ground and safety. Many lost their lives, particularly the young and the elderly.

We told the Samoan families that members all over the world expressed love and concern and had prayed for them and contributed fast offerings and humanitarian aid for both the members and their neighbors. The same is true for the members and their neighbors in Chile and Haiti. We do this because we follow Jesus Christ.

As we met with the families in Samoa, the significance of spiritually going to the higher ground, living a better life, and clinging to saving ordinances was abundantly clear. The Savior’s example and life teach us to spiritually avoid the low pathway, where the things of this world dominate. As I shook hands with the members after our meeting, one sister told me her family had not been to the temple and they had lost a daughter. She tearfully said their goal now was to prepare themselves for the sacred ordinances of the temple so they can be together eternally.
As I have pondered what this sister said and the current condition of the world, I have felt an urgency to counsel each of us to seek the higher ground—the refuge and eternal protection of the temple.

When I was baptized, I was the only member of my family who accepted the gospel. I was 19 years old, and I was happy about my baptism. I was welcomed by the brothers and sisters of my branch in Veracruz, Mexico. In addition, I began preparing to serve a full-time mission as soon as I had been a member of the Church for one year. It was wonderful to know the true Church, and I wanted to share the gospel with others.
My father, my stepmother (my mom died when I was 12 years old), and my three brothers rejected the Church when I was baptized. Unfortunately, I didn’t respond well. I was disrespectful to them. I didn’t consider my father or his opinions. When I told him I would serve a mission soon, he was not happy since I would stop working and especially since I might go far away. It bothered me every time my family’s lifestyle conflicted with my principles, such as when they watched TV or listened to music programs that I felt were inappropriate for Sundays or when my father would invite me to have lunch on fast Sunday.
I justified my negative attitude toward my family by telling myself that I wasn’t doing anything wrong—as a member of the Church, I should live gospel principles even when my family members bothered me. I told myself they were the ones who should change. Due to this reasoning, my relationship with my father was not good. It got worse because of my attitude and pride. I continued this way—not concerning myself with his spiritual welfare.
One day while I was studying for my institute class, I came to 1 Nephi 16, where Nephi breaks his steel bow, making it difficult to get food. Everybody began to murmur—Laman and Lemuel, as was their custom, together with their father, the prophet Lehi. Nephi responded by making a bow and arrow out of wood and asking his father where he should go to obtain food. His father prayed for guidance and was reprimanded by the Lord for having murmured. Lehi reacted favorably and retook his role as leader of his family and as a prophet of the Lord. Nephi did not judge his father in his weakened state, nor did he think that he shouldn’t be prophet anymore, even when Nephi had spoken with the Lord and had received visions.
When I read and understood this account, immediately I thought of how badly I had behaved toward my family. I was embarrassed by my attitude—feeling that I was better than they were—and felt especially bad for not treating my father with respect. I was sad for not making it a priority to share the gospel with them.
I had not seen my family as they could become. I had focused only on their weaknesses. From that day on, my attitude and behavior changed gradually. I strived to always respect my father’s opinions, despite the many times I did not agree with him. If he invited me to lunch when I was fasting, I said I was sorry for not being able to share the meal with him. I no longer felt bothered by the programs or music they watched or listened to on Sundays, remembering that they still hadn’t made covenants with our Heavenly Father, as I had.
One morning while I was helping my father with a meal, I told him how much I loved him and how sorry I was for my rude behavior. I told him I was proud that he was my father and that I wanted to have a peaceful relationship with him.
Everything began to change. The arguments lessened and disappeared. Although I thought it would be a long time before my family joined the Church, their attitude toward the Church improved. None of these changes would have happened had I not changed first.
After I had been a member of the Church for one year, I served as a full-time missionary in the Mexico Tijuana Mission. Three months before returning, I received a letter saying that my family had accepted the gospel and would be baptized. When I returned, they already belonged to the Church.
In my 15 years as a member of the Church, one of my greatest lessons came from my study of the Book of Mormon and with the children of God I had closest to me: my family.

In 1895 my great-grandfather, Abinadi Olsen, was called on a mission to the Samoan Islands. Obedient to the call of the prophet, he left his wife and four small children, including my maternal grandmother, Chasty Magdalene, in the town of Castle Dale, Utah. He traveled by train and ship to the mission headquarters in Apia, a journey of 26 days. His first assignment was to labor on the island of Tutuila.
After many weeks of living in what he called a grass hut, eating strange food, suffering severe illnesses, and struggling to learn the Samoan language, he seemed to be making no progress in his missionary work. Homesick and discouraged, he seriously considered boarding a boat back to Apia and telling the mission president he didn’t want to waste any more time in Samoa. The obstacles to the accomplishment of his mission seemed insurmountable, and he wished to return to his wife and children, who were struggling to support him in the mission field.
A friend who heard Abinadi Olsen describe the experience some years after his return, quoted him as follows:
“Then one night, as I lay on my mat on the floor of my hut, a strange man entered and in my own language told me to get up and follow him. His manner was such that I had to obey. He led me out through the village and directly up against the face of a perpendicular solid rock cliff. ‘That’s strange,’ thought I. ‘I’ve never seen that here before,’ and just then the stranger said, ‘I want you to climb that cliff.’
“I took another look and then in bewilderment said, ‘I can’t. It’s impossible!’
“‘How do you know you can’t? You haven’t tried,’ said my guide.
“‘But anyone can see’—I started to say in objection. But he cut in with, ‘Begin climbing. Reach up with your hand—now with your foot.’
“As I reached, under orders that I dared not disobey, a niche seemed to open in the solid rock cliff and I caught hold. Then with my one foot I caught a toe hold.
“‘Now go ahead,’ he ordered. ‘Reach with your other hand,’ and as I did so another place opened up, and to my surprise the cliff began to recede; climbing became easier, and I continued the ascent without difficulty until, suddenly, I found myself lying on my pallet back in my hut. The stranger was gone!
“‘Why has this experience come to me?’ I asked myself. The answer came quickly. I had been up against an imaginary cliff for those three months. I had not reached out my hand to begin the climb. I hadn’t really made the effort I should have made to learn the language and surmount my other problems” (Fenton L. Williams, “On Doing the Impossible,” Improvement Era, Aug. 1957, p. 554).
It is hardly necessary to add that Abinadi Olsen did not leave the mission. He labored for three and a half years, until released by appropriate authority. He was an exceptionally effective missionary, and he was a faithful member of the Church for the rest of his life.

“Dad loves to take his grandchildren on an imaginary lion hunt, where they all try to find a make-believe lion. First, they pretend to sit on the seat of a car. Then when they arrive at the airport, they climb invisible steps to get on the airplane. Once inside the plane, everyone fastens his safety belt and leans way back in his chair as the plane takes off. When the plane lands, everyone comes down the stairs and walks over to a jeep. They climb in and, because the jeep ride is bumpy, everyone joggles up and down.
“When the jeep stops, everyone jumps out and gets an imaginary rope and gun to put over his shoulder. They wade through long grass and reeds—swish-swish-swish. They come to a bridge and everyone crosses over it—clump-clump-clump. Then they come to the place where the lions are, and they throw their ropes up around a rock to secure them. They all climb up the rope to get into a cave so they can creep up on the lion. The lion roars—GRRRR!! All of the brave lion hunters run out of the cave, slide down the rope, go clumping over the bridge, run swishing through the reeds, take off their ropes and guns, get back into the jeep, and take the bumpy ride back to the airport. Finally they arrive back home safe and sound after a great trip!”

Jimmy and his mom were shopping in an outdoor mall during the Christmas season. It was very cold, and they saw some high school students playing holiday songs. They played a few for Jimmy. As Jimmy and his mom walked away, he said they needed to give the students something. They went to their car and Jimmy got all the candy he had just received at his school Christmas party. He went back to the students and gave them all of his candy.

When I was a young missionary, I remember when a marvelous missionary that I had come to admire received some devastating news. His mother and his younger brother had passed away in a tragic accident. The mission president offered this elder the option to return home for the funeral. However, after speaking with his father on the phone, this missionary decided to stay and finish his mission.
A short time later, when we were serving in the same zone, my companion and I received an emergency call; some thieves had stolen the bicycle belonging to this same missionary and had injured him with a knife. He and his companion had to walk to the nearest hospital, where my companion and I met up with them. On the way to the hospital, I was grieving for this missionary. I imagined that his spirits would be low and that surely, after this traumatic experience, he would now want to return home.
However, when we arrived at the hospital, I saw this missionary lying in his bed, waiting to be taken into surgery—and he was smiling. I thought, “How could he be smiling at a time like this?” While he was recuperating in the hospital, he enthusiastically handed out pamphlets and copies of the Book of Mormon to the doctors, nurses, and other patients. Even with these trials, he did not want to go home. Rather, he served until the last day of his mission with faith, energy, strength, and enthusiasm.

I was soon to leave for my military service. Nevertheless, my desire to be around the missionaries and members grew powerfully. As soon as I learned a new principle of the gospel, I put it into practice. Just before I left, one of the elders said, “You know, you live like a Mormon, but you’re trying to become perfect before you will join the Church. That’s the wrong way. It’s the Church that will help you achieve perfection.” They told me I had a testimony, but I still wasn’t sure.
In the military I had time to let my feelings grow and develop. There was lots of time to think, and I reflected deeply on my impressions of the Church. I was stationed with the mountain troops in Briancon, with no LDS branch nearby. But I guarded the things I had learned in my heart and let the seed of faith grow.
When I was released from the service, I faced a critical decision. My best friend from Normandy and I had planned for a long time to visit the United States, and I had saved my money so I could go. But his plans felt through. I had to decide whether or not to go by myself. I returned to Normandy, to walk the beaches and to think.
Anyone who could have eavesdropped on my mental conversation at that time would have known I already had a testimony. “I am well off here—I have my family and friends, I feel sure of myself, and this is the most beautiful spot on earth,” I told myself. “But what if I don’t go? I could miss an opportunity to learn even more about the gospel, to really gain a testimony of it. I could give up the trip, the dream of my young years. But to give up a chance to know more about the Lord’s church?”
In the U.S. I had the opportunity to develop many close relationships with Church members. I finally began to believe I did have a testimony—I can’t forget the wonderful feelings when, each time I’d ask myself a question, I would feel the Holy Ghost enlightening my soul, clearing away the doubt. I had had difficulty understanding why polygamy had been practiced. On a bus somewhere between Colorado and Utah, I glimpsed the vision, not a visual sight, but a spiritual insight, of the men who practiced it. And I saw how it was possible for such a thing to be pure, that it had come from God. That sort of clarification continued throughout my trip in the United States.
I eventually visited some islands near Seattle, Washington. There, in a small apartment, I studied the Book of Mormon for ten days. My testimony continued to grow. The time had come to return to France, and in my heart I knew I would be baptized.
Several days after I returned home, the missionaries asked me to help them teach a lesson. The investigator was a science student, and he was struggling with some of the same questions I had confronted when I was studying the same subjects. I explained to him how I had found answers to the questions, and when we left he seemed satisfied and happy.
A few days later, the missionaries called to tell me he was joining the Church. “How about that,” I told myself. “Here I am, able to help someone else accept baptism, and not myself. This has lasted long enough!” I felt I had a testimony, but I fasted and prayed. I stayed up the whole night pleading with the Lord to seal this testimony in me. Finally, early in the morning, a sweet, peaceful calm filled my soul. I knew I had to tell the elders I was ready to be baptized.
As I rounded the last corner on my way to see the missionaries, I felt a strong force trying to keep me from going. It was like walking against a 100-kilometer-per-hour wind, which I had done before, only it was stronger. But this was a spiritual “wind,” not physical. I was just about to give up and turn around. I knew this force wanted me to doubt everything, but I finally said, “No, no. I know there’s a God.” I felt that truth deep in the roots of my soul. I knew He would battle this force for me.
I reached the chapel door, just a normal chapel door, but I had to pull with all my might to force it open. When I entered I saw some members and felt their spirit, and the opposing force was gone, broken. I felt the sweet peace in my heart again, and felt it even more strongly several days later as I was baptized and confirmed. I still feel it to this day.

My name is Svyataslava, and I’m from Moscow, Russia.
For me, prayer is a conversation with Heavenly Father. When I pray, I can tell Him about my concerns and joys. I can thank Him and ask Him about things.
One day, after finishing some proxy temple work, I went into the waiting room. Usually there were lots of people there, but when I entered the room, it was empty. I used the private, quiet moment to pray. I thanked Heavenly Father for the experiences I’d had. I asked Him about things that were important to me. At the end of my prayer, I remembered my great-grandmother, whom I missed very much, and asked God if I could feel her embrace.
When I finished my prayer, my friend entered the room and gave me a hug. I immediately thought of my great-grandmother and remembered her loving embrace. We cried together as we felt the Holy Ghost. This confirmed to me that the Lord hears and knows me. I know that He lives and loves me.

A spy? Seven-year-old Amanda couldn’t believe her eyes. She traced her finger over Mosiah 9:1 again, just to make sure. “I, Zeniff, having been taught in all the language of the Nephites, and having had a knowledge of the land of Nephi, or of the land of our fathers’ first inheritance, and having been sent as a spy among the Lamanites …” A spy! There it was. Amanda closed her Book of Mormon. She knew she should have been listening to Brother Anderson’s talk during sacrament meeting, but she couldn’t help but giggle in surprise. She knew lots of Book of Mormon stories, but she never knew there was one with a spy in it.
She sank down in the pew and peeked at the page again. Zeniff the Spy. It sounded mysterious. And important.
I could be a spy! she thought excitedly. She knew all about spies. Spies noticed everything. Spies used secret codes. Spies wrote down important information with special pens.
Amanda knew some secret codes. And she had a special pen—well, a very special pencil. She rummaged through her scripture-carrying bag and pulled out the yellow pencil she’d earned in Sister Wooster’s class for perfect attendance.
Then, from her coat pocket, she pulled out her little purple notepad. It had pages and pages of straight lines just waiting to be filled with important information.
Amanda the Spy! she thought. It sounds mysterious and important!
The closing song and prayer captured her attention. She loved to sing the hymns, and she always wanted to mean it when she added her own “Amen.”
Normally Amanda would have hurried straight to Primary. This time she peered over the back of the bench and watched.
Brian Fisher tripped on his shoelaces. Three babies were crying. And … and … something small and gray was under the last bench.
It was an envelope. A heavy envelope that jingled.
It sounds like money, she thought. She peeked inside. It was money! Five dollars and twenty-five cents!
Amanda hugged it to her chest and spun around on her heel. Wow! she thought. I could buy a doll. Or a new book. Or tons of gummy bears! She pulled out her notepad and pencil and wrote, “Found $5.25.”
Then she wondered, It’s all right to keep it, isn’t it? After all, it isn’t that much money. If she’d found a million dollars, that would be different. But this was just a little over five dollars. Whoever had lost it probably wouldn’t even miss it.
Amanda gave the envelope a quick kiss—then gasped. The letters seemed to jump right off the paper: “Bishop Johansen, Creek Ward.”
It was a tithing envelope!
She plopped down on the bench, feeling like she’d been punched in the stomach. It wasn’t fair! She had already planned what she was going to buy.
It was hers! Wasn’t it?
She looked at her notepad. What would Zeniff do? she asked herself. Spies were supposed to be experts at staying out of trouble. Amanda thought she knew what he would do.
She glanced around. Brother Campbell was just leaving the chapel. He was a member of the bishopric.
Stuffing her notepad into her pocket and dashing toward the double doors, she called to him, “Brother Campbell, I found this envelope here in the chapel.”
Brother Campbell shook Amanda’s hand. “Thank you, Sister Pratt,” he said with a wink. “I’ll make sure that the bishop gets it.”
Turning toward the Primary room, she thought, Amanda the Spy knows how to stay out of trouble, too! She got out her notepad and wrote, “Turned money over to Brother Campbell.”
“Oh, no!”
Amanda looked up to see the bucket in Sister Kelly’s hand bounce onto the floor, spilling crayons over the carpet like colorful fireworks.
“What next?” Sister Kelly despaired as she hoisted her crying baby onto her hip and desperately grabbed at pictures slipping from her fingers.
Without even thinking, Amanda dashed down the hall toward her CTR teacher. “Don’t worry, Sister Kelly,” she said as she started to pick up crayons and drop them into the bucket. “I’ll help.”
“I can help, too,” said her friend Melanie, who’d been with her mom in the library.
Amanda and Melanie quickly refilled the bucket.
“Thanks so much,” Sister Kelly told them with a grateful smile. “Everything’s been going wrong today.”
“No problem,” they said together.
“Come on, girls,” Sister Kelly whispered, glancing towards the Primary door. “We’d better hurry.”
Amanda and Melanie slipped quietly into Primary and sat with their class. Amanda quickly wrote, “Helped Sister Kelly pick up crayons,” in her notepad.
“Sister Kelly,” the Primary President said, interrupting Amanda’s thoughts, “Randy could not come today. Would someone else in your class like to give the scripture and prayer?”
Sister Kelly glanced at the four children in her row.
Amanda did, too. She knew Jared wouldn’t do it. He was too shy. And she knew Wayne wouldn’t do it—he never volunteered for anything. That left Melanie and her. But Melanie was holding Sister Kelly’s baby.
“I’ll do it,” Amanda volunteered. She walked quietly to the podium. When she sat down again, she wrote in her notepad, “Said opening prayer for Primary,” and drew a smiling face.
“What’s that?” Melanie asked as they walked to class.
“It’s my spy book. I’m writing down important information.”
“Oh. I thought maybe it was a CTR book or something.”
Amanda read all the things she’d written. “Found $5.25,” “Turned money over to Brother Campbell,” “Helped Sister Kelly pick up crayons,” and “Said opening prayer for Primary.” It was like a CTR book. The entries showed that she had “Chosen The Right.”
She wrote “CTR” in large letters on the cover of her notepad. It’s like a secret code, too, she thought happily. Amanda the CTR Spy! Being this kind of spy really is wonderful and important.

I was the branch president of Koforidua when the government of Ghana banned the activities of the Church from June 1989 to November 1990. Upon hearing the announcement, I rushed to Accra to meet the mission president, who was our file leader, to find out what we must do.
On arriving at the mission home in Accra, I saw that the government security machinery had taken over the mission home and would not allow anyone to enter. I stood at the gate peeping and prayed in my heart to know how I could get in contact with the mission president. Fortunately, my eyes caught the sight of the mission president who was being escorted by security personnel from one room to another.
I shouted at the top of my voice to get the mission president’s attention, but unfortunately, he was not allowed to come any closer to me. He waved to me and said, “President Ahadjie, go back to Koforidua and take care of the Saints.”
On reaching Koforidua, I was arrested by the police, put in a police cell, and went through a series of interrogations. I was warned they never wanted to see us congregate to worship or share the gospel. However, this act of the police did not discourage me from heeding the Savior’s invitation to share His gospel.
To mobilize and strengthen the members of the Church at that difficult time in Koforidua, when the faith of most members was being tried, I had to organize the branch. This included the branch presidency, the executive secretary, quorum presidents and their wives to find a way to send the gospel of Jesus Christ to our members so they could hold on to their faith and testimonies.
Each Sunday, we would walk several hours early at dawn to converge in a forest where a member and his wife lived. We partook of the sacrament, studied the scriptures, especially from the Book of Mormon, after which, the men would pair up and visit all the members in their individual homes. In each home we provided the sacrament and read portions of the Book of Mormon to strengthen their faith and administer to the sick when necessary. Each Sunday started about 4 a.m. and ended at 11 p.m.
These activities went on for about 17 months and when the Church was able to go back to normal activities, none of the members were lost. Instead, we had increased by an additional 20 percent, nonmembers who saw and heard us ministering to the members, and attended sacrament meeting with us and were eventually baptized.

As in so many other circumstances, the undeniable prompting of the Holy Spirit had its special influence when 17-year-old Tom, unlike the forty-one other recruits with whom he joined the armed services that day, chose the naval reserve (for the duration of the war plus six months) over the regular navy (for four years with a fixed promise of discharge). It was a decision he had made a matter of urgent prayer.
Within just a few weeks of his joining, there was an armistice in Europe and only a few months later came peace in the Pacific. Less than a year after he began his active duty, Ensign Thomas S. Monson returned home to graduate with honors from the University of Utah, just one quarter behind those members of his class who had not given military service. The impressions of the Spirit had spared him three needless years of post-war military duty. Little did he know that even then he was being fitted with “the whole armour of God” (Eph. 6:11) for quite a different kind of battle and a much longer tour of duty. He was “on the Lord’s errand” and his time was very important.

If I had to name one thing I hated concerning college life, it was buying books each semester and watching my checking account go from a pitifully small amount to almost nothing in one mean whack. This was only the second semester of my freshman year, but I remembered the pain I’d gone through last semester, and I wasn’t too thrilled about dealing with the “money massacre” again.
I’d been mentally going through my classes for winter semester, figuring roughly the amount each book would cost while I tried to keep up with the step aerobics instructor and the rest of the sweating bodies around me. I was sure I must have added something wrong when I reached an eye-popping total of $200—not including tax.
“Hey, Jenny, are you okay?”
“Yeah, fine,” I mumbled.
“Here, let me help you.” Cathy’s a great friend. She doesn’t laugh at me when I do stupid things like tripping all over my bench during aerobics because I’m not concentrating. Even now, while I was busy trying to re-tie my shoelace, she was on the floor, straightening my bench for me.
“Killer class today, huh?”
“Yeah.” Tripping over my bench had made my very tender right hamstring muscle even more sore.
“So, Jenny, have you bought your books yet?”
Ugh. That again. “I’m going to buy them right after this class is through.”
“I spent $175 this time. I won’t be able to do anything fun for weeks.”
Only $175? I was wishing I could be so lucky all the way to the bookstore.
The place was jammed with other poor souls like myself who’d waited until the last possible second before taking the hardest plunge of the semester.
Chemistry, English 201, trigonometry, humanities, music appreciation. By the time I made my way to the cash register, I had two ugly stacks of reading material that would keep me busy for months.
The clerk behind the register hardly gave me a glance before rubbing her eyes and wearily lifting the first book from one of my piles. I was sure she must have hated the book rush as much as everyone else did.
“Hey, Jenny!”
I turned around and saw a waving figure with a big, blonde ponytail. Cathy again. She pushed and shoved her way through the endless line of students. Her eyebrows lifted to new heights while she examined my piles of books.
“Pretty impressive.”
“Just don’t be expecting a birthday present from me this year.”
Cathy laughed and rattled off her latest winter semester classes.
“That will be $157.30, please.”
I whipped my head in surprise to face the clerk. The look on her face dared me to make any negative comments, so I quickly wrote my check and escaped with Cathy.
I was all ready to gloat over the low cost of my books that night to Gary, my freshly returned missionary brother, since I knew his books had cost him a small fortune. But as I picked up my receipt and quickly scanned each book price, then the total, I stopped and frowned. I counted the figures again and again.
“Something’s not right here.”
“What’s wrong, Jenn?”
I glanced up from my cross-legged position in the middle of my bed. Gary was standing in the doorway.
“Oh, nothing, really. I bought my books today, and I think the lady at the register may have added them up wrong.”
“Really? Well, let’s have a look.”
I scooted over to make room for him on my bed, and in a matter of minutes, it was all figured out: Only one stack of my books had been rung up. I had gotten the other stack free.
“Gary, you know what a rip-off it is to buy books. The school makes a killing. Besides, all together my stuff isn’t worth more than $150.”
“It’s tough to part with hard-earned money, and if I were you, I’d feel the same way. At one time, I might never have taken the books back and paid for them.”
“After all, it’s not like I stole them. I didn’t see what she was doing. I thought she’d rung them all up. It’s her mistake, not mine,” I quickly chimed in defensively.
“I know, I know,” Gary soothed. “And I’m not going to tell you to take them back. You’re old enough to make your own decisions.”
I started to gather the books, my mind made up, but something in Gary’s voice stopped me.
“You know, this reminds me of something that happened to me about a year ago in the Netherlands.”
Great. An inspiring missionary story. I sighed and settled against my pillows to listen, resolving that nothing he could say would make me change my mind.
The next few days were miserable ones. I couldn’t get Gary’s words out of my head, let alone even look at my “free” books. It was hard for me to do, but Monday morning after my aerobics class, I waded through the endless line of students at the bookstore, ready to lose another $150.
The same clerk was behind the register as I shoved my books onto the counter before her.
“I was in here a few days ago, and these books of mine were never rung up.”
She lifted her eyebrows at me in surprise. “Really? And you brought them back? Even I wouldn’t have been so honest at your age.” She paused for a second. “Maybe not even now.”
For a moment I had a happy, fleeting thought that she was going to reward my honesty by telling me not to worry about these books—that I’d already paid for them in my own way. I almost smiled. Being honest wasn’t so hard.
“That’ll be $175 even.”
As I drove home, I tried to tell myself I wasn’t losing money but gaining an education. It didn’t help much. Especially considering the fact that my right hamstring was still pretty sore. Yet it hadn’t been as touchy today as it had been on Saturday. It would get stronger as I exercised. Pretty soon, it’d be so strong, no amount of fancy step work would bother it, and I’d be able to do all the steps with ease.
Gary’s words struck me again, and for the first time, the memory wasn’t painful. Exercising, integrity; it was all the same. Of course I’d walked away from the book incident feeling a little bruised. I had exercised something harder than ever before. But the next time, it’d be easier even if it was trickier.
Strengthening my muscles and my character in the same day. That was the true, total workout.
I waved to Gary as I maneuvered the car into the garage. I did feel sort of warm and good inside, and I wondered if realizations like these were truly the best types of warm feelings you could ever have.
“So how was your day?” Gary questioned as I jumped out of the car. I held up my bag of books for him to see.
“Hard and good. Even my hamstring is shaping up.” I grinned at him and hurried into the house. Doing something right when it was hard for me to do didn’t feel so terrible after all. In fact, it felt pretty good.

Years ago, after graduating from Utah State University, I accepted a job in Colorado, USA. My wife, Janine, and I had only been married for a few years, and we moved our limited belongings to our new apartment to start the next chapter of our lives.
Both my family and Janine’s lived in Utah, and we wanted to spend our Christmas vacation with them. I diligently saved up vacation time at work so we could spend two weeks with them and other friends in Utah during the Christmas break. We planned to make the drive a few days before Christmas, leaving after I worked a half-day in the morning.
The night before we planned to leave, I took down all the Christmas decorations and got rid of the tree so I wouldn’t have to do it when we returned after the new year.
The next morning, Janine mentioned she hadn’t been feeling well that week. I told her she should probably see a doctor before we left for two weeks. Then I went into work for my half-day.
When I returned home at noon, our apartment was empty. This happened before cell phones, so I didn’t know where Janine was or how to contact her. I sat in the apartment worrying about lost travel time.
Janine called about an hour later. She was in the hospital, and a medical team was about to operate on her. I rushed to the hospital and briefly met with the doctor. He explained that Janine’s life was in danger and that they needed to operate immediately. As Janine and the staff went into the operating room, I went into the waiting room.
Although I’ve always been a strongly independent person, I remember the immense sense of isolation I felt as I sat for what seemed like forever in that waiting room. With the lack of cell phones and the speed in which the events progressed, neither Janine’s family nor mine knew what was going on. The crushing loneliness was almost unbearable as I worried for the life of my young wife.
Finally, the doctor came into the room and announced that the operation was a success. I replied, “Great! Because we’re going to Utah for Christmas.” The doctor was quick to correct me: “Son, you don’t understand. Janine will need to remain in town for two weeks for observation.” Those words hit me hard. “Two weeks?” With the doctor’s statement, I realized we were not going anywhere for Christmas.
Janine stayed in the hospital for a few more days. When we finally drove home after dark, I dreaded entering our apartment, which was now stripped of all holiday cheer.
As we slowly made our way across the parking lot to our apartment, I saw a dark shadow next to our door and wondered what it could be. When we got closer to the door, I realized it was a small Christmas tree. I knew immediately who had left it.
After going inside and helping Janine into bed, I brought our Christmas tree inside. It was clear to me that my buddy Mike had left it for us. Mike was one of the first friends I’d made when we moved to Colorado. He was a college student and a father of two children, so I knew finances were tight for him. The tree he’d brought was less than three feet tall and very thin. By all worldly standards, it might not have looked like much, especially compared with our original tree. But I knew it was the best he could afford, and I felt great appreciation for it. To me, it was a magnificent tree—much better than our original because of the sacrifice it represented from my friend. Nothing could have been a better gift. I spent the rest of the night decorating our new treasure, which turned out to be the most outstanding Christmas decoration that year.
Once we returned home, the ward Relief Society quickly sprang into action and took care of meals for the next few weeks. They also brought entertainment for Janine and me to enjoy while she rested. Many visits from ward members followed. Being new to the ward, we didn’t initially know many people, but we soon got to know many of them from their visits.
That Christmas remains one of my most cherished memories. Mike ended up becoming a lifelong friend from whom I’ve learned many lessons of service. When I think back on this experience, Matthew 25:37–40 comes to mind:
“Then shall the righteous answer him, saying, Lord, when saw we thee an hungred, and fed thee? or thirsty, and gave thee drink?
“When saw we thee a stranger, and took thee in? or naked, and clothed thee?
“Or when saw we thee sick, or in prison, and came unto thee?
“And the King shall answer and say unto them, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.”

Every Sunday in a small town in Argentina, a group of people met under a tree to read the scriptures and learn about the gospel. Some of the people were members of the Church. But many of them hadn’t been baptized, and they really wanted to be!
They had a problem, though. They lived far away from other towns. No Church leaders had come to visit their town for some time.
Then they heard that some missionaries were in a town about four hours away. They all gave money so one man could buy a bus ticket to the town where the missionaries were. When he got there, he waited at the bus station. He thought that would be the best place to find the missionaries.
After a few hours, he saw two young men. They were the missionaries! He told them about the people in his town. So the missionaries and the mission president planned a trip to meet these people.
On the day that the mission president and the missionaries came, many people gathered together to meet them. Now those who hadn’t been baptized yet could get baptized. After teaching them the lessons, they were ready!
The closest river was very far away, so they pumped water from a well and filled up a portable swimming pool. It took three hours to fill the pool! In all, 27 women, men, and children got baptized that day. They were filled with joy!

Emma probably first learned about the restored gospel while living with John and Nanave Rosenquist, a Latter-day Saint couple who treated her like an adopted daughter. She was baptized at the age of 12 on November 3, 1895. A missionary who attended the service testified of the powerful spirit felt at the baptism.

A few months later, John W. Beck, the president of the Samoan Mission, received approval from the First Presidency to send Emma and other Samoan children to Utah for schooling. She departed from Apia, Upolu’s main port, with President Beck and other missionaries on April 23, 1896. Although her biological parents consented to her leaving, they were in tears as they said goodbye.

It took Emma nearly three weeks to travel by steamship and railroad to Salt Lake City. The city was far bigger than her village on Upolu, and she must have felt overwhelmed by its busy streets and unfamiliar sounds. At the time, Utah had relatively few Polynesian residents. Most days, she would have seen no one who looked like her.

In Utah, Emma lived in the Salt Lake City Thirteenth Ward, received a good education at Church-owned schools, and kept in contact with returned missionaries from the Samoan Mission. Early on, her bishop recognized her potential and counseled her to prepare to serve a mission to her homeland.

Emma took his words to heart, and when the call came in early 1901, she was ready.

About 14 years ago, Tanya Price (who the young women know today as the bishop’s wife1) lost a baby at birth. The Prices named her Abby, and mourned as a member of their eternal family was laid to rest. Now, years later, at a Young Women in Excellence fireside in northern Utah, Bishop Jared Price spoke about his daughter.
“She would be your age now,” he said. “She would be with you, working on projects you’re working on, going to your meetings, joining you in prayer.” He said he and his wife still missed Abby, even though they had known her for only a few hours in this life.
Abby’s parents, Tanya and Jared Price.
“When Bishop Price talked about his love for Abby, it made me realize, ‘That’s how my father feels about me,’” says Kayla F., 16. “It helped me love my own family even more, and realize how much Heavenly Father loves me.”
Earlier that same evening, one of the Young Women leaders, Danielle Jensen, had been praying to find an activity for the coming year that would bless the girls.
After hearing the bishop speak, Sister Jensen’s husband, Tyce, suggested: Why not do the Personal Progress program on Abby’s behalf, then surprise Bishop and Sister Price with the results? Sister Jensen talked to the other leaders and the girls, and The Abby Price Project—AP Project, for short—was underway.
Young women and leaders of the Prices’ ward.
In addition to doing her own Personal Project activities, each girl would do a values experience or project on behalf of Abby. As activities were completed, they would describe in a journal what they had done. At the end of the year they would present the Prices with the journal, a video of the year’s activities, ribbons, and a medallion. In the meantime, everything was confidential.
“We wanted to show the Prices that we thought of Abby as one of us,” says McKenna U., 14.
“Sometimes it was hard to keep it secret,” says Jocelyn J., 13. “On Sundays, we would talk about our plans, but just in the Young Women room. If anyone asked, we told them we were doing Personal Progress.”
Kayla F.
McKenna U.
Jocelyn J.
“My values project was to improve a talent,” says Hannah H., 15. “I had already done it for myself, but doing it again for Abby made me think about what kinds of talents she has and what she might be doing with them in heaven.”
“It was interesting reading the Book of Mormon for someone else,” Morgan S., 18, says. “Sometimes I would read a scripture out loud, to share it with Abby and think about what it would mean to her.”
“I think it was neat that when we worked on the AP project, we couldn’t count it for ourselves,” says Sidney B., 16. “We got to feel Abby’s spirit, and when we were done we got to write in the journal how we felt about her and her family.”
“It kept us thinking about someone else,” says Hallie C., 13.
Hannah H.
Sidney B.
Hallie C.
On Abby’s birthday, the young women decorated her grave with sunflowers and balloons and cleaned and decorated other graves nearby.
“Sunflowers became the symbol for the AP Project,” Britten M., 15 explains. “The leaders gave each of us a sunflower charm bracelet to remind us of Abby and of service.” Many of the girls still wear the bracelets every day.
“Sunflowers are bright and pretty, so we felt they were a good way to represent Abby,” explains Morgan S. 18.
“And sunflowers are drawn to the light,” says Emma E., 16. “So they remind us young women and daughters of God to find spiritual light.”
“When President [Russell M.] Nelson invited teens to join the youth battalion, it was like we were already prepared to join,” says another Abby, Abby E., 14.
Olivia A., 14, agrees. “When we minister to others, we feel the Savior’s love and they do, too.”
“When we went to the temple and did baptisms for the dead, we did something for them that they can’t do for themselves,” says Stephanie S., 18. “The AP Project let us do something like that for Abby, something she couldn’t do for herself.”
“I never thought about the other side of the veil before as much as I did when we did our service for Abby,” says Britten M., 15. “I think we were all more motivated to learn about our ancestors.”
“They need us because they don’t have physical bodies to receive ordinances,” says Emma E., 16, “Helping them is part of gathering Israel, another thing President Nelson said to do.”
Abby E.
Olivia A.
Stephanie S.
When a year had passed and the annual Young Women in Excellence night arrived again, the Prices came, eager to support the young women. Then, as each young woman summarized her achievements, she also told what she had done on behalf of Abby.
“We were overwhelmed that they had done so much for our daughter,” Sister Price recalls.
“They were filled with love for us, and we were filled with love for them,” says Bishop Price.
Since then, Bishop and Sister Price have read and re-read the words of love and encouragement in Abby’s Personal Progress journal many times.
Not long ago, the young women visited the Prices. They delivered a vase of sunflowers. They laughed, teased each other, and ate brownies. Then the young women went once again to the cemetery, to visit the grave of their friend.
“Someday, we’ll get to meet Abby Price,” Sister Jensen says. “We’ll give her a hug and let her know that we loved ministering to her and her family. It was a blessing to us all.”

“I moved to Salt Lake City around 1950,” Vinca says. “I was a nurse, but I had to renew my certificate to practice in the U.S.”
The move gave her a chance to learn English better. It also gave her another opportunity to learn about the Church. She lived in the Beehive House and worked at a doctor’s office across the street. She also played the cello in the Utah Symphony and made a number of good friends.
“I attended church with them too. And I walked on Temple Square during my lunch hour every day. But I still thought of religion as something you could decide to make a part of your life as you liked.”
After two years in Salt Lake, Vinca moved to Sacramento, California, USA, and lived for a short time with the family of one of the missionaries who had taught her in Denmark. When she made enough money as a surgical nurse to support herself, she moved out on her own. She and the missionary dated and eventually became engaged.
“Things didn’t work out,” Vinca recalls, and when they broke off their engagement, she moved on, losing touch with Church members.
Not long after, Vinca met Ward, a dentist and oral surgeon who was born and raised in Sacramento. He was a strong, handsome man who had served as a navy officer during the war. Though 11 years older than Vinca, he swept her off her feet, and the two were married in 1954.
They bought a home not far from his practice. Though they could not have children, they had a wonderful, loving marriage. They worked, they traveled, he painted, and she continued to play her music. Life was good for many years.
Ward passed away in 1985. Vinca lived on in their home until about 1999, when she started feeling anxious to move. Her home was large, more than she needed, and she felt a desire for change. She discovered a small town that suited her in Haines, Alaska. She retired there, and so things would have ended if the missionaries had not come knocking on her door once more in 2006.
At last, after many chances and many years, the timing was right.
“I never really had known much about religion,” Vinca says, “but I knew some things that made me ask questions, things that disappointed me or seemed strange.
“When I learned about this gospel, everything just made sense: the plan of salvation, what is expected of us, the promises made, the Book of Mormon. I like especially the Church doctrine of temple work for those who pass away who have not been introduced to the gospel. I felt at ease about it; it was something I could accept because it was clear and open to me, like coming home.
“I finally did what I should have done a long time ago. I don’t know why it took me so long. I had met a lot of wonderful people, and they all had some influence in my decision to join the Church. It did take years, but getting baptized was the best thing I ever did.”
Vinca was baptized on October 14, 2006—on her husband’s birthday. Just a year later, she attended the temple for the first time and was sealed to Ward (by proxy) for time and all eternity. For Vinca, the experience of attending the temple and of being sealed to the love of her life “was unbelievable, beautiful.”
Having gained this supernal blessing of being sealed to her beloved husband, Vinca desires now to share temple blessings with her relatives. Though she is 86 years old and suffers from kidney failure, she is motivated.
“I hope my husband and his parents and my parents and my own brothers and sisters will accept the gospel. I have a lot of temple work to get done.
“One of my main projects in life now is to do as much temple work as I can, as much genealogy as possible. I feel I have a reason for living here. Even if I live to be 100, it’s all right. I have things to do now. It feels good, really, to be able to do it.”
As Vinca turns her gaze back to her house to head inside, she is filled with the hope that comes from the gospel of Jesus Christ. Being a member of this Church “has been a blessing in so many countless ways. You feel peace of mind. You feel stronger. When things are absolutely gorgeous, you feel, ‘Oh boy, this is heaven.’ It makes you feel grateful for living.”
Vinca lives with a grateful heart—because the fire of the gospel and the hope of eternities with her loving husband burns bright within her.

Our neighbor’s husband died several months ago, and my family and I have been helping her with yard work and just being friends with her. She is a very nice lady who believes in Jesus but doesn’t go to any church.
A few months ago the missionaries came to our Primary class and talked to us about missionary work. They encouraged us to share the gospel with someone. On the way home I told my parents I wanted to share the gospel with our neighbor.
As soon as we got home, I took a plate of cookies and my scriptures to her house. We read the Articles of Faith together, and then I visited with her and helped her do things in her house. I felt good inside when I shared the gospel of Jesus Christ. I know that we should all share the gospel when we can.