Gospel Story Finder

Recently I was called by a broken-hearted father. His daughter Jenna (names have been changed) was away at college in a new relationship, and it was moving fast. Her boyfriend, Jake, was pushing for marriage and limiting Jenna’s communication with her parents. Jenna apologized to them, explaining it as Jake’s strong love and desire to spend time as a couple.
Jenna’s family became concerned when they discovered that Jake had an ex-wife and child he had not mentioned to Jenna. They called the ex-wife, who said Jake had an ugly temper and was jealous. When Jake found out he became enraged. He said Jenna’s parents were “controlling” and cited a time they disapproved of a sarcastic joke he made about Jenna’s intelligence. Jake ironically insisted that Jenna make her own decisions by cutting them off. Jenna’s parents were desperate as their calls and texts were now going unanswered.
Everyone wants a happy family, but even when people try to live the gospel, relationships can become hurtful. Some challenges are a result of the misunderstandings and frictions common to families. However, in healthy homes, people apologize for poor behavior and mend rifts, while in unhealthy situations, there are ongoing patterns of harshness or maltreatment that become abusive.
“Ye have broken the hearts of your tender wives and lost the confidence of your children” (Jacob 2:35).

We had many Muslim friends in Turkey-most of whom did not speak English. One was the brother of the real estate agent who helped us find apartments for a set of our Elders and Couples. Zekeriya, the brother of our real estate agent, ran a small, humble hardware store. We would have long conversations with him about Gospel values. We would speak in our broken Turkish and he would help us with our language. One day he asked my wife to sing to him-she got me to join her. We sang to him, “I Am a Child of God” in English. He liked the tune, although he did not understand the words; however, we could see he was touched by the Spirit of this beloved song. The next time we visited him we took the Turkish lyrics. After reading over the lyrics, he looked up and with a smile on his face said, “Problem!” The word “problem,” by the way, is the same in Turkish and English.

One of the great influences in my life was to work closely for many years with Belle S. Spafford, general president of the Relief Society, surely one of the greatest women of this dispensation.

One day she told me that as a young woman she explained to her bishop that she was willing to serve but preferred a call to teach. The following week she was called as a counselor to the ward Relief Society president. “I did not relish the call,” she said. “The bishop had misunderstood.” She told him bluntly Relief Society was for old women. Except for the counsel of her husband, she would have refused the call.

Several times she asked to be released. Each time the bishop said he would pray about it.

One night she was seriously injured in an automobile accident. After some time in the hospital, she was recovering at home. A terrible laceration on her face became infected. The worried doctor told her, “We can’t touch this surgically; it’s too close to the main nerve in your face.”

That Sunday night, as the doctor left the Spafford home, the bishop, returning from a late meeting, saw the lights on and stopped in.

Sister Spafford later told me, “In that pathetic condition I tearfully said, ‘Bishop, now will you release me?’”

Again he said, “I will pray about it.”

When the answer came, it was, “Sister Spafford, I still can’t get the feeling that you should be released from Relief Society.”

Belle S. Spafford served for 46 years in the Relief Society, nearly 30 as general president. She was an influence for good in the Church and was respected by women leaders worldwide.

At a meeting of the World Council of Women in Suriname, citing age and failing health, she submitted a letter of resignation as an officer. She showed me their letter of refusal—they needed her wisdom, her strength of character.

She often spoke of being tested in her calling. Perhaps the greatest test came when, as a young woman, she learned to respect the power and authority inherent in the priesthood and that an ordinary man serving as bishop can receive direction from the Lord in calling members to serve.

During this time, I was having difficulty getting along with my mother, as teenage girls sometimes do. I can remember after disagreeing with her once, I went down to the basement to be alone. Full of confusion and remorse, I prayed for comfort. I was still sobbing when in my mind I heard these words, “Blessed art thou, Carol.” At that time I wasn’t understanding my world very well, and I felt like Heavenly Father was comforting me so that I could get through a difficult time. It strengthened my testimony so much to know that He cared.

When Tropical Storm Washi descended on the Philippines in 2011, it flooded the area with a deluge of water and wind. Some 41,000 homes were damaged, and more than 1,200 people lost their lives.
Prior to the flooding, Max Saavedra, president of the Cagayan de Oro Philippines Stake, had felt prompted to create a stake emergency response team. He organized committees to fulfill various assignments—everything from search and rescue to first aid to providing food, water, and clothing.
As the floodwaters receded to a safe level, Church leaders and members mobilized. They accounted for the safety of each member and assessed the damage. One member supplied rubber rafts to bring stranded members to safety. The meetinghouses were opened to provide shelter to all who needed food, clothing, blankets, and a temporary place to stay. Clean water was a critical need, so President Saavedra contacted a local business that owned a fire truck, and they transported clean water to the meetinghouse evacuation centers. Members with professional medical experience responded to those who had been injured.
Once Church members were accounted for, President Saavedra and his team visited other evacuation centers in the city and offered to help. They brought them food and other supplies. Many of the members, though they had lost their own homes, selflessly served others immediately after the storm. As the rains stopped and the ground dried, Mormon Helping Hands volunteers from three stakes went to work distributing supplies as well as helping with cleanup.

Sometimes we don't do good things to the "least of these my brethren," because we judge them. We put a label on them and then rationalize our misbehavior or our non-behavior toward them. Years ago, we moved in next door to an older couple who yelled so loud at each other, I was first disturbed, then disgusted by what sounded like constant quarreling. My resentment of the couple for all this noise kept me from making their acquaintance. "Little wonder no one visits them," I thought. As time went on, however, I suspected that they must be lonely. I was not aware of any family coming to see them. After many months, I mentioned this to another neighbor and wondered if I should visit them. This neighbor said, "I think it would be a great idea, but when you visit them, you'll have to yell because they are both nearly deaf."

There have been times when I found myself acting more like a judge than a teacher. When I was a young father, I volunteered as a coach for my children’s soccer teams. I remember one game in particular—I was shouting from the sidelines, pointing out mistakes, and expressing frustration when players were out of position or lost the ball.

At the time, I did not understand that a more effective way to motivate and inspire is to recognize what people are doing right, not just what they are doing wrong. As I began to change my approach, I noticed something important: the players responded differently. They trusted me more. The attitude and atmosphere changed. I moved from being a judge and a critic to being a supporter and a teacher.

An example of changing one’s opinion of himself comes from a bishop I know. He used to wonder about a portion of his patriarchal blessing which states that he “will be a leader of men and will be called to many positions of leadership in the Church.” He just knew he wasn’t the leader type. But eventually he was called to serve as a counselor in the elders quorum presidency, and later as its president. He gained knowledge and experience and he continued to serve, first as president of two more elders quorums, then as a high councilor, and now as a bishop. “It’s strange how long it took me to learn that the Lord knows me better than I know myself,” he comments. “I still don’t desire leadership positions, but I know if they come, the Lord will provide the necessary help if I do all I can.”

Every December, the youth of the Holladay 24th Ward, Holladay Utah North Stake, put on an amazing Christmas party. They decorate with beautiful lights, have a delicious dinner, make Christmas goodies, and receive hundreds of gifts.
Sound fun? It is, because none of it is for the teens themselves. They give it all away.
For nine years, the youth have put on a Christmas party at their ward building for elementary school students—about 50 children each year—from local low-income areas. The event includes a variety of themed rooms designed to make the children’s Christmas unforgettable.
In the Bethlehem room, children learn about the birth of the Savior as they dress up and act out the Nativity while reading the story from Luke.
In the Santa Claus room, they get their picture taken while receiving their own fleece blankets made by the youth. The children also choose a box full of home-baked treats to give to their families. Their teenage “buddy” for the evening also reads them their favorite Christmas story.
And then there’s a stop at the North Pole Diner for a scrumptious Christmas dinner.
As wonderful as each of these rooms is, they’re not what make this party so extraordinary. The big event happens in the cultural hall. When the children enter this area, their eyes get really big, and exclamations of “Wow!” fill the air. Some of the little ones even jump up and down with anticipation. For there before them is a “store,” just like the big stores downtown, full of hundreds of donated gifts.
But, like the youth of the ward who choose to give their Christmas party away each year, the children aren’t excited to pick these gifts for themselves. They are overjoyed because this is the first time for most of them to be able to get Christmas gifts for their family. “The best part of Christmas is giving, and this gives the kids the chance to experience the joy of giving themselves,” says Tiffany Thompson, 15.
At the end of the evening, adult volunteers from the ward drive the children home with bags full of gifts, treats, and a ham and other food items their parents can use to make a wonderful Christmas dinner. “It touches your heart to see kids who otherwise would not have anything to give to their families be able to give them so much,” says Valen Campbell, 17, who co-chaired this year’s party.

Fu-yen Li lived in the little village of Tao Yuan below the mountains in southern China. Like most children, he spent a lot of time playing. Early one morning, he and Chun were playing pirates when his father Fu-hui appeared. The older man was holding a straw basket in one hand and a lantern in the other. “Fu-yen,” said Fu-hui, “I want you to come with me.”
“But we are playing pirates,” protested Fu-yen.
Fu-hui was firm. “Fu-yen, you can play later,” he insisted, nodding his head.
Fu-yen kicked a pebble out of the way. He glanced at Chun, hoping his playmate would understand, and followed his father up the narrow, rocky path toward the mountains. Every now and then Fu-hui glanced back and nodded his head and Fu-yen hurried to catch up with him.
Fu-yen’s straw hat kept slipping off his head. He retied the strings under his chin, but soon the hat was hanging down his back. It was warm and beads of perspiration began to appear on the boy’s upper lip. He looked down at the village below. The terraced gardens were sparkling like jade in the sun. But the peaceful scene failed to overcome his disappointment. I’d rather be playing with my friend, he thought.
Fu-hui seemed to know what his son was thinking. “You are unhappy, my son,” he began, “but you will learn a great deal today—a special kind of lesson.”
“But,” complained Fu-yen, “I learn in school. Isn’t that enough?”
Fu-hui smiled. He remembered when he was a boy and how he had wanted to play most of the time.
“Sometimes one learns more by actual experience,” explained Fu-hui. “Seeing things in physical form will benefit you all of your life.”
Fu-yen looked away. “Where are we going, Father?” he finally asked.
“To the caves.”
“What’s at the caves?”
“Swifts. The breeding season of these birds must be over by now. The nests can be collected.”
“Nests? What are you going to do with birds’ nests?” Fu-yen asked.
“Make bird’s-nest soup,” answered Fu-hui.
Bird’s-nest soup! Fu-yen wondered. Then he recalled once eating soup that his mother claimed was made from birds’ nests. It had tasted so much like chicken that he had thought she was teasing him.
“Who would want bird’s-nest soup!” he muttered.
“Bird’s-nest soup is a delicacy because the nests are available only once a year after the breeding season,” Father explained. “I shall sell them.”
Fu-yen remembered the village marketplace where farmers gathered to sell their wares. His father had taken him there once. It was so crowded with people that he was glad when they had returned home.
Silence stretched between the father and his son until they came to the caves. Several small brown swifts flew out as they entered. Fu-hui lighted the lantern, and slowly their eyes adjusted to the darkness within. The musty odor in the cave reminded Fu-yen of their chicken coop. Nests lined the walls, and broken eggshells and feathers lay everywhere.
Fu-yen studied the nests clinging to the walls. “I have seen such nests in the village,” he reminded his father. “Why come all this way to collect them?”
“Only a special kind of swift’s nest is used to make soup,” Father said. “There are as many as seventy-five species throughout the world. Many of them are in Europe. There is one type of swift in America called the chimney swallow, because they build their nests in unused chimneys. They make their nests out of sticky saliva and cover it with small sticks, but such nests are not pure enough to eat. These nests used for soup are made wholly of dried saliva and are built by the swift genus called collocalia, of the species fuciphaga. Only their saliva becomes milky white when it dries. The whitest nests bring the highest price.”
Fu-yen stared at the nests that resembled half-saucers on the wall. He held the lantern while Fu-hui loosened some to put in the basket. They moved deeper into the cave.
“Look!” cried Fu-yen. “This nest must have baby birds in it. I can hear them cheeping. Father, please don’t take it.”
Fu-hui smiled. “We will wait until the young ones take flight.”
Fu-hui lifted Fu-yen up so he could see into the nest. The tiny birds were crying for food.
“Oh, Father,” he said, “they are so little and helpless.”
“You know, Fu-yen, parent birds love their babies just as we love our children. They watch over them and teach them how to live so that they can survive.”
“It made me happy to see those baby birds,” Fu-yen said. “I, too, want to watch over them and protect them.”
“Life is precious in any form,” said Fu-hui, lowering Fu-yen to his feet.
Just then the mother bird returned with insects to feed her young.
The baby birds cried out again, stretching their necks to be first. One by one, the mother fed her young.
Fu-yen and his father came out of the caves into the bright sunlight.
“I am glad you came with me,” said Fu-hui. “It is only once in a while you can collect birds’ nests for soup.”
“I’m glad, too,” admitted Fu-yen. “I can hardly wait to see Chun’s face when I tell him about bird’s-nest soup.”

Would you ever believe that the quiet, grandmotherly lady in your ward first kissed a boy on a dare? Or that the smiling, old grandpa who’s been in your ward forever once drove his car into the side of a barn because he forgot that he had to hit the brakes instead of yell “Whoa”?
It’s probably difficult to imagine that the seniors in your ward ever did such crazy things—especially when the only thing you know about them is what bench they usually sit on during sacrament meeting. But that’s not the case for the youth in the Dalton Gardens Ward, Coeur d‘Alene Idaho Stake. They know all about the lives of the ward’s elderly members. Of course, it hasn’t always been that way. It wasn’t until their ward’s “Family History Can Be Fun” night that they began to learn about the older people’s lives.
But ever since then, their hearts have been turning—not only toward their ward’s seniors, but also toward their ancestors and toward each other.
All this turning began when the Dalton Gardens Ward youth took Malachi’s prophecy to heart and became excited about family history work (see Mal. 4:5–6).
They did this by filling out pedigree charts, having classes on the importance of genealogy, visiting with their ward’s senior citizens, and organizing a ward activity in which they acted out episodes from the lives of the grandparents in their ward family.
And what’s been the outcome of all this excitement? For one thing, the ward’s generation gap has narrowed.
“Now when you go to church, you see a lot of the young people going up to the older people in the ward and saying hi and maybe walking them to class,” says Russell Isaacson, a 16-year-old priest. “Before we might have just walked by them because we didn’t really know them at all, but now we see them as our friends.”
Desiree Wallace, 15, interviewed Virginia Gjevres about her life. Desiree found out about Virginia’s first teddy bear and her longing for a dog. And she learned that while Virginia was growing up she was so accident prone that everyone called her Calamity Jane.
“I didn’t really know Sister Gjevres before I interviewed her. I had only seen her at church. But now I just have this love for her, and I want to adopt her as my grandma,” says Desiree, who doesn’t have any grandparents living nearby.
As connections were made between the youth and the elderly in the ward family, it caused some to reflect on the importance of forming eternal connections with their own ancestors.
“The grandparents just really seemed enthusiastic about us getting to know them better. They looked so happy,” says Cassie Gatten, 15. “So it made me realize that when we do genealogy work for our ancestors who have died that they’re probably really happy about that too.”
Interviewing the grandparents about their lives, writing the scripts, finding costumes, and then having rehearsals to make sure everything was just right took a lot of time. But the youth said the time spent was worth it when they saw everything and everyone come together on the night of the activity.
“Sometimes I didn’t really feel like it was worth all the time it took to put this activity together. But then when I saw the final night and the looks on the faces of the elderly as they watched incidents from their lives acted out before them and as they realized that the youth in the ward care about who they are, it all seemed worth it,” Cassie says. “It also made me want to live my life in a way so that if someone were to write a play about me when I am old I wouldn’t be embarrassed by it.”
After acting out scenes from Reny Sampert’s life, Kim Pearson, a 17-year-old Laurel, and her group sang Reny’s favorite song, “O My Father.”
“When we were singing ‘O My Father,’ Reny got tears in her eyes, and you could tell she was really touched,” Kim says.
“This activity brought us so much closer to the older people,” says Amber Isaacson, 15. “A lot of people in the ward are related, but there are families like mine who are not, so it’s just really neat to get to know them like the relatives do.”
Even though Amber and her brother Russell don’t have any relatives in the ward, in doing this activity Russell has realized how much some of the ward’s grandparents have contributed to his life.
“Talking with the elderly in our ward helped me to understand that they are actually a part of me because they helped form the Church here in Coeur d‘Alene. And just to look at it today and see how I’m involved and see the key part they have played in my life makes me grateful that I was able to get to know them better,” Russell explains.
Learning about the grandparents in the ward has also given Russell some understanding about the effects that trials can have in a person’s life.
“Talking with Frances Young and learning about the different trials she went through in her life helps me to see how things like that have made her the great person she is today,” Russell says. “It’s just interesting how different experiences can mold a person.”
Cassie says she learned a lot of new things about the people she interviewed too, even though they were her own grandparents.
“A lot of what I learned about them was a surprise to me,” she says. “But in learning about their youth, I realized where some of their characteristics came from.”
Cassie has also learned that it is only by understanding her heritage that she is able to understand herself.
“It made me really want to figure out where I came from,” she says. “We’re made up of all these people and we don’t even know what they are, so how can we know what we are?”
Whether they learned more about themselves, about their ancestors, or about the seniors in their ward, one thing is certain for the youth in the Dalton Gardens Ward—their hearts have been turned.
“Doing this brought us so much closer to the elderly,” Amber says. “The older people were excited to share their lives with the youth, and we were excited to know about their lives. Everyone wanted to do a really good job with the skits because they had become such good friends with the elderly that they wanted their skit to be the best.”
Everyone in the ward took part in the activity. The Primary children sang, the Relief Society prepared food, the youth performed, and the older members brought their heirlooms to put on display.
A few hours before the activity started, all of the heirlooms were dropped off at the church, making several large piles of mismatched items. By the time everyone arrived, just a few hours later, the piles of items from various families had been organized into an old-fashioned bedroom, kitchen, and living room. All the mismatched items had come together to form a perfect display. And this is the way the activity affected the Dalton Gardens Ward. There was a group of people—some old, some young, some related, some not—that have now come together so well that no one would know they weren’t all from the same family.

I belong to a family of five, and we attend church every Sunday, all except my dad. He is not a member of the Church, and this makes me sad. He is a very good dad and sometimes comes to parties or trips organized by the ward. I would like it if he always came.
My mom taught me in Primary that Heavenly Father listens to our prayers and wants to help us. So I said a prayer that He would help my dad understand how much the gospel means for our family.
One Saturday I was about to watch TV when something happened. My dad came and said there were better things I could be doing instead of sitting in front of the TV. “For example,” he said, “what would you think if I read you a nice story from the Liahona?”
So he sat down with me and my two little brothers and read to us. I don’t know how my dad knew those stories were in the Liahona. But I do know that Heavenly Father had listened to my prayers and answered, touching my dad’s heart so he read something in the Church magazine.
I thank my Heavenly Father because He listens to my prayers.

At three in the morning, Beverly and Amber Williams, of McCammon, Idaho, are usually asleep. But July 1, 1996, wasn’t a typical morning for these teenage sisters. Instead of sleeping, they were rushing their mom, Effie, to the hospital in nearby Soda Springs. About four hours later, their mom delivered a healthy baby boy. She named him David, after her husband and the girls’ father, who was killed not long before in an industrial accident.
“We wanted to be there with my mom,” says 16-year-old Beverly, “and to be with a brand-new baby who just came from where my dad is.”
The girls stayed by their mom’s side through the delivery and probably would have stayed at the hospital much longer if it weren’t for one small problem: most of the baby clothes Effie had purchased were pink, for a girl. So Beverly and Amber hopped in the car and drove more than an hour to Pocatello to exchange the clothes. They also used their personal savings to buy a dresser for their new baby brother. They put the clothes and dresser in his room at home before returning to the hospital. Oh, and Beverly mowed the lawn first too. After all, Monday had always been the day that Effie mowed the lawn. Beverly knew her mom wouldn’t be up to it.

At the end of July this year, young single adults from several countries in eastern Europe gathered outside Budapest, Hungary, for a conference. Among this group were 20 young men and women from Moldova who had spent days obtaining passports and visas and over 30 hours traveling by bus to get there. The conference program included some 15 workshops. Each person needed to select the two or three that he or she most wanted to attend. Rather than focus exclusively on their own interests, these Moldovan young adults got together and made plans so that at least one of their group would be in each class and take copious notes. Then they would share what they had learned with each other and later with the young adults in Moldova who could not attend. In its simplest form, this exemplifies the unity and love for one another that, multiplied thousands of times in different ways, will “bring again Zion” (Isaiah 52:8).

I remember a story of what took place in Kezar Stadium in San Francisco at a professional football game between the San Francisco Forty-Niners and the Cleveland Browns. On the field was the great all-American, all-pro Jimmy Brown. He was running back for the Cleveland Browns.

Outside the stadium was another person. He was only ten years old. In fact, he’d been raised in the ghettos of San Francisco and was so undernourished that he had developed rickets. His bone structure was so weak that he needed braces simply to hold him up. His legs were beginning to bow. He didn’t have the money to get into the football game, so he waited until after the third quarter, when the guards left the gates, and then walked into the stadium. He didn’t walk in to watch the football game. He walked into the player’s tunnel. The young man waited until the final guns sounded.

As Jimmy Brown came off the field, muddy, bloody, tired, sweaty, ready for the shower, the young boy stepped in front of him. He said, “Mr. Brown, can I have your autograph?”

Jimmy Brown, the great hero that he was, signed his name, just as he had done so many times before. He started to go. The boy grabbed hold of the jersey of number 32.

He said, “I’m not through with you yet.” When Jimmy Brown turned around, the boy brought himself to attention and said, “Mr. Brown, I want you to know that I watch you on television every chance that I get. I’ve got your poster in my room, and I know all the great records you hold. I think you’re the greatest player in professional football.”

The ten-year-old boy had been practicing that speech almost in his sleep. Jimmy Brown, caught up with his enthusiasm, looked him in the eye and said, “Well, thank you very much. I appreciate that.” He turned again and headed for the shower.

But the boy grabbed his jersey again and said, “I’m not through with you yet.”

“Yes?” he said, “What is it now?”

The young man stretched himself as tall as he could. He looked up and said, “Mr. Brown, I want you to know one other thing. I’m going to break every record you hold.”

Jimmy Brown looked down at him and said, “What’s your name, young man?”

He said, “Simpson, sir. Orenthal J. Simpson. My friends call me O. J.”

Now most of you know that O.J. Simpson has taken all but three of Jimmy Brown’s rushing records while playing on two of the worst knees and two of the worst teams in professional football. He made that commitment—that dedication to excellence. Just think what you can do from your strong position with a sound body, with a real purpose and an effort, and with the direction of the gospel of Jesus Christ. You need to stay true and have a purpose in your life.

While waiting for our clients to arrive for the river trip, I spent several days lumberjacking in the jungle. We worked beside a beautiful river, and the scenery was breathtaking. Each evening the silhouette of the jungle treescape against the purple and orange sunset was reflected in the calmness of the river. After a rainstorm the river was rainbow-colored, and on a clear day it was the green of the jungle, reflecting splashes of white from the orchids that grew everywhere. The wildlife was incredibly plentiful and varied. Red howler monkeys boomed in the distance. Rainbow clouds of brilliant-hued toucans flew overhead. Yard-wide turtles sunned themselves on logs, and otters played in the river.
Of course, there were also piranha in the river, and as I worked felling trees I had to keep one eye out for killer bees, giant ants, bush flies, and deadly fer-de-lance snakes. One day while I was doing all that, a huge tree (about 100 feet tall) fell right on top of me, knocking me out. The last thing I remember was looking up at the blue sky and seeing a large shadow coming down at me, turning the day into night. Everything around me was smashed, but I was hit only by one of the smaller limbs and hardly touched otherwise. Everyone thought I was dead for sure. The Indian workers hacked their way to me and pulled me out semiconscious. When I fully awoke, I thanked the Lord for watching over me. Then I went back to watching for killer bees and venomous snakes.

However, I recently felt my trust in God’s peace falter when a horrible war broke out in the country where my best friend lives. I felt helpless. Hot anger like I had never experienced before bubbled up inside me. I didn’t know what I could do to help my friend or the other people being affected by this violence and hatred. The whole world felt dark, and I became fixated on the evil that was spreading chaos in so many places.
How could I feel peace knowing that so many people, including my closest friend, were suffering?
I recognized that the anger I felt was starting to consume me. I needed to find peace again. So I went to Heavenly Father as I always had before. I poured out my heart in prayer and told Him that I felt helpless because there was so much violence going on in the world. I asked Him if there was anything I could do to find peace again.
I received a simple prompting from the Spirit:
Read the Book of Mormon.
I was already reading my scriptures often, so I wasn’t sure why Heavenly Father would tell me to do something I was already doing. But I decided to trust the prompting. I began to pay closer attention to what I was reading in the Book of Mormon. I noticed how many times followers of Jesus Christ faced violence, wars, and evil and felt helpless against their challenges. But I also noticed that when they centered their lives on Jesus Christ during those turbulent moments, they seemed to feel peace—no matter what. (See 2 Nephi 4:16–35; Mosiah 24:8–25.) This scenario happens repeatedly in the Book of Mormon. The promises of finding peace in Christ are everywhere.
As I read truths like this during my study, I began to feel the peace of Christ again. And I understood that His peace is always available to all those who seek it, even those living through wars and conflicts.

Elder Thomas Matthew Marinho is making an impact as the first service missionary in my community of Portugal. It was a time when young service missionaries were not widely recognized, so this event remains etched in my memory. One of his assignments was specific yet profound — to greet everyone at Institute and Seminary activities with genuine warmth, expressed through heartfelt hugs.
The sight of eager youth patiently awaiting Elder Marinho‘s embrace before the day‘s activities was both moving and heartwarming. However, the true depth of Elder Marinho‘s service revealed itself in a poignant moment during one of these gatherings. A young man, a friend of someone attending, was invited to the Multi-Stake Activity day to learn about the Church. As with the others, Elder Marinho met him as he entered and gave him one of his big hugs. As he was taken aback, the others explained that Eder Marinho was a Service Missionary and one of his assignments is to greet those attending lessons and activities.
I attended a subsequent testimony meeting several weeks later where this visiting young man shared an unexpected revelation: he had just been baptised a member of the Church. He said he felt compelled to join the Church after attending this Multi-Stake Activity. What had made the difference for him? Elder Marinho‘s hugs. He emphasized that a church recognizing and valuing individuals for their capabilities, rather than dwelling on limitations, was undoubtedly the true Church of Jesus Christ. The power of that moment, where everyone felt the Spirit so strongly, affirmed not only the truthfulness of the Church but also the divine calling of Elder Marinho to touch hearts that seemed untouchable by others.
This experience illuminated the profound impact service missionaries can have, transcending their limitations. Their unique abilities possess a strength that resonates in the moment and echoes for years, moving hearts and uplifting spirits. My gratitude extends to Elder Marinho for his kind and loving service, to his parents for instilling such love and vision in him, and to the leaders who, in true Saviour-like fashion, collaborated to enable him to serve and touch the hearts of everyone around him.

A mission is a couple of years in the future, but it’s something 17-year-old Jeremy thinks a lot about now. Where will he be called? Will he have the opportunity to learn a language? What will a mission be like? What more can he do to get ready?
Jeremy Pownall lives in Sydney, Australia, a place known for its famous opera house, great climate, relaxed lifestyle, and surfing. Actually, body-boarding is his passion right now, although he pretty much only gets to go for a few hours early Saturday mornings. He is just getting his mind around the fact that when he goes on his mission he’ll be leaving the beach and the waves behind. After all, a lot of his surf mates have done it. In fact, those mates are the very ones who are the most effective in convincing him that he really can serve a mission and be more than happy about it.
“There’s nothing like an early-morning yarn going to the surf,” he says. “I go with the returned missionaries in the ward and my Young Men leaders. They are great advice givers. All of them say that there will be great experiences in your life, but a mission is the best experience for your life.”
What do a bunch of LDS surfers talk about at the beach? Jeremy smiles slightly and says, “We talk about the waves we’ve caught and the places we’re going to travel to, where we would like to go on a mission or where they’ve been on their missions. The older guys tell us to definitely marry in the temple. And they remind us that we are going to marry the girls we date.” Being surrounded by surf and sand seems to be the right spot for all this good advice to sink in.
Jeremy admits that he really is a listener. And he soaks in the good advice that comes from his mentors, the ones who are a few years ahead of him on the road of life. “They tell me that if I ever do something that I regret, to never feel uncomfortable about going to my bishop or talking to my parents.”
In another instance, at Young Men camp, he listened when someone got up and spoke about his patriarchal blessing. “I hadn’t thought too much about that,” he recalls. “A week later I went for my interview, and a month later I got my patriarchal blessing.”
In talking about his testimony, Jeremy mentions one of his mentors in particular. “He’s one of my dad’s friends from New Zealand. Whenever he comes here, he goes out of his way to take me surfing. It’s a perfect opportunity for us to talk. The talks I’ve had with him are a major part of my conversion story.”
Sometimes it is in the relaxing moments out in the water or on the drive to the beach when what is said is the easiest to listen to. For Jeremy, that’s where his own testimony came into focus.
The next step in his conversion was bearing that testimony. “I think my testimony grew exponentially when I started bearing it more often and more freely. I feel more confident.”
After all, he points out, he does live in the mission field every day. “A lot of people respect me for my morals, especially here in Australia. Here people at 14 will start going to parties, getting drunk, and trying smoking and drugs. They respect me for still being an interesting and outgoing sort of person, yet not doing any of that stuff.”
Jeremy has big plans for the future. His success in school and his interest in learning languages might lead to becoming an ambassador or diplomat. “Everyone complains about how world leaders are doing things at the moment. I think I could do a better job. Maybe they need the Spirit to guide them.”
Jeremy is sensitive to the impressions of the Spirit. He listens to those who have made good choices. He pays attention to his seminary teacher and his youth leaders. And he likes what he hears.
The bottom line is that he is happy. He had a friend tell him once that she envied people from his church because they all seemed to be happy. Jeremy agrees. He says he has always treasured that about the gospel. “I’m blessed to live in Australia. I’m blessed to have a good family and be brought up in the gospel. I don’t want to waste it.”

When I was 17 years old, one of my good friends asked me to go on a group date with him. We went to the park with a couple of our friends and played volleyball, ate treats, and talked around the fire to finish off the night. We had a lot of fun, and I was happy that I could spend that time getting to know my date. Just as we were getting ready to leave, a group of boys who were about our same age approached us. Almost instantly, I felt uneasy. Those boys were acting so strangely; they talked too loudly, and their eyes were red and glazed over.
One of them lifted something to his mouth, blew out a lot of smoke, and said, “Looks like you guys are having a party. Mind if we join?”
My date politely responded, “We’re actually just about to leave. We were just cleaning up.”
One of the boys then said, “But we’d love to join you! Besides, the party just started! Do you guys want to share a smoke?”
It was then that I realized that they weren’t smoking just regular cigarettes, and I completely froze. I realized why the Spirit had warned me so quickly. I didn’t want to be rude, but I also knew I didn’t want anything to do with whatever they had to offer. I was so relieved that I was with my friend—a worthy priesthood holder—who shared my standards and could sense how uncomfortable I was.
Without hesitating, my date said, “No, thanks. We’re not into that kind of stuff. Have a good night!” And we left the park.
As he drove me home, I felt the Spirit’s peace come back. I told him how grateful I was that he shared my standards and that he had been there to help me out of that difficult situation. The For the Strength of Youth pamphlet counsels us to “date only those who have high moral standards and in whose company you can maintain your standards. Remember that a young man and a young woman on a date are responsible to protect each other’s honor and virtue” ([2011], 4). Though his actions were simple, my date helped me to maintain my standards.
I’ve learned that if I choose to be around and date people who share my standards, I will be blessed with the Spirit and the decision to keep the commandments and maintain my standards will be easier.