Gospel Story Finder

Just as she had felt, Florence found that Christopher Chukwurah shared her hunger for spiritual things. Together they investigated a number of churches, fasting and praying together regularly.

Christopher also shared her desire for education. He had a bachelor’s degree in political science and information sciences, and shortly after he and Florence married, they left Nigeria for the United States. Christopher earned a master’s degree in educational administration from Illinois State University. Florence studied psychology part-time and worked in several hospitals.

They returned to Nigeria in 1977, still uncommitted to any one religion. By 1981, they were weary of moving from church to church.

Over the years, the Chukwurahs had developed the tradition of holding a special family fast on the last day of each year. On New Year’s Eve, 31 December 1981, the purpose of their fast was to seek guidance in finding a church they could remain in throughout their lives.

Just nine days later, Florence was preparing a meal in the kitchen and Christopher was preparing a lecture for a college class when both received an impression in answer to their prayers. “I had this persistent feeling that we should visit a family friend of ours. When I told my husband, he said, ‘I have the same feeling. Can we go right now?’”

When they arrived at the home of their friend, they were surprised when he offered them a soft drink instead of the more usual beer. He explained that because he and his wife now belonged to a church called The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, they no longer drank alcohol or smoked.

“My husband and I looked at each other,” recalls Sister Chukwurah. “We love each other so dearly that we can speak with our eyes. After looking into each other’s eyes, we immediately asked, ‘How can we become members of this church?’”

After receiving the missionary discussions, the Chukwurahs were baptized in February 1982.

At age 15 Katya was returning from a trip with a community youth group. She was surprised when her father told her that he had invited the missionaries to teach her. He made it clear that while she was welcome to listen, he was not interested.
Katya set a time to meet with the missionaries. “As I listened, I felt that this is the right way to go. I remembered those feelings I’d had going to church as a child. And after a while, I decided to be baptized,” she says.

Feike jumped from the edge of the canal onto the deck of the boat where his family lived. His wooden shoes clunked loudly as he raced toward the white cabin at the back of the boat.
“Today is the day,” the 12-year-old boy thought excitedly. “Today Father will give the missionaries his answer.”
Latter-day Saint missionaries had begun preaching in the Netherlands a few years earlier, in the 1860s. Feike had seen them and brought them home, hoping they would teach him English. He soon learned, however, that the elders had greater things to teach him and his family.
At the door of the small cabin, Feike removed his wooden shoes, turning them upside down to keep out water. His classroom at school was larger than the small cabin that was his home, but Feike loved the tiny kitchen with its wood-burning stove. His parents and younger brothers and sisters slept on wall beds that folded up behind the cupboard doors at the back of the kitchen. Feike, the oldest, slept in the storage compartment at the front of the boat.
He slipped into the living room and sat down quietly. Elder Swensen was speaking, carefully reviewing the teachings he and Elder Lofgren had shared on so many winter nights in this very room. Feike had felt the warmth of the Spirit each time and wanted to be baptized right away. He thought his mother did, too, because she spoke often of going to the temple. But Father would not commit to something unless he knew he could do it, and so he wouldn’t be baptized until he was sure he could keep his baptismal promises. Today was the day Father would tell the missionaries his decision. Feike had been praying so sincerely for weeks that he was certain his father’s answer would be yes.
“Brother Wolthuis,” Elder Lofgren said to Father, “I feel you know the gospel is true.”
Father, looking at the floor, nodded his head.
“Are you willing to be baptized?” Elder Lofgren asked. “Can you make the necessary sacrifices?”
The room was silent. Even Feike’s younger brothers and sisters didn’t wiggle. Everyone stared at Father. Slowly he raised his weatherworn face.
“Yes, I know The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is true. I will be baptized.”
Feike beamed. Heavenly Father had heard his prayers. Mother was smiling through the tears streaming down her cheeks.
“We will be ready to sail to America within the month,” Father promised.
“Sail to America?” Feike blurted out.
“Yes, Feike,” Father said. “Church leaders have asked all the Saints to come to Salt Lake City.” He paused. “Uncle Geert has agreed to buy our boat.”
“But the boat was to become mine one day! I was to become the skipper!” Feike desperately reminded his father.
“I know. I have not forgotten my promise,” Father said. “Uncle Geert has agreed to keep you on as his hired man if you choose not to go to America. Then when you are old enough, he will sell the boat to you.”
Anger washed over Feike’s whole body, erasing all the joy he’d felt about his father’s baptism.
“I thought this Church was true,” Feike exploded, “but to choose between the Church and your country, your relatives, and your boat—it is too much to ask!”
Feike stormed to his small room in the bow of the boat. Out of habit he banged on the side of the boat with a small hammer to signal he’d made it without falling overboard. Tonight he pounded again and again.
A long time passed as Feike lay on his mattress. He thought of the mules pulling the boat through the canals of the Dutch provinces. He thought of the small grocery boats that pulled up alongside their boat so Mother could do her shopping. But mostly Feike thought of the wind filling the tall sails of their boat as they crossed the open waters of the sea. One day he would sail on open waters as the skipper … if he said good-bye to his family when they went to America.
Just then he heard a knock at his door.
“Come in,” Feike mumbled.
His father sat on the end of the bed. “I’m sorry, Feike. I thought you understood that if we were baptized we would go to America.”
“I knew others were going, but I didn’t think you would ever leave the boat. I thought you loved being a skipper.”
Father’s eyes filled with tears. “I do—more than you’ll ever know.”
“What will you do in America?”
“I don’t know. Sailing has been my life. But the Lord has called His people to Salt Lake City, and your mother and I have decided to go.”
“But to give up my dream of being skipper—to leave the boat?”
“It is a difficult decision that only you can make,” his father agreed. “A couple of nights ago as I struggled with the same questions, I found a scripture that helped me. When Jesus called James and John, they were fishermen. But the Bible says that ‘they immediately left the ship … and followed him’ (Matt. 4:22).”
The skipper and his son sat in silence for a long time. Feike looked into his father’s clear blue eyes. He sensed his father’s faith and courage, and he knew what he needed to do. Finally he spoke.
“Can we take the boat out once more before we sail to America together?”
The skipper pulled his son into a hug.
“Yes, I’d like that very much.”

I spoke in a meeting down in Quitman, Georgia, when I was president of the mission down there, and I quoted the statement that I have referred to from the chart prepared in this book, and at the close of the meeting I stood at the door to greet the people as they left. A man came up and introduced himself to me as a Baptist minister, and I said: “Did I misquote you here tonight?”

“No, Mr. Richards,” he said. “It is just like you say. We don’t all believe all the things our churches teach.”

I said, “You don’t believe them either. Why don’t you go back and teach your people the truth? They will take it from you, and they are not ready to take it from the Mormon elders yet.”

He said, “I will see you again.”

The next time I went there, about four months later, as I walked up to that little church, there stood that Baptist minister. As we shook hands I said, “I would certainly be interested to know what you thought of my last sermon here.” He said, “Mr. Richards, I have been thinking about it ever since. I believe every word you said, only I would like to have heard the rest of it.” You know we never get talked out when we start talking about these beautiful principles that the Lord has given us through the restoration of the gospel, through the bringing forth of this marvelous work and a wonder.

No matter which MTC you attend, you will feel the Spirit as you interact with missionaries from many locations. For example, Sister Ana Victoria Ordoñez Requena is from Guatemala, is attending the MTC in Argentina, has a companion from Chile, and is preparing to serve in Uruguay. “I could feel the Spirit from the moment of my arrival,” she says. “My testimony is growing steadily.”
You will have a full-time missionary companion, an MTC president, and returned-missionary teachers. You will study the doctrine of the Church. You will learn how to teach by the Spirit—and especially how to use the Book of Mormon and other scriptures in teaching. You will learn how to present the proselyting discussions. If necessary, you will receive language training. You will attend the temple. General Authorities and Area Authorities will speak to you in devotionals—live or via satellite or video. You will learn the demeanor, rules, and routine of a full-time missionary. You will have time to get physical exercise, sing in choirs, eat, do your laundry, and write letters.
In the process, you will learn to be an ambassador of the Lord Jesus Christ. You will be able to begin your work in the mission field with confidence and humility, with faith and assurance, and with a solid foundation of gospel knowledge, teaching skills, language ability, and cultural awareness.
Still Can’t Believe It. Elder Edgar Eleuterio Quispe Pérez of Bolivia, attending the Perú MTC: “I still can’t believe it—I am really here in the MTC, and I’m wearing a missionary name tag!”
At Home. Elder William Samuel Lolani Meredith of Western Samoa, attending the New Zealand MTC: “At first I was nervous, but now I feel at home here.”
Among Those Called to Serve.Elder Choi Byung-Yong of Korea, attending the Korea MTC: “I was thrilled to see the video Called to Serve. It helped me realize I am one of 60,000 missionaries serving the Lord!”
A Friend. Elder Joseph Thomas Miller of Utah, USA, attending the Spain MTC: “I had never studied Spanish, but my companion had studied it for six years. He has helped me so much with the language, the gospel, and many things. He has been more than a companion; he has been a friend.” His companion, Elder Samuel David Norton of England, says it goes both ways: “Elder Miller is amazing. The lessons of humility and diligence that I have learned from him have really helped me.”
Patient with Me. Elder Esteban José Ventura of Uruguay, attending the Argentina MTC: “My companion has helped me know how to show love for others. He is patient with me and has helped me learn the discussions.”

One of the guidelines in For the Strength of Youth states: “Through your dress and appearance, you can show the Lord that you know how precious your body is. You can show that you are a disciple of Jesus Christ.”
After studying these words, one young woman realized that perhaps some of her clothes were not completely modest. Through prayer and study of the scriptures, she was reminded that she was a disciple of Jesus Christ and that, as His representative, she needed to make some changes. She didn’t want to have anything in her wardrobe that was a temptation, so she went through her closet and drawers and got rid of anything that wasn’t modest. She said, “I would be smart if I didn’t even try on anything in stores that I knew I shouldn’t wear. Why be tempted?” That firm resolve showed the Lord that she respected her body, and she drove down a deep stake for modesty.

Beth, Blondie, Freckles, Beauty, and Dolly went on a backpacking trip. But on their backs they carried Amy, Linda, Jennifer, Heidi, and Cherish.
Beth, Blondie, and crew are the four-legged, half-ton-with-mane-and-tail variety of backpackers; but even though they see the trail from a slightly different angle than their human cargo, they know the mountain trails as well as anyone. They know how to pick their way down a rocky trail because they hate to slip on the loose rocks. They remember the spots where they have stopped to camp for the night. They know how to work a little slack into the reins so they have a chance for a quick bite of succulent mountain grass. They know how good it feels to roll in the dust after their humans have removed the saddles and saddlebags. Even though they enjoy getting out on the mountain trails, they are only horses, more intent on their next mouthful of grass than the beauty of a panorama of rugged mountains, blue sky, and snow-fed lakes. Those beauties are left for their riders to enjoy.
And the beauties of the Tetons, a range of mountains slicing the border between Wyoming and Idaho, were not lost on the girls from the Idaho Falls Idaho East Stake. They chose to spend three days on horseback as their Summiteer trip. The Summiteer program is the adventure-laden fifth year of the Young Women camp certification program. Girls are encouraged to plan and carry out an activity themselves, using the things they have learned about organizing and camping during their four years of the Campcrafter program.
It was a gorgeous morning in August when the girls met to carpool to the mountains. In reviewing how the activity got started, Susan Butikofer, Summiteer leader for the stake, said that the girls wanted to go horseback riding or winter camping, both ambitious undertakings. She said the girls got together to make their decision. “I backed clear off,” said Susan. “If these girls are here after four years of Campcrafters, they want to be here. The leaders aren’t pulling them along anymore. At this age, these girls have so many things keeping them busy, they have to have a real desire, and some have made a real sacrifice to pursue their Summiteer.”
It took extra effort to arrange for the trip. Every girl who participated in the horseback Summiteer trip was working a summer job and had to arrange to take the time off without pay. Also they were inventive about the ways they came up with the fee to pay for the rental horses. One girl gathered earthworms to sell to a fisherman’s bait shop to earn the fee.
The first morning of the trip was spent saddling the horses and consolidating equipment into small bundles to be packed on the mules. Then everyone was assigned a mount. For the inexperienced, coming eye to eye with the animal she would be responsible to saddle, curry, hobble, and keep under control for the next three days was a daunting moment. But the horses knew what they were doing even if the girls didn’t and put up with the fumbling fingers, the jerking reins, and the indecisive directions given by their riders. The horses fell into line behind the lead horse regardless of the directions given by their riders as they headed up the trail. The girls were soon to learn who really was in charge on this trip and that they were just along for the ride.
It was a glorious summer day. The air at that mountain altitude was crystal clear. The sky was such an intense blue that it was a subject of debate whether it was closer to the color of robins’ eggs or more like a tropical sea. The meadows were alive with wild flowers, every color and kind—columbines, Indian paint brush, bluebells, purple lupine, buttercups. Although the valley was in the heat of summer, here in the mountains, it was spring. It was soon obvious that the horses needed little direction while on the trail. This made it easy for the girls to absorb the scenery with names as colorful as the places themselves—up Fox Creek, past Death Canyon, along the Teton Shelf, down the Sheep Steps, into Alaska Basin, and on the Skyline Trail.
As the trail climbed, the trees began to thin out. Tall stands of pine were separated by stretches of rocky meadows. Water seemed to gush from every crevice, and clear, cold streams joined together to form high-running creeks. With the sun, the flowers, the water, the scenery, and the good company, it was nearly as perfect a day in the mountains as it could be.
But there were saddle sores in paradise. At the end of the day’s ride, when at last the camp spot for the evening was selected, there were some mighty groans, some bent backs, and some crooked legs as the girls dismounted. But no matter how tired the girls were, the first concern was to take care of the horses. Saddles were removed, bridles carefully coiled, and hobbles attached. “Come on, come on, just move your other hoof over here.” Linda Garner, of the Idaho Falls 38th Ward, was talking out loud as she struggled to get her horse to put his front legs close enough together to fasten the hobbles, a small girl trying to coerce a large animal into cooperating.
After setting up camp and getting dinner started, it was time for a treat. Custom-made snow cones were just the thing to cool down and quench thirst. The crushed ice was gathered from the remnants of a nearby snowfield. Punch mix was prepared at double strength and poured over the snow. No machine could chop the ice more perfectly than nature had already done.
That evening a full moon rose over the mountains like a spotlight. It was so bright that the girls didn’t need flashlights to find their way around camp.
By the second day, the girls were old hands at preparing their horses for the day’s ride. Jennifer Goodell of the Idaho Falls 38th Ward saddled her horse and wandered up the hill from camp and sat down to watch the early-morning light play among the peaks. It was a time for a moment’s introspection as she absorbed the beauty of nature and the feeling of oneness with our Creator.
The second day offered some unexpected challenges. The group had to negotiate a section of steep loose shale, and there were mushy snowbanks that would be too dangerous to ride across. The girls walked down the trail, leading their horses across the snowbanks, staying uphill in case their horses started to slide. Everyone was careful and made it across safely.
By now, some of the inexperienced riders were feeling more comfortable on horseback. Cherish Haroldsen of the Idaho Falls 41st Ward had never been on a horse until this trip. She was given a gentle horse, and she soon got into the rhythm of trail riding. She just tied her reins to the saddle horn and let her horse find his own way. “I figure the horse knew where to put his feet better than I did,” Cherish said. “As long as another horse is in front of him, he does real good. But just try to make him do something the others aren’t doing. He’s like a teenager. He follows peer pressure.”
The group entered a beautiful basin where snow-fed lakes connected by small waterfalls descended like huge stairsteps. The trail faded and disappeared altogether as it led across flat, slick rock. By this time, the girls were gaining confidence and, instead of following the lead horse, they spread out in groups of twos or threes, picking their own ways across the rock. But they soon found that taking off on their own didn’t always work well. What looked like a good way to go often led to the edge of cliffs or into an impossible thicket of trees that forced them to turn back and retrace their routes.
A forest ranger had gone over the trail before and had marked the best way across the slick rock with small pyramids of stone. These markers, or cairns as they are called, were easy to spot and if followed led safely across the section where the trail was obliterated. The girls found they could not rely on their own instincts or observations to select a good path. They found they had to trust the one who had gone on before to show them the best way. The girls started talking about following the cairns. “This is like our leaders giving us lessons about how to live our lives,” said one. “Yes,” said another catching on to the symbolism, “it’s like learning to follow the prophet. By listening to him, we can follow the right trail even when we can’t see where it leads.”
On the final day, the girls were busy packing the mules and saddling their horses. Heidi Hicks, of the Coltman Second Ward, settled into the saddle and said, “It doesn’t hurt as bad this morning.” Indeed, the girls were becoming toughened to riding, but it was time to head home.
The downward trail was rough. It was very steep, eroded in spots, and had plenty of rocks to trip up even the most surefooted horse. But things went well. When a horse slipped, its rider hung on or slipped a foot out of the downhill stirrup in case a hasty dismount was called for. Horses and girls came through like troopers. Heidi summed up the feelings of many when she said, “If we had done that the first day, we would have been in tears.”
At the end of the trail, the horses were anxious to get back to the corral, and the girls were again thinking about the activities awaiting them in the valley. But the impact of the trip was not overlooked.
As one leader said at the last night’s campfire, “Many of you will be taken to faraway places to serve in the Lord’s kingdom. You’ll always remember these beautiful mountains and your home nearby. Bathe in the beauty, and pay attention to it.”
The Summiteer program is designed to allow girls to use what they have learned in Campcrafters in planning and carrying out their own activities. It is easy to draw parallels to life. Girls are taught correct principles about outdoor life and about living the gospel. They find that in both, if they follow the markers, the cairns along the trails, set out by wise leaders who have led the way, they can find the correct paths.

During her time as a missionary in the Pacific area, Sister Rinne experienced many miraculous testimonies of the nearness of Heavenly Father. When she arrived in Tonga, hardly knowing the language at all, she was sent to speak in a certain village. In her pocket she had a ten-minute talk written on paper. But when she arrived, she learned that she was to be the only speaker for an hour-long meeting. “I was horrified in the face of this assignment. As I was sitting there afraid, I heard clearly the words: ‘But I am here.’ All fear vanished, and I spoke for the whole hour.”

I was a little child when I lost my father. It was hard to be fatherless. My mother tried to support her family, but she didn’t have enough money to educate me. I was discouraged because I had to cease learning and I never learned to read. My mother and I tried to do many things in our village, like farm work, to support ourselves. For years, we struggled together.

Eventually, I got married and had children. Several years later, my husband died, and I struggled as a single parent to take care of my children.

My friends came to me and said, “You have lost your husband. You are now suffering. We want to invite you to our church to see what Jesus can do for you.” I followed my friends to their church. I also went to other churches.

One day, a woman from a few houses away came to me and said, “I have a church. Will you come?”

“No,” I said, “I have tried church after church.”

“Please,” the woman said, “I want to invite you to my church.”

“What do you call your church?” I asked.

“My church is The Church of Jesus Christ Latter-day Saints.”

She convinced me to learn more. She invited the missionaries to pay me a visit. The first day the missionaries came, I called my family together. The missionaries sat down and started to teach us.

The first time I went to church, I sat next to a woman singing from a hymnbook. I tried to pay attention, but I didn’t know how to read. I couldn’t even understand what she was singing. I felt discouraged. “I’m not going to this church again,” I said to myself.

I told the missionaries I wasn’t going to church again. One missionary said, “I’m not going to force you to be a member of this Church, but I’m going to tell you the truth. If you want to believe that this Church is true, read this book.” He gave me the Book of Mormon.

“You can’t give me this book,” I said. “I am not educated. I don’t even know how to read. I don’t need your book.”

The missionaries told me, “Your children are learning to read. They will read this for you, and you will understand.”

“I will try,” I said.

My daughter started reading the Book of Mormon to me, and I went to church again. A sister at church came to me and told me about a class for those who are not able to read and write. She said it was the gospel literacy class.

“We need a student,” she said.

“I really want to know how to read and write,” I said. “So I will go attend that class!”

As I attended the class, I learned reading, writing, and more and more about the gospel. My daughter read more from the Book of Mormon to me. One day I said, “This is the word of God. I can’t deny it.” I decided to be baptized.

I shuddered, remembering that first day I had asked my parents’ permission to be baptized. They knew I had been studying with the Mormons and going to their meetings, but I don’t think they had admitted to themselves how serious I really was. My father is a quiet man, and kind. He thought about it for a long time before he replied. But my mother reacted immediately. Her face went pale and her mouth hard and tight.
“Absolutely not, Michelle,” she said, and her voice sounded cold and deeply angry. “It is absolutely out of the question, so don’t mention it again.”
“But why?” I demanded. “Why?”
“Why?” she screamed back, her eyes blazing. “Because you don’t know what you’re doing. I’m trying to save you from making a terrible mistake, Michelle. I know. You just have to trust me. I know.”
I wondered what awful things she knew or thought she knew about the Mormons. But no matter how persistently I questioned her, she wouldn’t talk. She just kept saying no in that hard, tight way. In the end, though, my father prevailed. He usually did because he was so reasonable and so patient. He kept reminding her that I was 20 years old. In a few months I would be able to decide for myself, without their approval. He reminded her of what a good girl I was: smart and hard-working, obedient and truthful. “She deserves to find her own way in life,” he told my mother gently.
So we made a bargain. I was to meet with the minister of my own church for classes in theology. I was to learn everything I could about the beliefs and doctrines of the church I had belonged to my whole life. In other words, I was to give their way one last, real chance, as much a chance as I had given the Mormons. Then, if I still wanted to leave—to reject their ways, to become a Latter-day Saint—they would give their consent.
Those visits with our minister, I reflected, had led to one of the most solemn, impressive experiences of my life. I remembered vividly how nervous, almost foolish, I had felt as I walked the path to the old stone church and pulled back the heavy door. My footsteps sounded loud and obtrusive as I crossed the hard, polished floor and knocked tentatively on the door of the pastor’s office. The office, itself, was enough to make me feel overwhelmed. It was large and thickly carpeted, and one entire wall was lined with shelves that supported hundreds of thick, old, impressive-looking volumes. The remaining walls were paneled in oak, and Dr. Allred sat in a brown leather armchair behind a massive mahogany desk, which separated us awkwardly as I perched on the edge of a chair across from him.
“So you think you want to be a Mormon?” he said suddenly, and his face never changed expression. I couldn’t begin to tell what he was thinking. Before I could find an answer, he continued. “It’s your parents’ idea that you come here, isn’t it?”
I nodded, while he gazed at me, and through me, until finally a slight smile began to break up the corners of the thin, long line of his mouth. “Well, let’s see what we can do,” he said, leaning forward across the desk.
We met together three different times, and I read the books and pamphlets he gave me. I answered his questions and he answered some of mine, but our discussions were always very polite and restrained. On our last evening together he sat behind his desk and looked across at me, and he left unopened the heavy book we were supposed to talk about together. Instead he lifted his eyebrow in a thoughtful manner and said, “I’ve done what your parents desired, Michelle. But there’s really nothing I can teach you; both you and I know that. What you do now must be your own decision, of course.”
He hesitated, and I found myself leaning forward in my chair, drawn by the expression on his face and something I felt in the tenor of his voice. He pushed his chair back suddenly and rose, walked quickly to the expanse of books and pulled down a small, slender volume. Returning to the desk he set it down firmly, then pushed it over until it rested mere inches from my own hand, which was gripping the smooth edge of the big desk. The lettering on the leather cover was close to me and easy to see. I gave a little gasp as I read the words: Book of Mormon.
“That’s right,” he said, “the Book of Mormon. I get some of the material for my sermons out of that book.” His voice was soft, but it penetrated deep inside me so that my heart began to beat wildly, and I felt a warm, tingling sensation across my skin.
“I would be a Mormon myself if it were possible.” He picked up the volume and balanced it thoughtfully in his hand. “I am a minister; it is my life. It’s all I’ve ever known. My father was a minister, and his father before him.” He paused and looked up, and his eyes held a sadness that was almost an intrusion to look upon. “But if I were you,” he continued in the same soft, firm voice, “I would become a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
Dr. Allred rose and replaced the book. I rose from my chair. I knew there was nothing left to be said between us, but I was wrong. At the door he shook my hand warmly, holding me with his eyes. “What I said tonight I have said for you alone. If you repeat it, I will deny that it was ever spoken. And you know, of course, which of us would be believed.”
I nodded, trying to answer with my eyes and my smile, too overwhelmed to be able to do more, and walked home alone through the crisp, silent night.
The next week I was baptized. None of my family attended the baptism. This was something I wanted to do, and I had their permission. But permission and support are not the same thing. Even my kindly father could not offer support for something he could neither agree with nor understand.

We will never forget the Sunday when a new family of German origin moved into the Pusuqui Branch in Quito, Ecuador. The branch president introduced the Fuchs family during sacrament meeting, and we immediately felt they were special people.
After sacrament meeting I took my family to welcome them. Andreas, the oldest of their children, greeted us warmly and introduced himself as Andy. Something about that moment signaled the beginning of a friendship that was to be deep, true, and certainly eternal—a friendship that left us an unforgettable legacy.
Time passed, and the Fuchs family became very involved in our branch. I was Young Men president at the time, and I soon saw that Andy’s enthusiasm showed in all areas. When we began a service project, he was first to appear—with a big smile.
Andy was an extraordinary person, due to the goodness of our Heavenly Father and the guidance of his earthly parents. From an early age, Andy had been nourished by their affection and patience. He and his father, Horst, shared many activities and were indispensable to each other. This example so matured Andy that at age 14 he was a person of ability and usefulness. His many abilities never ceased to surprise us, but he was humble about them. He was totally dedicated to learning the gospel of Jesus Christ and lost no opportunity to talk to people about the Church.
No one supposed Andy would leave us so soon. We still remember that painful Saturday when we learned of his tragic death.
That morning Andy decided to ride his bike to the top of a hill in the area. He had already done so once with his father and was determined to repeat the feat alone. After getting his father’s permission, he set out. As he rode up the hill, a truck transporting wood down the hill careened wildly. It struck Andy and killed him instantly. It was difficult for us to accept that this tragedy had occurred to such a bright, promising young man.
The truck driver was seriously injured. He was taken to a hospital in Quito under police watch so he would not escape justice for what he had done. Surely, we thought, he should be held accountable for the accident. But from Horst Fuchs we all learned to forgive.
The branch president and I went with Brother Fuchs to identify Andy’s body. While the death of his son was very painful, he forgave the person who had taken Andy’s life. He refused to hold animosity in his heart. A few days later he visited the truck driver in the hospital and told him that he forgave him. He offered his help and spoke to him about the gospel of Jesus Christ. While the truck driver was recovering at home, he started receiving the discussions from the missionaries, who were accompanied by Brother Fuchs. Brother Fuchs also intervened in the justice system to have all charges against the man dropped.
I know this demonstration of love has its foundation in the gospel of Jesus Christ—the gospel by which the Fuchs family lives. The Fuchs family is indeed exceptional. Their example showed us that only through Christ does great strength come, as well as comfort and support.
Overcoming the pain made us better people. Although we understood that there would be tears along our path through life, our branch saw from Andy’s legacy and his father’s example that we must have faith and work diligently to live and share the gospel every day. And because of Jesus Christ, we have faith that we will meet Andy again.

After my mother passed away, life began to feel too much to bear. I finally turned to my bishop for advice. What he told me wasn’t exactly what I expected, but it changed my life. He invited me to rely on Heavenly Father by praying, reading the scriptures, and trusting that the Savior would be there for me—trusting Him so much that I would feel my burdens become lighter. Two and a half years later, I know that there is a constant peace available to all of us because of who our Savior is and what He did for us.
Whitney W., 19, Arizona, USA

Not long after I had completed the Book of Mormon for the second time, my husband left our family. The seemingly impossible tasks of my new job became extremely stressful, and my son’s chronic health condition left me feeling like I was drowning.
But then I remembered reading in the Book of Mormon about how Amulon had placed great burdens upon Alma and his people. When the people prayed for help, the Lord told them He was mindful of their situation and would deliver them. Until then, He said, “I will also ease the burdens which are put upon your shoulders, that even you cannot feel them upon your backs” (Mosiah 24:14).
I had studied that chapter in Mosiah many times before, and I had taught it many times to others in gospel classes. I believed the truth of those verses. Because I had become familiar with the teachings in the Book of Mormon, I knew that personal truth appears when I liken the scriptures to my personal circumstances.
So I began reading that chapter every day for strength and to remind myself that the Lord cared about me too. I still had to experience trials, but He did lighten my burdens.
Those verses in the Book of Mormon carried me through a time of great personal adversity, providing me with peace and a comforting knowledge that the Lord is mindful of all His children.

Hastily, John Salinger wrote down the details of the assignment on the back of the list of materials to read: three-page paper due on the fifth, about world hunger, use the list of materials to be read.
The bell rang, and John walked down the hall toward the cafeteria.
When the Mormon students who ate lunch together were seated in their usual places in the cafeteria, John asked the question: “Did Mr. Perkins give your class an assignment on population and hunger today?”
Soon it was established that not only had John’s government class received the assignment, but also Kamio Kamura’s economics class, as well as Julie’s history class.
“It seems as though I’ve received a similar assignment at least once each semester from one teacher or another for the last three years. If it isn’t overpopulation, it’s abortion or world hunger,” added Lisa.
“And the material in the reading list makes it pretty clear what your conclusions are supposed to be: The world is overcrowded. No one should have a large family. Abortions are needed to control population growth. We don’t have enough food! But, I don’t believe all that!” protested Julie.
“Maybe we’re being unfair to the teachers,” said John. I think Mr. Perkins and the other teachers give assignments on these subjects because they are really concerned about them. And many of them agree with what the Church teaches.”
“Maybe so, John,” answered Lisa, “but how do we do the assignment when the teacher’s opinions don’t seem to agree with what the Church teaches?”
These young people have asked some interesting questions. Frequently, the opinions of teachers will differ from Church policies, the statements of Church leaders, and the scriptures.
“Let’s go talk to Mr. Morgan,” said John. “He has taught at this school for a long time and he has been a bishop and a seminary teacher even longer.”
“I can understand that you have a problem,” said Bishop Morgan, “but it’s not the problem you mentioned. You are assuming that you may use only the sources on Mr. Perkin’s reading list and that you must reach the same conclusions as the authors on that list. I have no doubt,” continued the bishop, “that you are welcome to use other sources, and to state other points of view, and to reach different conclusions if that is what your research leads you to.”
“But are there books and articles that support what the Church teaches?” asked Lisa.
“Certainly,” replied Bishop Morgan. “There are few fields of study without controversy. Honest, sincere researchers, working with the same data, may come to widely different conclusions and then publish documented articles and books in support of their conclusions.
“Some scientists are sure the world is overcrowded with four billion people. Others feel that the earth is capable of providing well for 40 or 50 or even 100 billion people.
“And among social scientists the differences of opinion are probably even greater because they work with the most complex subject of all: people. That’s why you get strong conflicting opinions like these. There are no easy answers.
“As Latter-day Saints, we are fortunate to have revealed truth to guide us in these controversial subjects, and we should be grateful for that. And there are many researchers, both LDS and otherwise, whose writings agree with what the Lord has revealed. Your problem is simply to find these writings and then decide which of them will be useful in your assignments.”
In the next three weeks John, Julie, and Kamio did a lot of hard work. Working together, they carefully read everything on Mr. Perkin’s reading list and then began doing research in both the school and public libraries.
They contacted various social service and government agencies and obtained some useful materials, references and statistics. Other teachers were consulted.
John and Julie and Kamio received top grades for their work in presenting the Church’s position. They were invited to present their findings to their respective classes and to answer questions from other students. They were well prepared with information to support their beliefs.
Best of all, they learned that there really are good and valid reasons for the Church’s position concerning difficult moral issues. They discovered that some teachers with strong opinions respect students who do good, thorough research, even when they disagree with them. And they learned that the gospel of Jesus Christ is always in harmony with the truth from whatever source.

I laughed at her. I couldn’t help it. She was so sweet and open and sincere. Even though she was four years younger than myself, she was probably the best friend I had ever had. She had introduced me to the gospel. She had changed my life. Lori was the only Mormon girl I’d ever known, and it seemed to me she was a pretty decent specimen of the ideal.
Last summer the library hired two new high school students, and Lori was one of them. Friendly and talkative, it didn’t take her long to establish herself on good terms with all the other workers or to make sure that everyone knew she was a Latter-day Saint. I had read about the Mormons and Brigham Young in the history books at school, but I didn’t really know anything. And I couldn’t understand why this girl made me feel suddenly so curious, so interested in something I had never even thought about before.
That was only a year ago. I marveled how one brief year could totally change a person’s life. Nothing was the same as it had been before I learned about the gospel and joined the Church. I was involved in different activities now and had different friends. I thought different thoughts and wanted different things. And I was happier, and more miserable, than I had ever been in my life.

When my ballet teacher showed us what our costume would look like for the spring recital, my sister and I knew it wasn’t modest. We decided to talk to our ballet teacher and explain that we were not comfortable wearing that costume. We told her we would not be able to be in the recital unless the costume was modest. My ballet teacher agreed to change the costume so it would be modest. I was glad I talked to my teacher about it and that she was willing to make the changes to the costume so my sister and I could be in the recital. I know it was the right thing to do.

At the end of a long overseas assignment, my wife, Lesa, and I stepped into an airport terminal in preparation for just one more flight—a red-eye—to get home. As we stood with many others moving a step at a time in long lines, we could feel the growing anxiety of fellow travelers worried about making flights, getting through passport and visa review, and successfully navigating security checks.
We finally reached a station occupied by a customs officer who seemed unaffected by the high levels of stress and anxiety in the room. She almost mechanically, with no eye contact, reached for my documents, confirmed my picture, thumbed through one page after another, and finally stamped my passport with a heavy thud.
She then reached for Lesa’s papers. Devoid of emotion, head down and focused on her work, she methodically thumbed through the pages with an expert eye, focusing on the details of the documents in front of her. We were somewhat surprised when she suddenly stopped, lifted her head, and made eye contact with Lesa in a deliberate and warm upward gaze. With a tender smile, she gently stamped Lesa’s passport and handed the documents back to her. My wife smiled in return, accepted the documents, and exchanged warm parting words.
“What just happened?” I asked incredulously.
Lesa then showed me what the agent had seen—a small card with the image of the Savior. It had accidentally slipped from Lesa’s purse into the folds of her passport. This is what the customs officer had found. This is what had changed her whole demeanor.
Grace and Truth, by Simon Dewey, courtesy of altusfineart.com, © 2025, used with permission
This small picture of the Savior connected the hearts of two otherwise disconnected strangers. It transformed the impersonal to personal, capturing the beauty, the miracle, and the reality of the Light of Jesus Christ. For the remainder of that day and often since, I have contemplated that sweet, simple moment with awe and have rejoiced in the glorious effect of the Light of Christ upon God’s children.

Like you, I know what it means to make essential course corrections. I remember a time when, without any intent to do so, I offended a sister in my ward. I needed to reconcile this issue, but I must admit that my pride kept me from going to her and asking for her forgiveness. Family, other commitments, on and on—I found ways to postpone my repentance. I was sure things would work out on their own. But they didn’t.
In the stillness of not one night but several, I awoke with a clear realization that I was not taking the course the Lord would want me to take. I was not acting on my faith that His arm of mercy was truly extended towards me—if I would act aright. I prayed for strength and courage, humbled myself, and went to the sister’s home and asked for her forgiveness. For us both, it proved to be a sweet, healing experience.

In my middle school I’m one of the only members of the Church. One day in class the girl sitting next to me said a man who was Mormon wasn’t treated fairly because of his religion. I spoke up and said I was a Mormon too. A lot of people had questions about the Church, and I was able to answer them. It has come up again in class, and I’ve been able to share what I know is true. I know that by sharing my testimony I can be a good missionary to those around me.
Jemma P., age 11, North Carolina

My wife, Rhonda, and I have parents who are just regular people—probably a lot like your parents. But one thing I love about our parents is that they dedicated their lives to serving God, and they taught us to do the same.

When Rhonda’s parents had been married for just a couple of years, her 23-year-old dad was called to serve a full-time mission. He left behind his young wife and their 2-year-old daughter. Then his wife was called to serve with him during the last seven months of his mission—leaving their daughter in the care of relatives.

A few years later, now with four children, they moved to Missoula, Montana, so her dad could attend the university. However, they had been there only a few months when President Spencer W. Kimball and Elder Mark E. Petersen extended a call to my father-in-law to be the first president of the newly created Missoula stake. He was only 34. Thoughts of the university were left behind as he sought to do the Lord’s will—not his own.

My parents have served in the temple for more than 30 years—Dad as a sealer, Mom as an ordinance worker. They also served five full-time missions together—in Riverside, California; Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia; Nairobi, Kenya; the Nauvoo Illinois Temple; and the Monterrey Mexico Temple. In Mexico they worked hard to learn a new language, which wasn’t easy at 80 years of age. But they sought to do the will of the Lord rather than to pursue their own desires in life.

To them, and to all such dedicated Latter-day Saints throughout the world, I echo the words spoken by the Lord to the prophet Nephi, the son of Helaman: “Blessed art thou, … for those things which thou hast done … with unwearyingness … , [for thou] hast not sought thine own life, but hast sought my will, and to keep my commandments.”

As we seek to do God’s will by faithfully serving Him and our fellowmen, we feel His approval and truly come to know Him.