Gospel Story Finder

Lying flat on my back, staring at the mechanical paraphernalia of an X-ray machine, was not what I had expected as part of my experience in the Language Training Mission. But there I was, my right ankle all puffed and swollen; another casualty of physical activity time.
Fifteen minutes before, I had been in the middle of a close soccer game. My district was ahead with only one minute left. Suddenly, our defense weakened and the ball shot toward the goal. I ran forward as Elder Duran, my best friend on the other team, fell to the ground to block my kick. Snup! A sound like the cracking of a branch wrapped in a towel made everyone cringe. I crumpled to the ground, holding my right leg, and screamed for a doctor. Someone in the background had the nerve to say, “Viva su lengua” (live your language).
I tried to get up, but the pain in my leg convinced me to just lie there and grit my teeth. The ambulance came, and soon I was lying on the X-ray table, hoping my injury would turn out to be a mere sprain or dislocation. However, my hope for a miracle was squashed when, through the partially closed door, I overheard a nurse say, “That’s the worst break I’ve ever seen.”
No one would touch me for 45 minutes. Then a specialist arrived and confirmed the nurse’s comment about my ankle. By 11:00 P.M. I was semi-conscious in a hospital bed, still groggy from an operation to insert a screw into my ankle. My only thought at the time was that I would be left behind when the 21 elders in my group left for the Guatemala-El Salvador Mission two weeks later.
After four days in the hospital, I hobbled back to the LTM on crutches. I don’t know if words can describe what it was like to be in the LTM for five weeks after I had learned all the lessons. I could say them backwards and forwards, in my sleep, in the shower, upside down, and in-between.
A group of missionaries was scheduled to leave for Guatemala four days after my cast was removed, but I still had two weeks of therapy ahead of me. By the power of fervent persuasion that only a missionary has, however, my doctor was convinced I could go as long as I didn’t do any excessive walking for the first few weeks. Finally!
The excitement in my body must have been the healing factor in my bones. By the time I got to the airport, I was hyperactive. To prove my ankle was as good as new, I did the Mexican hat dance, a tap routine, hopped on one foot, and showed everybody the eight-inch scar on my right ankle. I can’t remember all I did, but my antics were enough to bring gasps and concerned looks from my mother and comments like, “He hasn’t changed a bit,” from my friends.

Second, humility. “Whosoever therefore shall humble himself as this little child, the same is greatest in the kingdom of heaven.” (Matt. 18:4.) How wonderful to hear the humble prayer or testimony of a child. I think of the young boy I heard relate the Joseph Smith story in great detail and bear his testimony in the Xhosa language in southern Africa as we met in a one-room African home in Cimizile.
We live in a world where men have largely turned away from righteousness and are self-seeking, gratifying their pride and vain ambition. We have the challenge to humble ourselves before God and become, in King Benjamin’s words, “as a child, submissive, meek, humble, patient, full of love, willing to submit to all things which the Lord seeth fit to inflict upon [us], even as a child doth submit to his father.” (Mosiah 3:19.)
All over the world, people of different races and cultures are overcoming traditions to accept the truth and submit themselves humbly to baptism. How inspiring to see them overcome hardship and affliction. I remember interviewing a fine young Shona man, a Church member in Zimbabwe, to be the first missionary from his nation. Although permanently on crutches because of polio, Elder Peter Chaya submitted happily to the call to serve.

When I discovered that my beloved eternal companion had become ensnared by pornography, I experienced the intense pain a wife in such a situation suffers. It is a deep sense of soul sickness, betrayal, and spiritual agony. It feels like the very roots of a precious eternal marriage have been yanked out of the safety and protection of gospel ground and, exposed to all the elements, begin to wilt and die. There is a sense of panic. The safety and peace of the marriage relationship evaporate. Trust, respect, honor, love, priesthood—all are deeply injured.
For some months I had known something was not right. My husband and I had always been close, and our marriage had been very happy. But now there was an emotional distance, a barrier of some kind between us.
My husband loved the gospel and had been strong and faithful, but now he seemed distant from the Lord. He seemed to have lost his desire to participate in the sacrament and to attend the temple. I rarely saw him on his knees in personal prayer, and his heart did not seem to be in our family prayers and scripture study. There was a darkness about him, and he seemed deeply unhappy, even angry inside.
I was so frightened—for him and for us—because I suspected Internet pornography. He had been spending a lot of time on the Internet alone in his office, especially late at night, and he kept his computer password-protected. I tried to talk to him about this, though I hardly knew how to go about it. He fiercely denied having a problem, attributing his behavior to work-related stress.
On occasion I would read a quote by the Brethren about the evils of pornography, and my husband would agree heartily with what was said, even making perceptive comments. And he assured me that he loved me. Yet I could not shake the feeling that there was a serious problem. Although I prayed for him and kept his name on the temple prayer roll, I could feel my precious husband slipping from the safety of the gospel.
Finally, believing the scriptures that say “ask, and ye shall receive” (see, for example, John 16:24; 3 Nephi 27:29), I went to Heavenly Father, pleading to know what was wrong. This was not easy for me, for if the problem was what I suspected, I did not know how I would deal with it. How I hoped he was not involved in pornography! But I knew that whatever the problem was, Heavenly Father would help my husband and me. I asked for humility and courage to change whatever I needed to change in myself. I told Heavenly Father how much I loved my husband and how I wanted our marriage to be joyful and eternal. I made a commitment to attend the temple weekly, fasting for my husband.
Within only a few weeks, my husband, sick with the flu, went to bed, leaving his computer on. As I started to shut it down, I suddenly felt I should check it. There was the pornography.
In the midst of the flood of feelings that nearly overwhelmed me, I knew my discovery was an answer to my prayers. I don’t know how long I was on my knees or how long my cheeks were wet with tears, but as I poured out my heart to Heavenly Father, the comfort made possible by the Atonement of our Savior began to fill my soul. My pain and fear were lifted. Spiritual insights flowed into my mind and heart. I saw that my husband and I and our eternal marriage were precious to Heavenly Father, and I knew that He would help us.
Us. I understood with great clarity that this was not my husband’s problem alone. I could not, must not, passively stand by and hope he would conquer the problem by himself. I needed to be an active participant in this battle. It would not be easy, but if I continued to be faithful and obedient, trusting in the Lord, I would not fight alone.
As I prayed I saw my husband in a different light, a brighter light. I already knew he had overcome much adversity in his life, and now I saw that he was willing to fight for his eternal life and our eternal marriage. I saw his underlying love and faith in Heavenly Father and the Savior and his love for me, but I also saw that love, faith, and trust were not always easy for him to develop.
I saw that I should help him develop trust in Heavenly Father and the Savior. Such trust would give him the strength to face this addiction head on by going to Heavenly Father in humble prayer to plead for forgiveness, strength, and release from the demon that plagued him.
Empowered by the Lord, I began to take steps. I discontinued our Internet service, feeling strongly impressed that if my husband was to heal, he needed to get away from the temptation. Others in this situation may receive a different answer, but for us, discontinuing our Internet service for a time was a great blessing. Once my husband was away from the temptation for a few days, he acknowledged how much this had helped him. He told me he had tried to overcome this sin alone and thought he was strong enough. Then, as he failed, he felt ashamed and tried to hide his sin from me and from God. But now he was feeling hope! We cried together. We prayed together.
We asked for a priesthood blessing from a dear friend, the man who had baptized my husband years before. In the blessing my husband was assured several times that the Lord loved him. He was counseled to trust and confide in me, and he was blessed with the ability to know right from wrong—a great help, as pornography use warps a person’s moral judgment.
This blessing strengthened both of us. I continued my own increased personal spiritual efforts: frequent fasting, much prayer, temple attendance, and immersion in the scriptures, especially the Book of Mormon. Our scripture study and prayers together began to be sweet again.
Knowing that I needed to acquire knowledge by my own efforts as well as through prayer, I read everything I could find from General Authorities regarding pornography, and I also read material written by Latter-day Saint professionals. My husband and I counseled with our priesthood leaders, who encouraged our efforts and expressed their faith that we would win this battle.
I felt impressed to talk frankly with my husband. I never underplayed or made any excuses for his sin. I talked with him about this subject only according to what came to me in prayer and only when the time felt right. I received so much guidance and inspiration!
If my hurt resurfaced—and it did on occasion, especially at first—I took it to Heavenly Father in prayer. I made extra efforts to show my husband that my love for him was deep. He needed to know we were a team and that together we would fight the enemy. His wife, his best friend, would stand by him. What a sweet experience it was for me to see his repentance process bringing light back into his life!
I loved my husband for the strong, good man I knew he was. From my reading I knew that pornography use robs a person of feelings of self-worth, so I did all I could to help him rebuild faith in himself. I also learned to acknowledge my failures and weaknesses to my husband more readily than I had before, and I asked for his advice and counsel more often. I was humbled and grateful for his insights and support. This strengthened us both.
I worked hard to share many positive, fun experiences with my husband. I wanted to let the light in so he could feel and savor the difference. We went on many walks and took peaceful drives in the country, enjoying the beauty of God’s creations. I felt this would help fortify him against temptation if it came again and would help refocus our lives on the good and the beautiful.
Then the company my husband worked for began struggling and edged toward bankruptcy. Many lost their jobs, including my husband. This was emotionally devastating for him, yet we were confident that with his background and skills, he would soon find another job.
We were wrong. Months went by with no job. It became harder for him to ward off discouragement. My husband was very vulnerable. I knew this but didn’t know what more to do. We had resumed Internet service but with filtering. He was home while I worked, spending a lot of time on the Internet searching for jobs. One day he disabled the filter—never assume that a computer-literate person cannot bypass any filtering! I discovered the relapse quickly. At first I felt frightened. Would we have to start all over again? Then I realized my husband had made it easy for me to discover what he had done. He really wanted to overcome this! Again we cried and prayed together, and we drew even closer to one another.
As I prayed, the familiar calming assurance came. I felt we would overcome this problem. We realized this addiction was stronger than we had thought. My husband agreed to use the Internet only when we were both home. Only I would have the password until he felt stronger.
One great blessing that came to him at this time was that he found a temporary job that led to the good job he has now. My husband felt grateful for this blessing, which he saw as evidence of Heavenly Father’s tender mercies in his life.
When my husband had stayed away from pornography long enough, according to the time frame set by our bishop, his temple recommend was renewed. While he had certainly tasted the bitterness of sin, the joy he felt in his repentance was as exquisite as Alma expresses (see Alma 36:21). I still remember the bounce in his step as he came out of the bishop’s office. A heavy burden had been lifted.
As I write this years later, my heart still overflows with gratitude for the many blessings that came out of this experience. My husband’s love for Heavenly Father and the Savior has grown immeasurably, as has his faith. He has more humility. We both have a deeper appreciation for the Savior’s Atonement. With Heavenly Father and the Savior to lean on, we overcame a real and powerful Goliath. We face the future hand in hand, knowing that with trust in the Lord, we can overcome all things.

When he was only eleven he was accepted into the Spanish army, where his three older brothers were already serving. Three years later he was sent with an infantry battalion to Africa to defend a fort against the Moors. There he fought in bloody battles, the heat was exhausting, and an earthquake shook the town to pieces.
Records show that José was cited often for heroism, that he was an unusually capable young officer, and that he soon became a respected and honored colonel in the Spanish army. Then, after more than twenty years of service, José learned that the South American colonies had broken with Spain. The year was 1811.
José resigned from the army, and with a group of eager young men he set sail for the land of his birth. Soon after their arrival in Buenos Aires, they became friendly with other young men who were anxious to fight for freedom. José de San Martín became their leader; they were glad to be his followers. He was a soldier of worldwide experience, young enough to be on equal terms with his men, and one who was firm but always fair.
He once gave an order that no one could enter the munition lab wearing military boots or spurs, for fear that a spark struck by the iron might cause an explosion. A guard was stationed at the door to enforce the order.
One day José appeared wearing both boots and spurs. The guard stopped him. “You cannot pass, my general,” he said.
“I was the one who gave the order,” answered José, “so I can change it.”
“True,” replied the guard, “but up to now the order stands. You cannot go in.”
The next day José came back but again the guard refused to let him enter the lab wearing his boots and spurs. José left and later returned wearing a pair of sandals.
In a few minutes the guard was summoned to the general’s office. José de San Martín put out his hand in greeting and said, “I have brought you here to congratulate you. It is always good to know a man who obeys orders.”
Even more amazing than José’s dependable fairness was his total unconcern for personal glory. He had the officers and men under him agree on rules of conduct and then enforce these rules themselves. On the first Sunday of each month José called a meeting to urge them to keep high standards and to rededicate themselves to liberate South America.
This group was successful in winning battles in Argentina, and then José began to plan to free Chile. In order to do so, it was necessary to take his army of 3,500 men across the rugged snow-topped mountain ranges of the Andes. The Andes have an average width of 150 miles and an average height of 12,000 feet. The only roads were narrow, steep, and dangerous paths that wound around deep gorges and over jagged peaks.
Even the women and children in and around Mendoza, Argentina, where the march began, participated in the final preparations. The women brought their precious jewels to José to be exchanged for food and equipment. The children went from door to door collecting blankets, clean rags, and whatever could be used for bandages or for protection against the intense below-zero cold of the Andes.
One man had room in his saddlebags for nothing but the medical supplies for José, who was almost always ill with asthma, rheumatism, stomach ulcers, and various other ailments. But neither impassable mountains, severe illness, lack of money, lonely separation from his young wife and little daughter, nor other obstacles could stop this man whose dream was to free the people of South America from what he believed was the unfair government of Spain.
Finally all was in readiness. The night before the army left Mendoza, mule packs and oxcarts went through streets that had been strewn with flowers, as everyone gathered to hold special prayers and to pledge again their dedication to freedom.
The army made an unbelievable crossing of the Andes despite storm, cold, illness, and other hardships. This march prepared the way for the establishment of independence for both Chile and Peru.
In the meantime another great general, Simon Bolivar, was successfully leading an army that was fighting for the freedom of Spanish colonies in the north. José felt that the armies should join together and arranged a meeting of the two leaders. He offered to give up his command and serve under Bolivar. Both men were sincere patriots, but they had very different ideas. San Martín’s only desire was to free the people; Bolivar had ambitions to rule after the military victories were won. José decided he must avoid any possible conflict that might hurt the cause of freedom. During a party given in honor of the two generals, he slipped quietly away. As soon as he could, he resigned from all command and invited Bolivar to carry on his work.
José’s lovely young wife had died while he was away. José took their little daughter, Mercedes, and went with her into exile in Europe. She became the joy of his life. He planned what he must teach her, just as he had always planned his battles. On a chart he wrote his ideals for her:
To make her kind and gentle.
To make her love truth and hate lies.
To inspire her with a feeling of confidence and friendship.
To arouse in her a charity toward the poor and unfortunate.
To arouse in her respect for other people’s property.
To accustom her to keep a secret.
To inspire in her a respect toward all religions.
To teach her to speak little and to speak accurately.
Her father was Mercedes’ great example.
During his lifetime José de San Martín refused salaries, promotions, prizes, and honors. The government of Chile once gave him money that he immediately returned for a public library. A farm he was given was used as a hospital for women. He died in Boulogne, France, a poor and almost unknown man. He knew that others with whom he had fought were enjoying fame and fortune, but he cared only for the freedom of the people of South America.
In the past few years the world has come to know José de San Martín and to honor him as one of the great men of all time. Statues have been raised to his memory and many public buildings have been named for him. With special love and gratitude the people of the countries of South America that he helped to free refer to him as the “Saint of the Sword.”

Following my marriage to a wonderful companion, our home was blessed with the arrival of children. In the space of a few years we found ourselves the parents of ten children—all girls but eight. We knew as our children grew older they would need to assist with family finances. This became evident when our four older children expressed a desire to learn to ski. One Christmas we bought four pairs of used wooden skis and some poles, and we acquired some used boots. On Christmas morning our children were delighted to receive their skis, and they accepted the responsibility for most of their future expenses.

The following example illustrates how ministering is part of the soul of the African people. In June 1989 the government in Ghana decided that the LDS Church was a threat to the security of Ghana. They ordered the Church to be shut down. They confiscated our chapels and even arrested some of the leaders, one of whom was the president of the Koforidua Branch, Brother Richard Ahadjie.
Brother Ahadjie was arrested and put in jail for eight days. When released, he was required to report to the police station every day for a month.
During this period, Brother Ahadjie sought direction from the mission president as to how to take care of the branch members as they could no longer congregate as a church. The mission president instructed him to simply watch over, to minister, to the members.
Determined to follow the counsel of his leader and guided by the Spirit, Brother Ahadjie, with some of the branch leaders, devised a plan to take care of the members, to truly minister to them. Every Sunday for the next 17 months, they visited each member of their branch. Departing each Sunday morning at 4:00 a.m., they gathered at the home of a brother who lived on his farm in the bush. They administered the sacrament together and read from the Book of Mormon. They then paired themselves after the meeting and moved out to visit every family and minister to them.
Each Sunday they conducted these ministering visits arriving home around midnight. For 17 months they repeated this pattern. For 17 months they ministered as the Savior would to the members of the Koforidua Branch. Finally, the ban was lifted. The government realized that the Church was not a threat to the security of Ghana. On the contrary, the Church was a blessing to its people.
Shortly after the ban was lifted, a sacrament meeting was held. It was a fast and testimony Sunday. What was done by Brother Ahadjie in his branch was done in various forms by other branch presidents. No doubt the mission president was concerned by how many members would have been lost during this period known as “The Freeze,” even though he was not in Ghana. To everyone’s delight, the attendance at the fast and testimony meeting was 120%. Not only did the members return, but many nonmembers came, wanting to understand what kind of church would be so dedicated to its members.

Carlos knows that sacrifice brings blessings.
“My brother Set and I have autism. This made it really hard for me to study in school. Then my mom invited us to read the scriptures in the mornings as a family, and it helped me so much. It gave me a boost in school and helped me be self-sufficient.
“Another time, I didn’t want to go to a youth conference because I was really busy with a class in school. But I went, and I felt like I was blessed to do better in the class than I thought I would. Because of these experiences, I postponed my university studies and am preparing to go on a mission. I know that sacrifice will help me again.”

I became engaged to Judy shortly after I joined the Church. We were later sealed in the Alberta Temple. We have six children—four sons and two daughters. My family has been a great blessing in my life. All those years when I had wanted to become a Catholic priest, I could never bring myself to enter the Catholic seminary because I felt it was wrong for a man to live without a wife and a family. My wife has been a great influence for good in my life. Without her faith, testimony, and desire to do what the Lord wanted her to do, I may not have gained a testimony and joined the Church.

During Sister LaVaun Asay’s orientation interview with her mission president, Elder M. Russell Ballard, now of the First Quorum of the Seventy, she confided to him that she didn’t know how to be a missionary and was nervous and frightened to try. So he kindly went through a practice session with her asking the golden questions.
Later, on her first missionary day in Kirtland Lake, Ontario, while her husband, Verl, was paying for their groceries, she found the courage to ask the lady at the grocery check counter the golden question. The lady responded positively.
After the Asays’ first discussion with this woman and her husband, Robert and Betti W. Guild, Robert invited his brother, Don, and his wife, Sheila, to join them. After a short time all four were baptized. Their influence among friends and other family members has led to at least twelve more baptisms so far—all because Sister Asay discovered courage she didn’t think she had.

Miss Walker stood at the front of the classroom beneath a big alphabet poster. “Good morning, class,” she said. “Welcome to kindergarten. We are going to learn so many great things this year! Let’s start by learning how to write the letters A, B, and C.”
The assignment wasn’t easy. I turned to Heather, the girl sitting next to me. “This is so hard,” I said.
Heather looked up and nodded. “It is hard,” she said. “But my teacher at church told me I can ask God for help when things are hard, and He will help me.”
“Church?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said. “I love church. I go every Sunday with my family.”
Heather told me about some of the things she learned at church. She even taught me a song called “Jesus Loves Me.” I loved singing it.
My parents had taught me about Jesus Christ, but my family had never been to church. I wondered why we didn’t go to church like Heather.
On Sunday morning, I woke up and ran into my parents’ room. I jumped on their bed and said happily, “Good morning!”
“Good morning,” Mom and Dad said together.
I decided I should tell my parents what had been on my mind all week.
Rolling over, I looked at Mom. “Why don’t we go to church?”
Mom’s eyes widened. My question surprised her. She was quiet for a few seconds and then said, “Would you like to go to church?”
“Yes, I would!” I said.
“OK. We will go next week,” she promised.
I was so excited that I would be able to go to church like Heather. The next week went by quickly as I counted down the days until Sunday.
When Sunday arrived, I woke up early and put on my white dress with pink flowers and big, puffy sleeves. I only wore it for very special occasions.
In the car I asked, “What church are we going to?”
“The church near our house,” Dad said. “It’s called The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
After arriving at the church, we walked into the chapel. Instantly I knew that there was something special about the place. It wasn’t like anyplace I had ever been before.
I learned many new things in Primary. There was so much to remember. I began to feel overwhelmed, just as I had when I learned to write the letters A, B, and C.
My Primary teacher, Sister Anderson, realized how I felt. She gave me a big hug and said, “You have learned a lot today, but for now, all you need to remember is that Jesus loves you.”
Immediately the song that Heather had taught me came to my mind. I felt peace again, and I knew that it was true.
After church, I asked my parents if we could go again next week. They had felt the Spirit strongly too and agreed. After my family and I learned more about Jesus Christ, we were baptized. We have attended church every Sunday since then.
Of all the things I learned that year, the greatest lesson was that Jesus loves me. I am so grateful that Heavenly Father gave me a special friend, Heather, to teach me that church is a place where I can learn about God. And just as I will never forget my ABCs, I will never forget that Jesus loves me.

Last year, I experienced an increase in anxiety and depression. Although I’ve always struggled with mental health, this time was much worse. I eventually sought medical help, but an essential part of my healing also centered on reaching out to my Savior.
As I prayed for relief, I was prompted to look for light in the world around me. I tried my best. There were times when it felt like the light I found was a flicker that quickly burned out. Many times, I imagined I stood in darkness waiting for the next sunrise, knowing it would only fade again at night. Light felt fleeting and temporary.
After months of this, I experienced a profound thought: “There is light inside me.” Doctrine and Covenants 88:13 teaches that the light of Christ is “in all things” (see also verse 7). I don’t have to chase down vanishing rays of light each day. I can carry light with me all the time.
I began to see myself as sharing a part of the divine light of my Heavenly Father and of Jesus Christ, and I realized that I had access to a light that never burned out. As I reached out to my Savior, I discovered for myself that “because the universe is filled with the Light of Christ, we can spiritually learn, progress, and grow.”1

For years I had sent out packages of clothing at Christmas time to families whose need I had read about in a New York newspaper. I had also included some spiritually oriented reading material.
One holiday season my husband, Will, stopped to watch my preparations. “You’re spending a lot of money on postage,” he noted. “Wouldn’t it be a good idea if I drove into the city with the packages? Our station wagon would hold a lot of them.”
I was excited at the idea! If he did that, I could send heavy winter clothing, too expensive to mail, and also food. Happily I went about gathering all I could, while Will got maps of Manhattan, the Bronx, and Brooklyn, and began to locate and schedule the stops on his route.
Early the day before Christmas, Will and our teenage boys loaded the station wagon, packing it to the roof. The day was cold and grey, but the only concession to the weather Will would make was to wear a cap. He held an office job and rarely spent time out of doors, yet he was confident that he’d be warm enough.
As I watched him back the loaded car out of the driveway, I was assailed by sudden doubts. What if the car broke down? What if he got lost? Or chilled? He was going into some of the most crime-ridden sections of the city—what if he were assaulted?
Turning back toward the house, I noticed that snow was lazily drifting down—an added worry. I went into the house and knelt down to pray for Will’s safe journey. “Dear Heavenly Father,” I began, “Will has gone on an errand for me—.” Then I stopped. I had the sudden impression that I had said something wrong. The thought came, “No, he has gone on an errand for Me.”
I was taken back by the thought. I had been thinking too highly of myself in assuming that Will had gone just for me, and that his safety depended on my prayers. At that moment, I realized that delivering the packages was his service to God, and he would be protected.
I got up, determined not to worry about Will any more, and went on with my holiday preparations. The snow that had begun so lazily in the morning was a blizzard by lunch time. In the afternoon I tried to walk to a nearby store but had to turn back because of the drifts. If they were impassable here, what must the roads be like in the city?
Dinner time came. Still no word from Will. He had said that he’d call me. My resolve not to worry was getting harder and harder to maintain. In the evening, when our sons came in from shoveling snow, one of them asked, “Isn’t dad home yet? Where can he be?”
“Mom,” said the other, “he can’t still be delivering packages at this hour. No one would let him in. I don’t want to worry you, but—.”
“He’ll be all right,” I assured the boys, but I was beginning to panic in spite of myself. Resolutely I worked at wrapping gifts, trying to ignore the kitchen clock which was now creeping toward eleven P.M.
Then one of the boys yelled with relief, “Mom, dad’s car is turning into the driveway!”
Excitedly, I grabbed a coat and went to meet him. As Will got out of the car, I noticed that he wasn’t cold and exhausted as I had pictured he would be. He looked as though he had been outdoors for a pleasant half-hour, instead of just having spent fifteen hours on snow-clogged streets, driving around abandoned cars and lugging packages up unshoveled walks.
“I didn’t have a bit of trouble,” he assured me, “and I found every family.”
That evening I gave thanks for my husband’s safe journey and for my increased understanding of the Lord’s ways.

The young single adults (YSA) of the Assin Foso Ghana South Stake recently demonstrated the spirit of Christian service by organizing a blood donation drive to support the Assin Polyclinic blood bank. More than 25 YSA—including both members of the Church and friends from the community—rolled up their sleeves as part of their Gathering Place activity. Their gift of life not only strengthened the hospital’s capacity to respond to emergencies but also highlighted the rising generation’s commitment to service and compassion.
Hospital management expressed deep appreciation for the contribution. “God will surely bless each one of you for this life-saving service,” they shared, noting the example the youth had set for others in the community.
Although the stake president, Ebenezer Quansah, was unable to attend in person, he called by phone to thank the YSA for their devotion and sacrifice. He praised them as living examples of Christlike service and encouraged them to continue lifting and blessing others through their talents, time, and willingness to serve.
This simple but powerful act stands as a testimony that faith in Christ inspires action—and that even one donation can help save many lives.

During this difficult period, Jirí and Olga sought legal permission many times to leave their homeland, citing religious persecution. But their requests only triggered new interrogations and further persecution. Since there was no private enterprise in Czechoslovakia, Jirí was a government employee, devoting his career to agricultural and water research. His own supervisors were summoned by Communist leaders and were told to financially punish him. “Heavenly Father protected us,” says Jirí. “Our bosses were our good friends, so we weren’t harmed financially.”

In 1968 they abandoned their efforts to leave Czechoslovakia. “We felt we needed to stay in our homeland because our brothers and sisters would need us,” Jirí says. “We couldn’t leave them.”

Illustration by Allen Garns
Our family has a Christmas tradition of giving gift bags of food, gloves, hats, and other necessities to those in need. In 2016, Christmas Eve was especially cold for the area of California, USA, we live in. We were bundled up, but we were still shivering!
As we drove to a park near our home where many people who are homeless stay, we saw a man huddled in the meager shelter of a bus stop, covered in an old blanket. My husband, Dennis, stopped the car and took our son, Jonathan, with him to give the man a gift bag. Our daughter, Abbey, and I stayed in the car and watched.
The man lifted his head as Dennis handed him the bag. A huge smile spread across the man’s face. They shook hands and began to talk. This was unusual because normally there isn’t much of an exchange.
After several minutes, Dennis returned to the car and opened the trunk.
“Is everything OK?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said. “I’m giving him my parka. He needs it more than I do.”
I was speechless. This was a really nice parka that Dennis had worn only a handful of times! Dennis went back to the man and helped him put on the warm parka. The man’s face was beaming. Dennis and the man continued talking.
I felt compelled to meet this man. I opened my car door, and Abbey followed me. Dennis smiled as we approached, and he introduced us to the man. I extended my hand and asked for his name.
He took my hand, smiled warmly, and replied, “Jesús.”
My family continued the conversation, but I didn’t hear much after that. I kept thinking of the significance of this sweet man’s name: Jesús—the name of our Savior. In that moment, I was reminded of the Savior’s teaching: “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me” (Matthew 25:40). That experience forever changed me.

When I was 16, I moved into a Taiwanese ward. Ken, a 13-year-old, had recently been baptized. But shortly after his baptism, Ken almost never attended church. I had a great desire to help Ken come back to church. I invited him to come to several Church activities. Ken played basketball at Mutual and joined the youth choir. He and his sister, Linda, also began to attend the free English classes taught by my family and the missionaries. Soon Linda began to attend youth activities as well. I could see God’s hand helping us.
Ken’s family wondered why my family tried to help Ken and Linda. We told them that the gospel had brought us great joy, and we really wanted others to find the same joy and peace from the Savior. Later, Linda and Ken accepted our invitation to go to church. Linda came and had an awesome experience. However, Ken was ill, and when I prayed about what I could do to help him, I felt impressed that we should bring him the sacrament. With the bishop’s permission, our family went over to his house, and my brother and I helped administer the sacrament to him. We also visited with his family. I felt peaceful.
Our family has prayed for Ken, and all of us feel love for Ken and his family. The youth and adults in the ward and stake continue to fellowship Ken and Linda. The members’ combined efforts to minister are helping Ken and Linda feel the love of the Savior. This experience of trying to minister like the Savior has brought great joy to my life. Ministering is the Lord’s work, and because it is His work, His hand will guide our ministering efforts.

Back in my home city, I attended my new ward and was even given callings. I tried to remain active, but everything in life felt like it was against me, resulting in my dwindling church attendance.
I continued along on a crazy rollercoaster ride through life but never lost faith in what I believed in. I knew that the Church held the fulness of the gospel of Jesus Christ and everything I needed in life.
I had occasionally attended different wards during those years of being less active and saw the difference between being welcomed and being unnoticed. Fortunately, missionaries bridged the gap and ministered to my needs until I finally came back to church. My home ward truly welcomed me home. I felt like I belonged the moment I stepped through the doors. Because of those welcoming members, I continued to attend and enjoy all the blessings of the gospel.

Herman lives next door to me. Sometimes he’s a pest, but most of the time we’re buddies. Right now he’s learning to ride a two-wheeler, and I’m helping him. He’s not very good yet, though.
Tonight Herman’s going to sleep over at my house. He’s never done that before. All day he’s been asking, “Is it time yet?”
“Not yet,” I say. “Not till suppertime.”
Herman stands on his head by a tree, and his glasses fall off. “What’s your mother making for supper?”
“Spinach soufflé.”
Down come Herman’s feet. “Spinach what? I’m not coming!”
“Only kidding,” I tell Herman while he sits up and puts his glasses back on. Quickly I stand on my head and put my feet against the tree. Upside down I say, “We’re having macaroni and cheese and hot dogs.”
“OK!” He pushes his bike to the driveway and tries to get on. I hold it for him and give him a little push. The bike falls over. Herman gets up, rubbing his hands together, and says, “Ouch!”
I take the bike and buzz down the driveway and up the sidewalk. On the way back I fold my arms and yell, “Look, Hermie, no hands!”
After a while Herman goes into his house and comes out with a bowl of goldfish. “They’re coming over, too,” he says. “They’re used to being with me.”
We take the fish up to my room and find a place for them on the bookshelf.
Later Herman brings over the velvet snake he likes to sleep with. Any other kid would have a teddy bear, but not Herman. The snake is green and has a thin spot in the middle where Herman bends it around his neck. He takes the snake up to my room and hangs it on the back of a chair.
Then he brings three books. One is about creatures from outer space, one is about farm animals, and the other is about spiders. I know I’ll have to read them to him before he goes to sleep.
He also brings a jar with a caterpillar in it.
My mother sees the jar. “Hermie,” she says, “wouldn’t your caterpillar be happier at home?”
“No,” answers Herman, “he likes to be by the fish.”
My mother raises her eyebrows and shrugs her shoulders. “Be sure that lid’s on tight,” she says to me.
I move some of my stuff off the shelf to make room for the jar.
Just before supper Herman comes over carrying his pajamas and toothbrush. His face is shiny from a good scrubbing, and his hair is still wet. He stands in the doorway and asks, “Please, Mrs. Ashton, can Moses come too?” Moses is Herman’s dog.
My mother looks first at my father, then at me, then back at Herman. “Why not?” she says. “After supper, OK?”
“Oh, boy!” says Herman. “Thanks, Mrs. Ashton.”
Finally it’s time to go to bed. Moses is curled up by the bed. Herman says good night to him. Then he says good night to the fish and to the caterpillar. He climbs into bed with the snake around his neck. The first book he chooses is the space one.
I start to read, but Herman doesn’t listen. He squirms. “I need my own pillow,” he explains. “I’ll be back in just a minute.” Herman’s pillow looks like a giant cheeseburger.
While I wait for him, I finish reading the space book and pick up the spider one. There’s lots of stuff in there I don’t know. When Herman’s not back by the time I finish the farm animal book, I go to check on him.
His mother is surprised to see me. She hadn’t heard Herman come in. We go up to his room, and there’s Hermie, sound asleep on his giant cheese-burger!
“Maybe another time,” his mother says, covering Herman with a blanket.
“Sure,” I say. I’m disappointed. Hermie’s a neat kid. Tomorrow I’ll really help him with his bike, and I won’t even show off.

It all started with the surprise gift Dad brought home to his three daughters. Peering inside a chirping cardboard box, we girls squealed with delight. Baby ducklings! We couldn’t wait to reach in and grab one. We jostled Dad so much, he almost dropped the box.
“Take it easy, girls!” he chuckled. “There’s one for each of you!”
I was surprised at how tiny that little duckling felt in my hand. In my gentle clasp, its warm body felt like the size of a quarter, and it weighed about as much too.
“Wow, it’s so light!” I exclaimed. “No wonder baby ducks can float!”
Dad laughed again as he walked off to join Mom in the kitchen. Dad was big on surprises, especially the ones that made his family smile. That’s when I remembered the wading pool. It would be the perfect home for our new ducks.
“Nora, get that old plastic pool out of the garage,” I ordered my sister.
With our backyard hose pumping clear, cool water into the pool, we began to examine our ducks and set about to name them. Mine had a little speck of brown on his rounded bill and ridiculously giant webbed feet.
Suddenly I remembered my friends. They would laugh at how enthusiastic I was over these new pets. Then I realized my friends wouldn’t be by for the next few days. Their parents had given them permission to go camping in the nearby mountains. Bike riding on an old dirt trail, choosing a campsite, pitching a tent. They’d have a ton of fun and be home the next day, laughing and talking about their campout. My mom hadn’t given me permission. She said I was too young!
With the wading pool full, we girls gathered around, greatly anticipating this moment. We set our flapping, quacking birds on the water and ZOOM, right to the bottom. All three sank!
We plunged our hands into the pool and rescued the poor choking birds. What had gone wrong? We weren’t asking them to do something difficult, like swim. All they had to do was float. Isn’t that easy for a duck?
“What happened?” my sister wondered.
“Maybe we surprised them!”
We all agreed it was like babies when they learn how to walk. They just have to fall sometimes. We agreed to give it another try.
“One, two, three, go!”
Plunk! Plunk! Plunk! straight down like balls of lead.
Fortunately for the ducklings, none of us had the heart to follow through on our theory that they just needed practice. When Nora suggested we use the blow dryer on their feathers, we all scrambled into the house. Gently, my two sisters aired out the poor birds with my pink blow dryer while I looked up the phone number from the name on the cardboard box.
“Hello, sir? We’re the ones that just bought—well, our dad just bought—three little ducklings. Yes, sir. Well, there is a problem with our ducks. You see, we prefer our ducks to float.”
What this man had to say was an eye-opener for me. I didn’t realize I had learned quite so much until I heard myself explain it to Nora and Suzy: “You see, the downy feathers do not repel water. They soak it right up. We have to wait another week or two for their bodies to make the waxy oil that will waterproof their feathers.”
“But that’s not true,” Nora argued. “I’ve seen baby ducks follow their mother on the river. They were just a few days old.”
“The man explained that to me. When ducks are born, the mother wraps her wings around the babies to keep them warm. The oil from the mother’s wings rubs off onto her babies. With their mother, they can stay afloat. On their own, they need to get a little older before they’re safe in the water.”
That’s when my brain trailed off to the mountains somewhere, thinking about my friends in their tent. Maybe Mom just wanted to keep me under her wings for a little while longer. I stroked my duckling’s tiny back with one finger.
“We’ll keep you out of the pool for now, little one,” I promised him. Then, as an afterthought, I added, “Do you miss your mom?”

When I was a young mother, I found a recipe in the April 1980 Friend for Bunny Buns. They looked fun to make, so I tried them. This recipe has become a part of our Easter tradition in our family. I am the oldest of 11 children, and we have all made this recipe almost every Easter for the last 30 years. The recipe has traveled to places like India, the Dominican Republic, Mexico, and Venezuela as family members have served missions. Thank you for not only feeding us spiritually over the years with the wonderful Friend, but for feeding our physical appetites as well.