Gospel Story Finder

In September 1977, I was nineteen years old and studying in Quetzaltenango, Guatemala, to become a school teacher. One afternoon while walking home, I noticed a little stream of rain water running down the street toward my apartment. It was carrying a piece of paper. Just to entertain myself, I decided to keep pace with that piece of paper. When I got to my apartment, I picked it up.
It was a pamphlet. I will never forget its title: The Church as Organized by Jesus Christ. At one time I had been very interested in finding the church that Jesus Christ had set up. I had investigated many churches, but I had joined none. I had finally given up my search. But now as I read the title on the pamphlet, somehow I knew I had found the true church. On the back of the pamphlet was a name—The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I determined to find that church.
School resumed in January, and I went back to Quetzaltenango. Although I had lived in that city for three years, I had never seen a Latter-day Saint church there. One Sunday I decided that if one existed, I was going to find it. I got up early and began asking everyone I met if they knew the location of the church. At first, no one did. Others sent me in the wrong direction. But after three hours, I finally located the meetinghouse and literally ran toward it.
The building was beautiful. I wondered if this was a church just for the rich. Because I am a shy person, I quietly took a seat in the back of the chapel. I knew no one there, and nobody spoke to me, but I loved the meeting. There was a feeling in my heart that I had never felt in any other place on earth.
The next Sunday I returned, thinking that if the preacher asked people to come up front and accept Christ, I would be the first to go. But nobody called us to go up. Three members shared short messages. How different this church is! I thought. But I liked it. Unfortunately, the members still did not notice me, and I decided I would go back only one more week. I couldn’t keep attending if I had no one to talk to. At least I would have a beautiful memory to cherish.
The meetings were equally pleasing on the third Sunday. When they were over, everyone began leaving, talking happily. I sat on a bench in the entryway, almost in tears at the idea of not coming back. Then a well-dressed young man with blond hair sat down next to me. In broken Spanish, he asked how long I had been a member of the Church.
“I’m not a member,” I said, “only visiting.” He instantly took out a little book and asked for my address.
“Why do you need my address?”
“We would like to get to know you and teach you more about the Church,” he explained.
With great pleasure I accepted his invitation, and the missionaries began teaching me the gospel. I asked a great many questions, which they could not always answer, but they always came back with the answers the next day. People at school ridiculed me when they learned what I was doing, and family members who belonged to other churches kept trying to argue with me. But I kept learning, and in time I was baptized.

Christian Mavinga, president of the Kigali-Rwanda Mission of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, undertook an arduous eight-hour journey on a hazardous road from Bujumbura, Burundi, to Baraka, South Kivu in DR Congo, to create a new branch of the Church on Sunday January 14, 2024. He was accompanied by Nuru Mirungo Salomon, first counselor in the Bujumbura District presidency, Lokwa Hoga, president of the Kalundu Branch, and Désiré Mpawenayo, communications director in Burundi.
Before becoming a branch on January 14, Church members in Baraka were organized as a group (a small congregation subordinate to a branch) for 10 years. A branch is a fully functioning congregation of the Church with Melchizedek Priesthood holders who are presided over by a stake president or, in the case of the Baraka Branch, the mission president. The first members of the Church in Baraka were converted in 2009, and since then the number of faithful has grown steadily.
According to the Church members in Baraka, this was an unforgettable day because the new branch was an answer to their prayers. “We say thank you to our Heavenly Father for this wonderful blessing that has been bestowed upon us after many years of perseverance,” said one member.
During the meeting, President Mavinga sustained the new leaders of the Baraka Branch. Trésor Amani Amani was called as branch president, Isaya Timothée M’mumbeleca as first counselor, Onda Joseph Asende as second advisor, and Venas Ben Rosen Byaombe as branch clerk.
President Mavinga said: “When we were on our way here, I asked myself the question, why organize a branch today after more than 10 years of the group’s existence here in Baraka? I know that it is not by my strength but rather by your perseverance and your prayers as well as the missionary work that you have accomplished, the Lord has answered your prayers.”
He continued, “The Church here was not going to continue operating under the leadership of the Kalundu Branch. This branch comes as an answer to your prayers and the efforts you have made in the work of the Lord. I bear you witness that the priesthood is the power of God. Our Heavenly Father has given this power here to Baraka so that you can act in His name, is this not a proof of His love? Through the priesthood, you will lead your new branch well moving forward. We bless the members, we heal the sick and it is through the latter that we prepare its children to enter the celestial kingdom. I urge you to continue to persevere in keeping the commandments, standing firm, and always strengthening your faith in Jesus Christ to receive the greatest blessing which is eternal life.”
Trésor Amani Amani, the new branch president, expressed his satisfaction at seeing the organization of this branch. He told the members that they have fought a great battle of perseverance for 13 years, “I urge you to tithe honestly and completely, to love one another, to remain united, and to share the gospel finally to spread this restored gospel of our Savior Jesus Christ.”
“Dear brothers and sisters,” he testified, “I know if we serve our fellow men, we will progress until we have a second branch, and a third. If we continue to share joy with others in unity through faith in Jesus Christ, through repentance, baptism, receiving the gift of the Holy Spirit, and persevering to the end, we will have eternal life. I know that the priesthood is the authority and power of God, our dear President Russell M. Nelson is called of God, all Church leaders as well as our dear mission president, I pray that when Jesus Christ returns and that he will find the members of Baraka rejoicing. I also know that if we read the Book of Mormon we will be greatly blessed.”

Composite photo illustration by Mike Boyland/iStock/Thinkstock and Oleksiy Fedorov/Hemera/Thinkstock
At the age of 23, I was called as a Relief Society president in our married student ward. I remember the inadequacies I felt, coupled with the desire to do my best. I was eager and excited to serve but doubted my ability to be a good leader.
After a few months as the Relief Society president, I felt that I wasn’t doing enough. I wanted to be able to connect with the sisters and be in tune with their individual needs, but I felt that I was coming up short.
I talked with my bishop and expressed my concerns. I explained how I just couldn’t reach all of the sisters I wanted to. I described how I wished that I had five of me to get the job done the way I thought it should be. I tried to keep my concerns light and humorous, but my eyes quickly filled with tears of discouragement. He smiled and offered some of the best leadership advice I have ever received.
“Are you familiar with the story of the shepherd who, upon losing one of his flock, left ‘the ninety and nine’ to find it?” he asked (see Luke 15:4–7). I nodded.
“There seems to be so much wisdom in that parable,” he continued. “The shepherd knew that the ninety and nine would be all right if he left them to look for the one lost sheep.”
Then my bishop offered the following advice:
“You see, the ninety and nine have a great way of looking after each other when you’re gone. They will buoy each other up and hold together very well. I suggest that you concentrate on the ones who seem lost. The rest will be OK.”
I felt a strong witness that what he had told me was true and that I didn’t need to worry about the entire flock all at once. My purpose was to find those who were lost and to invite them back into the fold. In that way, Heavenly Father’s purposes could be brought to pass, and I could be a tool in His hands.
As I heeded the bishop’s counsel, I felt a greater measure of understanding of how the Lord would have me serve in His kingdom. I also received spiritual fulfillment that strengthened me in my calling because I was serving as the Savior had instructed. Through the power of the Holy Ghost, my bishop had given me a great gift of understanding and insight.
I testify that as we pray and seek inspiration from our priesthood leaders, they will be inspired to show us how to lead in righteous ways.

My parents exemplified this love in so many ways. They had a large family, with many grandchildren, some of whom chose to step away from the Church or follow paths that diverged from its teachings. Yet, to my knowledge, my parents never criticized, coerced, or tried to change their grandchildren in an effort to “save” them. They left judging and saving to the Savior and simply loved them. Their home was a place where everyone felt welcomed and safe, regardless of their religious beliefs, sexual orientation, or political or world views.
Grandchildren could tell them about anything and be themselves around them without fear of rejection. My parents spent time with them, listened to them, and built relationships with them.
In the days leading up to my mother’s passing, I witnessed her grandchildren—most now in their 20s and 30s—weeping as they gathered around the bed of their cherished grandmother. This small white-haired woman, along with my father, had ministered to them, valued them, welcomed them, and loved them without conditions. My parents were faithful Latter-day Saints who understood that loving others, even when their beliefs or choices differ from our own, doesn’t diminish our faith or change our beliefs. We lose nothing by loving all of God’s children.

Sabrina Echols, a senior who was introduced to the Church by her friends Darilyn and Eva, said, “Don’t be afraid to try out for something just because you might not make it. Don’t get discouraged. It’s better to try.” Sabrina knows what she says is true from personal experience. She tried out several times to be a cheerleader on the rally squad but didn’t make it. Then she tried out for school mascot and was successful. Now she wears the gold and purple that represent her school.

I shall always be grateful that almost sixty-five years ago the good bishop of our ward came to me and asked me to be Scoutmaster of twenty-four boys in the Whitney Ward. We all received our handbooks at the same time. This was a great group of young men with a lot of musical talent.
In those days we had in the Mutual various cultural activities which were competitive. Among them were boys’ choruses. Each ward was expected to have a chorus, and ofttimes the bishop would invite the Scoutmaster to take the responsibility for getting the boys out to practice. So it was in our ward.
As is often the case when a man is asked to do a job, I sought out the help of a good faithful woman who could play the piano and knew some musical technique. Under her direction we started our practices. The song to be sung in the competition was assigned by the general board and was the same throughout the Church—“The Morning Breaks; the Shadows Flee,” by Parley P. Pratt (Hymns, no. 269).
For weeks before and after Scout meetings we prepared. Finally the time came when we would meet in competition with the ten other wards of the Franklin Stake. We were successful in winning in the stake, and then we were to meet the winners of the six other stakes in Cache Valley in the tabernacle in Logan.
I shall never forget approaching that great tabernacle that evening. We went inside and drew for places. We drew last place, which only prolonged our anxiety.
Finally the time came that our group was to march up to the platform. As our accompanist played “The Stars and Stripes Forever,” those twenty-four boys went up the aisle single file and formed in a half moon on the stage while I crouched down between a couple of benches to try to give them some leadership. Then they sang as I’d never heard them sing, and of course you can imagine that I’d not be telling this story had we not won first place in Logan.
We went home literally walking on air. We were so happy that this little community of fifty families had won over the other stakes and wards of the valley.
In the first Scout meeting following our victory, those boys (never forgetting anything that is of value to them) reminded me that in a moment of anxiety I had promised them that if we won in Logan, I would take them all on a hike over the mountain thirty-five miles to Bear Lake Valley.
Since a promise made is a debt unpaid, we began planning our hike. During the meeting one little twelve-year-old raised his hand and said very formally, “Mr. Scoutmaster, I would like to make a motion.” That was a new thing in a Scout meeting—or at least it was for me—but I said, “All right, what is it?”
He said, “I’d like to make a motion that we all clip our hair off so we will not be bothered with combs and brushes on this trip.”
I noticed three or four of the older boys start to squirm in their seats. They had reached that very critical age in life when they were beginning to take notice of the girls, and they knew a clipped head would be no asset to them with the women.
I put the question and it carried, with these three or four older boys dissenting. Then it was agreed that if they did not submit willingly, there were other ways of enforcing the rules of the troop. So they submitted.
Then, true to form—never forgetting anything if it was to their advantage—one of the older Scouts said, “How about the Scoutmasters?” It was our turn to squirm.
The following Saturday at the county seat, two Scoutmasters took their places in the barber’s chair while the barber very gleefully went over each head with the clippers. As he neared the end of the job, he said, “You know, if you fellows would let me shave your heads, I would do the whole job for nothing.”
So after our session with the barber, we left on that great thirty-five-mile Scout trip to which I had made commitment as an inducement to get the boys out to practice their singing—twenty-four boys with heads clipped and two Scoutmasters with heads shaven.
It was a glorious three weeks together with those wonderful boys out in the hills and in the mountains and on the lake. I wish I could follow for you the life of each one of those boys from that time until the present. I am proud of them.

Moleni hurried to finish weaving his palm-leaf basket. He tucked the last end in and raced toward the water. When the tide was low, he and other boys collected fingota (shellfish) for supper. Their moms would steam them with vegetables from their gardens.
Hurrying home with his fingota, Moleni ran into the yard and picked breadfruit to eat with the shellfish. On the way to his house he had found several coconuts to add to his bounty.
His mother was preparing supper in the kitchen, a small room separate from the house.
“Here, Mother,” he said, giving her the food that he’d brought. “May I go now?”
“Yes, dear, but don’t be gone long. Supper’s almost ready.”
Moleni knew that his mother thought that he was going swimming, but today he had something more important to do!
Moleni needed money to buy a new white shirt. He was to be ordained a deacon on Sunday, and he wanted to honor his priesthood by dressing properly. His father, Tevita Finau, had been a missionary and had been known in the Tongan islands as a very faithful member of the Church. Moleni wanted to be just like him; he wanted to look like the missionary picture his mother had of his father.
Since his father’s death, his mother supported the family by selling crops from their garden. She also sold copra (dried coconut meat). For all her hard work, she earned only fourteen dollars for every ton of copra that she dried. There was never enough money.
Moleni had to earn the money for the shirt himself. He didn’t want his mother to even guess how important it was to him—she had enough to worry about. Only his Primary teacher and his best friend, Sione, knew about his plans.
Weeks ago he had planted talo (taro, a starchy root) in a place in their garden where his mother wouldn’t find it. Now it was ready to take to the market. Sister Fonua, his Primary teacher, had said that she would sell it there for him, and tomorrow was market day.
Swiftly Moleni dug up the roots. He washed off the dirt, wrapped the roots in wet leaves, and placed them in a basket. Gathering up the basketful of talo together with mats and baskets that he had woven to sell, he walked as fast as he could to Sister Fonua’s home.
She pulled back the leaves and looked at the roots. “That’s the best talo I’ve seen,” she said. “I’m sure that it will sell well.” She looked at the empty baskets. “These baskets are tight and well woven too. But, Moleni,” she added unhappily, “this still won’t bring enough money.”
The boy’s heart sank. He had worked so hard. “If I catch some fish to sell, too, will it be enough?” he asked anxiously.
“It wouldn’t be enough for a ready-made shirt,” she said after thinking for a minute, “but I could buy enough material to make you one myself.”
“Thank you, Sister Fonua,” Moleni told her gratefully as he hurried away. “I’ll bring the fish early in the morning.”
On his way home he stopped at Sione’s and asked if he wanted to go fishing too.
“What are you up to?” his mother asked as he gulped his supper. “You’ve been acting funny lately.”
“Sione is going fishing with me,” he answered. “I don’t want to be late.”
“We could use some fish for breakfast,” his mother said, smiling at him as he finished his supper. She was proud of Moleni. She knew that he worked hard to help feed the family.
“There will be fish for breakfast,” he promised her.
Sione was already at the beach when Moleni got there. Neither of the boys owned a fishing pole or a boat, so they speared fish in the shallow water of the tide pools.
Sione was sending fish to market too. He and his brothers helped provide for their family also. They laughed together as they worked, and they worked hard. But by sundown, they had just three kiokio (a kind of fish) each.
“You can have my fish,” Sione offered. “I can catch some more tomorrow.”
“No,” Moleni answered. “Your family needs money too.”
They sat on the sand to think. Suddenly Moleni jumped up. “There is enough fish,” he said.
“Huh? How do you figure that?” Sione asked.
“There’s enough kiokio to send to market if we have something else, too,” Moleni told his friend. “There’s one thing that my family would rather have than kiokio: ‘uo (lobster).”
“Why didn’t I think of that?” Sione exclaimed. “Let’s go get my maama kasa (lantern). We’ll need it to find the ‘uo in the dark.”
The boys ran back to Sione’s home. They put their kiokio in water to stay fresh, then returned to the beach. It was very dark. The light from the maama kasa showed many scurrying ‘uo. Careful to not get pinched by the big claws, they grabbed the lobsters and put them into woven baskets.
“We’ll have a feast tomorrow!” Sione whooped. “These are the biggest ‘uo that I’ve ever seen.”
“There’s enough to give Sister Fonua a basketful, too,” Moleni said happily. “It can be a thank-you gift from me.”
“Sunday is just three days away,” Sione said with concern. “Will she have time to make your shirt?”
“I don’t know. But I know that she’ll do it if she can. And won’t mother be surprised if I show up for church in a white shirt?”
Early the next morning Sione and Moleni took their fish and lobsters to Sister Fonua. She was pleased with the fish and the ‘uo.
“This is enough,” she told Moleni. “And the shirt will be ready for Sunday.”
The next two days seemed to last forever. Moleni could hardly eat or sleep. His mother watched him anxiously, afraid that he was sick.
Finally Sunday came. Moleni slipped out early with his clean clothes and hurried to the meeting-house. There was a trough there where children could bathe—he wanted to be clean for the Sabbath!
Moleni bathed slowly and carefully. When he put on his new shirt, he felt truly special. He knew that his father would be proud of him.
He walked back home and went to the kitchen. His mother turned as he came in the door.
“Moleni! Where did you get that shirt?” Tears rolled down her cheeks as she looked at him. “You look just like your father.”
Moleni grinned. “I earned the money for the material, and Sister Fonua made it for me.”
It was a proud family that walked to church that day. Sister Fonua and Moleni’s mother both beamed when Moleni passed the sacrament. The Finau family had the priesthood in their home again!

Now for the illustration pertaining to those men whose habits and lives include but little Church attendance or Church activity of any kind. The ranks of these prospective elders have grown larger. This is because of those younger boys of the Aaronic Priesthood quorums who are lost along the Aaronic Priesthood pathway and also those grown men who are baptized but do not persevere in activity and faith so that they might be ordained elders.

I not only reflect on the hearts and souls of such individual men, but also sorrow for their sweet wives and growing children. These men await a helping hand, an encouraging word, and a personal testimony of truth expressed from a heart filled with love and a desire to lift and to build.

Shelley, my friend, was such a person. His wife and children were fine members, but all efforts to motivate him toward baptism and then priesthood blessings had miserably failed.

But then Shelley’s mother died. Shelley was so sorrowful that he retired to a special room at the mortuary where the funeral was being held. We had wired the proceedings to this room so that he might mourn alone and where no one could see him weep with sorrow. As I comforted him in that room before going to the pulpit, he gave me a hug, and I knew a tender chord had been touched.

Time passed. Shelley and his family moved to another part of the city. I was called to preside over the Canadian Mission and, together with my family, moved to Toronto, Canada, for a three-year period.

When I returned and after I was called to the Twelve, Shelley telephoned me. He said, "Bishop, will you seal my wife, my family, and me in the Salt Lake Temple?"

I answered hesitantly, "But Shelley, you must first be baptized a member of the Church."

He laughed and responded, "Oh, I took care of that while you were in Canada. I sort of snuck up on you. There was this home teacher who called on us regularly and taught me the truths of the Church. He was a school crossing guard and helped the small children across the street each morning when they went to school and each afternoon when they went home. He asked me to help him. During the intervals when there was no child crossing, he gave me additional instruction pertaining to the Church."

I had the privilege to see this miracle with my own eyes and feel the joy with my heart and soul. The sealings were performed; a family was united. Shelley died not too long after this period. I had the privilege of speaking at his funeral services. I shall ever see, in memory’s eye, the body of my friend Shelley lying in his casket, dressed in his temple clothing. I readily admit the presence of tears, tears of gratitude, for the lost had been found.

I’m on a cheer-dance team at my school, and they’re known for doing some dance moves that aren’t very appropriate. So when I joined the squad last year, my mom and I talked with one of the school administrators and asked if they would enforce the school rules that didn’t allow inappropriate behavior. They said they’d try to enforce the rules better. I still had to go up to my coach a couple times and talk with her about it. That was really nerve-racking, but I’d always talk with my parents and pray about it beforehand. After I talked with my coach, I knew I did the right thing, even though it wasn’t the cool thing to do and some of the girls still don’t understand and think it’s weird. But in the end, I was proud of the decision I made. I was glad that instead of doing what was popular, I chose to stay strong in what I believed.
Annie B., California, USA

“Read the scriptures again? I’ve already done that for two years and made it through each of the standard works four times!”
Thus wrote a returned missionary after I challenged my institute class to read and ponder the scriptures twenty minutes each day for a month.
I suppose I made that assignment partly out of curiosity. I wanted to see if these modern young people could discover for themselves in a month’s time some of the power that ancient prophets found in the scriptures available to them.
Nephi wrote, “For my soul delighteth in the scriptures, and my heart pondereth them, and writeth them for the learning and profit of my children.” (2 Ne. 4:15.) He also said that the words that he had written would be made strong unto his people, “for it persuadeth them to do good … and it speaketh of Jesus, and persuadeth them to believe in him, and to endure to the end, which is life eternal.” (2 Ne. 33:4.) He further said his words are the words of truth, “and they teach all men that they should do good.” (2 Ne. 33:10.)
Following his encounter with Sheram, Jacob described the Nephites in these words: “And it came to pass that peace and the love of God was restored again among the people; and they searched the scriptures, and hearkened no more to the words of this wicked man.” (Jacob 7:23.)
Alma described the effect of his words upon some of the people of Ammonihah by saying, “many of them did believe on his words, and began to repent, and to search the scriptures.” (Alma 14:1.)
The four sons of Mosiah, in the midst of missionary work following their conversion, “waxed strong in the knowledge of the truth; for they were men of a sound understanding and they had searched the scriptures diligently, that they might know the word of God.” (Alma 17:2.)
The Psalmist wrote:
“O how love I thy law! It is my meditation all the day.
“Thou through thy commandments hast made me wiser than mine enemies: for they are ever with me.
“I have more understanding than all my teachers: for thy testimonies are my meditation.
“I understand more than the ancients, because I keep thy precepts.
“I have refrained my feet from every evil way, that I might keep thy word.
“I have not departed from thy judgements: for thou hast taught me.
“How sweet are thy words unto my taste! yea, sweeter than honey to my mouth!
“Through thy precepts I get understanding: therefore I hate every false way. (Ps. 119:97–104.)
I used these scriptures to help my students understand that it was not enough just to read. Prophets have used the words diligently, pondering, meditating, and feasting to explain how we should approach the scriptures. Clearly we should read with careful thought and much pondering. Even when we are not reading we should reflect constantly on God’s word. The prophets have promised that this will lead to new spiritual insights and to greater righteousness.
The scriptures show us that we can ponder in two ways: we can meditate on the scripture itself, or we can relate what we read to our personal lives.
Moroni taught the first kind of pondering when he exhorted Book of Mormon readers to ponder in their hearts what they read. (Moro. 10:3.) Nephi was caught away in the spirit while he sat pondering in his heart the things that his father had seen. (1 Ne. 11:1.)
The eyes of Sidney Rigdon and Joseph Smith were opened following a studious and prayerful consideration of John 5:29. Joseph Smith stated, “… while we meditated upon these things, the Lord touched the eyes of our understandings and they were opened. …” (D&C 76:19. See also D&C 76:11–18.)
The second kind of ponderings led to the Sacred Grove. The Prophet Joseph said of James 1:5:
“Never did any passage of scripture come with more power to the heart of man than this did at this time to mine. It seemed to enter with great force into every feeling of my heart. I reflected on it again and again, knowing that if any person needed wisdom from God, I did. …
At length I came to the conclusion that I must either remain in darkness and confusion, or else I must do as James directs. …” (JS—H 1:12–13.)
This kind of reflection can help all of us make commitments that will decrease darkness and increase light. We must ask questions as we read, questions such as, How does this apply in my life today? or What lesson can I learn from this?
I was confident that if my students would read the scriptures in this way, they would find in them the same inspiration that Nephi and Moroni did. I encouraged them to start with the Book of Mormon, feeling it would probably be the most powerful influence. Elder Marion G. Romney has said, “I am persuaded by my own experience and that of my loved ones, as well as by the statement of the Prophet Joseph Smith, that one can get and keep closer to the Lord by reading the Book of Mormon than by reading other books.”
In order to evaluate the experience, I assigned each student to write a reaction at the end of the month.
Those reactions justified my confidence in the scriptures. The returned missionary who had resented the assignment wrote, “I have rediscovered an exciting adventure. I have once again astonished myself with the wonder of learning and understanding the gospel as it has been presented to us by the prophets. The gospel has become even more relevant in these last few weeks than ever before. I understand more clearly that faith and the strength of one’s testimony are things that vary from day to day and must be kept current.”
The other students’ responses were equally enthusiastic. It was apparent that scripture study affected them just as it affected the ancient prophets. It vitalized their prayers, improved their sensitivity to spiritual things, increased their productivity, strengthened their self-mastery, and changed their attitude toward life.
One student spoke of a more sensitive conscience: “It seemed to have a residual effect on my conscience of not letting me rationalize so easily . … Especially since I had become engaged, I had noticed that I was trying to rationalize a few things, play it close to the line between black and white. I don’t say reading the scriptures was the only influence, but I am glad for their influence.”
Several students spoke of a new spirituality. A law student wrote: “One significant thing distinguishing the past year for me is the matter of scripture as a means of maintaining spiritual sensitivity. The results have been so undeniably stimulating to the spirit that I am now confident that daily scripture study shall be a life-long pursuit.”
A girl active in her sorority found that scripture reading helped her stay spiritual at school: “Well, I decided that if I promised to read the scriptures for thirty days, I would do it for thirty days—which wouldn’t do me too much good. So I promised to do it for the rest of my life. That was about six months ago. I’ve almost read the Book of Mormon three times since then and oh the difference! It has made possible the thing that I have always thought impossible, which is to be spiritual during the school year.”
Some students who had never enjoyed the scriptures discovered what a delight they could be. Wrote one girl, “I have tried to read the Book of Mormon many times, and each time felt that something was lacking. I had to force myself because I didn’t enjoy it and couldn’t figure out what was wrong. This year I’ve loved every minute of reading the scriptures. I now read the Book of Mormon every morning, and I wouldn’t miss it for anything. I thought it would be terribly hard to get in the habit of reading every morning, but it hasn’t been.”
Another wrote: “I am one who often used to ‘tune out’ when scriptures were read, not purposely, just automatically, and also one of those people who has never read the Book of Mormon. I started to read it two or three times but never got past 2 Nephi. … my whole attitude toward the scriptures and even the gospel itself has changed. Not that I didn’t feel a testimony before, but my testimony was built on faith and not scriptural knowledge. Now I feel that I have a much better understanding of the gospel and how it applies to me personally. Every time I read the scriptures at home or when we read them in class, I feel a closeness to God and Jesus Christ and more of a desire to do good. Even my prayers have changed, and I’ve only read through Enos.”
Students discovered that the scriptures brought them closer to God and made their whole lives happier. A boy living in the dorms wrote: “When I read scriptures out of the Book of Mormon, it seemed as though my whole day went more smoothly. I was happier with people. My life became cleaner. I would pray night and morning, which was hard to do before. I can control habits easier and ignore social pressures that are in the dorms. I really can’t explain the feelings I have, but all I know is that I feel closer to God.”
A freshman girl said: “It is amazing how quickly a life can change, especially when it is your own. Six months ago I would have said that any kind of a drastic change could not take place in a short period of time. But since I have been reading the scriptures every day my whole attitude toward life has changed. I once felt that the scriptures were irrelevant to today, that they applied to the days of the prophets of long ago. But as I have read and studied the Book of Mormon, I am amazed at the insight that can be gained by applying the principles within. I find a constant challenge to improve—not just the challenge, but the means by which I can work on that challenge.”
A returned missionary active in campus affairs found his life changed when he read and pondered the scriptures: “My reading in the scriptures was a fantastic experience—so much so that it will be only natural to continue. I can make a valid comparison of the changes it can bring about because I had a break during the quarter when I didn’t read every day (about two to three weeks). Before and since this period my daily reading was a longed-for thing—something that increased in interest each day. During those days my thoughts were clearer, my mind more at ease, my temperament with others more appealing and less offensive. But above all, my thoughts were cleaner and purer than ever before, and thus I was happier because my soul was in much better harmony with the Lord. During the period when I didn’t read daily, I did some regretful things, and my desires in prayer slipped. I believe meaningful prayer and scripture study go hand in hand.
“I thought I knew the Book of Mormon from my study while on my mission and especially after reading it several times in another language. But to ‘ponder in your heart’ is something special—something that can be done over and over. This is what I’m doing each morning now and am enjoying it immensely.”
The scriptures are for people of all ages. Young children can also learn to read, ponder, and appreciate them. A father recently assigned two of his children, ages eight and nine, to read four chapters from the New Testament each Sunday. At first they had to be prodded, but they gradually developed interest and even began to read on other days of the week. Soon they were reading before going to bed each night. When they finished the New Testament, they started the Book of Mormon. Within three months the older child finished the Book of Mormon and started it again.
The lesson to be learned from these experiences is clear. We owe it to ourselves to begin a program of daily scripture study. In that way we can experience the “well of living water” spoken of by the Lord (D&C 63:23) and the “Divine Anchor” described by President McKay. Shortly before his death, President McKay challenged the members of the Church to try harder than ever to be worthy of daily inspiration and influence from the Lord. Daily meditation based on the scriptures will help us feel closer to the Savior, his teachings, and his work. But remember, the more consistently we read, the more natural and delightful the experience becomes. A returned missionary writes, “A year after my return from the mission field I’m still spending at least a half hour daily reading the scriptures. It’s so much a part of me now that I can’t imagine my day going by without it. It seems as normal as eating.”
As the Prophet Joseph Smith stated, “The things of God are of deep import; and time, and experience, and careful and ponderous and solemn thoughts can only find them out.”

Tim Burton trudged slowly alongside the dusty covered wagon. The company had been on the trail only two hours, but his legs were sore already.
Tim knew the others must be tired too. There was little of the laughter and high spirits Tim had known during the first weeks on the trail when everything was new and everyone was eager. Now there was just the constant push westward.
Tim was surprised by the sudden stop of the wagon and the mutter of dismay from Grandpa. He turned to see the wagon tipped toward its right side.
Grandpa pulled off his hat and ran a calloused hand through his thick white hair as a crowd quickly began to gather around the wagon.
“Hit a rock and something must have broken,” the old man explained. “The rest of you had best go on.”
“Go on?” someone echoed. “But you and the boy—”
The words broke off as Grandpa said quickly, “I thought maybe one of you might take Timothy.”
Tim was too startled to do more than stare at his grandfather in disbelief, but at last he found his voice. “I wouldn’t think of going on without you. Why, we haven’t been separated since Pa and Ma died. No, Grandpa! If you stay, I stay—same as always.”
Grandpa smiled proudly and turned to the others. “Timothy’s near thirteen now, and he’s a great help. We’ll fix the wagon and catch up in a few hours.”
Some of the company protested, but Grandpa stood firm. He looked around thoughtfully. “My oxteam is in better condition than most of the others. We’ll catch up before long.”
Tim and his grandfather watched the company move up the slope amid the squeal and creak of dried-out wooden wagons and worn leather. There was an empty feeling inside Tim, and he didn’t move until he felt the old man place a hand lightly on his shoulder. “Come along, Timothy. There’s work to be done.”
Tim swallowed hard. “Are you sure we’ll be all right, Grandpa? Do you really think we can catch up with the train soon?”
Grandpa’s expression was grave. “We have a good chance if we stop looking and get working.” He moved toward the wagon, and after a moment Tim turned to follow.
“You see to the oxteam,” Grandpa instructed. “Move them to new grazing now and again. And keep a sharp lookout, lad.”
Restlessly Tim moved from one spot to another around their lonely little wagon. The morning seemed to stretch out endlessly. It was far past noon before the old man straightened. “Best we take time for a quick bite to eat,” he announced.
Grandpa ate hurriedly and turned back to his work.
“I wish I could help,” Tim said.
“You are helping,” the old man assured Tim. “More than you know.”
It was late afternoon before Grandpa straightened again, a satisfied smile replacing the worry in his face. “I’ll be finished by the time you’ve taken the oxteam to water at the stream, Timothy,” he said, stretching hard to ease cramped muscles. “With the good rest and feed the oxen have had, they should be ready for a long steady push. There’s going to be a moon the early part of the night. We can catch up with the others before daybreak.”
Tim moved quickly to bring the oxen from grazing near a small stream. But suddenly his heart began to jump. He stared in terror at an Indian who was crouched back in the willows.
With his throat closed up with fear, all Tim could do was stare. Then he gulped. He’d been too frightened before to notice, but the Indian was just a frightened boy too. His buckskin clothes were torn in many places, and there was a clumsy makeshift bandage across his left shoulder.
“Me Running Elk,” the boy said shyly. “Son of Long Bow.”
“You speak English?” Tim asked in surprise.
“Little bits,” Running Elk answered.
“Where did you come from?” Tim asked. “Are you alone?” He stepped back cautiously as the boy moved from his crouching position in the willows.
“Alone,” Running Elk answered.
Tim learned the boy had received a deep wound in his shoulder three days ago. Now he was feeling better, but was still quite weak. When he heard Tim and the oxen he crouched in the willows to hide.
Just then Grandpa shouted, “Timothy? What’s keeping you, lad?”
“I’m coming, Grandpa,” Tim answered. He turned back to the Indian boy. “I guess you’d better come with me.”
Quickly Tim told Grandpa what Running Elk had said. Grandpa nodded thoughtfully. When Tim finished, Grandpa’s first question was, “How long since you had something to eat, boy?”
“Three days. Few berries only.” Running Elk swallowed hard and turned away.
“No time for a fire,” Grandpa said. “But there’s still a bit of corn bread from breakfast and some jerked buffalo.”
The boy swallowed painfully again at the sight of the food, but he made no move toward it until Grandpa said, “Go ahead, boy. It’s for you.”
While the boy ate, Grandpa and Tim reloaded the wagon. “There’s just nothing else we can do but take you with us,” Grandpa finally announced.
Grandpa bandaged Running Elk’s wound before putting the boy in the back of the wagon. The sun was setting by the time they pulled away. It seemed a long time ago since the wagon train had left them alone.
Into the growing dusk Grandpa urged the oxen on as fast as they could go. Darkness came, and still they pushed on with only brief stops to rest the animals. The moon Grandpa had promised came nudging its way up from behind the hills, making their travel easier.
They walked much of the way to keep the load as light as possible. Even Running Elk left the wagon and walked with them.
Finally the wagon came to an abrupt halt. “Time we stopped for the night,” Grandpa said kindly. “We’re all dead on our feet.”
Tim was sure he had barely fallen asleep when he felt a sharp tug at his blanket.
“Come on, Tim,” Grandpa whispered. “It’s time to get going. It’s nearly light already.”
In spite of his eagerness to catch up with the other wagons, Tim wasn’t sure it was wise when his grandpa agreed to take a shortcut the Indian boy suggested.
“Running Elk says this way will save several miles,” Grandpa explained. “Maybe we’ll find the others before dark.”
An hour later Grandpa called a short stop. Restlessly Tim glanced around as he had done so often.
“Grandpa!” he cried in alarm.
Indians had appeared from behind all the boulders and trees. The wagon was surrounded!
Tim felt a strong knot of fear. Ahead of him, Grandpa was standing still and watchful. Tim jumped in surprise when Running Elk stepped away from the wagon and began shouting in a strange language.
The circle of Indians stood impassive for a moment, and then one of the tallest warriors stepped forward.
In a moment Running Elk turned and came back to the wagon. “This Swift Eagle, brother of my mother,” he explained. “Many hours they watch. Wonder when wagon turn from big trail. Few white men know this way through mountains.”
There was a lot of talk and laughter as the Indians expressed their thanks to Tim and Grandpa. “I tell of wound, big hunger, and how you help,” Running Elk told Grandpa. “Now my people wish to travel with you. Make sure no trouble comes for lone wagon.”
As they traveled together, the Indians made many jokes about the plodding oxen. They called the wagon a “mighty rolling tepee,” and each one came near to peer inside or to watch the wheels turn.
It was late afternoon when the wagon pulled back onto the main trail. It was dusk when the welcome sight of the circled wagon train lay just ahead.
Tim couldn’t help grinning at the flurry of excitement and alarm in the wagon camp at first sight of so many Indians approaching. A short distance from the camp, the Indians stopped.
“We turn back now,” Running Elk said.
“We sure do appreciate your help,” Grandpa said warmly.
The Indian boy smiled. “Running Elk also glad for you.” He grew more serious. “A message goes ahead through our country. Say friends travel this camp. No trouble.”
Before Tim went with Grandpa to join the other wagons, he stopped to say goodbye to Running Elk. He hoped he would see him again some day, but if he didn’t, Tim knew that even brief friendships can last for a lifetime.

In December 1996 I found myself serving a full-time mission in the Mexico Monterrey North Mission. My companion was a young sister from Utah. It was my first Christmas away from home without my children and grandchildren, and I couldn’t stop thinking about what my children were doing and who was preparing dinner, since I wasn’t there to do it.
I was quieter than usual, so my companion gave me a hug and said, “I’m going to make a delicious dinner for you.” I looked at her lovely face and into her beautiful blue eyes that were looking back at me with so much love, the way my children and grandchildren look at me. I smiled at her.
The dinner she prepared was just a warm cinnamon drink, but for me it was a great delicacy. I was 46 years old, and she was only 21. Always I was concerned about giving, and I didn’t think about receiving. As missionaries we did not have any money to give, so we gave love and service instead. Without my companion knowing it, I had bought a pair of gloves and a scarf to protect her from the cold. That was my gift to her. But she gave me something that couldn’t be bought with all the gold in the world: love and service.
That night her gift taught me that Christmas is for giving the most beautiful part of ourselves, the feelings of our hearts. Very shyly I took out my gifts for my dear companion. I felt so humble to give her what I had bought, compared with her great love.
Every Christmas after returning home from my mission, I have shared with my children and grandchildren that wonderful Christmas. I will always be grateful to my Heavenly Father and to Jesus Christ for the holy season of Christmas and to my companion for her example of love.

Derek saw paw prints in the snow. What animal made them? Derek followed the paw prints down the sidewalk. He looked around and saw Mrs. Lawson walking slowly across the ice. Derek held her hand and helped her into her house. The paw prints kept going, and Derek followed them. He spotted Mr. Russell shoveling snow. Derek stopped to help him shovel. Then Derek saw more paw prints! He followed them and peeked into Mr. Russell’s backyard. There was Cloudy, Mr. Russell’s cat! Derek likes following things. Most of all, he likes following the example of Jesus by helping others.

The story is told that in ancient Rome a group of women were, with vanity, showing their jewels one to another. Among them was Cornelia, the mother of two boys. One of the women said to her, “And where are your jewels?” to which Cornelia responded, pointing to her sons, “These are my jewels.” Under her tutelage, and walking after the virtues of her life, they grew to become [great men] Gaius and Tiberius Gracchus … two of the most persuasive and effective reformers in Roman history. … Said Isaiah of old, “All thy children shall be taught of the Lord; and great shall be the peace of thy children” (Isa. 54:13).
I humbly pray for that peace in behalf of all children.
When you learn about Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ, it brings peace to your heart. It helps you to know that you can keep the commandments and do what is right. Remember to think of Them often, and remember that They love you.

Illustrations by Matt Sweeney
Are you going to send something to the Friend for the Kindness Garden? I saw you taking Mrs. Craig’s trash out for her again.
Hmm. Maybe I will. What about you?
You’ve been helping that new girl at school catch up on her assignments.
Oh! Yeah.
Let’s both do it.
OK! Something you find in a garden, right?
I’ll find the colored paper.
I’ll get crayons and markers.
LATER—
I did a rose. I love roses. And you did … a potato?
It was supposed to be a gopher, but he forgot to make the legs!

A little over a year earlier, this kind of work would have been impossible for Peyton. At that time he was battling a dangerous infection that threatened to paralyze him. On top of that, his family had just moved to Idaho from Oregon, USA, and during the months he was stuck in bed and making daily hospital trips, he relied on his new friends and his trust in God to get him through.
Just before Peyton’s junior year of high school, his dad got a new job in Idaho. The family packed up everything and started the drive. “It didn’t really hit me until we started driving that we were actually moving,” Peyton says. “Then I really got scared.” Peyton’s mom remembers him quietly crying through a lot of the drive. “In fact, it was one of the only times I’ve seen him cry,” she says.
After the move Peyton joined the school soccer team. Although Peyton met a lot of new people, he had a hard time connecting with them. “It was all scary because everything was new,” he says. “The first couple of months were super hard.”
But his new friends kept reaching out to him. And it made a difference.
“There wasn’t a specific day where everything magically changed,” Peyton says. “It just happened slowly and over time as they kept inviting me to hang out with them. I slowly grew closer and closer to all of them.”
From the time Peyton was little, he loved all sports—but he had dreamed of playing on a high school varsity basketball team. Even though he didn’t make the team at his new school, he decided to play on the junior varsity team to prove himself.
Halfway through the season, Peyton noticed that his lower back began hurting, and gradually the pain got worse. For a while, taking a simple hot bath would relieve it. Then one morning Peyton woke up in intense pain, and over the next few days, he could barely walk. Finally, Peyton’s mom drove him to the emergency room.
The doctors gave him painkillers. “After that,” Peyton says, “I thought things would return to normal soon.”
They didn’t.
After a scan, the doctor told Peyton that he had a rare condition called a spinal epidural abscess—possibly from a freak hit to Peyton’s back during a basketball game. It was serious. If not treated in time, the swelling from the abscess could cause paralysis and even death.
Because the doctors wanted to avoid surgery, they put Peyton on the strongest antibiotics available. A permanent IV was put into his arm to give him internal medication. Peyton had to return to the hospital every day for treatments and tests, and he couldn’t go back to school. “I was scared,” Peyton explains. “But mostly I was frustrated that I couldn’t do anything I’d normally do.”
Peyton’s new friends visited him in the hospital after school. They texted, they heart-attacked his room, they helped throw a small birthday party for him, they even brought junior prom to the hospital for him, and they prayed.
“One of my friends, Ellie, would visit me pretty much every single day,” Peyton says, “and it was such a big help, strength, and source of joy to me. My friends were so helpful and supportive.”
But the weeks of treatments and waiting were still really hard. Peyton turned to the scriptures for comfort. One night, while reading in the Book of Mormon, he came across a passage that reached him: “And now, O my son Helaman, behold, thou art in thy youth … [and] I do know that whosoever shall put their trust in God shall be supported in their trials, and their troubles, and their afflictions, and shall be lifted up at the last day. … I do put my trust in him, and he will still deliver me” (Alma 36:3, 27; emphasis added).
“I trusted in those verses,” Peyton says. “They taught me to look to God, and I knew He would help me get through.”
Six weeks later Peyton had a follow-up scan. “I thought and hoped that I’d be declared infection-free,” he explains.
The results: the infection had diminished but not been eliminated, and there was potential it would come back. That meant another six weeks of treatment and increasing his trips to the hospital to three times a day. “I was super sad and frustrated. That was really hard.”
Finally, after the second round of treatments, Peyton was declared infection-free. “When they told me that I would be able to walk again and I wasn’t going to be paralyzed as long as I was careful, I was so relieved. I still pray and give thanks almost every day for the ability that I have to be able to walk and to exercise.”
With life somewhat back to normal, Peyton was eager to play sports again, especially basketball. “I really wanted to play, but I didn’t know if my back could handle it. I knew I had to take my question to God. I prayed a lot. Then I started having dreams about playing basketball and getting hit and becoming paralyzed during a high school game. At first I just brushed it off, but I kept having them. Then I started having dreams about me being a dad in a wheelchair.
“I decided I shouldn’t play basketball because one day I wanted to be able to play and do stuff with my kids. I felt like I was following a prompting.”
The following March, Peyton began his mission in North Carolina. One month later, Hurricane Matthew ravaged the eastern coast of the United States, and North Carolina was in emergency status. Although he had to be careful, Peyton and the other missionaries helped fill and place thousands of sandbags to protect businesses and homes from the floods.
Peyton reflects: “All of my experiences in Idaho prepared me in different ways for my mission. All of my experiences made me physically, mentally, or spiritually stronger, and I’ve needed all those in helping the people here in North Carolina.
“I’ve realized that God gave me that trial to humble me and to give me more compassion for other people. This experience also made me a lot more grateful for all the things that I take for granted. There was a reason the Lord preserved me and that I wasn’t paralyzed or dead. That’s when it really hit me that I was here to help and bless others.”

While I served as a bishop, I watched a young man in my ward progress as a deacon, teacher, and priest. He then prepared to serve a mission. He was shy and quiet, and he came from a family that wasn’t very active in the gospel.
The Sunday he was going to speak before leaving on his mission, I asked if his talk was prepared.
“Yes,” he said. He opened a manila folder and showed me his talk.
“That’s wonderful,” I said. “But I want to do an experiment. Will you speak from your heart instead?”
“You want me to do what?” he said.
“I trust you,” I said. “Just speak from your heart. I know you will do great things in this meeting. I’ll be right next to you if you need me.”
He gave me his talk. I’ll never forget how nervous he was as the other speakers spoke before him. But when it came time for him to speak, he got up and gave a powerful message. The whole congregation was captured by this shy boy who had become a spokesman for the Lord.
The real miracle came after the meeting. Three of his friends who had previously told me they weren’t going to serve missions came up to me with tear-filled eyes. Each of them said, “I want to go on a mission.” This young man’s testimony convinced them that they needed to serve. All three of them served successful missions. This young man is now a father and is still engaged in the gospel of Jesus Christ. He has also helped bring many members of his family back into the Church.

One of the great experiences I had before I got married was to live with several member families in the United States while I attended a university there. These parents held family home evening every week, studied the scriptures together, and had family prayer on a daily basis. Of course, they at times had challenges. But the way they solved the problems was consistent with gospel teachings.
In watching their examples and actually participating as a member of their families, I decided that someday I, too, would like to have a family similar to theirs. I observed that their families were blessed as these fathers followed the counsel now given in “The Family: A Proclamation to the World”: “By divine design, fathers are to preside over their families in love and righteousness and are responsible to provide the necessities of life and protection for their families.”1

Ward families are a refuge. I know a young family that lived in south Los Angeles during the violent summer of 1992. They could feel the heat from the fires as they sat terrified in their little apartment. They telephoned their parents in Salt Lake. Their families offered encouragement and their prayers. They could do no more at such a distance. It was a ward member who made arrangements for the Parkins to get themselves and their baby out safely. They stayed with members until they could go back to their apartment. They were safe.

A few months later, things indeed became more painful for the Saints in Missouri. Mobs were starting to attack more frequently. They were even destroying crops and buildings.
One day Mary Elizabeth and her younger sister Caroline were near Brother Phelps’s printing office when a mob began destroying the press and dumping large piles of printed paper out the window. Mary Elizabeth recognized the paper right away. The men were destroying the Book of Commandments!
“Caroline, we must save those papers,” Mary Elizabeth whispered. “Follow me.”
“They will kill us,” Caroline said. “But I will come.”
Waiting until the men had turned away from the girls, each sister grabbed a large armful of papers and began running toward a cornfield. The men saw the girls and began to chase them, yelling at them to stop. The girls ran into the tall corn, laid the papers on the ground, and lay on top of them to protect them. The sisters could hear the men crashing through the corn stalks nearby. Mary Elizabeth and Caroline’s hearts pounded, but to their relief, the girls were not found.
After waiting in the corn for a long time, the sisters carried the papers back to the printing office. They were grateful to be safe and that they had helped the Lord’s work.