Gospel Story Finder

How Ron and Sandi Hammond arrived at that important moment in the Middle East is a testament of the Hammonds’ faith and the inspiration behind the Church’s senior missionary program.
In 2012 the Hammonds were serving as ordinance workers in the Rexburg Idaho Temple. Ron had a successful dental practice and was teaching in the Religion Department at Brigham Young University–Idaho. But the serene routine of their lives changed abruptly with a distinct spiritual impression to immediately submit papers to serve a mission. The timing surprised them. Their married children were in various stages of career moves and relocations, and Ron was not yet looking to retire. But the Spirit assured them that they were needed and that all would be well.
As it turned out, priesthood leaders at Church headquarters had been fasting and praying to find the right couple to serve as country directors for LDS Charities in Amman, Jordan.
“It was so evident,” says Sandi, “that the Lord was out ahead of us, preparing the details of the specific assignment He had for us. We know that He does this for every missionary who serves. It is comforting knowing that the Savior is arranging things for you to serve before you ever arrive.”
“In retrospect,” Ron says, “we are grateful we were neither specific nor insistent on where we wished to serve. Leaving such matters in the Lord’s hands allowed Him to give us an experience we would not have had otherwise.”

Let me tell you another incident that indicates President Kimball looks upon himself as our minister and servant.
A few years ago I was in my office about 6:30 a.m. I am mentioning that so you will know I was there early—it takes some of us a little longer. My phone rang, and as I answered it, I recognized that special voice that said, “Marvin.”
I replied, “Yes, President Kimball.”
He said, “Could I come up and see you?”
His office is on the first floor, and mine is on the third. (That is the only time I am ever higher than he is.)
My reply was, “President Kimball, if you want to see me, I will be right down.”
He then responded with, “Would you do that?”
He did not exhibit any authority. There was no feeling of “Do you know who this is?” or “You’d better come.” He courteously asked, “Could I come up and see you?” When I told him I would be right down, his voice reflected gratitude as he said, “Will you do that?”
I went to his office in a hurry. After we shook hands, he handed me a letter and said, “How would you answer this?”
I read it quickly and said, “President Kimball, you might want to consider this approach,” and told him what I thought.
“I agree,” he said. “That is my thinking also.” He shook my hand, and I was on my way, reflecting about a prophet who asks for counsel and puts himself above no man.

Photograph by Raul Sandoval
It’s 4:00 a.m. in Santo Domingo, the Dominican Republic, and Teddy Reyes is already up and working. He has a lot to do today to maintain his booming business. He begins slicing tomatoes and bread. Then he makes his special sauce.
By 6:00 a.m., two employees arrive to help him, and preparations speed up. By 8:00 a.m., they have made 300 sandwiches, wrapped individually in plastic wrap and loaded in bags. Six more employees show up, and the whole crew goes out to sell.
By 9:00 a.m., all but a few sandwiches—three or four that Teddy saved to feed his team—have been sold.
Business is good for Teddy. But things haven’t always been easy. In fact, for the past five years, he hasn’t been able to find steady work in his chosen profession as a lawyer.
So how did Teddy make the switch from counseling clients to selling sandwiches? It took a lot of hard work, of course, but it also took a careful application of principles he learned in classes offered through the Church’s Self-Reliance Services initiative.
Five years ago, life for Teddy looked amazing. He had a good job as a lawyer, he had recently gotten married, and he had baptized his wife. “But we had some challenges,” he says, “and I lost my job.”
For the next four years Teddy struggled to find work. “There was a lot of work I could do, but no one wanted to pay me. I tried starting different jobs on my own, but that didn’t work.”
His wife, Stephany, had a good job, but her salary alone couldn’t cover the bills. Soon the couple had a child. They were elated, but their finances grew tighter. They lost their house, had to sell their car, and used up all their savings. Eventually they had to move into a small house owned by Stephany’s mother.
But Teddy didn’t give up. Soon an unexpected opportunity presented itself.
After years of struggling, Teddy knew it was time for a change.
“I decided to take the Church’s self-reliance courses,” he says. “I had heard about them but always thought they weren’t for me. I thought they were just about doing things on your own. The classes were marvelous.”
First, Teddy joined a Personal Finances group. Then he joined a Starting and Growing My Business group. Group classes helped Teddy with his business knowledge but also helped him develop spiritually.
“I decided to do everything they taught,” he says, “and my finances changed immediately. I started paying a full tithe, praying daily, studying the scriptures, and exercising faith. And things changed—I started to save money and to keep the Sabbath day holy. Every principle blessed me.”
In his Starting and Growing My Business group, Teddy learned how to identify a potential product that might benefit customers where he lives. As he evaluated what people were looking for, the inspiration started to flow. In his area, people liked fresh sandwiches, but they also liked to have them made to order—and delivered.
“Many restaurants have a special sauce that makes their food stand out,” Teddy says. “So I developed my own sandwich special sauce!”
On the day he launched his business, Teddy made 30 sandwiches.
“Thirty minutes later, I was back home,” he says. “My wife became concerned when she found me on the couch. She asked me what I was doing home already—wasn’t I supposed to be selling sandwiches? I had already sold all of them!”
Over the next few weeks, Teddy contacted local businesses and schools. Many were eager to buy his sandwiches, and his business began growing. He learned quickly how to take care of fresh vegetables so that they last. He also knows exactly how long his special sauce will keep. He orders and picks up bread each evening. He buys discounted vegetables on Saturdays, which cost less but will still be good on Monday.
Soon he was receiving orders for specific types of sandwiches and even large numbers for special occasions. He needed help, so he began hiring employees.
By creating positive relationships with local schools and businesses, Teddy created an active, consistent clientele. Within four months, he had eight employees and was selling 300 sandwiches a day, five days a week. His sales team was so efficient that they sold every sandwich even during the summer when the schools were closed. Now Teddy is ready to expand again.
Because he took the self-reliance classes, he was inspired to come up with the idea of the sandwich business. “Because of this guidance from the Church and the blessings I have received,” he says, “I have a very strong testimony of the Church and Jesus Christ.”

Dirk set the tip of the shovel into the sod and pushed hard on it with his foot. The shovel made a crunchy sound as it cut through the tough grass that had started creeping into his mother’s iris garden. Although his arms and shoulders were tired, Dirk had to admit that the iris bed was beginning to look much better. Earlier his mother had told him that if he helped her Saturday morning he could do whatever he wanted in the afternoon.
While he was digging and shaking the soil from the tangled grass roots, Dirk thought about batting a few balls with Ethan, Rick, Chad, and some of his other friends over at the park. Spring had seemed so late that they’d hardly had any time for baseball practice.
Dirk set the shovel aside and went to get the rake to finish his job. His mother had been separating and thinning her iris plants while he worked and had a pile of them at one end of the garden.
“What are you going to do with all of those?” Dirk asked.
“Aunt Maria wants a few of the yellow ones. And Mrs. Cox asked me to save her half a dozen of the blue irises.” Mother shook her head. “It seems a pity.”
“A pity?” Dirk echoed.
“A pity to throw the rest away when they could brighten a yard somewhere. If we just knew someone who could make use of them.” Mother laughed. “But through the years as I’ve separated my plants, I’ve given starts to everyone in the neighborhood who had space. The neighbors have traded back and forth until every yard on the street is filled with flowers.”
“Not every yard,” Dirk said. And he looked surprised as an idea popped into his head. “Hey, Mom, may I have the extra irises?” he asked eagerly. “There is one spot on our street that doesn’t look good. You know, the old vacant lot that’s too little for a house. No one takes care of it.”
“That’s true,” Mother said. “Mr. McCarty lives right next door to it and kept the lot looking nice for years. But now he’s barely able to keep up his own yard and no one else has cared about doing it.”
Dirk nodded in agreement. “Everyone says it’s an eyesore, but no one does anything about it. People passing the lot often throw papers on it and the kids don’t care either. I guess we’re all to blame. Maybe we’d all be more careful if a few flowers were growing there, and iris plants spread fast.”
“And they don’t need as much water as most flowers do,” Mother added.
“I could carry water until they get started,” Dirk suggested. “I believe even a few flowers near the sidewalk at the front of that lot would make people think twice before they threw trash in there.”
“I’m sure they would,” Mother said. “You have a great idea, Dirk, and are welcome to all of the plants you want. Maybe I can even find a little time to help you later this afternoon.”
After lunch Dirk was so busy raking leaves and grass and rubbish from the spot he had chosen for planting his irises on the little lot that he hardly looked up. He collected three bags of rubbish before he cleared a spot large enough to suit him. Then he started spading up the earth. When Ethan saw Dirk digging he came across the street to find out what his friend was doing. “That looks like work!” Ethan said.
Dirk answered with a grin, “It’s work all right, but it’s fun.”
After he explained about the iris plants he asked, “Do you want to help me?”
Ethan thought for a moment and then he nodded. “I’ll go home and get a shovel. This old lot has looked awful for a long time.” In a few minutes Ethan came back with a shovel and a rake. He was grinning as he explained, “I told my mother about your idea and she thinks it’s great. She’s separating some big double shasta daisies and we can plant them right next to the fence. My dad says he’ll come help us after while.”
The boys worked fast, pausing only to grin at each other now and then. They were so busy they didn’t see Monica walk by until she asked them, “Why are you raking and digging in this old vacant lot?”
The boys explained about the iris plants and the daisies. In unison, they asked, “Want to help us?”
“The old lot looks better already,” Monica said. “I’ll be glad to help. I’ll go home and get a shovel.”
In a few minutes she was back with her older sister, Andrea, who carried a box with six peony plants to put near Ethan’s double shasta daisies.
Before Dirk had finished spading his iris bed, Chad came to see why they were all so busy and decided he wanted to help too. He went home for a rake and brought back four yellow rose bushes to put at the back of the little lot where they could grow tall against the back fence.
Mr. McCarty hobbled out to see what was going on next door. His eyes brightened with interest. “I’ve wished many times that I could still take care of this plot,” the old man said, smiling happily. “If you folks are willing to plant and care for some flowers, then the least I can do is provide the water for you. We can just pull my garden hose through the fence whenever the place needs watering.”
Dirk was grateful for Mr. McCarty’s offer for he hadn’t looked forward to carrying water to get all the plants started.
The afternoon went by quickly. With so many working together, there was a lot of talk and laughter and fun. Before the sun went down, nearly everyone on the street had come to help, to offer plants or fertilizer or hours of care to keep the garden blooming.
When they had finished and each family had taken a few boxes or bags of rubbish to put out with their own garbage, they all came back to look at their new garden.
“I believe that this will be the loveliest garden in our whole neighborhood,” said Mr. McCarty. “It’s a very special spot now because it’s everybody’s garden. Not only will we enjoy it, but everyone who walks or drives past will have a spot of beauty to enjoy in place of that awful eyesore.”
Everybody’s garden, Dirk thought happily as he walked home. It was going to be fun to have everyone working together to make something beautiful.

George Kumar was just looking for a way to be sure his older son, Ryan, would live a productive, moral lifestyle. The Kumar family found much more: eternal gospel truths that brought all of them a new, happier way of life.
The gospel revitalized their family, Brother Kumar says. “We spend more time together—more quality time, with more open relationships.” They have family prayer daily, and regular family home evening is “a ‘must’ thing,” Ryan says.
It was Ryan who led the way into the Church.
When Ryan was in his mid-teens, George Kumar became concerned about the path his son might follow in life. Worried that Ryan and his friends were not spending their time productively, George found a way to surround his son with young people who behaved differently. George learned from talking to a cousin who works at the Fiji LDS Church College, in Suva, that Ryan could qualify for admission. (The Church College is a secondary school equivalent to a junior high and high school in other areas.)
After he entered the Church College, Ryan’s behavior began to improve. “It was the example of the other students,” he says. Formerly, he had spent a lot of time with his friends pursuing idle activities. But after seeing the difference in the lives of the students at the Church school, “I lost the desire to do those things,” he explains.
Ryan gained a testimony of the gospel, and his parents were so delighted with the changes in his life that when he asked their permission to be baptized and confirmed, they readily said yes. Ryan let go of his old group of friends. He had gained new ones.
When he asked his parents to listen to the missionaries, however, “we were reluctant,” George recalls. Still, they had seen the changes the gospel had brought into Ryan’s life, so they knew the Church had to be good. The turnabout in Ryan’s behavior was so marked that in his third and final year at the Church College, he was named head boy, an honor usually reserved for a student who has spent his entire scholastic career at the school.
Some changes in Ryan’s behavior seemed strange to his parents at first. Why, for example, could they not persuade him to eat on the first Sunday of the month? But when Ryan explained the purpose of fasting, his parents understood that the changes in his life ran deeper than they had realized.
Ryan’s younger brother, Michael, had also observed the changes in his brother, and Michael listened to the gospel. “Ryan started going to Church activities, and the thing that caught me is that every time he came back, he was happy,” Michael says. “I actually referred myself to the missionaries. I wanted to take the lessons. I wanted to be baptized and confirmed.”
As the missionaries were presenting the new-member lessons to Michael after his baptism, his mother, Alitiana, began to listen. This influenced her husband, and soon both George and his wife had testimonies of their own.
Ryan had the privilege of baptizing both his parents into the Church in 2006, shortly before leaving to serve in the New Zealand Wellington Mission. Later, before Michael left on a mission, he had the privilege of accompanying his parents as they entered the temple. Elder Michael Kumar entered the Utah Salt Lake City South Mission in August 2008, shortly before Ryan returned from New Zealand.
Paying tithing and then financially supporting a son on a mission proved to be difficult for the Kumars. Brother Kumar’s income was fully committed to their mortgage and to other obligations. But they made the necessary sacrifices; the whole family understood the need. For example, whenever Brother Kumar said cheerfully that they would be enjoying the “normal” diet that evening, the whole family understood there would be no meat for dinner. “There were days when we had just bread and cocoa,” Michael recalls.
Ryan says he is grateful for his parents’ sacrifice. “I learned that they are truly committed to the covenants they made.”
Ryan’s younger brother comments that since their conversion, “we make it through trials better as a family. Heavenly Father has helped us out.”
The family’s conversion quickly touched other lives as well. Two of Ryan and Michael’s cousins who had come to live with the Kumars also chose to hear the missionary lessons and join the Church.
The blessings of the Kumars’ sacrifices have been both temporal and spiritual, Brother Kumar says. They have been able to make their money stretch to meet their needs. And after Michael left on his mission, Brother Kumar was able to obtain a new job that he hopes will enable him to pay off his mortgage more quickly.
But spiritual blessings the Kumars have received have been more important in their lives. George and Alitiana find growth in their callings—he as elders quorum president in the Lami Second Ward, Suva Fiji North Stake, and she as second counselor in the ward Primary.
Ryan notes that his own outlook on life is now far different than that of many of his peers: “I always have something to do—something to build up the kingdom.” In planning for the future, he says, the gospel makes believers “look at things from an eternal perspective.”
George and Alitiana Kumar had both been taught Christian doctrines before hearing the gospel. But they had not found comfort in what they had been taught. “In other religions,” Brother Kumar says, “you are taught to fear God’s wrath—to be scared. But the Atonement of Jesus Christ gives you another chance.”
The Kumars are trying to make the most of that second chance.

“What happened to you today,” his father began, “reminds me of something that happened on my mission. Our mission home was in New York City, across from Central Park in a very exclusive neighborhood. My companion and I were working in Long Island. On one rainy day, we had to go to the mission office for supplies. Somewhere between leaving the car and walking into the mission home, I must have stepped in some mud.

“When we got inside, nobody else was in the office. I saw the material we needed and walked over to get it. On my way back, my companion pointed out the mess I’d made with my muddy feet. I remember thinking they should have a throw rug at the entrance so that wouldn’t happen.

“We were in a hurry to get back for a meeting, so we left. That night after our meeting we got a call from one of the office elders. He told us that President West, our mission president, had seen the mess and told the housekeeper to leave it. He wanted us to go back the next morning and clean up our muddy footprints.

“I tried to explain we’d been in a hurry, that it wasn’t really our fault, that they should have had a throw rug, but it didn’t matter. They wanted us to drive all the way into the city through all the traffic and clean up our mess.”

Just then the waitress brought the pizza.

A couple of slices later, Randy asked, “What happened?”

“The next morning we drove into the city again, got a pail of water, cleaned up the mud, and went home.

“The next time we had zone conference, President West talked about what had happened without mentioning our names. He told us that in life, try as we may, we all leave muddy footprints. We don’t mean to, but it happens. He said there are three kinds of people in the world—those who absolutely refuse to do anything to clean them up, those who will only clean up when they are required to, and those who see the mud and voluntarily go about cleaning up. I always remembered that. He called it the Parable of the Muddy Footprints.”

When 118 youth from Auckland, New Zealand, and their leaders planned a four-day temple conference to the Hamilton New Zealand Temple, they had a simple but impressive goal: to perform as many baptisms for the dead as possible during their stay.
They began preparing for the trip many months in advance. As part of the preparation, young men and young women researched names from their family histories that they could bring with them to the temple.
All their preparation paid off in a big way. The youth and their leaders had a spiritual feast from the moment they arrived to when they set their sights back home four days later—not to mention all the blessings that came before and after the event because of their devotion to family history and temple worthiness.
In order to spend as much time at the temple as they could, they wanted to stay near the temple instead of making the two-hour drive each direction every day. So for the whole temple conference, youth and leaders stayed in dorm rooms near the temple.
It wasn’t practical to have 62 young men and 56 young women all doing baptisms at once, so they decided instead to go to the temple in shifts. The youth were divided into five groups, and each group attended at least two shifts at the temple during the four days.
From the beginning, their goal was to complete as many baptisms as possible to help their ancestors. They succeeded rather spectacularly. The 118 youth performed baptisms and confirmations for 3,542 people, many of whom were their ancestors.

I knew the Joseph Smith story was true the first time I heard it. I was 15 then and living with my aunt’s family in Montélimar, France. Three of the children in the family were already members of the Church. The youngest daughter, my cousin, was not.
She and I went to the closest branch at Valence. There the missionaries told us the story of the young latter-day prophet, and it touched me profoundly. I had heard my cousin’s family discuss the restoration of the gospel at home before, but as I heard it in detail for the first time from these young men, it reached my soul.
They told me of the promise in Moroni 10:4–5 [Moro. 10:4–5] in the Book of Mormon and said that I could know the truthfulness of what was written there if I would ask God sincerely. They also said I could know if their message was true. That same evening, brimming over with a desire to know, I knelt and prayed. I was elated by the warm and wonderful feeling that flooded my soul. I knew this was a response from the Lord and that the gospel had indeed been restored by Jesus Christ, as the missionaries said.
My cousins had shown me a good example of love and concern for each other. I hadn’t been much interested in their church’s doctrine, but I had admired their ideals for family life. Now, however, I wanted to know more about the Church. I went with my cousins to a youth conference in Vaumarcus, Switzerland, and made many LDS friends there. During the testimony meeting, I stood and told them about my experience when I had prayed about Moroni’s promise.
My understanding grew rapidly, but soon my father intervened. He didn’t like the idea of me investigating a “new” church. My parents were separated, and no one knew where my mother was, but I felt obligated to honor my father’s wishes, at least until I was no longer a minor. My contact with the Saints as a group dropped off somewhat, but I knew in my heart that someday I would be baptized.
My oldest cousin went into the army, and then he left on a mission. During the two years he was gone, I kept thinking about the feelings I had felt. I always had a testimony of Joseph Smith, right from the start. His story seemed so logical, and the confirmation of the Spirit came so quickly that I couldn’t ignore it. When my cousin returned from his mission, I met him in Montélimar, and we rode together back to Antibes (near Nice), which is my hometown. All the way there we talked about the Church, and I accepted many new ideas.
The Lord also had something else in mind to help me. I was in agricultural school in Lyons at the time, and when I returned to my studies, I arranged to do some field study for three months in Aix-en-Provence. There, with my cousin, I heard all of the missionary discussions thoroughly, and the small testimony inside me became a big one. I was baptized on July 26, 1975, and I still feel as strongly today as I did then that Joseph Smith was and is a prophet of God.
I am thankful that I was able to see the gospel in action in my aunt’s home. Their example combined with the witness of the Spirit to let me know that the Lord has built a program for families that I want to follow.
Editor’s note: Since this story was written, José has served honorably in the France Paris Mission.

We’re Sam and Anastasia, and we try to SHINE OUR LIGHT by sharing with others!
Where we live, in Florida, USA, we see lots of people who are homeless. We wondered how we could help them. Jesus fed people who were hungry, and everyone needs to eat! So we decided to make emergency snack kits.
Our friend Joa helped us shop for supplies at the dollar store.
We put granola bars, bread sticks with cheese, and other yummy snacks in our kits. Sam even tried one!
Sharing our kits made us smile. Some people said, “Thank you!” and “Awesome!”
Our mom put the project online, and the young single adult branch found out about it. They made 100 more snack kits for our local homeless shelter. The shelter used them to invite people to sign up for a program to help them get homes. That made us really happy!

Ms. Ward stood at the front of the room. She held a big jar full of small folded papers. “It’s time to pick our homework winner,” she said.
Sam, Miles, and Jake sat up in their chairs. Every day they spent part of school in a speech class together. And every time they did their class homework, they got to put their name in a jar. At the end of the week, Ms. Ward drew a name out of the jar, and that person won a prize.
Ms. Ward put her hand in the big jar to pull out a name. As they watched, each boy was thinking about what he wanted to win.
“I hope it’s a race car,” Miles said.
“I want a coloring book,” Jake said. “What do you want, Sam?”
Sam looked at the big jar. He hoped the prize was candy. He could almost taste it.
Ms. Ward took a name out of the jar and held it up. “Sam is our winner this week,” she said.
Sam grinned when she handed him the prize bag. And when he saw what was inside, he grinned even more. There were five pieces of yummy-looking candy! He didn’t know if he could wait till the end of class to eat them.
Then Sam looked at Miles. He looked kind of sad. And Jake was just staring at his workbook.
Sam thought about it. He won the candy for himself. But there was plenty to share. He knew Jesus said to treat others the way we want them to treat us. And when he looked at Miles and Jake, Sam knew what he should do.
When the bell rang at the end of class, Ms. Ward said, “You may eat your candy now, Sam.”
Sam smiled. “Thanks, Ms. Ward. But I don’t think I should eat it all.” Then he handed two pieces of candy to Miles and two pieces to Jake.
“Wow, thanks!” they both said as they opened their candy.
Sam looked down at the one piece of candy left in his hand. He slowly took the wrapper off and popped the candy in his mouth. It was just as good as he had hoped. Sam smiled as he looked at his friends eating their candy. Sharing the candy seemed to make it taste even better.

Aaron turned 19 just a few months before this year’s X Games, and it would have been easy to postpone his mission just long enough to compete one more time before he left for the mission field, but he says he can’t wait that long. He’s too excited about being a full-time missionary.

“One of my sponsors asked about ‘this mission thing,’” says Aaron. “He asked if my church can’t make an exception and let me leave later. I told him it’s my choice.”

So this is it. Aaron has traded in his climbing gear for a suit and tie, and he’s headed for a summit of a different kind.

When Aaron returns home, maybe he’ll be a little taller; maybe he won’t. But he knows that he’ll grow spiritually and that his testimony and his love for people will be stronger than ever. And it’s that kind of training, more than any climbing or exercise he could do, that makes Aaron easy to spot in any crowd.

Editor’s note: Aaron has received his call to the Italy Padova Mission.

On October 6, in the year 1536, a pitiful figure was led from a dungeon in Vilvorde Castle near Brussels, Belgium. For nearly a year and a half, the man had suffered isolation in a dark, damp cell. Now outside the castle wall, the prisoner was fastened to a post. He had time to utter aloud his final prayer, “Lord! open the king of England’s eyes,” and then he was strangled. Immediately, his body was burned at the stake. Who was this man, and what was the offense for which both political and ecclesiastical authorities had condemned him? His name was William Tyndale, and his crime was to have translated and published the Bible in English.
Tyndale, born in England about the time Columbus sailed to the new world, was educated at Oxford and Cambridge and then became a member of the Catholic clergy. He was fluent in eight languages, including Greek, Hebrew, and Latin. Tyndale was a devoted student of the Bible, and the pervasive ignorance of the scriptures that he observed in both priests and lay people troubled him deeply. In a heated exchange with a cleric who argued against putting scripture in the hands of the common man, Tyndale vowed, “If God spare my life, ere many years I will cause a boy that driveth the plough, shall know more of the Scripture than thou dost!”
He sought the approval of church authorities to prepare a translation of the Bible in English so that all could read and apply the word of God. It was denied—the prevailing view being that direct access to the scriptures by any but the clergy threatened the authority of the church and was tantamount to casting “pearls before swine” (Matthew 7:6).
Tyndale nevertheless undertook the challenging work of translation. In 1524 he traveled to Germany, under an assumed name, where he lived much of the time in hiding, under constant threat of arrest. With the help of committed friends, Tyndale was able to publish English translations of the New Testament and later the Old Testament. The Bibles were smuggled into England, where they were in great demand and much prized by those who could get them. They were shared widely but in secret. The authorities burned all the copies they could find. Nevertheless, within three years of Tyndale’s death, God did indeed open King Henry VIII’s eyes, and with publication of what was called the “Great Bible,” the scriptures in English began to be publicly available. Tyndale’s work became the foundation for almost all future English translations of the Bible, most notably the King James Version.1

Such vivid physical images of Herman remain in my mind that I think I would recognize him today, and I have often wished I could see Herman again. Yet I cannot remember any conversation I ever had with him—and he was part of my life for nine months.
You cannot say we ostracized him. We were afraid of him or perhaps in awe of his ways, which because they were not known to us, were a threat to our innocence. And he seemed not to want or need our friendship. We were together only because of a clerical fact of life that took seven hours a day for nine months to be fully executed.
It was the last day of school, and we were graduating from the sixth grade. School, for all intents and purposes, was over. We were just marking time till the closing assembly would propel us into three full months of vacation, and the air was positively humming with excitement.
We were growing up fast. No longer were we wide-eyed innocents surprised at everything happening around us. People and things were sorted, analyzed, and filed for future reference in minds with miles of empty corridors just waiting to be filled.
This is where Herman came in. To minds sorting, analyzing, and filing, Herman was a gold mine. He was different for a number of reasons.
First of all was the physical. Herman was not attractive, so we did not care to look any further. He had a large nose on a thin face, and his whole head just seemed too big for his body. Maybe it was his hair that created that impression. It was thick and bushy, and on Herman we never saw the naked ears of a brand new haircut sticking out in self-conscious embarrassment. It was never longer but never shorter.
He was thin and sinewy. He had a lean, hard body that was in many ways more mature than the other boys in our class. That was because Herman was “rough.” He had “rough” friends and did “rough” things. That was the major difference.
But his clothes were the real factor when it came to sorting Herman. He was among the first group to wear motorcycle boots and black leather jackets. At that particular time in our country’s culture, the only people who wore leather jackets were “hoods.” So we went no further in analyzing Herman. We could tell, after all, just by looking that Herman did not fit in our world. Not because we did not like him but because … well, he was just different, you know? He was all the things we did not know about and did not care about.
Then suddenly, after nine months, it was time to go into the auditorium for the final hurrah of our childhood.
I was in the choir, so I was allowed to go into the auditorium early and take my place in the chairs reserved for us down front. When facing the audience we were expected to sit silently without excess movement. And it was thus that I learned one of the more startling truths of my life.
I watched as the people walked purposefully into the big room, each of my friends in turn with their mothers. I beamed as my own mother came into the room and took a place where we could see each other comfortably. It seemed that fathers never came to things like that, and we knew perfectly well it was because they were at work and could not come.
There were many beaming faces that afternoon, not only on the children, but also on the parents. (It is always hard to tell who is the prouder in a situation like that.) There was something almost magical in having your mother at school. Maybe because she reaffirmed your individuality in a sea of faces. Or maybe just because she was your mother and you had so few chances to show her off. The mothers beamed because we were their children and that was reason enough.
I knew most of the mothers of my friends from visits to our classroom, or birthday parties, or simply seeing them shopping. But nobody knew Herman’s mother or even thought of him as having one.
But then, right there in front of my eyes, came Herman Teague with—and there could not possibly be any mistake about it—his mother.
The pride in Herman’s thin, large-nosed face was the first thing I noticed and is probably why I cannot erase him from my mind. Herman never showed emotion in class. He simply showed up and “learned” every day, just like he was supposed to. It was shocking to realize that he was a boy just as proud of his mother as the rest of us were of ours, and he was showing it just as we did.
Then I looked at her. She was a little gray-haired lady not much taller than her son. All of the other mothers were somewhere around 30 years old. Herman’s mother was more like 50. She was plump and had an open face that I automatically associated with kindness and sincerity.
My revelation came when I looked at her clothes; but then I cannot really say I looked first at her age, then her face, then her clothes, because she was a total experience taken in at one gulping moment of learning. I have saved the clothes till last to bring this moment as forcefully to your mind as it came to mine on that day 20 years ago.
She had on a plain cotton print dress that buttoned down the front, the kind worn by every grandmother worth her salt. And over it she wore a black leather jacket—identical to Herman’s!
I stared, probably as every child of that age stares, with my eyes bugged out and my mouth wide open.
There they were, right before me for the whole hour’s program, none of which I can remember at all. And for one hour the thought rang through my mind and bounced off every surface in my brain lest I should somehow not have noticed or perhaps taken it too lightly: Herman Teague had a mother.
If she had worn a sweater, or a shawl, or even no wrap at all, the moment would have passed without any meaning to me whatsoever. It was the combination of mother and black leather jacket that made all the difference in my analyzing. The meaning and images of mother in my mind were too real to be denied. After all, only hoods and people like that wore those jackets, didn’t they? How could that plump old lady with that open, kind, sincere face—that mother—be a hood? Seeing her in that black leather jacket brought to mind a whole flood of reasons why Herman was different that I had never considered before.
I had such a mixture of emotions in those moments that it has taken me years to finish the sorting, analyzing, and filing that began on that day.
A seed of wisdom and understanding sprouted in an instant, and since that moment I have not only been reluctant to judge people, but I have not been able to look upon any of God’s children casually or indifferently. They, too, have mothers.

Upon graduation from PathwayConnect, acceptance into BYU-Idaho’s online bachelor’s program brought renewed concerns. The unexpected loss of my job caused some financial hardship, which left me with no means to afford tuition and essential course materials. Depleted savings increased my worries, yet I knew that quitting school was not an option. As President Dieter. F. Uchtdorf once said, “For members of the Church, education is not merely a good idea—it’s a commandment”.
Amidst fervent prayers and contemplation, I saw a post on LinkedIn by Matt Richards, who works at BYU-Pathway. He talked about the Hall Foundation Scholarship. It was like an answer to my prayers! This scholarship helped me pay for school and books, so I could keep studying. Its promise of financial support was a lifeline in my time of need. Securing the scholarship eased the burden of tuition and expenses, allowing me to focus on my academic pursuits. Even when things seemed tough, I learned to trust that help would come when I needed it most. With faith and help from above, I’m about to graduate. It’s been a journey full of ups and downs, but I know I’m not alone. There are miracles all around us, if we just keep believing.

One day I realized that I wasn’t reading my scriptures or doing some of the things I should be doing. I wasn’t being a good example to my brother and sister. So I decided to talk to my parents and my bishop about what was going on, to pray in the morning and at night, and to read my scriptures.

Sometimes I would pray to find answers to my questions through the scriptures. One morning, I prayed to have my eyes opened to something that I needed to know. I opened to Alma 38, where Alma is giving his son advice about things that you should and should not do. That really helped me out. This experience changed me because it opened my eyes to how much God loves us.

Doing what God wants me to do in the little things each day—including praying and reading my scriptures—helped me find these blessings.
Kade M., Hawaii, USA

After the turmoil of the Second World War, my family ended up in Russian-occupied East Germany. When I attended fourth grade, I had to learn Russian as my first foreign language in school. I found this quite difficult because of the Cyrillic alphabet, but as time went on I seemed to do all right.
When I turned 11, we had to leave East Germany overnight because of the political orientation of my father. Now I was going to school in West Germany, which was American-occupied at that time. There in school all children were required to learn English. To learn Russian had been difficult, but English was impossible for me. I thought my mouth was not made for speaking English. My teachers struggled. My parents suffered. And I knew English was definitely not my language.
But then something changed in my young life. Almost daily I rode my bicycle to the airport and watched airplanes take off and land. I read, studied, and learned everything I could find about aviation. It was my greatest desire to become a pilot. I could already picture myself in the cockpit of an airliner or in a military fighter plane. I felt deep in my heart that this was my thing!
Then I learned that to become a pilot I needed to speak English. Overnight, to the total surprise of everybody, it appeared as if my mouth had changed. I was able to learn English. It still took a lot of work, persistence, and patience, but I was able to learn English!
Why? Because of a righteous and strong motive!

When I was growing up in Japan, I was given a Bible at school. It had English and Japanese words next to each other. Our principal told us to use it to study English.
As I read it, I learned about Jesus. Who is this person who is so full of love? I wondered. The words He said made me happy. I wanted to know more about Him.
A little while later, I met the missionaries. They gave me a Book of Mormon and asked me to read it and pray about it. I loved reading about Jesus in the Book of Mormon too. I prayed and felt it was true.
No one in my family wanted to learn about the Church. Jesus taught that we should honor our parents, but my parents didn’t want me to join the Church. That was hard.
I told my parents how I felt. I told them about my prayers. They didn’t understand. They wondered why I wanted to leave our religion behind.
I kept trying. Eventually my parents said I could be baptized. Many years later, my mother was also baptized.
I know that I was blessed for wanting to follow Jesus. I love learning about Him, and I know following Him brings blessings.

The gray October sky threatened snow at any moment. We shivered as we posed for a few photographs outside the gold-domed chapel at the top of the hill in Logan, Utah. Moments before, we had been married in a brief civil ceremony in our branch president’s office. I remember nothing of what was said except the final words: “as long as you both shall live.” We were in love, and the fact that we had not been married in the temple seemed unimportant.
I had joined the Church five years earlier and had received several lessons concerning the importance of temple marriage. But at age 20, eternity seemed such a long way off. Besides, I came from a family in which divorce seemed the norm, and in the back of my mind I kind of assumed that our marriage would only last a few years anyway, so why even think about an eternal commitment? I also felt temple marriage was for the “elite” of the Church, not for someone like me who was still stumbling about with a youthful testimony.
My in-laws were devastated, and the rebellious side of me made that an even greater reason for not being married in the temple. I did not want to be another statistic, just so these people could say all of their children had been married in the temple.
Three days after our wedding, I was back at work part-time and trying to finish a nursing degree. My husband was back in the grind of being a full-time student.
We became members of a student ward, filled with couples who had been married in the temple. I was shocked! Here were many young women, not much different than myself, who had made the choice to be married in the temple. And they were no more “elite” than I was. I felt myself longing to go to the temple as they had.
My greatest jolt about the nearness of eternity came five months after our marriage when I discovered that we were expecting our first child. I felt nauseated, thrilled, humbled, and terrified all at the same time. As the months passed, a deep love for that little person inside of me began to grow and fill my very being. As this love grew, so did the reality that I wanted this child to be ours for all eternity. Thoughts of this little one being born prematurely and dying overwhelmed me at times, because I knew she would not be born in the covenant.
My love for my husband was also blossoming beyond anything I had ever imagined. As he left for classes each day, I feared that something would happen to him, and our marriage would be over. The words “as long as you both shall live” began to haunt me. Eternity was creeping ever closer, and I wanted our happiness to last forever.
I feared divorce now, instead of feeling it was an inevitable part of life. Would this man still love me enough after the ups and downs of that first year of married life to want to be married to me for all eternity?
Our ward would often schedule temple trips, and as I stood on the sidelines, I felt very alone. I did not want to be married in the temple just to be part of the crowd, but I was learning that unless I made the covenants that are part of the temple ceremony, I would be on the outside looking in for the rest of eternity. All of my thoughts became centered around what I would have to do to be worthy of entering the temple.
Our first year of marriage flew by. It was a year of painful maturing, emotionally and spiritually, and of learning to be worthy to go to the temple. But finally, one year and two days after our civil marriage, my wonderful husband and I knelt across the altar from each other in the Ogden Temple, surrounded by smiling friends and family members. We gazed on our “eternal” reflection in the mirrors, tears cascading down our cheeks.
Four weeks later, our first beautiful baby was born in the covenant. Never had we seen such a living miracle, and she was ours for eternity.
Over 16 years have passed since that day in the Ogden Temple. The doubts and fears of our first year have been replaced by the peace of knowing ours is a forever family. I shudder to think of the chance we took, and of what these past 16 years would have been like if we had not been sealed in the temple. Many of the couples who begin as we did never do go to the temple.
I cherish being able to return often to the temple. Within its walls I am reminded that I now possess all I need to be truly happy—forever.

Many years ago an associate of mine decided he would please his wife by sharing with her a specific compliment each night as he arrived home. One night he praised her cooking. A second night he thanked her for excellence in housekeeping. A third night he acknowledged her fine influence on the children. The fourth night, before he could speak, she said, “I know what you are doing. I thank you for it. But don’t say any of those things. Just tell me you think I am beautiful.”
She expressed an important need she had. Women ought to be praised for all the gifts they possess—including their attentiveness to their personal appearance—that so unselfishly add to the richness of the lives of others. We must not let ourselves go and become so casual—even sloppy—in our appearance that we distance ourselves from the beauty heaven has given us.

Last year I had some friends who did not respect my standards. They told me that I was boring, that my standards didn’t let me be free or have fun. I pondered, prayed, and read the scriptures so that the Holy Ghost would be with me and give me more strength. I then decided to tell my friends that I had fun in another way—not smoking, not drinking alcohol. These standards give me a lot of freedom, more than they have, since they are tied to alcohol and tobacco. After telling them this, they understood me. But even so, I decided to change friends. I was alone for some time, but later on I did find some friends with standards like mine, and now I feel good. Heavenly Father is going to bless you if you do what is right.
Belén G., 15, Colonia, Uruguay