Gospel Story Finder

Annette Aagard was in the middle of a bad week. She felt overwhelmed. She did not need one more thing to do. Then why was she rushing off to become—of all things—a volunteer?
A couple of months earlier it had seemed like a good idea. She had signed up to donate a few hours each week to Great Oaks Village, a residential school for abused children in Orlando, Florida. She had been through orientation to assist girls between the ages of six and twelve. And now she faced her first assignment—all alone.
As soon as she walked into the dorm at Great Oaks, she heard someone say, “Hey, the new volunteer’s here!” Several anxious, wide-eyed little girls ran up to her and asked, “Are you our new volunteer?” And someone said, “Better be good or she won’t talk to you!”
By the end of that first evening in March of 1989, Annette knew why she had rushed off to become a volunteer. She learned that the word volunteer is like magic to these youngsters. It means that for a little while, someone has come to be family; someone has come to give love.

As a teenager he got away from religion but found a new passion- “About this time, my father (who was a lawyer) was doing some work for one of the big TV stations in London and he took me to their studios. I’ve never forgotten how exciting I found the atmosphere– a mix of paint, electricity and sheer adrenaline! I resolved there and then that I wanted to work in TV, preferably as a director and doing ‘live’ shows.”
He stayed on that path, graduating from Durham University and began a career at the BBC in London. He said, “I worked my way up from the most junior production job on the studio floor to become a director, then a producer and eventually an executive producer. I found the work vocational– early on, I decided to focus on children’s programmes as I believe so strongly they need the right kind of quality content to challenge, stretch and inspire them. ‘Blue Peter’ was the best and most popular of them all and it gave me so many opportunities– travel all over the world, incredible experiences and encounters. And the shows were live, which was always exciting.”

A couple of years later the Rozsas, by now well-known throughout the area, were again on the same basketball team, this time one that was preparing for the championship playoffs. The coach of the team they would play next was in attendance at one of their games, trying to figure out how to deal with the triple threat.
“Our biggest problem is that our guys don’t know which one to guard,” he confided to his assistant. “But I’ve got it all figured out. They each wear different colored shoes.” Unknown to the coach was the fact that seated right behind him and hearing every word was Sister Dawna Rozsa, mother of the triplets. And the next week as the confident coach came out to face the triplets, he was dismayed to find they really were identical right down to the color of their shoes.
The triplets lived in Boston while their father, Brother Allen Rosza, served as president of the Massachusetts Boston Mission. Since then, the family had been in California, where the boys are finishing up their senior year at El Modena High School in Orange.
All three young men are starting players on El Modena’s championship football team, with Dan at the defensive end, Dave at guard, and Doug at linebacker. In 1978 their team took home the Southern Conference Championship of the California Interscholastic Federation. On a rain-drenched evening they defeated Pacifica High School before a crowd of more that 10,000 spectators at Anaheim Stadium. In 1979 the team reached the semi-finals before being eliminated by the eventual champions.
The Rozsas have grown up playing on the same football, basketball, baseball, track, and wrestling teams, often much to the confusion of their opponents and even their coaches, who still haven’t figured out a way to tell them apart. The results of their collective athletic endeavors give the bedroom they share the appearance of a trophy case. Awards such as “Most Valuable, “All League,” “Player of the Game,” “All-County,” and All-CIF” seem to fill up every shelf and corner.
Many young people would be more than content with just the athletic success the triplets enjoy. Yet a look at their lives shows that this same high level of performance carries over into other areas. Each maintains a grade-point average that is nearly straight-A and each has received numerous scholastic and citizenship honors. All are Eagle Scouts and have earned their Duty to God awards. Each is active in all church activities, has served a youth mission, and is now in his fourth year at early morning seminary. Since they became deacons, the three have taken turns as president of their various Aaronic Priesthood quorums. In addition, Doug is this year’s student-body president at El Modena, with Dan assisting him as vice-president, while Dave heads up the senior class as president. Their attitude has always been to make the maximum effort at everything they do.
“We just try to be the best we can,” says Doug. “You only have an experience or situation once, and it’s a waste to say, ‘Oh, I could have done that if I’d only tried.’”
“Sure, it’s fun to be number one, but if you’re not, at least you know you never lose if you try your hardest,” agrees Dave. “We try not to think about what we’ve already done. Those things have been in the past, and we feel you have to keep proving yourself.”
Brother and Sister Rozsa were living in Greenville, Texas, in 1961 when the boys were born. Already the parents of four daughters, the couple were convinced they were never going to have any sons, so they had selected only girls’ names for the twins they thought were coming. A few days before the birth, the doctor called the Rozsas in and told them to get ready for triplets. So, with the addition of one more girl’s name, the couple thought they were prepared.
When the big day came, Brother Rozsa had his ear up against the delivery room door and heard just what he expected—“It’s a girl.” But before that had a chance to register the doctor broke in with “No, wait a minute; it’s a boy,” soon followed by exclamations of “Another boy,” “And another one.”
Practically having to pick himself up off the floor, Brother Rozsa’s first thoughts were “Scouting, fishing, and little league—at last!” An avid athlete and sportsman, Brother Rozsa says he had tried unsuccessfully to turn his very feminine daughters into tomboys. Thus he was overjoyed at the thoughts of not one but three fishing and football companions.
Brother and Sister Rozsa soon realized their three identical sons presented them with some special opportunities. One family home evening the parents and daughters decided they would read the entire New Testament by the end of the year.
“We figured out how many pages a day we would have to read to finish and talked it over, never dreaming that the boys, who were only eight years old, would be able to read the New Testament,” recalls Sister Rozsa. “But they didn’t realize they weren’t really a part of the conversation, so they started reading along with us. By the end of the year, each one had finished the New Testament along with the rest of the family.”
Brother Rozsa, now serving as a member of the Los Angeles Temple presidency, says he feels this incident taught his sons a lot about success. “They learned very early that if they stuck with a task they could be successful at it. We believe in our family that you can do anything if you set priorities and then follow them.”
As young boys, the triplets learned a lot about priorities from their parents and sisters. They soon knew that family and church came first, followed by school work, Scouting, music lessons, and sports. Over the years, they’ve kept up the same active pace. How do they do it?
“Well, we try not to waste much time. And we don’t have room for much sleep or television,” the three agree.
Serving full-time missions has been a priority with the triplets from the beginning. Their desire to do this grew even more when they were 12 and their father was called as a mission president.
“We decided when we were very young that we wanted to serve missions,” says Dave. “But being in the mission home gave us a better idea of what missionaries really do and what a mission is really like.” The three brothers still discuss the many dedicated and outstanding missionaries they knew in Boston.
Of course, they also admit they had great fun confusing the missionaries about which triplet was which. And, they remember many early morning bargaining sessions, trying unsuccessfully to convince the missionaries in the mission home to drive them around on their paper routes in the sub-zero Boston winters.
Serving a mission can be a financial burden to any missionary and his family, but what do you do when you have three sons all wanting to leave at the same time? The Rozsa family has foreseen this, and the boys have been working since the age of 13 toward their missions. In addition to those icy Boston paper routes, they’ve sold avocados, worked in construction, and held other odd jobs. Last summer all three worked at the same taco stand at the same time, guaranteeing considerable confusion among unsuspecting customers. They report their bank accounts are in good shape for the missions to come.
Even though the Rozsas have spent their lives in areas where the Church is a definite minority, none of the triplets feels he has ever had to compromise his beliefs to be successful.
“We always let people know where we stand, right from the beginning. Some guys bug us a few times, but now they respect us,” says Doug. “We don’t argue, we just say, ‘Hey, I’m not going to do that.’ Our coaches and friends know we have to be out of practice in time for Mutual, they know we don’t participate in sports on Sundays, and they know where we stand on the Word of Wisdom.”
For the most part, all three enjoy playing on the same teams. The only problem comes with wrestling season when the triplets, who stand 6 feet 2 1/2 inches tall and normally weigh in at 200 pounds, struggle to get into three different weight classes. One of them diets as another tries to eat his way into a higher weight class. The lucky third member of the trio gets to maintain the status quo.
A joint sports experience they remember is the football game when each of them made a touchdown. During another game, they all recovered the same fumble. Doug got to it first, then Dan drove in on top of him, followed by Dave.
“I guess sometimes we have an advantage,” says Dan. “We can usually figure out what each other would do in a situation.”
However it is that they do it, their coaches like it. El Modena’s football coach, Bob Lester, has only one complaint—“I wish they were quintuplets!”
Even with all their many activities, the Rozsas naturally find time for some relaxation. All three enjoy waterskiing, tinkering with cars, fishing, and other outdoor activities. Of course, some of the fun times they recall most revolve around their being triplets. At an early age, a favorite trick was to insist to Junior Sunday School teachers that all three of them were Dan. The next week they would all profess to be Dave and then Doug.
Sister Rozsa remembers a prayer offered by one of her sons at age four. “Bless my parents, bless my sisters, and bless those other two who look like me.”
Trading classes and teachers has been a source of occasional amusement, but the boys say they’ve kept this to a minimum. It’s always been a rule among them that while they often study together, each one has to take his own tests.
Now that the triplets are old enough to date, they’re really finding their threesome to be an advantage at times. Dan recalls one evening when he was trying to phone a girl to ask her out, but her number was always busy. He had to run off to a meeting, so he assigned brother Dave to fill in for him.
“Dave finally got hold of her and asked for a date. She said yes, I took her out, and she never found out what really happened,” says Dan. The three brothers remain sworn to secrecy as to the name of the young lady in question.
One thing people always ask the boys is “What’s it like to be a triplet?” Their response is really quite logical: “We’ve never been anything but triplets. It feels really normal to us,” says Doug.
“It’s easy for us to tell each other apart, too, because we look so different to each other,” says Dan. (Or was that Dave?)
The triplets are often amused by people’s reactions to seeing them for the first time.
“For some reason they get really mixed-up,” chuckles Dave. “They always come up to all three of us and ask, ‘Are you twins?’ Only rarely are we asked if we’re triplets. It’s like people think that’s just too much to be believed.”
Being triplets has its definite advantages, the boys claim. When they were young, their dad’s career in the air force took them all over the country. And unlike most kids, the triplets always got to take their best friends along with them wherever they went. In fact, in over 18 years the only time they’ve been apart was when serving their youth missions last summer. This togetherness will undoubtedly change in the next couple of years, though, as new experiences such as college and missions enter their lives. That is, unless missionaries start going forth three-by-three instead of two-by-two.

We turned down a road that led to a group of cottages on the shore of a slow-moving river. It was a clear, warm day in late fall. The leaves on the trees had turned bright yellow and gold colors. It was my first day of door contacting as a missionary.
“Your door,” Elder Higgins said, smiling.
It was a small cottage near the edge of the water. Water sports equipment leaned against the side of the house. I cleared my throat and knocked firmly.
“I’m Elder Roberts and this is Elder Higgins. We have a message about the Savior we’d like to share with you,” I rehearsed.
The inside door opened, and behind the screen door stood a very pretty girl, somewhere between 17 and 20 years old, with blue eyes, long golden hair, wearing a swimsuit. The words, the carefully practiced lines I’d repeated a thousand times on the plane, at the mission home, in our apartment, and on the three-mile walk to this cottage, completely left my mind.
“Awk,” was all that came out when I opened my mouth.
Elder Higgins looked at me grinning and then turned to the girl.
“We’re ministers in the area, and we have a message about Jesus Christ we’d like to share with you and your family.” He gave her a Christ in America pamphlet and made an appointment to meet her family.
Elder Higgins had studied musical theater in college before his mission. My first day in the area had been a preparation day and while we were washing our clothes, Elder Higgins sang popular songs to the ladies in the laundromat. They loved it. He made five appointments while our clothes were drying. He sometimes sang to people at doors. I was just a little more reserved with people—shy and scared describe my feelings more closely.
“I’ll take the next couple of doors,” Elder Higgins said dryly. He made two more appointments and serenaded another woman.
“Want to try again?” he asked as we approached a group of houses next to a church.
I knocked on the door and stood back waiting. A tall man wearing a clerical collar opened the door and smiled at us.
“What can I do for you boys?” he said with a very proper British accent. He obviously knew who we were.
I glanced at the postbox as I swallowed and stepped back. “The Reverend Richard Cutts, Ph. D.,” it said.
What could I say to this man? How could I challenge what he believed? I whispered a quick prayer. I could see Elder Higgins getting ready to jump in.
It’s funny how much can go through your mind in a few seconds. I thought of my first Primary teacher, Oma Santos, telling the story of Moses and the burning bush; my Sunday School teacher, Cloe Davis, explaining the importance of Joseph Smith’s first vision; Velda Dalton teaching about the Sermon on the Mount; and my Uncle Elton talking about the restoration of the priesthood in deacons class. I grew up in a small town in southern Utah. None of my teachers had Ph.D. behind their name. None of them read Greek or Latin as Reverend Cutts most likely did. But it didn’t matter. What they knew was much more important.
“I’m Elder Roberts,” I said feeling, for the first time, the strength and importance of what I’d been taught, what I was here to teach. “This is Elder Higgins, and we’d like to tell you about the gospel of Jesus Christ.”
The expression on Reverend Cutts’s face changed. He looked a little surprised. “Come in,” he said, smiling.

“I was in Zimbabwe a few months ago and went to visit a school. Little children as young as six or seven years old walked five miles each way just to go to school. The building had no windows, and its two classrooms were separated by flour sacks. It was a chilly, rainy day when I was there, and water was running in through the door, which had to be left open to let light into the building. Each child had just one piece of paper and a pencil. They knelt on the wet floor when they wrote, using their benches as tables. They sang “I Am a Child of God” (many of the children were Church members), which they sang in Shona, their native language, and “God Bless Africa,” a national song of the African people. Those children sang with all their hearts.
“Many of the children were sick, malnourished, and so thin that you could count their ribs. I left with tears in my eyes. And that’s why we have to bring the gospel to those people. It’s only the gospel of Christ that will make the difference.
“Children, learn about and love children in other lands because we’re all children of the same Father. And don’t ever forget to thank your Father in Heaven for what you have and to be generous to the rest of the world.
“Be happy. The children in Africa are happy in spite of their problems. The gospel of Christ can make us all happier than we’d be without it.”

When I was eight, I saw the prophet, President David O. McKay (1873–1970). He came to dedicate a new Church building in Palmyra, New York, USA. My family went to the dedication. A lot of other people came too. We were all excited to see the prophet!
I was pretty small, so it was hard for me to see around all the people. But I could still feel President McKay’s love. For just a minute, I saw his white hair and his kind face. I thought, This is what a prophet of God looks like. I had read about prophets in the scriptures, but this was my first time seeing a prophet or any General Authority in person. I realized that prophets are real people. And they love us! I’ll always remember the love and peace I felt that day.

A number of years ago I was in Atlanta, Georgia, as an attorney representing a man who was buying a business. After several days of negotiations, we reached an agreement and signed the closing documents. That evening one of the sellers invited us to a dinner to celebrate the closing. When I arrived, he offered me an alcoholic drink, which I declined. He then said, “Are you a Saint?” I didn’t fully understand what he meant, and he repeated, “Are you a Latter-day Saint?” I responded, “Yes, I am,” and he said he had been observing my personal habits during our negotiations and had concluded that I was either LDS or had a stomach problem. We both chuckled. He then informed me that he had only known one member of the Church on a personal basis: David B. Haight. They were both executives in Chicago with a large retail chain following World War II. He told me of the significant influence Elder Haight had been in his life and that he held him in the highest regard.
As I flew back home to San Francisco, I thought about what had occurred, especially in two respects: I was surprised at how it felt to be asked if I was a Saint, and I was impressed with the positive influence one outstanding example—Elder Haight—had on this good man.

Be grateful and forgive. It was late. My husband and I were both exhausted, the house was a mess, and our toddler was teasing the baby. Then suddenly my husband and I had a discussion that quickly escalated into an argument. Feelings were hurt. I soon found myself in one room and my husband in another room. Silence stretched across the house.
I put the children to bed, and still no words had been spoken. Our home had become simply a house: empty, cold, and silent. I couldn’t sleep. My pillow became wet with tears, and my thoughts kept turning to my wonderful husband of six years who was sitting alone in the living room.
I began praying for guidance. I wanted him to make the first move and say he was sorry, yet I wanted the loving atmosphere of our home back even more. As I prayed, my mind filled with beautiful memories of my husband, our marriage, our temple covenants, and all my blessings. A thought came to me—What would the Lord have me do? My tears increased, and before I knew it I was kneeling beside my husband, gently waking him.
Hugging me, he said, “Please don’t cry.” We both said we were sorry over and over and told each other how much we loved each other. Immediately a sweet spirit filled our home again.
In my mind I thanked Heavenly Father, who had led me to listen with my heart, to be humble, and to count the ways my husband blesses our life together. Since that night my husband and I try to be more careful when exhaustion sets in, and we try to count our blessings and be more patient.—Kelly Smith

A week after Bishop Stone was sustained as the new bishop, his executive secretary arranged for an interview with Kevin Blake. Kevin was about to turn 14 and needed to be interviewed about his worthiness to be ordained a teacher.
Kevin waited after church to see the bishop. He didn’t expect it would take long, so Kevin asked his family to wait for him.
“Hello, Kevin,” said the bishop. “What can I do for you?”
“I’m here to be interviewed to be ordained a teacher,” Kevin said.
“Oh, yes. Of course. Let me ask you a question. Do you know where we find the duties of the office of a teacher?” Bishop Stone asked.
“I don’t know. In the teachers’ manual, I guess.”
The bishop smiled and opened his scriptures and handed them to Kevin. “Read Doctrine and Covenants 20:53–54 [D&C 20:53–54], please.”
Kevin began to read. “The teacher’s duty is to watch over the church always and be with them and strengthen them; And see that there is no iniquity in the church, neither hardness with each other, neither lying, backbiting, nor evil speaking.”
“You can stop there,” Bishop Stone said. “That seems like a tough job to me. How are you going to do it?”
Kevin sighed. “Well, I know that teachers go home teaching.”
“That’s true; they do. Good answer. That does help us to watch over the Church, and be with them and strengthen them. But let me ask you another question. As a teacher, how are you going to see ‘that there is no iniquity in the church, neither hardness with each other, neither lying, backbiting, nor evil speaking’?”
Kevin was stumped. “I don’t know.”
The bishop smiled. “To tell you the truth, I don’t know either. But we both need to find out. I’d appreciate it if you’d think about it this week and then come back next Sunday and give me some of your ideas.”
On the way home, Kevin’s mother asked him how the interview had gone.
“I can’t believe it. I have to go back next week.”
His 12-year-old sister, Emily, picked up on that. “I’m not surprised,” she said.
Kevin rolled his eyes.
“Would you like to talk to your mother and me in private?” asked his dad.
“I didn’t do anything wrong. The bishop just asked me to come up with a plan about how I was going to see that there’s no backbiting or evil speaking in our ward.”
Just before they ate, Kevin’s friend Todd called to tell him about the teachers quorum activity for the week.
“I’m not a teacher yet,” said Kevin.
“No, but you will be, right?”
“I have to go back and see the bishop next week.”
There was a long pause and then Todd said, “Oh.” Todd made a quick excuse that he had to eat and hung up.
Kevin wasn’t very hungry, but he ate a little and excused himself and went to his room. A few minutes later his dad knocked on his door and asked if he could come in. He pulled a chair up to Kevin’s bed and said, “Kevin, I don’t think the bishop is down on you. I think he is just asking for your help.”
“I don’t see how I can help him,” Kevin said.
“Well, the Lord did give teachers in the Aaronic Priesthood the responsibility to see that there’s no backbiting or evil speaking. Maybe the bishop is just honoring the responsibility you have as a teacher. We have a good ward, but we’re not perfect. There is some backbiting. Not much, but some. Why not honor the bishop’s request and see what ideas you can come up with?”
Kevin reluctantly agreed to do what he could.
At first he couldn’t think of anything, but then things started to change. On Monday after family home evening, he swallowed his pride and went to Emily. “Do you ever see any backbiting or evil speaking in our ward?”
“Sometimes.”
“What causes it?”
“Not every girl comes from a family with enough money for expensive clothes. That can cause people to talk.”
“I don’t see how I can stop that,” said Kevin.
“I try to stop it,” Emily said. “Whenever anyone starts saying bad things about a girl, I try to say good things. You could do that too.”
“That’s not going to stop it.”
“It will if more people look for the positive instead of the negative.”
Kevin felt a twinge of conscience. One of the boys in the deacons quorum was Justin Evanston. Everyone else in the quorum liked sports and camping, except Justin. The boys sometimes made fun of Justin, especially when he tried to play basketball. He was uncoordinated and awkward. Kevin himself had made fun of Justin. He felt bad about it now.
At school on Monday, Kevin saw Jon Dunford in the halls. Jon lived in their ward but didn’t come anymore. He’d gotten into drugs in the seventh grade and a few months later was arrested. He spent six months in a juvenile correction facility and then came back to live at home. Kevin had seen him the first day after he got back. “I’m going to start back to church,” Jon had said.
“Right,” Kevin had replied sarcastically.
Jon came to church once but never returned. Eventually he went back to his old friends. Kevin figured it was only a matter of time before Jon would be put away again.
Kevin decided to talk to Jon.
“Jon, that time you came to church after you first got back, what was it like for you?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“I just want to know.”
“Okay. I’ll tell you,” said Jon, an edge in his voice. “A lot of cold stares, a lot of whispering behind my back, and nobody my age talking to me. A lot of the adults said they were glad I was back, but nobody my age did. Not even you.”
Kevin swallowed hard. “Sorry.”
“When I first came back, I really wanted to change my life,” he sighed. “But it’s too late for that now.”
“Give us another chance,” said Kevin. “Come to church with me next time. I’ll do better.”
Jon looked at Kevin for a long time. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“I am.”
“Maybe sometime,” Jon said, starting to walk away.
“What about tomorrow night? We’re going to a TV studio to see how they do the news.”
Jon pursed his lips. “That doesn’t sound too bad. Maybe I’ll go.”
The next day before school Kevin found Jon in the parking lot behind the school with the guys he partied with. “Is tonight still okay?”
Jon smiled. “I’ve never seen you out here before.”
“What about tonight? We could pick you up a little before seven.”
“That’d be okay.”
When they stopped by later that night, Jon wasn’t home, but Kevin wasn’t discouraged. He’d just have to keep asking until Jon gave in and went with him.
The next Sunday after church, Kevin waited to see the bishop. He no longer felt bad that the bishop had asked him to come back; in fact he was glad. This time, when the bishop asked him what a teacher could do to see that there was no backbiting or evil speaking, Kevin had some things to say.
He could hardly wait to see the bishop.

Patrick’s older brother, Tom, returned from the California Ventura Mission in August 2009. He feels that Preach My Gospel is one of the best tools for missionary work. Although Tom appreciated what the book helped him do as a missionary, he notes that nearly all of the prophetic statements on missionary work appearing on pages 12–13 of Preach My Gospel talk about the role of members in sharing the gospel. He says that’s indicative of how much missionary work should be done by members and not just by full-time missionaries.
“As I was closing in on the end of my mission,” he recalls, “I was studying about the responsibilities of missionaries and why we—missionaries and members—are given this work to do. I read Moses 1:39 and thought about missionary work from Heavenly Father’s point of view. All He wants is for His children to return to Him. What we’ve been charged with doing, I realized, is helping our Father accomplish His work.
“Now as a member missionary, I know that with regular scripture study (including study of Preach My Gospel), prayer, and seeking the Spirit, we can succeed in any endeavor. And if we let the gospel be at the center of our lives and work to better our understanding of it, it will become easier to share and testify.”

It was almost midnight in South Africa when President Russell M. Nelson announced in the last conference session on April 4, 2021 that 20 new temples would be built.
Sister Shelly Herbert, who had been watching the session in bed whilst her husband slept, sat up a little straighter. President Henry B. Eyring’s earlier address, in which he invited the saints to ready themselves “for the increased opportunities for temple experiences that are coming for us,”1 had piqued her interest.
When the Prophet read the words ‘Cape Town, South Africa’, “the tears were just streaming down my face,” says Sister Herbert. “As I cried, I shook my husband to wake him up and said, ‘it’s happened!’”
“There were so many people who doubted that we would get a temple, but we expected it, because we believe in petitioning the Lord.”

Our little blue car rolled down the country road, carrying us farther and farther away from the home we had grown to love so much during the past five years. Mom was driving the car, which contained my two younger sisters and me, and Dad was ahead in a borrowed truck that was loaded high with beds and tables; our old upright piano; and boxes of dishes, dresses, and collected memories. Leaving our little town (population 880) for the big city of 26,000, was traumatic. I was 12 years old, and I knew that this strange new place I was moving to could never replace the fresh country air and close friendships I was leaving behind. I was sure the best part of life was over, and I tried to resign myself to my fate.
After we were settled in our new little home, I spent most of the hot summer days lying on my bed listening to records, reading, and writing letters to my friends. Yet, as August came to an end, I began to get more excited about attending this big school that had almost as many people as the whole town I left.
With a new dress and a nervous smile, I entered the building that September and went to my first period class. I took a seat near the front of the room and was delighted when the girl in front of me turned around and introduced herself.
As the days continued, I found that the students here were really not so different from my other friends. They also liked the music I liked and football games. They also weren’t too excited about math tests, cold weather, or the rival school. I began to feel a part of things and even quit plotting to return to my old school for my last year of school. I played the clarinet in the school band and quickly found that being in that organization offered me the security of belonging to a group. I didn’t know then that there was an even greater group that was soon to enter my life.
Although I was a member of the Church, I had usually attended a Protestant church located just behind my house where I used to live. There was at that time no branch there and our family seldom traveled the distance to the nearest ward. When we moved, however, we began attending Sunday School at the LDS church. It was large, and the people seemed quite friendly—I couldn’t believe how welcome they made me feel! I became good friends with a girl named Teresa and one day she invited me to come to Mutual. I had no idea what that was, even after she explained it to me. What a surprise to find that both boys and girls attended and that we had interesting classes and fun activities! I became involved in Church activities and hardly ever missed Mutual. Mutual was the place where I felt the greatest warmth and acceptance. I didn’t have a testimony of the Church at that time, and the reason I attended was because of the love and friendship extended to me by my friends and leaders. I could feel a warmth there that influenced my life in a very positive manner.
Today when I hear the names of inactive boys or girls, I try to remember that each of them is a potential active member. I am grateful to Teresa, a wonderful friend who kept inviting me to Mutual until I came, and for those open-hearted people in my ward who loved me into activity. I am grateful they did not say, “there is another inactive girl. I wonder what her problem is?” I’m glad that instead, they thought, “I wonder what her strengths are? We need her.”
Mutual gave me so much—firesides, girls’ camp, slumber parties, eternal friends. And perhaps most important, it gave me the beginnings of a testimony of the gospel and the understanding of what a tremendous influence Mutual can be in the lives of young men and women. For many years I was one of the many inactive little girls throughout the Church; how grateful I am that I wasn’t allowed to remain one forever! I wonder how many inactive members are waiting for us to invite them back into the Church? President Harold B. Lee once said, “What you have to give just may be enough.” From personal experience I know that sometimes that doesn’t have to be very much at all.

I recently learned a valuable lesson about seeing deeply from a young woman named Rozlyn.
The story was shared with me by my friend who was devastated when her husband of 20 years moved out. With her children splitting time between parents, the prospect of attending church alone seemed daunting. She recounts:
“In a church where the family is of paramount importance, sitting solo can be painful. That first Sunday I walked in praying no one would speak to me. I was barely holding it together, and tears were on the brink. I sat in my typical spot, hoping no one would notice how empty the bench seemed.
“A young woman in our ward turned and looked at me. I pretended to smile. She smiled back. I could see the concern in her face. I silently pleaded that she wouldn’t come to talk to me—I had nothing positive to say and knew I would cry. I looked back down at my lap and avoided eye contact.
“During the next hour, I noticed her looking back at me occasionally. As soon as the meeting ended, she made a beeline for me. ‘Hi, Rozlyn,’ I whispered. She wrapped me in her arms and said, ‘Sister Smith, I can tell today is a bad day for you. I’m so sorry. I love you.’ As predicted, the tears came as she hugged me again. But as I walked away, I thought to myself, ‘Maybe I can do this after all.’
“That sweet 16-year-old young woman, less than half my age, found me every Sunday for the rest of that year to give me a hug and ask, ‘How are you?’ It made such a difference in how I felt about coming to church. The truth is I started to rely on those hugs. Someone noticed me. Someone knew I was there. Someone cared.”

As a boy, I lived next door to the bishop of our ward, Bishop Philip T. Sonntag. His son Mark was one of my best friends. One afternoon when I was quite small, Mark and I were playing outside his home and having a wonderful time. Mark was in a distant part of the yard, when his father came outside and said to me, “Drew, do you know where Mark is?” I knew that if I told him the truth, he would say that it was time for Mark to come inside, so I shook my head. “No, I don’t know where he is.”
Bishop Sonntag went back into the house, and I joined Mark again.
“Who was that?” Mark asked me.
“It was your dad,” I answered.
“What did he want?”
“He wanted you to go inside.”
“Then I’d better go in,” Mark said.
He left, and I stayed outside. A few minutes later, Bishop Sonntag came outside again. He told me that what I had done was not right and that he was disappointed that I hadn’t told the truth.
I felt terrible as I walked home and went into my bedroom. I remember crying, kneeling by my bed, and asking Heavenly Father to forgive me. Then I got up and went back to the Sonntag home. Bishop Sonntag answered my knock. I looked up at him and said, “I just want you to know that I’m sorry about what I did.” He put his arms around me, picked me up, and carried me into the house. We sat on the couch and shared a nice moment together.
That experience taught me at least two valuable lessons: One, it’s important to tell the truth. Two, if we repent after making a mistake, we will feel better. I’ll always remember the outpouring of love I felt from my bishop as I visited him, trying to correct my mistake.

Jeanne serves as a Young Women adviser. Several months ago she learned about an upcoming activity for the youth in the ward: hiking to a place called Malan’s Peak. She was excited because she had recently set a goal to make that climb.
When she arrived at the trailhead, her good friend Ashley approached her. Linking arms with Jeanne, she offered to hike with her, saying, “I’ll go with you.” Ashley, who was 16 years old at the time, had some physical challenges that made it difficult for her to climb very fast. So she and Jeanne walked slowly, noticing Heavenly Father’s creations: the rocks on the mountain peak above them and the flowers all around them. Jeanne later said, “It really didn’t take me long to forget about my goal of hiking to the peak, for it soon became an adventure of another kind—an adventure to point out the beauties along the path, many of which I would have missed had I just hiked to reach the goal of Malan’s Peak.”
As Jeanne and Ashley continued hiking, far behind the rest of the group, they were joined by Emma, another young woman in the ward, who had decided to wait and walk with them. Emma added to their enjoyment. She taught them a song and provided extra support and encouragement. Jeanne recalled: “We sat and rested, we sang, we talked, and we laughed. I was able to get to know Ashley and Emma in a way I wouldn’t have been able to do otherwise. It wasn’t about the mountain that night—it was about much, much more. It was about helping each other along the path, one step at a time.”
As Jeanne, Ashley, and Emma hiked and sang and rested and laughed together, they probably weren’t thinking, “Hey, we are keeping our covenants right now.” But they were keeping their covenants. They were serving each other with love, compassion, and commitment. They were strengthening each other’s faith as they encouraged and ministered to one another.

I am so thankful for “All Is Not Well” in the November 1997 issue. I, too, at one time was the only active member of the Church in my family. I know of the pain and frustration of an upset home. I found the strength to endure when I immersed myself into the gospel. Life was not easy during those years, but it was more than worth it. The struggle is worth it because today I know my Savior is real. There is hope. It took three years for my family to come back, but when we did we brought my sister-in-law as well. I want to thank the New Era for this article. The scriptures were my guide then and today I know how to use them as my guide home.
Name WithheldUtah

“Well, it’s like a family treasure. Heirlooms may not always be expensive, but they always have a history, a story to tell. Your ring is special because it has a story of its very own. You see, a long time ago, your great-great-grandparents came to this country from a village in Austria. They loved their home very much but were hoping to build a better life for their children. When your great-grandmother was still a baby, they crossed the ocean in a big ship to Pennsylvania, where your great-great-grandfather worked in the coal mines.
“Their new life was hard. The pay wasn’t good—there were a lot of people just like them from the Old Country, working at the hardest jobs because they didn’t know English, and there wasn’t always work for everybody. Most of all, they missed their home and family back in Austria. But they worked hard, hoping to improve their life here and be able to return to visit.”
Mom took a deep breath. “They never did; they both died when their children were still young. It was very sad. One day, years later, after your great-grandmother was grown and had a family of her own, a letter came from a cousin in Austria. Her father’s land had been sold, and the money was being divided up among all the relatives. There was twenty-five dollars for your great-grandmother in the envelope.
“That was a lot of money then—much more than now—and she thought of all the things that she could buy for her family with it. But instead of spending it, she put it into a drawer for safekeeping, and it stayed there for months. Sometimes she’d take it out and count it. She tried to imagine what her parents’ village was like, and she wondered about her cousins.
“One morning she took the envelope into town to a jewelry shop. She picked out a small silver ring with a diamond chip in the center. It seemed very small on her large hand. It wasn’t one of the nicest rings, but it would represent her family and all that they meant to each other, and the price was just the right amount. She paid for it and took it home, putting it into the same drawer the envelope had been in. And when I was just about your age, she gave it to me and told me to wear it proudly. It was ‘a little piece of my home,’ she said.

Youth of the Menan Third Ward, Menan Idaho Stake, really wanted to attend the Hill Cumorah or the Manti pageant for their youth conference, but when they found out that would be impossible, they decided to stage a pageant of their own.
“Have you ever wondered … ?” was the theme of the production that began with two girls sitting at a campfire, wondering what it would have been like before. Twelve scenes from the Book of Mormon and its restoration were reenacted, with the highlight being Christ’s visit to America. “Playing the role of Christ really made me realize the great example to everyone through his actions and his words,” said Swen Gunderson.
The pageant was held one night only, on the North Menan Butte, an extinct volcano covered with cliffs and sagebrush. More than 300 people drove out to the butte to see the 77 youth who were involved. “I really learned a lot about the Book of Mormon that I didn’t know before,” said Kristy Bird. She wasn’t the only one. Everyone agreed that by being involved in this unique project, they felt the book’s powerful spirit.

Since the time he entered the Manila Philippines Temple in July 2001, just before leaving for his mission to Singapore, Riaz Gill of Pakistan knew that he wanted to return to the temple so he could have an eternal family.
In 2007, his wife, Farah, was baptized, but funds were tight and they didn’t know when they would be able to make the trip to the temple, more than 3,500 miles (5,700 km) away. With the birth of their son, Ammon Phinehas, in 2009, their desire to be sealed in the temple grew even stronger, and late in 2010, with help from the Church’s General Temple Patron Assistance Fund, their prayers were answered.
“Going to the temple with my family has helped to make my testimony stronger,” Brother Gill said. “After our temple visit, it seems like I have more to give to the Lord. … The temple visit was so good and faith-promoting, it is hard to express in words.”
While there, Brother Gill was also able to perform ordinances for his father, grandfather, and father-in-law, who have all passed away. He had the work done for his mother, and he was sealed to his parents.
“It has been a great privilege for me and my family to visit the temple,” he said. “I want to give my special thanks with a lot of prayers to the leaders who made this temple trip possible.”

As a 21-year-old college student, I was looking for the truth and ecstatic to hear the gospel message from the missionaries. I accepted the message slowly but wholeheartedly. I joined the Church, but I was the only member of my family to do so.
After being a member of the Church for about one year, I realized my testimony was growing stronger every day, but something was missing. I didn’t know that I was a child of God.
It was true that I had accepted God as the Father of all. I had not, however, realized how intimately He knows each of His creations. “With all that there is in this world,” I asked myself, “how could He possibly know me personally? How could He consider me His daughter? How could He love me as His child?”
It was with these questions in mind that I turned to Heavenly Father in prayer. Shortly after, during scripture study, I stumbled across 1 Chronicles 28:9. King David told his son, “Thou, Solomon my son, know thou the God of thy father, and serve him with a perfect heart and with a willing mind: for the Lord searcheth all hearts, and understandeth all the imaginations of the thoughts: if thou seek him, he will be found of thee; but if thou forsake him, he will cast thee off for ever.”
No other verse of scripture has brought me closer to my Father in Heaven than this one. It testified to me not only that I am a daughter of God but that if I seek Him, I can find Him. It testified to me of my divine nature. I had not, in my heart, been fully converted to the idea that I was a child of God. I had hoped that these things were true but couldn’t grasp the knowledge of such a loving Father in Heaven. I couldn’t fathom a Being who could know my innermost thoughts and aspirations. I couldn’t accept His love, knowing my shortcomings and the many mistakes I had made.
The scripture taught me many things. First, David, who had made many mistakes of his own, counsels his son Solomon to seek the Lord and serve Him with full purpose. By this Solomon can find the Lord. Reading these words awakened in me a strong desire to develop a personal relationship with my Father in Heaven. I was learning more about Heavenly Father’s loving ways. I knew that, like David and Solomon, I could be found of Him. Our relationship was growing. This scripture gave me a formula to live by, and I found it to be true.
I discovered that Heavenly Father knows me personally. I continued to study this scripture until the phrase “the Lord searcheth all hearts” was embedded in my mind. Each time I read it, the Holy Ghost whispered to my heart that Heavenly Father knows everything, even “all the imaginations of the thoughts.” I knew that He was not just my Creator but that He was my loving Father and I was His beloved child. I had finally come to accept that He knows me. He knows my private thoughts, aspirations, dreams, desires, fears, intents, and, of greatest importance to me, my imaginations. He knows me as my parents here on earth know me but even more so. It was with these insights that I gained a testimony that I am a child of God.