Gospel Story Finder

I should like to begin by relating a marvelous vision Joseph Smith the Prophet had concerning the Twelve Apostles in his day, which has profound significance for me. Heber C. Kimball recorded, “The following vision was manifested to him [Joseph Smith] as near as I can recollect:

“He saw the Twelve going forth, and they appeared to be in a far distant land. After some time they unexpectedly met together, apparently in great tribulation, their clothes all ragged, and their knees and feet sore. They formed into a circle, and all stood with their eyes fixed upon the ground. The Savior appeared and stood in their midst and wept over them, and wanted to show Himself to them, but they did not discover Him.” (Orson F. Whitney, Life of Heber C. Kimball, 2d ed., Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, p. 93; see also History of the Church, 2:381.)

As I began, I referred to the vision of Joseph the Prophet concerning the Twelve Apostles in his time. No one need assume that the Twelve who failed to see the Savior because they stood with their eyes fixed upon the ground had in any way failed in their labors. As a body they continued strong and steadfast in their ministry. Their discouragement was only temporary. Their labors were heroic; their acts were bold and courageous. Joseph the Prophet, at the conclusion of that vision, was privileged to see the completion of the work of the Twelve. Heber C. Kimball records: “He (Joseph) saw until they had accomplished their work, and arrived at the gate of the celestial city; there Father Adam stood and opened the gate to them, and as they entered he embraced them one by one and kissed them. He [Adam] then led them to the throne of God, and then the Savior embraced each one of them and kissed them, and crowned each one of them in the presence of God. … The impression this vision left on Brother Joseph’s mind was of so acute a nature, that he never could refrain from weeping while rehearsing it.” (Whitney, Life of Heber C. Kimball, pp. 93–94.)

While Elder Andersen served as Executive Director of the Church Audiovisual Department, he had almost weekly meetings with President James E. Faust (1920–2007). “One time I went to President Faust with a piercing problem I didn’t know how to solve,” Elder Andersen recalls. “He said to me, ‘Neil, have you prayed about it? Have you prayed all night like Enos did?’ And then he sat back in his chair and said, ‘I’ve prayed all night many times to receive the answer to difficult challenges. That is how you will get your answer as well.’ He was right.”

The youth of the Southglenn Second Ward, Littleton Colorado Stake, took a personal interest in helping furnish the nursery for the Denver Temple. After all, the temple was literally next door.
The youth chose to build and furnish a dollhouse. They planned the project carefully and, with the help of a ward member, built a sturdy wooden dollhouse. Each class and quorum was assigned certain rooms to decorate and furnish.
The Laurels and priests were assigned to put wooden siding and shake shingles on the outside. It was a challenge to cut and fit each piece properly, and it became a weekly activity.
As each group took a special interest in doing their best on the dollhouse, they had a little side benefit. They learned some points about coordinating colors, arranging furniture, and cooperation. After a thousand hours of labor, the dollhouse was put on display at the ward before it was presented to the temple presidency.

John and his two-year-old brother lived with their mother in Trondheim, Norway. After Father’s death they had moved from Froya to a small apartment on Steensbakken (Steen’s Hill). The two little boys and their mother often looked out over the beautiful old city on the outermost island off the coast of Norway. They could also see how the harbor and the fjord zigzagged toward the ocean.
Running up and down the hill helped to wear out John’s shoes. One day his mother asked a neighbor to recommend someone to repair them. The neighbor, a ship’s captain, said he knew just the right person to suggest. In fact, the captain said, this shoemaker’s son would soon deliver some shoes to him, and then he could take back those of John’s that needed repairing.
A few days later the boy brought back John’s shoes neatly mended. A strange little pamphlet was inside each one.
Sometime later John’s mother wrapped another pair of shoes into a package, tucked it under her arm, and set out on the half-hour walk to the shoemaker’s shop. She was restless, had a strange look when she returned, and seemed to be unusually quiet and thoughtful.
When the shoemaker’s son delivered the second pair of shoes, new pamphlets were carefully tucked into each shoe. The next Sunday John’s mother arranged for someone to be with the boys while she went to a meeting at the shoemaker’s sturdy log house.
It was not until some years later that she told John what the shoemaker had said when she went to his shop with the second pair of shoes to be repaired and to ask him about the pamphlets he had put in the shoes. They were words she could never forget.
“You may be surprised,” he answered, “to hear me say that I can give you something of more value than soles for your child’s shoes. I can teach you, as you have never known it before, the love of God for His children on earth.”
The pamphlets were missionary tracts of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Because of them John, his mother, and his brother became members of the Church. Forty-two years later John A. Widtsoe, who was then president of the University of Utah, was called to be a member of the Council of the Twelve Apostles.
Just as he promised, the shoemaker in Trondheim, Norway, did give to John A. Widtsoe’s mother and her family something of far more value than soles for a worn pair of shoes!

The best-known of Brittany’s creative service may be a sock monkey project she started—a project one of her friends has now dubbed “The Secret Ninja Monkey Operation.” Why sock monkeys, you might ask?
Well, the project started as just a fun activity to do with a pair of knee socks. As Brittany worked on the first sock monkey, however, she thought of friends who were going through surgeries. She decided to make sock monkeys for those experiencing hard times, including patients who are frequently in the hospital. “Really, my sock monkeys are for anyone who needs a pick-me-up,” she says.
She even customizes some of the sock monkeys with medical equipment so that patients uncomfortable about getting new tubes or surgeries will have “a buddy with them who has the same thing.” She and her friends have sent over 400 sock monkey “buddies” to patients all over the world.

Laura slid her feet daintily into Mother’s out-of-fashion high heels—her glass slippers—straightened the cardboard crown on her head, and twirled past the mirror to see if the old chiffon gown made her look like Cinderella.
“I’m just not sure about the shoes.” She frowned into the mirror. “They’re so clunky and so … so purple!”
“This is Halloween, not a grand ball,” Mother laughed. “Besides, if your shoes fall off while you’re trick-or-treating tonight, you’ll be even more like Cinderella. Now get a move on. Tammy insisted on going early tonight, so she’ll be here to pick you up at any minute.”
As Laura dabbed some of Mother’s makeup on her face—wearing lipstick and eye shadow was the best thing about Halloween—she thought of her new friend.
Tammy had recently moved to town. Everyone in school knew that she lived in the run-down duplexes on Horne Street, and though she was always clean and neat, her clothes looked worn and plain.
Sister Kerby, Laura’s Valiant teacher, had challenged the girls in her class to do missionary work. After prayerfully considering the names of several friends at school, Laura was impressed to get to know Tammy better, in hopes of introducing the gospel to her. She seems nice enough, thought Laura. Even though her family is poor, it won’t hurt me to be her friend.
Laura’s exuberance and Tammy’s gentleness proved a winning combination. Every day the two girls rode bikes, climbed trees, or baked their all-time favorite—chocolate chip cookies. Laura’s attic was their retreat. There they munched countless cookies, solved world problems, and shared innermost dreams.
But sharing a cookie is sure easier than sharing the gospel, Laura thought to herself now as she whisked a little blush across her cheeks. She wondered if she would ever have the courage to talk to Tammy about her beliefs.
“The gospel of Jesus Christ is the greatest gift you can give,” Sister Kerby had said. “You must listen to the promptings of the Holy Ghost so that you will know when the time is right to invite Tammy to church. Be a good example, and she will want to hear about the gospel.” Laura wondered if the “right time” would ever come!
The doorbell rang. That has to be Tammy. Laura quickly brushed her thoughts aside and sprinkled a pinch of glitter in her hair.
Scurrying down the hall to open the door for her friend, Laura could feel the soft flutter of chiffon around her ankles. She wondered what Tammy would be wearing. Her family probably doesn’t have money for costumes and makeup.
“Wow—you look gorgeous!” Tammy squealed when she saw Laura.
“And you look … crazy,” Laura laughed, poking at Tammy’s homemade paper-bag pumpkin costume. “We’re a real pair! I guess I’m Cinderella and you’re my coach.”
“Got your treat bags?” Mom asked.
“Here’s mine!” Tammy grinned, holding it high.
“That’s huge!” Laura exclaimed, a little embarrassed by the size. “It looks like a pillowcase.”
“It is,” giggled Tammy. “And I plan to fill it right to the top. I love Halloween!”
Laura smiled weakly, relieved that her parents had bought the pretty plastic trick-or-treat bag she held.
“Off with you then,” Mother said, giving them a wink and shooing them out the door.
After an hour of running from house to house, Laura’s patience with her clumsy “glass slippers” wore thin.
“Let’s quit, Tammy,” she panted, as they rounded yet another corner. “Honestly, I can hardly keep up with you. And just look at all this candy!”
Tammy stopped. Her usually serene eyes suddenly sparkled with mischief. “The real fun is just beginning,” she whispered breathlessly.
“Yeah, now we get to eat our loot!”
“Oh no!” Tammy smiled. “The fun starts when you give your treats away.”
Laura looked at Tammy in amazement.
“You mean, you give all your candy away?”
“Sure,” Tammy shrugged. “It’s still early. If I hurry home, I can be there to give out my treats to all the neighbor children who come trick-or-treating to my house. It’s fun!”
Laura’s heart swelled with love for Tammy, who stood without guile before her in the homemade pumpkin costume. Laura wondered how she could ever have thought that money made one person richer or “better” than another. All these weeks she’d thought that she was preparing Tammy to receive the gospel—doing Tammy a favor by being her friend. She hadn’t taken time to notice that Tammy was ready and waiting for the gift; a gift she suddenly felt almost unworthy to give.
“Can I come and help you hand out the Halloween treats?” Laura asked softly.
“Sure!” Tammy smiled, slipping her arm through Laura’s as they walked toward Horne Street.
“And while we’re giving out the candy,” Laura said with new resolve, “I have something precious to share with you, Tammy.”

I mentioned the young man in another setting. Later I received an unsigned letter that began, “Elder Gong, my wife and I have raised nine kids … and served two missions.” But “I always felt I would not be allowed in the celestial kingdom … because my sins as a youth were so bad!”

The letter continued, “Elder Gong, when you told about the young man gaining hope of forgiveness, I was filled with joy, beginning to realize that maybe I [could be forgiven].” The letter concludes, “I even like myself now!”

Oftentimes we are like the young merchant from Boston, who in 1849, as the story goes, was caught up in the fervor of the California gold rush. He sold all of his possessions to seek his fortune in the California rivers, which he was told were filled with gold nuggets so big that one could hardly carry them.
Day after endless day, the young man dipped his pan into the river and came up empty. His only reward was a growing pile of rocks. Discouraged and broke, he was ready to quit until one day an old, experienced prospector said to him, “That’s quite a pile of rocks you are getting there, my boy.”
The young man replied, “There’s no gold here. I’m going back home.”
Walking over to the pile of rocks, the old prospector said, “Oh, there is gold all right. You just have to know where to find it.” He picked two rocks up in his hands and crashed them together. One of the rocks split open revealing several flecks of gold sparkling in the sunlight.
Noticing a bulging leather pouch fastened to the prospector’s waist, the young man said, “I’m looking for nuggets like the ones in your pouch, not just tiny flecks.” The old prospector extended his pouch toward the young man, who looked inside, expecting to see several large nuggets. He was stunned to see that the pouch was filled with thousands of flecks of gold.
The old prospector said, “Son, it seems to me you are so busy looking for large nuggets that you’re missing filling your pouch with these precious flecks of gold. The patient accumulation of these little flecks has brought me great wealth.”

One Sunday I was walking to church when I noticed a beautiful butterfly lying in a wet gutter. The butterfly was stuck in the water and flapping its wings very slowly. My dad helped me lift the butterfly up and place it on a tree branch. After a few moments the butterfly flew away. I was happy to have helped one of God’s beautiful creations. I know God loves everything He created, and that He would be happy that I helped the butterfly.

I live in Chile and have been a member of the Church since I was eight. I have always known that I was in the true Church, and I felt I had a testimony of the Book of Mormon, but it was a borrowed testimony. Although I wanted to, I had never read the Book of Mormon all the way through. I had never read further than 1 Nephi.
On the night of July 4, 2002, my friend and I attended our Book of Mormon institute class. We stayed after class talking until we noticed that it had gotten late. We began walking home around 10:15, and when we got to the place where we were to split up, we stopped and continued to talk.
Two men passed by and asked us what time it was, but we were so involved in our conversation that we barely heard them. Suddenly they came back. One of them threw his arms around me, putting a knife to my neck. Then he let me go and threatened my friend. The other man asked us for money, and when we said we didn’t have any, they were furious. They demanded our jackets and backpacks.
I had wanted this jacket for a long time and had finally been able to buy it a month before. And I loved my backpack, which my older brother had given me. My friend had homework assignments in her backpack that she needed to turn in. I was really scared—almost frozen in place. It was the first time I had ever been robbed.
Without hesitation we gave them our things. But suddenly I said, “Wait! Please let me take out my Book of Mormon! It’s the only thing of value I have.” The thief gave me a strange look and let me take it out. Then they fled.
I hugged the book and didn’t care about anything else. I felt peace because I had rescued this precious book from two criminals.
That night I decided to show greater appreciation for this treasure of mine and for all the sacrifices made by the people who had brought it to light. I started to read it, and I began to feel an indescribable peace and a spectacular joy. All of a sudden it was worth so much more to me. I finished it two months later, and I finally gained a testimony of the book for myself.
I still don’t know where I got the courage to ask for my book back, but I’ll never be sorry that I did. I don’t harbor any ill feelings toward the men because through that experience I gained the testimony I desired.
That testimony helped motivate me to serve a mission. I am now home from serving in Argentina, where I was able to tell people about the Book of Mormon and share with them how marvelous this work truly is.

“I’m going to take out my hearing aids and walk down the hall until I can’t hear you anymore. Let’s see how far I make it!” the Primary president exclaims, signaling me to start. I hit the opening chords of “The Church of Jesus Christ” (Children’s Songbook, 77) on the piano, and a chorus of young voices begins to sing.
When we’re not measuring how loud the Primary kids can sing, we’re singing songs at various speeds and incorporating actions. It’s my first time back in Primary since the day I turned 12, and I can’t believe how full of joy this place is.
A few years ago, I wouldn’t have guessed that playing Primary songs each week would be the main way I used my musical abilities. I’ve trained competitively on the piano and violin for most of my life and believed for a long time that I would always stay heavily involved in music.
But by my later college years, the reality of finishing a degree and holding down a full-time job set in. Rehearsing with orchestras for several hours a week and practicing diligently on my own fell to the bottom of my priority list. I still loved music and tried to sit down at a music stand often enough to retain most of my abilities, but I mostly stopped performing.
Recently, though, I’ve become OK with it. Using my talent for Primary is different from the competitions and stressful performances I used to work so hard for, but in some ways this is better for me. It’s one of the only times I’ve really felt like I’ve been able to use my talents for the good of others.
In the parable of the talents, the master expects his servants to do great things with the talents he gives them. While he doles out different amounts according to their abilities, each servant is ultimately expected to use the talents in a way that increases what they had before (see Matthew 25:15, 21).
I really took this parable to heart when I was young. Although the talents in the parable were sums of money, they can be likened to our personal skills and abilities, and I wanted to work hard to improve myself and multiply the talents that I had. So when life and responsibilities caught up with me as a college student, I often felt bad that I wasn’t doing more with all my music training. I wondered if I was like the fearful man who “hid [his] talent in the earth,” burying it for fear that he’d lose it (Matthew 25:25).
But as I started my new calling, I didn’t get that feeling at all. Although I wasn’t pushing myself the way I used to, I felt joy every time I sat down behind the piano in the corner of the Primary room because I knew I was serving the children.
When Jesus Christ described how the man with the five talents increased his talents, He said that the man “went and traded” (Matthew 25:16). In other words, the man had to share what he had with others in order to improve and increase.
I began to realize that spending my time playing the piano for many restless children every Sunday didn’t mean I wasn’t making the most of my abilities. Playing in Primary was a trade; I provided accompaniment, and I got to witness the wonderful testimonies of the children in my ward. The more time I spend in the corner of the Primary room, the more I truly feel that this opportunity is providing me with an “increase.”
I believe the calling was inspired. It came at a time in my life when I was wrestling with my faith and often felt overwhelmed with life. This calling was a reminder to strengthen my foundation in the gospel and to focus on the simplicity and beauty of eternal truths. I got to strengthen my testimony alongside the children I was serving, which is one of the real purposes of callings.
Callings can be hard; sometimes we’re called to do things that we don’t feel qualified for and that take up a lot of our time. Other times it’s the opposite—we might feel like our calling isn’t fully using our abilities and our efforts would be better directed somewhere else. But the Lord knows how to use our talents in a way that blesses not only the people we’re serving but also ourselves.
As I have learned from my own experience, any effort we make to serve the Lord brings an increase to our own lives. If we consecrate our time and talents to the Lord, He will always use them for our good.
Alison Wood is an editorial intern for the Church magazines. When she’s not reading or writing, she’s often practicing the violin or playing pickleball with her husband. She loves attending the temple and serving as the ward Primary pianist.

Children can provide wonderful and often humorous insights into life. We have in our family identical ten-year-old twin sons. In some circumstances they are practically impossible to tell apart.

Recently we moved and found ourselves in new surroundings. Several days later I was talking to Aaron, one of the twins, and inquired about the big bump he had on his forehead. He described it this way. “Well, Dad, Lincoln [who is his older brother] was chasing me down the hall. I ran around the corner, and I saw my twin brother, Adam. Now, I knew I could outrun Adam, so I just kept running.” It turns out he ran into a full-length mirror!

Amy Jo looked up at the big clock on the living room wall. The short hand was on four, the long hand on twelve. She had waited the whole day for four o’clock to arrive.
She hurried to the front window of her new house and opened it. It was a warm, sunshiny day. Quietly she watched and waited. Soon an older woman holding a polka-dot umbrella rounded the corner. Next to her trotted a shaggy dog named Bert. Amy Jo knew his name because every day the old woman and the dog stopped in front of Amy Jo’s house and the old woman would say, “Well, Bert, where’s our slowpoke today? Where’s ’Lizabeth?”
“There she is,” Amy Jo called when ’Lizabeth finally appeared. But Amy Jo was shy and spoke so softly that no one heard her. All anyone could hear was ’Lizabeth crying loudly as she ran to catch up to the old woman and Bert.
“Meow. Meow,” cried the orange cat with white paws, but Amy Jo knew she was really saying, “Wait for me! Wait for me!”
“Why don’t we go out and say hello?” said Mother as she peeked through the window with Amy Jo. “Miss Gray seems like a nice person. I think she lives just around the corner. And I bet that Bert and ’Lizabeth would like to make a new friend too.”
Amy Jo shook her head. “I don’t want to,” she said, feeling afraid.
Miss Gray carried her polka-dot umbrella opened, even when the sky was full of sunshine. And her white hair was stiff and stuck out every which way. Her thick glasses made her eyes look small and of mean, and her shoes were heavy looking and lumpy. Amy Jo did not want to meet Miss Gray, only Bert and ’Lizabeth.
“Are you sure?” asked Mother.
“Uh, huh,” said Amy Jo shyly.
“Well, maybe tomorrow,” said Mother.
Amy Jo watched as Miss Gray walked on with Bert by her side and ’Lizabeth calling, “Meow. Meow. Wait for me! Wait for me!” She watched until they were tiny specks at the end of the long sidewalk.
Every day they passed Amy Jo’s house, pausing in front to allow ’Lizabeth to catch up. Amy Jo longed to hold the orange cat, pet her fluffy fur, and touch her soft white paws. Mother had said that someday they might also have a pet, “Small, like ’Lizabeth.”
’Lizabeth was special, but Amy Jo liked Bert too. The more she saw the two of them, the more she wanted to make friends. But she was too afraid to talk to Miss Gray, even though Mother had said that it would be all right.
“How about today?” Mother would ask as Amy Jo stared out the window.
“No. Not today.”
“Well, maybe tomorrow,” said Mother.
But then something strange began to happen. Amy Jo still ran to the window each day at four o’clock, but Miss Gray and Bert and ’Lizabeth began to come by later and later.
“Oh my, Bert,” said Miss Gray one afternoon, “where’s our lazybones today? Where’s ’Lizabeth? I declare, she’s getting slower and slower all the time.”
After a few minutes ’Lizabeth would appear crying, “Meow. Meow. Wait for me! Wait for me!” But she didn’t run to catch up to her friends. She just walked along. And each day Amy Jo saw that ’Lizabeth looked bigger and rounder than the day before.
“Oh, Bert,” said Miss Gray one rainy day. “Where’s our ’Lizabeth? Poor ’Lizabeth. She’s just not herself lately.”
Amy Jo began to worry as ’Lizabeth finally turned the corner. She was growing so fat that she had to stop to rest on her way to Miss Gray and Bert. When she reached them, she rubbed her back against Bert’s shaggy legs and meowed loudly as if to say, “Thank you for waiting.” Bert licked her face.
“That means they’re friends,” Amy Jo told her mother. “I want to be their friend too.”
“Really?” asked Mother, smiling. “Is today the day we say hello?”
“No. Not today.”
“Well, maybe tomorrow,” said Mother.
But the next day when Miss Gray and Bert walked by Amy Jo’s house, they didn’t stop to wait for ’Lizabeth. Amy Jo watched closely for the orange cat, but there was no ’Lizabeth that day. No “Meow. Meow. Wait for me! Wait for me!” Amy Jo felt sad.
There was no ’Lizabeth the next day, either. Or the next. Amy Jo was very worried.
“Where’s ’Lizabeth?” she asked Mother.
“I don’t know,” said Mother. “Why don’t we go ask Miss Gray.”
“No,” said Amy Jo.
But many days passed, and still there was no sign of the orange cat with the white paws.
Where can she be? Amy Jo wondered. What has happened to ’Lizabeth?
One hot afternoon Miss Gray and Bert stopped in front of Amy Jo’s house, but again just to rest for a moment. “I do miss our ’Lizabeth,” Miss Gray said, patting Bert’s head. “Things are just not the same without her.”
“Where’s ’Lizabeth?” Amy Jo called, but not loud enough to be heard.
“Where’s ’Lizabeth?” she called the next day, but again no one could hear her soft words.
Amy Jo was sure that something terrible had happened to the orange cat.
“Where’s ’Lizabeth?” she wailed that night as Mother tucked her into bed.
“Tomorrow I’ll ask,” said Mother.
“Me, too,” said Amy Jo bravely. “I want to ask too.”
But at four o’clock the next day the telephone rang. Mother was still talking when Miss Gray and Bert turned the corner. Amy Jo grabbed Mother’s hand, but Mother said, “I’m sorry, Amy Jo, but this call is important.”
Amy Jo watched anxiously as the polka-dot umbrella passed by the front gate. “Where’s ’Lizabeth?” she called in her loudest, bravest voice.
Miss Gray stopped. Bert stopped beside her. “Did you hear something, Bert?” she asked.
“Where’s ’Lizabeth?” Amy Jo called again.
“Who wants to know?” asked Miss Gray, looking around.
“Me,” said Amy Jo, running out to her front porch.
“Me who?”
“Me, Amy Jo.” She hurried out to the sidewalk.
“How nice to meet you, Amy Jo,” said Miss Gray.
She smiled, and Amy Jo saw that her eyes did not look mean, after all. And it was very shady under the pretty polka-dot umbrella. Amy Jo patted Bert’s shaggy head and decided that she liked Miss Gray very much.
“ ’Lizabeth should be along any minute now,” said Miss Gray.
Amy Jo turned and watched as ’Lizabeth rounded the corner. “Meow. Meow,” she called. “Wait for me! Wait for me!” Then she ran to catch up, just as she did before. Amy Jo felt happy to see ’Lizabeth again and gently touched her soft orange fur.
Suddenly, Amy Jo heard lots of meows, and around the corner came one, two, three, four black kittens with white paws. Far behind them ran a tiny orange kitten with white paws that looked just like ’Lizabeth.
“Meow. Meow,” the tiny kitten cried. “Wait for me! Wait for me!”
“Oh, how sweet,” said Mother, coming out of the house. “No wonder we haven’t seen ’Lizabeth for a while.”
“We’re very proud of her,” said Miss Gray. “Aren’t we, Bert? But I’m afraid we’re going to need someone else to walk with us, to be sure that everyone stays together.”
“I will!” said Amy Jo. She wasn’t afraid of Miss Gray anymore. They were friends already. Maybe Mother would buy her a polka-dot umbrella too. And maybe, just maybe, she would ask Miss Gray for the little orange kitten that looked just like ’Lizabeth.

My Uncle Jim was my favorite uncle. He was everyone’s friend. He hid pennies around his apartment for me to find. Every Sunday I would call him on the phone. He always had time to listen. I told him all about what I had learned in Primary, at school—just about anything. He sent me hand-knitted doll clothes his neighbor had made. I wanted to send him back something special. It took me a long time to figure out what, but then I knew exactly what to send—an invitation to my baptism with my CTR ring.
A few days before my baptism, my Uncle Jim died. I cried all night. I didn’t want to be baptized without Uncle Jim, but my mother told me he would want me to be baptized. She said that it would be the greatest gift I could ever give him. I was baptized the day before his funeral. At his funeral I wore my white baptism dress and decorated his grave with white roses. I cried a lot, but my mother reminded me that Jesus also cried. It says so in the scriptures. I guess if Jesus cries, too, He must really understand it when I cry.
The next day my mother went to Uncle Jim’s apartment to clear things out. Tacked to his wall was a picture of me with my CTR ring taped beside it.Kelly Hoag, age 9Portola, California

His youngest sister, Cho Sungja (Korean women retain their birth family name after marriage), recalls that at first her brother simply held family home evenings with his brothers and sisters and taught gospel principles. But eventually he introduced them to missionaries.
His youngest sister accepted the gospel readily. She felt the Holy Ghost testify to her of the truth of Joseph Smith’s First Vision. Members of another faith had shown her a scripture in the book of Revelation that they said warned against adding to the words of that book (see Revelation 22:18–19). But as she opened the Book of Mormon one day to read in 2 Nephi 29, some of the verses in that chapter told her of the need for additional revelation (see vv. 11–14), and again she felt the Spirit testify that it was true.
Her father was against her joining the Church, but finally, in answer to her prayers, he gave his consent. She was baptized and confirmed in 1976, at age 16.
Like her pioneering elder brother, Joong Hyun, Sungja wanted to share the gospel she had found. She shared it freely with friends at school, and eventually five of them were also baptized and confirmed.

“Annie, we need a cabbage for Christmas dinner tomorrow,” Mother said. “Please go to the Olsens and trade these potatoes for one. Hurry now. Night’s coming.”
Eleven-year-old Annie sighed, dropping her knitting and picking up the burlap bag of potatoes. It was a tradition in Norway for families to have a cabbage for Christmas dinner, and Annie knew it would be delicious. But she didn’t want to leave the warm fire. “Can Gunnild come, too?” she asked hopefully.
“No, she must feed the goats and help your father.”
Annie buttoned her sheepskin coat and hurried outside into the brisk air. The snow crunched under her feet and the sharp wind whipped her blonde braids as she scurried down the path.
A few minutes later she reached the Olsens’ cabin and rapped on the wooden door. Mrs. Olsen peeked out, her blue eyes wide with surprise.
“Why, Annie! What are you doing out in this bitter wind? Your cheeks are as bright as strawberries. Come in and warm yourself.”
Annie’s fingers and toes tingled as she stood by the crackling fire. “Mother asked me to trade these potatoes for a cabbage,” she said.
“Oh, child, I’m sorry. I have no more cabbages. We ate our last one yesterday.” Mrs. Olsen stirred the big black kettle hanging over the fire. “Would you like some porridge?”
“No, thank you,” Annie replied. “I can’t stay. Do you know where I can get a cabbage?”
“The Petersens may have one. Jens had a good crop this year. But if you go there, you must hurry. It feels like there’s a storm brewing.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Olsen,” Annie said as she hurried outside. Tucking the bag under her arm, she plunged her hands deep into her pockets and trudged forward. The icy wind slapped her face, and black clouds rumbled overhead.
After what seemed like hours, she reached the Petersens. Luckily, Mrs. Petersen had an extra cabbage to trade for Annie’s potatoes. Waving good-bye, Annie headed home. Tiny snowflakes fluttered around her, covering the path with a goose-feathery whiteness.
Annie thought of her family’s warm cabin. She could almost smell the savory lutefisk (dried codfish) and potatoes cooking. Perhaps her mother was also making riskrem (rice pudding) and hiding an almond inside. Maybe Annie would be the lucky one to find it.
The snow began to fall faster. Thick flakes coated her eyelashes and buried the path. Annie stared at the landscape ahead of her, struggling to find the trail. “Is that our cabin?” she thought, noticing a dark shape in the swirling snow. But it was only a thicket of trees. Annie was confused. “Where am I?” she wondered. “Why do the mountains look like giants?” She felt like she was in a dream.
Huge snowdrifts seemed like a warm, white feather bed, urging her to stop and sleep. At first she resisted by thinking about home. She plodded forward on what felt like wooden-post legs, clutching her cabbage. But finally her weary legs collapsed, and she lay down, wrapping herself in a soft blanket of snow.
Back at home, Annie’s father stared out into the whirling whiteness. Where was Annie? He bundled up in his heavy coat and grabbed his lantern. He hurried down the trail, shouting into the wind, “Annie, Annie!”
Next to a giant spruce tree he noticed a strange mound. He rushed forward, swinging his lantern. In the dim light, he saw a pale figure in the snow. Was it Annie? He rushed to her, gathering her in his arms and wrapping his fur coat around her.
“Please, God,” he prayed, “let her live.”
A faint breath stirred Annie’s lips as she whimpered, “Papa.”
“Annie, you’re alive! It’s a miracle!” he cried. “God has preserved your life for a special purpose.”

I live in the central African nation of Zaire with my wife, Nambwa Mbo, and our two sons, Kabamba and Kamulete. We are all members of the Church. Our third son, Vumbi, died in December 1996.
From time to time, we read articles in the Church magazines about members who make great sacrifices to go to the temple. I am always amazed by the incredible things that happen to help them on their way. I never imagined that something similar would happen to me.
Our home in the city of Kinsuka is far from South Africa, where the nearest temple is. I had often thought, Why should I bother to get a temple recommend? I can’t afford to go. But in 1994, President Howard W. Hunter advised all worthy Latter-day Saints to get a temple recommend, even if they lived far from a temple (see Tambuli, November 1994, 6). His words touched my heart, and I asked my branch president for an interview. I did not realize then that my Father in Heaven had a great blessing in store for me.
I work for a man who serves in the parliament of Zaire. Late in 1995, he received an invitation to go to North Korea. He filled out all the necessary papers to have this official assignment approved and included my name on the list of those who were to go with him. However, our government did not approve the plans. This refusal began a lengthy period of negotiations as my supervisor continued to try to get approval.
I asked my priesthood leaders to pray with me that the plans would be approved and that my name would remain on the list. Four months later, approval was given. Only two names remained on the list—my supervisor’s and mine.
I was elated. But knowing that there is no temple in North Korea, I still didn’t know how significant my trip would be. When I received the news that the trip had been approved, I heard these words whispered quietly in my heart: “Do not delay! Make sure Switzerland is included on your travel route.” I realized that perhaps I would be able to go to the Swiss Temple!
I immediately went to my supervisor and suggested that we fly to and from North Korea through Switzerland. He had no objection, so I arranged for the tickets and for visas for all the countries we were to travel through. Incredibly, when the visas arrived, I discovered that all of the countries had sent us only short-term, transit visas—except Switzerland, which had sent us tourist visas good for a month!
We left Zaire and arrived safely in North Korea. Heavenly Father was with me at all times. He gave me strength to live according to his word and to be a good example of the restored gospel. It was wintertime, and we were often offered a hot cup of tea. But I was always obedient to the Word of Wisdom. When we sat down at a table with the North Korean officials, they would all raise teacups, coffee cups, or wine glasses while proposing a toast. I would drink a glass of water or a cup of milk.
At the conclusion of our assignment in North Korea, we flew to China and then on to Switzerland, landing in Geneva. My Church leader in Zaire had suggested that I contact a member of the Church named Brother Rimli as soon as I arrived in Geneva. I planned to meet Brother Rimli the following day and go to the Swiss Temple with him. However, my supervisor told me he wanted me to accompany him to Lausanne, another city in Switzerland. I explained that I had a very important appointment the next day and would not be able to accompany him. But he insisted that I go to Lausanne with him instead.
I retired to my room and offered a secret prayer. Not long after, my supervisor told me he had changed his mind—I need not go with him after all.
When I traveled to Bern the next day and met Brother Rimli at the Swiss Temple, how humble and grateful I felt! I was impressed by the beauty and stateliness of the building. All of the temple workers were expecting me and made me feel welcome. I felt at home there. I will never forget the love the temple president and his wife, President and Sister Mario V. Vaira, expressed for me. I received my endowment that day, and it has been the greatest gift in my life. I pray for the day when I can take my wife and our two sons to the temple. We desire with all our hearts to have our deceased third son sealed to us as well.
This is God’s true Church. We have a living prophet on the earth today. May we always hearken to his counsel. I did not think I would ever be able to go to the temple, but I obtained a recommend as the prophet had counseled. And my Father in Heaven prepared a very special way for me to receive temple blessings.

On the 23rd of December 2020, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints received an award from The Accra Metropolitan Assembly in recognition of its support in the fight against COVID-19. Those who attended the award ceremony on behalf of the Church were Emelia Ahadjie, director of communication; Samuel Appiah-Kubi, Publishing Services department manager; Spencer Myers, publishing assistant; and Andrews Nana Appiah Mensah, intern, Communication Department.
During the awards ceremony, the mayor of Accra, the Honorable Mohammed Adjei Sowah, introduced the security agencies who were present at the ceremony. He showed his appreciation to the fire service, the police service, and the military for their immense support to the assembly.
The mayor also showed his deep appreciation to the institutions who in one way or another contributed enormously to the metropolis through the assembly. The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, GCB Bank, C. Woermann, and J.K Company Limited, were some of the institutions which were awarded by the assembly.
Mohammed Adjei Sowah recounting some of the great services the Church has contributed to the communities said, “History will not forget the great work that the Church has done for the people, and the good works of the Church will forever stand”. Some of the contributions he mentioned were the food items given to the communities that brought smiles to the faces of several families; COVID-19 protective gear such as face masks, face shields, sanitizers and other clinical items that were distributed to hospitals, polyclinics, market women, and the vulnerable through the assembly, all in the effort to help the fight against COVID-19. Receiving the award on behalf of the Church were Emelia Ahadjie and Samuel Appiah-Kubi.
The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was the only church that was recognized and awarded by the Metropolitan Assembly. The representative from GCB thanked the assembly on behalf of all the award winners and after his speech, the representatives who received the awards on behalf of their respective institutions had a picture with the mayor in the forecourt of the assembly.

I’m McAllister W. I’m 14 years old and I’m from New York City, USA. It’s a busy place with skyscrapers and people, and I love living here. I take the subway to Scouts, and I learned to hail a taxi cab before I learned how to ride a bike! One passion that I have is longboarding along the Hudson River—with a view of the Statue of Liberty!Something that I love about the gospel is that a lot of it is focused on serving others. I recently helped a sister in our ward move, and that experience helped me recognize that serving people like Jesus Christ would help others’ faith grow, and that in turn helps my faith to grow.
McAllister W., 14, New York, USA

One day I sat with a handsome, young, prospective missionary as he poured out his sad story through sobs of sorrow, anguish, and remorse. I wanted to cry with him. Pressured by his so-called friends, he found himself at a mixed party where liquor was served. Against everything he knew to be right, he succumbed to the taunts and jeers of all those present, became drunk, and before the evening was over, lost his virtue.

Unable to resist the peer pressure he faced, his resolution to stay chaste being dissipated by the circumstances he found himself in, he had seen his lifelong dream of a mission and a temple marriage change to a nightmare—and now he felt ashamed, unclean, unworthy.

“Have I forfeited my opportunity for a mission, for marriage in the temple?” he asked. “How can my Father in Heaven forgive me for what I have done? I wish the earth would open up and swallow me!” My heart ached for him.

Almost overriding my sympathy for him was the anger I felt toward those who had led him down that “primrose path,” seemingly oblivious to the pain they had caused, listening to Satan’s siren song that chastity is outdated.

The full force of his actions was obvious to my tearful friend, who understood, at last, the reality of Alma’s words: “Wickedness never was happiness.” (Alma 41:10.)