Gospel Story Finder

Suluya Racule, three weeks older than Vani, faces her own challenges. Suluya didn’t grow up in the Church, although it seemed like she did. She began attending Primary when she was nine because her aunt, a Church member, was a Primary teacher. She spent the first 15 years of her life as a nonmember, even though she knew a lot about the gospel. And she kept going to church even when her aunt and uncle moved to Tonga. But her membership status changed from nonmember to member in December 1995 when she was finally able to be baptized.

Even now, almost four years later, Suluya is still the only member of the Church in her immediate family.

“My parents were against my getting baptized. They thought I was too young to know the truth, and they thought I should go around to other churches and see what they were like before I decided,” she remembers. “But I had this strong feeling inside of me that this was the true church. I couldn’t think of any other church to go to.”

Maybe it takes a little adversity—or even a lot of it—to truly appreciate what you have. Vani admits it’s been difficult at times not having her mom and dad around. Suluya, meanwhile, would like nothing better than to have her family join her on Sundays. For now, she goes to church alone.

When Suluya is asked about her conversion, she gladly shares the details of her Christmas Eve baptism. She fairly beams as she remembers that day. Suluya then mentions the death of her father two years ago. “Heart failure.” He was 47. The conversation switches gears.

“Although I’ve always wanted my family to join the Church, his death has encouraged me even more to help my mom and my sister get baptized. I’m trying so hard to get them to come to church with me,” she says. When Suluya was baptized, her family didn’t attend the service. “But they understand that the Church is a commitment to me, and they respect my decision and support me. Still, it’s hard to see families sitting together at church, and my family isn’t there. When you have something this good, you want to share it with your family.”

Suluya admits she was closer to her father than to her mother, but accepts that maybe in some ways his death was a blessing. “It’s brought my sister and me closer to our mom. We’ve really gotten to know our mom better,” she explains.

Top soccer teams from all over the world are playing in South Africa this month, hoping to win the World Cup. Teammates will depend on each other, their coaches, and their fans to get them through to the finals. Among players and fans from each country, team spirit is so palpable you can feel it in the air.
But even though they won’t be playing for the World Cup, no team will be more loyal to each other, their coaches, and their fans than the priests quorum of the Kagiso Ward, Soweto South Africa Stake. A little over a year ago, five of these young men were introduced to the Church by their soccer coach, who is himself a recent convert. Now they are at the heart of another team, their priests quorum, and working with another “coach,” their bishop, as they live the gospel day by day and prepare to serve as full-time missionaries.
Like many people in South Africa, 29-year-old Solomon Eliya Tumane loves soccer. He spends tireless hours each week coaching the Hurricanes Football Club. He loves his players and rejoices in their successes. They love and respect him in return. So when Coach Solomon joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, his players were curious.
“He would come to practice straight from his institute class,” says McDonald Siyabulela Manyakanyaka, 17. “We could see the scriptures and Church magazines in his bag, so we started asking questions, and to answer, he would read to us,” says Thapelo Benjamin Sesinyi, 17.
“I was eager to teach these young ones because I love them so much,” Coach Solomon says. “I want them to go in the right path. I told one of them, ‘You would do well if you read the scriptures,’ so they all started reading the scriptures. They enjoyed it, so then I taught them about prayer. Then one day they surprised me. I got to practice early, and I was taking a nap when they woke me and said, ‘Coach, we need to visit your church.’ That was a day I will never forget, because I knew then that they were on the right path.”
But the coach wouldn’t go further without parental approval. He went to each player’s home, one house at a time, to ask if it was all right to invite the players to church. The parents agreed. “We came to Church three weeks in a row,” Thapelo remembers. “We wanted to learn more and more.” So the coach again asked parents for permission, this time for the players to study with the full-time missionaries. Again the parents agreed.
“The missionaries gave us each a copy of the Book of Mormon,” McDonald says. “They told us to read it and pray about it because it is true, so we did. I prayed and read and found the Book of Mormon to be true.” So did other players, who were baptized and confirmed. Five of the team members are now Latter-day Saints.
Most teams set goals for a winning season, but these five young Hurricanes are also shooting for another goal in the not-too-distant future. With the guidance of Bishop Bongani Mahlubi, a man they consider a spiritual coach, they are preparing for full-time missionary service.
“They are a great strength in our ward,” the bishop says. “And they are part of that great priesthood team of Aaronic and Melchizedek Priesthood holders all over the world. These young men do everything together—they walk to school together, play soccer together, go to seminary together, and serve in the priesthood together. If I call one young man to ask if he can help, I get all five.” McDonald says the priests quorum also studies regularly from Preach My Gospel, and Thapelo says that in addition to inviting friends to Church, quorum members seek out those who no longer attend. “In many ways, we are learning to be missionaries now,” he says.
“We often hear from these young men in testimony meeting,” the bishop says. “They often promise Coach Solomon that they will go on full-time missions.” Nothing would make their soccer coach happier. “I can’t wait for them to serve,” Solomon says.
Unity, gospel knowledge, and an orientation toward service—those are all part of a solid training regime for prospective missionaries. And in addition, these young men have already developed a great desire to work together to do good. Just like the soccer teams competing for the World Cup, they depend on each other, on their coaches, and on their fans (including ward members, families, and friends) to get them through to their “championship.” With that kind of team spirit, their goals will be achieved.

John Sonnenberg, a great Regional Representative, related this experience as a young dentist. They had seven children, all young, and only one car. When his wife went to town she had to take the bus. One day she and the seven children were waiting for the bus. When the bus stopped, the children and Sister Sonnenberg boarded. She put her token in and then stood and put one token in the box for each of her seven children. The bus driver was amazed, and he said, “Lady, are these all your children, or is this a picnic?”
She responded, “They are all my children, and it’s no picnic!”

The Summiteers (girls who’ve certified in the camping program) agreed. Though smaller by about half in numbers, they were no less enthusiastic about their own independent campsite and schedule. Like the Adventurers, the Summiteers represented a cross section of wards and stakes.
This group made no duty roster. Instead, “everyone pitched in when the work needed to be done. The whole campsite was a group effort.”
The Summiteers did have one planned activity—an overnight canoe trip across Sylvan Lake. It began as a survival trip, “but by departure time, we’d packed a little food in the canoes.” Feeling like true mountain explorers, the group at one point had to make their precarious way through a patch of bullrushes where one canoe got stuck.
“The lake was calm as a mirror that night,” they recalled. “You almost hated to disturb it with your paddle. And the forest was quiet. For a few hours there, we were the only people in the world.”
Even though they ended up packing food, the girls felt that they possessed the necessary knowledge to live off the land.
“Not many girls could eat a snake or a gopher,” one confessed, “but we do know what kinds of edible vegetation to look for. We’ve had enough training to be able to survive.”

Old Bob came into our lives in an interesting way. He was a widower in his eighties when the house in which he was living was scheduled to be demolished. I heard him tell my grandfather his plight as the three of us sat on the old front-porch swing. With a plaintive voice, he said to Grandfather, “Mr. Condie, I don’t know what to do. I have no family. I have no place to go. I have no money.”

I wondered how Grandfather would answer. Slowly he reached into his pocket and took from it that old leather purse from which, in response to my hounding, he had produced many a penny or nickel for a special treat. This time he removed a key and handed it to Old Bob. Tenderly he said, “Bob, here is the key to that house I own next door. Take it. Move in your things. Stay as long as you like. There will be no rent to pay, and nobody will ever put you out again.”

Tears welled up in the eyes of Old Bob, coursed down his cheeks, then disappeared in his long, white beard. Grandfather’s eyes were also moist. I spoke no word, but that day my grandfather stood ten feet tall. I was proud to bear his given name. Though I was but a boy, that lesson has influenced my life.

Eliza R. Snow, second General President of the Relief Society, offered a riveting answer. Because of Missouri’s infamous extermination order, issued at the onset of the grueling winter of 1838,7 she and other Saints were forced to flee the state that very winter. One evening, Eliza’s family spent the night in a small log cabin used by refugee Saints. Much of the chinking between the logs had been extracted and burned for firewood by those who preceded them, so there were holes between the logs large enough for a cat to crawl through. It was bitter cold, and their food was frozen solid.

That night some 80 people huddled inside that small cabin, only 20 feet square (6.1 meters square). Most sat or stood all night trying to keep warm. Outside, a group of men spent the night gathered around a roaring fire, with some singing hymns and others roasting frozen potatoes. Eliza recorded: “Not a complaint was heard—all were cheerful, and judging from appearances, strangers would have taken us to be pleasure excursionists rather than a band of gubernatorial exiles.”

Eliza’s report of that exhausting, bone-chilling evening was strikingly optimistic. She declared: “That was a very merry night. None but saints can be happy under every circumstance.”8

At the age of twenty-seven, I was diagnosed with eye cancer. When I thought all was lost and without any purpose in living, two missionaries came to my home. I had always been God-fearing, so I listened to the lessons. I struggled to make up my mind, but after three months I was baptized. My life with this disease has not been easy. I walk with my cane everywhere. I continue with medication and treatment. I have remained true to what I have come to know as the Lord’s self-reliance principles. I support myself with a business selling sheets and household items, plus help from the government and the generous members of our Church.
I can say today that my strength comes from the knowledge I have of Jesus Christ. I thank those missionaries who came to me. The Church is my family. I invite everyone to know Jesus Christ who brings hope and love to our lives.

Many times we don’t comprehend the meaning of the ordinances of the temple in their fulness until after we have known affliction or passed through experiences that could have been extremely sad without the knowledge of the plan of salvation.
When my wife and I had only been married a year and a half, she was ready to deliver our first baby. We had decided that she would have the baby in the Chihuahua colonies, where she had been born. At that time I was working in Mexico City, and we decided that she would be there a month ahead of the delivery date. I was planning to join her later.
The delivery date arrived. I was at work when I received a call from my father-in-law. The news was good: “Octaviano, your wife has given birth, and you now have a little daughter who is beautiful.” So, in my happiness, I began to announce this to my friends and partners at work, who in turn asked me for chocolates to celebrate the birth of my little one.
The next day I began to give out chocolates throughout the four floors of our office building. When I reached the second floor, I received another call from my father-in-law. This time the news was different: “Octaviano, your wife is fine, but your daughter has passed away. The funeral will be today, and you don’t have time to come. What are you going to do?” I asked to speak with Rosa, my wife, and then asked her if she was OK. She replied that she was fine, depending on how I was feeling. Then we talked about the plan of salvation, remembering this scripture:
“And I also beheld that all children who die before they arrive at the years of accountability are saved in the celestial kingdom of heaven” (D&C 137:10).
I asked her, “Do you believe that?” And she said, “Yes, I do.” Then I replied, “We should be happy then. I love you. And if you are OK with that, I’ll take my vacation in two weeks, spend some time with you, and return back together to Mexico.”
We knew that one day we would be reunited with our daughter because we were sealed by the power of the priesthood in the temple. We ended the telephone call, and I resumed giving out the chocolates in my office building.
Seeing me do this, one of my co-workers was surprised and asked me how I could do this after such terrible news. I answered, “If you have three hours, I can explain to you why I am not feeling too sad and about my knowledge of what happens after death.” He didn’t have three hours at that moment but did later. We ended up talking for four hours. He accepted the gospel and, together with his mother and brother, was baptized into the Church after receiving the discussions.
I know that thanks to the power of godliness manifested in the ordinances of the temple, I will now be able to know my daughter. I will embrace her, and we will be with her for eternity, just as we are now with our three surviving children.

Joel was worried. He was almost sure he had started down the right canyon, but he should have been able to see smoke from their cabin long before now.
Mother was probably worrying because he was so late. She had reminded him when he left home that morning everything would look different if it should start to snow.
“I know you have to check the sheep today, Joel,” she said, “even if it is Thanksgiving. But with those black clouds building up behind Gap Mountain, there will be snow before noon.”
Joel tied a scarf around his neck and pulled on his gloves. “I’ll be careful,” he said, wishing his mother would remember he was eleven now and could take care of himself. “Besides, I’ve been up to the sheep range nearly every day this month. I won’t get lost.”
Mother still looked worried, though, when Joel opened the cabin door to leave. He turned to look back. The big room was bright and warm and already smelled good from the pies that were baking in the oven. On the sideboard three chickens were ready to be stuffed. Joel hoped Father would make it home from the settlement in time for the special dinner.
It was a long walk up winding Lost Canyon and across Nameless Ridge to the flat meadow where the sheep were kept. But Joel finally checked the sheep and then started home.
While he was walking home, he remembered how he and his father and mother had come to this valley three years before. Then they had only two horses, a few sheep, and no home. He had helped his father build the cabin. Now they had more than fifty sheep and four cows. Their garden grew well too.
Even the Ute Indians who lived in the valley on the other side of Nameless Ridge were friendly now. Joel remembered how Chief Kanosh had threatened them when they first moved to the valley. But that seemed a long time ago. Joel’s father and mother had done many things to help the Indians, and in return the Indians had helped them a great deal. Kanosh’s wife visited with Joel’s mother often, and Joel enjoyed watching them talk in sign language.
Joel stopped walking and bent his head back. If he only knew where the sun was, he would be able to tell whether he was going the right way, but dark weighted clouds filled the whole sky.
Which way was home? Joel looked in every direction. He knew he was going down a canyon, but how could he tell if it were the right one!
Before long big snowflakes began to strike his cheeks. Joel could scarcely see the nearby trees.
He remembered how his father always said, “Now don’t be nervous.” It helped Joel to remember Father’s calm voice.
Joel wiped snowflakes off his nose and began to walk very fast, looking to his left to be sure the slope of the hill was still there. If so, he was near Nameless Ridge and couldn’t be lost. Home was only half a mile east of where the ridge ended.
Joel began to wonder if he were really following Nameless Ridge. The pine-covered slopes looked alike through the thickly falling snow.
Joel walked steadily on. The swirling white snow that lit on the ground was beginning to pile up. Walking seemed to be harder with each step.
After what seemed a long time, Joel felt the ground under his feet begin to rise steeply. Although he couldn’t see ahead, he knew he should not be climbing. If anything, he should be going downhill to reach the clearing where the cabin stood.
Joel took a shaky breath. He stood still. Then he slowly turned around and around. The whole world was white. Everywhere he went looked exactly the same.
“I’m lost,” Joel said aloud. “I’m really lost.”
Blinking hard, Joel looked around once more, but it was no use. He didn’t know which way to go. But he couldn’t stop moving or he might freeze. The world was cold and silent. All he could hear was the crunch of wet snow beneath his boots.
Then Joel stopped as he heard another sound. Was something coming behind him? Or did something move to his left? He held his breath to listen, but the snow muffled sound and changed it.
Coming from the trees behind him, Joel caught sight of a dark moving figure and two others following behind. The frightened boy watched the figures plod steadily closer.
As they came closer, Joel saw it was Chief Kanosh and his wife and their little boy! Joel was so happy to see the big Ute chief and his family that he grinned from ear to ear.
“You go wrong way,” said Chief Kanosh when he reached Joel. He pointed to the right. “Cabin is over there. We go together.”
Joel didn’t say a word as he fell into step behind Chief Kanosh. The four people pushed through the snow. In a short time Joel saw a break in the trees. Dark smoke rose from the chimney of their cabin.
A wagon was behind the barn. Father was home too!
Later that night after everyone had eaten all the roast chicken and stuffing, creamed corn, and squash pie they could hold, Chief Kanosh and his wife pulled their chairs in front of the fireplace beside Joel’s mother and father. Joel sat on the floor by the Indian boy.
“Well, Joel,” said his father, smiling. “We certainly have lots to be thankful for today.”
“We surely do, Father,” Joel agreed. “And one of the things I’m most thankful for tonight is that Mother invited Chief Kanosh and his family here for Thanksgiving dinner.”

With a physical handicap and learning disability, Billie, at 15, was all but forgotten by our quorum. It was not necessary to baptize him. He had his own school to attend. With his physical handicap, Scouting had not seemed realistic. Then a new teachers quorum adviser was called. “If Billie is going to be on the rolls, then he should at least be included in the activities.” Brother Wilson made the first contact, and the response was overwhelming. Sure Billie wanted to come. “No one had even thought to ask,” his mother said apologetically.
Over the next few months of spring and summer Billie was at every Mutual activity, and we started to get acquainted with him. He felt like he belonged. Some of the boys didn’t understand Billie and were critical of him for being clumsy and awkward, but Billie felt wanted and knew our adviser loved him.
When Billie was 16 years old he was forgotten again, but only until some of the rest of us reached our sixteenth birthdays and became priests. We remembered Billie and started bringing him out to our activities; with us around him again Billie felt even more accepted.
Volleyball season came. We knew we were the best team in the stake. For two years we had been close to winning the stake championship, and this was the year we were going to win. We had the veteran “senior” boys. We had the height; we had the talent. And we even had a mascot—Billie. We even let Billie play. Just hitting the ball was a major achievement, but everyone clapped and encouraged him, so Billie really felt that he was making a contribution.
Being at each game was more important than ever to him. During the regular season, Billie might have cost the team a few points, or even one game in a series, but he played and we all felt good because of our sacrifice.
Finally the stake championship came. It was the same rivalry that had been there for the last two years. This time we would win. We had beaten the other team during the regular season’s games, and we would beat them in the championship. Perhaps as an extra precaution someone “forgot” to tell Billie about the game.
Saturday afternoon at game time some of our players were overconfident and had gone to the store for some soft drinks. The first game started without them, but the substitute players were good enough. Then in came the bishop with Billie. Both teams were well coached. The game was an even match of the teams, but we lost. We couldn’t afford to hold back our best players for the next game. We had to win the next game to give us a chance at winning two out of three games.
Billie had been at the coach’s side the whole first game. “Now? Should I go in now? Do you want me to play now?” His persistence was distracting. The coach spoke firmly but kindly, “Go sit down; I’ll tell you when, Billie.”
At the end of the first game, Billie couldn’t wait any longer. Scores didn’t mean anything. The only thing that was important was playing. The coach looked at Billie; for a long minute he agonized. He had always let all the boys play. Would he change the rules now? Was the principle more important than the game?
This was a unique group of boys. Just weeks before, the coach had told us that sometime in his life every coach should get a chance to work with a group like ours. He felt that we could understand principles. There wasn’t any choice; he had to let Billie play.
The other team served—right to Billie. Another serve—to Billie; and another. Again and again the serve was to Billie. The other coach called time-out; he was talking to his server. Another serve—right to Billie. The score was 11 to 0; no service had been returned. Finally a service went into the net, but it was too late. The final score was 15 to 6. It was our year to win, and we lost.
The other team walked off the court with heads lowered. We were fighting back tears. We didn’t understand. We went outside, and the coach tried to talk. “I thought I knew what was right.” Even he was fighting for composure. “I believe it’s important for everyone to play. I’ve always let everyone play. I hope I’m doing what’s right.” The bishop was there with Billie. He looked as if he wanted to talk but didn’t know what to say. Finally Billie broke in and said, “Well, we won another one!”
Something happened after that. The bishop gave a lesson in priesthood meeting on winning. He said something about an inactive father going to the temple because his handicapped son was loved by our quorum. He said that was winning. Somebody said if Billie could play volleyball he could come to priesthood meeting. All of a sudden Billie was really part of us. We’d invested a volleyball championship in him, and he was important to us.
Basketball season came. Everybody knew Billie by now. Everybody knew he would be playing. The referees knew what to do when he tried to bounce the ball down the basketball court. The teams made certain allowances for his inabilities. He was really part of things.
Stake championship time again. We successfully played the other teams in the stake, and the final game was between us and the same team we had faced in the volleyball championship.
Well, it was close the first half of the game, but then everything went wrong for us. The coach could see what was happening, and by the third quarter it was pretty obvious that nothing was going to work for us that night. While we were looking for some way to get even with the same guys that beat us in volleyball, something unique was happening on the basketball court.
Billie was playing. He really couldn’t shoot the ball. One arm and hand was withered, and he couldn’t give much direction to the ball. But every time he got the ball, their coach yelled for someone to make a foul play against Billie. I was really upset. Even the people in the crowd couldn’t believe their ears. Why was our bishop smiling? Then one of their players carefully tapped Billie. One referee blew his whistle, and when he did everyone—even me—understood. Billie got to shoot a foul shot. In fact, he got to shoot two foul shots (intentional foul), and when he missed those, one of the boys on the other team was standing with his foot over the line and Billie got to shoot again, in fact several more.
The crowd was clapping and cheering for Billie; we were cheering for him but so was the other team. Was this really losing? Everyone was pulling together. No one seemed to care what the score was; everyone was helping Billie. Both teams were helping and cheering and pulling for Billie.
Billie shot a lot of free throws that night. We all cheered; we laughed a little; and Billie went home the star of the evening. Who won? They did, we did, and the stake did.
We found out that when we forget ourselves and our selfish goals, scores aren’t as important as the individual; and we found out that we all care about the same thing. Those guys on that other team aren’t so bad. The referees are really human. And losing a game isn’t the end of the world, not when you’re winning.
We went on that year to play in the Explorer Scout Olympics. We played team sports in volleyball and basketball, and we won some and we lost some. But our investment in Billie was there, and we taught some other teams—or Billie taught some other teams—that winning only matters if you’re building your own stature or, as our bishop says, “if you’re developing character.” And I guess that’s what we learned from Billie, character.
Our bishop said that Billie is here to teach us. We’re all watching him a little more closely to see what other lessons we might learn from him.

Peace McBride, an apprentice seamstress, and her mistress, Mrs. Root, have heard the Prophet Joseph Smith preach, studied the Book of Mormon, and been baptized into the Church. Now Peace has received Sister Root’s permission and the necessary money to visit her family in a distant county to share her joy in the gospel with them.
On the eve of a brand new decade, December 31, 1839, Peace was bundled in a warm cloak and sitting on top of a coach. Only something as important as the gospel could make Peace take such a journey. Sister Root had tried for days to find someone who was traveling toward the town of Chester Springs, but there were few travelers this time of year. Even so, not a seat was left inside the coach, and no one had been willing to give up his seat to the young girl. I won’t think of the cold, Peace decided. I’ll think of how warm I was after my baptism, of Sister Root’s warm parlor, of anything but the cold.
Cheerfully she hugged a paper-wrapped parcel to her chest. It was Sister Root’s copy of the Book of Mormon. She had given it to Peace as the excited girl had boarded the stage. “I shouldn’t let you be doing this,” Sister Root had fretted. “But since you’re going, here, take the book. It won’t do you much good to just talk about it—your folks need a chance to read it.”
Feeling cold creep around her toes as the coach got farther and farther from Philadelphia, Peace wriggled them and thought about the past few weeks. There had been such a change in her employer! Peace could remember when sour words and slaps were served up regularly to her. Sister Root’s whole manner had changed from the time that she first listened to the Prophet.
Glancing around, Peace noticed that the slush in the road had frozen. She stomped her feet and moved her arms to keep warm. Finally she saw the inn up ahead. It was a two-day trip home, and whenever she made it, she always stayed there.
After a warm meal, Peace felt better and hurried to her room. She knew that the coach would leave shortly after dawn, and she needed all the sleep that she could get. Wrapping herself in the quilts, she drifted peacefully to sleep.
Several hours later she awoke as cold again gripped her. The cozy little room that she had enjoyed in the summer was far from any heat source. Seeing frost forming around the window and on the panes, Peace knew that it was frightfully cold. Reaching for her cloak, she hastily put it on over her nightclothes. Back under the covers, she shivered until she was warm enough to fall asleep again.
The frost was so thick on the panes when Peace awoke a second time that light from the feeble sunrise hardly penetrated the room. She dressed under the covers, then hurried to the gathering room. The other travelers were already huddled around the fire, so she had to stand behind them, where she could barely feel its warmth.
A warm breakfast and cheerful words from the inn-keeper helped. Bracing herself, Peace again took her seat on top of the coach. This time she wore all the clothes that she had brought with her. Yet, before noon, her throat was scratchy. By evening, she was really sick. As the coach approached Chester Springs, she was so ill that she hardly knew what was happening around her.
A kind farmer going her way agreed to take Peace to her family’s farm. It was only two miles outside of town, but to Peace the trip took forever. Each time the wagon hit a rut, her head seemed to explode with pain.
Hearing her mother’s voice was almost like being in heaven. Peace tried to rise from where she lay in the back of the farmer’s wagon, but she sank back weakly.
“Peace!” her mother cried. “Whatever are you doing here?” She bustled around and fussed as the farmer and Mr. McBride carried the girl into the house.
It was bliss for Peace to lie in a soft, warm bed in the safety of her home. Her mother helped undress her and started to take the paper-wrapped parcel from her.
“No!” Peace mumbled. “I need to keep this with me. It’s why I came here, and it’s very important.”
“Important or not,” her mother said firmly, “it’s going on the dresser. It will be there when you get better.”
It was a week before Peace felt well enough to even sit up. She had developed a fever and a deep cough and was able to do little but lie there and try to get well.
“You’re awake!” her mother said cheerfully one morning as she came into Peace’s room. “After breakfast and a wash, you’ll feel much better, I’m sure.”
Peace smiled at her mother. It was so good to be home. Looking over at the dresser, she noticed that the parcel was gone. “Where did my book go?”
“I have it, but not for long.”
Peace looked up in surprise at the angry tone of her mother’s voice.
“How did you come by such a book,” her mother asked.
“Sister Root gave it to me.”
“I should never have let you go off on your own.”
“But, Mother, you know I had to. It was an opportunity for the whole family for me to train with such a great dressmaker.”
“She promised to watch over you!”
Peace smiled at her mother and hoped to get her in a better mood. “She watched over me very well. Do you know anything about the Book of Mormon?”
“Reverend Thompson said that the book is of the devil. He told me to burn it!”
Peace sat up in bed. “You didn’t, did you?” she cried.
“Not yet.” Her mother’s face softened. “It seemed to mean so much to you. And you came so far to bring it to us. I’ll admit that I was a little curious about it, because you value it, so I read a little of it.”
“Did it sound like the devil wrote it?” Peace asked softly.
“Well, no,” her mother admitted and smiled back at Peace. “I read a beautiful story about the Savior visiting a strange people in a land that I never heard of.”
“Bountiful?”
“Yes, that’s it. I have to say that it was a beautiful tale!”
“Oh, Mother,” Peace said fervently, “it’s more than a tale. It’s true—every word of it! If you read about it and pray about it, you’ll know that too.”
“Reverend Thompson said that no God-loving person would get involved with this book. He’s a good man, and he’s been our minister since you were a baby.”
Peace didn’t know what to say. Reverend Thompson was a good man. He’d been more than kind to her over the years. “Have the Mormon elders been in this area?”
“Yes, they have,” her mother answered. “Why?”
“Did many people listen and join the Church?”
“Yes. In fact, the number of people in our church has dwindled. And Reverend Thompson is very unhappy about it.”
“There, Mother. That’s your answer. Reverend Thompson is afraid that he’ll lose his congregation.”
Now it was her mother’s turn to look thoughtful. “You may be right. …”
“Mother, will you and Father read the whole book—and pray sincerely about it? Then if you have any questions, we can ask the elders to come visit.”
“I’m still not sure.”
“Please? It means so much to me.”
Peace’s mother loved her oldest daughter very much. She had been parted from her for a long time, and she felt that it wouldn’t hurt to do as Peace asked.
“All right. I will read it, and I’ll ask your father if he will too. I can’t promise more than that.”
“I know,” Peace said understandingly. “Sister Root didn’t want to believe, either. She wouldn’t let me be baptized until she knew more about the Church.”
“Rightly so,” her mother agreed. “I guess that maybe she was caring for you well.”
With just a few days left till she had to go back, Peace spent all the time that she could with her two brothers and three little sisters. She talked to them about the big city and the things that she had seen. “Not long ago I went into a big church near Mistress Root’s shop. There was a man speaking there,” she told them. “His name is Joseph Smith. He’s a very great man, and he’s a prophet.”
“Like Moses?” Jimmy asked in wonder.
“Yes, like Moses. When he talked, I felt that he had great power. We all felt it, and it changed my life.” She told them all that had happened to her. She told them, too, about the Savior and His visit to the New World. They listened eagerly as she told them stories from the Book of Mormon.
Because it was winter, the McBrides spent most of their time indoors. Peace read the Book of Mormon to her father as he mended harnesses and to her mother while she knitted. They listened intently to what Peace read, and her brothers and sisters did too.
Peace attended sacrament meeting at the small branch. Afterward she invited the elders to visit her family. When they came, her father asked many questions. He didn’t say much but nodded his head as the elders answered him.
The time soon came when Peace had to leave. Her heart was heavy because her parents still had not committed themselves to joining the Church.
Her father took her in their wagon to the inn and placed her bag inside the boot of the coach. Peace had a seat inside this time. She also had a warm quilt that her mother made for her to wrap up in.
“Good-bye, Peace,” her father told her, giving her a big hug. “I know what you want from your mother and me. I’m proud of you for believing your religion enough to suffer hardship to try to bring it to us. We’re not ready yet. Don’t give up on us, though. Just give us time.”
Peace left with a warm feeling. She knew that no matter what happened, she had done what she could to teach her family. Now she would give time and the Holy Ghost a chance to finish the work.

James Peter Fugal was an honest man! He herded sheep much of his life in the rolling hills of Idaho—both his own sheep and sheep for others.
On one bitterly cold winter night, he was herding sheep for another man when a blizzard set in. The sheep bunched together, as sheep do, in the corner of a fenced area, and many died. Many other sheep on surrounding ranches also died that same night because of the weather.
Though the death of the sheep was no fault of his, James Fugal felt responsible. He spent the next several years working and saving to repay the owner for his lost sheep. This was the type of deep moral honor and accountability that was fostered by scripture-reading, God-fearing settlers on the early frontier.
I thought about James Fugal, the humble sheepherder, and about how wonderful it was that these children were being taught the same values that made him a man of such noble character.

“I hate Santa Claus,” I exclaimed, glaring at a painting of the jolly old elf on a window at the mall.
Mom looked at me with raised eyebrows. “You certainly have the Christmas spirit,” she said.
I hurried with her to the car, trying to find the words to explain how I felt. “It’s just that I’m sick of Santa, the tinsel, and all the rest of the Christmas frenzy,” I said, as I put my shopping bags in the trunk. “I mean, aren’t we supposed to be celebrating the birth of the Savior?”
“I agree. Christmas is getting too commercialized,” Mom said.
We drove past the town hall and saw a poster requesting people to bring in their Christmas donations for the needy. “And that’s another thing,” I blurted. “I hate the way people feel a tug of guilt on their heartstrings at Christmastime and donate all their old stuff to charity. Why can’t people be generous all year long? As if they’re fooling anyone.”
Mom smiled. “Christmas is a good time to start.”
But I didn’t care what she had to say. Before long I was mad at everyone, and by the time we pulled into our driveway I had made up my mind that I wasn’t going to act any different just because it was Christmas. I wasn’t going to be hypocritical like the rest of the world. And as for the Savior’s birth, I’d just celebrate that in April.
After dinner we cleared the table and sat down to do homework. “Hey, help me with this algebra problem,” my brother Tom said.
“I’ve got homework to do,” I snapped.
“Come on, it’s Christmas,” he pleaded. Boy, was that the wrong thing to say! I told him I didn’t care if it was Christmas. “Ask someone who has time,” I said.
“How about someone who needs blessings because she’s acting weird,” said Tom.
“All right,” Mom’s stern voice cut in. “That’s enough. I’ll help you, Tom. Your sister’s carrying a grudge against Christmas this year.”
It was hard to concentrate on my homework because the ugliness inside me was growing. I couldn’t understand why I was feeling worse instead of better. After all, I wasn’t being a Christmas hypocrite, pretending to be jolly when people the world over were starving and suffering.
Just then the doorbell rang. Mom looked at me, then quietly walked to the door. Her surprised gasp brought the rest of the family to her side, including me.
There stood our home teachers dressed as shepherds. They waited until everyone had gathered around. “We’re on our way to Bethlehem,” one of the shepherds said, “and we thought we’d stop by and tell you what has happened. You see, we were watching over our flocks when suddenly an angel appeared to us. At first we were terribly afraid, but the angel said, ‘Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people.
“For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord’” (Luke 2:10–11).
There was something about the simplicity and sincerity of their message that touched me deeply. My lip started quivering, and I quickly bit it to keep it under control. I didn’t hear any more. I was too busy remembering how awful I’d been, all because I didn’t want to be a hypocrite. I had been griping about how horrible everyone is, when I wasn’t willing to change myself for the better. At least the people I complained about were generous and kind part of the year. I certainly hadn’t been.
“We’re going to see this miracle which has come to pass,” the other shepherd said. With that, they disappeared into the night, leaving us in silence, meditating on their wonderful message.
Then it hit me. They were going to share this marvelous event with others, to help them feel the true spirit of Christmas.
I wiped my eyes and cleared my throat. “I’ve got some Christmas messages of my own to deliver,” I said. Turning to Mom, I gave her the biggest hug I could manage. “I’m sorry for all I put you through.”
Mom smiled. “I guess that’s part of being a mother.”
I looked at Tom, who was grinning triumphantly.
“Probably the hardest thing I have to do is apologize to you, Tom,” I began. “But if I didn’t, you wouldn’t believe me when I tell you that my heart has changed tonight.” He shrugged his shoulders and brushed past me. I noticed the reddening of his ears, a sure sign he was embarrassed.
I followed him to the kitchen table and sat down. “Tom,” I asked, “can I help you with your algebra?”
“Sure,” he said, handing me the book. “And you can start by telling me how to do number seven.”
I looked at the problem and smiled. Maybe Christmas wasn’t such a bad time to start being generous after all.

A lot of my friends and classmates who are not members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints would often ask me about the Church. After a while, I got tired of answering the same questions over and over, so I came up with a solution.
I love to make internet videos to entertain people. I do music videos, informational videos, and parodies. One day when I was thinking about what I would do for my next video, I decided to make a video that answered questions about the Church.
I grabbed my camera. Then, without writing down what I was going to say but remembering important scriptures I wanted to mention, I made the video. I had no idea what would happen. I just felt prompted to make the video. “And I was led by the Spirit, not knowing beforehand the things which I should do” (1 Nephi 4:6).
Without worrying how my friends, classmates, and relatives—members of the Church or not—might respond, I uploaded it.
A few weeks after uploading the video, I started receiving feedback on my social media accounts. People I didn’t even know began commenting and thanking me for my video. Because of my video, one person even began taking the missionary discussions. Later, that person decided to get baptized.
Since I made the video, people I know who are not members of the Church seem to like me just the same—maybe even more. Several of them have even quit criticizing the Church. Others have stopped asking the same questions about the Church because now they have answers.

Jeffrey Yee, 11, and his younger brother Ryan, 6, performed the parts of James and Joseph Kirkwood. James was one of the young heroes of the pioneer trek. He, his mother, and his three brothers had come from Scotland, and they set out together to cross the plains with their handcart. James took care of his four-year-old brother, Joseph. When Joseph was too tired to walk any farther on Rocky Ridge, James carried him. When they finally got to the camp, James set his little brother down safely by the campfire. James died beside the fire from the cold and exhaustion.
“I think that he was very responsible and brave. His little brother must have been grateful for a brother to look up to,” Jeff says about his character. “Because he was kind to his little brother, he helps me know it’s not nice to make fun of my little brother. He usually needs help because he is so young, so I try to help him.”

Tim Healey of Missoula, Montana, learned the value of determination. He represented his state and country in the World School Boy Wrestling Tournament, where he took second place in his division.
Tim was plagued by back pains but overcame illness on the day of the final matches as he wrestled in the competition that led to his selection as a member of the Montana team. As a member of that team, he competed against 13 countries in the world tournament.
Tim serves as teachers quorum president in the Missoula Third Ward, Missoula Montana Stake.

Amanda had many friends who watched videos after school. Some of the videos had scenes that Amanda wasn’t sure Heavenly Father or her parents would like, and she wondered if she should watch them.
____ Being with her friends was fun. The videos weren’t that bad, and she would be a part of the group. If she didn’t watch the videos, she might not have anything at all to do after school.
____ Amanda chose to watch the videos with her friends.
____ She prayed to know if her decision was right.
____ Amanda felt uneasy about her decision to watch the videos.

President Thomas S. Monson, today First Counselor in the First Presidency, visited the communist-controlled German Democratic Republic (GDR) for the first time in 1968. Meeting with a group of Latter-day Saints in the city of Görlitz, President Monson grieved as he realized these members could not fully enjoy many of the blessings of the gospel: they had no patriarch, no wards or stakes—only branches, and they could not attend the temple. “I stood at the pulpit,” he said, “and with tear-filled eyes and a voice choked with emotion, I made a promise to the people: ‘If you will remain true and faithful to the commandments of God, every blessing any member of the Church enjoys in any other country will be yours’” (“Thanks Be to God,” Ensign, May 1989, 51).
Seven years later, President Monson returned to the GDR, and on 27 April 1975, he offered a prayer rededicating the land for the advancement of the gospel. This plea was among his appeals for divine help in establishing peace and opening missionary work: “Heavenly Father, wilt Thou open up the way that the faithful may be accorded the privilege of going to Thy holy temple” (Thomas S. Monson, Faith Rewarded [1996], 36).
The fulfillment of these blessings could not be imagined at the time they were given. Manfred Heller, first counselor in the Dresden Ward bishopric, explains that before 1985 very few had the possibility of receiving temple blessings. Permission had to be obtained from government authorities to travel out of the country. In exceptional cases, people who were retired sometimes received permission and traveled to Switzerland for their endowment.
After years of exploring every possibility, the answer came. President Monson said: “Through the fasting and the prayers of many members, and in a most natural manner, government leaders proposed: Rather than having your people go to Switzerland to visit a temple, why don’t you build a temple here in the German Democratic Republic? The proposal was accepted, a choice parcel of property obtained in Freiberg, and ground broken for a beautiful temple of God” (Ensign, May 1989, 51).
Four years before the Berlin Wall fell, the Freiberg Germany Temple was dedicated on 29 June 1985. During the two-week public open house that preceded the dedication, approximately 90,000 people toured the temple; thousands stood as long as five hours in the rain to see the new temple. And now thousands of faithful Latter-day Saints have received their temple blessings in this holy house.
“I remember when President Monson came and dedicated the land,” says Winfried Batzke, president of the Berlin Germany Stake. “And I have seen how, piece by piece, his promises have been fulfilled.”

The day I arrived in Mexico City as a General Authority with my family, I received a telephone call from a former missionary companion who wanted to talk to me that night. His oldest son, who was just starting his first semester of college, had died in a tragic accident. He was only seventeen years old and full of enthusiasm for life. He was faithful in the Church, and a seminary graduate. Just two weeks before, he had talked to his parents about desires and goals in life. Now he was gone. They understand the plan of salvation well and are sealed for eternity, but the physical separation affects them.
Those who have gone through this kind of trial recognize that there are tragedies that are so difficult we cannot understand them. We do not have an answer in this life for every adversity. When trials come, it is time to turn our souls to God, who is the author of life and the only source of comfort. “Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you.” (John 14:27.)
Some months ago I heard that the wife of a friend was again threatening miscarriage. I hurried, along with others who were concerned about the baby, to make sure that things would be well. While arrangements were still being made, we were told that it was too late. This was the third time she had gone through this painful experience. I asked myself: What can I say to comfort them? How will the Lord help them overcome this new blow?
The day she left the hospital she heard about another sister from her stake who was going through the same experience. Full of trust in the Lord, she went to visit the sister and give her support. She changed her own tragedy into a blessing of comfort for others.
Thinking about her attitude, I remembered a lesson I learned many years ago when my father died. He died suddenly, leaving my mother a widow with fifteen children, ten of whom were dependent on her. This was a great tragedy in her life. Of course, the gospel, the fellowship of the Church, and our own testimonies gave us a solid base which comforted us and helped us to accept this loss with dignity. In spite of the fact that we never left her alone, it affected her deeply. Although she accepted the will of God, her soul did not find inner peace.
One morning as we were traveling downtown on a bus, she began to feel her loneliness. I noticed it, but also knew that I couldn’t give her the comfort she needed. She cried in silence, but with dignity. A lady passenger came up and said: “You seem to be very sad.” My mother answered, “I have just lost my husband.” Then the lady asked, “Do you have children?” and my mother answered, “I have fifteen children, and each one of them has some trait that reminds me of their father. So I am constantly reminded of him.”
When she heard this, the woman said: “You are truly blessed, because you only lost your husband. I lost my husband, too, and my two daughters in an automobile accident, and I am living alone. So I do understand your pain and sorrow.” Then she added, “Only God can help us overcome trials like this.”
Those who suffer great adversity and sorrow and go on to serve their fellowmen develop a great capacity to understand others. Like the prophets, they have acquired a higher understanding of the mind and will of Christ. To me, this woman was like an angel. She gave comfort and raised my mother’s thoughts toward God in a time of great trial. From that day on, each time my mother felt lonely or abandoned, she would say to me: “Son, pity the woman who lost all. I am grateful that the Lord has blessed me with fifteen children to be my companions in life.”
This personal experience has helped me understand the importance of what God revealed to Joseph Smith in the Doctrine and Covenants:
“Which suffering caused myself, even God, the greatest of all, to tremble because of pain, and to bleed at every pore, and to suffer both body and spirit—and would that I might not drink the bitter cup, and shrink—
“Nevertheless, glory be to the Father, and I partook and finished my preparations unto the children of men.” (D&C 19:18–19.)
Christ has suffered more than any of us, and He knows the intensity of our afflictions. There is no suffering we have that He did not undergo in Gethsemane and on Calvary. That is why He understands and can help us.
Christ stated: “I am the resurrection, and the life: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live.” (John 11:25.) The greatest tragedy that can happen to a person is not the loss of his possessions, or his intellect, or his mortal life, but rather to lose eternal life, which is the free gift of God.
The scriptures are a witness of the various prophets—ordinary people, with extraordinary callings—who faced great tribulation and opposition. Father Lehi was commanded to abandon his gold, his silver, and his country. The sons of Mosiah had to renounce the throne. Job lost his lands, his cattle, and even his children, while Abinadi, Stephen, and Christ’s Apostles were killed in His service.
For some, the true trial of our faith is to remain faithful, without murmuring against the Lord, when we lose earthly position, family members, or even when we are required to give our very lives.
There is evidence in the scriptures that these great men trusted fully in the Savior, even without a full understanding of His purposes. The Prophet Joseph Smith learned, as he established the kingdom of God in this last dispensation, that the more he struggled to bless the lives of others, the greater was his opposition. He went to the Lord seeking justice. Christ did understand Joseph and suggested to him that he might have to suffer more. The Lord told him: “The Son of Man hath descended below them all. Art thou greater than he?” (D&C 122:8.)
Later, Joseph, with more understanding of the will and purposes of his Savior, accepted his glorious destiny by offering his life. It is not important to know the trials we may be required to go through in this mortal life. What is essential is our attitude in facing these trials and the lessons and experiences that we learn from them. These will help to refine our understanding and increase our spirituality.
Basically, we limit our vision to the events that happen in this life with the greatest emphasis placed on the present. Only when we fix our gaze on the heavenly things do we begin to understand the eternities. Only with the help of Christ can we fully overcome tragedy. It is necessary to develop our faith in Him as the Redeemer of the world. He taught us: “In the world ye shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world.” (John 16:33.) It is my prayer that when we have afflictions we will follow the pattern that He taught during His bitter experience in Gethsemane. He said: “If thou be willing, remove this cup from me: nevertheless not my will, but thine, be done.” (Luke 22:42.) This I testify in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Eleven-year-old Cassie sat on the front porch, frowning at the yellow stains on her fingernails. Since early morning she’d helped peel bushels and bushels of peaches, and the fuzzy skins had not only stained her fingers but made her hands itch. She never wanted to see another peach as long as she lived.
It had been a good summer for her family. The garden had given them lots of vegetables, and they’d already bottled beans and peas. The corn and the apples looked promising, but the peaches had been the best crop that Cassie could remember.
“Come inside and wash up for supper,” Mama called. “We have to go to bed early because we’re making peach jam tomorrow.”
Peaches, peaches, and more peaches, Cassie thought. Too many peaches! I’ll be dreaming all night about peaches.
“I see Papa and the boys coming up the back way,” Mama said. “Please hurry.”
Cassie hadn’t realized how hungry she was. Mama’s beef stew was wonderful, and even the peach cobbler tasted good.
After supper, Papa, Willy, and Jon took the bottles of peaches down to the fruit cellar. “These will be mighty tasty this winter,” Papa said. “How many bottles did we get?”
“Nearly two hundred,” Mama answered. “Almost twice as many as last year, even after we took the tithing bushels to the storehouse.”
Papa smiled. “I hope you children realize how much the Lord has blessed us.”
Cassie offered the family prayer that night and thanked Heavenly Father for all their blessings, including the peaches, though it was hard to feel grateful when she was so tired.
Cassie fell asleep right away. She awoke to the sounds of people shouting and wagons rattling down the road. She looked out the window and saw a smoky orange and red glow coming from the direction of the Ashman house. She jumped out of bed, her heart pounding. Sara Ashman was her best friend! She wrapped her quilt around her and ran downstairs. The floor felt cold on her bare feet. Mama was shaking out their extra quilts.
“What’s wrong, Mama?”
“I’m glad you’re up, Cassie. The Ashmans’ house caught fire. I don’t know how bad it is yet, but Papa and the boys are helping to put it out. The Ashmans are going to have to stay with us awhile, and I need your help to get the house ready. Brother and Sister Ashman will stay in your room. You, Sara, and Molly will stay in the boys’ room, and the boys can sleep down here on the floor.”
Cassie dressed quickly and moved her things to her brothers’ room. She put fresh sheets on her big double bed that had belonged to Grandma Bingham. The boys’ straw mattresses wouldn’t be nearly as comfortable as her down-filled one, but she was happy to share it with Sara’s parents. Besides, it would be fun to have Sara and Molly stay with her.
As she and Mama finished getting the house ready, a wagon pulled up outside. Cassie was hurrying downstairs when Willy came through the door, carrying Molly wrapped in a quilt. Sara and Sister Ashman followed him in. Their faces were smudged with soot, and Cassie could see where tears had run down their cheeks. She ran to Sara and gave her a hug.
“Oh, Cassie,” Sara cried, “everything’s gone—our clothes, our furniture, even our dolls!”
“Couldn’t you save anything, Edith?” Mama asked.
Sister Ashman shook her head. “We’re just very grateful to be alive.”
Papa and Jon came in with Brother Ashman, Tim Ashman, and Bishop Smith. “Looks like some rags were left too close to the wood stove, and the fire just spread from there,” the bishop said. “It’s a good thing Tim smelled smoke and woke the family. You’re a hero, Tim.”
Tim blushed. “I’m just glad the house was built next to the oak tree. We all climbed out Sara’s window and down the tree. You should have seen Mother—she shinned down faster than any of us.”
“We’re grateful that you’re safe,” Papa said. “We’ll go over when it’s light and see what’s to be done. Bishop, will you offer a prayer?”
The Bishop thanked Heavenly Father for saving the lives of the Ashman family. He asked for a special blessing on Cassie’s house while the Ashmans were staying there. Cassie felt good inside knowing that they had more than enough to share.
At daylight the men examined the ruins. They decided that it would take nearly two months to build a new house since they could work on it only after their own work was done. Every man in town volunteered to help.
The time went by quickly. Each evening except Sunday the men worked on the house. Lumber was donated from the sawmill in the next town, and Mr. Farley gave them paint from his store. People Cassie didn’t even know came to help. If anyone had a spare minute, it was spent building the house.
The sisters from the ward were busy too. They met to make quilts and clothing. People donated furniture, clothes, and kitchen utensils. A traveling salesman stopped by with a box of kitchen knives and left without telling anyone his name. Cassie couldn’t remember when everyone had seemed so happy.
Cassie and Mama kept busy making peach jam and canning the vegetables from both their own garden and the Ashman’s, which had not been harmed by the fire. Being with Sara and Molly was so much fun that Cassie even forgot that canning was hard work.
Because of everyone’s help, the house was finished sooner than expected. Cassie felt sad to think about Sara leaving. One night at dinner Sister Ashman began to cry. “I don’t know how I’ll ever repay all of you. The new house, the clothes, the dishes. Why I feel like a young bride again.”
“There’s no need to thank us,” Mama said. “You’d do the same for us.”
When the Ashmans moved, everyone came to see the new house. It was beautiful. Cassie couldn’t believe all the wonderful things the neighbors had done. There were dishes in the cupboards, rugs on the floors, and curtains at the windows. But for Cassie, the best part of the house was the fruit cellar. Lined up on the shelves were the bottles of vegetables she’d helped preserve—including three full shelves of bottled peaches. Well, she thought, maybe there weren’t too many peaches after all.