Gospel Story Finder

The stake president, Sonny Purcell, was driving his car when he saw the enormous wave coming far out at sea. He honked his horn and stopped children on the road walking to school and warned them to run for higher ground and safety as fast as they could go. The children followed his instruction. He frantically drove, reached his four-year-old daughter, put her in the car, and then tried to get to his mother. Before he could reach his mother, the wall of water picked up his car and swept it over 100 yards (91 m), where it lodged in a tree. He scrambled to secure his daughter on top of the car and then swam to rescue his mother, who was clinging to a branch of another tree near their house. With great effort he swam with her to the car and safety. Many were not as fortunate. They did not have time to get to higher ground and safety. Many lost their lives, particularly the young and the elderly.

I have struggled to find an adequate way to tell you how loved of God you are and how grateful we on this stand are for you. I am trying to be voice for the very angels of heaven in thanking you for every good thing you have ever done, for every kind word you have ever said, for every sacrifice you have ever made in extending to someone—to anyone—the beauty and blessings of the gospel of Jesus Christ.
I am grateful for Young Women leaders who go to girls camp and, without shampoo, showers, or mascara, turn smoky, campfire testimony meetings into some of the most riveting spiritual experiences those girls—or those leaders—will experience in their lifetime. I am grateful for all the women of the Church who in my life have been as strong as Mount Sinai and as compassionate as the Mount of Beatitudes. We smile sometimes about our sisters’ stories—you know, green Jell-O, quilts, and funeral potatoes. But my family has been the grateful recipient of each of those items at one time or another—and in one case, the quilt and the funeral potatoes on the same day. It was just a small quilt—tiny, really—to make my deceased baby brother’s journey back to his heavenly home as warm and comfortable as our Relief Society sisters wanted him to be. The food provided for our family after the service, voluntarily given without a single word from us, was gratefully received. Smile, if you will, about our traditions, but somehow the too-often unheralded women in this Church are always there when hands hang down and knees are feeble. They seem to grasp instinctively the divinity in Christ’s declaration: “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these … , ye have done it unto me.”
And no less the brethren of the priesthood. I think, for example, of the leaders of our young men who, depending on the climate and continent, either take bone-rattling 50-mile (80 km) hikes or dig—and actually try to sleep in—ice caves for what have to be the longest nights of human experience. I am grateful for memories of my own high priests group, which a few years ago took turns for weeks sleeping on a small recliner in the bedroom of a dying quorum member so that his aged and equally fragile wife could get some sleep through those final weeks of her sweetheart’s life. I am grateful for the Church’s army of teachers, officers, advisers, and clerks, to say nothing of people who are forever setting up tables and taking down chairs. I am grateful for ordained patriarchs, musicians, family historians, and osteoporotic couples who trundle off to the temple at 5:00 in the morning with little suitcases now almost bigger than they are. I am grateful for selfless parents who—perhaps for a lifetime—care for a challenged child, sometimes with more than one challenge and sometimes with more than one child. I am grateful for children who close ranks later in life to give back to ill or aging parents.
And to the near-perfect elderly sister who almost apologetically whispered recently, “I have never been a leader of anything in the Church. I guess I’ve only been a helper,” I say, “Dear sister, God bless you and all the ‘helpers’ in the kingdom.” Some of us who are leaders hope someday to have the standing before God that you have already attained.
Too often I have failed to express gratitude for the faith and goodness of such people in my life. President James E. Faust stood at this pulpit 13 years ago and said, “As a small boy … , I remember my grandmother … cooking our delicious meals on a hot woodstove. When the wood box next to the stove became empty, Grandmother would silently … go out to refill it from the pile of cedar wood outside, and bring the heavily laden box back into the house. I was so insensitive … [that] I sat there and let my beloved grandmother refill [that] box.” Then, his voice choking with emotion, he said, “I feel ashamed of myself and have regretted my omission for all of my life. I hope someday to ask for her forgiveness.”

One time I went to the beach. I met a friend named Courtney. We were playing in the ocean. Soon everyone started running out of the water. I wondered why everyone was running. I looked at the lifeguard’s flag, and it was red. Then I was swept under the water by a huge wave. There was a loud swishing noise in my ears, and I kept paddling my hands but couldn’t get out. Then I heard a voice say, “Kick your feet.” So I did, and I suddenly floated to the top and got out of the water.
I am so glad the Holy Ghost was with me that day, because the ocean can be very dangerous. I know that the Holy Ghost can protect us if we listen to Him.Lauren Adair Jones, age 6Hookerton, North Carolina

For an eight-year-old, I’ve caught lots of frogs—brown ones, green ones, striped ones, smelly ones—but never a famous one. I hit the jackpot, though, this summer when I caught “Peter Whitmer”! He didn’t start out with that famous name; he started out being “Freddie Frog.” Then someone bigger than I am said that since I’d caught him at a famous place like the Peter Whitmer farm in Fayette, New York, he ought to have a famous name too. So I named him Peter Whitmer. The real Peter Whitmer, of course, was one of the Prophet Joseph Smith’s best friends. He let Joseph Smith live on the Whitmer farm while the Prophet did some translating of the Book of Mormon.

My family (all seven of us) had parts in the Hill Cumorah Pageant, and we’d gone that day to see some of the other historic Church sites. While we were visiting the Whitmer farm, smiling for pictures and trying to understand why the old farm was important, I saw something kind of green with lots of spots on it hopping along in the sunshine. My friend Lynne had caught a frog at the Hill Cumorah, where we were staying, but this one was bigger. I watched it as it hopped and stopped, hopped and stopped. I grabbed for it fast, but it got away. Margaret, a teenage friend, was talking to me at the time and just bent over, scooped it up carefully in her big hands, and handed it to me! I could tell that he wasn’t happy, because he wiggled a lot, and I could feel his squishy stomach! Even though I like frogs, I was afraid that I was going to have to hold him in my hands all the way back to the Hill Cumorah. Yuck!

While I was wondering if I really wanted to keep him, I followed my mother inside a big white church to buy some cinnamon suckers. Lots of ladies in aprons were standing around selling punch and caramels and other homemade stuff that looked really good. And there on the floor was an empty soft-drink cup—just what I needed to put Peter in. What a lucky find! I quickly dumped him into the cup, and somebody made some holes in the lid with a pocketknife. By that time the buses were there to take us back to the Hill Cumorah.

Everyone on the bus wanted to see Peter, and I was afraid that he’d get carsick from being passed around so much. When we got to Cumorah, we asked Brother Killian, who was in charge of our food, if he had any boxes that we could put a frog in. One of his helpers found one just the right size. We put Peter in it and started making him a little “farm” like the real Peter Whitmer had. We put in rocks and grass and sticks and leaves. We put some water in the cup that we’d carried him in on the bus, then put that inside the box with a humongous stick on it for a diving board. He sat on the stick, but I didn’t ever see him jump off. We didn’t give him any food except a big leaf that probably had lots of bugs on it. We couldn’t catch any flies because they’d just fly away.

One day I showed Peter to my friend who played the part of Jesus in the pageant. His name was Brother DeLaMare, and all the kids in the pageant loved him. I showed him the frog Peter Whitmer, and he really liked him.

Well, I only kept the frog Peter Whitmer for a couple more days. One morning on the way to our devotional service, I put him in the bushes by the study shelter. I thought about him a couple of times during the devotional, but when I went back to see if he was still there, he was gone.

He had been a good little friend, and I had had a lot of fun with him. I wish that I could have taught him some tricks, but I don’t think that he was big enough. Brother DeLaMare asked me later where Peter was, and I just answered that he was probably having a froggy feast in the bushes!

As I walked to teach my Primary class, I remembered my new goal. I greeted each child at the door. Each smiled back, radiating the sweet spirit each one has. I wanted now to teach the gospel, which I know is true, to each child—not to the whole class. I wanted each four-year-old to feel important, to feel the love I had for him. When Primary was over, I felt my relationship with each child had improved; I had felt a little of the beauty each held. Longfellow and the missionaries were a little smarter than I thought.

We envision your families gathered around the television or online to watch the proceedings of general conference at home. An alert mother and father sent me a copy of a picture they took at conference time. They observed the reaction of their then 18-month-old son, who recognized the features and voice of the speaker. The child started to throw kisses toward the TV. He wanted to come closer. So his thoughtful older sister quickly hoisted her little brother on her shoulders and brought him closer. Here is that photograph.
Yes, the image on the TV is mine, and those children are our grandchildren. In a few years this boy will be an elder endowed in the temple and ready for his mission. Later he will be sealed to an eternal companion of his choice. Can you see him one day as a husband and father, with children of his own? And one day he will say farewell to his grandfathers, with a sure knowledge that death is part of life.

When I was growing up, every year or so my stake would hold a “roadshow”—a night of laughter and fun as each ward performed an unashamedly amateur melodrama before the rest of the stake in the crowded cultural hall. For weeks before the event, leaders in the wards would concoct unlikely plots, create ridiculous songs and dances, and coerce reluctant youth into wearing outlandish costumes. Our roadshows could hardly be termed theater, but they were a lot of fun.
Of all the stake roadshows I took part in, one in particular stands out in my memory. The year I was 16, the stake presidency, of which my father was a member, decided the wards would not be allowed to use glitter in their costumes or makeup. Although the shimmering flecks looked wonderful on stage under the spotlight, they invariably found their way into the carpets and furniture of the rooms the wards used for preparation. Because the roadshow was to be held on Saturday night, the stake presidency hoped this measure would help keep the building clean for the Sabbath.
But in the enthusiasm and good-natured competition of that year’s roadshow, the stake presidency’s counsel went largely unheeded. After the performances concluded, I looked for my dad among the members slowly trickling from the building. They all seemed to have had a night of friendship and amusement. When I finally found my father in one of the rooms used for preparation, I could see that he was not amused. He was walking slowly around the room, gravely surveying the sparkles scattered about the floor.
“Most of the wards used glitter,” I said, stating the obvious.
“It’s like this in almost all the rooms,” he said and sighed. “Weren’t we clear about not using glitter?” he asked in frustration.
“I think you were,” I said, hoping to ease some of the tension.
By the time we found the rest of the family and went home, it was already late. But after seeing the younger kids to bed, my father took his car keys and went to the door.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
“Back to the stake center,” he said quietly. “I’m going to see what I can do to get it ready for Sunday. Do you want to come?”
I didn’t have any special desire to spend what remained of my Saturday evening cleaning, but when I thought about my dad doing all that work alone, I agreed to go.
By the time we reached the stake center, my dad’s attitude had changed. As we cleaned, he seemed less discouraged and even somewhat enthusiastic about the challenge before us. He spent the time asking me about school and my friends.
Although the cleaning took several hours, we both felt a certain pleasure in our work and tried to be as thorough as possible. It wasn’t until after midnight that we felt the building was ready for church in the morning.
The next day, I felt special satisfaction as I looked through the clean rooms and remembered how they had appeared the night before. I considered telling my friends about my one-night stint at janitorial work, but that didn’t seem appropriate. Apparently, my father felt the same—to this day I can’t remember him mentioning that night to anyone.
Today when I think back to that roadshow, I can’t remember any of the humor or costumes or music. What comes to mind are images of my father vacuuming and sweeping and picking glitter from the floor of the church—doing behind-the-scenes work in preparation for the Sabbath.

One day while carefully crawling over the frosty cliffs in search of random fossil bones, I came upon a spot where a few fossil mud-balls and some interesting bone scraps seemed to suggest it might be an area worth prying into. Our general collecting technique was to find a single bone exposed on the surface, harden it with shellac, and then chisel it free. In this one spot, however, I felt an urge to dig and see what might be below the surface. I pried several shoe-box-size sections of sandstone free with my ice ax, and kneeling down on the cold, dry sand, I split them apart for examination. I chanced to split one fragment in a manner that exposed a curious triangular bone about two inches long displaying a single tooth. I studied it for a moment and, unable to identify it, wrapped it carefully for Dr. Colbert to examine back in camp. I spent several hours on this small cliff. In so doing, I forgot to watch my face and as a consequence received a nasty frostbite on my right cheek and nose. The skin in these areas formed hard, cold, white patches.
That evening while I was eating and undergoing a painful thawing, Dr. Colbert came dashing into the mess hut and cried, “You’ve got Lystrosaurus!” I looked on my plate, then at my sleeve, and felt the back of my head, but failed to comprehend his excitement. “Lystrosaurus,” he repeated. “You’ve got Lystrosaurus!”
I sat there blinking dumbly and twitching my red nose. Finally I began to comprehend that he was referring to my day’s collection and not to my physical condition, and also that Lystrosaurus was the scientific name of a mammal-like reptile found abundantly in Africa. It seems I had found the right maxilla (upper jawbone) of one of these curious creatures, which have but two teeth in their entire skull. This unusual characteristic makes a bone from this animal a very important diagnostic fossil. Their presence on Coalsack Bluff as well as in Africa and India meant but one thing; these continents had once been joined as part of Gondwanaland!
My frostbite was still my most impressive feeling at that moment, but I later realized I had discovered what is said to be the single most important object that has yet been found relating to earth history, for it was first proof that there was once a great supercontinent on earth. Future exploration will naturally follow with possible discovery of complete fossil animal skeletons, but they will only be additional information, for the vital moment of truth has passed. The first discovery has been made.
It has now been one year since that discovery, and several workers have now published aggressive articles on continental drift. Although some of them ignore fossil vertebrates, they proceed with a confident vigor made possible only by a frozen nose and the revelation of a little one-toothed jawbone on Coalsack Bluff.

I thought about Dean Smoot’s comments, and how we as humans constantly try to push the laws of nature as well as the laws of God, when I read in the newspaper about a young man celebrating his birthday at a hotel. He and his friends had been drinking and were probably not thinking clearly when he decided to jump from one tenth-floor balcony to the next. Being successful the first time, he attempted a second leap and fell to his death. “We were just out having a good time,” said his friend, “but now] I realize how quickly life can be taken away.”

In order to better understand this principle, please consider Aesop’s fable “The Hare and the Tortoise.” After being taunted repeatedly for being slow, the Tortoise challenged the Hare to a race. As the race began, the two started off together. However, the Hare ran rapidly towards the goal and, seeing that he could easily win, lay down and fell asleep a short distance in front of the finish line. The Tortoise maintained a slow but steady and consistent pace toward the finish line. When the Hare awoke from his nap, he started running as fast as he could, only to find that the Tortoise had won the race. The Tortoise is a classic illustration of steadiness and persistence. The Hare, on the other hand, is an example of a “spurter”—one who is given to short bursts of spectacular effort followed by frequent and lengthy periods of rest.

When I eat lunch in the school cafeteria, some kids talk about things that I know I shouldn’t listen to. I ask them to not talk about those things. Sometimes they stop, but sometimes they don’t. If they don’t, I move to another place so I don’t have to hear bad things. A couple of times I’ve had to eat alone.
Sometimes standing up for the right means that you aren’t liked as much, but I think it helps other people to want to choose the right too. It also means that you will attract good friends. I am glad that we have a prophet who asks us to be clean.

When I was eight years old, the missionaries met my grandmother and aunt on the street. After learning about the gospel, we were all baptized. In 2020, however, we had to stop going to church because of COVID. We eventually stopped believing.
Two years ago, I didn’t even believe in God or know if He was real. One day after school, I wanted to cross the street to buy a snack. But a voice told me to not cross the street. I stopped, and two cars crashed right in front of me. If I had crossed the street, the cars would have hit me or maybe killed me. I knew then that God knew me and loved me. Even though I didn’t believe in Him and wasn’t attending church at the time, He still loved me and protected me.
I started to read the Book of Mormon again and came to know that it is God’s word. I started going back to church too. When I go to church, I feel peace, God’s love, and His help. I feel that He’s always with me, and that makes me happy.
My favorite hymn is “I Am a Child of God” because it reminds me that Heavenly Father loves us and helps us. I also like the scripture 2 Nephi 2:27, which talks about how we are free to choose between right and wrong.
Many months ago, my brother started coming to church with me, but after a while he stopped. He worries about what his friends and others will think of him. He thinks that it’s shameful to go to our church, but I tell him that it doesn’t matter what friends think. It’s what God thinks that matters.
My family doesn’t go to church. I go alone. Because my street doesn’t have a bus to the Church building, I walk about 30 minutes to get there. My family worries what other people will think about them, but I say that it doesn’t matter because I know it’s true.
When I meet with my friends, they sometimes drink coffee. And when I see that, sometimes I want to drink coffee too. But I remember that God is with me. He holds my hand and helps me. I hear a voice that tells me not to do it, and I know that God is helping me overcome these challenges.
It’s hard to attend church without her family, but Nara knows that God loves and blesses her. He even protected her from a car accident once.
If I were to give advice to someone in my situation, I would say to them that you are so blessed, and you have a lot of faith. You are not alone, because the Church members and missionaries can give you good advice. God loves you. You are His son or daughter, and He wants to help you.

Here is an example of the kind of Christlike ministering that happens among members of the Lord’s Church. A student at Brigham Young University recently wrote:
“I was going through a really rough time. One day I was really struggling and on the verge of tears. I pleaded and prayed silently for strength to continue. In that exact moment, my roommate sent me a text expressing her love for me. She shared a scripture and bore a testimony. It brought me so much strength and comfort and hope in that moment of despair.”

“Manya,” invited her mother, “go into the garden and play. Your sisters and your brother have been outdoors since daybreak and here you are with your nose still buried in that book.”
With a deep sigh, Manya Sklodowska obediently put down the book and went out to join her sisters and her brother. Soon tiring of playing in the garden, they went into the nearby forest to pick the berries that had just started to ripen. Of course, they ate more than they picked because none of them could resist the delicious sweetness of the fruit.
Although Manya, the youngest of the family, had been christened Marja, she immediately became Manya to her family and friends.
Manya’s childhood was a happy one. The Sklodowska family was poor in material things but they were wealthy with the richness that comes from love of God and their country Poland. Manya’s father had the post of Professor of Physics at the university in Warsaw and encouraged his children to read the books in his library.
Next to the bookshelves was a glass case containing what Professor Sklodowska called his specimens, which he had collected during his physics classes. It was here that Manya spent a great deal of her time. “Some day,” she told herself, “I will learn what each of these is.”
Although Manya was not old enough to attend regular school, her older sisters involved her when they studied. Because of this, Manya was soon able to read and write, even before she entered school.
One privilege she did not have was a place at the big desk where her sisters did their homework. But as soon as she became a student, she, too, was allowed to join them, and these occasions became some of the happiest moments of her life. Manya had the kind of memory that retained everything she read, a gift that lasted throughout her life.
Manya’s teachers found her to be an exceptional student, and her grades were always among the highest in her classes. Nothing seemed too difficult for her, and soon she found herself two years ahead of the rest of the students in her starting class. But often she thought of the glass shelf in her father’s study containing his specimens. She repeatedly told herself that one day they would no longer be a mystery to her.
After graduating from the Russian Lycee (high school), Manya was selected as a gold-medal winner. Although this was not the first time a member of her family had achieved that honor, this was a tremendous event in her life.
“I think I will take a holiday now,” she told her family and friends. “I need to relax.” And off she went to the countryside, far from the bustling city of Warsaw.
How she loved the country! All was peaceful and happy there with picnics, balls, and dances that lasted far into the night. Many handsome young Polish men came from the neighboring villages to join in the festivities.
Too soon the good times came to an end. Manya’s father had invested his money unwisely, and so the Sklodowska sisters had to find a way to earn a living for themselves. In those days there was little opportunity for well-brought up women to earn a livelihood. Manya decided that her way would be to become a teacher. This was the kind of work she loved. She was no longer called Manya but Mademoiselle Marja (Marie) instead, because she had become a young lady with the responsibility of teaching others.
For six years Marja did what she thought would be her life’s work—teaching others. However, all of this changed when, on a visit to her father, she immediately saw the changes that had taken place in her absence. He had been able to add a laboratory to his workroom. Although to many it seemed a strange place for a young lady to spend her time, Marja soon found herself very much at home among the test tubes and beakers. For the first time in her life, Marja knew what she was meant to do. First of all, though, she would have to continue with her studies.
All of her life Marja’s father had told her that there were many ways to solve a problem. Her funds were insufficient for her to spend additional time in school without help. She wrote to her married sister Bronia in Paris to see whether she could repay part of the money Marja had once loaned her to go to medical school. Bronia responded, and with that and what other money Marja managed to get together, she was able to return to school.
In Paris, Marja became completely involved with the study of physics. When she married a young scientist by the name of Pierre Curie, they worked as a team to discover two new elements, polonium and radium, now so important to the medical world.
The rest is history. Manya, Marja, or Marie (as the French people called her), together with her husband Pierre, made some of the most important discoveries in the annals of medicine. Countless lives have benefited because a young girl once told herself that one day she would know all about the minerals in her father’s workshop. Her dedicated research led her to find out things that even her father never dreamed of discovering.
In 1903, Marie and Pierre Curie shared the coveted Nobel Prize for Physics with Henri Becquerel. In 1911, five years after the untimely death of Pierre, Marie Curie was awarded the Nobel Prize for Chemistry.

I heard the garage door open, and I knew what he would tell me. I lay quietly in bed. My father’s figure appeared in the doorway.
“Tracie, are you awake?” My heart was breaking as I felt my dad sit on the edge of my bed. “Lynn and I are going to get married,” he said. I was silent as he tried to explain.
“This does not mean that I love your mom any less. I know it will be hard, but I need you to be a good example to your sisters.” His sentences swirled around my mind, blurring into a mass of tears, weighing harder and harder on my heart.
“Good night, Tracie. I love you.”
As he left, my eyes overflowed with tears. My mind wouldn’t stop spinning. Why did my dad have to get married again? We were doing fine. Grandma didn’t mind helping us out. Mom wouldn’t want him to remarry. I didn’t want a stepsister my age. I have only one mom. I will be loyal!
I was eight years old when my mother died of cancer, and it changed me. I had always been shy, but my mother’s death caused me to turn completely inward. My friends distanced themselves from me. Home was my only safe place, and in it I grew up quickly as I became the part-time caretaker of my two little sisters. I must have blocked some things out because there’s not much I remember. I do know, however, that I became a hardened little girl.
It was during that stage that my dad told me he was inviting Lynn and her daughters to our house for a visit. They were family friends, so my little sisters were excited to play with Lynn’s two girls, Meghan and Paige. I hated the idea from the start. I suspected my dad’s intentions, and I decided I was opposed to the idea. I was determined that I would not forget my mother.
I felt betrayed that my dad would even consider remarriage. How could Mom’s memory live on with another woman in the house? I thought all my dad’s love would go to Lynn, and she would try to take Mom’s place.
I was wrong, and I am constantly amazed at how my views over the years have changed. It has been a long, hard process, but it has contributed a great deal to my character and has helped sculpt me into the person I am.
The first thing I needed to do was learn to love Lynn. I thought she was a nice lady, but that was where it stopped. She tried to tell me what to do, and even worse than that, she loved hugs and kisses. I did not want to kiss her and went to great efforts, at least at first, to avoid it.
Lynn and my mom are about as different as two people could be. They were actually best friends, and where one had strengths, the other had weaknesses. I have many memories of my mother waking up at five in the morning to read her scriptures and bake bread. She was friendly, but at the same time a bit shy. Lynn was the bold, outgoing one who loved talking and meeting people. This was something I had to deal with; she was just so different.
I think it was these differences, though, that made it possible for me to love her. I had respected Lynn from the beginning because she was my father’s new wife, and I wasn’t a rebellious child. But it was different when I started to love her. I saw that she was good to us. She drove us places and helped us with our problems. It was nice to have a woman in the house, especially during my early teenage years. She made my dad more happy and relaxed than he’d been in a long time, and it was nice not to have so much responsibility for my sisters. But there was still a wall between us. I loved and appreciated her as a person, but she wasn’t my mom.
Over time, Lynn’s role in my life changed. I matured, and Lynn became a great help to me. She loved it when I talked to her. Sometimes I would just plop down on her bed and talk to her for a long time. I really started to trust Lynn, to depend on her.
I now consider Lynn my second mother. The wall is gone. I used to think if I loved Lynn, my love for my mom would decrease; but just the opposite has happened. I love them both and appreciate their strengths and the many things they have taught me. I don’t compare them since they are both so loving and kind and have so many wonderful qualities. It took me a long time to admit I love Lynn and my stepsisters, but since I did, I have realized that love is sweet and powerful.
I love both my moms, and I am proud I am a little like both of them. I feel at peace, because I know the Lord’s plan for my family has been fulfilled. I have grown so much through these experiences and rejoice that I have learned to accept different people, to express myself to others, and most importantly that I now cherish a person I vowed I would never love.

Simón’s handsome quick-tempered father died when the boy was only six and his mother three years later. The happy early childhood of the Bolívar children was abruptly ended. They were taken into the homes of different relatives. Uncle Palacios became responsible for Simón, and the easy outdoor life he had known was replaced by the severity of Uncle Palacios’ cold and formal home in Caracas. Monks were hired to teach the lonely and homesick boy. Uncle Palacios worried about his unhappy nephew and the monks worried about Uncle Palacios, after he once interrupted their unimaginative teaching about the stars to observe, “The stars in the heavens are there for all to see. One is not forced to observe them by gazing through any one particular window.”
Soon afterward a new tutor was engaged for Simón, a tall, loosely built young man of twenty-three. His name was Rodriguez Carreno and, fired with the revolutionary ideas of freedom, he threw away the dull books the monks had used, exchanging them for long walks, exercise, and philosophical talks. These exciting subjects were to influence Simón and make it possible for him to eventually become a great statesman, soldier, and liberator of the five countries he would later help to free and govern.
Rodriquez taught Simón the history of their country and spoke bitterly about the Spaniards who were rulers there and in much of the rest of South America. It was Rodriguez who also told Simón that these rulers considered the native Venezuelans to be inferior because their Spanish blood had been mixed through intermarriage with people from France or the West Indies (Creoles). Rodriguez’ remarks were shocking to the proud young man, and the tutor’s dream of freedom from Spain became a hope for Simón too.

The word come is an invitation. It suggests movement from one place to another. Taylor A. knows well the meaning of this word.
Taylor A.
Trek photographs courtesy of Aaron West
Taylor is bright, joyful, and full of the Spirit, but she would be quick to tell you that those words did not describe her two years ago. She has moved to a different place now, spiritually and physically. She is a pioneer.
“I’ve been a pioneer in my life,” she said, “because I’m a recent convert. And my journey has just been amazing. I just feel like it’s a whole new life. And once we take that first step in our journey, miracles happen.”
Not only does Taylor understand the invitation to come—she knows the source of the invitation. She observed, “In our world, we’re so disconnected with what got us here, right? We are so caught up in our jobs and technology, and a message that’s really been hitting me lately is putting Christ first. If we just connect to what the pioneers really did—[they were] centered in Christ.”
Follow is another invitation. On the pioneer trek, Ethan G. gained a greater understanding of this word. “Sometimes I haven’t felt the best on trek, or I’ve felt kind of discouraged,” he admitted. “But I realize that the pioneers also felt that way.”
Ethan G.
Ethan used to wonder why the early pioneers were willing to do what they did. He said, “I feel like I might have just given up. But as I’ve thought about that, I kind of realized that it’s because they loved the Savior, and they have a hope they can become better through Him. I want to try that too.”
Before Ethan went on the trek, he read about pioneers from the past, felt a connection with them, and was inspired by their faith to follow Jesus Christ. And what is Ethan doing now? He is preparing to receive a call to serve as a full-time missionary. True to President Monson’s counsel, he is getting ready to show others the way to follow.
Where should we come? Who should we follow? The Savior tells us: “Come, follow me” (Luke 18:22; emphasis added). When Harmony left home for trek, she saw the Lord’s hand in her experience. She knew she was following Him.
Harmony C.
Harmony’s path to her stake trek was different from others’ paths. At age 15 she learned that she had a rare form of skin cancer. She wasn’t able to participate in her stake trek. “I was devastated,” she recalled.
Four years later, when her stake announced another trek, Harmony was free of cancer. But at age 19, she thought she wouldn’t be able to go. Then she received a calling to participate as a leader. She said, “It’s a testimony to me that the Lord knows who we are, and He knows the desires of our hearts, and if they’re righteous and good, He’ll bless us.”
Harmony offered advice to help us when we face trials: “To anyone who’s struggling, I’d say just to lean on the Lord. He’s always there for you. He loves us, and He won’t let us fall. We just need to reach out our hand to Him, and He will help us on our pioneer journey.”
If you never go on a pioneer trek, you can still be a pioneer. You don’t have to wear a bonnet or pull a handcart. You just need to follow Jesus Christ, as the early pioneers did. In doing so, you will be, as President Monson said, “one who goes before to prepare or open up the way for others to follow.”
If you do have an opportunity to go on a pioneer trek, enjoy it! And when it’s over and you leave your handcart behind, don’t leave your pioneer testimony inside it. Bring that testimony with you.
You are a real-life, modern-day pioneer. With the ultimate Pioneer—the Savior—as your guide, you are sure to succeed!

Forty years ago, I gave my heart to Jesus Christ and began attending an evangelical church. I had a wonderful pastor and made many friends who helped me grow spiritually. But after many years of attending, I became troubled by some of the church’s new practices. I tried so hard to stay, but I just couldn’t abide by the changes.
When I began searching for a new church, my brother and his wife, who were members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, invited me to come to their church. But I couldn’t wrap my heart and mind around Joseph Smith as a prophet. I respectfully told them, “Thanks, but no thanks.”
I started going to another evangelical church, but the same thing happened there too. After a while, I felt that my spiritual needs weren’t being fulfilled there either. Once again, my brother and his wife invited me to come to their church, and again I politely refused.
I decided I couldn’t trust any church. I made a plan to practice my faith alone. But without church or the opportunity to share my faith with others, I felt myself slipping away from my commitment to Jesus Christ. I started doubting what I had believed in for 30 years! That was the turning point for me.
I looked to the only option I seemed to have left and finally told my brother and his wife that I wanted to go to church with them.
I was skeptical at first, but I will never forget that first Sunday I attended with them. My heart swelled throughout sacrament meeting, as we discussed the New Testament in Sunday School, and again when we sang beautiful music together in Relief Society. And I loved the way people interacted with such love and compassion.
I felt at home.
I continued going to church, but after praying and searching for almost two years, I still had many questions for the Lord and wasn’t ready to be baptized. Then, in October 2012, I decided to watch general conference to find my answers.
Both Saturday sessions greatly touched my heart, and I decided to watch the Sunday morning session in the church building. Even though there was hardly anyone there, I felt distinct peace about my decision to be in the chapel. I could feel my heart softening. I was so hungry for truth.
President Henry B. Eyring, Second Counselor in the First Presidency, shared a beautiful message that I will never forget. He spoke of Joseph Smith’s prayer in Liberty Jail, when he cried out: “O God, where art thou? And where is the pavilion that covereth thy hiding place?” (Doctrine and Covenants 121:1). President Eyring compared Joseph’s feeling to what I had felt:
“Many of us, in moments of personal anguish, feel that God is far from us. … God is never hidden, yet sometimes we are, covered by a pavilion of motivations that draw us away from God and make Him seem distant and inaccessible. …
“Our feelings of separation from God will diminish as we become more childlike before Him. … It will help us recognize this truth: God is close to us and aware of us and never hides from His faithful children.”1
As President Eyring shared this message about receiving God’s love and His will, I heard a message from the Spirit in my mind. It was two simple words: “Be baptized.”
When Elder David A. Bednar of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles spoke about conversion that same day,2 I felt my concerns about being baptized disappear. I realized I wasn’t giving up my core beliefs from my evangelical days by joining a new faith. I was building on the faith and truths that I already had. I was being further converted unto the Lord. And His prophets were helping me along the way.
The morning after conference, I called my brother and asked him if he would baptize me. It was a joyful moment that brought us both to tears.
As I reflect on my life journey, I’m grateful for the opportunities afforded me through Jesus Christ. And I’m grateful for general conference. During general conference, I felt that God had heard me. He answered my questions, addressed my fears, and loved me through the words of His prophets.
I know that each general conference has a message straight from the Lord that is personally tailored to you and what you’re going through. As we listen to the prophets with a willingness to accept God’s message for us, we will hear Him. We will receive answers to our prayers and answers to our questions. We will find that the Lord speaks, and we will become more and more converted unto Him.

One Sunday I learned about fasting and prayer in my Primary class. That night we found out that my little brother, Adam, had the chicken pox. He was only five months old, and we were worried that he would get very sick. I asked my mom if I could fast and pray for him. Mom and I decided to fast and pray together. Even though Adam was sick all week and got covered with chicken pox, he always acted happy.
I’m glad that I learned about fasting and prayer so that we could ask Heavenly Father for extra help. I know that Heavenly Father heard our prayers.Katie P., age 8, California

The lights were turned low, and the soft strains of Christmas carols filled the room as Grandma Joy fashioned fancy bows for the packages she had just wrapped with gaily colored paper. She smiled just thinking about her children and grandchildren, who would be visiting her tomorrow on Christmas Day. She was looking forward to the sparkling eyes and clapping hands of her grandchildren as they opened their gifts.
Grandma Joy had made each grandchild a pair of soft flannel pajamas with colorful trains, toy soldiers, rag dolls, or kittens on them. Each child would have his own favorite color, and, as a special treat, she had crocheted matching slippers with big, bouncy pom-poms on them.
Finished now with the bows, Grandma Joy relaxed in her recliner rocking chair to enjoy the music and to let her mind wander back over the day to see if she had forgotten anything. The sugar cookies were baked and decorated. The fruitcakes, taken from the oven only an hour ago, were sending their spicy aroma throughout the house as they cooled on racks on the kitchen counter. The family’s traditional salad mold was in the refrigerator, and the homemade fudge and divinity were heaped in fancy dishes about the living room.
The dining room table was covered with her best tablecloth, and in the center rested a bowl of shining red apples, ripe yellow bananas, thick-skinned navel oranges, and clusters of purple and red grapes. And on top of the television was Grandma Joy’s special gift for Tanya.
Tanya was the oldest grandchild. She had a keen, active mind overflowing with questions that Grandma Joy had run out of instant answers to—questions like:
“Grandma Joy, why wasn’t Jesus born in a beautiful home instead of a stable? I’ve been in a barn with cattle, and it’s not a very pleasant place for a human baby to be born.
“Once when I was building a birdhouse, the hammer slipped and hit my finger. It hurt really bad, and my fingernail turned black, and I finally lost it. So how could Jesus let the people crucify Him? How could He stand it when the soldiers drove nails through His hands and feet?
“How could Jesus go forty days and nights without food, when I get so hungry that I eat after school and then can hardly wait until Dad gets home for dinner?
“How could Jesus love all the little children and hold them in His arms? When Jimmy gets dirty and his hands are sticky, I don’t want him near me!
“Why did Jesus just wander around—why didn’t He work at a job like Dad does? I see on TV that when people don’t work, the police sometimes chase them out of parks, and charity groups have to feed them. …”
Tanya must have a good Primary teacher, Grandma Joy mused, one who gets children to think for themselves. Since Tanya left here last Sunday, I’ve needed every minute to prepare the Answer Tree for her.
The little Christmas tree had tiny packages hanging from its green branches. Grandma Joy had spent hours that week studying and reading the Bible and other good books, writing down the answers to Tanya’s questions, and wrapping the little pieces of paper as ornaments for the two-foot tree.
After a lovely Christmas dinner the next day, and after all the other gifts had been exchanged, Grandma Joy and Tanya sat together in the big chair near the little tree. The younger children were napping, and the other adults were visiting quietly together. It was a perfect time for Tanya to open the ornament-packages on the Answer Tree. She picked a blue ball-shaped one first and read:
“‘Jesus loved little children because He knew that they are innocent and trusting and eager to learn. He compared the kingdom of God to a child. Sticky hands or straggly hair or dirty knees aren’t as important as a pure heart. Jesus sees our souls.’
“Oh, Grandma Joy,” Tanya exclaimed, “these are answers to my questions! Thank you!”
Choosing a red package made up to look like a Wise Man, Tanya read the message inside:
“‘Only because He sacrificed Himself for us—and rose again—can we be resurrected after we die. He suffered for our sins so that we can live with Him again if we live righteously here on earth. Jesus let the soldiers nail Him to the cross and endured the pain because He loved us and wants us to be with Him always.’”
Unwrapping a white ornament that looked like an open Bible, Tanya read:
“‘Not much is said directly about why Heavenly Father didn’t arrange for Jesus to be born in a better place than a stable, but maybe one reason was that His humble birth helped to show that He came to save everyone. The Jews were expecting the Savior to be more like a warrior-king who would conquer their enemies, so His birth in a stable might have been a way to indicate His true ministry right from the start of His mortal life. Another reason that He was born in a stable may have been to show that it is one of God’s commandments to obey the laws of the land. Mary and Joseph were doing that when they went to Bethlehem to pay their taxes.’”
Inside a tiny gift box with an orange bow was this message:
“‘Jesus wandered from place to place because He needed to teach as many people as He could before He died. There were no radios or televisions or even loudspeakers for Him to use, so He had to travel from place to place to heal people and to teach them. Until He went to Gethsemane and Calvary, that was His job.’”
Tanya opened a green bell package next and read:
“‘Like Jesus, Moses fasted for forty days. Both of them were with Heavenly Father during that time and were sustained by Him as they received His counsel. Heavenly Father helped them so that they could help us.’”
Finally Tanya took the gold star from the top of the tree. Carefully she opened it, then read this verse from “O Little Town of Bethlehem”:
“‘How silently, how silently,
The wondrous gift is given!
So God imparts to human hearts
The blessings of his heaven.
No ear may hear his coming;
But in this world of sin,
Where meek souls will receive him, still
The dear Christ enters in.’
“Oh, Grandma Joy, I’m so glad that I can come to you with my questions,” Tanya said as she snuggled in the big chair with her grandmother once again. “Your Christmas Answer Tree explained things so that I can understand them.”
“Thank you, dear,” Grandma Joy told her. “That’s the best praise anyone can get.”