Gospel Story Finder

Eighteen-year-old Liane Pearce and Tony Morgan, 21, a recently returned missionary, have joined the brigade of traffic wardens, or “yellow peril” (referring to the stripes on their uniforms) as they are more commonly called, assigned to traffic control on London’s busy streets.
It’s hard work—long hours trudging the streets in all kinds of weather—and they are the targets for abuse, both verbal and physical, from angry motorists. But they both say they love their unusual job.
Because they are the only members of the Church in their brigade, they have plenty of opportunities for missionary work. As far as rough language of fellow workers is concerned, Liane says, “Tony and I turn a deaf ear. People know we are members of the Church and, strangely enough, seem to be respectful to us.
“People imagine all we do is hand out parking tickets,” she continues, “but that’s only a small part of it. We consider we are doing a public service by directing the traffic, keeping the roads clear for other motorists, and working school crossing patrols.”

Things were going wonderfully as the first year of my mission went by. Then, when I was serving in Córdoba, Argentina, I received some sad news from home: my father was very ill. He had recently undergone surgery, and the doctors had found that his illness was much advanced, in the terminal stage.
The mission president decided that I should go home, visit my father, and return to the mission field the next day. So I went home and found my father on the verge of death, most of the time unconscious and immobile. I spent most of my time at his bedside. Those were hours of sorrow, of peace, and of the abundant companionship of the Spirit. All my thoughts were centered on the Lord and His great plan.
At some point my father regained consciousness. He looked at me but did not recognize me. However, as I began to express how much I loved him and how grateful I was to be his son, he realized he was listening to his eldest child, the missionary. Tears started to roll down his cheeks, and making great effort to communicate, he said, “Your mother is a saintly woman; she is our example.” Then I clearly heard these words from his lips: “Even if you don’t have anything to eat, always pay your tithing.”
He did not say much more. I wrote down his words in my journal, left the house, and returned to the mission field. A few hours later my father passed away.

When our family was living in the state of Massachusetts, we had our home in the little country town of Weston, about 20 kilometers west of Boston. It was a very quaint, sophisticated community with a population then of about 11,000 people. Weston had many picturesque, winding country roads lined with hand-fashioned rock walls. The small business section was completely deserted by 9:00 P.M. each evening. Yet for all its quaintness, Weston had its problems, especially with many of the high school and junior high school students who used drugs and brought liquor into the town where alcoholic drinks were not sold.
However, I would like to tell you about one Weston High School student who was too busily engaged in other pursuits to become involved with drugs or alcohol. This young man spent a lot of time on the ski slopes. Being an avid skier in that area is not unusual, but what this boy did with his talent is unusual. He was an expert skier and loved the sport. In fact, he was an instructor and spent even his spare time teaching others to ski. You could regularly see him coming down the mountainside very close to one of his pupils, who was oftentimes years older than he. They would start slowly but gather speed as they made graceful turns down the slope, all the time carrying on a conversation, laughing, enjoying the invigorating air and the sparkling sunshine. Observers would take note and follow the pair with their eyes until they reached the bottom, regarding them as just two more skiers having a great time.
What the onlookers did not realize was that one of the skiers was blind. This young, Weston High School student was teaching the blind to ski. He did it free of charge. When he first had the idea, he discussed it with others and was advised by all to forget it. He was told over and over that it would simply be impossible.
But this young man had witnessed the hopelessness of some of the blind people and wanted to share with them one of the pleasures of his life. He wanted them to have a feeling of accomplishment and success. He wished to give them a new dimension to their lives. He wanted them to feel that they were real, whole individuals. He really cared. He cared enough to devote the time and necessary patience to develop a rapport of love, encouragement, and understanding with these people to help them build faith in themselves and in their own abilities. Gradually mutual friendships blossomed.
These blind people placed their trust in this young man. He was their friend. He was the only one they would permit to put on their ski boots and help them into the bindings on their skis. In their training, he said that helping them develop an attitude of trust and faith in themselves was the important thing. After that, the technique would come easily.
The last I heard, he had been successful in teaching 13 blind people to ski and was in the process of teaching more. He had even been requested to write a manual on teaching the blind to ski. He possessed then, and I am sure he still does, the confidence that comes with success. But more importantly, he has developed lasting friendships and has learned how to love and share through worthwhile service.

“He’s a vigorous man who was raised in the tradition of hard work. His father taught him the value of money at an early age. At seventeen, Grandfather held five jobs.

“Grandfather likes to tell us about experiences he had when he was young. He recalls with a smile that once when he was attending school away from home, he wrote his father, telling him that he needed money for a new pair of shoes and hoping there might be a little left over to take out his girl friend. His father responded by sending him only the new shoes.”

Peter felt much better about Grandpa after that lesson. But then he began to wonder if it would hurt Grandpa to have his spirit leave his sick body. Grandpa was already suffering so much that Peter couldn’t stand that thought. Mom suggested that he talk to Grandpa about it. She said that Grandpa lived close to Heavenly Father already and that he would explain his feelings to Peter.
Sure enough, when Peter told Grandpa his concern, Grandpa explained, “Petey, do you remember that day I took you to the zoo last year?”
“Yes. We stayed so long and had such fun that I fell asleep in the car on the way home.”
“That’s right. You didn’t know that when we got home, I lovingly picked you up and carefully tucked you in your bed. The next morning you were surprised to see where you were. You knew that you were in a different place from where you fell asleep. You didn’t know how you got there, but you knew that someone who loved you took you there. Well, that’s how I believe it will be. Perhaps I will fall asleep, and when I awake, my spirit will be somewhere else. I won’t hurt anymore or be uncomfortable, and I’ll know that Someone who loves me took me there.”

But Tavita excelled not only because of his love for the sports, but because he taught himself strict discipline. That discipline helped him learn Cantonese while still preparing to enter the Hong Kong Mission. “When I got my call to Hong Kong, my next thought was, ‘What is a 265 pound Samoan going to do there?’ But I knew that was where Heavenly Father wanted me to serve.”
At the beginning, Tavita had a tough time with the language. It was frustrating to not be able to communicate his strong feelings about the gospel. “Through patience and prayer I learned to endure. The relationship between my Heavenly Father and me grew closer, more than I ever thought it could. My knees literally had calluses on them.”
Patience and long suffering helped him succeed on his mission. These attributes have continued to help him succeed in his college studies and football career. Unlike high school, where he thought he had to prove something, all he has to prove now is his worthiness to his Heavenly Father.

As the patriarch lifted his hands from my head, neither he nor I guessed that a major part of my patriarchal blessing would be fulfilled so soon and in such a surprising manner. The very doctrine that had thrilled me at my conversion two years before—the responsibility of seeking after my kindred dead—had been specifically mentioned three times in my blessing. But when I had joined the Church as the only member in my family, the task of compiling my genealogy had seemed overwhelming.
A few years after I received my patriarchal blessing, I left for my mission in France and Belgium. I hoped to do some genealogy there as well. My father had mistakenly told me that Jaccard was an English spelling of Jacquard, a familiar French name, and I hoped to be able to find some information about my ancestors while I was in France.
Near the end of my mission, my mission president assigned me to help the members in Brussels, Belgium with their genealogical research and temple work. Another missionary gave me a small book titled “What Do I Know about Genealogy?”
As I read through the book for the first time, I came to a list of contributing authors. Standing out among the other names was that of Dr. Joseph T. Jacquart. Here was yet a third spelling of a name that could be pronounced the same as mine! Dr. Jacquart’s address was listed as the Belgian Center of Genealogical and Demographical Studies in Brussels.
I immediately called the center and made an appointment to meet with Dr. Jacquart. When we arrived at the center on the day of the appointment, we were informed that Dr. Jacquart was ill. The president of the center graciously gave us a tour of the building. We asked him what he knew about the Church and if he would like to know more.
His answer surprised me. “Yes!” he said. “Would you come to the next monthly meeting of our society and give a lecture on Mormon genealogy? In the meantime, I will contact Dr. Jacquart and give him your pedigree information.”
My companion and I arrived on the appointed day to find the lecture hall filled with people. As we set up our equipment and visual aids, a white-haired gentleman who turned out to be Dr. Jacquart greeted us. He gave me a genealogical map of France, Belgium, and Switzerland, and explained that Jacquard was French, Jacquart was Belgian, and Jaccard was Swiss. He added that he had written an article on the Swiss Jaccards and had the addresses of several people in that country who were probably my relatives.
A few weeks later I was released from my mission. With addresses in hand, I called at the home of Dr. Robert Jaccard in Bern, Switzerland. He quickly established my connection to him and noted down the pedigree information I had. He recommended that I search the archives in Besancon, France—just across the border from the Swiss village of Sainte-Croix, where the Jaccard name had originated.
In Besancon, I found the link between America and Switzerland in my genealogy. About a month after I informed Dr. Robert Jaccard of my findings, he sent a letter containing all of the names of fathers and mothers in the Jaccard line back to A.D. 1350—all from Sainte-Croix. Since then, I have researched the complete family groups for these ancestors, and have had temple work performed for many of them.
Looking back on this experience, I think that many of my ancestors beyond the veil must have taken an active interest not only in my missionary work, but also in my other mission—to find my genealogy. That “family mission” has covered a length of time far greater than the two and one-half years I served in Europe.

Some years ago I was on a board of directors with a fine man who had been extremely successful in life. I was impressed with his integrity and his loyalty to the Church. I learned that he had gained a testimony and had joined the Church because of seminary. When he married, his wife had been a lifelong member of the Church. He belonged to no church. Through the years and despite her efforts, he showed no interest in attending church with his wife and children. And then he began driving two of his daughters to early-morning seminary. He would remain in the car while they had their class, and then he would drive them to school. One day it was raining, and one of his daughters said, “Come in, Dad. You can sit in the hall.” He accepted the invitation. The door to the classroom was open, and he began to listen. His heart was touched. For the rest of that school year, he attended seminary with his daughters, which led eventually to his membership and a lifetime of activity in the Church. Let seminary help build and strengthen your testimony.

Chelsea’s grandparents gave her some money for her birthday. Her mother and I encouraged her to begin a savings account, and we explained that first she should pay tithing on the money.
When she started to fill out the tithing slip, she asked about the other offerings mentioned on it. Her mother explained each one. Then Chelsea decided that after paying for a few other things, she had enough left over to put two dollars in each of the other offerings. Because of the tragedy in New York City, New York, last year in September, she wrote “New York” in the “Other” column. This tremendous example of trying to help others touched our hearts. We thank Heavenly Father for sending such a sweet child to our family.

Stelio Mauahiti lived next door to an attractive building in Paea on the island of Tahiti. He was told it was a church, but he didn’t know what kind of church. The grounds were always neat, and people seemed to come nearly every day to participate in a variety of activities. On Sundays, he could hear the singing, as the doors and windows were always open. Other days, he watched boys near his own age play basketball on the outdoor court. He paid particular attention to the two young men who wore white shirts and dark trousers.
Soon he was playing basketball with them. Then he started to listen to what they had to say. He and his mother agreed to be taught the gospel. At their baptism, Stelio made up his mind to serve a mission someday.
That day has come. Elder Mauahiti was called to serve in the French Polynesia Mission. One of his first assignments was to the village of Uturoa on the island of Raiatea. Mission life is very different from his life before his mission. Now he is the young man in the white shirt and dark trousers. Now he is the one who plays basketball on the outdoor court with those who are wondering about the Church. Now he is the one who does the teaching.
Best of all, Elder Mauahiti sees the same thing happening to his people that Elder Pratt saw 150 years ago. He’s seeing people change for the better. “I have seen the difference between the homes of Church members and the homes of nonmembers,” says Elder Mauahiti. “I have seen lives changed, hearts touched by the Spirit. I know that it’s not me who makes the difference, but the Spirit of the Lord working through his missionaries.”

Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Do. Not. Cry.
This was the pep talk I recently gave myself the day before my 30th birthday. (It was a melodramatic day, to say the least.) But crying about my birthday is not out of the ordinary for me. I’ve never been a fan of growing up.
(And, in case you’re wondering, my pep talk didn’t work.)
Shocking, really.
I would turn 30, and the world would keep spinning.
So why did I feel like it was about to end?
Well for one, I struggle with anxiety. So there’s that. But I always felt like turning 30 would seal the door to my youth forever. I felt like I hadn’t accomplished enough during my 20s. And after facing challenges during that decade, I was scared of the new responsibilities and trials heading my way (possibly motherhood, a worsening chronic illness, and who knows what else).
As my anxious thoughts spiraled, I said a prayer asking God for comfort, and I started to ponder my past decade of life as a young adult.
What had I accomplished? What had I learned? How had I changed?
And that’s when I focused in on the most important thought that came to mind:
“How did I deepen my relationship with Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ during this time?”
This changed my perspective.
Being a 20-something-year-old can be a very confusing, heartbreaking, and just plain hard time. Many seem to be thinking the same thing: “I have no idea what I’m doing.”
My early 20s consisted of an ebb and flow of feelings of aimlessness, fear, loneliness, and sometimes even a sense of abandonment from Heavenly Father when my life wasn’t going the way I thought it would.
When I was 24, I felt like I was in the darkest season of my life. But words from Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf struck my soul and triggered the start of a deep change in me.
At a worldwide devotional for young adults, he said:
“When I was your age, I had no idea where my life would take me. I definitely didn’t see any dots connecting in front of me.
“But I did trust God. I listened to the advice of loving family and wise friends, and I took small steps of faith, believing that if I did the best I could in the moment, God would take care of the big picture.
“He did. …
“In Proverbs, we find this great promise: ‘Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding.
“In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths’ [Proverbs 3:5–6].
“I don’t believe there is a question mark at the end of that verse. No, I think there should be an exclamation point!”1
After hearing Elder Uchtdorf’s words at 24, I committed to using this time of life to trust in the Lord.
And, six years later, on the day before I turned 30, I was hit with the profound truth that, despite the melodrama (and the actual, difficult drama) this is what young adulthood has been for me:
Sacred.
We can make young adulthood one of the most sacred seasons of our journey in mortality. It’s a time for discovery, deepening faith, true conversion, and realizing our divine identity and potential.
I can see that as I made choices to seek Jesus Christ and to keep choosing faith (especially when it was difficult), this season helped me start to understand what He has done for me—and continues to do for me.
It’s the season where I’ve had to take responsibility for my testimony.
It’s the season where I received my endowment, cherished my temple covenants, and witnessed the power that comes from attending the temple.
It’s been a season of facing questions and wrestling with Heavenly Father to find answers (even if that answer is to trust Him).
It’s a season where I may not have always recognized the Savior and Heavenly Father in my life but later saw that They were always with me.
It’s been a season of learning that the grace of Jesus Christ can always make up for my sins and imperfections as I turn to Him in humility and sincere repentance (see Ether 12:27).
It’s a season of unknowns and learning to “press forward with a steadfastness in Christ, having a perfect brightness of hope” (2 Nephi 31:20).
Yes, young adulthood is filled with hardships. I faced stressful college courses, struggles in my career path, the heart-wrenching pains of dating, family difficulties, and other challenges that could have filled up an “end-of-the-world”–themed bingo card.
But I’ve learned that it was these hard moments that gave me an opportunity to cling to truth, choose faith, and seek the healing and enabling power of Jesus Christ—all things that ultimately made this a beautifully sacred time of life. This season is about allowing Him and Heavenly Father to refine us and help us start building the masterpiece of a life we desire.
That doesn’t sound so bad.
With our focus on Jesus Christ, we can make young adulthood—and every year beyond—a sacred space full of hope, triumph, and true joy.
That is what it’s been for me.

Joseph F. Smith was the first president of the Church to visit Europe. When John Ruothoff, a young boy with failing eyesight, discovered that President Smith would be visiting in Holland, he said to his mother, “The Prophet has the most power of any missionary on earth. If you will take me with you to the meeting and he will look into my eyes, I believe they will be healed.”
After the meeting President Smith lifted John’s bandages, looked into his eyes, blessed him, and promised him that he would see again. Later at home when the bandages were removed the boy cried out, “Mama, my eyes are well; I cannot feel any more pain. I can see fine now, and far too.”

When Blanca’s husband and mother became sick and unable to care for themselves, she had to leave her job to care for them full-time. By turning to the Lord, Blanca has found strength beyond her own.
Cody Bell, photographer
Our family’s most difficult trials came when my husband became very sick. He spent four months in intensive care. Those were months of anguish! My husband was unable to care for himself when we left the hospital. At the same time, my mother suffered from Alzheimer’s disease and had to completely stay in the bed.
I had a stable job as a licensed nurse, and I took care of my husband and my mother at the same time. I became discouraged with both of them in bed. There were many nights without sleep because I would have to do everything for them. They were like two babies. With caring for them and working at the same time, I felt like I was working double. I could not take care of them as I should, so I had to leave my work.
I consider these to be the most difficult days of my life. It was difficult for me to go from being self-sufficient to empty-handed. I began to worry about finances. I didn’t know what to do to cover all our expenses. I started thinking of what I could do. I asked the Lord to help me work once again and still care for my family.
I talked with my son and he suggested that I make and sell empanadas. I was scared since I did not know how to do this, but I had something in my favor. I had attended several self-reliance courses from the Church. One of the courses I liked was the “Starting and Growing My Business” course. As I attended, I sensed what was ahead of me. The Lord sent this course to me after I asked Him for help. I asked Him for a job, and He provided me with an opportunity.
I worked until late at night to get the business started. It took a year to get it fully running. I started selling empanadas to friends and neighbors, and I began to think that I could give myself entirely to this job, so I could take care for family. We were happy when the time came to open a nice family business. Our happiness, however, was short-lived.
I started to feel sick myself. I went to the doctor and was diagnosed with breast cancer. I underwent surgery, chemotherapy, and everything else to fight the disease. When everything came down, I had to abandon my long-awaited family business. Between my treatment and care of my helpless mother and my husband, I did not have the physical capacity to run the business.
Over time, my husband’s health slowly improved, and my mother has since passed away. Now, I dedicate myself to my treatment.
I do not get tired of praying and asking the Lord for strength to continue forward. I pray to Him at all times. What my family has gone through has helped me realize that the Lord has walked with me through it all. He gives me the opportunity to rise up again. It is incredible the great amount of strength the Lord gives me.
I never ask myself, “Why me?” I have always thought there was a reason for it. I trust the Lord and accept what He sends me. He has supported me as I have passed through very difficult times, and I have been strengthened.
Blanca attended several of the Church’s self-reliance courses to help provide a living for her and her family. She is grateful for what she learned. “The Lord sent this course to me after I asked Him for help,” she said.
Twenty-three years after she and her husband, Anibal, joined the Church, Blanca says, “Since my baptism, I have felt that I am in the right place, in the true Church.”
Blanca is grateful to see her husband’s health improve. She is also grateful for the opportunity she had to care for her mother, who has since passed away.
Blanca says she could not have made it through her challenges on her own. “The Lord has walked with me through it all,” she says. “It is incredible the great amount of strength the Lord gives me.”

Since my Primary days, I have always known the facts. I knew that the Book of Mormon was the word of God. I knew that the Book of Mormon was a companion to the Bible and that I should read it every night. I did this. Unfortunately, I was just reading. I somehow missed out on the whole search, ponder, and pray aspect of scripture study.
During my junior year of high school, my attitude and method of study took a complete turnaround. At school, a nonmember friend, Jennifer Cotton, approached me. In her hands were several sheets of paper. The first sheet was titled, in bold letters, “Questions for Lani.” I took the sheets of paper willingly, shoved them in my backpack, and rushed off to class.
Later that week, the questions surfaced in my backpack, and I began to read through them. As I flipped through the pages, I realized there were exactly 100 questions about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints—100 questions!
I felt an overwhelming sense of inadequacy. I fell on my knees and pleaded with my Heavenly Father to help me answer these questions, which ranged from, “Why am I here?” and “Where am I going?” to “Do all Mormons have to ride their bikes everywhere?”
I felt the prompting to open my scriptures. The first verse that caught my eye was, “Therefore, ask, and ye shall receive; knock, and it shall be opened unto you; for he that asketh, receiveth; and unto him that knocketh, it shall be opened” (3 Ne. 27:29). Tears welled up in my eyes, and I felt the Spirit so strongly around me. I knew that with help from my Heavenly Father I would be able to answer the questions.
I spent hours poring over the scriptures. Amazingly enough, there were several scriptures, if not hundreds, to help answer the questions which had seemed so inconceivable only hours before.
The next day, I proudly handed Jennifer her answers, along with a brand-new copy of the Book of Mormon engraved with her name. Tears were in her eyes as she hugged me. She expressed her gratitude for the gift and explained that no one had ever done anything this nice for her before.
I received a call that night. Jennifer excitedly said she couldn’t wait to tell me that she had finished reading 1 Nephi, only she pronounced it Neffi.
I cannot even express the joy I felt at that moment. Mosiah 18:9 states that we must “stand as witnesses of God at all times and in all things.” Had I not stood as a witness of God, I would not have had the opportunity of seeing Jennifer baptized a member of the Church.
I now have an incredible testimony of the Book of Mormon. No matter what my need or problem, I know that I can turn to my scriptures and through searching, pondering, and praying, I will find the answer.

I recall an experience that shows the effect of her teachings. Just before Christmas one year, our bishop asked me, as a deacon, to help him deliver Christmas baskets to the widows of the ward. I carried a basket to each door with his greetings. When he drove me home, there was one basket remaining. He handed it to me and said it was for my mother. As he drove away, I stood in the falling snow wondering why there was a basket for my mother. She never referred to herself as a widow, and it had never occurred to me that she was. To a 12-year-old boy, she wasn’t a widow. She had a husband, and we had a father. He was just away for a while.

I anticipate that glorious future day when the separated will be reunited and all of us will be made complete as the Lord has promised.

“No school today!” came the magic words from the radio.
Remembering last night’s house-shaking blizzard, Dave thought that a holiday from school was a beautiful bonus.
“I wish Dad weren’t out of town,” said Mother, briskly beating pancake batter. “Something always happens when he’s gone.”
A sudden gust of wind rattled the windows. Dave peered out. He could hardly tell where the road was. It looked like a white river with waves whipped up by the wind.
“Being snowed in isn’t so bad,” he said happily. “Nothing can get through, not even a school bus.”
During breakfast, the radio broadcast several weather-related stories: A forty-mile-an-hour wind had roared all night, blowing three feet of snow into massive drifts. Semitrailers had jackknifed, and cars and buses had slid into ditches. Some snow-plows were still stuck on major highways. “The worst of the storm is over,” the announcer concluded, “but some areas might not be plowed out until tomorrow.”
The phone rang. It was Dave’s best friend, Tim. “Tough about school, huh? Think we can handle it?”
“Maybe if we get together for moral support,” Dave replied.
“Glad to help a buddy out,” Tim said cheerfully. “Be right over.”
Tim lived only two blocks away, but by the time he got to Dave’s house, he was covered with snow. “The Abominable Snowman himself!” he laughed.
“I know a perfect place to build a snow cave-fort,” Dave suggested, pulling on his ski jacket, snow bib, boots, hat, and mittens. He felt as if he was outfitting for a polar expedition.
“Snow’s sticky enough,” agreed Tim.
“Build it where I can see you from the house,” Mother warned. “And be careful.”
“Sure,” the boys said in unison.
Outside, the wind punched them in the face, and snowflakes as thick as feathers swirled around them. Sinking deep into the drifts, they plodded toward the garage, where Dave pointed to a high snowbank.
“It is perfect!” Tim said. The giant snowbank blocked the wind and had plenty of raw material for their cave-fort. They set to work tunneling into the base of the big drift, shoveling out the snow and packing the sides as they dug.
Two houses away their friends Jeff and Brian were piling up snowballs.
“We just have to get our fort done before they start a snowball fight!” Tim exclaimed. They worked all morning, then stopped only for lunch and to change their wet mittens.
“How’s your fort coming along?” Mother asked, dishing up tomato soup and handing them grilled cheese sandwiches.
“It’s the best ever,” bragged Tim. “It’s the biggest and highest—”
“And strongest, I hope,” Mother put in, looking worried.
“We’ll find out in the snowball showdown!” replied Tim, gulping down his soup.
When they went out again, they saw that Jeff and Brian had started to build a fort too. Dave wondered how much ammunition they had stockpiled.
Dave and Tim’s fort was shaping up. They widened the entrance, enlarged the inside, and sloshed water onto the sides to ice them firm. Finally, pushing out a big snow chunk, Dave grunted, “We’re just about done.”
“If you clear the doorway,” said Tim, “I can finish up inside.”
Dave crawled out and started shoveling out the entrance. He looked at the fort looming high above him. It seemed strangely quiet. The wind had died to a whisper. The snow had stopped. Nothing moved. It was like a movie that had stopped, frozen in one frame. He shivered.
Then, without a sound, the snow roof slowly slid inward, collapsing the fort and burying Tim. This can’t be happening! Dave agonized, and he flew at the crumpled white mound with his shovel, flailing away furiously. “Tim! Tim!” he yelled. But there was no sound. “Cave-in!” he shouted to Jeff and Brian, and they came running with shovels. “Tim’s under there!”
Dave’s mother came running out of the house. “I called an ambulance, but nothing can get through. The roads are still blocked!” She frantically started scooping at the snow pile with her bare hands.
Dave’s heart sank. “Please, God,” he murmured desperately, “help Tim.” Shoveling furiously again, he shouted, “Hang on, Tim! We’ll get you out!” Finally, his breath coming in great gasps, Dave stopped shoveling. Looking at the huge pile of snow and at the very little that they had uncovered, a wave of despair swept over him.
Suddenly a story flashed through his mind, one that he’d read long ago. It was about an avalanche, a boy who was buried, and his friend who kept poking a broom handle deep into the drifts until he found him.
Dave tore off his mittens. He wanted to feel with his fingertips. Plunging his arm deep into the snow, he jabbed down in different places, calling, “Tim! We’re coming, Tim!” over and over. Tim had to know that help was on the way, so that he could hold out longer.
I must hurry, Dave told himself. There’s so much snow to cover. Am I reaching deep enough? Again and again he thrust his arms into the snow—reaching, reaching.
Suddenly he thought that he felt something way down deep. Was he imagining it? His arm pushed through the snow again. There was something there! “Dig here!” he yelled.
The diggers scooped out snow with their shovels and then with their hands until they had uncovered Tim’s arm, hanging limp. Quickly they uncovered Tim’s head. His face was ashen, but he opened his eyes and mumbled something. In just minutes he was freed, carried into the house, stripped of his wet clothes, and wrapped in blankets.
It wasn’t until then that Dave was conscious of his own red, throbbing hands. He soaked them in tepid water, but they hurt for a long time afterward. A small price to pay, he thought.
Meanwhile, everything around him was a blur … people coming, Tim’s mother talking to the doctor on the phone: “He just wants to sleep,” she was saying, her voice shaky. Dave’s thoughts focused again when she told him, “The doctor wants us to question Tim. If he makes sense, he’s probably all right.”
Dave went with her into Tim’s bedroom. Tim’s face was still pale, but he was breathing steadily. His eyes were closed. “Tim?” Dave asked softly.
Tim opened his eyes. “Thanks,” he said, trying to smile. “You saved my life.” His eyes closed again.
Dave swallowed hard. “Tim, did you hear me calling your name?”
Tim shook his head. “I didn’t hear anything.”
“Not even the yelling?” asked Dave.
Tim’s voice was low. “I just kept thinking, ‘Don’t panic. It uses up more oxygen.’” Then he fell asleep.
He makes sense, all right, Dave thought, relieved.
Tim’s mother turned to Dave. “You’re a hero,” she said, her voice soft with tears.
But Dave knew that he couldn’t take all the credit. It was a miracle. It had to be. Why else would he have remembered that long-ago story? Why else was he able to find Tim in time? God was looking out for us, Dave thought. Miracles are never a one-man show.

When the 23-year-old Heber J. Grant was installed as president of the Tooele Stake, he told the Saints that he believed the gospel was true. President Joseph F. Smith, a counselor in the First Presidency, inquired, “Heber, you said you believe the gospel with all your heart, … but you did not bear your testimony that you know it is true. Don’t you know absolutely that this gospel is true?”
Heber answered, “I do not.” Joseph F. Smith then turned to John Taylor, the President of the Church, and said, “I am in favor of undoing this afternoon what we did this morning. I do not think any man should preside over a stake who has not a perfect and abiding knowledge of the divinity of this work.”
President Taylor replied, “Joseph, Joseph, Joseph, [Heber] knows it just as well as you do. The only thing that he does not know is that he does know it.”
Within a few weeks that testimony was realized, and young Heber J. Grant shed tears of gratitude for the perfect, abiding, and absolute testimony that came into his life.

Paul, a fifteen-year-old with a delightful sense of humor, also took the bishop’s challenge seriously. Though scripture study was not a part of his daily routine, he decided to begin the day by reading the scriptures. “I didn’t know why it was so important to me to read the scriptures that day, but it was,” he explained. “Several times Wednesday night I woke up, feeling sure that I had overslept. Finally, when my alarm went off, I reached for my Book of Mormon.”
He read for about forty-five minutes. “Reading the scriptures seemed to set the tone for the entire day,” he said. “It’s not always easy to get along with school friends, teachers, and your family, and my ‘perfect day’ was not different. I made some mistakes, but I did a lot better than I do most days.
“It also helped me to be much more aware of my blessings, of the things I should be doing, and of my mistakes,” he added. “Often during the day I wondered what I could do to be better.”

In the tearful days after a wildfire devastated entire neighborhoods in California’s Sonoma County in October 2017, Elder Ronald A. Rasband of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles traveled to affected communities to be with the Latter-day Saints.
He was on a mission of ministering. He and Sister Melanie Rasband comforted fire-weary members in their meetinghouses and at the edges of their charred homes.
And wherever he went, members came forward to shake his hand. It was a gesture of appreciation. They thanked the Apostle for his support. But each handshake communicated a common sentiment: “I sustain you.”
This means that just as members deeply impacted by the Santa Rosa fires offered sustaining support to Elder Rasband, members worldwide can be lifted even as they lift each member of the Twelve.

One of the defining moments in my life happened for me at the age of 10 when I spent two weeks learning Catholic doctrine at the Loreto Roman Catholic Mission, about 20 miles (32 km) away from my rural home in Silobela, Zimbabwe. I have come to know and love the Savior Jesus Christ and to look up to the Lord through these early lessons and impressions.
While I was in the Catholic chapel, I saw paintings with scenes from the Savior’s life pasted on the wall: scenes of Jesus Christ’s birth, teaching in the temple, praying in the Garden of Gethsemane, carrying the cross to Calvary, being crucified at Golgotha, and His Resurrection. It really made me feel sad to see those nails and thorns. By the time I got to the painting of the Crucifixion, my eyes were filled with tears. And each time I would cry and say, “Hey, He really went through a lot, just for me.”
During the confirmation ceremony, one of the priests looked into my eyes and said, “You are the light of the world” (see Matthew 5:14). Then, pointing to a burning candle, he quoted the Savior’s words: “Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven” (Matthew 5:16).
As I learned more about Jesus, I began to want to be of service to others. For example, we would have to fetch our water five miles (8 km) away from our village. Often, women in the village, including my mother, would carry a 20-liter container on their heads filled with water. After my experience at the Catholic seminary, I often pushed a 200-liter (about 50 gallons) container of water to help my mother, and I also helped two other widows who were our neighbors. I remembered the good feeling I felt each time I helped others.
These experiences helped develop my faith in Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ and indirectly prepared me to accept the gospel of Jesus Christ when I was 22 years old.