Gospel Story Finder

When I was 12 years old, I had an excellent Young Women leader named Sister Smith. She noticed that my friends and I loved to talk about all the popular music groups. We all declared that one boy band was definitely the most awesome music group since our favorite girl band had broken up. When the boy band came along, they stole all our hearts, and they became all we could talk about.
Sister Smith became concerned about us and our obvious obsession with these popular bands and their music. One Sunday, she expressed her concern. I remember speaking for my friends and myself when I said, “There’s nothing wrong with pop music, even if some of the words aren’t very good. It doesn’t really affect us.”
Giving me a skeptical look, Sister Smith said, “If you’re so sure music doesn’t affect you, let’s try an experiment.” She gave us all two crossword puzzles. Then she told us to do the first puzzle while listening to classical music. For the second puzzle, we were told to listen to our favorite pop music while completing it. We all wondered what she was getting at, but we agreed to do what she said.
The next Sunday, Sister Smith began by giving us the hints from the first crossword puzzle and asking us to give her the answers. We all remembered every answer. However, when she gave us the hints from the crossword puzzle we had completed while listening to pop music, we couldn’t remember many of the answers. That day I learned that good music could help inspire me to remember things, while music with words and fast beats distracted me and got stuck in my head, causing me to forget the things I had learned.
I learned that the music I listen to really does affect me.

The COVID-19 pandemic has drastically changed the way we live our daily lives. The virus has disrupted all sectors of society and its impact has also been felt in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Missionary service is one of the areas that has been significantly affected. On March 12, 2020, the leadership of the Church issued a statement requiring all senior missionaries and young missionaries with serious or chronic medical conditions serving in twenty-two areas in Europe to return home. Elder Michael Coley was among the many missionaries who had to leave.
Elder Coley had been called to labour in the England London Mission on August 6, 2019. It had been anticipated that he would serve for two years. Elder Coley was often told that his mission would be over before he knew it and that he should treasure every moment. However, he never imagined it would be over that soon.
He began his life-changing missionary journey on January 8, 2020, trying to embody Christlike attributes as he prepared to serve the people of England. He experienced much personal growth and greater generosity and humanity towards those he met.
Elder Coley could not fathom leaving his mission at that specific time just when he was forgetting himself and doing the Lord’s work. At the time, he dreaded going back into the world and being exposed once again to all the vileness of it. Elder Coley confided that when he expressed this to his missionary companion, he was told that the only person that can control how much of the world he indulges in is him. For Elder Coley that is a message that he would never forget.
On March 16, he departed London’s Heathrow Airport and began the long journey back to Jamaica. The journey home was stressful to him, especially due to the different avenues of travel he had to endure. The original travel plan included a flight from the United Kingdom to the United States and then to Jamaica. However, the United States had closed its borders to noncitizens. As a result, Elder Coley travelled to Mexico, then to the Dominican Republic followed by Turks and Caicos. On March 17, he finally arrived in Jamaica.
Even though he knew that he would be quarantined for 14 days, it was a relief to be home. This experience taught Elder Coley to be more optimistic and to trust Heavenly Father more. He came to realise that when we do the Lord’s work to the best of our ability, He helps tremendously.
When asked to share his thoughts on what has been happening in the world, Elder Coley said, “In these difficult time,s the only person that can control how this pandemic is viewed is you. You can either let this difficult time strengthen your testimony in God or weaken it. Let us enjoy each moment here on earth doing the Lord’s work and being with our families. We do not know fully what the Lord has planned for each of us. I know however, that God loves His children and enables them to go through experiences to learn from them and to evolve into better versions of themselves.”
This message of hope and steadfastness is one which Elder Coley wishes that everyone will be able to embrace during this time of uncertainty and turmoil.

When I served as a mission president in Hawaii, I had many opportunities to speak with young elders and sisters struggling to become better missionaries. I remember one missionary who became deeply discouraged. His missionary work had become unbearable to him, and he started doubting his testimony. He came to me with the request to send him home.
Instead, I asked him to follow the example of Nephi in pondering and praying about his concerns and desires (see 1 Nephi 10:17; 11:1). This is a practice I have followed for many years and a practice many other General Authorities of the Church follow. I asked the missionary to go to his apartment and do the following:
Rise from his bed early—in his case, a few minutes before 6:30 a.m.
Exercise for a few minutes.
Wash his body and shave—make himself clean.
Dress for the day.
Go to a quiet place inside his apartment.
Kneel, subdue his spirit before Heavenly Father, and call upon Him. Talk with Him in reverent prayer.
Wait for His holy inspiration, pondering the scriptures or a recent general conference talk and think about the specific problems he faced.
I promised this young elder that if he did this and immersed himself in the scriptures, especially the Book of Mormon, for a few minutes every day, he would experience feelings of joy and would receive strength to go on.3
A few days later he came to see me. His eyes filled with tears as he told me of his experiences during his early-morning devotional time. He served wonderfully as a servant of the Lord and completed an honorable mission. His wife recently told me that he continues to rise early to have private time with his Heavenly Father.

I was born and raised in Korea in a loving family, and I joined the Church while in my teens. I would like to share the experience of my conversion with you.
My classmate and I were working together in the school library just after winter vacation when he asked me if I was interested in going to church with him. I asked him what kind of church he was talking about, and he told me it was near our school. He said it was a lot of fun, and there were many girls. I was 16 at the time, and that description of church appealed to me. I decided to go. I had gone to a Presbyterian church for a couple of years in elementary school, and I had good memories of church.
My friend and I went to a Saturday activity, and everyone came to greet me and welcome me. I was impressed that they would be so kind to welcome a small guy they didn’t know. I went to church the next day, and I was introduced to the missionaries.
The missionaries taught me about basic gospel principles, about Jesus Christ, and about the Restoration of the gospel through the Prophet Joseph Smith. All the lessons I was taught were reasonable and logical, and I was impressed by eternal progress and the plan of salvation. I had often thought about why I was here on earth and what things were waiting for me after death. It was comforting to know that if I would do all I could for myself, the Savior would do the rest.
Two months later I wanted to be baptized and confirmed, but I needed permission from my parents. They were Buddhist, but they trusted me. I decided it would be best to ask my mother first, so I asked the missionaries to come to my home during the day. Before I went to school, I told my mother that she might have some foreigners come to ask her something and that she should just say yes. And then I ran out the door to school. When I returned, my mom said she had two handsome American visitors. She said they spoke wonderful Korean, and she was so impressed that she said yes. So I got permission from my parents to join the Church.

During my first year as an early-morning seminary teacher, I taught the freshman class and felt a need to show interest in the students by attending as many school activities as I could. If my students were involved with sports, music, or drama, I tried to be there to see them perform. A number of the young men in my class were members of the freshman football team. My job allowed me the freedom to attend their games on Thursday afternoons, and I looked forward to this because I love to watch football.
As is the case with most football teams, there are standout players that have that special something that sets them apart from the rest of the team. I hadn’t watched very many games before I noticed one such player, number 23. He was a running back who could break at least one big run per game. He didn’t appear to be fast or flashy. In fact, he ran with a sloppy kind of gait, arms and legs going every which way. But when this deceiving runner would break loose on a long gainer, he would slowly pull away from defenders no matter how perfect their running form might be. His main function on the team was that of a workhorse. Through sheer determination and will power, he would grind out a yard or two at a time. Inevitably he would shake loose from a tackle and get a step or two into the secondary. When this happened, he was good for at least 30 yards or more.
The father of number 23 was at every game. He would walk up and down behind the small crowd on the sideline and offer bits of encouragement. He had an extremely deep, raspy, commanding voice. He wore the clothes of a working man, soiled by working with the land. He wore boots, jeans, and an old cowboy hat pulled down over his eyes. He was a big, strong man with a full moustache that drooped just slightly over each side of his mouth. Rumor had it that he had played football and had been drafted by the pros years ago. His comments were always directed toward the team as if it were a single entity. He never singled out any one player or players. His actions never gave a hint that this giant of a man was the father of number 23. Somehow you knew he felt the disappointments and the hardships of the entire team as they struggled during difficult games. And he, too, shared the feeling of triumph gained from a hard-fought drive that would result in a touchdown. All of this he did with a restrained dignity.
The team played well through the season and toward the end were excited that they could finish the year with a winning record if they could pull out the last two games. Our next game was a defensive struggle with very little yardage gained by either team. Toward the end of the fourth quarter, the other team scored a touchdown and extra point to go ahead 7 to 3. Time continued to tick away. Our team, with the ball on their own 25-yard line, had only a short time left in the game. The situation looked hopeless. I had to leave and reluctantly I started slowly walking around the track toward the gate on the other side of the field. I stopped to watch each play as the team attempted to move the ball. Each attempt was as frustrating as the rest of the game had been. They tried a long pass that was incomplete. Then a running play that was stopped. I reached the gate and was about to leave and turned to watch one more play. The quarterback dropped back and threw a short swing pass to number 23. Immediately four players converged on him, and I turned to leave thinking to myself, “They’ll have to punt and that’s the old ball game.” Suddenly a roar erupted, and I wheeled around just in time to see number 23 shaking off the last tackle. He was heading for the goal line. He broke to the outside and was running along the sideline closest to his team’s side of the field. He was outrunning everyone, everyone except his father, who was matching him step for step out on the track. With his cowboy hat in his hand, he was making giant circles above his head and yelling war whoops that could be heard over the roar of the crowd. The sight of those two running together sent chills of joy down my spine.
Our team won 10 to 7, not an earth-shattering event. It was an obscure football game played by high school freshmen; a short span of time on a Thursday afternoon; a small event but one that produced a moment of “lump-in-the-throat” excitement. But I realized that I had seen something outstanding. I witnessed the flash of joy that the father felt, or for that matter any parent feels, when seeing the success of a child. Sometimes when I see a young person break free from the entanglements of sin or discouragement, I wonder if our Heavenly Father feels that same joy and pride.

When Elder Rasband got his mission call to the Eastern States Mission, he was disappointed. He had wanted to go to Germany, like his father and brother had. He prayed to feel OK about his mission call. After his prayer, he opened his scriptures and started reading. The scriptures he read (D&C 100:2–3, 5) let him know that his mission was exactly where Heavenly Father wanted him to go. After that, he was excited to serve a mission! He also learned that the scriptures could answer his questions.

You never know how it’s going to start.
At a school party in Melbourne a few years ago, Emily Denning walked up to Lisa Bignell and said something shocking.
For Brett Allen and Ben Marwick of Perth, it started with simple friendship, but it really got going the night they spent several hours riding their bikes in circles.
Down in Hobart, Tasmania, Selena Meure invited Sally Vellar to Sunday dinner and, in Sally’s words, “It was horrible. I have to be honest. It was terrible.”
Why was Lisa shocked? Well, the two girls had never been more than just acquaintances, classmates. So you could have knocked Lisa over with a feather when Emily walked up to her and said, “I’ve been meaning to ask you about this for a while. I want to know more about your church. I want to become a Mormon.”
Lisa says, “I sort of jumped because it was really unexpected. I guess I never thought she’d be interested.”
It turns out that Emily had known for several years that Lisa was LDS. It also happened that Emily had been searching for the right church for about six years. “I was trying to find the truth, something that sounded right to me, not what other people thought I should believe. I wanted to find out for myself,” she says.
Emily visited a number of different churches, but none of them “clicked” as she puts it. In the meantime, Lisa’s family was participating in their ward’s “set-a-date” program (where members are encouraged to set a target date for having someone prepared to receive the missionaries). “We had been praying for a couple of weeks, when Emily came up to me. Because we never really hung around at school together, we didn’t know each other a whole lot. I was shocked, but then I thought immediately, This is an opportunity. I’d better take it.”
So Lisa invited Emily to a fireside where they were showing the film “How Rare a Possession.” Emily says, “I figured, well, there’s only one way to find out if this is right or not. I felt even before I came to church that I was going to join. It was just a feeling I had. When I walked into the chapel, everything just fell into place. I had this really good feeling.”
That good feeling was just reinforced as Emily continued to attend church and firesides and took the missionary lessons. Her only regrets since her baptism? Emily looks at little children in church and sometimes envies them, “growing up in church, with Primary and seminary, Young Women and all the rest of it.” She wishes she had been a member all her life. She knows how she’ll raise her own children someday.
You can see why Brett and Ben became friends in the first place. Both quick-witted. Articulate. Fond of taking a subject apart and looking at it from all angles, arguing opposite sides just for the sheer pleasure of it.
You can also see how their first gospel discussions must have been frustrating for both. Ben, the nonmember, his mind racing ahead, full of detailed questions. Brett, the member, wanting to keep things simple at first, focusing on testimony.
It all started with friendship, when Brett moved and started attending the same school as Ben. As Ben tells it: “We became pretty good friends, and occasionally I used to call him up in the morning—in the first term this was—and he was never there. His dad would say, ‘He’s in seminary.’”
Ben knew a seminary was where people studied religion, and that aroused his curiosity a little more. He and Brett had already been having those frustrating religious discussions, including the infamous evening when they were riding their bikes home from school and started talking about the Church. “I just rode around in circles with him for several hours, talking,” Ben recalls. “When you get involved in that kind of thing, you don’t notice what the time is. So of course we drove to our respective homes and got blasted for the lateness of the hour.”
Later, during the holidays, Ben was at Brett’s house with a couple of Brett’s LDS friends, who were there studying to finish off the seminary term. That’s when they invited Ben to join them at seminary. “I thought I might as well see what it was all about,” Ben says simply. So he started attending early-morning seminary, riding his bike to Brett’s house, where the class was held. The subject was Old Testament. Ben took to it like a frog to flies, completed the rest of the seminary year, and even received a certificate.
In fact, Ben didn’t just enjoy seminary. As Brett puts it, “He stole the show. All of us sort of viewed seminary as something that you needed to do if you wanted your parents to let you live. But Ben thrived on it.”
Once Ben started attending seminary, it wasn’t long before he, his sister, Josie, and his mother, Eleanor, were receiving the missionary discussions. They had the usual struggles and challenges, but all three were eventually baptized, and now Ben is thinking about his own future mission. He’s also continuing those gospel discussions with Brett, but from a very different perspective.
Dinner was a disaster, and it had nothing to do with the food. In fact, when Selena and Sally talk (and laugh) about that time, the food itself is never mentioned.
It started when Selena swallowed her fear and decided to participate in her ward’s set-a-date program. Lacking the nerve to ask the Lord for something more specific, Selena prayed that she would be presented with a situation that would show her who was the right person for her to try to fellowship. What she did next was brave. Selena set a date for the missionaries to come to dinner at her house, a dinner where she would have her unknown investigator present.
As the date approached, Selena was talking about it with a new friend, a convert of about two years named Stephen. He offered to bring his nonmember sister, Sally. “I thought, there’s my answer,” Selena says. So they went to see Sally.
Now, Selena claims she told Sally the missionaries would be there. Sally doesn’t remember that part. She simply recalls that her brother showed up with a girl she barely knew from school, and that girl invited her to Sunday dinner. Great. That’s a nice, friendly thing to do. In fact, the invitation was extended to another friend of Sally’s, too.
But Sunday arrived and the friend didn’t show. So Sally went to what she thought would be a quiet dinner with a few new friends. And that’s when the disaster struck. There was Sally, casually dressed in jeans, walking into a house full of Mormons still dressed in their Sunday clothes. In addition to Selena’s family, there were four missionaries (two of them had sort of invited themselves at the last minute). “I just sort of went, ‘Aaaagh!’” Sally recalls.
After dinner, the missionaries tried to give a presentation on the Savior, but the light was bad, and Sally was so uncomfortable she could hardly concentrate. Afterward, the missionaries asked her if she would like to take the discussions, but she was still feeling kind of numb and put them off with excuses about schoolwork.
That night, though, as she sorted out her thoughts, Sally decided, “Maybe I should just find out about it.” So she agreed to the discussions. And that’s all it took. “After the first discussion I just thought, Man, this is excellent. I love it. I have to know more.” She had the first four discussions in one week.
Sally encountered tremendous opposition from some of her friends at school, people who told her that if she joined the Mormons, they would have nothing to do with her. But the Spirit had born witness. And when she got discouraged, the elders gave her blessings.
It was August, the middle of the Australian winter, when Sally (at her request) was baptized in the ocean. Afterward, everyone got cold, wet hugs. Her brother Stephen confirmed her. Not bad for something that began as a disaster.
Actually, the missionary work never ends. Emily wants to be married in the temple and raise her children in the Church. Ben plans to go on a mission. At last report Sally was working to introduce a friend to the gospel. But first it has to begin. And it begins with friendship. It begins with letting your membership and your values be known. And it begins with faith that if you do your part, the Lord will do his.

Thanks for volunteering at our animal shelter! Are you ready to help some animals?
Yes!
This is going to be fun. Great idea, Margo!
Thanks! Helping animals makes me happy.
I’m glad! Jesus Christ made all living things. We need to take care of His creations.
That’s why I want to be a veterinarian when I grow up!
Now it’s time to go home and take care of our pet.
Kiwi must be hungry!
Illustrations by Katie McDee

Before he met the missionaries, Brother Dupont said, he had been like a wanderer in a drought-ravaged land. Then suddenly he stumbled into a lake of water. The gospel was rich and refreshing to him, and he could not drink his fill. In his exuberance to immerse himself in his new-found treasure, he could not understand why others did not want to savor the same message. This lack of communication spilled into his marriage. His wife didn’t understand what had changed her husband.
As we ate, she told us of the war years, when he was bedridden. She had managed to find food for both of them, even during shortages. She had nursed him daily. Even after the war, he had required her constant care for several years before he gained the strength to walk. Then he had spent more years training and rehabilitating himself while she supported the family. No sooner had he started working again than two Americans began talking religion with him. Then he joined their church—he was the only member in town, and they baptized him in the river—and more and more of his life belonged to his church, not to her. She felt deprived, then embarrassed, when parishioners laughed at her, the wife of the town fanatic.
President Dupont repeated over and over again that the Church was true, that he knew it was true, and that he would do whatever he could to share it with his wife. “But,” he said, “she just won’t listen.”
“Can’t you see?” I said one night after they had been sharp with each other. “What you’re really saying is that you love each other. Sister Dupont, all these years you’ve been asking your husband to spend more time with you. That’s important and it’s right. And President Dupont, all you want to do is share with your wife the thing that’s most precious to you. Right?”
He nodded yes. I turned to Sister Dupont.
“Can’t you see that he wants to share the gospel with you because he loves you?”
She didn’t say anything, but you could tell she was thinking. We excused ourselves quietly and went home.
Elder Granville’s prayer that night was straightforward and concerned.
“Please, Heavenly Father, help the Duponts to understand each other. They’re both good people.”
“Amen,” I said. And it sounded so good that I said it again in a whisper.
We had teaching appointments elsewhere for the next two weeks, and then we had to go to Bordeaux for district conference. Although we stopped to see President Dupont on branch business a couple of times, it was almost a month before we were asked back to the Duponts’ home. President Dupont delivered the invitation.
“You won’t believe it,” he said. “My wife’s been reading Church books! and she’s asking questions, good, honest questions. I try to answer them, but I get too pushy. She really wants to talk to you again.” If we hadn’t had another teaching appointment, we might have rushed over right then.
“C’est incroyable!” Sister Dupont said the next time we all sat in the kitchen. “It’s incredible. Or it’s stupid! A 14-year-old boy can’t talk to God. And the Bible. It’s complete. Why should we need any more scriptures than we already have? And the priesthood. My husband’s never been to divinity school. Why should he be able to hold the priesthood?”
Good questions, all right. How could we handle this? I could imagine Elder Granville thinking this was more like the Sister Dupont of old. Maybe the niceness had been too good to last.
“Sister Dupont,” Elder Granville’s calm voice interrupted my thoughts, “we can answer all those questions for you. But we can’t answer them all at the same time. We have a series of discussions that will answer them one at a time. Would you be interested in listening to those discussions?”
She said yes.
How about that! I said to myself. There’s hope for this junior companion yet!
I wouldn’t exactly say that Sister Dupont became a golden investigator. But she did become our friend. She listened intently to the first discussion. She even joined us as her husband kneeled in prayer. And she invited us to dinner again the following Sunday. It was while we were finishing a serving of the thin mashed potatoes the French call purée that Elder Granville told Sister Dupont a story.
“Did you ever hear about the missionary who was eating dinner and asked his companion to pass the butter? The butter was right in front of him, but he couldn’t see it because it was so close.”
“What?”
“Simple. It’s like you and the gospel. All these years your husband has had it right here in front of you, but you couldn’t see it because it was so close. You keep asking where the butter is when it’s right in front of your plate.”
It may not have been the strongest analogy, but Elder Granville was trying. When we got home that night, he brought me a copy of the Book of Mormon.
“Why don’t you sign this with me?” he said, turning to a dedication on the flyleaf. “It’s for Sister Dupont.”
I looked at what he’d written.
“Voici le beurre,” it said. “Here is the butter.”
During the next two months Sister Dupont read the book—at least, she read more than half of it. And she had two more discussions, and prayed, and was talking to her husband more and more. And he was seeming happier and happier all the time. That’s when my transfer letter came.
I was moving north to Brittany where I would finish my mission. Elder Granville would be getting his third senior missionary companion. The letter had been delayed by postal strikes. I would have to catch the first train in the morning.
“I don’t know if I’m ready to leave, Elder Granville,” I said. “We’ve been working so well here. The branch president’s happy and excited again, and the members are working with him. We’ve got some inactive members coming out to church and a couple of solid investigators. The Marcellas family is getting ready for baptism. I guess I’ll just have to leave it up to you.”
A knock at the door.
“President Dupont!” Elder Granville greeted the visitor. “Come in, come in.”
President Dupont looked at me.
“I heard about the transfer,” he said. “I know you’re leaving tomorrow. My wife wants you to come say good-bye.”
There was a lot of packing and farewelling to take care of, but I knew I had to visit his wife.
“Of course we’ll be by,” I said.
The living room was dark. The wallpaper, however, was a bright combination of browns, yellows, and tans. Sister Dupont was seated on the orange couch, a tray of cookies and hot chocolate before her.
“Hello, elders,” she said. “Have a seat. What’s this about Elder Romney leaving?”
“I’m afraid that’s right. Tomorrow morning.”
“That means there will be a new missionary here, too.”
“That’s right. Elder Taylor. He’s from New York.”
“I guess I’ll have to get to know him, too.”
I could see the smile on President Dupont’s face.
“I hope you will,” I said.
“Will you write to us?”
“Of course I’ll keep in touch,” I promised. “Trust me.”
“If you can’t trust the elders, who can you trust?” she said.
I thought I might cry.
I did keep in touch, especially five months later when I got home from my mission. It was hard, and President Dupont wrote to me more than I wrote to him. But we did exchange photos (I still have a nice picture of the Duponts with their grandchildren on vacation on the Spanish coast), and Christmas cards, and news of our families. Whatever I sent, even a postcard, I always got letters back, scrawled out in President Dupont’s longhand. He would let me know when he heard from one of the elders, especially from Elder Granville. He always included greetings from his wife, but I never received anything written personally by her. Other missionaries told me that she remained friendly and supported her husband, but she never joined the Church. Every once in a while I would write to her personally and bear my testimony to her through the mail.
I’ve been home for several years now, and this week I received an unusual letter from France. The address was strange, the handwriting unfamiliar. I opened it before I got to my desk.
“Dear Elder Romney” it began. “I’ve wanted to write to you many times over the years, but I always figured my husband kept us in contact with you. Now my husband is gone. I wanted to let you know so that you could tell the other missionaries. He loved them all so much. Let them know the Church members held a funeral for him.
“I remember much of what you both told me about life after death. Perhaps my husband is there waiting for me, as you said he would be. I never did understand all you tried to tell me, all that he wanted to share with me, but I know you both believed it was true. I’m living with my daughter and her family now. Please write to me if you will.”
You know I will, Sister Dupont. You know I will.

Not only will your circle of friends greatly influence your thinking and behavior, but you will also influence theirs. Many nonmembers have come into the Church through friends who have involved them in Church activities. I share with you a treasured family experience which had its beginning back in 1959, when I was called to preside over the Canadian Mission, headquartered in Toronto.

Our daughter, Ann, turned five shortly after we arrived in Canada. She saw the missionaries going about their work, and she, too, wanted to be a missionary. My wife demonstrated understanding by permitting Ann to take to class a few copies of the Children’s Friend. That wasn’t sufficient for Ann. She also wanted to take with her a copy of the Book of Mormon so that she might talk to her teacher, Miss Pepper, about the Church. I think it rather thrilling that just a few years ago, long years after our return from Toronto, we came home from a vacation and found in our mailbox a note from Miss Pepper which read:

“Dear Ann:

“Think back many years ago. I was your schoolteacher in Toronto, Canada. I was impressed by the copies of the Children’s Friend which you brought to school. I was impressed by your dedication to a book called the Book of Mormon.

“I made a commitment that one day I would come to Salt Lake City and see why you talked as you did and why you believed in the manner you believed. Today I had the privilege of going through your visitors’ center on Temple Square. Thanks to a five-year-old girl who had an understanding of that which she believed, I now have a better understanding of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”

Miss Pepper died not too long after that visit. How happy our daughter, Ann, was when she attended the Jordan River Utah Temple and performed the temple work for her beloved teacher whom she had friendshipped long ago.

The war over, Alexandria planned to return to her parents. But she became ill, spent two weeks in a hospital, and missed her train. That was a blessing, she now realizes; returning Russians faced great struggles, and living conditions were much better in Germany than in Russia. While living in a displaced-persons camp in 1945, Alexandria met a handsome American soldier on a blind date. After months of courtship, they were married, and two years later Sergeant Ronnie Graybeal brought his young bride to the United States.

Primary children in Perth, Australia, shared Jesus’s warmth by giving blankets to older women in their ward. At Easter time in Australia, the temperature starts to cool down for autumn before winter comes. Children often receive a new pair of warm winter pajamas with chocolate eggs on Easter morning. Warm pajamas and blankets can remind us of the warmth of Jesus Christ’s love.
1. They went to the store together to pick out the blankets.
2. They also made flower crafts, painted wooden Easter eggs, and decorated cards to go with the blankets.
3. Then they delivered the blankets. They enjoyed working together to bring the Savior’s love to others at Easter time.
Here’s the letter the children sent with the blankets!
We hope that through the winter you can use this small gift to feel the warmth of our love and to always remember that the Savior’s love wraps around you.
Love,
The Primary children
I enjoyed being able to join in and do something together. The shopping trip was the best, and we got to choose the colors of the blankets. It was a fun and happy experience.
Robert D., age 9
We liked seeing the smiling faces of the women in our ward when we gave them the blankets.
Micah and Hyrum M., ages 10 and 8
I had a lot of fun doing something nice for the older people in our ward.
Miley N., age 8
Illustrations by Sophie Loren Moran. May be copied for Church use only.

Meet Emmanuel Amore from the Bo Sierra Leone East Stake—a young man whose journey of transformation began with a simple invitation to church. In 2018 a friend welcomed him to a Sunday meeting, and Emmanuel’s heart was touched. Not long after, he chose to be baptized—a decision that placed the first stone in what would become a deeply personal path of spiritual and personal growth.
Since then, Emmanuel has made the Gathering Place his second home. Whether it’s playing on the sports teams, learning new skills, or diving into institute classes, he shows up with purpose. “I want to succeed both spiritually and temporally,” he says—and he’s putting in the work to make that happen.
A turning point came when Emmanuel noticed his brother learning masonry. Seeing the demand for skilled labor in his community, Emmanuel realized this could be his opportunity to make a difference. He began training, determined to develop a craft that could support his future. Today, he’s applying his growing masonry skills to find work and build something lasting—not just with bricks but with faith.
Emmanuel is still just getting started. His ultimate goal? To grow in personal righteousness and stay anchored in Christ as he builds a meaningful life, one stone—and one choice—at a time.

My fingers clenched the steering wheel as I stared anxiously at the red light. When it finally changed to green, I sped forward only to wait at another seemingly endless stoplight. I was still 10 minutes away from the lesson with the sister missionaries that was supposed to have started 5 minutes ago. If I had been a wiser mother, I would have predicted the 15-minute tantrum my almost-three-year-old daughter erupted into as we headed out the door, but I hadn’t. Yes, the world would go on if I was late, but since I was trying to do something good, didn’t I deserve at least some of the traffic lights to work in my favor? As I waited impatiently at yet another stoplight, I could feel my frustration tightening into anger. “I’m trying to do something good; trying my best! Where is the help I need?”
Eight months after my fourth miscarriage and just several weeks after my stressful drive to meet the sister missionaries, I was peacefully waiting at a stoplight on my way home when my answers came. As I watched the cars stopped next to me and the cars making their way down the road ahead of me, I caught an eternal perspective of my life. I suddenly realized that all that mattered in my journey was that I stay on the path that would take me back to my heavenly home. How many “stoplights” I waited at would have no effect on my destination. How I responded to them would.
I began to cherish every stoplight in my life, both metaphorical and literal. Instead of wasted time, each became an opportunity to acquire patience and to gain perspective that comes only through waiting. Just as every red traffic light is paired with a green light in a different direction, I found that every stoplight in my life opened an avenue for growth, just not necessarily in the way I had been planning to grow right then. Instead of dwelling on the disappointments, I began to delight in the opportunity for progress that every unexpected turn of events provided.

In my youth I learned an important lesson about how our actions may limit our freedom. One day my father assigned me to varnish a wooden floor. I made the choice to begin at the door and work my way into the room. When I was almost finished, I realized I had left myself no way to get out. There was no window or door on the other side. I had literally painted myself into a corner. I had no place to go. I was stuck.

Whenever we disobey, we spiritually paint ourselves into a corner and are captive to our choices. Though we are spiritually stuck, there is always a way back. Like repentance, turning around and walking across a newly varnished floor means more work—a lot of resanding and refinishing! Returning to the Lord isn’t easy, but it is worth it.

One type of handicraft is making Samoan baskets.
First I go out and cut some long green leaves from a type of palm tree called laupaono. With a long bush knife I cut off the sharp edges from the leaves. Then I take them out in the sun and leave them for two weeks. The sun dries them out and they turn a brown colour.
Next I roll each leaf into a bundle and tie these bundles with a piece from the leaf. These bundles are left in the sun again for about a week until they are light brown in colour.
I then take them into the house and cut the leaves into long narrow strips. If I want two or more colours for my basket, I dye the leaves different colours.
I decide on the size, design, and shape of the basket. With some heavy wire or pieces of bamboo tied together, I make the shape I want. Then I weave the leaves around that shape. When I am finished, I have a nice basket.
Tagaloa Burgess, Age 11Pesega, Upolu, Western Samoa

“The princess is here!” cried the innkeeper. “We’ll soon be rich!”
“The princess is here!” cried the innkeeper’s wife. “We’ll soon be famous!”
And at that instant, into the inn walked the princess followed by four of her servants.
Days before, it had been announced that the princess, who was traveling between her castles, would be stopping at this particular inn for her noonday meal.
So now, as the wife scuttled to the kitchen, the innkeeper stepped briskly toward the door.
“Your Highness,” he said, bowing deeply, “what an honor this is to have you stop at our humble inn. Please follow me. Your meal is ready.”
With practiced charm, the innkeeper seated the princess. He scowled, however, when her four servants sat down at the same table.
The innkeeper’s wife whisked into the room, carrying a bowl of steaming stew.
“A rich, thick, savory stew, Your Highness,” she announced, setting the bowl before the princess, “prepared especially for you.”
The princess nodded graciously, picking up her spoon.
The innkeeper and his wife watched anxiously. Everyone knows what delicate and refined tastebuds a real princess has. One kind word from her about their stew, and people would come from far and wide to taste their famous fare.
But the princess paused before even tasting it. “And what about my servants?” she asked. “What are they to eat?”
“What’s this? The servants?” muttered the innkeeper to his wife as they exchanged angry glances. They hardly wanted to serve mere servants.
“Please understand, Your Highness,” replied the innkeeper in sugary tones. “We are poor. It would be a great hardship on us to feed everyone here.”
The princess made no reply. Instead, she raised her spoon and took a taste of the stew. The innkeeper and his wife leaned forward to catch any complimentary word that she might utter.
Slowly the princess licked her lips with the tip of her tongue. “This stew,” she said, at length, “needs salt.”
Salt? “We’ll add salt at once, Your Highness,” said the innkeeper, clicking his heels together. Retrieving the bowl, he and his wife rushed to the kitchen.
A moment later they returned with the salted stew.
“Oh, dear. Oh, my,” the princess said, puckering her lips. “I’m afraid that it’s too salty now.”
Too salty? Adding salt was easy. But removing salt was impossible. The innkeeper and his wife could do only one thing. Taking the stew back into the kitchen, they poured it into a large pot. Quickly they added carrots, onions, potatoes, and broth.
“That will dilute the saltiness,” said the innkeeper. “Yes, the stew will be perfect,” said his wife, tasting it. Both of them smiled at the thought of the fame that the stew would bring them.
When the stew was set once more before the princess, she took another taste. “It’s better, much better now. But,” she added, “a tad more salt would make it perfect!”
The innkeeper and his wife were delighted. Surely they were close now! In the kitchen they added the smallest dash of salt to the stew.
But, alas, when the princess tasted it this time, she wrinkled her nose. “Oh, my!” she said, reaching for a water goblet. “What have you done! This stew is far too salty.”
Back into the kitchen rushed the innkeeper and his wife. They poured the stew into an even larger pot and added more carrots, onions, potatoes, and broth.
“Oh, how famous and rich we’ll soon be!” the wife and the innkeeper whispered happily to each other.
Soon the princess was tasting the stew again. “Almost,” she said, taking her fifth delicate taste. “It needs more salt, however. Just a touch perhaps.”
Ten grains of salt were all the innkeeper and his wife added to the stew this time. But as before, the princess took one tiny taste and said, “Too salty. Much, much too salty.”
“This princess and her fickle taste buds are going to drive me crazy!” cried the exasperated innkeeper as he added more carrots and potatoes to the pot.
“But once we get the combination right,” replied his wife, “we’ll be rich and famous. We’ll call it ‘Princess Stew,’ and everyone will come to our inn to eat it!”
Once more the princess tried the stew, … took a second taste, … then another! The innkeeper and his wife were overjoyed. Breathlessly they waited for her to speak.
“Innkeeper,” the princess said, after another spoonful, “I believe that by now there should be enough stew in your pot to feed my servants.”
The innkeeper and his wife exchanged glances. These were not the words that they had expected to hear! But after all the vegetables that they had added to the stew to dilute its saltiness, they couldn’t claim that there wasn’t enough to serve the servants, after all.
As everyone ate, the innkeeper and his wife waited and waited for a good word from the princess. But the princess finished her bowl of stew without saying another word!

“After a good show you just feel like getting out and hugging the whole audience,” said one of the Brigham Young University Sounds, and that’s exactly what they did after each performance.
It was all part of a six-week tour in which the 36 BYU students sang and danced their way across the United States, Canada, Romania, and Bulgaria. “Shower the people you love with love” was the theme of their variety show that ended consistently with a standing ovation. And wherever they went they were deluged with hugs, kisses, tears, flowers, and requests for autographs.
The tour was a hodgepodge of rushing in and out of television studios and concert halls, sleeping through long bus rides, meeting Church members throughout the USA and Canada, and making friends with the Romanians and Bulgarians. It was also filled with people reaching out to others, like the group of Romanian high school students singing “Oh, Suzanna” in broken English to make the Sounds feel welcome, or the nonmember in Massachusetts giving a large gift of money to the group to show her appreciation for the “uplifting, clean entertainment” she’d seen.
But most important, it was an opportunity to spread the joy of the gospel through song, dance, and music. In fact, the Sounds unofficially call themselves the “performing missionaries.” They even held missionary training sessions before they left on tour to discuss how they could best answer the questions they might be asked.
They carried an excitement about the gospel with them wherever they went, an unbounded enthusiasm for sharing what was precious to them. It was a new experience for some, an experience well-practiced for the returned missionaries. It was also the driving force that kept them determined to please audiences throughout the tour.
“I’ve lived in Provo all my life, so it was really exciting to share my enthusiasm for the gospel and watch nonmembers catch the light,” said Kathy Kocherhans, a singer with the group.
“After the show, people would come up to talk to us, touched by its message. It was a common thing that happened every night. In the mission field I was lucky to teach in a month as many people as I taught in a week on tour,” said Steve Shaw, a dancer with the Sounds.
“I talked to a 17-year-old nonmember about the Church, gave her a Book of Mormon, and bore my testimony. It was the most exciting experience of my life,” said Tim Andersen, a trumpet player with the group.
“I was a bit nervous at first to approach people, but once I found a comfortable way to lead the conversation around to the Church by discussing family home evening or BYU, I found it to be one of the most rewarding things I’d ever done. It’s fulfilling to know that I might be a small link that could introduce someone to a new and better life,” said Michelle Milne, a singer and BYU’s homecoming queen for 1976–77.
“Even after two years experience in the mission field, this tour has been the most unique missionary experience I’ve ever had,” said Rob Hightower, business manager for the group.
“Talking to people about the gospel is sometimes a hard thing to do. But as it says in Moroni, ‘Perfect love casteth out all fear’ (Moro. 8:16), and once you surpass the line of holding back, giving of yourself and talking about the gospel go hand in hand. The key for me is to forget myself and be more interested in the other person than I am in myself,” said Jerry Hatch, a dancer with the Sounds.
“I placed five copies of the Book of Mormon one night with young men at the naval base who had been moved by our show to the point that they wanted the joy we felt. I loved to talk with people after the show and explain why we generate that warm glow during the show,” said Mike Farnes, a singer.
Then there were the fruits of their labors, not only in sharing the gospel and seeing people decide to be baptized, but also just in touching people’s lives.
A misty-eyed official in Turnavo, Bulgaria, asked the Sounds to assemble after their show. He told them, “You have brought the sun to us. We have seen America through your music and smiles. There is no distance between our countries today.”
One young girl pressed a card into the hand of one of the singers. It read, “You are remembered—we love you.” An older man drew another aside and told him, “I feel impressed to tell you that I know you’re my brother, and I love you.”
And there was the 23-year-old truck driver in Bulgaria who transported the sound equipment across the country wherever the Sounds went. Even though he spoke no English, at the end of his ten-day tour with the Sounds, he wept to see his friends leave. They wept too.
One of the highlights of the tour was at the Great Lakes Naval Base in Illinois where two officer trainees had seen the Sounds perform, talked with the missionaries, and announced at the preshow warm-up two nights later that they were to be baptized that week.
“You taste a little bit of the truth and want more and more,” said Bill Harvey, one of the officer trainees. “I have to join the Church to satisfy that thirst. I just hope that the Lord will be able to use my life so I can be a missionary and teach other people. That’s what I really want to do now.”
At a fireside given by the Sounds in Hamburg, New York, two investigators decided to join the Church. After a show in Ontario, Canada, another investigator decided to be baptized. And one family in New York hunted down Jerry Allman, who had toured there the year before, to tell him that a family had been baptized as the result of his placing a Book of Mormon with them the year before when they’d come to the performance.
The tour did have its disasters—an epidemic of sore throats, a spill down the Hill Cumorah by the pianist, the flu, a broken hand, and a run-in with a bus requiring stitches for one of the singers. But through it all, the Sounds maintained their determination to perform well and open their hearts to people.
“After a performance it’s hard to explain your feelings,” said singer and band member Denise Hatch. “It’s almost something you have to experience. You feel completely warm inside and happy, and you can’t stop smiling because you feel like you’ve really given something worthwhile, because you’ve given of yourself. It makes all the hours and hours of practice and frustration and tears that go along with the performing worth every second of it.”
Editor’s Note: The BYU Sounds are now known as one of two BYU Young Ambassadors groups.

As anticipated, October 26 was a successful Sabbath and the highlight of the proselyting venture. Joseph and Sidney first preached to a large congregation at the Nickersons’, then took 12 converts into the waters of baptism, including Brother Nickerson’s two adult sons, Moses and Eleazer. That evening they “held a meeting for confirmation. We broke bread, laid on hands for the gift of the Holy Spirit. Had a good meeting, the Spirit was given in great power to some and the rest had great peace. May God carry on his work in this place till all shall know him. Amen.”

When Newel Knight informed his wife, Lydia, that the Saints would have to leave Nauvoo and move yet again, she responded with tenacious faith, saying, “Well, there’s nothing to discuss. Our place is with the Kingdom of God. Let us at once set about making preparations to leave.” Brother Knight had moved his family several times already as many of the Saints had moved from New York to Ohio to Missouri and to Illinois. Lydia Knight’s devoted submission to what she knew was God’s will typifies powerfully the faith of those heroic early Saints. With their faith in mind, the words of a familiar hymn take on added meaning:
Faith of our fathers, living still,
In spite of dungeon, fire, and sword;
Oh, how our hearts beat high with joy
Whene’er we hear that glorious word.
Faith of our fathers, holy faith,
We will be true to thee till death!
Though winter’s chill was not yet past, heightened fears of mob attacks and swirling rumors of government intervention compelled President Young to set things in motion to get the Saints under way. He directed the first company of pioneer families to leave Nauvoo on February 4, 1846, a cold winter day. They drove their laden wagons and their livestock down Parley Street—a street that became known as the “Street of Tears”—to a landing where they were ferried across the river to Iowa. Chunks of ice floating in the river crunched against the sides of the flatboats and barges that carried the wagons across the Mississippi. A few weeks later, temperatures dropped even further and wagons could cross the river more easily over a bridge of ice.
Sister Wirthlin and I visited Nauvoo in early March this year. The weather was bitterly cold. As we stood in the chilling wind, looking out across the broad expanse of the Mississippi, we felt a deeper sense of appreciation and gratitude for those Saints as they left their beloved city. We wondered how they ever survived. What a sacrifice to leave behind so much for the uncertain future that lay ahead! No wonder so many tears were shed as the fleeing pioneers drove their wagons rumbling down Parley Street to cross the river with no hope of ever returning to their “City Beautiful.”
Once across the river, they camped temporarily at Sugar Creek before starting their trek west toward the Rocky Mountains. The journey, which historian H. H. Bancroft described as a migration without “parallel in the world’s history,” had begun.
When President Brigham Young joined the departing pioneers at their campsite in Iowa on February 15, 1846, the Lord revealed to him to begin organizing a modern “Camp of Israel.” On the first of March the advance company began its push westward across Iowa. Hardships caused by cold, snow, rain, mud, sickness, hunger, and death challenged the faith of these hardy pioneers. But they were determined to follow their leaders and to do, no matter the cost, what they believed fervently to be the will of God. Their faith was challenged, and for some it faltered in especially difficult times. But it did not fail them. Many were sustained by the assurances they had received in temple ordinances performed in the Nauvoo Temple.
One of the more difficult hardships endured by many of the sisters was delivering their babies under harsh, extreme conditions along the trail. Eliza R. Snow wrote that as the pioneers “journeyed onward, mothers gave birth to offspring under almost every variety of circumstances imaginable, except those to which they had been accustomed; some in tents, others in wagons—in rainstorms and in snowstorms.” Sister Snow went on to record in her journal that she “heard of one birth which occurred under the rude shelter of a hut, the sides of which were formed of blankets fastened to poles stuck in the ground, with a bark roof through which the rain was dripping. Kind sisters stood holding dishes to catch the water … , thus protecting the [little one] and its mother from a showerbath [on its entrance to] the stage of human life.”
What a sacrifice these good sisters made! Some mothers lost their own lives in childbirth. Many babies did not survive. My wife’s grandmother, Elizabeth Riter, was born at Winter Quarters in the back of a covered wagon during a rainstorm. Fortunately, both the mother and the newborn infant survived. With great love for the woman who gave life to her, Elizabeth often lovingly recounted how an umbrella was held over her mother throughout the ordeal to shield her from the water leaking through the wagon’s cover.
Let us never forget the faith of our fathers and the selfless sacrifice of our mothers, those pioneering Saints who set such an inspiring example of obedience. Let us remember them as we strive to be valiant servants in our work to “invite all to come unto Christ” and “be perfected in him.”