Gospel Story Finder

After a disastrous earthquake in Europe, I visited camps where those displaced by the earthquake lived. I met many families living in tents. They didn’t know who I was or that the Church would bring assistance. But as I met with them, the very first thing they did was put something to eat or drink in my hands with smiles on their faces.

These people had lost everything. I was there to serve them. But they found it in their hearts to serve. This brought me joy and reminded me that one of the best ways to know Jesus Christ in a deep and profound way is to serve Him by serving God’s children.

So I decided that in my senior year I wouldn’t have another girlfriend. And it made for a really fun year because I made a lot of friends. One girl, though, I started to hang out with a lot. I could tell she liked me, and I started to like her back. But because I had made my decision, I knew what was right. I had to tell her that I didn’t want to date. She understood, and we actually became good friends.

Anna liked going to Sunbeam class. She liked her teachers, Brother and Sister Lee. She liked the lessons about Jesus. She liked knowing the words to the songs.
But now she wouldn’t be in the Sunbeam class anymore. Today she would be in a new Primary class. She would have new teachers. She would sit in a new row in singing time. She would have a new classroom.
Anna was nervous. She wanted to sit with Sister Lee. She tried not to cry as she walked into the Primary room.
One of her new teachers smiled at her. “Hi, I’m Sister Ball. What’s your name?”
“I’m Anna,” Anna said.
Sister Ball patted the chair next to her. “Would you like to sit by me? This is my first time in Primary.”
Anna sat down by Sister Ball. “I can help you. I know all the songs!”
“Thank you,” said Sister Ball. “That would be a big help.”
Soon her friend Beth came in. Last year she was in the Sunbeam class with Anna. Beth sat by Anna.
“This is Beth,” Anna told Sister Ball.
Anna smiled. She liked her new Primary class after all!

I lived in a ward where one woman was like a beacon of righteousness. Jessica (name has been changed) radiated love and goodness every week in our meetings. She went from person to person, greeting them and loving them—especially those who were “hanging on the edges” of the ward. She invited the lonely to her home, talked to the shy ones, and went out of her way to spread her commitment to Christ and His gospel. It impacted the entire ward for good.

Natalie dipped her brush into the orange paint and put the finishing touches on her newest picture. Orange swirled together with red, yellow, pink, and lavender watercolors to form a sunset behind majestic mountains.
“There! I’m finally finished,” she announced as she placed the painting on the kitchen counter to dry.
“It’s beautiful, Natalie,” Mom said as she admired the painting. “No wonder you won the school art contest again this year.”
Just then, Jared, Natalie’s nine-year-old brother, zipped through the kitchen. “Bye! I’m going to practice for the big race!” he yelled as the screen door slammed shut. In the next instant, he was in the kitchen again. “Hey, Natalie! You’re still going to paint my go-cart for me, right?”
“Sure, Jared. I’ll do it after lunch. You’ll be back by then, won’t you?”
“I’ll make sure I am!”
In the meantime, I’ll go try out my new bike tires, Natalie thought. Jared had put new tires on her bicycle, and in return, Natalie had agreed to paint bright red flames on the sides of his go-cart for the race on Monday afternoon.
As she started to pedal down the street, she heard her friend Nicole calling her. “Natalie, my parents are taking me to the amusement park today, and they said I could bring a friend. Would you like to come?”
“I’d love to!” Natalie squealed. Then she remembered Jared. “Wait—I can’t go. I promised Jared I’d paint his go-cart for the race on Monday. Tomorrow is Sunday, so I can’t do it then.”
“We can wait a couple of hours for you if you want to paint it now.”
“Jared has it with him. He’s practicing for the race and won’t be back until after lunch,” Natalie said sadly.
“Well, it will go just as fast without paint as with paint,” Nicole pointed out. “Your painting it isn’t going to help him win the race.”
Natalie thought, That makes sense. Besides, does he expect me to wait around all day for him? “OK, I’ll go!” she told Nicole. “Mom’s gone to the store, so I’ll tell Dad. We can go right away!”
At the amusement park, smells of food filled the air, and clowns carried bouquets of bright red balloons. The girls went on every ride, but for some reason, Natalie wasn’t having much fun. Even when she rode the carousel, her favorite ride, she didn’t enjoy herself. As she sat on a beautiful white horse with sparkling jewels in its trappings, all she could think about was how disappointed Jared was going to be when he found out she had broken her promise.
That evening, Natalie dreaded going home. She opened the door as quietly as she could, hoping nobody would hear her come in. But Mom was sitting on the couch. “Did you have a good time?” she asked.
“Yeah, I guess so,” Natalie answered halfheartedly. “Where’s Jared? I really need to talk to him.”
“He and Dad are out practicing for the race. They’ll be home late,” Mom said with an “I’m disappointed in you, but I’m not going to say anything” tone of voice. “You’ll have to wait until morning.”
On Sunday morning, Jared didn’t mention the go-cart, but Natalie could tell he was hurt. She was glad when it was finally time to go to church.
After a prayer, her Primary teacher, Sister Parker, began to explain the lesson. “Today we are going to talk about covenants. A covenant is a promise, or an agreement, between two people.”
Natalie slumped in her seat.
“As long as one of them keeps the agreement,” Sister Parker continued, “the other is also bound to do what he or she has promised.”
Just like the deal I made with Jared. Natalie squirmed in her chair.
“We all make covenants when we are baptized. We promise to take upon us the name of our Savior, Jesus Christ. This means we are willing to live as he would have us live.”
Jesus would not have wanted me to break my promise to Jared, thought Natalie.
“We also promise to always remember him and keep his commandments. In return, he promises to send his Spirit to always be with us. The sacrament is a time for us to remember what the Savior has done for us and to renew our baptismal covenants.”
During the sacrament, she thought about what Sister Parker had taught in Primary. She listened carefully to the sacrament prayers. She remembered Jesus and how he had suffered and died for her. Then she thought about the covenants she had made at baptism. “Heavenly Father, I promise to do better,” she prayed silently.
On the way home, she apologized to Jared. “I’m really sorry I didn’t paint your go-cart. How can I make it up to you?”
“It’s OK, Natalie. I can still race. Don’t worry about it.”
But Natalie did worry about it. She wanted to make things right. After praying again, she knew what she would do.
Monday morning, Jared was astonished. When he went to get his go-cart, it had been painted a sleek black, and bright red flames raced along the sides. He ran into the house. “Hey, Natalie!” he shouted.
“Shhh!” Mom said with her finger to her lips. “I’m going to let her sleep for a while longer.”
“Did you see it?” Jared asked, barely able to hold still long enough to hear the answer.
“Yes, I did. It looks great! She got up at three o’clock this morning to paint it for you.”
The time for the race finally came. Friends and families crowded along the course, waiting for the go-carts to come racing down the hill. Natalie waved to Jared as he slipped into the red and black go-cart. “Good luck, Jared!”
As he waved back he had a huge, happy grin on his face. Natalie’s grin was just as huge and happy.

I’m from Nigeria, an English-speaking country, so when I was called to serve in the Benin Cotonou Mission and realized I would be speaking French, I became nervous. How was I going to teach the gospel? As I expected, I struggled to learn French while in the missionary training center in Ghana. Many times I felt almost hopeless.
Then, in my first area, I was asked to bear my testimony to the branch in French! Everyone sat in silence as I slowly walked to the pulpit. I reached into my pocket for the short testimony I had written down. But I could not find it! Fear gripped me instantly!
When I looked out at the beautiful faces before me, my eyes filled with tears. I had so much I wanted to share, but I didn’t know how to say it. I said the only thing I could in French: “I know that God lives.”
I sat back down and during the rest of the meeting, I prayed in my heart. I told Heavenly Father that I really wanted to speak French, and that if He would help me, I would serve Him with all my heart.
Three months later a new missionary couple from the United States visited the branch. They were also asked to bear their testimonies. The sister walked to the pulpit, said a few words in French, and then stopped. Tears fell down her face. The chapel was silent. I walked up to her and asked if I could interpret for her.
“Oh, that would be wonderful, Elder,” she said. I felt the Spirit as she spoke English, and I interpreted her testimony, word for word, in French.
After the meeting the branch president’s wife said to me, “I remember how long it took you to say, ‘I know that God lives’ when you first arrived. Yes, God really lives and He has touched your tongue.”
I know that God understands every language and every problem we face. He is there to help us if we put our trust in Him, and He blesses our efforts when we try. Because He answered my prayer, I have been able to teach the gospel in French and my life has been blessed.

Shadows wrapped the room in darkness as I lay awake listening to my husband breathe, trying to determine whether he was sleeping. It had been only two days since our 12-year-old daughter had passed away from a sudden traumatic accident. I closed my eyes again, but sleep evaded me. My heart yearned for my daughter. All the knowledge of the plan of salvation couldn’t ease the ache of missing her.
As dawn neared, I felt a sudden, intense longing. The sun would be rising soon, and in my mind I saw the sky bathed in soft pink light. Our daughter loved the color pink. A pink sunrise would be just the thing I needed to feel close to her again.
“Let’s go watch the sunrise,” I whispered to my drowsy husband.
We stood in the driveway, faced east, and waited … and waited. Though the sky lightened, the sun did not push through the low-lying clouds.
I leaned my head on my husband’s shoulder and sighed, trying to pretend it didn’t matter. But I wanted more. I needed more. Surely Heavenly Father could have granted me this desire after taking our sweet girl home to Him.
As my husband turned to go inside, looking behind us toward the west, he said, “Look!”
I turned. Behind us the clouds were bathed in a delicate blush, golden light surrounding them. My breath caught, and tears crept to my eyes. It was more beautiful than I could have imagined. It felt like a hug from our daughter. I knew Heavenly Father was aware of my aching heart and was sending a promise of hope for the future—a gentle reminder of eternal families and all the beautiful moments yet to come.
I have thought often on that beautiful moment and the new perspective it gave me. Who looks for a sunrise in the west? And yet that is where my miracle was waiting. How many blessings and miracles do I miss because they come from unexpected places? How many times do I focus on what I think should be and miss the glory of what is?
We had prayed relentlessly for a miracle that was denied, but as I looked around with my new perspective, I saw the miracle of the four lives bettered through our daughter’s organ donations, the miracle of family love and ward unity, and the miracle of service. I have felt deep sorrow, but I have also felt powerful hope fill my soul with each blushing sunrise, each rosy sunset, and each pink flower that crosses my path.
Now as the sun rises, I look east and then turn to look west. I smile with the realization that there are always miracles and blessings to be found—and that the sun will always rise on our sorrows if we let it.

Let me share with you a rather private but joyful example from my own experience.

As a bishop, I worried about any members who were inactive, not attending, not serving. Such was my thought one day as I drove down the street where Ben and Emily Fullmer lived. Aches and pains of advancing years caused them to withdraw from activity to the shelter of their home—isolated, detached, shut out from the mainstream of daily life and association. Ben and Emily had not been in our sacrament meeting for many years. Ben, a former bishop, would sit constantly in his front room reading and memorizing the New Testament.

I was en route from my uptown sales office to our plant on Industrial Road. For some reason I had driven down First West, a street which I never had traveled before to reach the destination of our plant. Then I felt the unmistakable prompting to park my car and visit Ben and Emily, even though I was on my way to a meeting. I did not heed the impression at first but drove on for two more blocks; however, when the impression came again, I returned to their home.

It was a sunny weekday afternoon. I approached the door to their home and knocked. I heard the tiny fox terrier dog bark at my approach. Emily welcomed me in. Upon seeing me, she exclaimed, “All day long I have waited for my phone to ring. It has been silent. I hoped the postman would deliver a letter. He brought only bills. Bishop, how did you know today is my birthday?”

I answered, “God knows, Emily, for He loves you.”

In the quiet of their living room, I said to Ben and Emily, “I really don’t know why I was directed here today, but I was. Our Heavenly Father knows. Let’s kneel in prayer and ask Him why.” This we did, and the answer came. As we arose from our knees, I said to Brother Fullmer, “Ben, would you come to priesthood meeting when we meet with all the priesthood and relate to our Aaronic Priesthood boys the story you once told me when I was a boy, how you and a group of boys were en route to the Jordan River to swim one Sunday, but you felt the Spirit direct you to attend Sunday School. And you did. One of the boys who failed to respond to that Spirit drowned that Sunday. Our boys would like to hear your testimony.”

“I’ll do it,” he responded.

I then said to Sister Fullmer, “Emily, I know you have a beautiful voice. My mother has told me so. Our ward conference is a few weeks away, and our choir will sing. Would you join the choir and attend our ward conference and perhaps sing a solo?”

“What will the number be?” she inquired.

“I don’t know,” I said, “but I’d like you to sing it.”

She sang. He spoke to the Aaronic Priesthood. Hearts were gladdened by the return to activity of Ben and Emily. They rarely missed a sacrament meeting from that day forward. The language of the Spirit had been spoken. It had been heard. It had been understood. Hearts were touched and souls saved. Ben and Emily Fullmer had come home.

Michael, oldest of the three, says, “In church, everybody talks about saving money for a mission, but because the wall was up, none of the younger people believed we would be able to go on missions.”

“My parents taught me to save money to go on a mission,” says Matthias, “and I did it, too. But I never really thought I’d be able to go.” His patriarchal blessing did say he would serve a mission, but he assumed it would be later in life. When he served as a stake missionary at the open house prior to the temple dedication, Matthias thought maybe that was the fulfillment of the blessing.

Then there was Peter, youngest of the sons. He knew something his brothers didn’t know. Peter received his patriarchal blessing in 1986, after the temple dedication. He talks about going to a small town on the Polish border, attending a small branch in a shabby rented building rich with the Spirit, and then going to the home of the patriarch.

“He told me that I would go on a full-time mission. I would serve in a different country and a different language, and it would be in my youth. I was crying, I felt so close to the Lord in that moment. Afterward, I read my patriarchal blessing every night. I prayed. And I started saving money for my mission. I knew I was going soon.”

Peter just didn’t know where he would be going. (He thought somehow it might be Russia, since he spoke that language fairly well.) And, for some reason, he shared his blessing with his parents but not his brothers. “I was kind of different in my family. I always said, ‘We’re going on a mission and it’s going to be great. We’re going to change things.’ My brother Matthias was skeptical. But I had my patriarchal blessing. I knew.”

Still, Peter didn’t know how it would happen. Also, he was the youngest. As far as he knew, he had been given a promise that his brothers hadn’t been given. So he kept quiet about it.

Then, not long before the hated wall came down, the East German government began to allow a few full-time missionaries in for the first time in 50 years. At the same time, a handful of East German missionaries were allowed out of the country to serve in other nations. For some reason, none of the Lehmanns were permitted to be part of that group.

But then came those November days that were replayed on TV screens all over the world. East Berliners sat atop the wall with hammers and iron bars, tearing apart a barrier that had already been undermined by faith and prayer.

Peter was the first to submit his mission papers. Matthias and Michael followed soon after. All three were called to missions in the United States: Michael in the Tennessee Nashville Mission; Matthias in the Idaho Boise Mission; and Peter in the Colorado Denver Mission.

They knew what it was like to become free. Now they were ready to help others tear down another kind of wall. Every conversion, every life changed, is another person set free spiritually. And that is the greatest freedom. Just ask the Lehmanns.

Bitterness became quiet as Tim turned his mind to thoughts of past years. When he was just a boy, he had left Ireland with his two older brothers and a younger sister to come to America. They landed in New York and then moved to Baltimore to join an uncle.
The streets of Baltimore hadn’t been paved with gold. They had had to work long hours in their uncle’s store. Slowly the hours began to pay off, and the sweat and toil became the mortgage price of prosperity. Ever so slowly, poverty released its strong icy fingers from around the immigrants.
When he was 17, Tim Ryan had let his brother Michael talk him into going to a parish dance. “Come along, Timmy. It’s time that you began to think about the ladies. And what better place to meet them than at the parish house?”
Tim went with Michael, shyly, unwillingly at first. He stood off on the sidelines, watching the others dance and hating them for their social graces and himself for his shyness. Then Maggie appeared and the climate changed.
She was short, no taller than his five foot three inches, with long black hair. She smiled often, and once, when he looked enough in her direction, she smiled at him. He could feel the color rising in his cheeks.
He summoned up the courage to go over and introduce himself. She asked him with that ever-present smile if he always blushed so brightly. “No,” he said, “it only happens when I talk with a beautiful young lady. And by the way, may I have the next dance?” She said yes.
Tim Ryan walked Maggie Rourke home that night after the dance. They saw each other often in the next year. Then, one night, on the anniversary of that dance in the parish house, he asked her another question. She answered yes to this one too, and they made arrangements with Father Kelly to perform the ceremony.

Dot Todman, 18, knows that’s true.
“I grew up with a good friend named Kelly,” Dot explains. “I always knew she was a Mormon, but I didn’t know what Mormons were or anything about them. Kelly moved away, but we kept in contact. Then this year I was on a school choir trip, and we arranged to meet again.
“We were just talking, catching up on our lives, and then somehow religion got brought up. I told her I didn’t feel the church I was attending was right for me. It was kind of like a spiritual kindergarten.
“She said, ‘In our religion, you’d be surprised. It goes all the way up to university level.’ That intrigued me. I asked her to write to me, to tell me about it in her own words.
“I waited for her letter. I waited and waited. In the meantime, another LDS friend of mine tried to get me in touch with the missionaries. But I didn’t want to talk to them until I’d heard from Kelly.
“Finally I called her. She said, ‘Are you still interested?’ She sent me a letter and bore her testimony, and that opened the door.”
Dot found the light she’d searched for, and it grew brighter and brighter. She joined the Church and is now a member of the Barrie Ward, sharing the gospel herself. But Kelly made a discovery, too. She discovered that others were searching for the light she already had.

To prevent similar circumstances in the future, the Church established a project to raise drought-resistant crops on Church land in Chyulu. It was directed by priesthood leaders, including Joel K. Ransom, an agronomist from Idaho and first counselor in the Chyulu district presidency. Those who helped with the project were given land and seeds to plant their own family gardens. Although there had been no rain for nearly two years, 40 Church members and 60 people not of our faith planted their crops on 21 October 1992. Then they held a special fast for rain and watched the Church film The Windows of Heaven. Less than a week after the seeds were planted, the rains came. The crops grew, and so did the faith of the people. There was a bountiful harvest of both crops and converts.

I was searching for truth, so I started meeting with the missionaries. After taking most of the lessons, I knew I needed to get baptized. But as the day of my baptism approached, we held a lesson that was hard for me to hear. That lesson was on the Word of Wisdom.
That lesson was hard for me because I drank a lot. My work environment was tough. Everyone I worked with drank, and so I did too. I would often go out drinking after work and come home late at night.
But the missionaries did a great job. I still love them for it. They taught me that God wants us to be strong and that He gave us the Word of Wisdom to bless us. Obeying this law was really hard for me, but slowly, I started to keep it. I remember calling the missionaries every day, updating them on my progress, and telling them that I did not drink that day. They were so happy with my progress.
With their help, I got baptized and entered the fold of Jesus Christ. I felt the Spirit that beautiful day! But I was alone when I joined the Church. I wanted my family to be with me.
When I talked to my wife, Clirime, about the Church, she would not listen at first. Her grandfather belonged to a different religion, and she wondered why The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints had even come to Albania. I knew that the only way I could bring her into the gospel was through my example. Through our actions, people can see who we really are.
Clirime noticed changes in me as I gave up alcohol and started coming home early from work. Because of the changes I was making, she started to feel the Spirt of God as I told her about the Church. I cannot describe the happy feeling I had when she told me that one day she would also get baptized. Soon she began taking the missionary lessons, which I helped the missionaries teach. I was especially happy when she set a date for her baptism, six months after I was baptized.
With her baptism, and the baptism of our two children when they each turned eight, I felt that we could become an eternal family. But baptism was just the beginning. To prepare to go to the temple, we knew that we had to follow God to the end of our lives, keeping the commandments, going to church, partaking of the sacrament, serving in callings, reading the scriptures, and learning more about covenants and the plan of salvation.
The day we were sealed as a family in the Frankfurt Germany Temple was another beautiful day. In the temple, I came to understand more about the plan of happiness our God has for us, and I felt His love.
I still remember the promises Clirime and I made in the temple. Whenever something goes wrong or we are having a hard time, my mind goes back to those promises.
As a family we try to live in harmony with each other because that is what we felt in the temple. Every time I think of the temple, I feel happy and blessed. I know that God is real and that He loves us and wants us to be happy.

As a young man having just finished my first year of college and needing to earn money for a desired mission, I spent the summer working at the new Jackson Lake Lodge in Jackson Hole, Wyoming.
One co-worker was Jill, a young woman from San Francisco, California. Feeling that a young woman from a big city might be a little bit naive about her new environment, a few friends and I felt it our obligation to teach her about the ways of the real West. We decided to take her on a “snipe hunt.” For those of you who may not be familiar with a snipe hunt, it is a practical joke. The tools necessary for a snipe hunt are a stick and a cloth bag. The “hunter” is told to go through the brush, beating the bushes with a stick while calling the snipe in a high-pitched, ridiculous voice. The nonexistent snipes are thus to be driven into the cloth bag.
We gave Jill her cloth bag and a stick and an area to hunt across the hill. The plan was to return to our starting point in about 15 minutes, at which time we would supposedly count our snipes.
When she did not return at the appointed time, we gloated and took delight in the seriousness with which she took her hunt. After about 30 minutes, we felt it was time to rescue her, explain the joke, have a good laugh, and all go to dinner. However, it became apparent that she had taken her snipe hunt more seriously than we had expected—she was not to be found in her assigned area. After searching rather extensively and still finding no evidence of her, we began moving into the woods, calling for her at the top of our voices, but to no avail.
Hoping she might have gone back to her dormitory, we returned and asked some young women to search for her there, but this also was to no avail. It was now turning dark, and our concern heightened. We enlisted all the young men we could from the boys’ dormitory, and with flashlights continued the search deep into the woods. Well into the darkness of night—frightened, concerned, and hoarse from calling—we decided it was now time to report our ridiculous deed to the park rangers. While we were standing in front of the dorms, trying to determine which brave soul would have the privilege of reporting her disappearance, Jill suddenly appeared—not from her dormitory, but rather from that of a friend, with whom she had enjoyed dinner (which we incidentally missed) and a comfortable evening with her friends. Her first words to us as she approached said it all: “How do you fellows like hunting snipe hunters?”
The joke was on us, and I have never had a desire for any more snipe hunting.

When a sister in our ward started coming to church again after six years, my mother told my brothers and sisters and me that we should be friends with the sister’s two children. Their dad had died just a year before, and they were still very sad. One of the children, Evelyn, was a little younger than I am.
Mama asked me, “Monahra, will you be Evelyn’s friend? Heavenly Father has asked you to be a member missionary. Be loving and friendly, and be sure that she is not left alone.”
I told Mama that I would, and since that day, I have tried to be a member missionary for Evelyn. Because I want to be a full-time missionary when I grow up, I am trying my best to be a missionary now.
Evelyn is a great friend, and she smiles a lot now. We play, go to Primary, and sing hymns together. Sometimes we have family home evening together at her house. I know that Heavenly Father is happy because I have tried to be a member missionary and a friend. I am grateful to have Evelyn as a friend.

At age 54, before he was called as a General Authority, President Russell M. Nelson attended a meeting in which President Spencer W. Kimball challenged attendees to “be of service to the Chinese” and “learn their language.”
Although he was a busy heart surgeon at the time, President Nelson took this counsel to heart. He found a tutor to help him learn the Mandarin language.
It wasn’t long before President Nelson found himself sitting next to a distinguished Chinese surgeon, Dr. Wu Yingkai, at a medical convention. Because of his Chinese language studies, President Nelson was able to have a conversation with Dr. Wu. From there, the two doctors formed a lasting friendship and even visited each other’s countries.
President Nelson’s goal to learn Mandarin led to positive exchanges with China, as President Kimball had hoped for. After he was called to the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, President Nelson even performed his last heart surgery on China’s most famous opera singer by special request.

Before long, a shiny new chapel will be completed in Paterson, New Jersey. It’s currently under construction, and all the Church members in the Garden State’s third largest city are pretty excited.
But for now, members of the Paterson Second Branch still attend church in the annex of the Paterson City Hall, a building the branch rents for its meetings.
And though some members may not notice, the annex is cleaner than any other building on the street.
Fourteen-year-old Hector “Tito” Hernandez knows why.
In downtown Paterson, and especially on Market Street, where the annex is located, pigeons gather everywhere and leave—ahem—their marks on the buildings. Although clean on the inside, the outside leaves something to be desired.
When Tito joined the Church three years ago, he first attended the Caldwell Ward. When he moved into the Paterson Second Branch, he noticed how messy the annex’s exterior was. That started him to thinking. After discussions with his branch president, Tito decided what needed to be done.
So each Friday, Tito shows up at the building to make sure it is clean for Sunday services.
A little hot water, some soap, and a lot of effort on the granite building always do the trick. Even the mailbox, which sits right outside the front door, gets the treatment. At first, due to years of neglect, Tito had his work cut out for him. “The first couple of times were hard. But every week that went by, it got easier and easier,” he says.
“We want people to join our church,” Tito adds. “It makes me feel pretty good because I know [nonmembers] look at our church. I want the building to look nice for them.”
The routine is set. Tito gets out of school then either walks, rides his bike, or gets a ride downtown from his home on 10th Avenue. It might be 95 degrees outside or the wind could be howling while snow falls. It doesn’t matter. Tito is going to be there cleaning the place.
And Tito isn’t working solo any more. What started out as a project by himself has evolved. Now he’s enlisted the help of fellow ward members Jose Jimenez and Jose’s younger brother, Edwin. The trio arrive at the building, and the caretaker lets them in. They grab the familiar red bucket, fill it with soap and water, and head out the door for a few minutes of cleaning. The boys, huge sports fans, then fill their cleaning time with discussions about which basketball player has the best jump shot or who is baseball’s best shortstop.
Funny how fast the time goes when you’re doing something worthwhile.
Funny how good they all feel when they’ve finished the job.
“We do it for free,” says Jose, 13. “We want to because we do it for God.”
Tito and Jose also understand the importance of example as Aaronic Priesthood holders, especially for Edwin, who turns 12 later this year.
“Tito and Jose are teaching me how to become a deacon,” Edwin says. “They show me how the priesthood works. I want to be an honest, respectable young man.”
And sometimes being honorable and respectable means you have to be up to your armpits in suds.

Before I was baptized, I struggled with certain parts of the Book of Mormon as I read it for the first time. Almost every day I sat down for a few minutes to discuss the gospel with Frank, my Latter-day Saint co-worker. I asked Frank tough questions about the Book of Mormon, and he always answered in a practical way that helped me at the time.
When I finished reading the Book of Mormon, I tried to pray about it. I did not get a burning testimony, yet I felt that it contained truth. Although I wasn’t sure it was historical, I believed that it was an important Christian document. I concluded that the Book of Mormon was inspired.
As I looked at the Church and its members, I found a blending of spirituality and gospel application in daily life that reached out and touched other lives—including mine. I felt that Mormonism was New Testament Christianity in action. Thus, I was excited at the possibility that I might have discovered a church that was the best example of true Christian living on earth. This led to my decision to ask Heavenly Father, in humble prayer, a simple question: “Should I join this church?”
I remember that as I knelt in the darkness in my living room, I poured out my heart to the Lord and told him of my search, my struggles, and my desire to do his will. I was ready to act on whatever answer I received. After my prayer, I reached for my Bible. As I searched its pages, I felt an unmistakable directive to my soul: “Yes, you should be baptized!” I wept for joy. Finally, I knew what I should do.

After my wife died of cancer, I became a single father to our five children—two girls and three boys. Raising children on my own presented challenges, but it was especially challenging for me to raise my two daughters. There were so many things they needed that only a woman could truly provide. As President M. Russell Ballard, Acting President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, said, “Mothers and daughters play a critical role in helping each other explore their infinite possibilities, despite the undermining influences of a world in which womanhood and motherhood are being corrupted and manipulated.”1 How could I compensate for that?
Yet several gospel principles gave me strength as I sought to guide my wonderful daughters and also my terrific sons. These principles might help other single fathers of daughters, single mothers of sons, and all single parents.
I learned that for all my children (and for me), remaining faithful to Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ was, as it had always been, where I should start. “Trials have long been a seedbed for the growth of faith,” said President Henry B. Eyring, Second Counselor in the First Presidency.2
As we exercised faith, we found it was important to do several things:
Remember the small, simple things. Through family prayer and scripture study, we received “great things” (Alma 37:6) in our lives, like hope and joy.
Strengthen each other. Spend time together, talk, and cheer each other on. Simple words of support can make a big difference.
Set an example for each other. Encouraging my children to be good examples meant I needed to set an example for them too. I needed to continue to “talk of Christ [and] rejoice in Christ, … that [my] children may know” (2 Nephi 25:26) that they should also look to Him.
Trust in Heavenly Father. His plan for each of us is a plan of happiness. Even in tough times, “men are, that they might have joy” (2 Nephi 2:25), and families are meant to be together forever. These truths brought us strength each day.
Accept and magnify callings. I knew it was important to continue to serve in callings, to minister, and to associate with other Latter-day Saints. When I found out one of my daughters wanted to sing in the ward choir, I joined the choir too. We had a lot of fun singing together.
Listen to general conference. Once, just before general conference, I was feeling discouraged and prayed to know if anyone understood my situation. That very conference, Elder David S. Baxter of the Seventy said: “There are, of course, some single families where it is the father who is the single parent. Brethren, we also pray for you and pay tribute to you.”3 That helped me understand that the same love and support given to single mothers is available to single fathers too.
Just the same, I was a father trying to raise daughters on my own. I sought to create one-on-one time with both of them to strengthen our relationships. Yet how could I help them prepare to be women? I soon found there were more resources than I imagined:
Family members. I thank the Lord for a sister-in-law and a daughter-in-law who lived nearby and came to my rescue. They attended maturation meetings with my daughters. They helped my daughters get ready for dances. Most of all, they listened. They shared my daughters’ hopes, fears, longings, and desires. They helped them transition from child to adolescent to adult with a different understanding of that process than I could provide, never having experienced it in the same way.
Neighbors. Good neighbors watched my daughter with their daughter after school until I got home from the office. Other neighbors took my children to school when I had early meetings. One neighbor with a lawn-care business had his crew mow my lawn regularly for free so I could spend more time with my family.
Ministering brothers and Church leaders. My ministering brothers coordinated with the ward council, and it seemed that everyone in the ward, especially Primary and Young Women leaders, went out of their way to help my girls. I learned that one of the great things about the Relief Society is that they offer, well, relief. Once, a group of them cleaned my whole house, top to bottom. And at Young Women activities, someone always made sure my daughters felt included.
Not everyone will experience this same level of support. But I’ve learned that until we let others know the gaps we see our children experience without a mother, those individuals may not understand how they can help.

The night after Uncle Ben came to visit Grandpa, we saw the campfire. It was just a pinpoint of light up on the shadowy hills across Grandpa’s little valley.
“It must be some sheepherder’s camp,” Grandpa said. “I can’t think of why anybody else would have a campfire so high up, can you, Ben?”
Uncle Ben was a bit slow to answer. “Well, now, in the old days—”
In the darkness, I heard Grandpa chuckle. “In the old days you’d say that it was rustlers. Nowadays, a body would expect it to be poachers, right? Well, I think that it’s a sheep camp.”
My brother, Lucas, spoke up. “Can we go see the camp? We’ve never seen a sheep camp, have we, Jerry?”
The thought of what might be up there made me hesitate. I wasn’t a bit anxious to find out whose campfire it was. But Grandpa cleared his throat and spoke up before I could say so. “Well, now, a couple of bright city lads like you might be able to find the sheep camp, come daylight. Don’t you think so, Ben?”
“If it is a sheep camp,” Uncle Ben replied.
“It’s certain that they’d hear the herder’s dog barking before they reached the camp,” Grandpa went on, “and maybe a tinkling sheep bell.”
“It could be a long hike,” Uncle Ben said.
“What’s wrong with the boys riding Old Salt?” Grandpa suggested. “They’ve been trotting that old horse around every day and seem to ride him well enough. They can’t get lost. Old Salt can find his way home from anyplace.”
I couldn’t believe how everything was being decided for Lucas and me. It was true that we’d been learning to ride during our summer vacation at Grandpa’s ranch. But we’d never ridden through trees that could brush us off or to any place where there might be danger.
It was the thought of danger that made me upset—upset at Grandpa for not asking how I felt about going and miffed at Lucas for bringing it up.
At bedtime I really lit into Lucas.
“Maybe I don’t want to go,” I told him.
“Why did you have to bring it up, anyway?”
He just shrugged his shoulders, as he always did, and said, “I just felt prompted to ask.”
Ever since our Primary lessons on promptings and whisperings of the Spirit, Lucas had used that same excuse for a lot of things that he did. But I didn’t buy it. Why should he be prompted any more than me? I wondered. I turned my back on him and jerked the quilt up over me. I knew that I’d have to go because Grandpa wouldn’t let Lucas go by himself, but it was against my liking.
The next morning when we mounted up and started out, I had to tell myself that Lucas probably needed to cling to the saddle horn more than I did and that I knew enough to keep my feet out of Old Salt’s flanks better than he did. But I didn’t think that my legs would get so tired holding them away from Old Salt’s sides. Charley-horse cramps behind my shins started right away, and they got worse the farther up the hill we rode. Finally I couldn’t stand it any longer. “Stop and let me off!” I wailed.
Lucas tried to maneuver the horse up to a big rock, but I couldn’t wait. I slid off over Old Salt’s rump. My legs were so wobbly that I crawled to the shade of a cedar tree, sat down, and rubbed them. Then I stretched out, closed my eyes, and didn’t care if I ever got up again.
Lucas slid off the horse, and after a while he said, “Shouldn’t we be hearing the herder’s dog?”
Suddenly I could almost feel the silence. I didn’t even hear Old Salt stomping to discourage the flies. I scrambled up.
“Where’s the horse?” I yelped. “Lucas, where’s Old Salt?”
Lucas started running and looking among the thick cedars.
“Didn’t you tie the reins to a tree or something?” I hollered at him. “Didn’t you even drop the reins over his head?”
Lucas came back looking pale. He hadn’t.
I groaned. That old horse was probably halfway home by now. I started downhill.
“I think that we should go on up a way,” Lucas said, hesitating.
I was still burning at his carelessness. “Well, I’m not going to!” I yelled.
Lucas chewed at his lip a moment, then shrugged and started on up the hill. I watched him wind his way through the cedar trees without looking back.
“There might be rustlers up there!” I hollered after him. “Or poachers!” Soon Lucas was out of sight. And soon the little rocks that his climbing dislodged stopped rolling. I began to feel a long way from Grandpa’s ranch.
From high up the hill, there was a cry. My scalp tingled. Is Lucas in danger? I wondered. I sure don’t want anything to happen to him. He’s my best friend.
I took out after Lucas, climbing as fast as I could. My throat and lungs began to hurt. I stumbled, and my legs felt weak. I prayed silently.
There was no breath left in me when I broke out of the cedars into a small clearing and heard Lucas say, “Lady, what are you doing here?”
To my surprise, a woman was sitting on a sleeping bag beside the cold ashes of a campfire. Her open backpack and a hiking shoe were on the ground next to her. And one leg of her jeans was torn open to the knee. I felt a little sick when I noticed her leg. It was swollen and as big around as the trunk of a small cedar tree.
“I think it’s broken,” she was telling Lucas. “I’ve been praying that someone would come to help me.”
“We saw your campfire,” Lucas explained, “and we thought that it was a sheepherder’s fire.”
“How glad I am that you decided to take a hike today,” she said, wincing a little.
“Oh, we rode,” I told her. “But our horse got loose down below.”
I didn’t lay any blame to Lucas about the horse. I even told the lady that maybe it had been a good thing. When Old Salt got back to the ranch, Grandpa and Uncle Ben would surely come looking for us. And when they did, we would somehow get her safely down the hill.
She gave me a little smile. “I’m sorry that there’s no sheep camp.”
I saw Lucas shrug. Suddenly I began to wonder if Lucas really had been prompted. Maybe this was the way everything was supposed to work out. I felt a strange warmth inside as I hung my arm over Lucas’s shoulder, and I liked the feeling.