Gospel Story Finder

Sister Kasimbe shares her experience: “I grew in the gospel due to studying the scriptures. I remember before my mission I was given a calling to serve as Relief Society secretary. I love getting a calling but later realized that it was not an easy task for a 19-year-old who had just joined the Church. Surrounded by my own afflictions, I was supposed to minister—this was not easy for me. I remember being assigned to a Relief Society sister who had just lost her sister due to brain cancer. She was grieving and in pain. As I was with her, I felt her sorrow immediately. In my mind I felt the love of God towards her as I shared with her from the scriptures about life after death and that death is temporary. We were able to share from the scriptures and find joy.”

I visited the hospital room of an old friend who had been diagnosed with terminal cancer. I took with me my two young daughters. I did not expect that she would even be able to recognize them. Her own family were gathered, standing around her bed as we entered.
She looked up and smiled. I will always remember her look as she saw that we had brought our daughters with us. She motioned them to come close to her on the bed. She sat up, held them, and introduced them to her family. She spoke of the greatness of those two little girls. It was as if she were presenting princesses to a royal court.
I expected our visit to end quickly. Surely, I thought, she is tired. But as I watched, it was as if the years melted away. She was radiant and obviously filled with love for all of us.
She seemed to savor the moment as if time had stopped. She had spent most of her life succoring children for the Lord. She knew from the account in the Book of Mormon that the resurrected Savior had taken little children one by one, blessed them, and then wept for joy. She had experienced that joy long enough herself to be able to endure in His loving service to the end.

José felt Carmella nudge his ribs. “We’re going to be late for school!”
“I don’t care. I don’t want to go, anyway.”
“Why not?” Carmella’s mouth dropped open in surprise. “You like school.”
José sighed. “We’re having a review test in math today, and I’m afraid I’ll forget everything.”
Soon the children were waiting in the car for their father. When he got in and turned the key in the ignition, nothing happened. The car just sat there.
“It’s probably the battery,” he said. He went back into the house to call an auto repair shop.
The bright blue tow truck arrived very quickly. Jim’s Auto Service was printed in red letters on its door. Out jumped a smiling man in a red cap and blue coveralls. Those, too, had his name on the front pocket.
“Now then, let’s see if we can get you folks on your way,” he boomed, looking under the hood.
“Is it broken?” asked José.
Jim shook his head. “Nope. It just needs a jump-start.”
“A jump-start!” Carmella giggled. “What a funny name. Do you jump up and down on it to make it go?”
“Now wouldn’t that be a sight?” Jim’s laughter rumbled in his chest. “We want to start it—not crush it!” Then he explained, “If the battery is low, sometimes it needs help to turn the motor over.”
Carmella hopped out of the car to watch, her wide brown eyes full of wonder. She’d never seen anyone turn over a motor before. “You must be very strong!”
“No, no!” he laughed. “We don’t actually turn it over. That’s just an expression. It means ‘start the motor.’ That’s what these are for.”
He hooked up fat black and red cables between his truck and their car. “Once we get it running, it’ll do just fine.”
Sure enough, the motor was soon humming with quiet power.
“You’d better bring it in for a battery charge, though,” Jim cautioned.
José and Carmella got to school in plenty of time, but that didn’t cheer up José. He felt just the way he had when he had the flu last winter—miserable! His stomach seemed all knotted up, and his head ached. He just knew that he wasn’t going to pass the test.
When he and Carmella got home that afternoon, their mother gave them each a hug. They kissed their brother, Miguel, who drooled happily at them from his high chair, and sat at the kitchen table for their after-school snack.
“How did your big math test go, José?” Mother asked. “I know you were nervous about it.”
“Boy, was I ever! And when Miss Chung passed out those test papers, I couldn’t remember anything I’d learned. I thought if I could just get started, I’d be OK, but I kept looking at the test and all the problems seemed so hard. It was as though I couldn’t move. I sure couldn’t think!”
“What’d you do?”
“I said a prayer. Right away, I found a problem I could solve. Then I finished another one and another one. Everything came back into my mind. Pretty soon I was done. It wasn’t so awful, after all.”
“Wow!” Carmella was impressed. “That was neat! What did you say in your prayer?”
José licked the milk-moustache from his upper lip. His eyes twinkled. “I told Heavenly Father that I could really do all right if He would please give me a jump-start—and He did!”

“Soldier!”
Meltiar Hatch leaped to his feet and saluted the man on horseback. The Mormon Battalion had been on the march since dawn. Meltiar had taken advantage of a break to bring his 16-year-old brother, Orin, to rest in the shade of a tree. He hadn’t heard the officer’s horse until it was right next to him.
Lieutenant Smith returned Meltiar’s salute. “At ease, soldier.” He looked down at Orin, who lay unmoving, his eyes closed. “Your companion looks to be very ill.”
“Yes, sir,” Meltiar said sadly. “He contracted the fever at Fort Leavenworth, but I know that in time—”
“Time? Time?” Lieutenant Smith loudly interrupted. “This troop has no time. The untimely death of our former commanding officer has set us back two weeks. We cannot defer to the sick and the weary. Leave him.”
Meltiar’s protests were ignored as Lieutenant Smith turned and gave the order to assemble. As the drums sounded, men began to scramble to collect their provisions and line up. Meltiar sat down heavily and put his head in his hands.
“Meltiar,” Orin’s voice was barely audible. “Forgive me. I joined up only because I wanted to finally be useful, like you were in Nauvoo. I never imagined it would end like this.”
“Well, none of us imagined we’d ever be led by Lieutenant Smith, either. Few of the non-Mormon leaders have been unkind; he’s just the worst of the lot. Let’s not forget the promises given by Brigham Young and the Twelve,” Meltiar said with conviction. “If we conduct ourselves properly on this march, our lives will be spared.” He put his pack and canteen in Orin’s hands. “Here is some extra food and some water. I must go now, but I’ll be back, I promise.” He got to his feet.
“I never meant to be a burden.”
“Brothers can never be burdens.”
When the battalion made camp for the night, Meltiar quietly slipped away and began his journey back to the place where Orin waited. Much in need of rest, he sat down by a tree and quickly fell asleep. Later, he awoke with a start. He couldn’t remember why he was alone in the woods in the middle of the night, but sensed that someone’s life depended on him. Meltiar shook his head to clear his jumbled thoughts.
His first thought was that he was still a messenger in the Nauvoo Legion.
He spoke aloud to himself. “The Prophet Joseph is dead. I couldn’t have prevented his assassination. However, I should have found help when my horse went lame, instead of trying to walk to Carthage. Then I might have been able to deliver the last message from his loved ones before he died.” He shook his head sadly. “But I was young and full of pride, just as Orin is now.”
At the thought of his brother, Meltiar stumbled to his feet. That’s whose life depended on him now! Weary as he was, he had to keep walking. The two previous nights, Meltiar had another soldier help him bring Orin back to camp on horseback. Each morning, when Lieutenant Smith discovered what had happened, he angrily ordered that Orin be left behind again. Last night Lieutenant Smith had informed Meltiar that if he wanted to keep up his “foolhardy venture,” he could no longer disturb the sleep of other men or beasts. That was why he was now alone and on foot. And he knew that he must be only about a third of the way back to where he’d left his brother.
Meltiar had prayed fervently for help when he’d set out. He knew he had an impossible task. Even if he had not been exhausted from lack of sleep, it would take him most of the night just to reach Orin on foot. Although Orin was much improved and could probably walk, he couldn’t travel very fast in his weakened condition. Meltiar knew that if he didn’t get back to the battalion before it pulled out at dawn, it would leave them both behind. But he also knew that he could never leave Orin.
Several times on these night trips, Meltiar had had the uneasy feeling that he was being watched. Now he was certain he saw movement by a large rock up ahead. He stopped walking and slowly reached for his pistol. But the pistol was gone! He must have dropped it back where he had fallen asleep. He started to reach for his knife but froze when an Indian stepped out of the shadows. In the light of the moon something glinted in the Indian’s hand. It was Meltiar’s pistol!
As Meltiar stood wondering what to do, he heard the sound of a horse approaching. Could someone from the battalion be following me? he wondered. Or could it be another Indian? The Indian appeared not to have heard the sound, but stood unmoving, the gun down at his side.
When the horse came into the clearing, Meltiar’s heart sank when he saw that it was an Indian pony with two riders. Meltiar closed his eyes and prayed for help.
“Meltiar?” a familiar voice said.
Startled, Meltiar opened his eyes to see that one of the riders had dismounted and was approaching him cautiously.
“Meltiar?” the voice repeated. “Is that you?”
“Orin?”
The two brothers rushed together in a brief, fierce hug, then turned to face the waiting Indians. The Indians had both mounted the pony, leaving the brothers’ guns and packs on the ground. One Indian slowly raised his hand in a salute. “Brothers,” he said before they turned and rode off into the shadows.
“That’s what he said when he came and got me,” Orin said. “I thought he meant that something had happened to you, so I went with him, even though I was scared. How did they know we were brothers?”
“They’ve been watching us these past few nights,” Meltiar said with sudden realization. “And maybe they could see how much we cared for each other. They could also see how much we needed their aid, so they helped us! Or—” he smiled at Orin— “maybe he meant that we are all brothers.”
“I’m grateful for their help,” Orin said softly, “but sometimes it isn’t easy to accept help from others.”
“I know what you mean.” Meltiar leaned on Orin. “But if you are as strong as you look, now it’s time for you to be useful. I need your help to walk back to camp. I hate to be a burden, but I am very tired!”
“I am much stronger now, Meltiar. Don’t worry,” Orin told him with a smile. “Brothers can never be burdens.”

“One morning early, when it was still dark and the sky was real clear, our seminary class went out to the temple site,” said Brad Day, 16. “We huddled there with our blankets. It was hard to concentrate on the seminary lesson, because of where we were. The teacher was good, but it was so exciting to think, this is where our temple is going to be. It was a magnetic type of feeling, drawing us to the temple.

“It was a really neat experience. You felt so close to the Lord, like you could talk to him about any problems you had. It brought our youth group really close.”

When Ron married his wife, Melanie, in the Salt Lake Temple on September 4, 1973, they decided to always put the Lord first in their marriage and family. That commitment was tested in 1996. Ron was in the middle of a successful career when he was called to return to New York—this time as president of the New York New York North Mission. Remembering the lesson he had learned as a young man, he immediately quit his job to accept the call.
“You want me to go serve,” he said to Heavenly Father, “then I’ll go serve.”
As a mission president, he remembered another lesson—one he had learned from his professional experience: “People are more important than anything else.”1

Illustration by G. Bjorn Thorkelson
Cara put down her pencil and stared at the piece of paper on her desk. It was blank except for her name and a big eraser smudge. What should I write? she thought.
Across the aisle her friend Lily was writing busily. Cara put her head down and rested it on her arm.
Cara really liked her new school. It was in a church building of another religion, and her new class was small enough that her teacher, Mrs. Schmidt, had time to help her with math. Every day after math, Mrs. Schmidt taught a lesson from the Bible. Usually the Bible lessons were a lot like what Cara had learned at home and in Primary.
But a few weeks ago, during a lesson about baptism, Mrs. Schmidt had told the class that babies who died before they were baptized couldn’t go to heaven. Then she said that one of her own children died right after he was born. When she said that, Mrs. Schmidt looked like she was going to cry.
“But babies who die do go to heaven,” Cara wanted to say. If only Mrs. Schmidt knew that, maybe she wouldn’t be so sad anymore. But Cara felt too shy to say anything.
After school Cara told Mom about what Mrs. Schmidt said. “Knowing that babies go to heaven is one of the blessings we have because of the Book of Mormon,” Mom said. Cara hoped that Mrs. Schmidt would read the Book of Mormon someday. She wished she had the courage to tell her about it.
Now in today’s lesson, Mrs. Schmidt had told the class that God, Jesus, and the Holy Ghost are all one person. Cara thought about how Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ appeared to Joseph Smith in the Sacred Grove. She knew that They were two separate people and that each of Them had a body. She was glad she knew that for sure, even before talking to Mom or Dad about it.
But then Mrs. Schmidt had said, “Class, please take out a piece of paper and write about what we have been talking about.”
That’s when Cara got a worried feeling in her stomach. She wanted to do the assignment the way her teacher wanted her to. Could she be brave enough to write what she knew was true?
With her head down on her desk, Cara began to say a silent prayer. Please, dear Heavenly Father, what should I do?
Almost at once Cara began to feel calm and peaceful inside. The Holy Ghost whispered that if she wrote what was in her heart, everything would be OK.
Cara lifted her head, picked up her pencil, and began to write:
Heavenly Father and Jesus are two separate people. They have bodies of flesh and bone like we do. The Holy Ghost is a Spirit who can speak to us in our hearts.
After writing a few more sentences, Cara put her pencil down. She didn’t know what Mrs. Schmidt would think of what she had written, but she felt happy that she had been able to tell her teacher something important and true.

Two years before I was born in 1942, my mother gave birth to my older brother, Gary. Gary is a very special person. When he was born, his brain was damaged by a lack of oxygen. His mind never grew above the level of a six- or seven-year-old.
For more than 60 years, I watched my parents take care of Gary. They helped brush his teeth, comb his hair, and tie his tie on Sunday. Because he loved horses and cowboys, they took him to rodeos and Western movies. They performed countless acts of love and kindness for him.
Unfortunately, people aren’t always so kind to those who are different. I’m sorry to say that some children—even children from active Latter-day Saint families—were unkind to my brother. They shut him out of games, called him ugly names, and teased him unmercifully.
Gary was a childlike person who was always quick to forgive. He loved and accepted everybody. I think that aside from my parents, this special brother did more during my childhood to shape my outlook on life than anyone else. I sometimes think how it will be after the Resurrection, when as Alma describes, “all things shall be restored to their proper and perfect frame” (Alma 40:23). Then we’ll know the real Gary, and I think we’ll be very grateful for all the good things we’ve done for him and very sad about those times when we might have been more loving and understanding of his special circumstances.

Kadabe stopped in the middle of the path. “We’ve come a long way since dawn,” he said. “We’ll be in Lalibela by noon tomorrow.”
Ayalu squatted on the ground, took roasted grain from a small leather bag, and ate.
Kadabe put his bundle down and untied it. He emptied its contents onto the ground, then formed the shemma—the square of white cloth that had held his possessions—into a turban. He shoved his own bag of roasted grain into a pocket. His extra shirt became a handy carrier for the books that he was taking to his sister, Gemma.
The boys went to school almost a hundred kilometers from their mountain village in Ethiopia, and now they were walking home for the Christmas holidays. Tomorrow they would see their families for the first time since September.
“I pray that there will be many rich and generous tourists in Lalibela who will need guides this season,” said Kadabe, “and that they all speak English. I need money for books, and the seat of my pants is as thin as a butterfly wing. I must earn enough so that Uncle Gebre can make me new ones.”
Ayalu nodded. He, too, had to earn the money for his own books and clothing. “I hope to herd Uncle Asabe’s cows,” he said. “He will pay me what he can. It’s good that you’ve learned English so well. You’ll make a good guide.”
After their rest the friends walked on. By nightfall they had reached a village where Ayalu’s aunt lived. She gave them food and a place to sleep.
Early the next morning they started out again. They conquered the kilometers one by one. The sun was high overhead as they climbed the last steep path and looked down upon their village.
Kadabe shouted, “Hello! Hello!”
Gemma was jumping rope in front of the house. “Kadabe! Kadabe!” she called as she ran. “Mother said that you would be here today.”
Kadabe hurried to greet his father at his loom behind the house. He was weaving another shemma to sell at the Thursday market.
“I like school,” Kadabe told his mother later, “but I also like coming home.” He sat on the low stone bench that ran along the wall outside the house. Gemma sat down beside him.
Mother was resting lightly on her heels before the red coals. She poured injera (a kind of bread) batter onto the hot griddle so that it would be ready for the family’s dinner.
“Did you learn more English words to teach me?” Gemma asked.
“Yes, many more,” Kadabe told her, “and I’ve brought more books for you.”
Gemma jumped up. “Please let me have them now! Please! I want to look at the pictures!”
Just then Ayalu appeared, breathless from running. “Kadabe, come quickly! There are English-speaking tourists in the marketplace, and they need a guide!”
Early that afternoon Kadabe picked up the heavy cameras and bags of the tourists and led them to the first stop, Biet Giorgig, an ancient church carved in the shape of a cross from solid rock.
The Englishmen asked many questions about the village as the group went from place to place, and Kadabe was prepared with answers that he’d learned at school. He told the men about King Lalibela, who had made this village his capital during the thirteenth century.
They thanked Kadabe for his stories, and they said that he spoke English very well. When they left, they gave him five dollars. “Good!” Kadabe said. “Now Uncle Gebre can make me some pants for school.”
But when Kadabe turned toward Uncle Gebre’s, he spotted the camera. He remembered setting it on the steps while he handed the other bags to the tourists. Now the jeep that carried the Englishmen was gone, and the camera was still here!
What can I do? Kadabe asked himself.
Ayalu found Kadabe, still on the steps, his forehead lined with hard thinking.
“Look,” Ayalu said. “I have a soccer ball. Let’s go over to the grass field and start a game.”
Kadabe held up the camera. Ayalu took it and hefted it. “It is not a worthless object,” he said.
“No. Its owner was proud of it,” Kadabe answered.
“Unless the man comes back for it, it is justly yours,” said Ayalu. “Money from its sale would buy many books.”
Kadabe thought about that for a minute, then shook his head.
“But what else can you do? You don’t know where the tourists have gone, do you?”
Kadabe jumped up. “I think I do know,” he said. “I heard them say that they would go to the market at Gondar on Thursday.”
“Thursday’s tomorrow,” Ayalu said. “You’d have to walk all night to reach Gondar by tomorrow.”
Kadabe didn’t want to walk to Gondar, especially at night. There were jackals and hyenas roaming around the hills. The paths were rough and indistinct, and it would be dark. He felt cold just thinking about it.
Kadabe passed the camera strap over his head. At home he went to the back to talk to his father, but he wasn’t there.
“He’s gone to bid on some cotton,” said Mother. “I don’t think that he’ll return until late tonight.”
“Mother,” Kadabe said, “I have a camera that belongs to one of the English tourists.”
Mother nodded.
“They have gone to the Gondar market,” continued Kadabe. “I think that I should take this to him there.”
Mother nodded again.
“Do you think that I should?” Kadabe wanted to know.
“You must decide for yourself,” Mother answered.
Ayalu waited with the soccer ball.
“Then I must do it,” Kadabe decided.
“You don’t have to,” Ayalu told him. “And it’s a dangerous journey.”
When Gemma heard that her brother was leaving, she pouted. “Soon you’ll return to school,” she said. “There won’t be any time for my lessons then.”
Mother quieted Gemma and handed Kadabe a bag of roasted grain and a water gourd. “Take care,” she said.
Kadabe left Lalibela as the day’s light faded to gray. “I can do it,” he told himself as he wrapped himself in his shemma. The camera was heavy on his neck.
It grew darker. Sounds from hidden sources made Kadabe’s heart race. His throat was dry, causing him to sip often from the gourd. Sometimes he stumbled on jagged boulders, and twice he fell. But he went on. Never have I wanted to sleep as much as I want to now, he thought as the first light finally showed in the east.
Just when he had decided that he’d left the path to Gondar somewhere behind him in the dark, he saw the smoke of the town.
The next day, just in time for the evening meal, Kadabe arrived back home.
Ayalu was waiting to see his friend. “Well, did the Englishman reward you for returning the camera?”
“No,” answered Kadabe, “he had already boarded the bus to leave, and I only had time to hand him the camera through the window.”
Ayalu shook his head. “You were foolish,” he said. “You walked to Gondar and back for nothing.”
“That’s right,” Gemma agreed. “You should have stayed at home to teach me.”
Kadabe looked at his mother.
She spoke softly. “Your brother has taught you something greater than the English words you want to know, Gemma. He has shown you that if you do not do what you know is right, knowledge is empty.”
As he looked down at his tired feet, Kadabe smiled in agreement.

Being asked to deliver a message to millions of people in the April 2020 general conference introduced me to a whole new level of feeling overwhelmed. But I felt comforted knowing that the Lord would help me.
As I prepared my message, I was thinking about how to receive revelation. This helped me appreciate the dedication of those who speak in general conference.
When conference arrived, I felt anxious, but meeting Elder Gerrit W. Gong and the other General Authorities helped me feel peace. I then met President Russell M. Nelson. He spoke to me as if we had known each other our whole lives. I felt the pure love of Christ as I talked with the prophet.
Laudy K.
When I found out I was going to be a part of a Face to Face event, the thing that excited me most was the opportunity to work with an Apostle.
I was nervous before the broadcast because I needed to say some things in Portuguese. I said to Elder Soares, “I’m worried my American accent is going to come through.” He replied with a smile and a wink, saying, “Max, accents are charming!”
I felt the Spirit so strongly when I heard him witness that the Savior lives and loves all of us individually.
Max A.
When I was 12, my father became a mission president in Chile. While there, he worked closely with Elder Holland. One day I said, “Dad, Elder Holland is in my math book.”
“Yesterday it took Jeff Holland 1 hour to get to work. This morning, Jeff drove to the train station for 20 minutes, waited for the train for 7 minutes, rode the train for 12 minutes, and then walked for 15 minutes to get to work. How long did it take Jeff to get to work this morning?”
As a joke, my parents sent a picture of the math problem to Elder Holland with a note: “Elder Holland, could you please help Whit with her math homework?”
Elder Holland wrote back with a letter.
“Dear Whitney—I was pleased you discovered my day job. I regularly submit math problems for textbooks and sometimes I just don’t know whose name to use. I think I will use yours next. (‘If Whitney Wilcox has 5 boyfriends in Provo and gains 1 a day for 14 days in Chile, how many of them will be baptized, go on missions, and want to marry her?’) Thanks for being here! I am immensely proud of you! Jeff Holland.”
Obviously Elder Holland was joking about writing math problems (and having multiple boyfriends!). But his kind note made me feel like I was important.
When Elder Holland taught the members in Chile to read the Book of Mormon every day, I started reading on my own, as a 12-year-old. That’s when I really started to develop my testimony.
Whitney L.
In 2021, my parents were called as mission leaders over the France Lyon Mission. In 2022, Elder Soares came to visit. In his talk to the missionaries, he mentioned that his luggage got lost on one of his flights.
This was kind of a wake-up call for me. It’s easy to see apostles and prophets on our screens and think that life is easy for them. But our leaders don’t ask to do this—they are called to do it. They choose to follow the Lord, and that means leaving behind their plans for the future.
Elder Soares taught me what it means to be a disciple of Christ. Even though he was busy and had his own struggles, he tried to talk to as many members as possible. I realized that the General Authorities are people like you and me who have chosen Christ and work to show His love.
Lydie L.
If you haven’t met an Apostle, that’s OK! Most of us haven’t. You can gain a testimony that they are called of God by listening to, following, and praying about their teachings.
I met Church leaders when I hosted a Face to Face event, but that wasn’t when I gained a testimony that they are called of God.
When I hear their words, practice what they teach, and see myself change into a more Christlike person, that’s when I feel God confirming to me that they are special witnesses of Christ.
Aaron K.
I always look forward to general conference. I remember feeling so happy when my friends and I made a list of the things the prophet said and reminded each other to do those things. One was to go to the temple, and my friends and I went together. It was really fun, and I felt so much peace. Doing what the prophet asked helped me realize how much Jesus Christ loves me.
Leticia F.
Whether you meet an Apostle or not, you can know the truth: Apostles testify of truth and want nothing but the best for you. As you follow them, the Holy Ghost will let you know that they are called of God.

A true story from Ghana.
Nyamedo ran to the bus with his little brother, Kwame. They climbed the steps and sat next to a window. Nyamedo looked outside to see the sun shining on the green trees. Their school was going on a field trip to a nature reserve. Today would be an adventure!
“Hey, Nyamedo!”
Nyamedo’s friends Ralph and Sierra sat down on the seat across from him.
Ralph tugged at Nyamedo’s sleeve and whispered. “When we get to the park, let’s go exploring!”
“Yeah!” Sierra said. “We can have our own adventure.”
Ralph nodded excitedly. “We can sneak away before the first activity.”
Nyamedo imagined all the things they might see in the wilderness. Tall trees, cool animals, and maybe waterfalls!
“That sounds fun! Let’s do it,” he said with a smile.
When the bus pulled up to the nature reserve, Nyamedo and Kwame got off the bus together. Their teachers told everyone to stay with the group and not wander off.
Ralph walked up to Nyamedo. “Remember the plan?” Ralph whispered.
Nyamedo nodded. But then he stopped to think. Exploring the wilderness sounded exciting, but Nyamedo also knew it could be dangerous. What if they got lost or hurt?
Suddenly, he felt a voice speak to him. Stay with Kwame.
The voice was still and small. Nyamedo knew it was the Holy Ghost.
He was worried that his friends would be mad at him for not exploring with them. But maybe the Holy Ghost was protecting him.
Nyamedo turned to Ralph. “Sorry, I actually have to stay with my brother,” he said. “He’s my responsibility.”
Ralph frowned.
“But you said you’d come!”
“The teacher said we should stay,” Nyamedo said. Ralph sighed and walked away.
Nyamedo and Kwame went with the rest of the students and followed their teachers. First they went on the zipline. The wind rushed against their faces as they soared over the bright green trees. It was like flying!
Next the guides at the reserve taught them about some of the animals that lived there. Nyamedo and Kwame couldn’t wait to see them. They learned about zebras, monkeys, snakes, antelope, and lots of birds! After seeing all the cool animals, they went rock climbing and horseback riding. Later they played games.
Nyamedo was happy he had stayed back with Kwame. If he hadn’t, he would have missed out on so many fun things!
When it was time to get back on the bus, Nyamedo saw Ralph and Sierra. They ran up to him.
“We almost got chased by angry monkeys,” Ralph whispered. He looked a little scared. “We could’ve gotten hurt.”
Sierra nodded. “It’s good you didn’t come.”
“Whoa,” said Nyamedo. “I’m glad you’re OK!”
The Holy Ghost really was protecting me, he thought. He held Kwame’s hand as they got onto the bus together.
He was grateful that the Holy Ghost had kept them safe and helped them have a fun adventure.
Illustrations by Cam Kendall

The two youngest sons of Walter and Gaylene Woodring of Hacienda Heights, California, have received their Eagle Scout awards. All five Woodring sons have now achieved that rank. To honor their father, who recently passed away, the Woodring sons donated and erected a flag pole in front of the stake center, landscaped the surrounding area, donated the large flag on the pole, and attached a bronze plaque that said, “Walter H. Woodring, father of five sons—five Eagle Scouts.”

When the stake president put forth a challenge, the Ventura [California] First Ward priests responded. Concerned about reverence at Aaronic Priesthood and Young Women activity night, President Joseph F. Chapman suggested that each of the priests come dressed in the Explorer dress uniform.

The priests gladly accepted the idea and planned projects to raise money for the navy blazers, center-crease gray slacks, white shirts, and polished shoes. Gone were the jeans-T-shirt-sneakers look and several inches of hair from the heads of many of the priests.

Explorer Matt Tonnies feels that “there’s been a lot less goofing around” since the uniforms have been worn. “We’re also singled out because of our dress. Other Scouts look at us and say, ‘Hey, why can’t we do something like that?’”

Matt says the foremost goal of the group is to fulfill honorable missions. There is one priest who isn’t sure if he wants to go on a mission, so the challenge of the rest of the Explorers “is to see that he makes this his goal,” said Matt.

I was in my first year of employment with a cosmetics company. At the time I was divorced and lived alone with my two children. In December the company sent each salesperson large boxes containing the Christmas merchandise we were to sell during the holiday season. That meant, however, that a large amount had been withdrawn from my salary. When I calculated all my monthly expenses and tithing, I had enough for three people to live on—but only for one week. And this money had to cover groceries for the entire month and gas for the car, which I needed for my work.
When our home teacher came, I told him about our situation. I told him I would not be able to pay my tithing because if I did, I wouldn’t be able to feed my family. My faithful home teacher counseled me to pay tithing. He recommended that I do it faithfully, and the Lord would surely bless me. My home teacher had always been distinguished by faithfulness and reliability. I jokingly told him, “If I cannot buy groceries, I will come to you.” But I trusted him and did not want to disappoint him by not following his advice. So I paid a full tithing.
When I presented the Christmas merchandise early in the month, I was able to sell many of my goods. By the end of the month I had sold all of the Christmas items and all of the goods I had had in stock for several months. Had I had more products on hand, I would likely have been able to sell them too.
My home teacher’s promise was completely fulfilled. The Lord really did open the windows of heaven. We had more money than we needed that month. Later I inquired of my colleagues how their Christmas business had gone. They were not satisfied. At that time, a recession had caused a strong decline in sales in the cosmetics industry.
How grateful I am to that home teacher for giving me this good counsel. I have had a strong testimony of tithing ever since. When I visit teach sisters who feel they have too little money to pay tithing, I share my testimony about how much we will be blessed if we do so.

A businesswoman based in Salt Lake City called a company in Virginia. After completing the business transaction, the owner asked her where she was from. On learning that it was Utah, he said, “What part of Utah?” I quote her account of what happened next:
“‘Salt Lake City,’ I responded.
“‘Salt Lake City? Well, you must be a Mormon,’ he stated matter-of-factly.
“‘Yes, I am,’ I said.
“‘I have two girls who work for me who are Mormons,’ he continued. ‘They’re the best employees I’ve ever had. Those two girls are only seniors in high school, but they keep my store cleaner than any of my other employees, and they treat my customers great. They’re really polite and pretty… you know, the “all-American” type.’
“He said, ‘Those two girls are amazing. Would you believe that they get up at 5:00 a.m. every morning and…’
“‘Go to seminary!’ I inserted.
“‘Well, I don’t know what it’s called,’ he continued. ‘But it’s some type of religious training. Then they go to school all day, and come work for me until 8:00 p.m. I don’t know how they do all of the things they do, but I’m sure impressed.’
“‘Would you believe that Mormon youth all over the world are going to early-morning seminary, five days a week?’ I asked.
“‘Well, that’s one thing I have to say for your church,’ he said. ‘You’re sure raising your children right. They’re the best.’”4

I thought I would never want to forget the hatred I felt that night. I was a high school junior with friends who were good examples and strong in the gospel. One evening, my friends and I decided to organize a scavenger hunt. Each of us asked a date to come along, and we met at a local park. We then spent two hours driving around the valley on a frantic search for old baseball cards, kitchen knives, and various other trinkets. After each couple had collected the necessary items, we all returned to the park.
As my friends and I were happily comparing the success of our scavenger hunts, a line of headlights turned into the park. I soon noticed a group of guys casually strolling toward us. While I sat talking with my date, one of them approached me. I became uneasy when I noticed his hand wrapped around the neck of a beer bottle.
At first, the stranger seemed rather friendly. He politely asked me what school my friends and I attended. As I began to reply, I felt a cold, wet splash against my shirt. Staring up in shock, I watched this stranger spray his beer onto our group. He then approached one of my unsuspecting friends and punched him in the face. As we stared, frozen in disbelief, the strangers ran back to their cars while tossing their bottles back toward us. We watched them turn out of the park and drive out of sight.
In the days following the incident, I was furious. I became even more bitter when I discovered that some of those guys attended our school. I found myself condemning them in my mind every time I was reminded of the episode. We found ourselves beginning to spread exaggerated accounts of the incident, and I felt a fire of hatred ignite for them. What I didn’t realize was that with every hateful thought and word I was polishing a heart that was becoming hard as granite.
A number of months later, I was planning a devotional for my seminary class. During my preparation, I found myself struggling to find a topic for my presentation. Frustrated, I opened my scriptures to Matthew. Midway through chapter 6, I read verse 15 [Matt. 6:15] which shone like a vivid light. It stated, “But if ye forgive not men their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses.”
It was then I decided to focus my devotional on forgiveness. As I pondered this scripture and how it related to my life, I remembered the incident at the park. At that moment I realized how dark my spirit had become. As I pondered how difficult forgiveness was for me, I looked to Christ—mankind’s greatest example. I remembered as the Savior hung on the cross, looking down upon men who had just mocked, beaten, and were about to crucify him. I was further amazed when I realized that Christ not only forgave those who wronged him, but he died for their sins as well.
After thinking, I decided I would strive to set aside my judgmental nature and realize my own faults. I always try to remember that I have offended others as well. Because all people make mistakes, we as Heavenly Father’s children must focus on overcoming our own weaknesses rather than judging our neighbor’s shortcomings.
Although I still struggle to forgive the guys at the park, I now realize that they made a mistake which they may or may not regret. I know now that I have to forgive and move on rather than be held back by my anger.

When I was about nine years old and attending elementary school here in Salt Lake City, all of the youth in the city’s schools were asked to fill out a form indicating what we wanted to be when we grew up. The lists were then to be placed in a waterproof metal box and buried beneath a new flagpole which graced the entrance to the City and County Building grounds. Years later, the box was to be opened and its contents made available.
As I sat with pencil in hand, I thought of the question, “What do I want to be when I grow up?” Almost without hesitation, I wrote the word cowboy. At lunch that day I reported to my mother my response. I can almost see Mother now as she admonished me, “You get right back to school and change that to banker or lawyer!” I obeyed Mother, and all dreams of being a cowboy vanished forever.

When we started having church at home because of the COVID-19 pandemic, I helped give the sacrament to my family. It was nice to be able to do this in my own home, and it made me realize how grateful I am for the sacrament. I am grateful that I was able to live through this time of having church at home.
One of our neighbors needed someone to bring the sacrament to her. There wasn’t anyone in her home who could prepare or bless the sacrament because her husband had passed away a few years ago. She was also being careful with visitors because of the pandemic. My dad and I are her ministering brothers, so we offered to give her the sacrament while wearing masks and taking other precautions for her safety.
She was super grateful that we could come over. It made me feel a little sad that she was lonely, since she was the only one at her house during the pandemic. But I was also grateful that I could offer her something so important to make her happy. It was nice to be able to serve her. It made me happy that my dad and I were able to go and serve our neighbor.
I’m grateful to have the priesthood because it benefits not only me but also other people. It helps me become a better person and helps me see how I can serve others. Passing the sacrament in my home and to my neighbor opened my eyes. I need to take advantage of the opportunity to pass the sacrament and serve people who can’t do it for themselves. I’m grateful I could use the priesthood to bless other people and my family.

Years ago when I served as a stake president, a man came to confess a transgression. His confession surprised me. He had been an active member of the Church for years. I wondered how a person with his experience could have committed the sin that he did. After some pondering, it came to me that this brother had never become truly converted. Despite his Church activity, the gospel had not penetrated his heart. It was only an external influence in his life. When he was in wholesome environments, he kept the commandments, but in a different environment, other influences might control his actions.

The first real test of my young testimony came when I had to decide between going on a mission and playing basketball,” says Dean Reid Burgess. Brother Burgess had spent his freshman year playing basketball for the College of Southern Utah on scholarship.
It was 1965, the height of the war in Vietnam, and not every young man had the chance to serve a mission because of the United States military draft. But Brother Burgess had the chance and the choice. “It took a lot of prayer and a lot of fasting,” he says. “But I knew serving a mission was a real privilege, so I left school to serve.” While serving in the Brazilian Mission, Brother Burgess solidified his testimony of the restored gospel.
Upon returning home, he completed his education at Brigham Young University in business management and graduated in 1970. Some time later, he met Annette Christensen at a BYU student ward. “She was the Relief Society president, and I was the elders quorum president,” he says. “She was always busy serving in worthwhile and constructive ways.” They began dating and were later married in the Provo Utah Temple on 27 December 1973. They have five children and reside in Sandy, Utah.
Brother Burgess, 57, was born in Alpine, Utah, to Reid and Ethel King Burgess on 24 May 1946. He grew up working in the family-owned mercantile store and on their 20-acre (8-ha) farm. His parents taught him the value of family, hard work, and the principles of the gospel—the same values he has tried to teach his own children.
In 1997 Brother Burgess returned to Brazil, where he served as president of the Brazil Belo Horizonte East Mission. His other Church service includes counselor in stake presidencies, stake Young Men president, bishop, and high councilor; all told, he has served with the youth of the Church for more than 24 years.