Gospel Story Finder

Well before his 19th birthday, Elder Duncan happened to meet a General Authority serving in the Missionary Department who challenged him to memorize the missionary discussions. He met that challenge and was later called to the Chile Santiago South Mission. His time as a missionary reconfirmed his love for serving the Lord. “I knew I wanted to be a missionary every day of the rest of my life,” says Elder Duncan.

A young father bore witness to me of a great blessing that had come to him and his family. He was awakened one night by a voice that clearly told him to get up and go downstairs. He heeded the warning, and in going into the kitchen he found one wall engulfed in flames. Hurriedly he awakened his family, called the fire department, and with the help of his family fought the fire, keeping it down until the fire department arrived and put it out.
There was no question in his mind that this warning was a manifestation of the protection the Holy Ghost can give to those who keep their lives in harmony with the Spirit.

It was June of 1987 and I was visiting a friend for one week in a city 600 km from where I lived. When Sunday arrived, I told him that perhaps I’d not go to his ward but to a different one. The fact is that I was planning to secretly watch a very important soccer game on TV (a Sunday practice that I have since abandoned long ago) that would take place in the exact same time of his ward’s Sunday block. I did promise him that I would go to church in some other unit at a different time, but to no avail. He exercised his agency and persisted in convincing me to do the right thing. I ended up going to church with him and his family.
Now at that very same moment, on the other side of that very same city, a young woman—also a member of my friend’s ward—was similarly confronted with an important decision to make. She was ready to leave for church with her parents when her dear aunt and family unexpectedly arrived at her home to visit and stay for several days. For a moment, she felt like she needed to stay home and give proper attention to those relatives while the rest of the family went to church. However, a thought came to her mind: “Your relatives know of your faith, they’ll be fine staying in your home for some hours until you come back. Be a good example and honor the Sabbath day and everything will be fine”. That’s what she did.
When I arrived at my friend’s ward some minutes before sacrament meeting—and began talking with some young men of my age group—I saw from a distance this gorgeous green-eyed girl passing by and asked them: “Who is she?!?!” They told me to forget about her as every returned missionary in that stake was after her and I’d have no chance at all.
However, all of the sudden, this beautiful girl approaches and boldly asks me, in front of all:
Girl: “Can I ask you something: Are you married?”
Me: “No!” (because I want to marry you, I thought.)
Girl: “There’s a new mall in town, would you like to visit it with me tomorrow?”
Me: “Of course!!”
Girl: “And by the way, sacrament meeting will start momentarily, shall we sit together?”
Me: “Of course!!”
Me (turning to the awestruck guys around me): “If you will excuse me.”
I went into the chapel with her.
It was the same girl who was confronted with the decision of staying home with her unexpected visitors or coming to church that Sunday.
We married in the temple 10 months later. If both of us that day had not followed the promptings to go to church—regardless of our particular situations that day—we possibly wouldn’t ever have met.

In a historic first for West Cheltenham, the community embraced the tradition of the Passion Play, depicting the final days of Jesus Christ’s mortal ministry. Several Christian organisations in Cheltenham, including the Church of England, Catholic and Baptist Churches, and The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, came together for a special musical presentation telling the Easter story. Spearheaded by Revd. Janice Hamilton, Pioneer Minister for the West Cheltenham Parish, the play was a roving outdoor performance, moving across various local sites to bring the story directly into the community’s heart.
Ruth Mulligan, who works with Revd. Hamilton on other local projects, served as the musical director for the event. Sister Mulligan, a member of the Cheltenham Ward, composed much of the music that underscored the emotional depth of the Passion Play, including solo, choir and orchestral pieces. "Music has a unique power to evoke emotion and elevate the storytelling experience,” Sister Mulligan remarked. “Writing words and music that convey how God’s love is manifest through His Only Begotten Son, was a wonderful spiritual experience, and this production has been an opportunity to help more of God’s children feel His love.”
At the heart of this inaugural production stood Brother Jon Ramsbottom, also a member of the Cheltenham Ward, embodying the pivotal role of Jesus Christ. The opportunity to portray Jesus was not only a personal milestone but also a profound expression of his faith. “Being chosen to portray the Saviour in West Cheltenham’s first Passion Play was a deeply humbling experience,” he shared. “It marked a new chapter in our community’s celebration of Easter.”
Assuming the role of Jesus Christ was more than just a theatrical endeavour for Jon; it was a sacred calling to embody the teachings and love of the Saviour. "Every moment of the performance was an opportunity to convey Christ’s message of compassion, forgiveness, and redemption,” he emphasised. “It required me to delve deep into the scriptures and prayerfully consider how best to represent His divine character.”
The full cast and production crew brought together over fifty individuals from all walks of life, many of whom attend various local Christian congregations. Other members of the Cheltenham Ward, including Caleb Williams and Jasmine James, contributed their wonderful talents to the acting ensemble, with Martin Giles taking the role of the Roman Centurion - bearing witness of the Saviour’s divinity with a heartfelt solo performance. Several youth and young adults from the Ward participated in the choir and orchestra, harmonising their voices and talents with those of the broader community and a combined primary schools choir.
Beyond the artistic collaboration, this endeavour has also fostered meaningful connections and strengthened bonds of friendship and faith. Sister Mulligan expressed, "This experience has helped me feel the love of the Saviour, and I will forever be grateful for the new friends that I’ve made who share my desire to be a disciple of Christ.”
Everyone involved in this special portrayal of Christ’s sacrifice, humbly sought to evoke the spirit and significance of the most pivotal event in human history. Despite difficult weather conditions over the Easter weekend, the play attracted an audience of family, friends and several hundred local residents. At the conclusion of the event on Easter Sunday, those watching were encouraged to ponder on their own relationship with God, as it is hoped that this pioneering initiative can serve as a catalyst for unity and spiritual enrichment within the community.

Mary Ann Stearns, step-daughter of Elder Parley P. Pratt, in her unpublished autobiography, relates an experience that her family had with the Prophet Joseph that also illustrates his great capacity for kindness. Returning from his mission to England with his family and a group of immigrants by way of St. Louis, Missouri the group was detained four weeks because of cold weather and the great chunks of ice that floated on the a!most frozen Mississippi River. When they finally did arrive in Nauvoo the anxiety of the Britons to see the Prophet Joseph was only exceeded by the anxiety of the Saints in Nauvoo concerning the safety of the immigrants. Thus Joseph and Hyrum and a large company of people were at the landing to greet the newcomers. Elder Pratt introduced the company to the two illustrious leaders and when all except the Pratts had disembarked and had gone to their homes, the Prophet came into the cabin of the boat where the Pratts were.
“After a cordial greeting, he took a seat and taking the little boys, Parley and Nathan, upon his knees, seemed much affected, Brother Pratt remarking, ‘We took away three children and have brought back five.’ Then Brother Joseph said, “Well, well, Brother Parley, you have returned bringing your sheaves with you,” the tears streaming down his face. Brother Pratt, seeing the general emotion this caused, said, ‘If you feel so bad about our coming home, I guess we will have to go back again,’ tears of joy filling his own eyes.”
Elder Pratt’s remark seemed to break the spell, smiles returned and joy continued to fill all their hearts. Then Joseph, arising, said, “Come, Brother Parley, bring your folks right up to my house; it is only a little way, and you can be more comfortable after your long journey.” Sister Pratt, very ill, was placed in a large comfortable chair and carried by Brother Hodge and others of Joseph’s bodyguards to the Prophet’s home where a really special evening was enjoyed by the entire family.

Years ago I read of an African-American man who rose from humble circumstances to become the general counsel of General Motors, without question one of the most lucrative and prestigious positions for a lawyer in all the world. As a boy he was poor; he was required to obtain his education through efforts that were heroic and under circumstances that were difficult in the extreme. He was required to work one and even two menial, dirty jobs regularly and, if I am not mistaken, occasionally three. He was asked if he felt uncomfortable among the highest-paid executives in the world. His answer was no. He said that most of them had been poor boys, like him, who had worked their way up being tested, challenged, threatened, and discouraged. Adversity is the refiner’s fire that bends iron but tempers steel.

This is not easy, and we often fall short. Let me tell you, as some of you know, about our attempt at this a few weeks ago. We tried to have a Zion home in the month of July when we were tending 5 grandchildren, ages 1-7. We began with a Family Home Evening lesson on 3 important gospel principles, taught memorably with 3 simple Primary songs. The first principle was kindness, using the song, “I want to be kind to everyone, for that is right you see.” The next one was helpfulness. We sang, “When we’re helping we’re happy and we sing as we go.” And finally, obedience. “When my mother calls me, quickly I obey.” Be kind, be helpful, and be obedient. At the end of the week, we found we had not become perfect in those principles, so we taught the same lesson again. (Has that ever happened to you?)

I saw it in action with three of our 7-year-old granddaughters. They were making sugar cookies and being very creative. One of them said, “I am making a mermaid.” The next one said, “Oh I want to make a mermaid too.” “No!” snapped the first one. I had the idea first.” And the argument continued. I said, “Girls, let’s be kind and try to understand how each person is feeling.” Then the third granddaughter piped in, “When someone copies your idea, it is really a compliment. It means they think you are very clever, and it is a way of showing how much they love and admire you.” And those were the kind words that burst the jealous, competitive bubble that had been building, creating a Zion moment. Can we use kind words and love to dispel envy and jealousy among roommates, among colleagues, among each other?

In discussing limitations of birth and circumstance, I remember the very famous story which Elder Marion D. Hanks told me as a missionary a dozen years ago and which I’m pleased to see recorded in his recently published book. With his permission, I repeat that little story for you because it’s a favorite of mine and I really believe in the principle that it teaches:

The famed naturalist of the last century, Louis Agassiz, was lecturing in London and had done a marvelous job. An obviously bright little old lady, but one who did not seem to have all the advantages in life, came up and was spiteful. She was resentful and said that she had never had the chances that he had had and she hoped he appreciated it. He took that bit of lacing very pleasantly and turned to the lady and, when she was through, said, “What do you do?”

She said, “I run a boarding house with my sister. I’m unmarried.”

“What do you do at the boarding house?”

“Well, I skin potatoes and chop onions for the stew. We have stew every day.”

“Where do you sit when you do that interesting but homely task?”

“I sit on the bottom step of the kitchen stairs.”

“Where do your feet rest when you sit there on the bottom step?”

“On a glazed brick.”

“What’s a glazed brick?”

“I don’t know.”

“How long have you been sitting there?”

“Fifteen years.”

Agassiz concluded, “Here’s my card. Would you write me a note when you get a moment about what a glazed brick is?”

Well, that made her mad enough to go home and do it. She went home and got the dictionary out and found out that a brick was a piece of baked clay. That didn’t seem enough to send to a Harvard professor, so she went to the encyclopedia and found out that a brick was made of vitrified kaolin and hydrous aluminum silicate, which didn’t mean a thing to her. She went to work and visited a brick factory and a tile maker. Then she went back in history and studied a little bit about geology and learned something about clay and clay beds and what hydrous meant and what vitrified meant. She began to soar out of the basement of a boarding house on the wings of words like vitrified kaolin and hydrous aluminum silicate. She finally decided that there were about 120 different kinds of glazed bricks and tiles. She could tell Agassiz that, so she wrote him a little note of thirty-six pages and said, “Here’s your glazed brick.”

He wrote back, “This is a fine piece of work. If you change this and that and the other, I’ll prepare it for publication and send you that which is due you from the publication.” She thought no more of it, made the changes, sent it back, and almost by return mail came a check for 250 dollars. His letter said, “I’ve published your piece. What was under the brick?”

And she said, “Ants.”

He replied (all of this by mail), “What is an ant?”

She went to work and this time she was excited. She found 1825 different kinds of ants. She found that there were ants that you could put three to the head of a pin and still have standing room left over. She found that there were ants an inch long that moved in armies half a mile wide and destroyed everything in their path. She found that some ants were blind; some ants lost their wings on the afternoon they died; some milked cows and took the milk to the aristocrats up the street. She found more ants than anybody had ever found, so she wrote Mr. Agassiz something of a treatise, numbering 360 pages. He published it and sent her the money and royalties, which continued to come in. She saw the lands and places of her dreams on a little carpet of vitrified kaolin and on the wings of flying ants that may lose their wings on the afternoon they die.

The night was freezing, with snow coming thick and fast. I was warm and safe in our home, and our three children were sleeping soundly. My husband was attending a bishopric meeting at the chapel some five miles (8 km) away. At about 8:30 there was an unexpected knock at the door. Immediately I felt strongly impressed that I was not to open the door. This certainty—this warning of danger—had never before come to me so strongly.
I was therefore quite stunned to hear my husband’s brother answer my query as to who was there. My husband’s only brother, Michael, a member of the Church, lived 70 miles (110 km) away. We had a very good relationship with him, and it was not surprising that he would visit, possibly expecting to stay a few days, as he had done many times before. It wasn’t even surprising that he hadn’t called, since the phone lines were down because of the weather. I should have felt safe and relieved, and it would have been normal for me to welcome him into our home on this cold winter night.
I could not understand the strong feelings I had or why I heard myself asking him to travel to the chapel to meet my husband. After a stunned silence my brother-in-law explained in a rather strange manner that he had traveled by train, then had caught the bus to our home, and now the snow was getting quite deep.
A powerful prompting continued to impress upon me that I must not, for any reason, open the door. I calmly explained that I was sorry and repeated my request for him to travel to the chapel to meet my husband.
For the remainder of the evening I reflected on my actions. Poor Michael had traveled several hours by train and bus, and on a cold winter evening I had turned him away. How could anyone be so uncaring? Yet at the same time I was unable to deny the strong witness that I was in danger and must not open my door.
It was late and I was almost asleep when my husband returned home. We discussed the situation very briefly, my husband confirming that his brother had met him and was now sleeping downstairs. I no longer felt any fear and slept very soundly.
The next morning I puzzled over how I could explain my actions to Michael. Would he be angry with me? I took a deep breath and walked into the kitchen to prepare breakfast. “Michael, about last night … ,” I began but stopped when I saw that, far from being angry, he was actually smiling.
“I’m so glad you did not let us in last night,” he said. I had no idea until then that he had not been alone. He proceeded to tell me how he had met Steve, an old school friend, on the train, and it had taken him some time to realize that Steve was high on drugs. By then Michael had already told him where he was going. Steve became more and more aggressive during the journey. He explained he urgently needed money and a place to sleep. He forcibly accompanied Michael to our home with what my brother-in-law could describe only as “the most evil of intentions.”
“So, you see,” said Michael, “I stood outside the door, praying that you would not let us in. By the time we set off on the long trip to the chapel, Steve lost interest and said he would go and find some ‘action’ somewhere else.”
I will never know what might have befallen our family or me that winter night. I will just be eternally grateful to have learned one of the most valuable lessons here on earth—to obey the promptings of the Holy Spirit. Even when there appears to be no logical reason, we will be kept safe by relying on that still, small voice.

Linahei not only uses her voice for music and prayer, but she also speaks up about helping family members on the other side of the veil.

“I had a dream one night where I saw hundreds of people, but none of them could communicate with each other,” she says. “I thought I recognized them, but I wasn’t sure.”

Linahei didn’t know what to make of the dream at first. Then she had an exciting thought: “Before the COVID-19 lockdown, I had performed over 100 baptisms for my ancestors—these people in my dream could represent those family members!”

Feeling more excited about family history than ever, Linahei did all she could to help move those names along in the temple to receive their additional ordinances. Soon after, Linahei and her mom were called as family history consultants in their ward.

“We helped a woman in our ward access her FamilySearch account. When she saw her family tree, she was so happy—it was the first time she had seen all of her ancestors!”

“I used to feel nervous going up to people in my ward,” Linahei admits. “But now that I have my mom with me, I feel more confidence teaching people about family history.”

Now Linahei looks forward to helping people learn about their ancestors. “I love seeing how happy people are when they do their family history. And I think our ancestors are happy that we’re interested in them and in performing their ordinances.”

In her calling as a family history consultant, she recently organized an activity for her ward’s young women. Not only did she help them find family names to take to the temple, but she also helped Primary children set up accounts so that they can participate.

“We are going to the temple soon,” she says.

“I like the joy that comes when you do family history.”

Want to be as cool as Linahei? Don’t worry, it’s definitely possible. “Young people can advance the errand of God by using technology,” Linahei says. “Anything that helps us think of our ancestors is wonderful. I know doing family history will bring everyone more joy in their lives. Family history has brought me closer to my ancestors and to Christ at the same time.”

With all the work she’s doing for her ancestors, one thing’s for sure: Linahei’s family is definitely not just history!

As I was about to have my 12th birthday, my bishop invited me for an interview and taught me how to prepare to receive the Aaronic Priesthood and be ordained a deacon. As the interview was coming to an end, he pulled out a set of forms from his desk and challenged me to fill them out. They were mission call papers. I was astonished. After all, I was only 11. But that bishop had a vision of the future and of the blessings that would be mine if I prepared properly to serve a mission when my time came.
He showed he really cared about me. He told me the steps I should take to prepare both financially and spiritually to serve the Lord. After that day, he, and then the bishop who was called after him, interviewed me at least twice a year until I was 19 and encouraged me to remain faithful in my preparation.
They kept my missionary forms in the files and mentioned them whenever we had an interview. With my parents’ help and with the encouragement of loving and patient bishops, I served a mission. The mission helped me gain a perspective of the blessings God has in store for all who endure to the end.

That’s when I really got to know my Mormon friend, Walt. When everybody else was partying, he and I would find something better to do. Walt made it easy for me to be good because I knew he didn’t drink or smoke, so I never felt any pressure to either.
Walt didn’t swear, and he was always correcting me when I did. He was polite and well mannered (most of the time), and when I was around him, I felt I should try to act a little better myself. He was a serious athlete, as I was, but he also took his studies just as seriously. He studies hard and got good grades (something I did only occasionally). Being friends with Walt didn’t make me perfect, but it showed me how I could improve.
Of course, Walt also put a little friendly peer pressure on me about his church. “Hey, Chris,” he’d say, “you might as well be a Mormon—you don’t drink, smoke, or use drugs. You’re practically a Mormon anyway.” As we became better friends, we talked about his church a lot, and I started to meet other Latter-day Saint youth.
One of them was Walt’s girlfriend, Liz. She was an attractive, cheerful Mormon girl whom I used to tease unmercifully. Liz was the perfect lady, and as we got to know each other better, her good influence began to change me. I stopped swearing. And, most important of all, I became interested in the Church.
It wasn’t easy for me, a Catholic, to consider changing my religion, but good friends like Walt and Liz made it easier for me to investigate the Church. Liz encouraged me to seek out the truth and to do what was right. And when I had gained a testimony, she and Walt gave me the strength and courage I needed to go through with my decision to get baptized.
I know much has been said about how bad peer pressure can be, and it can be very bad. But when I look back on the friends I’ve enjoyed associating with, I’d say that peer pressure can be very good too. My friends have helped me to become a better person than I would have been without them.

In Belfast, in quieter times, I had two roommates—girls of another faith whom I had met through a mutual friend. None of us had any extra money. Carol and Anne were both midwifery students, and I was saving for a postgraduate nursing course.
Our apartment was dismal, faded, and hard to bear, but we could find no other place within our means.
Nevertheless, Carol and Anne decided to call the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children and offer to give a Christmas party for 12 needy children. Of course, I agreed to help with the work and the financing as did Carol’s sister Marian.
I had seen some of the miseries of the slums. The most appalling thing I remembered was a little girl in a torn summer dress sitting on the cold, windy sidewalk molding a lump of filthy clay because she had no other toy. I could not now find and help that child, but I could try to help some others.
Our Christmas tree was two feet high, decorated with nine small glass balls, one package of tinfoil icicles, and a star we had made from the foil inside a cracker box. The room was decorated with a few streamers and a dozen balloons. The food was simple—fried potatoes and sausages, grilled tomatoes, cookies, and orangeade. Fancy food is almost unknown to ghetto children, and we were afraid they would not eat anything unfamiliar.
Besides, we couldn’t afford it. The 12 gifts were small and inexpensive: a string of plastic beads, a doll’s feeding set, a young child’s picture book, small toys and games. And, remembering the girl on the sidewalk, I bought a package of clay.
The children arrived semiclean and in their best rags. Eleven, twelve, thirteen! One of the girls had come with her toddler sister, who had refused to stay at home. That presented a problem.
In those days my annual project for the Relief Society bazaar was dressing little plastic dolls in sturdy clothes for girls to play with. Several such dolls were in my room. I quickly wrapped one of them in the last scrap of tissue paper for our extra guest and hurriedly put it under the tree.
Most of the children stood in a group at the door, but one determined boy about eight years old examined all the gifts through the paper.
“If you don’t mind, Missus,” he declared, “I’ll have this game of blow football for me and me mates.”
Carol smiled but was firm.
“We’re giving out the presents at the end of the party. Right now we’re going to play some games.”
We played their games; they played our games. We told stories; they related past experiences. We sang songs and grew decidedly tired of the children’s favorite, “Jingle Bells.”
“Last year,” announced the oldest girl, trying hard to be sophisticated in an ill-fitting sheath and high heels much too large, “I was to a party in the Linen Makers’ Hall. Hundreds of us there was, and a tree 30 feet high.”
“Was it grand, but?” asked a slightly envious voice.
“It wasn’t, for no one had time to talk with us like these good ladies are doing.”
We served the simple food, which first brought forth cries of delight and then the silence of serious eating.
“Ye’ve left food on your plate,” objected our blow football elf to his neighbor.
“I can’t eat it, but,” she replied, “for I’ve never had this much food on me plate at once.”
“Give it here, then, for tis a shame to waste good food.”
He ate several children’s leavings and then conceded defeat.
He could not prevent a few scraps from going to waste. We gave him the blow football game. We gave the 12-year-old, would-be sophisticate the plastic beads.
We gave the doll’s feeding set to a seven-year-old Raggedy Ann.
“It’s no use to me, Missus. I ain’t got a doll.”
So the Relief Society lost another plastic doll. This time it was wrapped in writing paper, and we pretended it had fallen behind the tree. “Tis the best party I was ever at,” someone announced with satisfaction.
“I felt right to home.”
“Indeed it was grand, Missus,” seconded another voice. “For whenever we’uns wanted something, one of you ladies was near.”
I thought then that I had learned something about giving, but I was shortly to learn more.
The sophisticate I noticed, had traded her beads for the clay, the clay for a toy car, the toy car for the baby’s picture book.
“Sure it’ll do,” she said, trying to rewrap it. The used cellophane tape wouldn’t stick.
“And would you have a bit of string, Missus? And a pencil, please?” I produced them, wondering.
She tied the parcel awkwardly, and in large uneven letters she printed on it “TOMMY.”
She saw me looking and she explained: “Tis me wee brother, Missus. Nobody invited him to a party, and we can’t afford him no present.”
Ragged, messy little girl in your run-over, outsized high heels, I seem to remember that you are beautiful.

One Christmas I gave several pass-along cards to my friends and teachers at school. In January a teacher I had given a card to told me she had called the number on the card and received a Christmas DVD. She watched it and liked it very much. I think the pass-along cards are special. When I give them out, I can feel the Spirit. It makes me happy to share the gospel. I know that Jesus Christ lives and loves all of us.
Raiane R., age 11, Brazil

All my life I was taught that there was no God. Little did I know how that would change when I applied to be a high school exchange student in the United States, representing the Czech Republic. When I filled out the application, one question was “What is your religious preference?” I knew most Americans were Christian, so that was what I wrote down. But I was a nonbeliever.
With anticipation, I awaited the outcome of my application. Where would I live?
I was assigned to the Grant and Jewel Hodson family, Latter-day Saints in Utah. Where is Utah? Mormons? Who are they? I looked up Utah in books, and I looked up Mormons too. The books said terrible things about the Church and especially about Joseph Smith. I spent my last night at home crying. I was terrified.
My mother assured me that everything would be all right, and if I didn’t like the family or Utah, I could come home or be assigned to another family.
When I arrived in Utah, Emily, one of the daughters, came to pick me up. She was 16 years old, wearing normal, casual clothes, and she was so nice. I thought, “Wow! This might not be that bad after all!” The whole family was warm and welcoming to me.
I experienced quite a cultural adjustment. I saw that my host family prayed before every meal and before they went to bed. They didn’t drink alcohol or smoke cigarettes. They lived moral lives. Everything was totally opposite of how the teenagers I had known lived.
And it seemed that almost everybody I met was a member of the LDS Church. I was impressed that when these people spoke about their church, they would say, “I know,” not, “I believe.” Never before had I heard such conviction in religious statements. If these people could know, I reasoned, there must be a way for me to know too. I was the sort of person who had to know, because if I accepted the teachings of the Church, I would have to make changes in my lifestyle and in my future plans.
With a strong desire to know for myself about the truthfulness of the Church, I watched the example of my host family. They didn’t proselytize, but the way they lived made me want to know what was behind their actions. I had never seen such faith.
I heard a Church leader say, “People will want to know Christ because they know you.” I wanted to know Christ because I knew the Hodsons. They were a great example to me of the way a family should live.
I began praying. I prayed for three weeks and nothing happened. I was a little discouraged. I thought that maybe I was not worthy to feel God’s love.
That same week I decided to join the Hodsons’ traditional family testimony meeting on the first Sunday of the month. The mother, Jewel, asked me if I would like to say anything. I said, “Sure.” But I thought, “What am I going to say?”
Since everybody had expressed appreciation, I thought I could at least express my appreciation to the Hodsons for all they had done for me. They had been so patient with me. They treated me as their own daughter and had never pushed me into anything. I would express my true gratitude.
I was the last to speak. I stood up and started saying how grateful I was for their kindness and patience and also for their desire to teach me about God. All of a sudden, a strong, overwhelming feeling came over me. The language barrier was gone; I had no problem speaking English. I was fluent for the first time! I had never felt anything like this before. I spoke as I was inspired. It was such a warm, beautiful feeling. I was quietly being taught, “You know what you are saying is true. You know I exist. You know.”
And I did know! With tears in my eyes, I sat down. I thought, “What was that?” Answering as though she had heard my question, my host mother quietly spoke, “What you are feeling is the Spirit.” All I could think was “Wow! It is true!”
With my parents’ permission, I asked my host father to baptize me into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. It was a happy day for me. I felt so clean and fresh! In addition to my host family, I was surrounded by many members from my ward who came to support me. I appreciated that so much.
When I returned to the Czech Republic from Utah, I was the only member of the Church not just in my town, Chrastava (population 8,000), but also in Liberec (population 120,000), a city about six miles (10 km) from Chrastava. I worked as a hotel receptionist and taught English in a private high school. I was desperately seeking to find my new place at home. I was close to giving up. Nevertheless, I continued to kneel every night and pray for a miracle that would bring me out of my despair. I also tried really hard to stay away from my old habits and friends.
Finally my prayers were answered. The missionaries came to Liberec, where I was teaching. (I later learned that Brother Hodson had contacted the mission president for the Czech Republic and told him about me. Now there is a growing branch of about 40 Latter-day Saints in my hometown.)
I have since attended Brigham Young University—Idaho and finished my fine arts degree at BYU–Hawaii. One of the highlights of being at BYU–Hawaii was playing on the volleyball team. On that special campus, my testimony grew.
I have now returned to my home in the Czech Republic. I want to spread the gospel message. At first, my father and mother thought I was totally crazy to have made such a conversion. Now they support me completely, and they are grateful for my education.
Maybe I can also have an influence as a teacher in the arts. The people here need the gospel, and they need the arts. I wish they knew what I know. I want to teach them the true plan of happiness. I know Heavenly Father wants my people to have the gospel and all the really good things in life. I know my Heavenly Father loves me and will help me to do my best, even though I have imperfections. I continue to desire to be guided by Him always.

When President Ezra Taft Benson was just twelve years old, his father was called on a mission. Ezra was the oldest child in the family, with six younger brothers and sisters. He knew that his mother would need him to help her make their home a cheerful and comfortable place. He woke up early each morning so that he could milk the cows before he went to school. His little brothers and sister laughed as he squirted milk into their mouths when they came into the barn to watch him, and he comforted them when they missed their father. He even dug vegetables from the snow so that they would have enough to eat. Ezra tried in every way to make his home a happy one.
Think about your home. Is it a place of love? Is it a place where people care for one another? Do you show respect, honor, and love for your home and those who live in it? Think about your neighborhood. Is it a good place? Do you show respect, honor, and love for your neighbors?
President Benson lived on a farm in Whitney, Idaho, when he was a child. There were chickens, milking cows, beef cattle, and horses. There were also neighbors. Ezra’s mother taught him to greet people with a polite “How do you do?” One afternoon while the family was seated at the dinner table, little Ezra noticed the bowl of boiled eggs and said courteously, “How do you do, eggs?” Everyone laughed, and it was a family joke that was retold for years.
Ezra helped his neighbors willingly when they needed extra people to do farm work. Some of the neighbors said that they never knew anyone who worked harder than he did.
When we show respect, honor, and love in our homes and neighborhoods, we are showing reverence for them, and in this way, we are letting Heavenly Father know that we are thankful for the beautiful and good world He created for us.

Ann liked living next door to Bishop Woodland. She liked to sit in the corkscrew willow tree that grew between their driveways. He was always going and coming. Whenever he did, he’d look up and say with a grin, “Be careful, Ann—I don’t want you falling out of there and cracking my driveway.”

“Why does Bishop Woodland come and go so much?” Ann asked her mother one morning.

“He’s usually going to help someone.”

“Like who?”

“Oh, people who need food or who are unhappy, or older people who need help.”

“How does he help? He’s old himself.”

Ann’s mother laughed. “I guess he is. But he can still listen and help. Sometimes he asks other people to help, like the Relief Society or a priesthood quorum.”

“Would he help me if I had a problem?”

“Of course he would. You could talk to him anytime.”

Ann asked this because she did, in fact, have a problem. She was thinking about it the next day at recess, when Cindy, her life-long friend, said, “Let’s play at the park after school.”

Ann had already told Janie, a new friend who had just moved there that year, that she’d play soccer with her after school. “Can Janie come, too?” she whispered back to Cindy.

Cindy frowned and shrugged.

Ann felt bad. Why couldn’t her two friends like each other? She was sure they would if they just knew each other better.

As it turned out, Janie had to postpone their soccer playing and help out at home. But that didn’t solve the problem.

After dinner Ann sat in the tree and watched for the bishop’s car. When she saw it turn the corner, she scrambled down and waited for him in his driveway. He was slow getting out of the car. When he finally stood up, his eyes were pinched with pain.

“Are you OK?” Ann asked.

“It’s just my back hurting me a little,” he said. Then he smiled, and his eyes were merry again. “I see the bird has come down from the tree.”

“Bishop, I need to talk to you, please.”

“This sounds serious. Let’s sit here on the front steps for a minute.” He lowered himself carefully onto the step. “Look at all those leaves!” The front lawn was covered with red and brown maple leaves and a few yellow ones from the willow tree. “I don’t know how I’ll get them raked up with this back. Sister Woodland can’t do it any more, either.” He turned to Ann. “But we’re here to talk about your problem, not mine. Tell me about it.”

“My two best friends don’t like each other. They don’t really know each other, because Janie is new. But they don’t want to do things with all three of us together. If I go with one, the other is mad at me. Maybe they’ll both get so mad that I won’t have either of them as my friend.”

The bishop put his chin in his hand. He thought a minute. “Maybe you could do something fun together, something at which they’d have to get to know each other better.”

“Maybe a party?”

“Good idea, But don’t watch TV or videos. Play games or do something where you work together.”

“Like making cookies or something?”

“That might work, especially if you ask the Lord’s help. A good, earnest prayer might help your plans.”

“OK, I’ll try it!” Ann jumped up. “Thank you, Bishop. I hope your back feels better.”

The bishop smiled, shook her hand, then went into his house.

“Who helps Bishop Woodland when he has a problem?” Ann asked her mother the next day.

“That depends on his problem. Why?”

“His back hurts him.”

“I know. He had surgery on it a while back. I think it’s getting better, though. I guess anyone who loves him and sees a way to do it would be the one to help.”

Ann did a lot of planning before she said anything to Cindy or Janie about a party. When she learned that the Woodlands were going away for the day on Saturday, she knew that that afternoon would be perfect. She talked to her mother about her plans, and she talked to the Lord about softening her friends’ hearts and about helping her say the right things. Then she talked to Cindy and Janie separately and told them about raking the bishop’s leaves and then having pizza.

“Bishop Woodland helped my dad get a job when he was out of work,” Cindy said. “Sure, I’ll come.”

Janie didn’t know Bishop Woodland because she was in a different ward, but she said, “Why not? I love pizza, and it sounds like fun.”

On Saturday afternoon Cindy and Janie both arrived promptly at four o’clock. They glared at each other but said hi.

“Let’s get to work!” Ann suggested, trying to sound cheerful and assured. They picked up the rakes and leaf bags she had gotten out and went to the bishop’s yard.

Each girl started in a separate corner of the yard and worked silently. Soon they had a big pile of leaves in the middle of the lawn. Ann looked at the pile. “I can’t resist!” she said, jumping into the middle of it.

Cindy laughed. “I was just thinking the same thing.” She jumped in too.

“Well, why not?” Janie drawled, joining them. The three of them rolled around and threw leaves at each other and laughed.

“Janie has the longest hair,” Cindy said. “She can be the leaf queen.” She and Ann wove handfuls of leaves into Janie’s hair. Janie smiled regally. Then they all filled Cindy’s hair and Ann’s. “We’re leaf princesses,” Cindy said.

They lay back in the leaves. The sun was going down, and the sky glowed with pink and gold. “My grandpa calls it ‘the gloaming’ when the sky looks like this,” Janie remarked.

“My mother says that, too,” Cindy said.

The three girls lay in the leaves and talked about their mothers and other things for a while. Suddenly Ann jumped up. “We have to hurry—I’m starving! Besides, it will soon be dark.” They held the sacks open for each other and stuffed them full of leaves. Janie swept the walk while Cindy and Ann carried the bags around by the bishop’s garden. “Janie’s fun,” Cindy said as they walked into the backyard.

Ann smiled. “I know. And so are you.”

Back at Ann’s house, they hurried to wash up so they could eat. After everyone was full, they baked the cookies that Ann’s mother had mixed. Then they arranged a basket of apples and cookies for Ann to put on the bishop’s front porch just before the Woodlands came home. Cindy decorated the note that Janie wrote to put in the basket: “From some people who love you.”

That night, Ann thanked Heavenly Father for helping her friends become friends—and for being able to help yet another friend, the bishop.

Our grandson Quinton was born with multiple birth defects and lived three weeks short of a year, during which time he was in and out of the hospital. Sister Jensen and I were living in Argentina at that time. We truly wanted to be there with our children to comfort them and be comforted by them. This was our grandchild whom we loved and wanted to be near. We could only pray, and we did so fervently!
Sister Jensen and I were on a mission tour when we received word Quinton had died. We stood in the hallway of a meetinghouse and hugged and comforted each other. I witness to you that assurances came to us from the Holy Ghost, a peace which passes all understanding and continues to this day (see Philippians 4:7). We also witnessed the unspeakable gift of the Holy Ghost in the lives of our son and daughter-in-law and their children, who to this day speak of that time with such faith, peace, and comfort.

Shortly after I returned from my mission, my stake president asked me to interpret for Elder Hartman Rector Jr., then of the Seventy, who had come to Mendoza, Argentina, to preside over a stake conference. These marvelous opportunities have continued over the years. I interpreted for President Thomas S. Monson and other General Authorities during the 11 dedicatory sessions of the Buenos Aires Argentina Temple.
During four of those sessions, I read the dedicatory prayer in Spanish from the pulpit in the celestial room. My voice broke up several times because of my emotions; tears filled my eyes and flowed down my face. I was reading the inspired prayers and promises for my country from Heavenly Father, who lives and reveals His will, just as He did 12 years earlier through my mission president when I accepted the challenge to learn English.
I also interpreted for the prophet, President Gordon B. Hinckley, during the four dedicatory sessions of the Montevideo Uruguay Temple and the four dedicatory sessions of the Asunción Paraguay Temple.
It’s difficult for me to explain how sacred those moments were for me when I stood alongside prophets, seers, and revelators in the Lord’s house. I felt somewhat like Peter, James, and John when they had the amazing experience of seeing Jesus transfigured. Peter expressed my feelings when he told Jesus, “Lord, it is good for us to be here” (Matt. 17:4).

I heard a story this week that illustrates this well. It concerns a visiting pastor who attended a breakfast in the middle of a rural farming area. The group had asked an older farmer, decked out in bib overalls, to say grace for the morning breakfast.

“Lord,” the farmer began the prayer, “I hate buttermilk.”

The visiting pastor opened one eye to glance at the farmer and wondered where this was going.

The farmer then loudly proclaimed, “Lord, I hate lard.”

Now the pastor was growing concerned.

Without missing a beat, the farmer continued, “And Lord, you know I don’t much care for raw white flour.”

The pastor once again opened an eye to glance around the room and saw that he wasn’t the only one feeling uncomfortable.

Then the farmer added, “But Lord, when you mix them all together and bake them, I do love warm, fresh biscuits. So, Lord, when things come up that we don’t like, when we don’t understand what You’re saying to us, help us to just relax and wait until You are done mixing. It will probably be even better than biscuits.” He then said amen.

When we find ourselves frustrated by events, by actions of others, or even by our own actions, let us remember that if we trust God and His goodness, things will work out in the end—even if the individual ingredients are not initially very appealing to us.