Gospel Story Finder

It happens almost every Sunday evening. Nine-year-old Xinia (ZEE-nyah) Muñoz gets out a pencil and several sheets of lined paper and starts writing letters.
She sits at the kitchen table, absorbed with her writing. Sometimes she’ll look up to ask someone how to spell a word, but during most of her letter-writing time, she is “in her own world”—or in the world of the person who is lucky enough to get her letter.
To whom is she writing? “The missionaries,” she answers with a smile. The letter she is working on in the picture here is for Elder Ed McCoy, a close friend of the family, who is serving a mission in California. He is the only member of his family who belongs to the Church, and Xinia makes sure that he gets at least one letter every week—hers!
“He used to come here for Sunday dinner,” she says. After he left for his mission, Sunday evening just didn’t seem complete without a visit with Elder McCoy—even if only through a letter.
Before long, Xinia started writing letters to the other missionaries from Belize City too. Now she writes a letter nearly every Sunday evening to all six of them. Sometimes she writes to missionaries who served in Belize and have returned to their homes. Every Monday morning, her mother mails a stack of her letters to places such as Honduras, England, Canada, and the United States.

As a child she traveled with her family by train across the country to be sealed in the Manti Utah Temple.
“That was a very sweet experience,” she said. “I remember dressing in white and what that meant to my family. It was a magnificent experience, and even though I was really young, I remember the feelings I had, glimpses of white, and the beauty of that day. That experience gave me my first desire to keep the temple in my life always.”

Nima and his family lived in Banepa, Nepal, at the base of the Himalayas, the highest mountains in the world. His people, the Sherpas, call the highest peak, Mount Everest, Sagarmatha (House of Snow).
Men and women come from all over the world to Mount Everest. They come to take pictures of it. They come to climb it and to place their nation’s flag on its summit. Climbing this mountain is a test of human strength against the rigor of the mountain.
Because Nima’s father, Mingma, was a strong and experienced porter, he was sought after as a porter and a guide. That was what Nima wanted to become too.
Other boys of twelve had already begun carrying supplies for short distances to the base camps near the bottoms of the mountains. But because Nima had been born with a twisted foot, his parents thought that he would surely be hurt or killed if he lost his balance on the mountain trail.
A week ago a party of climbers had come from the capital city of Katmandu to hire porters. How Nima hoped they would hire him! But it was no use. Even though his own father was hired as head porter and would choose the men he needed to help him, he would not take Nima.
In this expedition there were doctors and scientists who would study the terrain and ice formations, the weather, and the effect of the thin air on the climbers.
The expedition moved out of town in a long, long line. Most of the men of Banepa were needed to carry all of the supplies and equipment. Nima was left with the women and young children.
The evening after the expedition’s departure, a rumor ran through the streets that a child was sick with smallpox!
Nima’s mother went to the house of the sick child to learn if the frightening report was true. She came home looking grave. “I’m sure that the child has smallpox,” she said. “If only the expedition had been delayed! There were doctors among the men.”
After everyone else was asleep, Nima sat staring at the red coals of the fire. He saw a chance to prove his strength, but doubt haunted him. Surely his parents would have more confidence in him if he proved that he could climb the mountain trails. Suddenly Nima stood up and shook the doubts from his mind. He would not be controlled by doubts!
Just before the roosters woke the town, Nima set out with a bundle on his shoulders. He was going to find the foreign doctors and ask for help for the sick child. In one hand he held firmly a T-bar staff, the staff of the porters. And inside his bundle he had everything he would need for a long hike: a blanket, food for two days, and a container of water.
The first part of the hike was pleasant, and Nima moved along at a steady pace. Then, little by little, his left leg began to ache, and he had to stop often to rest. Finally, as the long day wore itself out, his leg and foot both began throbbing with pain. At every step, he used the staff to take the weight off his body. The temptation to make camp and lie down was strong, but he would not forget his mission. With the coming of darkness he saw the fires of the camp. He’d made it—but without the fifty-pound load he would have been carrying if he’d been working as a porter! Nima was dizzy with pain.
He found his father eating the evening rice with his friends. Quickly he told them about the sick child.
“But Nima, why did your mother so foolishly send you for the doctor?” asked his father.
“She does not even know I came,” answered Nima.
“I see.” Mingma put a hand on Nima’s shoulder. They went together to the tent of Dr. Kelly, who showed his concern as he heard about the trouble in town.
“Wait, please,” the doctor said. He went to talk with others of his party. When he returned, he said he would go back with Nima to Banepa the next morning.
Nima did not want to think about going down the same path he’d just come up. I must do it somehow, he decided, massaging his foot and leg underneath his blanket. He would not admit his agony to anyone.
Morning came too soon. But Nima got up, ate his rice, and waited for Dr. Kelly. How will I ever make it? he wondered. Truly Ihave been foolish. Not having tried shorter hikes first, this distance is unbearable.
The doctor arrived, and the two of them started down the path. As the sun rose higher and higher and the path’s descent became steeper, the doctor took off his jacket. “I need a rest stop,” he said.
Nima sank onto a stone gratefully. He was not sure he could get up again.
Dr. Kelly took some chocolate from his pack and gave Nima a piece. “You are a strong-willed boy, Nima,” he said. “I think you are in great pain.”
“I like to hike,” said Nima.
“I’m sure you do,” the doctor replied, “but I am not speaking of that. I am concerned about the pain you are trying to hide.”
“I will be a porter like my father,” said Nima.
“That is a fine plan,” the doctor said, “but if you are serious about it, you must do something about your handicap.”
Nima looked away. He did not like this talk about his handicap.
“One of the doctors with us is a bone specialist,” Dr. Kelly went on. “Perhaps I could ask him to look at your foot to see if it might be straightened with surgery.”
“No,” answered Nima. “I don’t need help. Thank you.”
But after they started again, Nima’s mind seethed with the ideas the doctor had planted. Is it possible? Can something be done to make walking easier for me, to make the pain go away forever?
A short time later Nima admitted that he needed to rest again. While they rested, Nima asked hesitantly, “Have you seen others with a foot like mine?”
The doctor nodded.
“And these others you have seen—have they been helped so that they can walk more easily?”
“Yes, Nima.”
Nima felt tears welling up in his eyes. He turned away. It was a sweet hope. But it was also a bitter thing to admit his imperfection.
Nima and the doctor had to take many rests because of Nima’s foot, and it was dark when they reached the town. “I have delayed you,” said Nima. “It is something a porter would never do.”
“But today we have walked as friends,” said Dr. Kelly. “I think, with help, that you will climb to the tops of many mountains.”
Nima’s face brightened.
“This is not my first experience with mountains,” continued Dr. Kelly. “I have climbed many. It takes physical strength, but it also takes determination and self-confidence.”
Nima nodded. He understood these things from his father.
“I think you have the necessary inner strength,” said the doctor. “Otherwise you would not have made it to our camp yesterday or back home again today.”
Nima smiled. “What is the name of the doctor who is your friend?” he asked.
“Dr. Holland,” answered the doctor. “Would you like to meet him?”
Nima looked up at the House of Snow gleaming in the pale moonlight. “Yes, please,” he said. “I truly would.”

In 1975, as a result of a civil war, Arnaldo and Eugenia Teles Grilo and their children had to leave behind their home and all that they had built through decades of hard work. Back in their native country of Portugal, Brother and Sister Teles Grilo faced the challenge of starting all over again. But years later, after joining The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, they said, “We lost everything we had, but it was a good thing because it compelled us to consider the importance of eternal blessings.”
They lost their earthly home, but they found the way back to their heavenly home.

First, many people will mourn with us; they won’t judge us. Due to severe panic attacks, anxiety, and depression, our son returned home from his mission after just four weeks. As his parents, we found it difficult to deal with disappointment and sadness because we had prayed so much for his success. Like all parents, we want our children to prosper and be happy. A mission was to be an important milestone for our son. We also wondered what other people might think.

Unbeknownst to us, our son’s return was infinitely more devastating for him. Note that he loved the Lord and wanted to serve, and yet he could not for reasons he struggled to understand. He soon found himself at a point of total hopelessness, battling deep guilt. He no longer felt accepted but spiritually numb. He became consumed by recurring thoughts of death.

While in this irrational state, our son believed that the only action left was to take his own life. It took the Holy Ghost and a legion of angels on both sides of the veil to save him.

While he was fighting for his life and during this immensely difficult time, our family, ward leaders, members, and friends went out of their way to support and minister to us.

I have never felt such an outpouring of love. I have never sensed more powerfully and in such a personal way what it means to comfort those in need of comfort. Our family will be ever grateful for that outpouring.

I cannot describe the countless miracles that accompanied these events. Gratefully, our son survived, but it has taken a long time and much medical, therapeutic, and spiritual care for him to heal and to accept that he is loved, valued, and needed.

The Church is one of Sue’s greatest sources of guidance and comfort. At a youth conference, the bishop challenged all of the youth to pray for confirmation that the Church was true even if they already had a testimony.

Sue accepted the challenge although she had some reservations. “I felt I didn’t need to ask because I know the Church is true. But I wanted to tell my friends about my testimony before I graduated from high school. They sometimes tease me about being a Mormon.”

Sue did pray, but the answer didn’t seem to come. Then one day she was with some friends, and suddenly she was in the middle of a serious conversation about the Church with one of them. The friend asked, “How do you know that it is true, Sue?”

“Suddenly I realized that Heavenly Father was giving me an opportunity to say that I do know the Church is true. Here I was bearing my testimony, telling her this is the truth. I didn’t realize until that night that my prayer had been answered.”

The friend then asked if she could go to church with the Keller family. Soon she was attending seminary with Sue and receiving the discussions from the missionaries. “It’s been wonderful,” Sue said. “I’ve never done that with a friend before.”

When Goethe wrote his Faust, I believe he was inspired to utter some truths about the method of attack by the enemy of our souls. You recall that the man Faust, an old man, was anxious to be made a youth again. He prayed for such a transformation. But the thing he sought for was unlawful, and the Lord had no answer for him. But he persisted in his prayers, and when we persist, not willing to say “Father, thy will, not mine, be done,” it is quite possible that the devil may answer us, as he did Faust. And so the devil said: “I will do this thing for you. I will make you a youth, and when you are a youth you will want a maiden.” And a vision of the beautiful Marguerite was shown. “But if I do this for you I want you to sign a contract that when you are done with this body your spirit belongs to me.”

It is not bodies, it is immortal spirits that the devil wants. And he tries to capture them through the body, for the body can enslave the spirit, but the spirit can keep the body a servant and be its master.

So the contract is entered into. Then as Faust is made a young man he remembers the promise of the virgin, the maiden, and the two go in search of her. They find her as she enters the church. Suddenly Faust rushes forward to seize her, but the devil holds him back and says: “Not so fast, not that way.” Here is a truth. The devil cannot capture any man or woman that way. He cannot suddenly sweep them off their feet and bind them as his slaves against their wills. The power is given to every man and woman that lives to speak as Christ did: “Get thee hence, Satan;” and he will leave you as quickly as he left the Master. He cannot capture a single soul unless we are willing to go. He is limited. He must win men and women.

So with Marguerite. He must win her. They study her and find her weakness. She is a chaste, virtuous, wonderful girl, yet she has a weakness. It is vanity. So they play upon that weak link. Jewels are placed in the garden, and with them the mirror. She discovers these things. Vanity prompts her to put the jewels on and suggests she look in the mirror and see how beautiful she is. At the psychological moment the tempter appears and offers them as a gift from her would-be lover. She is prompted to keep them.

The lovers spend the afternoon together, and the mother’s voice is heard calling Marguerite to come in from the garden, but she is loath to leave her new-found lover. Again at the psychological moment the tempter, the devil, appears, placing a pill in the hand of Faust with the assurance that if this is placed in the mother’s evening drink the mother will soon be asleep and the lovers will be undisturbed. As I have listened to the sad stories of more than one girl who has stolen away from her mother’s influence and come to sorrow and distress, I wonder why the warning is not sufficient to give every girl the assurance that the safest place in the world for her is as close to her mother as she can get.

The mother takes the potion and goes to sleep. The lovers spend the night together. Early morning brings the brother Valentino upon the scene, and he finds his mother dead—for it is the sleep of death—and a stranger in the house with his sister Marguerite. A quarrel follows, and a duel is fought in which Valentino, the brother, is slain. Now Marguerite comes to an awakening sense of her full situation and the consequences of her own act. She has slain her mother, brought the death of her brother, and—worse than her own death—she has lost her virtue. She is next seen weeping and tearing her hair, and the devil comes laughing upon the scene. He has captured another soul. Strongly fortified as she was, she had one weakness, and through that the enemy entered her citadel and she fell.

There are times in our marriage that require a stellar dose of patience.
On our 25th wedding anniversary, Kathy and I were in Philadelphia speaking to missionaries. I received a call from President Boyd K. Packer of the Twelve. At the end of our conversation, I commented, “President Packer, today is our 25th wedding anniversary. Don’t you think that is a great accomplishment?” Without pausing, he responded, “It is for Kathy!” With your hope and faith in Christ, allow the Lord to expand your spiritual gifts of understanding and patience.

Lydia sighed as she kicked a pebble, sending it bouncing along the concrete.
Her birthday was just a few days away. Usually she couldn’t wait for her birthday, but not this year. This year she was turning 12, and that meant graduating from Primary and going to Young Women.
But Lydia didn’t want to! She loved Primary. She loved sitting with her class, and she loved her teacher’s activities. Most of all, the Primary chorister made learning songs so much fun. In Young Women, she wouldn’t get to sing that much. All her friends were counting down to their 12th birthdays, but Lydia wasn’t ready.
Lydia found another little rock to kick. It skidded down the road ahead of her.
Why can’t I just be excited like everyone else? she thought. She had prayed to be happy and to know that going to Young Women would be a good change. But she didn’t really feel like she’d gotten an answer yet.
The pebble bounced into the grass. Lydia pushed it back onto the sidewalk with her toe.
“You just need to focus on the good things,” her friend Maya had told her at school today.
What good things? Lydia was trying to come up with some on her walk home. She liked being outdoors, and girls’ camp sounded fun. She also loved the temple. Her family had been visiting the temple grounds since Lydia was little. So … getting a temple recommend and doing temple baptisms … those were things to look forward to.
Lydia counted on her fingers: girls’ camp, the temple, baptisms. That made three good things. But still. She wasn’t ready to give up Primary!
She walked through the front door, sliding her jacket off her drooping shoulders.
“Is that you, Lydia?” Mom called as Lydia closed the door.
“Yeah, it’s me.” She tried to sound happy, but she was still feeling pretty discouraged.
Mom hurried into the room. “I have great news!” She’d worked on family history that afternoon. After hitting a couple of dead ends, she found a distant cousin who needed temple ordinances done.
“It was like magic!” Mom said. She and Lydia had been looking on FamilySearch for a long time without finding anyone who needed temple ordinances done. Mom moved over to the computer and pointed at the screen. “I kept looking in her family line, and you have to see the next person I found!”
Lydia rushed to the computer and read the name. “Lydia Elizabeth Graham. Mom, she has my name!”
Mom grinned. “I know! Plus her husband and siblings all need temple ordinances done. Isn’t it exciting that you’re turning 12 just in time to help another Lydia get baptized?”
Lydia felt so much more peaceful inside. Maybe this was an answer to her prayer. She could hardly wait to be baptized for Lydia!
She hugged Mom and smiled. “Maybe turning 12 isn’t so bad.”

Throughout my life, I believed that there must be a spiritual link between my ancestors and me.
My grandparents often told stories and showed pictures of my ancestors, and I felt closer to them each time we discussed them. My family and I were not members of the Church, but my grandma still taught me to pray daily. And through those prayers, I started to believe in God and in the idea that my departed ancestors were somehow living on.
In Hungary we celebrate a holiday the day after Halloween called All Saints’ Day. On this occasion, everyone visits cemeteries where their loved ones and ancestors are buried, and we lay flowers on their graves and light candles to remember and honor them.
When I was little, I felt privileged to have an even deeper connection with my ancestors, as I was actually born on All Saints’ Day. It was always an extra-special day for me.
But I would also often complain about visiting my ancestors, because I didn’t want to spend my birthday in cemeteries. I didn’t see what was so unique about visiting the same graves every year, especially when they belonged to ancestors whom I hadn’t ever met.
As I’ve grown and gained a testimony of the gospel, however, I’ve come to know much more about God’s plan of happiness and the sacredness of family history work. I know that everyone can and should treasure their ancestors and strive to have a deep connection with these vital members of our families.

When I was about 11 years old, a man came to our little town to teach at the Church academy. He played the violin a little, and we hadn’t had anyone there for a long time that had played the violin. My mother was impressed and picked up a little violin, I guess at some little rummage sale somewhere, and decided that I should learn to play the violin.
Even though I had never seen anyone play the violin in public, he came to our house and started giving me some little simple lessons on playing the violin. I was coming along fairly well by the time we graduated from the eighth grade in grammar school, and for the graduation exercises held in the high school I was asked to play a violin solo.
I’d carefully practiced the little number “Traumerei,” as I remember the name. My sister who was four years older than I and was then one of the popular girls in high school was my pianist. At the graduation exercises, Connie McMurray was the valedictorian. Girls are always smarter in school than boys. As she was giving the valedictory address, there was a little pedestal with a pitcher of water and a glass on it for the school board. The school board was on the stand, plus a little handful of us who were graduating from the eighth grade.
As Connie McMurray was giving her famous valedictory address, near the end of it we noticed the little doily under the pitcher of water on the pedestal was moving over a little bit towards the edge, and over it fell with the pitcher and glass of water! Connie McMurray fell in a dead faint.
In the scurrying around of cleaning the water off the stage and rearranging the chairs, they announced that we would now have the violin solo from David Haight. I walked over to the little old piano, and my sister came up from the audience. I took that little simple violin out of that wooden case as my sister sat down at the piano and sounded an A. I said, “Go ahead and play.”
She said, “David, you’d better tune it.”
I said, “No, no, I tuned it at our piano at home.” We had an old Kimball piano at home. You know, homes in those days—if you had a piano and books, that’s all you needed for the family. I had carefully tuned the strings by twisting those ebony pegs of that violin, but I didn’t know that all pianos weren’t the same. So as my sister said, “You’d better tune it,” I said, “No, no, it’s all tuned. I tuned it at home.”
So she went ahead and played the introduction, and then I came down on the first note. We were off about two notes.
As she slowed down, I said, “Keep playing,” because I couldn’t imagine anyone would take the time of a famous audience like I was playing to—you know, 100 people in that little high school auditorium. You wouldn’t hold up Carnegie Hall while you tuned your violin! That would be shop work. You would do that in the back room so that when you would start to play, why, you’d be all ready to play.
She slowed down. I said, “Keep playing.” We finished it, and she didn’t speak to me for days following that show.

This group was successful in winning battles in Argentina, and then José began to plan to free Chile. In order to do so, it was necessary to take his army of 3,500 men across the rugged snow-topped mountain ranges of the Andes. The Andes have an average width of 150 miles and an average height of 12,000 feet. The only roads were narrow, steep, and dangerous paths that wound around deep gorges and over jagged peaks.
Even the women and children in and around Mendoza, Argentina, where the march began, participated in the final preparations. The women brought their precious jewels to José to be exchanged for food and equipment. The children went from door to door collecting blankets, clean rags, and whatever could be used for bandages or for protection against the intense below-zero cold of the Andes.
One man had room in his saddlebags for nothing but the medical supplies for José, who was almost always ill with asthma, rheumatism, stomach ulcers, and various other ailments. But neither impassable mountains, severe illness, lack of money, lonely separation from his young wife and little daughter, nor other obstacles could stop this man whose dream was to free the people of South America from what he believed was the unfair government of Spain.
Finally all was in readiness. The night before the army left Mendoza, mule packs and oxcarts went through streets that had been strewn with flowers, as everyone gathered to hold special prayers and to pledge again their dedication to freedom.
The army made an unbelievable crossing of the Andes despite storm, cold, illness, and other hardships. This march prepared the way for the establishment of independence for both Chile and Peru.

You can also be an influence for good so that the gospel message will shine through your countenance. I recently heard of a young woman who invited a group of her friends to bring their dates to her home after a dance. One couple stopped on the way to pick up a videotape to watch. As they played it, the group realized it was an R-rated movie. This young woman became disturbed and excused herself to talk to her parents. They reminded her that R-rated movies are not shown in their home and suggested that someone should turn it off. The young woman said she would do it, and she did. Everyone seemed relieved. This is a simple incident, but it illustrates a point. A young woman who wanted to be good acted on her desires, and a whole group of youth were spared a little bit of evil. Repeated many times over, until they become a pattern, such actions can be an influence that will spread through the Church and through society.

Another man said that he would not go to church but that his family could go. The missionaries told him that they would always save him a seat right by the door in case he changed his mind. One Sunday he was prompted to go to church even though his family had left without him. From the foyer he could see his family seated with the missionaries and a space at the end of the pew vacant and easily accessible. He entered the little chapel, and his footsteps were heard. The missionaries turned their heads, and when they saw him, tears came to their eyes. After baptism the husband would say, “Never in my life had anyone ever cried out of happiness just to see me enter a room.”

Sister Whang’s work in the camps led her to change her career from nursing to teaching. But after six years, in November 1958, she decided that if she wanted to fulfill her goal to help the poor, she needed more education. Her minister encouraged her to apply for an exchange program at the University of California at Berkeley. She was accepted. Taking the money she had saved from teaching and the promise of a paid sabbatical from her school, she enrolled.
Soon after she arrived in the U.S., Whang Keun-Ok met two Korean students from Brigham Young University who were working at Berkeley for the summer. They encouraged her to go to Provo, Utah. When she visited the BYU campus in the fall of 1959, she fell in love with the mountains and was impressed by the Latter-day Saints’ faith. She spent the next three years there, studying social work. Shortly after she returned to Korea in June 1962, she located the missionaries and was baptized.

Student: In ninth grade, my brothers asked me why I go to seminary and what’s so important about it. I showed them my scripture mastery cards. My brother was in third grade at the time. He went through his scriptures and marked all the scripture mastery scriptures. He asked me why those were important, and I said those were the ones we were asked to memorize. He started studying and learning them. It gave him a head start later on.

If you flew over the Transylvanian Alps recently, you may have seen a gathering of more than 100 Romanian youth atop a mountain called Cristianul Mare (the Great Christian). At their largest youth conference ever, youth, ages 14 to 18, from all the branches of the Romania Bucharest Mission, drew strength from each other for three days.
The youth were happy to meet other Church members who shared the challenge of being only one among hundreds of people of other faiths in their schools and communities. They also found other things they had in common.
Besides enjoying the beauty of the Romanian countryside, the young men and women went to workshops, performed in a talent show, danced, played games and sports, and ended their conference with a testimony meeting.
When the Romanian youth first arrived on Christianul Mare, they arrived as strangers and clustered in the familiar groups from their cities. But by the time they left the Great Christian mountain, there were no boundaries. They were united, spiritually renewed and ready to share their faith with the world.

It was storming outside, and the only sound in the cabin was Father’s voice quietly explaining why he had given flour to those who had come by during the day. There was much sickness in the little community and a mixture of flour and water seemed to be the best possible medicine.
Patiently Father reminded the children that they had been especially blessed because none of them had had the strange “winter sickness.” Even though the crops had failed in the fall, it had been possible for him to trade flour for the wagons he made for his neighbors or for pioneers going through Fillmore on their way to the west coast.
Early that morning Mother said, “Please don’t give away any more flour, Father. There’s only enough left for a little bread for our own children.”
Before Father could answer, a knock came at the door. A neighbor stood outside. He said he needed some flour for his sick wife.
Even the youngest child was touched by the look of gratitude on the neighbor’s face when Father filled a cup with flour, gave it to him, and said, “Be of good faith; the Lord will provide.”
A few minutes later another knock was heard and when Father opened the door, a young man hurried in. The family knew Father could not refuse help when the worried young father said, “Oh, Brother Carling, my baby is dying! I must have some flour.”
After the young man left with the flour, Mother started to cry. Father gently put his arm around her and suggested that the family kneel with him in prayer. A feeling of peace and hope came into the little cabin as Father expressed thanks for health, for warmth, and for safety on such a cold November day. Then he prayed that in some way it might be possible for them and their neighbors to get food, especially some flour.
After the prayer, Father suggested that Mother try to scrape together enough flour from the box to make a little gravy. To her surprise there was plenty for that and some flour was still left over.
While the family was eating, another knock was heard at the door. The man standing outside said he needed the services of a good wagonmaker and had been told Father might be able to help. “I have twenty tons of flour here,” he said. “I wonder if I could trade flour for wagons!”

Early Saints who crossed the plains to the Salt Lake Valley aren’t the only pioneers in the Church. All members who help strengthen the Church and prepare the way for others are pioneers.
As one of only two Czech children in the Prague First Branch, Lukás Kroutil, age 7, is a pioneer. By his obedience and example, he is preparing the way for other Czech children who will eventually join the Church.
Lukás’s mother’s name is Helena Kroutilová (ová added to a name shows that it is a woman’s married name). She has been a member of the Church for a year, and Lukás is eagerly awaiting his own baptism. He says: “Being baptized means that you are a member of the Church. You make a covenant that you will keep Heavenly Father’s commandments. If you’re a kid, listening to your parents is a very important commandment.”
Lukás rides a tram with his mother to church. Meetings are held in a large house that also contains the Czech Prague Mission offices and the mission president’s home. Some of the rooms have been converted into a lovely new chapel, where the two Prague branches hold their sacrament meetings.
Primary is in English because most of the other children in Lukás’s Primary are from the United States and speak English. Missionaries translate opening exercises and Sharing Time for Lukás and Anita, the other Czech child in the branch. Lukás loves to sing. His favorite hymns are “Come, Ye Children of the Lord,” “Love One Another,” and “I Am a Child of God.” The Primary children learn songs in both English and Czech. Every fast Sunday they sing the prelude music for sacrament meeting. Most of the songs are in English, but they always sing at least one song in Czech. Whenever a song is translated into Czech and published in the Liahona, the quarterly Church magazine in Czech, all the children learn it.
When the Primary separates into classes, the Czech children have their own class taught by Sister Eva Cadová and the missionaries. Lukás loves to learn in Primary. During class he and his teachers read Book of Mormon and other scripture stories and articles from the Little Star section of the Liahona.
Sacrament meetings are in Czech. English-speaking members wear headphones, and a missionary assigned to the branch translates for them. But when it is time to sing, the headphones come off and everyone sings praises to their Heavenly Father in Czech. One of Lukás’s jobs in the branch is to hand out the hymnbooks before sacrament meeting, then put them away after the meeting. “I like to help people at church. I pray for those who are sick, and I help my mom with her calling.”
Lukás walks to school. He enjoys studying math and science, exercising and playing sports, and learning poems by heart. He likes to write but dislikes dictation (his teacher reads a sentence, and the students write it down). It isn’t that he can’t remember all the letters in the words. He can. What makes Czech words extra difficult to spell are the diacritical marks over the letters (there are two in Lukás’s name), and he has a hard time remembering where they all go.
None of the members of his branch live near him, so he is also a pioneer at his school. He tries hard to be a good example for his friends by helping them to choose the right. “Kids like to tattle and tell stories about each other. Sometimes my friends use bad language or want to tell things that aren’t true. I tell them not to do these things.”
Studying hard is important to him because he wants to become an architect and build houses when he grows up. At home after schoolwork is finished, he watches television, rides his bike, or plays hide-and-seek or computer games with his friends. Playing softball with the missionaries on their preparation day is his favorite sport. He is the goalie on his soccer team, and he plays tennis well.
Lukás cares for a sleepy little hamster named Kikina. He feeds his pet seeds, carrots, potatoes, apples, oranges, and nuts and keeps the hamster house clean so the small animal will stay healthy. When Kikina is awake, Lukás talks to him. He used to put Kikina in a toy car and pull him around the room. That was until Kikina jumped out of the car window one day. Lukás has decided the hamster doesn’t like riding in the car.
When his grandmother goes grocery shopping, Lukás carries the bags home. He helps clean the house, dry the dishes, and take out the garbage. One day he cleaned the entire house as a surprise for his mother. His favorite things to do with his mom are read the Book of Mormon and have family home evening. Treats like French fries or Tatranky (a wafer cookie covered with chocolate) make family home evening even more fun.
He loves being around the full-time missionaries. One day he was playing softball with them, and an elder accidentally hit him in the head with a big metal baseball bat. The elders wanted to take Lukás to the hospital, but he refused and said he just wanted to go home. He felt certain that if he prayed, Heavenly Father would make him better. As soon as he prayed for help, his head stopped hurting. He knew Heavenly Father had answered his prayer.
He is looking forward to becoming a full-time missionary. He knows that he may have to learn another language. However, he will happily go wherever the Lord sends him. He looks forward to telling people about Jesus Christ and the Church and teaching them how to pray.
Until then, he will continue to be a pioneer in his own country and in his own branch by being a faithful member, setting a good example, and following the prophet. And if any of his friends like to read and they believe in God, he will give them a Book of Mormon and tell them to read it. Then he will tell them his favorite scripture story—the story of Joseph Smith and the First Vision.

Zina Diantha Huntington Young first encountered the Book of Mormon when she was fourteen years old and living in Watertown, New York. She later wrote, “One day on my return from school I saw the Book of Mormon, that strange, new book, lying on the window sill of our sitting-room. I went up to the window, picked it up, and the sweet influence of the Holy Spirit accompanied it to such an extent that I pressed it to my bosom in a rapture of delight, murmuring as I did so, ‘This is the truth, truth, truth.’” (See Ensign, March 1984, page 37.)