Gospel Story Finder

Illustrated by Shauna Mooney Kawasaki
It’s raining! May we play outside?
Yes, but put on your rain boots and raincoats and rain hats first. This is a cold April rain.
I’m not wearing all that stuff.
This is fun!
What’s so fun about it?
Oh, Matt—we’d better get you out of those wet things.
Are you going to punish me?
You’ve punished yourself, Matt. I give you rules to help you be happy, not to keep you from having fun.
That’s why Heavenly Father gives us commandments too.
Can I have a cough drop?

A group of young members of the Church with recommends were going to the Salt Lake Temple to be baptized for the dead. One of them was hesitant because she felt that she didn’t really understand what temples were about. Her teacher said, “If you don’t feel that you’re ready for this experience, maybe you’d be willing to help a young lady in a wheelchair. Would you go with her, help her dress, help her into the font, and take care of her?” The girl said that she would.
In helping the young lady in the wheelchair, whom she hadn’t even known before, this girl became close to the Spirit of the Lord. She was so touched that she asked for the privilege of doing baptisms herself.

Like Viktor, Kira Gulko learned of Heavenly Father’s love for each of His children when she learned about the Church. But the decision to be baptized didn’t come easily to Kira. At first when her parents decided to join the Church, Kira remembers, “I questioned their sanity.” Fortunately, instead of criticizing or rebelling, she decided to find out for herself if their new religion was true.
“We weren’t practicing Jews,” explains Kira, “but we were of Jewish origin. In our family, talking about Jesus Christ was forbidden. But when perestroika began, allowing greater freedom to look at new ideas, my parents started to explore different religions and philosophies. My mother was president of the international friendship club at the school where she teaches English. She found a letter from a teacher in Riverton, Utah, who was looking for pen pals. My mother’s class responded, and in return they got a big box of maybe 100 letters. Many of the students mentioned they were members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints; my mother didn’t know what that was.
“Then we were passing by the bridge near our house, and we saw a notice inviting people to attend The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints! My parents decided to go, first so Mom could answer her students’ questions, but also because they were looking for another religion themselves.
“That was in October 1991. After that, the missionaries started coming to our apartment. Soon my parents understood that Jesus Christ is their Savior. They also loved the doctrine of eternal families. We have a wonderful family, and that was an important principle to us. They also went to a baptism and felt the Spirit. In December they decided to be baptized themselves.
“I listened to all of the discussions, but I couldn’t understand why my parents decided to join the Church. I was afraid they were crazy, that something had happened to their minds. But as I read the Book of Mormon, my testimony of its truthfulness grew stronger and stronger. The key to my conversion was that I came to realize I am truly loved by my Heavenly Father. I could feel this big love that’s around me and see it in my parents and in the members of the Church. That’s why I was baptized in February 1992. I knew it was right.”
Since then, Kira has helped bring her friend Lena into the Church and has watched three of her four grandparents embrace the gospel. She has seen her mother help with the translation of the Book of Mormon into Ukrainian and has witnessed her father serve as a district president. And Kira has served as a Relief Society president, contributing her own time and talents to the growth of the Church.

It is now two months since President Thomas S. Monson called me to serve as Second Counselor in the First Presidency of the Church. I am sure this came as a surprise to many, and it caught me off guard as well. In fact, I would say I may have been the second most surprised person on earth, the first being my wife.
On the day the Quorum of the Twelve met in the temple to sustain President Monson and ordain and set him apart as prophet, seer, and revelator and President of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, I felt overjoyed to have the opportunity to raise my hand in support of my beloved friend and leader.
After President Monson was sustained, he announced his counselors.
President Eyring was no surprise. He is a man of stature and character—a wonderful choice as First Counselor. How I love and admire him.
Then President Monson announced his Second Counselor. It was a name that sounded strangely familiar. It was my name.
I looked around the room, not sure I had heard correctly. But the smiles from my brethren and the look of compassion from President Monson assured me that once again my life was about to change.
We all miss President Hinckley. He continues to bless our lives.
President Monson is the prophet of God for our days; I honor him and pledge my heart, might, mind, and strength to this great work.
In 1979 a large passenger jet with 257 people on board left New Zealand for a sightseeing flight to Antarctica and back. Unknown to the pilots, however, someone had modified the flight coordinates by a mere two degrees. This error placed the aircraft 28 miles (45 km) to the east of where the pilots assumed they were. As they approached Antarctica, the pilots descended to a lower altitude to give the passengers a better look at the landscape. Although both were experienced pilots, neither had made this particular flight before, and they had no way of knowing that the incorrect coordinates had placed them directly in the path of Mount Erebus, an active volcano that rises from the frozen landscape to a height of more than 12,000 feet (3,700 m).
As the pilots flew onward, the white of the snow and ice covering the volcano blended with the white of the clouds above, making it appear as though they were flying over flat ground. By the time the instruments sounded the warning that the ground was rising fast toward them, it was too late. The airplane crashed into the side of the volcano, killing everyone on board.
It was a terrible tragedy brought on by a minor error—a matter of only a few degrees.
Through years of serving the Lord and in countless interviews, I have learned that the difference between happiness and misery in individuals, in marriages, and families often comes down to an error of only a few degrees.
The story of Saul, the king of Israel, illustrates this point. Saul’s life began with great promise, but it had an unfortunate and tragic end. In the beginning, Saul was “a choice young man, … and there was not among the children of Israel a goodlier person than he.” Saul was personally chosen by God to be king. He had every advantage—he was physically imposing, and he came from an influential family.
Of course, Saul had weaknesses, but the Lord promised to bless, uphold, and prosper him. The scriptures tell us that God promised to always be with him, give him another heart, and turn him into another man.
When he had the Lord’s help, Saul was a magnificent king. He united Israel and defeated the Ammonites, who had invaded their land. Soon a much greater problem faced him—the Philistines, who had a terrible army with chariots and horsemen “and people as the sand which is on the sea shore in multitude.” The Israelites were so terrified of the Philistines that they hid “themselves in caves, and in thickets, and in rocks.”
The young king needed help. The prophet Samuel sent word for him to wait and that he, the prophet, would come and offer sacrifice and seek counsel from the Lord. Saul waited seven days, and still the prophet Samuel had not arrived. Finally, Saul felt he could wait no longer. He gathered the people together and did something he had no priesthood authority to do—he offered the sacrifice himself.
When Samuel arrived, he was brokenhearted. “Thou hast done foolishly,” he said. If only the new king had endured a little longer and not deviated from the course of the Lord, if only he had followed the revealed order of the priesthood, the Lord would have established his kingdom forever. “But now,” Samuel said, “thy kingdom shall not continue.”
On that day, the prophet Samuel recognized a critical weakness in Saul’s character. When pressured by outside influences, Saul did not have the self-discipline to stay on course, trust the Lord and His prophet, and follow the pattern God had established.
The difference of a few degrees, as with the Antarctica flight or Saul’s failure to hold fast to the counsel of the prophet just a little longer, may seem minor. But even small errors over time can make a dramatic difference in our lives.
Let me share with you how I taught the same principle to young pilots.
Suppose you were to take off from an airport at the equator, intending to circumnavigate the globe, but your course was off by just one degree. By the time you returned to the same longitude, how far off course would you be? A few miles? A hundred miles? The answer might surprise you. An error of only one degree would put you almost 500 miles (800 km) off course, or one hour of flight for a jet.
No one wants his life to end in tragedy. But all too often, like the pilots and passengers of the sightseeing flight, we set out on what we hope will be an exciting journey, only to realize too late that an error of a few degrees has set us on a course for spiritual disaster.
Small errors and minor drifts away from the doctrine of the gospel of Jesus Christ can bring sorrowful consequences into our lives. It is therefore of critical importance that we become self-disciplined enough to make early and decisive corrections to get back on the right track and not wait or hope that errors will somehow correct themselves.
The longer we delay corrective action, the larger the needed changes become, and the longer it takes to get back to the correct course—even to the point where a disaster might be looming.
You men of the priesthood have been entrusted with a great responsibility. Just think of it: our Heavenly Father trusts you young deacons, teachers, and priests with the “key of the ministering of angels and the preparatory gospel.” You men of the Melchizedek Priesthood have received an oath and a covenant in which you have been promised all the Father has if you magnify your priesthood.
The Lord reminds us that “unto whom much is given much is required.” Those who bear the priesthood of God have a great responsibility to be examples of goodness to the world. We live up to these expectations when we quickly recognize the dangers and influences that tempt us to drift from the Lord’s way and when we courageously follow the promptings of the Holy Ghost to make decisive corrections that will bring us back on course.
This conference is being translated into 92 languages and broadcast to 96 countries by the miracle of modern technology. Many of you brethren attend general conference by means of the Internet. New technologies such as this make it possible for the gospel message to be spread throughout the world. The Church Web sites are good examples of how you can use this technology as a wonderful resource of inspiration, help, and learning. They can be a blessing for you priesthood holders, your families, and the Church.
But be cautious. These same technologies can allow evil influences to cross the threshold of your homes. These dangerous traps are only a mouse click away. Pornography, violence, intolerance, and ungodliness destroy families, marriages, and individual lives. These dangers are distributed through many media, including magazines, books, television, movies, and music, as well as the Internet. The Lord will help you to recognize and avoid those evils. It is the early recognition of danger and a clear course correction that will keep you in the light of the gospel. Minor decisions can lead to major consequences.
Entering a strange and risky chat room on the Internet could lead you into the center of a raging storm. Putting a computer in a private room that the rest of the family cannot access could be the starting point for a deceitful and dangerous journey.
But the Lord requires not only outward acts but also your inner thoughts and feelings to be close to the spirit of the law. God “require[s] the heart and a willing mind.”
We, the priesthood of God, have the responsibility and the power of self-direction: “It is not meet that I should command in all things,” saith the Lord. “Men should be anxiously engaged in a good cause, and do many things of their own free will, and bring to pass much righteousness; for the power is in them, wherein they are agents unto themselves.”
Our Heavenly Father knew before we came to this mortal existence that negative forces would tempt us to drift from our course, “for all have sinned, and come short of the glory of God.” That is why He prepared a way for us to make corrections. Through the merciful process of true repentance and the Atonement of Jesus Christ, our sins can be forgiven and we will “not perish, but have everlasting life.”
Our willingness to repent shows our gratitude for God’s gift and for the Savior’s love and sacrifice on our behalf. Commandments and priesthood covenants provide a test of faith, obedience, and love for God and Jesus Christ, but even more importantly, they offer an opportunity to experience love from God and to receive a full measure of joy both in this life and in the life to come.
These commandments and covenants of God are like navigational instructions from celestial heights and will lead us safely to our eternal destination. It is one of beauty and glory beyond understanding. It is worth the effort. It is worth making decisive corrections now and then staying on course.
Remember: the heavens will not be filled with those who never made mistakes but with those who recognized that they were off course and who corrected their ways to get back in the light of gospel truth.
The more we treasure the words of the prophets and apply them, the better we will recognize when we are drifting off course—even if only by a matter of a few degrees.
Now, brethren, there are those who have neglected to make appropriate course corrections and now believe that they are too far from the Lord’s way to ever make it back. To them we proclaim the good news that is the gospel of redemption and salvation. No matter how terribly off course you are, no matter how far you have strayed, the way back is certain and clear. Come, learn of the Father; offer up a sacrifice of a broken heart and a contrite spirit. Have faith, and believe in the cleansing power of the infinite Atonement of Jesus Christ. If we confess and repent of our sins, God is faithful and just to forgive and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness. “Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be [made] as white as snow.”
It may not be an easy path, and it requires self-discipline and determination, but its end is glorious beyond description. You are not doomed to a tragic end. Many are eager to assist you—your family, bishops and stake presidents, your quorum leaders, and home teachers. Of course, your greatest friend is the all-powerful Creator of the universe. It is His priesthood you bear. He understands your sorrow. He knows your grief. He and our Father in Heaven will bless, comfort, and strengthen you; They will walk beside you and carry you as you strive to right your course.
My dear brethren, you are truly choice and precious sons of Heavenly Father. He has entrusted you with the sacred power of the priesthood. Please do not drift off course, not even a few degrees. Hearken unto the Lord your God, and He will do for you what He promised to do for Saul: He will give you a new heart, make of you a new man, and always be with you.
I testify of our Heavenly Father, who knows and loves you. I bear witness of Jesus Christ, our Savior, who is the head of this Church. President Thomas S. Monson is the prophet of God today. I express my love and gratitude for you, my dear friends and brethren of the priesthood. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

I thought then my mother cared more for that house than for anything else, including me. I was wrong, and it didn’t take me long to find out what was really important to her. That winter we lost the house.
Early in March my father called from work and told my mother he wanted to hold a family council that night.
My mother had built a fire in the fireplace and made us hot chocolate. When my father got home, he walked quietly into the living room and looked at us for awhile. Something was wrong. He sank down into his chair and covered his face with his hands. They were shaking. The room was dead silent except for the cracking sounds of burning wood. The room glowed with the flickering orange light.
“Papa, what’s wrong?” my mother asked.
He looked up slowly. His eyes were red. It was a shock to us to see him that way. He’d always been unmovably strong before. I’d thought there was nothing he was afraid of or couldn’t handle. The light from the fire that only a second before had seemed so warm was now dark and ominous.
“I’ve failed you,” he said.
He ran his finger through his hair slowly leaving his hand on his forehead.
“The business—I’ve lost everything.” He took a deep breath and looked directly at my mother. He looked old and defeated.
“Mama, we’re going to lose the house.”
“No,” she said. “It isn’t true.”
He looked at her for a long time and then nodded his head.
“It’s true.” He stood and walked from the room.
The next day my mother sent me and my brothers down to see if we could help my father at work. We found out his business owed a large amount of money that would take him years to pay off. My father told us it would be hard just to make ends meet, and he didn’t know if we would make it, even with the money we’d get from the house. He seemed very depressed.
When we walked into the house that night, it was filled with incredibly delicious smells. We went into the dining room. The table was spread with a banquet. There was a roast goose, my father’s favorite, mashed potatoes, gravy, green beans, fresh baked bread, rolls, all of it steaming hot.
My father stood in the doorway. His face went red.
“Mama,” he shouted. “What is this? Have you gone crazy? Do you think Thanksgiving comes in March now?”
She smiled calmly.
“It’s a celebration.”
“What’s to celebrate? The world is going crazy, and we’ve lost everything.”
Mama smiled again.
“Papa, we’ve lost nothing.”
My father shook his head.
“Mama, we’re going to lose the house. I found a buyer. He wants to move in next week! I don’t know where we’re going to go or how we’re going to live.”
Mama wasn’t smiling now. She had the determined look she gets on her face when she wants someone to know she means business.
“We’ve lost nothing,” she said. She was glaring at my father. “Nothing that matters. This celebration is to remind us what is most important to us. The food’s getting cold, so shut up and eat.”
For the first time in weeks my father relaxed. The pain he felt faded. He looked around the table at us and then back to my mother. He smiled.
“I married a hard, crazy woman,” he said. “And since Thanksgiving comes in March this year, I think we should give thanks for it.”
He sat at the head of the table and took my mother’s hands.
“Even if the food does get a little cold,” he said and then started a Thanksgiving prayer more eloquent and longer than any we’d ever heard on Thanksgiving Day.
A week later when my mother first saw the run-down house we rented she said, “I think it needs a little paint.” That summer the royal order of the paintbrush went to work again.

At a young age, Elder L. Whitney Clayton learned to love work and family. Early every Saturday, his father, a physician, would leave to attend to medical duties. Before he left, he would write on a chalkboard a list of all the chores to be done that day. When he returned he would join his sons and work side by side with them. From his father, Elder Clayton learned a work ethic that has blessed his life.

My husband, Collin, and I became parents in October 2009. By the time our daughter, Eliza, was five months old, we started talking about when we would start including her in family home evening and scripture study. Was it worthwhile to hold family home evening when she was awake? Could she really get anything out of our reading the Book of Mormon out loud?
During the April 2010 general conference, Elder David A. Bednar of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles said, “Youth of all ages, even infants, can and do respond to the distinctive spirit of the Book of Mormon” (“Watching with All Perseverance,” Liahona and Ensign, May 2010, 40).
The changes we have made have been simple and gradual. We play a CD of Primary songs for Eliza regularly. We read a few verses from the Book of Mormon with her at dinnertime. We have started having family prayer just before Eliza goes to bed. On walks, I point out the birds and tell her, “Jesus made those birds for us.” She may not understand right now, but she will.
I’ve found that these things have lifted much of my anxiety for the future. I feel that if I do my part by teaching Eliza what she needs to know and by following prophetic counsel, she will be blessed in the future.

On a December night in 1982, my wife, Terry, and I were awakened by a phone call to our home in Pocatello, Idaho. As I answered the phone, I heard only sobbing. Finally, my sister’s struggling voice said, “Tommy is dead.”

A 20-year-old drunk driver, speeding at more than 85 miles (135 km) per hour, recklessly ran a stoplight in a suburb of Denver, Colorado. He crashed violently into the car driven by my youngest brother, Tommy, instantly killing him and his wife, Joan. They were returning home to a young daughter after a Christmas party.

My wife and I immediately flew to Denver and made our way to the mortuary. We gathered with my parents and siblings and grieved the loss of our beloved Tommy and Joan. We had lost them to a senseless criminal act. Our hearts were broken, and anger toward the young offender began to well up inside me.

Tommy had served as a lawyer in the United States Department of Justice and was on a course to be a strong advocate for protection of Native American lands and natural resources for years to come.

After some time had passed, a court sentencing hearing was held for the young man found responsible for vehicular manslaughter. In their ongoing grief and sorrow, my parents and oldest sister, Katy, attended the hearing. The drunk driver’s parents were also there, and after the hearing concluded, they sat on a bench and wept. My parents and sister were sitting nearby as they sought to gain control of their own emotions. After a moment, my parents and sister stood up and walked to the driver’s parents and offered them words of comfort and forgiveness. The men shook hands; the women held hands; there was deep sorrow and tears for all and a recognition that both families had suffered immensely. Mom, Dad, and Katy led the way with their quiet strength and courage and showed our family what forgiveness looks like.

That outreach of forgiveness in those moments caused my own heart to soften and opened a pathway to healing. Over time I learned how to have a forgiving heart. Only with the help of the Prince of Peace was my painful burden lifted. My heart will always miss Tommy and Joan, but forgiveness now allows me to remember them with unfettered joy. And I know we will be together again as a family.

“Thursday, March 26—President McKay told an interesting story. He said, ‘A farmer had a large tract of land. When he grew old it became too much for him. He had a family of boys. He called the boys around him and told them they would have to carry the load. The father rested. But one day he walked out into the field. The boys told him to go back, they did not need his help. He said, “My shadow on this farm is worth more than the labor of all of you.”’ President McKay said that the father in the story represented President Stephen L Richards, who was ill, but whose contribution and friendship President McKay valued so highly.

I have been a missionary for the past nine months and had many wonderful opportunities to serve within my local community. I saw firsthand what we can do when we work together with other faiths, just as the Saviour did.
My service mission leaders encouraged me to look for my own service opportunities in my community, and one I came across was with the RAF Manston History Museum, where I helped them to clean and get the museum ready for all the visitors. Another I found is at the Thanet Winter Shelter run by the Salvation Army where I cook meals for the residents on a Saturday night.

Meredith sat on the stone steps of the old gray house on Avenue Molière in Brussels, Belgium. The sky was gray, and an occasional brown leaf drifted down from the sycamore trees that lined the median. Meredith looked at the gray and black connected houses and thought about how October would be at home in Vermont: The hills would be blazing with red maples and yellow birches, orange pumpkins would be sitting on the front porch, and the sky would be a deep, vibrant blue.
Her parents seemed thrilled to be here, but in the three days they’d been here, Meredith had felt nothing but sad and lonely and homesick. Her father said that wherever they were was home as long as they were together, but this dark, somber city didn’t seem like home to Meredith. The streets and sidewalks were made of square, gray stone too bumpy for her skateboard. And her favorite TV shows were in French. So far, she knew only the little French that her father had taught her.
As Meredith rested her chin in her hands, a tear rolled down her cheek. She was startled when the door behind her opened. A girl near her age, wearing a pleated skirt and a bright red sweater, stepped out. “Bonjour (Hello),” the girl said, smiling.
“Bonjour,” Meredith answered. Then the girl said something in French that Meredith didn’t understand. “Anglais (English),” Meredith said flatly.
“Très bien (Very good)!” The girl smiled broadly. “I would like to practice my English. My name is Yvette, and I’m eleven years old.” She sat down next to Meredith.
“Je m’appelle (My name is) Meredith. I need to practice my French, too, but I don’t know much.”
“Do you live in my building?”
“Oui (Yes),” Meredith replied.
“Are you busy? Could we do something?” Yvette asked.
“No, I’m not busy. It’s such a gloomy day, though. What could we do?”
“What is ‘gloomy’?” Yvette asked.
“Dark and cloudy and gray.”
Yvette laughed. “Meredith, if we wait for the sun to shine in Brussels, we will never do anything. Have you seen the Grand Place and the Palais de (Palace of) Justice?”
“No, I haven’t seen much of anything yet,” Meredith said. “We’re still unpacking.”
“Oh, you must see them. We can ask our mothers.”
“Is it far?” Meredith asked.
“Not far. We walk to Avenue Louise and then ride the tram. You will need some money for the tram.”
Meredith’s mother was a little worried about the excursion until Yvette’s mother came and introduced herself and reassured her that it would be easy and safe.
Soon the two girls were walking along the cobbled stones.
“Is everything gray here?” Meredith asked as she looked around her.
Yvette was thoughtful. “Well, not everything. There are other colors, but you have to look for them. See those leaves?” Yvette pointed, and Meredith saw a bright red vine growing along a gray wall.
Meredith looked at Yvette. “And you’re colorful in your red sweater.”
“Merci (thank you),” Yvette laughed.
On the tram, Meredith laid down her coins and said merci when the conductor handed her a ticket. Yvette put a card from her pocket into a little square machine until it clicked, then took it out again. As they sat together on the red vinyl seats, Meredith looked at Yvette’s happy face. “You speak English very well,” she said.
“Merci beaucoup (Thank you very much). My father taught it to me. Sometimes at church I speak with the American missionaries in English, but I am glad I met you so that I can practice every day.”
“American missionaries? What church do you belong to?”
“The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
“That’s a long name,” Meredith said.
“People just call us Mormons.”
“I’ve heard of that back in Vermont. And I think I’ve seen those missionaries—young men in suits.”
“Oui,” Yvette said. “Young women, too, sometimes. And older couples.”
After they left the tram, they walked down narrow streets lined with shops and restaurants with tables outside beautifully set with linens and silver. When they stepped into the square of the Grand Place, Meredith stared. It was big—it covered a whole city block—and the buildings were enormous, the tower of the Town Hall reaching high into the sky. Some buildings were trimmed in gold, and flower boxes with bright geraniums decorated the windows. People were walking in all directions over the square stones, and in the center were dozens of containers of flowers for sale.
The girls looked in the shop windows at the beautiful lace and the rows of chocolates. At one place, Yvette told Meredith, “In this house, above the restaurant, the great writer Victor Hugo lived.”
Meredith looked up at the windows. “You mean people actually used to live in these buildings?”
“Yes,” Yvette said, smiling. “That one was the baker’s house. It is almost as large as the king’s house—food is important.” They both laughed. On another little street, Yvette bought waffles for them both.
As they approached the Palais de Justice, Meredith could see that it was huge. But it wasn’t until they were standing at the bottom of the steps by pillars as big around as three people could reach, and looking up at the roof far above, that she really felt its enormity. Statues of men much bigger than life stood on each side of the stairs.
“I think that this is the biggest building in Europe,” Yvette said.
“Why is it so big? What’s it for?” Meredith asked.
“It is for justice.”
“You mean it’s a courthouse?” Meredith thought that the square stone building on the corner of Main Street at home would fit on the porch of this building.
“Yes, that is it, a courthouse.”
“But why is it so big?”
“Maybe if you are a criminal, it makes you feel small and humble, sorry for your crime. Come on, we will go up the steps and look some more. Then we will go to the Sablon.”
By the time they reached the cathedral that Yvette had called the Sablon, Meredith’s feet ached from so much walking over the uneven stones. They opened the big door quietly and sat down on the high-backed chairs. In the loft behind them, in a clear, beautiful voice, a woman was singing words that Meredith couldn’t understand. A few people walked around in the church. Marble statues stood at the front, and a pulpit of beautifully carved wood was in the middle.
Meredith looked around at the stained glass windows, their bright colors glowing with the light, at the high, vaulted ceiling, and at the lovely white statues. “Do Mormons have beautiful churches like this?”
Yvette looked around thoughtfully. “No, our churches are very plain.”
“So what do you look at when the sermons are dull?” When Yvette laughed, Meredith added, “Maybe they’re never dull.”
“Yes, they are, sometimes,” Yvette said, “but it is more the feeling you have inside yourself when you’re there—you just feel happy and loving. That is the beautiful part.”
Meredith nodded, and they sat quietly for a few minutes, resting and listening to the singing. Meredith was thinking about how happy she’d been with Yvette. Yvette was friendly, and she knew how to make things fun. “Is it your church that makes you so happy?” Meredith asked.
Yvette smiled. “I think so.” She paused. “Come with me to church. Then you can see for yourself.”
“Maybe I will,” Meredith said. “I’m glad you found me on the steps this morning.”
“Moi, aussi (Me, too).”
As they walked again along Avenue Molière, Yvette put her arm through Meredith’s. A small shaft of sunlight came through the clouds and brightened the red vines they’d seen earlier.
Meredith smiled at Yvette. “Thank you for teaching me where to look for the beauty in Brussels. I know I’m going to like it here now.”

My widowed mother supported her three young children on a schoolteacher’s salary that was meager. When I became conscious that we went without some desirable things … , I asked my mother why she paid so much of her salary as tithing. I have never forgotten her explanation: “Dallin, there might be some people who can get along without paying tithing, but we can’t. The Lord has chosen to take your father and leave me to raise you children. I cannot do that without the blessings of the Lord, and I obtain those blessings by paying an honest tithing. When I pay my tithing, I have the Lord’s promise that he will bless us, and we must have those blessings if we are to get along.”

Bert and I grew up expecting to serve missions, and when we got old enough, we did. My mission made all the difference in the world to me. I gained a deeper understanding of the gospel, I developed discipline, and I learned to serve others. It has been the basis for a happy, successful life.
Three months after we returned from our missions, a man killed my twin brother. My father and another brother were badly wounded in the same attack. We knew who the person was who did it, but he was never arrested. I learned what it was like to feel hate and want revenge. I even had dreams of hurting the man who had done this terrible thing. But the Lord had made it clear what he expected of me:
“Ye ought to forgive one another; for he that forgiveth not his brother his trespasses standeth condemned before the Lord; for there remaineth in him the greater sin.
“I, the Lord, will forgive whom I will forgive, but of you it is required to forgive all men.” (D&C 64:9–10.)
With time and prayer, I did forgive that man. We all did.

Take a walk in Memphis, Tennessee, and you’ll know why they call it the blues capital of the world. Memphis is a music town, with music that’s a little sad. A melancholy saxophone blares on Beale Street. And it always seems to be pouring rain here.
But Latter-day Saint teens prove there is plenty of sunshine in Memphis. They wear bright smiles, even when they stand alone. Most of the teens are the only members of the Church in their schools in an area of the United States known as the “Bible Belt,” where churches of other faiths stand on nearly every corner. Being around so many Christian religions creates questions for LDS youth about how Latter-day Saint beliefs fit into what other religions believe.
A lot of people living in the Bible Belt have heard something about the “Mormons,” but what they’ve heard isn’t always correct. Every day at school, teens in Memphis are bombarded with questions and misperceptions about the Church: “So what do Latter-day Saints believe?” “What makes your church better than mine?” “Why don’t you have a preacher?” “What is the sacrament?” “What is the Book of Mormon about?” “How many moms do you have?” “Why do you always wear modest clothes?” “What do you do in temples?” And on and on. So how do the Memphis teens answer all these questions?
White Station High School’s Allison Bray, who has had a lot of practice answering questions, says, “It’s really hard to talk to them. Sometimes they’ll ask a question, but they don’t really want to know what I have to say,” she says. “I’ll stop and pray for help. And if I don’t know how to answer, I’ll go home and ask someone, read about it, or look it up in my scriptures and get back to them.”
With all the questions they get asked, the Memphis youth have thought of a lot of resources, like the scriptures, to answer people’s questions. Michael Sandridge of Christian Brothers High School has found a good way to answer a lot of questions. “It’s kind of hard sometimes, but I’ve found using the Articles of Faith to describe what we believe really helps,” he says.
Even when they have the resources, the youth realize they need to work on their attitudes too. Amanda Slauson, the only Church member in Craigmont High School, says being open to other students’ questions instead of getting defensive has helped her the most. “I try not to argue,” she says. “If I treat it like a discussion, focusing on what we agree on, as well as what’s different about our religions, then I never have a bad experience.”
Tracy Brumley of Southhaven High School tries to consider everyone’s point of view. “I explain the best I can, try to stay calm, and realize they were brought up in a different religion, so my beliefs might sound weird to them,” she says.
These teens have different ways of dealing with the questions that come their way about the Church, but they all rely on their testimonies and on the Spirit to guide them as they try to share the gospel. They also use the things they are taught by their ward leaders and their seminary teachers as background for their answers.
The Memphis teens actually look at all the questions they get as blessings. It’s a chance to study and search out good answers. The search itself can lead them to some profound insights.
Blaine Volstorf attends White Station Middle School and says the questions he gets are the building blocks of his testimony. “Sometimes, because of their questions, I question myself. But finding the answers makes me have a stronger testimony and helps me understand more about the Church,” he says.
Brett Barnett of West Junior High says it’s tough to face other students’ criticism, but it’s kept him strong. He says, “I may be the only member in my school, but I stay strong because I have the truth. Even when I’m physically alone, I’m never spiritually alone.”
When your faith is questioned every day, you have to decide pretty quickly which side of the line you’re on. Allison McEwen of Houston High School says, “When I was younger and my peers questioned things, I doubted too. But by going to the Lord in prayer, I found the answers that made me stronger. After I found out for myself that the Church was true, their questions didn’t bother me anymore.”
As the student body president, Allison gets a lot of questions about Church. “I like to be different,” she says. “The Church is something positive that definitely puts me aside from the rest.” Even in the face of difficult questions from friends, she knows that the Lord is aware of her and is willing to help her find the answers, and that has been a great blessing.
Lenora Bendall feels the same way. She is setting an example as the only member at Gateway Christian School. “Having to set an example, because I know everyone at school is watching me, has made me stronger,” she says.
All the youth agreed attending seminary every morning gives them strength to face their situations at school. Lenora says that taking her seminary teacher’s challenge to read and pray about the Book of Mormon pulled her through a time of doubt and helped her gain her testimony.
Another blessing, the Memphis teens say, is good friends. Jonathan Stambaugh of Collierville High School says, “A couple of years ago I didn’t go to seminary and didn’t really like church. I only hung out with guys on the baseball team, and even though it was fun, it felt empty. Then I started hanging out with Church friends, and things were so much better. My Church friends help strengthen my testimony.”
Jonathan is putting his chances at major league baseball aside for a mission. He says, “I would rather be a good guy than a good baseball player, because, without the gospel, nothing has a point.”
It’s scary to roam the school’s halls knowing you’re the only one who believes what you do. You don’t know from one day to the next how you’re going to be treated or what you’ll be asked next. So how do these southern teens develop solid testimonies? Amanda Slauson answers, “I know a lot of teens wonder if they really know if the gospel is true. But down here you have to know one way or the other because people are asking you about it every day. Every time you answer a question, you share your testimony. And when you share your testimony, you get this feeling—you realize that you have the faith to make it.”
It’s no wonder why in the land of the blues, these teens are smiling.

The first part of August 2002 I reached a major milestone in my life. I was passing from middle age to old age with my 80th birthday. To celebrate it I decided to take my children and grandchildren on a tour of Logan, Utah, my hometown, to share with them the impact this city has had on my life.
I designated nine stops in Logan that I wanted my family to see. With each stop I selected a scripture to teach a lesson on the importance that particular location had in my life.
We ended the tour later in the evening at the old Logan Ninth Ward building. We had arranged for a room there in which the family could gather. There was a presentation on my life, including pictures starting with my grandparents, parents, and on through my early life. Then there were pictures of my marriage and of the blessings of children, followed by a collage of pictures of the events we have enjoyed together as a family.
On Sunday morning we attended church in the Ninth Ward chapel. This building was constructed under the supervision of my father while he served as bishop. He was the bishop for 18 years. I had the opportunity that morning to bear my testimony of the blessings of the gospel in my life.
We then drove to our home in Salt Lake City. However, before letting the family enjoy a delicious birthday dinner prepared by my wife, I quizzed them on what they had learned. I again bore witness to the divinity of the gospel of Jesus Christ.

It was time to take the cows and goats to the high Alpine pastures for summer grazing. And Hansi had gotten up early to attend to his pet goat, Groffi. He remembered the summer before when the little goat was born with one leg shorter than the other. It had had a hard time even learning to hobble, and Hansi had taken care of her. Now the boy was shaking with excitement as he huddled in the dark stable with his little pet. Hansi was planning to do something that might be dangerous for both of them. But he felt it was the only way to show his father how much the little crippled animal meant to him and the only way to keep her for himself.
The goat had been no trouble during the winter when the animals were in the stable and out of the cold and snow. But his father had said, “You may keep the goat until spring. Then we must give her to old Simon up on the mountainside. He will take good care of Groffi. This little one would only be in the way during the steep climb to the meadows. I’m afraid she would never make it.”
Hansi was troubled and tried to convince his father that Groffi would be no trouble, but his father was firm about it. “Every animal must be worth its keep,” his father explained. “When you are a herdsman, you will understand.”
Hansi wanted very much to be a herdsman someday, to wear the velvet jacket with red designs on it, and to blow the long alpenhorn. But just now, what he wanted most was to keep Groffi with the other animals and not give her away. Old Simon must be a strange, gruff man, to live alone so far away from the people in the Village. How would such a man treat a goat that limps? Hansi wondered.
So on this festival day when all the villagers would travel in a procession partway up the mountain with the herdsmen and the animals, Hansi was going ahead of them alone with Groffi to the high pasture. If I do this, he thought, Father will see that Groffi can make the climb and will let me keep her.
He peeked out the stable door. His family and all the others in the village were dressing in their gay costumes, preparing to start. Dogs were barking and cowbells jangled. People would soon be busy putting garlands of flowers around the cows’ necks and loading milk pails in the cheese carts the little donkeys would pull. Maybe they’ll be too busy to notice I’m missing, he hoped.
With Groffi in his arms, Hansi stepped out of the stable and hurried behind it then over to the trail that led up the mountain. He started up the path carrying Groffi, but she soon became heavy.
Hansi put her down and she was able to climb along, but she was in no hurry. She stopped often to nibble daisies and forget-me-nots along with the grass. “Hurry, Groffi,” Hansi urged. “Wait until we get to the meadows, then you can eat. Oh, I wish you had some climbing shoes like mine!”
Hansi looked up the mountain and knew that he was doing a risky thing. Even the herdsmen who had been climbing for years were careful of every step and kept close watch on the animals. Goats have sure feet, but Groffi was not like other goats. And Hansi knew he should not be going alone with her. But he kept on, half pushing, half carrying his pet. After a while Hansi guessed they were about a mile from the village. It was a good head start from the others, who probably hadn’t left home yet.
Soon Hansi came to the place where he knew he must leave the path to circle around Simon’s hut. If the old man saw him, he would ask questions, and Hansi didn’t want to have to answer them. Off to the side it was rocky, and Hansi knew he must test every step. He put one foot on a smooth shale rock almost as big as a table. It ought to be solid, he reasoned. Then he picked up Groffi and tried his weight on the rock. But he had barely stood up on it when the rock slipped and started sliding rapidly down the mountain with Hansi and Groffi on top of it. They were thrown off when the rock hit a tree. Hansi grabbed his scraped leg and looked for Groffi. But his pet was nowhere to be seen.
Hansi knew he was in trouble and that he had acted foolishly. But for the moment he could only sit still and try to keep back the tears. After a while Hansi heard footsteps. He looked up and saw Simon coming toward him. At first Hansi was frightened, but then he saw Groffi hobbling along close to the old man. Simon’s hand was warm and his voice was soft as he helped Hansi to his feet and asked, “Are you hurt, my boy?”
“Only bruised,” Hansi replied, brushing himself off and wiping his tears with the soft handkerchief Simon handed him. And to his surprise he was soon telling Simon the whole story. At the end he admitted, “I was afraid you wouldn’t love Groffi as I do.”
The old man’s eyes twinkled. “Who should love a goat anyway? Only a little boy? I have lots of love, enough for goats as well as boys.” Groffi nuzzled Simon as he rubbed her head behind her ears.
Hansi smiled. He knew that Groffi would have a good home and that made it easier to give her up. “Can I come often to visit her?” he asked.
“Of course, come anytime. An old man needs more than animals to love.”
Hansi’s face clouded again as he remembered that he still had to go back down and face his father. “Father will be angry with me,” the boy explained.
“Yes, that’s true,” Simon agreed. “But he’ll forgive you, I’m sure. If a boy and an old man can love a goat so much, don’t you think a father can love a son even more?”

“What did you say?” I replied to my mother as she informed me of her plans to take the family to Nauvoo. I could already feel the Laman-and-Lemuel-like murmurings enter my heart. I even let a few of them slip. I complained about how I had to work and how unbelievably boring that town would be. But my wonderful mother persisted and tried to convince me that it would be “cool.”
A few months passed and it came time for our trip. We were in Nauvoo for only three days, but for those days I was filled with the Spirit. I was blessed to visit many sites of historical significance. I was even able to perform baptisms for the dead in the beautiful Nauvoo temple with my father, grandfather, and a few friends who were also there. Although the trip was going better than expected, it was still to hold more meaning for me.
Only one week before we left for Nauvoo, I received my patriarchal blessing. In it I was told that my testimony of the Restoration and of Joseph Smith would be strengthened. I thought little of it at the time and simply figured it would just happen over time.
On the final day we spent in Nauvoo, we went and visited Carthage Jail, where the Prophet Joseph and his brother Hyrum were killed. We walked the grounds and read many quotes from the Prophet, and I felt the Spirit very strongly. During our tour of the jail, I felt the Spirit even stronger. We ended up in the upstairs room where the mob broke in and killed Joseph and Hyrum in cold blood. As I sat there and learned of that great man and listened to the hymn “A Poor Wayfaring Man of Grief,” the words of my patriarchal blessing, which I had received only 10 days before, entered my mind. I have never felt like I received such a blessing as my trip to Nauvoo was. It was amazing that barely one week had passed since my blessing, and I could already see it being fulfilled.
On my trip to Nauvoo I learned more about the Prophet Joseph Smith, the Restoration, and the early pioneers than I ever have at one time in my life. I already had a testimony of Joseph Smith and the Restoration before that trip, but afterwards I realized how small that testimony was. I knew before, but now I know with a greater surety that Joseph Smith was a prophet of God. He did restore the gospel to the earth. I also know that Heavenly Father loves each one of us and answers our prayers if we have faith in Him.

At one such time, I sought Heavenly Father’s counsel through constant and heartfelt prayer for more than a year to find the solution to a difficult situation. I knew logically that Heavenly Father answers all sincere prayers. Yet I reached such desperation one day that I attended the temple with one question: “Heavenly Father, do You really care?”
I was sitting near the back of the Logan Utah Temple waiting room when, to my surprise, entering the room that day was the temple president, Vaughn J. Featherstone, a close family friend. He stood at the front of the congregation and welcomed all of us. When he noticed me among the temple patrons, he stopped speaking, looked me in the eyes, and then said, “Brother Brough, it is good to see you in the temple today.”
I will never forget the feeling of that simple moment. It was as if—in that greeting—Heavenly Father was stretching forth His hand and saying, “Here am I.”
Heavenly Father really does care and listen to and answer every child’s prayer.15 As one of His children, I know the answer to my prayers came in the Lord’s time. And through that experience, I understood more than ever that we are children of God and that He has sent us here so that we can feel His presence now and return to live with Him someday.

Paulo flicked a few drops of water onto his customer’s shoes and then snapped his buffing rag furiously across the already shining surface. The effect was amazing.
“Paulo! They shine like polished silver,” the man exclaimed. “You must be the best shoeshine boy in Rio de Janeiro. No, in all of Brazil!”
Chico (Little One), Paulo’s pet monkey, was tied to Paulo’s shoeshine box by a leather thong and was now chattering angrily from Paulo’s shoulder. His shrill voice screeched louder and louder as he flipped one somersault after another, while slapping his pink bald head with his tiny, wrinkled hands.
“Oh, excuse me, Chico,” the man said. “I did not mean to forget you, for you are, indeed, the best little monkey in all of Brazil.” Smiling, the man reached into his pocket and pulled out a shiny coin. “You can have this, Chico, or give it to Paulo for his new futebol (soccer ball) that he is trying to buy.”
Jabbering happily, the little monkey took the coin and flipped it high into the air to Paulo. He then stood tall and straight, proudly clapping his hands.
“It would seem that Chico wants you to buy that new futebol,” the man remarked. “And so do I. Because of your fine work, here’s an extra cruzeiro (Brazilian dollar) to help you buy it.”
“Muito obrigado (thank you very much),” Paulo said excitedly, stuffing the money deep into his pocket. “That’s the last cruzeiro I need to buy the futebol. But how did you know I was saving for one?”
“How did I know?” the man laughed. “I think the whole town knows. Now, if you hurry, you may still have time to buy a futebol before the store closes.”
“You’re right!” Paulo said with a grin.
Clutching his shoeshine box under one arm and Chico under the other, Paulo raced through the city streets. The evening shadows were beginning to fall as the ice-cream wagons and bakery stands folded up their umbrellas and wheeled their portable units home. Merchants were pulling together metal doors to be locked into place for the night.
“Oh, Chico! I’m afraid we’re too late to buy the ball tonight,” Paulo said breathlessly as he rounded the last corner and came to a stop in front of the soccer supply store. The door was already bolted shut. “We’ll just have to come back in the morning.”
Chico sat in silent disappointment, then shrieked with excitement when Paulo pulled an old ball of rags from the shoeshine box. “Just think, Chico,” Paulo said, bouncing the ball neatly from one foot to the other, “tonight’s the last night for this old ball. Tomorrow I’ll have a real futebol.”
Paulo skillfully lofted the ball high into the air and slightly ahead of him. With perfect timing, he stepped under the falling ball and struck it a sharp blow with his forehead, sending it rolling down the street.
As Paulo slowly dribbled the rag ball homeward, it was easy to pretend he was a soccer hero. He imagined himself making first one goal and then another to tie the score. The fans were on their feet, urging Paulo’s team to win. Paulo received a quick pass from a teammate and, looking for someone to pass to, deftly dodged a charging defender. All of my teammates are covered, Paulo dreamed on. The crowd’s roar rose to a deafening pitch as Paulo sidestepped yet another defender and rifled the ball with a sharp kick that scored the winning goal. The crowd’s chant was music to his ears—“Paulo! Paulo! Paulo!”
The sound of breaking glass brought Paulo back to his senses. Chico was scolding angrily and jumping up and down on his master’s shoulder, and the fear in Paulo began to grow. He crept slowly up to a gate set in a high yellow wall that surrounded an expensive-looking house. Peering through the wrought iron gate, Paulo saw his homemade rag ball lying amid the broken remains of a beautifully decorated vase on the front porch of the house.
Paulo’s stomach tightened with fear. “A broken vase!” groaned Paulo. “That vase must cost more than three futebols.” Looking around quickly and seeing no one, Paulo began to run.
Chico disapproved and went wild, leaping and turning somersaults on Paulo’s shoulder and squawking at the top of his voice.
“Would you please be quiet, Chico! What do you know, anyway?” Paulo asked. “You’re just a monkey and people don’t put monkeys in jail or take their futebol money. So please be quiet.”
Chico’s chattering stopped and Paulo soon slowed to a walk. His legs still felt rubbery, but the pounding in his chest didn’t hurt quite so much now. What really bothered Paulo was his conscience, and he knew what he had to do to remedy that. “Chico, I have to go back,” Paulo said, retracing his steps. “Remember that church song I sometimes sing to you, ‘Do What Is Right’? Well, now I must do what is right.”
But I’m so scared, Paulo thought as he stopped in front of the house with the high yellow wall.
Looking through the gate, Paulo could see the empregada (maid) cleaning up the broken vase. He got her attention by clapping his hands (a Brazilian custom for entering a yard).
“Por favor (please), could you get the dono (owner) for me?” Paulo asked. “I must speak to him about the vase.”
The empregada left and returned in a few minutes with a tall, kind-looking man. “Can I help you, young man?” the dono asked.
Paulo hesitated. He knew what he wanted to say, but somehow, he couldn’t open his mouth to say it.
“Go on. Don’t be afraid.”
The dono seemed so friendly that before he knew it, Paulo was blurting out the whole story to him. “And that’s what happened,” he concluded. “It was an accident, Senhor, but I have money to pay for the vase.” Paulo dug deeply into his pocket and held out all the money he had been saving for his futebol. “It’s not much, but I hope it’s enough so I won’t have to go to jail.”
“You won’t have to go to jail,” the man said with a laugh. Then he added, “You must be Paulo.”
Paulo gulped. “Yes, I’m Paulo. But how did you know that?”
The man laughed again. “I think the whole town knows of Paulo and Chico and how hard they’ve been working for a new futebol.”
The man looked long and hard at Paulo and then sat down. “Paulo, it took courage to come back here when no one knew that you were the one who broke the vase. Yet, you came back and brought me your futebol money. Why?”
Paulo looked the man straight in the eye. “No one else knew, Senhor, but I did,” he said quietly.
“I’m glad you came back and that we had this talk,” the dono said, shaking Paulo’s hand. “You keep your money and buy that new futebol.” The man’s bright eyes twinkled with a smile. “However, you must repay me for the vase.”
“But, Senhor, I’ve not enough money for both the vase and the futebol,” pleaded Paulo. “How can I do both?”
“You will have to shine my shoes for three months as payment,” the man explained. “I have heard that you’re the best shoeshine boy in town. But today, because of your courage and honesty, I think you must be the best boy in all of Brazil!"

A young missionary who transferred from a teaching assignment to a service assignment struggled with some personal challenges that left him needing Christ’s healing power. Consecrated service brought that power into his life. He said, “I felt that when I was struggling, I could feel Christ lifting me up. There is something special about seeing Him bless people through a food pantry, in the temple, and through His gospel.”

This elder began to feel deeper joy, and his newfound enthusiasm blessed him and his entire family. The Spirit entered their home more abundantly, they attended the temple together more regularly, and Christ became a greater focus in their family. This missionary believes that Christ saved his life and blessed his family through service.