Gospel Story Finder

When I was getting ready to go to my school’s Christmas program, I started to look pale and feel sick. I thought I was going to be sick to my stomach. I knelt and asked Heavenly Father to help me feel better for the program. When I got to school, I started to feel better. When I went on stage, I felt perfect! I knew that Heavenly Father had helped me. When I got home, I thanked Him for helping me feel better.
Johnny Richardson, age 9Ogden, Utah

Ten years after Uncle Joe passed away, I was reading through my great-grandmother’s journal. The journal told of her husband leaving her with no money, $30 due in rent, and nine mouths to feed.
Then she wrote: “In Bisbee [Arizona] the people were so good to us. Even when we lived out of town south of Bisbee, they brought us home [from church]. Brother Joseph Kleinman, who lived in Mexico, brought us home many times, and not only that, but [his family] took us all to eat dinner with them. They served fried rabbit with all the trimmings, which we enjoyed very much. They were transferred to Nogales … and they let us have their rabbits, pretty white ones, and we sure had all we could eat then.”

Contrast this woman with the Latter-day Saint girl who climbed the heights of self-control as she forgave the man who disfigured her lovely face. Let the United Press newsman, Neal Corbett, tell the story as it appeared in the pages of the San Francisco newspapers.

“‘I would think he must be suffering, anybody who’s like that, we ought to feel sorry for him,’ said April Aaron of the man who had sent her to a hospital for three weeks, following a brutal … knife attack. April Aaron is a devout Mormon, 22 years of age. … She is a secretary who is as pretty as her name, but her face has just one blemish—the right eye is missing … April lost it to the ‘wildly slashing knife of a purse snatcher,’ near San Francisco’s Golden Gate Park while en route to an MIA dance. … She also suffered deep slashes on her left arm and right leg during a struggle with her assailant, after she tripped and fell in her efforts to elude him just one block from the Mormon chapel. …

“‘I ran for a block and a half before he caught me. You can’t run very fast on high heels,’ April said with a smile. Slashes on her leg were so severe [that] doctors feared for a time it would need amputation. The sharp edge of the weapon could damage neither April’s vivaciousness, nor her compassion. ‘… I wish that somebody could do something for him, to help him. He should have some treatment. Who knows what leads a person to do a thing like this? If they don’t find him, he’s likely to do it again.’

“… April Aaron has won the hearts of the people in the San Francisco Bay area with her courage and good spirit in face of tragedy. Her room at St. Francis hospital was banked with flowers throughout her stay and attendants said they couldn’t recall when anyone received more cards and expressions of good wishes.” (Cited in The Miracle of Forgiveness, p. 294.)

“There, it’s all done!” Jeff said as he knotted the bridle line to his kite. Jeff felt proud as he held up the kite to check the glued tissue paper edges. He was sure he would win the Highest Flyer Award in the kite tournament to be held the next afternoon.
As Jeff picked up scraps of paper and sticks from the porch floor, he heard the creak of rusty hinges. “Oh, no,” he groaned. “Robin Hood has escaped again!”
With a sick feeling, Jeff remembered his father’s words, “If that dog steals something just once more, Jeff, he’ll have to go!”
Hurdling the porch steps in one leap, Jeff raced to the alley and whistled. He hoped that maybe this time Robin Hood hadn’t picked up anything belonging to someone else, but his hope faded as Robin Hood came around the corner dragging a big paper fish. With his tail wagging, the dog dropped his gift at Jeff’s feet.
“Bad dog!” Jeff scolded. Robin Hood retreated to the farthest corner of the yard. Jeff remembered to close the gate this time, but he felt guilty that he had let his dog get loose.
The paper fish was ripped, but Jeff could see that it had been skillfully painted with loops to look like fish scales. Turning it over, he saw the broken basswood and knew it had been a kite. Someone had probably made this strange-looking kite to enter in the tournament, and Robin Hood had stolen it.
Jeff knew what he had to do. He started walking toward Mr. Peterson’s fruit market, taking the broken fish kite with him. Mr. Peterson knew just about everybody, and many times before he had helped Jeff find the owner of Robin Hood’s other gifts.
“Has Robin Hood been at it again?” Mr. Peterson asked Jeff as he polished an apple. “That carp kite’s in pretty bad shape.”
“Do you know who it belongs to?” Jeff asked.
“Wouldn’t take much to figure out,” answered Mr. Peterson. “A new boy about your age has been coming into the store a lot lately. His name is Jimu, and he’s talked to me about carp kites. The carp stands for courage, you know.”
“No, I didn’t know,” said Jeff.
“Japanese boys fly carp kites every year on Boys’ Festival Day,” said Mr. Peterson. “It’s supposed to remind them to be courageous.”
“Do you know where Jimu lives?” Jeff asked.
“No,” said Mr. Peterson, “but he usually goes toward Miller Street.”
Jeff thanked Mr. Peterson and went back home. His shoulders drooped as he climbed the steps. Robin Hood, stretched out by the lilac bush, opened his eyes and watched.
“Come on,” Jeff called as he picked up both kites. “We have a job to do.”
Jeff and Robin Hood walked up and down Miller Street, but they couldn’t find anyone who knew of a boy named Jimu.
“Sorry I can’t help you,” said a lady who was watering her lawn. “Why don’t you ask your dog?” she joked.
“Why didn’t I think of that!” said Jeff. He gave the carp kite to Robin Hood to carry in his mouth.
“Take it back!” Jeff commanded.
Robin Hood seemed to understand. He held the kite tightly between his teeth and led Jeff to the corner, turned right, and then disappeared down an alley. Jeff followed the dog down the alley and through an opening in a high wooden fence, where Robin Hood stopped.
This must be the house, Jeff thought as he walked into a strange garden. There were dwarf trees in low vases sitting in raked white sand.
“Ohayo (good morning),” said a voice, and a short black-haired boy came around the corner of the house.
“You must be Jimu,” Jeff said. “I’m Jeff.”
The Japanese boy bowed. His dark eyes looked from Robin Hood to the carp kite and back to Jeff.
Jeff didn’t know what to say at first, but once he got started, the story came tumbling out.
“Sumimasen (very sorry),” Jimu said after Jeff finished. “Perhaps you should try a cardboard collar.”
“I don’t understand,” said Jeff.
“I have a friend who had a dog with a sore ear,” Jimu explained. “He cut a big wheel-shaped piece of cardboard and then cut a hole in the middle. He put it around the dog’s neck so the dog couldn’t scratch its ear. His dog also had difficulty picking up objects with his mouth.”
“That sounds like a great idea,” Jeff said. “I’ll try it. But that won’t help you fix your kite, so I want you to have mine instead.”
Jeff held his kite out to Jimu, who took it and looked at it carefully.
“Very nice,” Jimu said at last. “But please come with me.”
He led Jeff to a sliding door at the back of the house. They both removed their shoes and went inside.
“Please sit on the tatami,” Jimu told Jeff as he pointed to the straw mat on the porch floor. He put Jeff’s kite on a low table covered with jars of paint and a brush.
Jimu picked up the brush and asked, “May I?”
Jeff nodded. He watched Jimu swiftly paint an outline of a fish on the kite Jeff had given him. Soon a carp filled the kite as Jimu painted half-hoop scales all over.
“Now you’ll have a kite to fly today,” said Jeff.
Jimu smiled mysteriously as he excused himself and disappeared behind a screen.
When Jimu returned, he said, “I already have a kite.” He held up a paper fish. “The first one I made broke, and Robin Hood must have found it in the trash.”
“But why did you paint this beautiful fish on my kite?” Jeff asked.
“Because it took much courage for you to come to me,” Jimu answered. “And the carp stands for courage. You would honor me to fly your kite with me today,” he added.
“That would be great,” Jeff answered. And the two boys, with Robin Hood tagging along behind, picked up their kites and ran out into the field together.

Moving? Tomorrow? It can’t be time already, thought eleven-year-old Sarah as she folded the last of her mother’s dish towels and put them into a barrel. The family had been planning for the past few weeks to leave Kirtland, Ohio, for Missouri with some of the other Saints, but they didn’t know exactly what day they would leave. This morning Sarah’s father had come into the kitchen and told his family that tomorrow was moving day.
Sarah wasn’t really surprised that they had to move. For the past year people who were against the Church and its members had caused the Saints a lot of problems. How vividly she remembered the day when her family had been sitting in the Kirtland Temple for their Sunday meeting and several ruffians had come into the room carrying knives and guns. Brandishing their weapons and shouting, they had disrupted the services. Sarah could still remember how frightened she had been that day. Joseph Smith’s father had been conducting the meeting. He’d sent for the police, and the intruders had been ushered out of the temple. After that, the meeting had gone on without interruption.
Just a month ago, when spring was in its glory throughout the Kirtland area, Father had told Sarah that she must do all that she could to help Mother get ready to move. However, Sarah had tried to convince herself that they wouldn’t have to do it. How can I leave Kirtland? she’d wondered. We’ve never lived anywhere else.
Kirtland was the place where Sarah and her brother John and sister, Laura, had all been born. Another brother, two years younger than Sarah, had even been buried in Kirtland shortly after he was born. It was the place where Sarah and her parents had been taught and baptized by Brother Sidney Rigdon. Brother Rigdon had been their minister when they had all belonged to the Campbellite Church, and the whole family had loved him. They had been glad to read the Book of Mormon when he had brought it to their home. It was only right that Brother Rigdon had baptized them when they were sure that the gospel was true.
Sarah had been excited about turning twelve in the fall and going with her best friend, Mary, to Sister Eliza Snow’s school for girls. But Sister Snow’s family and Mary’s family had already moved to Missouri, so there would be no school. She had hoped that someone else would teach the school once things settled down a little. But things hadn’t settled down.
The rest of that day and night went quickly. Suddenly it was daybreak and time to leave their home. When the wagon was packed, the whole family climbed aboard, with Father sitting on the front seat to drive the oxen he had bought only last week. John, looking very big for a seven-year-old, sat next to Father. Five-year-old Laura and Sarah sat in the back of the wagon with Mother. They all watched Kirtland grow smaller as they joined the other wagons leaving the city.
The first few weeks of the trip seemed especially long because of the slow pace of the oxen. John and Laura had been excited about the trek at first, but even they calmed down as time passed. One night Sarah was awakened by the low voice of her father. There was something in the sound of his voice that frightened her. She crawled out from under her blanket and drew back the wagon flap.
The worried look on Father’s face eased a little when he saw her. “Sarah, I need your help. Your mother has a high fever. Can you go to the river and fill the bucket with some water?”
Sarah was afraid. Mother had never been sick! She had always been the one to take care of others when they were ill. Quickly Sarah filled the bucket and returned to the wagon. All night long she and Father took turns wiping her mother’s face with damp cloths to keep her cool. Mother was too sick to say a word, and this really upset Sarah. By morning Sarah realized that she must take care of her brother and sister and fix whatever breakfast she could put together. She knew that she must remain calm so that John and Laura would not be frightened by Mother’s illness. Quietly she woke the children and told them what had happened.
“Will you go and get some small pieces of wood to start the fire, Laura?” she asked. “You’re really good at finding wood.” Turning to her little brother, she said, “John, if you can get some larger pieces, we can build a fire together.”
John crawled out from under his blanket and began to work without complaining. Sarah was amazed at how helpful her sister and brother were. They seemed to know exactly what to do.
Sarah cooked breakfast and quickly cleaned everything up. Mother didn’t seem much better, so Sarah stayed in the back of the wagon and put soothing, damp cloths on her mother’s face. Father had been able to fix a lid on a bucket so that the water didn’t spill with the wagon’s movement. Because the children helped so much, the family was able to keep up with the company.
Sarah spent every spare minute planning and cooking meals, keeping their clothes washed, and tending Mother. Laura and John gathered wood each night for cooking, and they helped in any other way they could. John found some empty wooden spools, and he and Laura were busy making a surprise for the family.
One morning Sarah awoke and realized that her family had been gone from Kirtland for six weeks! Mother was almost well, but she still let the children take care of things together. How proud she was of Sarah’s cooking and John and Laura’s fires.
“Do you know what’s happened to us, Sarah?” Mother said softly. “With the Lord’s help, we are relying on each other now. This is what we’re supposed to do. If I hadn’t been sick, you children would never have been able to show your father and me the many things you can do for our family.”
Before Sarah could reply, John and Laura climbed into the wagon holding something under a cloth. Father climbed in behind them and said, “I don’t know what these two are up to, but they made me stop everything to come and see what they’ve made.”
The children uncovered a checkerboard made from a weathered board, and a set of tiny checkers made from the spools John had found. Laura beamed and said, “John rubbed charcoal on some spools to make the black pieces, and I colored the other ones with some berries we found along the way. We thought everyone could take turns playing checkers.”
Sarah felt tears come to her eyes. She would miss Kirtland and its happy memories, but she was taking with her the best part of those memories—her family.

When I first got to know the Church in 2016, it was a strange thing for me to have received the gospel through my two classmates, who today also serve in the same mission as I do. I waited a year to be baptized since my family was Catholic and it was a difficult thing for me, but thanks to prayer, the Lord supported me, and I was baptized in July 2017. I was in fifth grade, and I was the only member of the Church in my family, and in my neighborhood. I had to walk at least nine kilometers every Sunday to attend sacrament meeting, which from the start was difficult for me.
After my baptism, I lost the job that I had, and I began to go through a difficult moment. I applied the advice given in Deuteronomy 31:6, only if I was not afraid, the Lord was going to help me, and with His help I brought one of my best friends to Church who was the second person in my neighborhood to join the Church, and who also serves a mission today in Liberia.
After I graduated, I decided to do a full-time mission, which was difficult as my family initially disagreed, and I decided to apply Alma’s advice in 37:37, and I prayed to the Lord to help me, and I began to prepare for my mission by saving a little money from my odd teaching jobs to fund my mission.
In 2018 when I submitted my mission papers, President Alfred Kyungu of the Democratic Republic of the Congo Mbuji Mayi Mission explained to me the importance of doing a full-time mission and helped me with some advice to get there. I applied his advice, and it took me at least two years to get there and I saw other missionaries leaving on missions. It pained me at times, with everything, the sacrifice of cycling over 68 kilometers to get some documents I needed for my mission with other brothers with whom we were preparing together.
When we had submitted our papers, the COVID-19 pandemic had already started and foreign missionaries were forced to return home, and we were uncertain if we would serve a full-time mission. Two weeks later the prophet declared that we had to close the doors of the meetinghouses and 30 days later I received my call to serve a mission in the Kinshasa East mission with six months of preparation and saw the increase in the number of cases related to COVID-19.
I was still in a state of uncertainty, and I knelt down and asked the Lord if He wanted me to be a full-time missionary as I knew personally that He knew the situation perfectly, and my MTC date was postponed three more weeks. On Oct. 15, 2020 I started my training at Accra Ghana Missionary Training Center through technology and I experienced a most memorable experience of my life, spending the training on Zoom every day for three weeks made my faith grow and increase my trust in the Lord because He knew that He had prepared me to serve Him in this moment of technology in His work to learn the best ways to use technology and to help others to come to Him through this medium.
I am happy to serve Him in this time, I know that our Heavenly Father knows us personally and prepares us with the means to serve Him in his time by the tools He himself prepares to help us get there. Fervent prayer is the only way that can bring us closer to Him and help us prepare to become more like the Savior Jesus Christ.

I always tell my granddaughter that tithing is the best money I ever spend.
I remember almost 60 years ago when I got into the tithing habit. I had gone to Chicago to find a job after graduation from college. I had $30 in my pocket, earned from a summer job. In Chicago I could stay with friends from college, and since the cost of living in 1941 was low, I thought I would have enough money.
The first Sunday I attended church in the Chicago area, one of the speakers was a newly returned missionary named Scott Whitaker. He talked convincingly about the importance of paying tithing and bore his testimony about the blessings of keeping that commandment. Although I had been raised in the Church, I had never paid or even thought of paying tithing. But all that changed after that sacrament meeting was over. I calculated how much money I had made during the summer, figured the tithing I owed on it, and with almost all the cash I had left, I paid off my tithing debt. I had barely enough left for bus and train fare, and I didn’t have a job yet.
When I left my family in Ames, Iowa, I was sure that I could make it on my own without asking for financial help from my parents. Now I wasn’t so confident.
Finally, down to my last few nickels, I stopped in the waiting room of Marshall Field’s department store and used a piece of complimentary stationery to write my parents a letter asking for help. I paid three cents for the stamp, and the letter would probably take three days to be delivered. Could I hold out that long?
The next day I received a call from a company that needed some temporary help. (It later turned into a full-time job.) Gleefully I called my dad to tell him, “Never mind! I don’t need any money.”
Since that time I have always had what I needed if I paid my tithing. And that is why I say to my granddaughter, “Rachel, paying tithing is the best money I ever spend. It buys me peace of mind.”

There is another way we can let our lights shine. Elder Henry B. Eyring said he never told one of his friends about the gospel. One day, he heard that his friend had died. Elder Eyring sometimes wonders if he will meet his friend in heaven and his friend will say, “You knew. Why didn’t you tell me?” Now Elder Eyring shares his testimony with people all over the world. (See “A Voice of Warning,” Liahona, January 1999, 37–40.) When we share the gospel with others, we are letting our lights shine.

Why do bad things always happen to me?” grumbled Harold as he tried to pull his school backpack out from under him. It was a cold morning, and the road to school was very icy. He was late, and in his hurry, he had fallen just outside the school door and landed on his backpack.
Harold looked inside the pack. “Oh no!” he moaned. “This is worse than I thought.” When he’d fallen, he’d mashed everything in his lunch, including the little box of juice his mother had put in as a treat. It had squirted over everything. Harold pulled out his book report. It was dripping with apple juice.
“Why do bad things always happen to me?” he muttered over and over as he opened the school door and went down the hall to his class, holding the dripping book report with two fingers.
“Good morning, Harold. How are you today?” Mrs. Bennett asked as he walked into the classroom.
“I’m terrible,” he growled as he hung up his coat and sat down.
Two girls nearby giggled. “Harold is always terrible,” Katie said.
“Always,” laughed Anna.
Mrs. Bennett went over and sat down next to Harold. “Why is everything so terrible?”
Without a word, Harold showed her the soggy and sticky book report. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. He smoothed it out on the top of his desk and said, “See this? Bad things always happen to me. I can prove it because I have them all written down on this list. Now I need to add what happened on the way to school. I fell on the ice. I smashed my lunch. Juice got all over my book report, and I think I bruised my elbow.”
“Well,” his teacher said, “that is kind of a tough way to start the morning. What else is on your list?”
Harold read down his bad things list. “Yesterday I stubbed my toe. My two big brothers drank all the chocolate milk at dinner before I could get any. I didn’t get a turn on the swings at recess. On Monday I lost my favorite toy, and my pencil broke during the spelling test. Amanda spilled her milk in the lunchroom, and it went all over me.” Harold took a deep breath and was about to go on.
“I see what you mean,” Mrs. Bennett broke in quickly. “I’m wondering, though, just why you keep all of that on a list.”
“Because if I don’t, I might forget something. You see bad things always happen to me.”
Mrs. Bennett looked at Harold and then pulled a pencil from behind her ear. “Do you know what I think?” she asked.
Harold shook his head.
“I think your list isn’t long enough.” Harold looked at his teacher in surprise. He thought his list pretty much covered everything. He had kept it in his pocket and added to it all week.
“I’m really curious to see what your list looks like if you write down absolutely everything that happens to you today. You will need more than that little paper. Here, use this notebook. Start with what happened on the way to school; then add everything that happens to you all day.”
“OK,” Harold said, “but you’ll see that bad things always happen to me.” Mrs. Bennett just smiled, and he started writing. He made sure that he covered all the details about the apple juice, the ruined book report, the mashed sandwich, his bruised elbow—everything.
Math was the first class. The students worked through the problems on the chalkboard while Mrs. Bennett handed back their tests. Harold’s had a big 100% written on the top! She winked at Harold when she gave it to him and said, “Better write this down in the notebook.” Harold got out his list.
Later the students were reading aloud a play, and when they drew names, Harold drew the part of the hero! Mrs. Bennett winked again, and Harold knew that he was supposed to write that down.
As the children put on their coats to go outside for recess, his teacher noticed that he had some new boots with a warm, fuzzy lining and new gloves to match. “New boots, Harold?” she asked.
“Yep,” he said. “Mom got them for me yesterday.”
“Hmmmm,” Mrs. Bennett rubbed her chin. “That sounds to me like something that happened to you.”
“I know,” said Harold. “I’d better write it down.” While he was at it, he noticed that his coat was pretty nice and warm, too. Then he realized that he hadn’t yet written down anything about the hot breakfast his mother had made for him.
As the day went on, Harold’s list grew longer and longer. Right after lunch, he put down all about how terrible it was to eat a mashed lunch and how Robert had laughed about his funny flat sandwich for an hour. But out on the playground, he scored three baskets for his team, and Nick asked him to play after school, and he had to put that on the list too.
During art, his paint water spilled all over. That went into the notebook in big, capital letters. Jenny helped him wipe everything up, though, and Mrs. Bennett winked again, so he knew he was supposed to add “help from a friend” to his list. He was on the third page of the notebook already.
At the end of the day, Harold took the notebook back to his teacher. “Well,” he said, “I think I’ve recorded just about everything.”
“Good,” she said. “What do you think—shall we count up all the bad things now?”
Harold looked at his feet and fiddled with the old crumpled list in his pocket. It was really hard for him to say it, but maybe everything wasn’t so terrible. “Mrs. Bennett,” he said as he looked at the notebook, “I think maybe I saved up all the bad things so long that I forgot to notice the good things.”
Mrs. Bennett smiled.
“This kind of list is a lot more interesting to write than the old one. Do you think I could keep this paper?”
“Harold, you can keep the whole notebook,” Mrs. Bennett said. “I hope you keep adding things until it’s a very long list.”
Harold grinned. “Thanks,” he said. “But, you know, it still makes me mad that my apple juice ended up all over my book report instead of in my lunch.”
“I bet it does,” Mrs. Bennett said, “but at least it helped you see not only that good things happened to you, too, but also that it helps to write things down. Hmmm—I think you’ll have good things happen to you next week when we start a lesson on journals. What do you think?”
“Yes!”

Matthew, Andrew, and Isaac aren’t the only brothers in the Clarkson family. There are four more: Levi (9), Eli (7), Sam (4), and Titus (2), and a baby on the way.
When President Nelson invited the women of the Church in October 2018 general conference to read the Book of Mormon before the end of the year, Matthew, Andrew, and Isaac, along with their father and younger brothers, decided to offer Mom their support. “We’ll read it with you!” they said. Every morning before seminary, they woke up to read together.
“When we took on this challenge, I thought it was going to take a lot of time,” Andrew says. “I worried that I wouldn’t have enough time to do everything I wanted to do, like play the guitar or hang out with my friends. But I realized that it just doesn’t work like that. The more I was into reading the Book of Mormon, the more time I actually seemed to have. I realized that if I keep up on reading the scriptures as much as possible, my life is balanced. I have more time in the day.”
Matthew was going through a hard time when the family started reading every morning. He says, “I wasn’t doing well in school. I struggled with my personal scripture study and my relationship with Heavenly Father, and I kept it all to myself. I didn’t talk about it with my parents.”
However, as Matthew spent more time reading the Book of Mormon, the gospel began to take first priority in his life. He also put more effort into school. He worked hard and got his grades up.
“I also realized how much Heavenly Father and my parents love me and how much they help me. And I have a greater testimony of Jesus Christ. He has helped me overcome bad habits and helped me get my life headed in the right direction. I’m so glad we took President Nelson’s challenge as a family. It changed my life.”
Accepting President Nelson’s invitation also strengthened Isaac’s testimony. “We circled the words God, Lord, Redeemer, Savior, and Christ every time we found them,” he says. “On the day we finished, I flipped through the Book of Mormon and saw all the words I had circled. I thought, ‘Man, that’s a lot!’ I had never noticed how many there were. I felt much more spiritual reading the Book of Mormon. I’m glad we did it.”
Matthew, Andrew, and Isaac are amazed that their family finished the Book of Mormon in just two months. “It usually takes us a year,” Isaac says. Together, they discovered the blessings of following the prophet’s invitation.
“If you do what you’re supposed to do,” Andrew says, “like building a relationship with Heavenly Father through prayer, scripture study, and staying fully active in the Church, life is so much better.”
These three brothers have helped each other progress in the gospel. They follow the prophet, who has called on members “to increase their faith in our Lord Jesus Christ and in His Atonement, to … [make] and [keep] their covenants with God, and to strengthen … their families.”1

The Lord can help you see the danger in taking a rest because you feel you have done enough. He helped me by letting me have a conversation with one of His aged servants. He was feeble, his body weakened by decades of faithful labor and by illness. His doctors no longer allowed him to leave his home. At his request, I reported a trip I had taken in the Lord’s service, across several nations, in dozens of meetings, and in many private interviews, helping individuals and families. I told him of the gratitude people expressed to me for him and his many years of service. He asked me if I had another assignment soon. I told him about another long trip soon to come. He surprised me, and he gave me an inoculation against complacency which I hope will last forever, when he grabbed my arm and said, “Oh, please, take me with you.”

The first Church services held in Barcelona, Spain, took place in a beauty parlor owned by Josefa Lacuay and her nonmember husband. Josefa had joined the Church in Uruguay in 1963 and had come to Barcelona with her family. When she arrived, she discovered that the Church was not yet established there. When missionaries from the French Mission came to her suburb in the late 1960s, she could help them find an apartment but not a place for a chapel. So for seven months every Sunday morning, the hair dryers, rollers, and hair sprays in the Lacuays’ shop gave way to a church service attended by the few Latter-day Saint pioneers in the Barcelona area.

I have a sweet feeling in my heart about President Spencer W. Kimball, who was the prophet when I was baptized. He was a great influence in my life. When I was a new member, he shook my hand in São Paulo, and I have never forgotten it. At one general conference he asked the members to stay out of debt, and I decided that I would. In Brazil we have inflation and a lot of financial troubles, but I have never had debts. I am not a rich man, and my family has had many challenges. But we have always overcome them because we followed this wise advice.

The young men and young women in Welland, Ontario, Canada, get excited about seminary. Winters in Welland are long and harsh, and during the greater part of the school year, going to seminary means a trek to the church in the dark and cold. Of course, teenagers in Welland are no different than teenagers anywhere else. Getting enough sleep is a paramount concern—something that can be a bit of a challenge when you get up for an early-morning class. But a few years ago, the Welland seminary students had a teacher who changed their lives, and their mumbling and grumbling about the early hour seemed to shrink, while their excitement about seminary seemed to grow.
Despite the fact that he had been ill with cystic fibrosis all his life, their teacher, Brother Ron Cunningham, wouldn’t have traded his calling as a seminary teacher for anything. In terms of his health, some days were better than others. But every day he taught seminary, he said, was a good day.
“He was our friend,” says James Burton, 17. “We all had such a good time, even though he was sick. He had such a great sense of humor, even about things that made him look silly. Sometimes, especially at the beginning of class before everyone was fully awake, he would fall asleep—while he was teaching.”
Because cystic fibrosis fills the lungs with fluid, breathing is difficult, causing extreme fatigue. Consequently, it seems that just about everyone has a favorite “Brother Cunningham fell asleep” story.
There were other ways he filled the seminary with laughter and fun, too. There were games and contests for scripture mastery, treats and stories to make lessons easier to understand.
“One year, Brother Cunningham brought an entire set of army men for us to use to reenact battles from the scriptures,” says Craig Dumoulin. “At first we thought it was crazy since none of us have played with toys like that since we were little, but it really did make it easier to understand. And it was a lot of fun.”
But Brother Cunningham taught his students much more than how to have a sense of humor. Make no mistake, the gospel was his life, and he wanted to help his students feel the same way.
“Because of his illness, he was pretty small physically,” says Matthew Glanfield, 18. “But I have never known such a spiritual giant.”
It was that spirit, that great feeling, that kept the students excited and happy about getting up before dawn to study. Even in the Toronto area’s brutal and icy winter. Even during exams when time was scarce. Even when it would have been easier to stay in bed and catch a few more minutes of sleep. Everyone knew that no matter how hard it was for them to get out of bed in the morning, it was harder for their teacher. If he could do it, they knew they could too.
The young men in the ward seemed especially responsive to his style of teaching. Although he didn’t fit the stereotype of macho strength and he was unable to participate in many athletic activities, the young men all say that he was exactly the kind of man—an honorable priesthood holder who was married in the temple—that they all aspire to be.
“There were a lot of things he couldn’t do, but he worked hard at the things he could do,” says Matthew. “He always told us that it was his number one wish for us to go on missions and be great missionaries. He couldn’t go on a mission because of his health, but he could contribute to the missionary effort by training others to share the gospel.”

I knew my parents couldn’t afford to pay for my college education, so I’d studied like crazy in high school. All that effort paid off—I got into the school of my choice and received a good scholarship.
In college I did my best to keep up, but sometimes it felt like I was slipping behind. When midterms rolled around, my grades hit me like a bucket of ice water. If I continued on this path, I would lose my scholarship by the end of the term. I panicked. What more could I do? I was already getting up before dawn and studying until the library closed.
In despair I turned to the Lord in prayer. The distinct answer was to read the Book of Mormon every day. What? How could reading more help when I couldn’t even finish what was already on my schedule? But I trusted in the Spirit’s promptings, so when I got up early to study, I read my Book of Mormon and then turned to my college books. Miraculously, I got all of my reading done for that day.
Continuing this study pattern over the following weeks, I got all the way caught up on my schoolwork and even had time for a little bit of a social life. By the time final exams were finished, my grades were high enough that I was no longer in danger of losing my scholarship. My dreams of receiving a college education could still come true as long as I kept listening to God’s promptings.
Jennifer G., Arizona, USA

Jane was always forgetting things.
Sometimes she forgot to hang up her coat. Sometimes she forgot to put her toys away. Sometimes she forgot to brush her teeth and make her bed. And almost always when she checked out books at the library, she forgot to return them until they were overdue.
But what made Mother most unhappy was that Jane often forgot to bring her boots home from school. Or her cap. Or her mittens. Every winter morning Jane dressed warmly before leaving for school. But when Jane came home, very often her mittens were missing. Or her cap. Or her boots.
Mother would say, “Jane, did you forget again?”
And Jane would always answer, “Oh, Mother, I’m so busy thinking that I don’t have time to remember.”
One Friday afternoon Jane was very busy thinking. The sun was warm when she came out of school. She walked along, kicking a stone in front of her. She didn’t notice that she had forgotten her cap and her mittens and her boots. She was too busy thinking.
When Jane opened her eyes on Saturday morning, she saw something outside her window. She rushed over to look out at the small white flakes that were falling.
“Hurray!” Jane called. “It’s snowing!”
She put on her Saturday play clothes and ran out to the kitchen.
“Your breakfast is ready,” Mother said.
“I have to hurry,” Jane cried, “because I want to play in the snow!”
But when Jane started to get ready to go outside, her face wrinkled up in a frown.
“Where are my boots?” she called.
“I don’t know,” Mother answered. “Did you forget to bring them home from school?”
Jane nodded her head. “And I guess I forgot my cap and mittens, too,” she said slowly after she had looked all around her room. “But I remembered my coat,” she finished proudly.
“Jane,” Mother said patiently, “you can’t go outside to play in the snow wearing just your coat.”
“Please,” Jane pleaded, “I love the snow.”
“Well, maybe I can think of something,” Mother said. And she did.
She thought of boots belonging to Jane’s big brother Bud, to use for Jane’s feet. Of course, they were too big, and Jane could barely lift her feet to walk in them.
Then Mother thought of the scarf that belonged to Daddy, to use for Jane’s head. Of course, it was too long and had to be wound three times around Jane’s head. She could hardly see out.
And finally, Mother thought of her own gloves, to use for Jane’s hands. Of course, the fingers were too big and too long and just kept flapping even when Jane pulled the gloves on as far as she could.
But at last Jane was ready to go outside.
She decided to make a snowman. Over and over she rolled the snowballs. Next she piled them one on top of the other, and finally her snowman was finished. She put a broom in his hand and an old hat of Daddy’s on his head.
Just then Daddy drove up.
“Hi!” Jane called out.
Daddy pretended to be surprised.
“Who’s that talking?” he asked. “All I can see are two funny looking snowmen.”
“Oh, Daddy,” Jane said. “I’m not a snowman. I’m Jane.”
“So you are,” Daddy laughed. “But why are you dressed up like that? Are you trying to scare the snowman?”
Jane began to laugh. “Daddy, you know I’m not. It’s just that I was thinking so hard yesterday that I forgot to bring home my boots and cap and mittens.”
“Well,” Daddy smiled, “you had better come inside now to eat some lunch. We don’t want you to frighten someone who is driving by.”
After lunch Jane started to get ready to go back outside. But Bud needed his boots to go sliding with the boys. Daddy needed his scarf when he went to the hardware store. And Mother needed her gloves when she went outside to sweep the front porch.
So Jane had to sit all alone inside the house, just looking out at all of the beautiful white snow.
On Monday afternoon Jane came running home from school wearing her cap and her mittens and her boots.
“Why, Jane,” Mother said, “you remembered everything. Have you given up thinking?”
“No, Mother,” Jane answered. “I’m still thinking, but now I’ve decided to think about remembering things.”

Illustration by Jennifer Tolman; sketches from Getty Images
I have always wanted to be a great contributor in science. During my undergraduate studies at Brigham Young University–Hawaii, Dr. Douglas Oba, a very supportive professor, introduced me to and trained me in the world of molecular biology and biotechnology. I even had the opportunity to work at the molecular laboratory at Brigham Young University in Provo, Utah, USA, for a summer internship.
When I went home to the Philippines, I landed a job at the DNA Analysis Laboratory at the University of the Philippines. The highlights of my career included working on various community projects, attending trainings and conferences, and being recognized by local and international science communities for my scientific publications. I also started my graduate program. I felt fulfilled in my new career.
After two years of working, I married my childhood friend in the temple. A little while later, we had our first baby and for the first time I found myself struggling. I didn’t know how to balance caring for the baby, spending time with my husband, keeping up with classes in my graduate program, juggling projects and papers at work, and fulfilling Church callings. I talked with my husband about my struggles, and he gently suggested that I consider stepping away from my career. I saw some wisdom in his advice, but I wasn’t ready to give up my professional life yet.
When I was pregnant with our second child, I had pre-term labor that required me to be on bed rest. I finally realized that I couldn’t do it all at once. I knew I had to make the choice that would be best for me and my family. After much pondering and prayer, I decided to leave my scientific work and instead devote my full time to my children.
I had planned for motherhood my whole life, but I never realized how much of a sacrifice this choice would be. I tried my best to keep a positive attitude, but I often felt sad that my career and graduate program had been cut short. I prayed to Heavenly Father for the spiritual strength to fulfill my role as a mother wholeheartedly. My husband patiently listened to my concerns. He encouraged me to write out my thoughts and feelings in my journal, which I had been unable to update for a while because of my busy schedule.
One day, while my kids were sleeping, I decided to look through my old journals. As I reviewed them, I was struck by how consistently I had written about my great desire to be a mom when I was a youth and young single adult. One statement in particular touched me: “I will strive to excel in my academic and spiritual learning so I can be an intelligent and noble mom to my kids.”
That enlightenment was what I needed the most! I felt the Spirit testify to me that I had made the right choice for my family. I realized that my education and work experience were not just for my benefit but for my children’s. It was a renewal of my testimony and eternal perspective of motherhood.
I was a stay-at-home mother for five years. Eventually, I completed my graduate program and went back to work when our children were a little older. I am continually learning to balance my limited time in performing my duties at work, home, and church, but I know it all works out with the Lord’s help. I continue to gain valuable experience in the “laboratory of life” and find joy and purpose in motherhood.

From a young age, Elder Alan T. Phillips felt that the Church was true, but he hoped for a more personal witness of the Savior before embarking on full-time missionary service.
“I fasted, prayed, went to the woods,” he said. “I was looking for the big answer.”
Then, one week when his family was away on assignment, he attended sacrament meeting by himself.
“I wasn’t seeking. I was just there—preparing for the sacrament and singing with the congregation,” he said. “For the first time, the words and the idea of ‘his hands pierced and bleeding to pay the debt’1 for me just jumped out and entered my heart. I felt the reality of Him in relation to me, no longer a concept, no longer abstract. He was, in that moment, my Savior.”
Elder Phillips later prayed, thanking Heavenly Father and telling Him that he would be true the rest of his life to this newfound knowledge God had given him.
That was the moment the reality of the Savior was confirmed to him. He said everything else in his testimony builds from that “sure foundation” (Helaman 5:12).

I had the opportunity to serve a full-time mission. When my call came to the Utah Salt Lake City Temple Square Mission—the only all-female mission in the Church—I admit to feeling nervous about being surrounded by so many women. I needn’t have worried. My testimony of sisterhood grew exponentially as I interacted with countless women who each testified of the Savior in their everyday actions.
My first holidays in the mission field, my mission president gathered all our mission together to watch an uplifting movie. At one point, the film depicted two sisters helping each other overcome daunting circumstances. I felt touched by their unity. As I watched the film and looked around at all the radiant sister missionaries, the Spirit testified strongly to me that sisterhood is an eternal bond prescribed by our Heavenly Father, and I was included. What a wonderful truth: we are never alone, for the Lord has given us all sisters.

Although we were much better off now, there still wasn’t enough food or clothing to go around. It was still cold, it was still stormy, and I still had no shoes. Our company found a ravine that we later named Martin’s Ravine, and we set up camp there. For three days there was a terrible blizzard. It was so cold! Even after the storm ended, we had to wait several days before we could travel over the fresh snow. Although there were now wagons and horses, I walked every step of the way. Only those who had frozen feet got to ride.
We camped at Fort Bridger for a few days of rest. More help came at that time. We kept right on traveling. We reached Salt Lake City on November 30, 1856, eleven months after we had left our home in England. Of the 576 people who had started with our company, about 150 of them had died and were buried along the trail, including my father.