Gospel Story Finder

When I was a little girl, I had a lot of daydreams. Sure, almost all children have fantasies. But these were not your ordinary, everyday, run of the mill, childhood dreams. I was not a normal child. Yet, what child is normal, and what fantasy is ordinary? Anyway, as I was saying, I had some extraordinary ideas.
First, and probably most unusual, I believed I was a blonde. Don’t ask me why; imagination usually doesn’t provide a “why” or a “because.” I believed the dark-haired, fair-skinned image in the mirror was someone else who had been hired to trick me into believing that I resembled Snow White more than Cinderella. I would stand in front of the mirror for hours on end trying to catch her blinking at the wrong moment or making some other false movement that would give her away. Apparently she had been trained well in the art of imitation, and I never caught her off guard.
Long flowing blonde hair reminds me of gold and sunshine. Angels have blonde hair, and so do all the beautiful princesses who live happily ever after.
There is something magic about blonde hair, and since I imagined I had blonde hair, there was something magic about me.
It’s funny some of the strange things a person can do when she’s magic. Dolls talk, elevator doors open when she waves her hand, and cardboard boxes become sleek new cars. I had traveled in parts of outer space where the shuttle flights hadn’t been. I could talk to bumblebees, make friends with warring natives, and even turn a single pink balloon into an entire birthday party.
Of course, being as magic and as beautiful as I was, I was naturally the center of the universe. When I skinned my knee, the whole world felt the pain; when my goldfish died, everyone mourned with me; when I played the harpsichord for the PTA in the second grade, the room was packed, and they had all come to listen to me.
It was a wonderful world I lived in. It was a good feeling knowing that everyone loved me and that the whole world was watching out for me. It is too bad that kind of fantasy can’t last forever.
One day, as I was looking in the mirror, I felt a strange sense of realization, and reality slowly filtered through the magic. That girl, standing there, staring back at me, was me. Those were my eyes, those were my eyes, those were my freckles, that was my skin, and that, like it or not, was my hair. It was not sunshine or gold. It didn’t shine or gleam or make me look like an angel. It was black.
I stared at the girl for a long time in one last futile attempt to discover her identity. She didn’t flinch. I moved ever so slightly to the left. She moved with me. I lifted my hand above my head, then suddenly jerked it back down. She did it also.
I went into my room and shut the door tightly. Then I lay down on my bed and thought.
I thought about all the people who went to PTA, but not to hear me play the harpsichord. I thought about all the people who were laughing the day my goldfish died. I thought about cardboard boxes and elevator doors. I thought about pink balloons and dolls. I thought about gold and sunshine and everything I could think of.
Then I got up and went back to my mirror. There I was—me—black hair and all.
A smile tickled the corners of my mouth and then leaped boldly to my lips.
Long flowing black hair reminds me of night and the manes of wild stallions, and there is something magically alive about night and wild stallions.

Anthony Quasie had a life-changing experience while just a boy growing up in Cape Coast Ghana. His mother told him that when he was 5 years old, he witnessed a man, who was hired to help at his home, cut the neck of a chicken just enough for the chicken to run around in pain before dying. He remembers his mother saying that “I folded my arms and cried all day”, and when it came time to eat the chicken, it made him very sick. He grew up not liking it when people mistreated animals.

On June 14, 1989, due to some misinformation about the Church, the government of Ghana banned all activities of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints within that African country. The government seized all Church property, and all missionary activity stopped. The members of the Church, who refer to this period as “the freeze,” did their best to live the gospel without branch meetings or the support of missionaries. There are many inspiring stories about how the members kept the light of the gospel shining by worshipping in their homes and looking after each other as home and visiting teachers.
Eventually the misunderstanding was resolved, and on November 30, 1990, the freeze ended and normal Church activities resumed. Since then there has been an excellent relationship between the Church and the government of Ghana.
Members who lived through the freeze are quick to point out the blessings that came from that unusual period. The faith of many was strengthened through the adversity that they faced. But one blessing of the freeze came in an unusual way.
Nicholas Ofosu-Hene was a young policeman assigned to guard an LDS meetinghouse during the freeze. His duty was to watch over the building at night. When Nicholas first arrived at the meetinghouse, he saw that things had been scattered around, with papers, books, and furniture in disarray. In the midst of this disorder, he saw a copy of the Book of Mormon. He tried ignoring the book because he had been told that it was evil. But he felt strangely attracted to it. Finally, Nicholas could ignore the book no longer. He picked it up. He felt impelled to start reading it. He read through the night, tears running down his cheeks as he read.
The first time he picked it up, he read all of 1 Nephi. The second time, he read all of 2 Nephi. When he got to 2 Nephi chapter 25, he read the following: “And we talk of Christ, we rejoice in Christ, we preach of Christ, we prophesy of Christ, and we write according to our prophecies, that our children may know to what source they may look for a remission of their sins.”
At that point, Nicholas felt the Spirit so strongly that he started sobbing. He realized that in the course of his reading he had received several spiritual promptings that this book was scripture, the most correct he had ever read. He realized that the Latter-day Saints, contrary to what he had heard, strongly believe in Jesus Christ. After the freeze ended and missionaries returned to Ghana, Nicholas, his wife, and his children joined the Church. When I saw him last year, he was a police commander and was serving as the president of the Tamale Ghana District of the Church. He says: “The Church has transformed my life. … I thank the Almighty God for leading me into this gospel.”
Alibert Davies, another Ghanaian, accompanied a friend to one of our meetinghouses, where the friend had a presidency meeting. While he waited for his friend, Alibert read a book he found nearby. When the meeting ended, Alibert wanted to take the book home. He was given permission to take not only that book but also a copy of the Book of Mormon. When he got home, he started reading the Book of Mormon. He could not put it down. He read by candlelight until 3:00 a.m. He did that for several nights, overwhelmed by what he read and what he felt. Alibert is now a member of the Church.
Angelo Scarpulla started his theological studies in his native Italy when he was 10. He eventually became a priest and served his church with devotion. At a certain point his faith started to waver, and he sought and received opportunities for further study. The more he studied, however, the more concerned he became. What he read and felt convinced him that there had been a general apostasy from the true doctrine taught by Jesus and the early Apostles. Angelo searched for God’s true religion in various faiths but was left unsatisfied for many years.
One day he encountered two members of the Church who were helping the missionaries find more people to teach. He felt drawn to them and joyfully listened to their message. Angelo willingly accepted a copy of the Book of Mormon.
That evening he started reading the book. He felt overcome with joy. Through the Spirit, God gave Angelo an inner assurance that in the Book of Mormon he would find the truth for which he had been seeking for many years. Sweet feelings flooded through him. What he read and what he learned from the missionaries confirmed his conclusion that there had been a general apostasy, but he also learned that God’s true Church had been restored to the earth. A short while later, Angelo was baptized into the Church. When I first met him, he was the president of the Rimini Branch of our Church in Italy.
What Nicholas, Alibert, and Angelo experienced with the Book of Mormon is reminiscent of Parley P. Pratt’s experience:
“I opened [the book] with eagerness. … I read all day; eating was a burden, I had no desire for food; sleep was a burden when … night came, for I preferred reading to sleep.
“As I read, the spirit of the Lord was upon me, and I knew and comprehended that the book was true, as plainly and manifestly as a man comprehends and knows that he exists. My joy was now full, as it were, and I rejoiced sufficiently to more than pay me for all the sorrows, sacrifices and toils of my life.”

“There are many that will rejoice and think Mormonism is down now,” wrote Sally C. Randall in a spirited letter to family and friends only days after the martyrdom of Joseph and Hyrum Smith. “But they will be mistaken, for the Lord has begun His work and He will carry it on in spite of all mobs and devils.”

In the same letter, Sally wrote: “Never has there been such a horrible crime committed since the day Christ was crucified. It seems that all nature mourns. The earth is deprived of the two best men there was on it.”

“Sally’s letter is remarkable for several reasons,” explained Latter-day Saint historians Jordan Watkins and Steven C. Harper. Though Church history is rich with other accounts from the time of the martyrdom, “in [this letter] we hear a believing woman’s voice, and in it we have captured a very early response to the tragedy, a raw and revealing reaction.”

Written on July 1, 1844—when hostility raged against the Saints by mobs that besieged them on every side—this letter reveals a Nauvoo that was filled with faith. The letter reveals Sally’s rock-solid confidence in God and her ironclad determination to defend her faith, even though the Saints were outnumbered by persecutors and she was aware that further sacrifices could be required.

Sally was a relatively new member at the time of the martyrdom. She and her husband and their two sons had joined the Church near Buffalo, New York, and migrated to Nauvoo in 1843. Here they found many Saints sick with fevers, malaria, and measles. Writing to her family in the eastern United States, she said, “It is very sickly here at present … , and a great many children die” from the diseases.

Sally’s oldest son, 14-year-old George, soon got sick and died about three weeks later. With “a heart full of grief and sorrow” from her son’s death, she received word eight months later of the Prophet’s martyrdom. In this state of grief, she wrote her family to detail the events, share her emotions, and give perspective to events of the time.

While in the county jail in Carthage, Illinois, Joseph and Hyrum Smith were shot by a mob on June 27, 1844. A few days after, Sally Randall wrote: “About 6 in the afternoon … about one hundred and fifty of the mob made an attack upon the courthouse and the guard[. They] went into the jail, and the first one they shot was Hyrum. He was killed dead on the spot. Elder Taylor was badly wounded. Joseph then jumped out of the window. They shot him I know not how many times. The mob then fled as quick as possible.”

Martyrdom, by Gary E. Smith, may not be copied
In the letter she notes that some men were spotted the next day crossing the river still wearing paint on their faces and that on the day of the martyrdom, only eight men had been left to guard the courthouse and jail.

She describes how, about four miles (6 km) outside Nauvoo, troops intercepted a man who was heading to Nauvoo to deliver “the sad news.” The troops would not let him proceed and detained him, delaying the Saints from receiving news of the martyrdom until the next morning.

“If you can imagine … how the Apostles and Saints felt when the Savior was crucified,” Sally continued, “you can [get] something of a guess of how the Saints felt here when they heard that their prophet and patriarch were both dead and murdered, too, by a lawless mob. … They have sealed their testimony with their blood.”

Sally expressed the sentiment of the time that Governor Thomas Ford of Illinois was at fault for failing to protect Joseph. She declares the belief of her neighbors and fellow Saints that Joseph and Hyrum voluntarily suffered martyrdom to seal their testimonies with their blood.

Yet this letter appears to have never found its destination to family and friends, leaving historians to speculate what happened. Did the local militiamen prevent postal service due to hostile sentiment? Perhaps letters from Nauvoo during this turbulent time went only as far as a local town in Illinois or maybe Chicago and were never forwarded? Maybe Sally never mailed the letter and left it behind when she migrated west.

For more than 100 years this letter lay yellowing and obscure to the world until an unusual set of circumstances suddenly aligned to bring it to light. A doctor in the Chicago area with an interest in antique items bought an old trunk in an estate sale. Rummaging through its contents, he discovered the letter.

The doctor recognized its importance and took care of the letter until one day in 1963 when two missionaries knocked on his door. They had come to deliver a Church magazine with his name on the label that had been inadvertently delivered to a member of the Church several blocks away. The doctor, who had spent time in Utah years earlier, had developed an interest in the Church and had subscribed to the magazine to stay informed.

On this day the missionaries were tracting in this neighborhood west of Chicago when they unknowingly knocked on the door of a member of the Church who had received the magazine in error only a few minutes earlier.

The missionaries took the magazine to the proper home, where they met the adult son of the doctor. During the conversation, the son showed the letter to the missionaries and allowed them to make a photocopy.

Jim Nowa, one of the missionaries, says, “I believe it was providential that the mailman delivered the magazine to the wrong address, even though the correct address was clearly labeled. It was fortuitous that the member was home and we were tracting that area, or we may have never met the son of the doctor with the letter.”

The missionaries delivered copies of the letter to the Church History Department after their missions.

Brother Nowa believes that Sally’s testimony and account of the horrific events the Saints faced at the time of the martyrdom serve as a message to strengthen us in our day.

From his study of her letter, Brother Nowa concludes that Sally had confidence in her own spiritual sensitivity and capacity to act on promptings. Despite mobs who threatened her community, opposition from family and friends who fought her conversion, and the premature death of her son, she was faithful in her conviction of the truth.

“Sally’s clear and faith-filled voice allows us to draw on the bravery, courage, and determination of the Nauvoo Saints to battle the tides of opposition of our own day,” he adds.

Shortly before leaving Nauvoo, Sally wrote her family: “The mob are threatening continually to come upon us. We heard they were coming today but I have not seen anything in the least, for I believe there is faith enough in the city to keep them back until the Saints all get away.”

She described how they planned to travel “with a yoke of oxen and a mule,” while driving their cows. “I don’t know when I shall have another opportunity to write, but as soon as I have I will improve it, and I must close for the present so goodbye to all, earthly friends.”

Sally and her husband, James, with their surviving son, settled in Nephi, Utah, where she resided until her death in 1874.

Over a hundred and eight years ago, some parents in Farmington, Utah, were worried about their children. They wondered how they could help them understand the gospel so that they would live happier lives.
Bishop John Hess was concerned about some of the children in his ward who were staying out late at night, and some who were behaving rowdy. He called a meeting of the mothers in the ward and talked about the importance of guiding the minds of young children.
Sister Aurelia Spencer Rogers was one of the mothers in the Farmington Ward. Aurelia loved children and wanted them to live the gospel. She thought about the things Bishop Hess had said.
Sister Rogers recorded in her journal: “I had reflected seriously upon the necessity of more strict discipline for our little boys. … What will our girls do for good husbands, if this state of things continues? … I had children of my own, and was just as anxious as a mother could be to have them brought up properly. But what was to be done? It needed the united effort of the parents.”
One day Eliza R. Snow, the General President of the Relief Society, had been to a conference in Farmington. The train back to Salt Lake was not due for some time, so Sister Snow decided to visit her friend Aurelia.
Sister Snow had no children of her own, but she had a great interest in them. She was a poet and a teacher and had written songs and stories for little children. She was pleased with Sister Rogers’s idea about an organization for little boys where they could be taught everything good, and how to behave. Sister Snow agreed to discuss the matter with the First Presidency, who later gave approval. A letter was written to Bishop Hess, asking for his permission to organize the children in his ward.
After Bishop Hess received the letter from Sister Snow, he talked with Sister Rogers and asked if she would be willing to preside over an organization of the children. Sister Rogers said: “I felt willing, but very incompetent. From that time my mind was busy thinking how it was to be managed … As singing was necessary, it needed the voices of little girls as well as boys to make it sound as well as it should.” Sister Snow agreed with Sister Rogers. “‘We must have the girls as well as the boys—they must be trained together.’” She suggested that the organization be called “Primary.”
On August 11, 1878, Bishop Hess set apart Sister Rogers and her two counselors, Louisa Haight and Helen Miller. He suggested that they visit every home in the ward during the next two weeks, which they did. They took the names and ages of two hundred twenty-four children and invited them to the first meeting.
The first Primary meeting was held on Sunday, August 25, 1878, in the rock chapel in Farmington.
Sister Rogers said, “Imagine our feelings as we stood before an audience of children who had come there to receive instructions from us. We were very weak indeed, but felt to lean upon the Lord.”
The meeting began with prayer; then the children were given instructions and taught to sing.
The children were asked to “see how much they could do for their fathers and mothers without grumbling.”
Children were also asked to not quarrel with brothers and sisters. Little boys were instructed to not go into orchards and melon patches that weren’t their own, and little girls were told to not hang on to wagons, a practice not only wrong but dangerous.
The reason for Primary is still the same: to help every child learn how to be happy by living the gospel of Jesus Christ. As we radiate the light of the gospel, the world will see how happy we are and want to live the teachings of Jesus too.
Happy birthday, Primary! We are glad to celebrate with eight hundred seventy-five thousand boys and girls everywhere.

Imagine that one morning, you wake up and realize there’s a cloth blocking your vision. You try to pull it off, but your attempts are in vain, and ultimately you give up and accept that you’re destined to live your life in darkness. Hopelessly, you let your head fall in defeat. Then suddenly you hear a voice—someone is telling you to take his hand, saying that he can help you if you will only believe and trust him to lead you. Could you put your full trust in him?

I remember a special event that occurred in Idaho. It was early spring. The stake president called and said, “I think you had better look things over up here.” So I drove to southern Idaho. He took me to a reservoir several miles above some little towns. The water was almost ready to lap over the edge of the dam. He said, “Most people don’t realize that we are going to have a flood this year. They are relaxed down there in the valley. Most do not understand what is going to happen if a canal is not built to contain the excess water and take it away from the reservoir.”
He told me that as a young man he had walked those hills but had never seen so much snow left that late or so much water in the reservoir that time of year. Here was a man who knew what he was doing. The only thing I could say to him was, “Do what’s right. Do what you must.”
I went back a few weeks later and saw huge earth-moving equipment going back and forth, almost as if by some predetermined melody, digging a channel. Men and boys worked with shovels; people worked together. A miracle was being performed as a canal was dug twenty-three miles long in a matter of several days. The communities were saved. Yes, some of the farms were injured, but a whole area was now safe. How? Why? Because of the unity of courageous people doing what needed to be done together. No one person could have done it. No small group of men or women could have accomplished the task. But with the unity which that stake president helped to create, we saw the National Guard, construction companies (not knowing if or when they would be paid), and men from near and far loaning their valuable equipment so that a valley could be rescued. It was a latter-day miracle brought about by unity.

In tournament golf competition, there is a rule that a contestant must be disqualified if he signs an incorrect scorecard or turns his card in without signing it. Gary Player did that once and was eliminated from a prestigious tournament. He was asked if someone in the scoring tent couldn’t have reminded him to sign.
“My friend,” Player replied, “there are responsibilities in life. You cannot shove your responsibilities onto the shoulders of someone else. This was my responsibility. I failed to meet it, so I must suffer the consequences.”

About two years ago I was living in Mexico City. My family and I were enjoying it there, but we saw a lot of people living in poverty. A wonderful opportunity to provide charity came when we had a little money we felt could be used to help someone else.
That Christmas our stake organized a “Family Help Tree.” We chose a name from the tree and started planning. We couldn’t wait to help this family on Christmas.
One month later, Christmas arrived and our family was ready to deliver the presents. We drove to the address and walked down a dark alley. There were gray, eroded cement walls, a plastic roof, and a wooden door that was too small for the doorway. When we knocked on the door we saw dirt floors and only one couch. There was a fridge that was not plugged in and a little bit of food on the shelves. We then found out that the mom, dad, 9-month-old baby, 4-year-old girl, and 6-year-old boy all slept either on the floor or on the couch and had only two light blankets.
We explained why we were there and then proceeded to give them the presents. The look of joy and happiness on their faces was truly priceless. We gave them a couple of alphabet toys, some food, and last but not least, some warm blankets. They were so grateful. Everyone cried tears of joy. I felt the love of the Savior for this family.
After that humbling experience, I asked my parents if we could use any money that was going toward my gifts for others who are less fortunate, and then my two little brothers asked if they could too. That moment made it a Christmas to remember. It was truly a humbling event and increased my testimony of service and the love of the Savior. When we are in the service of others, we are in the service of God, just as it states in Mosiah 2:17.

I’m no dummy—or at least that’s what I thought. I knew that after a mission the next really important thing is marriage. That’s scary—so a year before I returned, I made a list of what I wanted in a wife.
Everyone knows that a couple with both partners completely committed to the gospel is more likely to be happy and stay married, so I planned to look for a girl with a solid foundation in the Church. I named the trait “unshakable gospel stability” and put it number one on my list. Smart, attractive, and talented were on the list too, but the cute stuff is easy. I wasn’t sure how to tell if a girl was unshakable.
Humility aside, I was quite sure of my own unshakability. After all, I’m a fourth-generation Mormon from Manti, Utah. My family is active, and I’m descended from pioneer stock, so I figured my gospel foundation was on bedrock. Generations of tradition are bound to help a person keep close to the Church. With that in mind, I decided the safest thing I could do was find a girl with a background just like mine.
Now don’t get me wrong. I think converts are great. They have enthusiasm—fire, I guess you’d call it. But as a missionary I had worked in little branches of the Church with impressive membership lists and only a few active members. I didn’t want to risk marrying someone with a flame that might go out.
After my mission, I enrolled at BYU and dated a bit. I wasn’t really looking to get married, but I kept my list in my pocket just in case. Then I met Beverly at my family home evening group. What a fireball! She was so excited to be at BYU that she could hardly contain herself. She was smart and cute, too, and so much fun that I volunteered to help her with her Book of Mormon homework.
“So,” I said casually, “where are you from?”
“California,” she replied, looking me straight in the eye. “And yes, I am a convert.”
I winced to hear those two “C” words in the same sentence.
“Have you been a member long?” I asked.
“Not long,” she admitted.
I made a mental note not to get emotionally involved until I was sure about her. But then she started questioning me.
“What callings have you had in the Church?” she wanted to know.
We compared notes. She had taught Primary, been a pianist, conducted the ward choir, directed a ward play, and been on the stake youth council. I had been LDSSA president—I was pretty proud of that because almost everyone in my high school was enrolled in released-time seminary. Bev didn’t seem impressed. There were only ten or fifteen students in her early-morning seminary class, and they took turns being president.
“I got up every morning at 5:30 to go to class,” she told me. I ducked my head and wondered if I would have done that.
By the time general conference came around we were seeing each other nearly every day. It was just as friends, you understand. I didn’t want to get serious. We went to church together every Sunday, but when she invited me to take her to the Tabernacle to see the prophet in person, I was a little reluctant.
“It’s awfully crowded,” I complained. “Why don’t we watch the sessions on television?”
“It’s a promise I made to myself,” she said in her determined way. “I may not be in Utah for very long, and I’m not going to miss seeing general conference in person.”
We went to conference. One thing led to another, and I invited her to drive to Manti to meet my mother.
The Manti Temple is a beautiful white limestone building that stands on a hill so you can see it from one end of the valley to the other. The pageant on the temple grounds is our summer youth program. Everyone has a chance to participate, and loudspeakers broadcast the sound all over town so that anyone who cares to listen soon has the script memorized.
I pointed out the temple as soon as we drove into the valley. Bev caught her breath when she saw it. “Oh,” she said, “it glows. I’d love to feel that influence every day.”
The Manti cemetery is beside the temple hill. I showed Bev the grave of my great-grandfather who helped build the temple.
“This is wonderful,” Bev said.
Bev won my mother over immediately. While they were chatting, I took out my list and read it again. I realized I was getting a little attached and began to panic. Was Beverly unshakable? I was going to have to decide.
“It must have been great to raise your family here where the Church is so strong,” I heard Bev tell my mother. “I wish my family were members.”
After dinner, Mom showed Beverly her collection of genealogy pictures. She stopped at the photo of her Grandmother Hansen and told her how Grandma’s family disowned her when she joined the Church in Denmark.
“We’re very proud of these pioneers,” Mom remarked. “They all made great sacrifices for the gospel.” Then she looked directly at me. “Each of them was a convert to the Church.”
“You know,” I said to Bev as we left town. “One of the things I really love about you is your enthusiasm for the gospel.”
“And I’m impressed with your family’s strong gospel traditions,” she replied. “You ought to be proud of your pioneer ancestors.”
“I am,” I said truthfully. But my thoughts were elsewhere. Unshakability doesn’t come from other people; it’s a personal choice. Being descended from pioneers is good, I decided. But wouldn’t it be great to be married to one?

One young man, Michael, fulfilled this duty by helping his friend Jose.
One day, Jose asked him, “Michael, why are you always happy?”
Michael said, “It’s because I serve.”
“Why do you serve?”
“Because I hold the priesthood and it’s my duty,” came the reply.
Jose said, “I would like to know more about the priesthood.”
Michael invited Jose to Church activities and later to Church meetings. Eventually Jose and his family were taught by the missionaries and were baptized. Jose said, “Missionary work is the base of our Church. If we will be just and righteous in our daily dealings, then those around us will take notice and inquire of us like I did. Michael is a vessel in God’s great plan.”

The gospel changed everything in my life, and I felt a strong desire to share it with others—just as the missionaries had shared it with me.
I felt prompted to serve a full-time mission and discussed this with Bishop Wrotto. The decision wasn’t easy. I had doubts about leaving behind the life I knew, especially the part-time job that I struggled to get. But my bishop said two things that remained in my heart:
God knows you personally. “Seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you” (Matthew 6:33).
You should create time for God. God should not create time for you.
These words kept playing in my mind. I knew it was what I was supposed to do.
I began preparing for my mission, and soon I was called to serve in the Ghana Accra Mission under President and Sister Young. I left my job to fully prepare, but then the unexpected happened: COVID-19.
The pandemic spread rapidly, buildings were shut down, churches were closed, and public gatherings were prohibited. The missionary training center (MTC) was closed, and I was stuck at home—no job, no mission, just frustration.
During this period, I began questioning my decision. But my bishop encouraged me to use the time as an opportunity to study the scriptures and follow the Come, Follow Me program.
Later, we were notified that we would begin online MTC training. Finally, I was blessed to serve in the Ghana Accra Mission.
My mission took me to places where I met incredible people and worked with companions who taught me to be bold in sharing the gospel and patience in helping others find the same joy I had found.
When I returned home, I felt the desire to share the gospel with my family—especially my brother. He had been skeptical when I first joined the Church. He didn’t understand why I was so passionate about it. But instead of forcing him, I decided to live by example.
One evening, I sat down with him and shared my testimony. I told him how the gospel had changed my life. To my surprise, he listened. We discussed the Book of Mormon, the teachings of Jesus Christ, and the Restoration of the gospel. It wasn’t a quick process, but over time he started reading and praying on his own.
Months later my brother made the decision to be baptized. I couldn’t have been happier. I saw him changing, growing, and the same light I once felt began to shine in him.
Eventually, he felt inspired to serve a full-time mission as well. He is currently serving in the DRC Kinshasa West Mission.
It brings me so much joy to see how far he has come. I know he will touch lives and help others find the same peace that comes from knowing Jesus Christ.
The gospel is meant to be shared, and I will continue to share it with those around me—just as I once shared it with my brother.
As I reflect on my journey—from meeting the missionaries, becoming a missionary myself, and helping my brother find his own path—I know that the Lord’s plan is much bigger than we can understand.
I call this story “a journey of faith.”

One autumn day during my shift as a worker in the Salt Lake Temple, a young man and his friends, clearly not dressed for temple worship, arrived.
“We’re here to see the temple,” the young man said.
“Do you have a recommend?” I asked.
The young man thought for a moment. Then he said, “Yes. My mother has a Mormon friend in Minnesota. She recommended that we come see the temple.”
I felt impressed to pull the young people aside and talk to them. The young man’s name was Lars. I explained to him that not only could he come to the temple but also that Heavenly Father wanted him to come. I told Lars that he first had to prepare, and I explained how.
The following spring, Lars wrote me a letter, thanking me for explaining the real meaning of a temple recommend. “I did learn more about a temple recommend,” he wrote. “Actually, I was baptized and received a recommend of my own last January!” My eyes filled with tears as I looked at the photograph he had enclosed of himself in his white baptismal clothes and of the missionaries who had taught him.
My journey back to the temple was remarkable, and learning of Lars’s journey was a wonderful blessing that reminded me how we can all touch lives for good.

Elder Taylor received a call to the Eastern States Mission. But during the summer before he was to leave, he and a brother had drunk some contaminated water while on a trip to southern Utah. As a result, Henry contracted typhoid fever and was not able to leave until later. He recalls that “when I first reached my mission, our room wasn’t well heated. We had our study class at 6:00 A.M., and I would don my bathrobe and sit there with my teeth chattering. I found that putting a hot toaster under my chair helped a little.”
At that time missionaries often traveled without purse or scrip. Elder Taylor said that during his mission “the Lord was good to us, and the people were kind and provided us with food and lodging. My mission experiences were humbling and inspirational.
“I salute you noble young people. You will be the leaders in your communities and the Church in the very near future. Live clean and useful lives. Happiness comes from keeping the Lord’s commandments. I leave my blessing with you, and pray that our Heavenly Father will guide, guard, and protect you.”

For as long as I can remember, my family has read scripture stories every night. We started with the books that have lots of pictures, then gradually moved up to books with more words and fewer pictures. It wasn’t until my mom read the requirements for earning a Gospel in Action award that we made the jump from scriptures stories to real scriptures.
“‘Read the scriptures daily for at least one month,’” Mom read from the award form. “We could all do that together,” she said enthusiastically.
“You mean scripture stories, don’t you?” my little sister, Crystal, asked.
“I think that you’re old enough to read the actual scriptures,” Dad said.
Crystal and I looked at each other.
“I don’t think Crystal’s ready for scriptures,” I said. After all, she was only seven and hadn’t even been baptized yet.
“I am, too, ready!” she shouted, offended. She didn’t understand that I was just trying to keep Mom and Dad reading from the scripture story books.
“Then it’s settled,” Mom said. “We’ll start tonight.”
So we started reading the Book of Mormon. Dad suggested that we try to read one chapter per night. Each of us took a turn reading three verses at a time. Then we finished up by reading the chapter heading. I like the chapter headings. Sometimes that’s the only part that I understand.
We began, of course, with 1 Nephi, and after a few days, I decided that the actual scriptures weren’t as tough as I thought they’d be. We read about how Lehi’s family left Jerusalem. Then Nephi and his brothers, Laman, Lemuel, and Sam, went back and got the brass plates. I already knew the story, but it was interesting to read it the way that Nephi himself told the story. Then Nephi and his brothers went back to Jerusalem to get Ishmael’s family. And after a long time, they all sailed to the promised land.
I learned things that I had never known before, like how the Lord taught Nephi to build a boat. And how some of the sons of Ishmael were just as mean to Nephi as Laman and Lemuel were. And I had never realized how long they all lived in the wilderness before they sailed to America.
Toward the end of 1 Nephi were a few chapters that were very hard for Crystal and me to understand. The chapter headings always ended with a note that said to compare them with a chapter in Isaiah. Dad explained that Isaiah was a prophet from the Old Testament who Nephi really liked. I didn’t think much about it until we got to 2 Nephi, where we read chapter after chapter that didn’t make much sense to me. There were even parts where Mom and Dad just shook their heads and said that we’d understand them better when we’re older.
I was just about ready to tell Mom and Dad that I didn’t think I was old enough to read real scriptures, when Nephi started to use words that I understood again.
Then one Monday night we read 2 Nephi 31. Crystal was reading when we came to verse 20. She read, “‘Wherefore, ye must press forward with a steadfastness in Christ, having a perfect brightness of hope, and a love of God and of all men.’”
“Wait,” I interrupted. “That sounds familiar.”
Crystal, who is usually annoyed when I interrupt, added, “I’ve heard it before, too.”
“Where do you think you heard it?” Mom asked.
It popped into my head: “In Primary, in singing time!” I started to sing, “‘Press forward, Saints, with steadfast faith in Christ.’”
Crystal joined in. “‘With hope’s bright flame alight in heart and mind, With love of God and love of all mankind.’”
Mom and Dad sang the last line with us. “‘Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia!’”
“Well done,” Dad said after clapping. “We’re impressed!”
“It’s out of the Hymns book,” Crystal said, trying to impress them a little more.
“That’s right, and I think it’s hymn number eighty-one,” I added.
I could tell that Mom and Dad were surprised, so I went over to the piano for our hymnbook. “Look it up,” I said, handing it to Mom.
She turned to hymn number eighty-one. I was right. There it was—“Press Forward, Saints.”
“We learned this hymn for the Primary program last year,” I reminded Mom. “And the words are almost the same as in the Book of Mormon.”
Mom pointed to the bottom of the page in the hymnbook. It said, “Text: Marvin K. Gardner, b. 1952; based on 2 Nephi 31:20.” Then she explained that the words to the song were written by a man named Marvin K. Gardner, who was born in 1952. He took the scripture that we had just read, and wrote it as a poem to be sung.
Mom played the piano, and together we sang all three verses. Then we went back and finished chapter 31.
“Nephi wrote those words a long time ago,” Dad said as he closed his scriptures. “But they mean as much now as they did then. We still need to ‘press forward.’”
I went to bed that night understanding that the scriptures are more than just a story about people who lived a long time ago. The scriptures are here for us to read and learn from. I felt that night as if the scriptures were talking to Crystal and me. It was as though Nephi was telling us to always press forward and do our best. I could use that kind of encouragement every day. I plan to keep reading the scriptures every night. Someday I’ll even understand the parts from Isaiah.

He knew they would be looking for him, so David scrunched down in his seat on the bench behind Brother Johnson. He figured the deacons quorum adviser wouldn’t be able to see him way back there even though the chapel wasn’t very crowded and it would be difficult to remain unseen. He knew if they found him he would be asked to pass the sacrament, and he didn’t want to. He was a priest now and a six-foot player on the high school basketball team. It was embarrassing to stand at the front of the chapel with those little 12-year-old deacons.
His father had been watching him from the stand, and David felt his disapproval. Much to his surprise, however, he wasn’t asked to assist the deacons. Before they could ask him, Brother Hensley volunteered.
Brother Hensley was a new member of the Church, not much older than David, and newly ordained to the Aaronic Priesthood. Everyone had been excited when they learned he was taking the missionary discussions. He had been very popular in high school just two years before and was now attending college.
He stood tall alongside the deacons. He walked proudly and passed the sacred emblems with dignity.
A group of members were talking in the lobby after the meeting. David couldn’t help but overhear their conversation, especially when he moved closer so he could hear better.
“Thanks for helping us out today,” someone was saying. “I hope it didn’t bother you to work with the young deacons.”
“Not at all,” David was surprised to hear him say. “I consider it a great honor. You know who the first person to ever pass the sacrament was, don’t you?” Then answering his own question, he continued. “It was Jesus Christ when he passed the sacrament of the Last Supper to his Apostles. It is my understanding that our Apostles and prophets today administer and pass the sacrament to one another just as we did today. I guess if they can consider this a privilege, well, so can I.”
David moved on quietly as he reflected upon what he had just heard. The following Sunday, he decided he would sit in plain sight. He would sit where they could find him.

Rebecca loves music and ballroom dancing. Actually, Matthew loves music, too, and they often sing and play piano together. But ballroom dancing? More on that later.
Remember the ballroom dancing mentioned above? That’s where Matthew may have set the gold standard for sibling support. Not only did he practice ballroom dancing at home with Rebecca, he also learned a routine so that he could perform with another girl on a song Rebecca choreographed. When the ballroom dance club needed an extra member, Matthew joined. Now Rebecca relies on him when she tests routines: “I ask him if it will work or not, and together we figure it out.”
Not long ago, members of the club staged a workshop for the youth in Rebecca’s and Matthew’s ward. Rebecca took charge and got everyone involved. “And Matthew got to dance with all the girls!” Rebecca teases. Matthew just grins.

This story happened in the USA.
Knock, knock.
Maddie ran to the front door and opened it. She smiled when she saw Brother Clayton. He was their family’s ministering brother.
“Hi, Maddie, I’m here to see your mom and dad,” Brother Clayton said.
Mom joined Maddie by the door. “Thanks for coming. Please come in.”
Brother Clayton followed Mom and Maddie into the living room.
Dad set a chair in the middle of the room. “Brother Clayton is here to give your mom and me a priesthood blessing,” he told Maddie.
“Why?” Maddie asked. She knew that people asked for priesthood blessings if they were sick or starting school. But why did Mom and Dad need a blessing?
“You know how our family has been going through a hard time? Dad and I want Heavenly Father’s help and guidance,” Mom said.
Maddie knew that Mom was often stressed. And Dad was worried about money. It had been very hard on the whole family.
“Priesthood blessings aren’t only for when you are sick,” Dad said. “They can also be for when you need comfort or strength.”
“Can I stay and listen?” Maddie asked.
Mom smiled. “Sure. Can you sit quietly? We want to be reverent so we can feel the Holy Ghost.”
Maddie nodded and sat on the couch. Then she folded her arms and closed her eyes. She listened to Brother Clayton give Dad and Mom each a blessing. She felt warm and hopeful as Brother Clayton said loving words from Heavenly Father.
When they were done, Maddie stood up. “Can I have a blessing too?”
“Of course,” Dad said.
Maddie sat in the chair, and Brother Clayton placed his hands on her head. She felt good inside. But she wondered what words Heavenly Father had for her. She knew the problems her family had were big—too big for her to fix.
“Maddie, your Heavenly Father wants you to know that you have the gift of joy,” Brother Clayton said. “He loves you and wants you to be happy. And He wants you to share your happiness with others.”
Maddie listened carefully. She felt peaceful. She might not be able to make the big problems her family was facing go away. But she could help her family be happy.
When Brother Clayton finished, Maddie jumped up from the chair and gave Mom and Dad a big hug. Then she shook Brother Clayton’s hand. “Thank you,” she said.
Later that night, Maddie sat on her bed. She thought about her priesthood blessing. How could she help her family feel happy? She looked around her room at her picture books, stuffed animals, and art supplies.
Then she had an idea. She grabbed some paper, scissors, and crayons. She began to cut the paper into small squares.
Maddie picked up a red crayon. “You can do this!” she wrote on the first paper. On the next she wrote, “You are loved!” Maddie thought of more happy things to write. She kept going until all the papers were filled with happy words.
When she was done, she put the notes around the house—one by the front door, one by the soap next to the sink, and one by the laundry room.
Over the next few days, she smiled when she saw her family reading the notes.
“Thank you for the notes,” Mom said with a big smile. “They make me happy. And you make me happy too!”
Maddie gave her mom a hug. Heavenly Father was helping her use her gift to help her family.
Cut out this note and leave it for your family to find!
You are loved!
Illustrations by Annie Poon

Michelle sat at her desk and tied the knot in her beaded necklace. After an hour of working, she had finished her gift for Mom. She went to find Mom, ignoring the 100 subtraction problems on her desk.
Mom was in the kitchen making dinner. “Mom, look what I made for you,” Michelle exclaimed as she handed her the necklace.
Mom looked at the necklace. “Thank you. It’s beautiful, Michelle,” Mom said. “I can tell you’ve put a lot of time into designing such a pretty pattern, but what were you supposed to be doing?”
Michelle remembered the math problems on her desk. Tomorrow was her 100-facts test for subtraction, and Mom wanted her to practice. But Michelle had taken a 100-facts test in class every week, and she wasn’t getting much better.
“My homework,” she said, “but I’m not very good at subtraction. How am I supposed to be able to do 100 problems in just five minutes?”
“Would you like me to help you?” Mom asked.
Michelle nodded.
“Then we’ll practice your math problems after dinner.”
After dinner, Mom held the timer while Michelle practiced. Michelle was worried. Having Mom time the 100 facts helped Michelle focus, but Mom couldn’t help her during class.
“Don’t worry,” Mom said after Michelle had worked for five minutes. “The scriptures say that ‘if ye are prepared ye shall not fear.’ If you’re ready to work and to pray for Heavenly Father’s help, you’ll see great improvements on your math tests.”
Every night during the next few weeks, Mom and Dad helped Michelle by timing her while she worked on a practice sheet. And every night Michelle remembered to ask for help in her nightly prayers.
At the end of the school term, Michelle and her parents reviewed her weekly test scores. Two months ago Michelle was only completing 30 out of the 100 problems, but on her most recent test she got 83 right!
“You’re doing great, Michelle,” Mom said.
“Yippee!” exclaimed Michelle. “All I had to do was prepare and pray.”

The Lubbock Texas Stake youth got a real workout recently at what leaders dubbed the “Stake Youth Health Spa.” They “toned up their muscles with an aerobic workout and used special weight-lifting equipment (hoes, rakes, and shovels) at the South Plains Bank Garden.”
The garden helps provide fresh produce for many needy families in the area. Afterwards, the youth cooled down by “doing laps” in a neighborhood pool. Those involved said they got a spiritual workout as well as a physical one by helping the community.