Gospel Story Finder

Had the time come for baptism?
“Brother Palmer asked me if I would be baptized,” Brandon recalls. “I had already told him yes. Then the missionaries asked, too. I remember that was on August 4. They said, ‘How about September 4?’ I said, ‘That’s the day after the big game. I don’t know if that will work,’” and he called for time out to think it over. It didn’t take long. He thought about what he had learned and the answers he had already received.
“I knew I had to decide,” Brandon said, “And once I made the decision, I knew it was right. I knew I would fulfill my promises to the Lord with all my heart.”

Now that the triplets are old enough to date, they’re really finding their threesome to be an advantage at times. Dan recalls one evening when he was trying to phone a girl to ask her out, but her number was always busy. He had to run off to a meeting, so he assigned brother Dave to fill in for him.
“Dave finally got hold of her and asked for a date. She said yes, I took her out, and she never found out what really happened,” says Dan. The three brothers remain sworn to secrecy as to the name of the young lady in question.

When I turned 12 years old, I was the only young man attending my ward in Cape Town, South Africa. Even so, my bishop felt inspired to call a Young Men presidency.
My Young Men president could have said to himself, “What am I supposed to do with only one young man? We cannot organize activities for only one.” Instead, he gave of his best and magnified his calling. The presidency organized hikes, camps, Scouting activities, Mutual evenings on Tuesday nights, lessons on Sundays, sand boarding, and activities at the beach. After a while, other young men began coming out—two, then three, and then four.
I am filled with gratitude that these Young Men leaders were faithful in their callings and made an effort for just one young man—me. I am a better person because they didn’t give up and so are the others who participated in the Young Men program in our ward.
Greg Burgoyne, South Africa

Photograph of hand from Getty Images
As a PhD student in Australia, I often traveled from my residence to nearby restaurants in the Melbourne central business district. During one of my shuttles, I saw on the ground a card with a portrait of Jesus Christ. A voice inside me insisted that I pick it up.
I obeyed and carefully perused the card. Then I looked for a better place to leave the small portrait of the Savior but found none. Consequently, I took the card home and placed it on my bookshelf.
Three days later, I met two missionaries while on my way to lunch. We set an appointment for them to teach me, and they handed me a card similar to the one I had found. When I returned home, I compared the two cards. They were both from the missionaries’ church.
When the missionaries visited me, they bore their testimonies about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Initially, I was not comfortable with their testimony. To me, it seemed blasphemous to say that the Church of Jesus Christ had been restored and was the only true church on earth, but two factors kept my interest.
First, I read from the scriptures that “the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom” (Psalm 111:10). I needed wisdom and would like to fear the Lord so that I would get wisdom. I reasoned that I would not fear the Lord without knowing Him. Hence, what the missionaries were teaching me was important because I needed knowledge about the Lord.
Second, I concluded that the Lord had directed me to find the card I had picked up. Throughout the years I stayed in Melbourne, I never saw a similar card on the ground. I concluded that the cards were not thrown away carelessly.
As I took the missionary lessons, I became happier and overwhelmed with the knowledge I got from the new teaching. Soon, I was baptized. I’m now sealed to my wife and children for time and eternity, and today I have the same testimony the missionaries bore to me: The Church of Jesus Christ has been restored through the Prophet Joseph Smith. The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is the only true church on earth and is guided by a living prophet.

Ever since he was a child, Joseph knew he could rely on his oldest brother. Alvin was twenty-five years old now and could have acquired his own farm if he wanted. But he had chosen to stay on the family farm to help his parents get settled and secure on their land as they got older. He was serious and hardworking, and Joseph loved and admired him immensely.24

Maybe Moroni felt that Joseph needed his brother’s wisdom and strength to become the kind of person the Lord could trust with the plates.

Returning home that evening, Joseph was tired. But his family crowded around him as soon as he came through the door, eager to know what he had found at the hill. Joseph started to tell them about the plates, but Alvin interrupted when he noticed how weary Joseph looked.

“Let us go to bed,” he said, “and we will get up early in the morning and go to work.” They would have plenty of time tomorrow to hear the rest of Joseph’s story. “If Mother will get our suppers early,” he said, “we will then have a fine long evening and all sit down and hear you talk.”25

The next evening, Joseph shared what had happened at the hill, and Alvin believed him. As the oldest son in the family, Alvin had always felt responsible for his aging parents’ physical welfare. He and his brothers had even started building a larger house for the family so they could be more comfortable.

Now it seemed Joseph was looking after their spiritual welfare. Night after night he captivated the family with talk of the gold plates and the people who wrote them. The family grew closer together, and their home was peaceful and happy. Everyone felt that something wonderful was about to happen.26

Then one autumn morning, less than two months after Moroni’s visit, Alvin came home with an intense pain in his stomach. Bent over in agony, he begged his father to call for help. When a doctor finally arrived, he gave Alvin a large dose of a chalky medicine, but it only made things worse.

Alvin lay in bed for days, writhing in pain. Knowing he would probably die, he called for Joseph. “Do everything that lies in your power to obtain the records,” Alvin said. “Be faithful in receiving instruction and keeping every commandment that is given you.”27

He died a short time later, and sorrow settled over the house. At the funeral, a preacher all but said Alvin had gone to hell, using his death to warn others of what would happen unless God intervened to save them. Joseph Sr. was furious. His son had been a good young man, and he could not believe that God would damn him.28

With Alvin gone, talk of the plates ended. He had been such a staunch supporter of Joseph’s divine call that any mention of them brought his death to mind. The family could not bear it.

Joseph missed Alvin terribly and took his death especially hard. He had hoped to rely on his oldest brother to help him get the record. Now he felt forsaken.29

As a young college student of peace and conflict studies, I took great interest in any process that could be used for resolving conflict. One life-altering conversation with a friend introduced me to a process that I had never heard of before: companionship council.
While sharing about his mission, my friend told me that companionship council is the regular check-in where missionary companionships discuss how they are working together and how to improve. My friend had found the process so helpful as a missionary that he planned to use it in his marriage someday. The idea sank deep into my heart. I read about companionship council in Preach My Gospel and talked to other returned missionaries about their experiences with it. I saw how companionship councils, similar to family councils, could be used to address and prevent many of the destructive conflicts we face in our relationships today.
My husband, James, and I began holding weekly companionship councils before we were even married. I can still remember our first meeting. James was so open, kind, understanding, and willing to take my thoughts seriously that I felt confident in our ability to build a happy marriage.
Now well into our life together, we have continued the tradition of weekly companionship council. While our relationship isn’t perfect, we both agree that the many sessions we’ve held have helped us find deeper joy and fulfillment in our marriage than we thought possible.
Taking notes will also help you to remember—in the words of President Spencer W. Kimball (1895–1985)—“your triumphs over adversity, your recovery after a fall, your progress when all seemed black, [and] your rejoicing when you [succeed].” James and I are so grateful that we have kept a record of the nearly 800 companionship council sessions we have held over the years. What a joy it is to look back and see how far we’ve come!

My husband and I joined the Church in Russia in 1995 and were sealed the next year in the Stockholm Sweden Temple. Our two young daughters were also sealed to us. Two years later we were blessed to have another daughter, Lizochka, born to us. Our lives were going well. We were all happy. But two days after her birth, our little one began to have trouble eating. In a month she gained only two-thirds of a pound (300 g).
The staff at the children’s medical center told us to feed her more often. I saw that she wanted to eat but could not. Finally, my husband took her to the city hospital. The doctor immediately gave us a diagnosis—a birth defect in the heart. One heart valve did not work, and the poor blood flow to her lungs made it hard for her to breathe or eat.
She needed an operation, but in Russia the youngest children to receive this operation were two years old. Our daughter was only one month old. The doctor prescribed a treatment for her and said that later, when she was older, they would perform the operation.
One month later, Lizochka’s health worsened dramatically, and we rushed her to the hospital. I held her as we drove. She looked at me as if pleading for help. If I had not been a member of the Church, I don’t know what I would have done. But my husband and I trusted the Lord and firmly believed that all would be well. I tried to calm her, saying, “Don’t be scared of anything, my little one. God loves us. He will help us, and everything will be OK.”
Finally we arrived. Holding her close to me, I ran to the admitting division. Lizochka’s eyes began to close. She was barely breathing. Almost unable to speak, I told a doctor about my child, and the medical staff took her to the intensive care unit. The doctor said her lungs were beginning to swell, and they hooked her up to an artificial-respiration machine.
The next day we talked with the director of the cardio surgery division. He said, “I have done such operations but only on older children. How old is she now?”
“Two months,” we told him.
“She already hurts a lot. She is so small, and the swelling of her lungs is complicating things, but we must not drag this on any longer. I have never done such an operation to a small child. I will try to do all I can. You will have to buy an artificial double valve, but it is very expensive—about $2,100. The operation will be in four days.”
What were we to do? Neither we nor anyone we knew had such money. However, our situation came to the attention of others, and through their generosity and the Lord’s mercy we were able to secure the funds. My husband bought the valve we needed to save the life of our child.
Not only did all the brothers and sisters of our branch pray and fast for our little daughter but so did the missionaries and many Latter-day Saints throughout the city. We felt their support. Sitting in the hall on the day of the operation, we felt the presence of the Holy Ghost and sensed the prayers of our brothers and sisters. We knew they were near us! And God was with us, guiding the surgeons. He would not leave us, and everything would work out.
When the surgeon came out after the operation, he, somewhat bewildered, told us, “Everything worked out. We put in the valve. I do not know how, but it succeeded.” But we knew how it succeeded. Heavenly Father blessed him.
Lizochka stayed in the hospital three more days while the swelling of her heart and lungs went down. She had been cut open and sealed closed by only a thin membrane, and a few days later they operated again to close her chest and organs. Almost none of the doctors expected her to survive. But we believed in Heavenly Father and in His power, and we believed that if it was His will, she would recover.
Only God could have given us back our Lizochka. With each day, she got better. She stayed in the hospital another month, and now she is home with us.
God is a God of miracles. He hears our prayers, and during our hard times, He carries us. Trials strengthen our faith and teach us to believe, hope, and love.

Carlos Aguero, of Mendoza, Argentina, was called to go to Paris, France for his mission. He had seldom been out of his own city. He knew no French. But like Nephi, he did not murmur and he went. When he arrived in France, he found that his mission president did not speak Spanish. In fact, none of the other missionaries spoke Spanish; they only spoke English and French. Elder Aguero could not speak English. All the zone conferences and instructions were given in English. All other speaking was in French. Carlos studied, he prayed, he cried, he pleaded with the Lord and asked for help from his mission president and his companions. It took months, but he learned French and English. He served an honorable mission. Now living in Mendoza, Argentina, he often uses his English in Church service and in his profession.

Later, we walked back into Pam’s sister’s classroom. The teacher asked Pam to help her with something, so I sat down and quietly observed. There were about ten students, ages and handicaps varying widely from child to child.

Several of the children had the physical characteristics of Down’s Syndrome. One of these students watched me for a few minutes, then smiled. I smiled back. A little boy with curly red hair and rosy cheeks, he looked about eight years old. He was plump and he rubbed his palms together as he walked toward me. Sitting down in the chair next to me, he wiggled back and forth for a while before he put his hand up to my ear and whispered something.

He told me a corny joke, and I couldn’t keep myself from laughing. Slapping his knees and tilting his head back, the little boy laughed with me. He told me his name before he ran off to play again.

A few moments later the classroom teacher walked over to me and quietly said, “You mustn’t laugh at the students.”

“But why?” I asked. “He told me a joke, and I thought it was funny. He enjoyed it.”

The teacher seemed taken back by my response. “Well we mustn’t encourage them when they’re acting silly,” she added as she started walking away. “I’ve been working with mentally retarded children all my life. I know how to handle them.”

I noticed the little joke teller, Kenny, out of the corner of my eye. He was rubbing his palms together and rocking back and forth at his desk. Then he turned to the student next to him and whispered in his ear. Both of them burst out laughing, slapped their knees, and flung their heads back.

“Shh!” the teacher said.

Suddenly I noticed the principal. He was standing in the doorway and had heard and seen everything that had just taken place.

“Don’t judge her too harshly,” the principal said sitting down next to me. “She was taught that way, and she has done a lot of good over the years.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Well that teacher was taught to help these children become as ‘normal’ as she could. But the longer I work with these kids, the more convinced I am that we should become more like them, not make them more like us.”

I looked at the principal as he was speaking. He was middle-aged and balding.

“You’re different,” he continued, looking at me. “Most of the people who come through the school are afraid. As soon as one of the students touches them, they go wash their hands. But you’re different.”

I didn’t know what he was getting at.

“Will you be coming with Pam from now on? We could use some more help.”

I stammered around awhile, “Actually I hadn’t planned on it. I work and go to school both, so I don’t have much free time.”

“I understand,” he said, disappointed. “But if you ever have a free afternoon, please feel welcome.”

I assured him that I would.

The next time Pam was ready to leave for her sister’s school, I was busy studying for a midterm. Then I thought about Kenny and his chapped red cheeks and corny jokes and I had to jump up, slip on a sweater, and go too.

When Drew* was a young boy, he lived next door to the bishop of his ward, Bishop Philip T. Sonntag. The bishop’s son Mark was one of Drew’s best friends. One afternoon, Mark and Drew were playing in different parts of the Sonntag yard, when the bishop came outside looking for his son. “Drew, do you know where Mark is?” he asked. Drew knew that if he told the truth, Mark would have to quit playing and go inside. “No, I don’t know where he is,” Drew answered.
The bishop went back into his house, and Drew ran to the other side of the large yard, where Mark was playing. “Who were you talking to?” Mark asked. “It was your dad,” Drew answered. “What did he want?” “He wanted you to go inside.” “Then I’d better go in,” Mark said. He left, and Drew stayed outside. A few minutes later Bishop Sonntag came outside again. He told Drew that what he had done was not right and that he (the bishop) was disappointed that Drew hadn’t told the truth.
Drew felt terrible. He was nine years old. He had been baptized. He knew that he was accountable and that he had made a mistake. He walked home and went to his bedroom. He cried as he knelt beside his bed and asked Heavenly Father to forgive him. Then he went back to his friend’s home. When Bishop Sonntag answered the door, Drew said, “I just want you to know that I’m sorry about what I did.” The bishop put his arm around Drew and invited him to come inside.
Drew learned two valuable lessons from the experience: First, it’s important to tell the truth. Second, when we repent after doing something wrong, we feel better. Drew always remembered the outpouring of love he felt from his bishop upon correcting his mistake. He appreciated the bishop and felt that he had been forgiven.

It happened every Sunday in church. No matter how hard Jeremy tried, he always got the wiggle-waggles. He tried very hard to sit still during Primary. He kept his arms folded as long as he could and sang all the Primary songs. Jeremy listened to the lesson in his class and tried to answer questions. But sometimes, even when he tried his very hardest to sit still, they still came—those bothersome wiggle-waggles!
It usually happened toward the end of Primary and carried on through sacrament meeting. Jeremy would start to fidget, then he’d play with his tie. He’d rattle his papers from Primary, then twist around in his seat. He tried talking to his best friend, Thomas, but Thomas would put a finger to his lips to tell Jeremy to be quiet. Thomas never seemed to get the wiggle-waggles.
Sometimes Jeremy would untie his shoes. When the wiggle-waggles were really bad, he would slip off his shoes and kick his stocking feet back and forth.
“Sit still, Jeremy,” his Primary teacher whispered to him.
“Shhh, Jeremy, I want to listen to Sister Bernard,” Thomas said quietly when Jeremy tried to tell him about his new toy dump truck.
“Put your feet down,” his mother cautioned in sacrament meeting.
“Leave your shoes on, son,” his dad told him.
Jeremy tried to sit reverently and quietly. He really did! But he still had those wiggle-waggles every Sunday.
One night at family home evening, Jeremy’s mother brought up the wiggle-waggle problem.
“I try to sit still, Mom. I really do!” Jeremy exclaimed.
“It seems to me that we need to figure out a way to stop those wiggle-waggles from bothering Jeremy,” Dad said thoughtfully. “Let’s all think about it, and maybe we’ll come up with a solution.”
On Sunday morning, just before the family left for church, Jeremy’s mother gave him a piece of paper and a pencil. Then she said, “Jeremy, I want you to write down a sentence about your lesson in Primary, and a sentence about the talks that you hear in sacrament meeting. Do you think you could do that?”
Jeremy nodded enthusiastically.
“We’ll talk about what you wrote on your paper for family home evening,” his mother added.
All through Primary, Jeremy sat very still. He listened carefully to the talks and scripture and wrote down the scripture reference. Jeremy sang with his best voice during singing time, and even wrote down a verse to one of the Primary songs. Then he wrote a sentence about sharing time. Jeremy didn’t talk to Thomas once. During the walk to their class, Thomas commented on how reverent Jeremy was. During his Primary class, Jeremy quietly wrote down a sentence about the lesson. Before he knew it, Primary was over.
“I didn’t get the wiggle-waggles once!” Jeremy proudly reported to his parents as they sat down for sacrament meeting.
During the next hour, Jeremy tried very hard to sit quietly. But after a while, he started to feel the wiggle-waggles creeping up on him. He glanced down at his paper and read the words of the Primary song he had written down: “It shouldn’t be hard to sit very still and think about Jesus, his cross on the hill, and all that he suffered and did for me; it shouldn’t be hard to sit quietly.”*
Jeremy thought about the song. That was the secret! He should think about Jesus. Jeremy knew that Jesus would want him to sit quietly and listen.
Jeremy listened as Elder Vasquez, one of the missionaries serving in his ward, related an experience about a 10-year-old girl who had recently been baptized. He listened when Elder Brown, the other missionary, told the congregation that he was from England and had been on his mission for only three months. As Jeremy listened to the missionaries, he decided that he would like to be a missionary, too.
Jeremy was surprised when the closing hymn was announced. He looked down at his paper and noticed that he hadn’t written anything about the missionaries. He had been too busy listening to them! And the wiggle-waggles hadn’t bothered him once!
As they were leaving the church after sacrament meeting, Jeremy’s parents told him how happy they were that he’d been so reverent. Jeremy told them how the Primary song had taught him to think about Jesus and what He wanted him to do.
Just then, Sister Harper came up to Jeremy’s parents and said, “Jeremy is so quiet! I wish my Kerry would learn how to be quiet and reverent like Jeremy. She gets so wiggly!”
Jeremy’s mother winked at him.
“It looks like the wiggle-waggles found someone else to bother,” she said.
“Yes.” Jeremy smiled and held up his piece of paper. “And I know just what she can do to fix it!”

Oh, no! That word seemed to jump off the page at me, and everything else in the classroom faded into insignificance. Our excellent, but strict, speech teacher had just assigned reading parts to the class and handed out the script. Quickly scanning the first page, my eyes stopped when I hit that word!
You see, I knew that Connie had been assigned to read that line in the script. With few exceptions, almost anyone in the class could have read that profane word without any personal concern. But I knew Connie. I knew of her high standards in every area of her life and of her integrity in maintaining those standards with no compromise. She just exemplified purity and freshness and happiness. Clean thoughts and language were carefully guarded. Now suddenly she was expected to violate that standard by a teacher who saw nothing wrong at all with such language. The script was already being read aloud, and I wondered what she would do. Then it was time for Connie’s part.
“Oh, PUMPKIN!” she exclaimed! The startled class suddenly broke out in good-natured laughter. Our teacher looked up quickly with a surprised expression on her face and momentarily studied Connie. Slowly she began to smile as she realized that Connie wasn’t just trying to attract attention or trying to be funny. But Connie simply continued reading her assigned part as though nothing unusual had happened.

It was Claire’s favorite part of the school day—show-and-tell. Today it was Jackie’s and Michael’s turn. Jackie went to the front of the classroom and held up a snow globe. Its base was covered with flowers, and inside a carousel horse seemed to float in a sea of sparkles. Jackie said that her grandmother gave her this special gift for her eighth birthday. She carefully cranked the key at the bottom of the globe, and the class “ooed” and “aahed” as a beautiful tune played.
Jackie smiled and sat down. Then Michael came forward, empty-handed. Michael didn’t talk a lot, and he seemed sad most of the time. A few of the children snickered as Michael went to the front. Claire felt a knot in her stomach. She felt sorry for Michael.
Michael dug his hand into his pocket and pulled out a tiny wooden turtle. “This turtle is from my dad,” Michael said softly. “He’s in the military, and I haven’t seen him for a long time. He sent this to me from Hawaii.” Michael looked down for a moment, then said firmly, “It’s very special to me.” The class was quiet as Michael went back to his seat.
All day, Claire thought about Michael. She thought about how she would feel if her dad were gone for a long time.
When school ended, Claire got on the bus. She sat across from Michael. She watched him play with his precious turtle. She wanted to talk to him, but she didn’t know what to say. As Michael was getting off the bus, Claire noticed that his turtle was still on the seat. She jumped up, grabbed the turtle, and hurried to the door.
“Michael,” she called. “You forgot your turtle!”
Michael looked surprised. “Thanks,” he said.
The next day, Michael sat behind Claire on the bus. Claire smiled at him, and he smiled back. When Claire got home, she discovered a plastic bag in a pocket on her backpack. Inside the bag were a note and a pretty blue necklace. The note said,
Dear Claire,
Thank you so much for returning Michael’s turtle. It reminds him of his dad, so he takes it with him everywhere. It takes an honest person to return something that is lost. This is a necklace that Michael’s father sent from Hawaii. I want you to have it. Thank you again.
Mrs. Clark (Michael’s mother)
Claire put the necklace on and admired the blue beads. Her whole body seemed to fill up with warmth. For the rest of the year, Claire talked more with Michael and they became friends.

The missionaries first traveled east to New Bedford, Massachusetts, where they hoped to find a ship going to their mission area. When they couldn’t find one, they booked passage on a ship traveling to the Society Islands (French Polynesian Islands) in the South Pacific. They set sail on 9 October 1843.
After they had been at sea only a few weeks, Elder Hanks, a young man who had suffered from ill health, died and was buried in the Atlantic Ocean. The three remaining missionaries continued on. Their voyage took them east and south across the Atlantic, around the Cape of Good Hope, across the Indian Ocean, along the southern coast of Australia, and into the Pacific.
The first island reached by the ship was Tubuai in 1844. The people there showed the missionaries kindness and hospitality, and when some of the people pleaded with the elders to stay, Addison Pratt left the ship to teach them. Serving alone there for many months, struggling to learn the Polynesian language, he baptized 60 out of a population of 200 and organized the first branch of the Church in the South Pacific. To this day, the Latter-day Saint community on Tubuai is a strong one.
Elder Pratt’s two former companions traveled on to Tahiti, where their teaching met with far less success. After a few months, Elder Rogers traveled west to a small group of islands and Elder Grouard sailed to the island of Anaa in the Tuamotus. Elder Rogers again met with little success and much opposition. When rumors finally reached him of the death of the Prophet Joseph Smith, he began to fear for the safety of his family in Nauvoo, and he returned to America. He died during the exodus from Nauvoo.
The people of Anaa, on the other hand, came to greatly love Elder Grouard. He was the first white missionary of any religion to come to their island, and many of them accepted the truth he taught. He baptized over 600 people, organized five branches, and called local officers to serve. He wrote to Elder Pratt and asked him to come to Anaa, as there was too much work for him to do alone.
Elder Pratt responded to his companion’s invitation, and a conference of the Church was held on Anaa with more than 800 in attendance. At this time Addison Pratt decided to travel back to Church headquarters to request more missionaries to help in the work in the South Pacific. Leaving Elder Grouard behind, he traveled first to California, then to the Salt Lake Valley, arriving in September 1848, one week after his wife and four daughters had arrived there from Winter Quarters.
He shared his experiences with the Saints, taught Tahitian classes, and prepared to return to Polynesia. In 1850 he set out with a new companion, James S. Brown, and the promise that his own family and other missionary families would soon follow. They did follow, and despite growing problems with the French government in the islands, the missionaries and their families served until 1852, when they were forced to return to America.
Forty years passed before LDS missionaries were allowed back into French Polynesia. When they returned, the missionaries found that many members had remained faithful despite the lack of contact with Church headquarters, but many others had fallen away. The work began anew in 1892 and has continued with a few interruptions to this day. The gospel truth has shone in these islands for 150 years!
There are now four stakes in the Society Islands, and a beautiful temple stands in Papeete, on the island of Tahiti. The stories of the early missionaries are remembered and shared often by those who now send their own sons and daughters as missionaries to other countries and other islands.*

Much like Angela and Annette, Marco Dauphin is eager to spread the gospel by sharing it with anyone who will listen. Marco is pretty much like any young man his age, with a passion for basketball and a quick, easy smile. But there is something a little different about him, too. He is a leader. He introduces his friends and family to things he thinks are good and uplifting. He knows how to include everyone and make each person feel comfortable. When he first met the missionaries a few years ago, he immediately knew they had something special—something he wanted to have, too.

“I remember learning from the missionaries about the Second Coming,” he says. “I loved it.”

Soon he was ready for baptism, and so was his younger brother, Derek. Younger sister Sandra soon followed. His youngest sister, Tina, was too young then but has since been baptized. But Marco’s older sister, Rosenelle, wasn’t so sure that joining the Church was a good idea.

“I was strong in my belief that the Church was not true,” says Rosenelle.

But at Marco’s urging, Rosenelle continued to meet with the missionaries, never committing to baptism but never completely rejecting the idea either.

“I never gave up,” says Marco. “I knew it would happen.”

And it did. While reading the Book of Mormon one afternoon, Rosenelle read about Alma the Younger. Soon she was thinking about her own life and the direction it was taking. She prayed for a long time that day and started to have some feelings that she couldn’t quite describe.

“Marco told me it was the Spirit,” says Rosenelle. “I knew he was right. I became converted and was baptized. I haven’t ever regretted it.”

The Dauphins’ mother, who is single, isn’t a member of the Church, and she often has to be at work on Monday evenings. So Marco and Rosenelle hold family home evening, complete with a game, songs, prayers, and a lesson. Sometimes the full-time missionaries are invited.

It’s a challenge to coordinate their activities in the Church, but the Dauphins say the effort is worth it. “Joining the Church was a real relief for us,” says Marco. “When we have the Spirit in our home, we feel closer together. We just feel better.”

One day, I had to travel by bus to another city to follow up with a client. Because my finances were tight, I hoped that my client would agree to pay me an advance.
On the way to catch the bus, I decided to go see some quorum members and encourage them to visit their families. Some had forgotten but committed to do so. Others committed to finish their visits that very week.
I was so excited by their commitments that I decided to visit and encourage other quorum members. Before I knew it, it was past noon. So, instead of leaving town, I decided to go to my office to review the client’s case.
To my surprise, when I arrived at my office, my client was standing outside with another person. I explained to my client that I was about to review his case and would have a report for him the next day. He said he had come to introduce me to a new client. After his friend and I had talked, we agreed on a fee for me to help him solve his legal matter. Then, suddenly, my client offered to pay me an advance.
For me, that was a miracle. Heavenly Father knew I was trying to be faithful to Him. He also knew my needs. He has blessed me in many ways over the years, but this time His blessing came financially. He fulfilled His word in the scriptures to those who serve Him: “Seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you” (Matthew 6:33).

Photographs of Gwen by Christina Smith and courtesy of her family
In her first 18 years of life, Gwen has lived in five different countries: Scotland, Angola, England, Kazakhstan, and Qatar. Her dad’s job has taken them all over the world, but most recently, to the Middle East.
Gwen’s older siblings have all moved away, so she lives in Qatar with her mom and dad. One of her favorite experiences was traveling with the youth in her ward for a temple trip to the Kiev Ukraine Temple. There isn’t a temple close by, so the Saints in the Middle East have to fly to visit temples in other countries.
“I was so excited for our trip, and I wanted to bring family names,” she said. “Every day I would find family names on my phone on the way to and from school. I found about 200 names. I felt so ready to go!”
But there was one little problem she couldn’t have prepared for.
A global pandemic.
Gwen’s plane landed in Ukraine in March of 2020—right when they started to hear more about the spread of the COVID-19 virus. With heaven’s help, they made it to the temple and were able to perform baptisms for the family names Gwen had prepared.
“There was miracle after miracle after miracle,” she said. “On our drive to the temple, I was worried about the pandemic. But in the temple I just felt so much peace and comfort. And we were able to fly back to Qatar right before the borders closed.”
But Gwen’s mom, who had gone to visit one of Gwen’s siblings in the United States of America, wasn’t able to return to Qatar. Gwen and her father were quarantined at home when her father contracted COVID. “For a while he was very sick and he wasn’t able to move much,” Gwen said. “I felt so alone. My mom was still gone, and I didn’t know how to make much food other than a grilled cheese sandwich.”
But Gwen had a special experience while holding church at home with her dad.
“It felt like the people whose names we had taken to the temple were with me and my dad,” she said. “I didn’t feel alone anymore. It was such a tender experience. Visiting the temple before the pandemic was such a blessing.”
The Dubai United Arab Emirates Temple was announced just a month after her temple trip to Ukraine. Gwen was thrilled! And she knows how much it will mean to the people in her area.
“I know there are people in my area who can’t afford to fly to another temple in Europe. They’ve been waiting to be sealed as eternal families. It shows me that the gathering is really happening. We’re preparing the way for Christ to come again.”

While serving as a mission president in France, I would travel with Sister Andersen once a month to the airport to pick up the arriving missionaries. On one occasion as we stood waiting outside of the baggage claim area, we met a very interesting Frenchman who was also waiting. The difference was that while we were waiting for missionaries, he was waiting for his dog.
He spoke fondly of his large, black Labrador retriever, with great affection and respect, almost as we would speak of one of our children. I could sense that he treated the animal with love and kindness. The man had been transferred to the city of Bordeaux and until he could get settled in the right apartment he had left his dog in a kennel in his previous city. Now things had been properly arranged, and the dog was arriving on the same plane as our missionaries.
In my imagination I thought of what had transpired—from the point of view of the dog. I imagined that he had been treated like a king in his master’s home. He may have been allowed to jump on the sofas and sleep on the foot of his master’s bed. Maybe he even had his own shelf in the refrigerator, stocked with his own special food.
Then one day, without any explanation, he was suddenly behind bars, in a kennel with a cement floor and steel bars, his food pushed underneath the door to his pen. If a dog could connect the events together, this dog would have wondered: “What happened? Why am I here? What did I do?” He did not realize that his master had a plan for him, that they would soon be reunited, and that in the meantime, his master was paying for his kennel and his food, ensuring that he would be kept in a warm place out of the cold. All that time his master was preparing a place for him at an even finer house in Bordeaux.
Suddenly, looking through the glass into the baggage area, we could see workers rolling out a large crate. We could hear the barking of the dog inside. I could tell he was frightened and anxious. Again, in my mind I could imagine two men arriving at the kennel one day, taking the dog, and putting him in the crate. Soon the Labrador found himself in the belly of an airplane. Again he must have wondered what was happening. I could imagine his fear.
Now, at last, the crate was in front of us. Workers opened the door, and out came the beautiful Labrador. First he was nervous. His head was up, he was alert, and he was ready to defend himself.
Then suddenly the eyes of the black Labrador met the eyes of his master. Immediately, the dog’s behavior changed. His barking stopped and his tail started wagging. He jumped into the arms of his master and they embraced, a Frenchman and his dog reunited.

I didn’t know what to do. President Benson said that we should all read the Book of Mormon, but it isn’t that easy. My mom and dad think that since I’m only five years old, I’m too young to have a Book of Mormon of my own. Since I don’t have my own Book of Mormon, I needed to borrow one.
The first thing I did was look for my father’s Book of Mormon. I was climbing on a chair to get it from the top shelf, when Dad came into the room.
“What are you doing, Melissa?” he asked.
“I want to read the Book of Mormon.”
Dad got his book and sat down in a chair with me on his lap and showed me the picture of Nephi stretching out his hand, and the one with Abinadi standing before King Noah, and even the one of Jesus coming down from heaven. Then he closed the book, gave me a hug, and lifted me off his lap.
“But I want to read it,” I said.
He opened his Book of Mormon to one of the front pages. “See this yellow spot?” he asked.
“Yes?”
“That’s mustard from your last hot dog. See this brown smudge on page two hundred twenty-nine?”
I nodded.
“Chocolate from your hot-fudge sundae.”
“Oh.”
“See these last two pages that won’t come apart, even when I shake them?”
“Yes.”
“Peanut butter and jelly.”
Dad put his Book of Mormon back on the shelf and walked away. I decided that I would have to borrow someone else’s.
I went up to my brother’s room. It’s full of all kinds of things, but I rummaged around until I found his Book of Mormon in the bottom drawer of his dresser. It’s a small one with tiny print and a real leather cover, and it has his name written in gold on the front. Ryan says that he’s saving it to take on his mission. I was just opening it when he came into the room. When he saw me, his eyes went wide. He rushed over and grabbed it from my hand.
“But I want to read it,” I said.
“Leave it alone!” he shouted, flipping it open. “Look at this!”
“It looks like a crayon mark,” I said.
He turned to another place. “And this!”
“It looks like someone accidentally tore the page,” I said.
He closed the book and put it back in his dresser drawer. I slipped quietly from the room.
I went to my own bedroom and huddled in a corner. After a while my nine-year-old sister came in. “What’s wrong, Melissa?” Gina asked me.
“I want to read the Book of Mormon.”
Gina smiled and patted my head. “You can read mine,” she said. I watched her look around the room until she found her Book of Mormon hidden under a pile of blankets. “Here,” she said, handing it to me. It was a big one, with large print.
“Thank you,” I said. I sat down on my bed and opened it. I looked at the words really hard, but I still couldn’t read them. I squinted at the page. I turned the book upside down. I lay on my back and lifted the book above me in the air, but it was no use. No matter what I did, I couldn’t read the Book of Mormon like the prophet told us to. I closed it and put it beside my pillow. Maybe the prophet hadn’t meant for five-year-olds to read it.
That night my mother came up to my room to tuck me into bed. She leaned over and kissed me and pulled the covers up to my chin. Then she looked around the room for my bedtime storybook. The one she is reading to me now is called Katie Curtis in Katmandu, and it’s about a little girl who travels all over the world. Mom looked in the toy box and under the bed, and while she was still searching, I remembered Gina’s Book of Mormon.
“What about this book, Mom?” I asked.
She picked it up. She looked at me, then at the book, then back at me again. “Is this what you want?”
“Yes,” I said.
She opened it to the first page. “I, Nephi, having been born of goodly parents, …” she began.
It was better than Katie Curtis any day.

A few years ago I read an article in the Friend called “Primary Pianists” (April 2010). It was about some children my age learning to play the piano so they could play during their Primary sacrament meeting program. I said to myself, “I can do that!” I started playing prelude music for Primary, and by the end of the year, I was able to play a song during the Primary program! I really love using my talent to serve the Lord.