Gospel Story Finder

One cold winter night many years ago in a little village in Spain an old man named Pedro and his wife, Joanna, sat in front of a cozy fire in their home. They owned enough to be very comfortable, but instead of giving thanks to God for the benefits they enjoyed, they spent much of their time wishing for the good things their neighbors had.

“This wretched little house of ours is only fit to house a donkey!” cried Pedro. “I wish we had a fine house and farm like our neighbor, Diego!”

“His house and farm are good enough for them,” answered Joanna. “But I would like a mansion such as the one of Don Juan de la Rosa.”

“Then there’s that old donkey of ours,” went on Pedro sullenly. “Good for nothing—nothing at all. He cannot carry an empty sack! I wish I had Diego’s strong Andalusian mule!”

“O, aye!” said Joanna. “Diego’s mule is better than our donkey, but I’d like a white horse with trappings of scarlet and gold like the one of Doña Isabella. It seems that some people have only to wish in order to get a thing, but I’ve never had such luck. How wonderful it would be if we had but to speak to have our wishes come true!”

Scarcely were the words out of Joanna’s mouth when there on the hearth before the old couple stood a beautiful little lady. She was only eighteen inches tall and her dress was white and filmy and full of opal tints as though made of smoke. A smoky veil floated down from a crown of sparks on her head. In her hand she had a little golden wand and a single spark glowed on the very tip of it.

“I am Fortunata,” said she. “I have heard your complaints and have come to give you what you desire. You may have three wishes, one for each of you, and the third you shall agree upon between you. I will grant that last wish in person when I return at this time tomorrow.”

Then Fortunata sprang through the flames and disappeared. The old couple were delighted at the thought of having three wishes come true. They began to think of what they most wanted in all the world. Wishes came swarming to them as thick as bees to a hive. There were so many that came crowding to the minds of the old couple that they could not agree offhand on just which three to wish for. So they decided to put off their decision until the next day, and they began talking of different things altogether.

“I dropped in at Diego’s this morning,” said Pedro, “and they were making black puddings. Um! but they smelled good! Diego can buy the best of food. He does not have to put up with the poor food we have to eat!”

“True! True!” said Joanna. “I wish I had one of Diego’s puddings this very minute to roast on the ashes for supper!”

The words were hardly out of Joanna’s mouth when suddenly on the hearth appeared a delicious black pudding! The woman’s eyes opened wide in surprise, but Pedro jumped up in a rage. “You foolish woman!” he cried. “You have used up one of our precious wishes to ask for nothing more than one poor little pudding! It makes me so angry that I wish the silly pudding were stuck fast to your nose!”

Then before the words were hardly out of his mouth the black pudding flew across the room and fastened itself to Joanna’s nose. The old man shrieked in surprise and Joanna screamed with horror. She shook her head as hard as she could but the pudding clung fast to her nose!

“See what you have done, you foolish man!” she wailed. “I made a poor wish but it hurt only myself. Look what you have done to me!”

Then the dog and cat, sniffing the delicious odor of the pudding, came leaping up, springing and pawing to lick the pudding from Joanna’s nose!

“Down! Down!” shrieked Joanna, as she tried to drive the animals away. “For our third wish we must ask that this miserable pudding be taken off my nose!”

“Don’t ask that!” cried Pedro. “What of the new farm I wanted? Think of the palace you wanted.”

“I don’t care about that anymore,” Joanna insisted.

“Let us wish at least for a fortune,” Pedro pleaded. “Then you can have a golden case set with jewels to cover the pudding on your nose!”

“No,” said Joanna. “All I want is to be rid of this awful nose.”

“Then we shall be left just as we were before!” sighed Pedro.

“And that is all I desire,” Joanna said. “I see now we were well enough off as we were!”

No matter what Pedro said, nothing could change Joanna’s mind. And so at last they agreed.

On the following night little Fortunata rose from the flames and asked them to tell her their third wish. They answered both together, “We wish only to be as we were before.”

And immediately their wish was granted.

The day the Laurels went camping along the Colorado River, I had an important announcement to make. I had decided to begin meeting with the missionaries. As my new friends exclaimed in delight, I interrupted, cautioning them not to expect too much. “I’m not getting baptized or anything like that. I just need a more organized way to learn about your beliefs.” My friends smiled at each other knowingly.
As the weekend progressed, I found that just being in an LDS environment was educational. The first thing I noticed was that Mormons prayed more than any other church people I had met; and in my search for religion, I had met many of nearly every faith. Their prayers were different. They had no book of prayers, like the one my grandmother had owned. They just talked to God. They lived what they learned in church, too. This was no Sunday religion. It was all day, every day, and I liked that.
In the evening, we spread out our sleeping bags and admired the billions of stars in the sky. Some of the girls began asking me questions. How had I been introduced to the Church? Where had I gone to church before? How did I feel about what I was learning?
I didn’t know how to answer that last question. How could I describe my confusion without hurting their feelings? No other church had affected me this way. I had spent hours sorting through LDS doctrines, trying to guess which ones were true. I had always hated guessing. I wanted to know the truth. But there was no research method to prove the Church one way or another. I sighed. “It’s hard,” I admitted. “Everything you teach is so different, and it’s going to take a while to know what’s true.”
“I know what’s true,” one girl said quietly. Then she bore her testimony, confidently, without embarrassment.
I felt that feeling again—the feeling I had felt when I was ten and heard the story of the First Vision while visiting the Los Angeles Temple. It was also the feeling I felt when I heard an especially moving lesson. I didn’t know what the feeling meant, but I suspected it was important. Suddenly, more than anything, I wanted to know, to really know and not just to guess.
“You said you know these things. How do you know?” I asked.
“I’ve prayed about them. You’ve learned about Joseph Smith, haven’t you? About how he was searching for truth and went into the grove to pray?”
I nodded. “Yes, and I’ve tried to pray, but God isn’t going to come down and tell me the answers.”
“Well, probably not, but he doesn’t have to come down in person in order to talk to us. He talks to us all the time. All we have to do is learn how to listen.”
I sat up, interested. “I’ve prayed before, and other churches have told me God answers prayers, but no one ever told me how. You mean I can ask him if your church is true, and he’ll tell me?”
“Of course. That’s how I did it.”
I was amazed. “If it’s that easy, you would think everyone would join your church.”
My friends laughed. Then they began teaching me how to get a testimony. A few months later, I had my answers. And just after my 17th birthday, I was baptized. They were right. All I had to do was listen.

They had worked for years to resolve problems in their marriage. At times things would improve, but before long the same old problems would return again … and again.
“Why should it be so hard to have a good marriage?” they asked. They had been married in the temple, were active in the Church, and had four delightful—though demanding—children. Yet recurring stresses and strains exerted a lot of pressure on their relationship. Lately their disagreements seemed more frequent and more volatile, satisfactory solutions seemed harder to find, and conflicts often lasted for days.
At one point, they had sought professional help and were instructed in the use of various techniques. They had discussed how to have clear communication, had practiced creative listening, and had worked through a number of exercises in effective problem solving. As a result, their marriage received a needed boost and things seemed to improve for a while.
But after several months, they were plagued again by the old, dividing conflicts, and although they tried to apply what they had previously learned from the marriage counselor, nothing appeared to work. As their marriage deteriorated, they became haunted by the unanswered questions: “What’s really wrong with us? How can we revitalize our relationship? Is there nothing better?”
The complexity of this particular couple’s dilemma doesn’t permit a simple solution. However, it is likely that part of the problem lies in their failure to understand fundamental laws governing human interaction—laws based in the gospel of Jesus Christ. To their credit, this husband and wife had expended considerable time and effort in trying to resolve their difficulties, but they had never uncovered the cause of their problem. I’ve found that couples who are most successful in creating a wonderful marriage are those who not only have developed valuable marital skills, but—more important—have developed an understanding of the basic gospel principles that underlie productive relationships.
The Apostle Paul expressed an eternal law when he declared that “whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap.” (Gal. 6:7.) The analogy of sowing and reaping is one that is popular with the prophets of old and with the Lord himself. (See, for example, Job 4:8; Prov. 22:8; D&C 6:33.) This “law of the harvest” connects behavior and its consequences together in an unbreakable relationship that has direct impact on every aspect of our lives—and especially on our marriages.
Like the flowers, fruits, and vegetables we grow in our gardens, our marriages reflect the nature of the seeds we have planted. If we have tried throughout our married life to plant seeds of love and harmony, then we are more likely to enjoy a rich harvest. Of course, the opposite can also be true. At any given moment, we are the sum of all our sowings.
It’s important to realize that marriages thrive where replanting is a constant process, where both husband and wife realize that a one-time planting at the beginning doesn’t ensure a perennial harvest. Each new day should be filled with planting, cultivating, and weeding. One day missed can lead to a week, or a year, missed—and the garden may soon become overgrown with weeds. However, as with gardens, neglected marriages can be renovated with careful replanting, meticulous care, and a great deal of patience.
What if one spouse is uninterested or unwilling to plant the good seeds, or to weed or cultivate the marriage? What if he or she for some reason can’t see the importance of applying gospel principles to marriage? I believe that there is great truth in the idea that you can change your marriage by first changing yourself. It may be a slow process, but many husbands and wives can testify that rewarding anger with anger accomplishes nothing—while changing their own heart and attitude can work miracles.
Let’s look at a few of the many seeds that can help produce a good harvest:
1. A Christ-centered relationship. Sadly, too many men and women are like the early astronomers who, with limited knowledge and inadequate tools, falsely guessed that the sun and all the planets traveled in orbits around the earth; later, an enlightened Copernicus showed that the sun was actually the center of the earth’s orbit.
Similarly, many couples make the mistake of centering their lives on such faulty foundations as self, sensuality, or worldly approval. In their attempts to improve their relationship, they fail to make the Savior a partner in their efforts; they feel that the solution must lie entirely within themselves. By so doing, they fail to realize that notwithstanding valiant efforts to solidify their union, if their marriage is built on these shifting, superficial sands it won’t withstand the storms.
Fortunately, it is possible to discover the peace and joy of a Christ-centered relationship. Through continuous efforts at applying the Savior’s message of charity and forgiveness, and through daily prayer and scripture study, husbands and wives can have their “hearts … comforted, being knit together in love.” (Col. 2:2.)
One couple I know took this challenge seriously. First, they reinstituted their daily scripture reading, which had tended to lack consistency.
Second, they reestablished the habit of having evening prayer together, and they began to make it a practice to thank the Lord vocally for each other. As they knelt alongside each other and listened to the other’s expressions of gratitude, a greater bond began to build between the two, a bond formed from thankfulness and humility.
Third, they began to evaluate what they did and said in terms of what they felt the Savior wanted them to do. They asked themselves, especially in moments of stress between the two of them, “How would the Savior want me to handle this situation?” As a result, they began to be more receptive to the divine influence of the Holy Ghost, which raised their discussions to a higher, more productive level.
Indeed, blessed are those couples whose lives revolve around the Son.

Mama Wong and Annie
Photograph courtesy of the author
After I was baptized in June 2002, I shared my faith with my mother. Though Mama Wong often attended church with me, she did not want to learn more.
At last, 10 years later, Mama Wong chose to be baptized. I was thrilled. Sadly, a few years later, she stopped strengthening her testimony and made excuses for not attending church.
I urged her to come to church, but that only caused contention. Eventually, I quit pushing her so that I wouldn’t harm our relationship.
During the October 2019 general conference, President Russell M. Nelson invited Church members to “design [our] own plan” to strengthen our testimony of the Restoration.1 As I thought about his invitation, I felt strongly that I should do something to make things better between Mama Wong and me.
For my New Year’s resolution, I committed myself to read the Book of Mormon with Mama Wong. Whenever she said her eyes hurt, I said, “You can just listen.” When she said she needed to do the dishes, I followed her to the kitchen and kept reading out loud.
It turns out that Mama Wong listened closely and remembered what I read. Over time, she chose to read on her own. Later she told me that an ordinary man could not have written the Book of Mormon. She had no doubt that the book is the word of God. For me, seeing her go from being uninterested to wanting to read and bear testimony of the Book of Mormon is a miracle.
After Mama Wong was baptized, I worried that she had joined the Church just for me. But now she has a testimony of her own. For years I tried to “fix” her, but all she needed was the simple, powerful word of God.
I’m thankful for a living prophet who always gives us timely guidance. If we act upon what he teaches, great blessings will follow. This experience showed me how much the Lord wants to bless us. All I did was read a few chapters to my mother from the Book of Mormon. Then the Lord took over!

It sometimes happens that the happiness we seek in many ways and in many places is to be found where we least expect it. So it was with me. I had happiness within my grasp all the time, but for years I did not recognize it.
I was 24 years old in 1981 when I was baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. My husband was baptized with me. At the time, our daughter, Juliana, was two years old. Our branch in Tucuruvi, Brazil, was so small that we met in a home on Avenida Nova Cantareira. For some reason, after attending meetings for less than a year, we left the Church.
By the time we moved to Guarulhos in 1983, we had no desire to return to the Church and had lost complete contact with Church members. This was a time of great difficulty for us. One day while I was sweeping the house, my husband and I decided to throw all of our old Church books in the garbage. Among the books was a copy of the Book of Mormon.
In all the time I had owned the book, I had never opened it. I considered the book of no value. But as I went to place it in the trash, Juliana, who was four years old at the time caught sight of the figure of the angel Moroni on the cover and said, “No, Mama, don’t throw that book away!” I thought of throwing it away anyway, but I looked at my husband and he looked at me. We decided to honor our daughter’s request.
And so the book remained in our home.
In 1987 I gave birth to our third child and experienced some difficult health problems. I began seeking the truth, trying to find some answers to why I was so unhappy. In despair, I began to believe there was no salvation for me.
One day in 1989, the Lord prompted me to pick up the Book of Mormon. I started to read it—and found I could hardly stop. Each day I waited eagerly for the dawn so I could continue reading. The Spirit was so strong within me that I cried. I finally understood how much I had lost by leaving the path of the Lord I had once been on.
I resolved to find the Church. Searching our telephone book, I found the Church’s name and called the number listed. We started attending meetings again and have remained active ever since. My husband and I have now been to the temple, and we are sealed as a family for eternity.
I know that the Book of Mormon is true and that if we study it constantly, we will find the strength to overcome any obstacle. I thank Heavenly Father both for my blessings and for my trials—and for prompting our daughter to keep us from throwing the Book of Mormon away. I know that had I thrown the book away, with it I would have thrown away my happiness.

I have always loved to read the New Era. The March 1986 issue came a few days before we were to go down to Washington, D.C., to go to the temple. My older sister and I decided to save the New Era to read in the car on the way down. But neither of us could wait that long. We both secretly read it. Later, I felt guilty that I had cheated, so I admitted it to my sister. She started laughing and admitted it also. That just goes to show how well the New Era is enjoyed in our home. Thanks so much for publishing it. It is a real strength to me.
Melissa BoyerWillowdale, Ontario, Canada

I feel honored to follow Sister Parkin. Her service and teachings as well as those of her counselors have blessed all of us. About this same hour 18 1/2 years ago, I was standing near this pulpit waiting for the congregational singing to end, when I was to step forward and give my first general conference address. My anxiety at that moment must have been obvious. Elder L. Tom Perry, who was standing behind me, leaned forward, and in his positive and enthusiastic way, whispered in my ear. “Relax,” he said, “we haven’t lost anyone at that pulpit in years!”
Those encouraging words and the few minutes that followed in which I spoke for the first time to a worldwide audience of Latter-day Saints constitute a treasured memory for me. Like all of you, I am constantly accumulating a reservoir of memories which, when recalled, make up a very useful and often enjoyable part of my consciousness. And, despite resolutions I made as a young man never to weary others with reminiscing when I grew older, I now take great pleasure in sharing my own memories at almost every possible occasion. Today, however, I wish to speak of a more profound role of memory and remembering in the gospel of Jesus Christ than the passive recall and enjoyment of information.
If we pay close attention to the uses of the word remember in the holy scriptures, we will recognize that remembering in the way God intends is a fundamental and saving principle of the gospel. This is so because prophetic admonitions to remember are frequently calls to action: to listen, to see, to do, to obey, to repent. When we remember in God’s way, we overcome our human tendency simply to gird for the battle of life and actually engage in the battle itself, doing all in our power to resist temptation and avoid sinning.
King Benjamin called for such active remembering from his people:
“And finally, I cannot tell you all the things whereby ye may commit sin; for there are divers ways and means, even so many that I cannot number them.
“But this much I can tell you, that if ye do not watch yourselves, and your thoughts, and your words, and your deeds, and observe the commandments of God, and continue in the faith of what ye have heard concerning the coming of our Lord, even unto the end of your lives, ye must perish. And now, O man, remember, and perish not.”
Realizing the vital role remembering is to play in our lives, what else ought we to remember? In response, assembled as we are today to remember and rededicate this historic Tabernacle, I suggest that the history of the Church of Jesus Christ and its people deserves our remembrance. The scriptures give the Church’s history high priority. In fact, much of scripture is Church history. On the very day the Church was organized, God commanded Joseph Smith, “Behold, there shall be a record kept among you.” Joseph acted on this command by appointing Oliver Cowdery, the second elder in the Church and his chief assistant, as the first Church historian. We keep records to help us remember, and a record of the Church’s rise and progress has been kept from Oliver Cowdery’s time to the present day. This extraordinary historical record reminds us that God has again opened the heavens and revealed truths that call our generation to action.
Of all that has been collected, preserved, and written by historians over those many years, nothing exemplifies the importance and power of the Church’s history more than Joseph Smith’s simple and honest story of God the Father and His Son, Jesus Christ, appearing to him in what our history books now call the First Vision. In words that generations of missionaries have committed to memory and shared with seekers of truth the world over, Joseph describes the miraculous way in which he received an answer to his question posed in prayer of which Church is right:
“I saw a pillar of light exactly over my head, above the brightness of the sun, which descended gradually until it fell upon me.
“… When the light rested upon me I saw two Personages, whose brightness and glory defy all description, standing above me in the air. One of them spake unto me, calling me by name and said, pointing to the other—This is My Beloved Son. Hear Him!”
Hear him, Joseph did! And millions have heard or read and believed his account and have embraced the gospel of Jesus Christ he helped restore. I believe Joseph Smith and know he was a true prophet of God. Remembering his experience of the First Vision never fails to stir my soul to greater commitment and action.
No one has greater appreciation for the value of the Church’s history than President Gordon B. Hinckley. We love his delightful sense of humor, but his sense of history is equally keen. Inspiring stories and anecdotes from our past punctuate his writings and sermons. As our living prophet, he consciously emphasizes the past and the future to help us live more righteously in the present. Because of his teachings, we understand that remembering enables us to see God’s hand in our past, just as prophecy and faith assure us of God’s hand in our future. President Hinckley reminds us how members of the early Church faced their challenges so we, through the grace of God, can more faithfully face our own. By keeping our past alive, he connects us to the people, places, and events that make up our spiritual heritage and, in so doing, motivates us to greater service, faith, and kindness.
In an exemplary way President Hinckley also openly shares from his own personal and family histories. Scores of discouraged new missionaries have been comforted to learn that early in his own mission, President Hinckley was also discouraged and admitted as much to his father. He even courageously shared his father’s brief response: “Dear Gordon, I have your recent letter. I have only one suggestion: forget yourself and go to work.” Over 70 years later, we are all witnesses to how earnestly President Hinckley took that counsel to heart. His sterling character and prophetic wisdom provide persuasive proof for the benefits of remembering the Church’s history as well as our own.
There is much more to say about memory and remembering in the gospel of Jesus Christ. We often speak of remembering our sacred covenants and God’s commandments and of remembering and performing saving ordinances for our deceased ancestors. Most importantly, we speak of the need to remember our Savior Jesus Christ and not just when convenient, but always, as He asks. We witness always to remember Him as we partake of the sacrament. In return, we are promised His Spirit will always be with us. Interestingly, this is the same Spirit sent by our Heavenly Father to “bring all things to [our] remembrance.” Thus, by worthily receiving the sacrament, we are blessed by the Spirit to enter into a wonderfully beneficial circle of remembering, returning again and again in our thinking and devotion to Christ and His Atonement.
Coming unto Christ and being perfected in Him is, I believe, the ultimate purpose of all remembering. Therefore, I pray that God will bless us always to remember, especially His perfect Son, and perish not. I gratefully testify of Christ’s divinity and saving power. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

When our son Joshua was 18 months old, we noticed strange things in his behavior. Josh could recite almost every word of each song in the television shows he watched, but he was late learning to speak. One day my mother-in-law said that Josh showed signs of autism. Specialists told us the same thing.
My wife, Elizabeth, immersed herself in literature about autism. She also enrolled Josh in programs to help him. She was determined that he have the best possible start in life we could give him.
On days I stressed over the future, Elizabeth would calm me down. She told me that we needed to take things one day at a time.
“We need to appreciate every new thing Josh learns instead of focusing on all of the unknowns of the future,” she said.
As he grew, Josh became unruly at church. To keep him from disrupting Primary or harming children, I held him on my lap. He struggled, scratched, and wrestled with me for all three hours of church. I often came home bruised and exhausted.
“Why don’t we just leave him home from church and take turns staying with him?” I suggested.
“If we don’t continue taking him,” Elizabeth replied, “he will learn that if he acts out, he gets to leave church.” I knew she was right.
One day the mother of another family with an autistic child told me, “When Josh turns eight and gets the Holy Ghost, he’ll sweeten right up!”
I doubted her words, but when he turned eight, he received the Holy Ghost and did sweeten up—a little.
When Josh got older, he received the priesthood. He passed the sacrament, and he learned the importance of service. Members of his priesthood quorum learned a dance to an ’80s music video with Josh and performed it at a ward party.
Our ward was wonderful to Josh. Members smiled when he would pass the sacrament while doing a few ’80s dance moves.
Josh is 17 now. He is a talented musician who writes songs. He loves acting and appears regularly in school and community theater.
We are grateful to be Josh’s parents and share in his journey. We are not sure what the future holds, but we are committed to fully live each day with him.

Usually when Floyd and Dad were riding in the car, they had a lot to talk about, but not today. They had driven over to see Floyd’s new school, and Floyd hadn’t said a word all the way back. Dad broke the silence and asked, “What’s the matter, Son? Are you worried about going to a new school?”
Almost in a whisper, Floyd answered, “Yes.” This would be his fourth school, and he was only in the sixth grade. Dad was an electrical engineer, and his work required that they move often. “It’s always the same, Dad. I hate it.”
“Why don’t you tell me what you don’t like about it. You always do well in school, and you have friends and pen pals all over the country.”
Floyd didn’t want to answer. It would only embarrass him and probably cause trouble, but before he knew it, the words came tumbling out. “When I get there, I’m going to meet a bunch of Jims, some Mikes, a lot of Johns and Bobs, a couple of Garys, and a Steve or two—ordinary guys with ordinary names. I’ll be the only Floyd, and I’ll hear Floyd jokes for months. Why couldn’t I have an ordinary name?”
Dad knew what Floyd was talking about; he had heard about the jokes. “You’re right,” he said, “Floyd is no ordinary name. Do you know where your name came from?”
“From someone named Floyd who lived a long time ago when there were lots of Floyds and other weird names!” He said it before he could stop himself. Now I’m in trouble for sure, he thought. He knew better than to talk that way, but it had been bottled up inside for too long.
“You’re right again,” Dad replied evenly, “but there’s a lot more to it than you realize. Would you like to hear about a young man named Floyd who was not very ordinary?”
Surprised that he wasn’t in trouble, Floyd blurted out, “Sure!” But he wasn’t as excited as he sounded. How could anyone named Floyd be interesting? he wondered.
“Your name has belonged to some great men,” Dad began. “That’s why we gave you the name. We weren’t worried about anybody making jokes. That’s no big deal. Your mother and I hoped that having the same name as a great man might help you be a little like him. I want you to remember this story, Son,” Dad said as he pulled into the driveway of their new home. “My great-grandfather told me this story when I was about your age, and I’ll never forget it. …
“It was in the fall of the year 1857, as I remember, and a small group of Mormon pioneers were late starting across the plains. They got caught in an early snowstorm, and it slowed their travel. Many of them had become ill with colds, fevers, and pneumonia. They traveled as fast as they could, but because of the cold and sickness, they were just plain worn-out from pulling handcarts and carrying the smaller children.
“One day they came to a river that they had to cross. Everyone was so tired that the river seemed an impossible challenge. It seemed too wide, too deep, and too cold to the exhausted pioneers. One weary lady stood on the bank of the river, holding her baby as the tears silently streamed down her face. She didn’t have the strength to face one more trial that day. For a minute it looked like the journey might end right there for the small band of weary pioneers.
“Then, without saying a word, a young man waded into the cold river and made his way to the other side to see how deep it was. The icy water came up to his waist. He was certain that the handcarts were too small and too heavily loaded to carry children and those who were sick across safely. He knew what needed to be done, and he didn’t have to be asked. He knelt down with the rest of the pioneers and led a prayer, asking for strength to get everyone across safely. He was seventeen years old, and he was tall and strong, but he knew that he would need the help of the Lord to deal with the numbing cold of the river.
“The boy jumped up from the prayer and carried his sick mother across first, then his younger sister, and finally his three-year-old brother. When they were safe, he started carrying other children across. Another boy, a little younger but just as strong and nearly as tall, joined him in the cold river. The two youths carried across all the children and others who were too weak to make it through the icy water on their own. When everyone else was safely on the other side and the handcarts were across, the boys came out of the river to get dry and to warm themselves by the fire.
“Their legs and feet were blue from the cold. They got into dry clothes and wrapped up in blankets. Everyone thanked them for their help, but the boys said that they had just done what needed to be done. That night they sent everyone else to bed while they stayed by the fire to get warm. They talked about how things were going to be when they got to their new homes, but their conversation was often interrupted by muscle cramps and violent shivers. The cold water had chilled them more than they thought possible. The next morning they were still sitting there, wrapped in their blankets. When the leader of the group walked over to talk to them, he was saddened by what he found. During the night the boys had both died as they sat by the fire.
“The youths were buried right there on the edge of the river. They had lost their lives while helping others. The older boy, the one who had prayed for strength to get the others across safely, was one of your relatives. His name was Floyd. His three-year-old brother was your great-great-grandfather. When I was a little boy and Grandfather was in his nineties, he told me this story. That was when I learned that Floyd meant courage, relying on the Lord, and helping others.”
Floyd looked out the window at the old tree in the front yard, trying to keep the tears from overflowing his eyes. He couldn’t think of anything to say other than “Wow!”
Dad paused too. He couldn’t tell the story without getting tears in his eyes, either. Then he said, “That brave lad named Floyd is part of you. And you certainly were right—Floyd is no ordinary name! It’s a name to be proud of, and it’s a name for you to live up to.”
“I don’t know if I can be as brave as he was,” Floyd said with conviction, “but I’m going to be the best person that I can. And, Dad, I’ll tell you something else: When I go to school in the morning, I’m going to tell them that my name’s Floyd and that Floyd’s no ordinary name!”

I grew up in the city of Minas, Uruguay. When I was six years old, my mother and older sisters were baptized into the Church. My father never joined the Church, but he was always happy that we went to church. He even kept the Word of Wisdom and paid tithing.
Our branch was very small, and we did not have a church building. We met in a rented house. The house had a small swimming pool outside that we used for baptisms.
As my eighth birthday got closer, I was excited about being baptized. But on the day of the baptism, it was raining and very cold. My mom said that maybe I shouldn’t be baptized that day because of the cold weather. But it was my birthday, and I wanted to be baptized on that day.
I remember putting on my white clothes and getting into the pool to be baptized. I knew that the water would be cold, but I did not feel cold. I knew that I was doing the right thing, and I had a warm feeling.
A short time later a chapel was built for our branch. At that time Church members could help build the meetinghouses. My job was to pick up nails and screws that had fallen on the ground so they could be used again. It was a simple job, but it was very important to me. It taught me how to serve, and it helped prepare me for future Church service. Remember that even though you are young, the things you do now matter.

As a Seventy, Elder Stevenson was assigned as a counselor in the Area Presidency and then as president of the Asia North Area.
In March 2011, an earthquake and tsunami devastated Japan. The 9.0-magnitude temblor generated a seismic sea wave that left 20,000 dead, displaced thousands, and destroyed 550,000 homes.
He visited the disaster zone many times. “As we met with people, our emotions ran from one end of the spectrum to the other,” he recalls. “We simultaneously observed tragedy and loss mixed with hope and restoration. Over and over again our hearts were touched as we witnessed the healing balm of our Savior’s love.”
In addition, he witnessed firsthand how the Church helps those in need: “To be able to react to a calamity and to help shape a response—that was a manifestation of the Church of Jesus Christ filling one of its divinely appointed responsibilities of caring for the poor and needy.” He described it as a sacred privilege to minister to those in need and see others do the same: “We learned about the goodness of humanity.”

I was feeling down one day at Young Women camp, so I decided to sit in the wooded arena where we gathered for skits. I sat there for about 10 minutes when I had the sudden thought to leave and go back to my cabin. At first, I ignored the idea and just remained where I was. The longer I sat, the more uneasy I felt, and the stronger the urge to go became.
Finally, I obeyed the prompting. I walked back up to my cabin and hung out with a few of my friends and some of the cabin leaders. Not more than 10 minutes later, everyone was forced to enter the cabins because there was a grizzly bear in the area. We found out later that the bear was spotted in the same place I’d been sitting moments earlier. I was so relieved that I had been prompted to move and that I had obeyed the prompting. I knew the Lord was watching over me. Then and there I could feel the love that God has for me. I knew that He knew me, and that was such a relief, especially since I had been feeling so sad earlier.

I recall the story of a very voracious reader, a woman who had a study filled with books. Each night she would come home and read from books in her library. She always finished every book she read.
One night she decided to read a book that she had been especially avoiding. She picked the book up and began to read. It was very dull and uninteresting, but she had made a promise she would never read a book without finishing it. She continued, night after night, until finally she read the last page, replaced the book on the shelf, and made this mental note to herself: “That was the dullest book I have ever read!”
Sometime later she was out with a gentleman friend, and he asked if she had ever read a certain book, It was that dull book; she remembered it; and she said, “Yes, why?”
He said, “I wrote it.” Then they talked about the book.
Later that evening, when he left her at home, she went into her study, pulled the book off the shelf, and read through the long hours of the night. When the first streaks of sunlight shafted across the sky, she closed the book, replaced it on the bookshelf, and made another mental note to herself: “That was the most beautiful book I have ever read.” The difference was that she now knew the author.

One morning when I was 11 years old, I woke up and heard voices in the living room. No one had come to wake me up for school like they usually did. When I went out to see what was going on, I found out that my dad had died.
While my family talked in the living room, I went to our garden. Our garden was big, and I had worked with my dad to help take care of it. I sat down on the bench under the trees and cried. I was feeling really sad and confused.
After a few minutes, I saw my Primary teacher opening the gate. He came and sat on the bench next to me and said, “Joni, do you remember the lesson we had last Sunday about the plan of salvation?” My teacher explained to me again that our souls are made up of a spirit and a body. He said that my dad’s spirit was in a good place, and someday he would be resurrected. Someday I would see him again.
Even though I was still sad, I felt peace. I remember that peace every time I think about that experience. My Primary teacher ministered to me, and the Holy Ghost comforted me. It helped to build my testimony of Heavenly Father’s love and the plan of salvation.

In 1996 the Nigerian men’s football team won gold at the Olympic Games held in Atlanta in the United States. As the final ended, jubilant crowds poured onto the streets of every city and town in Nigeria; this country of 200 million people was instantly transformed into a massive celebration at two o’clock in the morning! There was infectious joy, happiness, and excitement as people ate, sang, and danced. In that moment, Nigeria was united and every Nigerian was content being Nigerian.
Before the Olympics, this team faced numerous challenges. As the tournament began, their financial support ended. The team competed without proper kits, training venues, food, or laundry services.
Jerome Prevost/Getty Images
At one point, they were minutes away from being eliminated from competition, but the Nigerian team triumphed against all odds. This pivotal moment changed how they saw themselves. With newfound confidence, and with individual and team hard work and dogged determination, they unitedly ignored distractions and focused on winning. This focus earned them gold medals, and Nigerians christened them the “Dream Team.” The Dream Team at the 1996 Olympics continues to be referenced in Nigerian sports.
David Cannon/Allsport/Getty Images
Once the football team learned to ignore the many distractions facing them and focused on their goal, they succeeded beyond what they thought possible and experienced great joy. (As did the rest of us in Nigeria!)

The members of the Asunafo Branch Relief Society presidency said they dedicated each Thursday to speaking to each other only in English. “It made some conversations longer that day because we could not think of the right words to say to each other,” said Evelyn Agyeiwaa, Relief Society president. “But we soon began translating for each other, finding the right words to say. Because we were learning together, none of us were embarrassed or afraid to say the wrong words. We simply helped each other.”

Many years ago a couple of fellow airline captains and I decided to fulfill a boyhood dream of restoring an antique airplane. Together we purchased a worn-down 1938 Piper Cub and started the work of returning it to its original form. The project was a labor of love. It had special meaning for me because I had learned to fly in a similar airplane when I was a young man.
This airplane was first built only 35 years after the Wright brothers made their famous first flight. Just thinking of that makes me feel very old.
The engine did not have an electric starter; as you were priming the engine from the cockpit, someone else on the ground would grab hold of the propeller and hurl it with might until the engine would run on its own. Each engine start was a moment of excitement and bravery.
Once the plane was airborne, it became clear the Piper Cub was not built for speed. As a matter of fact, when there was a strong headwind, it seemed as though we were not moving at all. I remember flying together with my teenage son, Guido, above the autobahn in Germany, and sure enough, the cars below passed us comfortably!
But, oh, how I loved this little plane! It was the perfect way to experience the wonder and beauty of flight. You could hear, feel, smell, taste, and see what flying was all about. The Wright brothers expressed it this way: “There is [nothing] equal to that which aviators enjoy while being carried through the air on great white wings.”

In the middle of the winter, a package arrived from my Grandmother Marsh in Los Angeles. I caught my breath when Polly and I tore off the brown wrapping. Inside were two outfits, breathtakingly in style. Mine had a pink flowered top with knee socks to match. Polly’s was identical, except that it was blue. This was our big chance to show the kids at Forsythe Junior High that we weren’t such misfits after all. Boy, would they be surprised!

I was a little nervous about the color because this was no ordinary pink. It was a sizzling, shocking pink. But the outfit was so definitely “in” that I squelched my fear. I slowly hung my oversized plaid coat in my locker and wondered what the kids would think of me appearing in such style.

A sea of eyes followed my dazzling pink presence from my locker to my homeroom. Then the whispering began—but not whispers of envy or admiration, as I had secretly hoped.

“Look what she’s wearing.”

“Didn’t we already have Halloween?”

All day the laughter continued. Resentment and frustration built within me. If only I had a friend to walk with, it would be so much easier. If only somebody who knew what was acceptable would give me some hints. Repeatedly I had tried to fit in and failed. And now even Grandma’s outfit had betrayed me. After that I stopped trying to live by other people’s standards. I warned Polly, and she never even wore her new clothes.

But there’s more to the story. Because of her physical challenges, Kailey hadn’t always felt like she fit in at church. She and her younger brother Kenston, 10, both have autism, which makes it tough for them to express their feelings and interact with other people. Kenston also has Tourette’s syndrome, and so he makes repeated, quick movements and utters sounds that he cannot control. Even though their testimonies of the gospel are strong, Kailey and her family felt like they might be a distraction to others, and so they sometimes left Church meetings early or didn’t come at all.
However, when the youth started gathering cans, Kailey joined in every activity. She quickly made friends with the youth and the youth leaders in the ward.
“She joined right in and did everything,” says Rachel M., 17. “And by being there, she got to see not only what we were doing, but she experienced our attitudes about doing it as well.”
“Kailey’s always nice,” says Tommi B., 12. “When you see her, she’s always the first one to say hi.”
“I just want to be friends with everyone,” Kailey says. “It really means a lot to me to be accepted.”
As Kailey’s parents saw how well she was fellowshipped by the youth of the ward, they gained an increased vision of how the ward family could support their family. They felt more welcome at meetings, including bringing Kenston along. Ward members have come to understand that Kenston will sometimes unexpectedly sit in the choir seats and then return to his family after a few minutes or that he may make a noise he can’t stop, and they also understand that his friendship is quick and genuine.
“It didn’t take long before the youth caught the vision that getting Braille equipment was never really the true goal of this project,” Bishop Holmes says. “The real goal was to let Kailey and her family know that we love them and that we need them here to make our ward family complete.”

Elder Camargo, who joined the Church in an unusual way, said that “the missionaries never knocked on my door.” As a youth he attended a military academy in his native Resende, planning to become an officer. But because of an accident, he had to give up his dream. Instead he went to teach at the same military school that he had attended as a student. A few years later Elder Camargo decided to leave military service and enter the ministry. He attended the Methodist seminary for three years.

“On one occasion in one of my seminary classes,” he related, “the teacher was discussing the beliefs and doctrines of certain Christian groups, or sects, as they were called. I remember asking him about the Mormons, and he said that he didn’t know if Mormons were even Christians. I said, ‘I think that they think they are, because the name of their church is The Church of Jesus Christ of something,’ but I couldn’t remember the rest of it.

“The teacher said to me, ‘Why don’t you try to find out if there are Mormons in São Paulo so that we could invite one of their ministers to come here and explain their doctrines.’ So I went to the mission home in São Paulo and met the mission president, who sent two missionaries to our class to explain the doctrines. This was the beginning. To make the story short, I left the seminary, studied the doctrines of the Church for about eight months, and then was baptized with my wife. At that time we had five small children. Another child was born soon after we were baptized.”

Two other members of Elder Camargo’s class also left the seminary and joined the Church. And all three of them have been stake presidents and mission presidents.