Gospel Story Finder

As I moved to higher grades, my dad always found ways to plant these love notes. I often found them in my locker or in my sports bags. Last year when I left for college, I had forgotten about the special business cards just as I had every year before. When I got to my dorm room and began to unpack one of my boxes, a little white card slipped out from between my things and fluttered to the ground. My dad’s business cards continued to surface throughout my first few weeks of college, offering inspiration and advice.

The missionaries taught me the gospel when I was 10. When I asked my dad if I could be baptized, I was so sad when he said no. I prayed and had faith in the Lord. I asked my dad a couple more times. One night I asked, and he said yes. I was so excited! That night I prayed to Heavenly Father and said thank you. On Sunday I got baptized. So have faith and pray to the Lord.
Quirino S., age 11, Utah, USA

I grew up in Monterrey, Mexico, in the state of Nuevo León. My parents were faithful Latter-day Saints, and I can’t remember a single time when we failed to attend church. When I was five or six years old, my father owned an old dump truck that he used to haul construction materials and garden soil. Each Sunday my sisters and I climbed up into the bed of that truck while my father and mother climbed into the cab. Then we drove to the home of my cousins, where their family climbed up to join us. Next we picked up the Gonzales family, then the Solanos family, and so on. By the time we arrived at the chapel, the dump truck was filled not with soil, but with Saints.
Some people who lived nearby thought it was most entertaining to watch more than 20 men, women, and children in white shirts and ties or Sunday dresses come pouring out of a dusty dump truck. Neighbors came outside each Sunday just to enjoy the spectacle. They laughed at us, but we weren’t a bit embarrassed. We were happy to be going to church. We repeated that performance twice each Sunday all through the 1960s.
When the truck wasn’t available, my family walked. Even if it was raining or cold or sizzling hot, we walked just the same, though it took at least an hour going and an hour coming back. And in those days there were Church services in the morning and the afternoon. We always attended both.
When I returned to Monterrey after many years, every one of my fellow dump truck passengers was still active in the Church. That experience united us and made us strong. I still attend all my meetings. How can I do less now than I did then?

Heidi carefully pulled open the little door marked December twelfth on the Weihnachten calendar and looked at the tiny painting of beautifully wrapped presents.
Only fourteen more days until Weihnachten, she thought. I wish time would hurry. She looked down at the doors on the Weihnachten calendar marked December twenty-fifth and wished hard.
“Heidi!” Frau Schroeder called, “Come. There is work to be done for the advents kranz ceremony tonight.”
Heidi smiled. Not everyone made such a ritual of the lighting of the advents kranz candles as her mama and vati did. Almost everyone in Germany had an advents kranz and lighted the candles, one each week until all four were lighted by Weihnachten, but not everyone had a ceremony.
“Heidi!” Frau Schroeder called again.
“Ja, Mama.” Heidi answered, “I’m coming.”
Hurriedly she put on her apron and began to help with the baking.
“Mama,” she asked, “am I old enough to light one of the candles yet?”
“Oh, I don’t know.”
“Every year Wolfgang or Gunther or Helga has lighted the last two candles, and never me, I don’t like being the youngest! Please, Mama, could I this year?”
“It is very special to light the advents kranz candles in this house. It is an honor you must earn,” Mama said.
“I know, but what must I do?”
“When you find that out, you will be old enough.”
What a strange answer, Heidi thought. But there was no more time for questions. There was much work to be done.
That night the entire family, including Oma and Opa Schroeder and Oma Schmidt, gathered in the living room. The beautiful pine bough kranz hung from the ceiling by four red satin ribbons that came together in a bow at the top. Between each ribbon stood a tall thin white candle.
Opa Schroeder lighted the first candle last week after he read the Bible story of Mary and Joseph traveling to Bethlehem. Carefully he relighted the candle, and then Vati began this week’s ceremony.
Heidi listened as he told of how the baby Jesus was born in a stable. She knew the story by heart, but whenever Vati told it, the story seemed new and even more beautiful. Vati loved the story, and everyone who heard him could feel that love.
When he finished, Vati lighted the second candle and then they all ate cookies and little cakes and sang Weihnachten songs until it was time to go to bed.
All during the next week Heidi thought about what Mama had said. She wondered how she could earn the honor of lighting one of the last two candles. But there was not much time to wonder, for there was more baking and much work to be done for the holidays.
Next Sunday was the day that everyone had to participate in the advents kranz ceremony by doing something on the program. Heidi was going to sing her favorite Weihnachten carol, “Silent Night.” She practiced all week and memorized the words, thinking hard about the meaning so she could interpret the right feeling.
With so much to do, the time went fast and Sunday night was there before Heidi had time to think about who would be chosen to light the third candle. And besides, she was scared. Because she was the youngest, she would be first on the program.
Heidi was nervous as she waited for Opa to relight his candle and then for Vati to relight his. Vati started the program and called on Heidi.
Her knees seemed to shake and her hands were wet with perspiration, but she stood up straight next to Mama, who played the piano, and began to sing. “Silent night, holy night. All is calm, all is bright …” Suddenly the fear left her as she forgot about her audience. She remembered only the story of Jesus’ birth, and from her heart she sang her feelings.
The song ended and Heidi felt warm and wonderful inside. But suddenly she noticed a deep silence in the room. What did I do wrong? she wondered.
“That was beautiful!” Vati whispered. “I’ve heard that carol sung many times. But you, Heidi, did more than sing it. You felt and loved it. Thank you.”
There was a pause. Vati looked at Opa and Opa nodded. Then Vati spoke again. “I don’t think we need to go further to find the one who should light the third candle. I think it is agreed that this year Heidi has the true spirit of Weihnachten.”
Vati lifted Heidi up and carefully she lighted the candle. But it wasn’t as she thought it would be. Singing the song had been the important thing, not lighting the candle. She sat back down in her seat and listened to the others present their parts on the program. Occasionally her eyes peeked at the candles on the advents kranz.
The true spirit of Weihnachten, she thought, is not Sankt Nikolaus, or the Weihnachten calendar, or putting my shoes out for treats, or presents, or even the advents kranz, but a baby in a stable on a silent holy night.

I grew up in a comfortable environment in Logan, Utah. I had no childhood worries about food or shelter or education. But perhaps because life was easy, I needed something to hold on to that would anchor me.
For me that anchor was the priesthood of God. I was in an unusual situation when I was growing up. My dad was called to be the bishop when I was a year old, and he was my bishop for 19 years. His fatherly and spiritual guidance was a tremendous help to me.
I think that is mostly why I looked forward to receiving the Aaronic Priesthood on my 12th birthday. I remember the special day I felt my father’s hands on my head as he ordained me. After that, I advanced through the offices of the Aaronic Priesthood and received callings I enjoyed very much.
Passing the sacrament was very special to me. You could see people commit themselves to obey the Lord and keep His commandments as they partook of the emblems of His body and blood.
As time progressed, I graduated from high school, and then after a year in college, I was called on a mission. I enjoyed every minute of it and loved my companions. One in particular was a strength to me. I learned much from him as we fulfilled our responsibilities.
Because the country was at war, when I returned from my mission I joined the United States Marine Corps. When the war was over, I returned to college, married, and started a family. Successive professional moves took me to many places across the United States, where I learned much as I served in many priesthood callings. I finally landed in Boston, Massachusetts, where I served as a stake president. It was from there that I was called to be an assistant to the Twelve and then, after 17 months, to the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles.
What have I learned as a member of the Quorum of the Twelve?
I’ve learned that there is a guide, an anchor, and a protection in the priesthood.
The priesthood has always existed. Before Adam came to earth, he had the priesthood. As Adam’s posterity scattered with the priesthood, it became necessary to organize how the priesthood was administered. The Lord did that by calling Abraham to preside over his family of priesthood holders. This organization continued under Isaac and Jacob, whose name was later changed to Israel.
Centuries later, the children of Israel found themselves in captivity. The Lord sent Moses to deliver them, but when he did, they proved themselves not ready as a people for the Melchizedek Priesthood. So they were left with the Aaronic Priesthood until the time of the Savior.
I find it very interesting what the Savior did first as He began His ministry. He organized the Melchizedek Priesthood. He called twelve Apostles and taught them the laws and order of the priesthood. He called Peter to be the chief Apostle, establishing a line of authority in His Church. In that day and this, it is Jesus Christ who selects His chief Apostle to preside over the Church, and it is the Savior who directs him in his priesthood duties.
So the priesthood has a direct line from our Lord and Savior through the chief Apostle to the other Apostles and on to the other priesthood holders in the Church. Keys of authority are given to the Apostles, and as long as those keys are on the earth, we will be guided by the Lord Himself. This divine direction protects us and assures us that the Church will not vary from the truth. It will remain consistent because it is not directed by any earthly being. It is directed by the Lord.
The greatest advice I have for you young men is to study the doctrines of the priesthood, understand the power you have in exercising your priesthood, and learn how it can bless your lives and the lives of others.
I promise if you’ll learn the doctrines of the priesthood and fulfill your priesthood duties, the priesthood will be a sure anchor that will keep you spiritually safe and bring you great joy. Be a true priesthood quorum. Reach out to your friends and bring them into your quorum. Create a brotherhood in your quorum that will be a permanent foundation for your lives.

Approximately 18 months ago, in the fall of 2017, my 64-year-old brother Mike informed me that he had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. He also told me that he had received a priesthood blessing from his home teacher and that he had met with his bishop. He later texted me a picture of the Oakland California Temple taken from the hospital where he was receiving treatment, with the caption “Look what I can see from my hospital room.”
I was as surprised by his comments about home teachers, priesthood blessings, bishops, and temples as I was about the cancer. You see, Mike, a priest in the Aaronic Priesthood, hadn’t regularly attended church for close to 50 years.
As a family, we were almost as intrigued with his spiritual progress as we were with his progress in fighting the cancer, largely because of his now frequent questions about the Book of Mormon, the sealing power, and life after death. As the months passed and the cancer spread, a need for additional and more specialized treatment eventually brought Mike to Utah and the Huntsman Cancer Institute.
Shortly after his arrival, Mike was visited by John Holbrook, the ward mission leader of the ward that served the care facility where he was now living. John commented that “it was obvious to me that Mike was a son of God” and that they quickly developed a bond and a friendship, which led to John becoming Mike’s de facto ministering brother. There was an immediate invitation to have the missionaries visit, which my brother politely declined, but a month into their friendship, John asked again, explaining to Mike, “I think you’d enjoy hearing the gospel message.” This time the invitation was accepted, leading to meetings with the missionaries, as well as visits with Bishop Jon Sharp, whose conversations eventually led to Mike receiving his patriarchal blessing, 57 years after his baptism.
In early December of last year, following months of procedures, Mike decided to stop the cancer treatments, which were causing severe side effects, and to just let nature take its course. We were informed by his doctor that Mike had approximately three months to live. In the meantime, the gospel questions continued—as did the visits and support of his local priesthood leaders. On our visits with Mike, we often saw an open copy of the Book of Mormon on the bedstand as we discussed the Restoration of the gospel, priesthood keys, temple ordinances, and the eternal nature of man.
By mid-December, with his patriarchal blessing in hand, Mike actually appeared to be gaining strength, and his prognosis of at least another three months seemed likely. We even made plans for him to join us for Christmas, for New Year’s, and beyond. On December 16, I received an unexpected call from Bishop Sharp, who informed me that he and the stake president had interviewed Mike, had found him worthy to receive the Melchizedek Priesthood, and asked when I would be available to participate. The ordinance was scheduled for that Friday, December 21.
When the day arrived, my wife, Carol, and I arrived at the care facility and were immediately met in the hallway near his room and informed that Mike had no pulse. We entered the room to find the patriarch, his bishop, and his stake president already waiting—and then Mike opened his eyes. He recognized me and acknowledged that he could hear me and was ready to receive the priesthood. Fifty years after Mike had been ordained a priest in the Aaronic Priesthood, I had the privilege, assisted by his local leaders, to confer the Melchizedek Priesthood and ordain my brother to the office of elder. Five hours later, Mike passed away, crossing the veil to meet our parents as a holder of the Melchizedek Priesthood.
In response to that invitation from a prophet of God, remarkable efforts to minister to the one are taking place all over the world, in both coordinated efforts, as members faithfully fulfill their ministering assignments, as well as in what I’ll call “impromptu” ministering, as so many demonstrate Christlike love in response to unexpected opportunities. In our own family, we witnessed, up close, this type of ministering.
John, who was Mike’s friend, ministering brother, and a former mission president, used to tell his missionaries that “if someone is on a list that says ‘not interested,’ don’t give up. People change.” He then told us, “Mike changed mightily.” John was first a friend, providing frequent encouragement and support—but his ministering didn’t stop at friendly visits. John knew that a minister is more than a friend and that friendship is magnified as we minister.
Knowing that he would soon die, my brother Mike commented, “It’s amazing how pancreatic cancer can make you focus on what’s most important.” Thanks to wonderful men and women who saw a need, did not judge, and ministered like the Savior, it wasn’t too late for Mike. For some, change may come sooner; for others, perhaps beyond the veil. However, we must remember that it is never too late and no one has ever wandered so far from the path that he or she is beyond the reach of the infinite Atonement of Jesus Christ, which is limitless in its duration and scope.

I sat in this tabernacle some years ago as President Joseph Fielding Smith stood at this pulpit. It was the general priesthood meeting, the last general conference before President Smith passed away. He said: “There is one thing which we should have exceedingly clear in our minds. Neither the President of the Church, nor the First Presidency, nor the united voice of the First Presidency and the Twelve will ever lead the Saints astray or send forth counsel to the world that is contrary to the mind and will of the Lord.”
There came to me that evening a witness of the Spirit that he spoke the truth. I felt an overwhelming sense of peace and assurance that the Lord loved us and would not leave us without direction.

Jeff and his wife, Melissa, were attending general conference for his first time. Jeff played professional baseball (he was a catcher) and is now a physician anesthesiologist. He told me, “Much to my surprise, I am moving toward baptism because it feels like the most authentic and honest way to live.”
Earlier, Melissa had apologized to Jeff’s assigned ministering brother, “Jeff does not want ‘white shirts’ in our house.” The ministering brother said, “I’ll find a way.” Now he and Jeff are good friends. At Jeff’s baptism, I met a congregation of Latter-day Saints whom Jeff, Melissa, and their daughter, Charlotte, love.

The place was Nauvoo in the 1840s. Because the Latter-day Saints had been refused the right to bear arms for protection, a group of boys formed a troop and armed themselves with jackknives and sticks and walked the streets following undesirable strangers. Whittling and whistling, they eventually ran the stranger off the streets of Nauvoo. The name of the troop was “The Whittlin’ Whistlin’ Brigade.”

Joseph Smith had prophetic dreams, as he once indicated to Levi Hancock. Levi started on a mission, was out one night, had a terrible night of nightmares, and returned in fear. “Don’t let that trouble you,” said the Prophet. “I have had dreams as bad as you ever had. You do as I now tell you to and you will come out all right.” Levi recalled that Joseph then “gave [him] to understand how the Comforter would comfort the mind of man when asleep.”46

During a visit to the afflicted area prior to the distribution of the packets, Elder and Sister Johnston met a little boy named Cosmin. His house had been destroyed and he was living under a tarp.
When the Johnstons returned a while later with food, he and his family were nowhere to be found.
“We desperately wanted to find them,” said Elder Johnston. “We promised them we would return with help. We left the distribution to others and began scouring the faces in the crowd of refugees, hoping to find him and his father and mother.
“Near the end of the day, after most materials were distributed, we found them standing off a distance from everyone else, waiting patiently. They were a contrast to the majority who pushed and shoved their way to the front of the line. We were touched by their humility and gratitude. Little Cosmin soon brought us flowers and said, ‘Thank you.’”

Four years later Joseph was finally ready. Obstacles to translating the plates, however, were immense. Newly married, Joseph needed to work to provide for Emma and himself, as well as for his extended family members, who still relied heavily on his contribution. Perhaps even more distracting, Joseph faced sweeping community opposition and avarice that threatened exposure and loss of the plates.

When a Palmyra mob demanded that Joseph show them the plates or be tarred and feathered, he knew he had to leave.4 So, in late 1827, Joseph placed the plates in a barrel of beans, packed up some belongings, borrowed $50 from his friend and early believer Martin Harris, and took his pregnant wife more than 100 miles (161 km) south to Harmony, Pennsylvania, to live with Emma’s parents. He hoped the change would ease their daily labors and free them of the cauldron of greed and animosity that gripped Palmyra.

Conditions improved enough that winter that Joseph was able to translate a few Book of Mormon characters. In April, Martin Harris moved to Harmony to assist Joseph as scribe, and the work of translation began in earnest. By the middle of June—roughly five years since the fateful day Joseph had first been directed to the Hill Cumorah to obtain the plates—they had produced 116 manuscript pages of translation.5

I was busy gathering my things after teaching a Mia Maid lesson, and my husband, Garry, stood in the back of the room holding our one-year-old boy. Our three-year-old son, Zach, slipped past us into the crowded hall and followed someone toward the meetinghouse doors. Because my husband and I each thought the other had Zach, it took us a few minutes to realize he was missing.
Just as we realized he was gone, Zach appeared at the end of the hall. But something was wrong. His cheeks were red, he had tears streaming down his face, and he was clutching his right hand. Our bishop, who was ushering him toward us, looked concerned. A pit of guilt settled in my stomach. My son had gotten hurt, and I hadn’t been there to help him.
The bishop had heard Zach’s urgent cries and had hurried to his aid. Zach’s predicament was immediately clear, but the solution was not. His fingers had become wedged between the heavy outer door and its frame. Opening or closing the door only exacerbated the injury; the swing of the door further pinched his fingers and pulled his hand, causing significant pain.
As the bishop and a couple in the ward frantically tried to figure out how they could release Zach’s fingers, a brother from another ward that met in our building saw what was happening. He took a screwdriver from his pocket and inserted it into the space between the door and its frame. Then, using the screwdriver as a lever, he widened the gap enough to release Zach.
Amid sighs of relief, the brother explained that as he prepared for Sunday services that morning, he experienced what seemed like an odd prompting to bring a screwdriver to church. The impression was so strong and clear that he slipped the tool into the pocket of his dress pants.
This kind act of service resulting from heavenly inspiration touched me deeply and filled my heart with gratitude. Heavenly Father was watching over my three-year-old boy and prompted a good brother to respond.

In 1989, Yuri and Liudmila Terebenin of St. Petersburg (then called Leningrad) and their daughter, Anna, were visiting friends in Budapest, Hungary. A Latter-day Saint friend invited them to church, where they felt the Spirit and decided to meet with the missionaries. They were eventually baptized. Though initially the only members of the Church in St. Petersburg, the Terebenins were not left alone for long. Members of the Church from Finland were already sharing the gospel with Russians, including Anton Skripko, who became the first Russian baptized in Russia.

At the time, Russia was experiencing political change, and Americans living and working in Moscow began to reach out to their Russian friends and acquaintances. Dohn Thornton met Galina Goncharova in 1989, and religion became a topic of discussion between them. Brother Thornton later recalled, “As I gave [Galina] the Book of Mormon and Joseph Smith pamphlet, the most incredible thing happened. It was [as] if all the light in the room at that moment focused on the book. The Spirit came over us and [she] started to cry.”8 Galina told him that she felt the book was from God. She began attending church and was baptized in June 1990, becoming the first convert baptized in Moscow.

As Russians from St. Petersburg, Vyborg, Moscow, and other cities joined the Church, a new chapter opened in the history of the Church in Russia. On April 26, 1990, Elder Russell M. Nelson of the Quorum of the Twelve offered a prayer of rededication for Russia in St. Petersburg, reaffirming the dedication that Elder Lyman performed nearly a century earlier and asking the Lord to extend the blessings of the gospel to the people.

Also in the spring of 1990, Tamara Efimova of St. Petersburg brought the missionaries to her home after meeting them at a friend’s home. Her father, Vyacheslav Efimov, was skeptical at first that these young men could teach him anything new about God. However, he became impressed by their gospel message. He wrote: “[It] gave me the opportunity to receive answers to my own questions and, most important, to understand that God loves each of us—we are his children and he has given us a Savior, his Son Jesus Christ, and each of us will be resurrected.”9 In June, Vyacheslav, Galina (his wife), and Tamara were baptized. From 1995 to 1998, Brother Efimov served as Russia’s first native mission president.

I clipped an item taken from the diary of Mrs. Rebecca Riter, entered December 25, 1847. She describes that first Christmas in the Valley of the Great Salt Lake:
“The winter was cold. Christmas came and the children were hungry. I had brought a peck of wheat across the plains and hid it under a pile of wood. I thought I would cook a handful of wheat for the baby. Then I thought how we would need wheat for seed in the spring, so I left it alone.”
In our bounteous lives, we may well reflect upon the more meager Christmas seasons of our pioneer ancestors.

When I was 17 years old, it was time for me to prepare to serve a mission. I had my interviews with my bishop, and in one of them he asked me if I had a testimony of the restored Church of the Savior Jesus Christ.
I began to meditate and simply shared with him the things that I had heard from the other members of the ward when they shared their testimonies. Then I realized that I had never prayed for myself to know if the gospel was true. I was born in the covenant, but when it came time to prepare for my mission, I realized that I was simply active in the Church out of custom or tradition.
I made it a goal to study The Book of Mormon every day and to pray to my Father to find out if it was true. Time passed, and I didn’t feel any answer until I got to the last chapter of the Book of Moroni, verses 3 through 5, which say:
“Behold, I would exhort you that when ye shall read these things, if it be wisdom in God that ye should read them, that ye would remember how merciful the Lord hath been unto the children of men, from the creation of Adam even down until the time that ye shall receive these things, and ponder it in your hearts.
“And when ye shall receive these things, I would exhort you that ye would ask God, the Eternal Father, in the name of Christ, if these things are not true; and if ye shall ask with a sincere heart, with real intent, having faith in Christ, he will manifest the truth of it unto you, by the power of the Holy Ghost.
“And by the power of the Holy Ghost ye may know the truth of all things” (Moroni 10:3–5).
I was concerned because I had already finished the whole book and didn’t feel like I had received any response. In my neighborhood there was so much noise that the windows in my room were vibrating, I knelt down and prayed the most sincere prayer I have ever prayed in my life, and I begged my Heavenly Father to help me know if the Book of Mormon was true and if the Prophet Joseph Smith was a true prophet and if this was His Church.
With tears in my eyes and a very warm feeling in my chest, I felt how everything around me fell silent, and I heard the voice of the Spirit testifying to me that it was true. Since that day, I am a totally different person, and I have a solid and firm testimony thanks to my Heavenly Father.

Elder Michael A. Dunn’s parents divorced when he was a small child, but as his mother raised him, she instilled in him strong faith and values. After attending a private Episcopal school in Salt Lake City, Utah, USA, he transferred to a public high school, where he met members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
As his new friends and their parents welcomed him with open arms, Michael desired to learn about the Church. Eventually he decided to meet with the missionaries. Their teachings about the Godhead and Joseph Smith’s First Vision “landed in me with real power,” he said.
Through prayer he knew the gospel was true and was baptized during his senior year of high school. Since then, Elder Dunn has been “nurtured by a string of incredible leaders.”

Yet I early learned that sharing is as much responsibility as it is opportunity. I was about six years old when I carelessly dropped my older brother’s steam engine and broke its cast iron base. Looking at the little brass boiler—bright from repeated polishing but now listing hopelessly—I suddenly remembered that this was his favorite toy. Later, as Bill pulled the ruins of his engine out from under the pile of toys I had “given” him as a desperate recompense, he didn’t cry—at almost ten he felt he was too old to cry—but my mother’s quiet “He’s your brother, Billy” not only knotted my guilty heart, it filled me with mighty resolve that I wouldn’t exploit him again. I never have.

It was stuck, completely, 100 percent stuck. I couldn’t pull the knee brace up any farther, but I also couldn’t pull it down to get it off. The doctor came back in, and I had to explain my predicament.
“You’re bigger than I thought,” was his comment.
After successfully wrestling the next larger size up my leg, I was ready to leave. The doctor’s nurse stopped me and apologized for the doctor’s comment.
“I told him you just don’t say things like that to girls. He meant you are tall.”
“That’s okay,” I said. “I get it all the time.”

Photograph from Getty Images
After faithfully serving a mission in Mozambique, I returned home and, like many other returned missionaries, quickly turned to my studies and work.
I lived in Brazil in a city that borders Paraguay and found employment importing products for a large supermarket on the Paraguayan side. The blessing of having learned English on my mission helped me gain this position. During this time, I was married and blessed with a daughter.
When a financial crisis in Brazil culminated in the decline of Brazil’s currency, my work was directly affected. It caused a decline in the sales of the products I regularly imported. By the end of February the following year, I was left with practically nothing to do. Losing my job was almost certain, as had been the case with other colleagues. I became worried about supporting my wife and little daughter. I even started looking for another job.
I spoke with my wife about the situation. She suggested that we fast. While we fasted, peace enveloped our hearts and we felt that all would be well, although I could not imagine how.
The following day at work, my manager called me in. I thought that the dreaded moment had come—I was about to lose my job. But to my surprise, my manager told me that he had an idea. Because I had ability with English, he proposed that I translate legal documents that normally were handed over to lawyers to arrange for translation. He told me if I succeeded in performing the translation, I would be given that task and it would result in a savings for the department. I immediately began translating the documents. When I presented my manager the successful translations, he was thrilled! I was thrilled too because I was able to remain employed.
When I went to receive my check, which could have been my last, I was surprised to see that my salary had increased. My heart was touched, and I was grateful to our Heavenly Father. Through this experience I know that fasting opens the windows of heaven.