Gospel Story Finder

In Part 1, Sarah Ann describes how her family traveled to the United States from Norway. She hears Mormon missionaries preach and knows what they say is true. Sarah Ann is baptized and promises the Lord that she will always do whatever He asks her to do.

Chardon Point, Iowa, 1849
Sarah Ann was too weak to open her eyes, but as she listened to the crickets chirping nearby she remembered where she was—in a covered wagon camped near a creek in Iowa. Despite painful muscle cramps, Sarah Ann smiled softly, grateful to still be alive.
The crickets were interrupted by the sound of two people talking quietly outside the wagon. Sarah Ann tried to hear what was being said.
“How is she today, Anna?” asked a man with a Norwegian accent.
“I am afraid she isn’t doing well,” Anna said. “Nothing is working. She has a very bad case of cholera.”
Sarah Ann recognized their voices. The man was Canute Peterson. Sarah Ann had known him since she was a young girl. When Canute’s parents died, Mother had welcomed him into their home as though he had been part of the family. The woman, Anna, was Sarah Ann’s nurse.
“I wish that something could be done,” Canute said.
“I do too. Sarah Ann is such a wonderful young woman.”
Sarah Ann let out a cry. The pain was almost more than she could bear. Sarah Ann thought about the events that had led her to where she was now. When she was baptized, she had promised the Lord to do whatever He asked her to do. A short time after that, the prophet Brigham Young told the Saints to gather in the West. Sarah Ann packed a few belongings and joined a wagon team of other Saints. They had traveled 200 miles (322 km) when Sarah Ann became sick with cholera.
A tear rolled down Sarah Ann’s cheek. “I want to live to see the place that the Lord has prepared for the Saints,” she thought.
Meanwhile, Canute walked along the edge of a nearby creek in the woods. As he walked, he felt a gentle prompting from the Holy Ghost to pray for Sarah Ann. He knelt down and prayed that Sarah Ann’s pain would lessen. As he prayed, Canute felt the Spirit tell him what he should do.
“I know that if I give Sarah Ann a priesthood blessing, she will be healed,” he thought.
As Canute returned to the wagon, he could hear Sarah Ann groaning. Anna and the other nurses filled the wagon, making it difficult for him to get close.
Putting all of his faith in the Lord, Canute went to the side of the wagon, put his hands under the wagon cover, laid them on Sarah Ann’s head, and gave her a blessing.
As soon as Sarah Ann felt the hands on her head, she knew whose hands they were even though she couldn’t see Canute.
When the blessing ended, Sarah Ann’s pain immediately stopped.
“I am healed!” Sarah Ann exclaimed.
“You are not in any pain?” Canute asked.
“None at all. It’s a miracle! Thank you for giving me a blessing, Canute. I know that God has healed me through the priesthood power you hold.”
Within an hour, Sarah Ann was up and trying to help others who were sick.
The wagon company was soon able to continue the journey. Sarah Ann felt closer to Canute than she ever had before. As they traveled, the two of them spent a lot of time together. They soon began to fall in love.

My mind tuned in and out as the teacher explained the finer points of perspective drawing. I tried to concentrate, but to no avail. My mind kept wandering.
My thoughts were interrupted by the girl sitting next to me. She was tapping my shoulder, wanting to borrow an eraser. I complied and watched my eraser terminate an entire line of notes from her drawing pad.
As she handed it back, I noticed the eraser. It was gray, made of kneaded rubber, malleable and stretchy. These erasers seem to be a bit of magic. They never wear out; they just keep cleaning up your mistakes, no matter how dark. They’re better than any kind of eraser I’ve ever used.
Then a forceful thought came to me: how this small, gray eraser paralleled repentance. I recalled the words to a scripture in Isaiah: “Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool” (Isa. 1:18). Perhaps Isaiah’s plea for repentance would have been more easily understood if it went, “Though your sins be as graphite …”
Suddenly I heard people moving around me. I came out of my meditation. Class was finally over. As I gathered my materials, I heard the teacher say: “The best artist is the one who can see his mistakes and correct them.”
The day’s lesson was well learned.

The light flickered, blinked, flickered once more, and then the room went dark. Marta blinked and rubbed her eyes, but there was no seeing through the blackness.
“Now what?” Lisa asked in a shaky voice.
Outside, the wind sang and whistled as it rattled the windows of the old house the family had recently bought. It was the family’s goal to restore the old place to its original splendor, but so far not much had been done with it.
“Methinks ’tis winter,” Marta said, trying to make her words sound Old English and funny. But no one laughed. “Where has your sense of humor gone?” Marta asked.
“It went with Daddy,” replied seven-year-old Peter, his voice choked with fear.
“I wish Mom and Dad had fixed those old windows,” Lisa said nervously. “That rattling is scary.”
“I wish Mom and Dad were home,” Peter whimpered.
For a moment no one moved or spoke. The wind heaved and buffeted the house, died mischievously to a tickle on the window-panes, then rushed again with horrendous screams as though it was demanding to be let inside.
For as long as Marta could remember, there had been terrible windstorms in the valley—at least two or three times a year. Once, in their old home down the street, a winter wind had exploded through a window, shattering glass on the carpet and making its icy way into every corner of the house. Most of the time the wind wasn’t so violent, and Marta, though she didn’t exactly know why, had come to enjoy the storms. Maybe it was the eerie darkness that resulted when the electric circuits were shorted out. Or maybe it was because she remembered enjoying the stormy-night fires her father started in the fireplace and the way the family huddled around the blaze, wrapped in blankets and holding cups of hot chocolate. Her father always seemed to make an adventure out of storms.
Tonight, however, her parents had gone across town on an errand. A little while ago they’d called to say that they would have to wait until the snowplows cleared a path for them to get home.
The wind gasped, beat viciously against the house, then moaned pitifully.
Marta chuckled to herself, but Lisa shuddered and Peter began to cry. Marta never remembered her older sister being frightened of storms before.
“Isn’t anyone going to get some candles?” Marta asked.
“I—I will,” Lisa stammered, but she didn’t move.
“That’s all right; I’ll get them,” Marta said. She started feeling her way through the darkness. It was like playing blindman’s buff. First she felt the piano bench, then the banister, the hall wallpaper, and the buffet; then she groped her way through the doorway into the kitchen. Finally she found the right cupboard. It seemed strange not to be able to see even her hands in front of her. Opening the cupboard door, Marta’s fingers groped through its contents—paper napkins in a noisy cellophane package, rattly boxes of cold cereal, two long, smooth candles and their holders.
“Now for the matches,” Marta muttered, reaching farther back into the cupboard. “I know they’re in here.” Way back in the corner she felt the raspy side of the matchbox. Marta quickly shut the cupboard door, struck a match, and lit the candles. Slowly she walked back to the living room.
“Marta, Marta, is that you?” Peter called out.
“Of course, Peter,” Marta said cheerfully.
“This house is all ghosty,” Peter whispered.
“It’s all right, Peter.”
Marta heard Lisa trying to comfort their brother, but the words were not convincing. It seemed strange to be enjoying something that frightened her brother and sister. What can I do when even my big sister is scared? she asked herself. Quickly Marta placed the candles on the mantle.
“There, Peter. See, it isn’t so bad,” Lisa said.
As if to prove her wrong, the wind knocked viciously against the house. The candles flickered, then burned brightly again. Marta looked at Lisa’s face. Usually it was a happy, princesslike face, but now it only mirrored fear.
“Shall I start a fire?” Marta asked.
“No!” Lisa answered abruptly. “This wind is worse than most. It could blow down through the chimney and start the house on fire.”
Marta had never heard of such a thing. “What?” she asked.
“Last year in a storm like this, two homes burned,” Lisa explained. “The newspaper account said that it had something to do with downdrafts. I’m not exactly sure how the fires started, but we’d better not light one.”
Marta felt helpless. Why can’t Peter and Lisa feel like I do about storms? she wondered. Why can’t they relax and laugh at the weird sounds of the wind and makebelieve fun things about the dancing shadows the candles make on the wall? Aloud she said, “I’ll get some blankets then. At least we can keep warm until the heat comes back on.”
Marta walked out of the dim candlelight and felt her way down the hall to the linen closet. The blankets were stored on the top shelf, so she had to jump to get them down. When she managed to get three, she returned to the living room. “Lisa, you can curl up on the couch,” she said, “and Peter and I will lie down on the floor.”
“No,” Peter said.
“Why not?” Marta asked. “It will be like a slumber party.”
“No, it won’t.” Peter started to cry again.
“It’s all right,” Lisa said, hugging Peter to her. “Come on. Let’s have a slumber party.” She tried to sound excited, but the words came out stilted.
“Or we can pretend we’re pioneers,” Marta said, “It’s a game, Peter. We’re pioneers, and it’s nighttime, so we have to go to bed.”
“Pioneers didn’t have windstorms like this.”
“Yes, they did!” Marta countered. “I’ve read about them. And they were outside in the storms, not inside like we are.”
Lisa climbed onto the couch, and Peter reluctantly lay down on the braided rug. Shadows from the candles danced on the walls and ceiling of the tall, drafty room.
“Well, what did the pioneers do?” Peter asked.
That’s it! Marta realized. That’s how I can help Lisa and Peter. Aloud, she told Peter. “They prayed and did things to keep their minds off the storm.”
“That’s a good idea,” Lisa said. “Let’s say a prayer for us—and for Mom and Dad too.”
“After we’re through, I’ll tell you a story,” Marta added.
Peter prayed with them, but he stopped to look around every time another rush of wind rattled the house.
“This storm may last five more minutes or all night,” Marta said after they finished their prayer, “but we’ll have fun telling stories.”
“I hope it’s only five more minutes,” Lisa said.
Marta’s mind was racing. What story can I tell that will help Peter and Lisa? First she thought of some fairy tales, then of some stories she’d heard in school. But none of them seemed to be the kind that would give comfort … That’s it! She remembered the scripture story she’d heard in Primary last week that had filled her with a secure and comforting feeling.
Marta smiled at Lisa and Peter, then began: “One time Jesus and His Apostles were traveling in a boat when a fierce storm started tossing and turning their boat about. The Apostles became frightened, but Jesus slept through the whole noisy, scary storm.”
Outside, the wind whistled and screamed and rattled the windows and doors, while inside, Marta told the story of how Jesus had awakened and commanded the storm to stop. Marta tried to make her voice sound reassuring and comforting, but even if her voice wasn’t, she knew that the story would ease their fears.
When Marta finished, she looked over at Peter. In the dim candlelight she could see that he was already asleep.
“I’m glad you’re here, Marta,” Lisa whispered. “You’re a lot like Dad.”
Surprised by her sister’s remark, Marta didn’t say anything.
Soon Lisa went on, “It’s not that either of you really likes storms or that you wish they would come to hurt us or to do damage; but when they do come, you both manage to make the most of the situation. I wish I had such a gift.”
Marta was surprised. How often she had wished for Lisa’s long, thick hair instead of her own thin, wispy hair. Marta had never imagined that Lisa would ever be wishing for something that her younger sister had.
Lisa snuggled down on the couch, and Marta pulled her own blanket up to her chin and thought once more about the scripture story. “Peace, be still. …” Marta thought of the words from the story, the words Jesus had used to still the stormy waters. As she listened to the noises around her, Marta smiled.
Marta’s thoughts drifted to Lisa and what her sister had just said. It felt so good to comfort and to be comforted. She smiled again and then let herself relax and listen to the music of the wind as it accompanied the dancing shadows on the wall.

One Monday in November I was helping my dad change the oil in the car when the Blanchards drove off, then came back so quickly that I couldn’t figure out where they could have gone.
“Where’d you go last night?” I asked Ben the next morning.
He got a funny look on his face. “Oh, somewhere,” he answered.
I couldn’t believe it. Ben always told me where they went! “What is this, some kind of secret mission?”
Ben half-laughed, half-choked, “Sort of.” He looked behind him and then leaned toward me and whispered, “Becky made me promise not to tell anyone.”
I spent the next week trying to puzzle out what the Blanchards could have done that Becky wouldn’t want anyone to know about. Had they discovered gold or silver? Were they rehearsing a circus act? Or maybe they were plotting to take over the world!
The next Monday the Blanchards stayed home. I was outside with Dad again, helping him replace the porch light. We were nearly done when a car came up the street. I was instantly alert because we live on a dead-end street, and we hardly ever get strange cars on it. Even more mysterious, this car was creeping along at a snail’s pace. As soon as the car passed our driveway, its headlights blinked off. But the car kept on going and stopped just beyond the Blanchard’s house.
I nudged Dad. “Something fishy’s going on here,” I whispered.
We tiptoed to the hedge that divides our property from the Blanchards’ and watched. A figure got out of the car and crept up the driveway to the Blanchard’s porch. He—or she or it—placed something by their door, pressed the doorbell, and scooted down the driveway.
Dad squeezed through the hedge and grabbed the skulker’s jacket. “What are you doing?” he asked.
I squeezed through the hedge, too, and ran up to the door while Dad marched the boy—we could tell that much now—up the driveway behind me.
By the time Dad got to the door, Ben and the rest of his family were crowding around the door, wide-eyed.
“Do you know this boy?” Dad asked.
“It’s Frank Adams,” Mr. Blanchard told us.
Frank was absolutely crimson. He bent down and picked up a plate of cookies. On top of the cookies was a ghost shape cut out of paper. “I just left these,” he explained weakly.
The Blanchards all whooped with laughter. “He was phantoming us!”
“Huh?” Dad and I stared at each other.
“Can I go?” Frank looked desperately at Dad. “Mom’s in the car and probably thinks I’ve been kidnapped.”
Dad let go of Frank’s jacket. “Sorry. I was just trying to watch out for my neighbors,” he said, shaking his head as Frank rushed down the driveway.
I was dying of curiosity. “What was he doing?”
Becky sighed. “Different families in our ward—our church congregation—have been going around on Mondays and secretly leaving treats on other people’s door-steps. We say that the Family Night Phantom left them.”
Dad and I stared at each other again and raised our eyebrows.
“Better cookies than vandalism,” Dad finally said with a shrug.
“I bet that’s what you were doing last week. Right?” I asked Ben.
He nodded, embarrassed.

One day I was fasting because I was troubled by many difficulties, and I opened the July 2007 issue of the Liahona. I decided to read From the Life of President Spencer W. Kimball, the episode called “Resist Evil Influences,” which I don’t usually read because it is in the children’s section. This story helped me flee from the bad influences that surrounded me that day, and I was fortified by the message. I encourage everyone to read all the sections of the Liahona.
The Liahona is a light and a protection for me. It is the first tool I use to proclaim the gospel to my friends.
Arlette Azi, Ivory Coast

Katie smiled as she hurried to her piano lesson. Today was Store Day! Every time she practiced the piano, she earned points to spend on prizes. Katie had worked hard, and she couldn’t wait to see all the cool things she could buy.
She looked at the row of prizes carefully. There were candy bars, colored pencils, baseball cards, and even a book of jokes. Then Katie noticed two little red and white boxes. She picked one up and opened it. Inside the box was a shiny red harmonica. The other box had a shiny red harmonica too.
Katie counted up her points. She had enough for the harmonica. In fact, she had enough for both harmonicas! She would give the other one to her little brother Ryan. He was going to be so excited! Katie could hardly wait.
When Katie got home, she tied a little ribbon around the box and gave it to her brother. “My own harmonica?” Ryan asked when he opened it.
“Yeah!” Katie said. She pulled out her matching harmonica to show him. “We both have one!”
“How will we tell them apart?” he asked.
Katie showed him where she had marked an “R” in black marker on the side of his harmonica. “Yours has an ‘R’ for Ryan, and mine has a ‘K’ for Katie.”
Ryan smiled. He took a deep breath and blew into his harmonica. Then he laughed. “You’re the best,” he said.
Katie loved seeing how happy the harmonica made Ryan. He carried it in his pocket everywhere he went. He even tucked it under his pillow before he went to bed.
A few days later, Ryan came inside from helping Dad in the yard. He was crying. “What’s wrong?” Katie asked.
“My harmonica,” Ryan said. “I can’t find it anywhere.”
“I’ll help you look for it,” said Katie. They went outside and crawled through the grass, searching behind bushes and under rocks. Dad helped them look too.
“Do you think we should say a prayer?” Ryan asked. “Maybe Heavenly Father can help us find my harmonica.”
“That’s a great idea,” Dad said.
They knelt down in the grass and Ryan said a prayer. “Heavenly Father, please help us find my harmonica.”
The three of them kept looking, but it was nowhere to be found. Ryan went to bed without his harmonica under his pillow and cried himself to sleep.
Seeing Ryan so sad made Katie feel sad too. “Heavenly Father, please help Ryan to not feel so upset. Please help him find his harmonica.” Katie finished her prayer and climbed into bed.
Then an idea popped into her mind.
She crawled out of bed and pulled out her own little red harmonica. She washed it with soap and water. She could still see the “K” written on the side, but the harmonica’s shiny red color made it look brand new. After Ryan fell asleep, Katie sneaked into his room and slipped the harmonica under his pillow. Then she went back to bed and tried to fall asleep. She was so excited to see Ryan’s face. It felt like waiting for Christmas morning!
The next day, Katie woke up extra early. Soon Ryan was awake too. She heard him yell in surprise and ran to his room. Ryan was holding the harmonica, smiling big. “Look! It’s my harmonica!”
Then Ryan noticed the little “K” written on the side. “Wait,” he said. “This one’s yours.”
“I know,” said Katie. “It’s for you!”
“Really?” Ryan asked. “But I thought Heavenly Father was going to answer my prayer.”
“I think He did,” Katie said back with a big smile. “He just let me help Him!”

When I was presiding over a mission in Central America, we received an elder who had the following beautiful experience, which illustrates the nearness of the Lord and his willingness to help in our moment of need. This elder was a little older than the usual 19-year-old missionary. He was a convert to the Church, had been released from the military service, and had subsequently prepared for a mission. He received his call and entered the Missionary Home in Salt Lake City. While there he said to himself, “I had a testimony, but where is it? If I am going to spend my own money on a mission, then I must know if Joseph Smith was, in fact, a true prophet of God.”

That night he knelt in his room and lifted his thoughts to his Father concerning the Prophet Joseph Smith. To his disappointment, he received no confirming experience and proceeded the next day to his meetings. It was the day when a General Authority was to speak to them. Not feeling much interest, he sat at the back, behind the other 305 missionaries who were present. When President N. Eldon Tanner walked in the room, the elder thought to himself, “Well, he looks like any other well-dressed businessman of the day, not necessarily like a prophet.”

As President Tanner began his talk, the elder, still feeling his disappointment, had little desire to listen to him. But as the minutes went on, he began to listen more intently. All at once President Tanner requested, “Would all missionaries who are 24 years old please stand up?” Now, how many missionaries of that age do you suppose were present? Just one: this elder. President Tanner asked him to come up to the front, which he reluctantly did.

As he approached President Tanner, he received the testimony he had asked for the night before of the divine calling of the Prophet of God. President Tanner then asked the elder if he would bear his testimony regarding the divine nature of the calling of Joseph the Prophet. He bore his testimony, declaring that he knew that Joseph was divinely called and was in truth a prophet.

When my mission president announced my transfer, I thought he must be punishing me. A native of France, I was serving in France and Switzerland. Now my new companion and I were called to be zone leaders in Avignon—a city where there had not been a convert baptism for many months.
My companion and I spent our first evening in Avignon discussing our situation and trying to find motivation and strength. One solution would be just wait for things to happen. But when we thought of how short our missions were, we knew that we would hate to waste precious months.
We remembered the scripture in Matthew 19:26: “With God all things are possible.” [Matt. 19:26] What if we were in this city and region for a reason? What if the people of this city were not as hopeless as we had been led to believe? What if their problems were only the missionaries’ attitudes toward them? What if the Lord would prepare a recompense commensurate with our faith, our effort, and our desire?
We decided not to pay attention to what others had said about Avignon. In our prayers, we asked the Lord to guide us to a choice soul—one whom we would be able to prepare for baptism the following month. And we promised the Lord that we would work with all our strength.
Two days later, we met and began teaching Haroun—and we baptized him exactly one month after we had made our commitment to the Lord. Haroun referred us to his neighbors who lived above his apartment, so we also began to teach the Langer family. They, too, accepted the gospel and were baptized. It is wonderful to watch the miracle of conversion in people you love.
Since the apartment building where Haroun and the Langer family lived had only two stories, with one apartment in each, we realized that their entire building was now converted to the Church! We had achieved 100 percent success there!
After four months of work, sacrifices, miracles, and blessings, the little branch in Avignon had practically doubled. The missionaries of our district had prepared fifteen people to come into the Church. Now all of the missionaries wanted to serve in that city. Its reputation had been restored. All of the bad ideas about it had changed.
A year after my mission, I attended the Swiss Temple and had the surprise and extreme joy of seeing Brother and Sister Langer and their three children there. I witnessed them kneel at the altar and be sealed as a family. Brother Eric Langer is now a high priest—and is president of the Avignon branch.
I thanked the Lord for his generosity to me. And I thanked him for enlightening my companion and me on that first evening in Avignon when we decided to work with all our strength. What would have been the result if we had just waited for things to happen?

You’re unusually quiet,” Mark’s mother observed on the drive home from Church. “Is anything wrong?”
Mark found tears stinging the corners of his eyes. “Today in Primary our teacher talked about testimonies and challenged us to bear ours. I really wanted to do it in fast and testimony meeting today, but I just couldn’t. When I thought about standing up in front of all those people, I got scared. Besides, I couldn’t think of anything to say. I guess I don’t have a testimony, after all.”
“It is frightening to stand up in front of all those people, especially if you don’t know what you’re going to say,” Mark’s mother agreed with him. “But it doesn’t mean that you don’t have a testimony. Do you know what it means to ‘bear a testimony’?”
“My teacher said it means to stand as a witness for something, like at a trial.”
“That’s one meaning. But another meaning of bear is ‘carry it with you.’ Our testimonies show in what we say and do every day of the week, not just on Sundays. Do you want to know if you have a testimony?”
“Yes.”
“Pay attention to how you live your life this month. I think you’ll discover that you are bearing your testimony all the time.”
Mark hoped that what his mother said was right. He thought that he had a testimony, but he wasn’t sure. He decided that each Sunday he would write in his journal about anything that happened to him that week involving his testimony.
The first week he wrote about something his friend, Jay, had said to him. He and Jay shared a paper route after school and split their paycheck. That week Jay had said to him, “I can’t understand why you always have more money than I do—we get paid the same amount.”
“You always spend yours right away on little things,” Mark pointed out.
“I know,” Jay said. “But a lot of yours goes to your church for—what do you call it again?”
“Tithing.”
“Yeah, tithing. And into your mission savings. But you still have more left than I do.”
Mark had never thought about it before, but it was true. He did seem to have more spending money than Jay. He guessed that he was just more careful with what he had left after tithing and savings.
The next week he didn’t know what he’d write about in his journal until Saturday night. That night his friends came over and invited him to go to the movies with them. He was excited until he heard the name of the movie. “I can’t see that movie,” he told his friends.
They were surprised. “Why not? It’s a really funny movie.”
“Because the rating tells me that it has something in it that we shouldn’t see.”
“It’s just a movie,” his friends tried to persuade him.
Mark thought about a lesson his family had had at a family home evening. He knew that the prophets had warned about watching bad things on TV and in movies, or looking at bad things in magazines or books. It was almost impossible to erase those bad images from your mind.
“I’d rather not see it,” he said, and his friends went without him.
The third week, Mark knew what he was going to write about in his journal long before Sunday. It was Monday morning, in fact, when one of his friends, Rob, had come to school looking very tired.
“What’s wrong,” Mark asked him. “Are you sick?”
“No.” Rob yawned. “I didn’t sleep much last night. I ate too much candy, and my stomach was upset for a long time.”
“Too much candy isn’t good for you,” Mark said. “It’s better to snack on fruit or eat a cheese sandwich or something.”
“I know that now,” Rob said as he put his head down on his desk.
The last week of the month, Mark wrote about a very frightening thing that had happened to him. He had been out delivering his papers in the rain and was almost hit by a car. Later he remembered that in their family prayers that morning, his little sister had prayed that they would all be safe in the rain.
When fast Sunday came again, Mark was prepared. His family sat close to the front of the chapel so that he could be first to the podium when it was time for bearing testimonies. During the meeting, he offered a prayer in his heart that he would know what to say.
When it was time, he stood and walked up to the microphone. At first, he was nervous at seeing all the people looking back at him, but most of them were smiling, and he knew that they were his friends.
“I have a testimony of the law of tithing,” he began, “and of the Word of Wisdom. I know we have a living prophet today, and I know Heavenly Father answers our prayers.” Mark ended his testimony and sat down. His mom patted him on the knee.
He still felt a bit shaky, but mostly he had a really good feeling, like he was glowing from head to toe. He was glad that he had a testimony and that he could bear it every single day.

The telephone rang and another experience was shared.

“I know it’s late, but I couldn’t wait to tell you.”

It was the voice of Sister Byrn from a branch with few members.

“I knew it would be a good experience,” she said, “but I had no idea how wonderful. You see, Marty has been a girl with some serious problems and is now a class president. I was anxious to provide every opportunity possible for her to experience the gospel in action. We discussed matters of concern that we both shared and then kneeled in prayer together. We discussed the situation further, and before separating we kneeled again, and this time Marty spoke to the Lord in our behalf. Together we whispered amen. Marty’s eyes got big, and in a humble but excited whisper she said, ‘Sister Byrn, I’ve never felt like this before. I know that Heavenly Father listens to prayer.’

“Oh, I love these youth.” Sister Byrn’s voice showed evidence of this. “They are responsible, and the Lord is working through them as we, their leaders, help them to understand their responsibilities.”

I’m reminded of a war long ago in which three young men were hit by an enemy attack. One was slightly injured, one was critically injured, and the other was killed. For many years, the least injured of the three agonized over why he was spared. He argued with himself about it until he had convinced himself he had sinned somehow by surviving. His feelings of guilt nearly consumed him.
Not until 40 years later, when his own son came home from another war seriously wounded, did the father accept and feel gratitude for having survived the earlier war. Because he was a survivor, he had experienced the same trauma his son was going through. Now he could empathize with and help his son.
Serving his son in this unique way, he finally found peace. He said, “My only regret is that I have been looking backward all these years, instead of looking ahead to the future.” He had blamed himself for something he could not control. And that constant self-blame had prevented him from enjoying life as much as he might have. Now the past was a blessing to him and a great help to his son.

My conversion story is kind of different. It started because my best friend, Calvin, is a member of the Church. We have a mutual friend who is not a Church member and who one day thought it would be funny to go online and have a Book of Mormon sent to me. That friend meant it as a joke, but I was actually interested in it, because although Calvin and I were such great friends, I felt like it was a whole part of him I didn’t know about.
The Book of Mormon came in the mail, and I started reading it. Sometime later, Calvin invited me to a Mutual activity. We went to the park and played volleyball, and I had a lot of fun with the youth. They made me feel welcome, so I kept going to the combined activity every month. After a few months, I made a couple of friends in the Young Women group. I decided to go one night to a Young Women activity, and I loved it. I started going every week.
Calvin invited me to church one week, and it happened to be general conference. It was like nothing I had ever experienced, and I was in awe. I kept going to church every week I could. After a couple months of regularly going to the activities and to church, I really wanted to talk to the missionaries about being baptized, but I knew I had to take lessons first, and I wasn’t sure how to ask them. I had talked to Lindsey, a good friend I made in Young Women, about how I really wanted to be baptized, so she asked the missionaries about the lessons for me. After that, every Wednesday before the Mutual activity, I would come an hour early with Lindsey, and we would have a lesson.
During the missionary lessons, I never questioned anything about the gospel, because it was like I’d known it all my life but just hadn’t known what I knew. I took the lessons for about a month and half, and then the missionaries asked me if I wanted to get baptized. I was really excited. I couldn’t wait to tell everybody; I was filled with joy.
Before I was able to be baptized, my mom asked me a lot of questions, because she wanted to see if I knew what I was getting into. But I knew it was something I really wanted to do, and I knew the standards I would need to keep. After hearing how much I knew about the Church and how I understood I would be changing my lifestyle, my mom allowed me to be baptized.
On the day of my baptism, the friends I had made came to support me. Lindsey and another friend, Jameson, gave talks, and Calvin baptized me. It was such a beautiful day. I was grateful for the support of my friends, and I felt close to my Savior Jesus Christ.
Through friendship—even through a friend who wasn’t a member—I have come to know that the Book of Mormon is truly another testament of the Savior Jesus Christ, that Joseph Smith was a prophet called of God to restore Christ’s Church on the earth in the latter days, and that Heavenly Father has a plan for His children. I know that an individual can bring a friend into the gospel by small and simple means. I will never forget the friends who shared the gospel with me.

For youth conference one year, we went on a pioneer trek reenactment. I was terrified. It wasn’t that I minded walking for miles and miles a day—I was worried that I wouldn’t be able to hear anything.
I lost my hearing to meningitis when I was three years old. With technology now, I can hear with a cochlear implant. But just before trek, I broke my good implant playing basketball and had to use a backup processor. It had only one battery, which lasted about 6 hours.
I didn’t know what to do—I just wanted to feel peace and comfort. So I asked my dad for a blessing. He blessed me that Heavenly Father would take care of me if I showed faith.
All during trek, I took my implant on and off to preserve battery life. One day we were heading up into a cove, and I felt strongly that I should take off my implant. I was reluctant because my trek pa was sharing a spiritual message and I wanted to hear it. But I remembered my dad’s blessing and put the implant in my pocket.
As we walked a little further, I heard a voice in my head. It was so clear. I looked up and realized that the words in my head were the same words my trek pa was saying. I could hear every word of his testimony!
I know that Heavenly Father loves us and cares about our worries. He wants to bless us; He just asks that we show a little faith in Him.
Brody S., Wyoming, USA

One night in ancient times, three horsemen were riding across a desert. As they crossed the dry bed of a river, out of the darkness a voice called, “Halt!” They obeyed. The voice then told them to dismount, to pick up handfuls of pebbles, put the pebbles in their pockets, and remount. The horsemen followed the instruction.
The voice then said, “If you have done as I commanded, tomorrow at sunup you will be both glad and sorry.” The horsemen rode on. When the sun rose, they reached into their pockets and found that a miracle had happened. The pebbles had been transformed into diamonds and other precious stones.
The horsemen remembered the warning that they would be both glad and sorry. They were glad they had taken some pebbles, sorry they had not taken more.

Sonia Patrick describes herself as a mouse with a tail on fire running through a dry field. On the streets of Barbados—where the culture swings to a Caribbean beat—she makes sure everyone at the bus stop hears her testimony.
“God comes first,” she said. “I carry Him with me everywhere I go.”
Sister Patrick is among a growing number of members in the Christ Church Branch who have felt the fire of temple and family history work. They have learned firsthand what Elder Richard G. Scott (1928–2015) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles taught: “Anywhere you are in the world, with prayer, faith, determination, diligence, and some sacrifice, you can make a powerful contribution.”1
Sister Patrick joined the Church in 2008 after meeting the missionaries, who offered to wash her car for free. She is now known as the “bold one” in her branch on this sunny island in the West Indies.
“I grew up Christian,” she said. “I felt a spiritual pull to accept the missionaries’ offer to attend church.”
Tragedy struck three years after her baptism when her only son was killed. Suddenly, she said, “family history became very important to me.”
Opportunities for family history research and temple work were limited at the time on the island. Computers were scarce, and travel to the nearest temple was expensive and difficult.
Sister Patrick arranged for the proxy baptism of her son but remained patient over the next years. She stayed busy “doing what she was supposed to do” until a series of events came together to provide more help for her family history work.
Wheels were set in motion when Sister Jennilyn Stoffers arrived in 2022 to serve in the Barbados Bridgetown Mission office. Her call to Barbados came as a last-minute surprise. For months, she had made preparations with Church leaders to serve in Ireland, where the wet and cold of northern Europe were more conducive to her health. She had her bags packed for Ireland until she read her mission call, sending her the other direction—to the heat and humidity of Barbados.
Sister Stoffers replaced her warm wools with breezy cottons and soon arrived in Barbados. “There was a lot of adapting,” she said of the weather, the Bajan dialect,2 the culture, the food—just about everything.
“It was easy to fall in love with the members and their pure faith in God,” she said. “Everyone should experience a fast and testimony meeting in Barbados. Members know the scriptures. They are strong in their faith. They face persecution from family and society. Many are the only members of the Church in their families.”
Before long, the branch president asked Sister Stoffers to teach a class on temple preparation and family history work, a subject that fires her imagination and devotion.
A spark was struck among several members. They lingered after meetings, huddling around the branch computer, where Sister Stoffers helped them discover the richness of family history work.
Margaret Haynes was among the first to taste the spirit of the work.
“Imagine how my ancestors are reacting,” she said in reflection. “One day I will meet them. I have always felt a special feeling of being watched over by them. It brings me joy to unite my family. I feel their yearning to make covenants.”
Enthusiasm spread, and more members joined in the weekly gatherings.
“They get after it,” Sister Stoffers said. “If they need permission to perform an ordinance or need data like a birth date, they call a relative right then. There’s no waiting for a more convenient time.”
The laws and culture in the Caribbean make researching family records a challenge. “Yet,” said Sister Stoffers, “members of the branch deal with the frustrations and have now submitted more than 500 ordinances to the temple.” And more are coming.
As Church members unearthed their ancestral past, Sister Stoffers began wondering how they might experience the joy of serving in the temple on their ancestors’ behalf, given the expense of traveling to the Santo Domingo Dominican Republic Temple.
Considering her resources, she remembered the youth and adults in her home ward near Ogden, Utah, USA. With their enthusiasm to serve, could they fill the gap and help their brothers and sisters in Barbados?
Photograph of Ogden Utah Temple by David Bowen Newton
Sister Stoffers’s home-ward bishop liked the plan and rallied the support of youth and adults. Soon, names from Barbados were being shared instantly on FamilySearch.
Now, as often as their schedule permits, a battalion of youth converge on the Ogden Utah Temple, where Bishop Rob Smout pulls from a stack of ordinance-ready printouts to divvy among the youth. The talkative youth grow whisper quiet as they contemplate the unusually spelled names of people with whom they have no connection but feel a spiritual kinship.
Participation has been widespread across the ward. On certain Saturdays, a family of five boys arrives early at the temple to enjoy the sunrise over the Wasatch mountains before performing baptisms.
“It’s become a ward quest,” said Bishop Smout. “It has united the ward. Many have become involved and take names routinely, including those who haven’t attended the temple in years. Others have come back into activity to participate.”
Many members in Barbados, meanwhile, have had unique experiences that motivate them to gather their families.
“As we work together, we feel a family connection,” Sister Stoffers said. “We feel a saintly joy. It is hard to describe, except that it seems to resonate in others beyond.”
“As we work together, we feel a family connection. We feel a saintly joy.”
This enthusiasm to discover ancestors has now spread beyond the branch and across the Caribbean to members on neighboring islands. Proselyting missionaries assist by meeting with members in their homes. To guide those in the far reaches of the mission, Sister Stoffers conducts virtual training sessions.
This effort on a small island in the Caribbean began with love and a desire to bless ancestors. Then came the means to learn how. The branch discovered that the work is spiritual, requiring what Elder Scott called “a monumental effort of cooperation on both sides of the veil, where help is given in both directions.”3 They proved that even in remote Barbados, a small number of devoted members can make a great contribution.

Sam was a computer science major from Utah who had always felt it was best to marry someone born and raised in the Church—that way both sets of grandparents would be LDS. Then he met Charly—a liberated rich girl from the East who was planning to spend her life laughing at people’s beliefs. Her father was Sam’s father’s boss, and so Sam agreed to take her out—once. But what starts out as a disaster (“You never told me how much your father is paying you to take me out.” “Not enough.”) ends up in a marathon Ferris wheel ride—and the beginning of an entertaining and engrossing love story.
Charly’s conversion; her and Sam’s courtship, temple marriage, and semester in a broken down BYU basement apartment, and their first few years together in South Dakota (“where fall lasts two days”) are told with the unpredictable humor that Brother Weyland is known for. Charly’s struggles to become a good Mormon wife (“If you want me to, I’ll learn to make plastic grapes in Relief Society”) are matched by Sam’s efforts to overcome his pride (“I could believe that the Savior could forgive past sins—but I wasn’t sure I could”). How each succeeds gives the novel some of its most memorable and sensitive moments.
Charly’s death (which Brother Weyland introduces in the opening paragraph of the book) is a moving climax to the story. As Charly weakens, Sam agonizes: “This thing that to us was such a great tragedy, what was it to [the Savior], who saw beyond the grave? Did he understand the depths of my sorrow?”
Then Sam answers his own question: “I remembered the raising of Lazarus—Mary and Martha weeping for the loss of their dear brother. … Jesus was certain that in five minutes Lazarus would come forth. What if he had turned to Mary and told her not to cry and that everything would be okay? What if he had treated lightly her sorrow?
“Instead he wept.
“He hept because they wept and because he shared their sorrow. He wept because he loved them, and whatever grief they carried, he shared it with them.
“He would not leave me comfortless because he loves me, and he loves Charly. He wept because he loves us.”

A Relief Society president in Lehi, Utah, using information from reliefsociety.lds.org, proposed six months of meetings to the bishop. She says, “I encouraged my counselor to train our Relief Society meeting coordinator to focus on the purposes of Relief Society as they planned our monthly classes. When they met with the Relief Society committee members, they asked them to pray about how we could use the purposes of Relief Society to help meet the needs in our ward. The committee came back with many ideas. Then with the bishop’s input and approval, we finalized our plans.”

In 1992, just three years after Naume and I were married, when we were struggling with the basic necessities of life, a friend—Jerry Hymas from San Diego, California, USA—taught me a self-reliance principle that has made a difference in our lives, even in times of Zimbabwe’s economic meltdown, which we experienced from 2000 to 2008. Jerry said to me, “Eddie, here is a formula for financial success that has worked for me over the years and has enabled me to retire early. When you receive your paycheck, you (1) pay tithing, 10 percent; (2) pay 10 percent to yourself, and (3) pay 10 percent for emergency purposes.” Then he looked at me and said, “Never spend money you do not have.” Naume and I have tried to the best of our ability to follow this model, and it has blessed us tremendously. I recommend this to anyone, especially young couples.

Sasha was called to serve as branch Relief Society president at age 18. “At first I thought, ‘I have a lot of energy. I can do everything by myself. It will be so easy.’ But then I realized there were more than 90 sisters in the branch—most of them much older than I—and I couldn’t do anything by myself!”
She humbled herself and called upon the Lord for help. Her branch president encouraged her to unite the sisters in friendship. “We felt that visiting teaching was our most important work.”
For decades, Christmas had not been celebrated in Russia. But after a great deal of prayer, Sasha felt the importance of emphasizing the holiday as a celebration of the Savior’s birth. “I wanted every sister to feel the spirit of Christmas,” she says. In Homemaking meetings, they learned how to make stuffed animals out of fabric. Then small groups of sisters visited everyone in the branch—more than 50 homes—sharing Christmas greetings and delivering the toys to the children.
Sasha had been so busy with all the preparations and visits that she had never given any thought to receiving a visit herself. “But on December 23, the coldest night of the winter, my doorbell rang and four of my Relief Society sisters entered my apartment,” she remembers. “One of them hadn’t been active in the Church for a year and a half. They had already visited several sisters that evening, but they decided to come and visit me, too! It was so cold—they were frozen. But they lit candles and sang ‘Silent Night’ with me. They said a lot of kind words and gave me one of the Christmas cards we had made in Homemaking meeting! I felt so much love from them and from Heavenly Father.”
Later, many of the women told Sasha how much they had enjoyed making and receiving their Christmas visits. “As they told me their experiences, they were full of feelings, full of light and fire. I could feel warmth from them, even though it was the coldest time of the winter!”

Try to feel the heart of a young man, Nkosiyabo Eddie Lupahla, in Africa, writing about his friend.
“Two and a half years prior to my joining the Church in 1999, my good friend, Mbuti Yona, looked me up. We had been friends through grades 5 to 12, then [were] separated when we attended different [schools].
“Mbuti was baptized in April 1999, and four weeks later he visited me at home and introduced the gospel to me. Regardless of the rumors about the Church, I was impressed by the ‘fellow Saints’ who gave me a warm welcome on my first visit. It was this same Sunday that my friend introduced me to the missionaries. Arrangements were made to be taught. My friend was there for every discussion, and he kept inviting me to the activities. I really enjoyed being around people with the same values, interests, standards, and goals. It was during this same time period that I began attending institute [of religion]. It all seemed very natural: Thursday nights [5:30]—missionary discussion, followed by institute.
“I learned a lot in institute and especially enjoyed our class about how to achieve a celestial marriage. The first semester ended in May, shortly after I began attending, and I felt cheated. But I was fortunate enough to catch the second semester class, Teachings of the Living Prophets. While in institute, I bought myself the four standard works and I continued to learn and grow in the Church line upon line, precept upon precept, here a little and there a little. I was baptized September 17, 1999, by another friend I had made while attending institute.
“I am thankful for the institute program. It has not only shaped me, but it has also helped me qualify to become a missionary, which mission I started preparing for five months after my baptism. I have been blessed with many opportunities to serve and to teach prior to my mission.
“I am thankful for my friend. I hope he realizes what he has done for me. We have both served missions, I to South Africa Durban, he to South Africa Cape Town. All it takes is a friend to bring such a mighty change in one’s life.”
Now, there seems to be nothing miraculous in that story. But there is a miracle of wisdom beyond human capacity.
Perhaps because Mbuti had walked the path himself or perhaps by revelation, he knew what his friend would have to do to endure. And so he knew how to lift and help.
He introduced his friend to the missionaries. He saw that his friend was baptized and received the gift of the Holy Ghost. He took his friend, even before baptism, to where he would study the scriptures and thus be nurtured by the good word of God. Even before baptism he helped his friend discover this promise: “Wherefore, I said unto you, feast upon the words of Christ; for behold, the words of Christ will tell you all things what ye should do.” The words must have told him to buy scriptures, which he did.
At baptism, Brother Lupahla received the gift of the Holy Ghost to serve as his constant companion as long as he invited it and lived worthy of it. That assured him of another promise, “For behold, again I say unto you that if ye will enter in by the way, and receive the Holy Ghost, it will show unto you all things what ye should do.” The Holy Ghost must have told him to begin to prepare for a mission, which he did.
We do not know which friends went with him to his sacrament meetings both before and after baptism, but some must have greeted him warmly, as they did on his first visit. There, he renewed his covenant to always remember the Savior, to keep His commandments, and to receive again the promise of the companionship of the Holy Ghost. We don’t know what part his friends had in his calls to serve and to speak. But we can be sure that they thanked him and told him when they felt the Spirit in his service and in his teaching.
We can know something of his private life. Remember that he wrote that he continued to learn. He wrote that he grew in the Church line upon line, precept upon precept, here a little and there a little. He said that he had been shaped by his experiences in the Church Educational System institute. We know from the scriptures what caused those changes in him. He had to be praying with faith in the Savior. He was receiving testimony and directions through the Spirit. And then he was not only doing what he was inspired to do but he was asking God to let the Atonement work in his life.