Gospel Story Finder

It happened in the life of Sister Abie Turay, who lives in Sierra Leone. A civil war began in 1991. It ravaged the country for years. Sierra Leone was already one of the poorest countries in the world. “During the war, it was unclear who [controlled] the country—banks … closed, government offices were shuttered, police forces [were ineffective against rebel forces], … and there was chaos, killing and sorrow. Tens of thousands of people lost their lives and more than two million people were forced from their homes to avoid the slaughter.”
Even in such times, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints grew.
One of the first branches was organized in the city where Sister Turay lived. Her husband was the first branch president. He served as a district president during the civil war.
“When guests visit Sister Turay’s home [now], she loves to show them two [treasures] from the war: a blue-and-white-striped shirt [she got] from a bale of used clothing [given by members of the Church] and a blanket, now worn and riddled with holes.”
She says, “This shirt is the first … clothing I [received]. … I used to wear it to go to work—it was so good. [It made me feel so beautiful.] I didn’t have other clothes.
“During the war, this blanket kept us warm, me and my children. When the rebels [would] come to attack us, this is the only thing I [could] lay [my] hands on [as we fled to the bush to hide]. So we [would] take the blanket with us. It would keep us warm and keep the mosquitos away from us.”
“Sister Turay speaks of her gratitude for a mission president who would make his way into the war-torn country with [money] in his pocket.” Those funds, from the fast-offering donations of people like you, allowed the Saints to buy food that most Sierra Leoneans could not afford.
Sister Turay, speaking of those who were generous enough to donate for them to survive, says, “When I think [of] the people who did this … I feel that [they were] sent by God, because ordinary human beings made this kind gesture for [us].”
A visitor from the United States sat with Abie not long ago. During his time with her, he found his eyes “drawn to a set of scriptures that were on the table.” He could tell that they were a treasure, “well-marked with notes in the columns. The pages were [worn;] some were torn. The cover was detached from the binding.”
He held the scriptures in his “hand and gently turned the pages. As [he did, he found a] yellow copy of a tithing donation slip. [He] could see that, in a country where [a dollar was worth its] weight in gold, Abie Turay had paid one dollar as her tithing, one dollar to the missionary fund, and one dollar as a fast offering for those who, in her words, were ‘truly poor.’”
The visitor closed Sister Turay’s scriptures and thought, as he stood with this faithful African mother, that he was on sacred ground.

Youth in the Granada Hills California Stake took a different approach on the Church Sesquicentennial theme “Faith in Every Footstep” for their youth conference this year. Instead of taking steps of their own, they helped mentally handicapped children run, jump, and walk to the finish line at the Los Angeles Special Olympics.
The youth worked for nine hours, beginning at 6:00 A.M., but their good attitudes never wavered. “It was the best youth conference we have ever had because we’ve been able to give service,” said one participant.

As missionaries in the Canada Winnipeg Mission, my companion and I were serving in the beautiful city of Prince Albert, Saskatchewan. I had grown up in Laie, Hawaii, in the shadow of the Laie Hawaii Temple. My companion, Elder Larmour, came from Belfast, Northern Ireland. Our families and wards back home supported us, but at times our monthly allotment of funds was held up en route. Such was the situation that brought about this experience.
At the beginning of one month, after I received my check, we waited for Elder Larmour’s to be forwarded from the mission office. As usual, our rent was due and the cupboards were getting bare. We had to decide whether we should pay the rent with my check or buy food. We paid the rent.
A few days passed and we still hadn’t received Elder Larmour’s money. We had eaten all the food in our apartment, except for half a bag of frozen mixed vegetables and an old freezer-burned soup bone that took some effort to pry loose from its icy confines. With these ingredients I cooked a vegetable soup. It wasn’t much, but we were grateful for what we had.
The next day we decided to tract in an area not too far from home. The street seemed endless, and no one was interested in our message. Hunger pangs tormented us, and we were both getting faint from lack of food. As we came to the end of the street, we decided to take a break. We found a bench in a park at the end of this street and tried to recover our strength. My companion said in a sincere plea, “I’m hungry.” My heart went out to him as we sat there. I was twice his size. I knew I would be able to endure for quite a while, but I did not think he’d be able to go on for long if he didn’t get something to eat.
I was the senior companion, so in my heart I pleaded with Heavenly Father to provide the means we needed to get us through. I looked across the park and noticed a short street with about five homes on it. It was a continuation of the long street we had just tracted. I turned to my companion and said, “Come on, let’s finish this street.” He turned to me and said, “Let’s just go home.” We came to an agreement that if we finished the street and no one was interested, we would then head home.
As we walked past the first home, a couple was busy in the driveway doing some work on their car. A call of “Not today, guys” kept us moving to the next home. As we approached the door, we could smell the wonderful aroma of home cooking. Suddenly the door opened wide, and a smiling, middle-aged woman greeted us with “Come in, boys. I hope you’re hungry!”
With hesitation we entered her home, not knowing what to expect. She led us to the dining room, where two places were already set. We sat down and she busied herself with serving us. I started to get a lump in my throat, anticipating a feast fit for kings. Or perhaps we would be thrown out when she finally came to her senses and realized who we were.
After filling the table with pork chops, mashed potatoes, gravy, and all the fixings, she said, “I don’t know why I cooked all this food, but something told me to do it. I wasn’t expecting company, and I live here alone. I’m sure glad you boys happened by. You haven’t eaten, have you?”
I replied, “No, but do you know who we are?”
“You’re Mormon missionaries, aren’t you?” she answered. “So don’t you say a blessing on the food before you eat?”
We did bless the food and give thanks for the many blessings the Lord had given us. And to this day I cannot think of a better meal than that meal the Lord provided in our time of need.

While most members had plenty of food, cooking it with the power off was a problem. And since everyone was so busy trying to clean up their homes, the evening meals provided by different wards in the stake were extremely welcome. For two weeks after the quake, meals were prepared by the Relief Society sisters in the stake and transported over long distances to Coalinga.
Even more important than the food was the emotional support and closeness derived from ward and stake members coming together to talk and share concerns. “Coalinga is about the farthest ward from the stake center,” explained Sister Millie Netherton. “We used to see these people at meetings and work with them, but we didn’t really know them very well. Now we fall into each other’s arms we’re so glad to see each other.”

Dear Topher,
You asked me in the letter I got from you yesterday if I was afraid to die. I guess I should be, kind of. But I don’t feel scared. Mom told me what Grandma Clanton said before she died about four years ago. She said she would be leaving Mom and the rest of us for just a little while and to not be frightened. She said she’d be happy and that we shouldn’t worry about her. That helped me a lot.
Another reason I’m not afraid is because I have a testimony of Jesus. He died so that we might all live again and so that families can be forever. I have an older brother in Heaven. Maybe I’ll be able to see him. And my Uncle Eugene. And my ancestors. I kind of got to know some of them when my parents were working on their family history. One of them, Nathan Twiggs, carried a chair on his back all the way across the plains—and not just so he would have something to sit on when he got tired walking! His grandfather, Thomas Twiggs, made it and used to sit on it with Nathan on his knees and read the Book of Mormon to him. Dad said it was in that chair that Thomas got his testimony.
If I could choose between staying or leaving, I would stay here on earth for a while because when I think of leaving my family, I feel sad. But Heavenly Father knows best, and Mom said that we were all probably both happy and sad when we left our heavenly parents to come down here.
Oh, I wish I could see that play you are going to be in, Topher! It sounds like it will be fun. I laughed when you said you brought a friend to dress rehearsal and you pointed to Bigfoot and said he was your bishop, and your friend said, “No wonder everyone is so reverent—I wouldn’t want to upset him, either!”
Take care of yourself, Topher. Kiss a kangaroo for me. I think they’re cute.
Your pen pal,
Cindy
Dear Topher,
I’m Cindy’s mother. You probably don’t know me. Or maybe you do, a little. Cindy most likely told you about her family in some of her letters. She’s told us a good deal about you.
Cindy passed away last week, Topher. She wanted me to tell you good-bye and that she would see you later. She said for you to work on your testimony every day because it will help make your trials much easier to bear. And you know what, Topher? It does. It does!
Write us when you can. We would like to keep in touch.
Love,
Cindy’s mom
Dear Cindy’s family,
I cried a lot when you told me about Cindy. Then, well, it’s hard to explain, but a warm feeling came over me. It felt like the sun when it pushes down through a bunch of dark, wet clouds. I know Cindy is happy, just as she said she would be. And what she said about you asking me to work on my testimony? Well, I am. I want one, too, so that when things get hard or confusing I can be strong—and happy, even when I’m sad.
I’ll write again soon.
Love,
Topher

Last summer the softball team I play on was invited to participate in a national tournament in Shawnee, Kansas. During the first game a girl on the other team hit a line drive to left field. My teammates were yelling to me in the outfield “back, back, back!” I turned and ran, but the ball kept going, until it landed on the other side of the fence.
I put my arms in the air to signal that the ball was out of play. At the same time, I saw my coach come out onto the field with a disappointed, angry look on his face. He asked me if I was sure the ball had actually gone over the fence, instead of bouncing over it after hitting the ground once, or rolling underneath it. It would have been easy to say that either of those things had happened, since I was the only one who really saw it clearly. But when the umpires came out to talk to me just a few seconds later, I confirmed that the batter had really hit the ball over the fence.
We finished the game and ended up losing. I felt bad about that, but I felt good that I had told the truth.
A few days later, after we had finished playing for the day, I received an envelope. It contained a poem titled “Honesty on the Field,” and it was about my telling the truth on the field when it would have been easy not to. It had been written by an umpire who had seen the game. He said he was glad I had had the courage to tell the truth, and that not all people show integrity on the ball field.
Even though my team didn’t win very many games at the tournament, I will always remember that incident as a time when I felt like a winner.

“I’ve been known to spit when I speak,” he began. “So those of you in the front row are like the people at Sea World who sit in the splash zone!” I smiled at this clever attention getter given by the last speaker of the day in the “Introduction to Persuasion” speech class that I teach at Oregon State University. What I didn’t know was that the real attention getter was yet to come.
Teaching college students the art of persuasive speech is always a challenge for me. Although arguing comes easily for most students, constructing reasoned arguments is another matter. Analytical skills must be drilled and re-drilled. This, their final speech, was to be a polished culmination of the skills they had rigorously studied during the quarter. The assignment was to persuade their classmates to perform some action.
It had been a good day. The arguments had been strong and the issues relevant, and now one of the most promising persuaders in the class, Phil Sanchez, had just engaged our interest with his good humor. Phil was a newly returned missionary from my ward, and I looked forward to what he had to say.
But I was momentarily stunned by his bold delivery as he said, “One of my heroes is a man named Joseph Smith. Shortly before his death he said: ‘I have a conscience void of offense toward God and toward all men. I shall die innocent.’”
The attention of the class was abruptly captured, as was mine. I was seized with a sense of panic. I now felt powerfully protective of the things Phil was about to cast before this crowd of self-proclaimed nonbelievers.
In an attempt to give credence to critical thinking, I often goaded the students into frank discussions about a variety of controversial topics to allow them to test the waters of opposition. Conflict was no stranger to this group. As a result, everyone’s personal values, beliefs, and attitudes had been hung out for all to see. We had a snowboarder who pushed the limits of authority, admitted to drug use, and approached life as a party he was hosting. We had our so-called punk with spiked orange hair and body piercings. We had several students who openly opposed religion and any belief in God. We had a born-again Christian, and, of course, Phil and I were both members of the Church. It was a wonderful and diverse group of students who had developed a remarkable affection for each other, despite their vast differences.
Involuntarily, I stole a glance around the room, fully expecting to see a smirk or a hint of hostility. I wondered briefly if Phil had listened to my lecture on audience analysis. I was certain he had opened a gate through which a flood of cheap shots could flow.
Just then he dipped his long arms into a big box and announced that he had a gift for everyone. He called each student in the class by name and presented each one with a copy of the Book of Mormon. On the inside cover, he had written personalized messages to each of his classmates. To one he wrote, “Check out Helaman, chapter seven. You remind me of Samuel the Lamanite because of your individualism and courage. I think you will enjoy getting to know him.”
After all of the 19 students had their books, Phil asked them to read with him about Lehi and his family. They then turned to successive scriptural passages that were already neatly marked and followed along as Phil moved them through the key components of his message. I continued my surveillance of the youthful faces and noticed a visible transformation taking place. As I watched this class reverently turn to Alma, then 3rd Nephi, then Moroni, and eagerly and respectfully read along, I felt their willing collaboration as their spirits were touched. Phil gave his personal witness to this precious gift and glowed as he told of his joy in being a missionary. He closed by having them read Moroni’s promise that they could also know the truth. He then issued a stirring and sincere challenge for them to read the book.
Our routine was for each speech to be immediately critiqued by pre-assigned peers. On this day, the two assigned to give verbal criticisms had been particularly brutal with their comments in the past. As I called for the first critique, I warily wondered what words Ty, our wise-cracking “skater dude” would choose to describe his experience. He simply said, “This is the first time in my whole life I found myself believing something just because the person who was saying it believed it so much.”
The second student, Josh, had previously told the class on several occasions about his run-ins with religion in general and with various clergymen. I nearly shuddered as I asked for his response. Without a trace of defiance, Josh offered a lopsided grin and said how great he thought it was that Phil had taken the time to personalize the books and give them as gifts. He then vowed to read his book, openly admitting that this was the first time he had ever received a religious message without any feelings of malice or disdain and without wanting to argue back.
Then the time was up. The class was over. Nineteen students stowed their new copies of the Book of Mormon in their backpacks and quietly—almost reverently—filed out of the room.
The courage, testimony, sincerity, and good will of a young returned missionary had invited the Spirit, the best kind of persuasion there is.

Randy was in my math class in ninth grade, but on the first day I waited for him to pick a desk and then I sat on the opposite side of the room. Darren McCoy, a tall red-headed kid, sat in front of him, and I watched to see what would develop.
After Mr. Washington passed out the first exam, and we all bowed our heads to our papers, I saw Randy mouth the familiar words to the back of Darren’s head.
“Hey, what’s the answer to number one?”
I knew Darren heard Randy, because his pencil stopped moving, but he didn’t turn or acknowledge the voice behind him.
Randy leaned closer and whispered again. This time Darren turned quickly and gave him a haughty look; then he put his pencil back on his exam and defiantly began to add numbers.
Randy tried one more time, this time he flicked one of Darren’s ears with his finger. Darren made an annoyed, contemptuous grunt and shuffled his desk forward. About that time Mr. Washington stood up and began walking around the room. Randy reluctantly gave up and hunched over his own paper.
Darren came to class the next day with a big black eye, but when the midterm exam came up, Darren stonewalled Randy again. I’m sure ninth grade was the longest nine months of Darren McCoy’s life, but he didn’t break. He said nothing to Randy, who was forced to make it through the class on his own merits.

On the last evening of camp, everyone gets together for a testimony meeting. It’s the night that most girls look forward to. One young girl who had just moved to the area stood and with tears in her eyes said she had been very lonely because she was the only one in her family that went to church. Before coming to camp, she worried about being accepted, but she found people who comforted her and understood. Another girl told of her struggle to know for herself if the Church was true. The warmth and caring expressed to her at camp helped her in her search. Many were touched by the concern shown them by a leader or friend. It was a time for sharing feelings of love.

I have seen it work. I have experienced it. When I was six, my parents divorced and my father left my mother with five young children. My mother began working to provide for us. She needed a second job for a period of time, as well as additional education. There was little time for her to nurture. But grandparents, uncles, aunts, bishops, and home teachers stepped up to help my angel mother.
And I had a quorum. I am so grateful for my friends—my brothers—who loved and supported me. My quorum was a place of belonging. Some may have considered me a long shot and an underdog because of my family situation. Maybe I was. But priesthood quorums changed those odds. My quorum rallied around me and blessed my life immeasurably.

It all started when President Searle called me into his office and asked me to be the chairman of the youth conference. He asked if I would accept the call, and I very quietly said yes. He and his counselor set me apart and gave me a blessing. I remember coming home and telling my parents. Then I sat on the couch just crying. Mom asked, “Why are you crying? This is a neat thing.” I just cried and cried. It felt so good to be needed. I hope each one of the kids realize how needed they are.
Charmaine Moncur poured out her feelings and frustrations in her journal as she and a dozen other youth leaders assigned to head a variety of committees worked to make the youth conference for the Los Angeles and Inglewood Stakes a reality. This youth conference was different than those held in past years. This youth conference would be planned and carried out by the youth themselves. They chose fellowshipping as the theme. Susan Cowley and Steve Young, the youth representatives invited to the first meeting about the youth conference, asked their leaders if the youth could take charge of the conference themselves. “I don’t think we knew what we were getting into,” said Charmaine.
The Inglewood and Los Angeles stakes in southern California have an interesting and diverse mixture of people. There are several Spanish-speaking wards, a Tongan ward, and wards from both the well-to-do and poorer sections of town. How to bring all these young people together? Where could they get to know each other and appreciate each other’s talents and personalities? Plus the youth conference must be located close to home. The youth looked west, off the coast just 20 miles, to an island visible on the horizon—Catalina Island. A ferry makes the trip several times a day. Other than one small town, the island is rugged and essentially unpopulated. They found an old school at a spot called Toyon Bay that would have facilities to accommodate the group. They would be together in a secluded spot away from telephones, television, and radios. It was perfect. It was a place to appreciate the beauty of the ocean and learn to love the other members of their stakes.
What can we do to get everyone together and excited about doing something close to home? We don’t want to just have workshops in one of the stake centers. I think we’ve found it. There’s an old school on Catalina Island that can handle this big a group. The ferry landing for the trip to Catalina is less than an hour away for most people. On an island we won’t lose people after one day whenthey don’t feel like coming back. On Catalina you can’t say, “I feel like going home, see you later.”
More than 350 young people signed up for the youth conference, including nonmember friends. The youth decided to organize the conference copying a stake organization. Stephen Tanner was asked to be the “stake” president. Charmaine and her counselors acted as the “stake” activities committee. Three “wards” were formed, and three “bishops” chosen, counselors for each were selected, and teachers from the ranks of the youth were asked to prepare lessons for Relief Society, priesthood, and Sunday School. Tournaments and games were to be played with the three Catalina “wards” in competition. Because everyone would be divided up, hopefully the mixture would produce new friendships.
Last night I met with my committee, Susan Cowley and Nicole Land. We sat for three hours discussing the activities for youth conference. How much work it is! I can’t believe that we’re to oversee this all and make it work. I am definitely getting to know my Heavenly Father through prayer. We went over all the materials we’ll need and all those who need to be called to help. It’s an endless list.
As the youth committees were called to help organize different aspects of the conference, the young people gained a new appreciation of the work their adult leaders had done in past conferences. As Dina Chatwin said, “Our adult leaders would sit in on our meetings. And when we were discussing problems, I guess we would have reactions just like they have had, and they would laugh. As people would call and cancel out on things they were asked to do, the leaders would just say, ‘Welcome to the real world.’”
As the planning progressed, the youth learned that they couldn’t do everything themselves. They had to learn how to delegate and ask for help. For Charmaine, this was a hard lesson to learn. In her journal she wrote:
It is so hard for me to ask for help. It is hard to admit I just can’t do it all. I called someone and told her I needed some things done. I called her back a week later, and she not only had those things done, but more. I sat down and cried. It’s good to know that someone cared enough to really help. I feel so much gratitude. The countdown has begun. Just eleven days until we board the boat. Although I’m frustrated and concerned, I wouldn’t trade this opportunity for anything. I know that I’m doing the right thing and that I was called for a reason. I alsoknow the Lord’s giving me the strength to keep planning, making calls, and thinking up new ideas. My love of the gospel has grown so much. But what a job!
At the last minute some big problems presented themselves. Youth leader Stephen Tanner, who had been working and planning the conference from the beginning, became extremely ill. He would not be able to make the trip. And then the weather wasn’t cooperating. Rain squalls had made the sea choppy. It was going to be a very rough ride across the channel to Catalina Island.
Rough was putting it mildly. No sooner had the ferry filled up with excited youth-conference-bound passengers than it was released from its moorings into a rolling, pitching ocean. The shoreline, outlined in lights in the twilight, rose and fell as the sturdy boat plowed through the rough water. The exuberance of youth was squashed as waves of seasickness seized those aboard and reduced them to hunched shapes crouched in their seats yearning for solid ground. Only a few avoided getting sick. The get-acquainted game planned for the ferry trip was a flop since everyone was more interested in keeping their stomachs calm than in getting to know the unfamiliar if slightly green faces of their companions. On the other hand, being seasick together had a cohesive effect. They had shared a common trial, and it was something to laugh and talk about. It was dark by the time the group landed at Toyon Bay, but after the rough crossing, they were only interested in getting their assignments and settling down for the night.
In spite of the problems, things were coming together. Just before boarding the ferry, Charmaine recorded her feelings about the day:
The big day is in just a few more hours. There’s so much to do still—materials I’ve forgotten and things to pack. It’s endless. Last night Nicole Land and I met and sorted through all of the candy which will be given as a final prize for the group competition. I think I ate half of it, but we had a good time sorting it. The general activity is organized, but the final day has a lot of rough edges still to be smoothed out.
I had a long talk with my mom, and I told her my feelings of how it has been for me and what I’ve learned. There have been some moments that I thought, “I can’t do this anymore,” and I’ve really struggled. At times I just said a prayer and went to sleep. But there have been times like whenI’m working with my committee that I’ll always remember and cherish. I’ve learned what it means to plan and organize a major activity, and it’s hard to do right. I’ve learned—and this is the most important thing for me—to say, “I need help,” and ask for it. That’s been something I needed to learn. It was hard for me to admit I’m not Super Teenager. It isn’t the same as being teachable—because I feel I am that—but it is something I’ve had to learn.
The next morning dawned bright and clear. The rains had stopped. It was a glorious day for snorkeling and exploring the undersea world just a few steps off the beach. Since the school was now a marine institute, it had plenty of snorkeling equipment. Shiny black wet suits and bright orange flippers were a common sight as the brave ones swam in the chilly water. Even though it was winter, the sun gave hints of the summer to come as youth explored the surrounding hillsides, climbed on rocks along the beach, and participated in activities designed to get to know each other as well as learn.
That evening everyone spent a little extra time getting dressed before they set the main hall rocking at a dance.
Even though activities and a dance occupied much of their time, the real experiences of a youth conference took place in diverse moments: getting to know a name to go with a new face, asking someone you don’t know to dance, struggling with team members to help your group come in first. One girl was standing to the side waiting for a game to get started and said, “Do we have to play?” Her friend turned to her and answered, “Of course we do; that’s what we came for, isn’t it?”
That’s what they came for, to participate, to get to know each other, and to learn more about fellowshipping. The meetings were conducted by the youth with youth assigned to prepare lessons and serve as teachers.
I love being on the planning committees. I love the excitement and getting to know the kids. But the testimony meeting is my favorite.
Charmaine was not alone in expressing her enthusiasm for the testimony meeting. Everyone looked forward to that special evening when the whole group sat down together and shared the things that meant the most.
One young Spanish boy told about being inactive and being involved in stealing and lying. He turned to the Lord for help and has come back to the Church. His major problems have been solved, and he is again establishing good family relationships.
Margaret Bishop of the Hollywood Ward, Los Angeles Stake, told how grateful she was for the closeness that had come between her and her sister. She said, “I know I am living a happy life because of the gospel. It’s the only way to go. It’s not just a religion; it’s a way of life, and I’m grateful for my life.”
Tracie Pressler of the Centralia Ward, Inglewood Stake, told about going through a hard time before coming to the youth conference. “But here,” she said, “I’ve grown to love people that I’ve never really known before.”
Sulin Fifita of the Lennox Second Ward, Inglewood Stake, said, “My testimony is very precious to me and no matter what happens to me no one will be able to take my testimony from my heart.”
Several more admonished their friends to never leave the Church because they will be lost. Others talked about coming back into activity. Some testified of their love of the Savior and of the prophet and added the testimonies of the truthfulness of the Church. It was a time when feelings and tissues for heartfelt tears were shared freely as an outpouring of emotion took place in the open-air plaza under an inky sky filled with stars.
The final day was time for group competition. Three big groups picked their representatives to join in relays, sand castle building, and races. Then they lined the sides of the playing field and cheered their fellow teammates on. Soon chants of “We’re number one” drowned out casual conversation. Everyone was caught up in the activity, because in just a few hours they would have to leave, board the ferry for the return to the mainland and the end of the Catalina Youth Conference. No one really wanted to go home.
I’ve come to really respect the Church leaders and respect the work they do for us. Today as everyone is playing games, no one is going to think, “I wonder how much work or how many phone calls went into the planning of it.” It will be just another game. Some will like it, and some will hate it. It’s amazing how much work and prayer and trust go into planning a conference like this. If I could say anything about it, I’d say it was one experience I’ll never forget. And it has been so valuable to my maturing and understanding. I have grown closer to many, but most importantly I’ve grown closer to my Father in Heaven. I know he’s been a constant companion, and without that I’d never have endured to the end.

Before February 1997, our family could have been compared to a deep river: on the surface the river appeared calm, but the undercurrents were continually raging.
When any problem arose, I tended to blame my wife. I believed she was the cause of our problems, so I rationalized doing anything I wanted, including looking for a new partner. I didn’t feel my wife had the right to complain about my behavior because I provided for the financial needs of our family.
One day in February, there was a knock on our door in Tacloban, Leyte, Philippines. When I looked out the window I saw two strangers—young women wearing name tags. I recognized them as Latter-day Saint missionaries. Looking for an opportunity to debate, I had them enter. When I asked them to sit down, I was ready for battle. I was determined they would leave disappointed, so I presented a false front. I pretended to be attentive so I would be prepared to deliver my arguments most effectively. But when it was my turn to speak, I found there was nothing to argue about. I could only agree with what the sisters had said.
The sisters wanted to set up another meeting, and I agreed. When they left, the peace I had enjoyed disappeared, and soon my negative feelings started to return. I dreaded the prospect of meeting with the missionaries. But I kept the appointment, and, with each succeeding visit, I rediscovered values and truths I had discarded in my vain pursuit of success. Each time they left our home, the peace I felt would last longer, and soon I found myself looking forward to their visits.
The missionaries’ teachings, the scriptures, and the reading material they left behind were microscopes with which I began to examine the minute details of my life. I found that I had been scrutinizing only half of my marriage—my wife’s half—and I had chosen to see only the bad in it. With the new opportunity to view my life in the light of Jesus Christ’s teachings, I began to see more clearly the other half of my marriage—my half—and found it in even worse condition.
The proclamation on the family states, “Happiness in family life is most likely to be achieved when founded upon the teachings of the Lord Jesus Christ” (Liahona, October 1998, 24). I rejoice and thank the Lord for giving me the chance to repent. I also thank Him for these sisters who willingly became His instruments so that through our accepting the gospel and living its teachings my family might become like a lake—calm and peaceful throughout, not just on the surface.

Two years later the Prophet came out of Liberty Jail and planned a winter trip to Washington D.C. to seek federal help for the Latter-day Saints who had lost their homes and property in Missouri. Not far from the nation’s capital, the horses pulling the stagecoach ran out of control of the driver for about four kilometers. Joseph carefully opened the door of the swaying stagecoach, pulled himself up over the side to the driver’s seat, where he got control of the reins and stopped the horses, saving the lives of the passengers. This event was confirmed by a letter of appreciation that appeared in a local newspaper.

I was taught about vertigo when my Air Force instructor took me up in an airplane with the cockpit covered by a canopy so I could not see outside. I would have to rely on the instruments. Unknown to me, he gradually turned the airplane upside down, keeping positive gravitational forces. My ear did not detect the slow rollover. He told me to take control of the airplane. Of course, I did what every other student did. I pulled backwards because I was losing altitude, and, of course, I started a dive toward the earth because I did not know I was upside down.
As I started to regain control of the airplane, I could see the little marks on the landing gear were upside down. My instructor taught me the principle that you can take human beings at a two- or three-degree turn while keeping positive gravitational forces and turn them upside down without their knowing they have left the straight and level flight. The motion is imperceptible.

Many of the youth must also stand alone among their friends. Many left friends behind when they embraced the gospel. A recent convert, Lucija Krajnik of Ljubljana, Slovenia, says: “Since joining the Church, I have needed to separate myself from my old friends because they were bad company. The best thing for me to do was to isolate myself from them and stay in contact with members and missionaries.”

Lucija Krajnik knows that she needs her friends in the gospel. “Where would I be if I didn’t have the Church?” she asks. “I am grateful to be a member of the Church and to have my friends by my side.”

My name is Tanoh Ahoukou Mariette, I am a member of the Abobo East Côte d’Ivoire Stake. I would like to share my testimony about believing in God even in the middle of the storms of life.
Due to financial difficulties from my parents, I had to drop out of primary school at the age of eight in a rural area in the east of the country. At the age of 18, I married a young man from my village whom I loved very much and with whom I had four children.
As a young couple, life was difficult, but I had small gainful side jobs to support my husband. Subsequently, he was recruited into the national army with the corollary of a better and more stable life for my children and me.
Once, a young man came to our house and wanted to be a tutor at home for my children. Oddly enough, I had sympathy for him, but my husband didn’t want it. I had to undertake to pay the young man myself with my meagre means. I later learned that he was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. This would prove to be precious for later.
After several years of marriage, my husband ended up leaving our home, leaving me alone with six young children. My whole world turned upside down. I had no sufficient source of income to take care of my children and me.
Depressed and seeing no prospect in front of me, I decided one morning to end my life. My last-born son was five years old at the time came to me unexpectedly (probably sent by God) and said, “No mom, don’t do that. What do you want us to become without you?” I hugged my son Martin and we cried together. I felt a sense of guilt and shame. But I had decided to live.
Life was still difficult, so much so that I left home for a brief time to give myself moments of reflection. I went to a friend’s house outside of Abidjan. One day around 6 am, a voice said to me: “Get up quickly and join your children in Abidjan”.
When I arrived, my children taught me that they should be baptized at The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, whose missionaries had previously taught my children, but to whom I paid little attention because I was not attracted to religions. I was therefore invited to attend the baptism of my children at the Quatre Etages Ward.
Bishop Etian’s speech had a positive impact on me. It was the story of the “King with the Severed Finger” told by Muslim folk wisdom. A king had a finger cut off during the hunt and imprisoned his advisor who told him to let Allah (God) prevail in all things. Sometime later the king and his retinue were captured in the bush by cannibals who did not want him because of his disability. He was therefore the only one released and his life spared. He ran to deliver his servant, apologizing profusely. The latter replied that God is never wrong and that everything works together for our good. He said, “If you hadn’t put me in jail, I would be with you, captured, devoured by the cannibals, and probably dead today.”
From that moment on, I made a firm resolution to take my life and that of my children totally into my own hands by being baptized. From then on, I decided to forgive my husband for the wrongs I had suffered. My husband is still not in our home, but I have a more brotherly and kinder relationship with him through the power of forgiveness. I undertook income-generating activities that have allowed me to provide for my family and especially to ensure the schooling of my children for more than 15 years. Today, two of my daughters are starting careers as teachers in public schools. My last son has just been admitted to the university for which I am looking for ways to finance the courses. They make me proud. I have been able to go to the Accra Ghana Temple where I was endowed and sealed to my deceased parents.
I hope one day to be able to remarry in the temple to have an eternal marriage. The lessons I draw from my life is that everything works together for the good of one who believes in God.
As told to Sadia Zouzou, Côte d’Ivoire communication director

Besides sprucing up Main Street, washing cars, tidying the cemetery, spreading gravel at the train depot, and chopping weeds at a main intersection on the highway into town, the youth painted the city’s historic log church, landscaped its grounds, and polished the benches and the organ inside.
“I thought that was neat,” said Daphne Motto, 17. “It didn’t matter that it’s not an LDS church. It’s like we were saying, we’re all brothers and sisters and we need to help each other.”

Our present-day prophet, Spencer W. Kimball, has a great love for all the children of the Church. AFriend reader wrote to share with you an experience that expresses our prophet’s love.
“My name is Margo Busch, I am seven years old and live in San Antonio, Texas. I have three sisters and one brother. Something very special happened to our family. When we were on a 747 jet flying from Salt Lake City to Augsburg, Germany, we saw the prophet on the plane. We wanted to talk to him, but the stewardess wouldn’t let us. We were sad because we really wanted to meet him. So my sisters and I drew some pictures and the stewardess took them to him, and he answered by writing back to us on the pictures. When the plane landed, we were the last ones to leave. As we got off the plane the prophet was there waiting for us to shake our hands. Spencer W. Kimball really loves children very much and everyone in our family loves him too.”

Eric was different from the other children and he knew it. But he wasn’t sure whether he liked being different. He often thought about it when he woke up early in the morning and had to stay in bed and be quiet so he wouldn’t wake up his brothers. Sometimes he would turn on his lamp and read. Other times he would lie in the dark and listen to the cars and trucks whizzing by on the highway or to the roosters crowing. Then he would think about how far away the cars and the rooster were and why he could hear them so well in the morning, when he never even noticed them in the daytime while he played.
Sometimes Eric would think about his curly red hair and how the other children called him “Red, Red, the Fire Head” and how he had to share a room with his three brothers instead of having a room all by himself like his friend Andy Rogers. Those were times he didn’t like being different.
It wasn’t just his red hair and waking up early that made Eric different. And it wasn’t just having seven brothers and sisters when his friends had only one or two.
Eric was the only one in his school class who went to Primary and the only one in his neighborhood who couldn’t play boisterous games on Sunday.
Mostly, Eric decided, it wasn’t much fun to be different, but lately he was thinking about something else. In two weeks it would be his birthday and he’d be eight years old. Sometimes when he’d wake up in the mornings, he’d think about being baptized. He tried to imagine how it would be when he put on the white clothes and walked down the steps into the water. He could picture his dad standing in the water waiting for him and holding out his hand for Eric to take. This thought made Eric feel good.
One day on the way home from school Eric talked to Andy about being baptized. “Are you going to be baptized when you’re eight?” he asked his friend.
“I don’t think so,” Andy replied. “I don’t know much about those things.” Eric thought, I am different again!
Then Andy asked, “Will you be baptized when you’re eight?”
Eric looked at Andy for a moment and decided, Andy won’t tease me if I tell him about it because he’s a good friend. “Yes, I will,” Eric answered. “In two weeks it will be my eighth birthday. And that’s old enough to be baptized. I can hardly wait.”
Then an exciting idea came to Eric. “Andy,” he asked, “would you like to come to my baptism. My dad’s going to baptize me. I get to wear all white clothes and sit on the front row with my dad. You could come and bring your dad, too, if you’d like.”
When Eric’s baptism date finally came, his whole family went with him. Andy and Andy’s dad, Mr. Rogers, were there too.
Before the baptism all the people participated in a brief service. First there was a song and then a talk about Jesus being baptized and about the importance of following Him.
Jesus was different too, Eric realized. It was a very comforting thought.
When it was time to be baptized, everything happened just like Eric had imagined. But now he could really feel Dad’s strong hand reach out for his. He could feel the cool water pushing softly against his waist. For a few minutes Eric didn’t think of anything at all except the sound of his dad’s voice and the warmth of his dad’s hand and the cool water all around him.
After the baptism and after he and Dad had changed clothes, Eric shook hands with everyone and his mother gave him a tight hug. Then Eric and his dad walked to the back of the room to see Andy and Mr. Rogers, who were both looking pleased. Dad shook hands with Mr. Rogers and said, “Thanks for coming, Frank.”
Mr. Rogers waited a moment before he answered. “It was my pleasure,” he said. “It was a lot different than I expected. I’m glad we were here to see it.”
Then he turned to Eric and shook his hand. And Eric knew that something very important had happened not only to him but to Andy and his father too. And then Eric knew that in some ways it was good to be different.

Maybe each of us needs to stop amidst our busy, dashing, breathless lives—even amidst our many meetings. It recalls to mind an experience—perhaps you know it—of a little inquisitive boy who came to church with his father, and as they walked into the foyer, the boy noticed the usual trophy case over which were placed several large plaques. Curiosity got to the little boy. He pulled on his dad’s coattail and said, “Dad, what’s that one?”

The father moved a little closer and read the inscription, patted his boy on the head, and said, “Son, that’s a plaque honoring those who died in the service.”

To which the little boy said, “Morning or evening?”