Gospel Story Finder

Several years ago, two friends of mine, Leonid and Valentina, expressed interest in becoming members of the Church. As Leonid began to learn the gospel, he found it difficult to pray. Earlier in his life, Leonid had suffered from manipulation and control by superiors and had developed a distrust of authority. These experiences affected his ability to open his heart and express personal feelings to Heavenly Father. With time and study, Leonid gained a better understanding of God’s character and experienced feeling God’s love. Eventually, prayer became a natural way for him to express thanks and the love he was feeling for God. His increasing trust in God eventually led him and Valentina to enter into sacred covenants to strengthen their relationship with God and each other.

Last May my 91 year old mother passed away. As I reviewed her life, I again discovered what I knew already. From her early childhood. Mom was passionate about her allegiance to Christ and His church. I came across this account in her writings.

When she was six or seven years old, her parents moved the family to Flagstaff, Arizona where she tried to make friends in her new hometown. When she told her new acquaintances she was a Mormon, she had her first experience with religious persecution. Her acquaintances told their parents that a little Mormon girl was in their class. Alarmed, some parents expressly forbade their children from playing with her. It caused some commotion. Mom's parents, Grandma and Grandpa Kartchner, tried to encourage Mom to be a little less aggressive about telling people she was a Mormon and about her belief in the Church. They feared further backlash and undue negative attention toward the Church. For a little girl she could not understand that. Indignant and very hurt by this parental caution, she promptly went out into the street and stood on the curb. With every passerby on the street or on the sidewalk, she would announce, "I am a Mormon. I am a Mormon."

Of course, Mom grew out of her childish ways, but her allegiance to Christ and His Church were at the center of her life.

The intimidating part of preparing to be with you this morning is shared in a very brief story of an experience Sister Banks and I had while touring one of the missions in the southern part of the Philippines several years ago. After one of the zone conference meetings, the mission president’s wife, who was a local Filipino sister, came to me and with some hesitation said, “I hope I will not offend you, President, but I thought perhaps you would like to know you were using some words we don’t use or understand here in the Philippines.”

I assured her that she would not offend me and that I would appreciate her sharing with me what she meant. The Philippines is often referred to as an English-speaking country, but that is true only to a certain extent. The sweet wife of the mission president, Sister Amistad, then proceeded to tell me, “President, you used the word photograph today. In the Philippines, we really don’t understand what photograph means. What you really mean is ‘picture.’” Then she said, “Another word you used throughout the meeting was bashful.” (I had invited the missionaries to participate with me and not be bashful.) She said, “I went home and looked up in the dictionary what bashful meant, and what you really meant is ‘shy’ and ‘timid.’”

I thanked her for sharing this with me and asked her in our meeting the next day if she would write down all the words I used that would not be understood by the Filipinos. She hesitated at first, but with my encouragement she said she would. The next day she produced another 20 words, and I have tried to adapt my vocabulary accordingly.

The intimidating factor I mentioned earlier is that I really believe I have lost much of my vocabulary in the many years I have been gone in trying to learn to converse in understandable terms with the wonderful people we have been blessed to live with throughout the world.

My grandpa is my friend. Early one summer morning, he called me to see if I’d like to go catch minnows for my uncle’s large fishpond. Of course I wanted to!
Grandpa knew just the right spot at the park. We headed down the slope of the large ditch with our strainers and glass jars. I reached the water first and turned around to see him rolling down the steep slope. He had lost his footing and fallen.
I was afraid he was hurt, but Grandpa told me he’d be fine—he just needed to rest a few minutes. He said to go ahead and start catching minnows. But how could I do that when I could see that he needed help? I tried to help him up on his feet but couldn’t. I asked Heavenly Father to help me know what to do. I knew that He would help me and Grandpa.
Grandpa was finally able to get up on his knees, and with a little help, tried crawling to the top of the slope. We’d crawl up two feet and slide back one, but slowly we reached the top and peeked over the ridge. I saw a man not too far away and ran over to ask him to help Grandpa. Even with the two of us tugging, Grandpa couldn’t get up. A park worker saw us and came to help, too, and we finally got Grandpa up on the grass.
The park worker wanted to call an ambulance, but Grandpa thought that if he could just get to his car, everything would be fine. He drove us to the emergency entrance at the hospital and told me to go inside and ask someone to come with a wheelchair.
I found a wheelchair but no one who could help, so I took it out to the car myself. Grandpa twisted and turned until he was able to sit in the wheelchair. I pushed him across the parking lot and up a ramp into the emergency room. It turned out that his ankle was broken and needed surgery.
From that time on, I have been Grandpa’s hero. But I know that I didn’t do it alone. Heavenly Father was with me all the way to give me the courage and strength to help my grandpa.

When I was a young lawyer in the San Francisco Bay Area, our firm did some legal work for the company that produced the Charlie Brown holiday TV specials. I became a fan of Charles Schulz and his creation—Peanuts, with Charlie Brown, Lucy, Snoopy, and other wonderful characters.
One of my favorite comic strips involved Lucy. As I remember it, Charlie Brown’s baseball team was in an important game—Lucy was playing right field, and a high fly ball was hit to her. The bases were loaded, and it was the last of the ninth inning. If Lucy caught the ball, her team would win. If Lucy dropped the ball, the other team would win.
As could happen only in a comic strip, the entire team surrounded Lucy as the ball came down. Lucy was thinking, “If I catch the ball, I will be the hero; if I don’t, I will be the goat.”
The ball came down, and as her teammates eagerly looked on, Lucy dropped the ball. Charlie Brown threw his glove to the ground in disgust. Lucy then looked at her teammates, put her hands on her hips, and said, “How do you expect me to catch the ball when I am worried about our country’s foreign policy?”
This was one of many fly balls Lucy dropped through the years, and she had a new excuse each time. While always humorous, Lucy’s excuses were rationalizations; they were untrue reasons for her failure to catch the ball.

Illustrations by Dani Jones
It was the first full week of eighth grade, and I was already feeling stressed about keeping up with my heavy course load. To make matters worse, my mom had volunteered the two of us to spend the afternoon taking care of a two-year-old boy named Aaron. The plan was that Aaron would nap for two hours while his mom was gone and I’d work on my schoolwork on my laptop while he napped. However, soon after our arrival at Aaron’s house, we heard him crying. At first, we thought he might fall back asleep, but his crying grew louder and louder until he was wailing, screaming, and calling out for his mom.
“Great. How am I going to get my schoolwork done now?” I thought. I felt instantly stressed. I still had my computer open to do my assignment, but how much Spanish homework do you think I was accomplishing with his siren-like wailing going on? Yep, nada.
My mom was doing everything possible to comfort him, but he was clinging to her and sobbing, his tears leaving wet spots all over her shirt.
Then I felt the Holy Ghost speak softly to my mind and heart, prompting me that comforting Aaron was more important than my homework.
So I shut my laptop and started to talk to him. Between my mom snuggling and rocking him and me talking to him, he finally stopped screaming and settled down. Soon enough, little Aaron actually got down from my mom’s lap.
He seemed to want to play. At that point, my mom could have played with him and I could have returned to my studies. But again, I felt that it was important for me to play with little Aaron.
So I sang crazy songs, made silly voices, rolled around on the floor, and contorted my face in all kinds of funny ways. He smiled and laughed. When Aaron’s mom came home, it was awesome to have a happy, giggly Aaron greet her.
My mom and dad have always taught me and shown a good example of how serving others brings joy and meaning to our lives. Now I think I understand what it means in the Bible to “love thy neighbour as thyself” (Matthew 22:39), and it feels awesome!

1. Did you notice how focused this is? When you’re telling a story, just cut to the chase! Your listeners will appreciate it, and you’ll help them know what to look for as they hear the story.
2. Check out how this sentence sets the stage for the entire story without giving away the ending. That’s classy storytelling.
3. Now that’s a great balance of details-enough to explain the situation but not so many as to distract the listeners from the main point of the story.
“There are many ways bishops and quorum members can help to relieve the suffering and anxiety of the unemployed. 1Phil’s Auto of Centerville, Utah, is a testament of what priesthood leadership and a quorum can accomplish.2 Phil was a member of an elders quorum and worked as a mechanic at a local automobile repair shop. Unfortunately, the repair shop where Phil worked experienced economic trouble and had to let Phil go from his job. He was devastated by this turn of events.3
4. In just a couple of sentences, Bishop Edgley captures the essence of brotherhood in a priesthood quorum.
5. By showing how members of the quorum became actively involved, he helps listeners understand that the priesthood is a principle of action. He also gives ideas for how others can help in their quorums.
“On hearing about Phil’s job loss, his bishop, Leon Olson, and his elders quorum presidency prayerfully considered ways they could help Phil get back on his feet. After all, he was a fellow quorum member, a brother, and he needed help.4They concluded that Phil had the skills to run his own business. One of the quorum members offered that he had an old barn that perhaps could be used as a repair shop. Other quorum members could help gather needed tools and supplies to equip the new shop. Almost everyone in the quorum could at least help clean the old barn.5
6. See how he points out the blessings that came through the priesthood. There’s not dramatic fanfare or extra detail, but this story shares a powerful message.
7. Bishop Edgley’s closing ties the whole story together and reminds us of the main point of the experience.
“They shared their ideas with Phil; then they shared their plan with the members of their quorum. The barn was cleaned and renovated, the tools gathered, and all was put in order. Phil’s Auto was a success and eventually moved to better and more permanent quarters—all because his quorum brothers offered help in a time of crisis.6 Priesthood quorums can and must make a difference.”7
Bishop Richard C. Edgley, former First Counselor in the Presiding Bishopric, “This Is Your Phone Call,” Ensign, May 2009, 54.

Even when he saw, secondhand and at a distance, what the Saints had to bear, he broke into tears and privately went into prayer. In such a case, at the Nickerson home in Toronto he became aware of a young girl named Lydia Bailey. By the tender age of eighteen, she had had one husband and two children. Her husband had abandoned her and both children had died. Why? Joseph went to the Lord. Then he met with Lydia. An outpouring of the Spirit ensued, and Joseph made promises to her that out of her affliction there would come into her life such strength as she could not now comprehend. “The Lord, your Savior, loves you, and will overrule all your past sorrows and afflictions for good unto you.” She had a role to play in the redemption of her family that she could not fully understand. The promises came to fulfillment.

It was Wednesday night—and it was snowing, a rare occurrence in our mid-Texas town. I stood at the door to the church, watching as snowflakes tumbled to the ground, changing the asphalt outside into a field of white. The youth in our ward were in high spirits as they streamed in for Mutual. Their laughter bounced along the hallways and reminded me of music.
Tonight I didn’t follow them into opening exercises. The draw of the snowstorm was too strong, and I remained at the window. I smiled as I remembered the snowball fights and igloo-building contests of my girlhood in Salt Lake. Back then, snow wasn’t cold; it was pure fun.
I was lost in these thoughts when Jack, a priest, tapped me on the shoulder and said, “Sister Shaw, we’re ready to begin.”
I nodded. “Coming,” I said as I turned to take one last look at the snow.
That’s when I caught sight of Deirdre. She cut through the shrubbery that lined the church property and ran across the parking lot towards the building. Her brown hair, wet from the snow, flapped stiffly behind her. As she approached the lighted church, I saw that her hands were pulled deep inside the sleeves of her sweatshirt. She reached for the door, but the handle slipped from her grasp. I leaned forward and pushed the door open for her. Her breath came out in a wild fog before my eyes as she scampered inside.
She looked around, her teeth chattering uncontrollably.
“Deirdre?” I asked.
She looked at me like I was a complete stranger. And I might as well have been. Although I had been her Primary teacher six years ago when she was baptized, I hadn’t seen her since that time. No wonder she didn’t remember me.
But I remembered her. What an exciting year that had been for Deirdre! Not only was she baptized, but her mother had remarried. They moved into a beautiful home just outside the city. Her stepfather was soon called to a position of leadership, and her mother served as a Sunbeam teacher.
Then things began changing. Deirdre, usually talkative in class, seemed to withdraw from her peers. Next, her family stopped attending church, but no one knew why. Back then, I reasoned that this newly formed family was having some adjustment problems that, in time, would straighten themselves out.
I was wrong.
Several months ago, our Young Women presidency attempted to visit Deirdre at home, but like every home and visiting teacher before us, we were politely refused at the door by her parents. Needless to say, I was astonished to see Deirdre at Mutual.
“I’m Sister Shaw,” I said, smiling at her. I taught you in Primary a long time ago. I’m the Young Women president now.”
She looked at me blankly as chills shook her body. She was a petite girl, barely five feet tall.
“Come with me,” I said, putting my arm around her tiny shoulders. “I’ll introduce you to everyone. Do you remember Stephanie? You two were little chatterboxes in my class! She’s the Mia Maid class president.”
Deirdre nodded as we walked into opening exercises together. But before I could make any introductions, Stephanie rushed toward us. “Deirdre!” she called enthusiastically.
“Stephanie?”
The two girls hugged, then Stephanie introduced her to everyone. Although Deirdre appeared shy at first, she warmed up to the others quickly and was soon drinking hot chocolate in the kitchen with them.
As Mutual ended, I handed Deirdre a Personal Progress book and asked her to look it over. “Next week we’ll set some goals for you. Will you be here?”
“Of course she will,” Stephanie chimed in. “Now that I’ve found her, I won’t let her go!”
Deirdre’s face shone as the two girls left the building, their feet making tracks in the new snow. I watched Stephanie open the door of her mother’s van for Deirdre. I felt certain we’d be seeing more of her.
But Deirdre didn’t come the next Wednesday. Stephanie said she and her mother had stopped at her house to pick her up, but no one had come to the door. I asked if Stephanie was certain Deirdre had planned to come.
“Yes. We talked on the phone, and both times she said she wanted to come to Mutual.”
“I wonder what happened.”
“I don’t know, Sister Shaw,” Stephanie remarked, “but I don’t think her stepfather wanted her to come. The second time we talked, he picked up the other line and demanded to know who I was and how I knew his daughter. When I told him, he got real quiet, and then got off the line. A few moments later Deirdre said she had to hang up. And she did. I mean, she hung up on me.”
I didn’t like the sound of that.
I tried paying a visit to Deirdre’s home that week. Although I could hear people inside, no one answered the door. I called several times during the week, but the phone rang and rang, like a timer with no one free to answer it.
We saw Deirdre sporadically over the next few months. It seemed that each time she did come to Mutual, she was reluctant to go home. She’d linger at the drinking fountain or in the cultural hall. Deirdre was always the last one out of the building.
Eventually Deirdre began spending weekends at Stephanie’s and attending sacrament meeting. I wondered what Deirdre’s family would think if they could see the tears that silently slipped from her eyes each time the sacrament was passed.
Finally, I arranged to speak privately with Stephanie concerning Deirdre. The next Wednesday that Deirdre didn’t attend Mutual, we met alone in a classroom. I said, “I’m worried about Deirdre.”
Stephanie nodded. “You’re not alone.”
I smiled. “Lots of people care very much about her—but she doesn’t seem happy.”
“She’s not.”
“Do you know why? I want so much to help her, but she doesn’t open up with me. Is there a problem at home?”
Stephanie shrugged. “Sometimes I think she’s afraid of her stepfather.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Well, she and her mother try to keep him from knowing some of the things she does. He doesn’t know she’s with me as much as she is. Or that she comes to church. I think they’re afraid he’ll stop her from coming.”
“That must be awful for her.”
“Yeah,” Stephanie continued thoughtfully, “but she never really tells me what she feels about it. In fact, she never really talks to me about anything personal—just shopping and movies and stuff like that.” Stephanie sighed and looked at the floor. “Sometimes Deirdre seems so closed up, like a locked room—and I don’t know how to get inside to see who she is.” She paused, looking up at me. “Does that make sense?”
I nodded. My heart ached. I knew exactly what Stephanie meant. Every time Deirdre came to Mutual, she and I sat together to discuss her Personal Progress. Our conversations were always superficial. Even though I’d open my heart to her, she never expressed any deep feelings or thoughts to me, either.
Stephanie tucked her feet beneath her chair, “Sometimes I don’t think being Deirdre’s friend is enough.”
I nodded. “That may be true,” I said, “but friendship is all any of us has to offer her right now. At least until Deirdre offers us something in return—her trust.”
One night in April, I was called home from Mutual early because my two-year-old was having an asthma attack. My child recovered after receiving medical treatment, but, as I prayed at my bedside that night, I felt impressed to return to Mutual. Looking at the clock, I realized that Mutual would be well over by now. I ignored the feeling and got into bed. About three minutes later, I remembered that I had left my purse on a chair as I hurried away. I decided I better follow the prompting and retrieve my purse. Explaining to my husband, I dressed and headed out.
After unlocking the church door and letting myself in, I was able to quickly find my purse. As I turned to leave, I noticed that the light in the chapel was on. I pushed open the double doors and reached for the light switch.
A chill crept up my back when I heard the distinct sound of heavy breathing inside the chapel, yet I could see no one.
My voice trembling, I called, “Is someone here?”
No answer. Repeating myself, I walked forward, my eyes scanning each pew. The breathing became louder as I moved toward the front. “Who’s here?” I repeated.
A slight movement made me whirl to my right.
And there she was. Deirdre. Sound asleep on the fourth pew, center aisle, on her side, her left arm under her head, her right strewn across her ears. I let out a long sigh of relief.
“Deirdre,” I said softly, moving toward her. My mind was reeling with questions. Why was she sleeping here? Was she all right? Did her parents know where she was? Why hadn’t she gone home?
“Deirdre, wake—” and then I stopped and stared at her arm where her sleeve had pulled high, revealing a series of deep purple marks—bruises. I looked closer. Some of the welts looked like they had been made by someone’s fingers. Others were too large for that. My heart fell.
I sat beside Deirdre and gently called her name as I took her hand.
Like a snapped rubber band, Deirdre jerked away from me, automatically curling into a protective ball, her back to me.
“Deirdre,” I said softly, “it’s me. Sister Shaw.”
Turning, she muttered sheepishly, “How embarrassing.”
I reached for her again, this time pulling her closer. With one arm around her shoulder and the other holding her hand, I hugged her. Tears filled my eyes, and I looked from her wounds up to the brass pipes of the organ. In a voice barely above a whisper, I asked, “Are you being hurt at home?”
I felt a singular nod against my shoulder. I wanted to tell her everything would be all right, but I couldn’t. Instead, I told her I loved her. Stephanie loved her. Heavenly Father loved her.
“Deirdre,” I said, “we will help you. We can get you help. I’m going to call the bishop right now.”
Deirdre surprised me by pulling back. “No,” she said emphatically through her tears.
“But he knows better than I do what—”
“No,” she repeated, wiping her eyes. “I don’t need to talk to the bishop.”
“But—” I stopped when she whirled and pounded her fist against the pew.
“No!” she shouted. “I don’t have anything to talk to the bishop about! It’s not my fault. I didn’t do anything wrong. He makes me—” Her voice shriveled up, but she didn’t have to say another word. Suddenly I understood that the wounds this young woman had suffered were much deeper than the bruises on her arms.
The air in the chapel stilled as I asked, “Your stepfather?”
She groaned as her head nodded. “But it’s not my fault …”
Again I hugged her and we wept together. “No,” I murmured, “it’s not your fault. You did nothing wrong.” Never in my life had I spoken truer words.
Ten years have passed since I made that telephone call to the bishop, with Deirdre’s permission. He met us in his office within 30 minutes. Although I cannot say Deirdre’s pain ended that night, I can say that her healing began. I know she has shed many tears over the years, but each tear that has fallen from her eyes has chipped away at the ache and anger in her soul.
Today, I am once again watching as Deirdre’s eyes fill with tears. But my arms are not the arms which will hold her today. It is not my hands which clasp hers as she kneels across the altar, dressed in a gown of sparkling white, with a young man who is promising before God in His most holy house to cherish her in the way heaven intended, as a wonderful, worthy daughter of God.

Soon after I graduated from Primary, the bishop called on me to bear my testimony during ward conference. In my talk, I mentioned that I liked the Book of Mormon stories that I knew. I also said that I wanted to read the Book of Mormon all the way through someday.
Someday came sooner than I expected. The day after ward conference, I didn’t feel well and was diagnosed with German measles. I had to lie in bed, so I decided to read the Book of Mormon. I read it from beginning to end in four days. That was a wonderful way to read the Book of Mormon because I gained a feeling for the entire book.

A couple of weeks ago Dean Paul Cox and I were having lunch with a prospective student and his father. We were dining in the Museum of Art cafe when Dean Cox told this student that biology was the world’s oldest profession. Dean Cox explained that when the Lord put Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden to care for it, he created the world’s first biologists. He added that in doing so the Lord was also the first equal opportunity employer.

Since the student was interested in coming to BYU to study biology, I didn’t interrupt the good dean to let him know that other colleges have laid claim to having older professions than his.

The dean of the College of Nursing, Sandra Rogers, could argue that when the Lord took the rib from Adam with which to make Eve, he performed an operation; therefore, medicine is the oldest profession.

Dean Douglas Smoot might take exception with both of these propositions, arguing that the Lord’s creation of the heavens and the earth out of chaos was a magnificent engineering accomplishment, making his the oldest profession.

At this point, I get to put on my journalism hat and ask, “Who do you think created the chaos?”

Then came my third encounter with death.
A few years later, my family and I drove across the country to visit my grandparents. My grandpa had been battling cancer for several years, and the chemotherapy treatments were taking a significant toll on him. It was painful to watch him struggle.
At the end of our trip, we woke up early to start on the long drive home. We all hugged our grandpa goodbye, and the realization began to hit us that this would likely be our last goodbye. He asked if he could pray for us, which we gratefully accepted. Then we left.
A few weeks later, he passed away.
At his viewing, my grandmother reminded all of her children and grandchildren of how much our grandfather had loved us and how grateful she was for the plan of salvation. As I looked down at my grandfather’s body, his spirit now gone, I didn’t want this to be last time I saw him.
Suddenly, I felt that this wasn’t the end. My grandfather was dead, but he wasn’t gone. I felt the Spirit testify to me that Heavenly Father’s plan for us is real.
I felt in my heart the words of Elder Patrick Kearon of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles regarding the plan of salvation: “The Father’s design, His plan, His purpose, His intent, His wish, and His hope are all to heal you, all to give you peace, all to bring you, and those you love, home.”

When I was a sophomore at the University of Utah I started dating a young man who had just graduated in Electrical Engineering and we started spending a lot of time together. Six months later I found myself standing in a jewelry store looking at diamond rings with him. I can still remember the incredible warning I had at that moment. I suddenly had a strong feeling that I was doing the wrong thing! I wasn't supposed to marry this young man. I very quickly whispered to him that I thought we needed to go home. He was very shocked, and didn't understand, but after a few more words from me we left the store and drove back to my house. Before I got out of the car I told him that I felt prompted by the Spirit that I was making a mistake. I knew that we shouldn't proceed with our plans. I climbed out of the car, walked up the driveway, and went inside my house. I hardly even looked back; I was so sure about the message I had received. It wasn't until I met a young returned missionary named Steve Wheelwright a whole year later that I understood what the Lord had in mind for me.

Now let me continue my dating saga and tell you how I felt when I really did meet the young man I was to marry. When I look back at our courtship, I remember it as if it were yesterday. My older brother told me that he would like to line me up with a fraternity brother of his who had just returned from his mission to Scotland. I was very surprised. My brother hadn't ever done that before, but this time he said, My friend, Steve Wheelwright, is just perfect for you! You need to meet him. Well, we went to a movie on our first date with my brother and his date and then came back to our home for ice cream.

The next day Steve called and asked if I wanted to go sailing with him and some friends. I had never gone sailing in my life, and I must admit that it was white knuckles the entire day. But we laughed and talked and enjoyed ourselves so much that a few days later he called and asked if I wanted to go play tennis with him. I quickly said yes, and then after hanging up the telephone, I sank back in my chair with fear, knowing that I was a terrible tennis player! I remember walking over to my best friend Monetta's house in panic, asking her what I should do. She laughed and said, Oh Margaret, he isn't asking you to go play tennis because he wants to play tennis; he just wants to be with you! I relaxed a little, borrowed her tennis racket, and went back home and waited for him to arrive. Sure enough, he didn't seem to care that I was a lousy tennis player. We played for about an hour and then we spent the rest of the afternoon talking and enjoying each other's company.

When it came time to take our relationship to the next step, neither one of us seemed afraid or nervous committing ourselves to something more serious. The Spirit truly brought peace and comfort to me as we continued getting to know each other better. Neither of us had much money. We both had part time jobs after school, but Steve was about ready to graduate and continue in his graduate studies, and we both knew we were in love. It just was the most comfortable and natural thing in the world to go to the next level of commitment in our relationship. We became engaged in October of 1965. It was so completely different than my first experience that ended in the jewelry store! Steve had all the important characteristics on my list! He was committed to the gospel; he was kind, thoughtful, hard working, happy, respectful, and devoted to me. He made me a better person when I was with him. What more could I ever ask for?

For more than twenty years, Sister Cécile Pelous, a member of the Cergy-Pontoise Branch, Paris France Stake, has worked for the finest fashion houses in Paris—Dior, Cardin, and Ricci. She designs and makes dresses for the wealthiest women in the world.
But since 1986, this graceful, dynamic women has used her glamorous career as a means to do quite a different work. She spends three months every year serving the destitute of India. Working in the impoverished suburbs of Calcutta and in the orphanages of Bengal, she dedicates all of her savings, along with donations from French friends, to the relief of poor children—with the assistance of local people of goodwill.
Cécile discovered The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in 1974 when she was visiting the United States on a tour. Her group happened to stop at Temple Square and attend a performance by the Tabernacle Choir. “It was an intense emotional experience,” she says. Later, she told her fellow travelers that listening to the Choir was the part of the tour that she liked best.
Months later, missionaries knocked on her door back in France. Cécile was not interested until one of them said he was from Salt Lake City. Remembering her experience there, Cécile asked the missionary if he represented “the church with the choir.” When he said yes, she let them in and listened to their message. She was baptized a few months later—in 1975.
Eleven years later, in July 1986, Cécile took her first trip to India. “I went to Calcutta during vacation, with the idea of helping my neighbor,” she says. “I took with me my first-aid certificate, my goodwill, and my suitcases packed with medicines.” She had read about and had heard lectures describing conditions in India. “I knew there was plenty to do,” she says.
The work she found to do was mostly among the elderly, babies, and handicapped children of Calcutta. “I found opportunities to get busy and stretch myself. Dirty clothes and sheets had to be boiled and washed, meals prepared, patients fed in night shelters and almshouses, and medical care given,” she says. “The dying had to be washed, and warmth and affection had to be given them to help them leave this world. There were babies to change and feed who were so weak that you would wish you could force your own health into their bodies.” She worked first with Mother Theresa’s Sisters of Mercy and then with other groups.
“I am not a heroine,” Cécile says. “My experience in India is one of love and friendship.”
During that first trip to India, Cécile also discovered a home for one hundred elderly people, most of them bedridden. “There were only two Catholic missionaries to cater to the needs of all, and one of them had been sick for three days. When another volunteer and I arrived, we immediately rolled up our sleeves and went to work,” she says. “Sister Thérésina, one of the missionaries, kissed me and said, ‘The Lord has sent you!’ and I believed her.”

“Hey, Paul,” Joshua’s sunny voice came over the telephone. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing.”
Joshua paused. “Why aren’t you at church? Is something wrong?”
“No. I didn’t feel like getting up.”
“Well, do you want to come? My parents could come get you.”
There was a determined edge to Paul’s voice. “I’ve already missed sacrament meeting and part of Sunday School. I just need some time to relax, and it doesn’t really matter to anyone if I come or not. Maybe I’ll come some other time.”
“You could still come to teachers quorum today,” Joshua persisted. “Hey, we want you here. What’s the deal?”
“My mother says I’m old enough that if I don’t want to go to church I don’t have to.”
“So what do you do instead?”
“I don’t know. Watch TV, stuff like that. Sleep.” Paul laughed apologetically.
“Brother Powell says to tell you we’re going to have a really good lesson.”
“Oh. Did he make you call me?”
“No, no, I told him I was going to call you.”
Paul was quiet. “Why did you call me?” he asked finally.
“Well, ’cause I worry about you when you’re not at church. I wonder if you’re okay. You used to come all the time, till a couple of weeks ago.” His voice trailed off. “It’ll be a really cool lesson. I saw all this stuff that Brother Powell’s gonna show us. Want me to send someone to come get you?”
“Oh, I can just come on my bike, I guess.”
“You sure?”
“Sure.”
“Okay, see you in a few minutes.”

One day when my companion and I went to visit a recent convert in Colombo, Brazil, the house was full of family members. It was crowded, but they still invited us to share a message. We were about to start when the convert’s brother came in. He was not a member of our Church and was not happy about our visit. He seemed to find any way he could to contradict us.
He had a notebook of all the members of his congregation and their sicknesses. He asked us if we believed in the gift of healing. “Of course we do,” we replied. “Well then,” he continued, “I’ve healed all the people in this notebook. How many people have you healed?”
We tried to explain the priesthood, faith, and how things happen according to God’s will, but after a few moments, we felt like we had been cornered and attacked.
Then “in the very moment” (D&C 100:6) we needed it, the Spirit whispered what to say. I explained that while we do believe in healing, our work as missionaries of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was to bring spiritual healing to those we taught, which healing is available only through accepting the Atonement of Jesus Christ through faith, repentance, baptism by immersion, receiving the gift of the Holy Ghost, and enduring to the end.
So while we believe in physical healing, we explained, the most important healing is spiritual healing. And that kind of healing was the kind we saw every day. It really didn’t matter if people were healed physically if they didn’t repent and change their lives to follow Christ.
As the Spirit guided us to respond in a calm manner, the tension in the room dispersed, the brother stopped trying to fight, and we were able to share our message.

Weather, distance, and school schedules prevent many Thai members from attending church, so the Ubon Ward decided to set a date and encourage as many people as possible to attend.
A lot of members here in Thailand have difficulty coming to church because of school meetings, bad weather (most of our members travel by motorbike), and distance. The members in my ward, the Ubon Ward, face all of these challenges and more, which makes attending church difficult.
One Sunday, I was wondering how we could help the members recognize the blessings of exercising the faith to worship together more often. The idea came to me, “What if we picked a Sunday to focus on getting every member to church that day?” If we were able to get everyone to come on the same day, it would allow members to really see and feel the strength of the ward.
Other leaders and members in the ward liked the idea and became involved in planning for it. We decided on a date, June 17, 2018—the Sunday closest to the anniversary of when the Ubon Thailand Stake was founded—and started sending messages about it through social media. We named the event “Let’s Come to Church on the Same Sunday! 200 Sacrament Meeting Attendance—Ubon Ward Can Do It.”
Practically the whole ward was involved in encouraging each other to come. Everybody kept sending messages persuading others to join the event. Members also invited returning members and friends who weren’t members. And so many people said yes!
We realized that this was more than just a fun event to see how many people could come. We wanted it to be an especially spiritual experience to help motivate members to make attending sacrament meeting a priority. So in the months leading up to the event, the bishopric encouraged people to avoid any activities that might minimize the importance of the sacrament or the worship of the Lord.
We even made bookmarks to help people remember the event and the Spirit that we knew would be there because of everyone’s efforts to attend. The bookmark had the name of the event and also a scripture: “I have said, Ye are gods; and all of you are children of the most High” (Psalm 82:6). We chose this scripture because we wanted everyone to realize that they are children of God and have the potential to be like Him.
Members planned for a long time to all be able to attend on the set day. Finally, the day came. But so did obstacles. It rained heavily the evening before and continued raining all through the night. Another obstacle for some members was that an important school meeting was happening at the same time as church.
We asked everybody to pray for these obstacles to be removed or overcome. At about 7:00 a.m. Sunday morning, the rain stopped. And when we arrived at church, we found those families who needed to go to the school meeting. When we asked them about their other meeting, they said, “We have to come to sacrament meeting first.” It was a great testimony to me of the importance of the Lord’s sacrament.
Members brought a lot of friends and neighbors to the meeting. One sister in the ward brought eight friends who had never been to church before! As more and more people arrived, we needed to open the overflow room. The count of the sacrament attendance was 215 people! All through the meeting, I could feel that the Holy Ghost was with us and that God helped us to be successful in this endeavor.
After this amazing Sunday, the number of people who regularly attend sacrament meeting increased. This included three Melchizedek Priesthood holders who began attending church regularly with their families. One family even had two of their children baptized and confirmed the following month.

I had a real problem with procrastination. One day, I went to a quiet place alone and reflected on how I felt about myself and how God felt about me. I thought about all the things I hadn’t done, and I felt totally discouraged.

Then I knelt and prayed to Heavenly Father, and I asked him to forgive me and give me the strength to do better. Little by little I have felt a change for good in my life. I have come to allow myself spiritual time to meditate on my responsibilities. Such time helps me to keep focused on what is important in my life and not worry about other things. I have developed faith in myself as I have come to know that I am a daughter of God and that he cares for me.

Maria Veronica V. Basilio, 16Tagig Ward, Pasig StakeManila, Philippines

This experience of ritualizing the sacrament has been a blessing in my life. Not long ago I had a profound experience with partaking of the emblems of the sacrament. On this particular Sunday I needed to be in two places at the same time: a ward conference and a Primary children’s sacrament meeting presentation. I knew I could figure out how to juggle both events but decided to pray to know where I should be. The answer was simple and came as a thought: the name of a man in our stake who was in a serious battle with cancer came to mind. He lived in the ward that was having their ward conference. I went to his ward.

As I sat in the back of the chapel contemplating the prompt to be there, I found myself filled with emotion. While I did not see this man in the congregation, I felt grateful that I had acted in obedience to the simple prompting. We sang one of my favorite sacrament hymns, “In Humility, Our Savior.” The words penetrated my heart:

In humility, our Savior, Grant thy Spirit here, we pray, As we bless the bread and water In thy name this holy day. Let me not forget, O Savior, Thou didst bleed and die for me When thy heart was stilled and broken On the cross at Calvary.

Fill our hearts with sweet forgiving; Teach us tolerance and love. Let our prayers find access to thee In thy holy courts above. Then, when we have proven worthy Of thy sacrifice divine, Lord, let us regain thy presence; Let thy glory round us shine.43

My whole soul seemed to be responding to the pleas of this song. I found myself reflecting on the Atonement and my opportunity to change. I desired to understand more of the humility of our Savior. My heart desired an example, a visualization of humble service.

In those first moments of the passing of the sacrament, I heard someone coming into the chapel. At the door was my friend, the man whose name had come to my mind that morning. He required the help of his brother and a walker. This man who was facing death slowly made his way to take his position at the right of the bishop, as he was serving as a counselor in the bishopric. I watched him struggle, unable to move on his own. I marveled as he took the steps to the rostrum. He didn’t have to be there, nor did he need to take his place on the stand. The entire congregation seemed to be in awe of his effort to perform his duty of being where he was supposed to be. Tears flowed freely as I watched him, and the Spirit whispered, “Here is an example of humility.” This was one of those precious, parabolic moments, filled with customized tutoring in response to heartfelt need.

In that moment I had a clear view of myself in the true light of the Son. I could see more of my potential to be a dutiful disciple. The Spirit testified a simple truth to me: perform your duty in humility. Here was an example of an offering of a broken heart and contrite spirit. I was changed by the example of another.

My friend died a few weeks later. At the viewing prior to the funeral service, his wife told me that he had awoken that morning with a desire to bear his testimony. While the opportunity to stand and testify with words was not granted, he testified to all of us that day in his deeds.

I have been taught by mortal angels things that I wouldn’t have otherwise been able to learn. For example, my therapist has taught me how to identify and change my thinking patterns in a way that I could not have done on my own. I didn’t have the tools to do that. She has served as an angel to me to help me change and to bring me closer to the person my Heavenly Parents want and need me to be to fulfill my divine missions.