Gospel Story Finder

During my senior year of high school, I prayed for the Spirit to lead me to someone ready to hear the gospel. I had a friend in mind as I prayed. This friend of mine, Ashley (name has been changed), had expressed some interest in my religion, and she already held herself to the same standards as Latter-day Saint youth. I was convinced this was the time she needed to hear the gospel.
I was serving in my Laurel class presidency at the time, and during a bishopric youth committee meeting, I received a strong impression to suggest to the bishop that we have a missionary activity in Mutual. I felt impressed that the youth of our ward should invite nonmember friends to this activity for a question-and-answer session with the missionaries serving in our ward. My bishop enthusiastically set up the activity with the elders, and I was sure that this was the answer I had been praying for. Now Ashley could come and learn more about the gospel in an environment where she would not feel any pressure. I was confident that after Ashley came to the question-and-answer activity, she would be touched by the Spirit, ask to receive the missionary lessons, and in about a month would be baptized and confirmed a member of the Church.
Now my prayers turned to how to ask Ashley to the activity. I prayed to serve as an instrument in the Lord’s hands to introduce His plan and gospel to someone prepared to receive it. At school I invited Ashley to the activity, and she said she would ask her parents if it was all right with them.
Later that afternoon, I received a call from Ashley. She told me her parents were definitely OK with it. In fact, she explained that before her parents married, her father had lived with two LDS roommates and was very impressed with how they lived. I was overjoyed because the only obstacle I had envisioned was whether or not Ashley’s parents would be OK with her pursuing another religion.
As I continued to pray about the upcoming missionary activity, I felt a calm reassurance that I was indeed an instrument in the hands of the Lord and that He was pleased I had acted on the prompting at the bishopric youth committee meeting. I looked forward to the activity with great anticipation. Ashley and I had been friends for many years, and I was excited to play a part in her introduction to the gospel and, of course, her resulting conversion.
On the morning of the activity, I received a phone call from Ashley. She had changed her mind and was no longer planning to come to the activity. I was devastated and confused. I had been praying for Ashley, I was sure she was ready, and she was the whole reason I had thrown myself into missionary mode. I also felt embarrassed. During the activity planning process, I had made it very clear to everyone that my friend Ashley was ready to learn and accept the gospel.
As I cried with frustration in my room, I began to be filled with self-doubt. If I had been wrong about Ashley, then maybe I had been wrong in believing that the missionary question-and-answer activity was actually a spiritual prompting. Engulfed in a teenage sense of uncertainty, anger, self-pity, and disappointment, I decided to skip the activity myself.
A few weeks later, as I was walking through the school library, my friend Brian asked me if I wanted to come to his baptism. Brian and I didn’t have any classes together that year, so it had been quite a while since I had seen or spoken with him. The previous year we had sat next to each other in a history class and had partnered up for a class project. Our project topic, randomly assigned by our teacher, was “Joseph Smith and the Mormons.” I remembered Brian had been quite interested in the topic as we did our research. However, he also liked to joke around, saying things like, “Remind me which wife number your mom is” and “There is going to be this fun party this weekend, but oh, wait—you’re Mormon, so you would be no fun to go with.” Thus, I initially dismissed his baptism invitation as another joke at the expense of my religion. He did not seem like the type ready to join a church with such “restrictive standards.”
But the next words out of his mouth stunned me as he described the whirlwind of the past few weeks of his life. He explained overhearing a fellow classmate and member of my ward invite someone to a question-and-answer activity at the Mormon church. When the person receiving the invitation declined, Brian asked our classmate if he could come along instead. Following the activity, he immediately began taking the missionary lessons. He read the Book of Mormon. He prayed about it. He knew it was true. He really was getting baptized, and if I wanted to, I was welcome to come. After all, he said, I was the one who introduced him to Joseph Smith and the Mormons.
In quiet amazement I realized that the Lord had heard my prayers. He was using me as an instrument in His hands to find someone He had prepared to hear and accept the gospel. It had never occurred to me to invite Brian to meet the missionaries because he did not seem, in my opinion, ready. Not like Ashley.
At that humbling moment I realized how vital it is that I act on all promptings I receive by the Spirit. Although I continue to pray that Ashley will be ready for the gospel, I learned a significant lesson from the unexpected outcome of my attempt at sharing the gospel with her. The Lord always has a purpose for the promptings He gives us, and I do not need to know or guess what it is. Instead, it is my responsibility to carry out the prompting confidently and resolutely. As I pray for missionary opportunities, act on promptings, and accept the Lord’s will, rather than trying to impose my own, I can more fully serve as an instrument in the hands of God and help build His kingdom.

As a young man, I was greatly impressed and inspired by a story President Heber J. Grant used to tell about a Scandinavian family who came to Utah. They hadn’t been taught much about the gospel. All they knew was that it was true. So the bishop went to this man and taught him the law of tithing, and the man paid his tithing. Then the bishop taught him the law of fast offering, and he paid his fast offering. Then sometime later the bishop asked for a donation to help build the meetinghouse. The man thought that that ought to come out of the tithing, but before the bishop was through, he made his contribution for the building of the meetinghouse. Then sometime later the bishop went to him to call his son to go on a mission. The man said, “That is the straw that breaks the camel’s back. We can’t spare him. He is the only child at home.” Then the bishop said, “Brother, whom do you love in this world more than anyone else outside of your immediate family?” After thoughtful consideration the man said, “I guess I love that young Mormon missionary who hame up to the land of the midnight sun and taught me the gospel of the Lord Jesus Christ.” Then the bishop replied, “Brother, how would you like someone to love your boy as you love that young Mormon elder?” His reply was: “Bishop, you’re right. Take him. I will pay for his mission.”

Recently, for Thanksgiving, I drove to my sister’s house, where the family was visiting for a few days. Opening the front door, I found Grandpa in the middle of the room, seated in a wheelchair, a yardstick on the floor beside him. He was wearing a yellow cardigan and a pair of brown pants like his old work pants, except these weren’t faded or stained. I instinctively looked for his cane but didn’t find it. When I bent down to hug him, I felt his bony shoulders and his whiskery face.
He asked me how my studies were, would I get straight A’s? Did I ever see my cousin who just got married? We were talking like that when my sister Kris came into the room from downstairs; Tony, her two-year-old son, trailed behind her. After a while she went into the kitchen to see about dinner while I played with Tony. Grandpa remained in the wheelchair, his hands in his lap, his head lolling forward in sleep. Finally I escaped for a few minutes to take my overnight bag downstairs. Above me I could hear Tony tumbling around on the floor, and I suddenly wanted him to know Grandpa by his walking sticks—the staff, the sceptor, the garden implement. Not Grandpa as a shrunken body in a wheelchair, who went only from the bed to the table to the bathroom.
In the kitchen I watched Kris slice vegetables, her fingers moving quickly. When I heard Tony’s laughter from the living room, quiet at first then louder, I went to the doorway to see what he was doing. Grandpa was in the middle of the room as I had left him, but instead of sleeping, he was leaning forward in his chair, his knobby hands wrapped around the wooden yardstick that had been on the floor. He kept the other end of the yardstick poised above Tony, who lay on his back a few feet away watching him.
When Grandpa lowered the yardstick toward Tony’s belly sticking out from his striped T shirt, Tony giggled and tossed his head; then, feeling the tickle of wood on his stomach, he rolled away, his shrill giggles filling the room. And I heard the deeper laughter of my grandfather. Looking into his gray eyes, I saw again the face I had known when I knelt next to the wooden giraffe.

One Saturday morning while I was serving in the Lima Peru Temple, a group of about 20 children from one of the Lima stakes came for a visit. After warmly shaking the hand of each child, the temple president spoke to them about the sacred work of the temple. He especially emphasized the continuation of family relationships and the meaning of the phrase “Families are forever.”
The children were reverent and listened carefully. One of these visitors was a little girl named Rosita, who was five years old. That night she stayed up late until her father returned from work, waiting for him on the edge of her bed.
When he arrived, he was surprised to see his daughter still awake. Rosita jumped off the bed and ran to him. He picked her up, and she put her arms around his neck and kissed him.
“And how is my little Rosa?” he asked.
“I am well, Papi.”
“Were you a good girl today?”
“Yes, Papi.”
“Was there something you wanted me to do for you?”
She nodded her head.
“What is it? What do you want, sweetheart?”
“Papi,” she said, pausing briefly, “when are you going to take me to the temple?”
Her father paused a few seconds before answering.
“I’m going to take you, Rosa. It’s just that I’m working hard right now, and I’m really busy. But I promise I will take you.”
“Thank you, Papi,” said Rosita, hugging and kissing her father again.
“Now go to bed and try to sleep.”
Many months later, Rosita’s family gathered in one of the sealing rooms of the temple. Moments of great rejoicing followed the sealing ceremony. Rosita’s father, with great love and tenderness, embraced each of his children, ending with the youngest—Rosita.
“Some months ago this little girl made a trip to the temple with the Primary children from our stake,” Rosita’s father told the sealer who had performed the ceremony. “That night she waited for me to get home from work and asked me when I was going to take her to the temple. I knew she didn’t just want to see the outside of the temple, so I have had to put my life in order and get rid of my bad habits. It has taken a lot of effort, but I have finally succeeded. Today is the most beautiful day I have ever experienced because today my family has been united for all eternity.”

The senior and junior seminary class from the Monrovia California First and Second Wards found out. The 12 students in the combined early-morning seminary class were planning some activities for the year. They had planned some parties and worked on some service projects, but their teacher, Sue Cornwall, encouraged them to think of an activity that might include some of their friends from school. Instead of serving breakfast one morning just to themselves, they decided to invite a few of their friends just to show these friends where they went and what they did every weekday morning before school.

“In October, we each invited a friend,” said Jenny Dequer. “We had about 25 total. We just sat around, talked, and had breakfast.” It was supposed to be such a simple thing. They had an opening prayer and a spiritual thought. It was low key, just a chance to let friends see where they met and what they talked about.

It worked once, so why not try again? By February, the seminary students held their second Bring a Friend to Seminary Breakfast. This time they wanted to see how many people they could get to come. Many in the class weren’t shy about inviting friends, acquaintances, anyone they ran into from school. They wrote notes to people and made it the topic of conversation around their lockers. And if they hadn’t mentioned the breakfast to their friends, the friends were soon asking what was going on. “My friends came and asked me about it,” said Chris Miller. “I hadn’t said anything to them. But they wanted to come.”

“We tried to get as many people as we could,” said Nora. “Everyone invited a lot of people. We had about 70.” What Nora didn’t mention was that she had invited 30 or 40 people herself.

This time they prepared a fun, lighthearted video. The class had been studying the Old Testament, so a Bible story seemed a natural. They made a rather humorous and certainly unique version of the story of David and Goliath. David Vaughn seemed the natural choice to play David, and new class member Doug played Goliath. The audience loved it. Some of their friends, who had little religious background, asked, “Who were David and Goliath?” The class members were glad to fill in the more serious details of what can be learned from this story.

The third and final Friend Breakfast was held right before school let out. They went all out, cooking a full-fledged breakfast with the help of some members of the two wards. More than a hundred people attended. This time, the video was more personal and direct. Each class member was interviewed about the things they believe. The humor was still there with baby and growing-up pictures mixed in with each class member speaking from the heart.

Did anyone listen? Was anyone fed anything besides fruit, sausage, and eggs?

Apparently so. Since that final breakfast of the school year, four more of their friends have joined the Church. Although seminary isn’t held when school is on vacation, the students pull these new members into their Mutual activities and into their Sunday School classes.

These seminary students started with a simple plan just to explain to their friends what seminary is. It turned out that when they presented what they had, those who were hungry for direction in their lives feasted on the words of Christ.

Our second daughter, Kelli shared: “When I was endowed in the temple a day or two before being sealed to my husband, Connor, there were so many things on my mind that I paid more attention with my mind than the Spirit. It was challenging to feel completely comfortable, and I felt a little lost. I tried to keep acting in faith by attending the temple more.

“When I was helping my younger brother prepare to make covenants in the temple, I shared with him that all we do in the temple is about Jesus Christ, so focus on Him when you go. Helping my brother, I realized it’s less about the actual ceremony and more about what the Savior is teaching us.

“When I started focusing on Jesus Christ with all my heart during my temple worship, I became confident, and now, I can say that the temple is the best thing I have in the world to get close to Jesus Christ.”

She also shared with me how the most recent adjustments to the endowment ceremony have impacted her. She said, “Papá, the Lord is speaking to our generation.”

In 1835, the Prophet Joseph Smith gave Brigham Young a special blessing “to open the gospel to every Lamanite nation.”19 Brigham took his charge seriously. All was not peaceful between Latter-day Saints and American Indians in the 1800s, and there were significant moments of tension and bloodshed. At the same time, Brigham sought for and advocated peace, even at great cost to the Saints at times. During one conflict in the 1860s, Brigham instructed Saints to take a defensive posture by leaving their homes and moving to safer areas rather than fight. Explorer John Wesley Powell was “astonished”20 by the Saints’ actions to preserve peace, and some Saints were also frustrated with this policy of peace. Brigham told them, “The evil passions that arise in our hearts would prompt us to do this [fight with the American Indians], but we must bring [our passions] into subjection to the law of Christ.”21

Furthermore, he told the Saints that they should

deal with [American Indians] so gently that we will win their hearts and affections to us more strongly than before; and the much good that has been done them, and the many kindnesses that have been shown them, will come up before them, and they will see that we are their friends.22

At the unofficial 1906 games in Athens, Greece, an Austrian weightlifter, Josef Steinbach, was booed by the partisan crowd because it was alleged he was a professional. The frustrated Austrian left the stadium, allowing the Greek in second place to win the event. The flag was run up, the crowd cheered. Then Steinbach reentered the stadium, walked up to the weight the winner had lifted with great effort, and with ease hoisted it three times over his head.

I was born to A Latter-day Saint Family and baptized at age eight; I faithfully attended church and seminary. But although the gospel had always been a part of my life, I wasn’t truly converted.
As a seminary student, I had developed good habits of scripture study that served me well for several years. But I could never bring myself to get really serious about prayer. In my youth I had made many mistakes, which made praying seem painful and hard.
I went off to college, and when I was 21, my father died unexpectedly in an accident. In my bitterness, I stopped reading the scriptures.
Years passed. I married in the temple and bore three children while my husband struggled through law school. Because I was without the sustenance of scripture study and deep, sincere prayer, the trials and frustrations of this period left me open to the adversary. My feelings became tainted with anger and a sense of failure.
Then my husband graduated and found a job that took us to another state. I had lived in many parts of the United States, but this move left me feeling terribly out of place. Our new ward was in a fairly wealthy area. My husband and I had a lot of school debt and very few possessions. We drove an old car, our clothes were outdated, and our furniture was secondhand and mismatched. The disparity was painfully obvious to me.
It wasn’t that I coveted what others had. I simply couldn’t imagine that they could see me as a worthwhile person when I had so little.
As the months passed, I had great difficulty making friends in the ward. I had been fairly comfortable in our wards in college, but now I felt intimidated and isolated from the friends and family who valued me.
A very long year and a half passed. I felt more insecure and unaccepted than I had felt since being a teenager in junior high school. I gave up even trying to fit in.
Then a ward member named Julie, a sister whom I greatly admired, began reaching out to me. She was 10 years older than I, a woman of great faith, and respected by everyone. I couldn’t believe she really wanted to get to know me, but I was lonely enough to accept her invitation to go jogging with her and some of her friends each morning at a nearby track.
Every day, Julie arrived having just finished morning prayer and scripture study. She was always filled with enthusiasm about the gospel, the scriptures, and the insights that came to her as she read. Running with her was like going to a devotional or a seminary class. And she seemed genuinely interested in me; she listened without judgment to my frustrations and fears.
I found Julie’s enthusiasm irresistible. Following her example, I became dedicated to a program of regular, serious scripture study for the first time in seven years.
I began to feel the Spirit in my life on a daily basis, and I found that I was able to follow the Spirit in fulfilling my calling as a Beehive adviser. I also realized that even though I’d been physically present in the programs and meetings, I had been spiritually inactive for many years.
Then one day, I walked into church a little late. Julie was leading the music, as she did every week. I looked up at her face. Her smile was wonderful, radiant, somehow filled with light. She looked directly at me, and I was overcome with an overpowering sensation of warmth and peace and joy. I was surprised. I knew I was feeling the Spirit very strongly, but I didn’t understand what the feeling meant.
I pondered throughout Sunday School and sacrament meeting, all the time cherishing this feeling of great peace and joy. By the end of the meeting, I understood the reason for this witness. I realized that Julie, being filled with the Spirit, actively sought to convey the love of the Savior to the congregation by the light of her countenance (see Alma 5:14, 19).
And then, into my mind came the whispered words that changed my life: “You must learn to be like that.” I was stunned. Suddenly my perspective shifted. I was to learn to smile like that and to convey the love and kindness to others that Julie had extended to me. For the first time, I understood that if I had the love of Christ in my countenance, no one would care what my clothes looked like, or my car, or my house.
My life was very different after that. The next month I walked into homemaking meeting, where I had always felt hopelessly out of place; I looked around at the room full of faces as if for the first time. It seemed that everyone there was either my friend already or needed a friend. I saw no condescension or condemnation in anyone. Nor was I looking for it. I was looking outward for what I could give.
After that, I continued to mature in terms of my motivation and expectations. As I felt more and more of the Spirit in my life, I desired to have the strength and faith to do anything the Lord might ask.
About this time, I attended a fireside where Julie spoke; she talked a lot about prayer. I took her counsel to heart and decided to start praying morning and night with real sincerity. I got up earlier than before, scheduled 15 or 20 minutes just for prayer, and treated it as an appointment with the most important person in my life. I found that I could get answers and guidance in a way I never had before.
I began to study the Atonement intensively. And I studied the doctrine of the change of heart and the meaning of being born again. As I studied, I developed a profound reverence for the Savior, for the power of his atonement, and for its efficacy in saving me from all of my failings and weaknesses.
One day I read Mosiah 5:7–8: “Ye shall be called the children of Christ … ; for ye say that your hearts are changed through faith on his name; therefore, ye are born of him and have become his sons and his daughters.
“And under this head ye are made free, and there is no other head whereby ye can be made free.”
Now I understood the words made free. I was being released from so many personal fears, inadequacies, and negative feelings that it seemed as if tangible shackles were falling from my hands and feet. My posture changed as I began to see myself as a person who had every reason to stand tall. My children asked why I was smiling so much. My husband asked why we didn’t quarrel anymore. My mother and brothers simply asked, “What happened?”
I spent three years in that ward where I had initially felt so uncomfortable. My last 18 months were a wonderful, fulfilling time. Sometimes I faced difficult trials, but I also felt an assurance that the Lord was mindful of me and that the painful experiences were for my growth.
By the time I left that ward, I not only felt loved, I also felt trusted and honored by the members there. I had had many humbling, spiritual experiences as well as opportunities to serve, to speak, and to teach. The ward had become a cherished family.
Julie remains a dear friend. Her gift for radiating light continues to touch my life and the lives of many others. Her example showed me how to reach for the Savior, the source of the light. And this has given me the means to lift and love and comfort many people. I believe that if I continue to progress, someday I, too, will be filled with his love and receive his image in my countenance.

There are times when joining with my congregation feels really hard. I am shy, and sometimes, I struggle with social anxiety. Sometimes, the hardest place for me to be on a Sunday is with a group of women I don’t know very well. I say that as someone who loves the Relief Society and has a testimony of its mission. I have found that when those times hit, I am often blessed with being called to be the primary chorister, where I can sing my prayers and praises to the Lord with the children of my ward. Like Sister Tracy Y. Browning taught in the most recent General Conference, the Spirit has taught me through primary songs. I, too, have had “primary music [carry] a holy influence in my life and have lifted my soul, taught me eternal truths, and drawn me nearer to the Savior and to His gospel.” [17] I could be the sister whom Sister Browning shared about, the one who credited Primary music with “accelerating her continued conversion to the gospel of Jesus Christ.” [18]

Did I mention I’ve been the primary chorister in five different wards? And I’m so grateful for those opportunities. Hymns can teach us through the Spirit in ways that nothing else can.

I will mention just one more. I know a fine person who had wanted to work at a particular institution his whole life. He was so happy to finally be working there. For some reason out of curiosity looked at a few pornographic sites on the Internet not with the intent to become addicted. The first looks led to longer searches and finally found viewing sites at work he lost his employment. "Anything like unto it" does include pornography and it does carry with it sadness.

“I don’t know, but I know that He does. I remember reading a story several months ago in the Ensign. It was a true story about a little sparrow that flew into the Tabernacle while the doors were open.”*
“You mean that big building on Temple Square where they hold general conference?”
Dad nodded. “The workers at the Tabernacle opened all the doors, hoping that the bird would fly out.”
“Did it?”
“No. They tried calling animal control, who brought some nets with real long handles so that they could try to catch the bird.”
Beth remembered how tall the ceiling in the Tabernacle was. Her mother and father had taken her there for a Christmas program last December. The handles on those nets must have been very, very, very long!
Dad continued. “The people ran from one end of the Tabernacle to the other, trying to catch the bird, but that just frightened the poor thing. Terrified, it flew back and forth from the pipe organ to the balcony. The people who worked in the Tabernacle were getting worried because there was an important concert scheduled for that evening and they were running out of time. They had to get the bird out.”
“What did they do?” Beth whispered.
“The animal control people couldn’t think of anything else, so they suggested that they use a pellet gun to shoot the bird.”
“Oh, no!”
“Or they thought they could put out some poisoned food that the bird would eat.”
“Oh, Daddy, they didn’t, did they?”
“Well,” Dad continued, “Brother John, the manager, wouldn’t let them hurt the bird. He thought about how important this little bird was to Heavenly Father and knew that Heavenly Father would know how to take care of the bird. So he turned around and said a quiet, simple prayer. Right away the Holy Ghost helped Brother John know what to do. He quickly gave instructions to the other workers to turn off all the lights; close the blinds, and close all but one of the doors. Soon light poured through that one single door, and the bird was finally able to find its freedom. Out it flew, safe at last.”

The Coopers have a family tradition where each person says something nice about the other people at dinner.
I’m glad I married such a great cook.
No fair, Mom. You say that every time Dad cooks.
I like that Mandy says hi to me at school, even when she’s with her friends. Tony’s sister acts like she doesn’t know him.
I like how Matt is a good friend to Franco.
Franco’s easy to like. Most of the kids are nice to him these days.
But there’s this other kid in my class—Carter. He can’t really read, and some of the kids think he’s dumb. Ms. Wood made me his reading partner.
And … ?
Well, Carter isn’t dumb. He says he was just born with a brain that has trouble reading. So he has to work harder at it.
You know what? Kids can see Franco’s crutch. If they could see Carter’s problem, maybe they’d be nicer to him too.
I think that’s a very wise observation.
This soup tastes really good, Dad.
And it looks good on your shirt too.
Dad, does that count as another compliment?

It wasn’t enough for institute students in Manila, Philippines, to just learn the gospel—they wanted to share it. So they put together a musical show, emphasizing the scriptures and education, that was designed to help parents and youth apply gospel principles in their lives.
The students gave up their free time to rehearse and perform. But they said it was worth it to see the audience reaction—some were moved to tears. The group toured Metro Manila and the nearby provinces with their variety show. “All our efforts were rewarded by the wonderful feelings we’ve had,” said one participant.

Dad, can I invite Jacob to church today?
That’s a good idea, Eric. I’ll call his home for you.
My mom said I could go to church with you!
Great!
Eric and Jacob had a good time at church. They learned about prayer and sang songs during sharing time. Eric was glad he invited Jacob.
The next week, Eric called Jacob again.
Do you want to come to church with me today?
No, not today. I’m going to play at my grandma’s house.
Oh, OK.
Are we picking up Jacob today?
No, he said he didn’t want to come today.
How does that make you feel?
A little sad.
I’m sorry you’re sad. Remember that Heavenly Father lets us all choose for ourselves. Maybe you can invite Jacob another time.
Dad, can I invite him next week?
You sure can. You are a good friend.
Eric called Jacob again the next week.
Do you want to come to church with me today?
Sure.
Eric was glad Jacob went to church with him again. Eric knew that Jacob could choose for himself if he wanted to go to church or not, but he decided to always invite Jacob in order to give him the chance.

Life was not easy growing up in my family. We had financial difficulties along with other challenges of life. I recently asked my mom what blessings came to our family during those hard times because we were trying our best to live the gospel. She said we were blessed with health, and that we had always had a house to live in and food on the table. My siblings and I were regularly able to find jobs like mowing lawns and babysitting for neighbors. As we got older, we worked hard and sought education. We were always close as a family. Keeping our covenants with God brought specific blessings to our family that we still enjoy today.

I know that God’s promises are sure and that when we keep our covenants, He will provide us with help and guidance. Elder Jeffrey R. Holland once noted that it was interesting to him “that covenants are made personally, individually… Those ordinances are performed for individual persons, one by one, no matter how many must ultimately receive them.” [4] Because our covenants are individually made with God, we can have the individual reassurance that God will provide blessings and miracles unique to us and our circumstances, just as He did for my family when I was growing up.

Julia Mavimbela’s life suddenly changed in 1955 when her husband, John, was killed in an automobile accident. Evidence at the scene suggested that the other person involved, a white man, had veered into John’s lane. Yet that man was not ruled at fault. Rather, white police officers said that blacks are poor drivers, so John was responsible for the crash.1

Julia was 37 years old with four children and another on the way. She had been wronged by racism, the police, and the justice system. Yet she eventually learned not to give in to bitterness; rather, she spent her life striving to be healed and to heal her beloved country through Christlike service. It was her love of the land, her faith in God, and her dedication to living by her faith’s principles that made this possible.

Julia was born in 1917, the last of five children. Her father passed away when Julia was five years old. Her mother was left to raise the children on her own, finding work as a washerwoman and a domestic worker.

Julia’s mother was a religious woman who taught her children from the Bible. “My mother had taught me to swallow the bitter pills of life and encouraged me never to look back but to look ahead,” Julia said. Julia’s mother also understood the importance of education and did all she could with her limited means to see that her children received formal schooling.

Photographs courtesy of Thoba Elizabeth Mavimbela Karl-Halla
Julia received more training and education and worked as a teacher and school principal until she met and married John Mavimbela in 1946. John owned a grocery and butcher shop. Julia gave up her career to work there. Together they built a home and had children. Despite the restrictions of apartheid, life was good. However, that all changed with John’s death.

On her husband’s tombstone, Julia inscribed these words:

In loving memory of
John Phillip Corlie Mavimbela.
By his wife and relatives.
But the lump remains.
May his soul rest in peace.

Describing the fourth line, Julia said, “At the time of writing, the lump that remained was one of hatred and bitterness—for the man who caused the accident, for the policemen who lied, [and] for the court who deemed my husband responsible for the accident that took his life.”2 One of her greatest trials was to overcome this bitterness and anger.

Shortly after the death of her husband, in a night of “troubled sleep,” Julia had a dream in which John appeared to her, handed her some overalls, and said, “Go to work.” Describing the result of this dream, she said, “I found a way of getting myself away from the worries of these years, and that was through community involvement.”

Twenty years later, in the mid-1970s, the blacks’ reaction to apartheid had gone from peaceful protests to violent outbursts. One of the flash points for the violence was Soweto, where Julia was living. She said, “Soweto became unlike any place we had known—it was as if we were in a battlefield.”

Julia feared that her wound of bitterness would reopen: “It had been over 20 years since John’s death, but I could still feel the pain of that time.” In an effort to seek healing, both for herself and for her people, Julia thought, “Perhaps if I can teach the children to love working in the soil, all is not lost.” She established a community garden that symbolized hope to people who knew only fear and anger.

As she worked with the children in her community garden, she would teach them: “Let us dig the soil of bitterness, throw in a seed of love, and see what fruits it can give us. … Love will not come without forgiving others.”

She said, “I knew deep in my heart I was breaking up the soil of my own bitterness as I forgave those who had hurt me.” The lump of bitterness that remained after John’s death started to dissolve.

In 1981, Julia was introduced to the Church. The missionaries, performing community service in Soweto, found a boys’ center in desperate need of repair. For several weeks they cleaned up the premises.3

One day, Julia was asked to serve at that same boys’ club. When she arrived, she was astonished to see “two white boys hurling their spades into the brown dust.” The missionaries asked if they could come to her home and deliver a message. Three days later, Elders David McCombs and Joel Heaton showed up wearing their missionary attire and name tags.

Julia said that the first two missionary lessons “went in one ear and out the other.” But on their third visit, the missionaries asked about a photograph of Julia and John on her wall. She mentioned that her husband was dead, and the missionaries felt prompted to tell her about the plan of salvation and baptism for the dead. She said, “Then I started listening, really listening, with my heart. … As the missionaries taught me the principle of eternal relationships, I had the feeling that here is the way to be with my parents and my husband.” Julia was baptized five months later.

A month after her baptism, Julia spoke at stake conference. “When I walked to the podium,” she said, “I think most everybody was shocked. It was their first time seeing a black person speaking at conference—maybe for some of them the first time ever to hear a black person address an audience.” She felt prompted to talk about her husband’s death and the years of difficulty she had. She described her bitterness and how she “had finally found the church that could teach me to truly forgive.”

Her struggles with misunderstanding and prejudice, however, were not over, even after apartheid ended in 1994.

Elder Dale G. Renlund of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, in his April 2015 general conference talk, “Latter-day Saints Keep on Trying,” told of an incident Julia and her daughter Thoba experienced when they “were treated less than kindly by some white members.” Thoba complained about their treatment. What could have easily become an excuse to leave the Church became a priceless teaching moment. Julia replied, “Oh, Thoba, the Church is like a big hospital, and we are all sick in our own way. We come to church to be helped.”4

Let me speak of another experience where the heart of the widow was in full view. In Samoa, we labor with village councils to gain access for missionaries to preach the gospel. A few years ago, I had a conversation with a chief from a village where the missionaries had been prohibited for many, many years. My conversation occurred not too long after the paramount chief had opened the village to the Church, permitting our missionaries to teach those interested in learning about the gospel and its doctrines.

After so many years, to have this miraculous turn of events, I was curious to learn about what had happened to cause the paramount chief to take this action. I asked about this, and the chief with whom I was conversing replied, “A man can live in the dark for a period, but there will come a time when he will long to come into the light.”

The paramount chief, in opening the village, demonstrated the heart of the widow—a heart that softens when the warmth and light of the truth is revealed. This leader was willing to relinquish years of tradition, confront much opposition, and stand firm so that others might be blessed. This was a leader whose heart was focused on the welfare and happiness of his people rather than on considerations of tradition, culture, and personal power. He gave away those concerns in favor of what President Thomas S. Monson has taught us: “As we follow the example of the Savior, ours will be the opportunity to be a light in the lives of others.”

Illustration by David Malan
After a long, hard day filled with the struggles that come from caring for three young children, all I wanted to do was take a shower and go to bed.
I took a deep breath and went into my room to unwind. That’s when our five-year-old daughter came in and reminded me it was her turn for the monthly personal interviews my husband and I had started having with her and our three-year-old son. We would ask them questions about their favorite things and what they liked about kindergarten or church. Then we would remind them that they were children of God and that we loved them.
I enjoyed these talks, but I didn’t feel physically or mentally up to it. I started to tell my daughter we would have our talk tomorrow night, but I realized how important our talks were to her.
“All right,” I said tiredly, “let’s get Dad.”
We three sat on the bed and began our chat. After my husband left the room for a moment, I asked our daughter, “What do you want to be when you grow up?”
I was not prepared for her answer: “Like you.”
Tears welled up in my eyes, and my heart filled with emotion. I was touched by the way my daughter saw me, but I felt overwhelming anxiety that stemmed from fear of inadequacy. I thought of all the reasons I did not make an ideal role model for my children, and I was keenly aware of my shortcomings.
Later that night as I prayed, I fervently asked Heavenly Father to help me become a better example for my daughter and more worthy of her admiration. Suddenly, an overwhelming wave of comfort, hope, and love washed over me. I became aware of the gratitude my Father in Heaven and Savior had for me simply for being a mother who was trying to be better. They acknowledged my efforts and were there to help me become the mother and daughter They see in me.
I know with all my heart that God knows and loves us and that through “the enabling power of the Savior’s Atonement,” we can become who we hope to become.

In the spring of 2001, I was assigned to labor in the Switzerland Geneva Mission. While I was saying my goodbyes to family and friends, my father approached me to give me one last hug before I boarded my flight. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a white handkerchief. He handed it to me, telling me that this had belonged to my great-grandpa Tyler. My great-grandfather hadn’t been able to serve a mission, and it was my dad’s hope that by sending this handkerchief with me, I could serve my mission in memory of Grandpa Tyler.
I slid the hanky into the breast pocket of my suit coat, where it was quickly forgotten in the excitement of the adventure ahead of me.
Serving in the Switzerland Geneva Mission.
Eighteen months later, I found myself in a small chapel in Annemasse, France, on the border of Switzerland. We were in our Sunday Church meetings, and I was sitting in the chapel next to an older gentleman who began to sob uncontrollably during a sacrament meeting talk. I wanted to give him a tissue and started digging through my pockets. I found the long-lost handkerchief and handed it to the man. He graciously took it, and after the meeting was over, he approached me and promised to return it to me clean.
The following Tuesday was transfer day, and I was transferred to Clermont-Ferrand, France. I left on the four-hour train ride having forgotten to get the handkerchief back. Four months later, I received a transfer to Meyrin, Switzerland, on the opposite side of Geneva from Annemasse. But because of the horseshoe shape of the zone, I was back in the same zone I had left four months earlier.
Shortly after I arrived in Switzerland, my zone leaders gave me a call and told me of a situation that had arisen. They needed my help conducting a baptismal interview because every other missionary currently in the zone had taught this particular man, and according to mission rules, an elder who had not taught the missionary lessons to this man needed to do the interview. I was delighted because up until this point in my mission I had never conducted a baptismal interview.
A few days later, after exchanging companions, one of the zone leaders and I set out for the interview. A member drove us the hour and a half through a blizzard to Chamonix, where this man lived. Chamonix was part of the Annemasse Branch, where I had previously served.
When we arrived, the snow was so deep it towered over us. We worked our way through the maze of snow to the front door and knocked.
Upon answering the door, the lady of the house gasped and shut the door in our faces. I felt so bad. My thoughts quickly raced through my time in the Annemasse Branch. Had I offended this woman?
Then she opened the door again and handed me an envelope containing a hanky. “Is this yours?” she asked. My mind raced, and in one swoop it all came back to me: the Sunday branch meeting, the sobbing elderly gentleman, and the handkerchief. I said, “Yes, it is!”
The woman broke down in tears, threw her arms around me, and said, “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” She began by telling us how she had longed for her husband to join the Church over the years. She was so happy that after all this time she had held on to her faith, and now her husband wanted to be baptized.
Visiting the convert’s family on the day of his baptismal interview.
She related to me the following: “It all began that day in church when you gave my husband your handkerchief. My husband, being a man of his word, had promised to return your handkerchief. So the following week when he returned to give you the clean hanky and you weren’t there, he decided he would go to church with me the following week. He continued to come with me every week, and every week you weren’t there. He started listening to the talks and lessons and liked what he was hearing. He continued to attend, and as time went on, he accepted the missionary lessons and now wants to be baptized.”
I was here to do his baptismal interview! My heart was touched deeply, and I thanked my Heavenly Father for allowing me to be a part of something so special. I went into the kitchen with her husband, and we stood facing each other across the kitchen island. We spoke of the commitment and responsibilities required of a new member.
He cried as he spoke of the grief he felt he had caused his wife all these years and wanted to know if God would truly forgive “an old man” for his ignorance. His respect and humility were that of one truly converted to the gospel of Jesus Christ.
He was ready to be baptized and confirmed, and a short time later he became a new member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints at the Annemasse chapel.
My great-grandfather Dorus Harvey Tyler never served a full-time mission during his lifetime, but through his white handkerchief, he was able to help bring a soul unto Christ.