Gospel Story Finder

When students in an institute class in Kreuzlingen, Switzerland (above), began studying the Book of Mormon, they felt a great spirit of peace in their lives, and they decided to share that spirit with the members of their branch. The students bore their testimonies of the Book of Mormon during sacrament meeting. Using Isaiah 12:2 as a theme (right), they encouraged branch members to read one chapter a day for one month.
Even after the month-long challenge was over, the members of the branch kept up their reading habit. And with their reading came the same spirit of peace the institute students felt. Arletta Riesen explains: “The Spirit in our branch is so strong now. Every member is more willing to do what the Lord wants, and we can feel the love we have for each other. It’s the same love Jesus Christ has for each one of us.”

I come from goodly parents and from faithful ancestors who responded to the light of Jesus Christ and His gospel, and it blessed their lives and the generations that have followed with spiritual resilience. My dad often talked about his father, Milo T Dyches, and shared how his faith in God was a light to him day and night. Grandpa was a forest ranger and often rode alone in the mountains, entrusting his life without question to God’s direction and care.
Late one fall, Grandpa was alone in the high mountains. Winter had already shown its face when he saddled one of his favorite horses, old Prince, and rode to a sawmill to scale and measure logs before they could be sawed into lumber.
At dusk, he finished his work and climbed back into the saddle. By then, the temperature had plummeted, and a fierce winter snowstorm was engulfing the mountain. With neither light nor path to guide him, he turned Prince in a direction he thought would lead them back to the ranger station.
After traveling miles in the dark, Prince slowed, then stopped. Grandpa repeatedly urged Prince forward, but the horse refused. With blinding snow swirling around them, Grandpa realized he needed God’s help. As he had done throughout his life, he humbly “ask[ed] in faith, nothing wavering.” A still, small voice answered, “Milo, give Prince his head.” Grandpa obeyed, and as he lightened his hold on the reins, Prince swung around and plodded off in a different direction. Hours later, Prince again halted and lowered his head. Through the driving snow, Grandpa saw that they had safely arrived at the gate of the ranger station.
With the morning sun, Grandpa retraced the faint tracks of Prince in the snow. He drew a deep breath when he found where he had given Prince his head: it was the very brink of a lofty mountain cliff, where a single step forward would have plunged both horse and rider to their deaths in the rugged rocks below.
Based on that experience and many others, Grandpa counseled, “The best and greatest partner you will ever have is your Father in Heaven.” When my dad would relate Grandpa’s story, I remember that he would quote from the scriptures:
“Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding.
“In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.”

“Lisa, you should take seminary,” Ashley mentioned casually. Before us were folders displaying lists of class choices for the next school year, when we were starting high school.
I looked vacantly at my friend, finally managing a smile. I hated to tell her, but seminary was the furthest thing from my mind. I was then a less-active member of the Church, as I had been for most of my life. Over the years, I had grown vaguely aware of the gospel but hadn’t received a strong testimony of its truthfulness.
As I went home after school that day, the prospect of seminary began to intrigue me. Ashley, as well as my other friends, all seemed very excited to become a part of it. I had a desire to do what my friends were doing, even if I didn’t understand what they were doing or why they were doing it. After discussing my plan with my parents and getting their permission, I decided to take seminary my first year of high school.
I didn’t know what a profound impact that simple act would have on my life. My first year of seminary changed my life as I began to see myself and others as children of God, loved and cherished. I began going to church on Sundays, despite my family’s inactivity.
I have now finished high school, but I will always be grateful for seminary. During that hour each day, I had my prayers answered and my testimony strengthened. Seminary helped me prepare for a temple marriage and encouraged me to strive to be a better person.
I know that God cares for each of us. I know that seminary is a blessing that helped me build on a firm foundation in Jesus Christ. I would encourage you to enroll in seminary. It will change your life too.

David Wichtermann, 17, a member of the Schwamendingen Ward, Zürich Switzerland Stake, knows what it’s like to be on the receiving end of priesthood service. “I was sick and in a lot of pain,” he says. “When my father gave me a blessing, the pain went away immediately. I look forward to the time when I can also use the priesthood to give blessings.” In the meantime David loves serving with the priesthood authority he already has. “I was able to help ordain my younger brother a deacon,” he says. “To participate in giving someone else the priesthood is a nice feeling.”

Late one evening on a Pacific isle, a small boat slipped silently to its berth at the crude pier. Two Polynesian women helped Meli Mulipola from the boat and guided him to the well-worn pathway leading to the village road. The women marveled at the bright stars which twinkled in the midnight sky. The friendly moonlight guided them along their way. However, Meli Mulipola could not appreciate these delights of nature—the moon, the stars, the sky—for he was blind.
His vision had been normal until that fateful day when, while working on a pineapple plantation, light turned suddenly to darkness and day became perpetual night. He had learned of the restoration of the gospel and the teachings of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. His life had been brought into compliance with these teachings.
He and his loved ones had made this long voyage, having learned that one who held the priesthood of God was visiting among the islands. He sought a blessing under the hands of those who held the sacred priesthood. His wish was granted. Tears streamed from his sightless eyes and coursed down his brown cheeks, tumbling finally upon his native dress. He dropped to his knees and prayed: “Oh, God, thou knowest I am blind. Thy servants have blessed me that if it be thy will, my sight may return. Whether in thy wisdom I see light or whether I see darkness all the days of my life, I will be eternally grateful for the truth of thy gospel which I now see and which provides me the light of life.”
He arose to his feet, thanked us for providing the blessing, and disappeared into the dark of the night. Silently he came; silently he departed. But his presence I shall never forget. I reflected upon the message of the Master: “I am the light of the world: he that followeth me shall not walk in darkness, but shall have the light of life.”

One young woman from Utah, USA, learned this lesson when she was struggling to create a better relationship with her dad. They were having a hard time getting along, and she was praying for help and strength to know how to heal their relationship. One day, she felt like she should tell her dad she loved him. But that was something her family didn’t say very much. Their love was understood in how they acted around each other, but actually saying the words I love you was not a normal occurrence in their house. Still, she felt like she needed to do it.
She mustered up her courage, looked at her dad, and said, “Dad, I love you.” It caught everyone by surprise. Her dad looked up at her and replied with a slight catch in his voice, “I love you too.”
It was a simple step, but from that day forward, her whole family started saying those words to each other, and they’ve been saying it ever since. Of course, it doesn’t always happen exactly like that; another young woman tried it several years ago, and it took her family a couple of years to start saying “I love you” back to her (and then to each other). But she kept saying it, and she could tell it made a difference. And those changes come not just through words but also through actions!

Now, brethren, we are going out now with a determined activity to bring these our brethren into activity—activity of some kind. One of the mission presidents, with a group of his missionaries back in the Eastern States some years ago, was meeting in a hall with pillars that ran down the center of the hall, and he said to one of the missionaries, “Get up and push that pillar over.”

“Well,” said the missionary, “I can’t.”

“Why?”

“Because the weight of that ceiling is all on top of the pillar.”

Then the president asked, “Suppose that weight were lifted off. Could you push the pillar over then?”

The missionary replied, “Why, sure, I think I could.”

Then the president said, “Now, brethren, you and I are just like one of those pillars. As long as we have a weight of responsibility in this church, all hell can’t push us over; but as soon as that weight is lifted off, most of us are easy marks by the powers that drag us down.”

A bishop in Utah recently shared with me an outpouring of love in his ward for a young woman and her family. Through a series of beautiful events, the parents determined to return to the Savior and His Church. During the time they were distant from the Church, their teenage daughter was involved with a young man. Returning, this precious daughter felt immense love from her Heavenly Father during a Young Women testimony meeting. She determined to more fully live the commandments. She wrote, “I began the repentance process with my bishop.”

Soon after, she became ill. In her words: “[A] test showed … I was pregnant. I … began to cry. … My dad wrapped me in his arms and assured me everything [would] be OK. … My boyfriend … asked me to get rid of the baby. … I declined.”

She continued: “I have received so much love and support from our ward family. It has been overwhelming. [My] bishop and Young Women president have gone above and beyond to show their love and support. … I have seen the Lord’s hand … guiding me and my family. … A ward such as mine is the family everyone needs, especially a young woman in my position.”

She and her family, and her ward family, lovingly welcomed her baby boy this past February.

“I encouraged my brothers and sisters to participate in a bike-a-thon for cancer research. We also did it to remember our friend Stan Miller. He died last year of leukemia. We rode around Rossmoor Park, and our sponsors donated money for every mile we rode. Among us we earned $250 for the hospital. When we got done, I felt good. I want to do it every year.”
Kacie SeamonsLong Beach California East Stake

In October 1840, 34-year-old Vilate Kimball wrote a letter to her husband, Elder Heber C. Kimball of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. “President [Joseph] Smith has opened a new and glorious subject … which has caused quite a revival in the church,” Vilate wrote to Heber, who was serving his second mission to Great Britain. The subject of Joseph Smith’s teaching on this occasion was baptism for those who hadn’t had the opportunity in their lifetimes.
“Joseph has received a more full explanation of it by Revelation,” she reported. “It is the privilege of this church to be baptised for all their kinsfolks that have died before this Gospel came forth.” Vilate celebrated the revelation that in doing these proxy baptisms for deceased family members, “we act as agents for them; and give them the privilege of coming forth in the first resurrection.”
The Kimballs had moved from New York to be with the Saints in Kirtland, Ohio, and then moved to Far West, Missouri. Just a year later, in 1839, they had to flee Missouri with thousands of other Latter-day Saints to escape persecution at the hands of violent mobs. They made their home in Nauvoo, hundreds of miles from where their journey had started.
Although their arrival in Nauvoo had been under trying circumstances, Vilate’s October 1840 letter to her husband was teeming with excitement. “I want to be baptised for my Mother,” she exclaimed. “I calculated to wait until you come home, but the last time Joseph spoke upon the subject, he advised every one to be up and a doing, and liberate their friends from bondage as quick as possible. … Thus you see there is a chance for all. Is not this a glorious doctrine?”
Vilate was one of the first women to be baptized for the dead in Nauvoo.

“We’re going to church tomorrow,” Mom announced as she laid out Piper’s dress on her bed.
“Which church?” Piper asked. She had been to different churches a few times with friends, but she had never been to church with Mom.
“The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints,” Mom said. “The Mormon church.”
“Oh.” Mom had been baptized in that church before Piper was born, but she hadn’t gone since Piper could remember.
“You’ll like it,” Mom said. “They have a class especially for kids. It’s called Primary. You don’t need to be nervous.”
But Piper was nervous. She wouldn’t know anyone at church. Who would she sit by? Would she get lost all on her own? Piper stared at the dress on the bed, her stomach twisting up into knots.
Her stomach was still in knots the next day when she and Mom walked to the Primary room after sacrament meeting. The room was decorated with bright pictures, and children and adults sat in rows while a lady played music quietly on the piano. Piper stood uncertainly in the doorway.
“Piper?” Piper turned. A freckled girl coming down the hallway waved at her. “I’m Amy,” the girl said. “I remember you from school. Do you want to sit with me?”
“OK,” Piper said. She followed Amy to a row near the back of the room.
“Sister Davis, this is Piper,” Amy said to the woman sitting at the end of the row. “Sister Davis is our Primary teacher.”
“Welcome, Piper!” Sister Davis smiled. “If you girls will take your seats, I think singing time is about to start.”
Piper sat down and folded her arms just like Amy. She didn’t know the words to the songs, but Amy didn’t make fun of her or even look at her weird. Later, the woman teaching held up a picture of a man in an old-fashioned suit, and everyone nodded like they knew who he was. Piper didn’t know who he was, but Amy leaned over and whispered, “That’s Joseph Smith, the first prophet of our church.”
“A prophet like Moses?” Piper asked.
“Yes,” Amy said. “But Joseph Smith is a modern prophet. He lived in the 1800s.”
Piper smiled. She could understand the lesson thanks to Amy’s help.
“Follow me!” Amy said when they split into smaller classes. Piper followed her to a classroom with four other children, all Piper’s age.
“Who brought their scriptures today?” Sister Davis asked. Piper looked around. All the other children had heavy books on their laps, but she didn’t have any.
“You can share with me,” Amy whispered. She opened her scriptures and pointed so Piper could follow along as the class took turns reading. Piper even got a turn to read aloud. When she came to a name she didn’t know, Piper stopped. Then Amy prompted her softly, “Nephi.” When Piper finished reading the verse, Amy gave her a thumbs up.
When class ended and Piper’s mom came to pick her up, Amy gave her a hug. “See you next week!” she said. “I’ll save a spot for you!”
Piper couldn’t stop smiling as she and Mom walked out to the parking lot. “How was it?” Mom asked.
“Great!” Piper said. “I think I really like this church.”
“Me too,” Mom said. “Want to come back next week?”
“Definitely,” Piper said. She might not know the words to the songs or have her own scriptures, but she knew that everything would be OK because of Amy, her Primary friend.

Gerald woke up on New Year’s Day feeling tired.
“Time to get up,” called Mother. “Breakfast is on the table.”
When Gerald came into the kitchen rubbing his eyes, Mother asked, “Did you make any New Year’s resolutions?”
Gerald didn’t answer his mother’s question just then. He felt like complaining that he hadn’t had enough sleep, but instead he forced a smile and said, “Morning, Mom.” Then Gerald saw that they were having oatmeal for breakfast. He was going to say, “Ugh! I can’t stand oatmeal.” Instead, he said, “Thanks, Mom, you’re sure nice to have my breakfast ready.”
“Good morning, Gerald,” said Dad. “Greg and Jennie and I have been talking about our New Year’s resolutions.”
Greg and Jennie were Gerald’s little brother and sister. They were twins and it seemed to Gerald that all they ever did was argue.
“I resolved to eat all of my oatmeal every morning,” said Jennie with a giggle.
“Big deal!” said Greg. “That’s no resolution. You love oatmeal.”
“Jennie also resolved to make her bed every morning before playing,” said Dad.
“And Greg resolved to write a letter to Grandma and Grandpa once a week and make his bed every morning.”
“How about you, Gerald?” asked his mother again. “Have you made any resolutions?”
“As a matter of fact, I have,” answered Gerald with a grin. “But, they’re a secret.”
“A secret!” cried Greg. “That’s no fun! How will we know if you’re keeping your resolutions?”
“Oh, you’ll know,” answered Gerald with an even bigger grin. “I made five resolutions and you’re supposed to guess what they are by watching me.”
“Ah ha!” said Mom. “That explains a few things that have already surprised me this morning. I think I know what two of your resolutions are.”
“Well, one of my resolutions is to see that the garage stays clean,” said Dad. “And I notice that someone has left my tools scattered all over the workbench. I expect that someone to put them back where they belong.”
“I didn’t touch them,” said Jennie.
“I haven’t been in the garage,” Greg declared.
“I didn’t do it,” was what Gerald was about to say, but then he remembered using them. “I used them, Dad, and I’ll put them away today for sure,” he promised.
Dad smiled. “I think I’m beginning to guess one of your secret resolutions too,” he said, winking at Gerald.
“What is it?” teased Jennie.
“You have to guess,” Gerald answered.
“I’m going to tidy up the garage this morning,” Dad announced. “Why don’t each of you do whatever you need to, and then we’ll play a game of football when I’m through.”
“I’ll make my bed,” shouted Jennie and Greg at the same time, and they both ran off to their bedrooms.
“I’ll do these dishes,” Mom said and began clearing the table.
“I’ll warm up the football,” Gerald almost said; then he remembered. “Can I help you, Mom, before I put away the tools?”
After Gerald finished helping with the dishes and putting away Dad’s tools, he went to his room to make his bed and get the football. When he walked down the hall he found Jennie and Greg arguing over who should put away an animal game that was spread on the hall floor.
“You got it out,” complained Jennie.
“You helped me play with it,” said Greg.
“Will you two ever quit fighting?” was what Gerald nearly said, but he didn’t.
“Hey, you two, it will just take a minute to put this game away if you both help. In fact, I’ll help you. Let’s see how fast we can pick it up.”
Gerald’s family had fun playing football and doing many other things that day. By evening Gerald’s family thought they had guessed all five of his resolutions. They wrote them down and gave them to Gerald to see if they had guessed right.
And they had!
Can you guess what Gerald promised to be when he made his New Year’s resolutions? Unscramble the five words if you don’t already know.
rfeeluhcloteiplufhtrutplufelhgmakceepain.
Answers:
Helpful, cheerful, truthful, peaceful, and meek.

“Boy, I’ll bet you’re glad that your sister’s getting married tomorrow!” With all the fussing over Christine’s temple wedding and reception, and finding himself in everyone’s way most of the time, Jason had to agree with his friend Randy. He was glad that the wedding was tomorrow! As he tossed the baseball idly back to Randy, he said, “Well, at least I won’t have to stand in line anymore to use the bathroom. She’s always in there taking a bath or doing something to her face.”
“Yeah, sisters can make life miserable,” Randy agreed. “Even mine, and she’s only two years old!”
The boys called it quits on the game of catch and found a seat on the back porch steps.
“Remember that game we played in the mud last summer?” Jason asked. “Lucky for me, I got home before my folks saw me. But who do you think I found in the bathroom? Christine! It smelled like a perfume factory in there! Phew!”
Randy frowned. “I bet she told on you, too, didn’t she?”
“Well, … no.”
“You’re kidding!”
“I guess she didn’t,” Jason said with a shrug. “At least Mom and Dad never said a word when—”
Before Jason could finish, two of Christine’s girlfriends, her bridesmaids for the reception, came out the back door, down the steps, and drove away in their car.
“Don’t girls ever stop giggling?” Randy complained. “I guess you’ve heard a lot of that in your house.”
“Yeah.” Jason sighed. “Sometimes when Christine had friends over, I’d go to my room just to get some peace and quiet. All they ever did was eat pizza and talk about boys! Yuck!” Jason kicked a stone off the step below, then added thoughtfully,
“But she always saved me some pizza.”
“Who?”
“My sister.”
“Oh.”
The two friends silently watched a robin working on a worm in the grass.
“Hey! Just think!” Randy shouted. “Now you’ll have a new sitter when your folks go out.”
“So?”
“Well, didn’t you always tell me that your sister gave you a hard time when she stayed with you, making you go to bed at the same time, even when it wasn’t a school night?”
Jason remembered the many times that Christine had watched him. “Yeah. Nine o’clock, even on weekends!” Then he remembered something else. “Nine o’clock without fail except for that night last year when we had the bad storm and the lights went out.”
Randy elbowed his friend. “She made you go to bed earlier, right?”
“Well, … no,” Jason admitted. He smiled a little. “Christine got out our sleeping bags and flashlights, made some sandwiches, and turned on her portable radio. We camped out in the living room.”
“Huh?”
“Yeah! It was neat!”
“Neat, huh?” Randy teased. “OK. I guess you forgot the Halloween when she made the costume that made you a laughingstock!”
Jason stopped smiling. That was a Halloween that he’d never forget! Christine had volunteered to make him a costume in her home economics class at school. Jason was supposed to be a plain old pirate. But Christine outdid herself and added so much ribbon and lace and so many sequins that Jason ended up looking more like a gypsy than a pirate.
“Ha! You really looked funny!” Randy laughed, wagging a finger at Jason.
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Jason admitted, his face getting hot and red. He didn’t like remembering that terrible night! “If it hadn’t been for that lousy costume, those big guys from Willow Street would have left me alone and not taken my whole bag of candy.”
But Jason also remembered how Christine had gotten angry—not at him, but at the bullies who’d stolen his candy. “Let’s go!” she had ordered, grabbing Jason by the arm, then spending two more hours in their rainy neighborhood with him, watching and waiting as Jason refilled his treat bag.
“Boy, she’s some sister,” Randy said in a tone of disgust.
“Yeah, she sure is,” Jason agreed quietly. He got up, adding, “And tomorrow’s the wedding. This is my last chance to really tell her what I think of her.”
Jason marched straight to Christine’s bedroom, took a deep breath, and knocked.
“Come on in,” Christine called. She was setting her hair, stretching and pulling strands of it over prickly tubes. “Hi, Jase!” she said cheerfully. “What’s up?”
The room was filled with clouds of Christine’s perfume. Jason almost forgot what he wanted to say as he stared at the billowing, white gown that hung on her closet door.
Christine looked at him in the mirror. “Is something wrong?” she asked, putting down her brush and turning to her little brother.
“I—I—” he stammered, blushing. “I just wanted to tell you something,” Jason managed to say very quickly. Standing as tall as possible, he took a deep breath and let it out: “Christine, I love you, and I’m gonna miss you!”
Christine smiled and put her arms around Jason. “Oh, Jase,” she said softly. “I love you too.” Then she laughed a little. “And I’m going to miss you, too.”
Jason hugged her back. “I know,” he said. “But I guess you’ll be coming back to visit.”
“Of course I will,” Christine promised.
Jason grinned. “Good. Because I don’t know what I’m going to do without you.”
Christine laughed again. “You’ll manage.”

One Sunday night about three months after I had moved from my native Mexico to the United States to attend school, I flipped through several radio stations trying to find some good Sunday music. As I listened to several local stations, I heard a familiar voice and stopped.
I suspected that the voice was that of President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910?2008), who was President of the Church at the time. I realized that it was odd for me to be able to distinguish his voice. I was accustomed to listening to general conference, Church Educational System firesides, and other Church broadcasts through the voice of a Spanish interpreter speaking over the speaker’s voice. Yet somehow I knew the voice on the radio was that of President Hinckley.
I wasn’t yet fluent enough in English to understand what he was saying, but I listened to the talk on the radio anyway. His voice brought a feeling of peace. When the talk ended, the radio announcer said, “We have just heard President Gordon B. Hinckley.”
I knew that the Lord speaks through His servants and that whether the message comes by His voice or that of His prophets, it is the same (see D&C 1:38).
I thought about how unusual it was that I had recognized President Hinckley’s voice. Having done so made me realize that I always want to be able to recognize the voice the Lord uses to communicate with His children—regardless of the source.
“My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me,” the Savior said (John 10:27).
In a world filled with many voices—many “stations”—to flip through, I hope I can always be attuned to recognize the voice of my Shepherd and His servants and to be willing to follow their counsel.

Crocodiles, sharks, and sea snakes may seem to be strange things to mention as memories from childhood. But when Domingos Liao was growing up in Darwin, Australia, they were an everyday part of his life.
Domingos and his friends would ride their bikes to the mouth of Rapid Creek, where fresh water and sea water mix.
While wading across, dodging jellyfish adrift in the current, they would watch for sharks that had wandered in from the sea, crocodiles buried in the mud, poisonous sea snakes, and stonefish with their venomous spikes. Despite the perils, they crossed the river again and again, lured by what they knew was on the other side.
“It was a land of promise,” Domingos remembers. “We could catch buckets of fish. The beaches were untouched and clean. There were green fields where nobody had been before.”
Today a bridge crosses the river. The open spaces have become a park, crisscrossed with jogging paths and frequented by university students. Still, Domingos likes to visit the river, to remember and to think.
His young life is full of memories. They begin on the island of Timor, several hundred miles north of Australia. His Chinese parents were working in the Portuguese colony there (Domingos is a Portuguese name) when it was invaded by Indonesia. The men fled to Portugal. Women and children escaped to Australia. “My mother, myself, and some other relatives came on one of two boats that got away,” Domingos explains. “We were lucky to survive.”
Domingos’s father later joined them in Darwin. Thanks to hard work, the family prospered. Two more boys were born. Domingos learned English. He discovered sports—cricket, karate, tennis, soccer, handball, volleyball. He excelled in school, in music, and in art. He worked in his uncle’s restaurant.
One day his aunt, a newly baptized Latter-day Saint, introduced his family to the missionaries. Soon the Liaos family joined the Church. “We were active for about a year,” Domingos says. “Then my parents stopped going. I kept on for a while; then I started to play cricket on Sundays. But my conscience kept nagging me that I should be in church.”
It was at this time that Domingos’s grandfather, who lived in Melbourne, suffered a stroke. He wasn’t expected to live. Domingos, 16, felt compelled to pray. “I told Heavenly Father that if he would give Grandfather a chance, I would devote my life to the Church. But I didn’t just wait for him to recover. When we returned home, I returned to church. I’ve been taught that if you promise something, you should do it.”
Grandpa did get better. And by the time he did, Domingos was going to church, not just to keep a promise, but because he truly believed it was the right thing to do.
By the time Domingos turned 18, his Church activity began to irritate his father.
“Dad thought seminary was getting in the way of my schoolwork, so he banned me from getting up early to go. I wanted to honor him, so I quit going. But I still did seminary at home. Then he didn’t want that either, so I put that away.
“Then he would find me reading my scriptures and think I hadn’t done my homework, even though my grades were good. One time he grabbed my scriptures and threw them in the rubbish bin. I had spent the last two years reading them and marking them, and they are really precious to me. The next morning I was able to get them back, but I had to give them to the branch president for safekeeping.”
It wasn’t long before Domingos’s father banned him from everything related to Church activity—scripture study, Mutual activities, home teaching, and, finally, Sunday meetings.
“Even though I was 18 and legally my own person, my first reaction was to obey. Really. You want to obey your father because he is your father. But I knew I couldn’t break my promise to Heavenly Father to attend church.
“Dad said if I went that Sunday, not to worry about coming back. So I packed my bags. My prayers were very sincere that night. The next morning, when he saw me dressed up, he was furious.”
Domingos left, but his parents came to the chapel and found him. They reached an agreement that he could attend every other Sunday. “I wasn’t happy with it, but it was better than nothing,” he says.
The next time he got ready for church, his father again told him that if he went, he could never return. “The second time was just as bad, probably worse. I’d been waiting to receive my patriarchal blessing, and the patriarch, who can come only about once a year, had come from far away. I got there for the appointment, but my father came at the same time. I had to go home and missed my blessing.”
The third time that his father confronted him in a similar way, Domingos left home and moved in with his grandmother. “Eventually my mum came and said my father was all right and wouldn’t get angry again. So I came back.”
While at his grandmother’s home, Domingos had developed a desire to serve a full-time mission. “I prayed, and the answer was very certain that I should go when I turned 19. From then on, my mind was made up—I just needed to prepare.”
He found that if he completed his first year of study, the University of the Northern Territory would agree to give him two years off to serve. But he would have to carry an even harder class load for a few months before he left. “My coordinator actually encouraged me and said the mission would be a good experience,” Domingos says. Domingos continued something he had done since high school—telling fellow students about the steps of repentance and the plan of salvation.
He intensified his scripture study, memorizing many passages. “The scriptures brought me peace,” he says. “They reminded me of the things I should be doing.”
He joined the full-time missionaries when they gave discussions. He often bore his testimony. He kept a journal, writing in it every day. His Church leaders interviewed him, found him worthy, and sent in his missionary application.
Then one day, this time when he returned from church, his father ordered him out of the house for the fourth time. “It was pretty final,” Domingos says. “He was not pleased with my plans for a mission. He said if I went, I wouldn’t be his son anymore.”
Domingos’s branch president, Michael Kuhn, invited him to live in his home until the mission call arrived.
Finished with his schoolwork, Domingos filled his days with prayer, uplifting music, Church activities, missionary work, and scripture study. Sometimes he would read the scriptures all day long.
And then the letter came: “You are called to labor in the Hong Kong Mission.” Domingos returned home for a short time to try to make peace with his family before he left. “Mainly because they knew they could not change my mind, they yielded,” he says. Before he left, the family went out to dinner together and took lots of farewell photos.
Letters written from the Missionary Training Center and from the mission field reflect the joy that quickly followed:
—“At the airport I was able to meet one of the missionaries who taught me, Elder (Hoyt) Skabelund, and his wife and baby and parents. I am slowly learning Cantonese. The people in the MTC are wonderful.”
—“I’ve received two letters from my mother. Everything is going well at home. They are being blessed greatly, and they know it! My family and relatives are now happy that I am serving a mission. Surely God is a God of miracles!”
—“I have done my first street display, talking to everyone who goes by. I have taught the six discussions in Cantonese.”
—“Now I have been transferred to Macau, a Portuguese colony neighbouring the coast of China. I am pretty lucky because not many missionaries get to serve here. We are teaching an investigator, and he will be baptized. I know that God called me here to do a special work.”
—“Every inconvenience was worth overcoming to read the Book of Mormon. Every insult was worth swallowing to keep the Sabbath holy. Every moment was worth waiting for to kneel in private prayer, every pain worth enduring to attend church. Every blow was worth taking, every torment worth suffering, every tear worth shedding to come on this mission.”
Today in Macau, Elder Liao looks out the window of his missionary apartment and sees a promised land.
“When I decided to go on a mission,” he says, “I knew there would be strong currents against me. I didn’t really know the dangers lurking in the water, what might try to sting me or to swallow me up. I was thinking only about making it. Now here I am, and I know that it’s worth it.”
And he is eager to build a bridge to help others, including his family, to cross over to the other side.

I don’t have any photographs of myself as a child. One afternoon during my senior year in high school, my mother, who was a school teacher, and I were driving home together after my basketball practice. We lived on a ranch about three miles outside of the small town of Lima, Montana, where the school was located. As we neared our home, we could see smoke billowing up from the house. I was driving and rushed to get home. When we got there, the house was already engulfed in flames. Fortunately my stepfather and little brother were safely out working in the field. But everything that we owned, everything, burned in the fire. That was a very traumatic experience for me. I was sixteen years old, and to be left with nothing was a very, very lonely feeling.
Friends came that night and put my family up in their homes for a few days. I was distraught from worrying about what our family would do. I stayed awake most of the night, worrying and occasionally weeping. I remember that my mother came into my room about four o’clock in the morning and said, “My dear son, everything will be all right. As long as we have family, friends, and the gospel, we have everything.” That was a marvelous lesson for me to learn.

When Hal was 13, his father took a significant position at the University of Utah. The younger Henry attended early-morning seminary and took some enjoyment in playing on his high school’s basketball team, but by his own admission never made any close personal friends.
While feeling sorry for himself one day, he received an impression that would change his life. He felt it was a warning from God: “Someday, when you know who you really are, you will be sorry you didn’t use your time better.” He responded to that prompting by reading the Book of Mormon several times as a teenager. He also felt guided by President David O. McKay’s book Gospel Ideals, which, among other things, taught him how to properly treat women, a devotion he would show all of his life to his beloved wife, Kathleen.
Since early childhood, Hal’s deepest dreams were to be married and form a family. He thought about his future children so often that he’d already given them the collective nickname “The Redheads,” imagining them with red hair like his mother’s.
This dream finally moved toward fruition during his service as a counselor in the Boston District presidency, a Church calling Hal had while he was pursuing his graduate work at Harvard University following his undergraduate studies at the University of Utah. As a doctoral student in the summer of 1960, Hal represented the district presidency at a single-adult devotional held at the Cathedral of the Pines in southwest New Hampshire, USA, a natural outdoor amphitheater of note in the region. At the event he saw a young woman in a red and white dress and was impressed by the pure goodness she radiated. He thought, “That’s the best person I’ve ever seen. If I could be with her for the rest of my life, I could be every good thing I ever wanted to be.”
The young woman was Kathleen Johnson from Palo Alto, California, USA, who hadn’t intended to be in New England that summer but, at the insistence of her friend, had attended summer school with her at Harvard. Following that outdoor devotional, Hal arranged to meet Kathy at church one Sunday and was happy to hear she enjoyed playing tennis. Hal had been playing tennis several times a week with a college friend and was a good natural athlete, so he assumed a game of tennis would be an ideal first date and a way for him to make a terrific impression. What Kathleen didn’t tell him was that she had been the captain of her high school tennis team! “She cleaned me out,” Hal still grumbles about the match. This was the first of his future wife’s remarkable examples of living humbly and then helping her husband to do so.
Following their marriage and Hal’s eventual appointment to the faculty of the business school at Stanford University, late one night in December 1970, just a few months before Hal was released as the bishop of the student ward in Palo Alto, Kathy asked a question seemingly out of the blue. As Hal climbed into bed after a demanding day, she leaned over and asked, “Are you sure you’re doing what you ought to be doing with your career?”
Her question caught him by surprise. Everything in their life seemed perfect. The future seemed bright and clear, even down to the Eyring dream home that Hal had recently outlined in his journal. It would include such niceties as “a room for projects, large enough and rough enough to work on and store a kayak,” along with “at least five electrical outlets by the kitchen table” and “a shed or bathhouse retreat for writing.”
“What do you mean?” Hal asked his wife.
“Couldn’t you do studies for Neal Maxwell?” she suggested, referring to the Church’s new Commissioner of Education. At this, Hal was truly dumbfounded. He had only met Neal A. Maxwell once, and he knew that Kathleen had never met him at all. He tried to describe to her why such a career shift would not be a good fit for him, yet she insisted he at least pray over the matter. This he did immediately, dropping to kneel by the bed and offering a short prayer. When no answer came, Hal felt the matter decided and soon went to sleep.
The following morning, however, Hal received two distinct spiritual impressions that would forever alter the course of his career and his life. He captured both in his journal. First, “Don’t use your human judgment to eliminate opportunities presented to you: pray about them all with an open mind.” And second, “Do the tasks you are assigned in the Church and your profession as well as you can; they are preparation.”
The first impression came as something of a rebuke that Hal would forever thereafter live by. After having previously rejected three different job offers without praying over them, into his mind came the words, “Don’t you ever make that mistake again. You don’t know which end is up in your career.”
With this spiritual direction fresh in his mind, Hal was prepared when less than three weeks later, Commissioner Maxwell called to schedule a meeting with him in Salt Lake City. Brother Maxwell got right to the point. “I’d like to ask you to be the president of Ricks College,” he said. Hal replied that he would have to pray about it. He did and the terse answer he received was, “It’s my school.” The rest, as they say, is history. His service in the Church since then has been as exemplary as it has been conspicuous, moving on to serve as Deputy Commissioner of Education and then Commissioner (twice), followed by calls to the Presiding Bishopric, the Quorum of the Seventy, the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, and as a counselor to three Presidents of the Church.
Photograph with President Hinckley from Deseret News
But in a very real sense to Hal, no calling in the Church was more important for him than another: “The pressures at every stage of life can tempt us to reject or neglect calls to serve the Savior,” President Eyring has taught. “Some of those calls may seem unimportant, but my life, and my family, was changed for the better by my accepting a call to teach a deacons quorum. I felt the love of those deacons for the Savior and His love for them.”2

When Brother Johnson was in the war in Iraq, whenever he was involved in a combat operation, there were always some standby forces while they were doing their missions, ready to help us in case of an emergency, they were called the quick reaction force.

On one occasion, they moved from one city to another, and their convoy of vehicles was ambushed. This quick reaction force immediately helped them to get out of a dangerous situation and continue their mission. In the gospel, you and I, all of us, are that quick reaction force, where we are always ready to help a family member, a loved one, a friend, a member of our quorum or class, or anyone who needs help to continue on the covenant path.

The Dating Dilemma is universal—many young men want to date when they turn 16, but are terrified by the thought of actually asking a girl out. Here’s how one high school student overcame his fears and embarrassments and learned that dating can be fun and free of pressure.
In my high school there was a sort of formal-dance mania that affected the minds of people in the student government, resulting in annoyingly frequent events such as the Halloween Prom, the Christmas Prom, the Welcome Back from Christmas Vacation Prom, the First Day of Trout Season Prom, the Bud Mulby Memorial Prom (Bud Mulby was our janitor who didn’t die, but was fired for taking part in a food fight in the school cafeteria after he was hit in the head with a burrito).
About eight weeks before each prom I would develop what medical experts call “promitis”—a condition that carries symptoms such as loss of appetite, insomnia, acne, hair loss, hyperventilation, halitosis, runny nose, mumbling, temporary insanity, and generally stupid behavior (such as absentmindedly wearing your pants backwards or using your deodorant as a breath spray).
Asking a girl to a prom when you’ve got some of the more severe symptoms of promitis significantly decreases your chances of getting a yes answer. Fortunately, about 98 percent of the guys in my school got promitis, greatly lowering the quality of the competition.
But, as petrified of females as we all were, few forgot the golden rule of preprom etiquette—never look any girl in the eye for fear she might think you want to ask her to the prom. The net result of all of this was a school filled with guys wandering the halls like a bunch of zombies, afraid to look anyone in the eye, wearing their pants backwards, with breath that smelled like Right Guard.
It was not surprising that most of the girls in our school asked their parents if they could move to another state.
But still, a distant voice in the back of my mind said, “Don’t be a loser. Go to the prom. It’ll be fun.” I was caught in the dating dilemma.
So, with only three weeks to go until the Twenty-Ninth Anniversary of the Invention of Clearasil Prom, I began the process of selecting a girl who might possibly agree to go with me. I immediately ruled out the cheerleaders, or any girl who looked like she could be a cheerleader, or looked like she was thinking of becoming a cheerleader, or knew someone who was a cheerleader. The thought of getting up the nerve to ask a cheerleader to the prom caused me to lose control of basic motor skills.
I also ruled out girls who were older than me, girls who were taller than me, girls who were smarter than me, and any girls who were in the cafeteria the day I had the coughing spell and sent raspberry Jello all over Lisa McKeever’s new blouse.
After three days of intensive research and coin tossing I decided that Donna Spirlozzi was the perfect girl for me to ask. I didn’t really know Donna Spirlozzi, but she rode my bus and I had sat across the aisle from her once about two months earlier, creating an important social bond that would greatly help my chances. More important than this, however,was the fact that not only was she absent the day of my coughing spell in the cafeteria, she was also out for a week after that and didn’t read about it in the school newspaper. A definite plus!
But now the real work began. Girls really have no idea what kind of agony guys to through when faced with having to ask one of them out on a date. They seem to think it’s merely a matter of walking up to them and saying something like, “Would you like to go to the prom with me?” Ha! Are they ever wrong. There are many important considerations to be made before taking such a drastic step. Did I slosh on enough quarts of cologne? Am I wearing my pants backwards? Answering one of these questions incorrectly could have ruined my social life for the next 40 or 50 years.
But, the time had come. I had sloshed on enough of my dad’s cologne to give the impression that an Old Spice factory had blown up nearby, my pants were not on backwards, and there was no trace of deodorant on my breath. Spotting Donna Spirlozzi by her locker, I walked up to her and became … a babbling idiot. As near as I can recall I said, “You, you, you wanna prom prom?” Fortunately she thought I was some sort of foreign exchange student. She smiled, I smiled back, and then I escaped quickly down the hall. It became obvious that I could not handle this momentous task face-to-face. I would have to rely on the telephone.
You would think it was simply a matter of looking up the number, dialing it, and asking Donna to the prom. This was not the case. Instead, I would dial two numbers, hang up, and watch TV. Then dial three numbers, hang up, and watch TV. It took me six hours to dial all seven numbers, only to discover that I had dialed the wrong number and had asked a woman named Blanche Lerchfeld to the prom. Blanche thanked me but said she had her bridge club that night. I watched more TV.
When I finally did get a hold of Donna things actually went quite well. She said she’d go to the prom with me, and we had a great time. It would be nice to say that Donna and I eventually got married and lived happily ever after, but that was not to be. But asking her out was a big step on the way to overcoming my fear of girls. In fact we even went to the Elvis Birthday Commemorative Prom when we were seniors. And that time I even had the nerve to ask her in person.

I wasn’t part of the popular crowd at my high school, so my circle of friends was smaller than most. I was so shy that I kept to myself most of the time. I was, as the saying goes, “painfully shy.” Indeed, I was so shy it hurt.
One day as I sat down at my desk in history class, another shy girl sat down behind me. We had spoken to each other prior to this, I’m sure, but I didn’t really know her.
As she set her books on top of her desk, her notebook crashed to the floor beside me. I turned to pick it up and noticed the words Seminary—The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints on the cover. I reached down and retrieved the binder. As I handed it to her, I timidly said, “Oh, you go to church on Saturday?”
Her face displayed confusion at the question. “No, why?”
I pointed to the notebook cover. “It says, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Doesn’t that mean you go to church on the last day of the week?”
She smiled and giggled slightly. Then she took a deep breath and asked, “What do you know about the Mormon Church?”
I answered quite honestly, “Not very much.”
She inhaled deeply again and asked, “Would you like to know more?”
“Yes, I would,” I replied without hesitation.
At that instant her lower jaw must have hit the floor. Her eyes sparkled, and she looked visibly relieved. I found out her name was Yvonne Anderson, and we became friends. Before long we had set a date for me to meet with the missionaries and receive the first discussion. And when I was baptized, Yvonne was there.
I know that notebook did not fall on the floor by accident. And silly as my first question must have sounded, it was golden: it opened up a way for one shy girl to say to another, “Would you like to know more?”
That day in history class, an instant bond was formed. Because of two golden questions, two shy girls became eternal friends.