Gospel Story Finder

When Sister Gurney and Sister Chambers started their day, they never could have imagined the series of tender mercies Heavenly Father had in store. As missionaries for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, these young women have dedicated their time and talents to share the gospel of Jesus Christ in Japan for a year and a half.
On that day in March 2023, they were caught in a pouring rainstorm, without phone service, transportation, or umbrellas. Soaking wet, they hurried to a home, where they had hoped to find a Japanese member of the Fuchu Ward. Although the resident there was not the Church member they were looking for, they were directed to try a nearby apartment, where some “foreigners” were living.
Hurrying through the storm, they knocked on the apartment door of Theresa Akuye Amui, from Sierra Leone. She was neither a member of the Church nor Japanese, but the missionaries were dripping wet, and so she invited them in. Theresa was in Japan to work on her master’s degree in conflict studies, specializing in migration. She planned to work for the United Nations. Her husband, Peter, was still in Sierra Leone.
Entering the apartment, the two missionaries met Theresa’s friend, Andrea Treasure Sam, who is also from Sierra Leone.
Just moments before the missionaries knocked on the door, Andrea, who was waiting out the storm in Theresa’s home, was sharing a concern about finding a family-friendly Christian church to attend with her children when they arrived from Sierra Leone. She knew that even if she found a church, it would be a Japanese speaking congregation, and they had just started trying to learn the language. She didn’t know what to do.
After getting to know Theresa and Andrea a little, Sister Gurney told them she felt that there was a reason they were there, and asked if she could share a message from The Book of Mormon. Although they had been told bad stories about the book in their country, and were warned to avoid it, Theresa and Andrea agreed. Sister Gurney shared one of her favorite scriptures, Ether 12:27, along with others. The friends were surprised; it wasn’t what they had been told about at all, and it testified of Jesus Christ!
The missionaries gave their English copy of the book to Theresa and offered to get one for Andrea. She explained that her husband had previously received lessons from missionaries while he was studying in Japan.
Just two months after that rainy day in March, on May 14 Theresa entered the waters of baptism. When asked how her life has changed since joining the Church, she explained, “My view of life has changed. I have found peace. I used to have so many questions. Having the Book of Mormon has opened my perspective; it has helped me to understand the Bible more fully.”
One day, when Sister Gurney and Sister Sasaki came to teach a lesson to Andrea, they told her that Theresa was going to be baptized and asked her if she would also want to get baptized. Andrea told the sisters that she would pray about it. She had experienced the influence of the Holy Spirit in the past and said that if she had that same feeling when she prayed about joining the Church, then she would be baptized. If not, then the answer was “No.”
She later shared her experience, “When I prayed about baptism, I had this eagerness; I became so anxious to do it. I discussed it with my husband because he was waiting for me to be ready, so we could get baptized together. I said, ‘Let’s continue to pray.’ So, we did, and I kept having the eagerness.”
Andrea’s husband, Wusu, was going to be leaving in two months, so when they attended Theresa’s baptism, they told the missionaries that they wanted to be baptized right away. The whole family spent the next three weeks learning about the gospel, and on June 4, Wusu, Andrea, and Patricia, their oldest daughter, were all baptized, and then confirmed members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Andrea said, “Ever since I joined the Church, I found another family. When I came to Japan, I didn’t have anyone.” She shared a recent story about when she was sick. The sisters in the ward brought homemade soup for their family and a surprise package that cheered her up. The Church has already blessed their lives in many ways in a short time.
Theresa also has had a special experience. Soon after she was baptized, Theresa began preparing to go to the Tokyo Temple to perform vicarious baptisms for her deceased ancestors, who did not have the opportunity to receive the fulness of Christ’s gospel in this life. Through the efforts of those around the world doing indexing of public records, and with help from ward members and the missionaries, Theresa was able to find long lost information about her father, who died when she was young. This was such a blessing, as many family records were destroyed by bombings during wars in Sierra Leone. The database was updated just before her baptism. She was then able to prepare his name, her grandmother’s, and others to receive baptism and other temple ordinances.

“A Latter-day Saint missionary couple at the trading post baptized my husband when he was ten years old, and he attended Church services from that time on. He was selected to be part of the Church’s placement program and was to be sent to Utah to live with a foster family and go to school. An hour before the bus was to leave, a friend, Brother Bloomfield, put a bowl on his head and gave him a quick haircut. All of his belongings were put into a shoe box—he had no shoes. There were more holes in the Levis he was wearing than there was denim material. He was put on a bus at night, given two dollars by Brother Bloomfield, and told that he would arrive there by morning.”
At this point, I was thinking how difficult it must have been for that little boy to leave his family to go all alone on a bus to a place with a different culture where he knew no one. The only tie that he had with them was that he was a member of the Latter-day Saint Church.
The General Authority’s wife continued: “On the first day at his new school in Utah the children all gathered round my husband. They had never seen an Indian before. ‘Where’s your war paint?’ they asked. ‘Where are your moccasins?’
“The new foster parents were concerned because their Indian son was so shy. In fact, the only words he spoke to them during the first three months were yes and no. At Christmastime they gave him some new clothes—two pairs of pants, four shirts, two pairs of stockings, etc. The mother asked him to go upstairs and try them on. After quite a while he came downstairs with all of the shirts, pants, and socks on at the same time. It was difficult to get used to a new language and customs.
“Even though my husband’s now very busy, he enjoys football and basketball. When he’s hot, he has a great corner shot and can’t miss! When he has spare time, which isn’t often, he loves to play the harmonica. Last Christmas he played for the General Authorities at their Christmas party.
“My husband believes that family home evening is a great time to train children to be leaders. He always has one of our children conduct. One of them will assign the prayers and choose the hymns. At the conclusion, the one conducting thanks all those who participated. Usually the person who gave the lesson is sincerely complimented. Then the closing song is announced and the name of the one to give the closing prayer.
“One morning the children’s father had to leave at 5 A.M. for an early meeting at the Church offices. Later he called when the children were just getting up and we all had family prayer with him on the telephone.”
His small children had these comments: “When Daddy comes home, he tells me that if I eat my dinner he’ll give me a horsey ride. Sometimes he’ll give my friend a ride too!”
“Dad is helping me to save money for my mission.”
“My daddy shows us how to clean. He always tells us to clean the counter when we wash the dishes.”
“He’s kind.”
“When he plays football with us, we all have to speak nicely.”
When asked about her husband’s favorite topic to speak on, she said, “He always says that we’re all God’s children, no matter what color we are, and that our church has no room for prejudice. When he speaks, he represents the whole Church, not just the Lamanite people.”

The next morning I was up a little before five, tossing bundles of the Herald onto the back seat of the car. During the night the snow had stopped and the world was buried under its wet cottony mass. I glanced down the driveway and wondered if I should take a few minutes to push some of the snow away before pulling out. Blowing on my numb fingertips and stomping the snow from my feet, I shook my head. I didn’t have time, I reasoned. And I was sure I could get out without getting stuck.
The first stop I made was at Sister Rencher’s. With most people I didn’t make the effort to set the paper inside the front door. I just tossed it in the general direction of the porch. But with Sister Rencher I made an exception because it was so hard for her to get around. I snatched a paper off the back seat, stepped from the car, and sprinted for the front steps. I stopped at the end of the walk and stared in disbelief. The front walk and steps were swept completely clean. I glanced at my watch—5:15 A.M. “Boy, somebody’s sure been up early this morning,” I muttered, hurrying up the clean walk and setting the paper inside the storm door. “Maybe Sister Rencher can get around with that walker better than I thought,” I grinned.
“That was quick,” Dad called to me as I burst in from the cold 90 minutes later. He was just putting on his coat and stuffing papers into his briefcase before heading out the door for work.
“There’s a ton of snow out there,” I remarked. “It must have snowed another four inches after we went to bed.”
“I guess you cleaned off the walks and driveway,” Dad joked.
“What did you want me to do, get up at three o’clock?” I grinned back. “I was lucky to get the papers delivered. But somebody was sure up early. Sister Rencher’s walks were clean as spring.”
Dad smiled. “What about Sister Hatch’s and Sister Ballard’s?”
“Dad, I was delivering papers, not home teaching. I don’t go over that way.”

When asked which merit badges had given them the most trouble, both Chad and Craig said that beekeeping was the greatest challenge. It wasn’t so much doing the work as it was finding someone who was qualified to teach them and pass them on the badge requirements. After some searching and one unsuccessful attempt to get together with a beekeeper, they finally found a man who was teaching a class in beekeeping at Weber State College, and they were able to complete the merit badge requirements with his help. By the way, Chad and Craig are still beekeepers.

Yet we had still another problem: no podium. As we prayed to know how to get one, I learned that a local elementary school had some wood we could use. For days I searched for a carpenter who could build a podium from the wood, but I couldn’t find one. Finally, on a Saturday, I decided to build it myself. I had never carried such heavy objects, and I would never have believed I could finish the podium in one day, but God helped me. The podium was ready for church the next day. All the members were amazed, but not as amazed as I was. It seemed a miracle to me.

Bishop Richard C. Edgley, First Counselor in the Presiding Bishopric, told of an experience where his integrity was similarly tested:
“Some 30 years ago, while working in the corporate world, some business associates and I were passing through O’Hare Airport in Chicago, Illinois. One of these men had just sold his company for tens of millions of dollars—in other words, he was not poor.
“As we were passing a newspaper vending machine, this individual put a quarter into the machine, opened the door to the stack of papers inside the machine, and began dispensing unpaid-for newspapers to each of us. When he handed me a newspaper, I put a quarter in the machine and, trying not to offend but to make a point, jokingly said, ‘Jim, for 25 cents I can maintain my integrity.’ ”1
Bishop Edgley could have easily walked away without paying for that newspaper. After all, 25 cents would have hardly made a difference to the publishers. But he knew it would make a difference to his integrity.

Things had not been easy for Todd. He was the only member of the Church in his family. He had come in contact with the Church over a year ago through Lisa.

Lisa was the warmest, most enthusiastic, most Christ-centered person he had ever met. They were in student government together. He was president of the student senate and she was vice president. He’d spent many hours in her home, working on various student projects, and it was like being in heaven as far as he was concerned. Her mother always baked cookies for them when she knew they’d be meeting. And even if the house wasn’t always perfectly neat, there was a good feeling there.

One day he had asked Lisa why she was so different, and she had told him about her membership in the Church. He was interested in what she had to say, and so she invited him to church. Soon he was taking the missionary lessons at her house.

In a month’s time he was ready to get baptized. He asked his parents for permission. They had no religious preferences themselves, so they gave their permission and he was baptized.

A short time later, his uncle heard about what had happened, and he came all the way from Illinois to try to talk Todd out of being a Mormon.

After his uncle had spent half a day being critical of the Church, his parents were finally persuaded to forbid Todd from attending church.

No matter how much Todd complained, his parents would not budge. He could attend any other church, but not that church.

It’s not fair, Todd thought. I’ve never given my parents any trouble, and all I’m asking is for them to let me worship God in the way I want to.

He considered pretending to go on a walk and then sneaking over to attend sacrament meeting. He phoned the bishop and asked for advice. The bishop told him to honor his parents and to set a good example and to try to win their confidence.

Todd followed the advice. At first it was hard to show love to his parents when they wouldn’t let him do the thing he most wanted to do, but he worked on it. He quit talking back to them and tried to be someone they could depend on.

One day Lisa’s family invited them over for a barbecue. It was good for his parents to see that Church members could be very nice people.

Just before Todd turned 17, his mother asked him what he wanted for his birthday. He said, “For you and Dad to go with me to church.”

She looked at him closely. “Is it really that important to you?”

“Yes.”

“All right, we’ll do that as our birthday present to you.”

Once his parents had gone to church, they softened in their opposition and let him attend. Sometimes they would even go with him, especially if he had a talk to give in sacrament meeting.

Todd stood up. “I’m glad that Jesus has restored the Church back to the earth, and that he’s given us men like our bishop to help us when we have problems …”

It’s Friday night. From Recife to Rio and from Salvador to São Paulo, the great megalopolises of Brazil teem with life as young people fill the streets, heading down beach boardwalks and downtown drives to outdoor festivals and markets, movies and shows, restaurants and clubs.
But in a certain corner of São Paulo—Brazil’s largest metropolis, with a population of 21 million—all the bustle of a big-city Friday night is forgotten as dozens of teenagers play a part in something most unusual.
They sit in small groups around a large, luminous building, occasionally checking their watches as they talk quietly into the night. They’re not staying up late to go to a dance club. They’re not lingering for the late show. They’re eagerly awaiting something of far greater significance, something their ancestors have also waited for: their assigned time to do baptisms for the dead in the São Paulo Brazil Temple.
Because this temple has been the only one in a nation of more than 700,000 Latter-day Saints, its doors have been open all night every Friday and until late Saturday in order to accommodate the busloads of Church members from outlying areas who are able to travel to the temple only on weekends. Upon their arrival, stakes are assigned times round the clock to do temple work.
According to former São Paulo temple president Aledir Barbour, handling such large numbers of temple goers “is now our greatest challenge because so many stakes want to come, but we cannot accommodate them all as we’d like.” He pauses, then smiles and adds, “But certainly it is a challenge we like to have.”
The white-haired, soft-spoken temple president cites the example of a group of youth and their leaders who traveled by bus from Belo Horizonte, a large city about 200 kilometers northeast of São Paulo. Youth from this stake brought with them the names of 10,000 ancestors, all of whom the teens had identified through their own research. The group stayed from Tuesday to Friday, but it wasn’t nearly enough time to perform the baptisms for all their ancestors.
The temple baptistry is so full of youth patrons, individuals can usually be baptized for only four or five deceased persons each time they come to the temple. And this is after many teens and their parents from outlying areas have saved for months to travel to the temple and have ridden on a bus for days to get to São Paulo.
When the São Paulo Temple was dedicated in 1978, it could handle the Church membership in Brazil, which then totaled less than 60,000. But membership in Brazil has increased more than tenfold since then, and for some time the temple has been consistently overflowing.
Fortunately, the rapid growth that has caused such a challenge is also a catalyst in bringing about wonderful change—change that is already beginning to bless the lives of Brazilian youth.
Peering through the rails of a fence, 17-year-old Fabio Fogliatto and his friends of the Canoas Brazil Stake watch intently as workers in hard hats construct a building near the southern tip of Brazil. Fabio notes with satisfaction that one of the workers leaves the construction site before smoking a cigarette. “He must know this is a sacred site for us,” Fabio says.
On the other side of the fence from the teens is a spectacular sight. Against the backdrop of the city, the walls of the Porto Alegre Brazil Temple rise out of the red earth.
“Just watching them build the temple, I can feel it really is a temple of the Lord,” says Ivan Carvalho, age 14, of the Esteio Ward. “It makes me feel even stronger that I want to come here to do ordinances for the dead and for myself.”
Fourteen-year-old Guilherme Recordon of the Estância Velha Ward adds, “And now that we have to go only 20 kilometers instead of 300, maybe we’ll be able to come here every week!”
The feelings of these boys represent a growing excitement all across Brazil as temples are built. Another temple is nearing completion in Campinas (a city just west of São Paulo), and yet another will be dedicated soon in the northern city of Recife. As the Church builds temples in Brazil, youth here are constructing their own temple-worthy lives.
Living worthy of going to the temple can be anything but easy for young Brazilians. They are teased by their peers if they don’t use drugs, alcohol, and tobacco. Extreme immodesty is common on billboards and prime-time television. Many students carry pornographic magazines to school. During carnaval, a weeklong festival Brazil is famous for, immodesty and immorality parade in the streets.
But Latter-day Saint youth say that looking to the temple helps them keep the commandments despite the many temptations and trials they face. “At school, when you won’t look at the [pornographic] magazines, people make fun of you. But I have a goal to serve a mission and marry in the temple, so I already know that if they push this stuff at me, I won’t do it,” says Fabio Marques, age 16, of the Campinas Fourth Ward, Campinas Brazil Stake. “I’ve already made my decision.”
Fabio says having a temple so close to his home in Campinas will strengthen him and his Latter-day Saint friends. “It’s hard to get to the temple in São Paulo, but soon we’ll be able to do baptisms for the dead more easily and frequently at the Campinas temple. And each time you do that, you make a stronger goal to return to the temple and to be worthy to marry in the temple.”
Whenever challenges seem too much for 18-year-old Janise Figueiró, she looks at a little bottle of red earth she received from her Young Women president in the Higienópolis Ward, Porto Alegre Brazil Moinhos de Vento Stake. “Whenever I look at that soil from the temple site, I remember to live worthy.”
Fourteen-year-old Juliano Garcia of the Guaiba Jardim Ward, Porto Alegre Moinhos de Vento stake, was thrilled with the prize he won. Although he had been a Church member for just under a year, he won a scripture chase in his multistake seminary bowl. As he began to look through the pages of his prize, a booklet entitled The Holy Temple by Elder Boyd K. Packer of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, he became fascinated with the pictures of temple baptismal fonts and celestial rooms. Juliano didn’t know much about the temple, but as he read in the booklet about baptism for the dead, his heart turned to his deceased grandparents. “I thought about my grandparents, how great they were, and I thought that more than anything I wanted to go to the temple for them.” Juliano hasn’t been able to travel to the São Paulo temple, but he is now preparing to go in Porto Alegre.
As Juliano and other Brazilian teens continue to construct their own temple-worthy lives little by little, they do not doubt that when the doors of the new temples are ready to open, they will be ready to enter.
When the angel Moroni appeared to 17-year-old Joseph Smith in 1823, he told the young prophet that Elijah the prophet would “plant in the hearts of the children the promises made to the fathers, and the hearts of the children shall turn to their fathers” (JS—H 1:39).
This prophecy is literally being fulfilled in the hearts of young Brazilians. “The Spirit of Elijah is working … , especially on the young people, to do work for their ancestors. It’s something that we cannot explain,” says former São Paulo temple president Aledir Barbour.
For example 16-year-old Jeferson Montenegro of Canoas (pictured below) and Suelen Alexandre (age 15); José Meirelles (age 18); Priscila Cavalieri (age 18); Carlita Fochetto (age 14); and Carolina (age 16), Christiane (age 15), and Carlos Rodriguez (age 12) of São Paulo volunteer in their Family History Centers for 10 to 20 hours each week. They assist Church members in their research, enter extracted names into the computer system, and search for names of their own ancestors.
These teens aren’t unusual. Many Brazilian youth have found the names of hundreds of their ancestors and have eagerly begun their temple work. Why? “I feel the influence of the Spirit of Elijah,” says Jeferson. “It makes me feel a closeness with those who’ve gone before me.”

The hollow feeling in my stomach slowly spread through my chest, and my throat tightened until I could no longer speak. The early winter drizzle even made the sky seem to weep as Amanda crept toward the car, her steps painful and faltering.
“I’ll get that,” I blurted, my mind jolted from numbness by her fumbling with the door handle. I opened the car door and watched in embarrassed silence as she maneuvered her body into the car. I shut the door after making sure her brace was completely inside. She looked at me through the rain-spattered window. “Thanks, Sara,” she mouthed. I nodded my reply and got in the other side.
My thoughts drifted back to another day. Summer sunlight had washed over the neighborhood that morning, soaking its warmth into our shoulders and the tops of our heads as Amanda and I rode our horses to the shopping center by our apartment. Well, they weren’t real horses. At least, they weren’t alive and you couldn’t see them. But they were real to us, and we rode them everywhere, always careful to tie them up before going inside. If we rode in a car, we tied them to the bumper and they followed behind. We even named them after our favorite ice-cream dishes at Gabby’s Ice-Cream Parlor: Starlight and Anastasia.
Amanda’s dad had picked us up later that afternoon in his car and dropped me off at home. It was the next morning before I learned that they had been in an accident and that Amanda had been severely burned.
The car jostled as it turned into the parking lot of Gabby’s Ice-Cream Parlor, bringing me back to the present. I had promised Amanda while she was still in the hospital that we would go to Gabby’s to celebrate her recovery. Now I wondered if I’d made the right decision.
Mom let us out in front of the plate-glass window that framed a row of booths. Amanda emerged from the car slowly. There were still some bandages on her arms, and one leg was encased in a metal brace. The spattering of freckles I had been jealous of was gone. In its place was whitish skin that stretched and pulled, as if there wasn’t enough to cover her face.
Heads turned and peered around the huge yellow and blue letters painted on the window. One little girl pointed at us. Her mouth moved in silent conversation. The woman beside her looked embarrassed and moved her away from the window. I squared my shoulders and returned their stares for Amanda’s sake. Defiance turned to surprise as I saw that their sad-eyed looks were directed at me too. I walked a few steps ahead of Amanda, my arms and legs swinging in exaggerated rhythm. Can’t you see there’s nothing wrong with me, I thought, my surprise turning to anger.
Finally we were inside and seated at a table. I studied the menu intently, as if it were directions to unearthing a million dollars in gold. I just about had everything memorized by the time our waitress got there. “I’ll have the Starlight Sundae,” I said, without looking up.
“I’ll have the Anastasia,” Amanda said quietly.
The waitress collected the menus. I counted the flowers in the pink flocked wallpaper and traced the marbled pattern in the tabletop with my finger until the sundaes arrived.
I usually lingered over every bite, enjoying the contrast of the smooth mint ice cream against the sharp bits of chocolate on my tongue. But today I only wanted to finish as quickly as possible. As soon as Amanda had taken her last bite, I wadded up my paper napkin and tossed it on the table.
“We’d better go,” I announced and added lamely, “I’m sure Mom’s outside by now.” Amanda offered no resistance.
I walked ahead to get the door. Amanda shuffled through, but instead of turning to the left, where Mom was waiting, she turned to the right and raised her burned hand slightly. I heard the familiar soft clicking noise that we used to call our horses.
“Come on, Anastasia,” she said softly. “Let’s go, girl”—her whisper was punctuated by a great, deep sob—“far away from here.” Her shoulders shook; her breath came in gasps. Tears dropped from her nose and chin onto the scarred hands she clasped tightly in front of her.
The hollow feeling in my stomach returned, and my throat tightened again. I felt helpless. I wanted to make people stop staring. I wanted to smooth her lumpy skin and give her back her freckles. I wanted to go back and change what happened that summer day and erase her pain.
I looked long into Amanda’s eyes for the first time since her accident. They shared the pain her physical body had endured. But there was more. Behind the pain were the eyes of the friend I had always known. Burned and scarred skin may have changed the outside, but Amanda would always be Amanda on the inside.
I put my arm around her shoulder. The rain had stopped. Despite the chilly air, the sunshine warmed the tops of our heads and our shoulders as we walked side by side to the car, oblivious to anyone else. Things would be different—and yet the same. I held on to Amanda’s hands and gently helped her onto the car seat. Then I picked up her leg by the steel bars that supported it and helped her position it in the car.
A smile appeared through her tears. “Thanks,” she said.
Our eyes met again, and I returned her smile. “Sure,” I replied. Then I added quietly so that only Amanda could hear, “I’ll tie the horses’ reins to the bumper so we can ride them when we get home.”

Tessa stared down at her shoes. It was time for gym class. Kids were picking teams to play kickball. She knew she would get picked last. She always did.
Soon no one else was left but Tessa. “I guess we’re stuck with her again,” the team captain whispered to his friend. Both of them snickered.
Tessa pretended she hadn’t heard.
A few minutes into the game, a girl on the other team kicked the ball. It was coming right at Tessa!
I’ll show them I can play! Tessa thought. She lunged forward to catch the ball. But it hit her arms and bounced to the ground.
“Can’t you do anything right?” the team captain said.
Tessa spun around to face him. “Fine! You don’t have to be stuck with me anymore!” She stomped over to the ball and kicked it hard.
Tessa’s best friend, Shondra, ran after her. “Hey, it’s all right,” Shondra said. “Anybody can drop a ball.”
“Yeah? Then how come nobody wants me on their team?” Tessa said.
“Maybe it’s because you get so mad,” Shondra said. She walked back to where the other kids were waiting.
Tessa sat on a bench in the corner of the playground. Her eyes stung with tears. She didn’t want the school to call her parents again. They had already called before. The principal said Tessa had trouble getting along with other kids.
Tessa didn’t know why she acted the way she did. She didn’t want to cause trouble. She just felt so angry and sad sometimes, and she had a hard time keeping it in.
Tessa sighed. “I’ll never fit in,” she said to herself.
When school ended, Tessa hurried outside. Mom was there to pick her up. She listened as Tessa told about her day.
“They never choose me to be on their team,” Tessa said. “I feel like no one is ever on my side.”
“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Mom said. “Sometimes people are unkind. But Heavenly Father is always on your side. And so is your family.” She gave Tessa a hug. “Let’s go home now. I have a surprise for you.”
When they got home, Grandma was there! Tessa always loved her visits.
“I want to know everything that’s going on in your life,” Grandma said. “How’s school?”
Tessa looked down. “Not very good.”
“Your mom said you were having a hard time,” Grandma said. “You know that she and your dad are praying for you, right?”
“Yeah.”
“And you know that Grandpa and I pray for you, right?”
Tessa nodded.
“Well, now you have a lot of other people praying for you too!”
“What do you mean?” Tessa asked.
“I put your name on the prayer roll in the temple,” Grandma said. “That way, lots of people are praying for you—even people who don’t know you.”
“So, it’s kind of like they’re on the same team as me?” Tessa said.
“Sure, you could look at it that way,” Grandma said. “Heavenly Father is always cheering you on! And now, so are all those people who are praying for you.”
“Thank you, Grandma!” Tessa gave Grandma a big hug.
The next time Tessa felt upset at school, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She remembered all of the people who were praying for her. That helped her feel a little better. Then she bowed her head to say a prayer of her own.
Thank you, Heavenly Father, she prayed. Thank you for cheering me on.

Someone gave me a copy of my high school yearbook the other day. I spent an hour thumbing through it, looking at the pictures of my friends of 73 years ago, my high school class of 1928. Most of those in that yearbook have now lived their lives and gone beyond. Some seem to have lived almost without purpose, while others lived with great achievements.
I looked at the faces of the boys who were my friends and associates. Once they were youthful and bright and energetic. Now those who are left are wrinkled and slow in their walk. Their lives still have meaning, but they are not as vital as they once were. I looked in that old yearbook at the faces of the girls I knew. Many of them have passed on, and the remainder live in the shadows of life. But they are still beautiful and fascinating.
My thoughts go back to those young men and women of my youth, back to where you are today. By and large, we were a happy lot. We enjoyed life. I think we were ambitious. The dark and terrible Depression which swept over the earth would not come for another year. Nineteen-twenty-eight was a season of high hopes and splendid dreams.
In our quieter moments we were all dreamers. The boys dreamed of mountains yet to climb and careers yet to be lived. The girls dreamed of becoming the kind of woman that most of them saw in their mothers.
When I spoke to the youth of the Church, I suggested six B’s that you ought to pursue. Be Grateful. Be Smart. Be Clean. Be True. Be Humble. Be Prayerful.
I have not the slightest doubt that these patterns of behavior will yield success and happiness and peace. I believe you will be successful in your endeavors. As you grow old, I am satisfied that you will look back with appreciation for the manner in which you chose to live.
In the yearbook of which I have spoken is the picture of a young woman. She was bright and effervescent and beautiful. She was a charmer. Life for her could be summed up in one short word—fun. She dated the boys and danced away the days and nights, studying a little but not too much, just enough to get grades that would take her through graduation. She married a boy of her own kind. Alcohol took possession of her life. She was a slave to it. Her body succumbed to its treacherous grip. Sadly, her life faded without achievement.
There is a picture of another girl in that yearbook. She was not particularly beautiful. But she had a wholesome look about her, a sparkle in her eyes, and a smile on her face. She knew why she was in school. She was there to learn. She dreamed of the kind of woman she wanted to be and patterned her life accordingly. She also knew how to have fun but knew when to stop and put her mind on other things.
There was a boy in school at the time. He had come from a small rural town. He had very little money. There was nothing especially handsome or dashing about him. He was a good student. He had set a goal for himself. It was lofty and, at times, appeared almost impossible of attainment.
These two fell in love. People said, “What does he see in her?” Or, “What does she see in him?” They each saw something wonderful which no one else saw.
Upon graduating from the university, they married. Money was hard to come by. He went on to graduate school. She continued to work for a time, and then their children came. She gave her attention to them.
A few years ago, I was riding a plane home from the East. It was late at night. I walked down the aisle in the semidarkness. I saw a woman asleep with her head on the shoulder of her husband. She awakened as I approached. I immediately recognized the girl I had known in high school so long before. I recognized the boy I had also known. They were now approaching old age. As we talked, she explained that their children were grown, that they were grandparents. She proudly told me that they were returning from the East, where he had gone to deliver a paper. There at a great convention he had been honored by his peers from across the nation.
I learned that they had been active in the Church, serving in whatever capacity they were asked to serve. By every measure, they were successful. They had accomplished the goals which they had set for themselves. They had been honored and respected and had made a tremendous contribution to the society of which they were a part. She had become the woman of whom she had dreamed.
As I returned to my seat on the plane, I thought of those two girls of whom I have spoken. The life of the one had been lived aimlessly, without stability, without contribution to society, without ambition. It had ended in misery and pain and early death.
The life of the other had been difficult. It had meant working and struggling. It had meant simple food and plain clothing and a very modest apartment in the years of her husband’s initial effort to get started in his profession. But out of that seemingly sterile soil there had grown two plants, side by side, that blossomed and bloomed in a beautiful and wonderful way. Those beautiful blossoms spoke of service to fellowmen, of unselfishness one to another, of love and respect and faith in one’s companion, of happiness as they met the needs of others in the various activities which they pursued.

Thank you so much for the article called “What Does It Mean to Be Perfect?” (Jan. 2006). Lately, I have been unhappy with who I am and what I am achieving. I didn’t realize this was due to my perfectionist personality. As I read this article I knew that the Lord was watching out for me and blessing me. I am now learning how to deal with this perfectionism. Whenever I lose heart, I read this article again. I now know that I don’t have to be perfect immediately, but it is a process. Thank you for printing this article.Name withheld

Andrei and Valentina Dudka of the Vynohradars’kyi Ward were introduced to the gospel by neighbors in 2003. After meeting for several weeks with missionaries, the couple decided to join the Church.
Although the Dudkas were excited to learn gospel truths such as the need for latter-day temples and the potential of having an eternal family, they gradually slipped into inactivity. “We just found reasons not to go to church,” Sister Dudka says. “We let things come up—like we were just too tired or there was a show on TV we wanted to watch.”
The Dudkas’ lack of activity adversely affected their happiness. “We started to see a real difference between Church life and worldly life after we left the Church,” Brother Dudka says. “We weren’t happy.”
After about four months of not attending church, Sister Dudka reached her breaking point. “A certain Sunday came, and I said, ‘If I don’t go today, I might not survive,’” she says. “I was like a person who had gone days without water. I needed that water.”
After returning to activity, Sister Dudka patiently prayed for and encouraged her husband to come back to church with her. About half a year after she returned to church, so did her husband.
“My wife’s prayers affected me,” Brother Dudka says. “I realized that as a Melchizedek Priesthood holder, I had the responsibility to be an active member. I recognized that without God, I could not do anything.”
After the Dudkas returned to the Church, their thoughts returned to the saving ordinances of the temple. The couple joined with other Ukrainian Latter-day Saints in rejoicing in the temple groundbreaking in 2007.
“After they started building the temple, we would often come by and just look at the work being done,” Brother Dudka says.
“I jumped so high when I saw them lay the first stone,” Sister Dudka adds.
When the angel Moroni figure was placed on top of the temple, there was a lot of hugging and tears among the Saints and particularly among the Dudkas.
“When they finally finished building the temple, there was such relief that we knew we were worthy to enter,” Brother Dudka says.
The Dudkas say being sealed in the temple has built in them a stronger eternal perspective on life. “You understand that your family is no longer just you and your husband—now the Lord is part of it too,” Sister Dudka says. “We now look at each other with eternal eyes.”

Once I listened as a humble sister, blind except for a small window of vision in one eye, bore witness of deeply spiritual experiences she enjoyed with her husband identifying individuals for temple work. She explained that internal bleeding had recently taken the last vestige of sight. Her testimony was sweet, her prayer that she might see enough to serve. Miraculously she was given even greater sight.

A few weeks ago while in Idaho reorganizing a stake presidency, I not only met some outstanding priesthood leaders and set three of them apart as a new stake presidency, but I also met a very special young lady I will not soon forget. The newly called presidency, one of whom was serving as a bishop at the time, asked if I could interview a prospective bishop so if he were cleared he could be installed the following Sunday after conference. The appointment was made. I sat in a private office with a well-groomed, attractive couple.
After a few words of greeting and introductions, I looked at her and said, “Tell me about your husband.” She hesitated and finally said, “Elder Ashton, I really don’t know him very well.” Since this was a most unusual response, I promptly said, “Please tell me about that.” She responded with, “We have only been married three weeks.”
This young couple, both in their early thirties, he an attorney and she a schoolteacher by profession, were still honeymooning, and their deep, newly found love for each other was most evident. When I said, “I want to talk to the two of you about your husband becoming a bishop,” she said, “Some nights ago I had a dream indicating Randy would be a bishop. I just hoped it wouldn’t come too soon.” She continued with, “Even though we are newlyweds [and incidentally, they told me the reason they had waited until their thirties to marry was because they had spent a long time finding each other] if you are impressed to call Randy to be a bishop, he will be a good one, and I will help him.”
What a beautiful attitude. What sustaining support. Her commitment to her husband, Church, and self was made long before I asked my questions. She had resolved to choose the good part, reminding me of the meaningful statement made about Mary in Luke 10:42: “One thing is needful: and Mary hath chosen that good part, which shall not be taken away from her.”

This is the world Mike Lee stepped into at age 16, when his father sent him out to learn about work.
Now, before you start picturing Mike’s father as some sort of hardhearted Captain Bligh, let’s set the record straight. His father’s act may have seemed at the time almost cruel, but in truth it was an act of love.
It was 1979. “I’d been having a lot of trouble in school, a lot of trouble in everything,” Mike explained. “I wasn’t a bad kid. I just didn’t know what I wanted to do.”
Mike’s father, W. Boyd Lee, was serving at the time as president of the Norfolk Virginia Stake. He loved his son and worried about him a lot. “Mike’s mother and I prayed constantly. I kept feeling that Mike should work on Spencers’ boat.”
Ira Spencer, Jr., a good friend of Brother Lee, was the branch president of the Manteo (North Carolina) Branch. Ira owned a fishing trawler that his son Duke piloted out of Wanchese, a little town near Kitty Hawk, where the Wright brothers first flew a plane. Ira and his wife Shirley also ran a seafood restaurant in Nags Head, and maybe Mike could help out in the kitchen when the ship was in port. Ira and Duke enjoyed having LDS crew members, because they had proven to be honest and dependable, and they didn’t use foul language or smoke on the ship.
“Still, he was only 16, and I didn’t want to impose on the Spencers,” Brother Lee explained. He talked the idea over with Ira.
“Mike seemed like a good boy,” Ira said. “Sometimes you’ve just got to give a boy incentive, and on his own he’ll move from where he is to where he should be.”
So Mike became a fisherman on the War Cry, a boat named after a line in the hymn “Hope of Israel”: “Sound the war cry, ‘Watch and pray!’” (Hymns, no. 64).
“It’s the hardest work I’ve ever done,” Mike said. “It’s not only skill that’s involved, but also a strong stomach and a desire to keep going. A lot of people can work hard for eight hours, but when you’re working almost twenty-four hours a day over a long period of time, you learn about endurance.”
At first Mike was in charge of small but important details. He had to make sure tools were always returned to the right place. He helped push trash fish overboard when the sorting was done. When the boat went after scallops, he learned how to cut the shells open and slice out the edible muscle.
“He was kind of timid at first, but pretty quick he showed us all what a good worker he was,” Duke said. “It got to where we’d trust him to run anything. He knew the gear and could do anything the rest of us could do.”
The basic crew included three returned missionaries, two others just getting ready to leave, a recent convert, captain Duke (who served a mission in Brazil), and an inactive prospective elder. “Working together, we developed quite a camaraderie,” Mike said. By the end of the summer the inactive member wasn’t inactive anymore, and Mike was ready for school again.
“Working on the boat gave me a chance to sort out my life,” Mike explained. “Even though you’re working, you’ve got plenty of time to think, and I thought a lot about the future. I thought about college, about a mission, about my family.”
He also said that being out at sea “made me love the ocean, made me respect its power. It helped me appreciate what God has created, the same way that getting out in nature helps you. It’s just a different kind of nature. The sea makes you appreciate the world that you’re a part of.”

It was stuck, completely, 100 percent stuck. I couldn’t pull the knee brace up any farther, but I also couldn’t pull it down to get it off. The doctor came back in, and I had to explain my predicament.
“You’re bigger than I thought,” was his comment.
After successfully wrestling the next larger size up my leg, I was ready to leave. The doctor’s nurse stopped me and apologized for the doctor’s comment.
“I told him you just don’t say things like that to girls. He meant you are tall.”
“That’s okay,” I said. “I get it all the time.”

The desire to help another, the quest for the lost sheep, may not always yield success at once. On occasion progress is slow—even indiscernible. Such was the experience of my longtime friend Gil Warner. He was serving as a newly called bishop when “Douglas,” a member of his ward, transgressed and was deprived of his Church membership. Father was saddened; Mother was totally devastated. Douglas soon thereafter moved from the state. The years hurried by, but Bishop Warner, now a member of a high council, never ceased to wonder what had become of Douglas.
In 1975, I attended the stake conference of the Parleys stake and held a priesthood leadership meeting early on the Sunday morning. I spoke of the Church discipline system and the need to labor earnestly and lovingly to rescue any who had strayed. Gil Warner asked to speak and then outlined the story of Douglas. He concluded with the question, “Who has the responsibility to work with Douglas and bring him back to Church membership?” Gil advised me later that my response to his question was direct and given without hesitation: “It is your responsibility, Gil, for you were his bishop, and he knew you cared.”
Unbeknownst to Gil Warner, Douglas’s mother had, the previous week, fasted and prayed that a man would be raised up to help save her son. Gil discovered this when he felt prompted to call her to report his determination to be of help.
Gil began his odyssey of redemption. Douglas was contacted by him. Old times, happy times, were remembered. Testimony was expressed, love was conveyed, and confidence instilled. The pace was excruciatingly slow. Discouragement frequently entered the scene; but, step by step, Douglas made headway. At long last prayers were answered, efforts rewarded, and victory attained. Douglas was approved for baptism.
The baptismal date was set, family members gathered, and former bishop Gil Warner flew to Seattle for the occasion. Can we appreciate the supreme joy felt by Bishop Warner as he, dressed in white, stood with Douglas in water waist deep and, raising his right arm to the square, repeated those sacred words, “Having been commissioned of Jesus Christ, I baptize you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost” (D&C 20:73).
He that was lost was found. A 26-year mission, marked by love and pursued with determination, had been successfully completed. Gil Warner said to me, “This was one of the greatest days of my life. I know the joy promised by the Lord when He declared, ‘And if it so be that you should labor all your days … and bring, save it be one soul unto me, how great shall be your joy with him in the kingdom of my Father!’” (D&C 18:15).
Were the Lord to say to Gil Warner today, as He said to Adam’s son long years ago, “Where is Douglas, thy brother?” Bishop Warner could reply, “I am my brother’s keeper, Lord. Behold Douglas, Thy son.”

A second experience in the branch dealt with a kind and conscientious woman who faithfully turned in envelopes containing a few coins for payment of her tithing. One day as she came to church, she was also holding in her hand a plastic sandwich bag with a piece of dried-up bread in it. She handed the plastic bag to us and said: “If you are going to belong to a church, you ought to contribute. I can’t contribute much, but I can contribute the sacrament bread.”
As we used her bread for the sacrament, the whole experience carried an additional meaning that day. Going through my mind was the verse that reads: “And Jesus sat over against the treasury, and beheld how the people cast money into the treasury: and many that were rich cast in much.
“And there came a certain poor widow, and she threw in two mites, which make a farthing.
“And he called unto him his disciples, and saith unto them, Verily I say unto you, That this poor widow hath cast more in, than all they which have cast into the treasury:
“For all they did cast in of their abundance; but she of her want did cast in all that she had, even all her living” (Mark 12:41–44).

From time to time I meet members of the Church who do not feel able to take responsibility as an officer or a teacher in the Church. I tell them of my experience in England. Literally within days of baptism, I was called to head the youth program in the Nottingham Branch. This was completely new to me, and I felt inadeqate, but I knew the Lord had need of me. There were less than 7,000 members in the whole of the British Isles where there are now 40 stakes. We all had to be “anxiously engaged” in the work of saving souls, building the kingdom, and establishing Zion. So it is with all of us. It is futile to fear responsibility when we have been called to serve “by prophecy, and by the laying on of hands by those who are in authority” (A of F 1:5).