Gospel Story Finder

I have a friend who prays every day to meet someone who is prepared to receive the gospel. He carries with him a copy of the Book of Mormon. The night before a short trip, he decided not to take a copy with him but instead to carry a pass-along card. But as he got ready to leave, a spiritual impression came to him: “Take a Book of Mormon with you.” He put one in his bag.
When a woman he knew sat next to him on the trip, he wondered, “Is this the one?” She rode with him again on the return trip. He thought, “How should I bring up the gospel?”
Instead, she said to him, “You pay tithing to your church, don’t you?” He said he did. She said she was supposed to pay tithing to her church but didn’t. Then she asked, “What can you tell me about the Book of Mormon?”
He explained that the book is scripture, another witness of Jesus Christ, translated by the Prophet Joseph Smith. She seemed interested, so he reached into his bag and said, “I was impressed to bring this book with me. I think it is for you.”
She began to read it. As they parted, she said, “You and I are going to have more conversations about this.”
What my friend could not know—but what God did know—was that she was looking for a church. God knew she had watched my friend and wondered why his church made him so happy. God knew she would ask about the Book of Mormon and that she would be willing to be taught by the missionaries. She was prepared. So was my friend. You and I can also be prepared.
The preparation we need is in our mind and our heart. The woman had heard and remembered words about the Book of Mormon, the Lord’s restored Church, and the commandment to pay tithes to God. And she had felt the beginning of the witness of truth in her heart.
The woman was prepared. So was my friend, the Latter-day Saint who had studied the Book of Mormon. He had felt a witness that it is true, and he recognized the direction from the Spirit to take a copy with him. He was prepared in his mind and his heart.

Among the thousands of servicemen killed in the attack on Pearl Harbor was a sailor by the name of William Ball, from Fredericksburg, Iowa. What distinguished him from so many others who died on that day in 1941 was not any special act of heroism, but the tragic chain of events his death set in motion at home.
When William’s boyhood buddies, the five Sullivan brothers from the nearby town of Waterloo, received word of his death, they marched out together to enlist in the navy. The Sullivans, who wished to avenge their friend, insisted that they remain together, and the navy granted their wish. On November 14, 1942, the cruiser on which the brothers served, the U.S.S. Juneau, was hit and sunk in a battle off Guadalcanal in the Solomon Islands.
Almost two months went by before Mrs. Thomas Sullivan received the news, which arrived not by the usual telegram, but by special envoy: all five of her sons were reported missing in action in the South Pacific and presumed dead. Their bodies were never recovered.
One sentence only, spoken by one person only, provides a fitting epitaph: “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.” (John 15:13.)

My teeth hurt. I got my braces tightened yesterday, and they still hurt. I hope they feel better by next Tuesday when we have our party with the Scouts. We’re all going over to Sister Marshall’s house to make pizza and play games. I hope Doug Richards goes. He hardly ever comes to church anymore. No one knows why either. He lives around the corner from me. I see him a lot because he walks past our house to go home from school. We never talk though. Jenny, my best friend, thinks he’s cute. She always comes home from school with me and makes me sit on the front step in the cold to talk with her until he goes by. The whole time he walks by our house she sits and giggles. That’s so dumb. She never says anything—just giggles. He always looks mad, and yesterday he walked on the other side of the street. I feel dumb on the front step. I hope he doesn’t think I’m like Jenny. I wish I knew what to do when he walks by so I could make a good impression on him. He is kind of cute.
Jenny was sick yesterday so she didn’t come over and sit on the front porch, but I was coming home from the store with my mom the same time Doug walked by. My mom used to teach him in Primary, so she waved and yelled practically loud enough for the whole neighborhood to hear, “Hi, Doug! How are you?” I was so embarrassed. Sometimes I think my mother embarrasses me on purpose. He said he was fine, and then before I had a chance to run in the house he said, “Hi, Marcy.” My temperature shot up, and I probably turned red, but I said, “Hi.” I hope he heard me. I didn’t say it very loud. I don’t know why I was so embarrassed and warm all of a sudden. It was even cold outside. My body is so stupid sometimes.
Church was really good today. In Sunday School Brother Ferguson tried to give a lesson on missionary work. Our class is so noisy all the time. We’ve had three teachers now, but no one wants us. Robin and I are the only ones who ever listen except Leslie Powell, who is the teacher’s pet, and Kyle, because his dad is the teacher. The lesson was really good though. He said that a good place to start missionary work is trying to get the people in the ward who are inactive to come. That gave me an idea. I’m going to be a missionary to Doug. I can’t be shy forever. Next time I see him I’ll tell him about the ward dinner we’re having in a couple of weeks. His whole family is inactive. They used to come to church a long time ago, but then they just kind of quit. I’ll get Doug first; then I’ll help him get the rest of his family. This is a great plan! Sometimes I’m smarter than I think.
I blew it! I saw Doug at school today, and I blew it. I was just getting out of my French class and he was getting out of art, which is across the hall from my classroom. He was walking toward me to go to his locker, and I was walking toward him to go pick up Robin from her orchestra class. We looked at each other and put on our half-and-half smiles. I just kept walking toward him, staring at him with that stupid grin on my face, and before I could get enough courage to say anything, he had gone past me. Boy, am I stupid. I feel like a complete failure. I don’t even want to think about it anymore.
I tried again today, and this time it worked. It was really a nice day outside, so I decided to go out in front and play with Maynard, our dog. I had just barely thrown a stick for him and he had gone to get it when I looked up just in time to see Doug coming down the street. My first reaction was to run, but I caught myself and decided I’d better do it now or never. By this time, Maynard was bringing the stick back to me so I took it and very cleverly happened to throw it almost right next to where Doug was walking. Then Doug did something I didn’t expect. He picked up the stick before Maynard got to it and threw it back to me. Before I knew it we had a fun game of Keep Away going with poor Maynard in the middle. Maynard didn’t think it was so fun, so I dropped the stick on purpose, and he took it and fell asleep under the tree. Doug asked me why I did that, so I had to explain that Maynard was getting old and he can’t exercise much. He said, “Oh,” picked up his books, and started walking away. This time I called after him. I asked him if he wanted to do me a favor and buy a ticket to the ward dinner this Friday night. I made it sound like I really had to sell them fast, but no one was buying them. Actually my dad was really the one selling them, but I felt like I should help out. I told him how much they cost. I told him to bring his whole family if he wanted to because they could get a good deal on family tickets. He said he’d ask his mom, and then he left. I finally asked him! I couldn’t believe it was actually me talking, but it was and I’m not so dumb after all.
Doug’s mom called my mom today asking about the ward dinner. She wants to go. She always wanted her family to come back to church, but her husband didn’t seem interested. He’s out of town this week, so she wants to do it. My mom was surprised because she didn’t think Doug would even remember about the dinner. Doug’s mom bought a ticket for the whole family. I’m so excited!
Tonight was the dinner. It was pretty good. The best part was when Sister Richards and all six kids came in. The whole ward was so nice to them. They sat across the table from us, and Sister Richards and my mom got to be good friends. I talked to Doug a little bit, like when I asked him if he liked his dinner. After he got through eating he went off with Kyle Ferguson and Scott Sullivan. Doug seemed like he was really having a good time. I was glad Kyle and Scott were nice to him because I didn’t know what to say to him. His mother and little brothers and sisters seemed to be having fun too. All in all, I would say that tonight was a very good night.
Today in church everyone had the shock of their lives when they turned around and saw the whole Richards family walking in, led by Brother Richards! He seemed happy to be there. I was embarrassed at how noisy our Sunday School class was for Doug, but it was quieter than usual, and he was making some of the noise.
Doug’s family has been coming to church just about every week now. The whole family just fits right in. I think they’re going to come back in for good now. I’m glad I got up enough courage to ask Doug to that dinner. I must admit that it wasn’t all me though. I just know that Heavenly Father had something to do with the Richards family too. I’ll bet he’s even happier than I am that they’re back in the Church. Anyway, being a missionary is so much fun. It makes you feel so good inside. I think I’ll do it again. Watch out world! Marcy Elizabeth Burnham, the girl with the hair that does something and straight teeth, is on the move.

I have realized how much repentance affects everything. For example, for some months I was committing sins and not repenting of them, and I was finding it difficult to break this cycle. But after speaking with the bishop and other close friends, I was able to use the repentance process and feel so much closer to God and feel happier again. In praying hard and spending lots of time reading my scriptures, I realized that I had to change how I was living some parts of my life. I realize now how much I have grown because of this. Through this experience I was able to get much closer to my mum and dad especially.
Although I still have temptations and still commit sins, I am able to use the Savior’s Atonement to repent and review how I have done every day and try to always want to improve. I will be forever grateful for the Atonement in my life.
Billy P., age 17, Ipswich, England

Far away from Salt Lake City, and some eighty miles from Shreveport, Louisiana, lives the Jack Methvin family. Mother, dad, and the boys are members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Until just recently there was a lovely daughter who, by her presence, graced that home. Her name was Christal. She was but ten years old when death ended her earthly sojourn.
Christal liked to run and play on the spacious ranch where her family lives. She could ride horses skillfully and excelled in 4-H work, winning awards in the local and state fairs. Her future was bright, and life was wonderful. Then there was discovered on her leg an unusual lump. The specialists in New Orleans completed their diagnosis and rendered their verdict: carcinoma. The leg must be removed.
She recovered well from the surgery, lived as buoyantly as ever and never complained. Then the doctors discovered that the cancer had spread to her tiny lungs. The Methvin family did not despair, but rather planned a flight to Salt Lake City. Christal could receive a blessing from one of the General Authorities. The Methvins knew none of the Brethren personally, so opening before Christal a picture of all the General Authorities, a chance selection was made. By sheer coincidence, my name was selected.
Christal never made the flight to Salt Lake City. Her condition deteriorated. The end drew nigh. But her faith did not waver. To her parents, she said, “Isn’t stake conference approaching? Isn’t a General Authority assigned? And why not Brother Monson? If I can’t go to him, the Lord can send him to me.”
Meanwhile in Salt Lake City, with no knowledge of the events transpiring in Shreveport, a most unusual situation developed. For the weekend of the Shreveport Louisiana Stake Conference, I had been assigned to El Paso, Texas. President Ezra Taft Benson called me to his office and explained that one of the other Brethren had done some preparatory work regarding the stake division in El Paso. He asked if I would mind were another to be assigned to El Paso and I assigned elsewhere. Of course there was no problem—anywhere would be fine with me. Then President Benson said, “Brother Monson, I feel impressed to have you visit the Shreveport Louisiana Stake.” The assignment was accepted. The day came. I arrived in Shreveport.
That Saturday afternoon was filled with meetings—one with the stake presidency, one with priesthood leaders, one with the patriarch, then yet another with the general leadership of the stake. Rather apologetically, Stake President Charles F. Cagle asked if my schedule would permit me time to provide a blessing to a ten-year-old girl afflicted with cancer. Her name: Christal Methvin. I responded that, if possible, I would do so, and then inquired if she would be at the conference, or was she in a Shreveport hospital? Knowing the time was tightly scheduled, President Cage almost whispered that Christal was confined to her home—more than eighty miles from Shreveport!
I examined the schedule of meetings for that evening and the next morning—even my return flight. There simply was no available time. An alternative suggestion came to mind. Could we not remember the little one in our public prayers at conference? Surely the Lord would understand. On this basis, we proceeded with the scheduled meetings.
When the word was communicated to the Methvin family, there was understanding but a trace of disappointment as well. Hadn’t the Lord heard their prayers? Hadn’t he provided that Brother Monson would come to Shreveport? Again the family prayed, asking for a final favor—that their precious Christal would realize her desire.
At the very moment the Methvin family knelt in prayer, the clock in the stake center showed the time to be 7:45. The leadership meeting had been inspirational. I was sorting my notes, preparing to step to the pulpit, when I heard a voice speak to my spirit. The message was brief, the words familiar: “Suffer the little children to come unto me, and forbid them not: for of such is the kingdom of God.” (Mark 10:14.) My notes became a blur. My thoughts turned to a tiny girl in need of a blessing. The decision was made. The meeting schedule was altered. After all, people are more important than meetings. I turned to Bishop James Serra and asked that he leave the meeting and advise the Methvins.
The Methvin family had just arisen from their knees when the telephone rang and the message was relayed that early Sunday morning—the Lord’s day—in a spirit of fasting and prayer, we would journey to Christal’s bedside.
I shall ever remember and never forget that early-morning journey to a heaven the Methvin family calls home. I have been in hallowed places—even holy houses—but never have I felt more strongly the presence of the Lord than in the Methvin home. Christal looked so tiny lying peacefully on such a large bed. The room was bright and cheerful. The sunshine from the east window filled the bedroom with light as the Lord filled our hearts with love.
The family surrounded Christal’s bedside. I gazed down at a child who was too ill to rise—almost too weak to speak. Her illness had now rendered her sightless. So strong was the spirit that I fell to my knees, took her frail hand in mine, and said simply, “Christal, I am here.” She parted her lips and whispered, “Brother Monson, I just knew you would come.” I looked around the room. No one was standing. Each was on bended knee. A blessing was given. A faint smile crossed Christal’s face. Her whispered “thank you” provided an appropriate benediction. Quietly, each filed from the room.
Four days later, on Thursday, as Church members in Shreveport joined their faith with the Methvin family and Christal’s name was remembered in a special prayer to a kind and loving Heavenly Father, the pure spirit of Christal Methvin left its disease-ravaged body and entered the paradise of God.

Recently I went on a soccer recruiting trip to an out-of-state university. I went to check out the school, the campus, the team, and the environment.
While I was there some of the girls on the team decided they would show the recruits what college life was like, so they took us to a party. This party was not the kind I was used to. Everyone there was drinking and smoking.
One guy at the party announced that all the recruits had to get in the middle of a circle and he would pass around a bottle of liquor for us to drink.
When I wouldn’t even touch the bottle, he said to me, “You’re not even going to taste it?”
“No thanks,” I told him.
He continued to harass me for a few minutes and then finally left.
Throughout the party I was very uncomfortable and wished we could leave. Finally we did.
The following day as I listened to general conference, I heard Elder Richard G. Scott say, “Be grateful that your righteous life molds you so that you don’t fit where you don’t belong” (Ensign, Nov. 1998, 70). I am thankful that I have lived my life in such a way that I was uncomfortable at the party. I felt that I was the odd one there, and I am glad I was. I am also grateful that I decided long ago that I was never going to drink, and that decision helped me in my time of need.

William Holder was on duty as a police officer in London on July 6 when England won the bid for the 2012 Summer Olympic Games. The streets of London were filled with thousands of people celebrating. It was pandemonium for police.
Then, less than 24 hours later, Brother Holder was on duty again. Now, however, he dealt with a different type of pandemonium—terrorists had attacked his city.
Nothing could have prepared him for what he saw—people running out of the Aldgate subway station in terrible shock; some were injured, others were screaming for family. Steps away, Brother Holder of the Gravesend Ward, Canterbury England Stake, realized he was one of the first emergency personnel on the scene of a terrorist attack.
“You are on auto pilot. You do your job,” he said. “It is human to human. It doesn’t matter who they are, you just want to take away their pain.”
No members or missionaries were injured when bombs exploded on three London underground subway trains in a coordinated attack on July 7. At least 56 people died in the blasts, which injured an additional 700 people—dozens seriously—and took place within a 50-second period during the morning rush hour. A fourth bomb went off 57 minutes later on one of the city’s red doubledecker buses.
The terrorist attacks were the deadliest in London since World War II. In response to the atrocity, the Church is making a donation to a victims’ fund set up by London mayor Ken Livingstone and the British Red Cross.
“It is not until you can look back on it that you are able to comprehend the sheer horror of it,” said Brother Holder. “At the time you just do what you were meant to do: be calm and professional and get on with it.”
During the next several days, Brother Holder worked extra hours. In quiet moments, however, he remembered a priesthood blessing he had received years earlier. The blessing said in his career he could be as a lighthouse, that people would come to him for direction and that he would be calm.
He has felt the Lord’s hand guiding him in his work. “I felt peace inside, but also sadness at the same time,” he explained.
Still, Brother Holder said he sees daily reminders of the event: closed subway stations and an increased police presence on the streets of London. It is hard, he added, to escape the memories of the event.
Adapted from Church News, July 23, 2005.

Dzuliah B., 13, Philippines
I love dancing and singing. When I was in fifth grade, I joined an interschool dance competition. Our choreographer decided to have practices on Sundays. Without thinking twice, I went to him and told him that I wouldn’t be available on Sundays because I honor the Sabbath day. He was disappointed, but I remembered my two favorite hymns, “Choose the Right” and “Do What Is Right.” After this incident, I felt the assurance that I did the right thing.

When our prophet, Spencer W. Kimball, and I walked through the admittance door of the Utah State Prison a few days ago, the sound of sliding, electronically controlled cell doors could be heard clanging in the background. The grating sounds of the steel bars against the concrete floor and walls let me know where I was again. The total situation was familiar to me. I had been in prison many times before (as a visitor).
It was President Kimball’s first visit. Once past the heavily guarded door, we were escorted to Warden Lawrence Morris’s office, located near the front of the medium security area. Even after we were safely seated in his office, I was still filled with real anxieties. I hoped conditions would be completely under control with no disturbances possible. There must not be any interference or interruption during the visit of the prophet. I was responsible for this trip, and as we sat there together, this total situation weighed heavily upon me. Past experience had taught me that the behavior of some inmates is unpredictable. Fortunately the able warden had prepared well, and conditions in and around his office were ideally calm and quiet. To my great relief it appeared that the “grapevine” means of communication inside the prison had not learned of the President’s coming.
What had attracted President Kimball to the prison? Why was he there? What was his special interest? What was on his mind? Was there a certain inmate he wanted to see? Why should he expose himself to this dangerous environment, when he had mountains of responsibilities needing his attention in his own office?
With this latest prison visit over and having had a few days to reflect on and ponder the situation, I now know that President Spencer W. Kimball went there for many reasons and people. Being at his side and seeing him share himself with these special people will always be one of the choicest experiences of my life. I learned much. I was with a prophet in an unstable environment. My senior companion, if you please, taught me well. As we traveled together to the prison, visited there, and returned in the car, the warmth and wisdom of this mighty man renewed in me a thrilling appreciation for his greatness.
After a short visit in his office, the warden invited two inmates to come in and meet President Kimball. As they hesitatingly came in, President Kimball stood up, shook their hands, and gave them a warm welcome. Here was a prophet with two prisoners. I watched with keen interest. What would President Kimball say following the greeting? “What are your special jobs out here? Where is your home? Tell me about your family. Are you working on the construction of the new chapel?” These were some of his questions—all of which were free of criticism and embarrassment. Perhaps others would have been inclined to say under these circumstances, “How long is your prison sentence? What was your crime? How long have you been here? Your family can’t be very proud of you. You ought to be ashamed wasting your life in jail. Why don’t you shape up?”
President Kimball set the example for me and for all of us as he conducted this personal interview, if you please, with skill and sincerity. In a very few minutes, with few, but appropriate, words, he let the two prisoners know he was with them because he cares.
When this short visit with the two prisoners was over, we were to make our way to the prison chapel. When we were outside again, it was about 10:30 a.m., with the temperature near 40 degrees Fahrenheit. “Would you like to ride or walk the two-block distance?” President Kimball was asked. He responded with, “I would like to walk.” Since President Kimball was without a top coat, his personal secretary, D. Arthur Haycock, started to take his off to share with the President. President Kimball said, “No, thank you. You keep it on. If I walk, I won’t need it.” Just a routine appreciation gesture? Perhaps, some would say. But to me it was evidence of President Kimball’s courteous way of life.
As President Kimball walked the distance to the new chapel site with the wardens, prisoners, and a few others of us, I was close enough at hand to hear his constant questions and concerns. He listened intently as answers were given and situations of interest pointed out. I was impressed again with his concern for people, their confinement and treatment.
Once within the walls of the chapel under construction, he took time to shake hands with workers, some of whom were prisoners, and with other visitors who were now aware of his presence. He seemed to take time for everyone. People never seemed to be a bother. I saw a number of workers jump down from scaffolds to shake his hand. In some cases I saw his arm go out to them before they could clean mortar and dirt from their fingers. They and leaders from other churches heard him say, “This interdenominational worship facility will help prisoners find their way back.” He also added, “The Church and our people are happy to be participants in any and all community projects that are worthy.” Once again I was impressed with his wholesome relationship with all people.
The highlight of the chapel inspection tour and the prison visit in general, it seemed to me, came when two inmates were invited to stand at the side of the prophet in the minimum security reception area for picture taking. As the President welcomed them forward and later put his arms around them, he said, “It is an honor for me to have my picture taken with you.” The two prisoners were obviously touched by his comment. Others of us again saw the greatness and stature of the one we love so much. Respect and human dignity were witnessed. Again he taught well that all people are entitled to be treated as human beings, wherever they are found and regardless of where they have been. President Kimball, it was obvious, is a foe of sin but a friend of the sinner. The scripture found in D&C 50:26 came forcefully to my mind: “He that is ordained of God and sent forth, the same is appointed to be the greatest, notwithstanding he is the least and the servant of all.”
As we were finishing our visit, one inmate rushed up to me and said, “I didn’t get a chance to shake President Kimball’s hand. Would you please tell him I love him?” Another prisoner responded with, “I’m not a Mormon, but he’s got to be a special guy.” Some day I hope that prisoner finds out what a special guy President Kimball really is.
As we walked back to the car to return to Salt Lake City, this choice experience with the prophet brought to mind the story of Parley P. Pratt when he and the Prophet Joseph Smith were together in a prison in Richmond, Missouri. The situation was much different, but the same witness of true dignity and majesty was enjoyed. (See Parley P. Pratt, Jr., ed., The Autobiography of Parley P. Pratt, Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Company, 1938, pp. 193–200, 210–215, 230–240.) I, too, saw true majesty when a prison visitor performed and spoke under God’s authority and shared himself fearlessly.
Before we drove away from the prison compound, President Kimball viewed the maximum security area. When he looked at the extra fences, towers, guards, and isolated location, he commented on how unfortunate it is when men can’t be given freedom, responsibilities, and the joys of work. “All men are basically good. Some just lose their way and need to be led back into proper paths and habits,” he said.
President Kimball asked the warden how the Church’s family home evening program was doing at the prison. (President Kimball had been instrumental in its implementation years ago.) When told it was most successful, he was very pleased. The warden informed him that each week dozens of families continue to go to the prison on Monday evenings to provide family experiences for those qualified to be involved. These good people serve as families for inmates who don’t have them. Their relationship, which very often goes on after prisoners are released, provides an excellent anchor in rehabilitation. The strength of the family is available on a regular basis. President Kimball has long been a believer that every person is entitled to family relationships, and when told that some inmates have their first real family experiences through this program, he was delighted.
During the tour of the new chapel and the walk between the buildings, there were always a number of young and old nearby to assist and respond to President Kimball’s questions. After hearing President Kimball refer to me a number of times as “Marv” as we walked together, one of the younger set was impressed to say, “Isn’t it kind of neat to have President Kimball call you ‘Marv’?” I responded with, “Yes, it is, and it is especially neat to know that President Spencer W. Kimball is a prophet of God.” I had again seen him in action.
In the car returning to Salt Lake City, President Kimball thanked us time and again for taking him to the prison. He felt good about the response of those with whom he had associated. “I hope you will make it possible for me to go back again,” he suggested. “Those people need our love and constant encouragement.”
He exhibited a dignity and poise that was most impressive. Governor Scott M. Matheson of the State of Utah was on hand during President Kimball’s tour. As I walked, talked, and visited with both men, I was greatly impressed with the fact that the governor received the same treatment from President Kimball as did the inmates. Do you have the capacity to love the nonattender as much as you do the 100-percent attender?
I am glad the time and conditions were right for President Kimball to visit his friends in prison and that I could be with him. One prisoner who stood by his side for the picture is serving time for theft and burglary; the other is there for manslaughter. One was a member, one a nonmember. His greetings to them, “It is an honor for me to have my picture taken with you,” continues to ring in my ears. “I was in prison, and ye came unto me” (Matt. 25:36). Once again we have the heartwarming example of seeing how widely our President can spread his arms in love. He makes room for all of us. He will not give up on anyone.

Scott learned about raising guide dogs at an assembly at school. “The speaker brought three dogs to give a demonstration. I thought it would be neat to raise one. I went home and asked Mom and Dad, and they said they would have to talk about it. Mom went to a guide dog meeting one day, and they decided to let me try it.”
Scott’s mother, Kay, had some reservations. “I was leery at first because it is such a commitment. The dog has to be in the house and sleep right beside the child’s bed at night. But we’ve loved the experience. We take the dog everywhere, to visit Grandma, to family reunions, to the grocery store, or whenever we come to town.”

When he became an Apostle, President Monson was assigned to watch over the Church in Eastern Europe. The members there had very little money, and it was hard for them to buy new clothing. While visiting East Germany, President Monson noticed a man at church whose suit was very worn. The man’s name was Brother Adler.
After the meeting President Monson changed into a pair of pants and a shirt he had packed in his suitcase. He then handed his almost-new suit to Brother Adler and said, “I think this will fit you.”
Brother Adler was surprised. Before he could say anything, President Monson offered his shoes as well. The shoes were too big for Brother Adler, but a man standing nearby said the shoes would fit his son. President Monson handed his shoes to the man and wore an old pair from his bag.
For the next 20 years, President Monson took extra clothes every time he visited East Germany. His generosity blessed many people. Before one Church meeting began, he looked at a young man sitting in the congregation and said, “That’s a fine suit you have on.”
The young man replied, “It should be. It’s yours!”
President Monson’s example teaches us to show love for others as we serve them.

Thirty-six years ago I served a mission in southeast Mexico. At that time there were no stakes, with the largest cities in the mission having only two branches. There were limited opportunities for education and much poverty. With two or three exceptions, all the missionaries were from the United States.
I remember the people of the Nealtican Branch. All buildings in the town were made of adobe, except the Catholic cathedral and the LDS chapel. I remember standing in the small adobe house of the branch president. It had a dirt floor, windows with no glass, and a rug hanging over the entryway. There was no furniture in the house. His family had no shoes.
But they were a happy people. He told me that they had sold everything they had to buy bus tickets to the Mesa temple, where they were sealed for time and all eternity. Many of the branch members had done the same thing.

After high school graduation, I worked with a young man who was a recently returned missionary. One day we began talking about religion, and I was amazed by how much he knew about the Savior. “Where did you learn all that?” I asked. A few days later, he presented me with a copy of Jesus the Christ by Elder James E. Talmage of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. Not long after that, he changed jobs and I didn’t see him again.
I was almost finished reading the book when I heard that an LDS friend of mine was going on a mission. I called him and told him what I was reading. He was the one who had invited me to church on that Sunday when I showed up in a T-shirt.
So, there I was at the meeting, feeling out of place in my casual clothing. As I looked around, I noticed families sitting together. I had not seen many children in other churches. I also noticed that everyone, not just the choir, sang the hymns. Young men passed the sacrament. Regular members spoke instead of a pastor. I liked what I saw.
I began to feel a greater desire than ever to learn about Jesus. I enjoyed my friend’s talk and his excitement about serving as a missionary. Later I told my friend how jealous I was of him because he was going to be a missionary like Paul in the New Testament. I told him how much I would like to do something like that.
He said, “I have a book that will help you prepare, and I want you to have my copy.” It was a book by another Apostle in the Church called A Marvelous Work and a Wonder.
I studied that book along with the Bible. Through this study, I got answers to many questions, as well as a desire to pray. Based on what I’d read about Joseph Smith (see Joseph Smith—History 1:5–19), I felt sure that God would also answer my prayer.
I knelt by my bedside and called out to God with all my heart and soul. I told Him that I was seeking the truth, and then I waited for my heavenly messenger. Nothing happened. I tried again. Still nothing. Finally, I simply asked God if the things I was reading and studying were true.
After my prayer, I began thinking of all I had learned. While reading the two books my LDS friends had given me, I had discovered answers. That felt good. Ever since I went to Israel, I’d wanted to know more about Jesus. Now I did. That felt good, too. Suddenly I realized God was answering my prayer. He loved me enough to send friends and books to tell me about the Restoration of the gospel, and I felt good. How would I feel if the Lord had literally told me the same thing? I would feel the same way. That was my answer.
Full of excitement, I wanted to call my friend, but he was on his mission, so I called his mom instead. I awkwardly explained that I had read the book her son had given me and that I would like to find out how I could join their Church. She was silent for a long time, and then she started to cry. Through her joyful tears she told me how to contact the missionaries.
A few weeks later I called my friend’s mom again. This time it was to invite her and her family to my baptism. Along with the other books I’d read, I had now read the Book of Mormon and gained a testimony of its truthfulness. I invited my own family to attend my baptism as well. My twin brother came into town the night before. He didn’t understand why I wanted to get baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He asked a lot of questions, especially about the Book of Mormon. The only things he’d ever read about the book were false and negative. I stayed up most the night attempting to answer his questions.
The baptism was beautiful. This time I didn’t show up in a T-shirt and cargo pants. This time I was in a white shirt and tie, and I felt totally comfortable and at home. Four months later my twin was still asking questions. I told him that I was happy to talk to him about it but that ultimately he would have to ask God for himself. A few weeks later he came to me and said: “I asked, and now I know the Book of Mormon is true and that Joseph Smith was a prophet. How do I get in touch with the missionaries?”
Imagine my joy a month later when I had the opportunity of baptizing my twin brother. We both served missions; I was called to Chile and my brother to Mexico. Like Paul of old, we are trying to give back a little of what we received.

I was born in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. As the eldest of eight children, I left school when I was twelve years old to help support my family. After I grew up and married, my wife, Ruda, encouraged me to go back to school, and I earned my high school diploma and a bachelor’s degree in accounting.
But even when I was the financial management comptroller for Petrobras, the biggest oil company in Brazil, and I had the respect of my colleagues, I was not satisfied. I did not feel happy; I felt confused. I thought that the solution would be religion.
I had a wonderful wife and two children, Marcus and Marisa. (Later, another son and daughter, Raphael and Aline, were born.) We were not involved in a church at that time, and I told my wife that it would be best for us and for our children to find one. Many of my friends at work were members of different religions, so my family and I went to five or six different churches.
One day we found on our door a card with a picture of Jesus Christ on one side and the name The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints on the other. I had never heard of this Church, and I asked my assistant at work, “What is this Church?”
He said, “Boss, don’t go there.”
But Heavenly Father had heard my family’s prayers. A few days later, in April of 1972, the missionaries knocked at our door. That changed our lives. We received all the discussions in one night. I asked and asked and asked questions. The missionaries answered my questions about the Church and about God and Jesus Christ and about the standing of black people in the Church. Elder Steve Richards and Elder Thomas McIntire were two very special missionaries, and they were prepared for that moment. All my questions were answered. The Holy Ghost testified all the time that these things were true.
When they left my house, I was completely changed. With reverence and respect, my family attended the meetings and activities, but we postponed baptism because of fear of negative reactions from our extended families.
Then we attended a district conference in Rio de Janeiro. The inspired messages from the pulpit prepared our hearts for an unforgettable moment. The counselor in the mission presidency bore his testimony about Jesus Christ, after which the congregation sang “I Need Thee Every Hour.” In that moment, the Holy Ghost reconfirmed the truthfulness of the things we already knew: The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was the Lord’s kingdom on earth, the road back to the celestial mansion of our Eternal Father.
My wife and I and Marcus—Marisa wasn’t old enough yet—were baptized July 2, 1972, the most important date in our lives. All the members of our branch attended our baptisms.
I had respect for all the doctrine and for the priesthood. Because I couldn’t hold the priesthood at that time, people often asked me, “What about the priesthood?” I told them that I had complete acceptance of it.
During the cornerstone laying of the São Paulo Temple, President Spencer W. Kimball motioned for me to come to him. I looked around to see whom he was looking at. He repeated the gesture. I did not understand. Elder James E. Faust looked at me and mouthed, “Come here. He wants to talk to you.” I went. President Kimball shook my hand and took hold of my arm and said, “Brother, what is necessary for you is faithfulness. Remain faithful, and you will enjoy all the blessings of the Church.”
A little more than a year later, in June 1978, we received a telephone call from a friend in Salt Lake City, Utah, telling us that President Kimball had announced the revelation* that all worthy males could hold the priesthood. I shall not forget that day. My wife cried. I cried. We knelt to thank our Heavenly Father. After that, the phone rang many, many times. Friends from the United States and Brazil called us.
The hand of the Lord is resting upon Brazil. It is a special country. We have many challenges, but we have a very special people who are friendly and accepting of the missionaries’ message.

Illustration by Gabriele Cracolici
I met Natalie on the first day of sixth grade. I noticed that she wouldn’t hang out on Sundays and that she carried her scriptures around at school. One day I was at a carnival with Natalie, and I said, “I want to join your Church.” I’m not sure what Natalie was thinking at the time, because it came out of nowhere. But from that point on she began sharing more of her faith with me.
Later that year, I went with Natalie to a youth conference. One of the last activities at the youth conference was a testimony meeting. Natalie shared a special testimony that motivated me to want to learn more.
As I studied the gospel, I prayed to Heavenly Father to gain a testimony. Soon, I knew what I had been learning was true. That summer, I became a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Later, a friend asked me what baptism is. I shared with her things I love about the gospel of Jesus Christ and the happiness I’ve found in the Savior. My friend loves soccer, so I worked with my class presidency to plan a soccer activity to invite her to. And Natalie and I studied the Book of Mormon with her through FaceTime.
“As you strive to love your friends in the way the Savior does, you’re inviting them to come to Him.”
At first, helping my friend felt like a big responsibility—saying the right things so she understood or inviting her to the right activities. But I realized it’s not about converting but rather loving. If you have good intentions and righteous desires, then anything you do to participate in Heavenly Father’s work is going to be considered a success. As you strive to love your friends in the way the Savior does, you’re inviting them to come to Him.
When I switched to a new school in sixth grade, a girl named Hannah ate lunch with me and introduced me to new friends. But I never realized that, at the same time, I was helping introduce her to principles of the gospel.
One day Hannah and I were at a carnival together. Out of the blue, she told me she wanted to join the Church. To say I was surprised is an understatement. My first thought was, “I’m not sure if she knows how big of a commitment it is.”
I wasn’t sure what to do, but my parents said, “She’s interested in the gospel. You should invite her to ward camp.” I thought it might be overwhelming for Hannah to spend the entire week with us and meet so many new people. But I took their advice and invited her to camp and to youth conference.
During a testimony meeting at youth conference, I felt like Hannah needed to hear my testimony, even though public speaking is one of my biggest fears. Hannah knew I was afraid, and she admired the fact that I was willing to share because I believed in the gospel.
I’m an overthinker, so whenever I considered inviting Hannah to things, I thought, “She’s going to think I’m pressuring her into joining the Church.” But I knew this was an irrational fear. People like to be invited to things. As time went on, I was more comfortable with sharing how I felt. I learned that sharing the gospel is about love.
“Hannah’s journey hasn’t just changed her life; it’s also changed my life and strengthened my testimony.”
There’s so much joy in sharing the things you love and cherish the most. Hannah’s journey hasn’t just changed her life; it’s also changed my life and strengthened my testimony. I saw the difference that the Savior made for Hannah, and it helped me recognize the difference He makes for me.
The authors are from Hawaii, USA.
Since writing this article, both Natalie and Hannah decided to serve missions! Natalie recently received a call to serve in the Texas San Antonio Mission, and Hannah began her service in the California San Jose Mission.

It had never been hard for me to be honest. When given too much change at the market, it had been easy to refund the overpayment immediately. When I had found several large bills on the ground at an amusement park, turning the money in to lost and found had followed as a matter of course. In fact, I did not remember a time when other people’s property had been a temptation.
Except now. I was alone in my eighth-grade classroom, the students gone for the day. In my hand I held an open leather and velvet case from which shone 50 beautiful sterling silver coins, one for each of the 50 states. Carefully, I took the 31st of the miniature coins from its place on the velvet and examined it. On the front was an outline of the state, a 49er panning gold, and the state nickname (“The Golden State”). Turning the coin over, I saw the state flower (Golden Poppy) and the year of admission to the Union (1850).
Three years had passed since the principal had handed the commemorative coin set to me in his office. “Jack,” he had said, “it was your U.S. history classes more than anything else that led to our receiving a second Freedoms Foundation award and these commemorative coins. Since we already have one set of coins in the display case, why don’t you take this second set and use it in your classroom?”
And now as I cleaned out my files I had rediscovered the beautiful and valuable coins where I had put them for safekeeping—and forgotten them.
No longer was I alone in room B-16. An evil, covetous thought flashed across my mind: If after three years I had forgotten the coins, might not everyone else have forgotten them too? The principal who had given me custody of the coins had gone on to the new high school. Retirements and reassignments had removed the few others who had ever known that I had the coins.
The evil presence in the room spoke to my mind: Why not keep them?
Because they’re not mine.
But no one remembers that you have them. No one.
They’re not mine.
They certainly are yours! Didn’t the principal say that it was your efforts that resulted in their being awarded to this school?
Well, yes. But other teachers and students were involved, too.
Not as much as you were. And think of this: it was mostly for your after-school work that the award was given—after-school work for which you were never paid. By all rights these coins should be yours as payment for your after-school work.
Should be, perhaps, but aren’t. They belong to this school.
Or district. If you took them with you to your new assignment at the high school, they’d be in the same district still.
True. And I could probably make even better use of them with high school students than would be possible if the coins stayed here with eighth-graders at the junior high.
Certainly. You know that if the coins stay here they’ll probably just go into the display case—and there’s already one set there. That would be a waste.
But hold on a minute. If I haven’t already used the coins as part of my teaching, I probably wouldn’t use them in the future either. And anyway, they’re not mine.
But consider this: there’s no teacher anywhere in this district who is the coin collector you are or who’s so wacky about geography and states and all of that. No one would appreciate these coins as much as you would.
I believe that. But they’re not mine.
So who do they belong to more than you? You’re a taxpayer too, aren’t you? Can sterling silver coins belong to a building? a school? You are a trustee for all the other taxpayers who own the coins jointly. You’ll take the best possible care of the coins for everyone else.
That’s a bit farfetched, isn’t it? Whether the coins belong to the school or the district or the taxpayers, they for sure don’t belong to me.
But who would be hurt if you did take the coins? The school already has one set, and they wouldn’t even know. Neither would the taxpayers. No one would feel the slightest loss if you took them.
I would. I’ve never stolen anything in my life.
Steal? Who said steal? It’s not as if you’re breaking into a school and robbing the place. The coins were put into your hands by the principal.
Right. Because he trusted me and I won’t violate that trust.
You wouldn’t be violating a trust. The man would never know. He would never feel that you had violated his trust. And besides, he’s principal at the high school, isn’t he? You and the principal and the coins will all be together again when school starts again next September.
You’re really persistent, aren’t you? Why don’t you go bother someone else?
Am I bothering you? I’m just trying to see that you get what is rightfully yours. Have you ever seen such magnificent craftsmanship and beauty as in these coins?
They are beautiful. Someday I’ll buy a set for my own.
Are you serious? On a teacher’s salary? You’ll never own a set of sterling silver coins if you don’t take these right now.
I suppose you’re right.
And wouldn’t they look fantastic displayed in your family room next to your buffalo nickles and the European coin set?
Now you’re kidding. Do you think I could actually put a stolen coin set on display in my home? People may have forgotten that I have this set, but seeing them on display would make them remember.
Maybe they would be safer in your safe-deposit box.
I thought you were suggesting that they go to my new schoolroom for use in teaching. How would having them in a safe-deposit box promote that?
Well, it doesn’t matter much. By all rights they are your coins, and you can do what you like with your own property.
Are we going to go through that again? They’re not my coins.
All right, look at it this way. No one is perfect. The Lord won’t thrust you down for one small sin, will he? You’ve been honest all your life—so what if you do take something that’s almost yours just one time?
Just one time. No thanks. If I’m going to lose my integrity, it won’t be over something as insignificant as a commemorative coin set.
You know, don’t you, that teachers are underpaid? You get small pay for much preparation, no Christmas bonus, no stock options, no fringe benefits. These coins are in the nature of a Christmas bonus.
A Christmas bonus—in May? And anyway, I love teaching. I can’t complain about my work or my pay.
What about the tanks full of gas you’ve donated to school projects? What about the money spent out of your pocket for bulletin boards and other things? What about the hours and hours of after-school time you were never paid for? You’ve earned these coins.
Salaried people don’t punch time clocks. And anyway, I’ve enjoyed every bit of it. Now, I’m going to walk down to the office and give this set of coins to the principal.
Not yet. Think about it for a few days. There’s no need to be rash about this.
No, I’m going to go right now.
He’s probably gone home already.
I doubt it.
And how do you know he won’t just keep them for himself? He looks suspect to me.
He’s a good, decent man. And so what if he were a crook? My character isn’t determined by other people’s flaws.
Still, it wouldn’t hurt to wait a few days to turn them in, would it?
Why don’t you go away and let me work? I’ve got all these files to clean out and boxes to load and books to turn in and year-end report cards to mark and I’ve got to move all my stuff to the high school. I’m really busy; go away.
I’m glad you’ve decided to keep your coins for a few days at least. Why not take them home and show them to your wife and children? You shouldn’t miss the opportunity to use these coins to educate your children.
“That’s it. I’m going to the office with them right now!” The sound of my voice broke the stillness of the room and startled me.
“Now what am I going to do with this set of coins, Jack?” the principal grinned. “I just received a letter from Valley Forge today informing me that our school has again been chosen to receive an awards medal and another set of commemorative coins.”
As I drove home I thought of the irony of it all. What indeed would the junior high school do with three sets of commemorative coins? But then that wasn’t my problem. Unfortunately, none of the three sets was mine.
In the days that followed I was too busy to think much about the coins. Only occasionally would I feel a combination of quiet peace that I had won my silent battle—and sadness that I would not have something that I had wanted so desperately for my own.
In the morning of the final day of school the awards assembly took place. The program worked its way down through a pledge of allegiance, a message from the student-body president, a message from the principal, scholarship awards, attendance awards, and athletic awards.
As they began with the presentation of the Freedoms Foundation awards, I was concentrating more on quieting restless types from my homeroom than on what was being said. I had heard the talk twice before and was preoccupied. I saw the principal accept the awards and was about to tweak Leonard Womack’s ear, when I heard my name spoken by the principal. I noticed that everyone in the auditorium was looking at me. I had been invited to come to the stage.
I don’t recall all of what happened next. Some complimentary things were said—things about integrity, devotion to duty, excellence, and sadness that I would not be at the junior high school next fall. What I do remember well is the part where the principal placed a leather and velvet box with 50 sterling silver coins in my hand—and told me to keep it for my very own.

I first began to understand the significance of the Atonement when my grandfather was dying. After attending law school, I was studying for the California bar exam when my mother called and said if I wanted to see my grandfather before he died, I better come to Utah. My grandfather, who was 86 years old, was very ill. He was so pleased to see me and share his testimony.
He had three concerns:
1. He loved his 10 children very much. They were all good people. He wanted them all to be temple worthy.
2. His father was one of the young men who had carried members of the Martin handcart company across the Sweetwater River. His father had died when my grandfather was three years old, and he looked forward to seeing him and hoped his father and other family members would approve of his life.
3. Finally, and most importantly, he told me how he looked forward to meeting the Savior. He referred to the Savior as the “Keeper of the Gate,” a reference to 2 Nephi 9:41. He told me that he hoped he had been sufficiently repentant to qualify for the Savior’s mercy.
All of us have sinned, and it is only through the Atonement that we can obtain mercy and live with God. I can remember to this day the great love that Grandfather had for the Savior and the appreciation he had for the Atonement.

“Revelation is a direct answer from God to each of us.”
Melissa sometimes has a hard time making decisions and figuring out what she wants to do in the future. “I have a lot of responsibilities, and it’s hard to balance life and church and school,” she says. “It can be hard to know which way to go and how to make it all work.”
But even though life can be busy, Melissa says, “I’ve learned that I just need to make sure that I always think about God first.”
Melissa determined that to put God first, she should make her prayer and scripture study more effective. She would read a verse of scriptures, pray about it, and then write down her impressions.
As she’s practiced this strategy, Melissa says she started to understand the meanings of each verse better. “It becomes clearer how I can apply it to my life.”
She’s also received blessings that help her manage her priorities and make good decisions. “When I communicate with God more often and try to involve Him in my life as much as possible, all of my other activities fall into place, and life seems a lot easier.”

“When I was about seven, Dad sort of hoodwinked me into milking cows. He said, ‘You’re not big enough to milk the cows.’
“Well, I knew I was big enough to milk them, so I said, ‘Of course, I can milk them.’ I got up early, got the bucket, and went out and milked the cows.
“My dad then said, ‘I believe you can milk the cows. You’ve got the job!’ For the next dozen years I milked eight to twelve cows each night and morning.
“Dad was a lot smarter than I was. One day I said to him, ‘I don’t want to milk cows.’ He replied, ‘That’s OK. You don’t have to want to. … as long as you do it.’”

The youth and adults of the Farmington Utah Stake presented an original musical production about the exasperation leading to the organization of the Primary. Entitled “Oh, Those Boys!”, the musical showed boys killing bats during Sunday School in the attic of the Church. A chorus of young girls sang the pleasures and responsibilities of being “at the end of the row.” (In early Primaries, older, well-behaved children were placed at the end of the row to set an example and control the other children.)

“Oh, Those Boys!” played two nights, and most of the audience went away informed, entertained, and amazed at the job the young people had done.