Gospel Story Finder

That is no way to listen to conference. I have since repented. I have grown to love general conference, I’m sure partly because of my mother’s love for the words of the living prophets. I remember listening to the sessions of a particular conference all alone in an apartment while I was in college. The Holy Ghost witnessed to my soul that Harold B. Lee, the President of the Church at that time, was truly a prophet of God. This happened before I went into the mission field, and I was excited to testify of a living prophet because I had come to know for myself. I have had that same witness about each of the prophets since that time.

“We think about the brothers and sisters who haven’t been to church. … Then we ask the person if we can have a branch family evening at their house.” — Ernesto Gabriel Manhique, Homoine Branch president
Illustrations by Dilleen Marsh
Less than a year after joining the Church, Ernesto Gabriel Manhique was called as the president of the newly created Homoine Branch in Inhambane, Mozambique. At the time, the branch was two years old and had about 20 members attending.
President Manhique wanted love to be the foundation of the branch. “Because of my experiences,” he said, “I decided to be a leader who cultivates friendship with the members and demonstrates my love for them.”
President Manhique said their branch council meetings focused on reaching those who had stopped attending church because they struggled to feel loved and valued. These discussions led to an activity they called “Friday night branch family evenings.”
“We plan it like this: We think about the brothers and sisters who haven’t been to church the previous Sunday or who haven’t been for a few Sundays,” said President Manhique. “Then we ask the person if we can have a branch family evening at their house that week.”
The branch gathers at the member’s home and invites the entire neighborhood. President Manhique explained that this helps the person or family to feel loved, valued, and wanted.
“Often, the member [who hosted] returns accompanied by neighbors, who enjoy the branch family evening and decide to attend church,” said President Manhique. The Homoine Branch now has over 250 members. Most attend church regularly.

When Jane Seppings, of Victoria, Australia, discovered that Cardinia Shire was calling for cloth face masks for refugee and migrant residents, the busy mother and youth leader with The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, set to work with her sewing machine.
She made 22 cloth face masks of varying sizes.
“I’m grateful that the gospel of Jesus Christ encourages us to love and serve others,” she said.
As a nurse and midwife, Jane says she values her health and the health of her family and her patients.
“This was a way I could further contribute to other families in the community by doing something as simple as making masks for those that don’t have access to them,” Jane explained. “It is always nice to help out where I can.”
The masks were acknowledged gratefully by the Shire’s cultural diversity facilitator, Glenda George.

John Weir goes to an international school and had the opportunity to do humanitarian service in both Tanzania and Nepal. He feels that he gained as much as he gave from his efforts to help others.
He went to these countries thinking he would see only death, pain, and misery. He says, “I was completely wrong. The people of Tanzania were the most joyful and loving people I have ever met. They were so grateful for everything they had and were always looking out for each other no matter what the conditions were. I had never seen so much joy in someone’s eyes when they received a pencil or a journal from their teachers. I was amazed that something so simple and common in my eyes could be so treasured in someone else’s. I was happy that I could be one of the people who brought them joy.
“The following year I was excited to serve in a children’s hospital in Nepal. The hospital in the mountains of Nepal was a beautiful place except for the injured children with missing limbs and no family. I wanted to turn these children’s frowns upside down. As we talked and played games with them, I discovered that they were strong-willed, fun, and intelligent. This was a surprise to me, because in their circumstances they could be crying every day and looking at the bad things in life. Instead, they did the exact opposite. They were optimistic and tried their hardest to learn and to find enjoyment in life. This taught me to look at the good in life and not dwell on the bad.”

They had lunch in the cultural hall after the morning meeting. As he sat down at a table, Scott’s companion called over to him, “Hello, oh hairless one!”

The elders within hearing range smirked.

“My companion is the only one in the mission who takes 30 minutes to wash his face. It’s because it goes clear to the back of his neck.”

More laughter.

Scott ate quickly and left. He found the chapel open and vacant, so he sat down and began reading the scriptures.

“Looks like you’re busy as usual.” Scott looked up to see the wife of his mission president. “Are you all right?” she asked with kindness.

“Do you know any way to make hair grow back?” he asked her.

“The elders can be cruel, can’t they?”

He felt the pent up frustration pouring forth as he talked to her about his problems.

She listened to him attentively, and just talking about it made him feel better.

Missionaries began to file into the chapel for the meeting. Before she left to go up on the stand, she showed him a book she was reading. “It’s by Brother Stephen Covey. Look at his picture on the inside cover. You can see he’s bald, but do you see any fear or shame on his face?”

“No,” Scott said, looking at the picture.

“He’s a very positive man and, I think, handsome too. You know, Elder, you really have a nicely shaped head.”

“I do?” Scott said.

“Sure you do. It’d be a shame to hide that with hair.”

The next morning Scott cut his hair very short.

“What have you done?” his companion gasped as he came out of the bathroom.

“I’ve decided to quit hiding my good looking head.”

“Although I am far past the age of youth, the situation here so touched my heart that I felt duty-bound to reply. Fifteen years ago, when I was 18, I joined the Church. I was at that time and still am the only member of my immediate family who has ever joined.

“Through the years there have been many situations where the easy thing to do would have been to ‘honor my parents’ and do what they said, but I always felt I honored my parents more by strictly adhering to the gospel teachings.

“When I was 21, my husband-to-be, knowing of my family situation, asked where I wanted to be married. I replied that we had been taught to marry in the temple, and although it caused hard feelings at the time, we did just that. My family got over it, and now, 13 years later, when we are trying to teach our children correct principles, we tell them that we were married in the temple and that they should be married there also.

“Over the years we have insisted on being allowed to attend our Church meetings, to pay our tithes and offerings, to fast, and not to party on Sunday, and all of it has had a real effect. Not long ago my mother said to my husband, ‘I think that joining the Church was the best thing Diane ever did.’”

I recently had a former ward member ask me for help in dealing with some personal issues. She had moved to a new ward and was not sure if she wanted to go to her new bishop for guidance. I shared with her what I have shared many times since being released, which was that while I was happy to assist, I no longer held the keys that a bishop holds and that those keys could be crucial to providing the support she needed. I suggested that she speak with her bishop. I visited with her two weeks later, and she said that she had met with her bishop and it was as if he already knew what her issues were and how to best help her. While the bishop is certainly fallible, the Lord inspires him, guides him, and blesses lives through his words.

During my junior year of high school, the bishopric called a new Sunday School teacher for my class. It was wonderful because this new teacher was very entertaining. At that time I didn’t go to Sunday School regularly. Before Brother Dahl was called, I hardly went at all.
One Sunday, I was walking down the hall to throw away my little brother’s leftover Cheerios from sacrament meeting and head for the bathroom to spend Sunday School time with my friends. On my way, Brother Dahl greeted me. Shaking my hand he said, “How are you doing, Sister Whitworth?” I just smiled, pushed open the garbage can, and dropped the bag in. “I hope you are coming to Sunday School today. The lesson is one of my favorites.”
“Brother Dahl, all the lessons are your favorites.” He smiled and left for class, leaving me with a weird feeling that he knew I had not planned on going to class that day. I am always one to do exactly the opposite of what everyone thinks I will do, so I went to the bathroom and casually said, “Come on, Kristina, let’s go to Sunday School.” Kristina always went to Sunday School, but I could see the surprise on her face when I was the one who suggested it.
As we entered the class, Brother Dahl asked, “Annie, what would you like for Christmas this year?”
“Money,” I said. Everyone giggled, even Brother Dahl. Brother Dahl asked everyone in the class the same question. Some wanted a mountain bike, others a stereo, and others didn’t really care as long as they got something.
Brother Dahl said, “Every year about this time I start wondering if my wife knows what I want for Christmas. I hope this year she gets me a new tennis racket and shirt, because my old ones are getting a little worn out.” Everyone knew he was joking because he was grinning.
“But that is not what Christmas is all about,” he said in a voice that changed the tone of the lesson. He started handing out paper and pencils. “At Christmastime we should be in the spirit of giving, but we should also remember what Christmas really is. On this paper I want you to write a letter to Jesus, thanking Him for all He has given you. And tell Him what present you will give Him.”
This was not an easy assignment for me. At first, I wrote down that I would give Him all of my money so He could build temples and churches, but I realized that the money really wasn’t mine anyway; it was His.
When class ended I still hadn’t thought of anything I could give Jesus that He had not already given me. I had found someone who truly had it all, and what kind of a present can you get the person who gave you everything?
That afternoon I had to set the table for Sunday dinner. While I was matching up knives with spoons, I tried to think of a really good present, but I still couldn’t think of anything. As we ate dinner, we talked about the lessons we learned at church. No one had any suggestions for what I should give Jesus for Christmas. But when my family read scriptures that night, I found my answer.
We were taking turns reading in Matthew. When I started reading, I wasn’t paying attention until I read Matthew 25:40: “Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.” Now I realized the Savior had already told us what the best present is. I only needed to read His words for myself to understand.

When he was only eleven he was accepted into the Spanish army, where his three older brothers were already serving. Three years later he was sent with an infantry battalion to Africa to defend a fort against the Moors. There he fought in bloody battles, the heat was exhausting, and an earthquake shook the town to pieces.
Records show that José was cited often for heroism, that he was an unusually capable young officer, and that he soon became a respected and honored colonel in the Spanish army. Then, after more than twenty years of service, José learned that the South American colonies had broken with Spain. The year was 1811.
José resigned from the army, and with a group of eager young men he set sail for the land of his birth. Soon after their arrival in Buenos Aires, they became friendly with other young men who were anxious to fight for freedom. José de San Martín became their leader; they were glad to be his followers. He was a soldier of worldwide experience, young enough to be on equal terms with his men, and one who was firm but always fair.
He once gave an order that no one could enter the munition lab wearing military boots or spurs, for fear that a spark struck by the iron might cause an explosion. A guard was stationed at the door to enforce the order.
One day José appeared wearing both boots and spurs. The guard stopped him. “You cannot pass, my general,” he said.
“I was the one who gave the order,” answered José, “so I can change it.”
“True,” replied the guard, “but up to now the order stands. You cannot go in.”
The next day José came back but again the guard refused to let him enter the lab wearing his boots and spurs. José left and later returned wearing a pair of sandals.
In a few minutes the guard was summoned to the general’s office. José de San Martín put out his hand in greeting and said, “I have brought you here to congratulate you. It is always good to know a man who obeys orders.”
Even more amazing than José’s dependable fairness was his total unconcern for personal glory. He had the officers and men under him agree on rules of conduct and then enforce these rules themselves. On the first Sunday of each month José called a meeting to urge them to keep high standards and to rededicate themselves to liberate South America.
This group was successful in winning battles in Argentina, and then José began to plan to free Chile. In order to do so, it was necessary to take his army of 3,500 men across the rugged snow-topped mountain ranges of the Andes. The Andes have an average width of 150 miles and an average height of 12,000 feet. The only roads were narrow, steep, and dangerous paths that wound around deep gorges and over jagged peaks.
Even the women and children in and around Mendoza, Argentina, where the march began, participated in the final preparations. The women brought their precious jewels to José to be exchanged for food and equipment. The children went from door to door collecting blankets, clean rags, and whatever could be used for bandages or for protection against the intense below-zero cold of the Andes.
One man had room in his saddlebags for nothing but the medical supplies for José, who was almost always ill with asthma, rheumatism, stomach ulcers, and various other ailments. But neither impassable mountains, severe illness, lack of money, lonely separation from his young wife and little daughter, nor other obstacles could stop this man whose dream was to free the people of South America from what he believed was the unfair government of Spain.
Finally all was in readiness. The night before the army left Mendoza, mule packs and oxcarts went through streets that had been strewn with flowers, as everyone gathered to hold special prayers and to pledge again their dedication to freedom.
The army made an unbelievable crossing of the Andes despite storm, cold, illness, and other hardships. This march prepared the way for the establishment of independence for both Chile and Peru.
In the meantime another great general, Simon Bolivar, was successfully leading an army that was fighting for the freedom of Spanish colonies in the north. José felt that the armies should join together and arranged a meeting of the two leaders. He offered to give up his command and serve under Bolivar. Both men were sincere patriots, but they had very different ideas. San Martín’s only desire was to free the people; Bolivar had ambitions to rule after the military victories were won. José decided he must avoid any possible conflict that might hurt the cause of freedom. During a party given in honor of the two generals, he slipped quietly away. As soon as he could, he resigned from all command and invited Bolivar to carry on his work.
José’s lovely young wife had died while he was away. José took their little daughter, Mercedes, and went with her into exile in Europe. She became the joy of his life. He planned what he must teach her, just as he had always planned his battles. On a chart he wrote his ideals for her:
To make her kind and gentle.
To make her love truth and hate lies.
To inspire her with a feeling of confidence and friendship.
To arouse in her a charity toward the poor and unfortunate.
To arouse in her respect for other people’s property.
To accustom her to keep a secret.
To inspire in her a respect toward all religions.
To teach her to speak little and to speak accurately.
Her father was Mercedes’ great example.
During his lifetime José de San Martín refused salaries, promotions, prizes, and honors. The government of Chile once gave him money that he immediately returned for a public library. A farm he was given was used as a hospital for women. He died in Boulogne, France, a poor and almost unknown man. He knew that others with whom he had fought were enjoying fame and fortune, but he cared only for the freedom of the people of South America.
In the past few years the world has come to know José de San Martín and to honor him as one of the great men of all time. Statues have been raised to his memory and many public buildings have been named for him. With special love and gratitude the people of the countries of South America that he helped to free refer to him as the “Saint of the Sword.”

While the others were swimming, Marlene and Jeremy became the Tom Sawyers of the group. “Jeremy was out there building a raft, and he said ‘Come in and help me,’” Marlene said. “So I went over and we started putting boards and logs together and tying them with string and rope. Then we just floated out on it.” Adult leaders nearby kept a careful watch on swimmers and rafters in case of emergency. In fact, Sister Lewis lent a hand building the raft.
The group had arrived in Mount Watson’s neighborhood, but the trek to the summit would begin the next day, after dinner and a good night’s rest. What the young ladies hadn’t counted on was rain—buckets of it. Maybe the mountain wanted to see how sincere they were about the climb. “The rain came while we were trying to get our dinner. It put out our fire and everything. Soggy macaroni, soggy everything,” said 15-year-old Becky Thomas. “But it was good, wasn’t it?” laughed, Suanne, her 17-year-old sister.
There were the inevitable problems of leaky tents, soaked sleeping bags, and dripping clothes. Luckily, Bishop Thomas, who had been rained out once on a similar trip, had hauled along a box of plastic garbage sacks. A large face hole punched in one corner transformed a sack into a makeshift rain coat and offered some protection until dinner was done. (To avoid danger, the use of the plastic bags was carefully supervised.) Later that evening, when one tent was flooded, those in well-pitched shelters courteously doubled up so that everyone could be dry and warm. There were also the usual sleeping struggles of avoiding roots, pointed rocks, and bumps in the ground, but eventually everyone managed to doze off.
The next day the girls left their backpacks behind, carrying with them only canteens and crackers and cheese for lunch, and mounted the assault on the peak. As the elevation increased, forests gave way to scattered trees, trees gave place to shrubbery, and finally, there was nothing to climb but barren, broken rock.
“For safety’s sake, we have a system—we keep talking to each other and keep each other aware of where we are,” Sister Visker said. “That way, if loose rocks fall, we’re able to give warning and get out of the way.”
“It was hard climbing,” said 16-year-old RaLene Neal. “Sometimes we were on our hands and knees.”
“But we had our fun, too,” 17-year-old Shelly Michelsen wrote in her journal. “We took turns sliding down a glacier and had a super time. Then we pushed on along the ridge until we reached our goal. I sat down as close to the edge as I dared and, like the others, looked in all directions. A cool breeze was blowing around my hot face, but I felt calm and restful. We were so filled with the beauty of our surroundings—the rippling lakes, the pine forests, mountains in all directions, even out into Wyoming. I felt very in tune with my Father. I thought of how he must have felt when he looked over all he created and saw that it was good.”
“One of the men in the ward told us before we left that it couldn’t be done, that we couldn’t climb to the top of Mount Watson,” Becky Palmer, 15, said. “So when we got there we felt like we had achieved the impossible.”
“I thought,” Shelly continued, “that even though we’re not always up in the mountains, we can still have the same feeling, the same reverence for God’s work. I think life with its hardships is a big mountain, but if we keep at it, there’s a time when we’ll reach the top and look down at what we’ve done, and we’ll know that it’s good, too.”
Maria Lecon, 15, said she was “most impressed with the spirit we felt up there. I knew that the Lo.”
For Edie Coats, 17, it was a time of gratitude. “We just moved here from Virginia, and I was a little bit scared. But the first Sunday, everyone was so friendly to me. They were coming on this trip the next Saturday, and they wanted me along! I think by coming on the trip, I really got to know the girls in my ward.”
Most of the girls kept journals of their experiences and feelings, and there on the mountaintop, the group paused and wrote poems. “I felt like every poem was sort of a journal in itself,” Shelly said, “because it came from the heart and described a special time in our lives.” At a morning meeting the next day, the young ladies read their verses to each other.
Of course, the slide down the snowbanks left a pleasant memory, too. “We used the same garbage sacks we had used before in the rain as ’sleds,’” said Rachel Palmer, 17. “The glacier was less slick at the bottom—it looked steeper than it was. But a couple of times we did have to use our feet for brakes.”
Dinner that night and breakfast the following morning were cooked and served in number 10 cans, the main “pan” carried on the excursion. “We did bring utensils and a skillet or two, but the large cans really helped keep weight in the packs to a minimum,” Sister Visker explained. Around the campfire the girls each shared one positive thing they had learned about someone else since the trip began and also drew names to see who they would be the “wood elf” for. Wood elves do mysterious, anonymous kind deeds for someone else in a camping group.
The next day was to have been spent “puddle jumping” (visiting one lake after another). “But when we got to the first one, Wall Lake,” said Marlene Neal, 15, “we liked it so well that we stayed.” Activities at the lake included cliff diving, fishing, and swimming.
“We had to check it out and make sure it was safe before we started cliff diving,” Marlene explained. “We had to make sure there were no rocks on the bottom and that the water was deep enough. And an adult supervisor trained in lifeguarding and first aid had to be there all the time, too.”
At first, the divers were scaring the fish away, so the swimmers moved to another location. Then one of those fishing scared the fish away! “Sister Visker helped me get a little fake fly way out away from the shore,” Maria said. “As soon as it landed in the water, a big fish came along. It scared me, so I threw a rock at it.”
Marlene also had her problems fishing: “I’d hook the grass at the bottom and all my lures and sinkers would get torn off. But it was still fun.”
The various activities of the day left the girls tired, but not too worn out to express their feelings during a testimony meeting. They read their favorite scriptures to each other, spoke again of their love for nature, for the gospel, and for the Lord, and talked about the lessons they had learned on their trip: lessons of perseverance, sacrifice, relaxation, and sharing the load.
“It’s unbelievable the feeling you get on top of a mountain,” said Sandy Kay, 17. “If you have an open mind and a humble heart, it can really help straighten out your priorities and help you see the reason why we’re here.”
The next morning the girls had loaded up their gear and they were on the trail home. But they weren’t rushing away. Somehow they wanted to linger just a bit longer, savoring the strength of the hills they had learned to love.

When I was two years old, my father died, leaving my mother and six children. My oldest brother, Lincoln, was seventeen at the time and was still in high school.
When he graduated, Lincoln began working full time to support us. He never complained about having to work so hard at such a young age or about not being able to go to college or serve a mission, both of which he wanted so much. Lincoln was always dependable and faithful, and later in life he managed a business and served as a wonderful stake president and mission president. Many people loved him because of his character and his cheerful, gracious personality.
It was Lincoln who taught me how important it is to feel needed.

I grew up in India, where I met the missionaries and first attended church. That Sunday happened to be Easter Sunday. Because of my work schedule, I came to church late and attended a youth Sunday School class, where one of the missionaries taught the lesson. He quoted some scriptures from a blue book that I had never seen before but that sounded like the Bible. As he was teaching, I felt a strong feeling in my heart and knew that I too should possess this book.
I went directly to him after class and told him, “I need that book.” Since the book was his own set of scriptures, he could not give it to me, but he let me look at and feel it. I could see golden words embossed on the front: “The Book of Mormon.” I got the same feeling again that I needed the book for myself. The missionary got my address and promised to bring me one. Sure enough, the missionaries came to my house soon after and presented me with my own copy of the Book of Mormon. They then started teaching me the discussions.
That year, Easter brought an unbelievable blessing into my life: the Book of Mormon. That small blue book has brought a spirit of life into my life, and I am so thankful that I had the privilege to learn from it.
Venu Bhaskar Nakka, California, USA

Hooray! Your brother is turning (number) next week! And, being the kind sibling you are, you’ve decided to make him an extra (adjective) birthday present. First, grab some (plural noun) and maybe a few (plural noun) as well. It’s true that (adjective ) (plural noun) are also his favorite, but your sister is giving him those already. Next, (verb) over to your favorite (noun) store to buy (plural noun). You’ll need some (plural noun) to make everything stick together, of course, so be sure to find at least (number). It’s building time! Grab a (noun), gather your supplies, then head to (location) and (verb) for (length of time) to finish the craft. Wrap your brother’s present with a (color) (noun), top it with a bow, and give it to him. He’ll be sure to say (silly phrase) over and over again!

As a 17-year-old nursing student, I found my second year of college a challenging one. (In the Philippines we finish high school at age 16.) I found the endless quizzes, research projects, and reading assignments to be exhausting. I felt as though I always had dark circles under my eyes, since I normally got little sleep. Despite the heavy workload, I always tried to remember that “sacrifice brings forth the blessings of heaven.”1
I knew that if I worked hard, I would have a better future. Whenever I wanted to give up and go to bed without studying, I imagined how sad and defeated I would feel the next day if I did poorly on a quiz or assignment. This was enough motivation to keep me awake so I could study.
Many of my classmates were upset when they got a low score on a quiz. However, they did not want to work and study hard. As a result, students would often “help” one another by sharing answers during quizzes or tests, allowing others to look at their papers when the professor wasn’t watching. I was often tempted to do the same, but I never dared. I have read countless times in Church magazines that members of the Church should have high standards, which means no cheating. So I studied hard and resisted the temptation, even though this sometimes meant getting lower grades than my classmates, since they had each other’s help.
On one particular day I had classes from 7:00 in the morning until 7:00 in the evening, and I had a quiz scheduled in each class. I studied 10 pages for my first quiz alone. “How will I get through all this?” I wondered. Thankfully, I did well on my first quiz. During lunch I studied for my next one. When I went to class and started the quiz, I realized that I knew the answers to every question but one. “How can this be?” I thought. “I’ve studied hard for this quiz. I should know this answer!”
As I tapped my pen furiously on my chair, it occurred to me that it would take just a moment to turn my head, give my hair a flip, and dart my eyes toward my classmate’s answer. “I could do this just once,” I thought, “and I’ll ace the quiz. Just once won’t hurt. Besides, it’s so unfair for me. I study hard, yet I get lower grades than my classmates because I don’t cheat!” Still, I felt uncomfortable. I fidgeted in my chair, trying to make a choice: to cheat or not to cheat.
Then a voice inside me said, “No, Shery! Cheating is wrong, and you know it!” Suddenly I realized that even if I got a perfect score on the quiz, I wouldn’t feel good about my score if I cheated. My Heavenly Father was counting on me to make the right choice—this choice was the real test.
Just then a scripture I’d learned in Sunday School came to my mind: “How then can I do this great wickedness, and sin against God?” (Genesis 39:9). I knew that Heavenly Father had helped me through countless challenges, including many quizzes and school assignments. How could I forget all He had done for me and choose to sin?
To this day I can’t remember the result of that particular quiz. Whether I came up with the answer or not, I can’t recall. But I have always remembered that I felt good for making the right choice.
Now as a junior I still face the same mountain of schoolwork and the same temptations; however, choosing not to cheat isn’t difficult because I’ve made that choice already, at a time when the temptation was hard to resist. I’ve learned that the joy and satisfaction of getting high grades is greater when I work hard and earn it. Wickedness, indeed, never was happiness (see Alma 41:10). True happiness is found in keeping the commandments and following the counsel of our prophet and other Church leaders. I truly believe the words “Keep the commandments. In this there is safety and peace.”2

A true story from Bermuda.
Colin tied two long pieces of wood together to make his kite. Then he looped string tightly around the outside of the kite to make it strong. Now it was time to add the colorful paper.
Uncle Ladd pointed to his own kite. “Am I doing this right?”
“Yeah. Now pull the strings tight,” Colin said.
“And choose some cloth for the tail,” said Alec, Colin’s younger brother. He pointed to the strips of cloth on the table. “That helps it fly.”
Colin and his family were making kites for Good Friday. Good Friday was a big holiday in Bermuda. It was the Friday before Easter. Everyone celebrated by going to the beach to fly their kites. Uncle Ladd was visiting Colin’s family. He had never made a kite before.
“Why do you fly kites on Good Friday?” Uncle Ladd asked. He chose red and blue paper for his kite.
“The kites flying in the air remind us that Jesus Christ was resurrected,” Colin said. “He went to be with Heavenly Father again. So we will all be resurrected someday.”
Alec nodded. “Everyone in Bermuda flies kites to celebrate.”
“What’s your favorite part?” Uncle Ladd asked.
Colin chose some colored paper. “I like that it brings us closer to God. And we get to spend time with family and friends.”
“I like that so many people celebrate together,” Alec said.
On Good Friday, Colin and his family went to the beach. They took their kites, fish cakes, and hot cross buns.
There were already lots of people at the beach. Colorful kites filled the sky. The wind blew everyone’s hair around, and the bright blue sky matched the color of the ocean. It was a perfect day for kite flying!
They sat on the beach to eat. The fish cakes were warm, and the hot cross buns were soft. Colin and Alec waved at friends walking by.
Then they walked with Uncle Ladd down the beach. Colin held his kite tightly. He had to run and try a few times before the wind picked up the kite and held it in the air. He watched his colorful kite dance in the breeze.
“I’m glad Jesus lives again,” Alec said.
Colin stared up at his kite and smiled. “Me too.”

When I was young, I was overly dependent on my older sister. For example, I was a fussy eater, and when we went to visit our grandparents, I was constantly faced with being offered food I didn’t like. When the plate was passed to me, I would turn to my sister and ask, “Collene, do I like this?”
If it was familiar and she knew that I didn’t like it, she would say, “No, you don’t like that.”
If it was something we hadn’t eaten before, she would say, “Just a minute,” and taste it, and then tell me if I liked it or not. If she said that I didn’t like it, no amount of coaxing could get me to eat it.
Just as I needed to rely on my own taste buds and stop denying myself good food just because my sister told me that I didn’t like it, we must all feast on the fruit of our own testimony and not the testimony of another person. We also need to increase our ability to receive personal revelation.

At 6:00 A.M. on Thursday, August 11, 1976, Bobby Elkington, Bishop Brian W. Hunt of the Temple View Third Ward (Temple View New Zealand Stake), and Bardia Taiapa met in the Temple View chapel. There they turned over the $30.00 earned by the early morning seminary class of the Temple View New Zealand Stake for their brothers and sisters on the Gilbert Islands. The money was raised on two successive Saturdays when the class members made doughnuts and sold them at stake leadership meeting and around the Temple View community. It’s a very enthusiastic seminary class that will get up at 5:00 A.M. and earlier to go to class, raise $30.00 for a struggling seminary group, and then raise another $16.00 for their own activities.
Many of the youth have 100 percent attendance records.

While I was in South America recently, Brother Roger Parra from Venezuela shared the following experience with me:
“In 2019 Venezuela was shaken by problems that caused a power blackout for five days.
“Chaos and anarchy reigned in the streets, and many desperate people did not have sufficient food.
“Some began looting food businesses, destroying everything in their path.
“As the owner of a small bakery, I was very worried about our business. As a family, we decided to give away all the food in our bakery to people in need.
“Through one very dark night riots were everywhere. My only concern was for the safety of my beloved wife and children.
“At dawn I went to our bakery. Sadly, every nearby food business had been destroyed by looters, but to my great astonishment, our bakery was intact. Nothing had been destroyed. I humbly thanked my Heavenly Father.
“Arriving home, I told my family of God’s blessing and protection.
“They were all so grateful.
“My oldest son, Rogelio, only 12 years old, said, ‘Papa! I know why our store was protected. You and Mama always pay your tithes.’”
Brother Parra concluded: “The words of Malachi came into my mind. ‘I will rebuke the devourer for your sakes, and he shall not destroy the fruits of your ground’ [Malachi 3:11]. We knelt down and gratefully thanked our Heavenly Father for His miracle.”

Father plopped a stack of books on the table and announced, “Tonight for family home evening we are going to write our testimonies in a Book of Mormon. Practice first on a piece of paper. Then, using your best penmanship, write your testimony on the inside cover, and sign your name. We’ll glue one of your school pictures underneath it, and tomorrow I’ll give the books to the bishop to donate to the missionaries.”
“That’s a good idea,” said Mother. “Maybe what we write will spark somebody’s interest in the Church and help to convert them. Let’s put our address under the pictures, too, and maybe someone will write back to us.”
Tyler and Christi eagerly grabbed a piece of paper.
“I’m going to explain about the priesthood and how I was ordained a deacon,” Tyler said.
“I’m going to write about our family and how we can be together forever,” said Christi.
Kevin just sat and stared at his paper.
Soon everyone except Kevin was busily writing. Several minutes later Mother stopped and said, “What’s wrong, Kevin?”
“Nothing,” he mumbled.
“Can’t you decide what to say?” Father asked.
Kevin shook his head.
“Maybe you could write how the Church has a living prophet,” Mother suggested, “or how we read the Book of Mormon every day as a family and how that helps you to make right choices.”
“Yeah, I guess I could,” Kevin said. He stared at his paper some more. What could I say that would help anybody? he wondered. Who would ever believe what a seven-year-old had to say?
Kevin thought about his next birthday. It was four months away, and he would be baptized then. An idea began to form in his mind, and he started to write. Several times he wadded up his paper and threw it away, but he kept at it.
Everyone else had finished writing and was eating cookies when Kevin finally started copying his testimony on the inside cover of his Book of Mormon. When he finished, he reread it one last time. It said:
“My name is Kevin Richards. I am seven years old. Soon I will be eight. When I turn eight, I will be baptized by immersion as Jesus was. My father will baptize me and confirm me a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I believe that this is the true church of Christ. If you read this book and pray about it, Heavenly Father will tell you that the teachings in it are true. Then you can get baptized too. Please write and tell me how you feel when you read this book.
Sincerely,
Kevin Richards”
Satisfied, Kevin carefully glued his picture underneath it, wrote his address, and added his book to the stack.
“All finished?” Father asked.
“Yes,” answered Kevin. “Boy, that sure was hard!”
“Sometimes trying to express your feelings is hard,” agreed Father. “But sharing your testimony will not only help someone else learn about the Church. It will also help your testimony grow stronger.”
“Is that why I feel good now?” Kevin asked.
“I’m sure it is. And when someone gets your book and reads what you wrote, maybe he will get that good feeling too.”
Each day after school Kevin eagerly raced to the mailbox, hoping to find an answer from the person who received his Book of Mormon.
But it was Christi who squealed one day, “An answer! An answer! I got an answer!” And three days later both Father and Tyler got a letter.
“My letter came all the way from Mexico,” Tyler bragged.
Tears welled up in Kevin’s eyes. He crept upstairs to his bedroom and lay on his bed.
There was a knock on the door. “May I come in?” asked Mother. When Kevin choked out an OK, Mother went in and sat down beside him. She sat in silence for a few minutes, then said, “You’re really disappointed to not get an answer from somebody, aren’t you? Do you want to talk about it?”
Kevin hesitated, then sat up and wiped his tears away with the back of his hand. “What if the person who gets my book laughs at what I said? What if he thinks that I’m stupid? What if he thinks that a kid doesn’t know anything, and he decides not to read my book?”
Mother gently put her arms around Kevin. “No one would laugh. He’d know that you’re very sincere and that you care about him. And children can often touch people’s hearts in a way that grown-ups can’t.”
“Then why haven’t I gotten an answer?”
“I don’t know, but I’m sure that there is a good reason. Maybe the missionaries just haven’t found the right family to give your Book of Mormon to yet. And whether we like it or not, just because we bear our testimonies doesn’t mean that the people who receive them will accept them. No one has written to me yet, either, so let’s just hope that we’ll still get letters. Sometimes it just takes a while.”
That night when he went to bed, Kevin prayed, “Dear Heavenly Father, please help the missionaries to find the right person for my Book of Mormon. Bless him not to laugh at what I wrote. Bless him to read the Book of Mormon and get a testimony. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
Days melted into weeks. Finally it was Kevin’s baptismal day. Just before lunch, Christi came running into the house, yelling, “Kevin! Kevin! Look what the mailman just brought.”
Kevin took the envelope Christi was waving and quickly tore it open. It read,
“Dear Kevin Richards,
Please forgive that I take so long to write. My name is Tuilolo Tuiaaga. I live with my wife and four children in Pago Pago on Samoan island called Tutuila. One day your missionaries came. I was busy in my bakery and had no time to listen. But my wife listen and keep your book and read it.
Then bad time came to my family. My bakery burn down. Our sick baby got sicker. Doctors try hard, but poor baby Sina die.
My wife say God loves Sina. God loves us. She say He cares. I get very angry. I yell, ‘If He love us, why bakery burn? Why Sina die?’
One night I hurt bad inside. I not sleep. I sit in darkness. By chair was your book. I want to burn book. I pick it up. I see your picture. I read what you write. Then I read and read and read in book. Is hard to read in English for me, but I read till morning. I read again what you write. The Spirit tells me what I read is true. I believe. I wake my wife. We cry and pray. I pray that God forgive my anger. Peace comes to my soul.
Soon will be our family baptism on 30 August. We are very happy. I thank you for sending Book of Mormon.
Peace to you, my brother,
Tuilolo Tuiaaga”
That evening, on August 30, as Kevin came out of the waters of baptism, he whispered, “Peace to you, Tuilolo. Peace to you.”

Dear Reed,
Sam and I need your help. We need it soon. You see, our family had Sam’s family come for family home evening last night. Dad taught a lesson about being a family forever. Sam and I sang “I Am a Child of God.” Then we made fruit sundaes with frozen yogurt and watched family movies.
Sam’s mom and dad said that they want to start having family home evenings at their house, and Sam asked if we could come to their house for one next week. His dad said that he has to be out of town next week and that he needed to practice giving lessons first. So Sam asked if we could come the Monday after that and said that he and I would give the lesson—and his parents said OK!
Now Sam and I have to get a lesson ready. We went through the Family Home Evening Resource Book, but we can’t decide what to do. What would be a good lesson for Sam and me to give? Please write soon!
Love,Buddy