Gospel Story Finder

In a room filled with couches, end tables, and lamps, two slightly nervous missionaries talk with a Church member.
“Do you know anyone you’d like to share the gospel with?” asks Sister Marissa Johnstun.
“Uh, I’m not really sure,” answers the young woman.
The sisters look a little stumped and a lot self-conscious as the video camera in the corner continues to run.
In an adjoining room of the Training Resource Center (TRC), Elder Morgan furiously scribbles notes as he observes the sisters on a computer screen.
“Thank goodness we get a second try,” says Sister Katie Kondel as she and Sister Johnstun emerge from the classroom-turned-living-room. Elder Morgan gives encouraging pointers as the three replay the sisters’ video. “Next time try testifying a little more.”
The sisters head back for another try, this time looking more confident. As they share their testimonies, Elder Morgan cheers for them in the observation room. “Good job!” he says, clapping his hands.
Missionaries have TRC experiences like this every week, taking turns observing each other as they practice missionary situations they’ve learned about in class. The “investigators” or “members” are volunteers from the community.
“I enjoy it,” says Sister Kondel. “It’s good practice, and we need all the practice we can get! It helps to know what kinds of situations we’ll be in.”

During World War II, I came home on leave early one September. It was time to put peaches in bottles to preserve them for winter. My beloved mother-in-law called an old friend, George B. Andrus, of Holladay in this valley. The conversation on the telephone was brief: “George, do you have any peaches for sale?” mother asked.

Patriarch Andrus answered, “I have a few, but they are not very good.”

I volunteered to drive Mother Wright to pick up the peaches. When we arrived she said, “George, where are your peaches?”

Brother Andrus opened his garage door, and I saw bushel baskets filled with large golden fruit with red kisses from sun ripening. Each basket was filled so full that when I lifted them into the trunk of the car some of the luscious peaches on top of the piled basket rolled off and bruised. Brother Andrus immediately replaced them with other perfect fruit.

On the way home I said to Mother Wright, “What did he mean when he said his fruit was not very good?”

She answered, “If you knew George Andrus, you would know that any fruit he would put on the market would be good and that he would give more than full value.”

I wondered what the fruit would have been like if George had said it was good. Brother Andrus’s self-imposed expectations led him to go beyond what we expected of him in his dealings with us.

One Christmas, my young son needed two dollars to make me a present. On Christmas morning, he was so excited about it that, in spite of the many brightly wrapped packages with his name on them, he insisted I open his present first. It was a pencil holder for my office—made from a jar covered with brightly colored macaroni shells. The two dollars bought pencils and erasers. I was pleased with his innocence and love. He then eagerly turned to his own presents.

Each September a large international corporation, at its own expense, flew me and some other people to its headquarters in Chicago for a meeting that lasted several days. One year when I was there, a top executive of this corporation asked, “Thomas, would you like to go to dinner with me tonight? I’m inviting some others, and I’d love to have you join us.”
Liquor was available at the dinner, and a waiter asked for our drink order. I said, “I wouldn’t care for anything.”
My host, who was seated next to me, said, “Come on, Tom, have a drink. Relax.”
“No, I really wouldn’t care for anything.”
“Well, you have to have something.”
So I ordered ginger ale. It surprised me just a little that he would insist as he had, because he’d known me over the years, and whenever I went to his organization’s “social hours,” I was automatically given a glass of orange juice. But that night he really put the pressure on me. Then the waiter asked the others for their orders, and everyone ordered an alcoholic drink except the host—he ordered ginger ale!
A couple of weeks later, after I had returned to Salt Lake City, I received a long-distance telephone call from this man. He said, “I’d like to come out and visit with you. Will you be in town on such-and-such dates?”
I said that I would, and he came out with his wife and spent two or three days with us. At the end of their visit, he said, “Now I’m going to tell you why I’m really here. I’m here to ask you to be my assistant. I’d very much appreciate it if you would consider moving to Chicago. You could live in Evanston, Illinois; there are no alcoholic beverages served there, so you’d live in that kind of atmosphere. We want you to be part of our corporation. Take a week or ten days to think about it, then call me.”
“Something interests me,” I said. “When we were back in Chicago and you invited me to dinner that night, you really put the pressure on me to take a drink. Why?”
He smiled and said, “That’s right; I did. You see, we want to have men with very high ideals to head this corporation. We’d like to have men who think that the most enjoyable way to spend a Saturday night is to be home reading a family magazine and drinking ginger ale.”
It was a great honor to be offered such a key position in such a prestigious company, but after much deliberation, I called to tell him that I was going to stay with ZCMI. He said, “That’s fine. We still appreciate you, and if you ever change your mind, let me know.”
In life we find challenges of various kinds. Some of them are obvious, and some of them are not quite so obvious. In this case the challenge was not quite so obvious. But because I had met the challenge and had not had an alcoholic drink that night at the restaurant, I was thrice-blessed for sticking by my principles. First, I was offered a key position in an international organization. Second, even after I had turned them down, they let me know that their doors would always be open to me. Third, I was called by the Lord to spend my life in the best possible way—working full-time for Him.

My grandfather loves to tell my brothers and me stories about events in his life. Many of them are funny, others are scary, and I love them all. But the greatest story my grandfather ever told me has affected my testimony and my faith in the Church greatly. I still cry when he tells the story—even when I just think about it.
Before I was born my grandfather was a recent convert to the Church after many years of opposing it. He was a construction worker and would work on many sites, including the construction of large buildings.
Just one week after joining the Church, my grandfather was working on a building while 30 feet up in the sky. He was trying to get to one end of the building to do some work on the roof. In order to get to where he needed to go, my grandfather had to walk on a high beam hanging out over the ground. When my grandfather got about halfway onto the board it snapped, and my grandfather plummeted 30 feet onto the ground.
He was rushed to the emergency room. His neck was broken in three places, a lung was punctured, and a kidney was torn in half. Other parts of his body were ripped and bleeding. The doctors said he wouldn’t survive long enough to see the next day. During the whole ordeal my grandfather was still awake and in excruciating pain. He was sinking closer to death every second. Finally, my grandfather said he needed a blessing from a man with the priesthood.
Fortunately, a man who had helped my grandfather grow stronger in the Church had stayed home from work that day. When he received a call from the hospital stating that he was wanted there, he rushed to the emergency room and asked my grandfather what he needed.
My grandfather said, “I need a blessing.”
The man told him the doctors had said there was nothing more they could do to help my grandfather. But my grandfather shook his head and repeated that he needed a blessing. Finally the man agreed and gave my grandfather a blessing.
After the blessing, my grandfather relaxed. The pain finally having left him, he fell asleep. Several days passed, and my grandfather was released from the hospital.
When he went back for a checkup, his doctor had some surprising news. “You are a walking miracle,” he said. My grandfather had fully recovered from his deadly drop with no negative effects other than a few scars. The blessing from God that one man gave to my grandfather had saved his life and restored him to health.
When I first heard this story, I was too young to understand, but now that I am older, I understand it completely, and it has helped my testimony grow stronger. I know for a fact that through the priesthood, the Lord can heal those who truly ask for it in faith.
I will never forget the story, for I live with the walking miracle—my grandfather.

I understood that I had to make changes in my life if I wanted to teach my children the right way. For example, I could not teach them to keep the Word of Wisdom and live a chaste life if I was not living these commandments. By striving to live the teachings of the gospel, I was able to change my life and teach my children. I was also able to baptize my three children from my first marriage and get them back from the world. All eight children belong to the Church now. Four have served missions. One was too old to go on a mission, but he served as a stake mission president. Six are married, all in the temple.

Max got ready to play superhero. He put on his red t-shirt. He put on his superhero cape. Then he went to his little sister’s room.
“Come on, Mia,” said Max. “Let’s go save the day!”
Max and Mia went into the living room. They saw a basket full of clothes.
“Will you help me?” asked Mom.
“OK,” Max said. “Then we can go save the day.”
Max and Mia helped Mom fold all the clothes and put them away.
Then Max saw some trash on the floor. “Let’s pick up all the trash,” said Max. “Then we can go save the day.”
Max and Mia raced around the house. They threw away all the trash they could find.
They saw Mom sweeping the kitchen floor. “We can help you,” Max said.
Mia held the dustpan while Max swept the floor.
“Now let’s go save the day,” Max said.
Mom looked around at the clean house. Then she hugged Max and Mia. “I think you already did!”

An elder in our mission has had some pretty serious health problems. He has a skin allergy, bronchial problems, and sinus problems. When I arrived in the mission, he was sleeping in to avoid becoming weak and catching the flu. Then when he came in for lunch, he was sleeping for a couple of hours to keep from catching a cold or the flu. His companion was frustrated and called me.
I called the elder’s doctor. He said, “Well, his condition is bad, but it’s better than it was when he came into the mission field. It’s not going to change much no matter how many hours he works.” I called the elder into the office and suggested that I would rather see him sick with the flu legitimately than always worrying about it. I discussed with him the principle of suffering in silence, of simply going to work and doing what the Lord had called him to do. I said, “The doctor says your condition isn’t going to change no matter how much or how little you do. We’ve done and are doing all we can do. Why don’t you learn to suffer in silence?”
Bless his great heart, he took the counsel and put it into practice. He has become one of the top missionaries in the mission. He was made a training senior companion and then a district leader, all within about six weeks. What a great missionary he is now! He discovered how to suffer in silence and do the work. He is a great example of self-denial.

Kim could feel her face turning red and the tears pushing. Biting her lip hard, she forbade the tears to come.
“Practices,” Sister Tibler was saying to Corrie, “will begin next Saturday at nine o’clock. See you there!”
“Wow!” Corrie exclaimed as the Laurel adviser left. “This sounds so fun. Imagine me the lead in the stake play.”
“That’s neat!” Kim managed to say, but felt as if she would choke on the words.
“I’ve never been in a …” Corrie chattered on and on as they walked home, completely oblivious to Kim’s feelings. Kim nodded, agreed, smiled, but inside the hurt surged and grew until she could barely hold it in. It was the best performance she’d ever given—and the most painful. Finally they reached Corrie’s house.
“Want to come in?” Corrie asked.
“No, I’d better get home and help Mom with dinner.”
“Hurry home to help? You’re nuts. Stay here till it’s ready and then go. I’ve got a great new record we can listen to.”
“No. I’d better go,” Kim answered.
“See you tomorrow then,” Corrie called as she disappeared inside. “But don’t forget, I offered you a way out of work!”
Kim hurried up the street. The rest of the family would already be home, but maybe she could slip in with no one noticing. Quietly she opened the door, tiptoed into the family room, and headed for the stairs.
“Hey, Kim,” her sister, Janice, called. “Did Sister Tibler give you that part you wanted in the stake play?”
“No,” Kim answered, the word swelling in her throat. “She gave it to Corrie.”
“Figures.” Janice said. “Maybe if you went inactive for a while they’d let you do something fun.” Janice laughed, but the words broke Kim’s hold on the tears. Running down the stairs, she felt her way to her room, threw herself on the bed, and let the tears fall.
“I needed that part!” Kim whispered. “And I could do a better job.” Her sobs exploded in her throat. “Corrie doesn’t need it! It couldn’t mean as much to her. Why? Why? Why? It isn’t fair.”
“Kim?” her mother called softly through the door. “Can I come in?”
Kim sat up, grabbed a tissue, and tried to wipe away the evidence, but she knew even without looking that her eyes were too red to fool anyone.
“I guess so,” Kim answered.
The door opened and Mrs. Harper, a small lively woman, entered. “Janice said something was wrong.”
Kim kept her head turned away from her mother. “Just thinking.”
“Janice also told me what happened.”
“Janice talks too much.”
“Can I help?”
Suddenly the pain and bafflement came, pouring out in words. “Oh, Mom. I know I shouldn’t feel this way, but sometimes I just don’t understand. I’ve gone to church all my life. I try to be good. I do everything I’m asked to do, which is always the yuck and the work; call all the Laurels, wash a thousand stacks of slimy dishes at the high priests banquet, tend Mrs. Smith’s bratty, messy kids because she’s sick. But no one ever notices me. Every week I’m in my meetings. No one says a word. Corrie comes once a year and there’re trumpets and red carpet and hugs and kisses and,” Kim raised her voice in mock imitation, “Oh, we’re so very, very, very, very, very glad and happy and overjoyed and delighted to have you here, Corrie!”
Kim wiped once more at her eyes. The pressure had eased and the tears had slowed. “I know I shouldn’t feel like this. I know they’re just trying to help Corrie become active, but Mom, no one ever tells me they’re glad to see me. There’s never red carpet or trumpets for me. And now …” The tears started again despite all her efforts to hold them in. “Now they’ve given her the lead in the stake play. I needed that part. You know how Mr. Thornley told us that if I could just be in a couple more plays he thought I’d be able to get that drama scholarship.”
Mrs. Harper sat next to Kim and hugged her close. “I don’t know what to say. I know how you feel.”
“Oh, Mom, I even feel bad that I feel bad!” Kim tried to laugh. “I feel guilty. I should be happy that Corrie is beginning to come out to church.”
“And maybe that’s your answer,” Mrs. Harper said.
“Answer?”
“Not every girl your age would even feel guilty. That shows a great deal of maturity. Maybe the blessings of doing what’s right—washing dishes and tending kids and being active—aren’t material blessings, aren’t parts in plays. Think about it awhile.” She hugged her daughter again. “I don’t mean to diminish your pain. It’s there. I know it, but you’ve kept it private and you didn’t hurt Corrie. I’m proud of you.”
Kim smiled—barely.
“Come on now, let’s get dinner and then if you want, we can talk about it more later.”
Kim wiped at her eyes one more time and put on a smile. It was one of the best stage faces she’d ever created.
“That’s better,” Mrs. Harper said. “Now let’s get dinner.”
The pressurized feeling was gone, but all afternoon the thoughts and emotions jostled inside her. It really wasn’t fair. No amount of reasoning or logic could bring her to any other conclusion. But what had her mother meant? What other blessings were there?
Dinner was eaten, cleaned away, the home evening lesson was over, and Kim was writing in her journal when the telephone rang.
“Kim,” Mrs. Harper called, “Sister Tibler’s on the phone for you.”
Kim wished she could ask her Mom to say she wasn’t there, but it would be easier to get her to sprout wings and fly.
“I’m coming,” she called back.
Kim took the phone but her mother didn’t leave.
“What is it?” she asked as Kim hung up. “She sounded upset.”
“She was. Lara’s father had a heart attack this afternoon. He died about an hour ago.”
“Oh, no,” Mrs. Harper whispered.
“They don’t have any relatives around, and Lara’s mom is taking it pretty hard.”
“And Lara’s an only child, isn’t she?”
“Yes. That’s why Sister Tibler thought we ought to go over and keep her company. See if we can help.”
“I’ve got some chocolate chip cookies in the freezer. Take those over and see if there’s anything I can do to …”
Kim smiled, then chuckled.
“What’s wrong?” Mrs. Harper asked.
Kim hugged her mom. “Nothing. It’s just you.”
“I only wanted to …”
“I know,” Kim interrupted. “I didn’t mean it in a bad way. As a matter of fact you’re pretty special. Will you get the cookies while I put on my shoes? Sister Tibler said she’d be right over.”
Kim barely had her shoes on when Sister Tibler honked. She opened the door to find it was dusk and raining. “Give Lara these,” Mrs. Harper said, handing Kim the cookies. “But most of all give her yourself.”
Kim pulled her coat up over her head and ran to the car. As she settled into the seat she became acutely aware of the ping ping of rain on the roof and the apprehension rolling and swelling in her stomach. Everything had happened so fast she hadn’t had time to think before now. What should she say? What should she do? Self-consciousness and helplessness settled heavily on her thoughts.
“Before we go,” Sister Tibler suggested, “I think maybe we ought to say a word of prayer. If you don’t mind, I’ll say it.”
They bowed their heads and Kim tried hard to listen, but the dripping rain and the barrage of feelings kept distracting her.
“Help us know how to convey our love and how to comfort … ,” Sister Tibler was saying.
Ping. Splash. Ping. The rhythm accelerated and with it Kim’s heartbeat.
“Amen.”
“Amen,” Kim whispered.
Exchanging only a few comments, they drove, parked, got out of the car, and ran through the rain to the house. Lara answered the door.
“Hi, Lara,” Sister Tibler said, her voice such a contrast to the cold rainy night. “We heard what happened.”
Quietly, without words, Lara stepped back to let them in, her eyes red and swollen. Self-consciously Kim handed her the cookies and opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came. If I only had a script, she thought, as her own eyes began to swim. Then she did the only thing she could do. She hugged Lara tight. After that the words came.
Lara’s mom was still at the hospital and the bishop was with her, but Lara was alone. She needed them. She talked about her feelings and fears and reminisced while Kim and Sister Tibler listened. They talked about the gospel and the comfort it was. They even laughed a little and talked some more until Lara’s mother finally came home.
“We’ll be going now,” Sister Tibler said.
“Thanks for coming.” Lara squeezed Kim’s hand. “I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t been here.”
Outside the dusk had turned to darkness and the rain had stopped falling, leaving the earth soggy and the air misty. Kim felt a strange sensation of cold trying to penetrate her skin while warmth pushed and pulsed from her heart. Silently Kim and Sister Tibler drove through the wet streets, neither one wishing to interrupt the special feeling with words.
“Thanks for going with me,” Sister Tibler finally said, as they drove in Kim’s driveway. “I called all of the other girls to see if any of them wanted to go, but they all had some excuse. Maybe it was for the best. They wouldn’t have been able to comfort Lara like you did.”
“It was a good experience. Thanks.” Kim jumped from the car before Sister Tibler could say more. Dodging the puddles she ran to the house. Mrs. Harper was waiting in the family room.
“How did it go?” she asked.
“Really good. I was surprised. At first—riding over—I was so scared. But when we got there, we just started to talk about what Lara was feeling and about the promises of the gospel. It was so special. I didn’t do anything. Lara just needed a listening ear.”
Mrs. Harper hugged her daughter. “You gave her yourself.”
“I just listened.”
“That’s what I mean. You gave her your love.” Mrs. Harper hesitated.
“Come on, Mom,” Kim laughed. “After 17 years I know when a sermon is coming. Lay it on me!”
“I don’t mean to sermonize. I wanted to give it time so you could discover it on your own. It’s what I was talking about this afternoon.”
“Don’t keep me waiting,” Kim responded, putting her hand to her head melodramatically and swooning. “The suspense will kill me.”
“All right, Ophelia, you asked for it.” Mrs. Harper suddenly grew serious. “Remember this afternoon when I told you that plays and such aren’t the blessings of doing what’s right?”
“Yes.”
“Well, the blessings are things we often don’t even recognize—things like faith, maturity, love, compassion, wisdom, and understanding. They may not get you a scholarship, but they last a lot longer.”
A warm feeling of affirmation and assurance spread through Kim. Then the glimmer returned to her eyes. “Hey, Mom, you ought to write to the Prodigal Son’s brother. He needs tonight’s sermon.”
“You nut!” Mrs. Harper pinched playfully at Kim’s cheek. “If you’re going to make fun of me you’d better get to bed.”
“Oh, I’m not making fun. In heaven I asked for a mother who was also a preacher,” Kim laughed. Inside she felt the joy of a new understanding. There would be other plays and other parts, maybe a drama scholarship and maybe not. But there was only one life and a person had to gain from it as much as possible, even if that meant tending Sister Smith’s kids.

Once we moved to a new neighborhood where there were no playmates for our second son, Chris. He was either too young for the older children or too old for the younger ones.
One weekend we went on a camping trip together. I noticed him gathering armfuls of acorns. “Why so many acorns?” I asked. Chris said he thought they were terrific and he wanted to save them as souvenirs of the trip.
However, when he got home, Chris decided to do something special with the acorns. He shared them with all the kids in the neighborhood! The kids loved them, and Chris felt warm and happy about sharing and being a friend.

A few years later I met some missionaries for the first time. My parents had warned me about the young Christians who were going around preaching. As I was walking home, a tall American missionary with a kind smile stopped me. I didn’t know what to do. I was afraid he would talk about his church. If he had, I might have run the other way! All he asked was how to find the post office. I told him and then walked home.
As I walked away, I felt something. If I see the mission­aries again, I thought, I will talk to them.
Not long after that, I ran into a different set of missionaries. I was shocked that God would hear and answer the prayers of a boy like me, until I read about Joseph Smith. I had read in the New Testament to pray always, but God appearing to a man? It felt both radical and right. Rather than run away, I set up an appointment to have them teach me.

Eliza was hungry. Her stomach churned and rumbled so loudly she was certain everyone at the table could hear it. But no one paid any attention. They were all too busy pushing the small portion of greens around on their plates, and waiting for their mother to sit down so they could say the blessing.
It had been a long winter, and the growing season in their small farming town had been too short, leaving little money for food and supplies. Now the Forsyth family was going hungry. For the past three weeks, all they’d had to eat was pigweed. Eliza didn’t want to complain, but pigweed was yucky and she didn’t want to eat it anymore.
“Do we have to eat this again?” she asked, poking at the stringy greens with her fork.
“Count your blessings, Eliza,” Father said in a quiet voice. “Be thankful that you have something warm to fill your stomach. It’s more than a lot of people have right now.”
Eliza hoped she hadn’t made her father feel bad. He worked so hard to take care of their family. It wasn’t his fault that they were having hard times.
“Soup’s on,” Mother said, carrying a large pot to the table. “Move your elbows and pass your bowls.”
Eliza’s stomach grumbled in anticipation. Her mother made the best soup in town, and she couldn’t wait to sink her teeth into a sweet carrot or meaty potato.
But as she watched her mother fill the bowls with hot, steaming liquid, Eliza’s heart sank. There were no carrots in sight. No potatoes. No beans. No meat of any kind. Just rocks. There were rocks in her soup!
At the sight of the stones in the bottom of her bowl, her eyes filled with tears and she groaned. “I’m hungry, Mother. Don’t we have anything else to eat?”
“Yuck,” said Eliza’s sister Agnes as she plucked a large brown chunk from her bowl. “What’s this?”
“That’s part of Uncle George’s saddle,” Mother said, looking around the table at the faces of her unbelieving family. “He doesn’t need it anymore, so I cut it up and boiled it to give the soup some flavor. Just set it aside. It’s not for eating.”
“What are the rocks for?” asked Neal, scrunching up his face as he pushed the rocks around with his spoon.
Mother smiled. “Those are just for fun. Now please fold your arms. Eliza, will you bless the food?”
Eliza didn’t want to. She wasn’t grateful for weeds and rocks and boiled saddles.
“Don’t forget to thank Heavenly Father for keeping us safe, and for giving us so many blessings,” Mother said.
Eliza looked into her bowl of rock soup, then around her at the bowed heads of her family. Despite the long, cold winter they had endured, all of them were safe and healthy. They had a house to live in, clothes to wear, and plenty of firewood to keep them warm. And in spite of their suffering, they were kind to their neighbors and each other. Mother was right. They really did have much to be thankful for.
“Thank Thee, Heavenly Father, for the food our mother has prepared,” Eliza prayed.
She thanked Him for the pigweed that grew plentifully on the farm.
She thanked Him for the rocks that covered the west pasture, because without them, they wouldn’t be having rock soup.
And she thanked Him for her family and the love they shared.
When Eliza finished her prayer, she had a warm feeling and knew that Heavenly Father loved her.
When dinner was over, the aching emptiness of her stomach was filled with the best soup Eliza had eaten in a long time.

Christmas as a family. Before I joined the Church, I thought that Christmas was just a time when people wore new clothes and shoes and when there were colored, blinking lights. But one December after I joined the Church, I received a letter and a card from the missionary who baptized me. Among his many words, the following stood out to me: “Christmas is a day when we can be with our families to have a beautiful dinner and to eat together.” It was a short sentence, but it had great significance to me.
That day I called everyone in my family to see if they could all come to a great Christmas dinner. Many were surprised because we had never celebrated Christmas as a family before, but they all accepted the invitation. My sisters and I worked hard so that everything would turn out right for our first family dinner. Everything was simple, but my mother was very happy, and everyone was excited to be together.
That Christmas was the happiest one I had ever had, and it was made possible by a simple card and letter reminding me that Christmas is a time to celebrate the birth of the Savior with my family. We have celebrated Christmas as a family ever since.Gedalva S., Brazil

I have another story that is not unlike that one. A man had moved from Ohio to Brigham City and was working for Morton Thiokol, the company that manufactures so much of what goes into space. He had dated several young women and had noticed a beautiful young lady working there. He asked her for a date and she consented. They went out, and he began to do things that she did not want to do. There was a tussle, but she succeeded and arrived home almost as safe as she had left.

The following Monday the man was telling of the conquest he had attempted but failed and was making fun of her. A fine young man stood nearby, a returned missionary—he hadn’t been home long. After the people had dispersed, he walked over and asked for the name of that young woman. He was told and they dated for about three months before I had the privilege of performing their marriage in the Salt Lake Temple. They had decided what they wanted, and their righteous actions were rewarded.

Throughout my life, there have been several moments when my testimony and convictions were put to the test. One such experience occurred while I was attending a business conference in Poland. At the end of the first day, the event’s host invited a small group of guests to a private dinner at a fancy restaurant. As we took our seats, the host asked the waiters to serve each guest a very expensive alcoholic beverage as a gesture of appreciation.

When the waiter approached me, I politely explained that I do not drink alcohol and that I would be happy to have any other beverage available. The waiter seemed somewhat confused and explained that this was a quite expensive drink and had been offered to all the guests as an honor. He added that refusing it might risk offending the host. As I continued to explain my reasons, the attention of the room suddenly turned toward me, and several guests began chanting, “Drink it, drink it.” In that moment, my mind was flooded with thoughts of who I was, the covenants I had made, and the blessings I could lose if I gave in to peer pressure.

I simply smiled and calmly told those around me that I appreciated the gesture but would remain with my non-alcoholic beverage. In the end, the host was not offended at all. And later that evening, one of the other participants approached me and thanked me for staying true to my convictions.

Annette was excited when she got a part in the musical her city’s community theater was putting on. She sang in two numbers and had lines to memorize! The rehearsals had taken up a lot of her summer, but Annette didn’t mind because everything about being in a play was fun.
There were three other children in the play—two girls and a boy. Because they were in only three scenes, she and the other children had lots of time to explore the theater while they weren’t rehearsing. They looked in prop rooms and costume rooms and watched people building and painting sets. Heather, who was the oldest, had been in plays before, and she knew her way around backstage.
On the night before the play opened, Heather said to Annette, “Come see what I have!”
Annette followed her. She couldn’t wait to see what Heather would show her.
“Look, someone put free sodas here for us,” Heather said, showing her a small refrigerator in a room that looked like an office.
In the refrigerator were some bottles of Annette’s favorite soda. She was really thirsty, and the drinks looked delicious.
“Go ahead, take one,” Heather said.
“I don’t know …” Annette said. She just wasn’t sure about this.
“It’s OK. They mean for us to take them. I’ve come here before to get one. No one said anything.”
So Annette decided it must be OK. She opened a bottle of soda and took a big drink. It tasted wonderful.
“Let’s go finish these in the restroom,” Heather said.
That seemed strange to Annette. But Heather was older, so Annette followed her to the restroom stalls to drink their sodas.
When Annette realized that they were hiding, she began to wonder if they were doing something wrong. Were they not supposed to take the sodas? She began to worry. After the dress rehearsal was over, even the applause couldn’t get rid of the sick feeling in her stomach.
The next day Annette wasn’t excited about going back for opening night. All the way to the theater, she thought about the soda she had taken. Before she got out of the car, she told her mom about what happened.
“Do you think they really were for us?” Annette asked. She hoped her mother would say yes so she could feel better again.
“How do you feel about it?” Mom asked.
“I feel terrible.”
“That’s the Holy Ghost telling you that you did something wrong.”
“But I can’t put the soda back! What do I do now?” Annette asked.
“Well, you can pray and ask for forgiveness. After the performance you can show me where you found the drinks, and I’ll find out who they belonged to. Then you can pay for the drink with your allowance.”
Annette bowed her head right then and said a silent prayer. In her prayer she said she was sorry she had taken something that didn’t belong to her. After the prayer she felt better.
“I’m very proud of you, Annette,” Mom said.
“You are?”
“Yes. Even though Heather told you it was the right thing to do, you listened to the Holy Ghost telling you that it wasn’t. We all make mistakes. But learning how to repent is an important part of growing up. Now, go break a leg.”
Annette laughed. “Break a leg” is what people in the theater say to wish someone good luck.
“I will,” Annette said as she waved goodbye to her mom. While she put on her makeup and costume, she felt happy. She had learned a lot more than how to be a good actress this summer.

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

One day Elder Smith was taken desperately ill with a raging fever. He was given a priesthood blessing, but he remained ill. He almost passed away. His condition was very critical on many occasions. For the next three months, he was tenderly cared for by a native brother and his wife. This young couple did everything possible to save the young missionary’s life and gave him the best they had through tender fatherly and motherly love, even fasting and praying for many days. This young missionary never forgot a kindness and never forsook a friend. He always treated and honored this wonderful Hawaiian lady, Ma Manuhii, as his own Hawaiian mother.

Linda’s bike screeched to a stop next to the lawn where Jill was pulling weeds. “Can you finish your paper route by three o’clock today?” Linda asked.
“Sure, I’m always finished by then. Why?”
“My dad has a business meeting in Santa Cruz, and he says that he could drop Mom and us off to swim while he goes to the meeting.”
“Great!”
“We can’t be late though. We have to be ready when he gets here.”
“No problem,” Jill said. “I’ve been working all summer for a chance like this. Every day I try to do my route faster than the day before so that I’ll have more time to play. Now my practice is really going to pay off.”
“How fast can you do it?”
“Forty-three minutes, when the papers are small. Then I usually stop at Widow Wiggen’s for a few minutes before I come home.”
“Are you nuts? She’s a real weirdo.”
“She is not.” Jill stood up. “She’s just like a grandma.”
“She talks to herself.”
“You would, too, if you had something to say and no one to listen to you. Mrs. Wiggen has all kinds of exciting stories to tell about the old days, and she imitates what everybody sounded like until you feel like you know them all. It’s fun to talk to her. Besides, she’s really lonely. I think the main reason she takes the newspaper is to have someone to visit with. And since she can’t see very well, she usually asks me to read her the headlines, the weather, and the obituaries.”
“Obituaries?”
“Yes. She wants to know if anyone she knows has died.”
“Well, you don’t have to visit with her today, do you?”
“I’ll have plenty of time. The papers get here around one o’clock.”
“OK. But remember to be at my house by three o’clock. If you’re not, we’ll have to leave you.”
“Fair enough. I’ll bring my skimboard.”
Linda spun away on her bike, and Jill continued weeding. By the time she headed for her route, she had finished pulling the weeds, assembled all the things she wanted to take to the beach, and had them in a neat pile on the porch. She even wore her swimsuit under her jeans.
Jill whizzed along toward the pick-up corner, ready to jump off her bike, grab the bundle of papers, and whip through her route.
“Oh, no!” she groaned when she saw the empty corner. “The papers can’t be late today.”
But they were late. And later. And even later. As the minutes ticked by, Jill’s hopes faded.
While she waited, Jill tried to think of any shortcuts that she could take. The only thing that came to mind was to eliminate her visit with Mrs. Wiggen. Then, just as the papers finally came, Jill had another idea. If she didn’t go down the widow’s long lane at all, she could save five minutes. Jill looked at her watch. Five extra minutes were all that she needed. She would take the widow her paper after coming back from the beach. Mrs. Wiggen would understand.
But as Jill thought about her plan, she remembered what Widow Wiggen had said just the day before: “It’s a good thing that you come by every day to check up on me. You never know when an old lady might fall and break her neck.”
Mrs. Wiggen had laughed when she said it, thought Jill, but maybe she’d really meant it. What if she needed me this very day? Hogwash! Jill told herself. Mrs. Wiggen will be just fine if I don’t see her until later today.
Once Jill had talked herself into postponing the widow’s paper delivery, she tried not to think about it anymore. But the thought that maybe something was wrong at the widow’s kept popping into her head. Jill tried to think about the fun she’d have with Linda at the beach. She could imagine the slap of each paper on a porch sounding like the splat of the skimboard on the water. But every time she tried to imagine that she was jumping onto the whirling disk and skimming along the water, what came to her mind instead were the widow’s words: You never know when an old lady might fall …
I’m only imagining things, Jill told herself. The widow’s fine. She glanced at her watch and knew that Linda would already be waiting.
Slap, slap, slap. As the newspapers hit the porches, Jill again tried to summon the thrilling sensation of slipping along on the skimboard. But she couldn’t do it. Thoughts of Widow Wiggen drowned her attempt the same way a big wave washes away a sand castle.
A new thought shivered up Jill’s neck: The man who cut the widow’s lawn wouldn’t be around until Friday, and the only time the widow’s son came to visit was late on Sunday afternoons. Jill was the only person who saw her every day. What if something had happened to her?
Jill pedaled faster, hoping that she would see the elderly lady waving from her yellow lawn chair. But the lane was strangely quiet; only the whir of Jill’s tires resounding off the asphalt could be heard. When at last she saw the chair under the big oak, it was empty. Jill dropped her bike and ran for the house. Just as she reached the porch steps, she heard a small, desperate cry. “Jill …”
Jill turned toward the sound and found the widow crumpled on the ground beside the porch. Splintered pieces of rotted wood from the railing lay around her. The pain that she felt showed in her eyes, and a single tear slid down her cheek. “I knew you’d come,” she whispered.
Jill shuddered at the thought of how nearly she hadn’t.
“Sorry I wasn’t here sooner, but the papers were late,” Jill explained. Making her voice sound bright and comforting, she continued, “But don’t worry. The Daily News Rescue Service is here at last. Everything’s going to be all right.”
“Yes, I know.” Widow Wiggen’s brave smile assured Jill that it would be.

The Fernández Lee family moved to the Dominican Republic in August 2022. There, they met young missionaries to learn about the teachings of Jesus Christ and His restored Church. The family consists of Joel Fernández Méndez, his wife, Yoleidy Lee Muñoz, and their two children, Eileen Alejandra (17) and Brayan Alejandro (11). Despite the trials and tribulations of being away from their homeland and loved ones, they are a family that has not been discouraged but has held onto the iron rod with faith.
They received a testimony of the truthfulness of the gospel and were baptized on October 29, 2023. The family has firmly committed themselves to the path of covenants and to their efforts to magnify and expand the work of the Lord on earth. They enthusiastically embrace the work of the temple and family history and attend the Santo Domingo Dominican Republic Temple to do baptisms regularly. They have already taken the temple preparation course, preparing to receive their endowment and sealing when the time comes.
The Fernandez Lee family belongs to the Mirador Ward in the Santo Domingo Dominican Republic San Gerónimo Stake. Brother Fernandez was called as the first counselor in the Sunday School, and Sister Lee de Fernández as a Young Women advisor.