Gospel Story Finder

A student at our school, Becca (name has been changed), was scheduled to undergo surgery to remove a cancerous brain tumor. My friend Fede and I wanted to find something special the whole school could do for Becca. I remembered a Japanese tradition involving the folding of 1,000 origami cranes to show support for people in need, and I thought it was something we could do for Becca. We went to the headmaster for approval and then picked up piles of multicolored paper.
We had only two days until Becca’s surgery, but we didn’t let that stop us. That night I learned how to fold origami cranes and started to cut paper squares—hundreds of them!
The next day we announced the project to the school and invited everyone to make a crane for Becca. The entire school, including the faculty, came together to contribute. It was incredible to see.
After two days, we had over 1,000 paper cranes. We threaded them on strings and packaged them in a box, which Fede and I took to Becca at the hospital. She could feel the happiness and love that had been put into making each crane.
While leading this project, I learned that even a small gesture can show people you’re thinking about them and can make a difference. And when many people stand with you, the impact grows exponentially. I also learned that if you have a purpose, those around you can help you reach your goal. When we raised our voice and asked for people to lend a hand, many jumped at the opportunity.
Clara H., Nova Scotia, Canada

During World War II, in the early part of 1944, an experience involving the priesthood took place [and] was related by a correspondent—not a member of the Church—who worked for a newspaper in Hawaii. … He and other correspondents were in the second wave behind the marines at Kwajalein Atoll. As they advanced, they noticed a young marine floating facedown in the water, obviously badly wounded. The shallow water around him was red with his blood. And then they noticed another marine moving toward his wounded comrade. The second marine was also wounded, with his left arm hanging helplessly by his side. He lifted up the head of the one who was floating in the water in order to keep him from drowning. In a panicky voice he called for help. The correspondents looked again at the boy he was supporting and called back, “Son, there is nothing anyone can do for this boy.”
“Then,” wrote the correspondent, “I saw something that I had never seen before.” This boy, badly wounded himself, made his way to the shore with the seemingly lifeless body of his fellow marine. He “put the head of his companion on his knee. … What a picture that was—these two mortally wounded boys—both … clean, wonderful-looking young men, even in their distressing situation. And the one boy bowed his head over the other and said, ‘I command you, in the name of Jesus Christ and by the power of the priesthood, to remain alive until I can get medical help.’” The correspondent concluded his article: “The three of us [the two marines and I] are here in the hospital. The doctors don’t know [how they made it alive], but I know.”
President Thomas S. Monson, “Willing and Worthy to Serve,” Liahona and Ensign, May 2012, 67, 68.

I’ve studied carefully and prayerfully some who are remarkably faithful and effective witnesses of the Savior and His Church. Their stories are inspiring. One humble man was called as the president of a tiny branch. There were so few members he could not see how the branch could function. He walked into a grove of trees to pray. He asked God what he should do. An answer came. He and the few members began inviting friends to join with them. In a year, hundreds had come into the waters of baptism and become fellow citizens in the Lord’s Church.

When I was 17, living in West Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, USA, the missionaries taught my family about Joseph Smith’s First Vision. Young Joseph’s desire to communicate with God and know His will resonated deeply with my own desires.
As the missionaries taught us about living prophets and apostles, I asked, “There are Apostles today? Where are they?” They showed us a picture of President Spencer W. Kimball (1895–1985), his counselors in the First Presidency, and the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles in 1980. This strengthened my sprouting testimony that God, who is the same yesterday, today, and forever, still needed prophets and apostles to guide His children in modern times.
Over time, both my parents and all 10 children were baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Since coming to know living prophets and apostles, my testimony of their sacred calling and keys has only grown stronger.

One day when John’s shoes were delivered from the shoemaker, Anna found a Latter-day Saint missionary tract tucked inside each shoe. The tracts sparked her curiosity, and when another pair of shoes needed repairing, she took them to the shoemaker herself to find out the meaning of the tracts. After finishing her business with the shoemaker’s wife, Anna was told that the shoemaker would explain what the tracts meant.
“You may be surprised to hear me say that I can give you something of more value than soles for your child’s shoes,” (John A. Widtsoe, In the Gospel Net, page 54) the shoemaker boldly declared to Anna.
She was perplexed and told the man that he spoke in riddles. But he pleaded with her to listen and said that he could teach her about the Lord’s true plan of salvation for His children.
Anna couldn’t forget her conversation with the humble, courageous shoemaker. And as other tracts came from the shoemaker, she struggled mightily, for she knew her Bible well. She worried about the new concepts and certain points of doctrine. But after attending meetings with the missionaries and other Saints over the next two years, she accepted the gospel and was baptized.

After six years of work in Salt Lake City, Joseph was called to the Swiss-German mission and departed in October 1911. Upon arriving in Zurich, Switzerland, he was overwhelmed at the task that faced him. “I was really quite concerned when I saw those big German sentences across the tops of the shops and so forth,” he recalls. “I wondered how I would ever learn that language.” But he absorbed German rapidly, thanks to “the gift of tongues”—along with much prayer, hard work, tracting, and studying. His companion taught him to speak a new sentence every day: first he learned to say, “Bitte lesen Sie dieses” (Please read this) as he handed tracts to German families. “I had more investigators come out to meetings before I could learn the language than afterwards, I think,” he reflected.

“Run, Jimmy, run!” Margi called as the boy started through the meadow after the bright yellow ball. Seven-year-old Jimmy turned his head to admire his big sister.
“No, Jimm …” But it was too late. Jimmy’s awkward feet hit each other and he tumbled to the ground. Margi ran to see the hurt.
“Jimmy fall,” he said proudly.
“Yes, Jimmy did.” Margi sat down in the grass beside her brother and ran her fingers through his blond hair as if he were a puppy. “Jimmy’s a big boy. He didn’t cry.”
His unique, innocent smile grew bigger, revealing two missing teeth, and his blue eyes twinkled with pride. “Jimmy big boy,” he said.
Margi didn’t answer. She whisked again at his blonde hair and pulled him onto her lap. Jimmy cuddled contentedly into her arms, and they sat silently breathing in the crisp autumn air seasoned with the smell of freshly cut hay. Margi loved the meadow with its clean smells and the feel of grass on her ankles and the rainbow of meadow flowers.
A lonely autumn leaf floated across the grass, landing right in Jimmy’s lap. He grabbed at it, but Margi pushed his hands away.
“Careful, it will tear. It’s a leaf. Pretty leaf.”
She twirled the leaf in her fingers as Jimmy stared. “Pretty leaf,” he repeated.
“Yes,” Margi said, “pretty leaf. Here.” She placed the leaf carefully between his thumb and index finger and moved his fingers back and forth.
“See, you can twirl the leaf, too. Now do it alone.”
Jimmy’s thumb skidded off his finger, and the leaf floated to the ground. Sadly he turned and searched Margi’s face for a reaction.
Margi smiled and gave him a reassuring hug. “It’s all right.”
Quickly the smile spread back over Jimmy’s face. “Now go get the ball!” She laughed as she stood Jimmy up on his feet.
Awkwardly he stumbled toward the ball. Margi watched, wishing so hard that she could help, but she couldn’t. No one could. He had to walk alone no matter how clumsy he was or how often he fell. She lay down in the grass and stared at the hazy blue sky.
“Maybe Sue is right,” she thought. “Maybe I am stupid to waste so much time trying to help Jimmy.” Her face flushed as she thought of Friday when she took Jimmy to the football game at school. She’d never thought of the possibility, but when she went to sit with her friends, they asked her not to.
“It’s not that we don’t like you, but, well, he does such stupid things,” Sue had said. “I know he can’t help it, but, well, you know; it’s embarrassing.”
Margi could feel the awful sting in her stomach all over again.
“But Sue didn’t mean to be cruel; she just didn’t understand,” Margi thought as she remembered the excited look on Jimmy’s face when she told him they were going to a football game.
“That’s it,” she thought. “Sue just doesn’t understand. She’s never been around Jimmy to see how he loves life and how in his own way he’s so special. It doesn’t matter that he’s not as capable as other kids his age. People understand.” Then she remembered Sue’s words again and once more the hollow dejected sting settled deep in her stomach. “Or do they? Is it really worth it? I’ve got my own life. Jimmy has teachers and friends at the school and Mom and Dad. There are lots of people to help him, but what about me? Am I really helping him anyway? What can I do that his specially trained teachers can’t? Maybe I am just wasting my own life. Maybe Sue understands more than I do.”
Suddenly Jimmy was next to her. He held the ball high then let it fall on her stomach. Then he threw his head back and laughed. But the action made him lose his balance, and he tumbled onto her.
“Oh, Jimmy!” Margi started to scold then swallowed the words as she looked into his face. Love, that’s all that was there. Love wanting to be loved back. Love longing to love. So instead she smiled.
“Come on,” she said, “I’ll roll the ball to you.”
But Jimmy didn’t hear. A bright yellow butterfly had caught his eye. His chubby little hand reached out to touch it. Quickly the butterfly was up and away.
Margi took Jimmy’s hand. “Shh,” she said, putting her other hand to her lips. Quietly they lay on their stomachs and waited as the butterfly slowly found its way back to the dandelion in front of them.
“Pretty yellow butterfly,” Margi said.
“Pretty yellow butterfly,” Jimmy repeated slowly. Margi watched Jimmy stare. He seemed to see more than she did. His innocence—maybe that is what it was—made him seem part of their surroundings.
She looked again at the butterfly. “What more can he see? It is just a butterfly, a plain yellow butterfly.” She looked back at Jimmy and she knew he did see more. “Maybe someday I’ll see it, too. Jimmy is teaching me!” She laughed out loud at the thought, and the startled butterfly escaped into the sky.
“Butterfly gone.” Jimmy sighed sadly, and Margi was sorry she’d laughed.
“Look at the yellow flowers,” she said, wanting somehow to make it up to him.
“Pretty flowers,” Margi said, picking the dandelion and holding it close to her nose. “Pretty yellow flower.”
“Yellow flower?”
Margi looked at Jimmy to see if it really were a question. “Yes, yellow. Yellow flower, green grass, yellow flower.”
“Yellow flower,” Jimmy repeated proudly.
Margi sat up and grabbed the beach ball. “Yellow ball, yellow flower, yellow ball.” She held the two side by side.
“Yellow ball,” Jimmy repeated. “Yellow grass.”
“No, Jimmy, green grass, yellow ball.” Margi sighed as she remembered all the times they’d been through similar scenes, and still Jimmy didn’t learn. She smiled and ran her hand through his hair. “That’s all right, tiger. What does it matter if you don’t know the colors. You love it, don’t you? And maybe that’s what more you see in it, love.”
Jimmy looked at her face searching to understand.
Margi laughed. “Pretty yellow flower.”
“Yellow flower.” He smiled.
Suddenly the butterfly was back. “Look!” Margi pointed. “Pretty butterfly.”
Suddenly Jimmy’s eyes grew wide and he stared excitedly. “Pretty yellow butterfly.”
Margi looked hopefully into Jimmy’s face. Did he know?
“Yes, Jimmy, yellow ball, yellow flower, yellow butterfly.”
“Yellow, pretty yellow.” Jimmy pointed.
“Yes, yellow ball.”
“Yellow ball,” he repeated.
“Yellow flower.”
“Yellow flower.”
“Yellow grass?” she tested, holding her breath.
Jimmy stared at the grass she pointed to. Seconds passed as his face drew into a worried grimace. “No, Margi, yellow flower.” Margi grabbed Jimmy and hugged him to her, half crying, half laughing.
“Yes, Jimmy, yes.” she cried. And her heart cried too. No words; just love. Jimmy knew and she knew. It was her life and she was living it, really living it. And she couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for Sue.

Hi Nelson wrote a story about a boy named Jack who found out just how much it cost.

“One more test and I’m finished—graduated!” thought Jack. He shuffled into the last seat in the corner. It was cooler there. The window was wide open and every now and then, when he felt like resting his mind, he could look out and daydream.
He had little to worry about. He had studied hard. Besides, his marks had been high all term.
Test papers were passed out and then the last nervous chuckles and jokes came to an end.
Just then Jack noticed Ted Zorens. He was sitting right across the aisle. As Jack tackled the first few questions, he glanced over at Ted now and then.
Jack could tell that Ted was in trouble. Obviously he hadn’t studied for the exam, but that was not unusual. He was so good at spotting the answers on the other students’ papers that his friends called him “Obie,” short for Old Binocular Eyes.
Jack could hear Ted’s fingers tapping nervously on the desk top. If Ted flunked this exam, he wouldn’t graduate.
But luck was with him. A girl student on the other side of the room was sick. The pressure of the exam was too much for her. She had been too nervous to eat breakfast that morning. Now she felt faint.
As the teacher called an assistant for help, Ted made his move. He passed Jack a note, “Just list the twenty short answers.”
Jack hesitated only an instant. Ted was his friend. No one was caught; no one was hurt; Ted graduated.
Jack lost touch with Ted after graduation. Not until fifteen years later were they to meet again.
Jack was a salesman. He had been driving for eight hours straight. He fell asleep at the wheel and his car slammed into a tree. Jack was barely conscious as the ambulance screamed through traffic.
The stretcher-bearers rushed him into the operating room for surgery. He heard the voice of the surgeon. “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine. I’m Dr. Ted Zorens.”
As Jack went under the anesthesia, he could hear the nervous tapping of fingers.

Susa Young Gates, one of Brigham Young’s daughters, also understood that family history was important. She had been ill and very near death. But a priesthood blessing had miraculously cured her, and she was given this promise: "There has been a council in heaven, and it has been decided you shall live to perform temple work, and you shall do a greater work than you have ever done before."* Once she recovered, she devoted much of her time to helping people find their ancestors. She started genealogy classes, encouraged Saints throughout Utah and Canada to do research, and compiled a book on genealogy.

President Harold B. Lee told of a great educator, Horace Mann, who “was the speaker at the dedication of a … boys’ school. … In his talk he said, ‘This school has cost hundreds of thousands of dollars; but if this school is able to save one boy, it is worth all that it cost.’ One of his friends came up to [Mr. Mann] at the close of the meeting and said, ‘You let your enthusiasm get away with you, didn’t you? You … said that if this school, costing hundreds of thousands of dollars, were to save just one boy, it was worth all that it cost? You surely don’t mean that.’
“Horace Mann looked at him and said, ‘Yes, my friend. It would be worth it if that one boy were my son; it would be worth it’” (in Conference Report, Apr. 1971, 64–65; or Ensign, June 1971, 61).

Picture with me a little six-year-old orphan girl traveling across the plains of America. Her name is Elsie Ann. Her mother died when she was two. Her father remarried, and so for a time she had a stepmother. Then her father died at Winter Quarters when she was five. Her stepmother remarried and moved away, leaving this little orphan behind with Peter and Selina Robison, who were related to her stepmother. Elsie Ann left Winter Quarters with the Robisons in July of 1849 to come west. She no doubt ached for the love of her own mother. Sometimes she would even ask, “Where is my mother?” Elsie Ann was my great-grandmother.

Many years later, in 1976, my mother and stepfather were living in Sugar City, Idaho, when the Teton Dam broke, and once again, everything that they owned was lost. After the flood, Mother walked into my home (I was married by this time) with a little plastic clothes basket that contained everything she had in the world—except for her family, her friends, and the gospel. These were difficult experiences, but with my mother’s help I learned a lot about the kindness of people and about seeing events in an eternal perspective.

“Is this seat taken?” I asked.
The old lady next to the window reached over and unenthusiastically moved the bag to the floor by her feet. I sat down, made myself comfortable, and settled in for the three-hour trip to Newcastle. I was already starting to get anxious. It was like returning home again.
The clickity-clack of the wheels kept me company as I relaxed in the otherwise quiet compartment and watched the green hills of Scotland pass by. I wished that the old lady at my right would change seats with me so that I could see out better. She kept nodding off and then jerking awake, so I was sure that she wasn’t enjoying the view. But then she hadn’t been too pleased about having to move her shopping bag, and I was sure she would be less happy about moving herself.
I looked around at the other passengers. As usual in Europe, the car was divided into compartments seating six people each. I was in the middle seat, facing forward; to my right was the old lady. The man on my left was in his 30s. He was reading a magazine. Judging from the few words that had passed between them at the start of the trip, I assumed that the woman across from him was his wife. She was also reading.
“A typical middle-class English couple heading home after a holiday in Scotland,” I thought to myself.
The elderly gentleman directly opposite me was the picture of a Victorian adventurer. He was tall and thin with a mustache, the kind of man who might wear formal dinner attire in the middle of the jungle. Very British! Next to him, by the window, was a thin, middle-aged woman in a blue dress.
“The governess type,” I decided.
Now, every country has its own travel etiquette and in Britain the rule seems to be, “Never fraternize with fellow travelers.” It’s not that the British are unfriendly. In fact, they are very warm. It’s just that on such a crowded island, everyone has learned to guard his own independence and to respect the privacy of others. As a foreigner, I could have initiated a discussion. The British accept “Yanks” as being outgoing. But I was tired after touring Edinburgh all morning and didn’t really feel like striking up a conversation just to talk.
No one spoke for nearly an hour. Then the woman in blue looked straight at me and said, in a distinct Scottish accent, “You’re an American, aren’t you?”
I was somewhat startled by this breach of the usual rule. That I was an American was obvious, so I took this to be a conversation opener rather than a question. Anyway, I was getting bored, so why not talk for a while?
“Yes, I am,” I answered. “I’m over here on vacation.”
The woman seemed very friendly. We chatted about the countryside, the marvelous weather we were having, and the crowded condition of the train. I told her about my travels during the summer, and she, in turn, told me of her planned visit to London and the relatives who would meet her there.
After a while the old gentleman interjected a few remarks, and my suspicions about his past were confirmed when he started telling us about monsoons in India and how bad the flies are in Kenya in the summer. It was all very friendly and very polite.
Then, out of nowhere, the woman in blue said, “You know, we have a lot of Americans over here as Mormon missionaries. And right bonnie lads they are too.”
The couple on my left looked at her, then at each other, and then went back to their reading. The old lady at my right, awakened by all the talk, let out with a verbal “Humph!” which I took as an indication of disapproval.
The woman in blue was not deterred. She went on to say that two missionaries lived with a friend of hers, a widow, and she told how they always assisted around the house whenever they could. “They’re wonderful lads; I don’t care what anyone says!”
The old gentleman broke in: “I met two of them on the ferry between Kowloon and Victoria on my last trip. I was quite impressed with them, especially when I learned that they spoke fluent Cantonese. Why, I know British administrators who have lived in Hong Kong for years and can’t speak the language as well as those boys.”
The two of them went on for a number of minutes about what “fine people Mormons are,” while I sat there with a smile on my face. After all, unsolicited praise is not very common in Britain. Finally I announced, “I’m glad to hear all that because I’m a Mormon.”
Instantly five pairs of eyes were staring at me.
“I know I should have spoken up sooner,” I confessed, “but I wanted to know what you would say. I’m glad to hear that you have such a high regard for us because a lot of people over here don’t really give us a chance and we have a lot to offer.”
I then told them about my mission in Northern England two years earlier and that the main purpose of this trip to Newcastle was to visit Church members there, especially those whom I had baptized. As I talked, I thought back to my mission. When we had gone tracting, it often seemed as though no one wanted to listen to what we had to say. How different this was. The old gentleman and the woman in blue were full of questions and eager to learn. They asked me about all kinds of Church-related things, and with every response they seemed more impressed with the Church and especially with its growth in England. They were becoming as enthused as I was, and we barely noticed as we passed the English border town of Berwick and sped southward along the North Sea coast.
I have always enjoyed a good religious discussion, and this one was getting better all the time. But I wished, somehow, that everyone might join in. After all, three people hadn’t said anything, though they were obviously listening. How could I include them? Suddenly a breakthrough.
The man on my left put his magazine down, waited for an opening in the conversation, and asked, “Is it true that Mormons don’t drink tea? How can anyone in England join a church that forbids tea?”
Another “Humph!” from the old lady.
I explained the Word of Wisdom and related a number of anecdotes about English people I had known and their successful efforts to give up tea. In fact, the matter of health received a complete going over, with the four of them finally agreeing that Mormons were among the most healthy people in Britain.
Then something very unusual began to happen. The couple by the door unpacked their lunch, and the wife started to make sandwiches for everyone. The woman in blue passed around a bag full of apples, and the old gentleman donated a package of biscuits. Soon we were having one big picnic and everyone was having a great time. I would not have believed it could happen. The British generally do not converse, much less share, with total strangers, yet somehow the spirit of the gospel had brought us together. Only the old lady by the window did not join in.
As a missionary I had learned a lot about tradition and prejudice and I had a fair idea what was bothering the old lady. The stories of how young English girls were captured and sent off to Salt Lake sound absurd, but I knew that a lot of old people still believed them. So I decided to tackle the problem head on.
“A lot of people don’t seem to understand us very well. Some people even think that we still practice polygamy,” I said, “which we don’t.”
Yet another “Humph!” from the corner.
Then I went on for close to an hour giving an outline of Church history and doctrine, with emphasis on modern revelation as the only means of knowing religious truth. I don’t think that I dumped the apple cart, but I did present the better part of the first and second missionary discussions. Everyone listened attentively. Past Alnwich and Morpeth I continued my discourse, hoping to plant enough seeds so that each one might someday seek more knowledge about the Church. I talked as fast as I could, hoping to say something that would spark some interest in each person.
As the train slowed at Longbenton, I started pointing out streets I had tracted and members’ homes that were near the tracks. My companions seemed as happy about my return to this lovely old city as was, and although I was glad finally to reach my destination I was also sorry that the trip was ending.
I thought to myself, “At least I’ve made four friends for the Church even if I lost one. If only I had another hour, perhaps I could win her over too.”
The train gave a little rock backward as we came to a stop in Newcastle station. I put my suitcase out in the passageway and then returned to shake hands, first with the couple, then the old gentleman, and finally the woman in blue. I thanked them for listening to me for so long and extracted a promise from all four that when missionaries knocked on their doors, they would listen.
Lastly, I held out my hand to the old lady. She looked at it and then up at me, then reached out and took my hand.
“I was brought up to hate Mormons,” she said, “and I’ve never had nought good to say ’bout them. But in two hours I’ve realized that everything I thought I knew was wrong. I shan’t forget this trip.”
There were tears in my eyes as I walked down the platform. What would be the final result? Would any of them ever join the Church? I would never know, but I would never forget that trip either.

He found that his life experiences had also prepared him in ways he couldn’t foresee. President Kaumaitotoya had a very difficult childhood. As a young teenager, he climbed a hill one day to pray and to ask God why he had to go through such hard things.
He recalled, “I was really angry with God. I couldn’t understand why the Lord would let me go through such hard things. I was asking Him why?”
Kaumaitotoya didn’t understand, at first, the answer that came on the hill that day: “For your experience.”
As he served, he made sense of what “for your experience” meant, when a teary congregant walked into his office to seek his ecclesiastical counsel about a similar family situation. Afterwards, it dawned on Kaumaitotoya what the answer to his boyhood prayer meant. His path and his challenges had prepared him to minister to and serve people with understanding and love.

I was a priest in the Aaronic Priesthood when World War II exploded upon the world. I was ordained an elder when we were all marched away to war.
I had dreams of following an older brother, Leon, who at that time was flying B-24 bombers in the Battle of Britain. I volunteered for air force pilot training.
I failed the written test by one point. Then the sergeant remembered that there were several two-point questions, and if I got half right on two of them, I could pass.
Part of the test was multiple choice. One question was “What is ethylene glycol used for?” If I had not worked in my dad’s service station, I would not have known that it is used for automobile antifreeze. And so I passed, barely.
I prayed about the physical. It turned out to be fairly routine.
You young men should not complain about schooling. Do not immerse yourself so much in the technical that you fail to learn things that are practical. Everything you can learn that is practical—in the house, in the kitchen cooking, in the yard—will be of benefit to you. Never complain about schooling. Study well, and attend always.
“The glory of God is intelligence, or, in other words, light and truth.”
“Whatever principle of intelligence we attain unto in this life, it will rise with us in the resurrection.”
We are to learn about “things that are above, and things that are beneath, things that are in the earth, and upon the earth, and in heaven.”
You can learn about fixing things and painting things and even sewing things and whatever else is practical. That is worth doing. If it is not of particular benefit to you, it will help you when you are serving other people.
I ended up in the Orient, flying the same kind of bombers that my brother flew in England. My mission, as it turned out, was in teaching the gospel in Japan as a serviceman.
Perhaps the hardest challenge of war is living with uncertainties, not knowing how it will end or if we can go ahead with our lives.
I was issued a small serviceman’s Book of Mormon that would fit into my pocket. I carried it everywhere; I read it; and it became part of me. Things that had been a question became certain to me.
The certainties of the gospel, the truth, once you understand it, will see you through these difficult times.
It was four years before we could return to our lives. But I had learned and had a sure testimony that God is our Father, that we are His children, and that the restored gospel of Jesus Christ is true.

Shelly loved to skip. She skipped to the park. She skipped to school and home from school. She skipped next door to visit Sister Jones. She skipped so much that her friends and family called her “Skipper.”
One day, though, she trudged home from school. She didn’t feel like skipping. Her legs felt heavy as she climbed the porch steps and opened the front door. She found Mother sitting at the kitchen table, paying bills.
“Hi, Skipper! How was school today?” Mother asked, pausing to lick an envelope.
Shelly didn’t say anything. She felt tears pressing her eyes. Oh, no, she thought, I’m going to cry again.
Mother licked some stamps and pressed them on the envelopes. Then she turned to Shelly. “Skipper, what’s wrong?”
As Mother hugged her, Shelly felt tears roll down her cheeks. “Oh, Mom! Some of the kids at school say I’m stupid! Am I?”
Mother hugged Shelly tighter. “No, Skipper! You’re not stupid.”
Shelly leaned back and looked at Mother. Mother had a way of looking into Shelly’s eyes that made her feel understood. She knew that Mother loved her. “Then why is everything so hard for me? I’m always the last one finished with math or spelling, and I still get more wrong than everybody else.” Mother handed her a tissue. Shelly sniffed. “I really try, Mom! I really try! And you help me study every night. So why is it so hard for me?”
Mother pulled Shelly close again and answered her with a question. “Skipper, what is the greatest talent anyone can have?”
Shelly thought. She remembered how well her teenage brothers played their violins. They played with the high school orchestra. “Is it to play the violin?”
“No,” said Mother. “Playing the violin is not the greatest talent. Think again.”
Shelly thought about how well Dad did woodworking. Shelly liked to watch him as he built beautiful furniture. “Is it to build things with wood?” she asked.
Mother shook her head. “No, woodworking is not the greatest talent. Think again.”
Then Shelly remembered how she loved to have Mother sing Primary songs to her at bedtime.
Sometimes, if Shelly wasn’t too tired after studying, they sang together. Mother led the singing in Primary. Shelly liked learning the new songs with her mother. “Is singing the greatest talent anyone can have?” Shelly asked.
“No, Shelly. Talent in music is a wonderful talent, but it isn’t the greatest talent.”
Shelly thought about her friend Aubree. Aubree usually finished her math and spelling before anyone else in the class. Aubree didn’t have to study after school, so she took dancing lessons several afternoons a week. She could do ballet and tap dance. On Saturdays, Shelly liked to visit Aubree. Aubree would let Shelly wear one of her beautiful costumes and would teach her some dancing steps.
“Is the greatest talent dancing?” Shelly asked.
“No, Shelly, it isn’t dancing. Think very hard.”
Shelly thought. Then she remembered how hard it was for her to read. Sometimes the letters seemed to flip over or even disappear. “Oh, Mom,” she gasped, “it isn’t reading, is it?”
Mother gave her a squeeze. “No, Skipper, it isn’t reading. Dancing, singing, woodworking, reading, and playing instruments are all great talents, but they aren’t anything compared to the best talent. And, Skipper, you have the best talent.”
Shelly was surprised. “No, Mom. I don’t do anything really well.”
“Oh yes you do, Skipper. You try to make people happy. You stop to visit Sister Jones on your way home from school. She’s lonely living alone, and you cheer her up. She’s often told me how much she looks forward to your visits.”
Shelly smiled. She liked Sister Jones. Sometimes she played her harp for Shelly. Sister Jones even said that she’d teach Shelly to play one when Shelly’s arms grew a little longer.
Mother gave Shelly another squeeze. “And, Skipper, when our doorbell rings, you’re the first one there. You greet everyone with a smile. Even when my friends come, you want them to leave with a cookie, and you always tell them to come again. That makes them very happy.”
Mother is right, Shelly thought. I do like to make people happy.
“Skipper,” Mother said, “your talent is the best talent of all. Can you guess what it is now?”
Shelly still shook her head.
“Skipper, your talent is love. You know how to love others, and that is the best talent. That’s what Jesus taught. All those other talents—singing, dancing, woodworking, playing instruments, even reading—don’t mean very much if you don’t know how to love.”
Shelly thought some more and nodded her head. She gave her mother a kiss and a big hug. Then she skipped down the hallway to change into her play clothes.
The next day just before the bell rang at the end of school, a boy in Shelly’s class started teasing her again. “Shelly, you’re so dumb!” he said. “You read slower than my pet turtle walks.”
Shelly smiled at him. “I might not be as smart as you,” she answered, “but I can love you anyway. Jesus said that loving is the best thing of all, and that means I’m not so dumb.”
Then Shelly put her math and spelling books in her book bag and skipped all the way home.

Steven Connell of the Silverdale Second Ward found himself turning to prayer for help. “There were many times when nothing seemed to be going right. I wanted to devote all my time to the play and not have to deal with anything else, but I couldn’t do that. There was homework, finals, and just everyday high shool life that demanded my attention. I had to pray that the production would be what Heavenly Father expected and that it would be a great missionary tool for the youth and the others in the audience.”

Kyle Hollenback of the Poulsbo Second Ward also learned that faith and prayer were just as important in their lives as they were in the story. “I prayed that I would receive the strength and confidence to somehow find the talent to sing and perform. We prayed as a cast and crew that we would be guided by the Lord and that all the little kinks in the play would get worked out.”

Abish’s testimony of Jesus Christ began “on account of a remarkable vision of her father” (Alma 19:16). She later had the opportunity to be courageous and bold in exercising her faith and bearing her testimony. Many of the youth also had the chance to catch their own personal visions of the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon as they saw the scriptures come to life and learned to relate to the people of long ago.

As Steven Connell worked on his charcter, King Lamoni became a very real person to him. During the scene in which Lamoni feels the weight of his mistakes and longs to have his sins forgiven, Steven was so overcome by emotion that he cried. “I really felt that through faith in Jesus Christ, we can change everything about our own lives and start over again to be new and better people,” says Steven.

Kyle Hollenback, who played Ammon, learned something not found by simply reading the Book of Mormon. “Sometimes people get in the mode of reading the Book of Mormon as a history book, but getting into our characters gave me a better understanding of the reality of this book,” he says. “I can relate to Ammon in that when called upon, I can be a little bold, like acting in this play.”

Kendra Hollenback shares her brother’s new understanding. “After Abish the Book of Mormon doesn’t seem like a history book anymore. It’s real. You can’t just expect to get a testimony without working on it. You have to read the Book of Mormon and pray about it.”

Abish’s message invites all to find and share the truthfulness of the gospel of Jesus Christ. Through her faith and courage she made it possible for many to hear the word of the Lord and become converted. Many of the youth chose to be bold like Abish in sharing their testimonies as they invited their friends to attend the production.

“There were so many people from school who came out of curiosity and have now been introduced to the Book of Mormon,” says Christina Willey of the Poulsbo Second Ward, who helped with stage management.

Those who came were touched by the spirit of the production. From his place in the orchestra, where he played the clarinet, Scott Daly of the Silverdale First Ward was able to see that the audience was affected by what was happening onstage. “There was one scene where the queen’s servants and family kneel to pray,” he says. “During this moment, the lights in the auditorium begin to fill the room with brightness. Then I could see every smiling and crying face in the audience. The play definitely strengthened my testimony of the Book of Mormon.”

Like most of the youth involved in the play, Abish herself was not necessarily a great leader. She was primarily a poor, humble servant who put her trust in her Heavenly Father and risked her job and her friends in order to bear her testimony. And she was probably a little scared.

Knowing that the play would be many people’s first introduction to the Church, Andrew Whyte of the Bainbridge Island Ward was nervous in his role as Abish’s father. But he was comforted and strengthened. “The Spirit helped me to put my trust in the Lord, comforted me, prompted me to pray and gave me the assurance that I would remember all my lines and sing my whole soul out,” he says.

As a dancer in the play, Stacie Brown of the Poulsbo Second Ward learned that many people can be inspired through Abish’s story. “Every time Miranda got up on stage and did a scene, it looked like she had been a member all her life. I know that I felt the Spirit each time she performed.”

Besides inspiring others, Miranda says she was able to witness firsthand what Latter-day Saints are really about. “I would never have traded that time in my life for anything else in the world.”

Want to know about women in the Bible? Read “For She Loved Much: Women in the New Testament” in this month’s Ensign, p. 40.

Some years ago, while I was serving as the mission president in Portugal, several of our missionaries introduced me to their shoeshine man. Their shoes looked so good that I was anxious to meet the man that could put such a shine on missionaries’ shoes. Even though he had not chosen to listen to the missionaries’ message, I considered the shoeshine man my friend, and we visited while he was busy shining my shoes. He indicated that his wife had died, that he had no family, and that about the only pleasure he had in life was seeing people walk away happy with the shoes he had just shined.
His place of business was on the curbside of a small square on a busy street in downtown Lisbon. His stand seemed to have all that was necessary. It consisted of a short, rusty, three-legged stool, upon which my frail friend would sit as he shined the shoes that were placed on a stained and well-used shoeshine box that was full of his polishes and brushes, and there was an ornate lamppost (which was kindly furnished by the city of Lisbon), upon which the customer would lean while he was having his shoes shined.
He would carefully apply two coats of polish, using a brush to polish between each coat. Last, he applied a special product that would give the shoes that extra special shine. With a final snap of the cloth, he would stand up, take off his little Portuguese cap, make a deep bow, and say, “Pronto. Seus sapatos foram engrashados pelo o melhor engraxate do mundo.” “There. Your shoes were shined by the very best shoeshine man in the world.” I was convinced that I had had my shoes shined by the very best.
A few months after our mission, I was called to serve as the Regional Representative to Portugal and had the opportunity to return to Lisbon a number of times. As occasion permitted, I would have my shoes shined by the “best shoeshine man in the world.”
The last few times that I went, I was unable to find him at his usual place of business. I finally inquired at the prestigious stores that surrounded the square. The response was the same, “We don’t know what happened to him. It seems that we had heard that he had died.” I remember thinking, Could it be that the best shoeshine man in the world had died, and no one really knew or even seemed to care? I wondered: Had there been someone there with him, or did he slip away unnoticed?
May we contrast that for a moment with Brother and Sister Joaquim Aires, a marvelous man and his wife who came to Portugal following the 1974 revolution of Portugal’s colonies in Angola and Mozambique. They had returned to Portugal unknown and with very few possessions. A great blessing occurred in their lives. They opened their door to two young missionaries, who taught them of the restoration of Christ’s church. They received the missionaries, accepted their message, and were baptized.
As is the opportunity for all worthy men in the Church, he received the priesthood—authority to act in the name of our Father in Heaven—and to become a leader in the Church. Brother Aires became President Aires, president of one of the mission districts.
One day I received a telephone call. President Aires was in the hospital in Coimbra, several hours’ travel away. He had suffered a very serious cerebral hemorrhage and was in very critical condition. Another priesthood holder and I made the trip as quickly as possible. As we walked quietly into the hospital room, we found him asleep. My first inclination was not to awaken him. And then I thought he would want to know that we had come. So I reached over and carefully touched his hand. He slowly opened his eyes and then looked at me for a moment, and then the tears came to both of our eyes. He then said in a very weak and soft voice, “I knew you would come. I knew you would come. Would you please give me a blessing.” In his dear, sweet faith, he was asking for a priesthood blessing, the same that is taught of and recorded in the Bible. We read in James 5:14–15: “Is any sick among you? let him call for the elders of the church; and let them pray over him, anointing him with oil in the name of the Lord:
“And the prayer of faith shall save the sick, and the Lord shall raise him up.”
As men of the priesthood, it was our privilege to pronounce a blessing on him with power and authority of our Father in Heaven.
As I would meet with the members of the Church from one end of Portugal to the other, the brothers and sisters would ask, “How is Brother Aires? Will you please tell him we love him and we’re praying for him?”
This good man and his wife, who had returned to Portugal almost unknown, now, because of their membership in the Church, had literally thousands who loved them and were concerned about them and remembered him in their prayers.
The prayers of faith were answered. He recovered completely, and he and Sister Aires went on to fulfill a full-time mission together.
I have thought often of the contrast between the two—my little shoeshine man on one hand, who, like so many of life’s unknown wanderers, had slipped away without any understanding of life’s purpose; and Brother Aires on the other, who was not only taught of life’s real purpose, but had now become a part of a great body of people who showed their love and appreciation for him.
As the Apostle Paul wrote to the members of the Church, or Saints as they were called and are called today, he reminded the newly baptized members of the Church of the blessings of belonging when he told them, “Ye are no more strangers and foreigners, but fellowcitizens with the saints, and of the household of God” (Eph. 2:19). What a blessing it is to belong and to be wanted and needed! It becomes even more apparent during life’s tender moments.
To all who find yourselves outside the household of faith and away from the Saints, would you please accept this invitation to come unto Christ that we might all, as Alma said, “bear one another’s burdens” (Mosiah 18:8). Join with the Saints, that you might not be any longer strangers alone in this world, but truly cared for, loved, and appreciated.
And to all of us—those of us who are members of the Church, could I just counsel with you for a moment? Do you have anyone that you know who might be as our little shoeshine man, who is alone—alone in this great crowd of people—that could use your special love and caring and concern? Could you take a moment and let such people know how much you love them?
And may we also, as members of the Church, truly do our part to make His church a welcome refuge for all of our Father in Heaven’s children, I pray humbly in the name of the Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, amen.

“I’ll get it!” Nathan raced to answer the doorbell. He was tired of unpacking boxes. Moving is hard work, he thought. And making new friends was going to be even harder.
No one was at the door, but there was a book on the porch. Inside it was a bookmark with a map and a note. It said: “Please take me home.”
“Who is it?” Dad called from the kitchen.
Nathan brought the book into the house. “It’s just this book,” he said. “Maybe it’s a joke.”
“It’s a library book, and it’s due today,” said Mom, looking inside the cover.
“I guess I could take it back,” Nathan said, “if it’s not too far.”
“This map shows a library just a few blocks from here,” said Dad. “Why don’t you go ahead and return the book while we unpack the kitchen things.”
Nathan grabbed his bike and headed for the library. On the way, he saw some neighborhood kids. They whispered and laughed as they watched him pass.
He remembered all his friends in his old neighborhood and at his old school. They didn’t whisper and laugh at him. I don’t think I’m going to like this place, he thought.
Inside the library, Nathan walked up to a counter near the door. “Does this book belong here?” he asked.
The woman behind the counter smiled and took the book. “Are you new here?” she asked.
“Yes,” Nathan said. “We just moved to Maple Street.”
“My grandson, Robert, often goes to Maple Street to play with Kim Lee. Do you know them?” asked the woman.
“No,” Nathan said sadly, “I haven’t met anyone yet, except you.”
“Would you do something for me?” asked the woman. “Would you please take these cards to the post office? It’s on the corner up the street.”
Nathan took the cards and rode his bike to the post office.
“I’ll bet you’re the new kid whose family just moved to Maple Street,” said the man at the post office. “We postal workers know who moves in and out. Have you met my niece Marta? She lives near you?”
Nathan shook his head, feeling lonelier than ever.
The man wrote something on a piece of paper. “Would you do something for me, Nathan? Would you please stop by the bakery and leave this note on your way home? If you go one block over and back toward your house, you’ll go right past it. It’s across the street from the school.”
Nathan took the note and rode his bike to the bakery. He stopped and looked at the empty school playground. He wanted to try the slide, but he remembered that he had promised to deliver the note to the bakery.
A teenage girl took the note. “Are you new here?” she asked.
“Yes.” Nathan sighed. “We just moved to Maple Street.”
“Really?” The girls’ eyes opened wide. “Would you do something for me?”
Nathan just nodded.
Minutes later, Nathan was carefully pushing his bike down the block with one hand while he used his other hand to balance a cake box on the bike’s seat. He was delivering it to a house across the street from his new home.
When he got to Maple Street, the children Nathan had seen before were gone. The street was quiet. He carried the box to the door with the right address and rang the bell.
The door flew open. “Surprise!” shouted many voices. All the neighborhood kids were there. Nathan’s parents and some other adults were there too. There were balloons and streamers.
“Hi,” said a boy. “I’m Kim Lee. This is my house.”
Kim Lee and Nathan put the box on the table and opened it. It was a cake with flowers around the sides, and on the top it said, “Nathan, welcome to your new home.”

Like the Li family, the Wu family has also traced their family line back to the emperor. In doing so, they discovered that the Wu children were part of the 150th generation since the emperor. The story caught the attention of the media, and in 2005, Wilford Wu, then 19, was selected to represent the young people of Taiwan during an annual ceremony at the traditional tomb of the Yellow Emperor.
For the Wu family, members of the Ching Hsin Ward, Taipei Taiwan West Stake, family history has been a family effort. Brother Wu, Chi-Li and his wife, Shirley, did much of the research, and Wilford and his older sister, Camilla, have helped organize it and participate in temple ordinances for more than 3,000 of their ancestors.
Working together has helped bring the Wu family closer together. They say it has also helped them feel a special connection with their ancestors.