Gospel Story Finder

I have a friend who as a young man couldn’t say no to a drink of alcohol. But to him, it was a special kind of poison. He became an alcoholic. It had disastrous consequences on his family, and he struggled for years to overcome his illness. Fortunately, he did so, and he has found the time to help others. However, he lost years with his young family that he can never regain. He also was separated from the Church. From all indications, it appears that his past drinking has robbed him of an eternal family.

A friend of mine approached me just after I received my call to the Georgia Atlanta Mission. He made some remarks that surprised me.
He said, “Russell, from what I hear, you are a good worker and long overdue for a raise. You could doubtlessly be trained to be a manager in less than a month, allowing for further promotions and pay increases. You have two solid semesters of college behind you and could have a degree in no time at all. All of your friends are here and no one really wants to see you go. So why are you squandering two years of your life on a mission, time that could be spent doing something productive?”
The question caught me completely off guard. I stammered something about my testimony of the doctrines and principles of the Church and its truth. However, at that particular point in time, I wasn’t sure myself if that was the reason I chose to embark on this sacred responsibility. Perhaps I was doing it simply because it was expected of me by my family and religious leaders.
The incident troubled me for some time until one Sunday, while flipping through the hymnbook during sacrament meeting, I came across hymn number 270, “I’ll Go Where You Want Me to Go.” It isn’t a song we sing very often, so I read through some of the verses. The chorus commanded my attention and resolved my concerns. “I’ll go where you want me to go, dear Lord, Over mountain or plain or sea; I’ll say what you want me to say, dear Lord; I’ll be what you want me to be.”
Surely the lyrics of this hymn were meant for me. The lines do not read, “I’ll go where you want me to go, Bishop Buchanan.” They don’t say, “I’ll go where you want me to go, Mom and Dad.” The command to serve a mission was issued by the Savior.
There is a definite purpose and reason for me to serve in one particular area, but most of all, what matters is my capacity and willingness to be a missionary by example, by preparation, and by faith.

Mark stood up at the podium in the Primary room and opened his scriptures. Rain was pounding the roof, and he knew he’d have to talk loudly to be heard over its noise. He cleared his throat and read:
“‘And the Spirit giveth light to every man that cometh into the world; and the Spirit enlighteneth every man through the world, that hearkeneth to the voice of the Spirit.
“‘And every one that hearkeneth to the voice of the Spirit cometh unto God, even the Father.’”*
When he finished the scripture, Mark looked up at his mom, who was sitting in the back of the room. She winked at him. They both had a special feeling ever since yesterday’s experience.
Yesterday had been one of those hot and humid summer afternoons so common in Iowa. A storm was brewing when Mark and his mother drove to the local department store.
“Looks like we should have brought our umbrellas,” Mom observed when they got out of the car. “I hope we don’t get wet later.”
Mark looked at the gathering dark clouds and thought he heard thunder in the distance. They hurried into the store.
“This won’t take long,” Mom said as she headed past displays to the middle of the large building. As she stood waiting to pick up some photographs, Mark noticed the store manager moving quickly from department to department giving a brief message to each salesclerk.
The manager spoke softly, but Mark could hear him clearly when he got to the jewelry department nearby. “Find your flashlight and make sure it has fully-charged batteries.” The jewelry clerk nodded, and the manager moved on to the next department, delivering the same message: “Find your flashlight and make sure it has fully-charged batteries.” The clerk in this department shook his head after the manager left and muttered to himself, “I don’t have time for that nonsense.”
Mark looked at his mom, who had also overheard the message. “It’s OK,” she assured him. “Just stick close to me.”
Mark moved closer and took her hand. Just then there was a loud crack of thunder directly overhead and all the lights went out, plunging the store into darkness. Mark heard a brief startled shriek from a few shoppers, followed by some children crying for their parents. Mark was glad he had stayed close by his mother.
Mom squeezed his hand and whispered, “Stand still and wait.”
When Mark’s eyes got used to the dark, he could see daylight coming in from the windows of the storefront, but the light seemed faint and far away. Sounds of panic died away quickly as, throughout the store, small lights came on and started to move.
One light moved toward Mark, and a voice spoke from above it in the dark. “Follow me, please.” It was a store clerk, holding a flashlight. Together Mark and his mother joined a group of shoppers who were already behind the clerk, and they slowly made their way down the dark aisles. The group grew larger the farther they went, being joined by other shoppers and clerks, including the clerk who thought that taking time to find his flashlight was “nonsense.”
Mark felt relieved when they got to the front of the store and could see sunlight coming in the front windows and doors. They no longer needed the clerks with the flashlights, so the clerks left them and turned back into the darkness to find other shoppers and lead them to the light.
As Mark walked to the car with his mom, he jumped over puddles of water that reflected the clearing sky overhead. The storm had come and gone quickly, and now the day was full of sunshine. Evidence of the storm was still all around them, however, and on the way home, Mark saw fallen tree limbs and broken traffic lights.
When they pulled into their driveway, Mom asked him, “Did you know you have a light inside you a lot like those flashlights in the store?”
“I do?”
“Yes. It is the light of Christ. We are born with the ability to tell right from wrong because we have the light of Christ. Sometimes we call it our conscience. Then later, when we are baptized and receive the gift of the Holy Ghost, we have an even brighter light.”
Mark thought about this for a moment. “Do I have to keep my batteries fully charged?”
Mom chuckled. “Yes, indeed. And the scriptures tell you how.”
When they got in the house, Mom showed Mark the scripture in Doctrine and Covenants 84:46.
“‘Hearkeneth to the voice of the Spirit.’ What does that mean?” Mark asked.
“For now, listen to your conscience, and after you are baptized, listen to the still, small voice of the Spirit,” Mom explained. “Do what it tells you to do, and your light will always be fully charged.”
“And ready for any storm!”
“Exactly.”
The rain had stopped pounding the roof of the church, and the sun was starting to filter through the curtains into the Primary room. Mark swallowed hard.
“I know that this scripture is true,” Mark said with a catch in his voice. “And I’m grateful that God has given each of us a light inside us that can lead us safely out of the darkness of any storm.”

As I read the article “The Contaminated Chocolates” in the December New Era, I relived that exciting time in our ward in Idaho Falls, Idaho. The story was accurate and well written, but there is more to be told. The news of Danny Collette’s serious illness and the subsequent loss of the chocolates came at a time when our ward was deep in grief. During the preceding two months of 1973 we had been devastated by a series of tragedies.
First, David Atkinson, an active young seventy, died of cancer, leaving a young widow and five small children, including a month-old son. Then death finally claimed Reed Ricks, who was a spiritual giant an a spiritual giant and an inspiration to us all—especially influential with the young men and boys of the ward. His physical condition had deteriorated over a period of years as a result of a progressive muscular disease, but in the end cancer took him too: Of his six children, three were still at home with their mother, and a son had just departed on a mission to the Philippines.
About the same time, a tragic automobile accident seriously injured Valerie Storer, a student at Ricks College. Val was beautiful and talented, and her cheerfulness and optimism had brought sunshine to our ward family. She and her doctors fought for her life, and we were encouraged by her steady improvement. Suddenly one evening, however, she suffered a cardiac arrest and was gone. Very shortly afterward, Johanna (Anna) Young succumbed to cancer after a six-year battle, leaving her husband and young daughter.
It was too much. Our spirits were low, and with Christmas fast approaching, we found it difficult to lift ourselves out of the depression that seemed to permeate the entire ward. Our meetings were solemn, and we wept easily. Then tragedy struck again. Danny was seriously ill with hepatitis, and because he had helped with the chocolates, all had to be destroyed. Added to his severe illness was his terrible feeling of guilt. His heart-broken mother confided in her friends, and an idea was born.
Was it really a tragedy, or was it a blessing? It seemed to be precisely the medicine we needed for our own illness. As our fund-raising project escalated and activity increased feverishly, our spirits rose. Christmas was more joyous than we could have anticipated a short time before, and we could hardly wait for news of the New Year’s Eve party in the Lloydminister Branch in Canada when Danny would open the envelope we had sent. We smiled at each other more now, and laughter came easily as we thought of the secret we all shared and of the surprise waiting for our Canadian brothers and sisters. I have often thought of the lines James Russell Lowell wrote in “The Vision of Sir Launfal”: “Who gives himself with his alms feeds three, Himself, his hungering neighbor, and Me.”
Edythe B. CasperIdaho Falls, Idaho

Few residents knew or even noticed the Smiths. But when anti-Mormon writers in the 1830s wanted to smear the peculiar new faith, they came up with affidavits from Palmyrans that called Joseph Smith and his family ne’er-do-wells. But the neighbors who knew the Smiths best held better opinions. One such, Orlando Saunders, went on record to vouch for the persecuted family’s character:
“I knew all the Smith family well … the old man was a cooper; they all worked for me many a day; they were very good people; Young Joe (as we called him then), he worked for me, and he was a very good worker; they all were. … They were the best family in the neighborhood in case of sickness; one was at my house nearly all the time when my father died; I always thought them honest; they were owing me some money when they left here. …
“One of them came back in about a year and paid me.”1

I started to get the New Era as a gift from a dear friend, and I think it is great. My friend Becky started to visit me while I was in prison. She asked me if I would like to talk to the elders, and I agreed. I saw them for six months, and it really helped. I’m going to keep on subscribing to the New Era now because it is still helping me. Thanks to Elder Castleberry and Elder Muller, and a real big thanks to Becky Hartswick for two wonderful gifts, the Church and the New Era.
Jeffrey D. AumanLewistown, Pennsylvania

One such opportunity was a moment, a couple of years ago in Ladysmith, in KwaZulu Natal Province, in the Republic of South Africa with Elder Kevin S. Hamilton, then President of the Africa Southeast Area.
After a training session with Elder Hamilton, as a young returning missionary whose family does not share my faith, amidst my anxiety as to how to stay strong, I asked, “President, what should I do to retain my membership in the Church?”
Elder Hamilton looked at me in the eyes, placed his arm around my shoulder and said, “What do you usually tell your new converts?”
I responded, “President, I encourage them to continually come to Church to partake of the sacrament, to pray often, to prepare to go to the temple, to do home visiting (ministering), and to magnify their callings when given one.”
He replied, “Elder, then go home and do those things. Your faith will be strengthened as you continually do them”.

While Peter was lying in the hospital as a 19-year-old trying to figure out his future, he asked himself, “What one thing would I have to accomplish that would mean I had overcome my problems?” He was influenced by some books on selling that his friend had read to him before his bandages were removed from his eyes. He decided that if he could be a successful life insurance sales manager that would mean (1) he was able to develop a good relationship with people individually, (2) he would have gained an education, and (3) he would have proven his credibility and ability in one area.
With this goal in mind, Peter began researching insurance companies. He contacted 59 companies and was not offered a single job. He finally landed a position as a planning manager for an insurance company. He had his toe in the door. Through persistence, hard work, and going to school at the same time, Peter began learning the business.
By the time Peter and Marj were married, he had paid off all his debts to doctors and hospitals, but he was starting married life with no assets except his confidence and attitude. In 10 years he has built all that he and his family have from scratch, by determination and discipline. From an accident that could have been devastating to any future accomplishment, Peter Jeppson struggled against adversity to become a successful businessman, church leader, husband, and father. He is now the owner of his own insurance and investment agency, has served on the General Board of the Young Men, and has four children, two daughters and two sons.

It had been a rough freshman year of high school. Jenica B., 17, of Illinois, USA, had ballet training, demanding high school courses, and Church and family responsibilities that were all competing for her attention. She was running on four to five hours of sleep, and it was exhausting. Jenica and her parents all knew something needed to change.
“I would love to have a professional career in ballet,” Jenica says, “but ballet, as many dancers know, is a very fragile world, and it’s very difficult.”
Jenica wanted to keep training her hardest, but she also knew she wanted to make her education a priority. “We’d heard of other dancers who had done online school,” she says. “I knew that we had to find a program that would be perfect for me.”
So her mom found an accredited online school program that would allow Jenica to participate in extracurricular activities, and prepare for college while maintaining a rigorous ballet training schedule. And she’d have time for homework, scripture study, and rest. They jumped on the opportunity.
“That was truly a blessing,” Jenica explained. “That was when I started training [in ballet] in Chicago, and I was still able to attend seminary. And I got so much more time to be with my dad because he also works in the city. I was even blessed with incredible opportunities to share the gospel with friends who were curious. It was a really good experience.”
Jenica and her dad spend time together traveling to the city, sometimes even eating dinner together there.
Some of Jenica’s opportunities to share the gospel have come when dancing has taken her away from home. She has found ways to maintain her standards and even to share her beliefs with friends. One summer, she was able to attend summer ballet trainings in both Arizona and New York City. While in New York City, she posted a picture of the Manhattan New York Temple on social media. She also likes to post dance images on social media with an inspiring quote from a Church leader or an uplifting thought.
“We can all use social media to spread the gospel,” she says. “It doesn’t have to be a big post about everything. It can just be a simple something that sparks interest or hope in somebody.” In the end, she says, “other people will be grateful for our courage to share in such a public space.”
Sharing with her friends and maintaining those friendships has helped Jenica to maintain her standards as well. “They’re very respectful of my beliefs,” she says, “and I’m grateful for that, because it makes it easier for me to live them.”
Even with Jenica’s new schedule and new opportunities, balancing all of her responsibilities isn’t easy. She attends early-morning seminary, catches some time with her dad on the train into Chicago, trains in ballet for the day, and then focuses on homework, scripture reading, and Church activities in the evening.
Attending early-morning seminary is important to Jenica, and her new schedule makes it possible.
So how does she do all of it? “It’s very difficult,” Jenica says. But through all of her scheduling and organizing, she asks a simple question: “What do I want most at the end of the day? Because at the end of the day I want to be the best at ballet that I can be but also maintain my schoolwork and be able and prepared to go to college when the time comes, and so it’s a sacrifice now.”
Photograph courtesy of Jenica B.
She adds, “I had a ballet teacher who stressed that we need to put God and our families and our education first and then ballet, because ordering our priorities that way truly helps us focus on what is most important in this life. Having incredible examples like my ballet teacher and the people who guide the Church has helped me understand how to make this happen.”
Jenica enjoys talking with her friends about anything, including the gospel.
One thing Jenica has decided to keep high on her list of priorities is keeping her standards. Fortunately, most studios she has worked with have asked ballet students to maintain modest dress standards, making it easier for Jenica to uphold her own standards. But outside the studio, she says people notice a difference in what she wears.
“My friends do ask, and I’ve told them what the Church standards are that I hold, and they definitely think that it’s interesting, but they see where I’m coming from and where my beliefs are coming from so it tends not to be a problem.”
Jenica’s friends are very supportive when she talks about her standards.
And people notice differences besides the clothing Jenica chooses to wear.
“People have definitely mentioned to me how they know people in the Church and they’re just very happy—they live happy lives—and they notice the light that we share even if we don’t think that other people are watching. They notice differences. They notice when we choose to not use certain language. They notice when we choose not to use things that would be harmful to us, and for the most part they definitely value our strength to stand for what we believe in.”
Jenica has also found many opportunities to make service a priority in her busy schedule. For her online school’s National Honor Society program, she worked at the bishop’s storehouse and with an international organization to earn service hours. And when she was working toward earning her Young Women Honor Bee, she found a way to incorporate her passion for dancing in her community efforts. She started volunteering for two hours on Saturdays to teach ballet to inner-city children.
“I’ve come to realize my passion for service,” she says. “I love feeling like I can make a difference in the world. Even here in Illinois, when I assemble food packs, I can help someone all the way across the globe—and with my own hands. And it helps me realize—even though I don’t know them—the love that God has for His children.”
Jenica loves having time to enjoy things like ice cream and games with her family.
Through all of her experiences in dancing, finding service opportunities, sharing the gospel, and organizing her responsibilities, Jenica has found a great appreciation for the things that matter most in life.
“There are things that we value in life and that we want to pursue, and I know that Heavenly Father will provide a way for us to do that if we continue to keep our faith in Him,” she says. “Sometimes we can lose our sight on what’s truly important and we lose sight of how much He has helped us in these things that we’ve been trying to achieve.” Jenica says she’s learned that “some things don’t go the way that we planned, but no matter how difficult it is, He has a plan for each and every one of us and if we truly pray and ask Him for help, He will provide a way for us to achieve what we want to if it’s in His plan for us. And we just have to wait and be ready to accept what He wants us to do.”

A week later the fire was still burning when Latter-day Saints gathered to hear President Boyd K. Packer, Acting President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, speak. He pronounced an apostolic blessing upon them. After the meeting, he shook hands with every person, including 16-year-old Tori Gross.
“President Packer reminded us that we lost our houses, not our homes,” Tori says. “When a boy at school said he was homeless, I said, ‘You’re not homeless, you’re houseless.’ Our house burned to the ground and so did part of the new house we are building. But our family survived. Since the fire, I feel closer to Heavenly Father, and I rely on the gospel more.”

“Prairie gum!” exclaimed Roxanna. “Would you like to go out and get some prairie gum?”
“Oh, yes,” Rachel said. She had just walked the two miles between her soddy (a home built of sod) and Roxanna’s, but her six-year-old legs were eager to go on if the reward was prairie gum.
Prairie gum was a sticky substance that gathered on the broken tops of the tall rosinweeds that dotted the land. In the spring, the weed had blossomed like a little yellow sunflower, but today the leaves were stiff. It was fall, and everything on the prairie was brown and dry. The little wildflowers that had once added splashes of red, orange, and purple to the sea of grass, were all gone.
The girls walked hand in hand through the dry grass. They felt lucky to live so close to each other, because most prairie families did not have neighbors nearby. The golden land was vast, and homes were spread out. As Rachel and Roxanna walked, they could not even see another soddy.
They trotted from weed to weed, their long braids dancing behind them. Picking off a bit of the colorless gum here and a bit there, they tried to gather enough of it to make a chewy lump. They were so focused on spotting the next rosinweed and scraping its gum that they didn’t realize they had walked another mile. When a faint cry rang out, the two best friends froze.
“Listen! What is that?” Rachel’s brown eyes widened with fear. Both girls strained to make out the sound. Then they saw Roxanna’s father running toward them in the distance. “Why, it’s your father! He wants us to do something. What is it, Roxanna? Can you hear?”
“Run! Run! Run!” Roxanna’s father was yelling frantically. “Run to the breaking!” Roxanna quickly spotted the place where her father had turned over the prairie sod with the breaking-up plow. Land on the prairie could not be cultivated the first year; it had to be broken up, then left to lie and rot. During the fall and winter, the tough grass roots rotted away so that a common plow could get through them. She grabbed Rachel’s hand and began running the quarter of a mile to the breaking. They stumbled through the tall, dry prairie grass.
“Run to the breaking! Run! Run!” Roxanna and Rachel could see the blur of a blue shirt as Roxanna’s father waved his arms desperately like the fans of a windmill. “Run! Run!” His frantic voice was still faint, but the words were distinct.
“Roxanna, what is it? What’s the matter?” Rachel asked between frenzied breaths.
“I don’t know,” Roxanna gasped. Neither girl stopped running. Their parents had taught them to obey immediately, so they stumbled on as fast as their little legs would carry them.
The prairie grass felt like claws that again and again snatched at them and tried to trip them. Roxanna stepped into a gopher hole, and Rachel pulled her up. Rachel’s lungs ached, and she felt she did not have another breath in her, but she kept going.
At last they reached the edge of the breaking. Roxanna’s father came running up from the other side. Seizing both girls in his arms, he dragged them into the middle of the bare black space.
“Lie down!” he gasped and threw his body over theirs on the ground. The black soil was hard and scratched the girls’ faces.
“What is it?” Rachel panted.
A crisp, crackling sound was her answer. She turned her head to see a large fire sweeping across the prairie. The orange flames swiftly swallowed up the dry grass and weeds in its path, including where Rachel and Roxanna had stood just minutes before! The flames shot high into the sky with a sizzling sound like wicked laughter. The air over them grew thick with gray smoke and flying red cinders. Roxanna’s eyes and lungs burned from the acrid smoke. Rachel thought that her skin would melt from the intense heat that enveloped them.
“Hold on, girls,” Roxanna’s father urged.
And then the danger was over. The fire moved swiftly on down the prairie, leaving Rachel, Roxanna, and her father untouched because there was no grass around them to burn. They sat up and stared at the moving fire. Rachel wiped the sweat and dirt from her face with the back of her hand. Roxanna let out a big sigh of relief.
“That was close,” Roxanna’s father gasped, “but we made it!” He looked back to see a stretch of black that extended down the prairie, marking the fire’s path. The ground around the breaking was black and still sizzling. He inhaled deeply. “We made it because of your quick obedience to my shouts.” Then he bowed his head and gave thanks to Heavenly Father that the girls had been obedient and that none of them had been caught in the fire.

Every day last autumn when mail was delivered in Baytown, Texas, one six-year-old boy found a letter addressed just to him. “It would make me happy when I wasn’t feeling too happy,” says Lance Brunson, who was confined to his home with complications from a severe skin disease.
The letters were from an “older” friend, eleven-year-old Sarah Ferguson, affectionately called “Little Miss Sunshine” by Lance’s family. Sarah has been writing and sending letters to Lance since mid-October 1988. “She has really been a beacon of light for us,” says Joy Brunson, Lance’s mother.
Sarah first learned about Lance’s condition from her mother, Melanie Ferguson, who had taught Lance in Primary in Baytown Ward, Houston Texas East Stake. Sister Ferguson and Lance’s classmates put together a card to send to Lance after his illness forced him to stay at home. Sarah liked the idea and decided to send one too—and has kept sending them ever since.
“I try to give Lance something to do, something to make him happy,” Sarah says. She admits she finds some of her ideas in greeting cards, but her letters are original, with handmade cards, puzzles, quizzes, riddles, and art lessons.
The rare skin disease Lance has is caused by some of his internal organs—kidneys, pancreas, spleen—not functioning to capacity. It causes severe itching and burning and peeling skin. For a time, Lance couldn’t stand to wear any clothes and could only wrap up in a sheet or blanket.
His mother says, “For one period of six weeks, Lance couldn’t sleep for two or three days at a time. He would lie for days curled up in the fetal position. It was his worst time. And during this time, Sarah’s letters arrived daily. Sometimes Lance was too sick to look at them, but he would smile when we showed him the letter. And most often that was the only smile we saw from him all day.”
“If we didn’t get any other mail, we always got Sarah’s letter,” Lance says. “Even when she was sick!” he exclaims. “When she had a bad case of flu, she still wrote every day.”
Lance’s gratitude to Sarah is spoken with childlike simplicity, “Thank you for sending me all these letters. I love you.”
What does Sarah think about her acts of kindness? “It’s not that special, really,” she shyly comments. However, the community of Baytown feels Sarah’s heroic efforts are special. She was featured in a local newspaper story and honored by a civic service organization that awarded her a plaque now hanging in city hall.
Ask her why she kept sending letters daily for those first few months, and she answers, “Because Lance’s mother appreciated it so much and said it made Lance happy. Besides, I know how it feels to be sick and at home. My father has been sick ever since I can remember. I know how he feels. It gets boring, and you need something to keep you busy.” Sarah’s father, Ira, has been going through operations and skin grafts for the past nine years after suffering severe burns in an accident at his work.
Sister Brunson expresses her appreciation for what Sarah has been doing for Lance. “She is sacrificing her time, talent, and energy for my child,” she says. “The humble spirit of this incredible young lady has richly blessed my home and family.”
Lance is feeling better now. He attends school and church some of the time, and he was well enough to participate with Sarah and other ward members in a road show last spring. But his trials are not yet over. He has days when he is in great discomfort. And, although he sees Sarah more often now, he still gets a letter at least once a week from her.
Because of the six-year age difference, Sarah and Lance don’t have a lot to talk about with each other. But one night last spring after the road show practice, Sarah softly said, “Good-bye, Lance.” And Lance turned and smiled at her and simply said back, “Good-bye, Sarah.” Lance’s mother comments, “Although it was just a brief farewell, you could see this bond—a look in their eyes that they have shared something. A great deal of love passed between them.”

There never was a time in my life when I questioned my father’s faith. His convictions were stamped indelibly upon his life, firm enough to withstand whatever trial, adversity, or challenge presented itself.
When I was a boy we lived on a small Utah farm where money was scarce and work abundant. During those early growing-up years the summers seemed especially difficult to me and filled with endless drudgery. There were beets to thin, corn to hoe, and ditches to clean; the troublesome weeds always grew back; there was always another crop of hay to haul.
The one saving balm, the one pleasant oasis in the midst of all the summer labor was the Sabbath. We all knew that Sunday was the Lord’s day. The weeds, the hay lying in the field and the unharvested grain would all wait until Monday.
Stopping work on the Sabbath was not always as easy as hanging up a hoe and not returning to the cornfield. There were complications. The summers were the only real opportunities to harvest financial security. If a farmer did not prosper during those short summer months, the long winters were lean and difficult. The crops had to succeed, and more often than not, the key to this modest prosperity was water-water that was scarce in Utah, water that seldom came in the form of rain, water that had to be stored meticulously during the winter and spring and spent and rationed carefully throughout the hot, dry summer weeks.
Each farm was dependent upon the irrigation ditch. The ditch, with its life-giving water, was all that stood between the farmer and disaster. Irrigation was imperative, and at times that posed a real Sabbath dilemma. Some years a farmer’s turn fell on Monday, some years on Tuesday, some years on another day of the week. And sometimes the turn fell on Sunday. The farmer had no choice.
Like everyone else, Father’s turn came on Sunday some years. I remember those years well because I was always impressed by my father’s determination to keep the Sabbath day holy. I don’t suppose the Lord would have condemned him for irrigating his farm on Sunday. He knew father’s heart, and He knew the circumstances under which he and the other farmers labored. However, father wanted to avoid even that Sabbath labor. He was convinced that were the Lord to make out those watering schedules for the farmers, no turn would ever fall on his Sabbath. I never heard Father verbalize his resolve not to trespass on the Lord’s holy day but his life reflected it.
When father’s turn fell on Sunday, he did all he could to avoid Sabbath irrigation. Friday and Saturday he would watch at the irrigation ditch for any run-off water from the farmers up the line. He squeezed every available drop from the ditch, and by Sunday the farm was irrigated. I don’t remember that he ever had been forced to work on the Lord’s day. This meant more work for him, but father was willing to make the sacrifice if it would allow him to rest on the Sabbath.
Everything always seemed to work out. As I observed him through the years, his dedication and resolve were a testimony to me that the Lord blesses those who strive to keep his commandments.

A friend of mine once told me about his experience in coming to know and understand the gift of the Holy Ghost. He had prayed often and longed to know the truth of the gospel.
Although he felt at peace with his beliefs, he had never received the certain knowledge for which he hungered. He had reconciled himself to the fact that he might be one of those who would have to walk through this life relying upon the faith of others.
One morning, while pondering the scriptures, he felt something surge through his body from the top of his head to the bottom of his feet. “I was immersed in a feeling of such intense love and pure joy,” he explained. “I cannot describe the measure of what I felt at that time other than to say I was enveloped in joy so profound there was no room in me for any other sensation.”
Even as he felt this outpouring of the Holy Ghost, he wondered if possibly he was just imagining what was happening. “The more I wondered,” he said, “the more intense the feelings became until it was all I could do to tearfully say, ‘It is enough.’”

Five years ago, I started a journey towards finishing my post-graduate studies in agriculture, specialising in plant breeding. I was offered a bursary from a prominent research institute in South Africa. Despite the challenge of raising a family, I embraced this dream. From a young age I have always been drawn to outdoor activities that had to do with touching soil and planting greens. Growing up in Mozambique, I used to love working with my grandmother on her small plot on the outskirts of Beira where she planted, amongst other things, sweet potato and rice. I cherish those memories and hold them very close to my heart.
When I embarked on the journey to become a plant breeder, I was on track to finish my studies and graduate in the winter of 2020. I had endless dreams of how perfect life was going to be. Looking at the demand for such scarce skills in the industry in previous years, I was really excited for the new possibilities that were unfolding before me. I had been a freelance language and media consultant for most of my working career. I was looking forward to finally being able to work in research and applying the skills that I had been acquiring in my studies.
With the rapid spread of the COVID-19 pandemic in South Africa, it became clear that although I had submitted my thesis at the end of 2019, I was not going to make it for the winter graduation as I had hoped. The most important thing for me was not the graduation ceremony, but to be able to complete the degree and to get a good job. I knew that it would take time to find the kind of job that I was looking for—I sent out one job application, then two—and eventually there were so many sent that I lost count.
This experience taught me some valuable lessons: some of our plans in life do not unfold exactly how we wish them to. Here, a year later, I am still searching for that dream job. This is not just for me, but my immediate family and society in general also have high expectations for someone with an academic degree like mine.
Upon meeting a friend, she asked how things were going in my life and if I had been able to find a job. I replied that I had not yet found one. We talked about several things. As I drove home, I was reflecting upon my lifestyle and my state of mind during the pandemic. I then realized how the hands of the Lord had blessed me. When thinking back I was able to pick up on the many skills that I had gained and the amount of time I had been able to spend with my family. There were simply too many small miracles to count. I had been able to afford my basic needs. I took my budget before COVID-19 and readjusted it. With more time on my hands, I was drawn to my passion of working the land. I planted a vegetable garden, the kids and I learned how to mow the lawn and to trim trees—the list is endless. Today our vegetable garden feeds us most of our greens, such as spinach, lettuce and rocket. We find meaningful time to play and work as a family. We enjoy going on short night walks in our neighbourhood.
As I reflect upon my experiences in the past nine months—despite not having the things that I dreamed of—I have been generally content. I see more good around me than bad. I have gained a deeper understanding of trusting in the Lord’s timing. He knows what is best and has better plans for me and for my family. As I count my blessings, I have come to realise that the Lord is in control of many aspects of my life. He knows me individually and I matter to Him. He cares for our righteous desires. He wants us to trust Him and to be happy. I have come to know that with all my heart.

My baptism day was like a dream. I was so happy and eager to begin life as a perfect person. However, I argued with my siblings just hours after being baptized. I remember feeling discouraged that it had not taken very long for me to mess up after being baptized and confirmed, but I also remember that when I repented, I felt completely whole again. I learned from a young age that the Atonement of Jesus Christ brings needed relief from sin.
As I continued to grow in my gospel understanding, I learned that the Atonement was not just something to use whenever I sinned. The Atonement could be part of my life in times of trial, joy, heartache, and success. When I struggled to feel accepted by my peers, I prayed to Heavenly Father and I was comforted to know that the Savior had struggled with these same feelings. When I did well on something, my joy was magnified when I thought of the Savior’s rejoicing.
Abby McKeon, Utah, USA

On February 19, 2019, Elder Ulisses Soares of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles and his wife, Rosana Fernandes, arrived on the island of Curaçao. He was also accompanied by Elder Walter F. Gonzalez of the Quorum of the Seventy. Elder Soares used the opportunity to meet with the missionaries serving in Aruba, Bonaire and Curaçao.
Meeting with missionaries on February 20, Elder Soares took the opportunity to remind them of their purpose as missionaries and about the importance of their service to the people. This meeting was also broadcast to the missionaries serving in Guyana and Suriname.
Later, Elder Soares presided over a meeting with 109 members in Curaçao. This meeting took place at the chapel in Mahaai, where the only branch is located. This was a historic event for most of the members, being the first time that a member of the Quorum of the Twelve has visited this island.
During this meeting, two pioneer members shared their testimonies. Sister Ingeborg Zielinski Reni, who was the first member of the church on the island, shared her story about her involvement in the missionary efforts on the island. Sister Yvonne Antersijn also shared her experiences as the first native woman to be baptized on the island.
Elder Gonzalez told the members to consider using The Book of Mormon not only for their own life purpose, but also for the lives of others.
Elder Soares recounted Sister Zielinski’s dream where a temple was constructed on the island of Curaçao. He said: “The way President Nelson is announcing new temples makes me think that this may not be a dream. There will be a day where the Lord shall tell President Nelson to construct a temple on the island of Curacao, but you need to do your part and be faithful. The door will open, and the message will penetrate the hearts of the inhabitants of Curaçao. A miracle will happen in front of your eyes.”

As soon as I was old enough to really begin to understand the gospel, I began to have doubts about it. I often wondered if the gospel was true. But my parents insisted that I attend our ward in Germany with them each Sunday, even though I had little desire to be there. I figured I already knew everything that would be said, and I was bored by the routine.
Not wanting to be there, I was critical of the Church and Church members. I assumed members should always live perfectly what they said in their talks and testimonies. However, I noticed that some parents and children fought, some people gossiped, and some young people drank and smoked. Blinded by my prejudices, I noticed only those members who didn’t rush to help the homeless people who occasionally came into the church building. Where is that famous charity mentioned in the scriptures? I wondered. Somehow I missed seeing those who did reach out to help others.
While I was caught up in this spirit of criticism, my nonmember friends offered me cigarettes and alcohol, and I tried them. But that was not all. After a while, I stayed out at night longer and more often, and I always got home late on weekends. And then, of course, I had no desire to go to church because I was so tired.
These friends—combined with the hypocrisy I thought I saw in some Church members, the temptations I succumbed to, my boredom in church, my pride, and my disobedience—led me to not want to know anything about the Church.
Then I made a mistake that forced me to go to court. The prospect of suffering legal penalties forced me to think, and I decided I needed to make some changes in my life.
I went to a trusted Church member and talked with him about my problems. The Lord prompted him to say the right words to me. He helped me recognize that I was at a crossroad. I had to return to the Lord’s way, or I would sink in the mud and go under. This realization was difficult to come to, but it was so clear that I could not misunderstand it. My friend then spoke to my father and asked us to kneel and pray together. My father prayed, and I felt tears in my eyes because I felt such a strong spirit.
I realized then that if my parents had not insisted that I attend church with them, something worse could have happened. I could have fallen completely away.
I have learned that friends outside the Church are okay if you look for good friends with your standards. If friends offer you something and ask you to do something that is not in accordance with the gospel, you should say no. If they continue, it is best to part with those friends, even if it is difficult. It was difficult for me.
I still don’t like hypocrisy, but I now recognize that I have faults of my own to work on. The talks at church are still similar and the meetings the same—but I’m not critical of that anymore. I realize that Church meetings can be interesting in spite of that. It is not easy for me, but I try to listen. I do not want to stray away.
I am developing a greater interest in going to church and in keeping the commandments. It is difficult, but with the help of the Lord and my parents, I can and will do it. It feels good to have loving parents and friends who are active in the Church. It is good to be understood, to be taken seriously, to be loved. It is good to know the Lord is always there.

In 1978, Anna-Liisa Rinne returned home to Finland, only to receive another mission call. In 1979 she left for Scotland as a proselyting missionary. “I had only young companions, and I was their trainer. We had a rule that the senior companion had to prepare breakfast until the junior companion learned the discussions. I always made Finnish oatmeal for breakfast, so these American girls learned the discussions very fast,” says Sister Rinne, laughing. For health reasons, she had to interrupt the mission after eleven months, but this did not mean a slowdown in her activity—just the opposite.
After twice serving as a volunteer temple worker in the Swiss Temple, she received a 1982 call to a temple mission. “It was valuable to me to work with older people who have had a long experience in life and to try every day to be pure in heart.” Then she was called as a counselor to the temple matron. “After completing my mission I still went back to work in the temple, and I would probably have stayed who knows how long, except that it was difficult to take care of my health there,” Sister Rinne says.
After returning from Switzerland to Finland, Anna-Liisa Rinne became involved with an assignment she had received even before she was called to temple work, writing a history of the Church in Finland. But before the work was finished a call came again—this time to the Stockholm Temple.
If Anna-Liisa Rinne’s work career has been exceptionally varied and broad, her hobbies have not quite been ordinary either. This grandmother of sixteen likes surfing, and last summer she taught almost all her grandchildren to surf. She also owns a small sailboat, and has passed a coast-guard class which finally resulted in an international sailing permit. A diving class and pistol shooting are still in her plans.
Looking back over her life to this point, Sister Rinne says, “I have continually sought my own identity in all phases of my life: who and what am I?” It is the gospel that has provided the answers to Sister Rinne’s quest. “In some ways, I have been a very lonely person, but this has forced me to seek Christ for protection. I have had to depend on him many times, and I have always received help from him,” she says.
In return, Anna-Liisa Rinne has been ready to serve wherever the Lord has needed her. And in so doing, she has verified Christ’s words: “He that loseth his life for my sake shall find it.”

For example, when Martin Harris asked Joseph to ask the Lord if Martin could take 116 pages of the Book of Mormon manuscript to show his family, Joseph was told no. But Martin kept asking, and Joseph kept asking, and they were eventually allowed to go ahead, under strict commandments. Martin did not keep these commandments and as a result lost those 116 pages. Joseph and Martin were devastated. They had to face the consequences of not obeying God.
The Lord took the plates from Joseph and told him he needed to repent if he was to translate again (see Doctrine and Covenants 3). Joseph humbled himself and sought the Lord’s forgiveness.
After some time, the Lord told Joseph that he could continue translating the Book of Mormon as long as he was faithful.
This experience helped Joseph learn to fear God more than man (see Doctrine and Covenants 3:7), to trust the revelation he was receiving, and to repent quickly when he made mistakes.
Joseph’s example shows that repentance enables us to find peace and allows us to progress. While Joseph was distraught over losing the manuscript pages, he found hope in repenting and turning to the Lord. As a result, he was able to gain forgiveness and continue serving in God’s work. We too make mistakes, sin, and must suffer the consequences of our actions. Through the Atonement of Jesus Christ, we too can become clean from our sins and continue to serve in the Lord’s work.