Gospel Story Finder

I am a banana seller and a graduate of policy studies and administration from the University of Calabar, Nigeria.
I worked with my certificate as a degree holder but was underemployed, my salary at the end of the month was not enough to take care of my basic needs so I quit the job to sell bananas.
When I was introduced to the self-reliance devotional, I found it very interesting and I joined the Starting and Growing My Business group.
During my group meeting, I learned a lot of principles that enabled me to start my own business.
Some of the principles I learned that have made my business successful are:
Payment of tithes.
Fasting and praying for the progress of my business.
Spiritual self-reliance (my faith has grown tremendously in the Lord)
Networking for clients (I have an umbrella shop. I also hawk my goods)
I have an expense book for cash in and cash out reports.
I have developed daily savings.
I have a salary from my business.
Now I can afford my basic needs, provide for those around me, and have enough time to plan for myself and my business.
The experience I gained during my group meeting has blessed my life, and I have encouraged everyone around me to join any of the self-reliance groups to also experience a change in their lives.
I may not be fully self-reliant now, but from my efforts, I can see the light at the end of the tunnel.

In 1846 at Council Bluffs, Iowa, the United States government made an appeal to President Brigham Young for 500 able-bodied men to form a battalion and travel to California to offer protection in the Mexican War. John Borrowman accepted the call and enlisted as a private in Company B. At a farewell devotional, President Young prophesied that the men of the Mormon Battalion would never have to face the enemy in battle—a prophecy that proved true, in spite of the odds against it. Still, the men had many struggles. Perhaps the greatest challenges of all were the mountain deserts that yielded little water and food. Yet, in spite of harsh conditions, they followed their leaders faithfully and with valor. As prophesied, they never faced a human enemy in battle, although they did encounter a herd of rampaging wild bulls and dubbed the conflict “the Battle of the Bulls.”
Their supplies grossly inadequate, the suffering and thirsty men cut a narrow passage (sometimes just an inch wider than the wagons) as they ascended the tortuous ravines of the barren Southwestern mountains. It was a thrilling day when they at last found their way onto the gentle slopes that led to their first view of the Pacific Ocean.
Then something unfortunate happened to John Borrowman—because of exhaustion, he fell asleep on guard duty. He drifted off for just a few moments, but a watchful sergeant reported him. In time of war this was an offense punishable by death. The Mormon soldiers were subject to their army commanders and military law, and John was immediately imprisoned. During the next few weeks, he read a friend’s copy of the Book of Mormon, which brought him a great deal of comfort.
After he was set free, it was determined that his release had been an error, and John reluctantly returned to jail. He wrote in his journal that he was lonely and uncomfortable, for “I have no bedding … but my blanket and a cold damp brick floor to lie on” (Journal of John Borrowman, 1846–1860, Church Historical Department, microfilm, 22). When his case was heard, he was sentenced to three additional days in guard quarters and three hours each day in the cells; three dollars of his pay were also withheld. Though grateful that his life was spared, he felt this was a great burden and prayed to the Lord to be relieved of it. His deliverance came in an unusual fashion. When the regular army colonel was informed of the sentence of the court, he was disgusted at its leniency. Yet he didn’t have the power to overturn it. So he set it aside, saying it was better to have no punishment than one that was so light. John accepted this as an answer to his earnest prayers.
Upon his honorable discharge from the Mormon Battalion, John sold his horse and bought passage on a ship to San Francisco, California. Arriving there, he found a small community of Saints who helped him find work as a laborer for two dollars per day. After several months, John started east to join the main body of the Saints in the Salt Lake Valley. Near Sacramento he learned that some of the other members of the battalion were working at a place called Sutter’s Mill when gold was discovered there. Thus John became a prospector. He recorded in his journal that he was washing between $25 and $60 of gold each day—a real fortune compared to his wage as a laborer.
Yet, when the call came from Brigham Young for battalion members to proceed directly to Salt Lake City, John and his partners immediately abandoned their lucrative careers as prospectors and started the arduous trek through the Sierra Nevada mountain range to the Salt Lake Valley. Once there, John was given a piece of land outside the city, which he energetically began to improve into a beautiful irrigated farm.
John writes matter-of-factly of his marriage in a journal entry dated 22 January 1849: “I have not thought proper to write any since the second of this month … since that day I have been engaged in getting things for house keeping [O]n the evening of the ninth I got married and moved into a little adobie house belonging to [B]rother Turbit where I reside at present with my wife” (Journal of John Borrowman).
In time, John and his wife, Agnes Park, were blessed with five children. In 1853 the Borrowmans left their prosperous farm in Salt Lake City when they were called on a colonization mission to Nephi, Utah (about 130 kilometers to the south). According to an article published in the local newspaper, John became a respected and honored citizen of that small community, serving first as prosecuting attorney, then as municipal judge. In 1869 he was called on a second proselyting mission to Canada and left his home and family for two years. Records indicate that over the course of his lifetime, John Borrowman assisted in more than 1,100 convert baptisms.
William Borrowman never forgave his son for joining the Church. He made sure that the family members never referred to John as brother or uncle. However, John’s stepmother, Helen, corresponded with John through the years. In 1857 she wrote to tell him that his father had died and that he had directed that John be given—as his total inheritance—one halfpenny (the equivalent of a nickel in American coin).
Over the course of his lifetime, John abandoned his claim to a prosperous farm in Canada, gave up the sure profits of the goldfields of California, and left a developed farm in the Salt Lake Valley—all seemingly without regret. Whenever and wherever the Lord called, John Borrowman, like so many Saints, answered the call without hesitation.
In studying the life of my great-great-grandfather, I have wondered what he thought about receiving his inheritance. I believe the following scripture best describes his willingness to unite with the people of the Lord:
“Again, the kingdom of heaven is like unto a merchant man, seeking goodly pearls:
“Who, when he had found one pearl of great price, went and sold all that he had, and bought it” (Matt. 13:45–46).
And so, for an inheritance, John Borrowman received the pearl of great price—and a halfpenny too!
Information in this article is based on the journal of John Borrowman, who lived from 13 May 1816 to 28 March 1898.

We met that Christmas day in Portugal with the other missionaries in our zone, exchanging gifts and enjoying the holiday together. Although the rain outside the Porto chapel hadn’t dampened our spirits, something did seem to be missing. My companion and I decided to visit our investigators and sing Christmas songs. Everyone else liked the idea, too, and soon we were all gathering our raincoats, umbrellas, scriptures, and hymnbooks.
The first group we visited lived close to the city center in an abandoned monastery. They were Portuguese families who had lived in Africa, but the civil wars had forced them to flee to Portugal. They had been wealthy in Africa but now had almost nothing.
We climbed the creaky stairs of the monastery as the roof leaked big drops of water on our heads. As we began to sing, the children, with bright eyes, came out first, followed shortly by their parents. Soon all the inhabitants of the monastery were listening to our Christmas songs. Some tried to sing along but didn’t know all the words. The rain seemed to accompany the songs as background music, and then our tears began mingling with the rain as the Spirit bore witness to us that we were all truly brothers and sisters.
We left some church pamphlets, encouraged our investigators to continue with the discussions, and invited all to attend our church meetings.

A teacher from California, who went to Austria to study, made fun of the tales he had heard about the foehn. Years before, he had broken his leg in a skiing accident. When his old wound began to hurt, it was as though the break had just happened, and the pain was agonizing. He soon learned that the weather had changed and that a foehn had descended the mountains into the valley where he was staying. He stopped making fun of the foehn stories.

Whenever I think of the Savior’s parable of the sheep and the goats and of His wonderful promises to those who serve Him (see Matt. 25:31–46), I picture a young boy named Luan.
I first met Luan in February 2001 at a Young Men camp in Recife, Brazil. In Brazil, it was the time of Carnival—a holiday that has become four days of unruly partying. During Carnival, stakes often hold youth conferences and camps to give Latter-day Saint youth a fun and wholesome alternative. In my assignment as President of the Brazil North Area, I was visiting one such Young Men camp in the Recife Brazil Boa Viagem Stake.
When I first saw Luan, I noticed that he was quite thin and did not have even a single hair on his head. I also noticed that he had many friends. And I learned that he had just turned 12 and was going to be ordained a deacon during the camp.
I also learned that Luan had bone cancer in his left leg. In fact, just before camp he had learned that the cancer was progressing so rapidly his leg needed to be amputated immediately. But because Luan wanted so badly to receive the Aaronic Priesthood at camp and to play soccer with his friends one last time, his doctor had agreed to postpone the surgery for a week.
Now, surrounded by his brothers in the Church, Luan literally beamed with happiness. After his priesthood ordination on Sunday, Luan bore a beautiful testimony about his faith in the gospel and his gratitude for the Savior’s love.
I approached Luan, and we became fast friends. After his surgery, I visited him in his home, along with his bishop, Ozani Farias, and his stake president, Mozart B. Soares. These good leaders were a blessing in Luan’s life. They were always there to comfort, support, and help him.
I felt the Spirit very strongly in Luan’s home. Luan, along with his mother and sisters, had joined the Church eight months earlier. There was no father in the home, and Luan’s mother worked hard to provide for the family. Their small house was tidy and clean, and I knew that simple home sheltered a very special family.
During our visit, we noticed that the family lacked many basic things. For example, Luan had to sleep on an uncomfortable couch because he had no bed. But when we asked what the family needed, they replied, “We have the gospel, our friends at church, and a happy family. Thank you, but we need nothing else.”
A short time after our visit, Luan’s condition worsened, and his doctors found a large tumor at the base of his spinal cord. It could not be removed surgically, so Luan went to the hospital for another round of chemotherapy.
One night when President Soares and I visited Luan in the hospital, we found him in a lot of pain. He asked us several questions, including “What is death?” and “What is dying like?”
I explained that dying is part of eternity and that death is not a closing door but a door that opens for us as we go back to the presence of God. Luan understood and smiled. He said that now he was prepared. Then he asked us to give him a blessing, and we did so.
In the bed next to Luan was a 14-year-old boy named Pedro. Now Pedro asked us to bless him too. I asked if he had faith in Jesus Christ, and he said he did. We explained what the priesthood is and that we would be blessing him in the name of Jesus Christ. He closed his eyes and smiled as we blessed him. Next an 18-year-old young woman asked us to give her a blessing too.
I found out that Luan and his mother had comforted Pedro and many of the other young cancer patients and their parents. As I left the hospital that night, I was edified to see that Luan and his mother, though suffering themselves, found the strength to visit others and minister to their needs.
When President Soares asked Luan what he would like to do when he left the hospital, Luan said he would like to perform vicarious baptisms in the Recife Brazil Temple. After Luan left the hospital, President Soares and Bishop Farias helped him fulfill this desire. Luan performed as many baptisms as his strength would allow. At the end of his day at the temple, he was beaming with happiness that he could do something for others, even though he was in great pain himself.
Luan Felix da Silva died on 20 August 2001. Whenever I think of my friend and fellow servant, I am reminded of the Savior’s words:
“Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you … :
“For I was an hungred, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in:
“Naked, and ye clothed me: I was sick, and ye visited me. …
“And the King shall … say unto them, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me” (Matt. 25:34–36, 40).

Julia wiped her brow. Then she picked up her shovel and started digging. Right now, the ground around her was a patch of dirt. But soon it would become a beautiful garden.
Times were hard for Black people in South Africa. Laws there kept Blacks and Whites separate. Many Black people had been forced to leave their homes and live in certain areas away from White people, and they couldn’t vote. There had been violence in the township where Julia lived, and the schools were closed because of it. Sometimes it was dangerous to be outside.
But that didn’t stop Julia. She wanted to do something to bring goodness to her community. That’s why she was starting a garden.
Some children saw Julia working. “Can we help?” they asked.
“Of course,” said Julia. She handed them each a shovel. She showed them how to loosen the soil and dig up weeds.
“Let us dig the soil of bitterness, throw in a seed of love, and see what fruits it can give us,” she said. “Love comes only by forgiving others.”
Weeks passed, and more plants grew. Other people came to work in the garden. They pulled tall weeds. They planted more seeds. They watered the plants. It made Julia happy to see so many people helping.
One day Julia met two young men. Julia was surprised because White people rarely came to her neighborhood. They said they were missionaries. She invited them to share a message in her home.
When Julia’s son heard they were coming, he was shocked. “Why did you invite them?” he said. “They are White. It’s not safe.”
But Julia trusted the missionaries. “These men are different,” Julia said. “They are preaching peace.”
When the missionaries came, Julia welcomed them in. One of them noticed a photo on the mantle. It was from Julia’s wedding.
“Who is that?” the missionary asked, pointing to the photo.
“My husband, John.” Julia looked down. “He died in a car crash.”
The missionary nodded. “We believe families can be together forever, even after they die.”
A feeling of peace washed over Julia. She felt happy to learn about God’s plan and kept meeting with the missionaries. Love for the gospel grew in Julia’s heart, just like the plants in her garden. Soon she decided to be baptized.
At church, Julia met lots of new people. Some were Black. Some were White. But they all served and learned together.
Julia showed the children at church how to help in her garden. “We must be soft in our hearts, like this soil,” she said. “We must make a place for the gospel within us. We must make a place for love.”
Thirteen years after Julia’s baptism, the laws separating Black people and White people in South Africa ended.
There are almost 70,000 members of the Church in South Africa today.
South Africa has 11 official languages.
Julia helped start Women for Peace, a group to promote unity and peace in South Africa.
She was one of the first temple workers in the Johannesburg South Africa Temple.
Julia was a teacher. She taught children to read when they worked in her garden.

When the youth in the Bellingham Washington Stake expressed concerns about the inappropriate music and dancing they might encounter at their high school prom, bishops and youth leaders responded. A youth committee, parent committee, and youth leaders all added their ideas to help organize the first-ever formal spring dance at the stake center.
The formal was held the same night as the high school prom, and youth from three neighboring stakes were also invited. With beautiful decorations, prom pictures, great refreshments, and music with clean lyrics, the dance was a smashing success. The youth say they appreciated the opportunity to attend a dance that was in line with their standards.
“There is no comparison between this dance and school dances I’ve been to,” said Sarai Dodge. “Our dance was so much better. I hope this becomes a tradition!”

I have a photograph of my dad and me. It was taken at my Eagle Scout court of honor the summer before last. It is the last picture taken of my father before he became a quadriplegic. The court of honor was on a Saturday night. My father and I stood next to each other, his arm around me, while my mom pressed the button capturing us on film.
The next week I went to the beach with my parents, two younger sisters, and my friend Matt. Loaded down with baskets and blankets we journeyed to the beach. We found a good spot where there were not too many people around. My friend and I dropped everything and made a mad dash for the ocean. The water was warm, and the sky was clear. The waves did not look at all threatening. Everything was fine. We were swimming, body surfing the waves, and having seaweed fights. We were walking back to find our spot when I saw my dad go into the water. I decided to go back in and join him for a little body surfing.
We were standing next to each other, talking and waiting for the next wave. When it came, we both took it. My friend Matt was off somewhere swimming. I pulled out of it before it got too shallow. “Dad, did you have a good ride?” No answer. I looked around and I could not see him. I thought he was under the water and was going to grab my legs or something. Then I saw him. “Dad! Dad!” He was floating on his stomach, only his shorts and back visible.
I fought through the water to get to him. I remember thinking that he had to be all right because nothing like this could happen to us. I reached him and struggled to turn him over onto his back so he could breathe. This whole time I had been yelling, “Dad! Dad!” over and over again. I got him turned over and as his eyes met mine, my whole body shook with fear. There was no expression on is face, but I saw terror and panic in his eyes. At that moment a wave struck us, sending me reeling and tearing him from my arms. I fought back to the surface, but my father was not in sight. I started screaming, “Matt, help me find my dad! Find my dad! Help me find my dad!” I knew we had to find him before another wave came. I knew his life was in our hands.
I had no feeling at this time. I just knew we had to find him. We spotted his swimming suit a little ways off. We struggled through the water to reach him. I could see a wave coming and I felt like I was in some dream where people are chasing you but your feet are stuck to the ground. We reached him just before a wave hit us. Turning him over, we each grabbed under an arm and began to drag him in. This whole time we had been yelling for help. Two men appeared and then a lifeguard, and they helped us drag him onto the shore. I noticed that he was very white and that his lips were blue. His eyes were open and focused right on me. The lifeguard kept asking him to blink if he heard him, but his eyes just stared into mine.
All of a sudden my stomach just dropped. I had this wrenching feeling and I felt sick. I have never been so scared. I knew he must have a broken neck or back. He had some blood on his forehead so I guessed it must be his neck. We got him onto the shore, and before I knew it we were surrounded by lifeguards. They backed me off and began to give him mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.
My mother had no idea of what was happening. I told Matt to run and get her. I did not want to leave my dad. I was walking around in a circle, sick with fear. I saw one of the lifeguards put her ear to his chest. They began to do CPR. They began to pound on his chest. I lost it. I knew he was dead. I knew that his heart had stopped. I started hollering, “No way, this can’t be happening! No way! No way!” A lifeguard came up to me and said, “You’re not going to help him by getting mad.” I knew he was right, but my staying calm would not help him either. Nothing I could do was going to help him.
By this time there was a huge crowd of people and more kept coming. I saw my mom running towards me. She did not know what had happened, but seeing all the people gathered she imagined the worst.
She was right; it was the worst. I ran to meet her. She was in hysterics, yelling at me to tell her what was wrong. Through the crowd she could see the lifeguards giving him CPR. She tried to go to him, but I held her back. She grabbed me and began sobbing.
A lifeguard came to us to tell us what was happening. By now the paramedics had arrived, and I saw them pull out electric shock devices, the kind you see in movies. He was dead, and they were trying to shock him back into life. All the strength went out of me and I almost fell to the ground. I could not watch anymore. I turned away. My mom still clung to me. She was talking and crying, but I couldn’t understand her.
One of the lifeguards came over to tell us that they got his heart beating. I felt no relief from this. By this time they had a tube in his mouth giving him oxygen because he was not breathing on his own. People were coming up to my mom and asking her if they could pray for him. I wanted to comfort her and act old and mature and tell her everything was going to be all right. But the only thing I could do was hold her and let her cry.
He lay there on the beach for about an hour with the lifeguards working on him. He was still unconscious, and his heart was very unstable. They slowly put him into the ambulance, and my mom got in also. I remember just standing there watching it drive away, wondering what our life was going to be like from then on.
He did have a broken neck and a severed spinal cord. The cord was severed so high that not only was he totally paralyzed from the neck down, but he was also unable to breathe on his own. At first some doctors told us that he would never be able to talk again or even come home to live. However, after six long, difficult months in a rehabilitation center, he was able to come home. Because of special equipment, he can breathe, talk, and even control a powered wheelchair. By sipping and puffing, he can make his chair do anything he wants.
He has been home for ten months now. It is great to be a family again. However, all of our lives have been affected by what has happened. We, as a family, are maintaining all of his care. I have had to assume many responsibilities. I do many things for him that he used to be able to do on his own.
Through all of this my dad has had the best attitude. He never seems mad or discouraged about what has happened, and he never complains about it. He just accepts it and lives his life to the best of his ability. He has been the ultimate example to me. If he can cope with this without getting discouraged and complaining, then it seems to me that all my problems are nothing.
My dad has accomplished many things in his life. At the time of his injury, he was president of our stake. I’m sure that it is a great comfort to him now that he has done so many things. This teaches me not to waste away a moment of my life. You never know what is going to happen to you. Also, before his accident, I was never sure what I was going to do with my life. Now, with all of the care I have rendered to him, I feel that I would like to become a doctor. This terrible accident has, in fact, affected me in a positive way.
I have another photograph of me and my dad. It was taken last summer outside in our front yard. I am standing next to him with my arm around him, and he is sitting in his wheelchair. As I compare the two pictures I can see the difference. It is not that he is in a wheelchair. Others probably couldn’t see the change, but to me, we are not the same people who were in a similar picture a year before. There has been a physical change, but the true change has occurred within. I deeply sense it whenever I look at the last photograph.

Although many of our activities are the same as those of other boys around the world, we get to see and do different things because of the unique land we live in. For example, a few weeks ago the Cub Scouts and the Boy Scouts hiked through Wadi Kelt. A wadi is a riverbed at the bottom of a valley that is usually dry except during the rainy season. This wadi winds through part of the Judean wilderness, and is it hot! All you can see for miles around are bare, rocky hills and clear blue sky.
Many people believe that Wadi Kelt is the place where Elijah, an Old Testament prophet, was fed by ravens when he sealed the heavens so that no rain would fall.
After hiking through this wadi, I can see why Heavenly Father had to provide food for Elijah—there is nothing out there to keep a person alive! So before we started, we made sure that we packed a lunch and filled our canteens full of water. Our Cub Scout leaders kept reminding us to drink lots of water so that we wouldn’t get sick from the heat.
Our hike began fifteen miles away from Jericho and took us about four hours. We had lots of fun as we followed the wadi through the desert. Some of the boys spotted ibex on the steep cliffs. They look like wild goats, with huge horns that they butt with.
My friends and I also saw a bedouin shepherd with a herd of goats. Bedouins are desert people who live in tents and wander from place to place. Many of them still wear long robes and veils to protect them from the scorching sun.
About an hour after we had started, we came to a small waterfall that tumbled into a green pool below. Swimming in it was my favorite part of the hike, because that’s my best sport, besides basketball. The cool water felt good after our climb down the hillside, and before long we were all in the pool, splashing around and sliding down mossy rocks.
Ryan and Shaun Dennett, two friends in my den, found some dead crabs in the water. They scared some of the boys when they threw the crab legs at them. We also found some frogs, only they weren’t dead.
We sat on big rocks in the sun and dried off while we ate our lunches. Boy, did the cheese sandwich my mom packed taste good! I was starving! Just as I finished my last mouthful, Joel Galbraith, one of the older Scouts, called out, “Time to go. We still have a lot of hiking to do.”
As we climbed deeper into the dry valley, Shaun, Aaron, and I pretended that we were in the army. Aaron was a general, Shaun was a sergeant, and I was a colonel. We ran ahead and hid and dropped off cliffs, scaring the others as they came by.
Sometimes we would march along in the wadi, which was full of water from desert springs. The bottom and sides of it were slippery, and we pretended that we were ice-skating. At times the water was flowing so fast that it would push us along. The moss along the bottom was great to throw, and we had the best water and moss fight. We called it slime fighting.
Some parts of the hike were really steep, and a lot of us slipped on the loose rocks on the path. Joshua Rona, another Cub Scout, fell and hurt his foot. But Ian Boyd and Steve Rona, two older Scouts, made a foot brace for him out of a bandanna. It was pretty tricky.
The last part of the hike was the hardest. The sun beat down on us, and my feet hurt. But I continued to run ahead and look for the place that marked the end of our hike—St. George’s Monastery.
On my way I saw a man and two donkeys by the side of the wadi. The wadi is the only place where desert people can obtain water, and donkeys and camels are the only means by which water can be carried from the wadi to their tents.
At last I saw the great monastery, built on the side of the cliff. It sure looked neat, but I was just as interested in getting to the top, where a stand with cold drinks and ice cream was waiting.

His friends tell a story about something that happened during that time. Jake said, “He lost his leg in a basketball game.”
Steven Hultgren and Stephen Anderson started smiling and began to fill in the details. “Spence used to wear these long socks when we were on the freshman basketball team. We started playing teams from other high schools. No one on the other teams knew he had a prosthetic leg. When Spence was going up for a shot, some kid stepped on his foot right when Spence jumped. He jumped right out of his leg. You should have seen the expression on the other kid’s face. The ref was so surprised he didn’t even blow his whistle.”
Spence continued the story: “Everyone was staring at me. I slipped it back on, and since the referee hadn’t blown his whistle, I took off running down the court. Everyone on my team was rolling with laughter. I was laughing. The kid who was guarding me stepped back, and his eyes were huge. He didn’t know what to think.”
After that, Spence became much less self-conscious. The next time he was fitted for a new leg, his doctor offered him a green one. As Spence explained, “The doctor said that I’ve got something special. I’m like nobody else and I might as well show it off. I don’t think I’ll ever have a skin-colored leg again. Now I like the other colors. I have stickers and everything else on it.”

Pepito turned and looked back at the rancho. His eyes were filled with tears. All his worldly belongings were inside the small burlap sack slung over his shoulder. How hard it was to leave the only home he had ever known and the horses he had loved and tended.
It was really his love of horses that had cost Pepito his job and home. To break a stallion’s spirit, Garcia, a cruel groom, had tied him in his stall and left him without food and water. When Pepito had smuggled food and water to the horse, he had been caught and fired without being allowed to explain what had happened.
An orphan, Pepito had no choice but to walk along the hot, dusty road toward the nearest town, a good day’s ride away. To find a stable master there who was in need of a good groom was his only hope.
Pepito trudged on, not stopping until midafternoon to take even a sip of water from his goatskin bag or to eat even one of the corn tortillas the kindly cook had given him. Wearily he sat in the shelter of a large boulder. His head began to nod.
Pepito awoke to the cool night air blowing across his face—and had he just dreamed that he’d heard slow, heavy steps? Suddenly he heard the low but unmistakable whinny of a horse! He scrambled atop the boulder and peered through the darkness. There! Something was moving through the brush not far away.
Pepito’s heart beat wildly. His one dream had always been to have a horse of his own. If he could catch this horse, he could ride it into town. And if it had no owner, he could claim it!
Pepito moved carefully through the brush. He had no rope and could only hope to take the animal by surprise. Closer he crept, and in the pale moonlight he finally saw it. Pepito gasped. She was the most beautiful mare he had ever seen! Her features were small and dainty, and she looked fleet of hoof. Her color was of the palest gold, and her mane and tail were as white as flax.
Pepito stood motionless and stared. The mare turned and regarded him with soft, liquid eyes. She showed no fear, and Pepito’s heart went out to her. Such a horse must surely belong to a princess, he thought. She must be lost in this wild country. He could see now that her coat was caked with mud and brambles. There were sunken places around her eyes. And she was heavy with foal.
Pepito knew that the mare needed food and water badly. She could not hope to give birth and survive alone in such rough country. He would have to help her! He quickly ran back and got his sack, poured water from his water bag into his sombrero, and, holding it before him, walked slowly toward the horse.
The mare sniffed the air. Her ears pricked, and without hesitation she came to Pepito and began drinking the water from his hat. When the water was gone, Pepito rolled up his few remaining tortillas and fed them to her one by one until they were gone. The mare’s eyes were filled with trust and gratitude. She nuzzled Pepito’s hand, and both of them knew that each had found a friend. Princesa, I will call you, Pepito decided. My Princesa.
Pepito knew that the mare’s time was very near. He worked quickly to clear a soft, sheltered place for her to rest. The mare seemed to understand his intent, for when he was done, she lay down at once.
Pepito kept watch nearby, afraid that some enemy would find her—a snake, or perhaps a scorpion. He drank the last of his water and ate a few nuts. Tomorrow he would have to find food and water for them both somewhere among the sagebrush and mesquite.
Pepito awakened with a start. The warm morning sun was in his face. He leapt to his feet! He had not meant to sleep. Had it all been a dream? But no, there lay Princesa; and nuzzling by her side was a tiny reddish colt! Pepito studied the foal. He was as finely built as his mother, built to run with the wind. Vientito, I will call you, he decided. Little Wind.
Pepito set off immediately to find water for the mare. If the colt was to survive, its mother must have strength to feed him. The boy scrambled down into a deep arroyo and began to dig with all his might. His face and clothing were soon caked with dirt and sweat, but finally his effort was rewarded. The sand grew moist, moister, till at last a small pool formed.
Pepito filled his sombrero again and again and carried it to the mare. Only when her thirst was slaked did he stop to rest and to drink. Then he went out once more to gather all the coarse grass he could find. It was not corn or oats, but it was the best that he could do. No matter where he looked, he could find no food for himself. He had only a handful of nuts left to sustain him until the mare and her foal were well enough to travel.
By afternoon Pepito was exhausted. He lay in the shade of the boulder, feeling weak and dizzy. The mare was stronger now, and she struggled to her feet and nickered encouragingly to her colt. The foal struggled and fell, struggled and fell, till finally his spindly legs supported him, and he wobbled to his mother and began to nurse. Pepito’s heart sang. Soon they would ride with the wind, the colt galloping after them!
Two days passed, and the bond between them grew, but the mare again weakened. Her ribs showed, and her coat was lusterless. Pepito soothed and groomed her the best that he could, but he began to despair. There was so little grass left, the water hole was beginning to dry, his nuts were gone, and vultures could be seen circling above them.
Pepito had no strength left; his skin was parched, and he could barely walk. He fell to the sand, dimly aware of a sound like distant thunder. Horses! He struggled to his feet and stumbled toward the road. He must get help! If there were horsemen, too, they would probably realize Princesa’s value and take her from him, but it was better than watching her die!
He reached the road and waved his sombrero wildly. As the riders slowed and came to a stop, Pepito collapsed in the dirt in front of them.
Pepito opened his eyes. He was lying in a bed, in a huge room with white walls! Standing at the foot of the bed was a handsome young man and the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. Her hair was the color of the mare’s, her eyes as soft and brown, and her features as finely chiseled.
The girl smiled at him. “We found you; and we found my Estrellita (Little Star) and her foal. I can never thank you enough for saving her,” the girl said. “We saw how you had cared for them. They are well. Come and see!” She took his hand and helped him to the window.
Pepito gasped. Here was a rancho bigger than any he had seen. A small river ran through green pastures, and trees dotted the hills. Cattle and horses were everywhere, and a huge stable crowned the highest hill. There in a paddock near the house was Princesa, well groomed and contented; by her side was the frisky foal.
Happy-sad tears stung Pepito’s eyes. The mare was safe at home, which made him happy, but she had no further need of him, which made him sad. But what was the girl saying?
“… and she will still need great care and a good groom—one for whom she has affection.”
Pepito turned and stared at her, hope making his heart beat quickly.
“Devotion and courage such as you have shown are rare indeed,” she continued softly. “Will you stay and be my Estrellita’s groom and train her foal for me? It would please me greatly.”
Speechless, Pepito clasped her hands and nodded ecstatically. He could stay with his Princesa—no, Estrellita! He would train Vientito! And he had found a home!

As we walked toward our front door, my heavy trick-or-treating sack kept bumping my leg.
“I can’t wait to count all the candy I got,” I said to my brother Josh. “I bet I set a record!”
“No kidding,” Josh said. “My bag is breaking my arm!”
Our little sister Bekah hopped up the front steps and opened the door. We rushed in and dumped our candy on the floor. Mom and Dad had a rule that we could eat only a few pieces of candy on Halloween night, so I wanted to make sure I chose the best ones.
I turned to Josh, who was hunched over two piles. One was big and had some of the best candy a kid could get. The other pile was pretty small.
Josh is allergic to most of this! I suddenly remembered. In all of the excitement, I had forgotten that my brother has dairy, nut, and soy allergies. Most candy makes him sick.
I felt kind of sad when I saw the puny pile Josh could eat. But then I noticed he had a smile on his face.
“I did great! Look at all of this,” Josh said.
“Yeah … um, that looks like a lot of good candy,” I said, trying not to make him feel bad.
Josh gave me a funny look, like he could tell exactly what I was thinking.
“It’s OK, Joseph,” Josh said. He started dividing up the big pile of candy he couldn’t eat. “I know my pile of safe candy doesn’t look like much, but I have awesome plans for the rest of it.”
“Like what?” I asked.
“Well, first I’m giving two suckers to Bekah, because she loves them, but she was too shy to go trick-or-treating at the house that was giving them away.”
Josh held out a couple of lollipops to Bekah, who squealed and grabbed him in a sparkly pink hug.
“Next I’m gonna save these for my friend Max, because he loves candy with peanut butter in it. He was sick this week, and I’m not sure if he got to go trick-or-treating.”
As I watched Josh push a bunch of the candy off to the side, a warm feeling grew inside my heart.
“It’s really cool of you to give away your candy like that,” I said.
“Well, I like helping people when I can. Plus, I’m not giving up all of it. The rest is for trading.”
I looked at my own small mountain of treats. I saw a pack of fruity candy that I knew Bekah liked.
“Here, Bekah. Want this?”
“Yes! Thank you!”
The warm feeling grew even bigger. I felt that Jesus would want me to share what I had too.
Josh had the right idea—it felt really good to share with someone I love.

It was a cloudy day at the end of the summer of 1994. My friend Iveta and I were going to the older part of our city of Mladá Boleslav, Czech Republic. At age 16, the two of us had spent a lot of our vacation from school trying to find members of the Church who had been converted before World War II. During the Communist rule in our small country of Czechoslovakia (now the Czech and Slovak republics), many of the Church members had died. The information on survivors was sometimes very hard to get, and we hadn’t found very many people. We tried to pursue every possible lead.
Finally the day came when we had checked all the names on our list but one. We hoped that we would find someone at the remaining address who could lead us to more information and more names. But when we told the woman who answered the door that we were members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and asked about her mother, she dashed our hopes by replying, “There is nothing I can say. It’s too far in the past.” Both Iveta and I walked away from the closed door frustrated, wondering if our efforts had been for nothing.
As we started for home, Iveta remarked, “I believe that other people who participated in the Church or who had friends who were members are still alive. Maybe we could ask some senior citizens if they remember anything about the Church before the war.” I wasn’t sure that her suggestion would help, but I agreed to try. We began to ask every older person we met if they knew anything about the Church. Not surprisingly, none of them did.
Finally we decided to ask one more person before going home. That next person, a woman who looked about 65, answered our question with, “Yes, I used to know a lot of Mormons. They were very good people. Unfortunately, they are all dead now.” But before we said good-bye she told us about her very old aunt who, she said, would definitely like to talk to us.
The next day when we rang the bell, a middle-aged woman opened the door and let us in. The person we were looking for, her grandmother, entered the room. She was so happy to see us—she was a Church member! She told us lots of stories about the Church before the war. Then she showed us an old picture of the Salt Lake Temple.
“I’m 93 years old,” she said. “For almost 50 years, I have been waiting for the missionaries to come back to our country again. I knew they would come before I died. Once, I thought they were at my door, but I quickly realized they were not from our church. I didn’t feel the same spirit from them that I had felt with our missionaries 50 years ago. I sent them away.”
Her words gave me reason to think about my own life. Would I be able to distinguish the Spirit so easily after 50 years without contact with the Lord’s church? My heart was full of respect for this wonderful woman—and gratitude to Heavenly Father for leading us to her.
She was able to attend church with us. As she partook of the sacrament for the first time in all those years, her eyes were full of tears. On our most recent visit, I took her some copies of the Liahona, the Church magazine in Czech, and we talked for a while.
“After the Church members weren’t allowed to meet any more, the police came to our house very often and took all the gospel books and materials we had,” she said. “But I was able to preserve one book. I have been reading it all these years, and it has helped me and preserved me. It tells how the world should be. I hope it will be like that one day.”
Then she took a book from her table and showed it to me. It was the Czech translation, published in 1938, of The Articles of Faith by Elder James E. Talmage, who served as a member of the Quorum of the Twelve from 1911 through 1933. I was amazed. I had never read the book, but I had a strong testimony of the good it had done in this woman’s life.
Doing missionary work in my spare time that summer taught me many great lessons. As a 16-year-old boy, I learned the meaning of the word patience. I now understand that the Lord will never forsake those who believe in him.

Another young woman decided that one of the stakes in her life was to observe the Sabbath, regardless of her circumstances. One year after she was baptized a member of the Church with her family, her ward was divided. Her family was assigned to the newly formed ward, and she was the only young woman in the new ward. Her parents resisted the change and stopped attending church, but she wanted to follow the guidelines in For the Strength of Youth on “Sabbath Day Observance.” She decided to go to church in the new ward whenever she could, even though it meant attending all of her meetings alone.

On Sundays she read her scriptures and worked on Personal Progress. Her decision to be “steadfast and immovable” in observing the Sabbath encouraged her mother and younger sister to begin attending church again. Her mother testified that her daughter’s steadfast example of living the gospel and her goodness helped them return to activity.

Many lives have been blessed by the success of the Philippines Area’s “I Will Go, I Will Serve: 4600” initiative. Aside from the inspired vision of the Area Presidency, the support of the local priesthood leaders and the efforts of youth leaders, the miraculous success of the campaign was also boosted by the catchy theme song performed by Loredel “Daday” Ducena-Baluyot.
Composing the popular anthem with her husband Justin was a labor of love. After the first Area Presidency fireside premiered on Facebook on May 16, 2021, Daday and Justin felt the spirit and were inspired to write the song. After a few weeks, they presented the song to the Church area production team and offered its use to help sustain the momentum of the campaign. The song was reviewed and approved, and by July they were recording it with some help from Brio Divinagracia on the arrangement and background vocals. The song was officially launched during the follow-up Area Presidency fireside on November 21, 2021.
Aside from the 2021 youth theme song “A Great Work,” Daday’s “I Will Go, I Will Serve,” became popular after being part of youth, YSA, and FSY conferences all over the country. It was also listened to and sung along with the 2022 youth theme song “Trust in the Lord.” Recently, the couple rewrote the song as part of the November 20, 2022 Area Presidency fireside launching a heightened and more comprehensive “Come Unto Christ: I Will Go, I Will Serve” initiative.

When the Church first came to Ghana in 1978, the government didn’t really understand it and its practices. That led to a lot of rumors. As the Church grew over the next 10 years, so did the rumors. I remember hearing people say that the United States was sending men to spy on our government. That, combined with all the anti-Mormon literature being circulated, made the government very suspicious.
On June 14, 1989, the government closed our Church buildings, sent the missionaries home, and outlawed all official Church activities. We call this time “the freeze.” But as an 18-year-old girl, all I knew was that one day it was announced that we couldn’t go to church anymore. There were even soldiers guarding the buildings to make sure we stayed away.
Since we could no longer meet in our chapels, we got permission from Church leaders to have sacrament meetings in our homes. If you didn’t have a priesthood holder in your home, you were encouraged to go to a home that did have one. It was a confusing time but also a very special one. We shared our testimonies, and it brought us closer together.
Those who stayed in the Church and worshipped together during the freeze created stronger bonds. We became real brothers and sisters. Even now, when we have all traveled separate ways, if something happens to someone else, we all hear about it. We feel like we are pioneers.

In February 1993 Lamjav Purevsuren became the first native Mongolian baptized in the country. Purevsuren grew up in western Mongolia in a round, felt-lined tent called a ger. His family’s major challenge was providing for their animals during Mongolia’s harsh winters, when temperatures regularly fall as low as 40 degrees below zero Fahrenheit. Several times during the year, the family would dismantle their ger and move elsewhere to find new grazing pastures.
Purevsuren met Elder Stanley Smith when he took Elder Smith’s marketing class at the Mongolian National University. “My classmate Tsendkhuu Bat-Ulzii and I were curious why this American professional would come to Mongolia,” Purevsuren recalls.
“Elder Smith told us about his church and invited us to attend, but he gave us an apartment address. We were very surprised!”
Purevsuren and Bat-Ulzii attended the small service with the missionary couples and agreed to hear the discussions. Both men joined the Church, and Bat-Ulzii was eventually called as president of the Ulaanbaatar Tuul Branch. Total membership in the nation now exceeds 550, with three branches in Ulaanbaatar, one branch in Erdenet, a city of 44,000 located northwest of the capital, and one branch in Darkhan, a city of 65,000 located north of Ulaanbaatar.

“Grandma Rose passed away at about 9:30 this morning.”
I heard the words, but my mind refused to process them. After her four-year battle with cancer, seizures, and strokes, I knew that she deserved to rest from all the pain she’d been suffering. But how could she really be gone?
My denial was shattered by reality when I walked into the funeral home. The body lying on a table no longer looked like my grandmother.
My mom and aunt bravely set about the tasks of dressing Grandma for her funeral and then fixing her hair and makeup. She looked a little better when they finished but still not like herself.
As we drove away from the funeral home, I realized why she was so different: the body was hers, but her spirit was gone. A body without a spirit is an empty shell. Until I saw my grandmother, I didn’t comprehend how literally true that is. Everything that made her essentially who she was had left with her spirit, and her spirit lived on.
The Son of God gave His life for us so we could live forever. I always knew that was true, but I didn’t really appreciate His sacrifice until I lost someone I loved. At that moment, I had never been so grateful to have a Savior.

Pray. Before the Young Women’s conference, Allison Buytendorp, 17, of the Roswell Georgia Stake, didn’t want to go. But her mother suggested she pray about it before she made up her mind. Allison prayed and felt she should go. Now she knows why. “I loved it. I felt spiritually renewed afterwards, and it made me want to go to seminary. Now I want to learn more about the scriptures. I know I was where I was supposed to be because I prayed. It just feels good to know Heavenly Father is always there for you to help you out.”

“I was happy when my parents, my brother, and I were sealed in the temple,” says Juanita León, 12. She explains that her father used to own a restaurant and would drink a lot. “Then one day, a boy came by and talked to my father about the Church. We received all the discussions and were baptized two weeks later. A month after our baptism, my father was called as the president of the San Benito Branch. A year later, we were sealed in the temple. My father doesn’t drink anymore!”