Gospel Story Finder

I remember when I used to dread fast Sundays. Going without food was awful. My stomach made big growling sounds all through sacrament meeting and Primary. It was embarrassing. All I could ever think about was food. And in sacrament meeting, the men and women always seemed to be crying. Mom said that it was because they felt close to Heavenly Father. I thought that it was probably because they were hungry.
That’s how I felt until something happened when I was nine years old. My younger sister, Millie, was climbing the big old tree in our backyard. No one was paying much attention to her because we were always climbing that tree. I was busy building a castle in the sandbox when I heard tree branches breaking. I looked up just as Millie hit the ground headfirst. When I ran over to see if she was all right, she didn’t move. “Millie!” I screamed. But she didn’t answer. I began screaming for Mom as loudly as I could.
Mom came running out of the house. White-faced, she bent over Millie to listen for a heartbeat and breathing. “Stay here,” she said to me. “I’m going to call the paramedics.” I didn’t know if Millie was dead or alive. I was afraid to even touch her.
Soon an ambulance and the paramedics came. After checking Millie with their instruments and bracing her head, they very carefully lifted her onto a stretcher and carried her to the ambulance. Mom got in too. Sister Lindsay, our next-door neighbor, came over to stay with my brothers, Ben and Jeff, and me. She told us that everything would be all right, but I wasn’t sure. She hadn’t seen Millie lying there.
Dad came home about eight o’clock that night so that Sister Lindsay could go home. Looking very sad, he said, “Millie broke her neck. Mom is going to stay at the hospital with her. She’s unconscious, and we can’t make her wake up. Even if she does wake up, there’s a chance that she might be paralyzed for the rest of her life.”
I wasn’t sure what paralyzed meant, so I asked, “Does that mean that she’ll never be able to walk again?”
Dad looked at me with tears in his eyes and said, “Yes, it does, Beth. She may not even be able to move her arms and hands.”
I was horrified. Jeff began to cry, and Ben pleaded, “Can’t they do something to make her get well?”
As Dad tried to comfort us, he said, “They’re doing everything that they know how to do. But we can do something to help Millie too.”
“If you mean prayer,” I said, “we’ve been doing that. I’ve never prayed so hard in my life.”
“I’m glad,” Dad said. “But prayer is only part of it. I called Grandma and Grandpa Wilson and Grandma and Grandpa Abbot, and they have called your aunts and uncles and cousins. Tomorrow they are all going to join with us in a special family fast for Millie.”
The next day we all fasted, and that evening Mom came home from the hospital to get some sleep. Before Dad went to take her place next to Millie’s bed, we all knelt and had a special family prayer for Millie. He told Heavenly Father that we wanted Millie to get well, but we would accept whatever He thought was best. We all felt better after the prayer.
Sometime in the middle of the night the telephone rang, and I was scared. Why would the telephone ring now, unlesssomething is wrong? I strained to hear what Mom was saying. Although I couldn’t understand all the words, she didn’t sound sad at all. I got up and went down to the kitchen.
“Oh, Beth!” Mom said as she hung up the receiver, “Millie is awake! She opened her eyes and said, ‘Daddy.’”
Ben was standing in the hall. “Can she move?” he asked.
Mom’s eyes clouded a bit. “No,” she said. “Not yet. But that doesn’t mean that she won’t. She may just need more time.”
Two days went by. The Relief Society sisters took turns staying with us kids and bringing in meals so that Mom could stay at the hospital with Millie, and Dad could go to work.
On the afternoon of the second day, the telephone rang. Sister Stevens handed it to me. I had barely said hello when Mom cried, “Oh, Beth, she moved her fingers! Millie moved her fingers!”
“Does that mean she isn’t paralyzed?” I asked excitedly.
“At least not from her waist up,” Mom replied. “I was just so happy that I wanted you to know right away. Tell the others, won’t you, Beth?”
Grandma Wilson arrived that night to stay with us. And Mom and Dad were both home for supper. Now that Millie was awake, they dared leave her for a little while. Mom said that the doctors were pretty sure that Millie would soon be able to move her toes and legs. “They said that children’s bodies mend much more quickly and better than adults’ do.”
“Mom,” I asked, “do you think that that’s why Millie is getting better?”
Smiling, she asked, “What do you think, Beth?”
My cheeks felt like they were glowing when I answered, “I think that Heavenly Father blessed her because of our fasting and prayers too.”
Dad grinned at me and said, “I’m sure of it.”
Millie had to stay in the hospital for a long time, and even after she came home, it was a long time before she could run and play like she used to. But she did get completely better.
I’m eleven years old now—almost twelve. I don’t mind fast Sundays anymore. I even understand why some people cry when they bear their testimonies—I did when I stood up to tell everyone that I knew that fasting and prayer really work.

In the Central Valley of California, there are 44 teenagers who will never forget the city of St. George, Utah, with its hospitable people and its beautiful white temple.
The youths’ 18-hour stay there was the culmination of six months of planning, hard work, and cooperation between the youth and adults of the Tulare Ward (Visalia California Stake) and those of the St. George Second Ward.
The moment the weary travelers arrived at the Second Ward chapel after their 500-mile journey, they were met by an enthusiastic crowd of St. George youth who immediately sought out, tagged, and friendshiped each California teenager. Together these new friends shared the experiences of that day and the next. The anticipation of their meeting and their bond of common beliefs seemed to create an instant, comfortable friendship on both sides.
After an official welcome by Bishop Ross Taylor, the young people toured the tabernacle built during the same period in which the temple was constructed. Everywhere there was evidence of pioneer skill, artistry, and devotion.
Following the tabernacle visit, the group toured the Brigham Young Winter Home and caught a glimpse of the life of that great prophet and the times in which he lived.
After dinner in the homes of their hosts, the youth met at the templegrounds for the long-awaited tour. A lovely scene met their eyes. To one teenage girl, Shawna Brown, “the temple stood out like a gleaming jewel, shining forth with the Spirit of the Lord.” In this small, quiet town was the most magnificent building most of them had ever seen, a great sparkling building surrounded by deep-green lawns, a building normally brilliant white, bathed now in the golden glow of a setting sun. As the young people joined the long lines of those waiting to enter, they huddled for warmth in the unfamiliar chill of the southern Utah evening.
Inside there was peace and calm and cheerfully whispered “hello’s” between the white-clothed temple workers and the awed young visitors.
“What impressed me most,” said Julie Peterson, a convert of one year, “was that the workers in the temple were so at peace and so nice. I want to work there when I become older. Most of all, I know that I’ll marry in the temple, no matter what!” Liz Myers, a young investigator, commented, “It was beautiful, just walking through. It made me feel so clean inside. It was a great feeling!” Michelle Meadows said that being in the temple felt to her “like a little bit of heaven on earth—it was so peaceful and so beautiful.” As the group was passing through the last sealing room, one of the workers whispered to Claire Forman, “This is where you’re going to be married.” She answered, “Oh, yes!” Now, recalling that experience, Claire says, “There is no way I would even consider marrying outside the temple.”
The tour was over too soon. Too soon they stood once more outside the great building looking up at its inscription, “Holiness to the Lord.” But the influence of those few minutes may never end. To David Anderson, it brought greater meaning to going on a mission, coming back to get married for time and all eternity, and living a righteous life.
“We realized,” said Ruben Ruiz, “that the temple is the house of the Lord and that it was built for a purpose. We realized that the work done in the temple is sacred and that you need to be worthy to enter.”
Following the temple visit, the combined fireside in the Second Ward cultural hall concluded the evening. Three young St. George couples related the strength and meaning that temple marriage had brought into their lives.
The final event of the trip occurred the following morning among the red sandstone cliffs of Snow’s Canyon. Never had pancakes—complete with juice, bacon, and eggs—tasted so good. Following breakfast, the youth—lured by the cliffs around the little tree-and-sagebrush-covered valley—clambered up the sloping walls, which seemed almost stair-stepped for their benefit. Campers who chanced to be in the canyon that morning must have been startled as the hills literally burst forth into song. The final rendition was “I Am a Child of God,” sung by the Tulare teenagers from their mountaintop loft to their bishop, who stood looking up from the sands below. It was an impromptu, heartfelt expression of their love for him that neither he nor they will ever forget.
As the two groups exchanged addresses and goodbyes—the St. George youth to return to what was left of their late October Saturday, and the California young people to their journey home—no one doubted that all were spiritually richer than before. Bishop Taylor said that because of the enthusiasm of the California youth in their desire to visit the house of the Lord, the hearts of those in St. George had been reawakened to a remembrance of the great blessing of the temple and the particular privilege of living within its very shadow.
The feelings of all might be best summed up by the statement of Tulare’s Laurel class president, Karen McPherson, as she bore her testimony in sacrament meeting the day after the trip: “Bishop Dredge has been pounding into us for years, ‘Get married in the temple! Get married in the temple!’ And now I know why!”

The Catspring Somersault Flying One-handed Flip-flop by SuAnn Kiser Willie practiced and practiced, and when she finally could really do a Catspring Somersault Flying One-handed Flip-flop, all her eleven brothers and sisters and her mom and dad were too busy to watch her do it. When she complained that no one would miss her if she ran away, their funny story about what would happen if she did, let her know how much they loved her. And they clapped and cheered loudly when they watched her do the Flip-flop—right there in the dining room!

Ethan sat in sharing time and looked on as his best friend, Sam, bore his testimony. His friend Sarah was waiting her turn. Sam talked about a service project he did. He said he had a testimony of service. Sarah bore her testimony about families. Ethan’s teacher also bore his testimony. He talked about temple work. All of them testified that the Church is true. It seemed like everyone except Ethan had a testimony.
“What do I have a testimony of?” Ethan wondered.
He thought back a few years to when he and his friends were baptized. His Primary teacher, Sister Calder, had given a talk on the Holy Ghost.
“The Holy Ghost can give you a burning feeling in your heart. He can help you know what is true,” she’d said. “And that’s how you get a testimony of what you believe.”
Ethan tried to do what was right so he could feel the Holy Ghost. He read the scriptures and prayed. But he had never had that burning feeling people talked about. Did that mean he didn’t have a testimony?
This question stuck in Ethan’s head all the next day. He was still thinking about it when he and Sam were skateboarding after school. He wondered how he could ask Sam about it.
“Hey, Sam,” Ethan finally asked, “were you scared when you bore your testimony yesterday?”
Sam hopped off his board and walked to the grass. “Not really,” he said, sitting down. “I’ve shared my testimony at family night before.”
Ethan joined him and set his skateboard on his lap. “But how did you know you had a testimony?”
“Well, I prayed and I felt good about it.”
Ethan slowly nodded and spun a wheel with his hand. Somehow he wanted to feel that way too.
That night, when the house was dark and quiet, Ethan knelt by his bed to pray.
“Heavenly Father,” he said, “please help me have a testimony. Help me know that the Church is true. That Joseph Smith was a prophet. And that the Book of Mormon is true.”
In the middle of his prayer, Ethan stopped. He thought for a minute. Then he asked himself, “Well, do I know anything yet?”
And then a quiet, peaceful feeling came over him. It wasn’t a powerful burning feeling. But Ethan knew, that was the Holy Ghost.
A thought came into Ethan’s mind: “I know that I know.” And as he thought about it, he realized he had felt this peaceful feeling before.
Whenever he read the Book of Mormon, it felt good and right. Now he knew that feeling was the Holy Ghost testifying to him. When he went to church and it felt good and right to be there, that was the Holy Ghost too. He had already been getting a testimony!
He didn’t need to know everything right now. But he did know that the Holy Ghost was real and could help him keep building his testimony.
Ethan began to pray again. But this time it was to say thank you.

Recently, you may have read about Sister Ella Hoskins, who at 100 years old was called to help the young women in her ward with Personal Progress.20 About two years later, at 102, Sister Hoskins earned her Young Womanhood Recognition award. The young women, the ward and stake Young Women and Relief Society presidencies, and family members gathered together to celebrate her accomplishment. Boundaries of age, organization, and marital status faded away in faithful service. Young women expressed gratitude for Sister Hoskins, for her teaching, and for her righteous example. They want to be like her. Afterward, I asked Sister Hoskins, “How did you do it?”
She promptly responded, “I repent every day.”

This story happened in Finland.
Jonas laughed as he raced his brothers to the living room for home evening. He could still smell the yummy roasted lamb from Easter dinner. And he could still taste the sweet pasha, their traditional Easter dessert.
After the family was sitting quietly, Jonas’s older brother Tristan stood up.
“Happy Easter!” Tristan said. He started their home evening with a song and prayer. Then it was time for their special music program. Everyone had prepared a song about Jesus Christ to share.
Tristan played the guitar, strumming each string carefully. Then his brother Einar played the piano. His fingers moved across the keys. Mom, Dad, and Jonas’s other brothers also played songs. Jonas loved hearing his family’s music.
At last it was Jonas’s turn. He took a deep breath and started to sing.
“At times I am tempted to make a wrong choice, but I try to listen as the still small voice whispers, ‘Love one another as Jesus loves you.’”
As Jonas sang, his heart filled with love. His eyes filled with happy tears. It felt like the Holy Ghost was telling Jonas that Heavenly Father and Jesus loved him.
“Thank you all for sharing your talents,” Dad said. He held up a picture. It showed Jesus Christ kneeling and praying next to a tree. “Who knows what’s happening in this picture?”
Jonas raised his hand. “That’s Jesus praying in Gethsemane.”
Dad nodded. “Yes. That’s where He felt all of our hurt and sadness.”
“He went to the Garden of Gethsemane before He died,” Mom said. “After He died, He lived again. This is all part of His Atonement. Jesus did all of this because He loves us.”
Mom turned on a video about the first Easter. When the video ended, everyone was quiet for a minute. Jonas felt Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ’s love again.
“Now is it time for our activity?” Jonas asked.
Mom stood from the couch and went to the cabinet. “Yes! Jonas, will you help me?”
Jonas and Mom got out glue, scissors, and a pile of Church magazines. They spread them out on the floor. Then Mom gave everyone their special Easter journals. “Let’s make picture art of Jesus Christ in our journals for Easter.”
Jonas sat on the floor and opened his notebook.
Dad picked up a pen to write in his journal. “Next to your pictures, you can write down what you will do to follow Heavenly Father and Jesus so you can become more like Them.”
Jonas turned the pages of one of the magazines. He found a picture of Jesus Christ smiling.
Jonas cut out the picture and glued it in the center of his journal page. He thought about all the love he had felt from the Savior that day. Then he wrote, “I will follow Heavenly Father and Jesus by listening to Dad and Mom and helping with chores. I will love my brothers more.” He held it up to show Mom. She read what he had written and smiled.
Jonas would remember this Easter for a long time. He felt Jesus Christ’s love when he sang and learned about Him. And he felt Jesus’s love when he tried to be like Him.
Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ really did love Jonas. And Jonas loved Them too.
Pasha is a sweet custard dessert. Do you have an Easter treat you eat each year?
Illustrations by Steliyana Doneva

I’ll always remember the dinner at my 40th high school reunion. I was anxious to see old friends I hadn’t seen in years and find out what had happened in their lives since high school.
While we were chatting at a table with 8 or 10 other classmates during dinner, one of my old friends, Greg Link, mentioned that he had been baptized into the Church when he was in his 20s.
Then he asked a piercing question: “Why was it that none of you offered me a Book of Mormon in high school? Didn’t you think I was Church material?”
Another old friend—who wasn’t a member of the Church—said, “You could have had one of mine; I was given about 50 of them!”
I was stunned. Back in high school, if you had told me that Greg would be baptized and become a successful motivational speaker, I wouldn’t have believed it. I really liked Greg. He was the kind of loyal friend you could count on when you needed him. But I knew he liked to party, and he had a knack for getting into trouble. It just didn’t ever occur to me that he would have any interest in hearing about the Church. The funny thing was, I had believed that the other friend, with whom I had shared the gospel and given a copy of the Book of Mormon, would one day join. The fact of the matter is, you just never know who is ready to accept the gospel and who is not.
I felt a little sheepish after that conversation with Greg because I, like so many others, hadn’t shared the gospel with him. I asked him how he finally became interested in the Church. Here is his story:
My family moved to Salt Lake City, Utah, when I was about 11, but I didn’t join the Church until I was 24. Looking back, I can see why no one shared the gospel with me. I was not a golden contact on the surface. Actually, I was a bit of a rowdy kid. I got into fights and got into trouble at school regularly.
I had a number of LDS friends, but only one ever talked about the Church. And that was because I teased him about reading the Book of Mormon when he babysat.
I was curious about things, though. My mom took me to a local Christian church. I once asked them why Jesus hadn’t come to the Americas. They kind of laughed at me for asking such a question, so I didn’t ask anything else about it.
Years later I decided to visit the visitors’ center on Temple Square in Salt Lake City. There was a diorama on Christ in America. Suddenly I remembered my questions about that topic from my younger years. That’s when the Spirit hit me, and I knew I was ready to listen.
The example of my friends from high school stayed with me. In fact, the people I respected most were LDS. Randy Ridd and his wife both went to my school. They were always great examples, very good people. That made a big impact on me later. I thought, “If Randy believed this was real, it must be important.”
I don’t know what might have happened if they had shared more about the gospel at the time. I might not have been ready. But looking back, I wish they had. I know it would have had an impact on me.
I feel so grateful that my example had a positive impact on Greg. I would feel even better, though, if I had done something about it at the time. If I had shared the gospel or the Book of Mormon or even just invited Greg to an activity, it could have changed his life. He may have joined the Church sooner. Maybe he would have even served a mission.
I’ve learned that being a good example is truly important, but so is the responsibility to share the gospel. The Lord has commanded us to do so: “Go ye into all the world, and preach the gospel to every creature” (Mark 16:15).
So don’t be afraid to share. What’s more, don’t be too quick to judge who is ready and who is not. You might just be surprised whose heart has been softened, even if that interest is hidden deep down where you can’t see it.

I visited a ward in the Altiplano of Bolivia. It is a very poor area. The people speak Spanish and Quechua, but most of them do not know how to read either language because they have never had the opportunity to learn. After the meeting, I talked with an eleven-year-old boy. On the wall of the building were pictures of the members of the First Presidency and the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. This young boy pointed to each of the Brethren and named every one of them. Then he said to me, “Will you please tell President Benson that I am reading the Book of Mormon.” He was learning to read by reading the Book of Mormon. I said to him, “Let me see if you really know how to read by reading 1 Nephi 3:7 [1 Ne. 3:7].” He turned to it quickly and said, “I can read it, but I don’t need to because I know that scripture by heart.” He then recited it perfectly.

The moon was big and round and bright, just as it should be on the night of the Moon Festival. I held my glowing paper lantern higher, hoping that the Old Man in the Moon would see me amid the other children. The whole park gleamed with brilliant Chinese lanterns.
I dashed up the hill to where my parents and sisters sat on a blanket, nibbling moon cakes. My eldest sister, Mei Lai, was gazing at the moon. I knew that she was probably dreaming about that boy who took her to the dance last Saturday. That’s a girl for you! I thought. I’m glad that I’m not a girl.
Not that Mei Lai didn’t have a right to think about love tonight. Everyone thought about love during the Moon Festival, or Mid-Autumn Festival, the proper name that my sister preferred to call it. On this night the Old Man in the Moon supposedly wove an invisible red thread around couples who would one day get married.
Even I was thinking about love. But not that kind. I was thinking about how I could love my neighbors. My Primary teacher had told us last Sunday that we should, and ever since then, I had been wondering how I could ever do it. I couldn’t think of any neighbors in our apartment building that I even liked—especially not that new boy down the hall! Why, he didn’t even speak Chinese! The first time I saw him, I just kept looking at his eyes. I had never seen such blue eyes, except maybe on TV.
Once I had tried talking to him in the English that I was learning in school. “Where are you from?” I asked.
Looking at me oddly, he lifted up his nose and declared, “I’m an Aussie.”
Whatever an Aussie was, I certainly didn’t know. I went home and asked Mei Lai, who knew English well.
“An Aussie is someone from Australia,” she told me.
My mother’s voice interrupted my thoughts. “Sun Ling, it will soon be time to go home.”
“Oh, let me run once more through the park.”
“Well, you be careful with that lantern. Remember that you have a lighted candle in it.”
“I will.” As I sprinted down the hill, I looked up at the Old Man in the Moon to see if he was still watching me and my glistening paper lantern. I ran and ran, with my eyes turned upward toward the beautiful full moon.
Suddenly—CRASH! Was it a wall? No, it was a body. Another person and I tumbled over and over each other. It was the Aussie. When we finally stopped, we raised our tousled heads and looked at each other. I blurted out, “What are you doing here? This is a Chinese holiday!”
It was a good thing that he couldn’t understand my Chinese. I indignantly grabbed my lantern, which miraculously lay unharmed on the grass. In my mind I grumbled, Even if I wasn’t looking where I was going, it wasn’t really my fault. After all, he’s the one who doesn’t belong here.
A sizzle and a flare made us both jump up. His colorful paper lantern was in flames. My mother’s words flashed through my mind, “Be careful with that lantern.”
I looked at him. Then I cocked my head in amazement. Out of those blue, blue eyes tears were dribbling! It had never occurred to me that an Aussie could cry too.
The boy’s lips began to quiver, and he said, “My dad gave me that lantern.”
I didn’t understand all his words, but I understood what he meant. And I felt awful! I tried to remember how to say I’m sorry in English, but all my words came out in Chinese.
Suddenly, in Chinese, he said, “I’m sorry too.”
I blinked with surprise. Why he knew some Chinese words after all. He smiled at me. I smiled back.
The next day I strode into the house, banging the door happily behind me.
“What’s that huge grin for?” Mei Lai asked as she stirred vegetables and pork together in the wok.
“Oh, I’ve been learning to love my neighbor. Jim’s my friend now.”
“Who’s Jim?” she asked
“He’s the Aussie I told you about,” I replied, peering over the sizzling wok. I perched on a tall stool. “Do you know what? Before he came here, Jim had never even heard of moon cakes. So I gave him one with an egg-yolk center. When he bit into it, he sort of shriveled up his nose and tried to smile. I could tell that he didn’t like it.”
“So, do you think he’s still your friend?” Mei Lai laughed.
“Well, I did let him try a lotus-seed moon cake after that, and he ate every bit of it and smacked his lips.”
“I’m glad that you gave him something he likes,” said Mei Lai.
“I did give him one other thing that I hope he likes. I gave him my Book of Mormon.”
“Your Book of Mormon!” exclaimed my sister. “Whyever did you do that?”
“Well, because it’s the most special thing that I could share with a friend,” I answered.
“But how do you expect him to read it?” she said. “He doesn’t even read Chinese.”
“Joseph Smith translated the characters of the Book of Mormon from another language. Maybe God will give Jim the gift to translate too.”
“Look,” Mei Lai explained, “Joseph Smith was a prophet. Not everyone receives the gift to translate another language.”
I looked at my sister intently. “Mei Lai, I’m still glad that I gave the Book of Mormon to him.”
It was the week before Christmas. Someone knocked at our door, and Mei Lai opened it to blond-haired Jim. My friend didn’t see me sitting in the corner, so he spoke in English to my sister. “I read your book,” he said, holding up a blue book with Chinese characters of the Book of Mormon engraved on it.
“You read it!” she gasped. “But—but you don’t know Chinese, do you?”
“No. What I meant to say,” Jim explained, “was that my tutor read it to me. He comes every day to teach me Chinese, and so we have been reading it together. In fact, my tutor was wondering if he could get a copy of his own. Also, would it be possible to get a copy in English for my father?”
My sister finally closed her mouth from her astonishment. She smiled, motioning to me.
Jim turned and saw me. “Oh, Sun Ling,” he said in halting Chinese, “this book you gave me is very interesting. I am curious to find out more about it. Can you help me?”
“I’ll be happy to help you,” I replied slowly to make sure that he understood my words. “I can think of no better way to love my neighbor from Australia.”

When I was about 12 years old, I saw a Church movie that showed President Lorenzo Snow (1814–1901) praying for Latter-day Saints in St. George, Utah, USA, who were suffering from severe drought.
“Lord,” President Snow prayed, “bless the good people of St. George.”
That phrase, “the good people of St. George,” left a lasting impression on my young mind. Since I lived in Chile, I tried to imagine what kind of faithful Saints “the good people of St. George” must be. I wanted to meet them.
More than 30 years later, in 2005, my family and I took our second son to Provo, Utah, to join his brother, who was studying at Brigham Young University. The evening after we arrived, I said, “I want to go see the good people of St. George.”
“But, Papá,” my oldest son protested, “St. George is far away.”
“Look,” I replied, “Papá paid for the plane tickets. Papá is paying for the food. Papá is paying for the gas. Papá wants only one thing for himself. He wants to meet the good people of St. George!”
“OK,” my son said after he realized I was serious.
The next day we made the 260-mile (418 km) drive. After arriving in St. George, we went to the visitors’ center at the temple and toured the winter home of President Brigham Young (1801–77). We also visited the tabernacle, where I was invited to speak to my family for a minute from the same pulpit where President Snow had addressed “the good people of St. George.” We walked around the city, watching and meeting people. They seemed like normal, faithful Latter-day Saints.
I was happy we went. But when we returned to Chile, I realized something: I had seen “the good people of St. George” before.
Because of my work and my Church callings, I have traveled throughout Chile. In Calama, I have seen young adults who strive to keep the commandments. In La Serena, I have seen dedicated parents who arrive early with their children for Church meetings. In Antofagasta, I have seen Latter-day Saints who fight for what is right every day. In Vallenar, Copiapó, Caldera, Tocopilla, and other cities, I have seen members who get on their knees to pray and then move forward even when things aren’t easy.
When I see faithful Latter-day Saints who obey and endure—no matter where they live or what challenges they confront—I say to myself, “These are the good people of St. George.”

One night the “mules and horses took a notion they would go and accordingly they went.” The boys started in pursuit “but the night was so dark that we had to take the advantage of the lightning to tell us which way we were going.” When Zeb saw something move in the distance he tried to run to it. “At last I got lost in a swamp but managed, after much trouble, to get back to camp without finding the animals.” Next morning, on foot, the boys found the animals more than nine miles from the camp.

Suluya Racule, three weeks older than Vani, faces her own challenges. Suluya didn’t grow up in the Church, although it seemed like she did. She began attending Primary when she was nine because her aunt, a Church member, was a Primary teacher. And Suluya kept going to church even when her aunt and uncle moved to Tonga. But she was not able to be baptized until December 1995, when she was 15.
Even now, Suluya is still the only member of the Church in her immediate family.
“My parents were against my getting baptized. They thought I was too young to know the truth, and they thought I should go to other churches and see what they were like before I decided,” she remembers. “But I had this strong feeling inside that this was the true Church. I couldn’t think of any other church to go to.”

When I was about twelve years old, my father became very ill with bone cancer. I prayed and prayed that he would get well, but he grew steadily worse until finally he died, leaving my mother alone to care for ten children. I could not understand why the Lord didn’t answer my prayers or why my father was taken from us. We needed him much more than the Lord did. However, as the years went by I learned that the Lord’s ways are not necessarily the easiest ways. We all missed my father a great deal, but I came to understand that the struggles endured without him made us stronger and helped to build character in each of us. Although it was very difficult for my mother to rear ten children alone, because of her great faith in Heavenly Father and her constant prayers, all of us grew to love the Lord and to be faithful members of the Church.

Christmas is a giving time of year for the young people of the Mt. Pleasant Second Ward, Mt. Pleasant Utah Stake. The youth were involved in service projects that helped emphasize the true spirit of giving.
With the bishop’s approval, the Young Men and Young Women held several fund raisers to buy a member of their ward a new wheelchair. The gift was presented to Sister Sadie Barney during the annual ward Christmas party.

Let me just conclude with a little experience I had recently in New England.

I think one of the greatest thrills that a mission president experiences is to receive a new missionary. I received notice from the First Presidency that eight young men were to be assigned to New England. Shortly they arrived. This was a great treat for Jeanne and me, as we greeted these new missionaries in the mission home. One by one, as they came in, we tried to set them at ease.

The first one was a brilliant-looking boy. I won’t describe him, but I thought, “Thank heaven he is here.” The second was just like him, and the third and the fourth. Now this, I thought, will put our mission on top.

Then I got down to number seven, and I don’t mind telling you some of the concerns of my heart. I thought, This will be a challenge. I couldn’t believe it; and unlike the counsel that President Tanner gave us not to judge our neighbors, here I was judging him. I thought, This kid just doesn’t have the image.

My wife gave me a glance, and her look said, “Good luck for the next two years.”

Let me just describe him to you. He was wearing a shirt that was size 17; his neck was an 11. I could have pulled out his collar and put another elder in it. He had on a coat that he inherited from his dad, and you couldn’t see his hands. He had a trench coat that he got from an uncle from World War I, and he had a haircut that was an Idaho original.

The New England Mission contains six of the United States and four provinces of Canada, including Labrador. As my wife and I lay in bed that night, she said, “What are you going to do with him?”

I said, “It’s time to open up Labrador.” I thought I had to protect the Church’s image from this interesting-looking elder.

Well, that morning before I made my assignments, I knelt in prayer—thank the Lord for prayer—and I asked the Lord what I should do now; and the Spirit whispered, “Keep him in Cambridge.”

And I said, “Spirit, I won’t.” I said, “I am the president of this mission.”

And the Spirit seemed to respond with the counsel, “Yes, but you will keep him in Cambridge.”

Cambridge is a very sophisticated area, with all of those universities and art centers. Well, I kept him. When I went down to breakfast, my two assistants were sitting there; and they said, “What are you going to do with him?”

I said, “We are going to keep him in Cambridge.”

And they said, “President, you are kidding.”

I said, “I have been seeking guidance all night, and we will keep him in Cambridge.”

Two days later I got a call from a distinguished professor. I haven’t time to give you the details. He said, “Paul, Friday night may I be baptized?”

I questioned him a bit. He had been through several score of missionaries the past nine years. I said, “What happened?”

He said, “This little fellow you sent me.” (He was referring to my new elder.) And then he described the experience.

He said, “No sooner had he and his companion entered the office and shook my hand when he asked, ‘Would you mind if we had a word of prayer?’” (This was a meeting over in his school office.) The professor said, “Not if it will do you any good.” Then he remarked, “Before I could get back to my desk, this little fellow fell on his knees and started to talk to the Lord.” And he said, “Paul, I looked up three times to see if the Lord was standing there.” He said, “I don’t know what happened to me; you describe it, but I had the most wonderful feeling come over me, and I now know what the Spirit is. I want to be baptized.”

We baptized him, and he is doing a fine work for the Church and is a great asset on campus. It was all accomplished because this young elder from Idaho, whom I had misjudged, guided by the Spirit, gave himself to the Lord.

And I learned as President Tanner has taught us. Don’t judge! “Within the oyster shell uncouth, the purest pearl may hide, but oft you’ll find a heart of truth within a rough outside.”

“I shared this story with some of our new elders just last week when I was driving them to their first assignment. I turned to Elder Bobby Yazzie in the seat next to mine and asked, ‘Did you ever happen to meet Elder Descheenie?’ A smile came on his face, and his eyes filled with tears. ‘President,’ he said, ‘He is the one that found me, taught me, and baptized me. If it wasn’t for him I wouldn’t be here today. I’m the only one in my entire family who is a member of the Church.’
“It’s hard to explain the thrill I felt when he told me this. Only a short two years before, Bobby had never heard of the Church, and here he was riding beside me: intelligent, handsome, clear-eyed, and anxious to go forth and share his testimony among his people. Bobby had only been out for a short time when he had his first baptisms, his own grandfather and grandmother, and since then many more.”

I went to the movies with my friend, and she bought me a cold drink. When I asked her what the drink was, she told me that it was iced tea. I told her that I didn’t drink tea. She tried to convince me to take one drink, but I told her, “No, thank you.” Finally the movie started, and we enjoyed it without any more trouble. I’m glad I didn’t take the tea because I know that Heavenly Father gave us the Word of Wisdom.

Long before the sun rises over Buenos Aires, Argentina, the moist morning air carries quiet sounds of students arriving at a chapel located in a busy area of the city. A key turns, and the door is opened. A group of students enter, and then the door is locked—a standard security measure in the dark hours before dawn. A soft knock, and someone runs to let in more students, whose smiles and cheer belie the early-morning hour. In all, 13 students arrive to begin their day by studying the New Testament. After class, they enjoy a simple breakfast prepared by one of the parents. Fortified in body and spirit, the students leave for school or work.

In the midst of the last-minute hubbub of parting friends, a woman walking down the street sees the meetinghouse gate open and hesitantly enters. “Are you Mormons?” she asks. “My son wants to be like his cousins in Mendoza who are Mormons. Can someone tell me about your church?” Coincidentally, missionaries arrive at the chapel, and arrangements are soon in place to introduce the woman to the gospel of Jesus Christ. This scene, illuminated by the early-morning rays of the rising sun, captures two sources of hope for the future of the Church in Argentina: the strength of the rising generation and a growing missionary harvest.

Rain poured from the sky as Katie dashed from under the awning of Fitzgerald’s. She vaulted into the passenger seat of the car waiting at the curb with her brother, Mike, at the wheel.
“It would start to rain as I get off work,” Katie said dismally, flipping down the visor mirror to stare at her sodden hair.
Mike laughed at the face she was making and pulled into traffic.
“Oh! I almost forgot,” Katie said. “Fitzgerald’s is having a sale on men’s white dress shirts—in case you need a few more for your collection.”
“I think Mom bought three or four dozen. Do you think 10 ties is enough?”
“I’d better send you some for Christmas.”
“Don’t forget socks,” Mike reminded her. “And cookies.”
“They’ll be stale by the time they get to Brazil.”
“I can’t go two years without chocolate chip cookies.”
Katie said softly, “I can’t believe you’re going to be gone in a week.”
Mike pulled into their driveway. The rain kept falling. “Gotta make a run for it,” he said.
Katie reached out a hand. “No, Mike, wait. You know, this might be our last chance to talk.”
“You mean you’re never going to speak to me again?” Mike asked in mock horror.
“You know what I mean. Tomorrow Dad’s taking you fishing. Sunday is the farewell, Monday is the good-bye party, and Tuesday you drive to Utah while I work.”
Katie’s eyes blurred as she looked through the drumming rain. She and Mike were only 11 months apart and had grown up practically like twins. They had run track together, fished, camped, had the same friends, and gone to Saturday night dances together. When no one else would listen, Mike always did. But now it was hard to express what she wanted to ask him.
“What’s up, Katie?”
“It’s just … why are you going on a mission?”
“Well,” he began, “I’ve taken the missionary prep class, gone on splits with the full-time elders, saved my money …” He stopped. “I guess that doesn’t really answer the question, huh? I’m going because I’ve got a testimony of the gospel. Does that sound too spiritual?”
Katie shook her head. “You really have a testimony? No doubts, nothing?”
He looked at her questioningly. “I’ve never had doubts; neither have you. Hey, you’ve been Laurel class president.”
“Being the Laurel class president doesn’t automatically give you a testimony.”
Mike stared at her in disbelief. “We’ve been together our whole lives: church, seminary, sunrise testimony meetings; of course you have a testimony.”
Katie’s voice shook. “No, I don’t Mike.” I’ve never told this to anyone, but I really don’t know. How can people say they know?”
“I can’t believe you’re saying this,” Mike said softly.
“Don’t look so shocked, Michael. It’s not the end of the world.”
“How can you go on a mission or get married in the temple? All the big things, I just don’t get it.”
“I’m not planning on getting married next month.”
Mike shook his head. “Your testimony is the most important thing in the world.”
“But what is a testimony?” she challenged.
Meeting the rise in her voice, he quickly said, “A knowledge and belief that the Church is true.”
“How do you get it?”
“Through study, prayer, fasting.”
“The usual, typical answers. Is that how you got it?”
“Of course.”
“How did you know?”
“I just felt it. I’ve always known.”
“But what does it feel like?”
He sighed. “I don’t know how to explain.”
“No one can tell me. Not my seminary teacher, not my leaders, and not you.”
“I thought I knew you better than anyone else, and now it’s like I don’t.”
Katie bit her lip. “You’re not helping me. You’re only making me feel bad.”
“But you have to have a testimony,” he insisted.
“Right.” She opened the car door. “Out of everybody in this world, I thought you’d be the one to listen and understand. I wish I hadn’t brought it up.” Katie got out of the car and slammed the door.
The next morning, Katie stayed in bed until after Dad and Mike had left for the lake. When she came downstairs, she found her mother at the kitchen table eating breakfast.
“I’m just wondering what’s up between you and Mike?” Mom said.
Katie became wary. “Nothing.”
“Actually,” Mom confessed, “Mike told us about your conversation last night.”
Katie set down the milk. “He had no right to tell you that! I confided in him.”
“You’ve been so close. I think he was very shaken by what you told him,” Mom said soothingly.
“Now my whole family thinks I’m apostatizing.”
“I never knew you had concerns about your feelings. I wish you had come to Dad and me.”
“It seems like everybody has a testimony, except me. I thought I was weird or something.”
Mom was thoughtful. “There are probably more people in your shoes than you realize, especially teenagers. We’re not born with a testimony. It takes time, lots of prayer, and seeking for the Spirit. Growing up in the Church can make it harder because it’s always around you. From the time you’re in nursery, it’s something you hear about and learn about every day. It might be harder to recognize because it’s so much a part of you.”
“You’re probably right,” Katie admitted.
Mom leaned forward. “Of course, I don’t recommend going out in the world and ignoring your standards just to see how other people live. Your father and I did that before the missionaries came to our door 20 years ago. We had even decided not to have children.”
“I didn’t know that,” Katie said.
“It’s a sad way to live. When I felt the Holy Ghost bearing the truth to my heart that what the elders were telling me was true, it was so different from anything I’d ever felt, I didn’t have any doubts it was from God.”
“I wish I could have that,” Katie said. “But sometimes I don’t think I feel anything.”
“You might be feeling more than you realize. It just takes careful listening. Having a desire to know is the first step. It will come if you seek it. Jesus Christ himself told us that.”
Even after talking with her mother, Katie had a hard time feeling forgiveness toward Mike. She felt like he’d betrayed her deepest feelings. On Tuesday morning she stood barefoot in the damp grass and saw her family off. She hugged Mom and Dad, then stood awkwardly as Mike put his arms around her and squeezed her.
He whispered, “Please don’t be mad anymore. I need your love to make it the next two years. Write to me, okay?”
She nodded, unable to speak. The car pulled away, and Dad tooted the horn.
She was alone. Even though she had to work every day until her parents returned, the next few days would be time by herself. Time to really think, meditate, read, pray and hopefully get some answers.
She went into the house and grabbed her scriptures. A testimony of the gospel, of the Church. It sounded trite, somehow, and that had always bothered her. There were so many doctrines to have a testimony of. What did it really mean?
She turned to the Topical Guide under testimony and testify and read until she had to get ready for work. The basic foundation was a testimony of Jesus Christ, which made sense. That’s where she needed to start.
A few minutes after Katie checked in at work, she was throwing a pile of newspapers out when a headline in the metro section caught her eye: “Top 10 Reasons People Pick Their Church.” She put it in her purse.
The words ran through her mind. How could there be more than one or two reasons people decide which church to join? Wasn’t the church’s beliefs and doctrine the most important thing?
After her shift, Katie spread open the article. A journalist had conducted a local survey among members of various churches and asked them to list the reasons they had chosen the church they currently attended. The results had been listed in order of the most popular.
The church had a good day-care center close to work.
The church had a good preschool or private school.
The church was close to where they lived.
Their friends attended that church.
They liked the beauty of the church.
The church had a good choir they wanted to join.
The church had a youth program.
They had grown up attending that church.
They liked the minister.
They agreed with the doctrines or beliefs.
Katie set down the paper. Incredible. What she had assumed to be the number one reason was actually the last reason people in her community picked their church.
Had she been going to church because of social reasons and not because of a testimony? But it wasn’t because she didn’t want a testimony. She did. It just seemed like such an elusive thing. She almost felt guilty that she would be going to BYU without a testimony.
Every night that week she lay in bed thinking about the Savior, the scriptures she had read, and her pleading prayers for answers. After several days Katie finally felt the troubled, worried feelings disappearing. She knew she was beginning to feel peace. Her testimony would come, just as Mom said it would. She had to have confidence in the Lord.
Katie sat up and switched on the lamp. She picked up her scriptures and went back to section 9 of the Doctrine and Covenants. She’d read the verses about having a burning in her heart so often she had it memorized. Why couldn’t she have that burning?
Slowly she turned the pages, reading verses at random. Section 6 caught her eye. The Lord was speaking to Oliver Cowdery. “Cast your mind upon the night that you cried unto me in your heart, that you might know concerning the truth of these things. Did I not speak peace to your mind concerning the matter? What greater witness can you have than from God?” (D&C 6:22–23).
Katie sank back against the pillows. She knew she had felt peace. And now she knew it was from God. She glanced down at the page and another passage seemed to strike at her heart: “Be faithful and diligent in keeping the commandments of God, and I will encircle thee in the arms of my love. Behold, I am Jesus Christ, the Son of God” (D&C 6:20–21).
Oh, to feel the love of the Savior as if she were encircled by his arms! Tears came to her eyes as she thought about Mike. She shouldn’t have let him go without telling him she loved him. She thought he had betrayed her, but now she realized that she had deserted him also.
It was almost midnight, but she couldn’t go to sleep. She grabbed her pen and started to write.
Dear Mike, I’ve finally had some questions answered. Probably the best person answered them, too. The one that counts. Maybe I wanted to be struck by lightning or have a revelation or something. But it was even better than that. Now I can know deep inside my heart, where it will never leave.
I’m sorry for how I acted when you left for Utah. I guess I was angry with you for breaking my confidence, but now I know I hurt you also and I wish I could go back and re-do all your last days at home. Would you please forgive me? I do know that you’re going to be a great missionary, and I’m rooting for you! With all my love, Your sis, Katie.
She folded the letter, got in her pajamas, and went to find her brother’s address.

The second story involves two sisters who live two thousand miles from each other. Each was taught the missionary discussions by the full-time missionaries. Each felt the confirming witness of the Spirit and was baptized. Both were single adults in their early twenties. One sister attended church meetings, met the bishop, developed friendships with members who invited her into their homes. Ward members made her feel welcome and wanted. She was given a Church calling immediately after her baptism, and she continued to learn and live gospel principles while associating with ward and stake members. She participated continually, serving in various ward, stake, and general Church callings. In time, she married in the temple, and she maintains her standing as a member in full fellowship.

The other sister, after receiving the witness of the Spirit, never met her bishop personally. She received no visits by home teachers or visiting teachers and was given no Church calling. For several weeks she attended Sunday ward meetings, but she was mostly ignored. In due course, the missionaries who had taught her left the area, and her interest in the gospel waned without the support of members. She was not “remembered and nourished.” (Moro. 6:4.) Soon she stopped attending church services, resumed her old friendships and life-style, and married a nonmember. Today she is a fine, productive, contributing citizen in her community and a loving, conscientious wife and mother. But she does not enjoy the rich blessings that come from full fellowship in the Church.