Gospel Story Finder

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

Elder Stobbs grew up in Worcester Ward, Cheltenham Stake. He has been serving as a full-time missionary in the South Africa Johannesburg Mission since October 2021. Here he shares the story of his conversion to the gospel of Jesus Christ:
“Gaining a testimony was very hard for me. I grew up through Primary knowing that the Church was true because, I reasoned, my parents were always right. The first time I realised my parents didn’t know everything and that there was a possibility that the Church wasn’t true, was when I was about 10 or 11.
“I spent most of my time in Young Men sitting on the fence; I wasn’t sure if the Church was true. I had spiritual experiences and answers to my prayers, but I found, to my frustration, that I was quick to forget or discount them. In Alma 46:8, we read, ‘Thus we see how quick the children of men do forget the Lord their God, yea, how quick to do iniquity, and to be led away by the evil one.’
“As I was doing my scripture study one day, I read 3 Nephi 23, where the Saviour chastises the Nephites for not writing down sacred events. I realised that this is what the Lord wanted me to do as well. At the end of every day, I wrote down how I had seen the hand of the Lord in that day. As I did this. I recognised miracles that I had not seen during the day. I also wrote down experiences of feeling the Spirit or having my prayers answered. These experiences formed a wall of faith that I could turn to if I ever felt my testimony wavering.
“Since then, my gratitude for God has grown, and my testimony has been strengthened immensely. I am grateful for the chance to serve His children in South Africa. I know that God lives and is always mindful of us. Jesus Christ is the Saviour of the world, and this is his Church again restored to the earth. Because of him we can live with Heavenly Father and our families forever in a state of never-ending happiness.”

On the recent errand to Ethiopia, the Spirit prompted Bishop Pace and me. We knew what to do. We knew what to say. We knew where to go. In many ways, boys, I relived some of my missionary experiences of thirty-four years ago. For example, we needed a permit from the government to travel to Makale to visit the food stations and the distribution centers where tens of thousands of homeless refugees were gathered. When the permit was delayed, desiring to fill our mission, we knelt in prayer and asked the Lord for help. The next morning the permits were issued. Then we needed to get from Addis Ababa to Makale. We again prayed for help and then found passage with a British Royal Air Force mercy flight in a C-130 Hercules transport plane. From Makale, we had no way to travel to Asmara. The Lord knew of our need. Late in the afternoon we hitched a ride with a Swedish Air Force mercy flight. Hitchhiking is not a good idea, and especially not by air, but being on the Lord’s errand, it was all right.
I have deep affection for the goodness of people, many of whom I met in far-off Ethiopia, who are not members of the Church but who are giving unselfish Christian service. Brethren, I was so grateful that the Church made a significant contribution to help meet a desperate need. I believe if we had more missionaries in the world, rendering meaningful Christian service and helping people come to the knowledge of the glorious message of the Restoration, we would find favor with the Lord.
I say to you young men tonight, get ready; every one of you, get ready. This world needs your service. Repent if you need to. Study from the standard works every day. Say your prayers morning and night. Develop in your heart a desire to know the mysteries of God. To lead the Church tomorrow, you must prepare today. Train hard, boys, and I promise you that you will live to be grateful that you made the effort to prepare.

Elder H. Burke Peterson, then of the Presiding Bishopric, related the experience of a group of teenagers who were picnicking in the desert outside Phoenix, Arizona. One of the girls was bitten by a rattlesnake. Instead of immediately seeking medical attention, the group pursued the snake and sought revenge by killing it with rocks. Unfortunately, during the precious minutes that the group wasted in exacting revenge, the poison had time to move from the surface of the girl’s skin into the tissues of her foot and leg; her leg later had to be amputated below the knee.
“It was a senseless sacrifice, this price of revenge. … The poison of revenge, or of unforgiving thoughts or attitudes, unless removed, will destroy the soul in which it is harbored,” said Bishop Peterson.

Several years ago there were three young American sailors stationed aboard a ship somewhere between Hawaii and Japan. Observing the beautiful deep blue sky above the sun-drenched Pacific Ocean, the three of them simultaneously concluded that this would be a wonderful opportunity to acquire a world-class suntan. After all, there was not a cloud in the sky and there was absolutely no pollution to block the sun’s ultraviolet rays.
They located some nice soft bath towels and staked out a place on the upper deck where the sun’s rays would be unobstructed. They remembered some good counsel from someone who had told them that in order to get the best results, you should turn over every few minutes like a grilled chicken on a turning spit. If you lay on your back a few minutes and then on your stomach a few minutes, you avoid the peril of becoming severely sunburned. The counsel was good, but it applies best when you don’t stay out too long, especially the very first day. Well, “boys will be boys,” and these young teenage sailors fell asleep during the rotation process as the warm summer sun slowly turned their skin from pasty pink to bright red.
When they awakened, they began to sense they were in real trouble. Their skin had been so badly sunburned it hurt to put on their shirts, it hurt to move, and it even hurt to breathe. With considerable difficulty they made their way to the lower deck to visit the ship’s physician. He gave them some anesthetic ointment which provided a degree of temporary relief from their pain. He suggested that they might be suffering from first-degree burns in a few areas and that they should probably stay in bed for a few days.
These three medium well-done musketeers proceeded to a captain’s quarters to report their plight and to request a few days sick leave as recommended by the doctor. They had anticipated some sympathy from the captain, but his reply was totally unexpected. With considerable agitation he said: “Your request for sick leave is denied. When you signed up for the U.S. Navy you agreed to keep yourselves in good physical condition, to be combat ready at all times. You are now the property of the U.S. Navy. If we had an emergency aboard ship, none of you would be in a position to help. Instead of giving you three days sick leave, I sentence you to three days in the brig for misuse and abuse of government property.”

Sunshine was coming through the windows at Jonnie’s house, and everyone was still sleeping, except Jonnie.
Mother opened her eyes as Jonnie bounced into the bedroom.
“Hi, Mom,” he said happily. “I bet you can’t guess what I am.”
“Hi, Jonnie,” Mom answered as she rubbed her eyes.
Jonnie climbed over Mom and put his face in front of Dad’s.
“Hi, Dad,” he grinned.
“Hi, Jonnie,” Dad mumbled. Then he rolled his sleepy face to the other side.
Jonnie climbed over Dad’s back. “I bet you can’t guess what I am,” he said as he bounced up and down on his hands and knees.
Dad decided to give up trying to sleep. He opened his eyes. “You must be a tickle, tickle, tiddlemouse,” he said as he tried to tickle Jonnie.
Jonnie wiggled away and climbed back on the other side of the bed by Mom.
“Can you guess what I am?” he asked. Mom grabbed him and tried to kiss his cheek. Jonnie wiggled away from Mom too.
“Now I know what you are. You’re a wiggle, wiggle, wiggle worm,” Mom guessed.
“No, I’m not a wiggle, wiggle, wiggle worm,” declared Jonnie, bouncing some more.
Daddy rolled his head back toward them and said, “You must be a jump, jump kangaroo.”
“No, I’m not a jump, jump kangaroo,” said Jonnie and he laughed because no one could guess.
Mom leaned her head way over by Dad’s. “I think he’s a bouncing bunny rabbit,” she whispered.
“I heard you! I heard you,” Jonnie shouted as he jumped up and down. “I’m not a bouncing bunny rabbit.”
“I give up,” said Dad. “I can’t guess what you are.”
“I give up too,” added Mom. “What are you?”
Jonnie stood up tall on their bed. “I’m a big cowboy,” he said in a deep voice. “And I’m riding my horse.” Then he galloped away to the other room.

Which was how I decided to start my story: I remember always being a Mormon. I told of growing up in the Church, of going to corn eating parties and Primary, of singing solos and telling my school friends about the Church. I told how no one needed to tell me when my grandmother died because I knew in my eight-year-old heart that it had happened. I told how all the relatives and seemingly half the town gathered for her funeral in the Rexburg, Idaho, Fourth Ward chapel.

Merrell: Yes, and there’s kind of a funny story involved in one case. Betsy and I were driving back from dinner one evening trying to decide whether I should do Three Warriors. We were on the freeway, and I started hearing music I thought would be perfect for the theme song. The next morning I got up and wrote it down, and Kieth came over and I played it for him. Halfway through he got up to leave, and I said, “Kieth, where are you going?” He said, “The music is fine. I trust you.” We recorded it, and after a screening with the distributors, the producer told me he loved the music. Kieth came over to me then and said, “You know, when you played the theme song for me that day and were telling me what the French horns would sound like, and the strings, and everything else, all I could hear was your terrible voice and your out-of-tune piano. I was really worried, but I’ll never doubt your judgment again!”

For example, think of the faith of a boy, about eight years of age, who was facing an emergency operation for acute appendicitis. As he lay on the operating table, he looked up at the surgeon and said, “Doctor, before you begin to operate, will you pray for me?”
The surgeon looked at the boy in amazement and said, “Why, I can’t pray for you.”
Then the little fellow said, “If you won’t pray for me, please wait while I pray for myself.” There on the operating table, the boy got on his knees, folded his hands, and began to pray. He said: “Heavenly Father, I am only a little orphan boy. I am awful sick, and these doctors are going to operate. Will you please help them that they will do it right? Heavenly Father, if you will make me well, I will be a good boy. Thank you for making me well.” He then lay on his back, looked up at the tear-filled eyes of the doctors and nurses, and said, “Now I am ready.”2
His physical recovery was complete, and his spiritual power was developing.

I was a few months into my mission in the Illinois Chicago South Mission and still serving in my first area. The sisters’ area next to us had recently been closed, so we had responsibility for all of the Spanish-speaking investigators from that area. Among them was a woman named Rebecca.
The first time we met Rebecca, I was impressed by her faith. She lived in the basement of a house, so we had to knock on her window for her to come open the door for us. The previous missionaries had begun to teach her after she requested a Church video. If she had not called for a video, the missionaries may never have found her.
I could tell from what she told us that Rebecca had a hard life. She had once been a very happy person, but now she was separated from her son and other family. Although she was in humble circumstances, I felt the Lord’s love for her.
As we taught her, I could tell she was feeling the Spirit. Our visits would lift her mood considerably. Unfortunately, she lived far away, and it was hard to visit her as often as we would have liked.
One Friday when we had zone conference, we planned to go out to that part of our area afterwards since we were already halfway there. We asked Rebecca if she would be home, but she said she would be working. We decided we would still visit other investigators we had in the area.
We ended up with some extra time there, and we weren’t sure what to do. Then my companion said, “I think we should go see if Rebecca is home.” This suggestion didn’t make sense to me since Rebecca told us she would not be home. It was then I heard a voice telling me, “Go back and visit her.” I felt as if my body was literally being pulled in the direction of Rebecca’s house. It was the strongest impression I have ever felt.
I told my companion to turn the car around, and we went to Rebecca’s house. We knocked on the windows twice, and no one answered. I was so disappointed because I knew there had to be a reason the Lord sent us. I suggested we knock one more time. We waited, and then just as we were about to leave, Rebecca answered the door.
She was home because she had just been fired from her job, and she really needed someone to talk to. She had been praying that we would come. She told us we were her angels. We were able to talk to her and help her feel better by teaching her more about the gospel.
I’m so glad Heavenly Father cares for each of His children and listened to Rebecca’s prayer, and I’m glad we could follow the prompting to go visit her, so we could be that answer. Our Heavenly Father knows all the things that are going on in each of our lives, and when we rely on Him and ask in faith, He will help us with the things we need.

My name is Emily. Do you know what I like best about being me? I like having lots of feelings inside me, and I like showing my feelings in lots of different ways.
Today I gave a talk about Jesus Christ in Primary. I showed I was scared when my voice cracked.
I felt peaceful, though, when I looked up and saw my father and mother smiling at me. I covered my mouth so I wouldn’t laugh out loud when my big brother winked at me.
I felt happy when I told everyone that Jesus is my friend. I said, “Heavenly Father and Jesus love me, and I love them.”
I showed reverence when I walked to my seat with my arms folded. I closed my eyes and bowed my head when the closing prayer was given. I listened to the prayer and said amen at the end so that Father in Heaven knew I was praying too.
During sacrament meeting I sat still in my seat and thought about Jesus while the bread and water were being passed. I felt warm and calm and happy and peaceful. I felt the Holy Spirit inside my heart. I like that feeling best of all.

After graduation, I began to hang around three girls who weren’t LDS. As our friendship grew, I started smoking. I felt like life had no meaning, so I didn’t care that what I was doing was wrong. I couldn’t understand why I was on the earth, and figured I was probably better off dead. After a while, we went our separate ways and I vowed I would never smoke again. But many of my other feelings didn’t change.

I knew I wanted to marry in the temple and raise a family but wondered if I would get the chance. It was rather annoying when people I knew would become engaged, leaving me to question if I would ever get a date in this lifetime.

I wanted to blame the way I felt on something, so I blamed it on the color of my skin. It was stupid of me, I know. But I figured it was the only reason I didn’t have many friends.

By the time I was 20, I wanted to change. I decided to fix my appearance. I lost a little weight and bought new clothes and glasses. I found it helped me feel better about myself. But the actual change started when I began attending the single-adult ward and decided to go to college. This gave me the confidence that I could do things I had been too shy or scared to do before.

One day in sacrament meeting, my bishop spoke about the importance of attending church, the importance of paying tithing, reading scriptures, and praying. I felt the Spirit so strongly that I had no doubt the Church was true. It was at this time I decided to read the Book of Mormon.

For a month, I read my scriptures every night. Afterward, I would pray. I continued to pay my tithing and attend church, and I received a calling in the ward. My life couldn’t have been happier.

One day I looked in the mirror and stared at my reflection. “I’m pretty,” I said to the image before me. Tears welled up in my eyes that suddenly seemed to be looking at things differently. I saw myself, but it was as if I were looking at the face of a stranger. The fact I saw myself differently filled me with a happiness I can’t describe.

Without warning, the color of my skin no longer mattered to me. I’m Jennifer, a child of God. If God can love me, then I can learn to love myself, I thought. I now understand why they say you have to love yourself before you can show love to others. Today I can say I’m proud to be black. Four years ago I couldn’t even say it, much less mean it.

My promise now is to live the gospel and put my trust in God. After all, he’s given me the thing I needed most—a sense of my own worth.

When Eddie hurried into his classroom that Tuesday morning, he bumped into something just inside the door and started to fall. His classmates laughed. Eddie was used to that. He liked the attention, even when Miss Enns got cross.
He tried to catch himself by grabbing onto the object he had tripped over, but it moved away as if it had wheels.
It did!
It was an empty wheelchair. Why was it here? He tried to ask Miss Enns, but she was writing the day’s study plan on the board.
As the tardy bell rang, Miss Enns faced the class. “You’re not in your seat yet?” she said as Eddie darted down the aisle, hopping over Joe’s outstretched foot and ducking Mike’s fist.
“What’s that for?” Eddie said, but Miss Enns ignored the question and took roll.
She didn’t say one word about the chair before the arithmetic quiz or while she wrote the week’s spelling words on the board. By then, nobody could think about anything but the wheelchair.
Finally Miss Enns pushed the chair in front of the class. “Do you know what this is?” she asked.
They all did.
“My cousin brought it from the hospital. Today we’ll experiment with a different way of moving. Who’s first?”
Eddie’s hand shot up. He always wanted to be first. He got more attention and laughs that way. If nobody knew how to do something, he could make really funny mistakes.
“Rebecca, how about you?”
Rebecca hurried to the chair, her curls bouncing. Miss Enns helped her fasten the seat belt. Rebecca tried to return to her desk, but the chair wouldn’t go straight. She bumped into Nancy’s desk and got caught on the edge of Joe’s. “I don’t like this,” she said, and she unhooked the belt. “The steering’s too hard.”
“Eddie?” Miss Enns said.
Eddie was into the chair within a moment. This was great!
“You seem to like the wheelchair, Eddie. Do you think you can stay in it all day?”
“Sure!” Eddie said with a grin. Just then the recess bell rang.
But maneuvering the wheelchair wasn’t as much fun as Eddie had thought it would be. For the first time ever, he was the last one out of the room at recess. Everybody got in his way, and wheeling was slow. When he approached the boys’ room, the door slammed shut as Nick left. Eddie swung the chair next to the door and waited for someone else to leave. Nobody did. As he tried to open the door, he banged his toes hard. Finally he wheeled himself alongside the door and slipped inside as he tugged it wide. That was much harder than he had thought it would be, because the wheels kept catching on either the door or the door frame. Finally he made it.
Inside, he faced another problem. Miss Enns had dared him to stay in the wheelchair all day, but—well—for certain things, he couldn’t. He didn’t want to go ask her exactly what to do. He knew he should play fair, though, so he wheeled himself as close as possible before he unhooked the belt.
Washing his hands was awkward, too, and leaving the rest room was almost as hard as coming in, except that he could push against the door with the chair. Even so, he still banged his toes again.
Next, at the water fountain, he discovered that he wasn’t up high enough to get a drink from the chair.
As he wheeled himself down the hall, he saw that the outer door stood open. It was a beautiful day. But a low metal ridge ran across the bottom of the doorway, and it was hard to get the wheelchair across. By the time he did, Eddie’s hands were red and sore. Outside, there was a large cement landing with one step down to the playground. Eddie knew that if he gave himself a push off the step, the chair might tip over and he could really hurt himself.
On the playground, his classmates tossed the basketball back and forth. “Hey, guys,” he yelled, “over here! Help me down. I want a turn.” Nobody paid attention. And when recess ended, everybody else pushed by him as if he wasn’t there. By the time he wheeled himself back to class, he was very tired. He felt grumpy.
Miss Enns was threading film for a movie. “Please take notes on this film, class,” she said.
Eddie couldn’t reach his desk to write anything. He had to sit at an angle because there wasn’t room for the wheelchair behind his desk. He could hardly see the screen, and his hands were throbbing.
At lunchtime, Miss Enns brought Eddie a tray and set it on the end of the nearest table. Eddie had to sit there, away from his friends. “They act like I’m not here,” he muttered angrily.
Miss Enns put her hand on his shoulder understandingly. “That’s often the way it is for people who are different.”
“But I’m not different. I’m still me.”
She nodded sympathetically, then took her own tray to join the other teachers.
After lunch Eddie didn’t even try going outside. It was a long lunchtime alone in the cafeteria.
The afternoon seemed endless. By now, Eddie’s arms and shoulders ached from wheeling himself everywhere. He broke the lead in his pencil twice and had to stretch his very tallest to reach the pencil sharpener. When an ambulance went by, he was the only person who couldn’t see it, and he stayed in alone for the afternoon recess. He wanted to go to the bathroom again but was too sore to wheel himself that far and struggle with the door again. Nobody had laughed at him once. They’d only acted as if he wasn’t quite there.
When it was time for social studies, Miss Enns didn’t have them open their books. Instead, she asked, “I want to know what Eddie has learned from being in that wheelchair today.”
“I hate it!” Eddie blurted. “Nobody pays attention to me. It’s work, moving and steering. My arms ache. I have blisters on my hands. And it’s terrible going to the bathroom, ’cause the door opens the wrong way!”
Somebody giggled, but Eddie didn’t look up to see who. “I couldn’t even think of one silly thing to do to make people laugh. I never want to be in a wheelchair again.”
“You’ve been a really good sport, Eddie,” Miss Enns said. Speaking to the whole class, she announced, “We’ll have this chair all week. Everyone will have a turn to spend an hour or so in the wheelchair, and I hope that you will all stay in it long enough to understand at least a little of what Eddie went through today.”
“Why are we doing this?” Eddie asked, standing up to give relief to his muscles.
“Next week we’ll have a new student. Ron’s been in the hospital almost a year, but he can return to school now.”
“And he’s in a wheelchair,” Eddie guessed.
“Right. He may not ever walk again, and I want you all to understand at least a little of what that’s like for him.”
“He needs help with the bathroom doors,” Eddie said, remembering his own struggle. “If you put him next to me, I can help with that stuff, because I know about it.”
Miss Enns smiled. “I thought that I could count on you,” she said as the bell rang, and Eddie knew that today he’d learned an important lesson.

Keslie B. loves a good story. When she’s not singing, swimming, or dancing ballet, she likes to read stories at her home in Brigham City, Utah. So when her grandma told her a story about an ancestor named Marie, Keslie wanted to go to the Family History Library to find out more.
Keslie was happy to learn how to do family history work and piece together the stories of some of her ancestors. But she won’t have to travel to Salt Lake City every time she wants to prepare an ancestor’s name for temple ordinances or do research—Keslie can do many things on her computer at home or at a nearby family history center. Now she can do family history work wherever she lives!
When Keslie walked into the library she saw a big painting called The Eternal Family through Christ. It shows Jesus Christ surrounded by prophets and people from different time periods. Everyone looks like one big family.
The service missionaries and library workers were happy to answer Keslie’s questions. There were so many neat things to see!
This big relationship chart was one of Keslie’s favorite things. She saw how many well-known people are related to each other.

Johnny’s family situation wasn’t picture-perfect. His parents divorced when he was two, and his dad isn’t active in the Church, although he did support Johnny in his own way—going to his Primary programs and encouraging him in what mattered most.
In high school, Johnny made seminary a priority, even if he had to go alone. During summers when he lived with his dad, he drove himself and his sister to church. He read his scriptures without anyone nudging him. And when the time came to serve a mission, he chose to serve, even though he was nervous.
For Johnny, letting his covenants guide his life wasn’t about having a perfect family or ideal circumstances. It was about choosing Jesus Christ, even when it was hard. As he did this, his relationship with Christ deepened and allowed him to increase his faith and hope for the future.

I spent hours playing computer games every day for years. I found friends, and I felt important. But after playing, I would feel empty, like something was missing. I wasn’t fully happy.

I wanted to focus on things that would actually make me happy and help me improve. I started praying often. When I expressed what was in my heart to Heavenly Father, I felt a strong feeling of love.

I wanted to do things that would keep me coming closer to Christ, so I focused on simple things like daily scripture study and prayer, spending time with people who had the Spirit, and trying not to get distracted by things that would make the Holy Ghost leave. My life changed. It’s more joyful for me.

When I come closer to Christ, I know that there are more important things than computer games if I want to be truly happy. There are things that are eternal.
Alina U., 18, Lithuania

I was excited when Mom told me Sean was coming for dinner. He’s my big brother, but he moved away from home when he finished high school. My brother Mike went on a mission when he finished high school, but Sean doesn’t even go to church. He’s a great brother, though, and I love him. I especially love it when he plays with me. When I was smaller, I’d take horse rides on his back. He ran all over the yard with me hanging onto his neck and him holding onto my legs. He snorted and bucked around like a real horse.
I’m too big for that now, so he shows me wrestling moves instead. He won the city wrestling championship in the 11th grade. Sometimes we play ball, and sometimes we just sit and talk. I was really looking forward to his coming over tonight because I wanted him to help me make a model race car. Sean is good with his hands, and I like to work with him.
I helped Mom set the table to make the time go faster. As I put the knives and forks out, I noticed something was wrong. “Hey, you have too many plates on the table,” I said.
“No, dear. Sean is coming tonight, and so are the missionaries.”
“The missionaries!” I cried, slamming down the last fork. “Why do we have to have the missionaries when Sean is here? I want to have him to myself. I want it to be a special night.”
Mom looked at me in surprise. “It can still be a special night,” she replied gently. “The missionaries are nice young men. I’m sure you’ll like them.”
That’s what she thought. How could Sean play and work with me when the missionaries were here? I knew he’d be polite and spend his time talking to them.
By the time Sean arrived, I was upset. He could tell I wasn’t happy, but I knew better than to tell him why. Mom and Dad would be really disappointed if I ever complained about the missionaries to him. More than anything else, they wanted him to come back to church. So did I, but I didn’t think talking to the missionaries all night would make it happen.
When the missionaries arrived, Mom had dinner ready, so we sat down to eat. Everyone had a good time. Mom was right—the missionaries were great guys. They cracked jokes with Sean, and both faked surprise when he told them he wrestled in high school. Sean’s not my big brother just because he’s older, but also because he’s big—tall and strong and big.
Dinner ended with everyone laughing. Then it happened. Elder Blair asked if they could leave a message and a prayer before they went to their next appointment. This is the end of the night for me, I thought, disappointed. Sean won’t be helping me with my model car tonight. He’ll escape before anyone talks religion to him.
I waited to hear his chair move and the excuse why he couldn’t stay. But nothing happened. Slowly I looked up, and he was still there, watching Elder Blair thumb through his Book of Mormon. When Elder Blair found what he wanted, he read a few verses. Then he started asking Sean questions. Mom and Dad looked worried and hopeful. Sean answered each question in a humorous kind of way. He had stayed because he was having fun with the missionaries, and now he was going to go on joking even though the elders were being serious.
Suddenly Elder Peterson, the short, skinny one, caught on to what Sean was doing. “Sean,” he said, looking him in the eye, “do you believe in Jesus Christ?”
Everything seemed to change. Sean looked back at Elder Peterson, and instead of answering with a joke, he very softly said, “Yes.”
“Then why are you making fun of what we’re saying?” Elder Peterson asked.
I looked at Mom. She had tears in her eyes. Dad did, too. What’s the matter with them? I wondered. Were they upset with Sean or with the missionaries?
Sean and Elder Peterson continued talking, Elder Peterson asking questions and Sean giving him honest answers. Finally Elder Peterson said, “Sean, when was the last time you went to church?” Sean shrugged and looked at Mom and Dad for help, but they both shook their heads. They couldn’t remember either.
I could remember—not the date but how happy I had felt sitting beside him, proud to be his brother, glad to sing along with him, even though he couldn’t sing very well. I wanted to tell him, but suddenly there was a big lump in my throat, and I wasn’t sure I could talk.
“Sean,” Elder Peterson asked, “will you go to church with us on Sunday?”
Sean was looking at his hands. I couldn’t see his face, but we could all see his head slowly nod up and down. The lump in my throat grew bigger, and now I had tears in my eyes, too. Everyone was crying, but we all had smiles on our faces.
As I looked at Sean and Elder Peterson, I didn’t see a scrawny elder and a big wrestling champion. I saw David and Goliath. David had saved the day because he had the Spirit of the Lord with him. That’s why we were all crying—we could feel that Spirit, and it felt good.
I love my brother Sean, but at that moment I wanted to be like Elder Peterson. I wanted to have the Lord on my side, and I think Sean wanted that, too. Mom was right. This had been a special evening. I had seen David, unafraid, go into battle with Goliath. Fortunately, they both won!

One of the most remarkable stories is about my great-grandfather, who was Liberia’s first doctor. His mission was to bring healing and hope to those in need. He was later transferred to the deep forests of what is now the Nimba region, where he was granted vast lands to establish his medical mission.
This land became the foundation for a legacy of service and family. My great-grandfather had 24 wives and many children, and from generation to generation, his family grew. My grandfather, Samuel J. Mentee, was among them, and he continued the family legacy. By the time of his passing, he left behind an incredible record of 170 grandchildren, of which I am one.

The Lord’s light helped Shelly Ann Scoffield face a frightening trial in her young life, but she faced it with great faith and love for Heavenly Father. One day Shelly began to feel sick. She saw a doctor, who determined that there was something seriously wrong. Shelly said: “I was scared. I had huge masses on my lungs, and the doctor began to say things like cancer and chemotherapy and radiation.” But Shelly didn’t give in to her fears. True to her training in Personal Progress, she got busy and set a long list of goals to accomplish while she couldn’t go to school because of her treatments. She busied herself with accomplishing good things. She was mindful of her blessings, including a father with the priesthood who had administered to her, a wonderful family, super friends, and great doctors. “Best of all,” Shelly said, “I have a testimony of my Heavenly Father, that He loves me and will help me through this struggle.”

Shelly recorded her thoughts for her young women friends, and I would like to share with you some of what she said:

“I want you girls to know that now is the time to grow close to your Heavenly Father. Work to show Him you can do all that you promised you would do. I am trying. I am learning more now than I have ever in my life known about the gospel. I know that Heavenly Father is with me. When I’m feeling pain and sorrow, He is too, and He just wants me and every one of you, when you’re feeling those things, to get down on your knees and pray for His help, because He is so willing. He loves you so much. I pray that throughout your life, throughout your struggles, that you’ll learn from them and stay close to Him and have faith. Gain a testimony and stay true to what is right.”

Shelly Scoffield passed away November 3, 1998, strong in the faith.

When I was 17 years old, I faced heavy peer pressure at my high school. The friends that I did have didn’t share my values. My friends and I participated in many appropriate activities together like playing basketball or football. But they also drank alcohol and smoked—two activities I didn’t do with them.
One day a group of us was outside of our school studying for a test we would take later that day. With me were two of my closest friends, Juan and Francisco (names have been changed). At one point, someone got out lighters and cigarettes. I thought my friends had gotten bored with studying and had forgotten I was there. I learned I was wrong when they turned to me and said, “Now is the time for Hugo to learn how to smoke.”
Before I even had the chance to react, Juan and Francisco leapt toward me and took me by the arms, one on each side. They held my arms down as someone pressed a cigarette between my lips. My body immediately rejected this, and I spit the cigarette on the ground, far from me. Soon after, I felt the blow of a clenched fist squarely connect with my cheekbone. They threatened me, saying, “We’re going to light the cigarette again, and you’re going to learn to take the smoke. Don’t throw it on the ground. If you do, it’s not going to go well.”
In that moment, I knew I was in trouble. I closed my eyes and said a quick prayer asking for some type of help. As soon as I finished my prayer, our teacher’s car pulled up and parked near us. Our teacher got out of the car and asked us what we were doing. My friends released me. “We’re getting ready for the test,” they assured the teacher. We went into the school and took the test, and the situation ended.